They had used the unconscious shopkeeper to distract her at tention. Upset with herself at falling for the diversion, she repressed the growing irritation. Anger was another kind of distraction, one she could not presently afford.

"Maybe bossban give Kyakhta and Bulgan bonus," her watcher observed aloud. "Jedi lightsaber would be nice. Then Bulgan go home, show to clan. They let Bulgan back in. And those who object," he made a swinging motion with one heavy hand, "Bulgan cut off their heads!"

"You speak fondly of your bossban." She made a conscious effort to appear and sound as helpless and resigned as possible. "Who might that imposing individual be?"

A slow smile spread across her guard's face. "Padawan try fool Bulgan. No Jedi tricks here. Bulgan and Kyakhta little slow, maybe. But that not mean we stupid." Rising and lumbering forward, he loomed over her seated form; a broad- chested, bald-pated, threatening mass of muscle and bone, unusually massive for an Ansionian. "You think Bulgan stupid?"

"I did not say that, nor did I mean it," she responded sooth ingly. The Alwari backed off. "But I do see something else about you that I am sure of."

The hulking native's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What that? Careful be, Padawan human. Bulgan not afraid of you."

"I can see that. What I also see, and can sense in ways you cannot imagine, is that both you and your accomplice are in pain-and probably have been so for a long time."

Bulgan's brown, gold-flecked Ansionian eye bulged even wider than usual. "How-how you know that?"

"In addition to the usual Jedi training, many of us have our own specialties. Areas of learning that we are especially drawn toward. Myself, I am a practicing healer."

"But you human. Not Ansion."

"I know." Her tone was tender, reassuring-compelling. "And I can't fix your poor back, or give you a prosthetic to re place your missing eye. But the pain in your mind is akin to the pain nearly all warm-blood sentients experience. It arises from certain kinds of neural breakdowns and malfunctions. It's as if someone was trying to wire a very complex computer and all the necessary materials and components were laid out before her, but she wasn't quite sure how to link everything together. So she did a job that was a little too hasty. Do you understand anything of what I'm saying, Bulgan?"

The Alwari nodded slowly. "Bulgan not dumb. Bulgan understand. Haja, that just how Bulgan feel most of the time. Not wired right." Tilting his head slightly to one side, he stared at her hard out of his one good eye. "Padawan can fix that?"

"I can't make any promises. But I can try."

"Fix pain in head." Her captor was clearly exerting a consid erable mental effort. "No more pain here." He rubbed his forehead with his open palm. "That be a big thing. Bigger even, maybe, than credits." The effort at extended cogitation having exhausted his limited intellectual resources, he glared at her again. "How know Bulgan can trust you?"

"I give you my word as a Padawan, as a student of the Jedi arts, as one who has dedicated her life to their high ideals- and to mastering the skills of a healer."

Obviously torn, her captor took a deep breath, glanced cir cumspectly at the door, and then turned back to her. "You try fix Bulgan. But if you try trick, I-"

"I've given you my word," she interrupted him, forestalling his threat. "Besides, where could I go? The door is locked and barricaded from the outside. Or haven't you realized that you're locked in here with me?" She did not smile. "Your friend is taking no chances."

"Locked in?" He rubbed his bare skull, his hand passing to either side of where a dark mane would normally be. "Bulgan confused."

Immediately, she jumped on the opening thus offered. "Confusion comes from the pain you've been living with. Let me try to help you, Bulgan. Please. If I fail, it costs you nothing. Even if I succeed, you can still keep me in here because the door is locked from outside."

"That right. Padawan speak truth. Ou, you try."

Meeting his gaze evenly, she gestured toward her bound wrists. "You have to untie me. To do this kind of work, I need my hands."

He was instantly wary. "What for? Jedi trick?"

"No. Please trust me, Bulgan. There are vastly more im portant things at stake here than my life, or the size of your future credit account. Are you familiar with the secessionist movement?"

The Ansionian made a negative gesture. "Only movement Bulgan know is in bowels." He thought a moment longer. "Kya-khta be unhappy," he muttered. Then he reluctantly stepped behind Barriss and passed a desealer across her wrists. The opaque bond that restrained them promptly dissolved, breaking down into cellulose, catalyst, and water. Relieved to have her hands free, she rubbed firmly at her wrists. As the circulation began returning, she beckoned for him to approach.

"Come here, Bulgan," she instructed him gently. He did so with head bowed, shuffling his feet like a child approaching its mother. A very strong, very dangerous child, she reminded herself. She did not have to ask him to lower his head farther. His poor bent spine had already placed it within reach. Extending both hands, palm downward, she tenderly cradled the sides of his skull, careful not to cover the aural openings. His flesh was warm to the touch- the normal Ansionian body temperature being several degrees higher than that of a human. Her eyes closed, and she began to concentrate.

A throbbing ran through her as her focus sharpened. An en during, agonizing ache that through straining and training she made her own. She let herself flow outward toward it, surrounding it with the soothing balm that was her own harmonious inner self. Within the damaged, misfiring neurons that were the source of the native's ongoing hurt, the Force compelled a subtle realignment of tissues, an almost imperceptible but physiologically critical alteration.

She stood holding him like that for several long, silent min utes: healer and patient locked together in that mysterious, inscrutable mutual melding comprehensible only to another master of the Jedi healing arts. Not until all felt normal and natural and well did she finally allow herself to withdraw from the vulnerable state into which she had placed them both.

Opening her eyes, she found herself staring back at her captor. But there was something different about him now: a faint but discernible change of posture, a glint instead of a dullness in his eye. He straightened slightly, as much as his broken, permanently bent back would allow, and looked slowly around the room.

"How do you feel?" she finally prompted him when no words were forthcoming.

"Feel? Bulgan feel-I feel good. Very good." Making fists of both three-fingered hands, he raised them toward the roof. "Really exceptionally remarkably good! Haja, jaha, ou oul" The little dance he proceeded to perform, joyfully throwing his arms repeatedly into the air all the while, lifted her hopes in concert with his spirit.