"Pardon," Kell said in Basic, and tried to stagger past. He bumped a waitress carrying a wooden tray laden with glasses of pulkay, but she did not even break stride.

The Jedi took Kell by the bicep, held him in place. Kell's left hand fell to the hilt of one of his vibroblades.

"Are you all right?" Korr asked.

Kell looked up and met the Jedi's deep-set gray eyes, underlined by dark circles, and saw the stress and longing written in the broken capillaries of his conjunctiva. For a moment he could not speak. He knew he had met a kindred spirit, that he and Jaden Korr sought the same thing-revelation. And Kell knew that he would find it when he fed on the Jedi's soup.

"I am fine," Kell said with an affected slur. "Thank you."

The Jedi let him go. Kell weaved to an unoccupied table with a view of the sabacc table and slid into a seat.

He felt the weight of the Jedi's regard on the back of his head. It diminished only when Korr walked past him and into the back room to watch Faal play sabacc.

Kell waited a few moments, then followed him in.

Clutching him by the arm, Marr steered Khedryn toward the sabacc table the same way he might a balky speeder.

"You are nineteen minutes and nine standard seconds tardy," Marr said.

"You cannot just say late? You have to say tardy?"

"Nineteen minutes and fourteen standard seconds… tardy."

"Why are you worried? You do not approve of my gambling anyway."

The Cerean shrugged. "I would disapprove less if you did not lose so often."

Khedryn smiled half-heartedly. He still felt discomfited from his encounter with Jaden Korr. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Jaden was staring at him, his deep-set eyes in shadow.

"You remember that time we carried those Sacred Way pilgrims to Hoogon Two so they could see the monument built there by their founder?" Khedryn said to Marr. "You remember how they looked when they got there and there was no monument?"

Marr nodded. "Haunted."

"Right. Haunted." He indicated Jaden with his chin. "He reminds me of them. He's got that look. Like he learned something he wished he hadn't and it called into question what he believes."

"I can steer him off, if you'd like. He doesn't look like much."

Khedryn shook his head. "That's bad business. He said lucrative, so let's hear what he has to say."

Reegas's nasal voice pulled Khedryn's head around to the sabacc table.

"Put your arse in a seat, Faal! And get your bug eyes on some cards!"

"Did he say bug eyes?"

Khedryn preferred to think that his lazy eye allowed him to see the world askew, from a different angle than most.

"I believe he did."

"Huh," Khedryn said. He fixed false mirth to his face and turned to the table.

Reegas's bald head, already dampened with sweat, glistened in the overhead lights. He smiled through his paunchy jowls, and his overweight body slouched in his seat. A glass of straight keela sat before him on the table, as clear as water. His two Weequay bodyguards, their faces as dry and cracked as the leather of their blaster holsters, leaned against the back wall of the room. Both eyed Khedryn with the dead eyes of those who harmed others for a living.

"Sit! Sit!" Reegas called.

Khedryn thumped Marr on the shoulder. "Duty calls."

"But that Cerean comes nowhere near this table," said Reegas. "His brain is built for counting cards."

Khedryn lost even the false mirth. "You spent too much time in Hutt space. Gotten yourself paranoid. I don't cheat, Reegas."

"No wonder you never win," said Earsh, also seated at the sabacc table. The human's long nose and his bushy sideburns, groomed to a point, made him look like he was sniffing the wind for easy marks. He had the twitchy nature of a rodent, and Khedryn knew he was into Reegas for at least three thousand credits.

"Oh, I am not here to win. I am here to make the game respectable. Otherwise it's just a table full of thugs and scoundrels. Save you, Flaygin."

The old man smiled a mouthful of rotted teeth. An old-timer in Farpoint, Flaygin had been a salvager himself before he'd retired. Khedryn saw his own future in Flaygin's thin gray hair, sun-wrinkled skin, and serial gambling. Flaygin missed the life because he'd never had anything else. Khedryn could see that.

Earsh grunted, tapped a credit on the table, spun it under his finger. "A junk jockey don't make a game respectable. You pull any rubbish out of the sky recently, junk jockey?"

"Why?" Khedryn said to Earsh. "You lose your ship somewhere?"

Earsh's expression hardened. His sideburns pointed accusations at Khedryn, though he could rarely hold Khedryn's eyes. Khedryn figured his eyes made Earsh uncomfortable. "You calling my ship trash, Faal?"

Khedryn stood behind his chair, the comforting weight of his blaster on his thigh, his eyes all innocence. "Calling your ship trash would be an insult to trash."

Earsh stood, a callused hand on his DL-21 blaster pistol.

Khedryn lost his smile. "A man skins his weapon at this table, he best be ready to use it. You think hard, Earsh." He let his hand hover over his own IR-5.

"Sit down, Earsh," ordered Reegas, tapping the table with a finger as if summoning his pet. "We need four to play."

Earsh looked as if he had eaten something foul as he sat back down. "One day, Faal. One day."

"Any day that takes your fancy, Earsh. Any day."

"Please sit, Khedryn Faal," said the dealer droid, Himher, and one of its dexterous, metallic hands gestured at his chair. Himher's voice changed from male to female in mid-sentence, a manufacturing defect that had either slipped past quality control or reflected the odd sense of humor of a worker at the plant. How it had ended up in Farpoint, owned by Milsin, Khedryn had no idea. Himher was a fixture at The Hole and always had been.

Khedryn accepted the droid's invitation while Flaygin threw back a long drink of pulkay, slammed his empty glass down on the table, and said, "Now that the preliminary posturing is out of the way, maybe we can see some cards, eh?"

Everyone chuckled, but none sincerely.

"Corellian Gambit rules, players?" asked Himher.

All four nodded and Himher's mechanical appendages turned to blurs. Khedryn sank into the game as cards floated across the table: flasks, sabers, staves, and coins. Credits slid across the tabletop, one hand after another. A steady stream of dancing girls took shifts either standing at Reegas's side or sitting on his lap and sinking into the folds of his obese body. He gave a few credits to those he favored. Other spectators and hangers-on trickled in as the stakes grew larger, the game more intense. Khedryn did not need to turn around to know that Marr's eyes were boring holes into his back. He could feel their weight.

Lengthy discussion and dueling insults went by the wayside as the game turned earnest. The room became quiet but for the hum of Himher's servos and the occasional gasp or exclamation from one of those in the audience. Reegas sipped his keela with affected casualness, studying the other players over the rim of his glass. Earsh's face reddened as the game went on. He slammed back pulkay about as fast as the servers could fill his cup. Khedryn barely touched his own drink.

His sobriety was not rewarded. Over the next four standard hours, Khedryn's cards fell about as well as they usually did. He watched as bad luck and bad play eroded his pile of credits while growing Reegas's into a mountain. He kept his rising irritation from his face, but the clench of his jaw made it hard to separate his upper teeth from his lower. A headache nested in his left temple and he could not shake it. He played to push things, not to win, but it annoyed him to lose to Reegas.