It was as if the Minyavish had had a prime seat at the table the other day.

"You spoke of cohorts."

The ugly smile grew. "Senators Fost Bramsin of Coruscant and Haydnat Treen of Kuat. I am certain there are others, but I think that's enough to prove my point. I'm sure that they might be willing to listen to me if you are not."

This was bad. This was quite bad.

"Did your government send you?"

"No," he said. "They would never stoop to begging. But if I presented them with a deal already worked out, they would take it. They would have to." Again the chuckle. "And I would be the savior of my people."

Lecersen gave him a slow, dark smile. "So you are acting alone. What's to stop me from killing you right now?"

"I have cohorts of my own," Mahlor replied. "If I do not meet them within an hour, they have orders to approach Bramsin and Treen with the same deal I am making you-and they, too, will tell others. So you'll cooperate."

"You know," said Lecersen languidly, tilting his head to the side and frowning as if in consideration, "I don't think I will."

He pushed a b.u.t.ton on the arm of the chair.

A droid entered immediately, but it wasn't the amiable E-3PO. This was a gray skeleton, glowing red eyes staring out of its metallic skull, its mouth yawning open as it lifted its right arm. Integrated into the limb was a blaster cannon, and it was pointed straight at Mahlor's midsection-a broad target indeed.

The Minyavish's horrified reaction was quite gratifying. He shrank back against the chair, his eyes enormous as he stared at the sinister-looking YVH and the even more sinister weapon.

"No! You wouldn't kill me!"

Lecersen nodded to the YVH.

The droid fired, and the Minyavish sprawled in the chair, limbs akimbo, head lolling.

Lecersen rose, lifting a hand to instruct the droid to lower its weapon, and stood staring down at the limp form.

"No," he said, "I wouldn't. Not yet, at least. Not until I know everything that you do."

INDIGO TOWER RESTAURANT, CORUSCANT.

"I'VE NEVER HEARD OF THIS PLACE," SAID THE FLEDGLING SENATOR from B'nish, Kameron Suldar.

"That's because I daresay you haven't had the opportunity to travel much beyond your lodgings and the Senate Building," said Senator Haydnat Treen. She beamed at him and patted his hand. "You know what they say about all work and no play."

"It makes you successful?" He gave her a sly smile. Gracious, but he was a handsome fellow. Several years younger than she, of course, but with the gray hair and facial lines that told the world he was no callow youth. Much more appealing than Drikl Lecersen. And Treen did like surrounding herself with pretty things, and pretty people. But useful as she hoped he would be, Suldar was nowhere near becoming Emperor, and thus she would be nowhere near becoming Empress if she changed direction at this late point. She didn't even know for certain if he would be amenable to joining their cause.

But Treen had not become a Senator from a planet of politically astute-some might say cutthroat-humans without being a superb judge of character. She was fairly confident that by the time they reached dessert and caf, he would be joining their merry little band bound for glory.

"No, dear boy, it makes you dull and hollow-eyed and unable to properly seize opportunities when they come your way."

He gave her a smile, but his gaze sharpened, ever so slightly. "And tonight will present me with such an opportunity?" he asked, his voice light.

"There will certainly be an opportunity to have an exquisite dessert called Vagnerian canapes. There is often a debate as to what pairs best with them, but let me a.s.sure you, only plebeians drink Ca.s.sandran brandy with them. The two flavors do not complement each other, and the brandy should never be drunk simply to wash down a dessert. I would recommend simple black caf."

He chuckled. "I yield the floor to your expertise, ma'am."

"Then you are certain to go far. Oh ... I do hope you like the color blue."

The air limo pulled up to one of Coruscant's most exclusive restaurants, the Indigo Tower. Modeled after the famous Skysitter Restaurant, it enjoyed fame based at least partially on the novelty of being a revolving dining room on a tower high above the Coruscanti skyline. Its exterior was made of shining, blue-black durasteel.

The chauffeur opened the doors for them, and Suldar shivered a little. "I understand why you suggested the overcoat and scarf now," he said.

"Yes, it's rather chilly at this alt.i.tude, but the temperature is always perfect inside."

The doors slid open to reveal a world of blue. Thick, soft blue carpeting, blue-black chairs and tables, midnight-blue ceiling with softly winking lights simulating stars. The light, also a soothing blue, made everything look cool and mysterious. "Ah," Suldar said, looking around. "Fortunately, Senator, I do like blue."

"Excellent."

A young female Ortolan, her skin matching the decor, greeted them cheerfully by name. "Good evening, Senator Treen, Senator Suldar. I understand, sir, that this is your first time dining with us?"

"Indeed," said Suldar, glancing with mild surprise at Treen.

"Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your experience a memorable one. Senator Bramsin arrived just a few minutes ago. Please follow me."

She led them through the main dining room, past a trio of another Ortolan and two Bith. A Pa'lowick stepped up to the mike and was met with applause; clearly the performers were well known in the establishment.

Treen saw something ugly and mean-spirited flash across Kameron Suldar's face for an instant, then it was gone. The Ortolan hostess opened the door to one of the private dining rooms.

It was cozy rather than intimidating, the blue theme slightly more subdued by a white tablecloth and a multicolored bouquet of flowers. Fost Bramsin looked up from his drink and extended a hand.

"Hope you don't mind if I don't get up, young man. It's a bit more challenging these days than when I was your age."

"Of course not, sir," Suldar said, quickly stepping over to shake the elder statesman's frail, liver-spotted hand. "It's an honor to be dining with you tonight. Thank you both for the invitation."

"The food here is superb," said Bramsin. "And they serve some very rare and very fine beverages. It makes up for the staff."

Again, Treen noticed something flit across Suldar's face. Treen thought she knew what it was.

"Fost and I don't much care for nonhumans," she said. It was the first card. If he took umbrage, they could simply all have a pleasant evening and she would move on to another potential ally.

To her pleasure, Suldar looked relieved. "I'm ... rather glad to hear you say that," he said. "I admit I don't, either. There are only humans on B'nish, and while one likes to be open-minded, I haven't really liked any of the nonhumans I've met. They're so ..." He sighed. "Well ... inferior."

Bramsin and Treen exchanged pleased glances. "We always arrange to have human waitstaff, so you will be spared further unpleasantries."

"Well, as you a.s.sure me the food is excellent and I can certainly say the company could not be better, we are sure to have a wonderful dinner," Kameron said.

"Oh, I'm absolutely positive of it," said Treen, smiling like a sand panther.

MOFF DRIKL LECERSEN'S ESTATE Minyavish, mused Lecersen, were much tougher than they looked.

Mahlor had not broken for several hours, even when subjected to the tender loving care of an IT-O interrogator. The decades-old droid was part of Lecersen's collection of antiques. Few knew it was still quite functional and had been employed more than once in recent years.

Still, in the end, Tiyuu'cha Mahlor was no Princess Leia Organa, and Lecersen was interrupted in his study by Eethree bearing the pleasant news that Mahlor was "willing to talk now, and, fortunately, is still sufficiently coherent to do so."

There was a room deep in the bowels of the estate where this unfortunate but necessary duty was performed. It was cold, spare, and slightly damp. There was a single chair, a table with a pitcher and a gla.s.s, a few glow rods, and the hovering interrogator, always fashionable in basic black.

The Minyavish was a sorry sight. Much of his beautiful plumage had been plucked out and lay strewn about the floor, the purple, green, and gold providing vivid color in sharp contrast to the stark gray of the room. The revealed skin was pale blue and bore evidence of acid burns, puncture wounds from the interrogation drug syringe, and the unmistakable gouges of shears and scalpel. His species' blood, Lecersen noted with mild surprise, was the golden color of honey.

Both of his large, lovely eyes with their slitted, dark gold pupils had been utterly ruined.

He sat, tightly bound, no longer proud and boastful and arrogant, but sobbing, producing a soft, cooing sound of deep agony.

"Well," said Lecersen, "not so c.o.c.ky now, are you?"

Another soft sob. Lecersen eyed the hovering ball.

"Eethree said he was willing to talk. I trust the interrogation ceased the moment he said so?"

"Such is my programming," said the IT-O in a deep, chilling monotone. "I am ready to recommence if you so order."

"Let me hear what he has to say first."

"His tongue is intact," the interrogator confirmed.

"Well now, Mahlor," Lecersen said, "I'm all ears."

"You ... were right," rasped the Minyavish, his huge head drooping over his plucked, barrel chest.

"I often am. About which part?"

A clacking sound. "W-water?"

"Later. About which part?"

"No ... cohorts." Each word was clearly costing the Minyavish dearly.

Lecersen smiled slowly. "I see. I rather gathered that when, within the allotted hour, absolutely no one contacted me at all. Senators Treen and Bramsin are, I believe, quite happily at dinner at the moment. So, you've no fellow conspirators. Who else knows about this evidence?"

Again, the cooing sob. "No one."

"Come now, all that evidence ... or were you lying about that, too? Do I need to order the IT-O to-"

"No!" The word was a shriek ripped from the being's very core. "Please, please, no! The evidence does exist! I wasn't making it up!"

It would have been in Mahlor's benefit to lie, to say that there never was and never had been any hard evidence, just a rumor that he had gambled was true. Instead, he was confirming his earlier threat. Proof enough to Lecersen that the IT-O, once again, was working as intended.

"If you could just write down-oh," he said. Writing would be rather hard for a blind being. "Tell me what exactly you have, and where I might find it."

"I told you ... p-please, water ..."

Lecersen waved a hand. Emitting its unique throbbing, humming sound, the IT-O maneuvered on its repulsors over to the table. Its grasping claw extended, gripped the pitcher, and poured water into the gla.s.s. It bore the gla.s.s over to Mahlor and pressed it against his mouth.

At once the Minyavish opened wide, gulping and coughing as the droid interrogator poured water into his mouth and down what little plumage remained on his mostly plucked chest.

"Careful," admonished Lecersen, "we don't want him to choke."

At once the droid withdrew, replaced the now-empty gla.s.s on the table, and hovered, awaiting its next instructions.

"Tell me what the evidence is and where I can find it," Lecersen repeated.

Mahlor did. Words spilled out like the water that had spilled down his chest. Lecersen grew a little pale at the litany of names of witnesses, the nature of the recordings, and what exactly was contained on the datachips. And fortuitously enough, all this precious and quite d.a.m.ning evidence was located in a safe-deposit box on Minyavish. Mahlor told him the name of the inst.i.tution and the box number.

"Astonishing," Lecersen said, not without a trace of admiration. "That must have been difficult to acquire. Your people might have a fine future ahead of them as spies, once you learn not to go blundering arrogantly into the rancor's pit."

"I ... can even get it for you," Mahlor said.

"How?" Lecersen demanded. He dearly hoped that the security didn't require a retinal scan.

"... code," he said. "Memorized."

"You'll tell me," Lecersen said.

And it was then that the poor creature realized that he wasn't going to get out of this room alive. "No, please," he begged. "I'll give you everything, then go away ..."

"Yes," Lecersen said affably, "you will." He turned to the IT-O. "Continue until he reveals the code. Then I'll dispose of him."

"Affirmative," replied the interrogator droid. It thrummed over to bob gently up and down in front of the blind Minyavish, who began to shriek before the door had slid shut behind Lecersen.

A few hours later, E-3 came in to deliver several messages as Lecersen was finishing his nightcap.

"I am delighted to report that the IT-O was successful in extracting the code from your guest, sir," he said. "Termination was immediate once the interrogator determined that the fellow was telling the truth."

"Excellent news." While the Moff fully recognized the necessity for torture if information could not be extracted in a more restrained and less messy manner, he did not particularly care for it. Once he had what he needed, the torture had ceased and the subject had been eliminated quickly and painlessly. That was how civilized beings operated. "Tell the YVH to dispose of the body in the usual manner."

"Certainly, sir. Also, Senator Treen is standing by on the comm to report on her meeting with Senator Suldar."

Lecersen, buoyed by the first bit of news, was hopeful that the evening would bear yet more fruit. He accepted the comm the droid handed to him and then waved E-3PO out.

"Senator Treen," he purred, taking a sip of the delicious chak-root liquor. "I trust your evening was productive and entertaining both."

"Indeed it was, Drikl," she said. "We all had the most splendid time. The nerf steak was impeccably grilled, and I am delighted to report that the Vagnerian canapes were as delicate and flavorful as ever."

"Glad to know the Indigo Tower has not suffered a decline in quality." He didn't mind the banter. Treen got right to the point if things were bad. When she went on a tangent about immaterial things, it was a rea.s.suring sign.

"Indeed, we must go there again sometime soon."

"How was the company?"

"Charming, attractive, and every bit as ruthless and power-hungry as the rest of us," Treen said chirpily. "And very willing to be molded, it would seem."

"Appearances can be deceiving," warned Lecersen. He took another sip, the liquid burning his throat in a most pleasant manner.

"Don't I know it!" She chuckled. "However, Fost and I have been at this game almost as long as he has been alive, and I highly doubt he'll squirm away. Besides, he has far too much to gain."