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He handed the pad to the protocol droid and said, “Eethree, run the hologram this image was taken from.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Glances were exchanged, but those present knew better than to question. They leaned forward as the small hologram materialized in the center of the table, next to the carafe of caf and the cream, curious to see why Lecersen had seen fit to bring this to their attention.

“It is with great appreciation, humbleness, and a sense of duty that I accept the nomination to represent my planet in the Galactic Senate.”

The voice was strong. The handsome face, framed by neatly trimmed gray hair, showed both passion and restraint. Lecersen thought he even caught a glimmer of tears in the eyes, but that could have simply been the lighting.

“For too long, we have kept to ourselves. We have grown too comfortable with our situation. But now, it is time to leave that comfortable rut. My friends and fellow B’nishi … the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth of the hole.”

A cliché, no doubt, but one that clearly got a warm reception, judging from the sound of applause. Suldar nodded, lifting a hand to call for silence, smiling.

“Freeze, right there,” Lecersen said.

The droid obeyed. And there it was—a glint of something very not-selfless. Something that bespoke pleasure in what he was doing, and a quiet understanding and appreciation of the power he now held.

“Do you see what I see, Senator?” Lecersen mused, turning to Treen.

“Oh, indeed I do,” said Treen. “That looks like someone who might be right at home at this table. Why, he looks a bit like you, Fost, when you were younger and full of fire.” Bramsin looked pleased.

“Come now, Drikl,” scoffed Jaxton, looking at him incredulously. “You can get that from a single paused hologram? If you caught me at the right moment, I could look like either a god or an imbecile.”

“This is true,” said Lecersen, not adding that he thought the latter more likely than the former. “However, this new Senator bears watching. And you, my dear, are in an ideal position to do so.”

Treen tittered.

They moved quickly through the list that Dorvan himself had handled, possibly quicker than the Chief of State had done, as their concern was much more focused.

“Ah, Klatooine and the oh-so-diplomatic and charming Padnel Ovin,” purred Lecersen. “Can we use or turn him, do you think?”

“Nonhuman,” grumbled Bramsin, refilling his caf. “I, for one, don’t want to work with him.”

“Neither do I,” Parova put in. “I’ve served under a Bothan long enough. I thought I was going to develop allergies. I’d just as soon not associate with a dog.”

“I know the type.” The voice was deep, metallic, and ominous. Everyone turned to regard Thaal. He so seldom spoke, it was always worth listening to. Thaal didn’t miss the mixture of fascination and revulsion on the faces of the Senators, who had not spent much time around him recently, and a smile of amused contempt curled his lips.

“His bumbling and noise should do us a roundabout favor. He will be a welcome distraction, if nothing else. The newsvids will adore either bashing or praising him, because he is so terribly colorful. Subtler things will escape their notice.”

“One hopes,” said Treen.

“One does hope, and one should make sure that it happens,” Lecersen said, the barest hint of warning in his voice. Treen smiled cheerfully.

“All of these planets abolishing slavery reminds me of when the Empire fell,” Bramsin muttered. “All the chaos of those liberated worlds celebrating and throwing everything out of order. It’s making things very difficult.”

“Difficulties are often opportunities in disguise,” Treen said. “We’ve already determined a possible ally and a potential distraction.”

“If I ever get my hands on whoever is responsible for creating and organizing the Freedom Flight, I’ll choke the life out of him,” Jaxton continued.

Lecersen, Bramson, and Treen exchanged glances. Then the Moff turned his attention back to Jaxton.

“I suppose, since I am safely in my own home with droids poised ready to stop you, that now