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“Exactly,” Octa replied, her grin widening. “I don’t know the identity of our mysterious benefactors, but I can make a guess.”

“Valin used the Force to command the creatures that lived here to help him escape,” Seha recalled. “No wonder Master Horn was the first to notice something different about these rats.”

“But this time, they’re coming to help the sick Jedi. We are still short, but there are enough vials to get us through the next twelve hours, at least. And who knows, more may come.”

“And if we can get medicines in,” Seha said slowly, “We might be able to get messages out.”

“It’s already in progress,” said Octa. “Now come on. Let’s get the vials off these little fellows and in the hands of Cilghal. And,” she added, “let’s get you a sanisteam.”

For the first time since the siege began, Seha laughed.

SOLO SAFE HOUSE, CORUSCANT

THE THREE OF THEM CURLED UP TOGETHER ON THE SOFA, MUGS OF hot chocolate warm in their hands. Allana slurped hers rather noisily, and Leia smiled gently.

“You need a shave, young lady,” Leia said playfully, reaching over to wipe off the whipped cream mustache with a napkin. Allana giggled, then returned her attention to the show. She took another sip and gave herself another mustache, and Leia simply shook her head this time. Han sprawled on the sofa, loosely cradling his granddaughter. Anji was draped over both their laps, snoring softly.

It was odd, that this was a tradition. And yet not so odd. Leia was the adopted daughter of a prince and a politician, and had been a Senator of her world at nineteen. Politics, galactic events, this had been as much a part of her childhood as small pets or toys or her beloved, and foul-smelling, thranta. Allana came from a similar background. As long as the news was not too graphically violent or disturbing, and The Perre Needmo Newshour usually wasn’t, Leia was more than content for the breather in their day.

The theme music played and then the visage of Perre Needmo, sitting behind his desk, filled the screen. To humanoid eyes, Chevins were not particularly attractive, but there was something about Needmo that Leia always found appealing. The wisdom and calmness in his wrinkled face, the white in the small tufts of hair. Maybe it was the fact that even if the ugliest being in the known galaxy was hosting the news, and it was as neutral or even upbeat as the show currently was, she’d be happy to watch it.

The Jedi Temple siege, of course, was the lead story. As was usual with the show, coverage downplayed the graphic violence. They even scorned to show what could have been a ratings-grabbing image. Leia had learned that after Dorvan had finished his “lunch” with Raynar Thul—during which he had inadvertently given her the idea of how to smuggle medicine and messages in to the besieged Jedi—he had picked up Kani’s body and borne it away. A statement had been issued shortly thereafter from the office of the Chief of State: “It is regrettable that any lives needed to be lost in the Galactic Alliance’s pursuit of justice. Our sympathies are with Kani Asari and her family. It can be hoped, however, that her sacrifice was not in vain.”

The Perre Needmo Newshour did not focus on that admittedly powerful image; instead, it homed in on the political impasse. Beings on the streets were interviewed, and most of them looked unfavorably on the siege.

“Someone’s already been killed,” one Ithorian said, blinking her large eyes. “The Chief of State is, I think, right to want to restrain any Jedi that might be harmful to the populace. But at the same time, this is the wrong way to go about it. I’d rather see negotiations than sieges or attacks, since I think that both Daala and the Jedi want to do what is right.”

Others espoused the same opinion. The holocams panned over a not-inconsiderably-sized gathering that waved cards that said TRAP THE JEDI, TRAP OUR FREEDOM and other sentiments. One had a poster of Daala swathed in Palpatine’s robes that read NEVER AGAIN.

“Huh,” said Han. “Is it me, or does Daala look good in those robes?