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“Not coordinate,” Kyle said. “That would be interfering in another government’s internal affairs. But he was informing us.”

“Exactly,” Kyp said, nodding. “So that we can coordinate with him. When Daala realizes that the Empire is withdrawing from negotiations, she’s going to be very distracted.”

“And that will happen when?” Saba asked, finally turning her gaze from Kenth’s hiding place. “Did Head of State Fel say when he was departing?”

Cilghal raised a webbed finger and spoke briefly into her comlink, then listened for a moment and looked back to Saba.

“Head of State Fel told them that the Pellaeon was already preparing to break orbit,” she reported. “Leia thinks the Graser Building was his last stop before going to the spaceport.”

“So Daala will learn he is leaving how soon?” Saba asked. “Fifteen minutes?”

“She has to know already,” Kyp said. “A Star Destroyer preparing to break orbit isn’t subtle, and Jag’s pilots are probably prepping his shuttle for departure.”

Saba fell silent for a moment, then said, “If Head of State Fel knew where to find the Solos, then he knowz what they are preparing to do—and perhapz what we are preparing to do here. He was telling them when to go.”

Kyp, Kyle, and the rest of the Masters nodded.

Saba turned toward the hangar floor and surveyed the StealthXs, her forked tongue flicking at the air. Finally, she said, “Ask Captain Terrik to start the tournament at once. And comm the Solos. We go in ten minutes.”

Cilghal looked to the other Masters, and Kenth watched in growing horror as, one by one, they nodded agreement. Never before had he felt so shocked, so sad, so alone … and so determined. He snatched his lightsaber off his belt, then rose to his feet and took two quick steps, placing himself on the catwalk directly above Saba.

“I’m sorry,” he called down. “But I can’t let you do that.”

BEYOND THE BRIDGE OF THE AGING STAR DESTROYER ERRANT VENTURE floated the scintillating immensity of the planet Coruscant. It was the brightest jewel of the galactic Core, the hungry heart through which coursed all the blessings and curses of a vast interstellar civilization. And somewhere down there among all those lights hung Booster Terrik’s grandchildren, frozen in carbonite and held hostage to an ex-Imperial’s insatiable lust for power. Booster had come to free them, and free them he would—even if it meant crashing his Star Destroyer into Chief Daala’s offices with every last guest still aboard.

Booster heard a pair of small boots approaching and turned to see a beak-faced Ishi Tib female crossing the deck toward him, her short eye-stalks swiveling left and right as she inspected duty stations. Dressed in tight trousers and a bright, puff-sleeved blouse, Lyari looked more like a holostar pirate than the first officer of the galaxy’s largest casino ship, and that suited Booster just fine. He liked to remind his patrons they were taking a ride on the wild side, that when they boarded the Errant Venture anything could happen—and it usually did.

With Lyari was the latest—and only uninvited—guest, a nondescript human of average height dressed in a conservative business tunic and trousers. Had his collar-length brown hair not been so immaculately trimmed and in place, Booster would have made him for a spy trying to look inconspicuous and unmemorable. Instead he looked exactly like the government bureaucrat he was—a man who was out of his element aboard a den of wickedness like the Errant Venture, and way out of his depth gambling with the likes of Drikl Lecersen and Fost Bramsin.

Lyari stopped at Booster’s side and made the man squirm by slipping a talon-fingered hand around his triceps. “I present Wynn Dorvan, chief of staff to Chief of State Daala.” Her voice was more liquid and purring than usual, a sign that she recognized the value of the catch she had produced. “He’s interested in the tournament.”

Booster chomped on the stub of his cigar and studied Dorvan out of one eye. “That so, Wynn?” He used the side of his hand