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Anakin shifted uneasily. He’d gotten his first inkling of how serious Daeshara’cor was about her quest when she’d threatened to kill him if she so much as sensed him reaching for the Force. Now she sat, two lightsabers on her lap, comlink in hand.

She switched off the comlink and looked over at him. “You heard. It will be you for the data. You won’t be hurt.”

Kneeling there in the corner of a dingy, unfurnished apartment, with his hands bound behind his back and to his ankles, Anakin sighed. “You mean I won’t be hurt more than I am already.”

“That can’t be helped. I can’t have you loose.”

“That’s not what I meant, Daeshara’cor.” He shrugged as much as he was able to. “I always admired you, how hard you’d worked. Why are you doing this?”

She sighed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No? Why not? Because I’m not a Twi’lek? Because I grew up on Coruscant and then at the academy?” He frowned at her.

Before she could say anything, the apartment door flew in with a crash. Chalco stepped into the doorway, a blaster carbine in one hand, and a ratty gray thing wrapped around his throat. It looked as if someone had yanked a strip of hide off a Talz and made it into a stole, which then had been dragged behind a Podracer during some endurance rally.

“Hold it right there, Daeshara’cor.” Chalco growled in low tones. “Don’t worry, kid, you’re safe now.”

“Think so?” The Twi’lek brought her lightsaber to hand and ignited it. The blade splashed bloody highlights over Chalco’s face. “Leave now and you won’t be hurt.”

“I’m not the one who’s going to hurt, sister.” His trigger finger twitched, launching a blue stun bolt at the Jedi. Her lightsaber came up with ease and around, batting the blue bolt back at him. It hit Chalco in the right knee, then raced like lightning up his body and around his belly. The involuntary twitching of his muscles quickly erased the shocked look on his face, then he collapsed to the floor.

Using the Force, Daeshara’cor dragged him into the room, then shut the door behind him. She kicked the blaster from his hands and slid him over next to Anakin.

The man lay there for several seconds, then blinked and began to whisper. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what, Chalco?”

“She wasn’t supposed to be able—” A shiver shook him. “They said it would make a Jedi powerless.”

Daeshara’cor frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The miriskin.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow at his friend. “Ysalamiri skin? Is that what that thing is?”

“Yeah. Cost, too.”

“Um, Chalco, that only works if the ysalamiri is alive.”

The Twi’lek sniffed. “And the closest that thing you’re wearing ever was to being alive was being touched when someone pulled it off a loom.”

Chalco groaned.

“Did you tell Skywalker?” She extinguished her lightsaber. “No, you wanted to get me yourself. Okay, I still have a little time.”

Anakin looked up at her. “You were going to tell me why you’re doing this.”

“No, I was going to tell you why you couldn’t understand.” The Twi’lek’s eyes hardened. “You come from a life of privilege, Anakin. You and your siblings were hailed as heroes from the moment you were born. You held a fascination for billions. Expectations for you were great, are great, and to your credit, you shoulder all that very well. Still, it puts you where you cannot understand the rest of it.”

“What I can’t understand is why you want to find some weapon capable of killing billions. Could anything have been that bad in your life to inspire that?”

“Can you not imagine wanting to kill billions?”

“No.”

“Not even to protect your family? To save your mother? Your father?” She regarded him openly. “Wouldn’t you trade the life of a billion Yuuzhan Vong to bring back Chewbacca?”

A lump immediately choked him. Anakin fought his face scrunching up. He tried to blink away tears, but felt them searing his cheeks. He sniffed and tried to wipe his nose on his shoulder, but couldn’t. His lips trembled and he remembered Chewbacca as he last saw him, brave and defiant. And then nothing . . .

Anakin sniffed again, then lifted his chin, stretching his throat. “A