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“—politician.” Han glanced down at Allana and winked, then continued, “And power-hungry politicians love to gloat. No way is she going to miss this.”

“An astute observation, Captain Solo,” Kenth Hamner said, also stepping forward. He stopped just at the edge of Han’s personal space, looking as dignified and grave as he usually did these days. His always resonant voice grew deeper and more demanding. “But I worry about your tone. If your idea works—”

“It is working,” Allana interrupted. Her thin eyebrows were lowered in determination, and her bright gray eyes burned with the same frustration she no doubt sensed in the Force auras around her. “Otherwise Daala wouldn’t even be here, and you know that as well as anyone!”

Hamner’s lips tightened, and he addressed his reply to Han. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Captain Solo. I’m just urging you not to be quite so … smug.”

Behind Hamner’s back, Allana scowled and would have interrupted again, had Leia not laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. Han bit his lip and did his best not to aggravate the situation by smiling. He had insisted on bringing his granddaughter along because he wanted her to learn how to play a good hole card when someone else had most of the chips. But it was beginning to look like the lesson of the day would have more to do with internal politics—namely, that even Jedi Grand Masters could be nerf-brains.

Hamner seemed to sense Han’s drifting thoughts and shifted, placing himself between Han and his granddaughter. “Remember, our goal here isn’t to embarrass Chief Daala,” he continued. “It’s to convince her to lift the siege—”

“To force her,” Octa Ramis corrected. A slender Jedi Master about ten years older than Jaina Solo, Ramis was almost as tall as Han—and, on occasion, was known to exhibit a temper just as volatile. “Let’s be very clear on that, Grand Master. If this doesn’t work, the Council will be discussing other means.”

Hamner nodded. “Of course.” The Force was hardly necessary to sense the bitterness in his voice; even the Masters were no longer bothering to hide their frustration with his cautious leadership. “I’d just like to remind Captain Solo that the goal is to end the crisis, not exacerbate it.”

“No worries.” Han unbuckled his holster-belt and rolled it around his old DL-44, then handed it to Leia. “I don’t usually laugh in a chump’s face until after I close the deal.”

Hamner closed his eyes and exhaled hard, then turned to Kyle Katarn. “Maybe we should send someone else.”

Katarn stroked the short-cropped beard that covered his blocky jaw, then asked, “Because?”

“Because Captain Solo isn’t a Jedi,” Hamner replied evenly. “And because he doesn’t have the … patience to deal with Daala.”

“We’ve shown Daala too much patience already,” Kyp Durron said.

Cleanly shaven for a change—and reeking of algoraspice cologne—Kyp was standing with the two Jedi Knights who were key to Han’s plan. The first was a tall Chev male named Sothais Saar, the second a small human woman named Turi Altamik. Cilghal had assured everyone that the pair’s recovery from the Force psychosis was as complete as it was mysterious, and Han had known the healer far too long to doubt her judgment. Still, he would have felt a lot more confident if she had been there to keep a bulbous Mon Calamari eye on things. Instead she was down in the Asylum Block, running confirmation tests on the half dozen patients the GA did not know about.

“And Han has done too much for the Order—given too much of his own family’s blood—to be dismissed like that,” Kyp continued. “How many times does he need to prove himself?”

Kyp turned toward Corran and Mirax Horn, who were waiting a little apart from everyone else at the base of a soaring milkstone pillar. Corran’s long face was as haggard as Han had ever seen it, with a tangled, untrimmed beard and a brow so furrowed it looked like a Gamorrean’s. Though Mirax had at least brushed her hair and pulled it away from her face, her appearance was even worse, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

Corran gave