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"If it does?"

Geptun tilted his chair back and looked at Mace over the curves of his plump cheeks. "We've been hunting this Jedi for some time now. I've even posted a bounty. A big bounty. It's possible that if someone were to, mm-deal with-my existing Jedi problem, I might feel fully compensated. I might not even miss that reward we were talking about earlier."

"T w see.

"Maybe you do. And maybe you don't. Here's the thing: I can't quite make up my mind."

Mace waited.

Geptun sighed irritably and settled his chair back on the floor. "You're not the easiest man to have a conversation with."

This didn't call for a reply, so Mace didn't make one.

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Well. I suppose I just need a way to ease my mind, you understand? I'm right on the bubble, here: I can go either way. I'd like that reward. Yes, indeed I would. But given the choice, I'd prefer my, er, upcountry]z&i problem taken care of-but I'm not sure that's the best decision I could make right now. For my future. I'm wavering. You see? Teetering. I need a little reassurance. If you know what I mean?"

Now Mace finally understood what they were talking about. "How much reassurance do you need?"

Geptun's eyes glinted the same flat sheen as the shearplanes of the gravel in the walls. "Ten thousand."

"I'll give you four."

Geptun scowled at him. Mace stared back; his face might have been carved from stone.

"I can keep you here a very long time-"

Mace said, "Thirty-five hundred."

"You insult me. What, am I not worth even haggling with?"

"We are haggling. Thirty-two fifty."

"I'm wounded, Master Jedi-"

"You mean: Jedi Master," Mace said. "Three thousand."

Geptun's face blackened, but after a moment wasted trying to match uncompromising stares with Mace Windu-a losing proposition-he shook his head and shrugged again. "Three thousand. I suppose one must make allowances." He sighed. "There is a war on, after all."

They cut him loose at dawn.

Mace descended the worn stone sweep of the Ministry of Justice's front steps. The high cirrus over Grandfather's Shoulder bled morning. The lightpoles had gone pale. The street below was as restlessly crowded as ever.

He had his kitbag over his shoulder and his blaster strapped to his thigh. His lightsaber was in an inside pocket of his vest, concealed below his left arm.

He slid into the crowd and let its current carry him along.

Endless faces passed him, meeting his eyes incuriously or not at all.

Carts clattered. Music trickled from open doorways and leaked from personal players. Once in a while the massive rumble of steam-crawler treads forced the crowds to one side or another; at such times the touch of unfamiliar flesh made his skin crawl. The smell of human sweat mingled with Yuzzem urine and the musky funk of Togorians. He smelled the unmistakable tang of t'landa Til elbow glands, and the smoke of portaak leaf roasting over lammas fires, and he could only marvel dully at how alien it all was. Of course, the alien here was Mace.

He could not guess what he should do next.

FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNALS OF MACE WlNDU

I should have been working my way toward Depa already. I could have headed for the Highland Green Washeteria, to make new contact with the remaining Republic Intelligence agents onworld. I could have hired my own team: though the bribe to Geptun wiped out the credit account of

"KinsalTrappano"-it never contains more than a few thousand-that account is monitored by the Jedi Council. New funds would be added as required. A steamcrawler wouldn't be hard to come by, and the streets were filled with dangerous-looking people who might be willing to hire on. I could have done any number of things.

Instead, I drifted with the current of the crowds.

I discovered that I was afraid. Afraid of making another mistake.

It's an unfamiliar feeling. Not until Geonosis did I truly understand that such a thing was even possible.

At the Temple,