The Call to Vengeance

  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

  thing she had never teased him about. Instead, she had simply given him

  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."