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Jaina held the queen’s gaze for a long moment, letting the silence confirm this observation.

The older woman smiled. “I will provide the ships and supplies you will need for the trip, as well as certain letters of introduction. Will Colonel Fel be accompanying you?”

Jaina shook her head before she had time to consider it. It just didn’t feel right, involving Jag in this.

“Tenel Ka will go, of course. She is an excellent guide.”

The Jedi grimaced. “I doubt she’d approve of either the mission or my methods.”

“She doesn’t need to know. But I can see the difficulty you might face if forced to carry out your plans in secrecy and without assistance. Is there someone else whom you can trust, someone more pragmatic than my granddaughter?”

An image flashed instantly into Jaina’s mind—a lean face surrounded by waves of silver-shot black hair, and green eyes that laughed and compelled and deceived.

“I know someone,” she said shortly. “I’m just not sure that I can trust him.”

Three men slumped in the prison cell, awaiting Hapan justice in glum silence. They were still wearing the red garments they’d had on the day they brought that she-rancor princess aboard their ship. An assortment of bruises and bumps gave painful testament to the Jedi woman’s unexpectedly strong resistance.

Soft footfalls echoed down the corridor. The men sat up and exchanged wary glances. It was time to put their whispered plans into action. Escaping was risky and uncertain, but the alternative was a fast trial and a slow execution. They were unlikely to get a better chance.

Their leader rose and moved into position beside the door with a swagger that belied his churning stomach. Not long ago, Crimpler been a promising Lorellian kickboxer—never yet defeated, with a growing reputation for sizing up his opponents. Then came word of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, and he’d been drafted into the Hapan navy and sent into a match that, in his opinion, couldn’t be won. The Fondor disaster had merely confirmed what he already knew.

So he’d deserted and turned to pirating, where his knack for finding and exploiting vulnerability could be put to profitable use. He’d underestimated Tenel Ka, and that still grated. For the first time, he truly understood the anti-Jedi sentiments of the Ni’Korish fanatics among them. The way Crimpler saw it, if you couldn’t read your opponent, you couldn’t win the fight. And that, in his opinion, was why the Yuuzhan Vong were taking over the galaxy.

The man who entered the cell was dressed in the colors of the palace guard, but not the uniform. Crimpler sized him up in one quick glance—tall and strongly built, but no real threat. Muscles built through enhancements and prissy exercise routines were easy to spot, and usually worse than useless. At a distance, he might be taken for a guard, and he was probably counting on that. An assassin, probably. It wouldn’t be the first time the royal family had decided to forgo the trial and move straight to the execution.

Crimpler snapped a high kick, aiming for the man’s nose. To his surprise, the man managed to fling up a forearm and block the attack.

He pushed into the cell and stepped away from the open door, holding up both hands in a placating gesture.

“Not the face,” he insisted. “You’ll have to make it look real, unfortunately, but leave the face alone.”

Obligingly, Crimpler delivered a side kick that caught the guard just under the ribs and folded him in half. The man went to his knees, wheezing, and held up a hand to indicate that the effort would suffice.

The pirate didn’t see things that way. He seized a handful of glossy blond hair and jerked the man’s head back. “What is this about? What are you setting us up for?”

His victim’s lips worked soundlessly for a moment as he struggled to gather breath. “You’re to escape,” he managed at last. “Take the transport docked by the guards’ post outside the prison. Access and launch codes.” He patted a small pocket on his tunic.

Crimpler yanked on the man’s hair.