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Bwua’tu downed his drink and rose to prepare another. “Do you need a refill?” he asked as he went to the bar.

“I’m good, thanks,” she said, “and you’re delaying.”

He chuckled as he poured. “Rather, I’m considering the best response.” He turned to face her, swirling the liquid in his glass slightly. “I agree that you need a victory of sorts,” he said. “But I’m not sure that stamping out legitimate forms of protest against a planet’s government is the right way to be seen as keeping control over a situation. Especially not using the Mandos.”

“They’re not the GA,” she said.

“Nor are they much liked, and your continued usage of them is not getting you what you are telling me you want. The current stalemate with the Jedi is a perfect example of that.”

Daala sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “You sound like Dorvan.”

“No, I’d need to be more monotone to sound like Dorvan.”

That got a genuine chuckle out of her. Nek smiled and sat back down beside her, draping an arm supportively over her shoulders. She leaned into him. They were quiet for a long moment, and when Daala spoke, her voice was barely audible.

“I can’t stop thinking about Cha Niathal.”

“She made the decision to take her own life. That’s not your respon—”

She waved impatiently and he fell silent. “No, I don’t feel guilt over that. But what she said—she believed she had not made a mistake with Jacen, that it was not possible to anticipate what he would become, what he would do. And her suicide note—This has been done with honor, without error, and by my choosing.”

Daala looked up at him. “I’ve long since lost any fear of death. I don’t think you can be career military and be afraid of dying. But I’ve been entrusted with the care and well-being of the Galactic Alliance. Every decision I make determines not only my own legacy, but the fate of billions of beings. I have to act like Niathal—with honor, without error, and by my own choosing. If I’m not firm now, if I don’t crack down now, chaos will erupt, and everything we all want is going to be swept away by the onrushing tides.”

His eyes were kind in the soft light as he regarded her. “We all do what we must,” he said gently.

We all do what we must.

Admiral Nek Bwua’tu wasn’t used to irony when it came to his own words, but now, at three-fourteen in the morning as he quietly let himself out of Daala’s apartments, he found himself haunted by it.

He nodded to the security droid at the entrance to her gleaming apartment building. Normally, he would stay the night, and depart early in the morning in the same small speeder in which he had arrived. The droids were programmed to be discreet, and the living beings who sometimes operated security were paid to be so. But tonight—tonight he wanted to go back to his offices.

He needed to talk to Kenth Hamner.

The area was home to many of Coruscant’s wealthy and powerful, and the neighborhood was quiet at this time of night. He transferred a discreet, handheld blaster from the inside of the well-tailored coat he wore to his right-hand pocket. Bwua’tu had not risen to the heights he presently enjoyed without preparing for all eventualities. He stepped forward into the night, eyes and nose alert, but overall relaxed.

His path was along one of the pleasant pedestrian walkways that helped keep those who could afford to live this high above the city streets from having to mingle with those who couldn’t. Colored lights from the various vessels zooming along above him lit his path with rainbow hues. There were very few beings out at this hour, but that would change in a short while.

Daala was doing the wrong things for the right reasons. He cared for her, deeply, but he had sworn an oath of krevi, and his first and last allegiance was to the Galactic Alliance. And Daala, like a well-intentioned but misguided parent, was alienating her charge, and further, harming it with punishments that were intended to do the opposite.

He had come to her for several reasons tonight. First, because he enjoyed her company, always. Second, because he wanted to be a supportive listener.