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“On the contrary, it has served me well many times in the past. If my wit is too sharp for your liking, then pray tell me what you are getting at, Mahlor. The hour is late, and I rise early on the morrow. I am an extremely busy man.”

“Yes, of course you are.” A sneer, it would seem, was recognizable in any species. “Very busy indeed, as I understand it.”

Lecersen had already been deeply suspicious, but now his inner alarms were going off like klaxons. He smiled slightly, keeping his expression and body language calm. “So why don’t you get right to the point?”

“We were the masters of our world, until the Jessar got it into their heads to overthrow us.”

Ah, a complaint. As if he hadn’t heard something similar from every former master of every overthrown government of every world that had had a revolution recently. It was growing rather tiresome.

“Your government has already lodged its request through the proper channels. You’ll have to take it up with them. Dorvan’s a difficult man to make an appointment with, but his assistant might be able to get you on the schedule. The offices of the galactic acting Chief of State are open—”

“I have no desire to contact Wynn Dorvan,” said Mahlor. “I came to see you.”

Deliberately, Lecersen set his now-empty glass on the small table by his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and regarded Mahlor steadily.

“I tire of this conversation, and I have finished my nightcap,” he said. “You have thirty seconds to get to the point before Eethree escorts you out.”

The great eyes narrowed, and the being’s feathers ruffled. With an effort, he settled them. “I blame the Freedom Flight for stirring up the rebels.”

“Of course you do. Everyone always does. It can never be possible that the system was antiquated and dysfunctional.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. Despite his words to the Minyavish, he was privately enjoying this; it had been a long time since he had been able to be so free with his tongue.

“And I blame you,” Mahlor said, leaning forward intently, his huge eyes wide and unblinking, “for the Freedom Flight.”

Lecersen’s stomach, warm from the gold wine he had been drinking, suddenly turned into a cold, hard knot. He recovered almost at once.

“I would say you had been drinking too much, but as you haven’t touched a drop, I must simply conclude that you are either insane or in desperate need of attention. This conversation is over.” He lifted his finger, about to stab it down on the small button that would summon Eethree.

“Don’t.”

If Lecersen had had any doubt as to the fact that Mahlor had come from a species of beings used to being obeyed, it would have vanished at the tone of that single word. He lifted an eyebrow and stared coldly back.

“What … did you just say to me?”

“Don’t press that button until you have heard me out,” said the Minyavish.

Lecersen debated for a moment, then concluded that it would probably behoove him to listen. “Fair enough.”

“I have information and evidence that links you to the Freedom Flight,” Mahlor continued. “I know that you created it initially, and continue to fund it.”

“I’ll play along. What sort of evidence are we talking about?”

The slit that passed for a mouth among the Minyavish curved in what was meant to be a grin. “Data. Witnesses. Recordings of conversations. Repair bills for vessels.”

“All of which could be falsified,” replied Lecersen, waving a dismissive hand.

“Each on its own? Certainly. Taken together, it’s a rather condemning picture.”

“I presume you have a point.”

“I do, indeed. I do not think you would appreciate the galaxy knowing about your connection to this organization, Moff Lecersen. But if you would assist us, this information could quietly vanish. And so could the witnesses.”

“And with what endeavor do you require assistance?”

The Minyavish suddenly quivered, all over, rather violently, and when he spoke it was with a deep intensity. “Justice, Moff Lecersen! Because of the Freedom Flight—your organization—my people have toppled from positions