Yanibar Tales/Second Guessed Part 1

          Selu inhaled deeply as he looked over one of many wharfs in Quantill City, catching a deep whiff of the salty tang infusing the Andoan air. Intermingled with the smells of the sea were the odors of the hulking, bad-tempered Aqualish inhabitants and the distinct aroma of fish. As an island city on a world whose surface was ninety-five percent submerged, aquaculture and maritime activities provided most of the occupation for the populace. This particular wharf jutted out into the largest harbor on the eastern side of the city in an inelegant block of permacrete. Its edges were lined with docks and clusters of ramshackle buildings featuring garishly painted signs catering to the various needs and vices of the sailors that frequented the wharf. Unsurprisingly, the area was quite unkempt and the alleys leading to the wharf were hidden by shadows that obscured the shady dealings that no doubt occurred within. As usual for late evening, it was crowded, with dozens of sailors mingling and bustling through the area now that the majority of the watercraft had returned for the day.

          Selu was careful to sidestep the Aqualish ambling about, knowing that the aliens were belligerent and the burly sailors tended to tower over him. He thought several of the aliens shot him glares from their opaque black eyes, but he avoided them as best as he could, knowing that Aqualish saw a lack of equal hostility as a sign of weakness. A rather slight Human just barely sixteen years of age, Selu had no desire to start a brawl against the Aqualish. Thankfully, there was a larger proportion of offworlders in this particular wharf, and most of the Aqualish seemed to be weary from their day’s activities and therefore less apt to cause trouble. Still, even with the greater alien presence compared to other sectors of Quantill City, Selu remained discomfited.

          On the other hand, his partner, Skip, seemed to be quite as ease, despite being even smaller of stature and less intimidating than Selu. A brown-furred stocky young Tynnan, Skip was whistling idly as he strolled down the wharf, unconcerned with Aqualish or offworlder. No doubt his own species’ aquatic heritage made this place seem more homely to him. Selu tried to hide his unease and look as nonchalant as his Tynnan companion even as he glanced over the crowd.

          “Nice weather out today,” Skip remarked affably in his reedy voice. “Not too misty.”

          “If you say so,” Selu answered doubtfully, completely out of his element in the dingy wharf that contrasted starkly with the pristine quarters he was used to.

          “Lighten up, Selu,” Skip told him. “At least this wharf isn’t completely filled with grumpy Aqualish.”

          “Very reassuring,” Selu remarked sarcastically, though there was truth in Skip’s words.

          The higher concentration of offworlders was the reason that he and Skip had been sent to explore this particular wharf. They were both Jedi Padawans, though they had traded their conspicuous Jedi robes for drab and weathered spacer’s garments. Selu was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt that had once been white, accompanied by gray slacks and a brown leather vest, while Skip was content with a similar vest of a deep green hue. In some parts of the galaxy, it was not wise to openly advertise oneself as a Jedi, and Ando was one such place.

          The fires of separatism had been stoked on Ando and a planet already known for its volatile nature was brewing with resentment toward the Galactic Republic, resentment which was extended to its guardians, the Jedi Knights. In a galaxy where defiance and outcries against the corruption and apathy of a stagnant government were fomenting, the Jedi could ill-afford to allow the acts of terrorism and violence that sprouted from such dissent to spread. Thus, when a series of explosives and weapons shipments used in terrorist attacks on Coruscant were found to be moved through Ando, the Jedi Order had responded; glad to finally have a firm target to point its considerable resources toward.

          Selu’s master, the vaunted Kel Dor Jedi Council member Plo Koon, and Skip’s master, the Caamasi Jedi Ylenic It’kla, were currently working with the Republic’s ambassador to Ando, a Human named Nomian Aspec, to obtain information on the known routes of the arms smugglers transporting blasters, nergon-14 explosives, and other weaponry. Knowing that their young charges would be of little use in such an administrative meeting, Masters Koon and It’kla had sent Selu and Skip out to explore the wharfs and gather intelligence at the ground level.

          “Don’t look so nervous,” Skip told him cheerfully. “Just relax.”

          “Easy for you to say,” Selu responded. “Some of these Aqualish would just as soon toss me in the sea as look at me.”

          “Good thing you practiced your swimming recently then,” Skip riposted good-naturedly.

          Selu glanced around. Dusk was approaching and already the cantinas and taverns around the wharf were beginning to fill up as the raucous workforce shook off the last vestiges of daily labors to begin its evening carousing.

          “We should talk to some of the captains, see if they know anything about the arms shipments,” he suggested, ignoring Skip’s jest.

          “Do you think they’ll give us straight answers?” Skip replied. “We don’t know enough to even ask the right questions.”

          Though he was loathe to admit it, Selu knew his friend was right as he recalled his briefings on Ando. The local authorities on Ando were too busy trying to settle down the unruly populace to provide much useful intelligence on the arms trafficking occurring in the unsettled world. All they had provided was that the shipments were being masterminded by a known galactic arms dealer named Ardo Romierr. What information the Jedi Order and Judicial Forces had on him was very limited. They guessed he was Human and he had a reputation for being a stylish, dashing sort of criminal known for both cunning and audacity, the type of scofflaw that drew him winning looks from women and envious ones from men. However, they didn’t even have a description or a holo of Romierr; he was also fond of disguises and remained a secretive type, always using false fronts.

          “Well, I suppose we could ask any of them if they know of Romierr,” Selu said. “They might not tell us, but we can at least gauge their reactions.”

          “I’m not sure I can sense the emotions of all the different species here,” Skip warned him.

          “Still worth a try,” Selu countered. “What can it hurt?”

          He found out two minutes later after approaching a fishing trawler belonging to an Aqualish captain named Barco Durpa. No sooner had Selu started to ask his question about Romierr to the captain when the hulking Aqualish had shoved him backward, sending him sprawling on his backside. The Aqualish bellowed something incoherent as he stomped forward, apparently intent on thrashing Selu. The Jedi Padawan tried to get a read on the Aqualish to see if the reason he was being attacked was related to Romierr, but all he sensed was mindless aggression. One thing was certain: the Aqualish was not going to be dissuaded by quick talk. They only respected strength.

          Even as Durpa closed, Selu sprang back to his feet, ducking under a wild haymaker. The Aqualish brought his brawny arms up for a powerful downward strike, but Selu was too fast. Utilizing his unarmed combat training to good effect, he lashed out with an open-palmed strike that hit the Aqualish right at the root of its two prominent tusks. Selu knew full well that the tusks were extremely sensitive and his blow had the desired effect. Durpa squealed in pain, falling back and clutching its mouth and aggravated tusks. Selu remained vigilant for any possible attack, but Durpa showed no more signs of aggression, retreating quickly while mumbling out vile imprecations at Selu.

          “What was that about?” Skip asked from where he’d been standing by watching the entire incident.

          Selu frowned as he brushed the mud and grime off his pants.

          “Must’ve been something I said,” he replied. “Hard to tell with Aqualish.”

          “So, you still want to keep asking random sea captains for information on Romierr?” Skip teased him. “Couldn’t hurt, right?”

          Selu huffed impatiently.

          “I didn’t hear any better ideas from you.”

          Skip grinned impishly.

          “At least he didn’t bring his crew out to help him. Then you really might have been beaten.”

          “Don’t be counting it out yet either, ye liddle shrimps,” a gruff voice interjected from behind them. “Barco Durpa doesn’t take kindly to being shown up, especially by a couple puny offworlders.”

          The two Padawans turned to see a massive Sedrian waddling up behind them. The bulky alien’s flippers and finned tail were ill-suited to navigating its blubbery mass across the damp ground of the quay, but its powerful musculature and immense size made it cut an intimidating figure nevertheless. While its lower body was pinnipedian and its whiskered head had the sleek shape of an aquatic mammal, the Sedrian’s arms and upper torso were humanoid. Judging by the tattoos on its mammoth bicep, and sailor’s cap perched jauntily on his head, the Sedrian was another mariner. The Sedrian extended one of his gigantic arms to Selu.

          “Cap’n Kolka Galleo,” the sleek brown alien rumbled as Selu took his web-fingered hand in his own.

          The alien’s massive hand easily swallowed Selu’s smaller one and the subsequent handshake nearly had enough force to toss Selu around like a rag doll.

          “Selu Kraen,” Selu told him. “This is Skip.”

          “A pleasure of course,” Kolka barked. “Though not as pleasurable as watching you smack old Durpa around.”

          “Is he a rival of yours?” Skip asked.

          “Him? Naw,” Kolka replied with a guttural chuckle. “He knows better than to mess with me.”

          The Sedrian plucked a sizable harpoon that he’d embedded into the ground, a massive weapon easily two and a half meters tall with a menacing barbed metal tip.

          “I’d skewer him like a fish ready for roasting. He only picks on those who he thinks he can beat but you certainly showed him. But watch yer backs, landlubbers. Durpa’s been known to hold a grudge.”

          “We’ll be careful,” Selu promised.

          “Sure, or you’ll be dead,” Kolka warned him. “He’s a mean one.”

          The Sedrian absently scratched at the salt crystals that had coalesced in his whiskers.

          “Perhaps you could help us,” Skip offered. “We’re looking for information about someone.”

          “Are ya now?” Kolka rumbled. “Now that can be a hazardous trade.”

          Tired of the pinnipedian alien’s banter, Selu decided to cut to the chase.

          “Yes, about a Human named Ardo Romierr,” Selu replied directly.

          The Sedrian burst out into a loud guffaw.

          “Then yer hard out of luck,” he answered. “You don’t go looking for Romierr unless you already know where to find him.”

          “That doesn’t make any sense,” Selu countered with a frown.

          “Neither does two liddle minnows like you chasing after a big stone-fin,” Kolka retorted.

          “Do you know anything that could help us?” Skip asked.

          The Sedrian brushed at his whiskers again, considering the request.

          “This is a bad business,” he warned them. “Tynnan, you’re from a sea-faring folk. You should know better.”

          “Any information could prove useful,” Skip answered. “If we find Romierr, you’ll be well compensated.”

          Kolka chortled condescendingly, his large black eyes nearly squeezed shut as his belly jostled with mirth.

          “That’s rich,” he said. “If you two find Romierr and he doesn’t want to find you, the only compensation I’ll get is being proved right by seeing you two floating face down in the seas.”

          “Are you going to help us or not?” Selu pressed.

          The Sedrian snorted.

          “Fine,” he said. “You did provide me with a rather entertainin’ smackdown of that soggybonce Durpa, so here ya go. Romierr’s a slippery one, but when he’s around, he often visits a cantina called the Crusted Clawclam. You might ask around there.”

          “Thank you,” Selu answered.

          “Just remember, minnows that go hunting fer sharks tend to end up eaten,” the Sedrian reminded them. “But best of luck to ya, me bold liddle shrimps.”

          “We’ll be careful,” Selu called back as the two turned and left, leaving the corpulent furred alien behind.

          “You should work on your diplomacy,” Skip advised him once they were out of earshot. “He might have been more helpful if you hadn’t pushed him and tried to build a rapport instead.”

          “Maybe,” Selu answered. “But my brand of negotiation worked just fine on that Aqualish.”

          Skip chuckled.

          “You better hope it keeps working for you next time you provoke one of the locals,” Skip answered good-naturedly. “Or I’ll have to spend the next three days resetting all your broken bones.”

          Selu was about to answer with some retort when someone bumped into him. He looked over at the raggedly-clothed Togruta teenager who had just collided with him. The red-skinned alien was scrawny and dirty, with a small dirty satchel slung over one shoulder, but she looked apologetic, one arm clutching his for balance. By the looks of it, she couldn’t have been much older than he was.

          “Apologies, apologies,” she stammered out hastily, tugging on his arm as she nearly fell over.

          Selu was about to take her at her word when he felt the fingers stealthily reaching into his utility belt. The little urchin was a pickpocket and a fast one at that. She was just about to slip away with her newly-acquired credpouch when Selu pivoted sharply around, his left arm shooting out to clamp down on the thieving hand. She fought him for a second and Selu responded instantly, twisting the credpouch and one of her fingers sharply. There was a loud snapping sound as her finger broke. The Togruta yelped in pain and instantly released the credpouch.

          “Ow! You broke my kriffing finger!” she yelled at him, the charade of innocence replaced by a pained snarl.

          “You were trying to rob me,” Selu countered indignantly. “You’re lucky that’s all I broke.”

          “Selu, there was no need for that,” Skip reproached.

          Selu tried to defend himself from Skip’s rebuke, but suddenly the Togruta lashed out with a vicious kick to the shin.

          “Take that, kriffer,” she said.

          His leg exploding in agony, Selu turned back to see her give him an obscene gesture and turn to run. However, she was promptly thrown to the ground as she tripped over Skip’s extended leg. She got up quickly, angry and ready to either fight or run.

          “No need for that,” Skip assured her. “But you shouldn’t just run off with a broken finger. Let me mend that for you.”

          She looked startled at the offer of charity. Selu scowled, still rubbing at his newly-bruised shin, but Skip offered one fur-covered webbed-hand.

          “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promised. “Forgive my impetuous companion over there.”

          She looked him over, then let him see her damaged appendage from where she’d been cradling it close to her chest.

          “Impet-you-whatever isn’t the right word for him,” she spit out. “He’s a dirty barve who probably goes around kicking pittins and younglings for the fun ‘n joy of it.”

          “Speaking of kicking,” Selu retorted, gesturing pointedly toward the shin he was massaging.

          “Now now, don’t worry about him,” Skip told her as he produced a small medkit and retrieved the bone-knitter from inside. “What’s your name?”

          “Ylain,” she muttered reluctantly as he set the fractured bone back in place and activated the bone-knitter.

          “And how did you end up on the street, making a living off swiping credpouches?” Skip asked mildly.

          “Ain’t got nobody else,” she answered huffily. “Girl’s gotta live. Gotta eat to live.”

          “A succinct philosophical reason,” Skip answered, finishing up with his ministrations and wrapping the damaged digit with a bandage.

          The Tynnan produced a pair of protein wafers.

          “It’s not a fresh credpouch, but it’ll fill your belly for evening.”

          She smelled the wafers suspiciously. Skip sighed and broke off a corner, eating it to assuage her fears.

          “There, it’s not poison or drugged,” he said. “Go enjoy your dinner and try to avoid busting any more fingers.”

          “Shouldn’t be a problem, long as you keep the scumsucker over there away from me,” she shouted before darting off.

          Selu frowned as Ylain disappeared into one of the shadowy alleys.

          “And not even a thank you,” he noted. “You just handed over a day’s food and medical attention to a spiteful urchin who tried to rob me.”           “You broke her finger,” Skip answered reproachfully. “It was the least I could do; she’s just trying to survive, she didn’t do it to be malicious.”

          Selu snorted.

          “Of course, so as long as they’re not malicious about it, we should just let people walk all over us,” he answered sardonically.

          “Does it hurt you to do so?” Skip asked seriously. “Think about where we come from. Our needs are met. If she’d taken your credpouch, it would have been easily replaced. There’s not much money in it anyway and we’re not in dire need of the creds. Remember, Jedi are supposed to defend the weak and provide aid to the needy.”

          “Not break their fingers,” Selu finished. “I get the point. That’s why you’ll be a Knight long before I ever get there.”

          “I’m more concerned that you didn’t sense her intent before she approached you. Distracted?” Skip asked concernedly.

          “Maybe,” Selu answered slowly. “It could be that I’m distracted by all of the different people here. Or it could be . . .”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, his near-eidetic memory replaying the scene in his head as clearly as if it had just occurred.

“I heard Master Koon and Master Tiin talking right before we left. Master Tiin said ‘Be careful, old friend. The dark side has been clouding my visions lately. I no longer have the clarity I once had.’ Master Koon told him ‘I have sensed that too, but we are needed. A Jedi victory on Ando would do much to soothe tensions in the Republic and reinforce our ability to protect it.’ Master Tiin said “Then I hope you succeed, for all of our sakes.’ If even the masters are having difficulty sensing things because of the dark side, then what hope do we have?”

          Skip’s fur horripilated.

          “We’ll do the best we can. Maybe we’ll have to use our other senses more.”

          They continued on, consulting the city map downloaded into Skip’s datapad to get them to the Crusted Clawclam. As expected, it was a dive located deep in the mariner’s district. Twilight was setting in by the time they reached the cantina and already it was quite crowded with burly sailors all clamoring for drinks and food. The building was dingy, with a haphazard nautical décor composed of various seafaring implements and empty bottles that had once held intoxicants mounted on the walls. Through the subdued lighting, Selu could make out dozens of patrons at the tables while the bar was quite crowded, mostly with Aqualish but with a healthy sprinkling of offworlders as well.

          Selu and Skip squeezed their way through the far end of the bar, with Selu narrowly avoiding being bowled over by an enormous intoxicated Snivvian. The packed room was filled with the cacophony of three dozen beings, many of them inebriated, conversing loudly. Adding to the din was a loud overhead speaker system blaring out the local taste in music, which to Selu’s ears sounded like repeated angry cymbal crashing.

          They perched on barstools and waited for the barkeep to approach. Selu was surprised to see it was a short, stocky Sullustan. Given his sensitive hearing, the large-eared alien seemed out of place in such a deafening environment.

          “Isn’t it a little loud for a Sullustan?” he blurted out before he could help it.

          “You get used to it with earplugs, but are you here to inquire about my job satisfaction, or order a drink? If it’s not the latter, get out,” the Sullustan answered snappishly.

          “Actually we’re looking for information,” Selu started.

          “Then get out,” the Sullustan told him.

          “But a drink would be welcome,” Skip interjected. “Two Eblas, please. Cold if you got ‘em.”

          The Tynnan slid over several credcoins across the bar.

          “Now you’re talking,” the Sullustan groused, sweeping the coins into an apron and shuffling off.

          The barkeep returned several minutes later with a pair of Ebla beer bottles.

          “Anything else?” he asked curtly.

          “Some answers would be nice,” Selu answered.

          The Sullustan huffed impatiently.

          “That doesn’t sound like a drink we carry here,” he answered, turning to go.

          Skip jingled some credcoins audibly.

          “Are you sure?” he asked mildly.

          The Sullustan stopped and turned back.

          “On second thought, I might have what you’re looking for,” he answered, sweeping the coins away out of sight again.

          “We’re looking for information on a Human named Ardo Romierr,” Selu told him. “We heard he visits here.”

          The Sullustan was nonplussed.

          “Ardo who?”

          “Ardo Romierr,” Skip repeated.

          “Right. Who’s that?”

          This time Selu caught the hint, forking over two more one-hundred credit coins.

          “Oh, Ardo?” the Sullustan answered. “He drifts in every now and again.”

          “Seen him recently?” Selu asked.

          “Maybe . . .”

          Skip plied the bartender with another hundred credits, having followed the barkeep’s drift.

          “In fact, now that I think about it, he was here two nights ago. He was with two other beings.”

          “Do you remember who they were?” Skip inquired, pre-emptively offering another coin.

          “There was an offworlder I think. Don’t know him,” the Sullustan said. “The other one was a local, a sea captain.”

          “Does this captain have a name?” Selu inquired.

          “I think he does,” the Sullustan answered pertly.

          “Well, if you tell me what that name is, there’s a generous tip for the house involved,” Selu answered. “Name first.”

          The Sullustan glared at him, but finally shrugged.

          “Durpa. Big guy. Can’t miss him, he’s berthed down at the Eastern Wharf.”

          “Oh. Great,” Selu answered, sliding over the promised currency. “Anything else you can tell us? A holo of Romierr maybe?”

          “What are you, his fan club?” the Sullustan replied. “And no holos. This is a cantina. People come here to drink and talk. Not have their holo taken. We have cleverly hidden this by decorating our walls with bottles and putting up signs announcing our business.”

          Selu ignored the sarcasm.

          “Thanks for your help,” he answered.

          “Any time,” the Sullustan told him, sauntering off.

          “I sure hope that was worth the four hundred credits we just paid him,” Selu muttered.

          “He gave us a lead at least,” Skip answered. “Look on the bright side. If he’s right, you’ll get to see your Aqualish friend again.”

          “Fantastic.”

          The two took their drinks and left the raucous confines of the Crusted Clawclam. It was rare that they were allowed alcohol at the Jedi Temple so the two were more than willing to indulge themselves.

          “You did well back there,” Selu told his friend. “How’d you fit in so well?”

          Skip winked at him.

          “One of the benefits of having a Jedi Master who’s not on the High Council means that you can go on offworld missions to places like Corellia and slum around a bit. You learn how those places operate . . . and a few other things.”

          “I see,” Selu lied, bewildered and somewhat jealous of his friend.

The Human Padawan checked his chrono.

“Well, we should head back and make our report. They should be ready for us soon.”

In less than an hour, the two Padawans had crossed the city, returning to the Republic diplomatic complex. The compound’s thick permacrete walls were marred with stains and angry graffiti from earlier protests. Ducking into the recessed doorway, Selu entered the code and the heavy metal doors slid open, admitting them through a small courtyard into the Republic compound. Steely-eyed armed guards were on duty, but the two simply had to flash their Jedi credentials to be allowed to pass. They soon entered an upstairs conference room where Ambassador Aspec, Plo Koon, and Ylenic It’kla were. The three adults were standing around the table that dominated the center of room, discussing a holoprojection emitted from a dark blue datapad lying on the table. While the room was certainly functional, it was also furnished with aesthetics in mind. Paintings of various vistas from Ando hung from the walls, while several artificial stone planters contained local ferns and greenery to brighten the appearance of the gray-green permacrete. Even the lighting fixtures were contained in nautical-styled furnishings, making the room less drab than it could have been otherwise.

As the two Padawans entered, Selu’s master, the Kel Dor Jedi Plo Koon, turned to greet them.

“Welcome back, Padawans. I trust your expedition to the wharfs was useful?”

          “It was, Master,” Selu informed him. “We learned that Ardo Romierr was seen recently here. Two days ago.”

          “Which we knew already,” Aspec replied with a modicum of disdain. “I hope there was more.”

          The ambassador’s voice was stern, his mannerisms officious. Perhaps the two Padawans bursting into the room had unexpectedly put his back up. He had a sour look on his weathered, aged face, and his hairline had long since receded. However, Selu tried to put aside the unfavorable first impression.

          “There was,” Skip put in, just as another Human in diplomatic garb entered the room with a stack of dark blue datacards. “We also learned the name of one of his local contacts, a bad-tempered Aqualish sea captain named Barco Durpa.”

          “Here are the reports from JF on the smuggling ring you wanted—what’s this now?” the Human asked.

          This man was younger, his clothes and demeanor not as rigid or roughhewn as the ambassador’s, even though they were both wearing vestments befitting Republic dignitaries. His brown hair was cut just short enough to be functional while still stylish and he seemed much more open in his movements and body language, a much more personable individual than the other.

          “Daklan, Padawan Skip was just telling us that one of Romierr’s local contacts is an Aqualish captain named Barco Durpa.”

          “Oh really?” Daklan answered, with a raised eyebrow. “And how did you find that out?”          

          “Asked around,” Selu replied vaguely before Skip could give a more direct answer. “Speaking of asking, who are you?”

          For an instant, Selu thought the man was going to take offense to the inquiry, but instead Daklan flashed him a conciliatory smile.

          “I apologize, we haven’t been introduced,” he said. “I’m Daklan Burbage, aide to the ambassador. I thought your masters would have told you about me.”          

         “It was overlooked in the rush to quickly tackle this issue,” Ylenic It’kla put in soothingly. “Daklan, these are Skip and Selu, our Padawan learners. Padawans, Daklan is the special envoy attached from the Republic to help solve this issue.”

          “I thought that was us,” Selu said.

          Daklan shot another smile at Selu.

          “And indeed it is,” he answered. “However, while the Jedi are historically very effective in some ways, it’s sometimes very useful to have a bureaucrat with a lot of local experience on the ground.”

          “Don’t overlook the help that others can provide, Padawan,” Plo Koon reproved him mildly. “Stopping the weapons smuggling ring that Ardo Romierr has established on Ando will take all of our efforts.”

          “He is very good at hiding his activities and his shipments,” Daklan admitted. “The man doesn’t leave tracks, he compartmentalizes all his operations so nobody but him knows the full picture, and he’s extremely good at watching his back.”

          “Have you been chasing him a long time?” Skip asked.

          “Seems like forever,” Daklan said ruefully. “Maybe this time we’ll catch him.”

          “That is why we are here,” Plo Koon remarked. “Good work, Padawans. Our analysis of the shipping patterns has also borne some fruit. It appears that our suspected weapons smugglers have been moving their shipments through a strait not too far from here.”

          Daklan glanced at the location displayed in the holo.

          “That’s Jaqard Strait,” he commented with a frown.

          “It’s a good spot,” Ambassador Aspec admitted. “It’s a treacherous piece of sea, with many hiding places. The mists play havoc on sensors and comlinks, which makes it a known hiding place for pirates.”

          “Except the pirates and arms smugglers do not have the Force,” Plo Koon answered. “That will be our advantage.”

          “If you say so, Master Jedi,” the ambassador said. “Whatever resources you need are at your disposal. Speaking of which, Daklan, did you bring the report you made on the local sea captains for the Jedi?”

          “It’s on my datapad,” Daklan said, walking over to one of two desks at the back of the room.

          He opened a locker, reaching inside to retrieve the datapad.

          “That’s strange,” he remarked. “I thought I left it in here.”

          The man rummaged around in his desk, looking for the datapad, but came up with nothing. The ambassador scowled at him.

          “There had better be a good reason why an official datapad is missing,” he declared.

          Daklan was ashen-faced.

          “I’m sorry, Ambassador,” he admitted. “I don’t know where it is. It was here. I’ll have one of the techs run a trace on it when they get in the morning.”

          “See that you do,” Aspec advised him. “We shouldn’t have official datapads wandering off.”

          “I apologize again, and to you as well,” Daklan said, turning to the Jedi Masters. “I’ve spent the last few months compiling profiles on the local ship captains, their habits, and their inclinations. It’s why I was curious about the young Jedi’s report on Durpa.”

          “Does it seem reasonable that he’d be involved?” Skip inquired.

          “Could be,” Daklan told him. “Durpa would probably do anything for the right price. It’d take a slick negotiator to get away without angering him, but not impossible.”

          “We shall look into it tomorrow then,” Plo Koon told him. “Master It’kla and I were planning on touring Jaqard Strait tomorrow on a ship we have available from the Judicial Forces. Even without your report, perhaps you would be available to come along to help provide your expertise and use your rapport with the local captains?”

          “Certainly,” Daklan answered affably. “If it helps us get closer to Romierr, I’m all for it.”

          He turned to the ambassador.

          “It’s rather late, so I was going to head home, unless you have other work for me to do, sir.”

          The ambassador waved him off.

          “You’ve done enough for one day, Daklan,” he said. “You make me look bad with all your youthful energy.”

          “Just trying to get the job done, sir,” Daklan answered dutifully.

          “Well, enough work for today,” the ambassador told him. “And for me as well. I’ve spent all this past week on this smuggling ring when I should be worrying about the protestors and their anti-Republic drivel.”

          “Thank you again for your efforts, both of you,” Ylenic It’kla said.

          “And for yours,” the ambassador replied. “We’ll be back in the morning. I probably won’t be available, but consider Daklan at your disposal. I trust your quarters are comfortable enough?”

          “More than adequate,” Ylenic It’kla answered.

          The two diplomats filed out, leaving the four Jedi in the conference room. There was silence for several seconds, then Selu spoke up impetuously.

          “Masters, I noticed you didn’t say what Skip and I will be doing tomorrow.”

          “Indeed,” Plo Koon answered. “Did you sense anything from either of the two diplomats?”

          “Neither of them was particularly open with us,” Skip observed. “They both seemed on edge.”

          “Nervous around so many Jedi? Or non-Humans?” Selu offered.

          The Caamasi Jedi Master Ylenic It’kla shook his head.

          “There was something more. Each one was particularly reserved, trying to divert attention away from them. The ambassador used gruffness as his shield, while Daklan’s was charm.”

          “Do you think they’re involved?” Skip asked incredulously.

          “Don’t jump to conclusions, Padawan,” Yleinic It’kla chided him mildly. “Their reserve could be due to anything from minor embezzling to an illicit paramour. Selu is correct in that Jedi can often put others on edge.”

          “It would not be a surprise for a few members of the Republic’s diplomatic corps to have a few indiscretions they would not want exposed by a Jedi investigation,” Plo Koon added.

Selu recalled the news holos of numerous scandals involving Republic officials that had recently been unearthed.

“Who can we trust then?” he asked.

“For now, each other,” Plo Koon replied.

          “We must be cautious, and that is why we didn’t give you your instructions for tomorrow until now,” Ylenic It’kla added.    

          “What is it, Master?” Selu asked.

          “Go back to the wharfs. See what else you can find. Also check on the trace on Daklan’s datapad—it might give us some hints as to his true nature.”

          “We should be back by evening,” Ylenic It’kla told them. “We’ll set out early in the morning and be on the water all day. If you find anything of importance, inform us; we’ll have our comlinks.”

The next day

          Selu and Skip ventured out onto the wharfs again just as the sun was beginning to peer over the roofs of the buildings on its daily pilgrimage up from the horizon. To Selu’s chagrin, his shin was quite bruised and swollen thanks to the kick it had received and he walked with a slight limp. Their masters had already embarked on their maritime journey and while the tech had been happy to help them out, the trace wouldn’t be done for another hour or so. Instead, they wandered the wharfs, looking for signs of unusual activity. Skip had suggested checking out Barco Durpa’s ship again, a course of action which Selu had reluctantly agreed to, but they arrived to find it missing. That wasn’t particularly surprising, given that most of the sea captains were out on their daily voyages.

          With nothing better to do, they headed back to the Crusted Clawclam. The scrawled lettering on the sign read closed, but the door was unlocked, so Selu pushed through with Ship following. The cantina was empty except for the Sullustan bartender polishing glasses behind the bar.

          “Hey, what part of ‘closed,’ don’t you understand?” he called at them.

          “We’re here for more information,” Selu told him.

          “You’re at the wrong place,” the Sullustan answered bluntly. “This is a cantina. We serve drinks here. Play music. If you want information, go check the spaceport datanet. Or look around in some alley for an information broker.”

          Selu frowned. It was clearly the same Sullustan from the previous day, but here he was pretending to not recognize them. He reached for his replenished credpouch, fishing out some money.

          “Perhaps we could make it worth your while,” he suggested.

          The Sullustan shook his head.

          “Get out,” he said irascibly. “Before I wake up Lumba. And he does not like to be woken this early after a long night of bouncing.”

          “No need for that,” Skip told him, approaching the bar. “We’d readily compensate you for anything else you could tell us.”

          “Stop right there,” the Sullustan warned them. “There’s a heavy blaster pointed at you and if you like your guts inside you and unexploded, you’ll get the kriff out of my cantina right now.”

          Selu and Skip froze.

          “Listen,” Selu started, but the Sullustan cut him off.

          “It’s a tossup between the blaster and Lumba. Your choice,” he said firmly.

          “All right, we’re going,” Skip said. “Sorry to bother you.”

          The Tynnan led a fuming Selu back out of the cantina before the Human Jedi could continue his argument with the implacable bartender.

          “What was that for? We could have dealt with him, even if the bouncer had shown up,” Selu answered. “We have our lightsabers, remember?”

          “Maybe,” Skip told him patiently, “but it wouldn’t have been subtle and if it didn’t work, we get beaten or shot. Not worth it.”

          Selu grunted, realizing that Skip was probably right but not quite willing to vocalize the concession.

          “Don’t worry,” Skip told him. “There’ll be other clues.”

          Selu was about to dispute the likelihood of that when his comlink chirped.

          “Selu Kraen,” he answered.

          “Yes, this is Yospice with tech,” he heard. “Finished that trace on the datapad—it’s apparently in the wharf district, or it was last time we got a signal.”

          “Can you send me the coordinates?” Selu asked.

          “Sure thing,” the tech told him. “They’ll be in your comlink. Anything else I can help you with?”

          “No,” Selu answered. “Thank you.”

          He closed down the comlink.

          “Well, apparently Mr. Daklan wasn’t being entirely truthful.”           “It’s possible someone stole it,” Skip pointed out. “We should investigate.”

          “And attempt to recover it?” Selu asked.

          “If the opportunity presents itself. It would certainly earn favor with the two diplomats.”

          “All right then,” Selu said, retrieving the coordinates. “Let’s go.”

          He set off, but Skip stopped him short.

          “Wait a second,” he said.

          “What is it?”

          “In the alley over there.”

          Selu saw nothing of note in the dark shadows, but he stretched out with the Force, finally sensing the being slumped over behind a large waste receptacle in a drunken stupor behind the Crusted Clawclam.

          “A sleeping drunk?”

          “Not just any sleeping drunk,” Skip answered. “I think it’s the Snivvian who almost ran you over last night.”

          Selu was flabbergasted as to what import Skip found in this trivial observation.

          “Okay . . .”

          “If he’s passed out behind the bar, it’s likely he’s here a lot,” Skip explained. “He’s probably a regular.”

          Now the implication dawned on Selu.

          “Which means he might have information on Romierr’s meeting,” Selu realized. “Good eye.”

          The two walked over to snoozing Snivvian. The hulking alien had clearly seen better days, judging by his stained clothing and the reek emanating from his general vicinity.

          “Hey there,” Selu called, nudging him slightly with his foot.

          “What—hmph?” the Snivvian rumbled, his eyes blinking open slowly, then immediately shut again. “Too bright.”

          “Wake up,” Skip told him, nudging him again.

          The Snivvian stirred, his eyes opening again as he peered down his oversized snout at them.

          “Whaddya want?” the hulking alien grumbled. “Lemme alone.”

          “We have a business proposition,” Skip said.

          “Don’t wanna pusiness broposishun,” the Snivvian slurred as he rolled over away from them. “Wanna make headache go away. Wanna go back to sleep.”

          Skip produced three credcoins of substantial denomination from his credpouch and jingled them.

          “What if you could make enough money to buy drinks for a whole week?” Skip asked. “Would you be interested then?”

          The Snivvian rolled back over to face at them.

          “Maybe,” he answered, squinting suspiciously at them. “Whaddya want?”

          “Answers,” Skip said succinctly. “You answer our questions, I give you two hundred credits.”

          The Snivvian sat up slowly, rubbing his small black eyes.

          “All right, you little Chadra-Fan, you have a deal,” he rumbled. “Ask your questions.”

          Selu thought about correcting the Snivvian—Skip was definitely Tynnan—but Skip waved him off.

          “Were you in the Crusted Clawclam three nights ago?”

          “Hmm . . . three nights ago,” the Snivvian considered. “That was a long time.”

          Skip jingled the coins pointedly.

          “Lemme think.”

          He sat there for several seconds, let out a thunderous belch, then nodded slowly.

          “Yes, yes I was. I remember now. I’ve been at the Crusted Clawclam last two nights, at least until I stopped remembering what happened.”

          “And three nights ago?” Selu asked exasperatedly.

          “Yeah, that’s what I said,” the Snivvian answered, scratching at his bristly hair.       “You said two,” Selu corrected him.

          Selu scowled, unsure that Skip wasn’t handing out money to drunks for useless information.

          “I know what I said, I was there the last four nights,” the Snivvian grumbled at him. “At least until I passed out, hehe.”

          Selu and Skip exchanged a skeptical glance, but Skip shrugged and continued.

          “Did you happen to see Ardo Romierr there?”

          “Whozat?” the Snivvian asked drunkenly with a hiccup.

          Selu shook his head.

          “How about an Aqualish named Barco Durpa? Was he there with two other people, one of them Human?”

          The Snivvian stared out into space, concentrating as best as possible with his massive hangover.

          “You ask hard questions, Human. Are you his friend?”

          “Yes, we’re great friends,” Selu answered, his voice dripping with weary sarcasm. “Remember, you answer this, and you can numb your mind with alcohol for the next week.”

          “Okay, okay . . .” the Snivvian trailed off, his mind clearly straining to operate properly in its current mental haze.

          Selu started to despair of ever getting anything useful out of the alien, but finally the Snivvian responded.

          “Yeah, I remember Durpa. He was quiet. Normally he’s loud. Too loud. Wasn’t as smelly either.”

          “And the people he was with?”

          “There were two of them. Pretty sure one of them was a Human.”

          “What did he look like?” Selu asked.

          “Like a Human,” the Snivvian said with a guffaw. “How should I know? I was drunk.”

          “Did they do anything, have anything unusual?” Skip inquired.

          “One of them had a datapad with them, a blue one I think it was,” the Snivvian answered. “They were passing it around, I thought they were playing some kinda game, or maybe looking at some fempics.”

          “A blue datapad?” Selu asked. “Are you sure?”

          “I think so,” the Snivvian told him, scratching his head again. “Or maybe it was green?”

          Selu sighed.

          “Nope, it was definitely blue. Not his hair, the datapad. His hair was brown.”

          “Anything else you can tell us?” Skip asked politely.

          “Ya. They left through the back door. Just like me . . . except I’m pretty sure I was thrown out. I don’t remember them being thrown out. Think they walked out.”

          “Thank you for your help,” Skip told him neutrally, depositing the coins in the Snivvian’s sizable hand.

          The two Padawans walked off as Selu tried to brush the alley’s stink off his vest.

          “Well, the Republic embassy’s datapad that we saw on the table was blue and Daklan’s hair is brown,” Selu answered. “Doesn’t mean it was Daklan, but it could be a clue.”

          “We should at least inform the masters,” Skip advised.

          “Good idea,” Selu answered, reaching for his comlink. “Master?”

          “Go ahead, Selu,” came the reply.

          “Is Daklan nearby?”

          “Yes. Would you like to speak to him?”

          “Not exactly,” Selu said in a quieter voice.

          “Hold on.”

          A few seconds later, Plo Koon’s voice came through the comlink again.

          “We’re apart. What is it, Selu?”

          “Master, we did some more investigating around the cantina. We have reason to believe that Daklan may have been the third person meeting with Ardo Romierr and Barco Durpa.”

          “Are you sure? That is a serious allegation.”

          “No,” Selu admitted. “We’ll investigate further, but we thought you should know.”

          “We’ll be on our guard,” Master Koon said. “Thank you.”

          “We’re going to find the missing datapad next,” Selu told him.

          “Do what you think is best and trust your instincts,” his master answered. “May the Force be with you.”

          “And with you, Master.”

          “One more thing, Selu.”

          “Master?”

          “Be careful. If necessary, wait for us to return.”

          “I will, Master,” Selu promised.

          He shut off the comlink and put it away.

          “Time to hunt a datapad,” he said.    

          The coordinates led them into the slums of Quantill City. The narrow streets were drab and the buildings a far cry from the functional yet still elegant embassy compound. Instead of a variety of local cultivars mounted in window boxes, they saw them piled with trash or overgrown with various fungi. The air reeked of refuse and waste, and low overhanging lines that crossed the street between roofs often had objects slung from their lengths dripping a liquid whose origins Selu cared not to contemplate. This was the dark side of Quantill City, the place where its least affluent denizens eked out a living and vice ran rampant. Every city had one; the only difference was how deteriorated conditions were allowed to decay. In this case, pretty far.

          “We’re almost there,” Selu told Skip. “Get ready.”

          “Okay,” Skip answered. “I sense someone tucked away in that alley.”

          “I sense them too,” Selu replied. “Not Human.”

          Selu reached into vest’s inner pocket to make sure his lightsaber was still there. Though he wasn’t particularly skilled with the Jedi weapon, having only recently constructed it, its touch was reassuring. He paused by the corner and peeked around. The alley had rubbish strewn across its length and runoff pooled and accumulated in deep pits in the pavement. A very narrow staircase built into the side of the leftmost building led upward into what looked like a primitive shelter built on the low roof of one of the innumerable featureless permacrete buildings. Though the building was two levels high from the street, its second level apparently didn’t extend all the way back and someone had erected an awning over the available space as a shelter.

          “I think it’s up there,” Selu told Skip. “I’ll go first.”

          Cautiously, he made his way up the staircase with Skip behind him since it was only wide enough to advance in single file. As he was about to peek over the edge, his foot brushed a pair of empty cans lying on one of the steps, which had apparently been strung together and filled with rocks, since they made a loud rattling sound. Selu’s eyes shot down involuntarily for a moment, then back up again as the Force warned him of the incoming attack. A foot lashed out from atop the roof, swinging over the stairway directly at his face. However, Selu both had a split-second’s advance notice and considerable unarmed combat training. He blocked the kick before it could smash into him and then caught the offending appendage before its owner could withdraw it, locking in place. The would-be attacker struggled, kicking Selu away, but by that time, Skip had leapt up over the rooftop ledge. Selu scrambled up as well only to see that the would-be kicker was Ylain.

          “You really have a thing for kicking me,” he commented dryly as her eyes widened in fear.

          She turned and scampered off, no doubt intending to flee either across the rooftops or on one of the connecting lines, but Selu wasn’t letting her off so easily. He extended a hand, unleashing a blast of telekinesis and throwing her to the rooftop before she could escape.

          Ylain tried to leap to her feet, but Selu dashed forward, stepping on her back to pin her in place.

          “Not so fast,” he warned her as she scrabbled around for something to throw at him.

          She found a bottle and tried to chuck it at him, but Selu simply diverted it with the Force and it clattered noisily on the rooftop.

          “Easy there,” Skip said. “We just want to ask you some questions.”

          “He wants to ask you questions,” Selu informed her. “I’d like to see you locked up for a variety of charges.”

          “You should be the ones locked up,” she spit out at him as she twisted around to face him. “Charging up here and attacking poor younglings. Run outta pittins to kick?”

          Selu sighed, drawing his lightsaber and pointing it at her but leaving the blade unlit.

          “Selu, is this really necessary?” Skip asked.

          “She tried to kick me,” Selu pointed out. “Again. I already have marks to remember the first one by.”

          He turned back to Ylain.

          “Do you know what this is?”

          “A lightsaber,” she replied. “You’re a Jeddi?”

          “Close enough,” he told her.  

          He figured at this point that she would be sufficiently awed enough to cooperate. He was wrong. She wrenched her face into an awful grimace.

          “Go kriff yourself,” she shouted. “I didn’t do anything to you, or anybody else.”

          “Oh really?” Skip asked, producing a dark blue datapad with the Republic emblem engraved on it. “We happen to know who this belongs to. How did you get this? Was it just lying on the street?”

          “She’s not talking,” Selu informed his fellow Padawan as his captive continued to squirm. “Perhaps she’d be more cooperative if I started using my Jedi tricks?”         “All right!” she stammered. “No need for that you dirty kriffer. I’ll talk, but can I at least get up?”

          Selu obliged, picking her up by the scruff of her neck and depositing her in a crumpled heap on a pile of rags that resembled a crude bed.

          “Don’t try to run,” he warned her. “I can toss you around with my mind all day.”           He couldn’t, but there was no point in telling her that. However, she recognized that further attempts at flight, at least for the moment, were futile, so Ylain settled for verbal harassment instead.

          “Some class act Jeddi boy you turned out to be,” she sneered. “Sneaking up on people, hanging them over the air, torturin’ them for information they don’t know nothing about.”

          “Please, just answer some questions, and we’ll be on our way,” Skip told her soothingly.

          “Maybe,” Selu glowered. “Depends on how cooperative you are.”           “Fine,” she sulked. “Take the datapad, just leave me alone.”

          “Not without some answers,” Selu said. “How did you get this? This is government property”

          “There was a peddler giving away free samples,” she told him with a scowl, then rolled her eyes at his look of momentary astonishment. “What do you think? I swiped it. You’re pretty dumb for a Jeddi.”

          “This could get you sent to prison for a long time,” Selu said sternly.

          “Not my fault some dumb official was running around on the wharf just asking to lose his fancy pad,” she sniffed impertinently.

          “Was this ‘dumb official’ Human?” Selu asked her.

          “I think so,” she said. “He had that same flabby face most of you Humans have, but he was wearing a hooded cloak, so I only saw his jaw.”

          Selu failed to keep his outrage from being reflected on his face, while Skip chuckled.

          “Anything else you’d like to tell us?” Skip asked. “If you’re especially helpful, I might be able to persuade my flabby-faced friend over there to let you go.”

          “Don’t count on it,” Selu replied huffily, partly playing along and partly indignant.

          Skip shot him a look.

          “Well, I saw him twice, both times at the Crusted Clawclam, both times with a barvy Aqualish captain.”

          “Barco Durpa,” Selu guessed.

          “That’s him,” she confirmed. “First time was three nights ago, then again two nights ago. That time, I heard some of what they were saying, ‘cuz I was getting ready to slip his datapad. Which I did.”

          “What did they say?” Selu asked.

          She shot him a dirty look.

          “To kriff yourself, you scummy Jeddi.”

          Selu rolled his eyes and was about to fire back with a sharp retort, but Skip put a calming hand on his arm.

          “You’re being very helpful,” Skip told her. “And if you tell us what they said, not only will we let you go and never bother you again, but there’s ten credits in it for you.”

          She gave him a surprised look.

          “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you, but flabbyface over there can go—,”

          “Kriff myself, I know,” Selu finished. “Just spit it out before we change our minds.”

          “Fine,” she spat. “The Human was paying the Aqualish to attack a boat in a few days, said they were tying up loose ends. He said between Durpa’s guys and some other trick on the boat, they’d take care of everything.”

          Selu paled.

          “Was that a few days from when they were talking, or a few days from today?”

          “From when they were talking, of course,” Ylain answered sassily.

          “They’re attacking Master Koon’s boat,” Selu told Skip. “We need to warn them. Daklan set them up.”

          “You’ve been very helpful,” Skip told Ylain, flipping her a ten-cred coin. “We’re keeping the datapad, but you’re free to go.”

          The two Jedi quickly hurried off as Selu reached for his comlink. He attempted to contact his master, but got nothing but static.

          “Blast. They must be in one of the interference zones in Jaqard Strait,” he muttered.

          “Keep trying,” Skip suggested as they strode along hastily back toward the wharfs.

          “Can’t believe Daklan’s working with Romierr and Barco Durpa,” Selu commented as he continued to try calling his master.

          “Well, we did sense he was hiding something,” Skip pointed out.

          However, neither Padawan was able to raise their master by the time they reached their wharf. Selu turned to his friend, his jaw set with determination.

          “I have an idea,” he said. “But you’re not going to like it.”           “What’s that?”

          “We hire a boat and go after them.”

          Skip’s eyes bulged with surprise.

          “You’re not serious.”           Selu stared back unperturbed.

          “Okay, you’re serious. Just insane. What are two Padawans going to do to stop a boat full of angry Aqualish pirates and whatever trick Daklan has on the ship? Our masters can handle themselves.”

          “Are you willing to risk their lives on that claim?” Selu replied.

          Skip’s face wrinkled in a grimace.

          “I was afraid you’d put it that way,” he said. “All right, let’s see if my very limited supply of credits and your dazzling wit and charm can get us a charter out to Jaqard Strait on short notice.”

          “I think I might have something,” Selu said, catching sight of a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

          He led Skip over to the hulking figure of Kolka Galleo, whose ship was berthed at the dock, unloading a large catch of freshly-caught clawclams. The Sedrian captain looked quite content as he sampled some of his own catch.

          “Well, well, well, look what we have here?” he chortled as they approached the gangplank that led to his ship. “I see you two minnows survived your trip to the Crusted Clawclam. Speaking of clams, want one? Me and me mateys caught quite a few this morning, too many for our storage units, so we came back to offload before we set out again.”

          “Actually, we were looking to hire you,” Selu told him casually. “We’d like to take a little cruise.”

          The Sedrian snorted, brushing tidbits of clam out of his ample whiskers.

          “You better be sporting some mighty fine credits to make it worth my while over clamming.”

          “We have three hundred credits,” Skip told him.

          The Sedrian arched a furry eyebrow.

          “And where do ya be wantin’ to take this little voyage?” he inquired.

          “Jaqard Strait,” Selu said.

          Galleo coughed and nearly choked on the clam he was swallowing, then blinked furiously in surprise at them.

          “Not a chance,” he said. “I’d prefer to be around to spend me credits.”

          “We can protect you,” Selu started.

          The Sedrian roared with laughter.

          “Now that is a funny one,” he said. “You’re going to protect me in Jaqard Strait?”

          “Well, if you’re afraid, we can arrange that,” Selu answered neutrally.

          Galleo squinted suspiciously down at them, his fur clearly rubbed the wrong way by the insinuation.

          “Now hold it here, me buckoes,” he informed them. “There’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. I ain’t afraid of Jaqard Strait, but it’s not smart to be there. And forgive me if I don’t count on your bite-sized offer of protection.”

          Selu smirked and held open his vest to reveal the lightsaber dangling from the clasp inside it.

          “Even a bite-sized clawclam can draw blood,” he said.

          “Is that—?” Galleo started.

          “Yes,” Selu told him. “We both have them and know how to use them.”

          A slight exaggeration, that.

          “Furthermore, we’ll make it five hundred credits and a chance to put a stop to Barco Durpa’s mischief.”

          The Sedrian’s pride was clearly affronted from Selu’s earlier dig and his greed was warring with his common sense. That final offer to humiliate and possibly remove a despised rival was enough to push him over the edge.

          “All right,” he said. “But five hundred and you cover any damages my ship sustains in this little adventure.”

          “Deal,” Skip said.

          “When do you want to leave, me little landlubbers?” Galleo asked.

          “Immediately,” Selu answered.

          The Sedrian barked out another laugh.

          “Can’t leave for at least another half-hour,” he informed them. “We’re not going anywhere until we finish cleaning and unloading these clawclams.”

          Selu started to protest, but the pinneped held up an arm to forestall the objection.

          “Don’t ya worry, landshrimp. The Flipper Over is faster than any other ship in these waters, and a fair bit sturdier too. Barco Durpa can’t have even reached the strait yet even if he went straight there. Scuttlebutt says that he left later than usual this morning. We’ll catch up with him in no time. Just sit your lubberly selves on that pier and wait a mite, and then we’ll be off.”

          Selu wasn’t happy with it, but there didn’t seem to be any other captains at this wharf who had put back in, and Galleo had agreed to take them out to Jaqard Strait, which was better than they might get from some of the others.

          The half-hour passed very slowly. There was little to do but keep trying to raise their masters on the comlink and watch the sun slowly climb into the sky. Galleo’s crew seemed fairly efficient in their tasks, but watching them haul large bales of clawclams from the hold and then clean and pack them into freezing units wasn’t that interesting. The half-hour was almost up when someone came racing down the pier toward them. It was Ylain.

          “There you are!” she panted.

          “What do you want?” Selu asked, scowling suspiciously.

          “I’ve been looking for you,” she answered. “We need to talk.”

          “I thought we already did that,” Selu pointed out. “We’re out of creds, if you’re after more money.”

          “No,” she told them with a shake of her head. “No fee this time. There’s something important you two are missing.”

          Selu exchanged a look with Skip, who shrugged. Selu rolled his eyes, but nevertheless started over to her.

          “We’ll bite,” he said, as the two reached the Togruta. “But no more kicking.”

          “I heard you two talking after you jumped me in the alley, about how a guy named Daklan set your friends up.”

          “Maybe,” Selu answered vaguely. “What’s it to you?”

          “This Daklan, is he a Human who’s a datapusher for the government?”

          “Yes,” Skip told her. “Do you know him?”

          She smirked at him.

          “You could say that,” she replied, then her face grew serious. “You think he’s the guy who hired Durpa to attack your friends?”

          “Based on what you told us, yes,” Selu said. “Do you have reason to believe otherwise?”

          “Yeah, you’ve got the wrong guy,” she said. “Typical dumb Jeddi.”

          “How do you know?” Skip asked.

          “There’s no way Daklan Burbage could have been talking to Barco Durpa two nights ago,” she informed them.

          “And why is that?” Selu asked, crossing his arms.

          Ylain smiled impishly.

          “Cuz when I left his place after a rather pleasant evening, he was still snoozing in his comfy bed huddled under all those blankets sleeping off several drinks.”

          “You mean you—,” Selu started.

          “Why not?” she asked. “I got dinner, a hot bath, wine, and sleeping in a real bed out of it. Do you know how hard those things are to get? Good deal for me, and I made it worth his while.”

          “I thought you didn’t like Humans,” Selu pointed out.

          “Daklan’s not like most Humans,” she said. “He spends a lot of time at the wharfs, knows all the captains and the locals. He relates to people well and he doesn’t look down on anyone. Besides, some Humans can be cute and he knows how to treat a girl right.”

          “That’s a pretty impressive story,” Selu told her skeptically. “How can we believe you? You show up here with a wild tale and expect us to just buy it?”

          She smirked impishly at him and hooked a thumb in the waistline of her tattered pants.

          “Surely somewhere in your Jeddi pack you got a medisensor. You could take a look for yourself if you like, satisfy your curiosity.”

          Selu flushed red.

          “Also,” she continued, tugging down the edge of her pants to reveal the waistband of snug shimmersilk undergarments riding on her hip, “you can’t exactly steal these where I live. Not in my size, at least. They were a present. Like I said, Daklan knows how to treat a girl.”

          The crimson hue on Selu’s face deepened.

          “All right, we’re convinced,” he said. “So, if it wasn’t Daklan who was talking to Barco Durpa, who was it?”

          “How should I know?” she asked. “It was dark. He was tall, maybe a bit older. Missing some hair on his head, too. Definitely not Daklan.”

          A thought struck Selu like a bolt of lightning, sending a shudder down his spine.

          “That sounds like Ambassador Aspec,” he realized.

          “He would have access to Daklan’s datapad, too,” Skip said. “He could have stolen it and used it to handle the transaction with Ardo Romierr and then plant it somewhere to frame his aide.”

          “Then Daklan’s in danger too,” Selu added. “We need to get out there.”

          “Please do,” Ylain urged, all her customary hostile attitude replaced with sincerity, maybe even vulnerability. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

          “You don’t want to see your meal ticket hurt,” Selu replied accusingly.

          “No!” she shot back fiercely, her eyes flashing with anger. “There’s a lot of bad people out here on the wharf, but Daklan isn’t one of them. He doesn’t advertise it, but everyone out here knows he’s loaned out creds to some captains to keep their ships afloat. I wouldn’t even ask him for creds for two nights ago; he gives ‘em out.”           “He’s taking advantage of you,” Selu told her.

          “If that’s what you call it, I’ll take that over what the rest of this place does,” she retorted. “Daklan doesn’t believe in the whole ‘strong eat the weak’ idea. He cares about people, and it’s nice to have that for a change. He’s almost like family to a lot of us.”

          Selu started to point out that a real family didn’t ask for those kinds of favors, but Skip stopped him short of continuing the argument.

          “Selu, it’s not our place to judge,” Skip told him. “We can’t understand how they live, what her life is like.”

          “All right, but I still don’t like it,” Selu answered, filing a mental note to log a request in with Republic social services. “We do need to get out on the water if we’re going to warn the others of the trap.”

          “Hopefully before it’s too late,” Skip said.

          Selu nodded grimly.

          “Something like that.”

          An hour later, the Flipper Over was skimming across the waves. The day was overcast and a stiff breeze was blowing, stirring up breakers. The choppy sea made the small schooner rock and lurch as it crashed through despite the ship’s repulsors, which was not doing wonders for Selu’s stomach. The two Jedi were at the bow of the ship, keeping an eye out for nearby vessels.

          “Ugh,” he muttered queasily. “I’d forgotten how uncomfortable these things are.”

          “Try and concentrate,” Skip said sympathetically. “You control your body, not the other way around.”

          “Right. Control,” Selu answered tightly, trying not to speak unnecessarily.

          A minute later, though, he raced to the siderail as the protestations of his stomach overwhelmed him.

          “So much for control,” he remarked as he washed his mouth out, grimacing at the sour aftertaste.

          It was another miserable two hours before the Flipper Over reached Jaqard Strait. Despite the wind, this part of Ando was shrouded in thick mists, but Selu knew from the charts that he’d seen that the strait was rife with dangerous shoals and reefs. Jagged rocks jutted upward from the sea, defiant against the waves that slammed into them to send spray hurtling into the air. The two Jedi walked back to the helm where Kolka Galleo was expertly steering his ship.

          “Well, here we are. Jaqard Strait. I don’t suppose you two landlubbers have an idea of where exactly ya wanted to go, do ya?”

          Skip spoke up.

          “Take us into the strait, bearing a little southeast,” he told the captain confidently.

          The bulky Sedrian squinted down at him.

          “All right, Tynnan,” he said. “But remember, these are dangerous waters and the scanners don’t work. Yer lucky that I know the strait like the back of my flipper.”

          “In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck,” Skip answered mildly, his words carrying far more assurance than might have been expected from such a high reedy voice.

          The Flipper Over ploughed on through the expanse of water. Through the blanketing mists, Selu could make out the outlines of craggy cliffs on either side even as they wove their way through the labyrinth of hidden rocks and eddies.

          “Where to now?” Galleo called.

          “Hold your bearing for another eight or nine kilometers, I think,” Skip shouted back. “Be on the lookout for ships.”

          Selu marveled at his friend’s abilities. He had tried to sense the presence of others, but aside from knowing that his master was somewhere in the vicinity, he had no idea in what direction or if anyone else was near. When he had asked Skip about it, the Tynnan had shrugged off the query.

          “We all have our strengths,” he said. “I’ve got a good sense of direction.”

          Still, Selu figured that coupling that with his Force skills wasn’t exactly easy or as intuitive to most Jedi. His friend had not seemed eager to broach the subject further, so Selu let the matter drop.

          Skip’s sense of direction steered them well. Twenty minutes later, Selu saw the long black outline of a ship.

          “Ship ahoy!” the lookout stationed in a perch up high shouted. “Twenty degrees off our starboard bow, about half a klick off.”

          “It’s Durpa’s ship,” Galleo muttered. “He’s not traveling that fast. Kind of surprised.”

          The Sedrian quickly ordered the ship slowed and a careful distance maintained from Durpa’s vessel such that the veiling mists would mask their presence.

          Selu reached out with the Force again and sensed his master and Ylenic It’kla not that much further ahead. Immediately, he surmised that Durpa was following the Republic ship, waiting for the right moment to attack.

          “He’s following the Republic vessel,” Selu told Skip. “Let’s hope they don’t spot us.”

          Durpa’s vessel lurched forward, closing on the faint silhouette of another ship. Selu tried to mentally communicate a warning even as blaster fire erupted from Durpa’s ship. His heart leapt into his throat as his master came under attack.

          “Don’t worry,” Skip said as he came alongside Selu, having sensed his anxiety. “A bunch of scruffy pirates against two Jedi Masters? They don’t stand a chance.”

          Then suddenly, an explosion blossomed from the Republic ship. The concussion sent up a pillar of flame through the center of the craft as it ripped through the hull. A massive gout of spray was thrown up by the blast, which was soon accompanied by flaming pieces of debris raining down. Selu cried out in surprise and horror, but he still sensed Plo Koon and Ylenic It’kla, along with a few more survivors, alive in the water. That knowledge kept him from totally losing control, but the danger was not over.

          Now the survivors were easy prey for the ruffians, who were still firing on the water and the rapidly sinking boat. Selu knew they had to act, and soon.

          “Get us closer, now!” he shouted to Galleo.

          The Sedrian relayed the order with some reluctance and the Flipper Over’s repulsors roared to life, closing the gap on Durpa’s ship. The Aqualish’s crew seemed to be clustered near the fore of their vessel, firing down into the water. As they drew closer, Selu saw they were also firing canisters that exploded into weighted nets down into the debris field. He sensed distress from one of the other Jedi. Perhaps he’d been caught in a net and was in danger of drowning. A plan quickly coalesced in Selu’s mind. It was risky, stupid even, but it might be their best chance at helping their masters. He turned to Skip.

          “Skip, you’re the stronger swimmer. Have Galleo get you over to rescue the survivors.”

          “We’ll have to pass right past Durpa’s ship to do that,” Skip pointed out.

          “I know,” Selu answered. “That’s why I’m going to buy you some time.”

          “How?” Skip replied with a frown. “Going to do a song and dance?”

          “Not quite. I’m going to board their ship.”

          Skip’s mouth gaped.

          “You can’t do that. That’s suicide.”

          “I can, and I’m going to,” Selu told him. “Get the masters onboard, then come help me. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

          Skip started to argue, but Selu cut him off.

          “We don’t have time for this. Unless you’ve got a better idea, this is how we play it out.”

          Skip opened his mouth to protest, saw the resolute look in Selu’s eyes, and then shut his mouth again without saying anything. Selu took that as agreement and relayed the instructions to Galleo.

          “Forget it!” the Sedrian shouted back. “I’m not gonna wade into a blasterfight.”

          “It’s not a blasterfight, it’s a slaughter,” Selu yelled. “I’ll triple your payment, just get over there and rescue the survivors. Skip will cover you and your crew.”

          The Tynnan nodded, drawing his lightsaber and activating it. The glowing blue blade flared to life, hissing and snapping in the salty air.

          “Fine, Jedi,” Galleo roared. “But yer trouble and no mistake!”

          The Flipper Over pulled alongside the other ship and then shot forward, drawing the intention of the hitherto unaware thugs in the front of Durpa’s vessel. They immediately switched targets, raking the bow and port side of Flipper Over with blasterfire. Skip interposed himself between the incoming fire and the main crew section of the ship, his lightsaber flashing as he swatted away blaster bolts.

          For his part, Selu had tossed a floatation ring into the water off the stern end and jumped inside. Holding his lightsaber above his head to keep it from getting wet, he kicked with all his might, swimming over toward Durpa’s ship. Seeing that he wasn’t quite going to catch up with the other ship, he pulled himself through the floatation ring to balance himself standing precariously atop it. Gathering the Force to himself, he channeled it into his hips and legs and leapt forward, flying through the air across a distance that would ordinarily be impossible to traverse unaided.

          However, even with his Jedi abilities, he almost didn’t make it. His eyes widened as he realized he’d misjudged the ship’s movement while he was in the air. Selu slammed painfully into the stern gunwale, driving the air from his lungs. He gasped as the lightsaber fell out of his hands onto the ship. The young Jedi found the resolve to clamber over the slippery edge and collect his lightsaber from the water bucket it had fallen into. Rubbing his newly-bruised ribs, he staggered forward, soaked from his chest down. If he could just cause enough damage, he could stop Durpa from firing on the survivors.

          The stern of the ship was thankfully deserted and as Selu stepped forward on the slick deck littered with grime and pools of water, he noted that nobody seemed to have detected his arrival. The entire ship seemed to be in bad shape as evidenced by the rusted fixtures, creaking deck plates, peeling paint, and scratched gunwale. Hopefully that would make it easier to disable.

          Seeing a stern cabin that probably led below deck to the engine room, Selu started toward it. Unfortunately for him, his Force senses weren’t at peak performance after the dizzying impact and he didn’t detect the person about to open the door until it was almost too late. Just in time, Selu sprang into action, whacking the brawny Aqualish that emerged from the cabin with blaster in hand. His first blow had to knock the weapon away or else have it used on him. A follow-up kick to the leg diverted the Aqualish’s attention long enough for Selu to throw a punch with his left hand to catch the alien on the temple, staggering him. However, the enraged sailor had enough time to bellow a warning even as Selu grabbed him by the arm and shoulder to slam him into the doorframe to knock him out. He winced as a loud commotion sounded from the fore of the ship. He raced around to the walkway that circumscribed the length of the ship only to see a group of angry Aqualish swarming toward him with weapons in hand. He drew his lightsaber and ignited it.

          The weapon felt good in his hand. The emerald green blade intercepted the first blaster bolt with no problem. Selu leapt aside from the second one and as the frontrunner closed on him, slashed his weapon in half. He was bringing the emerald blade back to catch the Aqualish across the chest with the backswing when suddenly it sputtered and died unexpectedly. Dismay swept over him as he realized belatedly that dropping it in that bucket had clearly done serious damage to its inner workings. The Aqualish whose weapon he had just destroyed delivered a thunderous uppercut to Selu’s solar plexus. Selu’s eyes bulged and he stumbled backward, the wind completely driven from him for the second time in as many minutes. From his doubled-over position, he looked up and tried to recover but the Aqualish was already bringing the ruined half of his blaster across. The weapon whipped into the side of Selu’s head, laying him out on the wet deck with a ship full of angry Aqualish.

          When he awoke, it was with a throbbing sensation in his head and his chest full of fire. He groaned, blinking his eyes open slowly. One of the first things he realized was that his arms were in a surprising amount of pain. The second thing was that he was standing up, but his feet weren’t touching the floor. Grimacing with pain, he applied a Jedi focusing technique to clear his head and understand the implications of his unusual position as he gathered his bearings.

          His hands were chained above him and the chain was looped around a large hook mounted on the ceiling. Clearly, they’d taken him below deck into the hold, because it was quite dark and yet didn’t seem that cramped. Having to carry all his weight on his arms and shoulders was the cause of that unexpected strain on his arms. A second heavy chain was wrapped around his ankles, immobilizing them. Selu tried to struggle, but his strength was depleted and he could barely budge. He sensed someone enter and while he couldn’t read much, he definitely sensed rage. A small glowlamp lit on the opposite wall to reveal an irate Barco Durpa, who was brandishing Selu’s useless lightsaber. Behind him, a decrepit 3PO droid was making its way over to the captain.

          Barco Durpa spat out an incomprehensible mixture of growls, squeals, and guttural utterances. The droid quickly translated, its officious voice distinctly incongruous with the grimy, unkempt surroundings.

          “Captain Durpa demands to know what a filthy scum-sucking Jedi is doing onboard his ship.”

          Selu saw no point in answering his questions and was content to simply glower defiantly at the Aqualish. Eyes bulging with rage, the grizzled sea captain stormed over to him and punched him right in the eye. Selu winced, but he was powerless to defend himself. Durpa bellowed out something less from his position less than ten centimeters from Selu, droplets of spittle spraying over Selu’s face.

          “Captain Durpa insists that you answer him, or he will start chopping body parts off.”

          Selu shuddered. While the science of prosthetics was quite advanced in the Republic, they weren’t quite the same as a natural appendage. Moreover, the Foruce couldn’t be focused through them, diminishing the abilities of a Jedi. Suddenly, his defiance no longer seemed as prudent. He needed to hold out and stall until Skip and the Jedi Masters could arrive.

          “Boarding your ship to try to negotiate,” Selu answered.

          The droid translated and a furious blubbering followed.

          “Captain Durpa says you are lying. You attacked two of his crewmembers. He says you are a saboteur who was trying to sink his ship.”

          “That’s not true,” Selu responded indignantly, but Durpa found this moment to vent some of his rage on the helpless Jedi.

          Using the lightsaber as a bludgeon, he swung the weapon in an arc to catch Selu on the side of his ankle just above where the chain was wrapped around it. Selu screamed involuntarily as white-hot agony exploded in his ankle. Face contorted in a grimace, he struggled to breathe as the pain threatened to overload his system.

          “Your Aqualish attacked first,” Selu lied. “I wanted to find out why you were attacking a Republic vessel.”

          Durpa snorted, gesticulating wildly as he spewed out a venomous reply. The droid dutifully translated in its precise mechanized tones.

          “Captain Durpa has no particular antipathy toward the Republic, but this particular incident was contracted. He has no intention of losing his payment because of a scrawny Jedi—”

          The droid paused to turn to Durpa.

          “Do you want me to translate that word literally or metaphorically?”

          Durpa snarled in rage and belted the droid’s head with the butt of the lightsaber. The hapless protocol droid staggered and turned back to Selu.

          “I believe the best interpretation is ‘Jedi who spawned from the offal of a dungworm.’”

          Selu was too wracked by pain to care even as Durpa continued his tirade.

          “He wants to know many other Jedi there are,” the droid informed him.

          “Too many,” Selu retorted, a reply that earned him a punch in the mouth once the droid translated.

          Selu spat out a stream of blood as the Aqualish barked out another fury-laden reply.

          “Captain Durpa is tired of your insolence. Instead of killing you quickly by gutting you, he now will beat you to death with your own weapon and then feed you to the stonefish,” the droid informed him.

          “Wait,” Selu started, but the Aqualish had already started forward. The first blow caught Selu across his bruised ribs, cracking several of them.

          “Captain Durpa intends to cause you as much pain as possible before you expire,” the droid continued with its maddening clinical detachment. “As an aside, it would be in your best interest to expire quickly.”

          The burly Aqualish snarled and swung the butt of the lightsaber up to catch Selu between the legs. The Jedi Padawan gasped in pain as black spots swam in front of his eyes. The follow-up blows were just as brutal, pummeling his torso until he was retching blood. Selu was powerless to resist, chained in place and unable to focus the Force sufficiently to either defend himself from Durpa or escape.

          Durpa drew back his meaty arm and held the now-bloodied butt of the ruined lightsaber. Then, he tossed the weapon aside to draw a wicked-looking knife and prepare to slash Selu across the middle. Selu saw the blow coming and tried to turn aside to avoid complete evisceration. Just as the wrathful Aqualish launched forward, there was a loud clang as a circle of metal fell down from the ceiling, its edges glowing red hot, to collapse on Durpa’s head. The knife blow was stopped short, its tip scoring a line of red twelve centimeters long across Selu’s narrow torso. 

          The captain toppled over unconscious as a sopping wet Plo Koon dropped down through the newly-created hole to land next to Selu.

          “Selu,” the Kel Dor said, walking over quickly to Selu and checking his pulse.

          “Master,” Selu mumbled through his battered mouth.

          “You’re going to be fine,” Plo Koon assured him, drawing his lightsaber to cut through the chain holding Selu in the air.

          The Jedi Padawan started to collapse onto the deck, but his master caught him and tenderly lowered him to the floor, then began freeing him from the chain wound around his ankle.

          “Don’t worry, it’s just a flesh wound,” Plo Koon told him as he examined the knife slash. “Not deep at all. Where else are you injured?”

          “Everything hurts,” Selu managed.

          “You were very brave, Selu,” Plo Koon commented. “Foolhardy and unprepared, but brave.”

          “What happened?” Selu asked as his master helped him up.

          He tried to stand on his own, but his legs buckled underneath him and the sharp pain in ankle prevented him from successfully putting weight on it. Plo Koon caught him again, supporting him.

          “Skip was able to reach Master It’kla, Daklan Burbage, and me,” Plo Koon told him. “We were caught in the nets, but he swam down and cut us loose. From there, it was a simple matter to swim over to the ship you arrived in and jump back to this ship to save you. We and the rest of the survivors owe you our lives.”

          “Glad to help,” Selu said painfully as he attempted to limp over. “Now what?”

          “We’re heading back to port,” Plo Koon said. “Master It’kla’s keeping an eye on our new prisoners who have a lot to answer for. I suspect some of them will cut a deal in exchange for the location of Romierr’s hideouts and contacts on Ando.”

          The Jedi Master slowly lowered him back to the damp floor and began applying first aid from the small medpac he carried.

          “What brought you two out here?” Plo Koon asked.

          “We learned that it wasn’t Daklan Burbage who was making the deal with Romierr,” Selu explained. “It was Ambassador Aspec. He took Burbage’s datapad to frame him and then hired Durpa to attack this ship and kill both of you and Burbage. We came out here to stop him and help however we could. I’m guessing the explosion was the other trick he mentioned.”

          “If his trick was a bomb in the hold, then yes,” Plo Koon answered. “It was our own fault for not sensing it. Our senses were clouded, both from the dark side and the intrigue on Ando. With so many threats, it was hard to judge between them.”

          “You could have been killed outright,” Selu pointed out.

          “I think that was the plan,” Plo Koon said, “but we were at the stern of the ship to defend it from Durpa’s attack instead of amidships. The Force gave us just enough warning to get a few of the crew and Daklan Burbage off.”

          The Kel Dor straightened up, having finished his ministrations.

          “Your injuries are painful, but not severe,” he informed him. “And perhaps you received them because of this?”

          He retrieved Selu’s inoperable lightsaber and held it up. Selu grimaced, not just from the pain, but from the knowledge that his own inability had led to him being taken captive so easily.

          “I tried to keep it from being submerged, but it fell into a bucket of water when I jumped onboard,” Selu explained.

          “There is no try,” Plo Koon answered. “You failed to do so and it has cost you.”

          The Kel Dor knelt down at his side again.

          “I am sorry we could not get here faster and that you have suffered so, but be grateful it was not worse. Let this be a lesson to you, Padawan. You need to not only prepare your mind and body when you go into dangerous situations, but your equipment also. What did you learn?”

          “I should have waterproofed the lightsaber,” Selu replied abashedly. “Skip’s is built to withstand submersion. Failing that, I should have found a waterproof container on Galleo’s ship to store it in and brought it over in that.”

          “A good answer,” Plo Koon told him. “You have failed and the consequences were much more severe than I ever want them to be for you, but you have also learned.”

          “Yes, Master,” Selu answered.

          “Now rest. You have had quite enough action for one day.”

          Selu spent the rest of the ride back to port in the hold, trying not to scream in pain every time the ship rocked or lurched in such a way as to aggravate his injuries. Skip came down to keep him company. His fellow Padawan was horrified to see his condition and had tried to apologize profusely, but Selu was having none of it.

          “It’s not your fault, Skip,” he answered brusquely. “It was my idea, my plan, and my failed execution.”

          “Just remember that it was also your idea to come out here and your plan that let me save the others without dodging blasterfire,” Skip countered. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

          Selu nodded slowly and lay back, trying to concentrate on something other than his battered body. He was grateful when they reached port just behind the Flipper Over. As Skip was altogether too small for the task, Plo Koon helped him off the ship as he limped over to where Kolka Galleo and surprisingly enough, Ylain were standing at the end of the pair expectantly. Plo Koon walked over to the Sedrian captain.

          “Thank you for your assistance today, Captain,” he said. “The Jedi Order and Republic are indebted to you.”

          The burly seafarer gave Plo Koon a skeptical look.

          “And just how indebted is that?”

          The Jedi Master simply handed him a voucher.

          “That credit voucher is worth five thousand credits once you redeem it at the Republic embassy,” he informed him simply. “Thank you again; we leave in peace.”

          Galleo’s jaw dropped in surprise.

          “Well, all’s well that ends well, except maybe for you I guess, ya liddle landlubber,” he said, referring to Selu. “You look right stove in.”

          “Something like that,” Selu managed. “Durpa got me pretty much everywhere before we took him down.”

          Ylain’s eyes widened, then she grinned impishly.

          “Even in the—?”

          “Yes,” Selu cut her off tersely. “Whatever part of the body you’re referring to, it hurts.”

          “Well, that’s cause you’re a dumb Jeddi,” she mocked him. “Only a dumb Jeddi would lose to a bully like Barco Durpa.”

          Selu was quite perturbed at her lack of sympathy, but since his master was present, made a conscious effort not to let the affront show.

          “And who is this?” Plo Koon asked him.

          “This is Ylain. She’s a street orph—a street dweller,” Selu answered through gritted teeth. “She’s our witness on both Daklan not being the one who hired Durpa to attack the boat and the ambassador being the one who met with Romierr three nights ago.”

          “Well, then she’ll have to come with us then,” Plo Koon intoned calmly. “Just long enough to get her statement.”

          “What? I’m not going anywhere with any kriffing Jeddi,” she spat, but the Kel Dor had already grabbed her arm with a firm grip.

          “Of course, for your key cooperation in such a crucial case, you will be well compensated for your time,” Plo Koon told her. “As our Sedrian friend just found out, the Republic can be quite generous.”

          That shut her mouth and they walked, or in Selu’s case, hobbled back out from the wharfs. Plo Koon rented a speeder since Selu was injured and the others were exhausted from their trip. Ylenic It’kla stayed behind to guard the Aqualish prisoners until a Judicial Forces speeder could arrive to pick them up, while the other Jedi, Ylain, Daklan, and the rest of the survivors headed back to the Republic compound.

          They were admitted without incident and Daklan Burbage and the remaining crewmembers went on their way to recover from their ordeal. Plo Koon turned to Selu and Skip.

          “I am going to confront the ambassador and take him into custody. Do you two wish to come?”

          “Definitely,” Selu said for both of them.

          Plo Koon looked askance at Selu.

          “Are you sure? You’ve had quite a day already.”

          “I’m sure,” Selu answered firmly despite the pain radiating through his body. “I want to see this through.”

          Plo Koon nodded and led them upstairs with Ylain in tow to the ambassador’s office. The door was locked, but a quick jab of a lightsaber solved that problem. The three Jedi entered to see the ambassador standing behind his desk, caught in the act of stuffing credits into a bag.

          “Surprise to see us, Ambassador Aspec?” the Jedi Master asked sternly.

          “Master Jedi, what a pleasant surprise,” the ambassador started with false cheer. “But your young companion is injured. You should see to that.”

          “After you’re brought to justice,” Selu told him firmly. “You have a lot of blood on your hands today. Some of it mine.”

          “I don’t understand,” the ambassador answered, apparently confused.

          “It’s over,” Skip told him. “She saw you conversing with Ardo Romierr. She also heard you hire Barco Durpa and plant the bomb in the Judicial Forces boat. The collaboration charges on weapons smuggling are severe enough, but now that’s several counts of murder to go with it.”

          “You’re going to believe a street rat?” Aspec sneered. “She’d probably do anything for a cred or two. This is preposterous. Master Jedi, I don’t think this is good fodder for your jokes.”

          “Neither do we,” Plo Koon answered sternly. “Skip.”

          The Tynnan Jedi produced the missing datapad that belonged to Daklan Burbage.

          “I bet we find your fingerprints all over this from three nights ago,” he said. “Your mistake was losing it to Ylain’s fast fingers. I bet there’d be some willing parties in the Crusted Clawclam willing to confirm your presence there with Barco Durpa and Ardo Romierr. We caught Durpa and his crew’s been quite cooperative.”

          The ambassador’s eyes narrowed as he realized the game was up.

          “You Jedi are blind,” he said. “I wasn’t after you, or even the Republic. My interest in this whole mess was strictly monetary, and now you’ve ruined that, and my good name.”

          “You did that yourself,” Plo Koon retorted.

          “Well, I hope you enjoy your accomplishment,” Aspec snarled. “A lifetime of dedicated public service, wasted and ignored in favor of political appointees. Always being posted to these miserable hellholes with inadequate support and funds to manage the constant crises. The Republic brought this on itself. It’s rotting from within and the Jedi blithely ignore it.”

          “This isn’t about the Republic or any injustices you have received,” Plo Koon countered. “This is about your collaboration with weapons smugglers and the murder of several equally devoted members of the Judicial Forces, murders you ordered.”

          “I wasn’t even after them,” Aspec said. “I was after Romierr, but he survived too. Now you’ve taken everything from me. Except one thing.”

          He gave them a nasty look.

          “Well, you can’t deny me this,” he said. “Goodbye, Master Jedi.”

          He rummaged in his desk drawer and came up with a small blaster. Plo Koon set himself to deflect blaster fire from his three young charges, but Aspec instead placed the muzzle under his chin and pulled the trigger. The three younger people grimaced, turning away from the unpleasant sight. Master Koon sighed and closed down his lightsaber even as several aides came rushing in.

          He waved them off, explaining the details and Aspec’s collusion with Ardo Romierr. Then he remembered Ylain and gestured one of the aides forward.

          “Get her statement,” he said. “You’re now in charge of the investigation until Daklan Burbage returns to duty. She is a key witness.”

          The aide, a Twi’lek woman, nodded dutifully.

          “And when you’re done,” Plo Koon added, “make sure that she’s placed in the care of social services.”

          “What?!” Ylain screeched. “That wasn’t our deal, Jeddi!”           “I promised that you’d be well-compensated,” Plo Koon answered evenly. “Spending the rest of your formative years in a foster home, where you will be taken care of, provided for, and educated is more than ample compensation. It is certainly better than eking out a dangerous existence on the streets of Ando.”

          Ylain clearly did not agree with the Jedi’s perspective. She raged and struggled, but the aide was not about to let her get away and was much stronger.

          “You tricked me! You dirty kriffing son of a murglak Jeddi! Go kriff yourself and then die in a fire!” she shouted helplessly.

          Plo Koon gestured and the aide escorted the furious Togruta away and her imprecations and profanity-laden rants eventually died out.

          “Nice touch, Master,” Selu said, managing a weak smile.

          They spent the next day on Ando so Selu could receive treatment from a medical droid at a clinic for offworlders while Masters Koon and It’kla sorted out the administrative details. Selu was uncomfortable at the clinic, having never had to stay overnight for medical treatment outside of the Jedi Temple before. The medical droid wasn’t particularly gentle and Selu resented its insensitive poking and prodding, as well as its blasé attitude. The healers at the Jedi Temple were caring compassionate sentient beings who concerned themselves with the complete restoration of the body. In comparison, the medical droid and the miserly Duros that supervised him were clearly uninterested in their patients’ wellbeing as long as they paid. They didn’t even spare him any bacta, claiming it was only for serious injuries and he’d recover fine without it.

          Selu was glad to be away from that place when his master came to pick him up and escorted him back to the spaceport, where they boarded their diplomatic cruiser. The pilot lifted off and they were soon outbound from Ando, headed back to Coruscant. Selu made himself as comfortable as possible in the lounge, reclining back and trying not to aggravate his broken ankle. Or broken ribs. Or dislocated shoulders. Or the myriad bruised organs and muscles that ranged from neck to groin. Or his battered face. Basically, he tried not to move, watching as Skip practiced some lightsaber velocities while the two masters sat to the side and alternated between quiet conversing and watching him.

It was going to be a long flight back to Coruscant. They had left an Ando that was deeply discontented as the scandal went public, leaked to the press. While Master Koon had hoped that Daklan Burbage would manage the diplomatic crisis, the aide had taken the next few days off and they hadn’t heard from him since. In fact, there were rumors of anti-Republic riots in some of the other Aqualish communities that could spread to Quantill City.

“Master Jedi, we have an incoming transmission for you,” the pilot called from the forward cabin.

“From the Jedi Council?” Master Koon asked.

“No, sir, the source is unknown. The attached message says it’s from Ardo Romierr.”

The two masters immediately stood and Skip closed his lightsaber down to follow along.

“Patch it through,” Ylenic It’kla said.

The holoprojector in the lounge flickered, then resolved the holo into a monochromatic cerulean projection of a well-dressed Human man sitting back comfortably, a fine crystal flute filled with wine in one hand.

To their surprise, it was Daklan Burbage. He raised a toast to them.

“Well done,” he told them, a triumphant smirk etched across his face. “I’d never run into the Jedi before.”

“You!” Skip shouted as Ylenic It’kla placed a calming arm on his shoulder. “You played us.”

“I did,” Romierr admitted. “Not that it was hard. I was concerned when Burbage’s datapad went missing, but imagine my surprise when the meeting I’d arranged between myself, Durpa, and a Republic official offering a deal to keep quiet after learning of our operations turned out to include Ambassador Aspec and my datapad.”

He sipped his wine.

“However, the reason I called was to express my gratitude. I was expecting Durpa to double-cross me, but not Aspec. If it hadn’t been for you two and your heroics on the boat, Aspec’s bomb might have killed me. Thank you.”

“You could thank us by turning yourself in,” Ylenic It’kla offered.

Romierr gave him a thin smile.

“That’s very tempting and all, but even though you dealt with both Aspec and Durpa for me, I’m not that grateful. After all, it was at the cost of my Ando operation, which I’m sure you know was quite lucrative.”

“And you placed yourself in a perfect position to play both ends,” Skip commented bitterly.

“At the end of the day, everyone gets what they wanted, right? Don’t look so glum, Master Jedi. You won. No more weapons smuggling on Ando. Of course, I also win, because I got paid handsomely for all those shipments and survived without having to pay off Durpa or Aspec. And my employers win, because Ando is now destabilized and seething with anger toward the Republic. They may even secede.”

He hoisted the flute aloft for another toast.

“I don’t know if you have anything fitting for the occasion, but I’m going to celebrate anyway.”

“And Ylain? Was she in your plan too?” Selu called from his position across the room.

“Her? No, hardly,” Romierr answered, confident and accommodating now that he’d clearly escaped from Ando. “She only knew me as Daklan Burbage, kind, caring Republic official. And for what it’s worth, I really did care about those people. They don’t have anyone to look out for them—after all, it’s not like the Republic or the Jedi care about them.”

“Where are you?” Plo Koon asked him. “I feel like this celebration might be better done in person.”

“I bet you do,” Romierr replied with an evil grin. “But that would spoil the surprise. Catch me if you can, Master Jedi, I’m light years away.”

“One of these days, Romierr, I’m going to find you and wipe that smirk off your face,” Selu promised him.

“I’m shaking in my boots, kid,” Romierr retorted. “Some advice: avoid picking a fight with people who can and will pound you into the middle of the next sector.”

Surveying the looks that ranged from impassive to hostile directed at him, Romierr shook his head and smirked again.

“Remember, Master Jedi. You won. Don’t look so depressed. Lighten up and prove the ‘stuffy Jedi’ stereotype wrong.”

There was absolutely no change in their reactions, but the gloating Romierr was irrepressible.

“Oh well then. Your loss.”

The transmission terminated, leaving the four Jedi in silence.

“Master, did we really win on Ando?” Skip asked finally.

“Perhaps,” Ylenic It’kla answered. “Do you still believe the victory we achieved worth winning?”

“Despite what Romierr said, I’m starting to second guess whether we even won,” Selu pointed out. “Given that tensions on Ando are even more inflamed and the Republic’s credibility weakened, and that Romierr escaped, how can there be any doubt that he won?”

“Only time will tell, Selu,” Plo Koon advised him grimly, clearly just as discontent by Romierr’s successful hoodwinking of four Jedi. “Only time will tell.”