"Thank you for coming to us," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan could hear the disappointment in his voice. He felt disappointed as well. The information was interesting, but not very helpful. It didn't lead them any closer to Balog.

"But that is not all I have come to tell you," Yanci said. "There was a reason the Workers were sending him to us. They knew that I had training in a specific medical condition that Oleg has. He got it as a result of being imprisoned by the Absolutes years ago. It's a form of hibernation sickness that recurs regularly, requiring treatment. I happen to be able to provide treatment because several of our Rock Workers had the same syndrome. But there are only a few med clinics in the city that can treat it. So I thought… I thought it would be a way to track Oleg, if you were looking for him. It could be a way to find Balog."

Yanci reached inside her cloak and took out a durasheet. She handed it to Qui-Gon. "Here is a list of the clinics."

Obi-Wan felt his spirits rise. If they could track Oleg, no doubt they would find Balog. Qui-Gon appeared frozen, transfixed by the list in his hand.

"Do you think it could be helpful?" Yanci asked. "Yes," Qui-Gon said.

"Very."

Qui-Gon clutched the list, staring at it so fiercely that Yanci glanced at Obi-Wan, concerned.

Obi-Wan moved forward to thank her. "This will help us," he told Yanci. "Thank you for coming. I'll see you out."

He walked her to the front door and bid her good-bye. He hurried back down the hall to Qui-Gon, eager to discuss their next step.

But when he opened the door to the sitting room, his Master had disappeared.

Qui-Gon knew he should not have left Manex's residence without telling Obi-Wan or Mace where he was going, but he did not regret it. More talk meant more delay. If he had taken Obi-Wan with him, he would have put his Padawan in a bad position. If Qui-Gon was going to have conflicts with Mace Windu, he did not want Obi-Wan to be involved in them.

And, truth be told, his instincts told him that he needed to do this alone. Four Jedi equaled four opinions, more talk, more discussion. He didn't have the time. If he were going to find Balog, he had to move fast.

His comlink signaled. It was the third time in an hour. He knew it was Obi-Wan. He could feel that his Padawan wanted urgently to speak with him. Qui-Gon hesitated and then shut his comlink off. He would contact Obi- Wan when he had hard information. His Padawan would understand, he hoped.

Yanci's information could be useless. It wouldn't take him long to check out four clinics. In the meantime, Mace could go to the United Legislature and talk all he wanted.

So far he had been to three clinics. Oleg was not listed on the roster of patients. Of course, Oleg could have used an assumed name, but that would be hard to do. Medical treatment was free on New Apsolon, and records were kept on all citizens who needed treatment. The records were accessed by retinal scan. When Oleg needed treatment, the clinic would need his records in order to treat him. No doubt he would have to take the chance and use his own name.

Qui-Gon approached the last clinic on the outskirts of the Civilized Sector. So far it had been easy to determine whether or not Oleg had been a patient at a clinic. Qui-Gon had been able to bluff or charm his way into getting the information out of the clerks. The clinics were not run on high security. He expected the last one to be easy as well. Soon, if he was lucky, Balog could be within his grasp. His hopes rose as he strode toward the entrance.

A woman stood outside, hesitating. Qui-Gon moved forward to open the door, then saw that she was blind. He stopped and watched as she reached out, searching for the door access panel.

How many times had Tahl snapped at him to let her do something herself? He had learned to let her pour the tea, access a datafile, lead the way to the lake.

I can't bear it when you hover, she would say. I know I'm blind, but I still have a sense of direction.

Even the smallest memories of Tahl brought him such great pain. Maybe the small memories were the worst. It was thousands of such small memories that made up their long friendship. For the rest of his life, they would swim to the surface of his consciousness. He would remember things about her he had forgotten. Each time would be agony.

"To your left," Qui-Gon said politely.

"Thank you," she murmured.

The woman reached for the door access panel and pushed the signal.

The door slid open. She moved through and proceeded to the desk, which was straight ahead. Qui-Gon could now see that she was using a laser sensor device to guide her movements. As a Jedi, Tahl had decided to rely on her other senses so that she would not have to depend on such technology.

The woman spoke briefly to the clerk, who directed her in a loud, careful voice to a seat. Looking at the clerk's thin-faced, haughty expression, Qui-Gon sensed he would have trouble. He glanced at the clerk's name plate and walked forward.

"Good day, Vero," he said. "I'm hoping you can help me. My nephew Oleg is missing. I think he's a patient here. It would help if I knew — "

Vero interrupted him immediately. "No release of any med information without the proper authorization."

"I appreciate your attention to the rules," Qui-Gon said. "However — "

"No exceptions." Vero turned away. He barked out the name of the next patient, ignoring Qui-Gon.

This was certainly a different experience. In the other clinics, he'd found sympathetic clerks who had listened to his story and tried to help him. Qui-Gon could have used the Force on Vero, but he knew that everyone in the clinic was listening. If the rude Vero suddenly changed his approach, they would think it odd. Still, he wasn't about to walk away without finding out what he needed to know.

Suddenly a loud clatter came from behind him. The blind woman had upset her chair, then the one next to her. She began to try to right them, getting in the way of another patient. An argument began.

"Stop, stop! This is a clinic! What are you doing? Don't touch that!

Don't move!" Vero hurried around the counter, upset at the commotion.

With a keen gaze, Qui-Gon saw the woman deliberately upset a flower vase.

"Not my ginkas!" Vero screamed, diving for the flowers.

She was doing it for him, Qui-Gon knew. She was giving him a little time.

He reached over the counter and swiveled Vero's datascreen to face him. Quickly, he clicked in Oleg's name. To his relief, his records showed up. Oleg had given an address close to the clinic. His next appointment was in two weeks.