“That is how the Empire’s been doing business lately,” someone in the crowd offered. “At least around here.”
The Barabel spun toward the other. “I no want your judgment,” he snarled. “Only Jedi give judgment.”
“All right, calm down,” Luke told him, fingering the chit and wondering what he was going to do. If this really was the way the Rodian had been paid … “Is there any way to convert these into something else?” he asked the Rodian.
The other answered. “He says no,” Lando translated. “You can use them for goods and services on Imperial worlds, but since no one in the New Republic will take them, there’s no official rate of exchange.”
“Right,” Luke said dryly. He might not have Lando’s experience in under-the-plate operations, but he hadn’t been born yesterday, either. “So what’s the unofficial exchange rate?”
“No idea, actually,” Lando said, looking around the crowd. “Must be someone here who works both sides of the street, though.” He raised his voice. “Anyone here do business with the Empire?”
If they did, they were keeping quiet about it. “Shy, aren’t they?” Luke murmured.
“About admitting Imperial dealings to a Jedi?” Lando countered. “I’d be shy, too.”
Luke nodded, feeling a sinking sense in the pit of his stomach as he studied the Rodian’s tapirlike snout and passive, multifaceted eyes. He’d hoped that he could simply smooth out the problem and thereby avoid the need to pass any kind of real judgment. Now, he had no choice but to rule on whether the Rodian was in fact deliberately trying to cheat his partner.
Closing his eyes down to slits, he composed his mind and stretched out his senses. It was a long shot, he knew; but most species showed subtle physiological changes when under stress. If the Rodian was lying about the payment—and if he thought that Luke’s Jedi skills could catch him at it—he might react enough to incriminate himself.
But even as Luke ran through the sensory enhancement techniques, something else caught his attention. It was an odor: a faint whiff of Carababba tabac and armudu. The same combination Lando had called his attention to on the Sluis Van space station …
Luke opened his eyes and looked around the crowd. “Niles Ferrier,” he called. “Will you step forward, please.”
There was a long pause, punctuated only by Lando’s sudden hissing intake of air at Ferrier’s name. Then, with a rustle of movement from one side of the circle, a familiar bulky figure pushed his way to the front. “What do you want?” he demanded, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered blaster.
“I need to know the unofficial exchange rate between Imperial and New Republic currencies,” Luke said. “I thought perhaps you could tell me what it is.”
Ferrier studied him with ill-concealed scorn. “This is your problem, Jedi. Leave me out of it.”
There was a low rumble of displeasure from the crowd. Luke didn’t reply, but held Ferrier in a level gaze; and after a moment, the other’s lip twisted. “The last time I did business on the other side, we settled on a five to four Empire/Republic conversion,” he growled.
“Thank you,” Luke said. “That seems straightforward enough, then,” he continued, turning to the Rodian. “Pay your associate with New Republic currency at a five/four exchange rate and take the Empire scrip back for the next time you work in their territory.”
The Rodian spat something. “That is lie!” the Barabel snarled back.
“He says he doesn’t have enough in New Republic currency,” Lando translated. “Knowing Rodians, I’d tend to agree with the Barabel.”
“Perhaps.” Luke stared hard into the Rodian’s faceted eyes. “Perhaps not. But there might be another way.” He looked back at Ferrier, raised his eyebrows questioningly.
The other was sharp, all right. “Don’t even think it, Jedi,” he warned.
“Why not?” Luke asked. “You work both sides of the border. You’re more likely to be able to spend Imperial scrip than the Barabel could.”
“Suppose I don’t want to?” Ferrier countered. “Suppose I don’t plan to go back any time soon. Or maybe I don’t want to get caught with that much Imperial scrip on me. Fix it yourself, Jedi—I don’t owe you any favors.”
The Barabel whirled on him. “You talk respect,” he snarled. “He is Jedi. You talk respect.”
A low rumble of agreement rippled through the crowd. “Better listen to him,” Lando advised. “I don’t think you’d want to get in a fight here, especially not with a Barabel. They’ve always had a soft spot for Jedi.”
“Yeah—right behind their snouts,” Ferrier retorted. But his eyes were flicking around the crowd now, and Luke caught the subtle shift in his sense as he began to realize just how much in the minority his opinion of Luke was.
Or perhaps he was realizing that winding up in the middle of an official flap might buy him more attention than he really wanted to have. Luke waited, watching the other’s sense flicker with uncertainty, waiting for him to change his mind.
When it happened, it happened quickly. “All right, but it’ll have to be a five/three exchange,” Ferrier insisted. “The five/four was a fluke—no telling if I’ll ever get that again.”
“It is cheat,” the Barabel declared. “I deserve more from Rodian.”
“Yes, you do,” Luke agreed. “But under the circumstances, this is probably the best you’re going to get.” He looked at the Rodian. “If it helps any,” he added to the Barabel, “remember that you can pass a warning to the rest of your people about dealing with this particular Rodian. Not being able to hire expert Barabel hunters will hurt him far more in the long run than he might cost you now.”
The Barabel made a grating noise that was probably the equivalent of a laugh. “Jedi speak truth,” he said. “Punishment is good.”
Luke braced himself. This part the Barabel wasn’t going to be nearly so happy about. “You will, however, have to pay for the repair of the droid you shot. Whatever the Rodian said or did, he is not responsible for that.”
The Barabel stared at Luke, his needle teeth making small, tight biting motions. Luke returned the cold gaze, senses alert to the Force for any intimation of attack. “Jedi again speak truth,” the alien said at last. Reluctantly, but firmly. “I accept judgment.”
Luke let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Then the matter is closed,” he said. He looked at Ferrier, then raised his lightsaber to his forehead in salute to the two aliens and turned away.
“Nicely done,” Lando murmured in his ear as the crowd began to break up.
“Thanks,” Luke murmured, his mouth dry. It had worked, all right … but it had been more luck than skill, and he knew it. If Ferrier hadn’t been there—or if the ship thief hadn’t decided to back down—Luke had no idea how he would have solved the dispute. Leia and her diplomatic training would have done better than he had; even Han and his long experience at hard bargaining would have done as well.
It was an aspect of Jedi responsibility that he’d never considered before. But it was one he’d better start thinking about, and fast.
“Han’s following one of Fey’lya’s Bothan pals up on Level Four,” Lando was saying as they moved through the crowd toward the exit. “Spotted him from the west-central ramp and sent me to—”
He stopped short. From outside the Mishra the sound of wailing sirens had started. “I wonder what that is,” he said, a touch of uneasiness in his voice.
“It’s an alarm,” one of the tapcafe patrons said, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he listened. The pitch of the siren changed; changed again … “It’s a raid.”
“A raid?” Luke frowned. He hadn’t heard of any pirate activity in this sector. “Who’s raiding you?”
“Who else?” the man retorted. “The Empire.”
Luke looked at Lando. “Uh-oh,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Lando agreed. “Come on.”
They left the Mishra and headed out into the wide avenue. Oddly enough, there were no signs of the panic Luke would have expected to find. On the contrary, the citizens of Ilic seemed to be continuing about their daily business as if nothing untoward was happening. “Maybe they don’t realize what’s going on,” he suggested doubtfully as they headed for one of the spiral ramps.
“Or else they’ve got a quiet agreement with the Empire,” Lando countered sourly. “Maybe the leadership finds it politically handy to align themselves with the New Republic, but they also want to keep in the Empire’s good graces. Since they can’t pay anything as overt as tribute, they instead let the Imperials come in every so often and raid their stocks of refined biomolecules. I’ve seen that sort of thing done before.”
Luke looked around at the unconcerned crowds. “Only this time it might backfire on them.”
“Like if the Imperials spot the Lady Luck and your X-wing on the landing records.”
“Right. Where did you say Han was?”