As Hunter stepped through the door to the Prince's room, he sent a glance back at the others. Quinlan met his eyes, but gave no indication at all about what the sergeant was supposed to tell the Prince. Not that he'd really had time to, but some kind of hint would have been nice.

Well, guess I'm playing it by ear, then. Hunter turned into the room, and the door shut behind him. The first thing he noticed was that the narrow foyer he was in contained four security cameras and what was probably a metal detector – all five things were out of immediate reach, but one of Tech's EMPs should take care of them just fine.

"Well?" the elderly voice asked, less strident now that it was lowered. "Do you intend to stand there, or come in?"

The sergeant entered the room. As he stepped from the hard tile of the foyer to the carpet that covered the rest of the floor, he paused. The thick red carpet was so deep that for an instant he felt almost unsteady. He cast a quick glance around at the rest of the room. It was opulent, but Hunter only took note of the fact that there weren't any windows. Good. He didn't need to worry about being shot from outside, then.

At the opposite end of the room, a white-haired man in dark blue clothes stood from his chair, observing Hunter through dark eyes. "So," he said at last. "You are the leader of the team Vythia hired for her trip to Malachor."

"Yes."

"Hmm." The Prince lifted one hand, stroking at his neatly clipped beard. It was several seconds before he said, "And what is your name?"

"Hunter." On a whim, the sergeant added, "What's yours?"

"You know my title." Everything the Prince said was spoken in a slow, deliberate manner. "Surely, that is enough for you to work with."

"It's enough." Hunter leaned one forearm against the corner of the foyer wall. "I'm curious, that's all. Your name seems to be a well-kept secret."

"It is." The Prince seated himself again, crossed his legs, and folded his hands on one knee. "Under normal circumstances, I speak only to those whom I have personally hired. But my spies inform me that Vythia Archane's ship has not returned, and that she is not with you. I want you, Hunter, to tell me exactly what happened to her."

The sergeant only hesitated for a moment, but before he could decide exactly how to word his answer, the Prince's indifferent expression darkened in anger. "You will tell me," he said, getting abruptly to his feet.

At the sharp tone of his voice, Hunter narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"If you do not. . ." The Prince hovered one hand over a series of buttons on the right arm of his chair. "I promise you, the consequences will be – most unpleasant."

Really? Hunter thought, annoyed. He stared at the controls, but couldn't tell what any of them were for. Electrifying the floor, maybe? Not likely, given that the Prince was standing on it. . .

With a short look at the wall he was leaning against, Hunter straightened and folded his arms. "Is that right."

"Yes." The Prince gave him a thin smile. "Fail to answer my questions, and I will call my guards. They will bring you, and your friends, to my torturers, who will get the answers out of you. I believe . . . yes, I believe you would only last a day, at the most, before telling me everything I want to know, and more."

Hunter scowled. He'd been going to tell the Prince an abbreviated version of what happened to Vythia, but being threatened was having the opposite effect it was intended to.

"Well?" The Prince's voice was sharp with impatience, and he hovered one of his fingers over a red button.

"I'll answer your questions," snapped Hunter. "Just like I was going to, before you started making threats. We've been working for you, remember?"

"Yes . . . that is true." As though suddenly mollified, the Prince sat down again, his eyes once more calm. "Now tell me. What happened to Vythia?"

"I killed her," Hunter said, settling on the simplest approach. "And before you get any ideas, it was not because we decided to stab her in the back. I had no other choice."

Slowly, the Prince moved his hand away from the panel on the arm of his chair. "What do you mean, you had no other choice?"

"She got too confident," Hunter said. "She thought she understood the purpose of one of the Sith artifacts, but –" He trailed off, trying to figure out how to describe what had happened without mentioning Zenaya, and everything she'd done. "By the end, Vythia – she wasn't herself. She attacked us."

"And you killed her." The Prince's tone was annoyed, rather than upset. For all his questions about Vythia, he certainly didn't seem to care about her. "You could not have managed to subdue her, rather than kill her?"

"No," Hunter said flatly. "My three teammates were injured and unconscious, Vos was on the ground . . . She was almost unstoppable. I'm still surprised I managed to kill her at all."

"Hmm." The Prince tapped at the arm of his chair with one finger, then said, "I see."

"Yeah?" Hunter mumbled under his breath. "I don't think you do."

The Prince didn't seem to hear him. "Vythia's death is unfortunate," he said, shaking his head in irritation. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Folding his arms, Hunter waited.

Eventually, the Prince looked up. "And when did you and your team leave Malachor?"

"Immediately after I killed her," Hunter said. "Or – well, as soon as the rest of us had dragged ourselves to the ship."

"And after that, you and your teammates decided to return here with everything you acquired on Malachor?"

"Yeah." Hunter jerked his chin at the silver chest, which had been placed against the wall. "Everything we had with us, anyway. There were other things, but Vythia had them somewhere else – not on her ship, either. We looked. The scepter's the only artifact we ended up with, but there's some gold and jewels."

"Yes. I looked at them. Taken together, what you brought back from Malachor is incredibly valuable, even without whatever Vythia had." The Prince leaned back in his chair, finally stopping his endless tapping. "You realize, Hunter, I find it strange you returned at all."

"Why?" Hunter raised an eyebrow. "You owe us twelve thousand credits apiece."

"The artifact is worth twenty times that."

"Maybe," Hunter said. "But we're not in the market for selling artifacts."

"Perhaps not. The jewels alone would have more than paid for your efforts on Malachor, though. You could have kept those."

"We could have . . ." Hunter answered slowly, not sure why the Prince was pressing the issue. "To be honest, we don't want anything from Malachor on our ship, not after – everything we saw. The sooner we got rid of it, the better."

"Indeed." The Prince was watching him closely. "And what about the Kiffar? Did he agree you should give me this chest?"

"Agree?" Hunter scoffed. "He wants it even less than we do."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Hunter decided to take a chance. The Prince already know about Quinlan. Perhaps he had even seen the bounty posted by Grakkus and guessed his real identity. "Well – it's hard to explain what exactly this means, but Vos is psychometric."

"Yes." The Prince gestured. "I am aware of psychometry and what it is. Are sure he did not want the artifact?"

"Sure I'm sure. Why would he want it?" Hunter asked, more convinced than ever that the Prince suspected Quinlan of being a Jedi. "Things like those artifacts – turns out, they're dangerous for psychometrics. While we were on Malachor, Vos was dragged into visions just by being near them. And some of them, he couldn't get out of without help."

"How interesting." The Prince smiled thinly. "I would like to speak to the Kiffar, in a few moments. The value of any item is affected by its history. Perhaps Vos will agree to read some of the artifacts I already own?"

"I – guess it depends on what the artifacts are," Hunter said. "Why not ask him?"

"Oh, I intend to. . . I intend to. But first, Hunter – you will describe Malachor to me, and what you saw, as well as each of the locations you traveled to."

Hunter resolved to skip everything about the Palace of Aantonaii. "Describe what we saw?" he said. "That'll take a while. We were there for over a week."

"Yes." The Prince drummed his fingers idly against the arm of his chair again. "Yes, you were. I am sure it did not take that long to find the scepter and jewels and gold chains, did it?"

"No. I told you, there were other artifacts we collected." He did not explain that several of them were scattered around the Trayus Core.

"Perhaps they can be recovered," the Prince said, then brushed the thought aside with a gesture. "What about the artifacts that the Kiffar helped track down? Surely, Vythia did not need him to locate the scepter."

"No, she knew where that was," Hunter said. "We found the scepter the first day. After that, we went to Adas Academy. Vythia wanted Vos to locate a shard from the axe of a Sith'ari . . ."

Hunter continued, summarizing most of what had happened in as few words as he could manage. As he described the giant stormbeast, glad he had a good reason for the shard's disappearance, he was already thinking ahead to everything else: Lothal, the temple with the statues, the mask; Trayus, the scrolls, Darth Ghant and Zenaya . . .

He had no intention of telling the Prince what the Dark Side artifacts had been used for, and the best way to avoid questions was to pretend that he had seen very little of the artifacts, and knew even less about them – and that he didn't know where they had ended up. For once, he was glad of Vythia's secretiveness.

As he spoke, the Prince listened with his head tilted to one side, eyes focused almost unblinkingly on Hunter's. "This gold mask of Lord Lothal's," he said. "Did Vythia tell you what it was for?"

"No, she didn't."

"How about her reason for wanting it?"

"She didn't say," Hunter answered.

"But surely you and the others must have had questions."

"Of course we did. We asked plenty." Hunter shrugged. "Doesn't mean she answered, though."

"Ah. . . Yes, that does sound like her." With a mildly irked look, the Prince gestured to Hunter. "Continue your description of the statues beneath the temple."

"Right." Hunter picked up where he had left off, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

Quinlan glanced at his chronometer for the sixth time since Hunter had entered the room. "It's been twenty-three minutes."

"Twenty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds," Tech answered. He finished typing something, then sent a quick look at the two Gamorreans and turned the datapad to face Quinlan.

The Jedi leaned closer to read the words: Given that we may need to effect a rapid egress, shall I move your starfighter from Hutta Town to the platform which the Marauder is currently occupying?

"That was long-winded," Quinlan pointed out.

Tech rolled his eyes.

"Okay, fine. I don't know yet. . . Hmm, it'll take longer for it to get here than to leave orbit and rendezvous with us once we're off-planet."

"By approximately five hours, yes."

"Then let's wait until we leave." Quinlan rocked on his heels, clasped his hands behind his back, and looked at Wrecker and Crosshair. "You guys awake?"

"No," Crosshair said, slouching back against the wall with his eyes closed.

"Course I'm awake!" Wrecker exclaimed, so loudly that the guards turned towards him and raised their pikes. "Uh – whoa, I wasn't doing nothin'!"

With an annoyed grunt, the nearest Gamorrean lowered his weapon.

Quinlan wondered how much longer he should wait before taking the Prince hostage, or if Hunter would do that for him. Probably not, especially if the Prince had him standing far away.

Sure enough, when he reached out through the Force, he noticed that Hunter was a full five meters from the Prince. There was no sense of alarm or intent from the sergeant – no sense of anything, really, except for mild annoyance.

The Jedi grinned, glad he wasn't the one who had to answer question after question, and hoped it wouldn't take much longer. If the Prince cross-examined Hunter too carefully, the sergeant might let something slip. Based on how expressive his face was, he would be a downright terrible liar.

Of course, Quinlan could trick the guards and just walk in, but there were probably all kinds of devices and laser traps ready for uninvited guests, not to mention security cameras and the ability to summon dozens of guards. No, if the team was going to take the Prince down, they had to do it without warning.

"Hey, Tech." The Jedi reached for the datapad. When Tech handed it over, Quinlan typed, Is there any way to disable security measures inside the room?

Tech shook his head. "Not from here."

Would you be able to disable stuff if you could hardwire this into the system?

"Possibly, though it might be better to wait." Tech glanced at the door, and one of the Gamorreans took a step forward, narrowing his small eyes suspiciously.

Gripping the Force around his mind, Quinlan murmured, "There's nothing for you to worry about."

The first guard stepped back into position, grumbling something at the second guard, and they both relaxed a little.

Crosshair shifted, looking a little spooked.

"What?" Quinlan muttered. "Mind tricks are useful and avoid potential bloodshed."

"Yeah . . . well." With a huff, Crosshair flicked his toothpick down the hall. "If you ever even think of using one of 'em on me, I'll break your nose."

"Technically," said the Jedi, mimicking Tech's intonation. "I did use one on you, back in Trayus."

Crosshair frowned and glanced sideways as Tech gave an unimpressed sniff.

"And leave my nose alone," Quinlan ordered. "If you break it, you'll ruin my tattoo, and then I'll have to ruin yours."

Chortling, Wrecker elbowed Crosshair into the wall.

"Now. As I was saying. . ." Quinlan looked up at the door again, then typed, Is there any way you can block communications or cameras from here? I think I saw a security camera just inside the door.

Turning away from the guards, Tech whispered, "Yes. But only if I work within a short range."

Then plan on jamming them on my signal.

"Understood." Tech reached for his datapad, and the Jedi took a step back.

"Quinlan," said Tech. "I cannot accomplish anything with you holding that."

Nodding, Quinlan started typing again. I know that. But it's fine, because you can't accomplish anything until Hunter leaves the room, anyway.

"Yes, but –" Tech paused, then blinked. "You could simply have said that aloud."

Yeah, Quinlan typed, very slowly. I guess I could have.

"Crosshair has the second datapad," Tech pointed out, tapping his foot. "If you are determined to type everything you say, you could get that one."

Yeah, but this whole standing around thing is getting seriously boring. I'm considering our options right now. Please stand by.

Huffing, Tech snatched the datapad out of his hands and went to stand near Wrecker.

Quinlan continued to consider his options. A few minutes later, he had thought up and discarded several plans, and decided on one that should work. When Hunter was about to leave the room, and before the door fully opened, Quinlan would trick the guards into leaving their posts or stepping back so Crosshair could stun the Prince.

Just then, Wrecker sighed. "Man, how long are we gonna have to wait?"

"Not much longer, I hope," Quinlan told him. "Once Hunter comes out, we're out of here."

The others looked up at his tone, and he went over to them. Taking Tech's datapad again, Quinlan typed out his idea and passed it to Wrecker. The three commandos glanced at the screen, then at him.

"So . . .?" Quinlan said. "Is that possible?"

Tech nudged his goggles further up his nose. "Of course."

"More than possible!" Wrecker cheered, then subsided at the suspicious looks the Gamorreans gave him. "Oops."

Quinlan glanced at Crosshair. "You can handle your bit, right?"

"Hm. Like you even need to ask."

"Awesome." He started typing again. The mission objectives are as follows: take out the Prince, get into his artifact room, destroy stuff, keep from being killed by the guards, get to the Marauder and into hyperspace as fast as possible so we can stay alive, and return to Coruscant. Got that?

Wrecker snickered and gave him a thumbs-up, and Tech took the datapad and erased everything he'd just written. Crosshair, the snob, turned away without answering.

As they continued to wait, Quinlan split his attention between Hunter and the room of artifacts above him. He'd seen on Tech's datapad that it was pretty large, stretching along the hall he was in and a little beyond the room the Prince was in. Some of the artifacts were pinpricks of darkness in his mind, but others were blurred and vague. There were even a couple which seemed to have non-presences – similar to the crypt of Nihilus, but much weaker.

When Quinlan tried to reach past the artifacts to whatever their presence might be masking, he caught the faintest sense of something that was strangely familiar. It felt almost like the crystal Vythia had worn, except that this one did not have another presence buried beneath its surface, thank the Force. It seemed to be a bleeding kyber crystal which was taller than he was. Dark crystals of that size were incredibly rare, and Quinlan was surprised the Prince hadn't already sold it.

Then Hunter moved, and Quinlan jerked his full attention to him. As soon as he was sure the sergeant was on his way out of the room, he tapped Tech's arm and wandered towards the guards, as though stretching his legs. Crosshair straightened up.

Their timing was perfect. Just as Quinlan neared the guards, Hunter knocked on the inside of the door. One of the Gamorreans turned to open it, and Quinlan purposefully tripped on his own feet, caught himself with one hand against the other guard's arm, and willed him to forget what he was doing. The Gamorrean froze and stared straight ahead, confused.

It all happened in an instant, as perfectly as though the team had rehearsed it a dozen times. The first guard started to open the door, Quinlan got a hand on his head and made him fall asleep, Wrecker caught him before he could collapse, Crosshair stepped into the doorway and fired a stun shot over a surprised Hunter's shoulder, and Tech put a small stun grenade against the second Gamorrean's arm and set it off.

Now that there was nobody to alarm with the noise, Wrecker dropped the sleeping Gamorrean with a thud. "Man, these guys are heavy!"

"Tech, the cameras," Hunter said, taking in the situation at a glance. "Give me an EMP."

"They are currently jammed," Tech said, handing him the requested item. Hunter jumped up, slapped it against the wall beneath the four cameras and what looked like a metal detector, and ran back, out of range.

As soon as it had gone off, Wrecker leaned through the door and tossed Hunter his weapons and helmet.

"Good job," Hunter said, sheathing his knife as he glanced at the guards. "What do we do with them?"

"Um." Quinlan crouched next to the stunned Gamorrean and sent him into a deep sleep. "Just leave 'em in the room and maybe tie them up for insurance. It'll be hours before they wake up."

"Okay. Wrecker?"

"Yeah, I'll handle it."

Wrecker dragged the guards inside, Crosshair kept watch, and Tech wired his datapad into the nearest access panel. Meanwhile, Quinlan and Hunter went over to the Prince.

The Jedi hoisted hoisting him to his feet and held him upright by the shoulders while Hunter tied his hands firmly behind his back.

"That was a nice change of pace," Quinlan observed. At Hunter's questioning grunt, he went on. "How easy that was, I mean. Especially compared to how much of a threat everyone thinks the Prince is."

"Yeah, no kidding." Hunter double-checked his knots and started searching their prisoner for weapons.

"Though I'll bet he's threatening enough when he's got a bunch of guards with him who will obey everything he tells 'em. Having people's heads put on spikes because they annoy you is not exactly what I would call a gesture of good will."

"Yeah." Hunter dragged the Prince back to sit against the wall. "Pretty much the first thing he did was threaten us with his torturers if I didn't answer his questions. Guess that's his standard reaction to people not obeying instantly."

Quinlan smirked. "He and Grakkus have similar approaches to life, then. . . Good to know. All set, Crosshair?"

"Yeah." Crosshair dragged the heavy door shut and locked it. "There's no one in the hall yet, but that won't last. What do we do now?"

"Now," said Quinlan, drawing his lightsaber. "We cut a hole in the ceiling. Wrecker?"

Wrecker dropped the second guard in a corner opposite the first one and squinted at the high ceiling. "Where do you want it?"

"Right here, so we can actually reach it," Quinlan said, pointing above the Prince's chair. "Unless there's something in the way on the floor above us?"

"There is not," Tech said absently. "I am shutting down all security measures in this room and in the artifact room. However, it is only a matter of time before someone notices the Gamorreans' absence, not to mention our own."

"Yeah, well." Quinlan shrugged as Wrecker stood on the chair. "It would be weirder if we weren't found out. That's why it's good we have a hostage who probably – hopefully – isn't eager to die."

"Right." Hunter drew his knife and went over to the Prince. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Okay." Quinlan got from the back of the chair to Wrecker's shoulders and straightened. "Thanks, big guy. Now, this should only take a sec . . . unlike in Aantonaii. . ."

"Don't remind me," grumbled Wrecker. "Not being able to move was so weird."

"Tell me about it." Quinlan angled his lightsaber and cut a circle through the floor, carefully leaving the top layer wider than the other so it wouldn't fall on his head and bring him to a sudden and gruesome end. Then, lifting the circle with the Force, he set it to one side on the floor above him. A quick jump later, he was inside the room full of artifacts.

There wasn't much light, but he didn't need light to recognize that there were a lot of artifacts in the room – even more than he'd been able to sense earlier. He sighed, then dropped to the floor and hung abruptly into the room, making Wrecker jump. "Guys, this is going to take a while," he announced. "There are a lot of artifacts, and the room's big."

"I can blow some up!" Wrecker said eagerly.

"Yeah, I think you're going to have to. But we won't set off the explosives until we're ready to leave, because that will definitely warn security. For now, let's stick together, and keep the Prince with us."

"Got it." Hunter hoisted the Prince over one shoulder. "Tech, you finished yet?"

"I just located records of the transactions made by Vythia," Tech said. "Ah. How interesting."

The others turned to look at him, but Tech volunteered no further information.

Shrugging, Crosshair ambled over to the chair and looked up. "Out of the way, Jedi."

Quinlan sat up, waited until Crosshair had pulled himself into the artifact room, and leaned down again. "What's interesting, Tech? Did you find out something about the Sith?"

"Unfortunately, no. But I found the Prince's name. As it turns out, he is, technically speaking, a prince – Prince Vito of Serenno."

"Of Serenno?" Quinlan demanded. "As in, House Serenno?"

"I believe so. If I understand this properly, he is a second cousin of Count Dooku. As you suspected, he has been communicating with the count. Dooku has not been buying all of the artifacts which the Prince has obtained, which is intriguing. Without some more time, I will not be able to locate a pattern regarding the ones he buys and the ones he does not."

"He probably buys the ones that are stronger in the Dark Side," Quinlan said, then paused to help Crosshair pull the limp prisoner through the hole in the floor. "At least, that's my guess. Anything else?"

"Each of the artifacts has been documented with a brief history, as well as records of where and how and when it was obtained. However, there is no data about where the artifacts are sent after Dooku purchases them."

"Ugh. . . Of course there isn't." Quinlan leaned an elbow on the edge of the hole. He'd expected as much, really, but it was still disappointing.

"Well, I have not completed my search yet." Tech looked up at him. "I will continue to gather data."

"Yeah." Glancing around, Quinlan located another access panel. "But do it from up here."

"Understood." Tech unplugged his datapad, glanced at where Hunter and Wrecker were busy sealing the doors, and hopped onto the chair. "Fortunately, we have Vythia's codes; without them, I would be unable to access these records without a significant investment of time. Even so, there is no guarantee I will find what we are looking for."

"I know," Quinlan said, leaning down to pull him up. "Which is why we're taking the Prince to Coruscant. It's entirely possible he knows more than he thinks he does. Maybe the Council can get it out of him. And, if not. . ." He shrugged.

"If not," Crosshair finished, "we'll have failed the mission's primary objective."

"Thank you, killjoy," grumbled the Jedi. "Us, and every other Jedi who's out there trying to track down the Sith Lord."

Wrecker appeared beneath the hole in the floor. "Well, at least we still have a hundred percent success rate!"

"We do?" Hunter asked, coming up next to him. "How is failing our primary objective a hundred percent success rate?"

"Uh, 'cause it's not a GAR mission!" Wrecker shoved his helmet back on his head. "It's a Jedi mission, so it doesn't count!"

Quinlan peered down at him. "Flattered, I'm sure. Now, get up here before Dengar pokes his enterprising nose in to see if we've murdered the Prince."

"Sure thing." With a wide grin, Wrecker turned to Hunter. "Here, Sarge, I'll help ya up!"

"Wrecker, stop – wait, Wrecker, no!"

As usual, Wrecker ignored him. Hunter came flying up, landed unsteadily on the edge of the hole, and nearly lost his balance while Quinlan and Crosshair stood to one side, snickering. The sergeant glowered at them, then huffed and turned to study the tall shelves.

When Wrecker had climbed up, Quinlan replaced the piece of floor, and Tech found and activated the lights.

"Wow," said Wrecker, after a long moment of silence. "That's a lot of shelves."

Turning on his heel, Quinlan observed the area. Behind him, there was only one set of shelves against the wall, and it was empty. To his left and in front of him were rows of shelves that had been installed in no particular order. He couldn't see across the room; shelf units formed short aisles and alcoves, which blocked the rest of the area from view. It was like a maze, which probably meant there were a lot of traps.

The good news was that most of the shelves he could see were mostly empty. The bad news was that the artifacts here were not the kind that could be easily destroyed. Stone statues and crystal weapons, like those on the nearest shelf, would have to be blown up or hacked to bits. The glass and pottery, though . . . well, there was a highly sophisticated method the Jedi had for destroying those: smash each one against the nearest hard surface.

"Tech . . .?" Hunter asked, cautiously, and Quinlan followed the sergeant's gaze to a couple of small vents in the ceiling. "Do we have to worry about getting hit with nerve gas?"

"Not anymore," Tech said, with a smirk. "I deactivated the trigger – though technically, I suppose it is possible for someone to manually pump it in."

"Got it. Crosshair, take care of those, just in case." Hunter pulled the laser welder out of his pack and tossed it to the sniper.

"Sure." Crosshair slung his rifle onto one shoulder and climbed the set of shelves nearest to the vents. Balancing on one knee, he flipped the vents closed, switched on the welder, and set to work.

"How much time do we have?" Hunter said, turning to Quinlan.

"Until we're attacked? Good question." Stepping between two rows of shelves, Quinlan caught sight of the main door, which was some fifteen meters away and sealed from the inside with two clamps and three bars. It looked strong enough to hold up against thermal detonators, and the wall it stood in had been reinforced with metal. Nice. Too bad no one had paid attention to the floor as a potential mode of entry and exit. . .

Speaking of which, it might be wise to get a secondary exit ready sooner, rather than later. Quinlan turned to the wall opposite the door and ran a hand along it. It was duracrete, much easier to cut through than metal. "I can cut through this quick enough, if we need to," he said. "Hey, Tech, what's on the other side?"

Tech opened his vambrace screen. "According to the schematics, a hangar bay. The data manifest lists the Phoenix, as well as an unnamed Trade Federation shuttle, as having permanent priority. The shuttle and a starfighter are currently the only two ships present. Hm, the starfighter is the same model as Cad Bane's."

"Is it named the Justifier?" Quinlan asked.

"Ah – yes." Tech shot him a questioning look.

"Ironically enough, Bane named his ship the Justifier. No idea why. As for the shuttle, if it's unnamed and was given priority with the Phoenix, then presumably, that means that either the Prince likes to keep his ship as incognito as himself, or the shuttle is how he transports artifacts off-world. If it's the second, we might have another shot at tracing whoever's purchasing these. . ."

"What do you have in mind?" Hunter tilted his head to look sideways at the Prince, then drew his pistol. A couple seconds later, the unconscious man began to stir.

"A tracking beacon," Quinlan said.

"I suppose we could put one on it," Tech suggested, and started typing again. "It is scheduled to leave within the hour, and . . . One moment. It appears that it was Cad Bane who sent in the order to ready the shuttle for takeoff."

"That's weird," Quinlan said. "Though – no, maybe it's not. Count Dooku's hired Bane several times before, so the Prince would trust Bane to deliver the artifacts without asking questions. Either way, there's no point in tracking the ship itself. It'll fly to Dooku's rendezvous and then back here. But maybe we can put beacons on some of the artifacts – and hope nobody locates them. Any cargo onboard yet?"

"There is none listed."

Crosshair, who had finished sealing the vents, tossed the welder to Hunter and hopped down. "There. Now no one can shoot us through there, either."

"No cargo listed," Quinlan repeated. "Well, either there are already artifacts onboard, or there will be soon. No way would Bane be flying an empty shuttle."

"This vault has not been entered in nearly three weeks," Tech said, looking up.

"Okay, so the ship hasn't been loaded. That means we need to find out which artifacts are being taken off-world."

"Yeah." Hunter looked up at the shelves. "What if we have a bunch of guys trying to load the shuttle?"

"We take 'em out," said Crosshair.

"Obviously," said the sergeant, rolling his eyes. "But I meant without alarming Bane."

"Umm . . ." Quinlan frowned. "We stay in this alcove and hope to the Force nobody needs artifacts from these particular shelves?"

Hunter folded his arms, completely unimpressed.

"We'll ask the Prince," Quinlan said, glancing at the semi-conscious prisoner. "When he deigns to join us, that is. Actually, I'm going to ask him as many questions as I can, just in case something happens."

"Like the hostage being shot," Crosshair suggested.

"Yeah. Like that."

While they waited, the Jedi studied the nearest artifact – a glass sphere which contained a life-sized, blood-red skull. Curious, he reached towards it. As expected, a sense of warning hummed in the Force . . . but even though the Dark Side presence of the sphere was stronger than that of the spirit urn, it didn't feel especially powerful. It wouldn't be easy to break, though. Quinlan decided to put it in the 'blow to bits with thermals' pile. Actually, maybe everything should go in that pile. Blow up as much as possible in one fell swoop. Keep it simple.

First, though, he wanted to test breaking a powerful artifact, just to get a sense of what would happen when dozens were destroyed all at once. He could handle the Dark Side a lot better now, but there were a lot of artifacts. It would be stupid to survive visiting two planets that Jedi hadn't visited in centuries, only to be sent into a Force-induced coma for lack of a little foresight.

Not like I've had a lot of that lately, he thought. He took his gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on.

At that moment, Prince Vito blinked, then opened his eyes fully and observed his surroundings. He tested his bonds once, seeming confused. Then recognition flashed in his eyes, and he sat up, lifting his chin imperiously as though he were the captor, and they were the prisoners.

"How dare you," he said, sounding so much like Count Dooku that Quinlan was surprised no one had made the connection earlier. Hey, maybe that was why Vito didn't like to meet with people. The resemblance between him and the good count was too obvious.

"How dare you attack me?" he demanded again, fury glinting in his dark eyes.

"Well, I'll tell you," Quinlan said, and picked up a delicate black vase. "To be honest, it didn't take all that much daring. Destroying Sith artifacts is kind of a hobby of mine, and I'd heard you had quite the collection . . ."

Vito's dark eyes fixed on him, calm again. "You are a Jedi," he said, in a low voice.

"Am I?" Quinlan stepped to one side and flung the vase against the opposite wall with all his strength. As it shattered, the released dark energy rushed out in all directions and hit him. Unlike with the spirit urn, it didn't make him feel sick – no surprise there, he'd expected as much. What he hadn't expected was for it to make him feel stronger and more alert.

Taking a step back, Quinlan watched the glass pieces crumbled into ash.

"No," Vito said, smiling. "Perhaps not."

Quinlan looked silently at him. He'd understood a while ago, but now he couldn't even pretend otherwise. His body wasn't rejecting the Dark Side, or even fighting it; quite the opposite. He didn't fully know what that meant, and he didn't want to.

"Wrecker," he said flatly. "You figure out how we're going to blow all this stuff up?"

"Working on it!" Wrecker moved off through the narrow aisles formed by the shelves.

"Tech," said Quinan. "How's the data retrieval coming?"

"I am transferring all of it," Tech replied. "I am currently slicing into Dengar's comm and will alert you if anyone notices our absence."

Hunter glanced up at the shelves. "Wrecker, tell me what to do. The sooner we get these destroyed, the better."

"You fools!" Prince Vito managed to get to his knees. "Count Dooku is not someone to take lightly. If you destroy these artifacts. . ." He froze, as if in horror at the very thought, then gave his head a slow shake and murmured, "Do you truly believe you can run from the anger of a Sith lord?"

"Uh, yes?" Quinlan said blankly.

The Prince stared.

"What? It wouldn't be the first time. Oh, and while we're on the topic of Sith lords, I have a few questions for you, Prince Vito."

At the surprise that crossed the Prince's face, he smirked. "You really didn't think we'd find out?"

"I did not." Vito narrowed his eyes at the sergeant, who was helping Wrecker lift a box down. "You assured me that Vythia told you nothing about me."

Hunter only shrugged before going back to work.

"Vythia didn't tell us anything," Quinlan said. "But she had codes, and we took those codes and used them. Now. Which artifacts are being put on the shuttle?"

"The shuttle?" Vito asked slowly, and Quinlan could almost see him thinking through his options. At last, he gave Quinlan a condescending look. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Quinlan snapped, dropping his casual act. They'd all wasted enough time on this moron. "Which artifacts are being shipped out?"

When the Prince stayed silent, Crosshair hoisted him to his feet, then stepped away. "Don't make Vos ask things twice," he advised, jerking his head at Quinlan. "It gets annoying, really fast."

As Crosshair went to join the others, Vito gazed down his nose at Quinlan. "I sincerely hope you do not think I will be intimidated by this . . . thuggish behavior."

Quinlan scoffed. "You literally let someone else run your entire operation. Of course I think you will be. In fact, I know you will be." He moved closer, smirking at the sudden apprehension he sensed from his prisoner. "Your first guess was right, Vito. I am a Jedi."

The Prince lifted his chin to keep eye contact. "Which means what?"

"It means that I don't need you to talk in order to get what I need."

Vito eyes widened slightly, but when he answered, he sounded calm. "There is – no need for this."

"Isn't there?" Closing one hand suddenly around Vito's throat, Quinlan slammed him back against the wall and held him there. "Do you know what any of these artifacts are capable of? Do you know even a tenth of what you've unleashed by selling them to Dooku and his master?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Vito's face, and Quinlan laughed harshly. "He didn't tell you about his master, did he? I'll bet he also didn't tell you that your life's worth nothing, now that you've agreed to locate artifacts for him. You know too much, Prince. You're a threat. As soon as Darth Sidious realizes you're no longer useful, you'll be dead."

Vito coughed against the grip on his throat, but still maintained some composure. "I am working for Count Dooku, not this . . . Sidious. Dooku is of my own house. He would never –"

"Oh, but he would. He will. You've been playing with fire, Prince."

"But – I am not a threat to him."

"You think so?" Quinlan smiled mirthlessly. "I just turned you into a threat, Prince. I told you about Sidious. You think Dooku won't find out?"

Letting the Force curl around his words, he went on. "Your only hope is to tell me everything you know. Do that willingly, and the Jedi Council will protect you . . . for as long as they can. Either way, you'll live longer than if I leave you to Sidious."

Vito stared at him, not answering despite the fact that his answer might let the Jedi locate the Sith Lord, might save billions of lives by bringing the war to an end. . . Quinlan dragged the Force into his voice as anger burned at his chest. "Choose, now. It makes no difference to me – either you talk, or I tear the answers from your mind."

"You wouldn't." Vito's self-assured expression faltered, and Quinlan felt his pulse quickening. "Jedi do not –"

Jerking away, Quinlan slammed his hands against the wall on either side of the Prince's head. "Don't test me," he growled. "Just because they won't doesn't mean I won't. It would be easy, Vito! You're not Force-sensitive like your cousin is. You don't have any way to keep me from ripping your thoughts out of your head and leaving you a shell."

At the edge of Quinlan's awareness, he sensed the others looking at him, felt their surprise and Hunter's apprehension tangling around Vito's sharp fear.

"Get those explosives set!" he snapped over one shoulder. He only got angrier when there was a short silence before they moved uncertainly away.

As soon as Quinlan was sure the commandos weren't paying attention, he pressed his fingers to the Prince's temples.

"No," Vito said coldly, but his voice was shaking. "No. Do not –"

He cut off with a gasp as Quinlan reached into his mind and impelled him to answer.

"No – stop!"

"Which artifacts does Dooku want on that shuttle?" the Jedi shouted, squeezing the Force around his prisoner's mind.

Again, Quinlan noticed Hunter's concern, but he ignored it. What he was doing would be painful to his prisoner, but he wasn't actually taking the Prince's thoughts – yet. Vito would survive.

"The – the – no, don't!" the Prince begged, staggering.

Still gripping his head, Quinlan shoved him back against the wall to keep him upright and shouted, "Answer! Which artifacts are you sending to Dooku?"

An image of a huge kyber crystal flashed into his mind.

"Stop! Stop! Get out of my head!" The Prince twisted, trying to throw himself to one side. "I'll tell you! Stop!"

Just as he was about to release Vito, a hand grabbed Quinlan's arm and pulled him back. Ripping free, he turned with a snarl and shoved Hunter away from him.

For an instant, there was silence. Then, disregarding the sergeant's startled look, Quinlan rounded on his trembling prisoner. "Well? Talk, Vito!"