Parova suspected that Treen had murdered Bramsin, then fled. The question was-fled what?

Or whom?

Was the conspiracy under attack from an outside source, or was it turning on itself? Parova couldn't be sure. And until she was, she was not about to contact Jaxton or Thaal. She would find out exactly how much Nek Bwua'tu actually knew about his attack-if anything-and go from there. There would be time to contact the generals if it turned out they were still actually working together and not attempting to, perhaps literally, stab each other in the back.

Seven minutes later, she was dressed in full uniform and standing outside pacing. The hovertaxi pulled up and stopped right in front of her. She opened the door and climbed in.

"To the Galactic Senate Med-ow!" She jerked quickly to the left, one hand feeling the seat fabric where she had just been sitting. Something very sharp and not a little painful had stabbed her right b.u.t.tock. She picked up a small needle. Obviously one of his former pa.s.sengers had indulged in extremely unsavory pastimes. Good thing she was going directly to a medcenter.

"What-what the-look at this!" She shook the needle at the driver angrily. "I'm reporting you to your supervisor! I could have been injured!"

"Yeah, about that," came a familiar voice. The driver turned and gave her a grin. "Sorry, but I'm afraid we're not going to the Galactic Senate Medcenter."

And as her vision began to blur and her body refused to obey her, Parova wondered if she had been injected by a hallucinogen, or if she really was being kidnapped by Han Solo.

Parova came to in what appeared to be a pleasant apartment, although the owners seemed to have a peculiar fondness for blue lighting. She lay on a comfortable sofa, bathed in blue light, blinking and trying to focus. For a moment, she couldn't recall what had happened or why it was so hard to move. She pushed up with her arms and turned to look at two beings sitting in chairs across from her, a bolted-down caf table between them.

Rynog Asokaji ... and Wynn Dorvan.

"You two are in so much trouble," she said. Her voice slurred, as her tongue seemed to still be recovering from the paralyzing effects of whatever drug they had injected her with. "a.s.saulting and kidnapping the acting chief of naval operations? You think they won't find me?"

"Actually, no, I don't think they will," said Dorvan calmly. He looked as if he were sitting in a staff meeting, not a hair out of place. Incredible. Asokaji, not unexpectedly, sat with his arms tightly folded, his entire posture bespeaking his hostility. "You're in the Asylum Block of the Jedi Temple, Admiral," Dorvan continued. "In, I believe, the very cell that used to house Seff h.e.l.lin."

She recognized it now from the recordings she had seen: the transparisteel walls, the comfortable-if secured-furnishings, the atrium that, she recalled, had housed the ysalamiri that prevented the Jedi prisoner from accessing the Force.

"What is going on?" Parova demanded. She was able to sit up without leaning over, and felt a modic.u.m of her old a.s.surance return.

"Well, that's actually what we'd like to ask you. But there's one member of the club who's not here." Dorvan leaned over and pressed a b.u.t.ton on a small holocomm on the caf table. An image appeared.

Nek Bwua'tu.

While he still lay in a medcenter bed, he most a.s.suredly did not look like a simple-minded idiot. His eyes were cold and met hers evenly.

"Admiral Parova," he said in a deep voice of controlled anger.

She cleared her throat, deciding to ride the bluff as long as she could. "Admiral Bwua'tu," she said. "It's good to see that you've-"

"Save us all some time and spare us the poodoo," said Bwua'tu. "We know what you've been up to."

She feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Asokaji told me you'd recovered, I thought I was on my way to see you, and-" Parova paused, unsure if she wanted to tell them about what she was certain had to be a hallucination. "I ended up here. Please, sir, what's going on? I'd like to help."

"Oh, you'll help, all right," said Bwua'tu. "You'll help by telling us who, other than yourself, Lecersen, Treen, Jaxton, and Bramsin, was involved in a conspiracy to overthrow this government."

She stared at them, letting her mouth fall ever so slightly open. "Sir, with all due respect, if you believe something as ridiculous as that, you might not be as fully recovered as you seem to be. Asokaji, I know you are personally fond of the admiral, and want to think he's all right, but Dorvan ... Wynn ... I don't see how you could possibly believe this. This ... paranoid conspiracy fantasy is the work of an ill mind."

Dorvan gave her a thin smile. "Well, that's most likely true," he admitted, "but the ill mind under discussion does not belong to the admiral. We know the five of you were involved, and suspect there are other players, as well."

There was a silence. Parova folded her arms and leaned back into the sofa.

Dorvan sighed. He looked as if he wished he had a pile of datapads in front of him to arrange. "Admiral," he said, "we have doc.u.mentation that you have had several conversations with all of the other four members of this conspiracy."

"And there's something wrong with talking to two well-respected Senators? A Moff? A fellow member of my cabinet?"

"There is when you recollect that three of those were mysteriously poisoned," said Bwua'tu, "and the end result of said poisoning was that GA security was discredited and naval security-which you were in charge of-was put into place instead."

Parova felt cold, but did not change her expression. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. I poisoned Lecersen, Bramsin, and Jaxton? Right. Next you'll accuse me of murdering poor old Fost Bramsin."

"No," said Dorvan readily. "We know you didn't do that. We suspect Senator Treen did, but unfortunately the autopsy was inconclusive. Another thing that points to a conspiracy."

She saw an opening. "You're just annoyed that Senator Treen decided to back Padnel Ovin instead of you, Dorvan," she sneered.

He stared at her, then began to chuckle. "That is perhaps more unbelievable than anything I've mentioned," he said. "You know better than to accuse me of ambition."

And, sickly, she did. So did everyone else. Dorvan served not for personal power or to stroke his ego, but because service was needed. It was nauseatingly altruistic, and she disliked him even more.

"Bureaucrat," she spat, in the same tone of voice she would use for the word sleemo.

Dorvan and Asokaji looked at each other. Dorvan addressed the hologram. "Sir? She seems extraordinarily uncooperative. What would you like us to do?"

Bwua'tu considered, twitching an ear. "The hour grows late. You two need to return to your homes. We can continue this later. There are other club members anxious to talk to her."

Club? Was Han Solo in on this? Who else?

"As you wish, sir." Dorvan and Asokaji rose. "Admiral, there are beverages and food available. You'll be monitored, and when we next return, we'll review the recordings. Don't worry, there's no holocam in the refresher. The Jedi believe in treating their prisoners civilly."

"I'll be missed," she said as they turned to deactivate the force field. She knew her legs would give out if she tried to rise, otherwise she would have charged them.

"Of course you will," said Asokaji. "That's why I'll make sure that everyone knows you are unreachable for a time as you are following up a lead, which of course I can't elaborate on for reasons of galactic security."

They had planned this well.

Curse them.

She watched them go, and thought of delightful revenge.

Feeling and control of her limbs returned a few moments after they had gone. She went to use the refresher, and when she came out, she froze.

Four humans stood there, two men and two women. All of them were strikingly attractive. She didn't recognize any of them.

"Are you the new interrogation team?" she asked wearily.

"No, Admiral," said one of them, a tall, handsome man with a square jaw and dark brown eyes. "We're here to get you out. Senator Suldar sent us. He was worried about you after the whole business with Treen and Bramsin, and had us follow you."

Relief flooded her. "Oh, thank goodness. You heard everything then?"

The man smiled. "Indeed we did," he said. "Senator Kameron Suldar is very grateful for the information, and that you didn't implicate him or, indeed, confirm anything at all."

Parova smirked. "Of course I wouldn't. Let's get going. I've got a lot of work to do-and some people we need to get rid of."

"So do we," said the man, smiling. He nodded to the others. Before Parova realized what was happening, she heard a snap-hiss sound and found herself staring at three red lightsabers. "You will continue to serve, even with your death. Thank you, Admiral."

And they sprang.

ABOARD THE GILAD PELLAEON, MERIDIAN SECTOR.

"NOTHING IS EVER EASY," SAID JAGGED FEL. HE SAT IN HIS OFFICE aboard the Pellaeon, dully watching the latest on the holonews. "Not even something that should be as uncomplicated as tracking down an escaped convict and returning her to Coruscant for a proper trial."

Tahiri gave a slight chuckle. "Daala is no mere escapee, sprung from jail and now on the run. She's not even just a popular political figure rallying supporters. She's an admiral, with a fleet that is as scattered and secret as it is powerful. The Squibs certainly gave us an important break. At least we're looking in the right spot. But even so, we've only begun to scratch the surface."

Jag gave her a dirty look. "I don't recall you being quite so negative," he said.

She shrugged. "Being sentenced to death and surviving only by escaping tends to make one less than confident in the rightness of the universe."

"I can see that." He sighed. "You're right, of course. Daala does have her detractors, certainly. But there are others who approve of her methods-some of my own Moffs among them. There are still more who would simply take whatever side their government did ... and that would lead to civil war between her proponents and those who supported the Galactic Alliance." He looked up at her. "And as shaky as the Alliance is now, that's a war I'm not sure it could win."

Tahiri perched on his desk, arms folded, regarding him. "What's the latest from Ashik?"

"He's contacted various intelligence sources and spoken with beings in positions of power in the Meridian sector. The news isn't good. They have long memories there, and most of those memories of Daala are fond ones."

His gaze drifted back to the holoscreen. They had been kept completely up-to-date with the nigh-unbelievable mess that was unfolding on Coruscant: the election of a being who had no business running the GA, one Padnel Ovin. The Senate subcommittee that had sprung up seemingly overnight, and had arrested his future mother-in-law on utterly ludicrous charges up to and including spice smuggling. And he had been kept informed of all of this by BAMR News, which seemed to be completely in the pocket of the new government. The only light in the entire thing was the fact that Ovin had been shrewd enough to keep Wynn Dorvan on. But managing to keep sanity in a world clearly gone mad was a lot to ask of a single bureaucrat. Even Wynn Dorvan.

He shook his head sadly at the well-groomed anchor. "Look at this," he said with a mixture of horror and disgust. "My future mother-in-law a spice smuggler? Padnel Ovin running the GA?"

"This is worse than when the Jedi had their little keepers tagging along after them," Tahiri said.

"No," said Jag, reaching a decision. "The Galactic Alliance is in no position to go head-to-head with Daala. It can't even wipe its own face after dinner without the Senate's say-so. There's no way that-"

He paused in midsentence, grabbed by the shocking image on the holoscreen. The body of a fit, dark-skinned woman sprawled beneath the bright lights of a holocam. Burns crisscrossed her body, mutilating her face almost beyond recognition.

Almost.

Tahiri turned, following his gaze, and her own eyes widened.

"... of Admiral Sallinor Parova, acting chief of naval operations, was discovered on the steps of the now-vacant Jedi Temple. Cause of death appears to be ..." The blond anchor paused dramatically. "... lightsaber."

"What?"

"I think it's obvious what happened," said the handsome visage of Senator Suldar as if in reply to Jag's exclamation. "Tahiri Veila remains at large. We know she has a grudge against the Galactic Alliance-this smacks of personal vendetta to me." He turned to face the viewing audience. "If anyone has any information regarding this criminal, please-don't think twice about turning her in. She's proved that she's a murderer-twice now. This is what happens when the Jedi think they are above the law."

"Oh, hey," Tahiri said mildly. "I can kill with a lightsaber when I'm halfway across the galaxy. I think you should double my pay, Jag."

"I think I should clone you," Jag replied.

Ashik had entered during this last scathing comment. Jag waved him to a seat. "Any updates?"

"No, sir. What shall we do now?"

Jag considered. "There's one person I haven't talked to yet. Moff Tol Getelles. Contact him and arrange to have him to dinner tonight aboard the Pellaeon. Let's see if we can possibly sway him to our cause. If not-and even if we can-I think it's time I played my trump card."

Tahiri looked confused. Ashik, though, knew what Jag meant, and looked at him sharply.

"Sir? Are you certain? Once you've done that, you change everything. You can't go back."

"I'm aware of that," Jag said.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" asked Tahiri.

Jag held up a hand and continued speaking to Ashik. "I've thought this through very carefully, Ashik. Simply arresting Daala is going to stir things up worse than they are now. But her challenge to my position and to the GA has got to be halted. I don't see any other alternative that isn't going to cost the lives of millions of beings, and perhaps not even accomplish what we want. I've waited long enough. It's time. Start getting things in readiness. Once I deem it's time to act, we'll have to move fast."

"Yes, sir. We'll be ready."

"Ready for what?" asked Tahiri.

Jag and Ashik shared a small, conspiratorial smile. "For something no one will see coming," Jag said.

"Moff Tol Getelles," said Jag. He did not extend his hand.

Getelles had started to, but smoothly altered the gesture to appear as though he were merely adjusting his other sleeve.

"Head of State Jagged Fel," he said. His voice was gruff, but pleasant. "I must say, your dinner invitation was rather a surprise, although a most happy one. I'm very gratified you chose to see me."

"It was the least I could do, after the bold public stand you took on Daala's incarceration. I wanted to thank you in person for your support. Please, have a seat."

The table in the formal dining area aboard the Pellaeon could easily accommodate eight, but there were only two places set. Serving droids stood un.o.btrusively in the shadows, moving forward silently only as they were needed. Gentle glow rods provided pleasant but safe lighting, catching the sparkle of the utensils and the faceted gla.s.ses. As Jag and Getelles took their seats, a droid came forward and poured something dark blue and fragrant into a gla.s.s.

"A toast," said Jag, lifting his gla.s.s. "To the Empire."

Getelles's soft, kindly eyes crinkled in a smile. "I will most enthusiastically drink to that. To the Empire!"

Bisque, thick and rich smelling, was placed before them. Getelles placed his napkin in his lap and spooned up his soup. "I've been talking to some of my Moffs one-on-one," said Jag, "and it's been a long time since you and I chatted."

"Frankly, sir, it's been a long time since anyone bothered to chat with me. I regret to say the only thing that made me newsworthy was choosing to support you in this situation," Getelles said, almost apologetically.

"Possibly," Jag allowed with a thin smile, tasting the soup, as well. "But I'm sure there are more on our side than are willing to speak about it, don't you think?"

Getelles grunted and reached to b.u.t.ter his bread. "Fine job the Jedi did, if you ask me. Women shouldn't be running things anyway. n.o.body wants to stick his neck out and say so, though. I stand by what I said."

"Mmm," Jag said noncommittally. "I've heard some interesting rumors about where she might have gone and what she might be up to. Don't suppose you've heard anything?"

"Me?" Getelles chuckled ruefully. "Head of State Fel-"

"Call me Jag."

"Er ... very well, Jag. As I said earlier, n.o.body's bothered to talk to me for quite some time. I'm practically gathering cobwebs. You flatter me if you think I'd be in any sort of position to know any such thing. While I do still proudly lay claim to the t.i.tle of Moff, my holdings are rather humble, and I haven't been much involved in politics recently." The man was clearly uneasy, as his gulp of wine indicated. It was no wonder he hadn't risen very high.

"You do have a rather large shadow trailing you," Jag agreed mildly, taking another sip.

It was a kinder word than scandal, which would have been more appropriate. Getelles had once moved to take control of the Meridian sector, utilizing the drochs to unleash a carefully directed plague. The grab for power on Getelles's part had been soundly quashed, first by Daala, then by the New Republic. Since then, Getelles had been very quiet.