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After about half an hour, Ben stuck a hand in one of the cracks. “We’re almost through,” he said.

Vestara waved him over to her, indicating he should stand beside her. He did. She looked straight ahead and mimed pushing. He understood at once and nodded. She lifted her hand and counted down: One. Two.

Three.

They Force-shoved with all their strength. The wall of wedged rocks exploded outward as if a thermal detonator had been set off. For a moment, they stood staring at the gaping hole, then started laughing and hugging each other.

“Quit snuggling, you two,” came a voice. They looked up, shocked, to see Corran Horn. His eyes over the gas mask looked both amused and impatient. “The volcano erupted and you need to get out with me now. Oh, and Vestara—”

He tossed her an unlit lightsaber.

“I believe this is yours.”

OFFICES OF MERRATT JAXTON, CORUSCANT

MERRATT JAXTON, FOR ALL THAT HE ENJOYED BEING THE CENTER OF attention, found that when he needed to he was very good at keeping his head down.

He’d started to wonder if something was going wrong when Lecersen fell silent. He’d known something was going wrong when Bramsin died of so-called natural causes and Treen left within hours of his death.

And when Parova’s body turned up …

He, who had sent the fake Jedi after Admiral Nek Bwua’tu, did not believe it was the work of Tahiri Veila. Or any other Jedi.

There were only two of them left. Three, if you counted Suldar, who was supposed to have been the “new boy” and who had suddenly seemed to be running the show and reducing the number of people he needed to deal with right and left.

He’d liked it when Lecersen was the head of the whole thing—well, the titular head, though Jaxton knew that the whole thing had been Senator Treen’s idea. Now that neither of them was reachable, Jaxton was starting to feel very, very insecure indeed.

He stared at his comlink, turning it over and over in his hand, then finally clicked it.

“Yeah,” came the cold, metallic voice.

Jaxton hesitated. He didn’t know what he was going to say.

“I don’t like this.”

“What don’t you like?”

“Parova and Bramsin are dead?”

“And we’re alive, so?”

Did General Stavin Thaal just not get it? “And what makes you think we won’t be next? These blasted Senators, thinking they can control us … No word from good old Palpatine, either,” he added, recalling with distaste the costumed meeting where Lecersen had shown up as Emperor Palpatine.

A pause. “You know, you have a good point. Let’s get together and discuss it.”

“Where?”

“I’ll find you.”

Click.

Jaxton stared at his comlink, and for no reason at all, he felt a chill.

The rest of the day passed without comment from Thaal. Jaxton went to a local cantina for a drink, then to a restaurant he was known to frequent for dinner, then came home and poured himself a nightcap. He nursed it, watched some holonews, and found himself relieved that no one he knew was reported dead.

There came a knock on his door. He let out a sigh of relief. There was the man, finally.

“Stavin,” he said cheerily as he opened the door, “you are one mysterious—”

Stavin Thaal was indeed standing outside his door. So were two other men. Jaxton looked askance at them, and then looked back to Thaal. “Personal bodyguards,” Thaal said. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

“You’re telling me,” said Jaxton, and waved the men in. “Can I get you something to drink?” he said, heading to the bar. “I’ve got a fine selection of—”

“Merratt,” said Thaal, his mechanical voice oddly quiet.

Jaxton turned around. The two men were standing pointing small, handheld blasters at him. “Fine, fine, I’ll bring out the good stuff,” he laughed. “Not all that funny, Stavin,” he went on, refreshing his own drink.

“I’m afraid it’s not really funny at all,” Thaal said. “Come sit down at your desk. You’re going to take dictation for me.”

“You’re serious,” Jaxton said. Thaal nodded, unsmiling. The men did not lower their blasters. Thinking he could find