"Probably the bodyguard one," Lorana said. "Magistrate Argente's leading the Alliance's negotiating team."

An unpleasant sensation crept up Obi-Wan's back. The head of a powerful, galaxy-spanning organization such as the Corporate Alliance hardly had the time to deal personally with a minor contract dispute like this.

Unless the Barlok dispute wasn't as minor as everyone seemed to think.

He looked back at Riske. The man was still talking with the bartender, both of them leaning slightly over their respective sides of the bar, their heads close together. "Anakin, you see that dish of quartered nuts on the bar near Enforcer Riske?" he asked, setting down his drink. "Go and grab a few of them."

"Sure," Anakin said. Sliding out of his seat, he started threading his way between the rows of tables.

"What are you doing?" Lorana asked.

"Giving myself an excuse to go over there," Obi-Wan said, watching Anakin's progress across the room and judging his timing. One more table . .

. now. "Wait here," he added, standing up and heading off after his Padawan. Focusing his attention on the conversation at the bar, he ran through his Jedi sensory enhancement techniques.

He got within eavesdropping distance just as Anakin reached the bar, squeezed himself in between an Aqualish and a Rodian, and started helping himself to the nuts. "-centered in Patameene District," the bartender was saying in a low voice. "But that's just a rumor, mind."

"Thanks," Riske said. His hand brushed over the bartender's, and Obi-Wan caught a glint of metal as the bartender straightened up, his closed fist dropping casually behind the bar. The Brolf's eyes shifted to Obi-Wan, the hornskin puckering a little as he frowned. Riske caught the change in expression and turned, his right hand dropping casually to his belt, the fingertips dipping inside the edge of his vest.

"That's enough, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice light but firm as he came up behind Anakin and took casual hold of the boy's shoulder, carefully keeping his eyes away from Riske and the bartender.

"Just one more?" Anakin asked, turning and holding up a large tashru.

"All right, but for after your lunch," Obi-Wan said firmly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Riske's hand drop the rest of the way to his side and sensed both his and the bartender's suspicions fading. "You don't want to spoil your appet.i.te."

The boy sighed theatrically. "Okay," he said. Closing his fist around the nut, he started to turn around.

And as he did so, his shoulder b.u.mped the Aqualish's back just as the burly alien was lifting his drink to his mouth, sending a small wave of bright red liquid sloshing over the rim and down the alien's ma.s.sive hand.

Obi-Wan winced. It was a minor accident, as such things went, with equally minor damages. But such subtleties were lost on the typical Aqualish mind and temper.

And this one was very definitely typical. "You-child human troublemaker-"

he grunted in his native tongue, spinning around fast enough to slosh a little more of his drink over the edge. "What do you do to bother me?"

"It was an accident," Obi-Wan said quickly, pulling Anakin back to just in front of him. "I apologize for his carelessness."

"He is no babe in leafwrap that you must clean up his messes," the Aqualish retorted, glaring at Obi-Wan with his huge eyes. He looked back at Anakin, his hand dropping to the blaster belted at his waist. "He must learn manners and self-discipline."

Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Anakin's shoulder as he sensed the boy's flash of anger. Self-discipline was one of Anakin's biggest problem areas, something Obi-Wan had to call him on probably twice a week. The last thing the boy wanted to hear was the same lecture coming from a grumpy alien. "Easy, Anakin," Obi-Wan warned, aware that every eye in the cantina was on the confrontation. His little playacting had alleviated Riske's first suspicions about the would-be eavesdropper, but those suspicions would be back with a vengeance if Obi-Wan was forced to reveal himself as a Jedi. "Come, friend," he said soothingly to the Aqualish.

"Surely you have more worthwhile ways to spend your energy. Let me get you another drink, and we'll be on our way."

For a long moment the Aqualish glared at him, his hand now openly gripping the b.u.t.t of his blaster. Obi-Wan stood motionless, his mind slipping into combat mode, his hand ready to dart beneath his tunic and s.n.a.t.c.h his lightsaber if and when it became necessary.

And then something seemed to flicker in the Aqualish's anger. "A Likstro," he said, lifting his hand off his blaster and pointing at his half-filled gla.s.s. "A large one."

"Certainly," Obi-Wan said. The other's gla.s.s was nowhere near large size, but this wasn't the time or place to quibble over details. Senses still alert for a last-minute sneak attack, he turned and caught the bartender's eye. "A large Likstro," he said, gesturing to the Aqualish.

The bartender nodded and busied himself with his tap. A minute later the drink was in the alien's hand, the payment was in the bartender's, and Obi-Wan and Anakin were heading back toward their booth.

"That wasn't a large drink he had," Anakin muttered as they maneuvered between the tables.

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know."

"That means he stiffed you," Anakin said, an accusing edge creeping into his voice. "Probably what he had in mind all along."

"Possibly," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "What if he did?"

"But we're Jedi," Anakin growled. "We shouldn't have to put up with that kind of shakedown."

"You have to learn to see the bigger view, my young Padawan," Obi-Wan reminded him, glancing around. "All we really wanted to accomplish here-"

He broke off. Riske was gone.

So was Lorana.

6.

It was apparently her lot in life, Lorana thought as she wove her way through the crowds on the walkway, to be forever trying to keep up with someone. Earlier it had been C'baoth; now, she was struggling just as hard to keep Riske in sight.

She had to admit, though, that it was an interesting study in contrasts.

C'baoth's technique was the straightforward one of intimidating others out of his way. Riske gained the same result by taking advantage of every opening or opportunity for advancement, seldom disturbing any of the other pedestrians, slipping through the crowd like a night animal through the trees of a forest.

Master Ken.o.bi had said that the man used to be a bounty hunter. He'd probably been a very good one.

Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to get Obi-Wan's comlink frequency before they split up. C'baoth might have it, but she knew better than to interrupt him during the negotiations for anything short of an imminent catastrophe.

But the Jedi Temple on Coruscant surely had the listing. Dodging around a strolling Ithorian, she pulled out her comlink and keyed for the city communications center and a HoloNet relay.

"Vast apologies, citizen," a mechanical voice said from the comlink. "All connections offworld are unavailable. Please try again at a future time."

So much for that approach. Lorana shut off the comlink and returned it to her belt, sidestepping as a pair of large Brolfi suddenly loomed in her path. They pa.s.sed her by and she started forward again, craning her neck to sec over the crowd.

To find that Riske had vanished.

She hurried forward, scanning the street and stretching out to the Force.

But there was no sign of him.

Calm yourself Padawan, C'baoth's oft-repeated admonition whispered through her mind. Riske couldn't have gotten very far in the brief time he'd been out of her sight. He must have either gone into one of the dozens of little shops that lined the street or else ducked down one of the pair of narrow alleyways branching off to the left and right just ahead.

Briefly, she weighed the options. The shops would be constricting, drastically limiting his freedom of movement. A man like Riske, she decided, would more likely go for one of the alleys.

She reached them and looked both directions. No one was visible. When she'd last seen Riske, he'd been closer to the left alleyway, which made that one the more obvious choice. But he didn't strike her as an obvious sort of person. Weaving around another pair of pedestrians, she stepped into the alley to the right.

The pa.s.sageway was fairly narrow, about one and a half landspeeders wide, with one side stacked with tall but neat piles of garbage containers awaiting pickup. Halfway along its length, another alley cut across it at right angles, dividing this particular block into quarters. If Riske had gone this way, he would have had two additional directions to choose from once he reached the center. Slipping her hand inside her tunic, she got a grip on her lightsaber and headed in.

She reached the central intersection without incident and looked in all directions. Riske, unfortunately, wasn't visible in any of them.

For a moment she stood there, looking back and forth down the cross-alley, the sour taste of defeat in her mouth. Nothing to do now but retrace her steps and hope Ken.o.bi wouldn't be angry enough at her failure to report her to C'baoth.

A flicker from the Force was her only warning, but she reacted to it instantly. Taking a leaping step to the side, she spun around, drawing her lightsaber from her sash and igniting it.

The spinning disk gliding in through the alleyway behind her caught the sunlight as it tilted slightly, altering its direction toward her new position. Getting a two-handed grip on her lightsaber, she watched it come, wondering why anyone would bother with such a relatively slow weapon.

Half a second later she got her answer as the disk split into thirds, the top and bottom sections becoming duplicates of the original and swinging wide to approach her from different angles.

So it had become three against one. Still not a problem. She took a step backward, mentally mapping out the sequence she would use against them.

They hummed their way into range; and with a quick one-two-three she slashed the glowing blade outward, slicing all three disks in half.

And as the sections of the last one clattered to the alley floor, an arm snaked around her shoulder from behind to wrap firmly around her neck.

She inhaled sharply in chagrin. So that was the reason for the simplicity of the attack. It had been nothing but a diversion, driving her into the tunnel vision of combat while Riske slipped out of concealment from one of the garbage stacks and sneaked up behind her. She shifted her grip on her lightsaber, wondering if she would have time to stab backward with it before he got another weapon into position.

"Easy, girl," a mild voice said as something hard pressed against her neck beneath her right ear. "Close it down and put it away. I just want to talk."

"About what?" she demanded.

"Put it away and I'll tell you," he said. "Come on, girl-this isn't worth getting your head blown off over."

"I'm a Jedi," she warned. "We don't respond well to threats."

"Maybe Jedi don't," Riske agreed, an almost amused edge to his voice.

"But you're no Jedi-you got suckered way too easily for that." The arm around her throat tightened slightly. "Come on. Cool down and let's talk."

Lorana glared at the alley wall. Still, derision aside, if he'd wanted to kill her he probably could have done so long before now. "Fine," she said, closing down her lightsaber and sliding it back into her sash.

"There, now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said soothingly as he let go of her neck.

"I'm glad you're happy," Lorana said, taking a step forward and turning around to face him. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Let's start with you," Riske suggested, tucking a small hold-out blaster back into concealment in his tunic. "Why is C'baoth having you follow me?"

"Master C'baoth has nothing to do with this," she told him, stretching out to the Force and trying to get a feel for the man. He was cool and unemotional, with the alert detachment she'd often seen in professional bodyguards. But beneath the calm she could sense a certain honor, or at least a willingness to stand by his word.

And the fact that he'd put his blaster away implied he expected a certain degree of honor from her in return. That alone dictated that she at least hear him out.

"Was it the other Jedi, then?" Riske asked. "The one with you in the cantina?"

There are times when you'll wish your ident.i.ty to remain unknown, C'baoth had reminded her back on Coruscant. Clearly, it hadn't worked with Riske.

"He was interested in you, yes, but following you was my idea," she told him. "He was mostly surprised that a person of Magistrate Argente's stature would be handling these negotiations personally."

"I could say the same about Jedi Master C'baoth," Riske said. "Magistrate Argente was rather surprised himself when he showed up." He gestured in the direction of the cantina. "And now we have another Jedi in the game, this one trying to eavesdrop on private conversations. What exactly is the Council playing at?"

"As far as I know, the Council isn't playing at anything," Lorana said.

"We're not supposed to take sides in these things."

Riske snorted. "Like you didn't take sides on Naboo?" he said pointedly.

"I noticed your high-minded neutrality was surprisingly helpful to Queen Amidala and her government."

"I don't know anything about that," Lorana said. "As you've already guessed, I'm only a Padawan. But I can tell you that the Council didn't send us here. It was Master C'baoth's idea, and the Council only reluctantly gave him permission."

Riske frowned. "So he came up with this all on his own?"

"Well, actually, he was responding to something Supreme Chancellor Palpatine said," Lorana amended. "But it still wasn't the Council's idea."

"Palpatine," Riske muttered, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully.

"Interesting."

"My turn now," Lorana said. "What are you doing wandering around the city?"

"Trying to keep Magistrate Argente alive, of course," Riske said, his tone suddenly dark. "Nice talking with you, Padawan. Try and stay out of my way, all right?" With that he turned and strode away down the alley.

Lorana watched him until he disappeared out the other end into the city's pedestrian traffic. Then, with a sigh, she turned and headed back the way she'd come. Master Ken.o.bi, she knew, was not going to be happy about this.

With no easy way to locate Lorana, and with every reason to expect they would most likely chase each other in circles if he tried, Obi-Wan had opted to wait for her on a bench in a small park across the street from the cantina.

Anakin was just finishing his tarsh maxer when she finally returned.

"Interesting," Obi-Wan said when she'd finished her story. "So Magistrate Argente's in danger, is he?"

"Or at least Riske thinks he is," Lorana said, her eves holding the wary look of someone bracing herself for a reprimand.

In fact, as Obi-Wan gazed into those eyes, it occurred to him that they seemed to fall into that mode far too naturally. Apparently, C'baoth's teaching style was as domineering as the rest of the man's personality.

"But he didn't seem to think the danger was coming from you or Master C'baoth?"

"No, though he did ask what the Council was up to," Lorana said. "But it seemed almost a perfunctory comment, as if it was just natural to a.s.sume that the Council was playing politics. I don't think he would have been so open with me if he'd really thought we were plotting against Argente."

"You call that being open?" Anakin demanded scornfully. "Hints and threats?"

"Telling her to stay out of his way wasn't necessarily a threat," Obi-Wan told him. "Professional bodyguards like Riske always worry about bystanders or well-meaning but amateurish helpers getting in the way."

"He thinks we're amateurs?"