Darman had told him. She could tell us apart right away by how we felt and thought, Sarge. Wouldn't that be a handy trick to have?

“Can I see the Nikto?” she asked suddenly.

Vau came out of the 'fresher, wiping his face on a fluffy white towel. “Help yourself.” He gave Skirata a you-know best look and unlocked the doors for her. “They're securely trussed. You know we keep them from talking to each other, don't you?”

“I worked that out,” Etain said.

She disappeared into one room for a minute and then came out and went into the other. When she emerged again, she walked up to Skirata and Vau and lowered her head.

“I'm pretty sure those Nikto have no information, and know they don't have it,” she said quietly.

“People have useful information all the time and don't know it,” Skirata said. “We piece the apparently useless stuff together and come up with connections.”

“What I mean is that they have this distinct sense that they're just afraid of dying.”

Vau shrugged. “So much for Nikto grit, eh?”

“Every creature avoids death. The difference is that Orjul is afraid of breaking. It feels different to me. It's not animal dread. It's not as deep in the Force.” Etain had her fingers meshed in that Jedi way that made her look as if she were wringing her hands. “I might as well concentrate on him. He has information he's afraid to reveal.”

They watched her walk the few meters back to the main room and settle down at the table opposite Orjul again and stare at him.

Vau shrugged. “Oh well. At least I can have a nap while she's minding the shop. Then I can get back to work with more tangible methods.”

There was a sharp gasp from Orjul and Vau looked around. Whatever Etain was doing, she wasn't even touching him. Just staring.

“Kal, those people scare me more than Orjul does,” Vau said. “I'm just going to get my head down for a couple of hours. Wake me if she gets anywhere—or kills him, of course.”

It was about 1030 in the morning, when people were going about mundane business in the city. It felt like an odd time of day to be conducting an interrogation. Skirata somehow felt they were always carried out in some permanent night.

And Etain showed every sign of being up to the task.

From time to time, she would lower her head as if to try to get a better view of Orjul's expression while he sat facedown at the table, fingers knotted in his pale hair as if he had a blinding headache. Skirata wanted to ask her what she was doing to him but he was worried it would break her concentration.

And she was fixed completely on the task in hand. Her blink rate had slowed so much that she appeared to be frozen, except for the pulse in her throat. Orjul would occasionally pant and squeal, writhing as if he were attempting to crawl into the very surface of the table.

Skirata walked away and went to stare at the Nikto for a while. When he came back into the room, Orjul was making little hiccupping sobs. Etain, face level with his, was talking quietly to him.

“Can you see it, Orjul? Can you see what happens?”

Skirata watched.

“Orjul …”

The man whined exactly like a strill, a thin animal noise. “I can't …”

“Fear of being wrong is worse than pain, isn't it? It just eats you and you can't shut it off. Are you right? Or are you as bad as the Republic you hate? Are we really the enemy, or are you? Look at the helpless pawns you kill.”

So that was what she was doing. Skirata had wondered if she was using her Force powers to cause real physical pain. But she had cut to the chase and re-created the stuff that pain did to you anyway: it made you fear for your sanity long before your life.

He had to hand it to her. It was nonlethal and not that far beyond the usual mind influence. Maybe she was struggling to find an ethical limit in her own mind. Maybe it was her own nightmare, the worst thing she could conceive.

She kept it up for an hour. He had no idea whether she was suggesting terrible images and consequences in his mind, or if she was simply flooding him with adrenaline against his wishes, but whatever it was it was exhausting him and her with it. Eventually Orjul broke down sobbing, and Etain shuddered and looked disoriented as if coming out of a trance.

Skirata grabbed Vau's shoulder and shook him awake. “Get in there. She's broken him down enough for you to finish the job.”

Vau looked at his chrono. “Not bad. What's up? Don't want to let her face the real consequences?”

“Just do it, will you?”

Vau swung his legs off the bed and stalked into the main room to usher Etain from the chair and steer her and Skirata toward the doors. “Go and have some fizzadc, Jedi.” He turned to Orjul, who was staring after Etain with wide-set eyes. “She's just stepping out for some refreshment. She'll be back later.”

Skirata caught Etain's elbow. He wasn't used to grabbing small people: his lads were solid muscle, bigger and stronger than Etain. He felt as if he were clutching a kid's arm. He sat her down on the little bench at the back of the landing platform and took out his comlink to call for transport.

“No, I'm going back in,” said Etain.

“Only if Vau calls us back.”

“Kal …”

“Only if he really needs you. Okay?”

They were still waiting for Ordo to collect them when Etain flinched and then looked back at the lobby doors.

They opened and Vau wandered out, rubbing his eyes. There was a distinctive tang of ozone clinging to him, like a discharged blaster.

“Retail zone, Quadrant B-Eighty-five,” said Vau simply. He held out his datapad with coordinates. “But he hasn't given me a date, if he knows one. He was supposed to drop the explosives off in the warehouse, and someone would be along to collect it. He never knew who.”

Skirata sniffed the ozonic scent again and switched to Mando'a, although he was sure Etain had flinched because she had sensed what had happened.

“Gar ru kyramu kaysh, di'kut: tion'meh kaysh ru jehaati?” You killed him, you moron: what if he was lying?

Vau made an irritated pfft sound. “Ni ru kyramu Niktose. Meh Orjul jehaati, kaysh kar'tayli me'ni ven kyramu kaysh.” I killed the Nikto. If Orjul's lying, he knows I'll kill him.

Orjul would be dead sooner or later anyway. No prisoners: not on this run. It was amazing how many people overlooked the inevitable while hoping for a way out.

Etain said nothing. She almost bolted for the speeder when Ordo settled it down on the platform. Skirata settled beside her. She simply seemed subdued.

“Result?” Ordo said calmly, helmet on the seat beside him, eyes straight ahead.

“Potential drop-off location,” said Skirata. “Someone might be expecting to collect a stash of explosives. So we'd better have something ready for them to collect.”

“Intel doesn't suggest they've noticed the loss of the consignment yet.”

“Well, if the cells are as isolated for security reasons as we think, then there's nobody to notice for a while, is there?”

“There's the small matter of getting hold of a cache of explosives, but we could make this work for us.”

“I can hear the cogs working, son.” Skirata patted Etain's hand. “And you did fine, ad'ika.” Ordo glanced over his shoulder and then appeared to realize that Skirata meant Etain, not him, this time. There was no gender in Mando'a. “It's never easy.”

She accepted his touch without reaction, and then seized to his hand so tightly that he thought she was going to burst into tears or protest. But she maintained the facade of calm, except for that desperate grip on his hand. He had always been a soft touch for a desperate child's grasp.

“Sowing doubt is a very corrosive thing when you're dealing with people who believe in causes,” said Etain.