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“Yes, it’s rather chilly at this altitude, but the temperature is always perfect inside.”

The doors slid open to reveal a world of blue. Thick, soft blue carpeting, blue-black chairs and tables, midnight-blue ceiling with softly winking lights simulating stars. The light, also a soothing blue, made everything look cool and mysterious. “Ah,” Suldar said, looking around. “Fortunately, Senator, I do like blue.”

“Excellent.”

A young female Ortolan, her skin matching the décor, greeted them cheerfully by name. “Good evening, Senator Treen, Senator Suldar. I understand, sir, that this is your first time dining with us?”

“Indeed,” said Suldar, glancing with mild surprise at Treen.

“Please let us know if there is anything we can do to make your experience a memorable one. Senator Bramsin arrived just a few minutes ago. Please follow me.”

She led them through the main dining room, past a trio of another Ortolan and two Bith. A Pa’lowick stepped up to the mike and was met with applause; clearly the performers were well known in the establishment.

Treen saw something ugly and mean-spirited flash across Kameron Suldar’s face for an instant, then it was gone. The Ortolan hostess opened the door to one of the private dining rooms.

It was cozy rather than intimidating, the blue theme slightly more subdued by a white tablecloth and a multicolored bouquet of flowers. Fost Bramsin looked up from his drink and extended a hand.

“Hope you don’t mind if I don’t get up, young man. It’s a bit more challenging these days than when I was your age.”

“Of course not, sir,” Suldar said, quickly stepping over to shake the elder statesman’s frail, liver-spotted hand. “It’s an honor to be dining with you tonight. Thank you both for the invitation.”

“The food here is superb,” said Bramsin. “And they serve some very rare and very fine beverages. It makes up for the staff.”

Again, Treen noticed something flit across Suldar’s face. Treen thought she knew what it was.

“Fost and I don’t much care for nonhumans,” she said. It was the first card. If he took umbrage, they could simply all have a pleasant evening and she would move on to another potential ally.

To her pleasure, Suldar looked relieved. “I’m … rather glad to hear you say that,” he said. “I admit I don’t, either. There are only humans on B’nish, and while one likes to be open-minded, I haven’t really liked any of the nonhumans I’ve met. They’re so …” He sighed. “Well … inferior.”

Bramsin and Treen exchanged pleased glances. “We always arrange to have human waitstaff, so you will be spared further unpleasantries.”

“Well, as you assure me the food is excellent and I can certainly say the company could not be better, we are sure to have a wonderful dinner,” Kameron said.

“Oh, I’m absolutely positive of it,” said Treen, smiling like a sand panther.

MOFF DRIKL LECERSEN’S ESTATE

Minyavish, mused Lecersen, were much tougher than they looked.

Mahlor had not broken for several hours, even when subjected to the tender loving care of an IT-O interrogator. The decades-old droid was part of Lecersen’s collection of antiques. Few knew it was still quite functional and had been employed more than once in recent years.

Still, in the end, Tiyuu’cha Mahlor was no Princess Leia Organa, and Lecersen was interrupted in his study by Eethree bearing the pleasant news that Mahlor was “willing to talk now, and, fortunately, is still sufficiently coherent to do so.”

There was a room deep in the bowels of the estate where this unfortunate but necessary duty was performed. It was cold, spare, and slightly damp. There was a single chair, a table with a pitcher and a glass, a few glow rods, and the hovering interrogator, always fashionable in basic black.

The Minyavish was a sorry sight. Much of his beautiful plumage had been plucked out and lay strewn about the floor, the purple, green, and gold providing vivid color in sharp contrast to the stark gray of the room. The revealed skin was pale blue and bore evidence of acid burns,