"But we don't know-" began Lando.

"She's right," Han said. "Anything's better than this. Besides, I'm sick of stairs."

He went to the nearest door, pushed it open, and they all rushed out.

Into the undercity.

Leia and Han had watched the segment on The Perre Needmo Newshour. They had seen how the place had fallen even farther into violence and chaos. But the Newshour vidcrew had failed to capture the enormity of the sudden spurts of plant growth. They were everywhere. Every ramshackle building was nearly choked by the living green carpet. Vines seemed to be moving almost of their own accord, but Leia could see that there were gangs moving through the growth. The place was so strong with fear, despair, and an almost unnatural sense of malice that she had to quickly shield herself from it in the Force.

"Lovely," Zekk said. "So nice to see healthy growing things."

"Hey, I'd rather fight my way out than be hunted," said Han.

"I've got a lightsaber," Zekk said.

"I've got the Force," Leia said.

"And we've got blasters," Han said. "Let's go."

"HOW MANY?"

It was the seventh time in the last hour Roki had commed Workan, inquiring how many votes he could put forth.

He forced his voice to sound pleasant and agreeable as he replied. "We're waiting on two more, then we should have the four-fifths."

"I don't like to wait, Suldar."

"I know, my lady." The term always seemed to mollify her. "But they will be here soon."

"They had better be. We have so much to do. This is only a stepping-stone, and I am anxious to move forward."

"So you have said, my lady. They should be here any minute."

Lady Enara Ma.s.sar looked at him. She knew about Roki, of course. Once he had chosen to throw his weight behind her-not that he had been given much of a choice-he had informed all the Sith who answered to him that they would now do likewise. There had been a few who had objected. They had been sent to explore the depths of the Jedi Temple, and no one had heard from them since.

"I do wish she were a trifle more patient," he told Enara. "Not all spiders venture forth and hunt their prey. Some of the most successful simply spin their webs and wait for their future dinners to stumble across the sticky strands. Is a few hours of gracious waiting too much to ask when I'm about to make her Chief of State?"

"So it would seem, sir," Enara said, commiserating. "Though to be fair," she added, "listening to Padnel Ovin hold forth for an hour would test a Grand Lord's patience."

"You have me there," he admitted.

The Klatooinian had been droning on about his history and that of his world for the past-he checked-hour and seventeen minutes. Now he was starting to address the issue of his brother's martyrdom.

"By dinnertime, he'll have gotten to his arrival on Coruscant," Workan muttered. "I do wish there were some way to get him to hurry up."

"... He knew, that with his death, others would be inspired to follow the cause," Padnel was saying. His posture was still rock-steady. The rules dictated that he not sit and not leave. Once he did, his time would be considered over. More than Kem and Workan were fidgeting; no one had expected it to go half this long. And Padnel showed no signs of slowing down. Even his voice showed no strain. "Those who died in the incident were fellow warriors-the military. Not civilians. Grunel went to great lengths-"

"Sir," said Enara, sounding very pleased. "Senators Sh'klaa and Onoru have reported in. They're moving to their seats now. They'll be ready to cast their votes in five minutes."

"Excellent," said Workan. He clicked his comlink.

"Roki Kem," came the bright voice.

"My lady," Workan said, allowing a trace of smugness to enter his voice, "I am delighted to report that the last two Senators have entered the building and are moving to their daises. Once Padnel Ovin has wound down-and he has to use the refresher sometime-your ascension to Chief of State will be secure. Our worries are over. I suggest you sit back, relax, and enjoy the last we will see of Padnel Ovin."

"It will indeed be the last we will see of Padnel Ovin," Roki agreed, "but I'm quite tired of waiting."

A chill went through Workan at the iciness in her voice. What did she-had she gone mad? Hired an a.s.sa.s.sin to strike right in the middle of Ovin's speech, or done something else equally as outrageous? He sat up, eyes fastened on the Klatooinian still holding forth. Even as he watched, Padnel stopped midsentence. He grunted, then stumbled a step.

"... Sand Panthers avoided ... t-taking civilian life ... may I have some water, please?"

And then Workan understood. Oh, she was good. Very good. Somehow she'd hidden her Force abilities from him completely. And obviously also from Vol, until it was too late. Perhaps this was how she had been able to influence her fellow Jessar to love her so well during and after their world's crisis. And now, of course, she stood staring at the soon-to-be-ex-Chief of State, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror, the very picture of compa.s.sionate sympathy.

Kaatik handed Ovin some water, looking at him with concern. "Sir," he said, "I think you have stated your case very well. Perhaps you should-"

"No!" snapped Padnel, glaring at him. "I'm not done yet! I'm allowed to speak as long as I wish, and speak I-"

His hand went up to his chest and clutched it. He started to gasp. Then, in full view of several hundred beings and millions more watching the coverage live, Padnel Ovin, interim Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance, collapsed.

Chaos erupted. Everyone watched raptly as medical droids appeared and began their work. Kaatik returned to the mike, his blue skin paler than it had been a few moments before. "Everyone, please, we must have order! This Senate is still in session! Padnel Ovin is unconscious but his situation has stabilized. He is being taken immediately to the Galactic Senate Medcenter."

"I motion to postpone the vote until Chief of State Ovin has recovered." The motion came, not unexpectedly, from Senator Wuul.

No! Workan thought. If Padnel died before Roki was confirmed, legally the office would go to Wynn Dorvan. And that would be a disaster.

Workan leapt to his feet. "I motion that the vote be pushed through!" he cried. "Of course, like all beings here, I hope for a full recovery for Senator Ovin. But the fact remains that if he survives, he will still be the same being he is-and his leadership has been challenged. I say it is even more important now than ever to decide if he or Roki Kem will lead the Galactic Alliance!"

Nearly all decorum and seemliness had flown out the window. The chair seemed to recognize it, for he didn't rebuke either Wuul or Workan for speaking out of turn.

"I agree with the honorable Senator from B'nish," Kaatik said, looking shaken. "Cast your votes now."

Workan sat down. It could all still fall apart. Most of his "supporters" were not Sith. They were simply gullible newcomers, looking for someone to point them in the right direction. If they got rattled by Padnel's collapse and decided to err on the side of Dorvan rather than risking a chance on Kem-what would she do? Give everyone a heart attack?

He realized she might.

Quickly he punched in his YES vote and sat back, using the Force to calm himself. Others hurried to vote, eager to have this over and done with, eager to have some direction, any direction.

The chair seemed to be recovering as he perused the votes. Finally, he looked up. His face gave nothing away, but Workan could sense his disappointment and worry in the Force.

The question was-who had disappointed him by winning?

"By a vote of four-fifths majority, with twenty-four abstentions," Kaatik said, "the Senate is honored to announce that the Senator from Qaras, Rokari Kem, has been-"

The rest of his announcement was lost in a wild cheer. Surprised by how relieved he felt, Workan rose to his feet, applauding along with the rest of them. He felt Roki brush him in the Force-praise and pleasure, rather like one might show to a pet who had performed a trick exceptionally well. Workan made sure his irritation was not sensed.

She moved her dais forward, waving to the crowd. Not everyone was happy, but most were. And why should they not be? Rokari Kem was a legend, a role model, someone to admire and emulate. And she was now going to lead them out of this place of fear and worry.

"Thank you so much," Roki said, her voice thick with emotion. "As you know, the Jessar do not speak things that are not true. And so you may take it as the pure truth when I say that your faith in my ability to lead you well and courageously honors me beyond words."

There was more applause. She was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear, no doubt taking her inspiration from what she sensed from them in the Force. Again, he exerted a tight rein on his anger at being fooled by her.

"My first act as your interim Chief of State is to commandeer the use of the now-abandoned Jedi Temple as my house of operations," she said. Workan was surprised. They had discussed her moving in eventually, but right away?

The cheering crowd seemed confused, but continued to listen. "They have decided to sever ties with the Galactic Alliance. Surely in their absence, I, as the head of the GA, can put the resources to better use. It will show to the Jedi that they cannot make such decisions lightly. If they wish to leave, of course they may. But they should not expect us to welcome them back with open arms. One must answer for one's decisions."

He felt it nudging against him, like Dorvan's pet chitlik seeking a treat-her gentle Force brush. He grinned, knowing what she would sense, knowing that she was reaching out to everyone in this huge chamber and touching them in the same fashion. Not overtly, just enough to make them believe they agreed with her.

"The continued incarceration of Jedi Leia Organa Solo, and the rumors of other Jedi still here such as escaped convict Tahiri Veila, concerns me greatly." And oh, she did sound so very concerned, so very worried for her people. "Movement has not been made toward bringing Solo to trial. I will recommend that the Senate subcommittee consider the alternative, bitter a remedy though it might be. If the Jedi do not wish to be here, then when they break our laws, they should face execution."

That was pushing things too far, Workan thought. He felt the shift in the room. Imprisonment was one thing, but execution? Roki sent waves of soothing calm, and to Workan's disbelief, he could feel at least some minds changing.

"It has been a trying day for all of us," she said, "and I suggest, with the Senate's approval, of course, that this session be terminated and you all return to your duties. I, meanwhile, will go to the Temple, so that everyone will see that my protection of my people against the Jedi is sincere. Thank you again. I promise, your trust in me is not misplaced!"

She whispered to her a.s.sistant, who began to move the hoverdais back to its dock. Frowning, Workan clicked his comlink.

"I think this a mistake," he said. "You should go to your new offices and start discussing your responsibilities with Dorvan. You need to at least keep up the appearance that you are working for the beings who elected you!"

"I think this is perfect," said Roki. "I need to present a picture of the new path the Alliance is going to be taking. Think how striking it will look on the holonews when I sweep into the bastion of the Jedi!"

He realized she hated the Jedi almost as much as the Sith did. And for some reason, that unsettled him.

Thirty-seven minutes later, the steps of the Jedi Temple were thronged with holojournalists. The Keshiri Sith currently in residence there had made themselves scarce lest some more creative reporter catch a glimpse of a beautiful lavender face, and Workan had sent ahead what human Sith he could contact to prepare at least somewhat for the Chief of State's arrival.

She had insisted he accompany her, establishing their friendship in the public's mind. So it was that High Lord Ivaar Workan strode beside Rokari Kem as they ascended the Temple that had once belonged to their enemy, and now belonged to them. It was a giddy, heady moment, the delight dampened for Workan in that he wished his Grand Lord could have seen it.

But then again, he wouldn't be with Roki Kem if Vol were alive.

She did not grant interviews, smiling apologetically every time a reporter shouted out something to her, moving steadily up the steps in a long, shimmering dress that looked like flowing water. They reached the top, then turned around and looked down.

So much adoration in the faces as they looked up at her. So much faith, and trust, and hope. And she-her face alight with love, if completely false, for the people she had been chosen to guide.

It occurred to Workan that it might not be such a big step to "G.o.ddess" after all.

With a final wave, Roki turned and entered the Temple. Several Sith stood at attention. Among them were Senators, business owners, holoanchors, security chiefs. They all were beautiful, and ready to serve, and Workan was terribly proud of them.

One of Roki's a.s.sistants was speaking into a comm. She clicked it off, approached her mistress, and bowed.

"I have news, my lady, both good and bad," she said. "First, I am pleased to report to you that as of two minutes ago, Senator Padnel Ovin is dead."

Roki smiled her falsely sweet smile. "I knew that already," she said, and actually giggled a little. "What is the rest of your news?"

The woman hesitated. "Well," she said, "unfortunately, it appears that Jedi Solo escaped before we could move her to a more secure location to await her execution."

The blue-green brows drew together, and even Workan had to brace himself against the fury he knew was coming. "An escape? She is gone? Who did this? I will find and destroy them!"

"My lady," the woman kept insisting, "please-we were able to capture one of those who had a.s.sisted with the escape. We have arranged for him to be brought here, a.s.suming that you would wish to see him and ... attend to his punishment yourself."

Workan felt the storm of Roki's anger subsiding before the prospect of torturing one who had displeased her. "You a.s.sumed rightly," she said. "Bring him before me. Now."

The woman bowed again and hurried off, speaking into her comlink. Workan turned toward Roki. "You do realize that Leia and her rescuers couldn't possibly have known about your, ah, new policy toward the Jedi," he said. "This is simply an unfortunate coincidence."

She jerked her head to look at him. "Unfortunate for them," she said. "They will regret ever knowing her by the time I am through with them. But I will learn what I want to know."

Workan wondered who had dared break Leia out of prison. Whoever it was, her husband certainly had to be among them. He wondered where Leia's adopted daughter was-Amelia, he believed her name to be. If they could find her, that would certainly be excellent leverage.

The a.s.sistant was returning. With her were two human males. Between them, they half carried, half dragged another male. His head was covered by a hood and his hands were tightly, obviously painfully, bound. The guards brought their prisoner up to Roki and stood, awaiting their orders.

She addressed the prisoner first. "Kneel," she ordered. "Show proper respect to your Beloved Queen of the Stars."

The prisoner didn't move. One of the guards shoved him down, and he grunted as his knees struck stone.

"Remove the hood," Roki said.

They had thrown the hood over him the second he had appeared, tackling him and literally beating him into submission. Dorvan had pa.s.sed out and had only recent awakened to find his wrists tied together and the hood still firmly in place over his head. When they pulled it off him, the light was so bright it hurt his eyes.

His vision cleared, and he found himself looking up into a blue, beautiful, female face.

Rokari Kem. He blinked, utterly disbelieving. Surely he was still unconscious.

"Wynn Dorvan," Roki purred. "I confess, this is a surprise. But a happy one. You have served two Chiefs of State. And, I think, others, that we do not know about. Yet."

Still smiling, she bent down and cupped his battered face in her hand, turning his head up to face her. "You know things, don't you? Things that may prove very useful to me. Do be sure, Wynn, that I will learn what you know, who you know, what you have seen ... one way or another. I may even permit you to live ... if you learn to love me."

Her smile, beautiful and sweet and kind and an utter lie, widened.

And widened.

It stretched across her face, too large for it, nearly reaching her ears. Her skin paled, her eyes began to sink back into their sockets. Her hair turned from blue-green and shiny to pale yellow, growing long, longer, all the way down to her feet. The hand that grasped his chin in a grip that would not release became slick, tiny tentacles forcing him to stare into her eyes. Eyes that looked like tiny stars in a black hole.

And he understood the full disaster that was about to unfold.

Abeloth and the Lost Tribe of the Sith had come to Coruscant-and were running the Galactic Alliance.

ABOARD THE JADE SHADOW.

Vestara thought at first that part of her was forcing the numbness upon her. That perhaps what she had done was so heinous, so abominable, she couldn't let herself feel the true impact of the choice she had made only a few hours earlier. Because she felt certain that she should be racked with guilt, horror, and self-loathing, and ... she wasn't.

The whole thing had taken on the quality of a dream. A bitter smile curved her lips at the irony as she lay staring up at the ceiling of the Jade Shadow, her thoughts racing as fast as the ship itself. A dream; a nightmare caused by the rhak-skuri? No, there was no such convenient and exonerating excuse for what she had done.

She, Vestara Khai, had murdered a Jedi Knight. And she had done so coldly, deliberately, and with full knowledge of her choice. It couldn't even really be said that her act was as merciful as simple murder. Vestara had not merely executed Natua Wan. She had knocked off the Falleen's mask, knowing that doing so would cause Natua to experience the terrifying hallucinations, and that the Jedi Knight's horror would placate the rhak-skuri.

Vestara's mask had been firmly in place the whole time.

The creature had wanted Ben, and she was not willing to let it have him. There was no other choice.

But that thought was as pleasant a fiction as telling herself she had been affected by the rhak-skuri's pheromones. There was always a choice. She and Natua could have stood side by side, a Jedi Knight and a future Jedi Knight, fighting the creature. Maybe they could even have defeated it.

But she hadn't taken that road. And even now, Vestara wasn't wishing she had.