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“Sir,” she said, “bad news.”

“Don’t tell me—Senator Rokari Kem has arrived,” growled Workan.

“No, sir, much worse. Senator Bramsin is dead, and Senator Treen has tendered her resignation.”

“What?” he exploded, leaping to his feet and directing his fury at Enara.

“Details are just coming in,” Enara said. “The press is all over it.”

“Well, get them off it!”

“That’s … not as easy as you might think, sir. We’ll get BAMR to cover it the way we want, but for right now we just have to control what leaks.”

He rubbed his palms into his eyes. “What do we know?”

“Bramsin was found dead around five this morning. It appears to be natural causes. The droid who found the body also put him to bed last night around midnight. It testified that Senator Treen had visited Bramsin and they had stayed up late drinking and talking.”

A terrible thought was forming in Workan’s mind. “Go on.”

“Treen issued a statement to the press. She said that she and Fost had been old friends, and his loss was too devastating to bear. That it was time she withdrew from politics, and she would be resigning her position and retiring to Kuat.”

“No, she won’t. Find her and bring her here this minute.”

Lady Enara was doing her best not to look like she wished she were anywhere else. “Sir, she left about an hour ago.”

Workan swore, lengthily and musically, in Keshiri. It was obvious what had happened. That witch Treen had decided to cut her losses before it was too late. Intelligent of her, he had to admit. Kill Bramsin, make it look like an ordinary death—“Fost Bramsin died peacefully in his sleep”—and then flee to live out her life in comfortable obscurity on Kuat. He itched to pursue her, to drag her back screaming to Coruscant, where he would show her how fair-weather friends of the Sith were treated. But he couldn’t spare the time and resources. Later, when things were settled, maybe he would attend to her personally.

At least she’d saved him the trouble of having to eliminate Bramsin himself.

“I want Sabers assigned to monitor Admiral Parova and Generals Jaxton and Thaal,” he said. “Every moment. If they go out to dinner, I want them followed. I want to know what they order and which chef prepares it. If they enter the refresher, I want to know if they wash their hands. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.” She stood straight at attention, no doubt relieved to have gotten off so easily with such bad news. “Do you wish them to act or merely report?”

“Report their activities only, for now,” said Workan. He wasn’t ready to order them killed. Not yet. He wanted to know if Treen had acted on her own, or if the entire conspiracy was unraveling. “And find out what is going on with Moff Lecersen. I haven’t heard from him in days.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“Yes,” he said. “Find out what Roki Kem’s favorite drink is and make sure it’s chilled, warmed, or at room temperature.”

“Ah, sir … Roki Kem doesn’t drink alcohol.”

Of course she didn’t. Workan wondered what else could possibly go wrong today.

SENATE BUILDING RECEPTION HALL, CORUSCANT

“SUCH LUXURY,” MURMURED PADNEL OVIN AS HE AND WYNN DORVAN entered the Senate reception area. “How many credits simply to secure the area? How many spent on food and drink?”

“Well, sir, I can get you exact figures if you like, but I think we can just leave it at ‘quite a lot,’ ” said Dorvan.

“I … would like exact figures,” Padnel said. “All this for one Senator?”

“Well, technically, it’s a welcome reception for all the new Senators, as they have arrived at various times,” Dorvan said. “Roki Kem is, however, among the most highly respected.” While it was commendable that Kem had postponed her departure from Qaras until she felt the situation was stable enough to warrant it, Dorvan was relieved that the new Senator had finally arrived. Intelligent, compassionate, farseeing, Roki Kem was certain to be an ally against the increasing intolerance that was seeping through the government. Club Bwua’tu had already discussed not if they wanted to bring her in, but how and