“ONE HUNDRED AND TEN THOUSAND.”

“Lord Oxic bid'sa hundred ten thoussand. Do'sa we hear ten-five?”

“One hundred ten thousand five hundred,” someone in the back of the room said.

Lestra Oxic turned in his seat and looked over his shoulder. The rival bidder was a Bith sporting a stylishly embroidered headcloth, his handheld identity screen displaying nothing more than a number.

“Eleven thousand,” Oxic said, displaying his screen while he swung to face the auctioneer's podium.

“We'sa have'a bid'o one hundred eleven thoussand. Do'sa we hear twelve?”

The guest auctioneer was a Gungan clothed in a long embroidered robe and celebrated for his rapid-fire delivery; the item up for bid, a small statue that had once graced the northwest atrium of Coruscant's Galactic Courts of Justice. A rare and valuable piece, as all examples of Republicana had become since the Yuuzhan Vong had devastated half the galaxy almost twenty years earlier.

“One hundred and twelve,” the same Bith said, drawing excited inhales from the mixed-species audience of one hundred or so bidders.

Oxic immediately raised his screen above his head. “One hundred twelve-five.”

Hydians, as the auction house was known, was itself a prime example of Republicana, studded with elegant columns and floored in the finest polished stone. Originally it had sat at the center of Sah'ot on Chandrila, but two years into the Yuuzhan Vong invasion a team of architects and construction engineers supervising an army of flesh-and-blood and droid laborers had worked feverishly to disassemble the building piece by piece and ship it to Epica, which, as hoped by those who had funded the undertaking and despite its natural beauty, had proved too remote and insignificant to attract the attention of the invaders. Many of the beings responsible for the building's relocation and tedious reassembly had remained onworld after the conclusion of the war, and had since raised opulent palaces and mansions in the forested hills that embraced the spaceport, in the process transforming Epica's once nondescript principal city into a place of privilege and sophistication. Transformed, too, was the native population of humans, Bothans, Duros, and Bimms, who now served to satisfy the increasing needs of the wealthy who had co-opted their planet.

“We'sa stil'la waitin' for a bid'o one hundred thirteen thoussand,” the auctioneer was saying.

Oxic pivoted in his chair to regard the Bith, this time through a pair of compact alumabronze macrobinoculars. In his free hand, the being from the Clak'dor system was holding an expensive comlink.

“One hundred thirteen thousand,” the Bith said.

“One hundred fourteen,” a woman seated a few rows in front of the Bith countered. Oxic recognized her from past auctions as an employee of the Trouvee family, which owned a gambling complex on Oseon VII.

“One fourteen-five,” the Bith responded.

Oxic squirmed in his seat. Unusually tall for a human, he had a flawless, clean-shaven face that belied his advanced age. His narrow frame bordered on the skeletal and his hands and feet were unnaturally long, yet his custom wardrobe was cut in a way that emphasized his delicate thinness and contributed to an overall impression of his being larger than life. A force of nature.

He knew just the spot for the small figurine: atop the fluted pedestal from 500 Republica that stood alongside his office desk. But he hadn't planned on paying more than 114,000 for it—the piece was somewhat overvalued even at 113,000—and certainly not when other items on the block would suffice. Still, the statue was hard to resist.

“One hundred and fifteen thousand,” he said, taking himself by surprise.

When he turned, he saw the Bith whispering into his comlink, then listening to whoever was at the other end of the link.

“One hundred and seventeen.”

The crowd gasped and Oxic's shoulders sagged. He resisted an urge to look at the Bith.

“We'sa have'a bid'o one hundred seventeen thoussand,” the Gungan said in excitement. “Will'sa any'say eighteen? How'sa 'bout seventeen-five?” He waited a moment. “One hundred seventeen'sa goin' once … 'sa goin' twice …” His mallet struck the podium with a resounding thock! “Sold to bidder six-three-seven!”

Nearly everyone applauded.

A Falleen stepped to the podium. “The next item up for auction is number seventy-one-dash-zero-zero in the catalog—a chandelier from the principal dining room of Ralltiir's Darpa Hotel. Made of electrum, the piece has undergone substantial restoration but is fully provenanced. The piece has a suggested opening bid of …”

Oxic stopped listening and turned his attention to the exquisitely designed holocatalog. Items from Ralltiir were of no interest to him, Republicana or no. Some beings were fascinated by items from Alderaan or Naboo; others with Hutt artifacts. But Coruscant was and would remain the focus of his collection, and his obsession. He was advancing through the catalog when Koi Quire slid effortlessly into the adjacent seat he had held for her.

“How was the trip?” he asked.

“Uneventful. A pity you lost the statue.”

Oxic cut his eyes to the Bith. “I'd like to know who he's representing.”

“We can find out.”

“Yes, by all means, let's do that.”

With Firrerreos on the brink of extinction, Koi Quire was herself a collectible, rare as any of the pieces up for auction. She had come to Oxic's law firm fifteen years earlier, following the Yuuzhan Vong's success in turning Belderone's native population against the displaced Firrerreos it had once welcomed, and had instantly become an invaluable asset. Her innate powers of intuition were unmatched, and often her mere presence in a courtroom was enough to sway a jury. Aware of the peculiarities of Firrerreon culture, Oxic had never asked to know her real name and Koi had never volunteered it, though he believed she trusted he would never have made use of the knowledge to secure her allegiance.

“Standing room only,” she said, taking in the room.

“More and more with every auction.” Oxic sighed. “We have Chief of State Daala to thank for it. Her leadership of the GA has resulted in a resurgence of interest in late Republicana and early Imperial artifacts. As a speculator, one can't go wrong. But the serious collector suffers for it.”

“Then I have news that may cheer you up,” she said softly. “Your investment is on the move.”

Oxic tensed in excitement but managed to keep his voice conspiratorial. “Where is he?”

“Headed to Nar Shaddaa—on the new legs you paid for, and using Core Life's indemnity payment.”

“His memory has returned?”

“Presumably, since he didn't bother to check out of Aurora or wait for an official discharge. Sompa followed instructions and allowed him to pay a midnight visit to his office. He managed to deactivate surveillance using a code we think he picked up from Ril Bezant.”

“The psychotherapist?”

“During a session in her office, she briefly turned off the cams, either in the interest of earning Jadak's trust or to provide him with the code in the belief he would take matters into his own hands. He has a way, in any case.”

Oxic inclined his head in interest. “Don't tell me—”

“He wanted to show me around Aurora.”

“Why did you decline?”

“He was already suspicious about the insurance policy. I decided there might be some benefit to keeping him agitated. By the time I left he was ready to bite my head off.”

“Your insight appears to have served us well.”

“He didn't bother checking Sompa's office for redundant cams. Or maybe at that point he didn't care about being watched. He used Sompa's computer to execute a number of searches and requests, and discovered a Nar Shaddaa Holonet reference to the collision.”

“Clever. But why would he opt to go to Nar Shaddaa? Surely Palpatine's opponents wouldn't have cached the treasure there.”

Quire shrugged. “It could be that he's looking for additional information regarding the death of his copilot, Reeze.”

Oxic shook his head. “Jadak wouldn't need to go all the way to Nar Shaddaa for that.”

“Then perhaps he's hoping to pick up his life where it left off.”

Oxic considered it. “I suggest we collect him.”

“So soon?”

“I don't want to risk involving others in this matter.”

“There's always a chance of that.”

“Direct Cynner to attend to it.”

Quire frowned. “Are you certain he's the one for this? My inclination would be to use someone more judicious. Gomman, perhaps.”

“He is safeguarding our star witness for the trade case.”

“The Colicoid? What did Gomman do to warrant that assignment?”

“It's simply a matter of his having a high tolerance for bugs.”

Quire nodded. “I'll let Cynner know.”

Oxic reclined in his seat. The next round of bidding was about to begin.