Affie realized what he had to be referring to almost instantly. She leaned in as Leox put one arm around her shoulders and one around Geode.

“Here’s the situation,” Leox said. “We would of course never want our Jedi to think that they might be aboard a ship carrying some cargo that is not, in the strictest sense, legal in the Republic.”

“Never,” Affie said, straight-faced. “That would never happen. The Jedi don’t know anything that would make them think that.”

Leox nodded. “We’d be prudent to keep it that way. Which is why no matter who’s out there, or what they want, or what they might pay, we continue to present ourselves as an absolutely open ship, a hauler turned passenger transport just for the one ride.”

Affie added, “No matter who comes on board, or where they want to search, certain compartments should continue not to exist.”

“So very true.” Leox pulled back. “Remember, everybody, our perceptions define the reality of the universe. Nothing is even a thing until our thinking makes it so.”

“Not thinking about those compartments,” Affie said. “The ones that aren’t there.”

“Scover’s gonna be so proud of you.” Leox smiled at her. Affie could’ve hugged him—not for the praise but for his casual assumption that her mother was still alive.

There was, of course, no “head monk” among the Jedi party. However, Cohmac Vitus had the most field experience of the group, and he could tell that Orla was shaken. They would need to talk about it soon—the parallels between this mission and the first they ever undertook together—but there would be time for that later. The distress call demanded his attention. So he went with Reath back to the bridge to help sort through the various signals. “Why not in the comm center?” Cohmac said, instead of hello. Leox Gyasi did not seem the sort to stand on ceremony.

“First, because we’re not talking back just yet,” Leox replied. “So we only need to isolate and analyze the signals right now. Second, because we can get a much better bead on each signal’s origin from up here.”

“Logical,” Cohmac said approvingly. How rare to find a freelance pilot who operated on a rational basis—even if he looked and talked like this one. How steadying to have a problem that demanded concrete solutions, one that required him to search beyond their ship for answers instead of looking within. “How many are we picking up in the immediate sector?”

“Looks like—eleven,” Affie said, gesturing to various red blinking dots on a green grid. “Of those, six are standard cargo haulers, not that different from us, except none is Guild-registered. Another two are standard passenger haulers, ranging in size from five-person skiffs to”—she whistled—“to at least one with two hundred sentients aboard.”