Obi-Wan stood across the street from Uso Yso's swoop shop. He had disguised himself as a space traveler, pulling on a dull gray cloak and a wrapped headdress. As he watched, a steady stream of visitors entered and left the shop. None of them left with a swoop. Apparently Yso was doing a thriving business in taking illegal bets.
Obi-Wan saw a short, plump figure suddenly dart across the street and head for Yso's dark front door. He sprinted across the street to catch up.
He yanked Didi back by the collar of his tunic. 'What are you doing?'
'Nothing. At least, nothing now, since you are holding my collar,'
Didi said.
'You said you were going to buy back Bog's speeder,' Obi-Wan accused.
'I tried! I did! But the cheating monkey-lizard I sold it to upped the price,' Didi told him. 'I couldn't afford to buy back my own speeder! I need to raise a little cash, so I thought I would sell Bog's datapad and buy back his speeder instead.'
Obi-Wan saw the datapad tucked under Didi's arm. 'Let me see that.'
There was a chance that someone on the Games Council knew the events were rigged. This might be an easy way to find out. He quickly accessed the information on Bog's system and flipped through random files. There didn't seem to be anything amiss. One file was labeled WAYS TO ADVANCE. Obi-Wan accessed it and read through a list of instructions Bog had written to himself.
BE FRIENDLY TO ALL!! THOSE WHO CANNOT HELP YOU TODAY CAN HELP YOU TOMORROW!!
DO MENIAL TASKS FOR IMPORTANT BEINGS!! IT MAKES YOU INDISPENSABLE!!
NEVER CONTRADICT A SUPERIOR!!
FOLLOW THE POWER!!!!!!!
'You see what I have to put up with?' Didi sighed. 'My poor Astri.'
Obi-Wan accessed another file marked GAMES COUNCIL RESPONSIBILITIES.
He scanned the notes carefully. It appeared that Bog's only job on the Games Council was arranging VIP seating. He had made lists matching Senators with exclusive gallery skyboxes for various events. So much for his importance.
Obi-Wan shut down the datapad. He tucked it inside his tunic.
'I was going to sell that!' Didi protested.
'It's not yours to sell. Didi, I know you won't take my advice. But things just might be more complicated than you realize. I'd advise you to stay away from betting.'
'I assure you I will,' Didi said, his brown eyes sincere.
Obi-Wan's comlink signaled. Jocasta Nu's voice came through crisply.
He spoke so that Didi could not hear. 'I found out who Quentor is. Were you playing a joke on me, Obi- Wan?' Jocasta Nu asked.
'No, of course not.'
'There was no record of him anywhere, so I did the usual criminal search. Then a deep background trace. Nothing appeared.'
'So he is an underground figure.'
Jocasta Nu chuckled. 'Not exactly. He's a yellow-tailed summerbird.'
'He's a bird?'
'An unofficial pet of the Senate. He lives in the eaves of the building and the Senators leave him fruit and crumbs to feed on. If he's one of your suspects, I must warn you, he hasn't left Coruscant. He's most likely nibbling on muja fruit right about now.'
Obi-Wan groaned, then thanked Jocasta Nu and cut the communication.
Fligh had lied to him. That wasn't surprising. It was a lie worthy of Fligh, one calculated to delay him and amuse him.
But he wasn't amused.
He turned to Didi. 'Do you know where Fligh is staying?' Didi shook his head. 'A guest house, I suppose. A hovel, I'm sure. Fligh is very cheap.'
'Find out.'
'Ah. Yes, Obi-Wan. I can see in your eyes that you need this information and I will not fail you.' Didi bowed and rushed away.
Obi-Wan knocked on the door to Yso's shop, duplicating Didi's rhythmic knock. Someone hurried out, his face turned away. No one wanted to be recognized in this kind of place. Obi-Wan pretended to examine a beat-up swoop with a dented handlebar while he listened to the other occupant of the shop approach Uso Yso.
'I'd like to buy a swoop.'
'At what price?'
The bettor named a figure, then said, 'I'll take it to the blaster skill event where I hope to see Wesau T'orrin of Rezi-9 win.'
'That is a good plan.' Uso Yso slipped the credits into a wide belt he wore around his waist and entered some information into a datapad. He handed the bettor a small durasheet. 'Here is your receipt.'
