Tarkin himself had always been easily impressed by size and brute force. That was why Sienar had kept up their friendship. Tarkin was astute politically and militarily, but in Sienar's own expertise-the machines of transportation and war-he was decidedly inferior. Tarkin had admitted as much in their interview.

Yet. . Admitting a weakness, the need for a partner, was unlike Tarkin in so many ways.

Who was playing with whom?

"Most interesting," a voice behind him said. Sienar nearly jumped out of his skin. Spinning about, he looked between two cubicles and saw the tall, thin form of Tarkin, half in shadow, his blue eyes gleaming like small beads. Standing tall behind him, a being with multijointed limbs, an incredibly broad nose, and iridescent gold skin watched Sienar closely.

"Suddenly I find there's very little time, and we need something from you," Tarkin said. "You are either with us on this venture, or we move without you. But I must have a certain piece of information. If you decide against joining us, and give us that information, then out of respect for our friendship, and knowing you can keep a few secrets if there's profit in it, my young acquaintance here will not kill you."

Sienar knew he could not afford the time to be surprised. Times were changing. Friendships could be expected to change as well. To ask how Tarkin and his associate happened to gain access to his private sanctuary would be fruitless and, in the discourse of the moment, possibly even rude.

"You want something from me," Sienar rephrased, with a wry smile. "Something you don't think I'll give willingly. But all you had to do was ask, Tarkin."

Tarkin ignored this. There was now no humor in him at all and no tolerance. His face looked surprisingly old and malevolent. Evil.

Sienar sensed desperation.

"You were once a major subcontractor in a retrofit of the YT light trade class of vessels."

"That's a matter of record. Most of them have long since been put out of service by their original owners. Later models are so much more efficient."

Tarkin waved that away. "You placed a tracking unit in the integument of every vessel you retrofitted. One you could activate with a private code. And you did not reveal this fact to the owners, or for that matter, to any authorities."

Sienar's expression did not change. He needs the codes necessary to switch on one of the trackers.

"Hurry," the Blood Carver said, its voice thin but self- possessed. Sienar noticed the tall gold being was recovering from a number of wounds, some superficial, but at least two more serious.

"Give me the ship's serial number, and I'll give you the code," Sienar said. "As a friend. Really, Tarkin."

Tarkin gestured quickly to the Blood Carver. He held out a small datapad on which the number was displayed, blinking rapidly in red. Beneath the number, an orbital registry account was also blinking, indicating the docking slot would soon be open for another Senate-sponsored vessel.

It took him no time at all to reconstruct the code string for that particular vessel. He had created the code based on an equation that utilized the serial number. He told them the code, and the Blood Carver entered it into his comlink and transmitted it.

Sienar shifted in his clothes, hoping to find the small spy droid that had obviously been set upon him during Tarkin's last visit. "The tracker will be useless in hyperspace," he told Tarkin. "It's low-power and unreliable at extreme distances. I've since learned how to build better."

"We'll have a newer tracker partner with yours before the ship leaves orbit. We need the code for them to communicate. Together, they'll serve our purposes."

"A senatorial vessel?" Sienar asked.

Tarkin shook his head. "Owned by an auxiliary of the Jedi. Stop fiddling with your pants, Raith. It's unseemly." Tarkin showed a small control unit fitted into his palm. He waved it casually, and something rustled in Sienar's pants. He squirmed as it dropped down his leg and crawled away from his booted foot. It was a tidy little droid of a kind Sienar had not seen before, flat, flexible, able to change its texture to match that of clothing. Even an expert might have missed it.

Sienar wondered how much this knowledge was going to cost him. "I was about to agree to your proposal, Tarkin," he said with petulance.

"I say again, we are very pressed for time."

"No time even for simple manners. . between old friends?"

"None at all," Tarkin said grimly. "The old ways are dying. We have to adapt. I have adapted."

"I see. What more can I offer?"

Tarkin finally saw fit to smile, but it did not make him seem any friendlier. Tarkin had always shown a little too much of the skull beneath the skin, even as a youth. "A great deal, Raith. It's been some time since you used your military training, but I have faith you haven't forgotten. Now that I'm sure you're with us-"

"Wouldn't dream otherwise," Sienar said softly.

"How would you like to command an expedition?"

"To this exotic planet you spoke of earlier?"

"Yes."

"Why tell me of this world before now? If you couldn't trust me enough to give you such a thing as a tracker code."

"Because I have recently been informed that to you, this world was no secret."

Raith Sienar drew his head back like a serpent about to strike and sucked in his breath. "I am impressed, Tarkin. How many of my most trusted employees will I have to… dismiss?"

"You know the planet is real. You hold one of its ships."

Sienar did not like being caught out in a ruse, however innocent. "A dead hulk," he said defensively, "acquired from a corrupt Trade Federation lieutenant who had killed its owner. The ships are useless unless their owners are alive."

"Good to know. How many of these ships have been manu factured, do you think?"

"Perhaps a hundred."

"Out of twenty million spacecraft, registered and unregis tered, in the known galaxy. And how much do they cost their owners?"

"I'm not sure. Millions, or billions," Sienar said.

"You have always thought yourself smarter than me, one step ahead of me," Tarkin said tightly. "Always on top of things. But this time, I can save your career, and perhaps your life. We can pool our sources, and our resources-and both come out far ahead."

"Of course, Tarkin," Sienar said evenly. "Is now the time, and is this the place, for a good, firm handshake?"