Kyakhta and Bulgan moved easily through the crowds, though Kyakhta had to keep a close eye on his companion as they wended their way past one stall and shop after another. Innocent that he was, the bent-backed Bulgan had a disconcerting tendency to sample assorted wares without remembering that it was necessary to pay for them. They had no time for such nonsense today. They were on an important mission! Not as important as herding, or racing, or celebrating with one's clan, perhaps. But for two clanless ones such as themselves, important enough.

"There they are!" he whispered tersely as Bulgan bumped up behind him. The other strained to see out of his one good eye, straightening as much as he was able. Bulgan sniffed as he stared.

"Got no guards," he noted observantly. Bulgan was simple, but not quite so stupid as his outward appearance and attitude might suggest.

Kyakhta withheld the majority of his contempt. "Of course they got no guards, dimwit! What need do Jedi have for guards? It is they who guard others.''''

Bulgan frowned, looked around in confusion. "What others?"

Not bothering to reply and keeping his face hidden as much as possible, Kyakhta saw that the visitors were unaccompanied by a local guide. In keeping with their unassuming demeanor, he knew they would prefer to travel without even a small entourage. Nor would they wish to attract a crowd. That was good. For the work they intended to do, he and Bulgan wanted as few complications, and witnesses, as possible. His upper right arm was throbbing above the prosthetic, as it always did when he was nervous.

"Which one we take?" Bulgan had to move his head from side to side in order to see around eddying pedestrians who were not so much taller than he as straighter.

"I don't know. It's easy enough to tell the Padawans from their Jedi. They're much younger. I don't remember if there is a strength difference between human genders." He did not bother to ask if Bulgan recalled such a thing. Bulgan had trouble remembering what day it was, and sometimes his own name.

What did the Hutt Soergg want with a Jedi Padawan anyway, he wondered. Well, that was no business of his. He and Bulgan had only to carry out their task. Besides, thinking on more than one subject at a time hurt his head.

"Let's follow them," the bent one suggested. This was so obvious and sensible a notion that Kyakhta could hardly countenance its origin.

The Jedi visitors acted like any group of tourists, listening to the spoken explanations of their guide as they strolled through the marketplace, dutifully admiring the sights while occasionally pausing to taste samples of the local cuisine. Occasionally, one or two of them would pause to admire a handicraft or artwork, a neatly turned bracelet or glistening singing plant from the equatorial regions. They did not buy anything, Kyakhta noted. What use did a Jedi have for personal possessions when their Council kept them always on the move? But their roving lifestyle did not prevent them from looking and appreciating.

One of the Padawans stopped outside a shop that featured sanwiwood sculptures from the Niruu Plateau. The Niruu Alwari were famed for their woodwork. It was the young female, Kyakhta noted. The modestly windowed shop was one of many that fronted on the central marketplace itself, and therefore was more substantial than the temporary stalls and carts that filled the central square.

Go inside, he heard himself thinking urgently at the preoccu pied Padawan. Go on, go in. Admire the lovely pretties. Next to him, Bulgan had gone silent, sensing that the moment might be near. In the midst of watching and waiting, Kyakhta did remember to finger the homing device at his waist.

After exchanging a few words with her equally youthful counterpart, the female Padawan entered. Her male colleague turned away and moved off, trailing the two older Jedi. The latter were locked in animated conversation. They appeared not to have noticed the momentary detour taken by one of their young apprentices.

"Now, quickly!" Forcing himself not to break into an eye- attracting lope, Kyakhta hurried forward.

The Winds of Whorh were with them. There was no one else in the shop: only the proprietor, a wizened old city dweller who looked nearly as well worn as some of her antique woodcarvings. No other customers. Keeping their robes as tight about their faces as possible, the two newcomers pretended to examine a ritual high-backed Nazay seat from Delgerhan. The Padawan was slim and did not appear to be especially muscular. But then, Kyakhta knew, Jedi did not depend on brute physical strength for their protection.

Gesturing to Bulgan, he waited while his friend carefully un folded the polus net from beneath his robe. When Bulgan was ready, Kyakhta stepped up to the counter. Smiling patiently, the proprietress shuffled toward him. A last, quick glance in the direction of the marketplace showed that the entryway remained clear. There was no sign of the other visitors through the single large, transparent pane.

"Welcome to my modest place of doings, sir." Eyeing his robes, she added, "I see that you are Pangay Ous. You are a long way from your stretch of prairie, sir." A hint of uncertainty crept into her voice. "Yet you do not have the look about you of one who is of the Northern Bands. I see no identifying tattoo on your forehead, and your mane is-"

"But my body fragrance is of the Pangay Ous," he declared, interrupting her. "See?" Pulling the compact atomizer from beneath his robe, he shoved it forward and sprayed her right in the face, before she could object. She inhaled reflexively, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the floor, her chin banging against the counter as she dropped. So fast did the spray work that she did not even have time to look surprised.

"Haja!" he exclaimed, stepping back from the counter. "The poor lady has collapsed! It must be her hearts!"

"Here, let me have a look." Alerted to a possible emergency and wishing to be helpful, Barriss pushed forward. "I'm not that

familiar with Ansionian physiology, but there are certain bipedal circulatory and respiratory constants that…"

Kyakhta moved aside, not listening to her incomprehensible medical jargon. He wouldn't have understood any of it any way. Bulgan was already in motion. Another glance outside showed that the street was still devoid of Jedi. The Padawan had stepped behind the counter and was kneeling beside the fallen proprietress.

"Her vitals appear sound." She sounded a note of puzzlement. "I don't think it's serious. Perhaps only a fainting spell." She started to rise. "A little cool water on her face, I think. I wonder what could have caused her to go down like that, so sudden and silently?"

"Maybe this?" Thrusting the sprayer forward, Kyakhta caught the female with a full burst right in the face. If anything, having two nostrils instead of the normal one, she absorbed more of the mist than would an Ansionian. Her eyes flickered but did not roll back, and she started to reach for the lightsaber slung at her waist. Startled and beginning to panic, Kyakhta squirted her again, and then a third time, before she finally went down. In a testament to her training, she'd absorbed enough vapor to put out a whole squad of mounted warriors.