With puckered brows hanging low and heavy over hollow eyes and bony cheeks, Rolund and Rhondi Tremaine reminded Ben of Ugnaughts more than humans. The two Mind Walkers were seated in the Shadow’s galley, sucking down sip-packs of hydrade from the medbay and squeezing raw nutripaste straight from a ten-kilogram storage bladder. Their yellow hair lay helmet-pressed to their heads, their nostrils were inflamed and flaky, and their lips were so chapped and split, it was a wonder the hydrade wasn’t dribbling out through the cracks.

Having just checked the supplies in medbay, Ben knew that the hydrade had come from the last case, while the nutripaste was the third bladder that he had lost to hungry Mind Walkers in a week. If the drain on their stores continued at this rate much longer, the first thing the Shadow would need to do upon leaving the Maw was reprovision. Still, he did not chase the pair off, or even object to their foraging. What little he had managed to piece together about Sinkhole Station—as the inhabitants called it—had come from talking with hungry Mind Walkers, and on their last visit the Tremaines had proven more informative than most.

Ben stopped in the galley hatch and studied the wretched pair for a moment, then shook his head in disgust. “I could get you a couple of glasses of hyperdrive coolant,” he said. “Your deaths would be long and painful, but it has to be better than what you’re putting yourselves through.”

Rhondi shook her own head and pulled the sip-pack away. “Too hard to go beyond shadows when you’re barfing blood,” she explained. “But thanks for the suggestion.”

Rolund licked a gob of nutripaste off his fingers, then nodded at the equipment satchel in Ben’s hand. “What’s with the tool bag?” he asked. “The last time we were here, you said you were just finishing the repairs.”

Ben nodded. “I did.”

He stepped into the galley and started to join the Tremaines at the table, then thought better of it and put the bag on the staging counter opposite. Mind Walkers were ravenous for fluids and food when they returned from beyond shadows, and he didn’t want to share the contents of the satchel. He covered the maneuver by drawing a glass of hubba juice from the conservator, then left the satchel on the counter and turned back toward his guests.

“We’ve been spaceworthy for two days,” Ben said, joining them at the table. “Now I’m just bored waiting around.”

“If you say so,” Rhondi said. Her gaze slid across the aisle. “So what don’t you want us to see in that satchel?”

Ben smiled. “Sorry—I guess that wasn’t as subtle as I thought,” he said. “It’s just an intravenous kit, and I don’t want you guys draining the drip bag on me.”

“An IV?” Rolund asked, his frown mirroring Rhondi’s so precisely that it unsettled Ben. He still hadn’t established whether they were twins or just regular siblings, but sometimes they seemed as close as Killiks. “What for?”

“My dad’s suck-nozzle keeps coming out of his mouth,” Ben explained. “He’s starting to get pretty dehydrated.”

The Tremaines managed to avoid looking at each other, but the glimmer of alarm that flashed through their hazel eyes was unmistakable. For an instant, Ben thought that the problem suggested something was going wrong beyond shadows, and he waited with clenched teeth for one of them to break the news to him. Instead Rhondi deliberately looked away from the IV kit, as if it suddenly held no interest, and Rolund reached out a little too casually to squeeze some more nutripaste from the storage bladder. Then Ben figured it out: the suck-nozzle wasn’t falling out of his father’s mouth.

Someone was removing it.

Ben grabbed his hubba juice and took a long drink, quieting his anger and considering what to do. He would learn nothing through furious accusations or violent threats, and would probably only be placing his father in greater danger. So far, the Mind Walkers did not seem interested in killing Luke Skywalker, because if that was their intention, there had been plenty of opportunities to make an attempt over the last week. But they did seem eager to let him die. The difference was subtle yet significant, and that, Ben knew, was what made it the key to puzzling out what the Mind Walkers were really doing here.

Ben returned his hubba juice to the table, then fixed his gaze on Rhondi and sat waiting with an attitude of silent expectation. She responded by smiling politely, then looking away and squeezing some nutripaste from the storage bladder onto her fingers. Ben continued to hold his gaze on her, keeping his expression thoughtful and attentive, letting her know that he was studying her every move and contemplating what it meant.

The last time the Tremaines had come to raid the Shadow’s stores, Ben had used the technique and quickly had them spilling their life histories. Like most of the younger Mind Walkers at Sinkhole Station, the pair had actually been born inside the Maw, at a secret colony that Admiral Daala had established toward the end of the warlord era. And like all Force-sensitives born there, Rolund and Rhondi had been deemed unsuitable for military service. Instead they had been groomed from childhood to become intelligence operatives.

Upon reaching adulthood, they were sent out to spy for the Maw Colony. Their assignments had varied widely, from gathering information to subverting security on vessels targeted for appropriation. For the next decade, they served in an espionage organization so efficient that Daala was able to keep the colony well supplied and growing while she managed to assemble and equip the entire Maw Irregular Fleet—all in utter secrecy.

Then came the Second Galactic Civil War and the destruction of Centerpoint Station. The Tremaines and the Maw Colony’s other Force-sensitive agents began to experience terrible longings to return home. When Daala denied their requests, the longings became paranoia, and the operatives universally began to believe that the whole war had been orchestrated just to expose them. Eventually, the paranoia became obsession, and the agents deserted en masse. Stealing any vessel they could find, they began to return to the Maw, following a mysterious urge to seek refuge in its heart—a compulsion that invariably led them to Sinkhole Station.

The other Mind Walkers—those who had not actually been born in the Maw—had simpler stories. Universally Force-sensitive, they had all experienced a strong emotional connection to the Maw the first time they visited it. That bond grew stronger over time, compelling them to journey ever deeper into the cluster of black holes. Eventually, they arrived at Sinkhole Station and began a lonely, ascetic existence in which they spent all their time communing with the mysterious Force presence that had drawn them here.

Then, a couple of years ago, the ascetics’ meditations had started to take them to new heights. They began to see the ineffable truth that all life was illusion, that the only existence lay beyond their bodily shadows in the divine glow of the Force itself. Their presences actually began to leave their bodies as they meditated, traveling to a beautiful paradise dimension where there was no pain or suffering, no anger or fear, only the pure eternal joy of being.

Ben had no idea what to make of this “paradise dimension,” but it was clear that the destruction of Centerpoint Station had changed something fundamental in the Maw. Whatever that change was, it had rippled across the galaxy like a Force nova, turning hundreds of Force-sensitive beings who had once lived inside the Maw into delusional paranoids. And the thing that frightened Ben, that had had him gnawing at his insides like a hungry cancer for the last two days, was that he had lived in the Maw for two years early in his life.

After a long two minutes, Rhondi finally grew uncomfortable with Ben’s silent scrutiny. Still licking nutripaste from her fingertips, she met his gaze and said, “That’s not necessary, you know.”

Ben continued to watch her. “What?”

“The quiet stare,” Rolund answered. “We probably know more about interrogation than you do. If you have a question, just ask. We have nothing to hide, I promise.”

“Okay.” Ben kept his gaze fixed on Rhondi. “Why don’t you want me to put my father on an IV?”

This time, the Tremaines did not betray their alarm even in their eyes. But Daala’s trainers had not taught them how to conceal their emotions in the Force, and Ben could feel their surprise in their auras as clearly as he had seen it earlier.

After a barely discernible pause, Rolund asked, “What makes you think we care about that, Ben?”

Ben sighed. “Answering a question with a question is kind of artless, don’t you think?” He placed both palms on the table and leaned forward. “If you think that’s going to work on a Jedi, you definitely don’t know more about interrogation than I do.”

Rhondi slumped back in her seat, unconsciously signaling her fear by leaning away from Ben.

“Rolund said you have nothing to hide,” Ben pressed. “I hate it when people lie to me.”

“We’re not lying,” Rhondi insisted. “It’s just that your father doesn’t need an IV.”

“The Force will sustain him,” Rolund added.

Ben cast a meaningful glance at the storage bladder resting between them. “Like it sustains you?”

Rhondi nodded eagerly. “Exactly.”

A cold fury began to worm its way up Ben’s belly. These people were lying to him. Determined to remain calm, he took a deep breath—then a second, and third. He was in danger of losing his temper, which meant he was also in danger of losing control of the interrogation. And perhaps that was why they were deceiving him—because they knew he would be easier to control if he grew angry.

They were subtle, these Mind Walkers, more dangerous than Ben had realized. He took yet another deep breath, and once he felt relatively calm again he sat upright, casually propping his hand on his thigh … close to his lightsaber.

“So the Force is all you need to sustain your bodies?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Rhondi assured him. “What is a body, but the Force given form?”

“Good question,” Ben acknowledged. “But I’ve got another one. If you don’t need anything but the Force to sustain yourselves, why are you tearing through the Shadow’s stores?”

To Ben’s surprise, Rhondi turned to Rolund and smiled. “I told you he’d notice that.”

Rolund shrugged and kept his attention fixed on her. “It was better than the Food is just the Force in the form of matter nonsense you wanted to try.”

“And you’re both dodging my question.” Ben stood and stepped back from the table. He was starting to get the feeling that the Tremaines—and all the Mind Walkers who had come to the Shadow for handouts—had been setting him up for a betrayal. “I want an answer, or I want you gone.”

Rhondi began to look worried—and just a little ashamed. She turned to Rolund, who was glaring at Ben in open resentment, and said, “I think we’d better tell him the truth, Rolund. He seems to be upset.”

“And I’m growing angrier by the second,” Ben warned. They had been lying to him all along, he realized, and that could only mean they intended him harm. “I don’t like feeding enemies.”

“We’re not your enemies,” Rolund said, arching his brows. He actually looked hurt—but in a practiced, well-rehearsed way that suggested his long years of espionage training. “We’ve just been trying to help you.”

“All of us have,” Rhondi added. “The sooner the Shadow runs out of supplies, the sooner you’ll see that the only real sustenance you need is the Force.”

The cold rage began to snake its way higher, working itself into Ben’s heart and mind. Something inside was urging him to ignore the Tremaines, to kill them before their lies killed him.

Ben shook the urge off. He could feel the deception in Rhondi’s words, but he was a Jedi, and Jedi did not murder people for lying to them.

After a moment, Ben said, “There are other ways to prove your point—ways that might actually convince me.”

Rolund smiled warmly. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten us?”

“Sure. It’s pretty simple, actually.” Ben pulled the nutripaste bladder to his side of the table, then used the Force to pluck the hydrade sip-packs out of their grasps. “Just return to beyond shadows and stay there without drinking or eating anything. If you last more than a week, I’ll believe what you tell me.”

If the suggestion struck any fear or outrage in the hearts of the Tremaines, Ben did not feel it in their Force auras. Instead Rolund pretended to consider the idea for a moment, then turned to his sister.

“I don’t know, Rhondi,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I think a week is a long time for Ben to wait for his proof,” Rhondi said.

She reached for the sip-pack Ben had taken, but something made him jerk it away. The cold rage inside was slithering up higher, reminding him how the Mind Walkers had used Luke’s memory of Jacen to lure his father beyond shadows. And now they were at it again, trying to prevent Ben from keeping him alive—and to trick him into going beyond shadows himself. Maybe the Tremaines did need to die … if he wanted to keep his father alive, maybe all the Mind Walkers needed to die.

That last thought was what finally shocked Ben out of his rage. He could not believe the idea of mass murder had actually crossed his mind. That seemed just crazy … which, of course, it was. Ben had spent two years in the Maw, and now he was beginning to have paranoid thoughts about the inhabitants of the station.

The conclusion seemed … alarming.

Ben passed the sip-packs to the Tremaines. “You’d better go,” he said. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t come back.”