The setup was perfect. The slavers didn’t know the merchandise they were to pick up was a Force user, but that was half the hilarity. And if they survived, well, then Niselle would be out of Nalenne’s no-longer-extant hair: perfection.

Steps sounded behind her vantage point. She turned to see two burly men and her twin standing between them, looking monumentally smug. A little serving droid wheeled around and sprayed something directly at Nalenne’s face.

The last thing she heard before darkness closed was “There seems to have been a mixup in the paperwork, Lenny. You’ve just been sold.”

“What do you mean, I have to use Force lightning?”

“It’s perfectly elementary, apprentice, everybody who’s anybody can do it.” Zash beamed benevolently from behind her desk.

“Yes, but why bother? I could just beat the problem to death.”

“Apprentice.” Zash’s smile faded and she raised her hand. “This is my lesson plan. Don’t disrupt it.”

Lightning sprang from her hands in a long brilliant arc that landed directly on Nalenne’s face. It was like one of Niselle’s temper tantrums only executed by someone competent. Nalenne hunched over, covered her face, and made a blind rush at Zash; traditionally the administering of a good beating would get the lightning to stop.

A force pushed back to stop her. Yet another thing Nis could never get right. This Lord Zash might get really obnoxious.

“Fine,” she yelled over the crackling of the scorching stream. “Maybe Force lightning is useful.”

The painful annoyance stopped at once. Zash smiled radiantly. “I’m so glad you think so.”