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He didn’t come to his senses until he reached the foot of the stairs, where he turned and ran to help get his mother and Zar aboard the drop ship.

One by one Palpatine’s military advisers appeared before him, standing in postures of obeisance below the throne room’s dais, their eyes narrowed against the orange blaze of Coruscant’s setting sun, delivering their reports and appraisals, their expert assessments of the state of his Empire.

Royal Guards stood to both sides of the high-backed chair; behind them sat Mas Amedda, Sly Moore, and other members of Palpatine’s inner circle.

He listened to everyone without comment.

In some outlying systems, arsenals of Separatist weapons, in some cases entire flotillas of droid-piloted warships, had been commandeered by rogue paramilitary groups before Imperial forces could reach them.

In Hutt space, smugglers, pirates, and other scoundrels were taking advantage of the Emperor’s need to consolidate power by blazing new routes for the movement of spice and other proscribed goods.

On many former CIS worlds, bounty hunters were tracking down former Separatist colluders.

In the Mid Rim, Imperial academies were filling with recruits obtained from flight schools throughout the galaxy.

In the Outer Rim, three new batches of stormtroopers were being grown.

Closer to the Core, capital ships were being turned out by Sienar, Kuat Drive, and other yards.

And yet at present there were simply too few battle groups or stormtroopers to deploy at every potential trouble spot.

Massive protests had been held on Alderaan, Corellia, and Commenor.

Progress was lagging on several of the Emperor’s most cherished projects, owing to a lack of construction workers …

When the last of his advisers had come and gone, Palpatine dismissed everyone, including the members of his inner circle, and sat gazing over the western cityscape as it came to brilliant light in the deepening dusk.

Under the rule of the ancient Sith, the future of the galaxy had been in the able hands of many dark sovereigns. Now responsibility for maintaining order rested only with Darth Sidious.

For the moment it was enough that his advisers and minions respected him—for reestablishing peace, for eliminating the group that had posed the greatest threat to continued stability—but eventually those same advisers would need to fear him. To understand the great power he wielded, as both Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith. And to that end, Sidious needed Vader.

For if someone as potent as Vader answered to the Emperor, then how powerful must the Emperor be!

After he had spent several hours drifting on the currents of possible futures, Palpatine summoned Sate Pestage. Swiveling his chair from the view of Coruscant when the most trusted of his advisers entered the throne room, Palpatine ordered Pestage to take a seat and appraised him.

“Events unfolded as you assured they would,” Pestage said when Palpatine nodded for him to speak. “Organa was very predictable. My intervention was minimal.”

“Senator Organa was willing to allow Fang Zar to escape, you mean.”

“It certainly seemed that way.”

Palpatine considered it. “He may bear watching in the future. But at present we won’t make an issue of it. And Senator Zar?”

Pestage sighed with meaning. “Gravely wounded. Perhaps dead.”

“Pity. Does Organa know?”

“Yes. He was very troubled by the outcome.”

“And Lord Vader?”

“Even more troubled by the outcome.”

Palpatine allowed a grin of satisfaction. “Even better.”

Returned to its astral sanctuary, the Drunk Dancer drifted in space.

From the hatch to medbay, a 2-1B droid hovered out to report that it had been able to save Jula, but that Fang Zar had died on the operating table.

“Damage sustained by major vessels that supply the heart was too extensive to repair, sir,” the droid told Shryne. “Everything that could be done, was done.”

Shryne looked in on Jula, who was heavily sedated.

“I dragged you right back into it,” she said weakly.

He pushed her hair off her