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Mara eyed Leia’s white scarf. “Was this necessary?”

“Maybe not,” Leia said, “but the gesture was appreciated. A lot of refugees forget that my world was destroyed twenty-five years ago. They like seeing this. It reminds them I’m a refugee, too. We’re already having minor problems with the Ryn.”

“What are they doing?”

“Nothing. The problem is other people. They’ve grown up thinking Ryn are baby-snatchers and compulsive thieves. They’re shunned. It’s amazing how stoically they take that.”

“Mm,” Mara said. Her mind had shifted back to another subject. “I need to speak with your Dr. Cree’Ar, but I won’t ask for an introduction, since you haven’t met.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jaina said. “I’m not doing anything important at the moment.”

“Can you see well enough?” Mara demanded. “If this Duros is somehow connected to Rhommamool, he might not be much of a host. Remember our reception there?”

Jaina laughed shortly. “Don’t worry, I can use the Force to amplify what I can’t see—and don’t tell me that isn’t a justified use.”

“It is,” Mara murmured. “And I can use you. A real Kuati wouldn’t travel without at least one servant. I’ve got some things back at the Shadow to dress you up.” She shot a glance at Leia. “If you don’t mind my borrowing your assistant for a few hours.”

Leia flicked her hand. “She isn’t at my beck and call, Mara. Even if your children ever come home, they really aren’t yours anymore.”

The research building was a showpiece—banks of scientific instruments and devices, all manufactured on Core worlds—smooth, sterile white walls and acoustically textured ceilings. Its main floor was divided into six laboratories, looking exactly like labs on any other world, thanks to SELCORE. In each one, some experiment or another was humming.

Mara found Dr. Cree’Ar’s lab and walked in. Two aides sat at a long lab bench. One supervised what looked like a titration experiment, involving a six-by-ten array of transparent tubes. Another poured dollops of viscous liquid out of a flask into flat dishes.

She waved Jaina forward.

“Good morning,” Jaina said imperiously. “Is the doctor about?”

The near tech, a hefty young man with a red mustache, set down a flask of cloudy liquid. “He’s gone out. Said he’d be in Sector Seven.”

Mara looked around at the scientific setup. According to the file she’d just studied, Dr. Cree’Ar had produced plants and protozoans that were creating an arable zone, gleefully chowing down on soil toxins that would’ve killed everything but fefze beetles.

“Very well.” Mara laid a hand on Jaina’s shoulder.

Jaina, dressed in the carpet-textured gown of a Kuati servant, clasped her opposite wrists inside her long, draped sleeves. Mara had found her a braided wig.

“We can wait,” Mara said.

Two hours later, Mara leaned one arm against a laboratory counter and fixed a still-imperious stare on one of Dr. Dassid Cree’Ar’s human and Sullustan aides. Unlike Leia, Mara did have the time to hunt down Dr. Cree’Ar, and as she’d told his technicians several times, she was perfectly willing to wait out the day. She amused herself striding around the laboratory, lifting flasks and examining culture gels, making the techs nervous.

Finally, another aide—who’d been trying to center a row of tiny glass tubules under an array of slender nozzles—rocked back on his stool. He brushed hair away from his face.

“Baroness,” he said wearily, “why don’t you and your servant get a couple of breath masks out of the first-floor storage bin, go down through the tunnel, and see if you can find Dr. Cree’Ar outside in the swamps?”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “You can see I am not dressed for swamp travel.”

“The ground’s dry around them. I’m sure he’d be willing to talk with a distinguished visitor.”

Mara raised an eyebrow. “If he returns in my absence,” she said firmly, “direct him to follow the … tunnel, you say?”

“Down the stairs, turn right. Last door on your right is storage, and be sure to get those breath masks. Right