Jom gave Kip a lopsided smirk. “Still don’t want to be interviewed, though.”

He grinned back. “Me neither.”

And so the evening rolled on; the music, the dancing, the Ikkrukki Jedi unaware he was humming “United in Song.” Elsewhere in the park, preparations for the following day continued. Nib Assek and Mikkel Sutmani helped the local Bonbraks service the Vectors, while Tia Toon entertained investors from the Arkanis sector in the Technology and Science zone.

Farther afield, noted soprano Madam Trangess Conserra arrived at the spacedock, her harassed Toydarian manager, Pall Sleko, secretly pleased that the journey was over, especially as the Mon Calamari diva had insisted on spending all seven hours warming up the most heavily insured vocal cords this side of Brentaal Minor.

Meanwhile, the only music on the bridge of the Innovator was the Ualaqian jazz that played over the flight deck speakers as Vam Targes worked alone, taking the opportunity to analyze the data he’d collected during the Cyclor attack. Tomorrow he would be too busy answering a thousand and one questions, but for now he was at his happiest, crunching numbers and finding patterns.

The night drew in, and the crowds began to thin, although the celebrations continued in the Melahnese Pavilion in the Arts and Culture zone. Regasa Elarec was the star of the show, everyone wanting to talk to her. Ambassador Tiss was never far, permanently fretting even though Stellan Gios—resplendent in fresh robes and with his nose back to its correct size thanks to the ministrations of Torban Buck—stayed close, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings.

On the other side of the pavilion, Kip and Jom never stopped talking. Any embarrassment had long since evaporated, as had any misplaced jealousy about Bell Zettifar, his charhound enjoying the treats that Jom slipped her when he thought the Padawan wasn’t looking.

Kip had never been happier, but that couldn’t be said for Elzar Mann, who had found a balcony that was perfect for brooding. That’s where Samera Ra-oon found him, approaching with two long wine flutes in hand and a smile on her lips.

“Ingot for your thoughts?” she asked, offering a glass.

He took it, surprised by how friendly she sounded, considering the temperature of their relationship of late. “Oh, you know. Scanning the crowd for trouble.”

“Protector-of-the-peace stuff?” She took a sip of her drink.

“A Jedi never rests.”

“That’s a pity.”

For once Elzar was lost for words and so took a sip himself. It was Serennian wine, light and fruity. He hadn’t tasted it for years.

“So …” he ventured, not sure where the words would take him. “Are you … happy?”

“With the fair?”

“Yes.”

She took another sip, turning to look at the view that stretched out in front of them. “Yes. Everything is perfect.”

“Just as you planned it.”

She graced him with a sideward glance, one perfectly maintained eyebrow raised. “Would you expect anything less?”