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“It’s premature.” This from Garil Volune, one of the human delegates. “They haven’t been gone that long.”

“Be realistic, Volune,” declared one of the male Ansionians. “They should have been back by now.” He gestured toward the main street outside the courtyard and the house. “They should have been back days ago.”

“The Jedi wouldn’t abandon us,” another delegate insisted. “It’s not their way. Even if their attempt to make the Alwari see reason failed, they would return to tell us so.”

Delegate Fargane, tallest and most educated of the four native Ansionians present, waved his tumbler angrily. “They have comlinks. They should have contacted us by now. Whether to speak of success or failure matters not so much to me. I ask only that those who desire my vote be polite.” An irritated hissing noise emanated from his single nostril. “I can stand to be proven wrong, but I don’t like being ignored.”

Towering over them all, Tolut offered a dissenting opinion. “Maybe they are having trouble with their comlinks.”

Volune looked up at him in disbelief. The smaller human delegate was not intimidated by the bulky Armalat. “All four of them?”

Tolut gestured petulantly. He was no happier with the continuing lack of contact on the part of the visiting Jedi than were his colleagues. “We don’t know that they each carry one. Maybe they only took two with them. Two could break.”

“Comlinks just don’t break down like that.” Kandah took a deep breath. “If these Jedi are as competent as their kind are rumored to be, one would think they would carry necessary replacement parts, or spares. Yet still we hear nothing from them.”

“Probably because they’ve failed to do what they intended to do, are too embarrassed to face you and admit it, and have already left Ansion to report their failure to their aged superiors.”

Everyone else turned to look in the speaker’s direction. Tun Dameerd, another delegate, responded. “Unlike the rest of us, you are not a chosen representative of the Ansionian populace, Ogomoor, and are here only as an invited guest. It’s not your place to comment on these ongoing negotiations.”

“What negotiations?” Blithely ignoring the admonition, Ogomoor set his drink aside and spread his long, three-fingered hands wide. “These Jedi came here and asked you to delay your vote on the matter of secession so that they might strike a bargain with the Alwari enabling everyone on Ansion to live within the suffocating strictures of the Republic. You graciously consented to give them this chance.”

He turned a slow circle, presenting himself to each of them in turn. “What has been the result? More delay, more obfuscation, more of what the Republic has given Ansion for decades. If that isn’t proof enough that it’s time for a real change, I don’t know what is.” Feigning indifference, he picked up his glass again. “Of course, as you say, I’m only here as an observer. But I do know that there are many who eagerly await the outcome of your eventual vote. A positive outcome.”

“Your bossban, for example?” Volune eyed the majordomo sarcastically.

Ogomoor was not upset. “Naturally, Soergg looks forward to the day when he and his kind can conduct business in this part of the galaxy openly and without being crushed beneath the onerous burden of outdated Republic rules and regulations.”

“I didn’t know a Hutt could bend,” Dameerd quipped. Mild laughter rose from the delegates—but not from all of them, Ogomoor noted. He and his bossban had allies here.

“You can joke,” Kandah observed icily, “but my family’s commerce and the businesses of those who supported my election to this position have suffered mightily under the Republic’s sluggishness and indifference. I say it’s time we moved forward! We’ve delayed long enough. Call for the vote!”

Fargane raised his own glass. “Kandah is right. I flatter myself that I might live long enough to see it.”

Volune’s lips tightened and he shook his head. “I agree that the Republic has lost its way. I agree that our pleas for relief