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The door slid back. She grinned. “Well, gentlemen, let’s go back to Skip 1 and see if they stripped the Falcon in our absence.”

Threepio and Artoo-Detoo had returned to the Solos’ chambers to discover that Leia had left. The computer informed them that she had resigned her position as Chief of State and had given orders to shut down the apartments until a family member returned, then it threw the droids out.

Mon Mothma had replaced Mistress Leia, and the droids were in her anteroom now, along with a collection of senators’ aides, well-wishers, and employment seekers. The antechamber was packed. Threepio leaned against the wall, next to a metal sculpture that looked suspiciously like a droid’s innards, and Artoo rocked beside him. They were the only droids, except for the receptionist droid, a new model who refused to acknowledge Threepio at all. On her list, she kept adding the sentients first, from the Kloperian guard Leia had relieved of duty (and from whom Artoo had hidden behind an Ychthytonian) to a winged Agee that had flown into the room on a lark.

When the Kloperian went into Mon Mothma’s chambers, Artoo began rocking. Hard.

“Settle down, Artoo,” Threepio said. “I’m sure Mon Mothma will see us. She knows how important we are.”

Artoo whistled and the conversation in the room stopped. Heads swiveled, and focused on the droids. Threepio put his hands up as if nothing had happened, and the conversations resumed. Except for the receptionist. She continued to stare at Threepio as if he had committed a major breach of etiquette.

“Now you’ve done it,” Threepio said. “Your rudeness will get us tossed out of here.”

Artoo cheebled and rocked, his wheels clanging on the tile floor.

“That is a bit melodramatic, even for you. No one is going to die simply because we’re waiting in line.”

Artoo blatted at him, and the Ychthytonian looked down at him.

“Yer little friend is kind of agitated.”

Threepio nodded. “He believes we’ve found—”

Artoo shrilled.

The Ychthytonian put all four hands over his ears. Some of the humans cringed. The Agee flew out of the room as quickly as she had arrived.

“That’s it,” the receptionist droid said as she stood. “You droids can leave.”

“See what you’ve done?” Threepio hissed at Artoo. “Now I have to go convince her that we should stay. It won’t be an easy battle, what with all the names you’ve called her: Most droids, no matter what their designation, dislike being termed traitor, you know. She’s only doing her job, and rather well at that, if I might say so.”

He left Artoo’s side and pushed his way to the desk. The receptionist droid was standing, her bronze arms crossed. “You have no business here,” she said. “The President is only dealing with important matters today.”

“This is important,” Threepio said.

“I’m certain it is to you,” the receptionist said. “But whatever the problem is, it can wait.”

“I’m afraid it can’t,” Threepio said. He lowered his voice. “You see, my counterpart and I have found the cause of the bombing in the Senate Hall. We were going to report this to President Leia Organa Solo, but she has stepped down. So we came to her successor.”

“Delusional,” the receptionist said. “They really should have retired your make a generation ago. I had heard that your type was given to hyperbole. I hadn’t believed it until now.”

“This is not hyperbole!” Threepio said, pulling himself up to his fullest height. “This is fact. You should know the difference.”

“If you don’t move from my desk, I shall have you removed by force,” the receptionist droid said.

“You will not,” Threepio said. “I am the personal droid of President Leia Organa Solo, and my counterpart belongs to her brother, the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. We are above your petty bureaucratic power gambits. If you tamper with us, you’ll be tampering with some of the most important people in Coruscant.”

“Your counterpart?” the receptionist droid asked. “Do you mean the astromech droid that was squealing rudely a few moments ago?”

“Yes,” Threepio said. “He’s eccentric, but he’s a hero