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“That means we’re close.”

“Very. The guy he sent her to won’t be around for another half hour.”

Anakin waited for a blue landspeeder to turn a corner before crossing the street. “What did you trade him?”

“Told him I was private security, undercover, tracking her. Promised him his money back, plus the reward.” Chalco shrugged. “I’m sure once he found the till off, he pocketed even more credits than she stole, so he’s already been paid.”

“That works.”

The man nodded. “And you know, I got this odd feeling of, um, I guess, satisfaction knowing I’ve, ah, cheated a cheater. Weird, huh?”

“Not at all. It’s about as close to justice as there can be in that case.”

“Well, nobody gets hurt, unless that guy’s boss figures the way I did, that he hit the till for his share.” Chalco cut down an alley. “C’mon, it’s over here. The Violet Viska.”

Anakin blanched at the cantina’s entrance. A sculpture of a viska formed an archway over it, leathery wings two and a half meters long arching down, leaving the viska’s two-meter-long body at the top of the arch. A pair of arms sprouting from the center of the torso were drawn up, just waiting to dart down and grab a victim. The creature’s head sported a forty-centimeter-long, needle-sharp proboscis. Viska, which were more commonly known as the great bloodsucking fiends of Rordak, fed exclusively on blood, and Anakin had to wonder at what sort of establishment would choose such a nasty creature as its emblem.

The interior, which smelled of warm ale, hot sweat, and boiling coolant, had no viska hanging from the shadowed rafters. Anakin felt sure this was because the thin layer of grease over everything would have made maintaining a grip on prey all but impossible. He slid into the booth to which Chalco directed him, then furiously wiped his hands on his pants, hoping to clean them.

He watched as his companion sauntered over to the bar and started talking with the Baragwin behind it. The heavy-headed alien nodded, then pointed to a doorway in the back. Chalco spun, winked at Anakin, then held up a hand to keep him in his place. The man cut through the crowd and made his way to the doorway, then disappeared through it.

Anakin frowned and tried to look nonchalant as aliens of every sort wandered past. He was determined that he’d not feel abandoned, but that didn’t stop doubt from creeping into his mind. I should do something, because if Daeshara’cor is in there with whomever Chalco is meeting, he’s in a world of trouble.

Anakin started out of the booth, then he caught a hint of movement near the front door. He turned just in time to see the tail of a cloak whisk through the doorway. And lekku, too. That was a Twi’lek, and of Daeshara’cor’s coloration.

He dashed to the doorway, sidestepped a gaggle of Jawas, then looked right and left down the alley. Deeper into it, off to his left, he saw the cloaked figure running away. Anakin sprinted after her, elation blossoming in his chest. He opened himself to the Force and tried to get a sense of her.

He did, but it came from behind him. As he slammed into a brick wall, he realized she’d projected into his brain an image of herself fleeing. It’s an old trick and I fell for it.

Stars exploded before his eyes. He rebounded and fell hard to the ground. Anakin blacked out for a moment, then the world swam slowly back into focus.

Daeshara’cor stood over him, her head-tails twitching nervously. “Anakin Solo . . . If you’re here, then Master Skywalker is. That’s not the encounter I wanted, not this soon.” She waved a hand, and Anakin felt his body slowly rise into the air. “Still, all is not yet lost. And with you in my possession, I may be able to win after all.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jacen Solo remembered well having heard that military service was hours of sheer boredom punctuated by seconds of absolute terror. He’d not disbelieved what had been said, but had never experienced it himself. Even fighting on Dantooine he’d never been bored, and the terror, well . . . I was too busy to be scared.

On Garqi, waiting in the Wlesc neighborhood,