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He wasn’t surprised that they all accepted the “revelation” without surprise. They asked who knew he was at Daala’s residence the night of the attack.

“I don’t think anyone did. Not even you, Asokaji. Did you get my signal?”

Bwua’tu had pressed an emergency signal button when he first realized—well, he amended, first thought he realized—who was attacking him. He was not and never would be a match for two Jedi Knights. Fortunately for him, but deepening the mystery, was the revelation that they could not possibly have been Jedi—simply because he was alive to tell the tale.

“I did, sir, and help came within moments. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made it. I did, however, assume you might have gone to visit the admiral, considering we found you such a short distance from her apartments.”

Nek nodded. He continued with his narrative, describing the two attacking male humans in great detail. “I know I killed one,” he said. “The one in Jedi robes. I think the other was injured in a fall earlier on. I’m sure you didn’t find him.”

“No, we didn’t,” said the miniature Dorvan. “Though not for lack of trying. We weren’t even able to identify the false Jedi you killed. He simply didn’t exist.”

Nek felt his fur rippling even under the cast as the words sank in.

“We know they weren’t real Jedi,” he said, “and we know that someone wanted to make sure he wasn’t identified. Someone went to a very great deal of effort and paid a large number of credits to ensure that.”

“Indeed,” said Dorvan. “Sir, you must keep pretending that you remember nothing. Esquire Bwua’tu, Asokaji—one of you, or someone that I personally appoint, is to be with the admiral at all times.” He frowned, thinking. “We might even get a Jedi sentry, now that they’re all cured. Given the current climate, it will soothe possible fears—and give you added protection. It will have to be someone we can trust completely, though, and that might be challenging.”

“Sir? Are you comfortable with that?” asked Asokaji.

“No,” Nek said. “Their first loyalty is to the Order. They will think they will have to tell—who is in charge?”

“Master Sebatyne.”

Nek grimaced a little at the thought of that fierce warrior leading the Jedi. “Any Jedi will tell her. And if we try to lie, they will sense it. I might be able to fool the doctors, but I’m not a good enough actor to fool a Jedi.”

Dorvan sighed. “You raise a good point, sir. I’d like to inform the Jedi at some point, however.”

“Agreed, but not just yet. Forgive me, but I am extremely weary. Can we speak again later?”

In truth, blackness was already nudging in around the corners of his vision.

“Of course, sir,” said Dorvan. “This all smacks of something far deeper than a simple personal vendetta. I have a great deal on my plate, but I will begin following the threads and …”

As he drifted into a weary but true sleep, Nek Bwua’tu thought with a pang of Natasi Daala. He then absently wondered if the fact that Wynn Dorvan’s droning voice was letting him drift off swiftly into dreamland was a good or bad thing.

“I mean no insult,” Padnel Ovin said, digging into a thick nerf steak in one of the better restaurants in the Senate District, “but Wynn Dorvan’s voice put half the Senate to sleep today. I am sure what he said was important, but most of it was drowned out by snoring on my right and left.”

Padnel Ovin, former leader of Ovin’s Sand Panthers, looked woefully out of place in the refined, subdued atmosphere of the restaurant. Even though he no longer bristled with weapons or wore sand-saturated robes, he looked what he was—a rough-hewn warrior, more used to using a knife to kill an enemy than to simply cut up a nerf steak.

Han and Leia exchanged amused glances. “You’re not the only one to have commented on that,” Leia said. “And don’t worry. He’s the first to acknowledge it.”

“He would not have made a good Sand Panther.”

Han made a noise that fell somewhere between laughter and choking. Leia patted him on the back, hard-pressed not to smile herself. “I do not think