Part 8 (1/2)

”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 s.h.i.+fted 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 slos.h.i.+ng 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.