by Timothy Zahn
“Stay where you are,” Obi-Wan ordered. A somewhat chunky Brolf had stepped from one of the storefronts and was moving to intercept the thief. “I think he’s about to pass off his ill-gotten gain. Put Lorana on.”
There was a moment of silence. “Yes?” Lorana’s clear voice came.
“Move forward a little from where you are,” Obi-Wan told her. “The thief’s rendezvousing with someone—slightly overweight Brolf with a dark blue sash over a lighter blue tunic.”
“I see him,” Lorana confirmed. “He’s moving in close… looks like they’re talking…”
“Is the boy giving him the thrusters?” Obi-Wan asked. “The adult’s blocking my line of sight.”
“He’s in mine, too,” Lorana said tightly. “I can’t—there they go.
“Blast,” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath as the two Brolfi separated, the teen continuing north while the adult turned west. “Did he give him the thrusters?”
“I couldn’t tell,” Lorana said. “I’m sorry.”
Obi-Wan scowled as he watched the two Brolfi heading their separate ways. The adult had certainly had the time and the opportunity to take the thrusters. Problem was, he’d also had the time to merely confirm that the grab had been made, to check for followers, or to give the boy new instructions.
And no matter which way the rendezvous had gone, the whole thing might simply be a bit of Barlok’s normal criminal activity. It might have nothing to do with Passel Argente and Riske’s paranoia.
But Riske had been looking for trouble out this way. Obi-Wan had found some. It was definitely worth checking out.
And here he was, stuck on a rooftop a block away.
“Then I guess we’ll have to follow both of them,” he decided, looking around the nearby rooftops. If he could leap to the next one over, then the one next to that, then find a stairway or turbolift to get back to street level…
But no. In broad daylight, in the middle of a crowded city, there was an even chance someone would spot his acrobatics and recognize him for what he was. The minute any potential attackers realized there was a Jedi on their trail, they would go to ground so fast and so deep that even a professional like Riske would have trouble rooting them out.
“I agree,” Lorana said. “I’ll take the adult.”
Obi-Wan hesitated. Lorana was the older of the two Padawans, and thus theoretically the more capable. But he knew Anakin’s capabilities and experience, and knew the boy could deal with any trouble he might run into.
Still, if there was one thing Lorana lacked in abundance, it was confidence. It wouldn’t help to send her after a teenager, especially not with Anakin listening.
And after all, she would only be following the Brolf, not confronting or fighting him. That should be safe enough.
“Fine,” he told her. “Take Anakin’s comlink—it’s linked directly to mine—and give him yours. What’s your frequency?”
She gave him the number. “We’re splitting up,” she added. “I’ll contact you when the adult comes to roost.”
“Right,” Obi-Wan said. “Tell Anakin I’ll catch up with him as soon as I can.”
Switching off the comlink, Obi-Wan pushed himself back to his feet. He took one final look over the edge of the roof, then turned and hurried toward the stairs. Yes, his Padawan could deal with any trouble he might run into.
Probably.
7
For a wonder, Anakin didn’t get himself into any mischief in the time it took Obi-Wan to reach the street and catch up with him. The young Brolf, for his part, continued on his way, apparently oblivious to the fact he was being followed.
Obi-Wan had noted earlier that Patameene District included rich neighborhoods as well as poorer, working-class ones. The teen led them into one of the latter, finally entering one of the units in a slightly dilapidated house ring.
The house ring was a standard Brolfi urban structure, consisting of a circle of houses or apartment buildings built around a central courtyard. The courtyard was designed to be a common recreation area for the ring, but through a gap where one of the houses had collapsed Obi-Wan saw that this particular courtyard had been turned into something that more closely resembled a junkyard.
“Looks like Watto’s back area,” Anakin murmured, ducking his head to peer inside. “They’ve got at least three projects going on in there.”
“Any of them look like something that would use burn thrusters?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Hard to tell,” Anakin said. “The one on the left—”
“Hold that thought,” Obi-Wan cut him off quietly. There had been a flicker in the Force…
“Can we help you?” a suspicious voice asked from behind them.
Keeping his hands visible, Obi-Wan turned around. There were three adult Brolfi coming toward them, their simple tunics worn but neat and clean. “No thank you,” he said politely. “We were just noticing all the construction work in there and wondering what they were building.”
“Why would you care?” the spokesman asked.
“My young friend here used to build Podracers,” Obi-Wan explained. “He’s always been fascinated with that sort of thing.”
“Really,” one of the other Brolfi said, looking Anakin up and down. “You know anything about split-X air intakes?”
“Never used them myself,” Anakin said. “But I can install them or fix them if there’s a problem.”
“Really.” The Brolf filled his lungs. “Duefgrin!”
There was a slight pause; then the teen they’d been following appeared at the gap in the ring. “Yes, Uncle?” he called.
“Couple of humans here who say they know split-X systems,” the Brolf said. “You still having trouble with yours?”
“I don’t know,” the teen said, eyeing Obi-Wan and Anakin doubtfully. “I just picked up a new compression controller. Maybe that’ll help.”
Obi-Wan suppressed a grimace. So that was what he and the adult had been doing back in the marketplace. The boy had handed over the stolen burst thrusters and gotten the controller in exchange.
Either that, or he’d stolen the controller earlier in the day. In that case, he might still have the thrusters.
“Only if the split-X doesn’t have a back stability problem,” Anakin said. “What kind of coupling you have on it? Binary or tertiary?”
“Binary,” Duefgrin said. “I couldn’t afford a tertiary.”
“Let me take a look,” Anakin offered, starting toward him. “If that’s okay?” he added, looking at Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan looked questioningly at the three Brolf adults. “Sure, go ahead,” Duefgrin’s uncle said, waving a hand. “The sooner he gets that junk heap working and out of the yard, the sooner the neighbors will quit complaining about it.”
“Thanks,” Obi-Wan said, mentally crossing the three adults off his suspects’ list. If they were willing to let strangers wander freely through the area, they probably weren’t hiding any plots. “Okay, Anakin, but make it quick.”
“Sure,” Anakin called back over his shoulder. Already, Obi-Wan noted, he and Duefgrin were deep into technical talk. “I’ll be ready to leave when you are.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Obi-Wan said under his breath as he followed them into the courtyard. Still, Duefgrin himself could be involved with a group of plotters without his uncle’s knowledge. It wouldn’t hurt for Obi-Wan to take a leisurely turn or two around the house ring while the teenagers worked, stretching out with the Force for any signs of violent intent.
And after that, he would pry Anakin away from whatever it was Duefgrin was building and they would see what kind of luck Lorana was having.
The young Brolf thief, Lorana had noticed, had left the rendezvous at a casual walk, without any indication that he suspected he might be followed or, indeed, any indication that he even cared whether he was or not.
The adult Brolf was another kettle of Giju entirely. He was about as blatantly nervous and suspicious as it was possible to be without a
ctually carrying a sign to that effect. Every dozen steps he threw a quick look over his shoulder, and he crossed and recrossed the street at least once a block. Every block or two he changed directions, sometimes pausing at one of the open-air shops lining the street and pretending to examine the merchandise while actually studying the pedestrians behind him.
It was so ludicrous that it was almost funny. But Lorana felt no urge to laugh. Riske was a professional, with a professional’s bearing and subtlety. This Brolf was just the opposite: an amateur conspirator, with an amateur’s lack of finesse or ability. And it was the amateur-uncalculating, unthinking, unpredictable—who was often the more dangerous opponent.
Fortunately, it was also the amateur who was the easier to deceive. Lorana had picked up a few tricks about tailing people during her years of Jedi training, and over the next hour she ended up using every one of them. She varied her distance from the Brolf, ducked through alleys and side streets to get ahead of him, and periodically altered her appearance by putting her robe’s hood up or down or using a cord to tie her hair back instead of letting it hang free.
Eventually, the Brolf’s paranoia seemed to ease, and his convoluted path straightened out as he turned northwest. Lorana stayed as far back as she could, watching the ornamentation and value of the homes and shops around her steadily diminishing as they moved farther and farther into one of the poorer areas of the district. Whereas the richer neighborhoods had waist-high walls or fences to delineate the property lines, here the boundaries were marked off by low, tightly woven hedges or simple rows of distinctive flowering plants. A fair sprinkling of the pedestrians she passed wore tunics with Mining Guild markings, she noted, and many of them paused in their activities to scrutinize her as she passed through their midst.
More than once she thought about calling Obi-Wan and asking for advice or assistance. More often than that she considered simply turning around and heading back to the safe familiarity of the city center, leaving whatever plots and counterplots to be dealt with by those with more wisdom and experience in such matters.
But each time she took a calming breath, stretched out to the Force, and continued on. A Jedi should never turn away from a path merely because it seems hard or dangerous.
She was just passing one of the low‘ hedges when she felt a warning flicker from the Force.
She kept walking, resisting the impulse to break step. The vague sense of threat was still too diffuse, and coming to a sudden halt would only tip off her unknown foes that she was aware of them. A few more steps, a little carelessness on their part, and she should be able to switch the tables when they made their move.
Her patience was rewarded. A few meters along the sense came into sudden focus: two Brolfi, coming up quickly but silently behind her, both of them simmering with suspicion. She caught the whisper of metal rubbing against cloth. She stopped abruptly, the sleeve of her robe catching briefly on the hedge beside her as she spun around to face them. “Yes?” she asked mildly.
The Brolfi twitched with surprise, coming to a slightly shambling halt a couple of meters away from her. The shorter of the two, Lorana saw, had an antique blaster tucked tightly against his side, as if pressing it against his leg would actually hide it from her. The larger had a less sophisticated but equally nasty weapon: a miner’s quarter-pick ax. “What are you doing here?” the shorter demanded.
“Is this not a public street?” Lorana asked.
“You don’t belong here,” the larger growled, taking a step toward her and fingering his ax restlessly. “What are you looking for?”
“What could be here that anyone would look for?” she countered, feeling her heartbeat starting to pick up. This was it. Somehow, though she wasn’t sure exactly how, she knew beyond a doubt that she’d found the threat that Riske had been trying to locate.
The question now was what she should do about it. Because these two Brolfi—or even these two plus the one she’d been following—were merely the edge of the grove. Whipping out her lightsaber would put her no closer to learning the details of the plot or who ultimately was behind it. What she really needed was for them to take her to the actual leaders.
And for them to do‘ that, they would have to think she was harmless.
“Never mind,” she said, taking as a step backward, staying close to the hedge beside her. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
“Not so fast,” the smaller Brolf said, apparently emboldened by her sudden apparent nervousness. “What’s your hurry?”
“No hurry,” Lorana said. She took another step backward, hoping she wasn’t getting too close to the end of this particular section of hedge. “I’m just ready to leave, that’s all.” She threw a glance to the side, wishing she knew which of the dilapidated house rings around them the two Brolfi had come out of.
Apparently, her glance was close enough. “Get her, Vissfil,” the shorter Brolf snapped, swinging up his blaster and pointing it nervously. “She knows.”
“I don’t know anything,” Lorana protested, taking a final step back as Vissfil strode toward her, his ax held high. “Please—don’t hurt me.” She lifted her hands toward the ax as if to ward off an expected blow.
And with Vissfil’s full attention on her uplifted hands, and his body blocking his companion’s view, she stretched out with the Force, sliding her lightsaber from inside her tunic and shoving it into concealment inside the hedge beside her.
“Get her comlink,” the smaller Brolf ordered as Vissfil shifted his ax to one hand and pulled her robe partially open with the other.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Vissfil growled. For all his size and gruffness, he was clearly uncomfortable as he ran his hand gingerly over her body. He found her comlink and stuffed it inside his own tunic; then, almost as an afterthought, he relieved her of her belt with its attached food and equipment pouches. “No weapons,” he announced, taking a step back from her. “What do we do with her?”
“Take her to Defender, I guess,” the other said. He gestured her toward the ring house she’d glanced toward earlier. “He’ll know what to do. This way, human.”
They were crossing the street when Lorana heard a soft tone from behind her, and glanced back to see the smaller Brolf draw a comlink from his tunic. “What?” he muttered.
She couldn’t hear the voice coming from the comlink, but it was impossible to miss the sudden spike in the Brolf’s tension level. “Right,” he muttered, then put the instrument away. “Change of plans,” he announced, stepping close to Lorana and pressing the muzzle of his blaster against her back. “We’re going to that house over there.” He pointed to a blue house to their left.
Lorana felt her throat tighten. The indicated house had the look of a place that had been abandoned for years. The only reason to take her there would be for a serious interrogation, or to shut her up permanently.
On the other hand, they didn’t know who they had here. She could play along and wait for her opportunity, watching for the warning signs that the game was nearly over.
With the Brolf’s intent masked by his overall anxiety, the stun blast that rippled across her back came as a complete surprise. Before she could even begin to run through the countermeasures she’d been trained in, the nerve-deadening wave swept over her, plunging her into darkness.
“Well?” the Brolf who called himself Patriot growled.
Doriana didn’t bother to answer. Standing at the window, he watched as Vissfil and his brother worked their way up the uneven walkway toward the dilapidated blue house, carrying the unconscious form of Padawan Lorana Jinzler between them.
And the two idiots had nearly brought her here. If Doriana hadn’t been watching out the window and seen them coming…
He waited until the group had disappeared inside. Then, slowly and deliberately, he turned to face Patriot. “If this is an example of your security,” he said, measuring out each word, “it’s a wonder you’re not all pinioned to shame posts by now.”
“There is no
problem,” Patriot insisted. “It’s only a single human, who had no time to alert any friends she might have.”
“Any weapons?”
“None,” Patriot said.
Doriana frowned. “None?”
“We are not children, Defender,” Patriot growled. “We know how to search someone for weapons.”
“Of course you do,” Doriana said, feeling his skin prickling. Jinzler must have left her lightsaber with Kenobi and Sky-walker, knowing it would be a dead giveaway as to who she really was. Did that mean the other two were already nearby, waiting an opportune moment to move in?
Regardless, it was well past time to wrap this up. “Do you have the final two burst thrusters?” he asked.
“Jhompfi just arrived with them,” Patriot said. “He’s passed them to Migress, who’s already on his way to where the missile is being prepared. They’ll be installed within the hour.”
“Jhompfi being the one the human female was following, I presume?”
Patriot’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve already said she can do us no damage. We’ll be leaving this house ring as soon as you fulfill your part of the bargain. All is well.”
“Of course,” Doriana said. All was well; except that Jinzler could identify Jhompfi by face, and had obviously seen him with the thrusters…
He took another calming breath, keeping his tirade to himself. Yes, Patriot and his fellow conspirators were idiots. But then, he’d known that going in.
“I still don’t understand why so many thrusters are needed,” Patriot said, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice. “A normal missile would require only two.”
“A normal missile would arc high over the marketplace, where Argente’s security forces could destroy it at their leisure.”
Doriana pointed out. “The weapon I’ve designed for you is known as a slinker: a projectile that will fly at waist height directly through the archway of the administration building, find its way along the corridors to the conference room, and there explode, destroying the traitors and would-be traitors alike.”
“So you claim,” Patriot said, his tone still suspicious. “I’ve never heard of a weapon that was able to find its way through a building without a full droid control system.”