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Now sections of permacrete at the base of the building drew aside and trapezoidal shapes of the same material rose into view. At the top of each was a cupola from which protruded a quad-linked laser array, quite sufficient to down starfighters, more than sufficient to annihilate scores of people with a single shot.

But Javon knew that the pillbox’s automatic fire systems, or occupants if staffed by the living, were authorized to fire only if fired upon or if potential enemies came within fifty meters. And surely no one was crazy enough to approach weapons pods bristling with lasers—

At a point where security troopers were overburdened with the effort of holding back the crowds, a swell of pressure from onlookers moved barricades back and a civilian charged through. This was a human male, his hair black and military-short. On his shoulder was a holocam, a professional rig—he was either a newsperson or an amateur who liked expensive toys.

The troopers holding the line had their hands full. None could go after the errant holocam operator, who continued slowly moving forward, recording.

“Get back!” That was a trooper, a corporal, a Quarren female, her facial tentacles twitching with agitation. She stood only five meters from Javon, on the other side of the barricades. “Back!”

“Shoot him.” Javon heard the words emerge from his own mouth, was surprised, and then realized they were absolutely the correct ones to shout.

The Quarren whipped around to look at him. “What?”

“He’s going to trigger those lasers in a few more steps, and dozens will die—maybe hundreds. Switch over to stun and shoot him, Corporal.” Javon put the full force of his command training into his voice, hoping the Quarren would respond to that and not to his civilian clothes.

The Quarren looked at him as if convinced that her tympanic membranes were playing her false. Then her fingers moved over the left side of her blaster rifle. She raised the weapon to her shoulder and fired.

The man with the holocam took the bolt in his side. He went down hard, his holocam shattering on the plaza’s permacrete surface, his body spasming. His eyes closed.

The crowd howled with outrage. Holocams immediately swung around to focus on the Quarren. But the surge in the line the unconscious man had emerged from retreated. The troopers there shoved against the line of barricades and straightened it.

The Quarren turned to glare at Javon. “It pains me that you were right.”

“Me, too, Corporal.”

Fifty meters farther along the line of barricades, a yellow-skinned humanoid female with an omnidirectional mike in her hand stared gaping at what had just transpired. “That was—that was Tuvar, wasn’t it? From Independent Voice News?” She looked back at her holocam operator for confirmation.

That individual, a Gamorrean male in permacrete-gray garments, held a holocam rig smaller and much less elaborate than that of the fallen man. It had a cradle for his shoulder, a diopter for his eye, and a trigger for on and off; everything else was automatic, making it an ideal rig for someone with a Gamorrean’s intellectual shortcomings. In answer to the yellow-skinned female’s question, he gave a porcine grunt of confirmation, but his attention did not waver; his holocam remained focused on his unconscious colleague, who was even now being approached by a security medic.

The female, lovely in a deliberately unthreatening fashion, made up to appear as though she wore no makeup, dressed in all-white to set herself off from most backgrounds when being recorded, turned to stare at the Senate Building. “I’d give a month’s pay to know what’s going on in there right now.”

“The Jedi have stormed the building.” The voice came from immediately to her left, pitched just loud enough to be heard over the crowd noise—from a distance of not more than five centimeters. The woman could feel the speaker’s breath against her ear. Something about the words sent a chill through her, but it wasn’t the speaker’s tone, which was low, neutral.

As if expecting to see a flesh-devouring