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“She really is becoming the old Daala.” Jaxton actually sounded a bit regretful. That was not too surprising; three or four decades earlier, as a starfighter pilot, he might have faced Daala’s forces. “Talking in tones as if her speeches were being recorded for replay by the Imperial-era Moffs. Brooking no argument. Snappish. Brittle. Still raw from Grand Moff Tarkin’s death. She didn’t know the Mandalorians well then, but she did know the fleet.”

Parova nodded. “And my father, who served with her once upon a time.”

“Ah.” Lecersen gave her a little nod of respect. “You have impeccable credentials.”

“And they’re getting more impeccable all the time.”

“So.” Lecersen considered their options. “If and when we can maneuver security out of favor and your security detail into favor, and it becomes time to act, how do we push her over the edge?”

Parova’s expression suddenly became sober. “I have that worked out. It will be sad … but let’s just say that it will serve two or more purposes, and that I have no room in my navy for a vessel whose commander consistently fails to exceed minimal expectations.”

HWEG SHUL, NAM CHORIOS

AS NIGHT FELL ACROSS THIS PORTION OF NAM CHORIOS, EVEN THE listless heat provided by the violet sun diminished—and so did the atmospheric agitation on the planet’s surface. Winds died; the dust storm that had blanketed the capital town throughout the daylight hours faded, leaving Hweg Shul caked with a new layer of dust the approximate color of dirty snow. Overhead, a starfield like an empire’s collection of royal jewels poured carelessly across a bed of black velvet gleamed down at the residents of this rocky, unrewarding world.

So beautiful. Luke, standing outside the Admirable Admiral with his son and Vestara, looked at the expanse of shining, twinkling lights. Farther out from town, where the inhabitants’ lights don’t interfere, it will be more beautiful still.

It was a strange dichotomy, that a world so poor, which had provided such a mean and meager living to its inhabitants for so many hundreds of years, should be lovely in so many ways. Its ravines and rises full of gloriously colorful crystals below, its clear and unpolluted nighttime skies above … it was little wonder that so many hardy citizens had remained behind when the world opened up for trade and emigration thirty years earlier, or that the population had even grown in numbers since then.

In the stillness of the painfully cold night, Luke glimpsed a flicker of light far up the street. It was hard to make out at this distance, even with the air as still and clear as it was, but it had a familiar, almost organic quality, like a legless sidewinder species made of golden illumination hurtling toward them at Podracer speed.

He caught the teenagers’ attention. “Brace yourselves. Don’t resist it. Let it flow through you.”

Vestara caught sight of it, now plainly visible, just a few blocks from them. Her eyes widened.

Ben, his attention on his father, didn’t. “Let what flow—”

Then it was on them, under them, through them, a blinding flash of light and a tingling throughout their bodies as if each had accidentally brushed a high-voltage line. Luke felt his muscles spasm, felt his mind go blank just for an instant. He saw his son and Vestara fall. He himself stayed upright, not out of force of will, but out of control of the Force—he let the Force energy pass through him, barely a trace interacting with his body.

Then the light was gone, crackling across the ground behind them, curling serpent-like beneath the elevated foundation of the hostel and other Newcomer buildings before vanishing among the homes and streets a block away.

Ben scrambled to his feet, a little shaky. “Uh … can I take it that this was ground lightning?”

Vestara rose more slowly and gracefully. “It’s like a tedious old nursemaid who wants to tickle you … except she’s switched to using an electrowhip.”

“Ground lightning, yes.” Luke stretched his legs