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"And on our side-it's us. You and me. Nobody else." He drew her gun, smooth and fast, checking its heft and balance. He popped the clip and snapped it back in. "Y'know, Kar saved her life."

He spun the pistol forward, then reversed it so that its own spin slipped it snugly into the holster. "Temporarily."

Mace murmured, "It's always temporary."

He stared down into the pandemonium on the street. An armored groundcar filled with militia swung around a corner. The gunner on the roof-mounted EWHB-10 fired short bursts into the air to clear the road; some of the armed looters returned fire.

Nick said softly, "You got any idea what we're gonna do?"

Before Mace could speak, Nick smiled tiredly and raised a hand. "Don't bother. I know what you're about to say."

"I don't think you do."

Mace gave the militia vehicle below a speculative frown.

"We're going to surrender."

SURRENDER

The Highland Green Washeteria was an imposing verdigris-domed edifice of gleaming white tile set off by obsidian grout. When the groundcar pulled up to it, its sign was dark and its elaborate array of arched windows were sealed by durasteel blast shutters.

A block away, the streets were choked with burning wreckage; here, all was dark and still.

The squad's noncom peered dimly through the groundcar's windscreen.

"Dunno why the colonel'd be here" he said doubtfully.

"Maybe he wants a bath," Nick said dryly from the rear compartment, where he sat among the other four sweaty, tired-looking regulars. "Which wouldn't do any of you guys any harm either, I mean, shee..."

"He's here," Mace said from the front seat next to the noncom. "Let's get out."

"I guess he could be here," the noncom admitted reluctantly. "Okay, everybody out."

As the squad piled out onto the walkway, the noncom muttered, "I still think we shoulda tried the Ministry. And I probably oughta put binders on you, too."

"There's no reason to go to the Ministry," Mace said. "And you don't need the binders."

"Ahh, frag the binders anyway. Okay, let's go." The noncom tried the blast-shuttered door. "Locked."

Purple energy flared. Durasteel sizzled. White-hot edges dulled to red, then darkened entirely. Mace said, "No, it isn't."

The noncom used the barrel of his blaster rifle as a pry bar to swing open the door. "Hey, what are you guys doing here?"

The broad sculpted lobby of the Washeteria had been turned into a heavy-weapons nest. A platoon of militia crouched, squatted, or lay behind temporary barriers of expanded permacrete. Tripod-mounted repeaters were levelled at the open door. The men's faces were drawn, their eyes round and haunted; here and there a rifle muzzle trembled.

An oddly familiar voice replied, "A guy might want to ask you the same question."

"Well, I captured that Jedi everybody's looking for, didn't I," the noncom said. "Here, come on in."

Mace stepped around the open door.

"You!"

It was the big man from the spaceport pro-bi showers, and he didn't look frightened at all.

Mace said, "How's your nose?"

The big man went for his sidearm with an impressively swift draw.

Mace's was faster.

By the time the big man's blaster cleared his holster, Mace was staring at him past the sizzling purple fountain of his blade. "Don't."

Nick said, "You guys know each other?"

The big man held the blaster steady, aimed at Mace's upper lip. He said sourly, " Captured him, did you?"

"Uh, sure, Lieutenant-" The noncom blinked uncertainly. "Well, okay, they surrendered, but it's the same thing, right? I mean, he's here, ain't he?"

"Stand away from them. All of you. Right now."

The squad scattered.

Mace said, "I need to see Colonel Geptun."

"Y'know, that's a funny thing." The big lieutenant squinted past his blaster's sights. "Because he don't want to see you. He told me specifically. About you. He said you might show up here. He said you're supposed to be shot on sight."

"Shooting at Jedi," Mace said, "is a