Bolt Hole by Gheorghe2 and ginef

by ginef

Post TPM. Knight meets information broker. Things happen.

3. Friend in Low Places

By Gheorghe2 and ginef

CHAPTER THREE - "Friends in Low Places"

"Can I see another one? Pleeeease?"

"That's up to Ben," Linn said from the modular couch she was sharing with Annie.

Ben hit the pause on his battle sim game. Not that it particularly mattered. He'd beaten most of the scenarios already, but had not yet gotten so bored he was willing to join Linn and his Apprentice in another installment of "Captain Coruscant and the Defenders of Freedom". From Annie's tired whine of overstimulation, he thought that Linn had likely created a holovid addiction that was going to take him weeks of meditation to undo. It was also obvious that for Annie, although the spirit was willing, the body was rapidly approaching total exhaustion.

He took a calculated risk. "One more, then bed, Annie."

"How about the one where Captain Coruscant battles Torgorian pirates?" Linn offered.

"Okay!" Annie sputtered enthusiastically. Linn manipulated a control from the couch.

"In this one, Annie, the evil Torgorian pirates develop a superweapon that pierces suns and destroys whole star systems."

And Captain Coruscant will save the universe without breaking a sweat and without so much as a hair out of place, Ben thought sourly, returning to his sim. Thinking his ground troops looked exposed, he sent in a squad of lower atmosphere fighters to provide air cover support. They arrived just in time to strafe a strike team that had somehow infiltrated the rear flank of the defensive perimeter.

"Pierces suns?" Annie echoed.

"Yes," Ben heard Linn respond as the theme music began blaring for the seventh time since they had boarded The Roncardi. Their intended early start to Sacorria had not materialized, a loss Ben was not particularly begrudging. They had had a long wait to get their clearance out of Coronet, but Annie had made good use of the time by plundering Linn's appallingly large collection of holovid recordings.

"Can it go through ships, too?" Annie asked.

"It certainly can," Linn affirmed.

"Can it..."

Ben looked up as the volume of the vid faded to a muted hum. Annie was slumped over into a pillow on the couch, eyes shut.

"Good decision," Linn said softly. "He fell asleep in mid-sentence."

Ben shut off the sim, having just delivered another devastating win for the defenders of truth and justice. He rose, and crossed over to the couch. "He'll be out until we land," he said, scooping Annie up.

Linn glanced at her wrist chron. "We won't hit Sacorria for another 5 hours. The nap will do him good."

Ben hurried down the hall and deposited his young charge on his bunk. Gently he removed the child's boots and pulled a blanket up over him. Returning to the cabin, he found Linn gathering up the holos which were scattered all over the floor and attempting to return them to their respective cases.

Ben settled himself silently into a chair to watch her. She was so... beautiful sounded trite, but regardless, he couldn't keep his eyes or his hands, for that matter, off of her. Even now, crawling around on the floor in one of Dar's old flightsuits, with her hair pulled back in an elastic, she was more enticing to him than any woman he'd seen in the holomags occasionally smuggled into the Temple by his fellow apprentices.

What he really wanted to do was grab Linn and drag her off to her cabin. But he was on her ship. Her territory. He wasn't sure if the rules had changed. When she reached back slowly to rub at her neck, he had to check his sharp intake of breath.

"Wanna watch a holo?" Linn asked, peeking over her shoulder at him. Her sly look let him know he'd been busted staring.

"Uh, sure, what have you got?"

"Let's see," she replied, getting up and heading toward the entertainment center. She dropped the disks back in their slot and scanned for other titles. "We have every game the Chad Marauders ever played." She turned and gave him a sad smile. "Those were Dar's."

He nodded. "Qui-Gon used to take me to see the Raiders whenever they were on Coruscant. He was mad for smashball too."

"But not you?"

Ben smiled. "I was just happy to see him so enthusiastic about something. He became," he searched for the word, "enthralled."

"I know exactly what you mean," she laughed and then turned her attention back to the holos. "What kind do you like? Action? Drama? Comedy? Sports?"

"Anything so long as it isn't Captain Coruscant," he replied as he joined her in front of the shelves. Something caught his eye, a decorative little box. "What's this?" he asked, picking it up.

"Dar's lucky sabacc cards," Linn said, taking them and popping the box open to display the cards. "You play?"

"No," Ben said slowly. "Care to teach me?"

"How many credits you got to lose, fly boy?" she shot back with a smile. Linn took the cards and headed toward the table.

Ben followed. "You already have all of my credits," he pointed out.

Linn sat down, rubbing her chin in contemplation. "Hmmm... we'll have to think of something else you can use as collateral then." She looked him up and down, slowly, thoroughly. "Turn around."

"What?" He didn't need to read her emotions to comprehend the direction of her thoughts. Ben complied, turning in a complete circle.

"I'm rather fond of your trousers, how about if I play you for those?"

He was **not** going to blush. "My trousers?" he questioned. "I thought you wanted my shirt."

She effected a serious frown. "True. I did get rather attached to one of your shirts last night. If I win, I'll take the one you're wearing too."

"And what do I get in exchange, should I win?"

"What do you want?" she asked with a coy smile.

Oh, what a loaded question. He elected to start small. "The flightsuit."

"We do need an even pot, though," Linn said.

"The flightsuit then, and whatever is underneath."

He was pleased. Linn was blushing now, too. Despite the outrageous flirtation, Ben knew he was still battling a certain residual disbelief over the whole situation. It was reassuring to know that Linn was prone to the same bouts embarrassment that he was.

"How about this," she managed to propose. "Every time you lose a hand, I get an item of your clothing."

"And I get the same?"

She nodded, and extended her hand, palm up. "Deal?"

Ben placed his atop of hers, sealing the bargain.

Ben took a seat across from her. "Aren't you worried I'll play to lose?"

Linn removed the cards from the box. "But if I win all the hands, what good will that do you?"

"Isn't that something you should be asking yourself?" he teased.

Linn turned an even brighter shade of pink and looked away, becoming absorbed in shuffling the cards. It was something she did as an escape, he thought. Ben leaned forward and squeezed her hand. She swiftly smiled, then was all business.

"Here's how it works. There are a total of 76 cards - 16 face cards and 60 others split among four suits."

"Suits?" Ben asked.

"Yes, staves, sabers, coins and cups. Each of these cards is assigned a number value between 1 and 15. The idea is to reach 23 points without going over."

"How much are the face cards worth?"

"Between 0 and negative 8."

Ben nodded. "And how many cards do we each get?"

"Two to start with. Let me tell you about the pots. Usually, we'd have a Hand Pot and the Sabacc Pot. Someone wins the Hand Pot every round. Normally we'd be adding to both pots at the start of each round and adding credits as we bet to the Hand Pot. In our case, the Hand Pot will equal the loss of one item of clothing."

"Agreed," Ben said, really warming to the game. "What's the Sabacc Pot?"

"The Sabacc Pot normally grows and grows until some lucky bugger gets a twenty-three dead on."

He pretended serious concern. "Well, we will have to change that rule. We don't want to be putting our earnings back on, do we?"

Linn rolled her eyes. "For our rules, if one of us gets twenty-three, then..."

"Then the other loses two articles of clothing." Ben thought the idea was personally brilliant, and more likely to bring him to his "lucky hand" that much quicker.

She nodded her agreement. "Very well, two articles."

Ben was anxious to get underway. "Alright. So what happens next? After we get our cards?"

Linn stood up and headed for the galley. "Where are you going?" Ben called after her. "Have I scared you off already?"

Linn laughed as she rustled around in the cabinets and refrigeration unit. "Hardly," she replied, coming back to her seat at the table bearing two bottles of ale and a bowl full of some sort of nut. "Supplies. Can't play sabacc without them. It's in the rules."

She popped open both bottles and set one in front of Ben. "We elect, in turn, to stay in or fold. But if you fold, you lose, keep that in mind. After that we each decide whether to hold and call the round, take another card, or place one of our cards at the bottom of the deck and take a new one. Don't forget if you go over 23 and the round is called, you've bombed out and lose."

"Bombed out?" Ben laughed.

"Hey, I didn't make up the names," she replied with a grin.

"Sounds easy enough." He then picked up the ale, sniffed it and gingerly took a sip. "Hmmm, that's not entirely bad."

"There's just one more thing..."

"What's that?"

"The cards can change faces on you in the middle of the round. Watch out for that."

"Change? That hardly seems fair."

Linn laughed as she dealt them each two cards. "This is sabacc. Who ever said anything about fair?"

Ben studied his cards. A cup with a nine on it and face card with a minus eight. He peered over his cards at her. She looked smug. He made the conscious decision to stay out of her mind for the duration of the game. It only seemed sporting.

"You go first, since I dealt," Linn explained.

Ben bit his lip. "I think I'd like to put this card," he said, sliding the negative card under the deck, "away and have a new one."

She nodded and he drew a new one. A cup with a 15 on it. Ha! He had her! He looked back at Linn, trying not to smile.

"You have a terrible sabacc face," she informed him, and drew another card for herself. "What do you want to do?"

"Uh, call?" he asked.

"Okay, what do you have?"

Ben looked back at his cards. The 8 had turned into a 12 while he hadn't been paying attention. "Blast!" he swore as he dropped his cards to the table. "It changed on me!"

Linn laughed. "Hand over your pants!" she demanded and took a sip of her ale.

"At least let me start with a boot," Ben complained.

Linn laughed even harder. "I'll take pity on you. This time."

Thirteen rounds later, the small table was littered with ale bottles, empty nutshells and various items of clothing. Ben thought he was finally getting the hang of it. True, he'd lost both boots and socks, his belt, his tunic and his undershirt, but Linn had lost her boots and socks, wrist chron, holster, and her hair tie, which he'd allowed after protest. If she'd hurry up before his cards changed on him, he had a good hand. She finally finished her move.

"Call," he said quickly.

Ben tossed his cards to the table. 21. Linn eyed his hand, pursed her lips and dropped her own cards in disgust. "Time to pay up, sweetheart," he told her. "Flightsuit."

He leaned back in the chair in anticipation. Having worked hard for this, he was prepared to enjoy the show. And embarrassment or no, he was **not** going to call for a dimming of the cabin lights, either. After all, there were still a few more hands to be played, and they needed to see the deck, right?

"You don't have to rub it in," Linn responded, rising from her seat.

"I intend to do more than that," Ben promised.

He should have known that Linn would have her revenge. She put her hands to her throat and manipulated the topmost fastener to free the zipper. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she worked the zipper down her body.

Ben felt his mouth go dry. Why, of all the faults to have, was impatience the most prominent of his? "Need help?" he offered, a little breathlessly.

Linn smirked at him. "I think I've got it." She pulled the garment off one shoulder, letting it glide down her arm. Then she slipped it off the other shoulder. The suit slid off her body. She stood in the folds of it, arms clasped about her front protectively. Gracefully, she stepped out of the blue puddle of fabric. With a well placed toe, she tossed the suit in his general direction. Then, Linn primly sat down and slid her cards to him for the next round.

His eyes were riveted on her. As he picked up the deck to shuffle, he had to fight an overwhelming desire to cheat and get that 23. Forget the Dark Side. No trial had ever involved seeing Linn Darrow in only the merest of scraps of clothing stretched across her torso. Her choice of undergarments was completely utilitarian, utterly ordinary, and on her, unbelievably erotic. The thin white fabric clung to her body, and was held in place only by the barest of skinny straps and the curves underneath which supported it. Modest on the top, cut very high on the bottom, it left everything and nothing to the imagination.

In the eagerness of the previous nights, he had missed this whole anticipatory aspect of the experience. Maybe patience, and adequate lighting, were virtues.

Ben picked up the deck to shuffle, hoping for a 23. He dealt quickly, snatching up his cards. A saber with a nine and a stave with a ten. Not bad. He snuck a look at Linn. She was studying her cards intently, rubbing her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. He dropped his cards and scrambled to pick them up. Linn lifted an amused eyebrow at him.

"Call," she said and laid her cards on the table. "Sabacc!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

Ben hung his head in defeat, never more thrilled to have lost anything. He quickly rose, quite eager to give Linn the pot she had won. But before he could start his own variation on the disrobing her efforts had inspired, Linn claimed her prize.

She swiftly stood and wrapped her fingers around his. "Since I've beaten the pants off you, allow me," she whispered and went to work removing them. She slowly slid the material over his hips and down until they ended up in a pool around his ankles. He stepped out of them. "And for Sabacc, I get one more piece of clothing," she reminded him, tugging at the only remaining article left on him. They quickly joined his trousers in a heap on the floor.

He grabbed her and pulled her to him for a long kiss.

"Are you going to wait for me to win another hand before this comes off of you?" he asked, plucking at the thin strap digging into her shoulder. By way of answer, she ground closer to him and he peeled away the second skin clinging to her body.

His patience, already sorely tested, snapped. Ben picked her up and set her on the table. He reached behind her and swept everything off the table with the pass of one arm. The brightly colored sabacc cards scattered everywhere, like confetti all over the seats and deck, followed by ale bottles and nuts which clattered to the floor.

"Ben!" Linn laughed as he joined her on the table, pushing her down. "You're making a mess. You're-" The rest of the protest never made it out of her mouth.

***

Sacorria was a dirty, dusty, outer world at the edge of the Corellian sector. Dorthus Tal, the planetary capital, was as charmless. A step up from Tatooine, but not by much, Ben thought.

Annie was oblivious and completely enthralled by the climbing and running opportunities in the city center's "World Famous" Stone Square. Famous in a world famous for nothing.

"Why would she come here?" Ben asked Linn.

Linn was studying the names of the cantinas and shops ringing the square. "She probably went as far as her credits would take her." Linn tilted her head to one side, indicating a sign printed in Basic, and two scripts he didn't recognize. He supposed they were Drall and Selonian. "She wanted to get off Corellia, and this is the only other place in the system where there's much inter-species mixing." Linn pivoted, scanning the storefronts for the improbably named 'Dancing Drall.' "And there's a small but active smuggling operation here. A Twi'lek would easily find work."

Annie ran up, scattering the birds hopping about the square. "Is it going to rain?"

"I'm afraid the skies look pretty clear," Linn said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Annie tilted his head up to confirm the disappointing report. "Could we go to the moon, then?" he demanded.

"Moon?" Ben repeated.

"Didn't you read Linn's file, Ben?" Annie affected immense superiority with the implication that he had been better prepared than his Master.

Ben had familiarized himself with the backgrounder, but the Sacorrian moon was, to his mind, no more interesting than the planet it orbited.

Linn laughed and took the boy's hand. "You want to see the graveyard, don't you, Annie?"

"Yeah!"

Ben fell in step with them. Annie again looked skyward, evidently hoping for some glimpse of Sarcophagus, the moon where Sacorrians interred their dead.

"Probably not this trip, Annie," Ben said.

Annie grabbed Ben's hand, and began pulling on his and Linn's arms, swinging between them. "So we're going to come back here, Ben?"

A Padawan, Ben reminded himself, should ask questions, even when there were no answers. And after the last few days with Linn, Ben had been asking himself the same questions, and stumbling over the same unfathomable answers.

Linn glanced at him, shyly. Seemingly innocuous, it was enough to send a warm flush through him. Yes, he had been delving into a particular aspect of the living Force lately, and the only future he had been particularly mindful of were those places in time which he would be occupying with Linn.

It was Linn who finally answered the boy's question. "There's not much reason to come to Sacorria, Annie."

Inexplicably, irrationally, Ben suddenly wondered, why not come back? It was not inconceivable. For all he knew, a giant starkiller machine could pop up in the Corellian sector and the Jedi would be mobilized against the threat. Anakin would come with him, as Ben had gone on such missions with Qui-Gon. And Linn? True, she bribed law enforcement officials, downed spirits the way a drive consumed fuel, and was on a first name basis with the dregs of the galaxy's fringe. But, she had a ship. She could handle a blaster. She...

Annie's impatience interrupted this fanciful reasoning. He tugged on Ben and Linn's arms, pulling himself up off the ground. "Are we there yet?"

"Over there, Annie," Linn said, pointing. The exterior of the Dancing Drall was every bit as preposterous as its name. An animated neon lit Drall indeed danced with jerky movements on the top of the bar's marquee.

Annie frowned, like Ben, apparently trying to correlate the incongruous image. "I don't think Dralls dance, do they, Linn?"

She laughed. "No, Annie. They don't. And that's the point. It's someone's idea of a bad joke."

Linn had not objected to Ben's suggestion that he and Anakin join her. It was about time. Ben had little patience for the slow combination of bargaining and bribery Linn was showing an inclination to use. He had other methods available, ones that worked far more quickly. The sooner they found Bela, and extracted what she knew, the sooner he would again be with Linn ... and the purloined transmissions, Ben amended.

Once they entered the Dancing Drall, Ben focused in the Force to search for a being who might be Bela. He easily found a Twi'lek. Female, he thought. Linn and Annie were ahead of him and already being seated at a table. He hurried to catch up.

Ben slid into the seat next to Annie. "I think I saw..." he began.

Linn interrupted him. "Bela is working today and will be waiting on us."

He blinked. "How...?"

Linn shrugged. "It only took twenty credits against your card to the greeter."

A holo menu popped in the center of the table. Annie began busily pressing buttons and commands. "Look!" he exclaimed. The menu began spewing options in Basic at the speed of a smuggler on a spice run.

"How very clever," a green-skinned Twi'lek said in passable Basic.

"Don't encourage him," Ben grumbled.

Annie immediately removed his hands from the rotating and now singing menu and placed them demurely in his lap.

"I am Bela," she said. "How may I serve?"

"Water!" Annie announced with the enthusiasm that other children might have had when seeking sweets. "With bubbles and a straw." Ben could just imagine the carnage.

Linn, Ben noted, made the point of ensuring that she had Bela's complete attention before she placed her order. "I'd like a Rodian Shooter." Linn then, quite deliberately, drew out a small package and set it on the table, in front of Bela. "And I'll need a light for these."

Ben had no idea what a Rodian Shooter was, apart from a terrible pun. But Bela clearly knew that Linn was asking for more than a drink. The shock of her recognition rolled across the table. He noted that Annie too, had picked up the strong emotional current.

Bela licked her lips, exposing the sharp teeth of her race. She nodded quickly, headtails bobbing, turned hurriedly, and headed to the back of the restaurant. In her agitation, she unfortunately, did not take Ben's order.

"So much for her tip," Ben murmured.

"I don't think she's going to tell you anything," Annie said unexpectedly. "She's very scared."

Ben shot Annie a look he thought his Apprentice would understand. He approved of the boy's assessment and wanted to encourage this intuition. He just wished Annie was a bit more discrete in his observations.

"What did you do?" Ben asked Linn.

Linn was thoughtfully studying Bela, who was now studiously avoiding them the way every waitress suspicious of a lousy tip would. "Sly used to smoke these," she said, gesturing to the box on the table.

"And drank Rodian Shooters?"

Linn nodded. "She's wondering who we are now. With the two of you here, looking like the good galaxy scouts that you are, she'll assume we aren't dangerous."

Annie giggled.

Bela returned and set the drinks down. "I don't know who killed Sly," she said flatly, signifying the beginning and end of the conversation.

Linn lifted up the package. Underneath it was a 200-credit piece. She slid it to Bela.

The Twi'lek stared at the money, and Ben sensed that she did waver, but not far enough.

Ben dropped his hand under the table as Bela turned to him. "I'm sorry, sir, what can I provide for you?"

He had her mental pattern now. She was weak, very frightened, poor, and greedy. With a little training, Annie could have done this. "Can you provide us with information?" he asked, prodding her in the Force.

"I can provide you with information," Bela volunteered.

Before Linn could react to the astonishing offer, Ben pressed on. "Can you tell us if there is a copy of the data disk Sly sold?"

Bela picked up Linn's 200-credit piece and slipped it into a pocket at her thigh. "I can tell you that Sly did not keep a copy of the data disk."

Linn was obviously perplexed, but moved quickly to exploit this unexpected volubility. "Maybe someone else has a copy of the disk," Linn said. "Where did Sly get it from?"

Ben felt he found the lever that would move Bela. He pushed, hard.

"Sly was under contract when he got the disk." Bela said. "He was working for someone else."

"Who?" Linn pressed.

"A broker from Ralltiir," Bela said, bringing her hand to her forehead. The pain was undoubtedly due to the wincing mental pressure Ben was applying.

"Gibbon?" Linn asked sharply.

Bela nodded and Ben released her. He sensed she was able to give them nothing more. She looked about, dazed. "Wha??" she began.

"And I'll have a fruit juice," Ben said to Bela.

"Of course, sir." As she bobbed off, Ben saw that Linn was still frowning, watching the strange-behaving Twi'lek closely.

Annie let out a sudden whoop. "Look, Linn," he shouted, and proceeded to blow very large bubbles through his straw.

***

Linn peeked her head out of her cabin and heard Ben and Annie's muted voices from the room they were sharing aft.

"Annie, I am not telling you again. It's time for bed." Linn smiled at the exasperation in Ben's voice. "Brush your teeth. Now."

"Would you say there's a seventy percent chance of rain on Ralltiir?" came Annie's reply.

"Anakin," Ben warned.

"Fifty percent chance?" the child persisted.

Relieved they were otherwise occupied, she pulled her shirt a bit tighter around her and made for the Ron's central cabin. She hadn't wanted Annie to see her in her nightshirt if she could help it; and except under the right circumstances, she really wasn't all that keen on Ben seeing her like this either. Irrational certainly, but there it was. A lifetime of modesty wasn't undone in a week.

In the galley, she opened the liquor cabinet and began shuffling through the choices. Linn finally opted for the Reserve. She held up the cut crystal bottle, swirling its golden contents. Too bad she hadn't noticed they were running low when they had been in Coronet. She'd have to remember to pick up another bottle when they were on Ralltiir. There was a great shop near Gralllia she and Dar used a lot.

She opened a drawer, grabbed two cups, set them on the narrow counter, and sloshed three fingerfuls into each glass. And then caught herself. Damn. Linn stared at the glass. She had done it again. Shutting her eyes, she leaned heavily against the counter, gripping her fingers to its smooth surface for support. Damn. Dar, why did you have to take this contract? If Rog knew it was too hot, you certainly did. Why'd you take the chance? Things were fine. A bit tight, but fine.

Exhaling a deep breath, Linn forced herself to look reality in the eye. She brought her drink to her lips for a single sip. The liquor shook in the glass, held by a hand that was trembling. Damn. Of all the brokers in the galaxy, why did it have to be Gibbon who had hired Sly? Why did it have to start on Ralltiir? Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn them all.

She wanted to drain her drink, and the one she had poured automatically for her dead father. Then she wanted to finish the whole bottle and start on the next and keep going until the Ron ran out of fuel or she ran out of booze.

Linn fled the temptation and bolted back to her cabin. They hit Ralltiir tomorrow and she needed a clear head for it. There was still a lot of work to do. She had left the other glass in the galley, not being quite able either to toss it out or pour it back into the bottle. Maybe Ben would drink it. Sure. Right. When Banthas fly.

The evening called for some serious music. Something Dar hated. If it weren't blaring in her ears, Linn would be too tempted to bang her head on her desk. She folded herself into the desk chair and swiveled around to her audio collection. Black Hole. It must be in their early, rebellious years, no less, when dissonance had been an art form. Dar had *despised* them. Perfect.

Linn slipped the headphones over her ears, not really worried about disasters in hyperspace. Years ago, she had run every ship alarm through her audio equipment. If something ever yanked the Ron out of hyperspace, she'd know about it immediately. Concededly, she'd probably end up deaf too, as Dar had warned.

Dar. Damn him.

She picked up her datapad again and began combing through the Ralltiir file.

"It's the emptiness that follows you down; it's the ache inside when it all burns out," Linn sang along, tapping along with the rhythm on the pad.

She nearly flew out of her seat when a hand landed on her shoulder. She slammed the datapad down, ripped off the headphones, and spun around in her desk chair. "Don't you ever ** knock**!" she shouted.

Ben had sprung back to avoid getting flailed. "I **did** knock, Linn. There's no need to yell."

"I'm not yelling," she shouted back, then stopped as the words, IT'S breath frozen your of terrified too left; have you all that's emptiness the it's breaks; it when had everything blared from the headphones she had flung to the floor. She probably looked as chastened as she felt. "Oh. Sorry. I guess I had the music on a little loud."

"I hadn't realized that audio disks had a stun setting," Ben remarked. Apparently deeming it safe to approach, he stepped forward to give her the glass she had left in the galley. "I thought you might have left this..." He trailed off as his eyes spied the full glass already on her desk.

She picked up her drink and toasted him. "To my mental health, sir. It's only the second time in three days I've done that."

Obliging her, Ben clinked her glass, but eyed the contents warily. "What is it?"

"Corellian Brandy. House of Jezadok. It's a 25 year Reserve."

"Of course. I should have recognized it immediately," Ben said with a smirk. He sniffed the glass. "It smells vile."

"But it tastes wonderful. It will put hair on your chest."

"As you well know, I already have hair on my chest." Ben glanced around, took the few steps backwards necessary to traverse her narrow cabin, and sat down on the bunk, carefully setting the drink on the recessed ledge at the headboard. He pried his boots off, letting them slip to the deck. He then scooted into the bed, leaned back against the hull, stretched out his legs, retrieved his drink, and surveyed the domain.

"Make yourself at home," Linn commented.

"Thank you. I intended to, but an invitation is always welcome." Ben did take a sip. He winced. Noticeably. "I would note that you are occupying the only chair in the room."

"There's the deck," Linn offered helpfully.

"When I've not yet recovered from the rug burns? You heartless smuggler."

"I'm a broker, not a smuggler."

"Indeed you are," Ben said slowly, taking another sip. He didn't wince quite so much this time. "I misspoke."

Linn exhaled an aggravated breath. She retrieved the data pad, curled her legs up in the chair again, and rested her chin on her knee as her Ralltiir databank slowly scrolled by. "I suppose that's the question, isn't it?"

"I can see why you are wondering, but, Linn, how could you be anything else? You were born to this path."

"Path?" Linn echoed. "Born to be a broker? That's terribly philosophical."

She thought he flushed a little, and noted that Ben became engrossed in taking another sip of a drink he obviously didn't enjoy very much. "I'm sorry," Linn said. "I didn't mean to be argumentative. I just tend to think that paths and destinies don't have much to do with how we make our own luck."

"No, there's no need to apologize. But I wouldn't say that luck has much to do it with it either. You've been brokering all your life. Isn't it who you are?"

When she didn't respond, Ben glanced away, and began picking idly at the coverlet on her bed. Linn mulled not so much the message, but that he had delivered it at all. It seemed as if Ben really believed this destiny talk. But it also didn't seem to be the Ben she knew who was talking. Linn suddenly remembered that she really didn't know him all that well.

She tossed the pad on her desk and stretched, running her fingers through her hair with frustration. "All I know is that given the amount of time I've spent looking at all this, if I don't have it by now, I never will."

Ben shifted, crossing his legs. He did seem awfully comfortable where he was. "Under that reasoning, there's no benefit to experience, or trial and error."

"But, wouldn't you feel better if I wasn't playing trial and error with something that might tell you who murdered Qui-Gon?" Linn responded bitterly.

She blinked back tears stinging in her eyes. To cover, she unfolded from the chair and stooped down to retrieve her headphones still blaring. Annoyed at the lapse, she shoved the baggy sleeve of her shirt up her arm, reached to the audio controls and abruptly switched them off. Silence engulfed the room.

"Linn..." she heard Ben say softly. Intent on returning the audio disk to its cartridge, she was prepared to ignore him, until he said again, and more firmly, "Linn!"

"What?" she growled.

"In your heart, in your mind, do you really believe that Dar would be able to do a better job?"

"I don't know. No... Well, maybe," Linn finally concluded, annoyed at how indecisive she must appear. At last, she expressed her frustration, "I just wish Dar had let me pick when I was going to take over his business." She curled again into her protective ball on the chair.

"That you could have become co-equals first, before you were in charge," he said.

"Exactly," Linn replied.

"I know precisely what you mean," he sighed and took another sip of the drink.

Linn smiled at his effort. "Doesn't it improve at all?"

"Some." Ben studied the glass, swirling it about. "I was just thinking about how you wished you had had some say in when circumstance forced this on you." The next sip was a more significant draught. "I keep thinking the same thing about Anakin. That Qui-Gon should have been his teacher, not me. That I'm not really ready for this responsibility."

"You seem to do fine with him," she assured him.

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But a great deal rests on my ability to train him properly. Qui-Gon would have been better suited to the challenge," he said. "I can't even get him to brush his teeth and go to bed on time let alone ... well, I suppose if wishes were fishes as they say."

Linn nodded. "It just seems like an impossible task. How can either of us possibly take their place?"

"We can't." Ben kicked his feet out, knocking over one boot that was hanging ludicrously limp on the deck. "Anymore than we can fill their boots." He must have noticed the odd expression that fell crossed her face. "What is it?"

Shrugging, Linn pulled her arms up into a stretch, locking her fingers together, then throwing her arms open. "Just your choice of words. I've been wearing Dar's cast-offs all my life." She pulled at her shirtfront to illustrate the point. "I didn't think I could show up on Ralltiir like that, and not be taken as anything other than 'Dar's girl'. So I bought a couple things on Sacorria." She smiled, feeling a little wistful. "I realized when you said that why I did it."

"You couldn't fill his place anymore than you could fill his clothes," Ben finished quietly.

Linn felt anew a gush of appreciation. How could he be more perceptive? She nodded. "Maybe it's the same with Qui-Gon. You can't be him anymore than I can be Dar."

"We both have to fill our own shoes, not theirs?" Ben concluded, staring down at his drink.

Lin nodded. "Something like that." She dropped a leg down from the chair and let it dangle.

Ben's eyes snapped up. He took another sip, more measured she thought, and eventually said, "So that's where you went when you disappeared yesterday? Shopping?"

"Yes."

Linn didn't think she was imagining his intent regard. As another long silence drew out, she began to squirm in her seat.

He finally announced, "Well, I, for one, appreciate the results now."

She laughed. "Ben, only you would think that an old men's shirt was the result of a shopping excursion."

"If they aren't sold, they should be. It's very provocative."

"Provocative?" Linn was amused. "I can't believe that."

He smiled and leaned back in her bed, cradling the drink. "But it is. And that's the even better part of this. You have been extremely provocative during this whole conversation. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a terrible tease."

"That must be the brandy talking!" Linn exclaimed, feeling the need for another draught herself.

"Shall I give you examples?"

"Certainly."

"Your leg," Ben said, smirking as if she had just proved his point. "Look at it."

Linn glanced down. Her right leg was draped over the arm of her chair, swinging.

"Sitting here, seeing your leg, Linn, I think about how it disappears under the folds of that shirt. How much further does your leg go before it meets your hip? Just how long is the inside of your thigh under there?"

She knew she was blushing. And she **knew** he was enjoying it. Linn swung her leg over and tucked it back underneath her. "You had other examples?"

Ben nodded. "When you turned off your audio. You had to push the sleeve up your arm and bend over to pick up the headphones. It caused the shirt to gap and ride up higher, leaving me to wonder what, if anything, you were wearing underneath it."

The blush was turning scarlet, she knew. "I haven't done anything," Linn protested. "All I've done is sit here and try to read my Ralltiir file and--"

"That's my point," Ben said, interrupting her. "You aren't doing any of this deliberately. If you were, the effect would be lost. When you pull your arms up over your head, you aren't thinking about what it does to the line of your neck, or the arch in your back, or..."

"Stop it!" Linn ordered, feeling acutely self-conscious. It must be the liquor, she thought. "You've made it perfectly plain that you like me best when I'm doing absolutely nothing at all."

Ben set his drink down. The glass was mostly empty, she noticed. "I wouldn't limit it to the unintentional things you do."

"Oh?" Linn asked archly. "How can I possibly top doing nothing?"

Ben held out his hand, beckoning her in. "I'd have to show you."

Linn unwrapped herself from the chair, already feeling a bit warm in the close cabin. She approached warily, but the precaution was futile. Ben suddenly sprang forward like a charge out of a blaster. He grabbed her by the arms, and yanked her onto the bed with him.

Linn found herself lying mostly across his lap. "Finally!" he announced with satisfaction. For verification, he slid his hand from her leg, up, under the shirt, all the way to her shoulder, then back down. "I didn't **think** there was anything else under here."

She tried, unsuccessfully, not to squirm. "Could you sound any more smug with that discovery?"

"Possibly."

"You were going to tell me other things you found..." Linn started to remind him, having nearly forgotten it herself.

"Alluring," he finished for her.

"Right."

"And no," Ben corrected. "I was going to show you." He bent over and kissed her lightly. He tasted of the mellow liquor. "And, I'm **not** drunk, just in case you're wondering," he added. Actually, she had been wondering precisely that. "At least," he amended, "not on brandy."

He began peeling away the shirt from her shoulder with one hand, deftly undoing the top few buttons with the other. "Linn, I want you to think of my mouth as..." he pretended great absence of thought. Finally, it seemed to come to him. "A ship."

"A ship?" she repeated.

"A ship."

He's been sitting here, plotting this the whole time, she realized.

Ben continued, however improbably. "And your body is a series of hyperspace lanes."

She snorted. And then gasped as he bent down to kiss the hollow of her throat.

"Places like this one," Ben said softly, mouthing the skin, "are transfer points. Seemingly innocuous in and of themselves, but most interesting for where they take me." He stopped to deliver a reprimand. "Stop squirming, Linn. It may impede my navigation."

"Navigation?" Linn squealed, trying to turn in his lap.

"Now, see what you've done?" With her turn, Ben had pushed the shirt up, taking her arm with him, and leaned into her again to plant another soft kiss

"That's my armpit!"

"Correction," he muttered through a series of kisses on the sensitive skin there. "It's a transfer point. And from here, I can go, well, just about anywhere."

Linn was trying very hard not to twist about. With one of her arms still firmly in his, he wasn't giving her much wriggling room. And besides, Ben was, she thought, already enjoying this far too much to embark on a wrestling match. On the other hand... an idea formed. "If you're the ship and the navigator, can I at least captain the vessel?"

He glanced up and through their tangle of arms. "What course?"

"Over a few centimeters to the right," Linn commanded, giggling. "And the same distance down."

"Roger, roger, captain."

Ben had no difficulty with the minimal obstacles which remained; practice had made him more adept at the buttons and other fastenings on her clothing. The ship was then able to navigate unimpeded to its first destination.

"How convenient," she murmured into his ear.

"Two ports so close to each other?" he asked, moving his ship from left to right.

Linn pulled her arms back over her head, stretching across the length of the bed. An appreciative mumble from Ben made her think that he too valued the benefits of a taut ... uh... landscape for his fly-over. She gave up trying to still her squirming; Ben lightly held her in place, wrapping one hand in hers. The other hand joined his mouth, a fleet docking at twin ports. Linn heard a sound, and in the haze of sensation, realized it was her own breathing, soft and shallow. It all simply felt too good to bear, and each moment it lasted was better than the last. Did he feel that way, she wondered.

Ben was saying something. "Hmmm?" she said, opening her eyes. Linn felt his fingers continue to trace an intricate landing pattern.

"What I like most about these final destinations is that I enjoy it as much as you seem to."

Linn sighed. Well, that answered **that** question. "Carry on navigator."

He did. But, feeling one hand sneaking like a thief down her waist and across her stomach was enough for the captain to call for a course change. Linn grabbed the errant hand by the wrist, pulled it up, and rolled Ben over on to his back, neatly pinning him under her.

"Just **what** were you trying to do?" she growled.

Ben drew his brows together, affecting mock confusion and hurt. "Traveling down a hyperspace lane?" he offered hopefully.

Linn kissed the wrist she had captured. "Nope. Sorry. The Captain wants to do some sightseeing."

Now the confusion was real. "Sightseeing?"

She nodded. "To my favorite places. Not listed in any galaxy guide. But so attractive, this not so casual tourist has to visit them again and again." Linn was rather pleased with herself to have come up with something so clever even in the very real heat of the moment.

Drawing him up, she pulled Ben's shirt over his head. "This tourist doesn't want anything blocking her view of the Northern hemisphere." What covered the Southern hemisphere tourist sites was as easily discarded. He leaned back into the bed, putting an arm behind his head. The other hand, he kept quite firmly wrapped about her waist, another favored ploy she understood now.

Linn wriggled free and lay halfway across him. She stretched forward, and propped on her hands, leaned in for a very thorough kiss. When he melted into her lips, she pulled back. "Favorite tourist attraction number one: smug smile. Now, not so smug." She moved down a little more, and mouthed his chin. "Favorite tourist attraction number two."

"My chin?" he asked, his voice raising incredulously.

"The cleft," she corrected, dragging her lips across his throat, she found the birthmark there. "And favorite tourist attraction number three."

"That's really odd, Linn."

"Do you want me to stop?" she teased, nipping his throat gently.

"No," he conceded. She noticed that despite the protest, Ben had arched his neck so that she might cover the area more thoroughly.

"Then be quiet. You're spoiling my appreciation of the sites."

Linn moved up to begin nibbling his ear. "Favorite site number four." She then began working down his shoulder. A little sadly, she passed the still healing scorch mark, and went on. Ben tried reaching for her, but she halted the advance, again trapping his hand. From his shoulder, Linn extended his arm. Her lips met the skin slowly; she eased her way along his arm, to the inside of his elbow, forearms, and then wrist. "Oh, sorry," she apologized, not sorry at all. "What number was that?"

"Five," Ben breathed.

She smiled. Ben always seemed so in command of himself. She knew the effect he had on her. It was nice to see that she could move him the same way. She slid down a little bit and, looking for a purchase, her hand connected too abruptly with the headboard. Ben's discarded brandy glass flew off the shelf. She did manage to move quickly enough to shield him, but not before the cup upended on her shoulder. It emptied its contents down her front, then bounced off the bed and under her desk.

Linn rolled away, mortified, pulling her now soggy shirt with her. "What was the word you used to describe this?" she asked into her pillow.

"Provocative?" Ben said. She could **hear** how hilarious he thought this was.

"I was actually thinking 'pathetic' was more apt."

She felt his very firm hand on her shoulder as he attempted to turn her back to him. "Don't be so sure."

Linn struggled to the edge of the bed, intending to beat a retreat. "I'm going to change, wash up, maybe put on foul weather gear."

"Don't do that, Linn," Ben said. He was trying to catch her eye, but Linn looked away, trying to escape his attentions. Why wouldn't he just let her go?

"Linn!" he said again, more persistently. With his finger on her jaw, bringing her face to his, he forced her to look at him.

"What?" Linn grumbled.

Ben didn't say anything. She saw, and felt his eyes flicker over her. Linn pushed against him again, feeling irritated and very foolish. He shook his head, just slightly. "Don't."

"Don't what?" she muttered, relenting, but not knowing to what.

Ben leaned down, delivering an easy kiss. His fingers went to her shirt, pulling it away from where it clung to her body. She nearly leaped out of her damp skin when his mouth left hers to work down her throat, following the path the brandy had taken.

It was impossible. The shame that it had happened now gave way to the secret thrill that it had. Linn allowed him to draw her back into the bed. The kisses down her body were smooth tastings, languorous, as the sampling of a fine vintage. The liquor had gone everywhere over her, and now, so did he.

"Ben," she finally managed, guiding his teasing mouth to another place. "I thought you didn't like brandy." He was pulling her skin between his lips, looking for every drop that clung to her.

"I don't. But on you, the taste is incomparable." She heard him catch his breath. "If you were bottled, Linn, every teetotaler in the galaxy would be a drunkard."

Linn slid her hands down to his hips, trapping him closer to her. Ben shuddered, and sighing deeply, hid his face in her hair at her throat. Did he have a bolt hole, too? she mused. Probably. She slowly traced one hand back up, to cradle his head to hers, waiting.

"Captain?" Ben finally murmured. "Requesting permission to dock."

"Proceed, Navigator."

***

Ben had always thought that Ralltiir was a pleasant enough place. Clean. Modern. Financially stable to the point of total atrophy. It was very exciting -- if you were a banker.

He had, in fact, even been worried that he might be recognized in this financial center of the Core Worlds. Ben realized he should have known better. There wasn't a chance that Linn would be going to the same places Jedi customarily did, unless she had been, for instance, trying to steal what he was assigned to protect.

They had berthed in the cavernous Grallia Spaceport, a place Ben had only flown into, and then as promptly left from. He had managed to miss completely the cluster of clubs and cantinas in and around Grallia. At the hour when Ralltiir's respectable citizenry went home to bed, he was following Linn to One Eyed Jax, a bar situated at about the navel of Grallia's seedy underbelly.

"You sure he'll be alright?" Linn asked for the fourteenth time.

He wrapped an arm about her shoulder, falling in step with her.. "If there's a problem, which there won't be, Annie knows how to contact us," Ben said patiently. He omitted that the boy had been performing highly dangerous tasks all of his life and was still in one piece. He could manage for an hour or two without them.

They picked their way through the squalor of Grallia. It was dark, smelly, and Linn seemed to know it intimately. To the extent that Coruscant and the Jedi Temple had been his home, this seemed to have been hers.

Apart from worrying about Annie, Linn had been oddly quiet. Under his arm, she fairly exuded tension. The night before had helped, he thought. But even that terrific time could only take them so far.

Now, as the reality of the situation came barreling down upon them, Ben found that he had contracted her case of the nerves as well. He hadn't fully understood that there was more to Linn's anxiety than simply finding out who had held a Corellian smuggler's contract. If there was a hierarchy within this shadowy world, Linn was being forced to start her career by going straight to its pinnacle.

Qui-Gon. The Sith. The Jedi. Despite the reassurances he had tried to give, much was depending on the unproven skills of a troubled and grieving young woman.

Nor had Ben consulted with the Council since they had hurled out of Atzerri. He did not think they would approve of this detour. Or, as his mood darkened, anything else having to do with Linn Darrow.

"What's my limit?" Linn suddenly asked.

"Your what?"

She shrugged out from his arm and Ben sensed he should respect the distance she suddenly wanted to maintain.

"My limit," Linn asserted. "What's the maximum amount you're willing to pay for a purloined communication from Naboo space? I am going to try to work an exchange, but if Gibbon doesn't buy it, how much are you willing to spend?"

The mercenary quality to her request was so unexpected that it robbed him of any coherent response.

"Don't act so surprised," Linn said. "I'd pay anything to find out who killed Dar. And I assume you'd do the same for Qui-Gon."

Ben nodded dumbly; it seemed the proper thing to do.

"But," she continued, "the Council you work for may not feel that way."

He was able to say, quite truthfully, "I have no idea."

Linn kicked an old can littering the street. "We turn here. It's just another block or so." She went on, "See, Ben, in spite of everything else, you are my client. I know that personally, we'd both pay a million creds for that disk. But, the Council may have a different idea about how much information on Naboo is worth to them. I need to know when the bidding gets too rich."

It was a question he could not possibly answer. Nothing in the Code, nothing in his experience had ever prepared him to address the morality of such things. How could the Force even guide him? What was Qui-Gon worth? Or Clive Darrow? Or any other being? What was it worth to learn more of the Sith warrior he had killed, and his master or apprentice? What was the diminishment of a threat to the entire galaxy worth?

"I don't know what the Council would say."

"I was afraid of that." Linn paused. "Well, I'll just have to use my judgment."

Ben did not feel measurably better. And felt considerably more anxious when she added, "Still, spending too much isn't the worse thing that could happen."

"What is?" he asked.

"If Gibbon decides that what we need to know isn't for sale, at any price."

As they entered Jax, Ben's first observation was that if they ever made it to Coruscant, he and Linn were going to go somewhere that did not resemble the inside of a waste disposal unit. With that unbidden reflection, his gloom deepened. He wanted to find that disk. But, what happened then? Coruscant? How much longer could he do this? Could he really stay with Linn, jumping from system to system, and bed to bed, with his Padawan in tow?

The effusive greetings directed to Linn jarred him back into the moment. A slight flush on her cheek was the only outward sign of her anxiety, Ben saw. At the landing, Linn leaned toward him. "Can you find us a not too public table?" she murmured. "I need to make the rounds."

"Gibbon?" he asked quietly.

Linn casually waved to someone, but Ben saw her eyes dart about the room. "Not here yet. He won't be far, though. If I start promising a deal for him, he'll show."

She slipped away, leaving Ben to find a table. An impossible task in the crowded bar, to be sure. Except for a Jedi. Two drunken Sullustans suddenly had an unfortunate collision with gravity and staggered away from their corner booth.

The drinks began arriving as soon as he sat. Knowing that he had not ordered the first to come, a vile, poisonous green concoction, and suspecting that Linn would not have done so, even as a joke, he questioned the servo-droid. In the time it took to hear the touching and surprising response, three more were delivered to the table. The word was out, and the drinks were a universal statement of support for Linn from those who had lived on the fringe with Dar.

"May I get you a drink, sir?" the droid asked.

Ben considered a moment. "Corellian. Reserve. Jezadok if you have it." He paused, looking around skeptically. "Better make it a double."

"Very good, sir," the droid replied before scurrying away.

From his vantage, Ben was able to observe the drama play out. Linn was moving from group to group, from being to being, slowly working the perimeter of the bar. She was graciously accepting the condolences offered, and seemed very poised.

It happened several times before he realized what he had been observing. Linn would join a conversation. At first, it seemed that many with whom she spoke were simply being kind, even condescending. She would listen attentively. Someone would ask something and Ben would feel the air about Linn tense with expectation. Then, she would respond. And very quickly, and very quietly, credit transfer cards would begin changing hands. There was a rhythm to it. The exchanges followed a predictable pattern of give and take under an elaborate and established set of rules. It seemed as arcane as the Code under which he lived and as rigid. Linn had learned the rules of her game from birth. Judging from the attention she was garnering in the bar, she was also very good at it.

The droid returned with the brandy, and he slipped it a credit chip before taking a small sip. He grimaced. Somehow Ben doubted he'd ever be able to enjoy it served any other way than as it had been the night before. The thought alone was sobering.

Linn's reception amongst her peers had been so warm and positive, Ben at first had thought it was, like the drinks, a community's expression of solidarity for one of its own. He focused deeper in the Force, sorting through the subtle shifting and weaving emotional currents within the bar. Sincere well wishes, greedy interest in the information she bartered, concern, and anger over Dar, he all felt. However, Ben swiftly discovered that not all intentions toward Linn Darrow were so benign.

He was sweeping the room with the Force, when Ben heard a man ask, "Who's that?"

When his companion said, "Dar's girl, Linnayn," Ben sliced through the other traffic to focus in on the two. Smugglers, he thought with distaste. And, judging from the accents and casual arrogance, Corellian. They were lounging at the bar's corner. Linn was across from them, deep in discussion with a pair of Duros. She was oblivious to the Corelllians' regard of her from a few meters away. But then, as Ben well knew, she was **never** aware of the effect she stirred.

"No?" The response was incredulous and Ben bristled to hear it. "That's Little Linn? Little ugly Linn?"

His companion made a universal, crude gesture. "Not so ugly anymore."

Ben was startled as the smugglers' coarse assessment of Linn forced a reappraisal of his own. Although he had easily and with no small amount of joy penetrated the slouching demeanor and baggy clothing she usually wrapped herself in, others had apparently never bothered to look beyond the obvious... until now. He felt rather foolish for having failed to notice the difference something as simple as a new, properly fitting, jumpsuit made.

"Word is, she's taken over Dar's business," the smuggler said, looking idly around. Ben made sure that when he looked, the smuggler's eyes slid right past him sitting at the booth. "Her client's around here somewhere," he said.

This too, merited an incredulous snort. "That's pretty gutsy. Who is it?"

"Dunno. Government work, I hear."

Ben didn't understand the reason for the slurring contempt until one said, "He'll save money on the bar bill. Everyone's buying Linn Darrow a drink tonight."

With a rude wink to his friend, the smuggler stumbled to his feet. "I'd better get in line then." Unfortunately, and with some help from Ben, the man became entangled in the legs of the barstool he was vacating. The hapless smuggler and his stool went down in a heap, dragging his companion with him.

Ben knew it was childish. He knew jealousy was something he had no right to feel. Linn was her own person, and he, of all people, could not make a claim to her. Such possessiveness of another was a whisper of the dark side. He knew all these things. But, it didn't stop him from causing, or enjoying, the spectacle. Or in feeling slightly vindicated when Linn swerved past them with barely a glance.

She flopped into a chair, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her head. She spied a drink someone had sent over. It was at Ben's left, and untouched. "That yours?" she asked.

Ben shook his head.

Linn gulped several sips. "Can I get you anything?"

"I have one, thanks."

She kept her eyes on the room, the drink casually covering her mouth. But, Ben heard her mutter, "Everyone knows I'm looking for Gibbon. He's going to show up any minute to find out why."

Setting her drink down, she began patting her pockets, and pulled out the package of smokes she had shown Bela. She smacked the packet smartly on the table, tore it open, and teased a thin, black smoke from the package with her lips. "Gotta light?" Linn asked.

He shook his head. Linn bounced back to her feet and headed to the bar. There, five admiring males all vied for Linn's attention and the privilege of lighting her smoke.

Ben toyed with the package, flipping it over on the table. One of the smokes slid out, and he rolled it between his fingers. He did not think Linn had noticed his smirk. Ben was not quite so far immersed in the situation that he was unable to appreciate the irony of her query. I'll show you a **light**, he chuckled.

Linn flitted back. "You want to try it?" she asked, slipping the burning filament out of her mouth and offering it to him.

For curiosity's sake, he almost accepted the sweet smelling thing, but a sudden alertness in Linn's stance brought him up short. She swiftly snuffed the smoke out in an empty glass, and with a nod, drew his attention to the landing into the bar area.

Ben glanced over, his Force sense following his eyes. Neither prepared him for the sight. "What **is** it?" he hissed.

Linn shook her head, frowning slightly. "The race is called Vaathkree, as if that helps."

"Not in the least."

Gibbon, for that was who it had to be, stood alertly at the landing, surveying the denizens. Even if robbed of the extraordinary sight, the Force told Ben he had never encountered this type of being before. It? He, Ben decided, spied Linn and lumbered across the bar toward them. Lumber was the apt description. He was about two meters tall and covered with a dense armored plating where there should have been skin, hair, or an exoskeleton. He wore nothing but a belt and an air of single-minded concentration so resolute it bordered on zealous fanaticism. The rowdy crowd respectfully parted for him.

Linn murmured hurriedly, "Don't show any surprise with the way I handle this."

"What do you mean?"

"A deal is a form of religious observance for Gibbon."

She was not being sarcastic. This was the source of Gibbon's determined focus that Ben had sensed in him and he now understood why Linn had been nervous about dealing with this being. Ben's respect for how she had chosen to handle the situation grew. She had deliberately and deftly planted the seeds of a prospective barter in the bar; like a hungry nerf, Gibbon had come to sample the meal.

Gibbon sat at their table. Linn greeted him with a swift, complicated hand gesture. Gibbon mimicked it.

For such a lumpy being, Gibbon's command of Basic was melodic. "You invoke the bargain."

"I do," Linn intoned solemnly.

"Let it begin." Gibbon set his plated hand on the table so firmly it rocked. Linn rested her palm on his. "Goods, services or information?" he asked.

"Information."

"Cash, account, or in kind exchange?"

"Exchange," she replied steadily.

"Proceed." Gibbon withdrew his hand.

"I have information regarding a shipping contract," Linn began.

"Public or private?"

"Public," she responded. "I seek information regarding Sly Gawron's Naboo run." "I brokered his contract to run the Trade Federation blockade," Gibbon said. "Open auction or sealed bidding?"

"Sealed bidding." Linn then countered, "Sly had a tape of an intercepted transmission in Naboo space. How did he obtain it?"

"Sly's crewer intercepted the transmission. What type of route?" Gibbon asked.

Ben felt Linn tense, then force herself to relax. "Long distance, off established hyperspace lanes. I need to locate the crewer."

"The Wookiee crewer was murdered," Gibbon said flatly and then sought his concession. "What capacity is needed?"

"Ships in excess of 125 metric tons."

Even with his limited experience in these matters, Ben realized Linn was describing a potentially huge contract. He saw the ritualism in the exchange. Each piece of information was exchanged for another, of increasingly greater value and specificity. They both knew the other had at least most of the information desired. The contest would be to see who could keep the string of disclosures going the longest.

"I need to speak to the other crewers," Linn said.

Gibbon paused. "I did not say if there were other crewers."

"Sly couldn't have taken the Rimrunner into Naboo space with a complement of less than three. There must have been another crewer."

Ben used the pause to try to push Gibbon in the Force. He might as well have tried moving the mountain Gibbon resembled. This was not a frightened, greedy Twi'lek. Apart from his unfamiliarity with the species, the love of haggling which motivated Gibbon was the very thing which made him most resistant to mental pressure. There was no other lever to move him. Even if Ben had been able to move Gibbon in the Force, it was as likely to go in the wrong direction.

Gibbon gestured with his left hand in a series of rapid sweeping motions. "I concede." He again placed his right hand on the table; Linn pressed her palm to it. They both withdrew and the game continued.

"There was a second crewer, a Sullustan." Gibbon admitted. "With the death of the Wookiee, he has gone into deep hiding." He pushed on, and Ben saw they were nearing the end. "How many of these ships with such large capacity are needed for the long distance hauling contract?"

"A fleet," Linn responded. "More than you have available to you." She hesitated and now Ben was sincerely regretting his inability to move Gibbon. "Who hired Sly?"

With that, they all realized it might be a tie. Both were missing two pieces of information - who and where.

"I brokered Sly's contract for Fagina," Gibbon said slowly. Ben sensed Linn smile quietly inside. He didn't know who Fagina was. But Linn did. And she knew where to find her.

Gibbon hesitated, carefully formulating his last question. "Who will oversee the closed bidding?"

"Senator Dricht."

The pieces fell into place. Gibbon would probably be as pleased with this news as Linn had been with the last piece of information she had received. Senator Dricht represented the Caridan system. The Trade Federation had tightly controlled Carida and had had several large facilities there devoted to their droid armies. With the collapse of the Fed and the Republic's assumption of its droid armaments, undoubtedly there was some large construction project in the works on Carida.

On digesting this information, Gibbon nodded, exuding, Ben sensed, calm satisfaction. He initiated another series of complex hand gestures, which Linn repeated. He stood, "May your barter bring you peace."

"And to you."

Gibbon turned and strode out. Ben felt the action in the bar suddenly pick up again in earnest. The proceedings at the table had been observed, and while others had probably not learned the specifics; they undoubtedly saw that two brokers were leaving very pleased.

He slid one of the glasses over to Linn. She exhaled deeply and quaffed the drink.

"So," he drawled, sipping his own. Although not nearly as enjoyable, drinking it next to Linn was almost an acceptable substitute for drinking it on Linn.

"We're off to Abregado-Rae." Ben put a restraining hand on her arm before she could bolt away.

"Explain, please, to us slow-witted ones."

She smiled, delighted, and he caught his breath in the glow of it. "Sly was under contract with Fagina to smuggle goods through the Naboo blockade. Gibbon arranged for Sly and his ship. Fagina supplied, I'm guessing, a Wookiee communications and weapons specialist and a Sullustan navigator."

"And Fagina is?" Ben prompted.

"Smuggler boss for the Antarian syndicate. She's very good." Linn slurped down another drink.

"I'm guessing that while on the Rimrunner, the Wookiee intercepted the transmission. Under the LOTL..."

"LOTL?" Ben interrupted.

She blinked in surprise. "Oh, right. You probably wouldn't know that. It's an acronym for 'Laws of the Lanes.'"

"Laws of the Lanes?" Ben repeated.

"A smugglers code of honor. Under the LOTL, otherwise unaffiliated crewers must share unanticipated wealth with the captain. The three of them probably decided that Sly would sell the disk and they'd split the proceeds."

"So, if the Wookiee and Sly are dead, we look for the Sullustan?"

Linn shook her head. "If a Sullustan has gone to ground, he has **literally** gone to ground on Sullust. We'll never find him." She took another healthy draft. "What I hope is that before he went into hiding, he followed LOTL and gave a copy of the unclaimed booty to his boss, Fagina."

"And she is on Abregado-Rae?"

Raising her glass, she saluted him.

* * *

Ben made sure Linn's nav coordinates were on target. She was excited, flush from her successes in the bar, and just a bit tipsy. Nothing serious, but he was certain she would not have tried flying if he hadn't been there.

After the ship lurched into hyperspace, Linn immediately swiveled her chair toward him. She was disheveled and very excited. Two bright spots shone on her cheeks. He had never thought she could be so beautiful or so happy.

It had taken them over an hour to get from the table to the door of the bar. Apparently, another LOTL was the luck of the dealmaker -- literally, the belief that her good fortune could rub off on to others. This meant nearly every being in the place, whether hoping for luck or something else more intimate, had kissed, embraced, touched, or otherwise fondled Linn.

Ben had struggled with a gamut of emotions. He was proud to know someone who had done so well with only her own wits and skill, and without the artifice on which he relied. He was resentful that others had discovered his secret. But above all, he had never felt so completely out of place.

Caught in the moments with her, Ben had, for the first time in his life, not been preoccupied with what lay just ahead. Now though, on the threshold of achieving what had brought him to Linn, a terrifying path yawned in front of him. Linn had her own calling to follow. What kind of future could he hope to build with her, even if the Jedi Council were to allow it? Was he mad even to hope for some possibility of one? Should they end it right here and now before either of them became anymore attached?

"So?" she began.

"So?" Ben replied.

Linn's hand atop his drew him back from his grim thoughts. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yes, fine," he lied. "You were great tonight."

She looked down and peered up at him from under her bangs. "You really think so?"

"Yes." He brushed her hair back and ran his thumb down her cheek to her chin. "I do."

A slow, soft smile spread across her face. It was one of her many simple, unconscious, mannerisms that could drive him out of his skull. "I think," she hedged, "that I might be able to do this. Really do this."

She climbed into his lap and settled in, facing him. He wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. "I know you can," he assured her, his index finger gently tracing the line of her spine through the fabric of her new flightsuit. He preferred her in oversized clothes, preferably his, but he did have to admit that she filled out the distinctly more feminine cut of this one rather nicely.

The bar still clung to her. He caught the sweet, heady scent of the liquor and smoke. In the Force, he could sense where the touch and gaze of others had lingered on her. It was disturbing, both that he noticed, and that he cared.

It was different and yet the same as when Qui-Gon had announced before the Council that he would take Anakin as his Padawan learner. Someone he cared about, someone who had been his alone, was about to leave him. Ben's instinctive reaction had been anger at the abandonment.

But Linn was no more his than Qui-Gon had been. There should be no dominion, no possession. They may only share a time and a place in the forward motion of the Force. Logically, he understood this. Emotionally, that was another matter.

With a start, he realized that Linn was still prattling on. Her eyes had a far off gaze; her words spilled out enthusiastically. "And Drago told me to check back with him. He said reliable information brokers were hard to come by, and if I was half as good as Dar he could always use me. And a couple of others offered me the possibility of some work, too. I think after we finish with Fagina, we should head for--"

Ben cut her off by bringing her in for a lingering kiss. "Dar would be very proud of you," he said when he released her.

"I couldn't have done it without you," she replied, averting her eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The sentiment, touching though it was, brought a wave of panic. Ben caught her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. "I had nothing to do with this, Linn. It was all you."

Linn tried to look away, embarrassed, but he couldn't let her think this. Why, he wasn't sure, but she had to know at least this truth.

"It's important that you remember that, no matter what, all right?" When Linn didn't respond, he asked again, "All right?"

"Okay," she finally replied softly, and brought her lips back to his.

She was an exotic mix of tastes and scents. It might have just been the liquor and hyperspace hitting her blood at the same time, but Linn was pliant and supple against him. Slipping deeper into her emotions and mind, he felt Linn's customary reserve yielding to a tumult of reckless exuberance. How did every reservation he have melt in the heat of her moment? When she slipped off his lap and to her feet, Ben groaned with the loss of her weight against him.

Linn reached out her hand, an invitation. "Come on," she purred. "The cockpit is far too dangerous for this type thing."

"And why is that?" he questioned, taking her hand and climbing slowly to his feet.

"Too many vital things to fall against. The stories of that type of mishap are legendary in space ports throughout the galaxy," she assured him, leading him back toward her cabin.

"But what a way to go," he replied with a grin.

Linn giggled. "True, but I prefer not to go for a long while."

They stopped at Annie's door and peeked in. He was sprawled across his bunk, lost in the abandon of a child's sound sleep.

It occurred to Ben that his qualms of a bleak future had made this all seem like an ill-advised idea but a few minutes before.

"Shouldn't someone stay on watch?" he ventured.

"I've routed everything to my cabin," she assured him, slipping her arm about his waist. "If there's a problem, we'll be the first to know."

Whatever resolve remained to him crumbled when the door to her cabin slipped shut behind them. Ben tried pulling her in the direction of her bunk, but Linn resisted. She silenced his barely mouthed question with a kiss. "I have another idea."

She knelt down to remove his boots.

Ben nearly toppled over. "Shouldn't I sit down for this?"

"No," came Linn's firm reply. "Just practice that famous balance of yours."

Ben laughed. "Should I be frightened?" he asked, as she tossed one boot away and went to work on the other. It actually wasn't an idle question.

"Maybe."

Again, he dipped into her, this time to divine her plan. Ben felt no vestige of Linn's shy restraint. In its place was a heady, dangerous mix of brash abandon and desire. "Why do I suddenly have visions of bacta tanks dancing in my head?"

His feet bare, Linn rose and placed a finger over Ben's lips. "Shhh," she ordered.

Slowly, starting at his neck, she began to kiss her way down his body. Her fingers followed, kneading and exploring the muscles on his back and chest. Her pace was torturous, lingering, and achingly thorough. Nothing was undone without her lips first teasing it apart.

Time suspended. Everything faded away except her kisses and hands, the hum of the ship, and the feel of clothing sliding away. He tried to reach for her, to end the tantalizing dance, but each time, she would slip through his grasp. Making him wait.

When, after an eternity, she finally returned to his throat, he felt it before he heard her. "What do you want, Ben?" she whispered. Her request, plea, offer, it was all those things, thundered through him, hot as her hands on his skin. He suddenly realized that he was no longer clothed at all and couldn't remember how that had happened. "What do you want?"

Linn didn't wait for an answer. She moved behind him and he felt her mouth pulling at him. Her hands began to drift, very deliberately, downward. Like trails of fire, she burned a path into his flesh. Dimly, it all seemed familiar. But it hadn't been like this, had it? It was as if Linn heard the unspoken thought. "That's right, Ben, what goes around, comes around," she whispered, mouthing his ear. "What do you want?" she repeated. The refrain howled through him. "Tell me."

What did he want? His head fell back and he struggled for purchase, for anything to support him against Linn's assault on his body and will. How could he say it? How could he think it? Couldn't she just know it, as he knew her every thought and feeling? But no, that was impossible.

He closed his eyes, feeling nibbling bites move down the backs of his legs, work around and then up again. He began to tremble as she made him wait, in agony for where her mouth would land next.

"What do you want?" he heard again, warm and inviting in his ear. How could he say what he dared not even think? What if she refused? Or more paralyzing still, what if she agreed? He opened his mouth, but only an incredulous gasp came forth as Linn dragged her lips down his body.

And imprisoned him.

A lifetime of training to suborn the flesh to the demands of the spirit lay waste under her attentions. He leaned back against the cabin wall, its cold metal the only thing holding him to this reality. Everything he ever knew, every shred of resolve he had clung to had shattered.

How? How had she known? Reason dictated that it was impossible. But where was reason when the woman before him was slowly driving him to the brink of insanity. His head spun. He felt like he should say something but the ability to string words together had fled to the same place his reason had gone. Something this wondrous, intense, dizzying, all-consuming... it had to be illegal in 12 systems.

The terror began to build with a dread realization. He wanted everything. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted to have his name, his true name, be the first thing on her lips every day, and the last thing she breathed at night. He wanted to be the one she would cry out to in pain and in ecstasy. Her words reverberated within him. "What do you want, Ben?"

For a single, breathtaking moment of clarity he knew. Most of all, he wanted her.

Ben seized her, hauling her up, unresisting and laughing, to him. Again he caught the scent of the others from the bar, adding to his frenzy.

He pulled her into the bunk, tearing at her clothes, desperate to rid her of them and possess her. "Ben," he heard her sigh, and the shock of hearing it roared in his mind and imagination. How could she have known? How did she know?

He looked down at her. Her head was tossed back, teeth digging into her lower lip, eyes half closed. Her skin was luminous and she breathed raggedly, a sharp contrast to the cold hull plating and metallic hum of the drive which cocooned them. Clutching at the headboard behind her, she writhed beneath him with a need as great as his own.

Ben claimed her. He felt her wrap her legs about his, raising her hips to meet his. He dove into her being and felt nothing but her. And her longing. For him. There were no others. He could not bear the bliss of it as Linn pulled his soul out by a string. He dragged her tighter against him and called out her name.

Afterwards, he clung to her, bonded by a sheen of sweat and racing pulses. He held her fiercely, thinking he finally knew the answer. What did he want? For this moment never to slip away.

* * *

But slip away it did, of course. The Force was always in motion, as Master Yoda was so fond of saying. Linn was curled against him, her hand across his heart, sleeping soundly, while Ben stared aimlessly up at the ceiling, struggling with a torrent of jumbled emotions. He looked over at her and envied her peace.

Every night since their first, he had slept without dreams, as deeply and quietly as Linn now did. Now, sleep eluded him. Why? He remembered Qui-Gon's teaching: "When you can no longer do what you once did, listen for the reason."

He slipped out of bed, and pulled on his trousers, making for the cockpit. The Council would be expecting a report. Each day's delay made the next one that much easier to also ignore. Tomorrow, he thought suddenly, and knew it was a prompting within the Force. Tomorrow he would have something to report.

Tomorrow they would hit Abregado-Rae and, hopefully, immediately be leaving with something worth the murder of three beings. And then, Coruscant he supposed ... and a future he would finally have to face.

In the cockpit, Ben slid into the captain's chair, staring into the nowhere of hyperspace. Had he been wrong? Linn had challenged everything he had been taught. It was ... impossible. A rapport that deep was only supposed to happen in the Force? Wasn't it? Might there be a way after all?

Before he could reconsider it, Ben swiveled to the ship's computer terminal. He swiftly accessed Linn's complete medical record. Not finding what he sought, he commanded an analysis of the blood sample that was part of her data file.

Linn was intelligent, sensitive, mechanically adept, and intuitive. These things he had swiftly learned in their days together. But, there was something else that he thought he had known, and ignored, from the moment that he first met her. He stared at the results, whatever vain, slim hopes he had had, sinking as quickly as they had arisen. He had not been wrong. Linn had the completely unremarkable, normal midi-chlorian count of a young, human female. She existed as every other being did in the Force -- no less, but also no more.

Shutting down the computer, Ben leaned back in the seat, and turned his chair to gaze again at the twisted space which swirled by him faster than light. What did the results mean? Nothing. Everything. He barely even noticed when the presence joined him, it was so familiar.

"This is not the way to the living Force, my young Padawan."

Ben closed his eyes at the sound of the voice he had missed so much. "Master," he sighed.

"Of course, it's understandable," Qui-Gon said.

Ben turned to look and saw his former Master sitting casually in the co-pilot's chair as if returning from the dead was the most normal thing in the universe. His long legs sprawled out in front of him, he looked much the same as before, except for a luminous aura surrounding him. Ben had, of course, heard of Jedi returning to speak to the living, but he had never had such a visitation. It was a bit disconcerting. If he ever had such an opportunity, he thought he'd want to do it with a bit more fanfare.

"You both have found a bond in your grief and guilt," Qui-Gon said in his gentle way.

"It was my fault, Master." Ben had to dash away the tears of self-recrimination. "If I had been..."

"Obi-Wan," he scolded, softly. "Do not shame my teaching. It was my time, whether you had been there or not."

"But..."

"None of us are so strong with the Force that we can stop that moment when it arrives. When your time comes, Padawan, you too will recognize it, and embrace it."

Qui-Gon sighed, and crossed his legs, wrapping his cloak about him. For Ben, the familiar gestures reopened the dull ache within him that was never far away.

"You know what I miss most?" Qui-Gon asked. "I mean aside from you. Because I do miss you, Obi-Wan."

Ben felt his throat tighten again. "What?" he managed.

"Alderaanian sweet bread."

It was so unexpected that Ben was able to smile. "I should think so, you used to eat it by the kilo."

"That I did," Qui-Gon agreed. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasure of the tactile things which life has to bring. But, we must be mindful that we do not damage ourselves or others along the way."

"Master?" Ben began.

"I don't have long, so let me finish," Qui-Gon interrupted. "I should have discussed this with you during your training. It had seemed though that you were never that interested."

"Of course I was interested!"

"You never asked."

"How do you ask about such things when you don't even know where to begin?"

Qui-Gon laughed. "An excellent question, Obi-Wan. And something I should have realized. For that I am sorry, for you were not prepared to deal with this situation when it finally arose."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I couldn't have asked for a better Master."

"Or me a better Apprentice." Qui-Gon replied fondly. "Nevertheless, I believe you are making an error with this young woman."

"But there are precedents? There are exceptions?" Ben asked, knowing that to his perceptive Master, every desperate hope he had was laid bare.

"That is a matter for the Council, although I suspect you already know the answer. What I speak of is the deception."

"But the Council commanded it." Even saying the words, Ben knew how false the protest sounded to Qui-Gon.

"You know my opinion, Obi-Wan. The Council may err." His spectral voice became firmer, as it did when he delivered an important lesson. "But, regardless, you may not selectively obey or disregard the Council where it serves your convenience." He smiled then, softening the reprimand. "What does the Force tell you? Trust your conscience, my young Padawan. It will serve you well."

And with that he faded away.

Ben stared a long time at the empty chair, aching loneliness tightening across his chest again. He tried to tell himself that Qui-Gon was one with the Force, and that he must let him go. But such platitudes weren't much comfort in the cold of space. Finally, when he was unable to bear the sense of loss any longer, he sought out the only person who had been able to soothe the gaping wound, and returned to her bed.

***

Ben drifted slowly to consciousness, only to find an empty bunk. He must have overslept. He searched quickly through the Force and determined that Annie was still asleep. Good. It would give him time to have the talk he needed to have with Linn.

Eventually, he found her aft. A bulkhead panel was at her feet and it looked as if she working on some part of The Ron's battered stabilizer array.

When she caught sight of him, Linn switched off the modulator she was using and flipped up her safety goggles. "I didn't want to wake you," she said with a smile.

"Thanks," Ben replied, taking in her tattered coveralls and grease smudged face. He leaned against the cabin corridor and reached out to take a piece of the material at her waist between his fingers, worrying the fabric. "Linn," he started, "there's something we have to discuss..."

"Last night," she cut him off, blushing. The words came out in a rush. "I'm sorry. I guess I just had too much to drink and... Well, I don't know what came over me. I just, you're so, I..."

This wasn't the way to begin. "Linn, no," he assured her, moving his hands down to her hips and pulling her toward him. "Last night was... Well..." Ben realized he had caught a measure of her embarrassment. It had all seemed like a good idea at the time. "Please, no apologies. Especially for that."

"Really?" Linn asked nervously, peering up at him through her bangs.

"Absolutely." Ben knew he had come to say something important. Instead, his hands began, on their own volition, to roam the loose fabric of her coveralls. "Maybe later I can return the favor," he whispered.

"I'd like that," Linn returned, her lips grazing the underside of his chin.

"Maybe you can wear a tool belt..." His lips were at the corner of her mouth, teasing.

"And nothing else?" she scarcely got the words out before Ben covered her mouth with his own.

And leapt away just as quickly, seconds before Anakin rounded the corner. "I'm hungry," the child announced by way of greeting.

"Then I'd say breakfast is in order," Ben replied, silently cursing. He was appalled with himself. Where was his focus, he wondered, and tried to cover by asking casually, "Can I fix you something Linn?"

Linn's coy smile spoke volumes of things other than food. Of course, Ben realized, thoroughly disgusted with himself. That's where it had gone. He'd left his resolve in a second class hotel room in Coronet.

"I'll catch up with you in a bit." she said. "I just want to lock this down first."

"Right," Ben said, tearing his eyes off her and heading back toward the main cabin. Anakin padded along behind him.

"Ration bar or porridge?" Ben asked, as he rummaged through the galley's storage cupboard. With Annie, he was minding his feelings very carefully, but wondered just how much the perceptive boy had already discerned.

"Porridge," Anakin replied, settling himself in at the modular table.

Ben set the timer for the cereal and programmed the brewer for the caf. He found a box of juice and set it in front of the boy. Annie nearly downed the entire thing in one gulp. He must be approaching a growth spurt, Ben mused.

"So," Annie asked, through mouthfuls of juice. "You kiss her yet?"

"What?" Ben asked, jumping up to find another distraction. He located a second juice box and placed it in front of his ward.

Annie sighed, and reached for the box. "Did you kiss her yet?"

"What makes you think she'd want me to kiss her?" Ben asked. The computer dinged and he turned to remove Annie's porridge. He grabbed a spoon and handed both items to the boy.

Anakin wasted no time in digging in. With his mouth full he said, "Because she's always making goofy eyes at you."

Ben laughed and turned back to the brewer. "She does, does she?"

"Yeah, but you make them right back at her, so I guess it's okay," Annie said, shoveling another spoonful in his mouth. "But you better kiss her soon or she'll find someone else. She's too pretty to wait around for you forever."

Ben settled back down in a chair and sipped his caf. "Indeed she is," he agreed sadly. "Indeed she is."

"If you two got married," Annie said hopefully, "then we'd be a family."

Ben considered that moment. He'd never had a family in the traditional sense. He'd only had the other Jedi children and their teachers, and finally there'd been Qui-Gon. Anakin's longing for a mother was something he couldn't understand, and something, he knew, he should discourage.

"Anakin, we have discussed this. The Jedi are your family now."

He stared down at the table. "I miss her," Annie said dejectedly.

Before Ben could reply, Linn emerged in a clean flightsuit, hair damp from a shower. Ben handed her a cup of caf which she took gratefully and nodded her thanks. "Better hurry up. We break orbit in half an hour," she announced.

***

Linn had always disliked Abregado-Rae. It lacked the character of the other Core Worlds and certainly had none of the class. It was a popular spacer's destination as a final stop within the well-traveled Core before heading off on to the lanes. Yet, even with all the traffic, the planetary capital city had never managed to shake the impression that the whole place was just a grimy layover on the way to somewhere else.

To Linn, only one thing had ever made Abregado-Rae worthy of more than an "acceptable refueling stop" mark on her star chart. The LoBue Cantina, and the sabacc tables and company found there, had kept Dar coming back here for years.

While it was still morning for them, dirtside, Abregado City was bustling with afternoon activity. Anakin was, predictably, enthralled by it all. "This is so wizard!" he exclaimed. Only Ben's well-timed hand on the child's shoulder kept him from darting into traffic for a better look at the wares on junk dealer's table.

"Anakin," Ben scolded. "We're here to attend to business, not to see the sights."

Annie's head and spirits fell. "Yes, sir," he replied solemnly, folding his hands in front of him. Then, more hopefully, he cast his gaze skyward, as he had with every stop they had made. "Do you think it will rain?"

His respectful manner lasted only until he caught sight of an old woman chasing a small furred creature with large black eyes out of her shop with a broom. The being turned and gave the woman what could only be interpreted as an obscene gesture, before scurrying away.

"Wow!" Annie cried. "What was that?"

"A Moocher," Linn explained. "They are native to this planet and make their living by panhandling."

"Annie, you mustn't give them any credits," Ben advised.

The boy's eyebrows drew together. "But aren't we supposed to help those less fortunate than us?" Annie asked.

Ben smiled. "Yes, of course. But let me ask you, did you give money to Jawas back on Tatooine?"

Annie shook his head. "No, of course not..." he stopped, understanding dawning. "Oh, I get it."

"Good thing we aren't bringing a droid," Linn commented, as they worked their way through the market.

"How come?" Annie asked.

"Because we are going to see a Gotal. Droids give them terrible headaches," Linn explained.

"Fagina's a Gotal?" Ben asked suddenly.

Linn wondered at the sharp tone. He was probably just nervous about the disk and bringing Annie. "Yes. Didn't I mention it?"

"No." Ben's voice implied that it was most definitely her mistake.

Lin shrugged. "Brilliant really. Given their sensitivity to empathic states, I'm surprised there aren't more of them in smuggling."

"Do Gotals read minds?" Annie asked, all wonderment.

"Not exactly," Ben interrupted, with a firm, inscrutable glance at Annie.

The boy immediately fell silent.

"You certainly never try to cheat one in a card game," Linn said, finding Ben and Annie's interaction a bit odd, without really knowing why. "Dar's known Fagina for decades. He actually managed to bluff her in a sabacc game. Or, she let him think he did."

"And he stayed alive to tell about it?" Ben asked wryly.

"I think she was charmed by the effort. Her Antarian syndicate was one of Dar's first clients and has been loyal ever since."

Ben said softly, "It will be hard to tell her, won't it?"

Linn shook her head sadly, feeling the sadness welling up again. "I'm sure she already knows."

They turned a corner and were there. Large menacing signs cautioned would-be patrons of the LoBue to leave a long list of forbidden objects and companions outside. "Every time I come here, they've got a new 'Do Not Upset the Gotal' warning," Linn said.

With a nod she indicated a pile of charred metallic domes, arms, legs, heads and torsos at to the side of the entrance. "That's what happens if a droid tries to get service here."

She dropped to one knee and gave Anakin's shirt a straightening tug. "Annie, you must be certain to stick very close to Ben, okay?"

Annie glanced up at Ben. "Okay," he promised.

Physically, the LoBue was the same as it had been the last 30 times she had been there. Gaming tables on the perimeter, a view through a dingy window of the South Hills, and a large bar dominating the center. Yet, every other time Linn had been there, regardless of the time of day, night, or year, the place had been packed.

Today, it was empty.

"Hey, Darrow," a cheery voice called from the bar.

"Hey Mari." Seeing Ben direct Annie to a table, she strode up to embrace the aging Mon Calamarian. It felt good to have his familiar arms around her. She'd known the bartender all her life. Her very first drunk was on his Linnlighter -- a drink he had made just for her - guaranteed buzz without the next day pain.

"Sorry to hear about your dad." Mari stroked the top of her head, then put her out at arm's length, twirling her around. "How are you holding up? You look great. You need anything?"

Linn looked down at her feet, feeling tears suddenly threatening. Here in one of Dar's favorite haunts, with one of his best friends, his loss resonated through her with renewed strength. "I miss him," she said softly.

"I know you do, tadpole, but he'd be proud of you, your old man would, carrying on like you have." He looked over her head, then swooped in to plant a kiss on her cheek. In her ear, Mari whispered, "Any problems? You need them taken care of?"

Linn hugged him again, understanding his concern. "Nah, Mari. They're the clients Dar was trying to sell to when he got knifed."

Mari leaned back against the bar's counter and wiped his tendrils with a bar rag. It was his species' equivalent of human tears. "We just feel awful about it. Fagina's been a mess."

"Is she around, Mari?"

With a glance again at Ben and Annie, he nodded, rubbing his gills conspiratorially. She slipped him a cred. Mari was one of her oldest friends, but business was business.

"Think she'll see me?" Linn asked.

Mari turned his back to Ben and Annie, then leaned to her again, hiding his mouth at her cheek. "You almost got here too late, if you want to see her. They're bugging out."

Linn was shocked. Fagina had been working out of the LoBue since before she'd been born.

The bartender gestured about the nearly empty bar mournfully, responding to her stunned expression.

"Can you ring her for me?" She flipped him another cred.

Mari reached under the counter. He kept his special drink recipes, a heavy blaster, a comlink, and a stash of cash there. The comlink was wired directly to Fagina's suite of offices upstairs.

He pulled out the com, and turned his back to Linn. A few seconds beat by, then he turned back toward her. "She'll see you," he said to Linn, and then pointed to Annie and Ben. "But they'll have to wait down here."

Linn nodded. She had expected as much, Ben's over-protectiveness notwithstanding. She slid another cred piece at Mari. "Make sure you take care of them, okay?"

***

A Gamorrean escorted Linn upstairs. Fagina always liked her guards stupid, uncommunicative, utterly obedient and horribly lethal. The Gamorreans were a perfect fit.

The normally ordered offices were in chaos. Furniture was upended, data disks were scattered everywhere, and beings were running about in a crazed panic. Linn's concern deepened.

Fagina was waiting for her in her spare offices. Gotals came from the grasslands of Antar IV and she had chosen neutral decors which reflected that serene landscape. She was pacing nervously; unusual in and of itself, and rubbing her horns gingerly. Linn had known her for years, and had never seen her so agitated.

"Linn," she began, in her stately voice. "We grieve deeply for your loss."

Linn nodded formally, accepting the condolences. Familiarity with Fagina was earned. Dar had had it. She did not. Informality would be a grave insult to the reserved smuggler. She began to launch into her explanation, when Fagina cut her off.

"I have surmised why you've come," the Gotal said. She paused, and again rubbed her head cones. She seemed to be in genuine pain.

"I sincerely regret ever accepting the contract to smuggle goods to Naboo. Profits can be found anywhere. Good beings cannot."

"Do you have the disk?" Linn asked, daring not to hope.

"Indeed I do. Milas brought it to me before he went underground. In this case, I wished he'd violated the LOTL and taken the damn thing with him."

Linn worked to keep her voice even. "Do you know what is on it?"

"I have seen the recording. I do not understand its meaning." Fagina shook her head. "I do not see why four beings have died to prevent its disclosure to the Republic."

"Four?" Linn asked. Who else had died, she wondered.

Fagina nodded. "The recording is so distorted, I sought the advice of my Verpine slicer."

"Kell? How is he?"

"Dead, as of this morning," Fagina snarled.

"My condolences, Fagina. He will be missed."

"Indeed. Over a disk which seems meaningless, I have already lost my favorite information broker, a very loyal Wookiee lieutenant, the navigator for my personal ship, and now my slicer." Her head cones seemed to pulsate.

Given Fagina's obvious distress and that she could probably read what she intended anyway, Linn opted for the bold approach. "I'm prepared to take it off your hands, Fagina. And I won't charge you for relieving you of something this hot."

"I had intended to send it out the airlock once we break orbit," Fagina growled. "This is not worth more lives."

"Then, Fagina, tell anyone who asks, and everyone who doesn't, that you gave it to Linnayn Darrow and that the moment Darrow left, she headed straight to Coruscant."

"Perhaps." Fagina grimaced again and suddenly snatched a comlink from her desk. "Mari," she barked. "Has someone let a droid in?"

"No, Madame," came Mari's disembodied voice.

"Who else is downstairs?" she demanded.

"Only Linn's two customers," Mari responded.

The Gotal switched it off impatiently. "These buyers, they are traveling with you? The man and the boy?"

"Yes," Linn replied. "But I don't see why that..."

Fagina ceased her pacing and turned to her cluttered desk. She plucked a disk from the top of the pile. Always hide in plain sight, Linn remembered. She wondered now whether it had been Dar or Fagina who had been responsible for that particular lesson in her unorthodox education.

Fagina shoved the disk at Linn. "I warn you, it is very poor quality."

Fagina gestured peremptorily and the Gamorrean guard suddenly moved forward, shoving Linn toward the door. "Thank you for ridding me of this. I suggest you leave immediately. Should you live long enough, I hope that you may avenge your father. If you do, I shall return the favor."

Linn was backing to the door trying to blurt out her thanks. Not that she had much choice with a grunting, green mountain pushing her in that direction. "Thank you Fagina."

Fagina nodded, pressing her palms into her temples. "By the time you clear the gravity well, the fringe will know I have given you this cursed thing. I will regret if you die."

For Fagina, it was a statement of enormous compassion. "I understand," Linn said.

An expression passed over her face, the equivalent of a brittle human smile. "I warn you, Linn, all is not as it seems. For this information, there is no charge."

The slamming of the office door interrupted Linn's nod of farewell.

Ben and Annie were waiting at the bar. Annie was making good use of Linn's credit piece, constructing a fortress out of straws, shot glasses, coasters, and some sort of local fruit. Mari looked on in amusement. "You've got a weakness in your left flank," he pointed out.

Annie scrunched up his eyebrows. "Oh yeah," he said, and added an additional shot glass for support.

"I got it," Linn said, as she slipped next to Ben.

Ben slid off his stool. "Let's go. Annie!"

Linn gave Mari another hug and a hundred credits. "Thanks, dear. I'll be back."

He gave her a squeeze, and swatting her on the backside, pushed her toward the door.

Ben and Annie were already waiting outside. With no explanation, Ben suddenly gripped Linn's arm and began walking very quickly in the direction of the spaceport.

"What's wrong?" Linn asked. She shook free of him, not liking this feeling. "What's the matter with you?"

Ben slowed. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "You weren't upstairs very long. Were you able to see what was on the disk?

"No," Linn began. "Fagina just gave it to me. She said it's poor quality, and tried to scrub it. The Verpine who was going to do the job died this morning."

Ben's eyes widened. He seemed to nod, as if in confirmation, and glanced at Annie. What was going on? Linn wondered.

Again, Ben laced his fingers at her elbow and began propelling her forward "We need to see what is on that disk. And the sooner we leave here, the safer you will be."

"I can take care of myself," Linn snapped back.

He halted and turned to face her. Linn felt the stirrings of confusion. What had happened?

"Linn, at least four beings have died to keep us from getting this information." Ben looked over her head, his eyes darting, nervously. "I feel we need to leave. Now. Can you understand?"

She didn't, but nodded.

They said nothing else on the way back to the port. Ben seemed at best, barely there. His attention was everywhere except on her. Linn kept an eye out too, but no one seemed to be paying them any mind at all. She wasn't stupid. If Kell had been killed only that day, someone could be looking for them too. She had been certain, though, that no one was following them.

Even Annie seemed affected by Ben's odd mood. He trotted hurriedly along beside them, uncharacteristically disinterested in their surroundings.

Neither of them noticeably eased even when they reached the ship and Linn sealed the ramp behind them. When she withdrew the disk, Ben snatched it from her hands. Linn swallowed her protest. Bewildered, she took Annie's hand, and followed Ben into the main cabin. He had already inserted the disk into her holo reader.

The transmission was, as the Fagina had said, very distorted. It was snowy and blurred. A wavering image flickered in the holo. It appeared to be a man, heavily robed. Only the bottom of his face was visible. His lips moved but there was no coherent audio.

With a strangled cry, Annie burst into tears. "No," he whimpered, backing away. "NO!"

"Anakin," Ben barked, incredibly harsh, his attention still on the recording. "Stop that at once."

"Ben! That's no way to speak to him." Linn knelt and put her arms around Annie. He was valiantly trying to swallow his sobs. Linn smoothed his head, and dabbed his tears. "It's nothing to be scared of, Annie. It's just a recording."

She realized though, that Annie was paying her no mind either. His attention was riveted on the image. "Master?" he gulped.

Then, out of the background, a second figure materialized. The words "This is my apprentice..." were barely audible over the static.

"What's **that**!?" Linn exclaimed, just as the images flickered away to nothing.

Ben's shoulders were shaking, Linn saw. When he turned again to Annie, he was very pale. He knelt, and Annie pulled away from Linn, tottering uncertainly toward Ben. "Master?" he said again, in a very small voice.

Ben rested a hand on Annie's shoulder. "Padawan, you know you must not be afraid. You know why this is so."

Padawan? Linn wondered. What was that? Some sort of nickname?

Annie nodded.

He stood, and gave Annie a gentle push. "Go to our room. I will join you there in a moment."

Annie immediately left the cabin, not even glancing back. Ben kept his eyes on the retreating boy, and suddenly blurted, "We need to get to Coruscant."

This was too much. "Not until you tell me what is going on," Linn erupted. She felt that everything that had transpired had been in some language she didn't understand.

Ben seemed to sag. When he turned back to face her, and she was looking at a stranger. It was frightening. "Ben?" she asked. "What is it? Is it the recording? Is it that important?"

"Yes." If possible, Ben paled even further. He was in the grip of some profound emotional tide she could barely comprehend. And then, she thought she understood.

"Was that who killed Qui-Gon?" she asked softly, her heart aching for him.

Ben stared down at his hands, clenching and relaxing his fists. He finally said, "The second one. Yes."

"What was it? I've never seen anything like it."

He turned back, looking in the direction Annie had gone. "And you never will again, Linn."

"Why?" Linn felt she already knew the answer.

"I killed him on Naboo."

She went to him, trying to put an arm about him, but Ben shrugged her off. "I'm sorry..." he began awkwardly.

"No, it's alright. I'm sorry I snapped at you." Linn understood. "This has been horrible for both you and Annie."

"Can you take care of getting us out of here and on the way to Coruscant?" Ben took a step away from her, toward Annie.

"Of course." For a moment, it seemed that Ben actually noticed her. Linn could not imagine what might be going through him now. And poor Annie. Obviously, the boy had seen part of the whole ordeal on Naboo, and was frightened out of his mind. She gave Ben a shove aft. "Annie needs you now. I'll take care of everything else."

As he retreated, she called, "Ben?"

It seemed that he stiffened first, before slowly turning back around. Maybe it was just a trick of the lighting in the ship, but he seemed far away. Remote. "Let me know if I can help with Annie."

He nodded again, and disappeared.

***

Finally, mercifully, Anakin fell into an exhausted sleep. It had taken hours of mediation to free his Padawan from the terror of the mysterious black-robed man.

Ben did not understand it. Annie had been clear. It was not the tattooed red and black creature, Qui-Gon's murderer, who had provoked the near hysteria. It was the other, the shrouded one. Annie claimed the figure haunted his dreams.

He had explained over and over that dreams were not prophecy, merely, on occasion, possible avenues in the future. They might provide clues, but were not, by themselves to be trusted. Try though he did to convince Anakin otherwise, the boy's vision made him deeply uneasy as well, for Ben thought he understood its import. It only served to underscore how important it was that he not err in Anakin's training.

He glanced down at the sleeping child, seemingly so innocent in slumber, and remembered, with a chill, Yoda's dire warning. "Clouded this boy's future is."

The challenge that Qui-Gon had left him was formidable. Again, he wished for his Master's skill and wisdom and felt a stab of apprehension. It had required everything he knew to help Anakin cope with a phantom dream. Without a Master's perception, could he even hope to help Anakin overcome his fear? And his anger? The task seemed daunting.

Ben recalled his own struggles to master those emotions. They had nearly been his undoing. But, compared to Anakin, what had he had to be angry about? That he'd grown too tall too quickly and his inability to control his gangling limbs and oversized feet had earned him the merciless teasing of his fellow students? Even now, all these years later, the remembered taunts of "Oafy-Wan" could still bring color to his cheeks. As for fear? He'd lived in terror of what? Turning thirteen before he was selected as a Padawan and being assigned to the Agricultural Corps, rather than becoming a Jedi Knight.

How naive could he have been? He rose slowly from where he had crouched on the edge of Annie's bunk. His legs were sore from being in one position for so long. He needed to stretch his legs, to clear his head.

Silently, he slipped out of their room and found himself standing in front of Linn's cabin. He placed a hand on the door and closed his eyes, easing into the living Force. She was asleep. Her essence welled up, enveloping him. Overwhelming. Exhilarating.

His head fell against her door; he ached to be with her. But things had to be done. It was as much a physical as it was a mental effort to shove her away. He focused more resolutely and, abruptly, Ben felt a prompting within, deeper even than what Linn had kindled. The Force was demanding his attention.

He made himself move away and head for the main cabin. He had been so involved with Anakin, so deep in meditation with his Padawan, that he had not even felt The Ron lift. Checking the nav readings confirmed that Linn had set a course for Coruscant, and that she was really burning the drive to get there.

The Council had to be notified. He opted for a brief, encrypted, flash transmission, not wanting to risk a holo. When they hit Coruscant, he didn't want to be waiting for hours in orbit for civilian traffic to clear them. The Council would see they were escorted to one of the pads in the government center, and would have transport waiting.

Ben almost called up the mysterious holo tape again. But he could not. The tattooed face of the Apprentice, for that was most certainly what he was, still haunted him. The Sith had returned. The Master still lived.

Ben fought the rising despair he had had to shield from Anakin. The Lord haunted his Padawan. He was so powerful, he had concealed his return from 10,000 Jedi. He had trained an Apprentice to be the most formidable opponent the Jedi had faced in generations. His Apprentice had killed one of the Order's most venerable Masters. He had probably been in league with the Trade Federation to perpetrate a war on a peaceful people. Why?

To stave off the paralyzing fear, Ben did what he had not done for days. He directed his attention inward, finding the thread of the Force he looked to for guidance. The impact of the visions nearly blinded him. Stunning images began rolling through his mind. He saw billowing sand and two suns hanging heavy on the horizon. In his mind, Ben heard his own voice say, "We could be stuck here for a long time." Tatooine? He saw a blonde boy, so like Annie in every respect, but different, older, and still in the white desert garb. He saw a girl's beautiful face, deep brown eyes framed by thick hair. She was familiar, but gone so quickly he could not name the likeness.

Then, a black hooded figure loomed, tinged with red. He gasped audibly, at first thinking that he was seeing Qui-Gon's death again. But, as with Anakin, the image was slightly different. Ben saw an old man, and knew it was himself. Old, worn, infinitely sad, Ben started as the hot fire of a red lightsaber crashed down on the vision.

Was he to die as his master had? An aged man cut down by a Sith? Before he could probe further, the vision swirled away into thick mist. In the fog, he saw Master Yoda, but not as the active vibrant voice on the Jedi Council. He was old, weary, and burdened with unknown cares. The image was so poignant a cry caught in his throat.

The torrent trickled away to nothing. Ben had no concept of how much time had passed. He was exhausted and drained. With a deep breath, he cleared his mind, trying to bring some order to the chaos swirling within him. He had to be mindful of what he had recently instructed Annie. Prophecy was a dangerous guide to plotting future actions. He would not presume to interpret the startling and conflicting images. He had learned enough. The message was not one he had not wanted to hear. As so often happened, he had sought guidance on one matter, and gained insight into another. Violent, turbulent, dangerous times awaited the Jedi. His own future was profoundly unsettled. All he felt was aching, desolate loneliness, no joy, no happiness, no contentment. Nowhere in the visions had he seen Linn. At every turn, she had dissolved into dust. With a sudden stab of clarity, Ben knew that there would be no place in his life for a woman for years to come. There might never be a woman ever again.

If Linn had some level of Force sensitivity, he might have been able to fashion some justification for keeping her. But she did not. There was probably no precedent for it, and the Council would be implacable on this point, he thought. It was likely to be a battle lost before it could even begin.

He was a Jedi, Ben realized bleakly, not a father, a husband, or a lover. His first obligation, his promise and vow had been to Qui-Gon, and now to Anakin. He would train the boy, he had to, of that much he was certain. Linn had no part or place in that order of things.

He heard a soft sound, and quickly looked up. Linn was leaning against the jam leading into the cabin. She was wrapped in a thin blue robe, pulled tightly about her as if to ward off the cold.

"How's Annie?" she asked.

"Finally asleep." She sighed, obviously relieved. "Still trying to unravel the mysterious man in black?"

"I was looking at one part of the problem." They **were** related, he told himself.

She crossed the cabin to him and sat, facing him. "And?"

Still reeling from the after-affects of the vision, Linn's mere proximity to him was almost overpowering. He worked to keep his voice steady. "On Coruscant, we may be able to scrub the recording to get a better image."

"We'll be there in a few hours." She hesitated, perhaps seeing something she hadn't before. "Is it that bad?" Linn asked.

Ben nodded wearily. "There's more to this situation than I've told you. I..."

Linn leaned forward and gently placed her fingers over his lips. The simple touch was so electric he nearly started.

"Shhhh," she said softly, silencing him. "I'm not stupid. My father was murdered to keep you from getting that bad recording. Three others are dead as well."

Ben tried. He really did. "But -" Linn shook her head adamantly. "I don't understand why it's important. And I don't want to know either." He felt her finger run along his face and had to stifle the groan. "Because if I did, and the right buyers come along, well, you get the picture."

"Linn, please, let me..."

She stood, shaking her head firmly. "No, Ben. It is better this way. I know things won't be the same once we get to Coruscant." She lowered her eyes, then glanced up again, a shy, intoxicating smile playing across her face. "But we still have a few more hours before we need to decide anything."

Ben felt his insides somersault. He hesitated. Linn held out her hand, beckoning. With the gesture, a corner of her robe demurely opened and he was lost. For now. For this moment. For the few moments that still remained to him. He would have to tell her. But not yet. His mind wailed with the breaking of another vow he had made to his dead Master. But how could he end the deception now when the only future he saw was filled with sand and solitude?

Ben followed Linn back to her room.

Continued in Chapter 4