[Legacy Of The Force] - 08(30)

“Throw her back, “he laughed. “You know it’s wrong to catch’em that small.”

Beviin was looking her over suspiciously. “She’s come to see Fett, Car’ika.”

“We’re much cheaper than he is, lady, “said the tattooed man. “Who do you want hunted?”

“It’s okay.” Jaina winced at how uncomfortably close the joke brushed to reality. She leaned against the bar, wondering why she’d been brought to a cantina and not taken to some government building or even Fett’s residence. “I know where my quarry is.”

The place smelled of spice, yeast, and fried food, and most of the patrons were drinking a black ale or small glasses of a clear liquid that almost certainly wasn’t water. Her Force senses told her they were all much, much more Worried about the final score than they were about having a stranger among them. Were they really that relaxed, or did they just think that nobody could touch them here?

“I’m sorry to stare, “Beviin said mildly, “but I know you, and I’m trying to think where I’ve seen your picture. Never mind. It’ll come to me.” His palm rested on the pommel of that saber, probably just a comfortable way to stand in full armor, but Jaina couldn’t stop herself working out how she’d parry a blow from the thing using only the Force.

“But you’re not going to tell me until you have to, are you?”

“Fett knows me and my family, “she said. She assumed Fett might recognize her; she thought she’d met him once when she was a kid, but someone had said it might have been an imposter. “He’ll know why I’ve come.”

The bolo-ball provided a neutral distraction. She was al-most caught up in it, so deafened as the room turned from total silence to explosive yells of “Oya!” when the favored team scored, that the sensation that ran up her spine and made her hair bristle caught her by surprise.

Impossible.

No, that’s just not possible.

“What’s wrong?” Beviin asked. He reached across the bar, grabbed a handful of something from a bowl, and munched thoughtfully. “You think that goal was offside?”

Jaina whipped around, ready to run, and the doors opened. Something was wrong-very wrong. The Force was telling her something that couldn’t be true.

Two Mandalorians walked in, one in armor with no two plates the same color, and one in green, clearly much older and walking as if his joints were painful.

The older man eased off his helmet and placed it on the counter. Yes, he was old. He looked as if life had drained him dry. His stare cut straight through her and she found herself staring back, wishing she’d announced herself the moment she landed.

“Hello, Jedi, “he said, and drew a blaster.





Chapter 5


In Mandalorian lore, the color blue represents reliability; green, duty; gold, vengeance; black, justice; gray, mourning a lost love; and red, honoring a father.

Mandalorians: Identity and Language, published by the Galactic Institute of Anthropology

EN ROUTE FOR THE HAPES CLUSTER

“You sure this isn’t a trap?” Ben asked.

“I told you Jacen was nuts.” Shevu was heading for the Perlemian Trade Route in a small transport bearing the livery of the geological survey team of the University of Coruscant. Ben felt confident about pulling off this ruse if they were questioned, because they really did look like a student and an earnest young lecturer in some arcane branch of the study of igneous rocks. Ben certainly wanted to look very closely at Kavan. “But he had no way of knowing that I was going to do this before he told me to take a break.”

“He had some other motive, though.”

“Well, he didn’t know we’d go to Kavan. And he won’t know we’ve been.”

“Who got you this crate?”

“Jacen’s ticked off a lot of people.”

“Yes, I think he’s off the party list at a lot of embassies now…”

“If you have to know-a lot of the Corellians he rounded up were professors and students. The uni took it badly. And…. Barit Saiy comes in handy, with that engineering company of his dad’s.”

The name slapped Ben in the face. Barit Saiy. He was Corellian, from an ordinary working family who’d lived on Coruscant for generations; but he did something dumb with a blaster, talked tough about fighting the Galactic Alliance, and Ben had turned him in to Jacen. When he vanished from GAG custody, like so many Corellians during those awful weeks, Ben had assumed the worst.

A memory came back to him, Shevu hunched over a custody record, angry at losing prisoners from the list without proper procedure.

“You found him?” Ben asked, as the memory resolved into realization.