[Thrawn Trilogy] - 02(40)

“Apology accepted. Come on, let’s go. And lower ycur hands-we don’t want any passersby wondering, now, do we?”

“Of course not,” Han said, dropping his hands to his sides.

They were halfway to the Amethyst when, off in the distance, a siren began wailing.

It was, Luke thought as he looked around the Mishra, almost like an inverted replaying of his first visit to the Mos Eisley cantina on Tatooine all those years ago.

True, the Mishra. was lightyears more sophisticated than that dilapidated place had been, with a correspondingly more upscale clientele. But the bar and tables were crowded with the same wide assortment of humans and aliens, the smells and sounds were equally variegated, and the band off in the corner was playing similar music-a style, obviously, that had been carefully tailored to appeal to a multitude of different races.

There was one other difference, too. Crowded though the place might be, the patrons were leaving Luke a respectful amount of room at the bar.

He took a sip of his drink-a local variant of the hot chocolate Lando had introduced him to, this one with a touch of mint-and glanced over at the entrance. Han and Lando should have been only a couple of hours behind him, which meant they could be walking in at any minute. He hoped so, anyway. He’d understood Han’s reasons for wanting the two ships to come into Ilic separately, but with all the threats that seemed to be hanging over the New Republic, they couldn’t really afford to waste time. He took another sip-And from behind him came an inhuman bellow.

He spun around, hand automatically yanking his lightsaber from his belt, as the sound of a chair crashing over backwards added an exclamation point to the bellow. Five meters away from him, in the middle of a circle of frozen patrons, a Barabel and a Radian stood facing each other over a table, both with blasters drawn.

“No blasters! No blasters!” an SE4 servant droid called, waving his arms for emphasis as he scuttled toward the confrontation. In the flick of an eye, the Barabel shifted aim and blew the droid apart, bringing his blaster back to bear on the Radian before the other could react.

“Hey!” the bartender said indignantly. “That’s going to cost you-“

“Shut up,” the Barabel cut him off with a snarl. “Radian will pay you. After he pay me.

The Radian drew himself up to his full height which still left him a good half meter shorter than his opponent-and spat something in a language Luke didn’t understand. “You lie,” the Barabel spat back. “You cheat. I know.”

The Radian said something else. “You no like?” the Barabel countered, his voice haughty. “You do anyway. I call on Jedi for judgment.”

Every eye in the tapcafe had been riveted to the confrontation.

Now, in almost perfect unison, the gazes turned to Luke. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“He wants you to settle the dispute,” the bartender said, relief evident in his voice.

A relief that Luke himself was far from feeling. “Me?”

The bartender gave him a strange look. “You’re the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, aren’t you?” he asked, gesturing at the lightsaber in Luke’s hand.

“Yes,” Luke admitted.

“Well, then,” the bartender concluded, waving a hand toward the disputants.

Except that, Jedi or no Jedi, Luke didn’t have a drop of legal authority here. He opened his mouth to tell the bartender that—

And then took another look into the other’s eyes.

Slowly, he turned back around, the excuses sticking unsaid in his throat. It wasn’t just the bartender, he saw. Everyone in the tapcafe, it seemed, was looking at him with pretty much the same expression. An expression of expectation and trust.

Trust in the judgment of a Jedi.

Taking a quiet breath, sternly ordering his pounding heart to calm down, he started through the crowd toward the confrontation. Ben Kenobi had introduced him to the Force; Yoda had taught him how to use the Force for self control and self-defense. Neither had ever taught him anything about mediating arguments.

“All right,” he said as he reached the table. “The first thing you’re going to do-both of you-is put away your weapons.

“Who first?” the Barabel demanded. “Radians collect bounty-he shoot if I disarm.”

This was certainly getting off to a great start. Suppressing a sigh, Luke ignited his lightsaber, holding it out so that the brilliant green blade was directly between the opposing blasters. “No one is going to shoot anyone,” he said flatly. “Put them away.

Silently, the Barabel complied. The Radian hesitated a second longer, then followed suit. “Now tell me the problem,” Luke said, shutting down the lightsaber but keeping it ready in his hand.