Crosscurrent

NOT EVEN LIGHT ESCAPES THE HOLE.

He puzzled over it for a moment, frowning. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Milsin calls it marketing. A catchphrase."

"A catchphrase?"

Borgaz wobbled his head from side to side, the Houk equivalent of a human shrug.

Milsin owned and operated The Hole and was always trying this or that gimmick he picked up from watching vids from the Core.

Shaking his head, Khedryn entered The Hole.

The dim interior of the place smelled of unwashed bodies, stewed ankarax, the pungent cheese produced locally by a small community of Bothans, and some offworld spice that Milsin must have purchased from a passing freighter. The eclectic collection of tables and chairs, some plastic, some wood, some resin, some metal-gathered from hither and yon over the years-mirrored the eclectic clientele. Rodian, Chiss, human, even a Trandoshan, drank, ate, gamed, and argued at The Hole. A duo of well-attired Bothans sat on crates and played the twelve-stringed soundboards of their people in a tuneless attempt at Yerk music that Khedryn barely heard anymore. Old vidscreens hung on the walls, the largest over the bar. HoloNet reception was hit or miss so far out, so most of them played recordings of shows and sporting events that had aired in the Core four standard months earlier. Nothing was produced locally, not even news. It was as if The Hole, as if all of Farpoint, existed in the past, four months behind the Core.

Khedryn nodded at familiar faces as he maneuvered his way through the tables. Milsin, an elderly human as thin as a whipweed, as bald as an egg, but as tough as an ankarax, waved at him from behind the bar.

"Spiced pulkay," Khedryn called, and Milsin nodded.

"See him?" called Stellet, captain of Starfire and a friendly rival of Khedryn's. Stellet was speaking to his Wookiee tablemate, presumably a new add to Starfire's crew. "That man's a junk jockey. Swims in engine lubricant. Handles a wrench better than he handles a woman."

Khedryn made an obscene gesture but offset it with a smile as he approached Stellet's table. "I've been on the rickety boat you call a ship, Stellet. I expect to be salvaging it when it burns out on your next run to Chiss space."

Stellet laughed, raised his glass in a mock toast. "Sit?"

"Can't. Got a game to play."

A gravelly voice from a nearby table pulled Khedryn around. "You smell of fine perfume, Khedryn Faal," said Kolas, a tawny-furred Cathar still working on the kind of banter that predominated at The Hole.

Khedryn leaned over him-he smelled of spoiled pulkay-and said, "You mean ankarax dung, or an open sewer, or something unpleasant. Keep trying, Kolas."

Those at the tables near Kolas jeered the Cathar. Kolas's whiskered face screwed up in confusion. He growled with embarrassment and hid behind his drink.

Khedryn thumped Kolas on his massive shoulder, picked up his pulkay from the bar, and spotted Marr down the hall, near the archway to the back room of The Hole. His first mate's elongated head seemed to float over the more vertically challenged crowd. Marr was tall even for a Cerean.

Before Khedryn could raise a hand in greeting, a human thrust himself into Khedryn's space. The man was taller than Khedryn by a head. His neatly trimmed beard and short brown hair book-ended intense, haunted gray eyes, the kind Khedryn had seen in religious fanatics. Khedryn put him at forty years, maybe, about the time human men looked back on their lives, found them wanting, and turned stupid.

"You're in my gravity well, friend," Khedryn said, and tried to push past.

The man would have none of it and blocked his way. He felt as solid as Kolas. Over the man's shoulder, Khedryn saw Marr take note of the confrontation and move his way. Several other patrons took notice, too, and half stood. The man seemed to sense the precariousness of his situation.

"Captain Faal," the man said. He backed off a step and put his hands in his pockets. "If I could have a moment."

"Not now."

The man stared into Khedryn's face. "Please, Captain. I will be brief."

Khedryn took him in. From his dungarees and boots, Khedryn made him as a salvage man. He wore a blaster, but that was part of the Farpoint uniform.

"Is this business?" Khedryn asked.

The man nodded. "Potentially lucrative."

"That's the only kind I'm interested in. We should talk, but in a bit. I've got a sabacc table waiting for me."

The man held his gaze and did not give way. "It would be better if we spoke now. Please, sit."

The words sounded strange to Khedryn's ears. They bounced around in his mind, repeating, repeating. He felt a tickle behind his eyes. His vision blurred for a moment and when it cleared he figured he should at least hear what the man had to say.

"Of course, friend. Let's get a table-"

Marr's long fingers fixed on Khedryn's shoulder. "The game is waiting, Captain. Reegas is displeased already."

Khedryn felt a moment's light-headedness. "Reegas?"

"Yes." Marr put his body between Khedryn and the human. The Cerean had a hand on his blaster and a question in his eyes.

Khedryn looked into the dark eyes of his friend, shook his head to clear it. What had he been thinking?

"Reegas, right."

He looked around Marr at the man who had accosted him.

"What is your name, friend? And how do you know me?"

Disappointment colored the human's face. "I know of you. And you'll be interested in what I have to say, Captain."

"No doubt. After the game, though."

"Captain-"

"He said after," Marr interrupted.

"What'd you say your name was?" Khedryn asked.

"Jaden Korr."

"Korr here says he has a business proposition, Marr."

Korr did not even look at the Cerean.

"We are always looking for business," Marr said.

"I'll find you after the game. You're welcome to watch, if you like," Khedryn said, and indicated the vidscreens. "Better'n watching a grav-ball game that was played four standard months ago."

"I suppose it is," Jaden said, studying Khedryn and Marr. "I may take you up on that, Captain."

Sitting in the corner of The Hole near the Bothan musicians, Kell watched the bearded human confront Khedryn Faal and he knew almost immediately that he had found his Jedi. He imagined the sharp tang of the Jedi's soup, licked his lips, and stood.

For two standard weeks he had prowled unnoticed among Farpoint's streets, cantinas, and gambling dens. He had fed off the stored sentients in Predator's hold while gathering information about Farpoint, its people, the comings and goings of ships, always with an eye toward spotting a Jedi.

He had found nothing. Until now.

The Jedi had been posing as a scrap dealer from the Core. He must have been shielding his Force signature. But Kell had felt the flash of power when the Jedi had used the so-called mind trick on Khedryn Faal. Therefore-Kell smiled at the echo of Wyyrlok's syntax-the Jedi clearly had urgent business with Faal.

And that information allowed Kell to put together the puzzle of Krayt's vision, to see Wyyrlok's sign. And perhaps his own.

He had heard the gossip that Junker had happened upon a promising salvage opportunity, of course, but such stories were not uncommon in Farpoint. He had thought there was little to distinguish it from any others.

But now he suspected otherwise, because the Jedi must have thought it different from the others. And that meant that Kell had found his sign. He would get his answer when he determined where the salvage opportunity was located. He would have wagered much that it was on the icebound moon in orbit around a blue, ringed gas giant, the image of which Wyyrlok had impressed on Kell's mind.

Kell imagined lines crossing, knotting together, the warp and weft of Fate's skein meeting in the corrugated confines of The Black Hole and leading outward into the Unknown Regions and Kell's destiny.

Over the Bothans' music, over the hum of conversation, laughter, and vidscreens, Kell had heard the Jedi say his name to Khedryn Faal.

Jaden Korr.

The name sent a thrill through him. He savored the syllables, the sounds an incantation that would summon him to revelation.

"Jaden Korr," he whispered.

The Bothan musicians built their song to a climax, staring at and past Kell without seeing him. Kell allowed his perception to see fate lines as the Bothan music died. The room became a net of glowing tethers, but Kell had eyes only for the tendrils of red and green that spiraled around the gray-eyed Jedi.

He wound through the crowd, almost invisible to those in The Hole. Perhaps someone saw him for a moment, but he flickered in and out of perception with such smoothness that they probably registered him only out of the corner of an eye, as a fleeting shadow.

Or a ghost.

A table erupted in shouts as someone scored in the grav-ball game blaring on one of the vidscreens. Korr stood in place, arms crossed, staring after Khedryn Faal, motionless and placid amid the frenetic activity of dancing girls, servers, and patrons in The Hole.

Kell fell in with the activity. His feeders roiled in his cheeks as he closed on Korr. He could not take his eyes from the back of Korr's head, could not pry his thoughts from the imagined taste of the Jedi's soup, the sharp, creamy flavor implied by the power that flashed when the Jedi had used his mind trick.

Kell's appetites were driving him, he realized, making him incautious. He recognized this, but he recognized, too, that if revelation were ever to be his, it would come through the soup of a Force-user.

Perhaps this Force-user, he thought.

He glided behind Korr, near enough to touch him, and stopped there. His feeders twitched. The effort to keep himself shielded-even from a passive Force-user-strained him. His daen nosi tangled themselves with Korr's, squirming, silver, green, and red serpents wrestling for dominance.

The sounds and smells of the cantina fell away, leaving him and Korr alone in the swirling potentiality of Fate, the roiling mix of their daen nosi. Kell leaned forward, inhaled the air around Korr.

Korr cocked his head, turned. Unready for the sudden spotlight of the Jedi's Force-enhanced awareness, Kell's perception screens failed him.

Thinking quickly, he clutched at the Jedi's coat and stumbled into him as if drunk, the collision of their flesh echoing the collision of their fates.

"Pardon," Kell said in Basic, and tried to stagger past. He bumped a waitress carrying a wooden tray laden with glasses of pulkay, but she did not even break stride.

The Jedi took Kell by the bicep, held him in place. Kell's left hand fell to the hilt of one of his vibroblades.

"Are you all right?" Korr asked.

Kell looked up and met the Jedi's deep-set gray eyes, underlined by dark circles, and saw the stress and longing written in the broken capillaries of his conjunctiva. For a moment he could not speak. He knew he had met a kindred spirit, that he and Jaden Korr sought the same thing-revelation. And Kell knew that he would find it when he fed on the Jedi's soup.

"I am fine," Kell said with an affected slur. "Thank you."

The Jedi let him go. Kell weaved to an unoccupied table with a view of the sabacc table and slid into a seat.

He felt the weight of the Jedi's regard on the back of his head. It diminished only when Korr walked past him and into the back room to watch Faal play sabacc.

Kell waited a few moments, then followed him in.

Clutching him by the arm, Marr steered Khedryn toward the sabacc table the same way he might a balky speeder.

"You are nineteen minutes and nine standard seconds tardy," Marr said.

"You cannot just say late? You have to say tardy?"

"Nineteen minutes and fourteen standard seconds… tardy."

"Why are you worried? You do not approve of my gambling anyway."

The Cerean shrugged. "I would disapprove less if you did not lose so often."

Khedryn smiled half-heartedly. He still felt discomfited from his encounter with Jaden Korr. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Jaden was staring at him, his deep-set eyes in shadow.

"You remember that time we carried those Sacred Way pilgrims to Hoogon Two so they could see the monument built there by their founder?" Khedryn said to Marr. "You remember how they looked when they got there and there was no monument?"

Marr nodded. "Haunted."

"Right. Haunted." He indicated Jaden with his chin. "He reminds me of them. He's got that look. Like he learned something he wished he hadn't and it called into question what he believes."

"I can steer him off, if you'd like. He doesn't look like much."

Khedryn shook his head. "That's bad business. He said lucrative, so let's hear what he has to say."

Reegas's nasal voice pulled Khedryn's head around to the sabacc table.

"Put your arse in a seat, Faal! And get your bug eyes on some cards!"

"Did he say bug eyes?"

Khedryn preferred to think that his lazy eye allowed him to see the world askew, from a different angle than most.

"I believe he did."

"Huh," Khedryn said. He fixed false mirth to his face and turned to the table.

Reegas's bald head, already dampened with sweat, glistened in the overhead lights. He smiled through his paunchy jowls, and his overweight body slouched in his seat. A glass of straight keela sat before him on the table, as clear as water. His two Weequay bodyguards, their faces as dry and cracked as the leather of their blaster holsters, leaned against the back wall of the room. Both eyed Khedryn with the dead eyes of those who harmed others for a living.

"Sit! Sit!" Reegas called.

Khedryn thumped Marr on the shoulder. "Duty calls."

"But that Cerean comes nowhere near this table," said Reegas. "His brain is built for counting cards."

Khedryn lost even the false mirth. "You spent too much time in Hutt space. Gotten yourself paranoid. I don't cheat, Reegas."

"No wonder you never win," said Earsh, also seated at the sabacc table. The human's long nose and his bushy sideburns, groomed to a point, made him look like he was sniffing the wind for easy marks. He had the twitchy nature of a rodent, and Khedryn knew he was into Reegas for at least three thousand credits.

"Oh, I am not here to win. I am here to make the game respectable. Otherwise it's just a table full of thugs and scoundrels. Save you, Flaygin."

The old man smiled a mouthful of rotted teeth. An old-timer in Farpoint, Flaygin had been a salvager himself before he'd retired. Khedryn saw his own future in Flaygin's thin gray hair, sun-wrinkled skin, and serial gambling. Flaygin missed the life because he'd never had anything else. Khedryn could see that.

Earsh grunted, tapped a credit on the table, spun it under his finger. "A junk jockey don't make a game respectable. You pull any rubbish out of the sky recently, junk jockey?"

"Why?" Khedryn said to Earsh. "You lose your ship somewhere?"

Earsh's expression hardened. His sideburns pointed accusations at Khedryn, though he could rarely hold Khedryn's eyes. Khedryn figured his eyes made Earsh uncomfortable. "You calling my ship trash, Faal?"

Khedryn stood behind his chair, the comforting weight of his blaster on his thigh, his eyes all innocence. "Calling your ship trash would be an insult to trash."

Earsh stood, a callused hand on his DL-21 blaster pistol.

Khedryn lost his smile. "A man skins his weapon at this table, he best be ready to use it. You think hard, Earsh." He let his hand hover over his own IR-5.

"Sit down, Earsh," ordered Reegas, tapping the table with a finger as if summoning his pet. "We need four to play."

Earsh looked as if he had eaten something foul as he sat back down. "One day, Faal. One day."

"Any day that takes your fancy, Earsh. Any day."

"Please sit, Khedryn Faal," said the dealer droid, Himher, and one of its dexterous, metallic hands gestured at his chair. Himher's voice changed from male to female in mid-sentence, a manufacturing defect that had either slipped past quality control or reflected the odd sense of humor of a worker at the plant. How it had ended up in Farpoint, owned by Milsin, Khedryn had no idea. Himher was a fixture at The Hole and always had been.

Khedryn accepted the droid's invitation while Flaygin threw back a long drink of pulkay, slammed his empty glass down on the table, and said, "Now that the preliminary posturing is out of the way, maybe we can see some cards, eh?"

Everyone chuckled, but none sincerely.

"Corellian Gambit rules, players?" asked Himher.

All four nodded and Himher's mechanical appendages turned to blurs. Khedryn sank into the game as cards floated across the table: flasks, sabers, staves, and coins. Credits slid across the tabletop, one hand after another. A steady stream of dancing girls took shifts either standing at Reegas's side or sitting on his lap and sinking into the folds of his obese body. He gave a few credits to those he favored. Other spectators and hangers-on trickled in as the stakes grew larger, the game more intense. Khedryn did not need to turn around to know that Marr's eyes were boring holes into his back. He could feel their weight.

Lengthy discussion and dueling insults went by the wayside as the game turned earnest. The room became quiet but for the hum of Himher's servos and the occasional gasp or exclamation from one of those in the audience. Reegas sipped his keela with affected casualness, studying the other players over the rim of his glass. Earsh's face reddened as the game went on. He slammed back pulkay about as fast as the servers could fill his cup. Khedryn barely touched his own drink.

His sobriety was not rewarded. Over the next four standard hours, Khedryn's cards fell about as well as they usually did. He watched as bad luck and bad play eroded his pile of credits while growing Reegas's into a mountain. He kept his rising irritation from his face, but the clench of his jaw made it hard to separate his upper teeth from his lower. A headache nested in his left temple and he could not shake it. He played to push things, not to win, but it annoyed him to lose to Reegas.

"Refill me, will you, dear?" Reegas said to the haggard-looking blond dancing girl perched on his lap. He jingled his ice and wore a smug smile that Khedryn would have preferred to wipe off with a power sander.

"Me, too," said Earsh, and the dancer snorted with contempt. "Hey!"

While the dancing girl bounced off Reegas's lap and ignored Earsh, Reegas grinned at Khedryn.

"Credits are looking a little thin, Faal."

"You, however, look not at all thin," Faal returned. "Nor hirsute."

Snickers and a couple of guffaws made the rounds among the spectators who formed a ring around the table. Reegas's false smile hung on his face as if painted there, but his eyes turned hard.

As if summoned forward by his anger, Reegas's pair of Weequay bodyguards left their perch along the back of the wall and slunk through the crowd until they stood at its edge.

"You play about as usual," Reegas said.

Khedryn shrugged. "Some beings are born lucky. Some are born pretty. Never both. I suppose that makes you lucky."

Even Earsh snorted, though he tried to hide it in a cough.

"The bet is to Reegas," Himher said, its voice changing to female when it said Reegas.

"All in, Himher," Reegas said, pushing his sea of credits into the center of the table and staring at Faal the while.

"Reegas Vance is all in," the droid said, and an excited susurration went through the spectators.

Earsh grunted, folded his cards in disgust. "Out."

Flaygin looked first at his cards, then at Reegas, then at Khedryn. "It seems this is between you two. Good enough. Out."

"You are short, Khedryn Faal," said Himher, studying Khedryn's remaining credits. "Please produce six hundred forty-two credits, obtain credit in that amount, or cede the hand."

The crowd murmured. Khedryn stared at his credits as if he could cause them to breed and multiply through force of will, all the while seething over ceding anything to Reegas.

"Marr," he called over his shoulder. He stared at Reegas, daring the fat clown to object to Marr's presence at the table.

Reegas made a dismissive gesture-a king granting an indulgence-and eased back in his chair.

The Cerean appeared beside Khedryn, his face composed.

"Don't say a kriffing word about losing," he said, and Marr's mouth stayed closed. "What do we have?"

"What we have is sitting in front of you," Marr answered.

Khedryn nodded. He had figured as much. He looked up, thinking to save face by making light of the situation, and spotted Jaden Korr in the crowd. The man's gaze pinioned him, and concern carved grooves into his brow. Khedryn looked past him, smiled at some random spectator, and tried to laugh, though anger and embarrassment made his voice too tight.

"Anyone out there have six hundred and forty-two credits to loan?"

Laughter moved through the crowd. Khedryn downed his pulkay and when he looked up, he'd lost Jaden. He scanned the crowd, picked him up again, sliding around the perimeter of the room. The man was smooth. He was not sure Marr had correctly evaluated him as not looking like much.

"No one?" Khedryn asked.

The laughter died.

Khedryn faced Reegas and held up empty hands. "It appears I'm short."

Reegas grinned through his jowls. "So it appears. Perhaps you'd consider putting something other than credits at risk?"

Khedryn knew what was coming but played along. "Such as?"

Reegas took a sip of his drink, smacked his lips, both of them glistening wet in the overhead lights. "The coordinates of the signal you picked up. Word is there might be some value in the site. If that word is legit, we can throw those in and call it even."

"You in the junk business now? Selling narco not earning you enough?"

The crowd let out a collective ooh at that. Reegas lost his grin; his upper lip twitched.

"I am trying to do you a favor, Khedryn Faal."

"You don't even know what's there. I don't know what's there. It could be valueless. A crashed survey droid."

Khedryn did not think so. He thought he had stumbled upon an unoccupied base of some kind. There was bound to be lots of value there, in electronics if nothing else. And he had probably told the three Zeltron dancing girls exactly that. And they had told everyone, including Reegas. He cursed himself for a mouth that ran like a bad power manifold, always opening at the wrong time.

Reegas leaned forward, his fat folding over itself a few times. "There's always something of value floating in the black, correct? Isn't that what you salvagers say?"

Khedryn said nothing, thinking that Reegas's mouthing the salvager's motto somehow soiled it.

Reegas made a show of sighing before he stood and started reeling in the credit pool. "If you'd rather just cede the hand, then… "

"Fine," Khedryn said, and had to unclench jaw and fist. He would not cede the hand to Reegas Vance. "Done."

Reegas held his pose over the table for a moment, a bloated, half-drunk, smug dragon hovering over his hoard. He sat down and fixed Khedryn with a hard stare.

"Let's get them on the table then."

"My word is not good enough?"

"The table," Reegas said.

"The coordinates," Khedryn said to Marr, who still stood at his shoulder.

Marr hesitated a beat before he pulled a small datapad from the dozen or so pockets in his trousers and started punching keys.

"You all right with this?" Khedryn asked him.

"You need his permission?" Reegas asked.

"Shut your mouth, fat man," Khedryn spat.

Earsh lurched from his chair, but Reegas stayed him with an upraised hand.

"You need his permission?" Khedryn said to Earsh. "Do it. Do it."

The slits of Earsh's eyes moved from Khedryn, to Reegas, then back to Khedryn, and he retook his chair. His chest rose and fell like that of a man who'd run five klicks.

"You are pushing it," Marr said to Khedryn.

"I always push it," Khedryn said.

"The coordinates if you please, Master Marr," Reegas said to Marr.

"Marr," Khedryn said, his tone soft. "Sorry."

Marr made eye contact with no one as he punched the coordinates into the 'pad. "You are the captain," he said, his tone equally soft.

Khedryn almost reconsidered-Marr's disapproval was as tangible as the heat in the room, and Khedryn valued Marr's opinion above all others'-but the smugness in Reegas's expression beat wisdom off with a stick.

"You keep all those numbers in your brains, Cerean?" Reegas asked.

Marr stared at him from under the cliff of his brow, but said nothing. The Cerean removed the storage crystal from the datapad and placed it in the center of the table. It caught the light, flickered like a diamond.

"Good luck," Marr said to Khedryn, and withdrew into the crowd. Khedryn felt his absence. Marr's presence offered Khedryn something he could not quite articulate, something solid, something… certain.

Word of the wager and brewing confrontation must have spread through The Hole. A few dozen spectators crowded the room, elbowing out space and craning necks.

"Give me fake coordinates," Reegas said, "and, well… you know."

Khedryn looked past Reegas to his Weequay bodyguards. Jaden Korr, now standing behind Reegas's bodyguards, stared back at him and slowly shook his head. Khedryn ignored him.

"Like I said, I don't cheat, Reegas. Not ever. I take my losses when that's how the cards fall."

"So you do." Reegas sipped his keela. "Deal, Himher."

"An accord over the wager has been reached," said the droid, and dealt.

Khedryn studied his hand, his heart racing. He was not so much concerned about losing the coordinates to Reegas as about simply losing to Reegas in front of a roomful of people.

His first four cards included the Master and brought him to nineteen. A mediocre hand. He stared across the table at Reegas, trying to read his cards in the set of his lips. Nothing. He dared not call at nineteen.

"Khedryn Faal?" asked Himher.

He discarded his two high cards and decided to shoot low. Himher skimmed two cards across the table. Khedryn eyed them-Balance and the Evil One-and it took a few moments for their value to register. He did the math in his head again and again.

Negative twenty-three.

"Reegas," Himher said.

"Call it," Reegas said, and sat back in his seat.

Khedryn tried to answer Reegas's smugness with his own. He savored the moment, flipped his cards. "Negative twenty-three."

Gasps and applause broke out in the crowd. Only a positive twenty-three could beat him.

Reegas's face fell. He stared at Khedryn's cards a moment, his neck blotchy, before flipping his own.

"Twenty-three. To the right side of zero."

More applause.

"What?" Khedryn asked, staring at the cards, too stunned to say anything worthwhile. "What?"

Earsh's laughter was like a wood rasp on Khedryn's nerves. Flaygin just shook his head and started counting his remaining credits.

"The hand goes to Reegas," Himher said, and the room erupted into cheers, boos, and applause, all of which swallowed Khedryn's curses.

Reegas waited for the hubbub to quiet before collecting his winnings. Khedryn's mind raced. By the time the sausages of Reegas's fingers had pulled over his hoard, Khedryn had his angle.

To Reegas, he said, "I guess it'll take you a few days to hire a salvage crew and get them off to the site."

"I guess it will," Reegas said. "You need work?"

"From you? No. I was just thinking that that timetable means Marr and I will have to get out there quick. Don't worry, though. I'll leave you enough to at least pay for the fuel you burn getting there."

The room went completely silent. Reegas stared at him, face red, body tense. The Weequay put hands to blasters, waiting on the order from their boss. Jaden Korr loomed behind them, his face the only one in the room showing neither shock nor concern.

"Huh?" Earsh said, looking from Khedryn to Reegas and back again.

"Surely you did not think I was offering exclusive rights, did you?" Khedryn said to Reegas, waving a hand as if the very notion were absurd. "Himher, did I say exclusive?"

"Exclusivity was not mentioned in the accord," the droid said.

Reegas's mouth opened and closed a few times. Hate swam in the rage-filled pools of his eyes.

A few chuckles made their way through the audience, and Khedryn thought he might have pushed just enough for something to give. He had embarrassed Reegas badly.

The hate lingered for only a moment more in Reegas's face before he turned expressionless, as if a light had been turned off.

"Quite right. Exclusivity was not mentioned. Double or naught for exclusive rights, then?"

Khedryn did not hesitate. He leaned forward in his seat. "Deal, Himher."

The crowd shouted and cheered as the cards danced over the table, hand after hand, with neither one willing to call. Discard, deal anew. The press of bodies in the room made it hotter than usual. Khedryn took enormous satisfaction in watching Reegas daub his sweat-slicked face with a kerchief.

As Himher gathered the discards and distributed another, hand, Khedryn caught sight of Jaden Korr, his eyes closed, as if he had fallen asleep on his feet.

The cards hit the table. Khedryn examined them, saw twenty-three, and tried to keep it out of his eyes. It was Reegas's turn to call or pass.

Reegas eyed his own cards, sweated, eyed his cards again.

"Call or pass, Reegas," said Himher.

"Call," Reegas said, and flipped his cards. "Negative twenty-two."

Khedryn let him sit a moment with uncertainty, then flipped his own. "Twenty-three. To the good side of zero."

The crowd erupted and Earsh jumped from his chair, bumping the table, sending credits flying. "He cheated! You are a cheating nerf! That Cerean said something to him when he came over here. I saw it."

Khedryn stood, twitchy, his legs stiff from being so long in the chair. "A lie. I don't cheat, boy. And neither does Marr."

Marr appeared at his side, solid, reassuring.

Reegas stared ice at Khedryn. "Let's talk about this somewhere more private."

"I don't think so," Khedryn said, taking a step back.

"I am not asking," Reegas said, and signaled his bodyguards with a wave of his hand. They pulled their blasters and advanced.

Khedryn and Marr pulled theirs, and Khedryn kicked over the table as Earsh drew his weapon. Credits and the data crystal flew across the room. People started to scream, to surge toward the exit, and above the hullabaloo Khedryn heard a sound he had not heard in decades-the hum and sizzle of a lightsaber.