The Clone Wars rage on. As insurgent Separatists fight furiously to wrest control of the galaxy from the Republic, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine cunningly manipulates both sides for his own sinister purposes.

Torrent Company’s Captain Rex agrees to temporarily relieve Anakin Skywalker of Ahsoka, his ubiquitous–and insatiably curious–Padawan, by bringing her along on a routine three-day shakedown cruise aboard Captain Gilad Pellaeon’s newly refitted assault ship. But the training run becomes an active–and dangerous–rescue mission when Republic undercover agent Hallena Devis goes missing in the middle of a Separatist invasion.

Dispatched to a distant world to aid a local dictator facing a revolution, Hallena finds herself surrounded by angry freedom fighters and questioning the Republic’s methods–and motives. Summoned to rescue the missing operative who is also his secret love, Pellaeon–sworn to protect the Republic over all–is torn between duty and desire. And Ahsoka, sent in with Rex and six untested clone troopers to extract Hallena, encounters a new and different Jedi philosophy, which shakes the foundation of her upbringing to the core. As danger and intrigue intensify, the loyalties and convictions of all involved will be tested. . . .


From the Trade Paperback edition.

Chapter One


JanFathal has been a loyal member of the Republic for as long as I can remember. Let's not allow a little thing like internal strife to get in the way of that. I'm afraid the Fathalians' wish for democratic change will have to wait until the war is over, because right now we need to keep that planet. --Armand Isard, Director of Republic Intelligence 

ATHAR, CAPITAL OF JANFATHAL, OUTER RIM 

The dust that blew in from the plains was pale gray, as fine and as clogging as ferrocrete powder. 

It was a small wonder that the locals kept their windows and doors tightly shuttered at this time of year. Hallena kept her kerchief over her mouth and nose, but the dust still managed to work its way into her eyes. Her vision blurred; blinking didn't clear it. She was forced to shelter in a doorway on the main square while she tried to rub the stuff out of her eyes. 

Now she understood why the Athari were so prone to spitting in the streets. They were very good at it, too--accurate, discreet, and almost elegant in their technique. Since she'd arrived a few days ago, Hallena had learned to dodge the streams and even manage an occasional well- aimed squirt of her own. Fit in. Go gray--blend in with the population, like you've been here all your life . . . 

It was just like wine- tasting in a smart Coruscant tapcaf, except the flavor filling her mouth was the flat mineral bitterness of dust coating her tongue, not a rich, fruity Ondo Lava-- Is this stuff toxic? 

Swirl. Lean a little. Aim. Spit hard. 

Hallena put a bit of force behind it. Sometimes it was more difficult than it looked. She was aware of someone walking toward her, head lowered against a steady wind that never seemed to drop, and then she realized why Gilad always warned her when they sailed his personal yacht to test the wind direction before dumping liquid overboard. 

Splat. 

"Aw, terrific," said a male voice. "Lady, can't you even spit straight?" 

She had to shield her face with her hand. Sharper, bigger fragments of dust stung her eyes. Her gaze traveled up from a dark, wet patch on the leg of a pair of tan pants to the indignant face of their owner. 

"Sorry." She was careful to maintain the right accent. "Let me clean that up." 

"You looking for the carpet shop?" 

Ah. She knew the response she had to give. She felt better already. 

"I hear it's closed midweek."

The man was in his forties, thin- faced and balding. He stared into her eyes for a moment, then winked. The simple code had been confirmed. This was her contact. 

"Galdovar," she said. It probably wasn't his real name, and she didn't care if it was or not. All that mattered was that he was the man she was supposed to meet; and that was all she was going to trust. He wasn't a random stranger she'd spat upon. Trust didn't come easy in her line of work. Trust got you killed. That was why she placed it solely in herself, and why her hand was still resting on the blaster hidden in the folds of her coat. "You'd better be, anyway." 

"I am, so at least I got my pants ruined by the right woman. Come on. Let's get inside." He indicated the far end of the deserted road with a discreet nod of his head, then looked down at the damp patch on his leg. "Original way to identify yourself, Agent...

 

No Prisoners by Karen Traviss
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