I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to the shower sound.
The sense of impending doom that has been following me since Geonosis has retired somewhere in the corners of my mind. I'm empty-headed, light.
Life still lacks meaning, though this morning I don't care.
Anakin comes and sits on the bed, wet hair dripping over his tunic. "I was hoping for you to reach me in the 'fresher."
"Blessed youth. Old men need rest."
We exchange a half smile. I say that I should be discussing last events with the Council right now.
"Master Kenobi missing a meeting. They'll take you for dead." He bites his lip. "I know you're going to beat yourself; just, don't be too harsh. You did nothing wrong. Blame me for everything that makes you think differently."
I answer that it looks like an entirely good idea.
A lot is still to be said, so we wait, hoping for the other one to start. Despite having spent out lives together, today we don't know how to behave. We linger, knowing how difficult it will be to get back to this point after we've parted.
A loud, impatient knocking awakens us. I put a bathrobe on and open the door.
Quin pushes me to the side and walks in. "Where the frick were you? This is the last time I cover your ugly ass with the Council. You better have a good reason for this, and this reason is better to be that you scored with..." He seizes me and frowns. "Man, do you ever get dressed? Anyway, they're not buying the loose cannons story and want us to poke our noses into Corellian business. I said you would've been thrilled."
His frowning intensifies when he realises I'm not alone. Anakin is slouched against the kitchen wall and greets him with a small movement of his head.
I hear the gears in my friend's brain clicking, so I remind Anakin he has something urgent to do. He pretends he hasn't heard me and asks Quin who the Council is suspecting.
"Not sure. They believe there must be an accomplice, probably someone inside the Embassy. If you ask me, they became pretty paranoid, seeing dangers and conspiracies everywhere. Exactly what terrorists aim to achieve - this demonstrates they're winning, if you needed proof." He turns to me with a beaming smile. "We're going to have a lot of fun. All you have to do is put some clothes on."
"Hanging around with you, I usually risk to get killed a bit too much to have fun," I say, entering my bedroom to get dressed.
My concern is similar to the one I'd have leaving two unsupervised Rancors in the same room. When I come back, Anakin is gone, and I do not dare ask Quin what they've been talking about.
We take a speeder and, naturally, my friend insists on flying it himself, making me wonder why cocky, ruthless pilots are such a constant in my life.
"You don't have to tell me what's happening if you don't want to. It's not my business, after all," he says the moment we take off, continuing before I can thank him for his considerate attitude. "I'm going to torture you until you tell me, you di'kut."
"Look ahead, please."
"I'll look ahead when you answer me. You don't skip a meeting with the Council if you're not dead or severely wounded."
I cover my face with a hand. "What do you exactly want me to explain?"
He avoids another speeder with a sudden manoeuvre, without stopping talking, "Point one; Shaali, details. Point two; missed Council meeting, reasons. Point three; Skywalker in your quarters with wet hair and an 'I've got a secret' expression all over his face."
I sigh. "Shaali is a lovely girl and a skilled Knight, this is all I can say about her. I'm sorry I left you alone with the Council; I've been feeling unwell this morning. Anakin came to talk about his Padawan. Hope all your curiosities are sated."
"Sated my ass. You must think I'm stupid."
He stops at the Embassy entrance, and I've rarely been so relieved to get down a speeder. Behind me, Quin yells that he's not done with me, and I smile at the thought of the last time I've been told these same words. I'm lucky enough that he can't see me.
The Ambassador grants us free access everywhere. He appears genuinely shocked, even if I suspect that what troubles him most is the worsening of the yet controversial role of Corellia in the war. He's afraid there's a mole among his men, and probably can't decide if he prefers us to find him or not. I guess this is the reason our free access is in fact guarded by his secretary, a severe tall woman who escorts us everywhere and monitors every word we exchange with her colleagues.
After an extended tour of the offices, with poor chances of asking anything relevant to anyone, we're finally conducted to the gala hall. Everything, from broken windows to bloody floor, looks like we left it last night; only the corpses are missing.
Without the need to say a word about it, we start our tried and tested old play.
I ask something unimportant to the secretary, and Quin keeps making rough, half-mouthed comments that gain him some icy glares. When he finally states that all Corellians are unfaithful traitors of the Republic and that I shouldn't listen to a word the lying shutta is saying, I lose my temper and order him to have a walk and leave the talk to me.
He curses and obeys. I extensively apologise, begging her to forgive my partner as, sadly, not all Jedi are gifted with good manners and common sense.
This achieves two results. First, the woman is eager to answer any questions coming from the sensitive, gentle Jedi. Second, Quin is free to wander undisturbed and unsupervised, touching all that inspires him.
We catch up when we get back to our vehicle. I tell him about the employee who hasn't shown up at work this morning. He reveals the blasters' story to be about someone giving them to a guy that matches my guy description, in a Club he recognises as the Outlander.
After some arguing whether to go to his house in the Factory District or to the Club in the Uscru one, I win, and we direct toward the slum.
The area is, as usual, eerie. We look for the address given by the secretary, scrutinised by every sentient we meet; not a lot of Jedi in the Undercity, I guess.
The apartment is in a decrepit ten story building. We enter and climb the mouldy stairs to the top. A distinct clash from behind the door prevents us from ringing the doorbell.
Quin calls the owner's name a couple of times before attempting to break down the door.
I decide to take the long path and use the emergency stairs to find a way in. I'm about to kick the apartment window when someone jumps out of it and flees away across the roofs.
Quin shouts something from the inside, probably 'chase that son of a Bantha!' and I start running, zigzagging between roofs and ledges. The gap between us gradually reduces, the most distance filled when he slows down to shoot with his blaster until I'm close enough to see he's just a boy, not older than Ashoka.
When I can almost grab his shirt, he fails a jump and slips, taking a thirty meters flight down that leaves him no chances to survive. Hand on knees, I look down to the sad stain that was him, catching my breath.
People on the street are not impressed, most of them just walk around the body without a second gaze.
"Luck is not on our side today. Nor on his," comments Quin when he reaches me. He's covered in blood.
"A Bounty Hunter maybe? If so, a very young one. I deeply hope that blood's not yours."
"I wouldn't cry over his death. He killed our man; I found him dying with a sliced open throat, thus the blood. With this, I'm afraid we're not far from where we began. I'll have a look at the apartment and call the Security Force. You check that mess below. If we find nothing as I guess, we hit the Club."
As Quinlan foreshadowed, an hour later we're crossing the Outlander's entrance.
He left his robe in the speeder and is now only partially covered in blood, something that apparently doesn't represent an excessive font of apprehension for lower levels inhabitants. This, or the fact that flashing light, deafening music, and Spice influence tend to make things like this go unnoticed.
"I eventually took you out to enjoy some nightlife," he says with a deep stare at two dancing Twi'lek girls.
"Spectacular achievement," I answer. "Even if technically it is still afternoon."
We split to ask around for someone that could've seen the Corellian employee or his killer around here. We last an hour before the manager decides that our presence is not good for business and sort of kicks us out.
What we find out, with some help from my Force persuasion and Quin's psychometry, is that the blasters and the explosive passed hand in here a few nights ago and that, when the exchange took place, there were someone else with the roof boy. The barman's description of the woman with the Embassy guy is quite unmistakably that of Aurra Sing.
"We know with whom she has been working lately," says Quin as we fly back to the Temple. "The Council was right, there's the Separatists' hand behind this. Although, what's the point in scaring the whole Senate to death if you don't claim the attack as yours?"
"On the contrary, they did their best to stay in the shadows, fuelling distrust and suspect to exacerbate the already tense Corellian position among the Republic. In any case, I'm afraid we're not going to solve my fleeing boy mystery."
"You mean flying boy. Sing's pupil maybe? Do Bounty Hunters have Padawans? However, if I know her, she already left the planet and is planning to disappear for a while."