[Dark Nest] - 1(15)

Luke smiled patiently, then explained, “Ben, if Jaina were here, I would feel her in the Force.”

“Oh.”

Surprised that Ben was willing to drop the matter with that, Luke added, “But I do feel Aunt Leia. She’s here with Uncle Han.”

Saba stopped on the wall ahead and peered back down at Luke. “The Soloz are here? This one thought they were going to hunt Three-Eye.”

“So did this one.” Luke could not quite keep the displeasure out of his voice. “Apparently, they decided it was more important to join us.”

“And they have every right,” Mara said. “We’ve seen Jaina more than they have in the past year, and with Jacen still off chasing Force-lore… Han and Leia must be lonely.” She ruffled Ben’s hair. “I would be.”

“I know,” Luke said, feeling guilty now for his irritation. He had grown so accustomed to everyone doing as the council asked that he tended to forget that it had no formal authority; everyone-especially the Solos-served at their own pleasure. “They’ve already done more than we have a right to ask.”

“And what of Three-Eye?” Saba asked. “Who will stop her?”

“It might not be a bad thing to let the Reconstruction Police handle that one until we find Jaina,” Luke said. “After that, the council can send her and Alema back with Zekk. It shouldn’t take the three of them long to clean up the problem.”

“If they will go.” Saba continued up the corridor shaking her head. “This one is beginning to doubt the wisdom of our council. Every pack needz a longfang, or itz hunters will scatter after their own prey.”

“The Jedi are a different kind of pack,” Luke said, following after her. “We’re an entire pack of longfangs.”

“A pack of longfangz?” Saba let out a trio of short sisses and disappeared around a bend. “Oh, Master Skywalker…”

As they continued up the passage, the music grew clearer. There was an erratic chirping that struck Luke as singing, a rhythmic grating that passed for percussion, a harsh fluting that provided the melody. The overall effect was surprisingly buoyant, and Luke soon found himself enjoying it.

After about fifty meters, the passage opened into a cavernous, dimly lit chamber filled with rough-looking spacers. The music came from a clear area in the center of the room, where a trio of stick-like Verpine stood playing beneath the chemical glow of a dozen waxy shine-balls. Luke found himself studying their instrument, trying to imagine how they made so many different sounds sharing only one string.

“Astral!” Ben left Mara’s side and started into the cantina. “This is gonna blast!”

Mara caught him by the shoulder. “Not a chance.”

He gave her a knowing smirk, for they had left Nanna behind to help R2-D2 watch the Shadow. “You can’t leave me out here alone. I’m only eight. “

“What makes you think you’ll be alone?” Mara nodded Luke toward the cantina, then said to Ben, “You and I will stand watch out here.”

Luke and Saba stepped through the door. The usual assortment of riffraff spacers-Givin, Bothans, Nikto, Quarren - were gathered in the middle of the room, sitting on synthetic stone benches and holding their drinks in their laps. A few hard cases, such as the Defel “shadow Wraith” hiding in the corner and a Jenet hoodlum holding court on the far side of the chamber, sat apart from the group. Many of the patrons were listing in their seats, but there was none of the latent hostility that usually permeated the Force in spaceport cantinas.

Luke followed Saba to the service area, where a distracted Duros stood at the end of a long bank of beverage dispensers. There was no counter or ordering station, nor anything that looked like a payment terminal, but a soft clicking noise was coming from a darkened alcove beneath the middle dispenser. As they drew near, the clicking stopped and a worker insect emerged from the alcove. It stared up at them for a moment, then handed an empty cup to both of them and retreated into its alcove.

Luke and Saba studied the unmarked dispensers for a moment, then Saba hissed in frustration. She walked over to the inattentive Duros and thrust her mug into his hands.

“Bloodsour.”

The Duros swung his noseless head around sharply, then saw he was being addressed by a Barabel. The blue drained from his face.

“Don’t have bloodsour,” he said in his flat Duros voice. “Only membrosia.”

“Will this one like it?”

The Duros nodded. “Everyone likes membrosia.”

“Then I’ll have the same,” Luke said, passing his mug over.

The Duros studied Luke’s face for a moment, clearly struggling to place it in some context other than a pair of well-worn flight utilities.