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He leaned back against the pillows. “He’s going to attempt to find any documentation for us. It’s putting him in a very dangerous position, Wynn. I hope you’re right.”

“I’m right about something,” Dorvan said, then added self-deprecatingly, “I’m just not sure what.”

INDIGO TOWER RESTAURANT, CORUSCANT

“THE INDIGO TOWER IS PERHAPS NOT THE BEST CHOICE OF DINING establishment to chase away the blues,” said Treen, poking disinterestedly at her plate. It was one of her favorite appetizers—Naboo shellfish sautéed in, predictably, butter made from blue cream, seasoned just right. But tonight, nothing tasted good.

Bramsin reached out a liver-spotted hand and patted hers gently. “Perhaps not. Let’s order a special bottle of something.”

Treen sighed. Perhaps a vintage bottle of gold wine would lift her spirits. Bramsin waved down the young human male waiting on them tonight and ordered one.

“I don’t like how things are going,” she said once they were alone. “Not in the slightest. First this peculiar silence from Drikl, then Kameron takes what we’ve handed him on a plate and doesn’t even bother to give us the crumbs.”

“Perhaps he’s just laying the foundation,” offered Bramsin. He spooned up his bisque, his hand shaking so badly that half of it spilled.

“I don’t think so,” mused Treen, tapping her finger on her chin. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“Next you’ll tell me you’re a Jedi,” joked Bramsin. They both had a good laugh over that one. The waiter came with their wine—Bramsin had sprung for the superior vintage on the wine list—and poured their glasses.

“A toast,” said Treen. “To old friends.”

Bramsin smiled and clinked his glass to hers. She felt better after the first sip. It was good to pamper oneself.

“So,” she said, returning to her shellfish with renewed interest, “I take it that you haven’t heard from Drikl, either?”

Bramsin shook his head. “Not a peep,” he said. “I had lunch with Parova the other day. She seems to be in good spirits, though.”

“She’s always in good spirits. Unnaturally cheerful, that woman.” Treen didn’t particularly care for most of her co-conspirators. The old phrase about politics and bedfellows was quite true. She had approached Drikl, and was fond of him, and of course had a long friendship with dear Fost. Jaxton she thought handsome, but a bit flighty. Parova annoyed her, and General Thaal—she hadn’t made up her mind about him. Intelligent and dangerous, certainly, and for now that was really all she needed to know.

“Well,” she said, “I’ll try to contact Lecersen this evening. We’ll give Suldar a few more days to remember who put him in power, then we shall have a little talk with him. For now.” She beamed at him, her good spirits restored by the company, the food, and the most delicious wine.

She returned to her apartments some three hours later in an excellent mood. She was greeted at the door by Wyx, her BII Butler Droid. Wyx had been in the Treen family for generations, and appeared to be poised to continue to serve for at least several more decades.

“Good evening, Madame Senator,” said Wyx. As always, he was timely and attentive, sporting the family colors, blue and gold, proudly on his torso. “How was your evening with Senator Bramsin?”

“Lovely, thank you, Wyx,” said Treen, handing the droid her coat and starting to head up the stairs. “Any messages?”

“Only one,” Wyx said, “In your office. A General Thaal.”

Treen paused, her hand on the banister. “Delete all references and recollection of General Thaal from your data banks for the last four hours,” she said.

“Deleted,” Wyx said obligingly.

“Prepare a bath for me. I’ll be in my office for the next few minutes.” Sanisteams were fine for day-to-day hygiene, but Treen enjoyed the luxury of immersing herself in hot, scented water.

She went into her office, decorated with paintings and statuary from Kuat’s finest artists. The lights turned on automatically. She entered the general’s comm number and sat back in