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And, Han realized, to make himself look good in the public eye—nothing like kneeing a Jedi in the groin on live HoloNet to make sure everyone remembered your name. But Han wasn’t going to begrudge the Bith his fifteen moments of fame; even if it had taken a none-too-subtle threat, Tharn had defied Daala and done the right thing. For that, he was going to need whatever benefit his newfound celebrity brought.

Han turned to Daala and motioned up the stairs, to where Turi was holding Saar by the arm and trying to help him stand up straight. “If you’re satisfied,” he said. “I think Jedi Saar could use someplace private to recover.”

Daala nodded. “Of course.” She flashed a vengeful glare in Tharn’s direction, then added, “I’ll have that plaza cleared as soon as Dr. Tharn certifies that all of the patients still in Jedi custody have recovered.”

“Sounds good.” An immense wave of relief rolled through Han, but he forced himself to keep a neutral face. He had seen defeat snatched from the jaws of victory often enough to know that now was no time for one of his trademark smug grins. Han turned to Tharn. “I’m pretty sure Master Cilghal will be happy to show you anything you need to see.”

Actually, Han wasn’t completely sure of that, since Cilghal wasn’t all that sure of what had happened to cure the barvy Jedi Knights. But that was her problem, and now that Han had forced Tharn to throw in with the Jedi, the good doctor wasn’t going to be looking too hard for reasons to make a negative report.

Han waited while Tharn made a show of ascending the stairs and taking Saar’s free arm, then turned back to Daala.

“I guess that just leaves us with one last thing to discuss.”

A vengeful light came to Daala’s eyes, and Han’s heart began to sink even before she spoke. “What thing would that be, Captain Solo?”

“Valin and Jysella Horn,” Han said, deciding to go for broke. “We’ll be coming to pick them up, just as soon as your bucketheads drag their barricades out of our hangar exits.”

Daala’s smile turned cold. “Then you’ll be making the trip for nothing,” she said.

Determined not to take the Galactic Alliance Chief of State by her lapels on live HoloNet, Han grabbed the sides of his trouser legs, then demanded, “You’re going to keep them in carbonite? When you know Cilghal can cure them?”

“I don’t know that she can. In fact, I don’t know anything about this cure at all.” Daala paused and ordered Harfard to lift the siege, then turned back to Han. “And until I do know everything, Captain Solo—until I’m one hundred percent satisfied that the Jedi are holding nothing back from me—the Horns will be remaining in GAS custody.”

KENTH HAMNER SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN LUKE SKYWALKER’S CHAIR at the Council meetings, not because he was unworthy of it, but because Jedi were not soldiers. They honored beings rather than rank, and if a leader expected to command their obedience, he first had to win their respect. Kenth saw that now, and he knew it had been a terrible mistake to claim the trappings of Grand Master before proving that he deserved them. At the time, he had believed that assuming the title would cement the support of the Order behind him. Instead, it had done just the opposite, reminding the Jedi that he was not Luke Skywalker—that he was, in fact, a replacement foisted on them by an ex-Imperial Chief of State who had once stood for everything the Jedi opposed.

And the problem with Daala herself was much the same. She was old-school military, very much the ex-admiral who believed she deserved not only deference, but immediate and unquestioning obedience. Sadly for all, the Jedi saw her in a much different light—as little more than a former enemy who had not yet earned their trust or their respect. The combination was a recipe for the disaster it had become, and Kenth could see in the hard faces around him that Han Solo’s inability to win a graceful victory had only pushed matters to the brink of cataclysm.

With the exception of Luke himself, all the current members of the Jedi Council were there, either in the chamber or—in the