This, too, had been foreseen by the Hutts. As they’d explained to Isamer, they wanted the Jedi to travel to that area of space, not merely in search of Force-sensitive infants or on solitary journeys of discovery, but as part of a mission. A mission that would fail terribly. One that would prove to the people of these worlds that neither the distant Republic nor the Jedi could save them. The old hostility toward the Republic seemed to be weakening. The Hutts wanted it strengthened.

Then, if these outlanders wanted to conduct commerce with the greater galaxy, they would have to go through the Directorate. And, by extension, their new overlords, the Hutts, though Isamer thought less about that aspect of it. Their percentage would be no more than a token, an afterthought. He preferred imagining himself seated among heaped riches, wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice.

All he had to do was ensure that nothing stood in the way of the Hutts’ plans for mass enslavement.

In the prisoners’ corner, Monarch Cassel ventured, under his breath, “I suppose those are our rescuers.”

“Were our rescuers,” Queen Thandeka replied. “Now they’re targets. If they survived the crash at all, that is.”

“I’ve heard the Jedi are very strong.” Cassel said, with what sounded like genuine hope. “Perhaps his guards won’t be able to destroy them.”

Queen Thandeka sighed. The two of them had been huddled together for some time—long enough for her distrust of the E’ronoh ruler to dissipate somewhat. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

Cassel shrugged and gave her a sheepish smile. “Not sure we could feel much worse.”

Thandeka said nothing. It appeared Cassel couldn’t see as far into the future as she could, a blindness she envied.

Because when she projected how this scenario would ultimately play out, every possible track ended with both of them dead.

Orla took Cohmac’s arm as they stumbled out into the frigid, salt-sharpened wind. He had only minor injuries and didn’t need the physical support—but no doubt she felt contact with another person might help steady him within. The frenzy of grief he felt reverberated through the Force; he could tell that both Orla and Master Laret sensed it. If one of them dreamed of correcting him—dared to insist that the Jedi should not feel such sorrow—Cohmac would not be responsible for his actions.

However, at the moment, Master Laret remained focused on their goal. “The caves,” she called over the howling gale, gesturing to the vague outline of an entrance farther along the hill. “Let’s go.”

Together they stumbled through the salt dunes. Cohmac breathed a sigh of relief when their party finally staggered into the cave. Inside, the stone seemed to have been polished—scoured smooth by centuries of salt, so much so that the cave walls almost looked wet as they glimmered in the light of the Jedi’s glow rods.