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Daala glanced at the documents. One was a reproduction of the charges laid against her at her arraignment. The other was the first page of the transcription of her arraignment hearing.

She could keep her face emotionless, she could keep her voice level, but she couldn’t keep her heart from racing. She was about to go into battle. “I take it the laminate is laced with some material—”

“I don’t want to use the exact word, as it’s a very potent one, and if a droid guard’s audioreceptor picks up that word …”

“I understand.”

“But the substance is a new, very exciting, crystalline boom-boom material.” He set out a third document.

“Surely in quantities like this isn’t it not more, um, potent than transparisteel is strong.”

“No, not at all. But again, cost-of-construction issues rear their ugly head. The force will be enough to kick the transparisteel out of its frame.” He gave her a candid look. “I do a number of domicile insertions every year. If you reinforce a domicile against intrusion, you strengthen the doors and viewports. But the walls remain vulnerable. You find the weak spot, you exploit the weak spot.”

“Just like in military tactics.”

“So … in a minute, there will be nothing of consequence between us. And this facility will immediately seal up.”

The false attorney had five pieces of flimsi on the transparisteel now. That was the entire stack. He began to take them down, carefully peeling them away from the barrier. Daala, though, could see the almost invisible rectangular patches of laminate that remained behind.

“Forgive me if I don’t understand, but I would think that sealing this place would make it harder for us to walk out.”

He gave her an admonishing look. “Yes, but there are times when a prison will not execute a shutdown under any circumstances.”

“No, there aren’t.”

“You’re thinking of military prisons, and with military prisons, you’d be correct. But this is a civilian prison. So. What circumstances?”

She shook her head.

He touched the rear edge of his datapad and then brought the same finger up to touch the first document. Daala saw, but no prison holocam was likely to be acute enough to see, the nearly transparent filament that stretched from the back of the datapad to the laminate clinging to the barrier.

The false attorney held his finger there for a moment, then withdrew it. The filament remained. “Think mercifully, Admiral. A shutdown involves sealing off all exits. Ventilation also shuts down.”

“Which is the way it should be.”

“Yes. But if there is a poison gas attack on the facility, shutting down the ventilation kills everyone inside.”

“Your employer isn’t going to use poison gas—”

“And if a disaster contaminates all the food and water, and the prison is cut off from all relief, sealing all exits dooms the prisoners as well as the staff. So, by decrees dating back to the reforms of the New Republic, a prison experiencing such an event cannot be sealed. It has to rely on the staff to maintain security.”

Daala gave him a suspicious look. “We’re in the heart of Coruscant. This prison can’t be cut off from all relief.”

“Nor can the Senate Building experience a Yuuzhan Vong attack without the military having some clue that one is coming. Yet that exact thing seemed to happen … for a few crucial minutes … the day you were so seriously inconvenienced.” The false attorney had now attached filaments to all five sheets of laminate.

Daala buried her face in her hands for a brief moment. “Standardized operational procedures.”

“Correct! All prisons operated by the Galactic Alliance Department of Corrections, for consistency and to save costs, use the same basic computer system, which has to be able to handle a giant facility at the heart of Coruscant and a piddly little outpost on a remote moon near Dathomir. Same program, same emergency codes.”

He replaced his documents in the case and closed the latches. “In a moment, I’m going to press a button on this datapad. This will begin a five-second countdown and transmit an automated signal to someone still active in the Department of Corrections