The whisky had never tasted particularly good; after the fourth glass, it tasted of the dishwater that was probably the basis of the brew anyway. It was a good thing, van Leuken reflected, that it numbed his taste sufficiently so he didn’t care a lot. He couldn’t have said he drank the stuff because he liked it. He drank it because . . . ah, to hell with it. He drained the rest and considered ordering another glass, but then decided against it, rising a bit unsteadily and leaving the bar. The barman never tried to remind him to pay; he’d wait until the next time. There was always a next time.

Night shifts were rotten, but night shifts in rainy weather were a pain. Good thing that rain around Gerion was rare enough, but that didn’t make it any better. Van Leuken could think of about a hundred better things to do than scanning the spaceport for fugitives all night when the authorities knew all along they’d gotten away by ship. Then there had been the group that was supposed to have been seen around 21.30 but had vanished into thin air, and they’d been stuck searching the whole city for five people. The ones they’d been looking for had probably been inside the whole night, while his squad had been soaking outside. Very few people would believe how much water could get into stormtrooper armour if he told them.

Outside, the rain had stopped. It had stopped the instant the shift had ended, of course. Van Leuken steadied himself on the corner of the building, then began to walk home.

Home. That sounded as if it was a place he’d like to be, but he hadn’t liked it for years, and had begun to hate it four weeks ago. He’d spent most of his free time in bars, anywhere, just to avoid getting back to that place.

Twenty-five years ago, Gorn van Leuken had seen the future as bright and promising, a hopeful young colonist arriving on a newly colonised world, with a heavily pregnant, beautiful young wife and dreams about owning a small farm, an uncomplicated, simple life. His eldest son, Jon, had been born on Garon II, and Rhun had come two years later. Then Senator Palpatine had become Emperor, and Gerion had needed people for the armed forces.

Fighting for the New Order after the chaos of the Republic had been all Gorn had ever wanted. He’d become a corporal in the Army after two years of service, sergeant after another five, and he’d been happy. His two boys would follow in his footsteps, and he could look forward to a fine pension after retirement.

Then Jon had reached sixteen, and everything had changed. He’d said he didn’t want to become a soldier, wanted to study astrophysics on Tergon. They’d had violent rows in those days, but finally he’d gotten the boy to be realistic. His grades hadn’t really been good enough for studying, and after a while, he’d stopped discussing and joined the Army.

Gorn had hoped Jon would get used to it, but he never had. His father had counted on the Army putting an end to his daydreaming and woolgathering. He’d been wrong. After two months, Jon had asked him to get him out of the Army on a discharge, anything, but Gorn had refused, told the boy to pull himself together and prove himself. Two days later, Gorn had been called over to the shooting range. Jon had put a gun in his mouth.

He had never told Riga or Rhun. They hadn’t seen his body, and Jon’s suicide had been declared an accident for the files, doubtlessly because of his own position in the Army. But Gorn van Leuken knew, and couldn’t forget the sight, and his only comfort had been alcohol—and the hope that Rhun would make him forget.

Rhun was made of different stuff. Jon had always been soft, but Gorn knew that Rhun would make a better soldier than his brother had, would be better suited to the drill. When Rhun had started having his rebellious ideas, just before his sixteenth birthday, they’d had much the same arguments he’d had with Jon two years earlier, but with Rhun, they had been much fiercer. As with Jon, however, he’d convinced him to go—or so he’d thought at the time.

The morning after Rhun’s sixteenth birthday, he learned that his son had never arrived at the garrison, but had run away from the gathering point. Now Riga had been furious, making him responsible for the boy’s behaviour. Gorn had heard about his son three times after that. The first time, he’d heard that he’d been seen breaking into a store in Gerion, but they had never caught him. Some years later, he’d seen Rhun’s face on a wanted holo; he’d gone off and joined the Rebels. And half a year ago, he’d heard, incredulously, that his son was in part responsible for blowing up a Victory-class Star Destroyer.

He hadn’t told Riga either of these news. In fact, he hadn’t told her much after Rhun had run away. The family had survived Jon’s loss, barely, but it hadn’t survived Rhun’s. Riga had actually tried to side with the brat after what he’d done, and she’d poisoned Ren against his father, too—Ren, who had been a few months old when Rhun ran off to become a petty criminal.

Life hadn’t been the same afterwards, even if he tried to pretend it was. When he’d been told his son was now a Rebel, he had been about to be promoted to sergeant major, something he’d worked hard to achieve, but the investigation committee that followed as a consequence had suspended the promotion indefinitely. He’d never heard from them again.

His drinking had become a proper stinging then, and thinking of that Rebel who bore his name made him more and more furious as the news trickled in. He knew that Riga had tried to estrange Ren, too, and he’d lost it a couple of times when they had arguments about Ren’s future. Damn it, the boy wanted to be a pilot, the first of his children ever to want anything he approved of, so how could she tell him he mustn’t? Gorn remembered he’d been completely plastered when they’d had that particular argument, and afterwards, he’d been sorry that he’d hit her, and hit Ren, but by then, it had been too late for that. When he’d come back from work that night, she’d been gone, and Ren with her, without as much as a note on the kitchen console. All that was left of his high hopes was an empty flat that awaited him every night, and no sign of his wife or child.

Gorn van Leuken hated this flat.

‘Rhun, this is insane.’

They were sitting aboard Eggshell on Garon III, de Boeck, Cargill, Qelmam, Kjaer, Samica, and Rhun. No Imperial ship had tried to follow them, and the ease with which they’d made it off Garon II almost seemed like a bad joke at the thought that they’d had to leave the Captain behind.

Rhun only continued staring at his folded hands in front of him. ‘I you won’t help me, that’s all right, but you can’t keep me from going.’

‘Yes, I can,’ Firia de Boeck said.

‘Nope.’

‘Yep. You can’t fly down yourself.’

Rhun looked up sharply, realising she was right. He did need the help of someone to get down to Garon II again, and it didn’t surprise him when Samica spoke.

‘I still think it’s dangerous, but I’ll come with you.’

Rhun was certain that was what de Boeck had intended, and she’d intended to have him back off to protect Sam, but here she’d been wrong. He shook his head and looked at the pilot. ‘No, Sam, you can’t go back there. Even if you were completely well again—which I’m pretty sure you aren’t—it would be madness for you to return to Gerion.’

‘You’ll let it drop, then?’ de Boeck asked.

‘No. I only said it was too dangerous for Sam. I’ll go.’

‘On foot?’

‘I’ll find a way, dammit! Lieutenant, I know it’s unlikely to find Dyson again, but I won’t go back unless I’ve tried!’

Cargill scratched his head. ‘What does our flight plan say? Is it really that tight?’

‘We’re not talking about the flight plan,’ Qelmam told the Corellian. ‘Apart from the fact that the odds for finding Dyson are nearly nonexistent, it would mean getting ourselves into danger.’

Rhun glowered at the Mon Calamari. ‘What we’re talking about is Captain Dyson, and we can still find him if we’d only try. He doesn’t necessarily have to be in enemy hands now. If anyone can wiggle out of that, he can. He was only a few minutes behind us, maybe he only got delayed.’ He looked de Boeck in the eyes. ‘Come on, Lieutenant, you know there’s a good chance he’s still at large.’

‘If he’s at large, he’ll get out without our help.’

‘Not without mine. I’m going. If he’s all right, fine, if he isn’t, I won’t forgive myself for not trying.’

De Boeck sighed, raking a hand through her blond hair. ‘Damn, you sound like my conscience, Rhun,’ she said.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said moderately.

The lieutenant briskly sat back from the table and put her hands flat on the table’s surface. ‘All right. Qelmam, we’ll hire some ship from the station here. You’re in command until I’m back—or Dyson’s back,’ she amended. ‘If Rhun and I are not back in six days, you get out of here.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the astrogator answered unhappily.

Rhun turned to Samica before she could say anything. ‘Sorry, Sam, but you really have to stay here. Who’s going to get us out of trouble and shoot us a way away from Garon III when we get back, huh?’

She briefly rested her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s not being left behind with the women and children,’ she said with a bitter smile. ‘You think I’m a danger, don’t you?’

Rhun shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. I want you to stay out of trouble, and there isn’t a lot you could do anyway.’

‘I’d be with you,’ she said.

‘I’ve got a little brother who’d be happy if he could bombard you with questions,’ Rhun said with a wry grin. ‘And I’ll be back in less than six days.’

She squeezed him briefly. ‘Take care of yourself, okay?’

He returned the hug, then let her go. ‘Always do.’

‘Remind me to put this ship on my list of things for which to give you a trouncing, van Leuken,’ de Boeck said as she manoeuvred the Sunbeam-class inter-system transport into Garon II’s atmosphere.

Rhun didn’t reply; he couldn’t have said he had more important things to do—he couldn’t do anything in this miserable rust bucket that passed for a ship for the Rodian who had lent it to them—but he was occupied with looking out of the bubble-like viewport and praying the ship would hold together. The reason why they had chosen the Sunbeam was that its emissions were low enough to enter atmosphere without being detected by the starport authorities, but the Rodian had failed to mention that this was not due to superior stealth technology, but a very, very poor sublight engine. Rhun had been positive that the thing would make the trip to Garon II; that had been before the emergency environmental control, the starboard stabiliser wing and the comm system had collapsed. Within ten minutes.

At least he could now convince himself that de Boeck was a good enough pilot to bring them down in one piece (or at least two fairly large ones). Furthermore, she seemed to be experienced in making failed systems work again, hotwiring, kicking or simply begging if nothing else helped. So far, it seemed to work.

De Boeck flew the freighter down towards the planet, then skimming the surface at a hundred metres to further evade enemy detection systems. After several kilometres, she brought the ship down in a hilly patch, sufficiently overgrown to camouflage the ship from casual observers.

Rhun and de Boeck had laid their plans carefully. They had landed twenty kilometres outside Gerion, in no-man’s-land nobody was very likely to enter, and in order to be able to reach the town, they had brought a speeder in the hold of their freighter. The speeder had been courtesy of the Rodian, after Rhun had pointed out that the ship itself was not worth half the price he’d demanded, even if they’d wanted to buy it. De Boeck had still been forced to spend a lot of money on the equipment, but she hadn’t tried to make Rhun feel guilty. He did so anyway. He had very little money, not nearly enough to cover the expenses.

Almost two days had passed since their departure aboard Eggshell (the Sunbeam had been very slow), and they entered the city without difficulty. They both had agreed they’d check the ‘Stardust’ first, since the owner might have seen something or even be hiding Dyson.

It was late afternoon, and the bar had just begun to fill, but they caught the barman in a quiet moment.

The burly man was surprised and maybe a little frightened to see them. ‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed. ‘I thought you’d left two days ago!’

‘We wanted to,’ Rhun answered, ‘but Dyson wasn’t with us. Did you see him, after you helped us?’

‘No, haven’t seen him since,’ the man replied. ‘I gave up waiting about an hour later. I thought I’d heard shooting further off, but I’m not sure.’

‘Damn,’ de Boeck murmured. ‘You didn’t hear anything afterwards?’

The barman suddenly stared into the air as if trying to figure something out. ‘Wait—I got an odd message yesterday. It asked for a password, but I didn’t know it. There was no sender.’

‘Can you give us the message?’ Rhun asked excitedly.

‘Can’t do much harm, what with the password and all, I guess, can it?’ the man answered. ‘I’ve got it on my terminal. Wait a moment.’ He let his eyes wander across the bar to make sure he could be spared for a minute or two, then went into the small room adjoining the kitchen.

He was back a few minutes later, with a datapad. ‘It’s on here,’ he said as he handed the device to de Boeck.

‘Can I?’ Rhun asked, and took it. He brought up the message. There was nothing but the date, which was yesterday’s, and the recipient, but no address or sender’s name. As soon as he brought it up, two words blinked on the screen: ENTER PASSWORD.

Rhun rubbed his nose, then, on a hunch, typed in, ATMOS. At once, the screen flickered, at a short message appeared.

De Boeck stared at Rhun. ‘What did you do?’

He grinned at her. ‘Read the captain’s mind.’ He bent over the datapad again to read the message, but was more puzzled with it than he’d been with the password. It read,

De Boeck read the message over Rhun’s shoulder, then shot him a questioning look. ‘Any ideas?’ she asked.

‘Not yet,’ he replied quietly. ‘But I’d prefer to do this in private.’

De Boeck nodded. ‘Thanks, Josk,’ she told the barman. ‘We’ll try not to draw you into this any more . . . anyway, for your trouble.’ She gave him a credit chip. Rhun couldn’t see how much it was, but the man grinned as he tucked it into his pocket. ‘Anytime, ma’am. And tell the old pirate he can get me into trouble any day.’

Rhun and de Boeck left the bar and went back to their speeder. The vehicle was enclosed, so they could brood over the message without being watched or eavesdropped on.

De Boeck studied the message once more. ‘Maybe this Renki?’ she asked. ‘He could be the key—or she, whatever it its. Or Laris?’

Rhun shook his head. ‘This is not a real to do list,’ he said. ‘And we’re not supposed to take it as one.’

‘What makes you think so?’ de Boeck asked. ‘Do you know Renki and Laris?’

‘Renki, no. Laris . . . yes.’

‘Who is she, then?’ the lieutenant asked, becoming slightly impatient.

‘His wife,’ Rhun answered.

De Boeck stared at him, her earlier irritation forgotten. ‘His wife? Grant’s married?’

‘Was,’ Rhun amended softly. ‘A long time ago, I think. He’d married her just after he’d bought the Cause. Then he came back from a tour and found she’d died in a speeder crash. He told me about her once when I caught him staring at a holo of her. He keeps it in his bunkroom.’

‘He never told me,’ de Boeck said.

Rhun shrugged. ‘He doesn’t tell many people. I’m certain he would have told you some day.’

She looked at the screen again. ‘So this is not an actual to do list. Um—maybe the first letters read together?’

‘Fctgbrpcbb,’ Rhun said, not sounding very convinced.

‘The last letters,’ de Boeck exclaimed. ‘Perin . . . hills.’

Rhun raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds good,’ he said. ‘But what is it?’

‘Is there a place called Perin Hills around here?’

Rhun shook his head. ‘None that I know of.’

De Boeck brooded again. ‘But it has to be the last letters,’ she said. ‘That would account for the strange name Renki—he couldn’t find a proper word ending in i.’ She continued staring at the message a moment longer, then suddenly clapped her hand against her forehead and started the speeder engine.

Rhun watched her as she grinned and shook her head. ‘You don’t mind telling me what this means, do you?’

‘It should read "Per in hills," not Perin Hills,’ she explained. ‘Per is one of Grant’s contacts here on Garon II. Grant normally avoids dealing with him when he can, but it seems he didn’t have a choice.’

‘Why? Who is this Per?’

‘A funny old man living in the hills. He sometimes helps us when we need to hide someone, and he’s some sort of medic. I don’t have any idea how Grant met him, but he’s known him for years. Maybe someone from his group was wounded so they brought him there.’

‘What’s so funny about him?’

‘He’s got a screw loose, if you ask me. But you’ll see for yourself when we get there.’

‘. . . so the stormtrooper tells the TIE pilot, "Don’t worry, sister, mine’s a BlasTech DLT-20A!"’

Laughter ensued around the table, whooping and yelling encouraging the speaker to add another one, but the eight stormtroopers in the ready room fell silent at once when their sergeant entered. Gorn van Leuken’s face was surly as they all scrambled to their feet, reaching for their helmets.

‘We’ve got a hint that might lead to the fugitives that escaped two days ago,’ he told them. ‘G-6585, get the Hoverscout.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the trooper answered, put on his helmet and briskly walked out of the room towards the vehicle hangar.

They arrived at the spaceport fifteen minutes later, the sun already setting behind the hills. Evening had brought out all sorts of people now entering the various bars and clubs around the port, but the one van Leuken was looking for awaited them in a customs checkpoint next to the place called ‘Stardust’. He was a heavy-set man in his forties, now rising as they entered, and van Leuken stood before him. He was glad his helmet concealed his features. Gorn van Leuken loathed spies, but they were part of the way things went here.

‘You’ve something to tell us?’ van Leuken said.

‘Yes, sir. You were looking for a couple of people who escaped you some time ago?’

‘Yes.’

‘Two of them came to my bar a few hours ago. The third one is still on the planet, by the way it looks. I don’t know where they went, but I’ve got the number of their speeder, and a surveillance holo.’

‘No idea where they went from here?’

‘No, sir. They were careful not to talk in front of me, but I don’t think they suspect me.’

‘Give me the number and the holo; we’ll find them.’ Van Leuken took the datacard the barman gave him, then gestured for the squad to leave. He almost smiled at the informer’s disappointed face as he made no move to reward him for his trouble.

Back in the Hoverscout, van Leuken sat before the comm unit to transmit the data to the base. He looked at it before he sent the transmission; the speeder was a very old model, but one that was not produced on-planet. It shouldn’t be too difficult to trace it.

The holo showed two people, a man and a woman. The woman was slim, with long blond hair, looking at the man, who was bending over a datapad, so that his face wasn’t very well visible. He, too, was blond, slightly darker than the woman—

Sergeant van Leuken sat motionless for several seconds, then he transmitted the speeder’s specifics to the base, but not the holo. His hand paused over the ‘erase’ button, then he removed the holo data.

It was a two-hour ride from the city to their destination. De Boeck drove the speeder with as much skill as she had the Sunbeam, with the difference that Rhun didn’t expect the speeder to come apart the way he’d expected the freighter to. Not before next week, at any rate.

The further they drove away from Gerion, the more Rhun wondered who would live so far away from civilisation without considering leaving the planet. Someone who lived so far away from other people had to have something to hide, something serious to boot, and it had to be dangerous to have something to hide so near a city with an Imperial garrison.

De Boeck steered the speeder towards a scattering of hills. Nothing grew here except several very tough weeds and purple moss, and the hillside was strewn with stones. The lieutenant halted the speeder near a long ridge maybe eight metres long and three metres wide, then pulled a cammo net over the vehicle, which would protect it from prying eyes from above.

The sun had gone down by now, and Rhun’s eyes opened wide as she went over to the hill, raising her hand and knocking. He’d never realised there was a door in the hillside. It was covered with the same purple moss as the hill, and in the dark, it blended in perfectly.

Rhun heard footsteps, then a voice said, ‘Password!’

De Boeck rolled her eyes. ‘You never gave me a password.’

‘True.’ The door opened, and when his eyes had adjusted to the warmly lit room beyond, Rhun saw a small, wiry old man with a scant, wispy fringe of white hair framing a wrinkled face. He had a round nose and a beardless chin, and his dark eyes twinkled as he saw de Boeck’s annoyance. Rhun didn’t know how he had imagined a ‘funny old man,’ but he supposed he must have thought of something like a choleric type. He instantly liked the man.

Old Per moved aside for them to enter. ‘Now, now, Lieutenant, how else should I have known it was you?’ he asked with a smile, then turned those dark eyes on Rhun. ‘And you must be—’ he broke off in mid-sentence, mustering him with decidedly more interest than he’d bestowed on de Boeck, and Rhun fought the urge to squirm. Then the oldster chuckled and shook his head. ‘Rhun van Leuken, I assume,’ he said.

‘Ah—yes,’ Rhun said, still bewildered.

‘My name’s Per—but you probably know that. Considering you came here with Lieutenant de Boeck, I assume you also know several things about me.’

‘Not very much,’ Rhun said diplomatically. ‘And what I care most about right now is if Dyson’s here.’

The old man smiled warmly. ‘Oh, yes.’ His face became serious again. ‘They arrived yesterday, in the morning, the captain and four others.’

‘Only four?’ Rhun asked.

Per nodded, causing his hair to bob up and down. ‘Yes. They ran into an Imperial patrol the night you tried to escape. One of the fugitives was killed, the captain and another woman were wounded.’ All mirth had vanished from his voice or face.

‘How’s he?’ Rhun asked.

Per motioned for them to follow him along the narrow corridor. It was not quite two metres in height, around the same width, looking like an old mining tunnel. Rhun remembered there had once been mining projects on Garon II, before the companies discovered that the ores produced here were of so poor quality that they let them be. Most of the tunnels had collapsed since that time, or just abandoned; this one was obviously well kept.

There were doors on the right of the passage, and Per stood before one of them. ‘He’s much better off than the woman,’ he said, ‘but they’ll both recover.’ He knocked at the door. ‘Captain? There’s someone here who wants to see you.’

The door was opened from the inside, and Dyson stood in the doorway. He was bare-chested, with a bandage wrapped around his torso, but he was grinning crookedly as he saw Rhun and his co-pilot.

‘You found us more quickly than I’d expected,’ he said. ‘Come in, come in! You as well, Per.’

The old man shook his head. ‘No, I’ll have to check on Miss Cever. I’m certain you have a lot of things to talk about without me hovering around you.’ Then he closed the door behind him.

Dyson went back to the bed he’d been sitting on when they’d entered. The room contained a small portable heating unit, a chair and a table, and Rhun sat on the foot of the bed while de Boeck took the chair.

‘What happened?’ she asked Dyson.

The Corellian’s mouth twisted into a scowl. ‘We collided with an Imp patrol as we entered the port. We ran back into the city, trying to shake them there and enter the starport through another way, but they shot after us. They got Braij, and wounded his wife, and me as well. It was all we could do to find a hole to creep into and hide there until they weren’t looking for us any more. Cever’s better now, thanks to Per, and I really hoped you’d be careful if you came back for us.’

‘"If?"’ Rhun echoed. ‘It was obvious we’d come back, wasn’t it? I can’t tell you how glad I was I didn’t have to break into the garrison to find you!’

‘If it hadn’t been for Per, you’d have had to,’ Dyson answered. ‘He came to pick us up in the middle of night.’

‘How?’ Rhun wanted to know.

‘He’s got a speeder that’s probably older than he is, but it’s large enough to carry all of us.’

Rhun grinned as he imagined the old man driving an ancient vehicle, but then remembered something that had puzzled him earlier. ‘Did you tell him about me?’ he asked Dyson. ‘When we came in he behaved as if he knew me.’

‘Only that you were coming. Nothing about the pittin in the fridge or the day you found out I was not such a respectable businessman after all.’

De Boeck shook her head. ‘Sometime you’ll have to tell me this "pittin in the fridge" story. This is the second time you’ve mentioned that.’

‘Maybe on our way off Garon II,’ Rhun said, still reluctant to let the matter rest. There had been something about Per, something that fascinated him. Something had been odd about the way he’d looked at him, making Rhun want to talk to the old man before they left. Still, he didn’t want to ask Dyson in front of de Boeck.

‘Per’s a medic?’ he asked the smuggler instead.

‘I don’t think "medic" is the correct word,’ Dyson answered. ‘Maybe "herbalist" is the better term. I’ve never seen him use a medpak, but his herbal remedies are as good as one. He got me back on my feet in no time, and Cever as well—and she was really in a bad way.’

‘Is he a Rebel?’ Rhun asked.

Dyson shrugged carefully. ‘He’s not an Imperial, but I think his mind’s not political enough to call him a Rebel. He helps us, and that’s all I care about.’

Rhun nodded thoughtfully, and de Boeck said, ‘We’re here with a speeder that’s big enough for us all. I’d say we stay here for the night and head off tomorrow. Our ship’s parked an hour’s ride from here, in the hills, and I’d really appreciate a bit of daylight before we take off. We didn’t dare come into Gerion again with the Eggshell, and we couldn’t have landed our current ship here without causing a riot, I suppose. If van Leuken hadn’t assured me it would hold together, I wouldn't have dared to fly it.’

Dyson turned to Rhun with a grin. ‘Little wizard’s been working his tech magic again?’ he asked.

Rhun snorted. ‘With that sort of junk, wizardry wouldn’t have been enough,’ he said. ‘I’ll be happy if we can hand it over to that Rodian again and be gone from here.’

‘Is there anywhere we can sleep tonight?’ de Boeck wanted to know.

‘I guess so. Wait, I’ll come with you and ask Per.’

‘That’s all right, Cap,’ Rhun interrupted him. ‘You need your sleep; we’ll look for him.’

They didn’t have to look far; Per came across the corridor when they left Dyson’s room, a bowl of water and several towels in his hands. As if he’d known we were looking for him, Rhun suddenly thought. What the hell was going on here?

‘Have you got somewhere for us to sleep?’ de Boeck asked him.

Per shrugged apologetically. ‘Only the large room at the end, together with the others,’ he said. ‘There are blankets on the floor, and I’ve got something to eat for you in case you’re hungry.’

Rhun’s stomach was growling, and he nodded vigorously. Per smiled. ‘There’s some soup on the cooking unit in the common room,’ he said. ‘Ah—Rhun, could I ask you to help me before that? It’s only a minute.’

‘Sure,’ Rhun said, following the old man into another room, this one at the end of the corridor. It was very small, and filled with all sorts of stuff, most of them supplies.

‘I ran out of noogga roots today, and my bones are a bit dodgy these days, you know. You don’t mind carrying one of these sacks over to the kitchen, do you?’

‘No, that’s all right,’ Rhun said. ‘Which one is it?’

Per pointed it out to him, and Rhun hoisted it up and took it to a small room Per opened for him. The low ceiling was full of herbs hanging from it, some of them the moss and grasses Rhun had seen outside, some he’d never seen. There was a large cooking unit in one corner, a pot stewing over the fire, with an air vent over it in the wall, and a small stool before it. A table in the centre of the room was covered with more plants and ointments. It looked like a scene straight from a fairytale holo.

‘Where shall I put it?’ Rhun asked, then put the sack down in the corner Per indicated. He went over to the table and looked at the herbs. There was a strange, pungent, but rather pleasant smell in here, and he found it was coming from them.

Rhun wasn’t really surprised when Per sat down on the stool before the cooking unit and waved a hand towards another one next to it, but he hesitated.

‘The roots were just an excuse, weren’t they?’ he asked.

Per nodded. ‘Yes, they were. Sit down, boy. There’s something I’d like to talk about.’

Rhun sat down on the stool, still feeling puzzled, but not really uncomfortable. Per filled two glasses with tjustrel juice, a reddish drink derived from one of the few native berries that thrived all year, and handed Rhun one.

‘You were interested in the herbs?’ the old man asked.

‘Yes, sir. I’ve never seen things like those used. I was trained as field medic, and I’ve only come across pharmaceuticals.’

‘Well, it’s hard enough to come by foodstuffs and other necessities, and pharmaceuticals are almost impossible to get if you haven’t got any connections to the med centre in Gerion—which I haven’t,’ he added with a wink. Rhun grinned.

‘I can’t imagine you have many patients around here,’ he remarked.

‘Oh, every now and then. Dyson and his type tend to bring me a few occasionally. People who can’t risk being treated in the med centre . . . and be noticed.’

‘Why are you living out here?’

‘For the same reason. I don’t want to be noticed. That’s why I came here, and stayed here, when a lot of people would have loved to get their hands on me.’

‘So you are a Rebel, after all.’

Per shrugged and sipped his drink. ‘That depends on your point of view, I suppose. I do not love the Empire, and they wouldn’t be very kind to me if they found me, so I try not to let this happen. I’ve become rather adept at that.’

‘Why do they want you? What did you do?’

The old man laughed, a chuckling sound that made his sparse hair nod once more. ‘I’m here—that’s enough for them if they knew,’ he said, then stood to peer into the pot, stirring it a little. ‘Tell me, boy, what have you heard about the Force?’

Rhun shifted on his stool. ‘A bit. Children’s tales. But there don’t seem to be many in the galaxy now who know more about it.’

‘True, true . . .’ Per tasted the brew, added some spice from a small jar he took from a console on the wall. ‘Very few, that’s for sure. What do you think of it?’

‘I don’t know, really, sir. What do you mean?’

‘Do you think it’s a children’s tale?’

Rhun didn’t answer.

Per turned around to him, chuckling again. ‘I didn’t think you did,’ he said as if Rhun had answered his question. ‘Given what you are.’

Rhun still made no reply. He felt as if the walls were coming down around him, smothering him, but at the same time, he felt strangely excited, as if something inside him had just been allowed to come forth for the first time, something he hadn’t even known existed—or maybe he’d just tried to deny its existence for as long as he could remember.

‘Are you a Jedi Knight?’ he finally asked, almost in a whisper.

Per surprised him with a hearty laugh, that destroyed the awe and at the same time took away much of his own fear. ‘A Jedi Knight, Stars, no! If I’d been, they would have got me no matter where I’d tried to hide. I never was strong enough in the Force for that. I was born on a backwater planet—even more backwater than this one—and they didn’t discover my ability before I was fourteen. By then, I was too old to learn much. I can sense a lot of things, and they succeeded in teaching me some healing skills, but I never was good enough to become a Jedi.’

Rhun found it hard to listen. His entire life suddenly made sense. He’d been so stupid! All the occasions he’d been congratulated for his excellent insight into human nature, his quirks and hunches he’d never talked about, not to anybody, but which he’d never questioned no matter how his intellect had told them he must be wrong—everything finally fell into place. He realised his initial ideas had not been correct—the fascination was less due to the fact that he had powers other people didn’t have, but that he’d had them for so long, even using them, though he wasn’t aware of himself doing that, his reluctance to tell other people how he felt about these abilities he must have guessed he possessed—he had guessed, somewhere inside him, and he’d also been aware that these powers were not the rule.

‘How did you know?’ he asked.

Per smiled. ‘I sense a lot of things, as I told you,’ he said. ‘When you came in here, you were evaluating me. Maybe you don’t do that consciously, and maybe it doesn’t always work for you, but in that instant, you were, and I knew you at once. I don’t think I’d have noticed if you hadn’t been using the Force.’

Rhun swallowed. Hearing these words didn’t make it any easier to come to terms with that. ‘You mean I can learn to fully control the Force? Like a Jedi?’

Per came back to sit on his stool in front of the cooking unit once again. ‘No. You can hone the skills you have, and maybe learn a few new ones, but like I said . . . I only noticed what you were when you were effectively using your powers on me. They are not very strong. Remember, you have lived on an Imperial world for most of your life, and believe me, the Empire has found all the Jedi in hiding. If they overlooked you, you can’t be very strong in the Force. But in a time like this, now that all the Jedi have been hunted down by Palpatine, every little bit of Jedi blood is almost a miracle.’ He paused and studied Rhun’s face. ‘Now I wonder, where did you get it? I don’t suppose you know about any Jedi in your ancestry?’

Rhun shook his head slowly. ‘Nobody I know of. My parents never mentioned anything like it, and my brothers . . .’ He paused, then stared at Per. ‘Could it be my brother’s got it, too?’ Blast, that’s what had happened on their way to the spaceport two days ago! When Ren had said he’d done what he thought Rhun would have done, he’d done what Rhun had told him to!

‘I would suppose so,’ Per answered. ‘But your parents don’t seem to have it?’

Rhun snorted a bitter laugh. ‘Certainly not my father. He doesn’t have any insight at all into people. My mother, maybe, but I . . .’ He broke off. He’d been going to say, ‘I don’t really know her well enough for that’, but he couldn’t say it, even if Per wasn’t quite a stranger any more.

Per only nodded, as if he’d understood anyway. He probably had. ‘Now, my boy, it’s become rather late, and you must be tired. We’ll continue this tomorrow, if you like. I suppose you have a lot to think about now.’

Rhun nodded and stood. ‘You couldn’t teach me how to better control these powers, could you?’ he asked.

‘Little but the basics,’ Per said. ‘I doubt there are any people around these days who could teach you more. And you can’t stay here.’

‘You can,’ Rhun remarked.

Per shook his head. ‘Your place is elsewhere,’ he answered. ‘This life is fine for a crazy old man stewing his healing potions, but nothing for a young man who has more skills to boast about than a few chancy Force abilities.’

Reluctantly, Rhun let himself be herded towards the door. ‘But I can come back once in a while,’ he said.

Per smiled again. ‘Yes, you can. And I’ll be looking forward to those occasions.’