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She dropped back down. “I’ve laid a false trail,” she said. “Pick a door, and let’s go.”

“But we don’t know—” began Lando.

“She’s right,” Han said. “Anything’s better than this. Besides, I’m sick of stairs.”

He went to the nearest door, pushed it open, and they all rushed out.

Into the undercity.

Leia and Han had watched the segment on The Perre Needmo Newshour. They had seen how the place had fallen even farther into violence and chaos. But the Newshour vidcrew had failed to capture the enormity of the sudden spurts of plant growth. They were everywhere. Every ramshackle building was nearly choked by the living green carpet. Vines seemed to be moving almost of their own accord, but Leia could see that there were gangs moving through the growth. The place was so strong with fear, despair, and an almost unnatural sense of malice that she had to quickly shield herself from it in the Force.

“Lovely,” Zekk said. “So nice to see healthy growing things.”

“Hey, I’d rather fight my way out than be hunted,” said Han.

“I’ve got a lightsaber,” Zekk said.

“I’ve got the Force,” Leia said.

“And we’ve got blasters,” Han said. “Let’s go.”

“HOW MANY?”

It was the seventh time in the last hour Roki had commed Workan, inquiring how many votes he could put forth.

He forced his voice to sound pleasant and agreeable as he replied. “We’re waiting on two more, then we should have the four-fifths.”

“I don’t like to wait, Suldar.”

“I know, my lady.” The term always seemed to mollify her. “But they will be here soon.”

“They had better be. We have so much to do. This is only a stepping-stone, and I am anxious to move forward.”

“So you have said, my lady. They should be here any minute.”

Lady Enara Massar looked at him. She knew about Roki, of course. Once he had chosen to throw his weight behind her—not that he had been given much of a choice—he had informed all the Sith who answered to him that they would now do likewise. There had been a few who had objected. They had been sent to explore the depths of the Jedi Temple, and no one had heard from them since.

“I do wish she were a trifle more patient,” he told Enara. “Not all spiders venture forth and hunt their prey. Some of the most successful simply spin their webs and wait for their future dinners to stumble across the sticky strands. Is a few hours of gracious waiting too much to ask when I’m about to make her Chief of State?”

“So it would seem, sir,” Enara said, commiserating. “Though to be fair,” she added, “listening to Padnel Ovin hold forth for an hour would test a Grand Lord’s patience.”

“You have me there,” he admitted.

The Klatooinian had been droning on about his history and that of his world for the past—he checked—hour and seventeen minutes. Now he was starting to address the issue of his brother’s martyrdom.

“By dinnertime, he’ll have gotten to his arrival on Coruscant,” Workan muttered. “I do wish there were some way to get him to hurry up.”

“… He knew, that with his death, others would be inspired to follow the cause,” Padnel was saying. His posture was still rock-steady. The rules dictated that he not sit and not leave. Once he did, his time would be considered over. More than Kem and Workan were fidgeting; no one had expected it to go half this long. And Padnel showed no signs of slowing down. Even his voice showed no strain. “Those who died in the incident were fellow warriors—the military. Not civilians. Grunel went to great lengths—”

“Sir,” said Enara, sounding very pleased. “Senators Sh’klaa and Onoru have reported in. They’re moving to their seats now. They’ll be ready to cast their votes in five minutes.”

“Excellent,” said Workan. He clicked his comlink.

“Roki Kem,” came the bright voice.

“My lady,” Workan said, allowing a trace of smugness to enter his voice, “I am delighted to report that the last two Senators have entered the building and are moving to their daises. Once Padnel Ovin has wound down—and he has to use the refresher sometime—your ascension to