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Filli stood to his full height, stretching his arms over his head in theatrical nonchalance and beaming. “I love it when I’m right.”

Starstone glanced up at him. “I can tell that about you.”

His frowned dramatically. “No put-downs in the main cabin.”

“It’s not a criticism,” Starstone was quick to explain. “What I mean is that I was the same way at the Jedi Temple library. Someone would come in looking for data, and I would almost always be able to direct them right to the files they needed. I just had a sense for it.” Her voice broke momentarily; then she continued in a confident tone. “I think you should be proud of doing what you do best, instead of hiding behind false humility, or”—she gave Shryne a furtive glance—“letting disillusion convince you that you need a new life.”

Shryne got out of his seat. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”

A droid directed him to the corridor that led to the Drunk Dancer’s ample cockpit, where Jula and Brudi Gayn sat in adjacent chairs behind a shimmering sweep of instrument console. A crescent of red planet hung in the forward viewport, and local space was strewn with battle debris.

Shryne rapped his knuckles against the cockpit’s retracted hatch. “Permission to enter, Captain?”

Jula glanced at him over her shoulder. “Only if you promise not to tell me how to pilot.”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

She patted the cushion of the acceleration chair behind hers. “Then take a load off.”

Brudi gestured to a point of reflected light far to port. “That’s them. On schedule.”

Shryne studied the console’s friend-or-foe display screen, in which a schematic of a sharp-nosed, broad-winged ship was rotating. “Republic SX troop transport,” he said. “Wonder how they got ahold of that.”

“I’m sure there’s a story,” Brudi said.

Shryne lifted his eyes to the viewports, and to the wreckage beyond. “What happened here?”

“Seps used this system as a staging area for reinforcing Felucia,” Jula said. “Republic caught them napping and dusted them.” She gestured to what Shryne had initially taken for marker buoys. “Mines. Command-detonated, but still a potential hazard. Better warn the transport to steer clear of them, Brudi.”

He swiveled his chair to the comm unit. “I’m on it.”

Shryne continued to gaze at the debris. “That’s a docking arm of a TradeFed Lucrehulk. What’s left of it, anyway.”

When Jula finally spoke, she said: “Something’s not right.”

Brudi turned slightly in her direction. “Transport’s registering the signature they transmitted before rendezvous.”

She shook her head in uncertainty. “I know, but …”

“There are Jedi aboard the transport,” Shryne said.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Even I know that much. No, it’s something else—”

A tone from the threat board cut her off, and Brudi swiveled again.

“Count six, make that eight bandits emerging from hyperspace,” he said tersely. “Dead on the transport’s vector.”

Shryne watched the IFF transponder. “ARC-one-seventies.”

“Affirmative,” Brudi said. “Aggressive ReConnaissance starfighters.”

Visual scanners caught the craft as their transverse wings were unfolding, splaying for battle and increased thermal stability. Jula’s left hand made adjustments to the instruments while her right held tight to the yoke.

“Is the transport aware of them?”

“I’d say so,” Shryne said. “It’s going evasive.”

Brudi pressed his headset tighter to his ear. “The transport’s warning us away.”

“Makes me like them already,” Jula said. “Scramble our signature before the ARCs can get a lock on us.”

“You may not be able to jam them,” Shryne said. “They’re not like V-wings. And they punch harder, too.”

“Try anyway, Brudi,” Jula said. “Last thing I want is the Empire chasing us all over the galaxy. And I am not about to get a new ship.” She flipped an intercom switch. “Skeck, Archyr, are you there?”

Skeck’s voice issued through the cockpit speaker. “Weapons are powering up, Captain. Just say when.”

Jula looked at Shryne. “Any ideas, Jedi?”

Shryne swept his eyes over the display