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But Dorvan was a professional. He put on a pleasant smile he didn’t feel and walked toward the door. It rose to admit him to his private office.

In a chair, his back to the door, sat Sothais Saar. The Chev Jedi did not visibly react as Dorvan entered.

Dorvan moved past to resume his seat behind the desk. “The Chief of State regrets that she cannot join us, but reiterates that she, too, is an enemy of slavery both within and outside the Alliance.” He glanced at Saar to gauge the Chev’s reaction to these perfunctory words.

Saar was asleep, slumped in his chair, his head lolling to one side, his eyes closed.

Dorvan looked at him in surprise. He smiled, amused. Never before had he caught a Jedi napping—in this case, literally. It was all he could do to keep from laughing. “Jedi Saar?”

“Eh?” Saar jerked and his eyes opened. He looked around as if confused.

“Obviously, the Jedi schedule is one of long hours and uncertain timing.”

“Uh, yes.” Saar looked at him as if Dorvan had suddenly grown a third eye—as if only half recognizing him. The Jedi seemed to compose himself rapidly enough, though. “I should be going.”

“Without hearing what the Chief of State has to say?”

“No, of course not.” Saar twisted to glance at the door, as if half expecting to see Daala standing there. He returned his attention to Dorvan. “Perhaps you could walk me out and tell me as we go.”

“Of course.”

As they left the office and headed toward the lift accessing the main entrance level, Dorvan tried again. “Chief Daala wants you to understand that she is as devoted as anyone to eliminating the remnants of slaver mentality from the galaxy.”

“Yes, yes.” Saar fidgeted, and as soon as the door opened to give them access to the turbolift, he darted inside.

Dorvan followed. “But she does have many other demands on her attention and resources, of course.”

“Of course. Main level.” The turbolift doors dropped into place, and the lift descended.

Dorvan felt a flash of impatience. Saar normally played the verbal-politics game with skill and enthusiasm. Now it seemed he couldn’t be bothered. “So perhaps you could put together a proposal for a cooperative effort between the Jedi and the government, using resources of both, for her to evaluate. Achieve both our ends. Perhaps engender a greater feeling of cooperation between us than we’ve experienced recently.”

Saar turned to look at him, a stare of evaluation. Dorvan felt unsettled by it. It was as if the Jedi were staring through a magnifying lens at him, discovering for the first time that Dorvan belonged to a hitherto unknown species. But he merely said, “Good idea.”

The turbolift stopped and the door shot up. Saar stepped out into the building’s main entrance hall. To the right, a hundred meters away, was sunlight. Between here and that exit were innumerable cross-corridors, doors into offices, bustling politicians, ambling protocol droids.

Saar set off at a rapid walk in the direction of the exit. Dorvan struggled to keep up with him. “Jedi Saar, let me speak frankly. Tensions between the Jedi Order and the government are damaging both. It behooves us to go out of our way to find common ground. To calm things down before something sparks a tragedy. Before our differences become irreconcilable. If the heads of both groups cannot find this common ground, perhaps lower ranks can. Yes?”

“Yes.” Saar sounded not in the least interested.

And it was then, finally, that Dorvan realized what he was seeing, what he was hearing. The realization was almost like being hit by a stun beam—though in this case, it was a wash of fear rather than energy.

If he was right in his guess, he was in more danger at this minute than he had been in years.

But he had to know.

He thought back over recent events, over the odd behavior of other Jedi, and finally he said, “You’re probably wondering what I’ve done with the real Wynn Dorvan.”

If Dorvan was wrong, if Saar’s behavior had some more innocuous explanation, Dorvan could explain the comment away as a figure of speech.

Saar stopped and spun to face Dorvan. Suddenly