by Troy Denning
As he waited, Ben swiveled around to watch the all-Bith band on the stage. They were playing some sort of flighty, outdated rill-music that his mom had loved but always made him wince, and now he found himself actually growing fond of it as he scanned the cantina’s other customers. He still had that feeling of being watched. With any luck, the watcher would be his contact, scrutinizing him from one of the cantina’s darker corners to make certain Ben hadn’t been followed.
Ben was still looking when the bartender returned. “Here’s your water,” he said, clunking the glass down. “Don’t get any in the Fogblaster—it’ll explode.”
“Thanks.” Ben turned to find a glass about a third the size of the Fogblaster sitting on the bar in front of him, along with four credits—his change from the twenty, he assumed. “How much was that water?”
“It’s good water,” the Twi’lek replied, turning away without really answering the question. “Let me know if you want a refill.”
Ben scowled and was considering dumping it into the Fogblaster when he sensed two beings approaching from behind. He turned on his stool and saw a pair of red-haired women whom he sort of recognized. They were obviously Hapan. He could tell that much by their striking beauty and the stylish synthatex flight suits—one gold, one maroon—that they wore. The pair were obviously twins, with broad full-lipped grins and high, sharp cheekbones.
What made Ben’s jaw drop, though—what made him stare—were their long straight noses and thin arcing eyebrows. Those he recognized perfectly, because they could have been on Tenel Ka’s face. The first woman—Gold Suit—noticed him staring and smiled. The second—Maroon Suit—simply rolled her eyes, then took the stool next to Ben’s and reached for the Fogblaster.
“Finally,” Maroon said, taking a long pull on the straw. “You have no idea how long I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Eight days?” Ben asked. That was how long ago he had received his instructions from the operative on Coruscant. He offered his hand. “Sorry to keep you—”
“Eight days? Are you kidding?” asked the other sister, the one in gold. She took a straw from the container and inserted it in the glass, then began to drink along with Maroon. “Try eight hours, handsome.”
“Uh, okay,” Ben said. He was pretty sure these were his contacts, because he sort of recognized them and they certainly seemed to think he was the one they were looking for. He extended his hand to Gold. “I’m Ben—”
“We know who you are,” said Maroon. Like Gold, she looked to be about ten years younger than Tenel Ka—though it was always difficult to tell with Hapan women. “I’m Trista. That’s Taryn.”
Taryn batted her eyelashes at him. “We’ve come to take you home.” She took another long sip of the still-bubbling Fogblaster. “Isn’t that just luminous?”
“Yeah … about that.” Ben glanced around the cantina again and saw that most eyes—especially human, male eyes—were openly staring in their direction. “I think we’re being watched.”
Trista rolled her eyes again. “Of course we are. If you’re going to travel with us, you’d better get used to it.”
“That’s not the kind of watching I mean, Trista,” Ben said. As the son of the most famous Jedi in the galaxy, he was no stranger to public attention himself. “I mean watched, as in being spied on.”
“Oh, that.” Taryn leaned in close to his ear, filling it with warm breath as she whispered. “That’s just our security team. We’re Tenel Ka’s cousins.”
Ben scowled, instantly growing suspicious. “I didn’t know she had cousins.”
“Nobody knows. That’s what makes us so useful.” Trista flicked a finger toward Ben’s water. “You going to drink that or not? They have nice water here.”
Ben left the water untouched—he was not about to drink anything around these two until he was certain of their credentials. “Prince Isolder is an only child.”
This caused both sisters to break into giggles.
“Pleaaase!” said Taryn. “Do you really believe Ta’a Chume accepted a male heir willingly? Isolder is the only surviving legitimate son, but you can be sure that if one of his half brothers had turned out to be a half sister, she would have been the heir.”
Ben had to admit they had a point—and they did look an awful lot like Tenel Ka. Taryn used her sister’s distraction to finish the Fogblaster, then put her arm through Ben’s and rose.
“Come on, handsome,” she said, pulling him up. “Let me show you our skiff.”
Trista scowled at the empty glass, then rose and joined them, wrinkling her nose at Ben’s tunic. “And let’s get you into some fresh clothes. Where have you been riding? The garbage hold?”
Ben raised his brow. “How did you—”
“I never should have asked.” Trista started toward the exit, speaking over her shoulder. “Would it have been too much trouble to steal a fresh set of clothes before you came to the Big Boom?”
Ben allowed them to lead him out of the cantina and down a long corridor lined by viewing ports. Outside the transparisteel hung wispy curtains of crimson gas, the still-cooling ejecta of the supernova that had flash-boiled the blood of billions of Caridans nearly two decades before Ben was born.
Recalling that the explosion had been a deliberate act of reprisal directed at the home of the Imperial military academy, Ben found himself wondering whether any war ever accomplished anything, whether all of sentient history was just a long chain of one sentient-made cataclysm after another. Certainly he had known far more war than peace during his fourteen years of life, and that was even more true for his cousins than it was for him. Ultimately, he thought, that was what had driven Jacen mad—not the lust for power, but the fear that nothing he did mattered, the sad conclusion that the only way to achieve total peace was through total control.
By the time they entered the private hangar bay where Taryn and Trista had docked their skiff, the prickling feeling was stronger than ever. Ben still had not seen any sign of the sisters’ security team—but then, if it was a good team and keeping a low profile, he wouldn’t have. Still, he stopped just inside the door, eyeing the sleek blue lines of a Batag needle ship and reaching out in the Force, searching for the source of his uneasiness.
“Don’t be shy,” Taryn said, pulling him toward the little skiff. “There’s plenty of room for three.”
“And it has a sanisteam,” Trista added.
“Give me a second,” Ben said, stopping three paces from the hatch. The docking bay was a typical mini hangar, a steel cavern with a small jungle of feed hoses hanging from the ceiling, and there weren’t many places to hide—even if he had felt any living presences inside. “Has your security team cleared this hangar?”
“Of course,” Trista said. “That’s what security teams do.”
Ben ignored her sarcasm. “And they’re watching us now?”
“They’d better be,” Taryn said. “But I promise no one will peek at your sanisteam, if that’s what you’re so worried about.”
“Uh, thanks.” It hadn’t even occurred to Ben that someone might peek. “Can you ask them to stand down for a couple of seconds?”
Trista frowned. “Why?”
“Jedi stuff,” Ben said. “I need to check something out.”
Trista looked to Taryn, who simply shrugged. “The prince seems to trust him.”
“The prince?” Ben asked. “Isolder?”
Taryn shook her head in disbelief. “There’s only one prince right now, Ben,” she said. “And he’s the only one Her Majesty would trust to return you to the secret Jedi base.”
“All I need is to borrow a decent craft,” Ben said, bristling at the idea that he needed to be returned anywhere. “I can get there on my own.”
“Of course you can,” Taryn said. “But Her Majesty didn’t know what condition you’d be in.”
“Oh—I guess that makes sense,” Ben said, feeling a little foolish for being defensive. He turned to Trista. “What about your security t
eam?”
Trista sighed, then fished a comlink from a utility pocket and opened a channel. “Gentlemen, we need you to turn your backs for a minute.”
No acknowledgment came, and Ben continued to feel as though they were being watched.
Both sisters frowned, and Taryn asked, “Bad signal?”
“Bad something,” Trista answered. Into the comlink, she said, “Acknowledge!”
A moment later, a static-scrambled voice said, “Sorry … in a … zone.”
Taryn and Trista exchanged puzzled glances, then Taryn said, “That explains it … sort of.”
Trista nodded. “We’ll be careful,” she said, reaching into a utility pocket. “Let’s get our package inside.”
She pulled a remote out and pointed it at the skiff. Ben did not sense any danger, but he signaled her to wait and reached for the lightsaber he had taken from Tahiri.
“Let me check it out first,” he said.
The sisters looked at each other, then snorted in amusement.
“You check out that skiff and we’ll deliver you to the prince on a stretcher,” Trista said. She depressed one of the remote’s controls, and blue forks of current began to dance over the hull. “If anyone had touched the Blue Slipper, they’d be lying on the deck beside it.”
“It’s the latest in antitheft systems,” Taryn added. “Not even on the market yet. It makes those time-consuming entanglements with local law enforcement so not necessary.”
Ben flushed, feeling a little foolish for trying to play the gallant. Hapan women knew how to take care of themselves, and they were accustomed to being the ones in charge—and that would be even more true for intelligence operatives. He shrugged and followed them toward the Blue Slipper.
Even if there was a problem with the security team, the skiff itself seemed safe enough. The interior was tidy, spotless, and elegantly snug. It had gray leather lounge seating arranged around a level-float table that could be height-adjusted for any occasion or stowed out of the way on the ceiling. To the aft was a sleeping cabin with a deluxe refresher unit. But it was what lay forward that interested Ben the most—a small galley with an AgiMuud processing unit and over a thousand items on the menu.
Trista saw him eyeing the galley. “After your sanisteam,” she said, shooing him toward the refresher compartment. “You’ll find fresh undergarments and a clean robe in the sleeping cabin.”
“Compliments of Her Majesty herself,” Taryn added, smiling. “She seems quite fond of you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Ben assured her. “I’ve admired Tenel Ka—er, Her Majesty pretty much my whole life.”
“She’ll be happy to hear that in our report,” Trista said. “It will be awhile before we depart. I want to do a complete sweep and systems check before launch.”
Taryn cringed. “Looks like I’ll be needing the sanisteam next.” She followed Ben aft and pulled a pair of grease-stained utilities from the sleeping cabin closet, then started forward to change in the lounge area. “No peeking, Ben.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.” Ben was starting to see her flirtatious humor for what it was—a way to put others both at ease and a bit off-guard. Clearly, the sisters were the best kind of intelligence operatives … the kind that nobody would suspect. He reached for the door, then added, “On my own, anyway. Thanks for the idea!”
Taryn’s jaw dropped.
Ben smiled and closed the door, then undressed and stepped into the sanisteam. As he washed, he kept Tahiri’s lightsaber at hand and his Force senses vigilant, alert for any presences in the hangar that might explain his uneasy feelings—or the communication problems with the security team. The only beings he detected were Trista and Taryn, busy doing their checks and inspections, and a few droids.
Ben was better at detecting droids than most Jedi, but his awareness of them was never very distinct. In this case, he just sensed concentrations of electrical energy that seemed to be moving around on their own. Droids, in other words. But there was nothing unusual about their presence inside a space hangar.
What worried Ben far more was the likelihood that Tahiri had learned how to hide her presence in the Force. If she had, she might have caught up to him on Coruscant and been tracking him ever since. And that would explain why it was so hard to pinpoint the source of his uneasiness. But that would also mean it had been a mistake to spare Tahiri’s life, and Ben did not want to believe that. Preemptive killing was a GAG practice, the way of the dark side. Ben had no intention of backsliding toward either one.
Ben sighed and eyed the lightsaber. Unfortunately, doing the right thing was no guarantee that your actions weren’t going to haunt you later. Sparing a foe’s life did not mean that she was going to become your friend; likely as not, it just meant she would be back later, trying another attack. Nobody ever said the light side was easy—it definitely required a lot of patience.
By the time Ben had finished his sanisteam, Trista was warming the engines for departure. He wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped out of the refresher compartment—then noticed that the door to the main cabin was slightly ajar.
“Sorry!” Taryn called. “I don’t know how that was left open!”
“Must have been a stowaway,” Ben answered with a sly smile.
He knew she hadn’t actually peeked—he would have sensed that in the Force—but he liked the way she talked to him. She treated him like an adult instead of a boy. He could imagine her joking the same way with Zekk … but definitely not Jag. Jag was too full of himself for joking around. Ben honestly couldn’t understand how Jaina could stand his I’m a big ace pilot routine. Maybe it was just because Jag was the first eligible man Jaina had met who was nearly the pilot her father was.
As Ben slipped into the clothes Taryn had left out for him, the mouthwatering aroma of nerf steak and yobas began to fill his nose. He quickly pulled on his boots and stepped into the lounge to find a meal steaming on the table.
“I took a guess,” Taryn said, placing a glass of golden goff-milk next to the plate. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” Ben dropped into a seat. “I think I’m in love!”
“Silly man—royal cousins don’t do love.” Taryn chuckled. She motioned at the fork and knife. “I’m afraid you’ll have to eat fast. It won’t take us long to reach the prince’s starcutter.”
Trista announced their departure over the intercom, then the skiff slipped from its moorings with a small downward jolt. It was the slightest of bumps, barely perceptible, but it caused Taryn to raise her brow and look toward the flight deck.
“And she won’t let me do the flying.” She leaned closer to Ben and asked, “Why does being born five minutes earlier make her the senior team member?”
“I heard that,” Trista said over the intercom.
“Heard what?” Taryn asked innocently. “We were talking about the Cheruban glach races.” She gave Ben a conspiratorial wink. “Isn’t that right, Jedi Skywalker?”
Ben didn’t answer. The prickle that said he was being watched had returned, and this time it was stronger than ever. He reached out in the Force and—to his relief—did not sense nothing. There was a concentration of electrical energy on the upper hull of the skiff—a concentration that was slowly moving back toward the tail fins, where it would be able to take cover from an unexpected visual inspection.
Ben returned his unused fork and knife to the table. “There’s no reason an auxiliary droid should be crawling around on your outer hull, is there?”
“There’s a droid on the hull?” Trista’s voice was sharp enough that Ben would have heard her even without the intercom. “What kind?”
“The kind that shouldn’t be there,” Taryn replied. “Hit the hull scrubber.”
A soft warning chime sounded, then the lights dimmed and the ambient whirring of the ventilation fans slowed to a near stop. An instant later a melodic crackling sang through the hull as the Blue Slipper’s antitheft system was activated. Ben concentrated on th
e droid’s presence—and sensed no difference.
“Didn’t work,” he reported. “It’s probably pulse-shielded.”
“Pulse-shielded?” Trista echoed over the intercom. “What is it, a battle droid?”
“Yeah, probably.” Ben rose and turned to Taryn. “Where’s your EV locker?”
Taryn raised thin brows. “No way you’re going out there, Ben. Our orders are to deliver you to the prince safe and sound.”
A loud clanging echoed from the stern as the droid went to work on the hull with a tool or weapon—Ben could not tell which.
He looked toward the noise, then said, “Well, someone has to go out there. And since I’m the only one who can Force-stick himself to the exterior of a hull, it should probably be me.”
Trista’s voice came over the intercom. “He may have a point, Taryn. The droid just sent a message back to Nova Station, and something in the docking bays just made an S-thread transmission.”
No one bothered to state the obvious: the droid’s message had been relayed to something waiting outside the Carida Nebula.
“Fine.” Taryn led the way forward and opened a hidden locker that served as a combination emergency equipment closet and air lock. “Just don’t get yourself killed. Her Majesty would hold it against us.”
Ben smiled. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “Keep me posted on our tactical situation.”
“Any idea who we’re expecting?” Trista asked.
“No, but it was calling someone,” Ben said, climbing into one of the EV suits. He was glad to see that the suit was one of the best available, with self-adjusting body gloves and a tough eletrotex shell that not even a blaster bolt could penetrate. He glanced toward the clanging again. “And it seems pretty clear that the droid would rather have me dead than let me escape.”