One of the advisers, an elderly female whose sweeping arch of a mane had gone entirely gray, leaned forward. "Why should we help you find the overclan?" This anticipated question allowed Obi-Wan to launch into an explanation of their purpose in coming to Ansion. The Yiwa listened quietly, occasionally bending to eat or drink from the modest meal that had been set out before them.

When the Jedi had finished, the two advisers caucused, then whispered something to Mazong. He indicated agreement and turned back to the guests.

"Like all the Alwari, we dislike and remain ever suspicious of the motives of the city folk, even though we all do business with the Unity. What you ask would change relationships on our world forever." Raising a hand, he forestalled Luminara's comment. "However-that is not necessarily a bad thing. Time changes everything, and even the Alwari must adapt. But before we will ever agree to do so, we must have guarantees that our rights to our traditional way of life will be protected. We know there have been previous visitations by representatives of the Senate. Those we do not, and will never, trust. As for the Jedi"-once again Luminara found him staring at her-"we have heard that they are different. That they are honorable. That they are highbred. If you can prove this to us, to our satisfaction, then we will feel secure enough to at least point you in the direction of the Borokii."

Luminara and Obi-Wan whispered while their guides and the two Padawans looked on. When the older Jedi separated, it was Luminara who spoke.

"Ask of us what you will, noble Mazong, and if it is within our power to comply, we'll certainly do so."

Exclamations of satisfaction came from the chief and his advisers. What kind of proof do they want? Barriss found herself wondering. What kind of assurance could offworlders give to natives that would convince them of the genuine good intentions of their visitors?

Unsurprisingly, it was not what she would have expected.

Rising, Mazong gestured toward the camp. "Tonight we will have a proper feast. There will be entertainment. Among the Alwari, it is traditional for guests to provide it. We have never heard of representatives of your Senate deigning to do this. To us, this says that they have no souls. If the Jedi can show us that they, like the Yiwa, also have souls, then the Yiwa will believe they possess what their politicians are lacking."

Barriss's lower jaw dropped. To her surprise, Luminara was smiling agreeably. "We will meet your terms, noble Mazong. But I must warn you: aesthetics are not the first thing a Jedi masters. You may find our presentations less polished than those of your usual guests."

All but openly affable now, Mazong stepped forward to place a hand on her head. The long fingers reached to the back of her neck. "Whatever you do, it will have the virtue of novelty. For now, though, I have only one question, that has troubled me since first you arrived."

Looking up at the Yiwa, she felt only slightly concerned. "What is it?"

"Why," he asked frankly, "do you tattoo your chin and under- lip instead of the top of your head, as is proper?"

Intensely curious about everything around her, Luminara was struck by the flickering light from the portable glowrods that illuminated the mock central square. Nor was she shy in asking Mazong about the phenomenon.

"If you like, my friends and I can try to fix those lighting devices. Their internal schematics are fairly simple."

Mazong expressed confusion. "But there is nothing wrong with them."

She hesitated. "They should be supplying steady light. Con stant illumination."

The Yiwa chieftain's response surprised her. He laughed. "Ou, we know that, O wise and observant Jedi. But we remem ber, and honor, the ways of our ancestors, who could hold such gatherings only by torchlight."

Realization dawned on her. The glowpoles had been deliber ately modified to simulate the flickering of torchlight. Among the Yiwa, it appeared, retrogressive aesthetics took precedence over cutting-edge functionality. She wondered if they would find the same reverence for ritual among the overclan.

Her thermosensitive robes warded off the evening chill and kept out the ever-present wind as she took her place alongside

Obi-Wan and the two Padawans. Mazong sat down nearby, his two elderly female advisers close behind him. It seemed as if most of the clan had crowded around the open space. Hundreds of bulging Ansionian eyes glistened in the light from the glow-rods. On the far side of the encampment, torpid dorgum and irritable awiquod grunted and hissed as they jostled for space with the more high-strung sadains. A few deeper hisses, like steam escaping from a sauna, indicated the location of the travelers' suubatars.

For the second time since their arrival, food and drink had been laid out in copious quantities. Having already consumed samples of Yiwa fare, they found that the individual components of the lavish banquet had lost some of their exoticism. They were delivered straight from the transportable high-tech kitchen by lines of young Yiwa clad in guest-greeting finery. Kyakhta and Bulgan sat like regal potentates, still unable to quite believe their good fortune. Thanks to Barriss's healing and Jedi largesse, for two clanless vagabonds they had come a very long way in an exceedingly short time.

There was music, of a sort, produced by a quartet of seated Yiwa. Two played traditional handmade instruments, while their younger colleagues opted for free-form electronics. The result was a cross between the sublime and a porgrak in its final death throes. Luminara found her ears simultaneously outraged and captivated.

Beyond the music, there was no entertainment. That, she knew, was shortly to be provided by the clan's guests. If this was deemed acceptable, they would then hopefully receive useful answers to their questions. If spurned, they would have to find another, more amenable source of information as to the current whereabouts of the overclans.

At last nearly everyone had eaten their fill. The spiraling squeal from the local band faded away, losing itself in the vastness of the prairie night. Sipping on the needle-thin tube of a bulblike stuicer, Mazong turned expectantly to his company.

"And now, my friends, the time has come for you to prove to us that Jedi have not just ability, but inner essence, unlike the representatives of the great but soulless Senate."

"If I may suggest-" Kyakhta began. The chieftain shut him down with a sharp gesture.

"You may not suggest, clanless vagrant. The Yiwa remain un certain about you." Looking back to the Jedi, he smiled. "Rest assured no matter how badly you do, we will not eat you. We do not keep every tradition."

"That's nice to know," Obi-Wan murmured. He wasn't concerned about whether or not he and his companions were considered suitable for consumption. He was worried about a dearth of information. If the Yiwa refused to help them, they might waste weeks searching for the Borokii. During that time, the mischief makers and would-be secessionists among the Unity were not likely to be idle.