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Furgan’s eyes looked like small, overripe berries as he directed his gaze at her. “My bodyguards will go to my quarters first. They will sweep every inch of the rooms, every appliance, every wall and floor to remove hidden listening devices or assassination tools. The remaining guards will be with me at every moment. They will provide my food and drink from our own supplies to ensure against any possibility of poisoning.”

Leia was appalled at his insinuation. She stopped herself from insisting that Furgan’s actions were not necessary, since that would no doubt play directly into his hands. Instead, she showed him a small indulgent smile. “Of course, if such things make you feel more comfortable.…”

“In the meantime,” Furgan said, “I would like an immediate tour of the Imperial Palace. Arrange one. I came on a pilgrimage to see my Emperor’s home and to pay my respects.”

Leia hesitated. “We hadn’t planned on—”

Furgan held up a hand. Beside him the stormtroopers snapped even more stiffly to attention. The ambassador took one step closer to Leia, as if trying to look intimidating. “Nevertheless, you will arrange it.”

That afternoon Mon Mothma stood in the dimmed audience chamber, waiting at the base of the holoprojector’s controls. Though she had a thousand other duties to attend to, Carida seemed the likeliest flash point of resistance to New Republic stability. She had made it clear to Leia that she considered her sacrifice of time an investment to avert a possible war.

Without moving Mon Mothma seemed to fill the room with her quiet, commanding presence. Leia never ceased admiring her subtle but undeniable power, which Mon Mothma managed to exhibit even without Jedi training.

Leia followed Ambassador Furgan as he strode down the ramp to the base of the holoprojector. Grumpy, he looked behind him to where his stormtrooper bodyguards waited at the entrance to the chamber. Furgan had refused to leave them behind, and Mon Mothma had refused to let even disarmed Imperial stormtroopers near her. The power play had been brief and sharp, but in the end Mon Mothma allowed the stormtroopers to wait within sight of the ambassador, though outside the chamber.

But she had also won a seemingly minor concession. Mon Mothma required the stormtroopers to remove their helmets while they remained in her presence. The soldiers stood unmasked, holding the skull-like helmets under their arms, revealed to be humans, young cadets dressed in armor but with their anonymity taken away.

“Stand right there, Ambassador Furgan,” she said without formally greeting him. “I would like to show you something.”

The holoprojector shimmered, and the known galaxy filled the room, billions of star-specks flung in swirling arms throughout the enclosed chamber. The lights automatically dimmed as the sea-spray of stars came into focus. At the doorway the stormtroopers craned their necks to stare up at the huge image. On the chamber floor both Mon Mothma and Ambassador Furgan seemed insignificant.

“This is our galaxy,” Mon Mothma said. “We have meticulously plotted every recorded system. These stars”—she waved her hand, and a wash of blue spangled across the arms of the galaxy—“have already sworn their allegiance to the New Republic. Others have remained neutral, though not unfriendly to our cause.” A sprinkling of green appeared among the stars.

“The darkened area is what remains of the Ssi Ruuk Imperium.” She indicated a splotch covering a portion of one spiral arm. “We have not yet fully explored their worlds, though it has been seven years since Imperial and Alliance forces joined hands at Bakura to drive out the invaders.

“Finally,” Mon Mothma said, “we know of these systems that still remain loyal to the fallen Empire.” A much smaller splash of red dusted the image, concentrated primarily toward the galactic core, from which the resurrected Emperor had launched his forces. “As you can see, your support is dwindling rapidly.”

Furgan did not seem impressed. “Anyone can paint