Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

For a long moment the Aqualish glared at him, his hand now openly gripping the butt of his blaster. Obi-Wan stood motionless, his mind slipping into combat mode, his hand ready to dart beneath his tunic and snatch 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 glass. “A large one.”

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan said. The other’s glass 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.

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 Kenobi 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 passed 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 passageway 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 Kenobi 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?”