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The doors of the second vehicle rose, and the first being to emerge was the YVH. The angular droid moved out from the front seat, opened the rear passenger’s-side door, and extracted a shipping crate from the backseat. At a meter tall and wide, a meter and a half long, black like most GAG gear, the crate was large enough to be unwieldy. The droid pulled it partway out, then lifted it, demonstrating remarkable care and delicacy.

Valin wanted desperately to reach out through the Force and see if he could divine the crate’s contents, but any such action might alert Jacen. He just bit his lip.

Then the rear driver’s-side door opened and Jacen Solo, his cape fluttering in a light breeze, stepped out.

Katarn’s voice remained maddeningly calm. “Wait until he’s a few meters from the vehicle.”

Solo himself waited until the combat droid carried its mystery package around to his side of the speeder. Then, side by side, they walked toward the Senate Building entrance.

“Go.”

Behind him, from all over the nearly deserted plaza, Caedus heard four metal clanks and knew there was trouble.

He and YVH-908 spun. He heard a faint exclamation of complaint from inside the crate as Allana was whirled. Then, from out in the darkness, came a succession of poomp-poomp-poomp noises—familiar to him as the sounds made by a grenade launcher set to sustained automatic fire.

He ignited his lightsaber. “Secure the package.” In his peripheral vision, he saw the combat droid whirl again, completing a 360-degree turn—accompanied by another “Whoof!” from Allana—and then begin running toward the doors, its metal heels clanging with each step.

A flare ignited high in the air, and Caedus reached upward, sensing through the Force, feeling the descent of many tumbling metal cylinders—

He raised a hand to sweep them away, but a tingle of alarm caused him to stiffen. This came not through the Force but from a simple mathematical realization. Four metal clangs. Two grenade launchers firing. What were the other two positions doing?

He had a moment before the descending grenades would be close enough to explode and do him harm, so he looked down, out toward the darkened plaza, and extended his perceptions in that direction.

And felt them—more metal cylinders, at least a dozen, rolling toward him rather than flying. Now he could feel the ripples in the Force as they were propelled telekinetically toward him.

Contemptuous, he flicked his hand toward the darkness and felt his own power turn the cylinders around. They began rolling back the way they had come.

The sky above lit up as though noon had come more than six hours early—worse, for the brightness surpassed that of high noon. Troopers all around him cried out, threw their arms over their eyes. The visors of their helmets could not darken fast enough to protect their wearers from these dazzle-grenades.

Caedus cursed. His assumption that the falling missiles were explosives, that he had a second before they reached him, had just cost him his support troops. But he, at least, could see.

Out in the darkness, the rolling grenades exploded with moist crump noises. Gas grenades, then. Coma gas? Stun gas? The breeze was from behind him. The gas would not reach him or his troops.

Finally he detected more than just telekinetic pushes; he felt presences as his enemies drew on Force abilities. He felt them rush toward him, caught sight of them as they entered the glow of lights from the front of the Senate Building—four Jedi, Master Kyle Katarn foremost among them.

Katarn ignited his lightsaber as he came to a stop a few meters away. “Care to surrender, Colonel Solo?”

“Not to a traitor.” Caedus looked at the other three as their Force-augmented sprints came to an end, leaving them in a semicircle before him. Three Jedi Knights: the younger Horn, the Falleen Mithric, the Bothan Hu’lya. He resisted the urge to snort. Separately or collectively, these Jedi Knights were no match for him.

Katarn, though, was a threat. Still, the Jedi had only