Quinlan woke as suddenly from sleep as though he'd heard someone shouting his name. He had twisted onto his knees and reached for his lightsaber before he realized that there was no one nearby.

Sitting back on his heels, the Jedi stared at the slate-grey wall. He was in the crew quarters on the Havoc Marauder, which was on its way to the warehouse in the Prince's territory . . . or maybe it was already there?

As Quinlan got up, something caught his ankle and he looked down absently. It was the blanket he'd grabbed earlier – grey, standard army-issue, with the Republic insignia printed in black on one corner. He shook it out, needlessly, since the floor was spotless, then folded it loosely and set it on the storage shelf.

After stretching backwards to loosen his stiffened muscles, he straightened out his tunic – which was somewhat more crumpled than even he was okay with – and stepped into the galley.

What time was it, anyway? He glanced up at the chronometer before realizing that it was irrelevant, since he didn't actually know when they were supposed to arrive at the warehouse. Nice going, Vos, he thought. You destroy one Sith artifact and get knocked for a loop. . . Great. Good luck on Malachor. Thanks, I'll be needing it.

Giving a final tug to his tunic, he set briskly off toward the cockpit, skidded round a corner, slammed full force into Wrecker, and rebounded.

Wrecker didn't budge an inch, just stood there looking down at him with a mildly friendly expression. "Hey, Hunter was just sending me to wake you. We're landing."

"Perfect," Quinlan said, finally clueing in to the fact that he'd probably woken because he'd sensed that they were near their destination. "Well, let's get ready to meet Vythia."

He followed Wrecker to the cockpit. Hunter was piloting, with Tech in the co-pilot's seat beside him, while Crosshair leaned his elbows on the back of Tech's chair and stared out through the viewport.

Quinlan slipped past Wrecker. "How's it looking?"

"Dark," said Hunter. "No landing lights anywhere."

"Yeah. I'd forgotten to mention that, sorry."

Crosshair leaned between the two pilots and stared down. "I don't see anything."

"Good enough," said Hunter, guiding the Marauder carefully downward. "Vos, we flew slower than usual. It's been nearly four hours."

"Oh. . . Uh, thanks. I guess I needed the time."

"Are you recovered?"

"Yep." Quinlan folded his arms and refused to elaborate, despite the curiously questioning look Tech sent him. Honestly, Quinlan was a bit embarrassed at how easily he'd been overpowered by the sudden onslaught of dark energy. He'd known it wouldn't be fun, but he hadn't thought he'd be so strongly affected. Those ashes were from a particularly malevolent Sith. If I'd bothered to touch the urn for longer than two seconds, I'd have known that and been better prepared.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow at his own distaste. What did it matter, anyway? . . . He braced himself slightly as the ship settled with a faint thump, then frowned again. It mattered because if he couldn't handle one artifact without nearly passing out, how would he be able to handle Malachor? And apart from that whole thing, Quinlan rather thought that Hunter and the others didn't see him as a leader, which – well, it might not matter, or it might matter a lot, especially once they got to Malachor.

Showing weakness to a group of enemies was like throwing meat to a pack of starving kath hounds. Maybe showing weakness to allies wasn't the same, but then again, maybe it was.

Of course, he wasn't in danger from them, at least not directly. Hunter had even given him extra time to recover – whether that was because it was better for the mission or better for Quinlan was irrelevant. But even if the commandos were on his side, their not seeing him as a leader was a danger for all of them.

He didn't work with people, and he didn't know what to expect. What if he gave them an order that needed to be immediately obeyed, and they didn't listen because he didn't care whether they'd obeyed the rest of the time? What if he failed in his mission because he couldn't work well with others? Come on, he thought. These guys are clones, clones are soldiers, and soldiers are trained to obey orders . . . except that these guys don't seem to care about that, really.

Tech got up and checked his dual pistols before holstering them and following Crosshair out through the short corridor that led to the cargo hold. Hunter shut down the engines and stood, then raised an eyebrow as though surprised to find Quinlan in his path, which more or less confirmed the Jedi's misgivings.

Quinlan followed the others to the hold, but his mind was still occupied with its earlier train of thought. He didn't know many clones – he probably knew Cody the best, if one could call three or four brief conversations knowing someone – but even Cody, who seemed boringly by-the-book, had made a snide comment or two to Obi-Wan. Of course, as far as Quinlan knew, Cody always carried out orders obediently . . .

As far as I know. But all that is to say that I have no idea what to really expect from them. These guys are skilled, that's for sure, but I still don't like this. He paused at the thought and raised an eyebrow. Why was he even having second thoughts? I thought I already settled this. Get with it, Vos.

When Quinlan looked up, Crosshair was lounging against the door, rifle slung over his back and helmet hanging from one hand. Hunter stood beside him while Wrecker clipped as many explosives as he could to his belt. Tech was on his knees, rummaging through a crate full of electronics.

The Jedi eyed each of them for a moment. "How are you going to explain the ninety-nine thing to Vythia?"
"It's our lucky number," Wrecker said.

". . . Yeah, that works. Armor?"

"Custom-made," Hunter said, casting a pointed look at the significantly different armor each of them wore. "And that's – obvious, anyway."
Quinlan shrugged at the mild tone of questioning in Hunter's voice. "Always make sure your stories match. Oh, speaking of which, your story will be that you are members of the same clan."

Again the raised eyebrow.

Quinlan gestured at him. "You might not look all that much like clones, but your eyes are very similar. Actually, they're almost identical to the other clones' eyes."

Tech slipped a small gadget onto his belt and looked up. "I admit I am surprised you noticed."

"Why?" Quinlan shrugged. "I'm a trained operative who spends a lot of missions tracking disguised people. Details – 'specially features – are important."

"True," Tech allowed, hopping to his feet. "But most clones we have spoken with are surprised when they are told we are clones."

"Yeah," said Hunter. "I guess when you're used to everyone looking pretty much the same, any big difference throws you off."

Quinlan nodded. "One of Cody's troopers has blue eyes. I'm not even around clones much, and he stood out halfway across the training field. But, if I didn't know what clones looked like, and someone had put him in a group of other humans, his eyes wouldn't have caught my attention at all."

"Hm." Tech removed his goggles. "You are saying that Vythia will notice the similarities, rather than the differences?"

"I'm pretty sure she'll notice both."

"And you want an explanation given before she questions us?"

"Not necessarily. It's not a good idea to explain everything, because it looks too much like you're hiding something – which you are . . . But leaving her with too many questions is going to make her start wondering. If she asks, you'll at least have an answer ready."

Wrecker sighed noisily. "Man, how are we going to keep all this stuff in our heads?"

"I think I can remember it," offered Tech. "Still, there are a high number of variables to account for."

"Yep." Quinlan reached for his lightsaber. "Such as this. Hunter, where are the others?"

Hunter went to the opposite side of the room and knelt to run one finger along the corner where the walls met. A small compartment in the floor opened. "Right here. Which ones do you want?"

"Wait," said Quinlan, walking over to join him. "You have a secret compartment in the floor?"
"It comes in handy," Hunter said.

"But – why didn't we just hide the urn there when Bane was here?"

"Because," said Tech, replacing his goggles. "I had no idea whether or not he'd think to look for compartments. Droids can, after all, perform simple scans that show irregularities in the ship's structure."

"Oh." Quinlan set his own lightsaber in the opening and sorted through the others. Only one other had an arbiter hilt, and it was black. "Hope the blade's green. . ." He ignited it with a flash of sapphire blue. "Okay, never mind. I'll have to go with a different hilt and hope no one notices."
"Notices – that it's different?" Hunter shook his head. "Vos, what are you doing?"

Tech lifted a finger. "Can't you put your kyber crystal into the second hilt?"

Quinlan smirked. Guess he's been doing his research. "No, the crystal's what I really don't want to have around Vythia. Hilt-wise, Bane might have sent Vythia a description of my own lightsaber – though I doubt it. He was pretty busy trying to get back, and then to get away from you, Tech."

He ignited the next lightsaber that caught his attention. This time, a green blade extended, and he shut it off. "Defender hilt – good. I always liked these. I mean, I could put this crystal in the black arbiter hilt, but the hilt would still be the wrong color so it really doesn't matter."

Hunter looked at Crosshair in a sort of silent question, but the sniper merely narrowed his eyes before shifting his gaze back to Quinlan.

Tech leaned forward to study the new lightsaber as Quinlan shut the hidden compartment. "So this type of hilt is known as a defender?"

"Uh-huh." Quinlan tossed and caught it. "Nice balance, easier to perform fancy tricks with because of the narrowed end. Here, Hunter."

Hunter took it with a hesitant glance. "You're not carrying it because . . .? Oh. We stole it from Grakkus. You – had nothing to do with it."

"Exactly. I want it along for three reasons: one, I'm tired of not having a lightsaber when I need it; two, Vythia's going to want to see it; three, as the leader and the guy who likes wielding knives, you'll be expected to carry it."

Hunter clipped it to his belt. "If you're sure."

Quinlan nodded, then noticed Crosshair's sharp gaze. "What?"

The sniper removed a toothpick from his mouth. "What did you mean about your crystal being around Vythia?"

Tech stared intently at Quinlan, waiting for his answer.

Quinlan frowned thoughtfully. "She's got an awakened red kyber crystal – wears it on her forehead, actually. She's not a Force-sensitive, as far as I can tell, which means she shouldn't have been able to wake the crystal. . . but it is awake."

Wrecker stared at him. "How can a crystal be awake?"

"Uhhh . . . kyber crystals are . . . sort of sentient," he said slowly, fiddling with his gloves. "They bond to Force-users. And I don't want to risk her being able to sense my crystal. I just have this weird feeling that she'd be able to."

Tech, who was still watching him, hadn't blinked once since Quinlan started his explanation. The Jedi gave him an uncertain look. "But anyway. Let's just get going – and be careful."

"Right," said Hunter.

Tech finally blinked. "Oh. Yes."

Crosshair opened the door, and Quinlan stepped past him, out onto the landing platform that was part of the Prince's territory. A few distant pinpricks of yellow light glimmered through the darkness, but for the most part the only illumination came from the deep blue lights that shone up from the depths.

Quinlan led the commandos to the first walkway. "Watch your step," he said over one shoulder. "Even I got a little dizzy going over, and I'm used to Coruscant."

"Dizzy?" Wrecker sounded concerned. "Uh – as in, heights?"

Quinlan glanced down at the sporadic traffic. "More like depths, actually."

"Uh-oh. That's not good. . . This isn't good. Oh, I can't – I looked!" Wrecker sounded as though he were ready to panic.

Quinlan was about to reassure him when Hunter said, "Wrecker! Keep it together, this walkway isn't that long."

Yeah, right – only a hundred meters or so . . . Quinlan half turned to glance at Wrecker, who continued to mutter feverishly under his breath. Still, the big clone kept walking and didn't seem in immediate danger of falling, so Quinlan moved forward a bit more quickly.

Once again, he was struck with the silence of this area of Nar Shaddaa. Apart from Wrecker's muttering, the clinking of their boots striking softly against the metal walkway, and the muted rushing of traffic below them, there were no other sounds. In Hutta Town, the sounds from the markets had been audible from most levels – the distant shouting of hawkers, the shrill yells of people bidding higher and higher prices, the confused murmurs of overlapping conversations . . .

Here, it was silent, but Quinlan knew they were being watched, just as he'd been last time. Stepping off the end of the walkway, he stared up at the warehouse as the commandos spread out to either side of him.

"Is this the place?" Hunter whispered.

"Yeah."

Crosshair shifted. "Someone's watching us."

"It's probably Dengar. Can you see him?"

"On the roof."

Putting his hands on his waist, Quinlan looked up. "Dengar, get down here."

With a low chuckle, the man obeyed, clambering down the ridged metal walls until he could hop to the ground. "You're a bold one, Vos."

Quinlan huffed. "No, I just don't like being watched. I take it you reported to Vythia that we've arrived."

Dengar – who had switched from Red Turban to White Turban – hummed. "She knows you're here. She's waiting. Odd group of companions you've got, Vos. Are they competent?"

Hunter, in one smooth move, stepped forward and spun around behind Dengar, then put an arm across his throat. "Are you?"

Dengar smirked, caught Hunter's wrist with one hand, and twisted to gain some distance as he drew a pistol. He'd barely gotten it free of its holster when Hunter kneed him in the forearm. The gun went flying, and Crosshair snatched it languidly out of the air, then tossed it back to Dengar.

"Okay, okay," said Dengar, holstering it. "I get the idea."

"They want to make a good impression," apologized Quinlan. "I mean, they don't really have a reputation yet, so getting in on this job is a little bit of a gamble."

Wrecker jostled him roughly from behind. "We took care of Grakkus, didn't we?"

"Well – according to rumor," said Quinlan, inwardly hoping that Wrecker wouldn't say too much. "But anyway . . . come on. Let's not keep Vythia waiting."

"Head on in," Dengar told them, and climbed back up to his post.

Quinlan glanced in the direction of the entrance and gestured to the others, who followed silently. As they advanced, the door slid open without a sound, revealing only blackness. The commandos split to either side and paused, Hunter and Wrecker standing in the front.

"Guys?" said Quinlan. "We're going through the door, remember?"

"We remember," said Hunter, his voice cool. "We also know what happens when we run into situations without checking them out first."

Ah, Hunter is playing his part. . . Quinlan decided to play along. If he didn't have to do all the heavy lifting as far as pretending went, things would be much easier. "I already told you," he said. "The Prince is enemies with Grakkus. I don't think he'd have you killed for invading the Hutt's palace."

"Hm." Tech sounded unconvinced. "I am not locating any traps, Hunter."

"Okay." Hunter lowered his rifle slightly and entered the warehouse.

Quinlan moved in last. The dark sensation he'd felt upon his previous visit here was still present, but it was shadowy, not related to Vythia or her crystal. Something else dark around here . . . great.

A faint light turned on at the computer station, and they turned to look at it, then moved slowly across the room. Vythia was nowhere in sight . . . Quinlan reached out with the Force, and recognized her presence behind them just before Crosshair spun around and raised his sniper rifle with a startled hiss.

Vythia Archane smiled, her black eyebrows lifting in amusement despite the gun pointing directly at her face. Placing one finger on the blaster's muzzle, she pushed it gently to the side. "Quinlan. Please introduce us."

"Um." Quinlan glanced at the others. "Okay. This is Vythia Archane – she's the one who'll decide whether or not you're worth hiring."

Tech looked appropriately offended, and Quinlan went on. "Vythia, these guys call themselves Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Tech."

"Code names," she said, slipping past Crosshair to stand before Hunter. "And you all hide your faces?"

Hunter removed his helmet. "No, but it's easier to wear helmets than to carry them."

She studied him for a long moment, her black eyes flicking up and down. Hunter, to his credit, didn't stand at attention, but eyed her suspiciously back. Quinlan took the brief moment to observe Vythia.

She wore black, gold-trimmed bracers over the long sleeves of a knee-length black dress. The gold-banded black hilt of a curved knife hung at her side on a gleaming golden belt, as did what appeared to be a black and gold – lightsaber hilt? The skirt of her dress, decorated with two panels of heavy, gold-edged material – probably blaster-proof – hung over black leggings, which she'd tucked into black, gold-cuffed boots . . . She also wore a polished necklace of gold, as well as an intricate headdress, and thin gold bands were wrapped around two of her head-tentacles.

Wow . . . After a moment's thought, Quinlan cleverly drew the stunning conclusion that Vythia Archane was very fond of black and gold. Or maybe she just wanted her outfit to match her weapons. Who knew.

Tech, who had been staring fixedly at the gleaming red crystal in the center of her forehead, cast Quinlan a short, querying glance.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. Yes, Tech, that's the kyber crystal. Please do not try to run a scan on it.

"So," said Vythia. "You, Hunter, are the leader of this . . ."

"Team," said Hunter.

"You carry a lightsaber. May I see it?"

Hunter narrowed his eyes, but unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and handed it to her.

She activated it, taking a step back to swing it in a fluid arc. "Green – the traditional color of the Jedi Consular. Of course, the Jedi no longer differentiate their chosen paths with the colors of their blades."

"A Consular?" Tech piped up, eagerly interested. "Is that a class of Jedi?"

Quinlan and Crosshair shared an eyeroll at his expense.

"Mm." Vythia spoke absently as she stared into the depths of the blade. "Blue for the Guardians, green for the Consulars, yellow for the Sentinels. . ."

The green light reflecting in her black eyes reminded Quinlan strongly of how Kit's eyes looked whenever he raised his lightsaber before a spar. And yet – where Kit's eyes gleamed with their own inner light, Vythia's did not. . .

The next instant, Vythia deactivated the lightsaber, and the gleam disappeared from her eyes, which suddenly looked normal – just like any other Nautolan's eyes.

Quinlan gave his head a brief, impatient shake. Okay, I could really do without the psychometric vision overlays.

Vythia gave the weapon back to Hunter. "You took this from Grakkus the Hutt?"

"Yeah." Hunter offered no further information.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And from Cad Bane."

"That was Tech, actually." A faint tone of pride overlaid Hunter's words, and Quinlan wondered whether it was real or pretended. Probably real, judging by the pleased little smile in Tech's eyes.

"Tech." She turned her full attention on him, and he removed his helmet. She stared at him. "How exactly did you manage to outsmart one of the most skilled bounty hunters in the galaxy?"

"He was not being cautious," Tech explained. "He thought I was unconscious when he left, but I was merely unwilling to see him get away with the lightsaber."

"Yeah," said Wrecker. "Still don't know how he knew we had one, though."

Quinlan casually studied his fingernails. Wrecker was smarter than he acted.

"I told him to see what you had gotten from Grakkus' vault," Vythia explained, coolly unapologetic. "Although – I did not specifically order him to take the lightsaber."

"Why did you want to know?" demanded Crosshair.

She smiled. "I heard from my informants that Grakkus had been robbed. Anyone who accomplishes that is skilled – skilled enough, perhaps, to hunt down artifacts."

Hunter tilted his head in Quinlan's direction. "He said something about that. We're here because we could use a job that'll get us away from Bane and Grakkus for a while, but first maybe you could tell us what exactly the job involves."

"Yes." Vythia rested one finger on her lips. "Quinlan Vos is psychometric. What are your specific skillsets?"

Hunter folded his arms. "Assassination. Infiltration. Just about anything you want."

Quinlan eyed him. Assassinations, Hunter? Really?

"Can you name any of your previous targets?" Vythia asked.

"Hm . . . I'm not at liberty to say. Grakkus was our most recent." Hunter flicked his gaze toward Quinlan. "Getting the Prince's attention was an unexpected bonus."

"Indeed?" Vythia gestured them toward the computer. "You went in hoping for that?"

Hunter shrugged. "We heard something about the Prince on Nal Hutta. Seems he's the other big power on this planet, apart from Grakkus. . . and obviously we can't work for him."

With an effort, Quinlan kept his expression neutral. Careful, Hunter – don't give away too much. . .

"I imagine not." Vythia eyed him. "So, you have been looking for employment. I take it the job you had involving Grakkus is finished?"

"Yeah."

Quinlan silently released his breath as Vythia continued to stare at Hunter, but at last she waved a hand, as though dismissing the topic of conversation. "You asked what this job would involve. The only answer I can give you now is that we will be searching for ancient artifacts in places that no one has visited in hundreds of years."

"Artifacts?" Hunter folded his arms. "What kind?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe," said Hunter. "How dangerous are these – artifacts?"

"That depends, I suppose. Are you a Force-sensitive?"

Hunter snorted. "Not likely."

"Then they should not be dangerous."

"Force-sensitive." Tech hummed. "I take it you're speaking of Jedi artifacts. But if you want Jedi artifacts, we could just get those from Grakkus' vault. He has plenty."

"No, he does not. He has Jedi belongings, yes – but artifacts are different, older, more powerful. And I want to find Sith artifacts."

"Sith . . .?" Wrecker sounded honestly confused.

"Think of them as Jedi," she replied, glancing at Quinlan. "Except that they, unlike the Jedi, are willing to go to the extent of their powers."

Okay – that's one way to put it. Quinlan returned her look with a quizzical one of his own. "I always thought the Sith were, like, the opposites of the Jedi."

She gave an elegant shrug. "That is one way of putting it."

"Huh." Hunter didn't sound as though he cared one way or the other. "So we're going to locate artifacts – where?"

"I will tell you after you decide whether or not you want the job."

"Fair enough." Hunter cast a look at his squad mates. "Let me talk with my team for a minute."

She gestured, and they headed off, grouping together near the warehouse door.

Vythia gave Quinlan a shrewd look. "You had a chance to observe them on your way here. What do you think of them?"

Tread carefully, he told himself. "Well . . . they're an odd bunch, I guess. I don't think they're just a group of bounty hunters who ended up working together. They seem to trust each other implicitly."

"Insightful," she commented. "Why do you think that?"

"It's kind of obvious. From what I've seen, they don't need to talk much to communicate."

"Can you give me some examples?"

She was clearly testing him, but Quinlan shrugged. "Well . . . they swap out piloting and who's standing guard without discussion. And they don't even blink when other members of the team have weapons out. Hunter was wiring explosives in the cargo hold and Crosshair had his rifle out, and no one cared. Uh – except for me. Then, right before we got here, Tech got in the way and Wrecker just sort of picked him up and moved him. I would have taken his head off, but Tech didn't even seem to notice."

She laughed. "I suppose you are right, that is rather obvious. But perhaps they have simply known each other a long time."

"Maybe. I doubt that's all, though. There's something similar about them, despite all their differences. Even in their looks. Now." He straightened and stepped closer. "Tell me something, Vythia. Why are you talking to me like I'm an advisor instead of a hired bounty hunter?"

She laughed softly. "Does it displease you?"

"It makes me suspicious."

"As it should. But you are an observer, Quinlan, as well as psychometric. I trust your instincts about people."

"You don't even know me."

"I don't need to." She leaned back, eyeing him contemplatively. "Earlier I said you were a mercenary like all the rest, but I think I was wrong."

"Oh? Then what am I?"

"You are someone who has undiscovered gifts."

"Everyone does."

"I think your psychometry goes deeper than you realize."

Quinlan huffed. "Vythia, do you always speak indirectly?"

"No."

"Well – then what are you talking about? I know I've got an unusually powerful level of psychometric ability, but . . ."

"Did you ever consider that it might be augmented by Force sensitivity?"

Quinlan's heart started pounding, but he let out a short, surprised laugh. "Lady, if I were Force-sensitive, wouldn't I have been trained by the Jedi?"

She smirked. "You would be surprised by how many there are in the galaxy whose sensitivity has not been discovered."

Okay, this conversation is getting dangerous. Hunter, make up your already made-up mind and get back here. Quinlan pretended to think for a few seconds. "Well, maybe, but my being Force-sensitive? I know things because I've learned to observe details, not because something tells me."

"I did not intend to insult your skills," she answered, glancing at the squad as they approached. "It was a thought only."

"Interesting one," he allowed. "Hey, if I was Force-sensitive, wouldn't I be able to see into the future, or lift things without touching them?"

"Not instinctively," she said with a wry tilt of her head. "You would need to be trained to do that."

"Oh, dang, that would be useful. But whatever."

Hunter stopped next to Vythia, gaze flitting to Quinlan briefly. "Vythia, my team and I are in, on one condition."

She swiveled to face him. "And what is that?"

"We get to use our own ship."

"That is more than reasonable." She started typing. "Do you wish to use your code names on this mission?"

"They're all we ever use," said Hunter.

"Very well." She looked at Crosshair. "Would you and Wrecker be so kind as to remove your helmets?"

Wrecker obeyed with a shrug; Crosshair, less willingly, followed his example.

Interested gleamed in Vythia's black eyes as she studied them both. "And what are your special skills, Wrecker?"

"Oh – uh, I've got several. Mostly I take care of explosives and stuff like that."

"And you, Crosshair." Her eyes flitted from his rifle to his tattoo. "I take it that you are a sniper."

He barely inclined his head. "Yeah."

"Tech?"

"I usually handle the more technological aspects of any given job."

Job, not mission, Quinlan noted approvingly. Maybe these guys won't be as much of a liability as I thought.

"And Hunter. . ."

"I'm the leader," he said with a shrug. "We've all got an assortment of skills – guess my more unique skills involve knives."

She touched the knife at her waist. "I prefer knives to guns, myself."

Hunter nodded at the other weapon she carried. "What about that? Did you also get a lightsaber from Grakkus' vault?"

"No." She stood up and moved away to stand at the very edge of the small circle of light. "This is not, strictly speaking, a lightsaber."

When she pressed the activator stud on the handle, a crackling length of energy came to life, coiling near her ankles.

"An electro-whip?" Tech asked.

"Not precisely." In one smooth motion, she flicked it, unfurling it to its full length, then deactivated it and returned it to her belt. "This is a lightwhip – an ancient and extremely rare form of a lightsaber. It is more damaging than an electro-whip, less damaging than a lightsaber, and very effective indeed in the hands of a skilled user."

"Wow," said Quinlan blankly.

"I was fortunate to find it," she agreed. "But let us get back to you now."

As Hunter stepped aside to let her seat herself at the computer, he cast a look at Quinlan, who returned it with a grim one of his own. The Jedi had already known Vythia was dangerous, but not that she was that dangerous. Anyone who was good at using a lightwhip was someone to be careful of, and she was good. There was no telling how good, but it was possible that her skills with it matched his own skills with a lightsaber.