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“We do what we must,” Palpatine said mildly.

Taa studied him for a moment. “And I take it that your visit is prompted by genuine concern?”

“The supreme chancellor is the voice of the Republic, is he not?”

“For the moment,” Taa said nastily.

With Senate Guard sentries posted throughout the admitting area, Palpatine was made to show his identification no fewer than six times before being ushered into a waiting room reserved for Valorum’s visitors. There, he exchanged greetings with Alderaan’s delegate to the senate, Bail Antilles—a tall, handsome man with dark hair—and with the equally distinguished senator from Corellia, Com Fordox.

“You’ve heard who’s to blame for what happened?” Fordox asked as Palpatine sat down on the couch opposite him.

“Only that the Nebula Front appears to have been involved.”

“We have confirmed evidence of their involvement,” Antilles said.

Fordox’s features reflected anger and confusion. “This is beyond comprehension.”

“An act that cannot go unpunished,” Antilles agreed.

Commiserating with them, Palpatine firmed his lips and shook his head. “A terrible sign of the times,” he said.

Most of the infirmities that landed delegates in the medcenter were usually the result of overindulgence in food or drink, or injuries sustained on the scoopball courts, in air taxi accidents, or as the outcome of the occasional honor duel. Rarely were delegates admitted because of illnesses, and even more rarely as a consequence of an assassination attempt.

Palpatine held himself accountable.

He should have seen what was coming during the meeting with Havac. More than once the young militant had stressed that Valorum needed to appreciate just how dangerous the Nebula Front was. But Palpatine hadn’t thought Havac desperate enough to resort to assassination.

The fact that Havac was also a fool made him especially dangerous. Did he actually believe that things would go better for the Nebula Front with someone other than Valorum leading the senate? Didn’t he realize that Valorum was the Front’s best hope for restraining the Trade Federation, through taxation and other means? By attempting to kill Valorum, Havac had not only reinforced the Federation’s assertion that the Nebula Front was a public menace, he had also given added weight to the Neimoidians’ demand for additional defensive weapons.

Havac would need to be reminded just who his enemies were.

Unless, of course, there was more to Havac than met the eye, Palpatine told himself. Was Havac’s pleasant but nondescript countenance masking a cunning intellect?

Palpatine deliberated while Fordox and Antilles had their visit with Valorum. He was still mulling it over when Sei Taria entered the waiting room some time later.

Palpatine rose and nodded. “How good to see you, Sei. Are you all right?”

She mustered a warm smile. “I’m fine now, Senator. But it was terrible.”

Palpatine adopted a grave look. “We will do all we can to protect the Supreme Chancellor.”

“I know you will.”

“How is he?”

She glanced at the door. “Eager to see you.”

Armed guards flanked the door to Valorum’s room—a windowless corral of monitoring devices, overseen by a bipedal medical droid equipped with servogrip pincers and a rebreatherlike vocabulator.

Valorum looked pale and grim, but he was sitting up in bed, his right arm, from wrist to shoulder, encased in a soft tube filled with bacta. A transparent, gelatinous fluid produced by an insectoid alien species, bacta had the ability to promote rapid cell rejuvenation and healing, usually without scarring. Palpatine often felt that the wondrous substance was as key to the survival of the Republic as were the Jedi.

“Supreme Chancellor,” he said, approaching the bed, “I came as soon as I heard.”

Valorum made a gesture of dismissal with his left hand. “You shouldn’t have bothered. They’re releasing me later today.” He motioned Palpatine to a chair. “Do you know what the guards did when they brought me in here? They cleared every patient from the emergency