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He hadn’t even been able to get that far. He had known she would not listen to other viewpoints once she started voicing her opinions about Madhi Vaandt and the uprisings and the need to put them down before they got out of hand. She saw only the disorder and chaos that such things would cause; she could not, or would not, see what a policy such as the one she was advocating would do.

He kept up the brisk pace, thinking hard, and moved into an area on the walkway that was covered by transparisteel. There were a few such areas, where pedestrians could take refuge in case of inclement weather. The wind shifted, and he caught a faint whiff of the scent of human. He swiveled his ears behind him, his fur rippling with unease. The scent grew stronger.

Bwua’tu came to a halt, his hand gripping the hilt of the small blaster concealed in the pocket of his coat. He turned around slowly.

And saw no one.

Too late, he glanced upward. One was already dropping silently down. He heard at least one other scrambling up from where he had waited, concealed, beneath the walkway. Thugs, robbers, predators, lurking in hopes of preying upon the weak.

But Bwua’tu was a predator himself, in the prime of his years, with an extensive knowledge of hand-to-hand combat and a blaster in his pocket. He dove out of the way, not quite in time to avoid his legs being struck, but swiftly enough to land and leap back to his feet.

Yes, there were two of them. One of them wore street clothes. The other wore long brown-and-tan robes and—

There was a snap-hiss and a green lightsaber sprang to life. Bwua’tu stared, stunned.

“What have you done with Admiral Bwua’tu?”

They’d snapped. Both of them. Two Jedi, convinced he was a doppelgänger of the “real” Bwua’tu. There was no time for talk, not against insane Jedi Knights. He drew his blaster and fired repeatedly, while simultaneously reaching for an emergency signal in his vest pocket and diving for the railing.

Much more agile than humans, a Bothan as fit as Bwua’tu was able to safely drop down to another walkway and maneuver himself onto it.

So, too, it would seem, could Jedi.

The Jedi with the lightsaber batted back the blaster bolts like it was a sport. The other one sprang after Nek as he dove off the side. Bwau’tu reached out and caught the railing of the second walkway with one powerful hand, firing wildly with the other. His sharp ears heard a cry of pain and a thump above him as, grunting with the effort, he hauled himself up onto the walkway with one hand, then threw his other arm, still clutching the blaster, over the railing, hooking his elbow firmly. He heaved and tumbled over the rail to safety.

He heard noises behind him—the thump of landing feet and the whizzing, unique sound of a lightsaber. Guided by pure instinct, Bwua’tu sprang and rolled to the right. He could feel the heat and hear the sizzle of the durasteel as it melted, and kicked up hard.

The Jedi sprang away, snarling, but Bwa’tu’s booted foot caught him behind the knee and he dropped, the knee buckling. The Bothan admiral lifted the hand with his blaster.

An instant later he found himself staring at what was left of his arm: a cauterized stump.

The Jedi brought the blade around for another blow. Bwua’tu twisted violently, striking out with his remaining arm to deflect the strike.

That he was able to do so shocked him. The still-lit lightsaber skittered along the walkway floor, the Jedi diving after it. Bwua’tu was on him in a second, getting him in a chokehold with his remaining good arm and sinking his teeth into the human’s shoulder.

The man cried out, grasped the lightsaber, and struck back at Bwua’tu over his own shoulders as if he were performing some dark act of self-flagellation. White-hot pain sizzled along Buwa’tu’s back and he roared in agony. He released the human’s throat, going for the lightsaber arm instead, pinning it down and slamming it against the hard durasteel.

The man let go, but Nek had no time to savor the victory. A fierce