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waitressing in a dive deep in Gnarlytown called Villynay’s, most of the Imperial troops had still been clones, and every one of them had been uniformly polite and easygoing. It was true that, after a bit too much ferment, they could get a tad boisterous, but they’d never been a problem, and had also never been at all hesitant in helping to street anyone who was. She’d heard that they’d all been programmed, somehow, to only show hostility toward the enemy. Whatever the reason, the clones had been a pleasure to serve.
    Well, that was then and this was now. Maybe she was looking at the past through rose-colored droptacs, but it seemed to her that a lot had changed. Now a night when Rodo didn’t have to eject a few obstreperous drunks was a night to remember.
    As she put together a Bantha Blaster, stirring in the ingredients, Memah noticed another pair of customers. They weren’t causing any ruckus; if anything, they were too quiet. Humans, a male and a female, they were, like much of the crowd this time of the evening. Both were dressed innondescript black coveralls. They nursed mugs of membrosia and sat facing each other at a two-seat table in the corner, from which they seemed, without being obvious about it, to be watching the room.
    And even though she never caught them staring directly her way, Memah got the distinct feeling that they were particularly interested in her.
    Rodo arrived back at the bar like a heavy-gravity crawler docking. He scanned the room, looking for more trouble. None seemed to be in the offing at the moment.
    Memah finished the Blaster and put it on the bar. “Ell-Nine, order up!”
    The new server droid, a trash-can-sized one on wheels whose model she never could remember, rolled to the bar. “Got it, boss,” it chirped. It grabbed the tray with extendible arms, anchored it to the magnetic plate atop its “head,” and took off to deliver the drinks.
    Memah drifted down to the other end of the bar. “Rodo, you see the two in black in the corner?”
    Rodo didn’t look at the pair, nor directly at her. “Yep.”
    “Know who they are?”
    “Not who. Haven’t seen ’em in here before. Got a good idea what, though.”
    There was a long pause that Memah finally broke. “You want to finish that thought and educate me here?”
    He cracked a small smile. Rodo liked her, though he’d never made a move on her, and she knew he never would. “Imperial Intelligence ops.”
    She frowned, surprised. What would a couple of Eyes be doing in her place? She ran a workingbeing’s bar, and there wasn’t much likelihood of any high-level skulduggery or spying being done here. This was the Southern Underground, after all; most underdwellers couldn’t even spell
espionage
, much less engage in it.
    “You sure?”
    “Pretty much. They got the look. You want, I can poke around some, check ’em out.”
    She shook her head. “No. Don’t stir up trouble we don’t need. Just keep an eye on them.”
    Rodo settled back. “That’s what you pay me for, Boss Lady.”

5

OFFICERS’ BARRACKS, ISD
STEEL TALON
, HORUZ SYSTEM
    M aster Chief Petty Officer Tenn Graneet rolled out of his sleep rack and put his bare feet onto the cold metal deck. That woke him up fast enough.
Really ought to get a rug to put down there
. He’d been meaning to do it since he’d been assigned to the ship, eight weeks ago, but other things kept taking priority, and neither S’ran Droot nor Velvalee, the other CPOs who shared the cabin, seemed bothered by it. Of course Droot’s feet were more like hooves, and Velvalee was used to temperatures a lot colder—the blasted floor might feel warm to his feet, for all Tenn knew. Those two were on graveyard shift this week, so they’d be heading back to the cabin about the time he got to his post.
    Tenn mentally shrugged. Someday he’d get around to it. Maybe cozy up to that Alderaan woman who did knitting when off duty, get her to make him enough of a synthwool carpet to cover the