THE BROKEN-TOOTHED miner spotted Kanan as soon as the pilot stomped into The Asteroid Belt. “I’ve been lookin’ for you,” the burly man snarled. “We still got a fight from last night to finish!”
Bruised and dirtied from the Shaketown episode, Kanan started to walk right by. Then his gloved hands shot out, grabbing the miner by the scruff of his hairy neck. Kanan yanked hard, bringing the man’s face down with a smash onto an adjacent table, knocking cards and credits from the sabacc game there astray. The startled card players watched in amazement as Kanan pulled the dazed man off their table—and then climbed on top of it himself.
“Now hear this,” he yelled to the dozens of patrons crowding the big cantina. “I have had enough of today. Anyone who hassles me goes to the medcenter.”
“The Empire closed the medcenter!” someone yelled.
“Correction: Anyone who hassles me goes to the morgue. That is all.” In a single swift motion, he reached down for the mug of ale by his feet—the one that had belonged to the guy on the floor. He drank the contents in one swig and stepped down from the table.
From his regular station behind the bar, old Okadiah eyed him. “You astound, Kanan. You look as though you’ve been through a bar fight, and yet I could swear you just arrived a minute ago.”
“That’s because I was in a bar fight,” Kanan said, rubbing his jaw. “Philo’s Fueling Station, over in Shaketown.”
“But that’s not supposed to reopen for three months.”
“It’ll be a little longer,” Kanan said, reaching over the counter to grab a bottle.
“Hmm.” Okadiah shined a glass. “One can only surmise the involvement of a woman.”
“Add stupidity and mix well,” Kanan said. “But what a woman. She was wearing a hood when I first saw her. But her eyes are amazing. And she’s got moves. I’m telling you, Oke, if she were to walk in here right now—”
“I think you have your wish!” Okadiah said, pointing.
“Huh?” Kanan looked behind him, expectantly. Peering in through the partially opened door was a Sullustan woman in a rose-colored poncho. Clutching a little blue bag in her hands, she cautiously peeked this way and that.
“Hood, check. Eyes, check,” Okadiah said, smirking. “But I’m not sure I’ll ever understand your type.”
The woman slipped inside. The door slammed noisily behind her, startling her for just an instant. But she quickly made her way to a table in the corner—and then another, and then another, working her way across the room as if she were trying to avoid being seen by someone that only she saw.
Kanan watched, puzzled. “What do you make of that?”
“Perhaps the tax agent’s in town,” Okadiah said.
Finally arriving near the bar, the Sullustan woman looked in three different directions. Then she bolted across the space, arriving next to the seat at the far end of the counter, near Kanan.
Okadiah bowed. “Welcome to my establishment, young lady. My friend here is a great admirer.”
Kanan glared at Okadiah. “It’s not her, you imbecile!”
Okadiah smiled. “Can we help you with something?”
Her big eyes looked up at Kanan—and her intense expression softened a little, as if with recognition. “There is something. The bar. Would you mind if I went to the other side of it?”
Kanan goggled. “You want to sit on the barkeep’s side of the bar?”
“Kanan does it all the time,” Okadiah said. “He sleeps there, too.”
“Lady,” Kanan said, “there are no stools on that side.”
“That’s okay,” the woman replied, her eyes scanning the ceiling. “I don’t want a chair. I want to sit on the floor.”
Kanan and Okadiah looked across the bar at each other, puzzled. Then they both shrugged—and the woman darted around the opening and behind the bar. Kanan saw her disappear.
“I hate to miss anything,” Okadiah said, “but a host must entertain. Jarrus, lad, hold the fort.” He pitched his towel to Kanan and bowed to the huddled woman. “Let’s talk again sometime,” he said, exiting from behind the counter.
Kanan grabbed Okadiah’s shirt as he passed. “This is weird. What am I supposed to say to her?”
“You’ll be back there with all the booze. Offer her a drink. Or have one yourself.”
Kanan weighed the facts and realized his friend had made an excellent suggestion. Hoisting his body onto the bar, he deposited himself on the other side of the counter. There, he saw the Sullustan woman sitting on the floor, leaning back with her head and shoulders inside the cabinet beneath the sink.
“Hey! What are you doing in there?”
“It’ll be just a second,” she called out.
Kanan waited. Perhaps she had a lifelong ambition to be a plumber.
She peeked out. “Excuse me. Can you hand me the cutter in my bag?”
Stupefied, Kanan did as he was asked. The little bag was packed to overflowing with electronic gadgets.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the tool. A few seconds later, she emerged with a look of satisfaction. “There. Taken care of.”
Kanan offered his hand to help her up. “What did you do?”
“Neutralized the surveillance cams in here,” she said, getting to her feet. “Thanks for the help.”
“There are cams in here?”
“There are cams everywhere,” the woman said, brushing herself off. Seeming much more at ease, she removed her poncho, revealing a dark-colored outfit. “That’s what I was doing when I came in—moving between the blind spots. I figured Transcept hid the transmitter relay behind the bar. That’s a favorite spot for cantinas—no one ever wants to clean under the sink.” She put her tool back in her bag. “I cut the power to the whole system.”
Kanan looked around the room. He still couldn’t see where the cams were.
“Don’t worry—I made it look as if a rodent chewed into the works. Happens all the time. Someone pretending to be an ale distributor will be by next week to repair everything.”
“If you say so.” Kanan took a deep breath, wondering if he’d ever done anything other than get soused in the place. Knowing he hadn’t, he shook off the paranoia. “How do you know this, Zaluna?”
She stared at him, suddenly serious again. Big eyes got even wider. “How—how do you know my name?”
“It’s on your name badge, there,” Kanan said, pointing.
The woman looked at him—and then down at the official badge clipped to her work clothes. “Oh,” she said, disgusted, ripping the tag off and putting it in her bag. “I guess I’m not very good at this.”
“At what?”
Regaining her composure, Zaluna glanced at Kanan and smiled primly. “I am just another customer visiting a cantina. You should pay me no mind.”
“Okay,” Kanan said, turning away to the bottles.
“But I could use a little more help.”
Kanan looked over his shoulder. “Look, ma’am, I’ve had a long day. I’m really not in the mood to help anyone.”
“But you will.” Zaluna leaned against the bar and smiled gently. “I know you. I’ve seen you working—on Cynda.”
“How? I haven’t seen you there.”
Zaluna didn’t explain. “You help people. I’ve seen you do it before. And I saw you saving your friend from Count Vidian today.”
“You saw me?”
Zaluna didn’t elaborate. But she smiled, a little ashamed of what she’d revealed. “That’s one of the rare pleasures of my world. You spend all your time watching for bad people, and you want to forget what you see. But the good ones, those you remember.”
Kanan stared. None of what Zaluna was saying made sense. The woman, he now realized, reminded him of Jocasta Nu, the Jedi librarian. They didn’t look anything alike, of course. But Jocasta always seemed to know everything, and acted like knowing everything was nothing. That was definitely in this woman’s manner.
“What do you want help with?”
Zaluna looked into the teeming crowd. “I’m supposed to meet someone, but I don’t know what they look like.”
“You don’t know what everyone looks like?”
“Not this time. And I need to keep a low profile. Can you look for me?”
Kanan looked down and put his hands before him. “Zaluna, I don’t know who you are or who you think I am—but you do not know me. I do not go around randomly helping people!”
“That’s not what I’ve heard about you,” came a voice from the far end of the bar. The voice.
Kanan decided to play it cool, as he turned. They always seek you out, brother. “Hey there, Hera,” he said, smiling confidently. “What can I get you?”