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On the sofa, maddeningly calm in contrast with Jag’s nervous energy, Jaina looked confused. “Whose formula?”

“Oh, there’s got to be a book or file somewhere. Conspiracy, A Methodology, by Emperor Palpatine, annotated by Ysanne Isard, with a foreword by the Warlord Zsinj. The bestselling resource for plotters for the last three decades. Don’t you think?”

Jaina smiled. “Probably.”

“Chapter six, I’m sure, is all about covering your tracks in case the assassination attempt fails. Insulate cells of operatives. Make sure anyone acting as contact for two or more cells can be quietly killed or spirited away when things go wrong.” Jag stopped against an outer viewport, one that was mirror-reflective from the outside, and put his palms up against the cool transparent metal.

“You could be safer,” Jaina said. “This suite isn’t as secure as it could be. Neither is your embassy.”

“What, return to the Gilad Pellaeon? Hide out on my Star Destroyer? I have to project confidence and courage.”

“Well, then you need to strike back. But whom?”

“The Moffs. It had to be.”

“All of them?”

“No. One, two, three at most. Probing at perceived weaknesses.”

“Lecersen would be in the best position to take advantage of the situation if you … were killed.”

Jag nodded. “But I doubt this was Drikl Lecersen. It’s crude by his standards. And I think that an attempt like this would mean that he had given up.”

“Given up?”

“Given up on getting rid of me in a more elegant manner.” Jag turned back toward Jaina. “Let’s face it, he really believes that my relationship with you is a weakness, one that is potentially harmful to the Empire. He hasn’t come near to exploring all the ways he can cause me trouble.” He saw Jaina wince, and he took a step forward, hands up in an apologetic gesture. “I didn’t mean it that way. I know it’s not a weakness.”

“Are you sure?” There was just a trace of uncertainty and hurt in Jaina’s voice. She was not a woman prone to insecurity, he knew, so for her to ask such a thing suggested that this thought had been preying on her.

He nodded. “I’m sure. It’s change. I’m trying to change the way the Empire thinks of itself, of Palpatine, of the way the Moffs have done things for generations, of the Jedi. People who try to effect change are lucky if they aren’t …” Jag hesitated. He’d meant to say, aren’t put to death by stoning, but he realized almost too late that Jaina would still be upset by Jag’s close call. “Lucky if they have any success at all. Lucky if they’re remembered fondly.”

Jaina did relax again. “You won big tonight, though.”

“Yes, I’m still alive.”

“More than that. One of the nasty little rumors floating around about you is that my Jedi powers are all that have been keeping you alive—that I’m your secret backup bodyguard corps. But tonight I was nowhere around. You took out six armored veterans trying to kill you. That’s very, well, Imperial.”

Jag snorted. “My deputy minister of trade, perishable goods, was in the suite above mine. I shot her in the foot while she was entertaining a guest. Not so very Imperial.”

“Well, that’s not what everyone is talking about.”

“Good.” Finally somewhat calmed, Jag moved across to sit beside her. “I just don’t know if I can pull this off, though. Hold things together long enough for the Empire and Alliance to reunite, and beyond. Effect any sort of change.”

Jaina shrugged. “Think about what you have accomplished. You’ve saved lives. You’ve maintained the honor of the Fel family name and brought it into a new generation. And you’ve shot a deputy minister in the foot.”

Despite himself, he grinned. “Couldn’t let that one go, could you?”

“You could start a whole new Imperial custom. ‘Dance, fool, dance!’ Zap, zap, zap! ‘Ow, my toe!’”

“Just keep quiet, will you?”

DATHOMIR SPACEPORT

The two-vehicle caravan got under way as soon as Han and Leia finished changing into camouflage.

Han took the pilot’s seat in the faster, nimbler ruin of a sports-speeder. Leia and Dyon joined him. The others, Yliri piloting, took the cargo speeder. Leia directed them northward, following her