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“Those weren’t innocent people,” Bel Iblis said.

“Really?” Meido said. “Many of them were just doing their jobs.”

“If their jobs were to run a machine of death, then they deserved to die,” C-Gosf said.

“I certainly hope you don’t believe that,” Fey’lya said. “Because if you do, then logically, any fighter pilot should die as well. The X-wings are star fighters. They were built for that, just as the Death Star was built to destroy planets. That both an X-wing and a Death Star can be used for transport is merely incidental.”

Leia could barely breathe. She shook her head. The discord in the room felt personal, as if she had caused it. “Senator Meido has a point. Things are never as simple as they seem. Not even in accusing another member of this Council of sabotage. Have your no-confidence vote. You can put a political spin on anything. But I will stand by my record. Since the Battle of Endor I have served this Republic, and since I was eighteen, I served the Rebellion against the Emperor. And I have served it well. You can play all the political games you want, Meido. You can manipulate things behind the scenes. You can destroy the unity that has marked this body from the beginning. And while that might give you personal power, it will only hurt the New Republic. I hope you understand that. I hope you factor that into what you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Meido said. “I don’t plan to harm the New Republic. I plan to help it.”

“Your methods leave a lot to be desired,” Leia said.

“And so do yours, Princess. So do yours.”

Night had fallen on Coruscant. The streetlights were on, but they cast a pale glow over the rubble that still marred the outside of the Senate Hall. Threepio stopped outside the restricted area, but Artoo kept going, his headlamp making a circle of light through the gloom.

“I will not go any farther,” Threepio said. “That blaster shot damaged your circuits. I’m going to report you to Mistress Leia.”

Artoo blasted a raspberry at him.

“Artoo, really, this is nonsense. Master Cole is quite an efficient technician, but he is not a droid repairman. He wouldn’t know if your memory chips were damaged. You need to have someone professional go over your circuits. You’re not acting like yourself.” Threepio waited outside the lines marking off the restricted area. Artoo cast his headlamp on some of the rubble, then continued forward.

“Artoo!”

Artoo bleeped at him.

Threepio gasped. “You malfunctioning little twerp! You have no right to call me names, not when I have your own best interest at heart.”

Artoo beeped three times.

“You do not have the Republic’s interest at heart. You don’t have a heart!”

Artoo disappeared into the ruined building.

“You can’t go in there!” Threepio said. “It’s not safe! The roof will cave in on you!”

Artoo whistled. The sound echoed from inside.

“Found something?” Threepio said. “How could Artoo find something when the investigators didn’t?” He stepped over the line and into the rubble. “I’m coming, Artoo!”

Artoo did not respond. Threepio tilted his body and rested a golden hand against the rubble to brace himself. “Artoo, wait for me!”

Artoo whistled again, then beeped.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Threepio said, and then added softly, “Slave driver.”

A huge pile of rubble blocked the door. The rubble was made up of parts of the ceiling, permacrete, and masonry that had broken off during the explosion. Much of it was covered with blood.

A faint light shone through the dirt-strewn corridor. Pieces of droids—mostly protocol droids—littered the floor. Hands stuck through the broken masonry. Charred heads stared darkly at the gloom.

Artoo chirruped a caution.

“I am being careful of the wires,” Threepio said, “although I can’t believe they’d still be live. It would help if you came in here and cast a light on my path.”

Artoo beeped.

“No, I am not being unreasonable.”

Artoo beeped again.

“And no, I am not following you. I am keeping an eye on you. Someone has to. You sustained serious damage, and I’m still not certain if you’re in your right circuitry.