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Four hours later, half drunk and near frozen, they entered the final cantina before the bridge. Brushing snow from the shoulders of their cloaks and lowering the hoods, they scanned the patrons crowding the bar and occupying nearly every table.

“Not a lot to do in Naos Three when you’re not fishing,” Anakin said.

“I’ve the distinct impression that some drinking goes on even during work hours.”

Replacing two Rodians who stumbled away from the curved bar, they ordered drinks.

Anakin sipped from his glass. “Ten cantinas, as many Lethan females, and every one of them claims to have been born onworld. I’d say we’re in for a long stay.”

“K’sar didn’t supply you with anything else to go on—scars, tattooed lekku, anything?”

Anakin shook his head. “Nothing.” When Obi-Wan signaled for the human bartender, he added: “You order one more Twi’lek appetizer, I promise I’m going to cut your arm off.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I found the izzy-mold at the last place to be very flavorful.”

Anakin took another sip. “And speaking of arms.”

“Were we?”

“We were. At least I think we were. Anyway, remember in the Outlander Club when you went off to get a drink? Did you have an inkling that Zam Wessel would follow you?”

“On the contrary. I knew she would follow you.”

“Implying that shapeshifters have a special fondness for me?”

“The way you were strutting around, what female could help herself?” Mimicking Anakin’s voice, Obi-Wan said: “ ‘Jedi business.’ ”

“Then you admit it—you were using me as bait.”

“A privilege that comes with being a Master. You have more than repaid me in kind, in any case.”

Anakin raised his glass. “A toast to that.”

Seeing the bartender approach, Obi-Wan placed a sizable credit chip under his empty glass and slid it forward. “Another drink. And the rest is for you.”

An athletic man with red hair that fell almost to his waist, the bartender eyed the credit chip. “Rather large remuneration for such a rudimentary libation. Perhaps you’d permit me to concoct something a trifle more flavorsome.”

“What I’d actually prefer is a bit of information.”

“Now, how did I guess.”

“We’re looking for a Lethan female,” Anakin said.

“Who isn’t.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Strictly business.”

“That’s what it often is with them. I suggest you try the Palace Hotel.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

“Look,” Anakin said, “this one probably isn’t a … masseuse.”

“Or a dancer,” Obi-Wan thought to add.

“Then what would she be doing on Naos Three?”

“She used to be a pilot—with a taste for spice.”

Obi-Wan watched the bartender closely. “She would have arrived on Naos Three within the past ten or so years.”

The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you say so to begin with? You mean Genne.”

“The name we know her by is Fa’ale Leh.”

“My friends, on Naos Three a name is nothing more than a convenient handle.”

“But you do know her,” Obi-Wan said.

“I do.”

“Then you know where she can be found.”

The bartender jerked a thumb. “Upstairs. Room seven. She said you should go right up.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan traded confused glances.

“She’s expecting us?” Obi-Wan said.

The bartender heaved his massive shoulders in a shrug. “She didn’t say who she was expecting. Just that if anyone came looking for her, I should send them up.”

They canceled the drink order and walked to the foot of a long flight of stairs.

“Jedi mind trick?” Anakin asked.

“If it was, I wasn’t aware of performing it.”

“Ten drinks will do that to you.”

“Yes, and maybe it was the Twi’lek izzy-mold. What seems infinitely more likely is that we’re about to walk into a trap.”

“So we should be on guard.”

“Yes, Anakin, we should be on guard.”

Obi-Wan led the way up the stairs and rapped his hand on room seven’s green plastoid door.

“Door’s unlocked,” a voice said in Basic from within.

They made certain that their lightsabers were in easy reach, but left them affixed to their belts and concealed. Obi-Wan hit the door-release stud, then followed Anakin into the chill room.

Wearing trousers, boots,