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“By all means,” Workan said earnestly, “I would never deny the Chief of State—excuse me, interim Chief of State—any rights he wishes to exercise.”

“The chair then recognizes the right of the interim Chief of State to address the Senate.”

Padnel inclined his head graciously. “Thank you. My fellow Senators,” he said, looking out over the vast collection of beings, “I know you think you know me. But most of you may have heard rumors about my behavior, or about my brother and his organization. Let me dispel some of these before you vote on my ability to lead the GA. I will start with the history of my people, and the Treaty of Vontor.”

It was going to be a long, long speech. Talk all you wish, Ovin, Workan thought, and picked up his comlink.

If there was one thing Padnel Ovin was good at, Wynn Dorvan thought as he entered the now-empty office of the Chief of State, it was stubbornly standing his ground. Padnel would likely be holding the Senate captive for the entire day and perhaps well on into the night. If all went well, though, Dorvan would only need the Senators distracted for an hour. He made sure the door was locked, then drew the curtains and turned toward what looked like a plain blank wall.

More knew about this secret exit than he would have liked, but it was still not common knowledge. He tapped the code, and the outlines of a door materialized, then slid open.

He had never had to use this door before, but he had access to the blueprints of the labyrinthine corridors it opened into, and knew exactly where he was going.

It was dimly lit, and dusty. Dorvan made a mental note to tell whoever eventually became Chief of State—he would be content with whomever the Senate chose; he had grown to respect Padnel and, like everyone else, thought Roki Kem was an amazing being who would do just fine—that these corridors needed to be cleaned and all the doors checked to make sure they were still properly functional. A secret escape pathway would do no one any good if they couldn’t actually get out.

Dorvan moved swiftly, not quite running but not quite walking, down flights of stairs and through long corridors that had not been used in years, if ever. Mentally he ticked off each turn and exit, until finally his path took him upward.

He reached the door he wanted. It was unmarked save for a number. Another safety redundancy—those who knew the numbering system knew which door led where. Intruders would be at a disadvantage.

Dorvan took a deep breath, and slid open the door.

He found himself staring at three huge blasters.

“Gentlemen, please put those away,” Dorvan said. “If you kill me, you’ll never find your way around.”

“Like I’m ever trigger-happy,” said Han Solo. Lando Calrissian rolled his eyes.

“Man’s got a point,” said Zekk. “I had no idea there was a secret entrance in the Temple garden that led to the Chief of State’s office.”

“Now that you do, Jedi Zekk, I encourage you to forget about it as soon as possible. Let’s go, gentlemen. The Princess is waiting.”

They followed at once, bristling with enough weapons to equip a small army. “Let’s go over the plan one more time,” Dorvan said.

“We went over it six times already,” said Lando.

“Redundancy is never a bad thing,” said Dorvan. “Tell me what the plan is.”

Lando frowned and growled a little, but complied. “We follow you till we get to the prison section. No one knows about the entrance—you can’t even see it from the other side. A patrol of three guards comes past it every seventeen minutes. It’s a blind corner with no vidcams. We listen for their approach, pop out, knock them on the heads, and take their uniforms and key codes.”

“Excellent,” Dorvan said. “Now, Captain Solo, what’s next?”

Han shot him a blistering glare. “Dorvan, anyone ever tell you you are incredibly annoying?”

“Frequently, sir, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need to make sure everyone knows the—”

“Okay, okay, if it’ll shut you up. We—”

“We’re here,” Zekk said. Han looked relieved. Sure enough, they were at door 41-A. Han motioned for silence, glanced at