The Jedi Temple in Theed, unfortunately, presented a problem. Breaking into a warehouse was easy. Warehouses had locks, cameras, guards, maybe a bored Rodian drinking caf behind a security desk. Jedi had instincts. Worse, Jedi had the Force. Sneaking around people who could supposedly feel disturbances in the universe struck Kinley as unnecessarily ambitious.
So, she didn't sneak.
She walked through the front door.
The woman who entered the temple that morning bore absolutely no resemblance to Kinley Pryse.
She was short, round through the middle, and somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-five standard years old. Gray curls escaped beneath a wide-brimmed municipal service hat. Thick spectacles magnified a pair of irritated eyes, and several layers of padded clothing gave her the soft, heavy shape of someone who had spent decades professionally disappointing restaurant owners.
The identification clipped to her chest belonged to Mara Pellin: Senior Health Compliance Inspector, City of Theed. Kinley had spent two days studying the woman. Kinley studied her walk, mannerisms, and the irritating habit the inspector had of clicking her tongue whenever she saw something she disliked. Most importantly, Kinley had discovered that Inspector Pellin conducted surprise inspections. No appointment necessary.
The Jedi at the entrance barely had time to greet her before Kinley produced a datapad and began scrolling through a completely fabricated inspection order.
"Routine food-service compliance inspection."
That was about as much conversation as she intended to have. Confidence carried her the rest of the way. People rarely questioned someone holding a clipboard. Apparently Jedi were no different.
Within minutes, Kinley was inside the temple cafeteria. She inspected cooling units. She examined food-storage containers. She opened cabinets she had absolutely no reason to open and frowned at things she did not understand.
Every so often, she entered something into the datapad. Mostly it was nonsense. One young Padawan received a lengthy glare for carrying an uncovered tray through the kitchen. He apologized. Kinley wrote something down and he apologized again. She had no idea what he thought he had done wrong, but watching a Jedi squirm was delightful.
The holocron was somewhere nearby.
Her employer had supplied little more than a description and a location estimate, but that was enough. Kinley had built the inspection around getting access to the rear preparation area, which conveniently shared a service corridor with several restricted rooms used by the Order.
She moved slowly. Old women with government badges were allowed to move slowly. People became suspicious when thieves hurried. They became nervous when inspectors took their time.
Kinley preferred nervous.
A pantry door opened and closed. A refrigeration unit received an unnecessarily thorough inspection. Then she slipped through the service corridor. No one stopped her. The holocron sat inside a small adjoining chamber behind a security seal that would have been impressive if Kinley had been remotely interested in respecting it.
She produced a thin slicing tool from beneath one padded sleeve. In a matter of seven seconds the seal blinked green and Kinley stepped inside.
There it was. Small, ancient-looking, and entirely unimpressive for something worth enough credits to buy a very comfortable retirement on a moon where nobody knew her name.
She stared at it for half a second.
Whatever secrets it contained were none of her business. That was a Jedi problem, or soon to be someone else's problem. Kinley slipped the holocron into a concealed compartment beneath the layers of her disguise, replaced everything exactly as she had found it, and shuffled back toward the kitchen.
Job done.
Now came the most important part, leaving. She had almost reached the main cafeteria when something stopped her. It wasn't danger, or suspicion, but something far worse.
An opportunity.
Kinley slowly lowered her datapad. Grandmaster Ala Quin sat in the kitchen.
Barefoot.
Kinley stared at the Jedi's feet, then at Ala, then back at her feet. There were moments in life when professionalism demanded restraint. Kinley Pryse had never been good at those moments.
Kinley clicked her tongue loudly, the way the woman she was impersonating would, then the datapad came up. Kinley entered several extremely serious-looking notes. She shook her head with the deep disappointment of a woman who had personally watched civilization collapse.
A few nearby Jedi turned to look. Kinley tapped the datapad one final time, then pulled out a small data chip with the words health-code violation written on it. She handed it to the Grandmaster with a firm frown.
That was it. There was no dramatic escape, no alarms, no lightsabers, and no running gun battle through the streets of Theed. Kinley Pryse simply tucked the datapad beneath one arm, adjusted her municipal hat, and waddled toward the exit with all the offended dignity of a career bureaucrat whose morning had been ruined by unhygienic Jedi.
Behind her, the Jedi Order was now apparently facing disciplinary action from the Theed Department of Public Health. In front of here were enough credits to to pad her pockets nicely.
She only wished she could see the Grandmasters face when that violation ticket was paid. It might be worth even more than the holocron in her pocket.
Almost.
