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“Ensign, what’s your post?”

Bandy grinned over his shoulder at the security officer, a human woman, facing him. “Lieutenant Zeiers! You look just like your holos. Uh, my post is the Jedi Temple.”

“What did you say?”

He ignited his lightsaber. Its blue blade rose into shining coherence in front of his face. He looked at the door again and thrust the blade directly between the jamb and the numeric keypad beside it, cutting downward.

“Cell block alpha, we have an intruder!”

Bandy heard the words, heard the sound of a blaster pistol clearing leather. He spun, slashed upward, caught the pistol just forward of the trigger. The barrel flew free of the rest of the weapon.

Lieutenant Zeiers, unharmed but wide-eyed, stared at him. He returned his attention to the door. He heard her run off. Moments later his blade sheared through the bolt locking the door in place. After that, it took merely a wave of his hand and an exertion through the Force to slide the door open.

Seha stepped out, still hobbled by shackles. “Did you bring my lightsaber?”

“In the bag. Hands, please.” As soon as Seha extended her hands, Bandy sheared through the shackles restraining them.

“How about some real food? What they give you here—”

“Sorry, no. If you’re ever to have another good meal, we have to win this one.” Bandy stooped and cut through the ankle bindings, scarring the floor beneath them.

Seha dug around in the briefcase, then straightened up with her lightsaber in one hand, a few centimeters of metal cable still dangling from each wrist shackle.

Together they charged deeper into the security center. Word of their presence had spread. Security officers from two armed forces scattered, took up emplaced positions, and opened fire with blaster pistols. Seha took point—a full Jedi Knight, she was much better at batting back blaster bolts. Bandy caught those coming at them from troopers they’d already passed, those whose weapons they did not shear through in passing.

The Jedi reached their destination, the center’s armory. It stood resolutely shut and locked, the officers on duty not having had time to begin standard operating procedures on the arming of ready personnel.

Seha stood guard, catching and flinging back an ever-increasing barrage of blaster bolts. Bandy winced as he heard the occasional cry of pain. Seha wasn’t deliberately aiming the bolts back at firers, but there were so many bolts in this target-rich environment …

Bandy plunged his lightsaber into the door, dragged it around to create an aperture a meter and a half in diameter. When the two burned edges of his cut met, he kicked the center of the circle and it fell into the armory. He jumped through, careful to avoid contact with the jagged, heated edges of metal, and once inside he slapped the button to open the door.

It still worked. The door slid open. Seha backed in. Bandy hit the button and it slid shut again. Now blaster bolts came in only through the hole Bandy had made.

He turned to look over the chamber’s treasures. Stands of body armor, racks of blaster rifles, cases of grenades … “Gas masks … there they are.” He grabbed two sets of protective breathing gear and several riot-control grenades. He placed one mask on his own face and one on Seha’s, then began activating grenades and flipping them through the hole in the door.

So far, so good.

THE NOISE MADE BY THE CROWD PRESSING AGAINST LINES OF SECURITY troopers at the outer perimeter of the Senate Plaza changed. In a second it turned from angry, full of false bravado, to curious and confused.

Javon Thewles, new civilian, a few ranks behind the front, craned his neck in an effort to see over the heads before him.

The building’s doors—personnel entryways and hangar doors—were sliding shut, their movement simultaneous, clearly controlled by a central computer.

A tickle of alarm in his stomach killed his appetite. This could not be good. He pressed forward, shoving other onlookers out of the way. A security trooper, seeing his advance, gave him a close threat-evaluation look, but Javon drew