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The Duros reached toward his countertop. “The price could be more than you wish to pay, gentles,” he said.

Two large humans appeared from behind a brown wall screen. Luke recognized the determination in their eyes, then the hopelessness behind it. He’d seen that mixture before—in Peace Brigade collaborators, humans who were already convinced the Yuuzhan Vong would win this war.

That was an unwelcome complication. Had CorDuro been corrupted? Or had Thrynni Vae vanished because she detected collaboration on an even wider scope?

A second thought hit him like an ion cannon blast, disrupting his other thoughts. Were the Yuuzhan Vong already targeting Duro, and were these their advance agents?

He scrambled to regain his composure. “We are prepared,” he whirred, “to offer New Republic credits, Kubindi bonds redeemable offworld, or—”

A tone sounded through the room, and their host straightened. “One moment, gentles.”

Brarun touched something in front of him, eyed a readout, and half smiled. Luke sensed an urge to send the strangers away. He countered it subtly, suggesting that Brarun perceive his Kubindi guests as neutral witnesses. After all, their world was already gone.

Brarun appeared to consider the new thought, then said, “Gentles, please lingerrr for a few minutes. I am reminded of a guest that my staff has kept waiting, so that he will know his place. I shall admit him now. Keep still, or your escorrrts will have to see you out.”

“Gladly,” Luke whirred, “for my people’s sake.”

He gestured Anakin back toward the brown wall screen. As they backed away, Luke evaluated the big human guards again: commanding in size, but not devastatingly brilliant. They shouldn’t present two Jedi much challenge if this came down to blows—which it shouldn’t.

Luke sensed Jacen as he walked in, wearing a soft blue cap and a brown flight suit. To his deep concern, Jacen neither probed nor reached out with the Force. In fact, Luke sensed a deliberate damping of the Force all around his elder apprentice, worse than before.

He’d told Anakin that Jacen must find his own path. He knew it with all his heart and mind, but seeing Jacen like this hurt badly. Luke had made mistakes. He knew how painful the consequences might be.

Especially here and now.

He stretched out and nudged Jacen.

Jacen had spent most of the last hour in an anteroom, waiting for the vice-director to admit him. He’d tried to sit patiently and reflect on his vision. It hadn’t exactly called him to diplomacy, but this didn’t seem like a wrong path.

Now, like an echo out of his vision, he sensed his uncle—there, one of the two Kubaz in the corner, between muscular bodyguard types.

The other Kubaz was Anakin.

From his uncle, he thought he sensed a nudge to get the Duros talking.

Straightening, he faced Vice-Director Brarun. What an opportunity! He could show his uncle and his brother the direction his vision and conscience and experiences were taking him.

“Jedi Jacen Solo.” The vice-director, like other CorDuro employees, wore a red-trimmed brown flight suit. “This is unexpected.”

“Thank you for—” Jacen stepped toward the desk.

“Stop,” the Duros said. “That’s close enough.”

Jacen halted. Did Brarun want him standing on this exact spot? Testing, he edged sideways. The vice-director didn’t object.

He deduced that the Duros wasn’t trying to stand him over or under a Greenie-trap, but was simply frightened of Jedi and trying to protect himself.

“Sir, I’m here on behalf of some very needy people. The refugees inside my mother’s dome—”

“She is Leia Organa Solo. Corrrect?”

Jacen’s ear for accents and languages had almost adjusted to the Duros’ tendency to gargle their Rs. “Yes, sir. Those refugees are living under unbelievably primitive conditions. They—”

“Where are your Jedi robes, Jacen Solo? Are you here as an infiltrator?”

“No.” Jacen spread his hands. “Not at all.”

The Duros pointed a long, knobby hand down at Jacen. “Your supply problems are not our concern. Perhaps SELCORE is shorting you.”