This was risky. Opening himself up to the Force tended to make him easier to detect by Jedi. If Tenel Ka, the only other Jedi-trained individual he knew to be in the region, detected him, things would go badly.
Almost immediately he found Allana, a bright, joyous flare in the Force, not far away as the hawk-bat flew. But between the two of them were countless warriors and security measures.
In addition, just finding her through the Force wasn’t enough. He had to see her. He opened himself still further, hoping for a vision of his daughter.
He felt her presence grow stronger within his senses, and then he could see, as if through a long tube, her eyes and nose. He did not pour his strength of will into what he was doing-that Sithly impulse would not be helpful with this delicate task. He simply waited, became more still, focused on the image.
His point of view drew back and away. And there Allana was, all of her, seated on a chair in front of a broad table low enough for a child her size. Directly before her was a set of controls-a horizontal monitor screen divided into several subscreens, one showing a wire-frame image of something like a crude replica of a bantha, one subdivided into dozens of colors and textures. In the center of the table was a set of articulated tubes and spindly droid arms; the tubes exuded resins or blew hardening agents upon those resins, while the arms moved and reshaped them. It took Caedus a moment to realize that the controls allowed Al-lana to model a toy while the apparatus simultaneously fabricated it, instantly making it real.
I will buy her one, he thought, then pushed the notion away for the time being. He needed something else from this vision.
Allana’s hair, her clothes-her dark red hair was at the moment a wave of ringlets that swayed as she moved, and she wore a knee-length blue play dress and white shoes that showed no signs of scuffing.
Caedus breathed a sigh of relief. He had seen her wear that dress before, and it was one of the seven styles he’d had replicated for this mission. He relaxed, letting the vision slip away but maintaining his awareness of Allana’s location.
He was almost certain Allana was not with her mother. That was good. He didn’t want to confront Tenel Ka. If he did, he would probably have to kill her. That would pain him, and it would be even worse if Allana witnessed her mother’s death.
Caedus heard the main cabin’s exterior hatch open, heard the passengers descend the boarding ramp, heard the hatch close again. Through the forward viewport, he watched as the diplomatic party moved away from the shuttle. It was greeted and scanned by a half squadron of Hapan security officers. As the knot of them then moved toward waiting turbolifts, he could feel no one aboard-no one but himself, the pilot, and one other.
Finally the pilot came forward again. “I hope you’re a better card player than you are a talker.” He resumed his seat in the pilot’s chair. “We could be here for days or weeks.”
Caedus nodded. He reached into a tunic pocket as if to withdraw a pack of cards. Instead, he took out a small, expensive hold-out blaster. As the Bothan’s eyes began to widen, Caedus shot him in the chest.
The blaster was set to stun. The pilot’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.
Caedus stood and stepped away from the seats. He pushed the pilot over so that the Bothan slumped between the seats, no longer visible from the outside by passersby at floor level. Though the blaster was highly rated for effectiveness, Caedus put another couple of stun bolts into the pilot’s back to be sure he’d remain unconscious for hours. Then he pocketed the weapon again.
Yes, blasters were clumsy and random, to quote an oft-repeated saying Luke Skywalker had picked up from someone in ancient times, but they could be useful. For someone trying to avoid alerting a Jedi-trained opponent, stun bolts were far better than lethal attacks, lightsabers, or anything that manifested strongly in the Force.
He went aft, into the cargo area, and spent a few moments unloading baggage cases from atop a large polymer crate. He punched a number into the crate’s security keypad. The light beside it changed from red to green, and he lifted the lid.
Inside, a solemn-faced little redheaded girl looked up at him. Her voice was high and piping, but unafraid. “Your beard is nasty.”
“Isn’t it?” He stooped to lift her out of the case. She seemed in good spirits despite the hours she’d had to remain lying down, but the ready supply of snacks and availability of a game-laden datapad had doubtless helped. “Were you afraid, Tika?”
“No. I really have to go to the refresher. Really really.”
Caedus gestured forward, to the narrow door just on his side of the entry to the main compartment. “Go ahead. And when you’re done, we’re going to put you in a new dress and do your hair, then have some fun.”