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.
Qui-Gon quickly swiveled the datascreen back into position. He walked
past Vero, who was picking up flowers and scolding the woman for upsetting
them. Qui-Gon righted a chair and gave a hand to the woman to help her sit
down. He bent close to her ear. "Thanks for your help."
"You know when to give help, and when not to," she said. "That's
rare."
"I had a good teacher."
Qui-Gon walked out quickly. The door slid shut behind him, sealing
off the commotion. He had memorized the address and remembered the street,
which he'd passed on the way to the clinic. Qui-Gon quickly made his way
there.
The address was a small hotel. Qui-Gon asked for Oleg and was told he
had checked out, but to try the caf© around the corner. A bit surprised
that Oleg was not more discreet, Qui-Gon headed to the caf©.
The owner was wiping down tables in the front. Qui-Gon asked for Oleg
and was directed to a table in the rear.
A slight, blond man sat at the table, his hands curled around a cup
of juice. Qui-Gon sat down opposite him.
"It's about time," Oleg said nervously. "I've put myself in danger
every minute."
"I got here as soon as I could," Qui-Gon said. Obviously, Oleg had
been waiting for someone he did not know. That explained why he hadn't
bothered to use an assumed name. It was just as apparent to Qui-Gon that
this young man was not used to dealing with danger. His head constantly
swiveled, looking for trouble. Anyone looking for him would have picked him
out immediately.
"I have the file," Oleg said. "It's not on me, but it's not far. But
I'm warning you, if you try anything, I'm prepared to shoot. I have to up
the price."
"Why?" Qui-Gon asked. He would play this out. He assumed, of course,
that Oleg was talking about the list. He didn't want to buy it from him. If
Oleg still had it, that meant that Balog didn't.
"I have to leave the planet," Oleg said, wiping his wet forehead with
his napkin. "Do you think this is easy? Too many people are searching for
me now."
"I might be able to come up with more," Qui-Gon said.
"Decide now," Oleg snapped. "I have no time to waste." His comlink
signaled, and he listened for a moment. With his eyes on Qui-Gon, he
replied, "Yes, that's right. I still have it. Will you meet my price? Good.
I'll meet you there, then. Can't you make it earlier? All right."
He shut off the co
mlink. "There are others who will pay, as you see,"
he said. "I made an appointment, but you can buy it first. So decide. It's
now or never."
"Never," Qui-Gon said. "The price is just too high. Sorry." He stood.
Oleg looked even more nervous. "Listen, I don't have to sell to this
guy. I don't like him. He's an Absolute, and I hate them. They ruined my
health. I'd rather the list end up with a Worker, believe me. I look like a
traitor, but I'm just looking out for myself. Maybe we can negotiate."
"Sorry," Qui-Gon said again. He turned and left the caf©. He
positioned himself out of sight of Oleg, but was able to see him through
the reflection of the caf© window. Was the bidder on the comlink Balog? He
had a strong feeling it was. Oleg had broken out into a sweat. And he had
said he didn't want the list in the hands of the Absolutes.
Qui-Gon was close now. He could feel it. All his concentration was
centered on that slight, nervous man in the caf©. The anger and grief he
had compressed into a burning ball inside him threatened to flame up, and
he tamped it down. Patience, he chided himself. Balog would be his very
soon.
CHAPTER 6
Qui-Gon did not think it possible that a being could nurse a glass of
juice as long as Oleg. He did not seem to notice the surly stare of the
caf© owner, or the press of customers who came in, looking for a table as
the caf© grew crowded.
Qui-Gon began to feel conspicuous, so he moved down the alley to
another window. After a few minutes he moved to the back, where he could
see the interior through a small, grimy window. He kept up his post there,
pretending to loiter until people began to come home from work and windows
lit up across the alley. Qui-Gon headed back to the front and crossed the
street. He stationed himself at a juice bar with a good angle on the front
of the caf©. Dusk fell. His patience wore thin. Was the conversation a
bluff? Had Oleg merely been trying to get Qui-Gon to meet his price?
Qui-Gon was beginning to consider approaching Oleg again when he saw
him head out of the caf©, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Qui-Gon
joined the stream of people on the walkway and followed him.
At first, it was easy to keep Oleg in sight. The people on the
streets were good cover. But as Oleg crossed over into the Worker Sector,
the crowd grew larger. Oleg was a slight young man, and he soon got lost in
the crowd. It was difficult to keep him in sight without running into him.
Gradually, Qui-Gon became aware that he was not the only one tailing
Oleg. He did not turn his head or alter his stride in any way, but he threw
his attention around him like a net. Someone was tailing Oleg from across
the street.
It was Balog. He saw him reflected in the shiny surface of an
approaching landspeeder. He recognized the stocky frame, the way the
muscular legs seemed to power the body forward like a machine, not a man.
Qui-Gon did not know if Balog had seen him. Perhaps his focus was on
Oleg. If he was lucky, that would be the case. But he could not rely on
luck. His heart began to pound, and he had to discipline himself to keep
his focus. He wanted to turn and rush at Balog in a full-scale attack. He
wanted to make him pay for every breath
Tahl had struggled to take, every second her life systems slowly
failed. He would make each moment of Balog's suffering an eternity....
Where did that thought come from? The ferocity of it shocked him. It
had risen from the depths of him. It sounded like vengeance. He did not
know such an emotion could exist inside him. The knowledge made him uneasy.
I can control it. It will not take me over. I can capture Balog and
not let my anger overtake me.
He said the words to himself, just the way he would have said them to
Obi-Wan. He was a Jedi. His training would keep him on the right path. It
had to.
His hands trembled, and he clasped them together for a moment. Help
me, Tahl, he said fervently. He had never said such a thing to her when she
was alive, though now he realized how many times he had gone to her for
help. She had known that it was hard for him to ask for it. It was the one
whatever he needed: information, assurance, compassion.
To his left, Balog speeded up. Qui-Gon melted back. Now he must keep
both Balog and Oleg in sight.
Oleg entered a warehouse. Balog hurried down an alley to the side of
the building. There was no question in Qui-Gon's mind which one to pursue.
He headed down the alley after Balog.
When he got to the back, he found himself in a small fenced area. It
was empty. All the windows looking out from the warehouse were dark. Qui-
Gon tried the door. It was locked.
It was a flicker in the corner of his eye that alerted him, nothing
more. But it was enough. He was already turning and had his lightsaber
activated when the first probe droid attacked. Blaster fire pinged by his
ear. He felt the scorch near his shoulder. He reached up to bring it down
with a swipe, but it veered off.
Blaster fire to his left, then to his right. Behind him, Qui-Gon
counted seven droids, now in attack mode. Their sensors glowed red as they
pinpointed his location. Blaster fire rained around him like a cage. It was
almost impossible to dodge it.
Qui-Gon ran at the wire fence. He shifted his body horizontally,
calling on the Force to help him scale it without using his hands. His
balance was perfect as he hit the top. He gave a backward leap and took two
probe droids out with one single downward stroke.
Before he hit the ground, he twisted in midair to land a few
centimeters away, confusing the probe droid that fired at the spot where he
should have landed. He ran at the warehouse wall now, straight up, and then
flipped backward, swiping a glancing blow at the third droid. It buzzed,
blaster fire erupting in a series of flashes. Then it began to smoke,
spiraling down until it crashed.
Qui-Gon fought in a frenzy, mindful that Balog was inside that
warehouse. The probe droids were slowing him down, and frustration boiled
inside him at their insistent buzzing.
He attacked with a new ferocity. He launched himself off the fence,
kicking out with one leg to send one droid flying while thrusting a blow
straight into the heart of another. It gave an anguished squawk and fell to
the ground at top speed, crashing and bursting into flames.
Qui-Gon hit the ground, lightsaber held high, ready for the next
challenge. But to his surprise, the remaining two probe droids suddenly
wheeled away and flew off into the darkness.
He didn't hesitate a moment. He cut a hole in the locked door with
his lightsaber and charged through. He ran down the corridor, searching
room after room. The rooms were filled with tools, equipment, and durasteel
bins. He found nothing until he ran into a small room near the turbolift.
There was Oleg, lying on the floor, arms outstretched, mouth open. He
had a surprised expression on hi
s face. But he would never feel surprised
again.
CHAPTER 7
Mace had not shown any emotion when Obi-Wan gave him the news of Qui-
Gon's disappearance. He had simply nodded. "We will hear from him, I'm
sure," he had said.
But when they discovered that Qui-Gon had switched off his comlink,
Mace's disapproval was obvious.
"We must proceed without Qui-Gon," he said. "I think we should split
up. I'll go to the United Legislature and gather information. Obi-Wan, can
you find this medic, Yanci? We need another copy of that list."
"I think so," Obi-Wan said. "She said she was staying with the
Workers, and I can trace her through lrini and Lenz."