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“No—for the war.” Garrulan stared at Shryne for a long moment. “You really don’t know what’s happened, do you? Maybe you two should have a drink.”

Garrulan was halfway to his feet when Shryne said: “No drinks. Just tell us.”

The Twi’lek looked genuinely dismayed. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Roan—especially to you, of all people—but the war has been laid at the feet of the Jedi. You manipulated the whole charade: vat-grown troopers on one side, Master Dooku on the other, all in an attempt to overthrow the Republic and place yourselves in charge. That’s why Palpatine ordered your execution, and why the Jedi Temple was sacked.”

Shryne and Starstone traded looks of dread.

Reading their expressions, the crime boss adopted a somber tone. “From what I understand, nearly all of the Jedi were killed—in the Temple, or on one world or another.”

Shryne put his arm around Starstone’s quaking shoulders. “Steady, kid,” he said, as much to himself as to Olee.

The second beacon transmission, ordering all Jedi to go to ground, suddenly made sense. The Temple, defenseless in the absence of so many Jedi Knights, had been attacked and plundered; teachers and younglings slaughtered by Coruscant’s shock troopers—stormtroopers, as they were now being called. How many Jedi had returned to the Core, Shryne wondered, only to be killed on arrival?

The order was finished. Not only was there nothing for Shryne and Starstone on Coruscant, there was nothing for them anywhere.

“For what it’s worth,” Garrulan said, “I don’t believe a word of it. Palpatine is behind this. He has been from the start.”

Starstone was shaking her head back and forth in disbelief. “It’s not possible that every Jedi has been killed.” She turned to Shryne. “Some Jedi weren’t even with clone troopers, Master. Other commanders may have refused to obey High Command’s execution orders.”

“You’re right,” Shryne said, trying to sound comforting.

“We’ll find other survivors.”

“Sure we will.”

“The order will rebuild itself.”

“Absolutely.”

Garrulan waited for them to fall silent before saying: “A lot of others have had the carpet yanked out from under them—even those of us at the bottom of the food chain.” He laughed regretfully. “War has always been better for us than peace. At least the Corporate Alliance was willing to tolerate us for a share of the profits. But the regional governors the Emperor installed are out to cast us as the new enemy. And between you and me, I’d sooner deal with the Hutts.”

Shryne studied him. “Where’s that leave you, Cash?”

“Not on Murkhana, that much is certain. My Koorivar competitors in crime have my blessings, and my sympathy.” Garrulan returned Shryne’s look. “What about you, Roan? Any ideas?”

“Not right now,” Shryne said.

“Perhaps you should consider working for me. I could use people with your special talents, especially now. I owe you a favor, in any case.”

Starstone glared at him. “We haven’t fallen so low as to—” she started to say when Shryne clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Maybe I will consider it. But first you’ve got to get us off Murkhana.”

Garrulan showed Shryne the palms of his hands. “I don’t owe you that much.”

“Make it happen, and I’ll owe you.”

Starstone looked from Shryne to Garrulan and back again. “Is this the way you were before the war? Cutting deals with anyone you pleased?”

“Don’t mind her,” Shryne said. “What about it, Cash?”

Garrulan sat back in his oversize chair. “Shouldn’t be too hard to equip you with false identities and outwit the local garrison troopers.”

“Normally, I’d agree,” Shryne cut in. “But someone new has been added to the mix. A Lord Vader.” When Garrulan didn’t react to the name, he continued. “A sort of black-armored version of Grievous, only more dangerous, and apparently in charge of doing Palpatine’s dirty work.”

“Really,” Garrulan said, clearly interested. “I haven’t heard anything about him.”

“You will,” Shryne said. “And he could present a problem to our getting off this rock.”

Garrulan stroked his lekku. “Well, then, I may have to rethink my offer—in the interest