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General Stavin Thaal’s imposing form was in no way diminished by being reduced to a small holographic image. Though his eyes were tiny, they were intense, and she could even see the scar winding its ugly way across the miniature throat.

“Good evening, General,” Treen said pertly. “I received a message that you wished to speak with me.”

“You deleted the info?” The voice was deep and cold and prickled at the base of Treen’s spine. She did not think she would ever grow used to the sound of a droid voice coming from a human throat.

“Naturally,” said Treen. “Although as Wyx is a B-Two Butler, it’s a redundancy. You’re not dealing with an amateur, you know.”

“Actually, I do know,” continued Thaal. “That’s why I’m contacting you. It’s time to move camp, Senator.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid that, while I understand your colorful military metaphor, I’m not sure exactly why we should move camp.”

“Lecersen’s ratted us out. Or at least, he will, sooner or later. I have received information that he is now working with Admiral Natasi Daala. If he hasn’t given us up yet, he will soon. She’s too smart not to make connections.”

An icy lump formed at the pit of Treen’s stomach. “Oh, dearie me,” she murmured. “This is most unpleasant news, General. Most unpleasant indeed.”

“I also think that Suldar has been playing us,” Thall continued in his unnatural voice. “We gave him the Galactic Alliance, and he’s given us nothing. I haven’t heard word one about any promotions, have you?”

“No,” said Treen, drawing out the word. “I was just remarking on that to Fost tonight.”

“I got into this whole thing because I wanted power. Just as you did. No shame in that. But now it’s just about saving our own skins. I haven’t led as many campaigns as I have without recognizing the signs of an enemy preparing to strike. We need to strike first and get out.”

Treen knew he was right.

“What do you want from the rest of us?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment. Then, his hard face looking almost regretful, he said, “There is no rest of us, Senator. Not if we’re to get out of this. Think about it. Lecersen’s been compromised. Bramsin was a powerful politician in his day, but now he’s an old bumbler who falls asleep in his soup. I don’t have much respect for Parova—too quick to turn her back on what should have been her first loyalty. And Jaxton will blow with the prevailing wind. This whole plot was your idea, Senator. And it was brilliant. I wouldn’t have been on board with it if I didn’t believe it would work. But even the best-laid campaigns can be ruined by the unexpected. We could have ridden out either Lecersen or Suldar turning against us, but not both. We each have complementary resources. I intend to eliminate anything that will tie me to this, and stay right where I am. You bring me down, I’ll bring you down with me.”

“Well, you most certainly would have to, General, but fortunately, I don’t intend to do that,” Treen said, keeping her voice and manner mild. “Who shall be our first target?”

“Bramsin. He’s become completely unreliable. Who knows what he’d blurt out at the next press conference without even realizing what he’s doing?”

Her heart sank. The worst part of it was she knew Thaal was right. Lecersen was out of their hands now. Parova and Jaxton wouldn’t act until they felt it was in their best interests. But poor dear Fost …

Sadly, she said, “Somehow, I knew you’d say that.”

It had been a lovely evening, mused Bramsin as he allowed Mardith, his driver, to help him into his home. An evening with Haydnat was always a delight. Such good food and conversation. He wondered why Lecersen hadn’t joined them. Wasn’t he supposed to?

“Thank you, Mardith, that will be all,” Bramsin said, extending his cane. He had recently moved to apartments all on one floor. Stairs were simply too challenging. He shuffled slowly into the parlor, where he sank into a chair. A basic-model serving droid rolled up with a nightcap for him.

He frowned at the Corellian brandy. “I don’t like this.”

“Sir,” piped the droid, “you