News of the attacks in the Saijo and Setia sectors produced only mild buzz on Coruscant. The news-nets and their audience were much more interested in the brewing race for senate speaker, and by Gar Stazi's count, they devoted seven minutes to talking heads praising or slandering candidates for every one minute they gave to the Outer Rim conflict. He recalled a similar public apathy the last time the Nagai went on a rampage, before the Sith-Imperial War.

Stazi couldn't help but wonder if there was a connection, and he wasn't alone. When he met with a collection of senior officers to discuss the situation, Ona Antilles said, "Reports are sketchy, but some suggest the Nagai are being led by a warlord named Relik K'sharn. Wasn't he reported killed fifteen years ago?"

The human woman was too young to have fought in that war herself, but Stazi had been there to personally smash the Nagai fleet at Terminus. He'd done it in conjunction with the Imperials then; just months later, their fleets had started trading blows over the Jedi and the failure of the Ossus Project. It seemed like another life.

"There was never any verification that K'sharn was killed," Stazi said, "But nothing to suggest he survived."

"So he's been in hiding all this time?" frowned Anj Dahl. Another young human, but hardly as stern as Antilles, she was leader of the pilot/commando team Rogue Squadron.

"It makes little sense with the intel we've been given," Antilles shook her head.

"Then we'll have to wait until we get more."

Stazi looked across the briefing table to the two admirals in the room. In the course of the war against Krayt, the Weequay Jhoram Bey had ascended from Rogue Leader to captain of Stazi's flagship Alliance. Afterward Stazi had promoted him to admiral, and he held that rank along with Slossar, a Sluissi who'd commanded the Alliance's Fourth Fleet against the Empire and spent the following decade in an internment camp. The toll of those years were evident in the black patch over Slossar's right eye, but his command ability and devotion to Alliance principles were undamaged.

"Gentlebeings," Stazi said, "I've spoken with the empress. We've agreed it's in our authority to act without consulting the senate, and that's precisely what we'll do. We've also agreed this will be a joint mission, using elements from both the Imperial and Alliance forces."

"Just like the last time the Nagai went on a raiding spree," said Bey. "This seems curiously… repetitive."

"For our sakes, I hope it is. We crushed them at Terminus and that was the end of it." Stazi shifted his gaze to the Sluissi. "Admiral Slossar, as my senior commander, I want you to take point on this offensive. You'll be working with General Jaeger."

Slossar long tail twirled, a sign of approval from his kind. Among the empress's commanders, some were eager to work with Alliance officers while others were the worst kind of old Imperial snobs. Oron Jaeger thankfully belonged to the former group.

"I'll let you communicate with him directly," Stazi said. "You have two standard days to apportion your forces and decide on a battle plan. We don't expect you to finish the Nagai in one fight, but we hope to be pushing them back by the time the senate holds its election."

"The senate doesn't seem to care much about what's going on in the Saijo sector," remarked Antilles.

"It's on the very rim of the Rim. Half the senators couldn't find Saijo on a map," Anj Dahl shrugged. "Look on the bright side. If we can get this under control fast, it'll be a good team-building exercise between us and the Imps. And if we make a few mistakes, well, it's not like the politicians and media are going to be paying attention."

Jhoram Bey had once said Anj had a gift for optimism. Stazi tried to share it. "Occasionally widespread apathy can be a good thing," he agreed. "Admiral Slossar, I'll leave the bulk of the planning to you. The empress and I expect a joint battle plan by the time you leave Coruscant. Admiral Bey, Captains Dahl and Antilles, I want you to monitor this situation. Work with our friends in intelligence and gather every scrap of information about these Nagai. If we can determine whether Relik K'sharn is alive, all the better."

"That should keep us busy," Bey said. "And you, Admiral?"

Stazi's smile was tight. "I don't have much time to be an admiral anymore.

"You say that like you envy us."

In a way he did. In the larger scheme, it was good that his life now was more politics than war. That didn't keep him from missing combat's clear objectives and attainable goals.

"Let's just say my heart will go with you," he said. "I have fights of my own to keep me busy."

-{}-

The election for speaker of the senate was still a week away, and for Marasiah it couldn't come too soon. Having to oversee its sessions until the speaker was appointed was troublesome enough, but worse was the pressure coming from all sides to influence the vote. Senator Eldon had been relatively circumspect in his approach; his press team had contacted Marasiah a mere twelve times trying to schedule a joint public appearances than would- so the press team insisted- not be related the election at all. Other Imperial senators were more vocal about supporting Bastion's own for speaker. Her briefing with the senior military commanders over the Nagai situation had turned halfway through into a debate over how much influence the senate should have in military affairs long-term (currently it was zero) and whether the senate really should exist at all. Even relatively open-minded ones like General Jaeger had seemed rankled by the new body.

Marasiah was relieved to retreat to her office, where the only person she'd have to spar with was a man she'd known and trusted all her life, her uncle Hogrum Chalk.

"Frankly, I think all parties are making too much of the speaker's election," her uncle said. "Of course, that's one of the prime purposes of democracy. It allows people the thrill of historical agency. Whether they actually have it matters less than whether they can convince themselves they're empowered."

Dressed in loose black clothes that obscured some of the cybernetic grafts he'd received after a near-fatal shuttle accident, Hogrum paced slowly in front of her desk. When he looked at Marasiah the gold of late afternoon glinted off his metal eyepiece.

"The senate will have a great say in many matters," she replied from her seat.

"It has as much as you'll allow," he said. In their long discussions he'd agreed that some legislature needed to exist, if only to take some weight off the executive branch, but he'd warned against handing it major powers.

"It has what it's been given," she said.

"It's been given enough. But that's all right." His scarred face relaxed its frown. "People want the feeling of agency, of having a say in government. They also like swift, decisive action, so long as it gives them what they want. In your position you can still deliver plenty of the latter."

"I've already talked with Stazi and my admirals. They'll be sending a task force against the Nagai in days."

"That's good. I hope you arranged for a celebratory send-off."

She smiled faintly. "I thought you were my intelligence director, uncle. Are you handling public relations now?"

"The simple fact is that no one cares about what the Nagai are doing right now. It's a minor, localized conflict that's only rattling a slice of the Outer Rim. Once we smash them, you'll need to play it up as a major joint victory for the Alliance and Imperial fleets."

"I was already planning that. I did learn some things about ruling from my parents."

"Of course." He added, "I admired how you seized control of the situation the other day in the senate. You need to act on the Mon Calamari issue quickly and show progress before the senate elects its speaker. That way you can claim the credit."

She'd already been thinking on those lines, but the preliminary survey taken by her hastily-arranged commission had sobered her bravado. "There's a reason we haven't found a home for the refugees yet. Local government refuse to take them. They scrape and apologize, and they offer other forms of aid, but no one wants to give up their oceans for the Mon Cal and Quarren."

"Then as empress you force them to. With a smile and a velvet glove, but you still force them."

"It's still not simple," she shook her head. "There are thousands of ocean worlds, but only a fraction of them consist of a water type healthy for both Quarren and Mon Calamari. Many of those already have native sentients. The ones that don't have natives have settlers. Many of those worlds have large tourism industries, or underwater mining operations they don't want soiled."

"And if they put up a fuss about giving some of their pretty water over to the refugees, you can paint them as horrible and selfish."

"And they'll paint me as a tyrant who stomps over planetary rights."

"Politics is always dirty. You just have to be prepared for the muck that comes with it."

Marasiah held back a sigh. It had been a long day and she'd had enough of arguing. "I see your point, uncle. And I'll think about your suggestion."

He nodded, satisfied. "In politics, perception matters more than reality. You have a week before the election. If you can present yourself as a moral, benevolent leader who's actively concerned about governing for and with her people, you can compel their obedience."

Marasiah believed she was doing just that, and it rankled that she'd have to put on a show to prove it. But her uncle was right, as he usually was. He left her with those thoughts, but she didn't stay long in the office. As the sun she retreated to her quarters near the top of the palace complex, where her husband had just finished preparing a meal. Antares didn't strike most people as being a skilled cook, and she loved him for his hidden talents.

He needed activities like that to take his mind off things. For Marasiah, the affairs of state could distract her from the plague that had struck most Force-users. Antares had no such distractions. She'd done her best to assign new duties to her Knights, but even so, her elite protectors had been largely reduced to ceremonial bodyguards. Some Knights she sent off Coruscant on special tasks, but she had few such jobs to give them. Without the Force, there was little reason to send them over her many veteran intelligence agents.

That feeling of uselessness was a black hole at the heart of every Knights now, threatening to suck them down. That pull was all the stronger because there was no crisis to throw them at, even if they'd had the Force. When Maladi's disease struck, they'd all been filled with terror that the Force's silence would upend the galaxy. Nearly a year had gone by and no disaster had occurred. The new government was still assembling itself, awkwardly but peaceably. Brush fires like the Nagai raids could be snuffed out. All their lives, they'd believed the galaxy needed them. Now it seemed possible that the galaxy would get along fine without its Force-users, and that was a special humiliation.

Antares never said this aloud; he'd never been articulate with his feelings. She could read it on his face, and in the Force. Her husband was a man who lived to serve a higher cause. First it had been Roan Fel. Then, when her father has fallen to his demons, Antares had served the ideal he'd represented. Now he served it in Marasiah. He was a reminder that she must always stay on the path of light. Now that she was one of the last Force-users in the galaxy, it was more important than ever.

After dinner they stood on the balcony and watched nighttime traffic move on the outskirts of the government district. As they leaved over the rail and savored cool wind she began telling him about all her days' events. Antares commented only rarely. She unloaded, and he listened. It had become their ritual.

Once she was done he said, "Your uncle was right about the last part. Your promise to the senate got you a lot of goodwill. Now you have to follow through with it."

"I suppose," she sighed. "We can't have the senate getting credit for any good deeds, can we?"

"It's not that," he said. "The Mon Calamari and Quarren need a place of their own. Everyone can see it. Everyone agrees it's right. As empress, you're the only one with power to make someone share their world with the refugees. No one will hold that against you."

"Except those I make share."

"The senate won't be able to force through that kind of decision. You can." He squeezed her hand gently. "It's the right thing to do, Sia."

She squeezed back. In all the day's argument, she didn't think anyone had used that simple justification. Of course it had been Antares who'd done it, and not because he was simple himself. He was a complex man with conflicting desires, but he aimed for simplicity. He always tried to cut through complications and find a noble end.

"The committee selected a list of fifty different worlds to review," she told him. "Some have natives, some settlers. Some have industry, others none. They all have gravity and water content similar to Dac's, but that's the only thing they have in common."

"Select one and make your decree."

"It's not that simple."

Then Marasiah recalled something else her uncle had said; that she had to be present herself as governing for and with the people. Since becoming empress she'd rarely left Coruscant. She'd known that was a mistake and planned to rectify it, but duties always got in the way.

She squeezed his hand again and said, "Maybe we should take a vacation."

"To a water world?"

"It wouldn't be much of a vacation. I'd have to meet with local officials, hack out a policy…"

"But it would be a change of pace." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "It sounds like a lovely idea, Sia."

"I thought you'd like it." Hand still in his, she stepped from the balcony and tugged him inside. "Come, let's look at our choices. I have a long list to pick from…"

-{}-

Before the formal convocation meal in the gathering room in Bakura's executive complex, President Recado had told his guests from Coruscant that it would be a banquet unlike any they'd attended before. Shado Vao hadn't expected him to be so right.

The guests were a mix of visitors and local officials. Aside from Shado and Storrs from Coruscant, and President Recado himself, there were the highest-ranked human and Kurtzen legislators and General Koregion, the human head of the Bakura Defense Fleet. The P'w'eck were represented by their chief legislator and negotiator Vlothaw, a two-meter-tall, brown-scaled saurian. The Ssi-ruuk representative Ovipekkis was a full meter higher, one-third more massive, and coated in deep-blue iridescent scales. Because of their size and physiology that squatted on their haunches instead of sitting in chairs. Both communicated solely through whistles and fluting noises, and their statements were translated by Shado's earpiece.

Eating was the strangest part. Shado, Storr, and the human guests were all served local dishes mixing native fruits, greens, and game. Vlothaw and Ovipekkis, meanwhile, were provided with trays of raw meat. While Shado picked at his food with fork and knife, the saurians bent their snouts low and tore off mouthfuls of flesh with rows of serrated teeth. They barely chewed before swallowing, and had both devoured their trays in minutes, after which a second helping was brought out. The sight, combined with the strange smell the aliens emanated, combined to ruin Shado's appetite, but he forced himself to eat as much as he could. Recado and the other locals seemed a little more used to the thing and Storr, practiced diplomat that he was, kept up polite talk through the whole exchange.

The conversation started with bland niceties but gradually became peppered with more pointed exchanges. At one point Storr said, "I'm glad our peoples could sit down like civilized beings for once. I'd like it if the ambassador would tell us more about the new outlook on Lwhekk."

Ovipekkis' nostrils flared. The translator in Shado's ear chirped over his whistling: "The P'w'eck are our brothers. We have badly mistreated them in the past and wish to welcome them into a new Imperium."

"That's encouraging, of course, and some P'w'eck seem eager for reunification. But I was hoping you could elaborate on why they should trust you."

"We understand them as no others can," said the Ssi-ruuk. "We offer them more than you ever could."

"Kind words are the start of progress, but they always need to be backed by action," Storr smiled blandly. "I'm sure you've outlined some of that to our P'w'eck friends. I wish you could enlighten us too."

Ovipekkis made a cry so shrill it made Shado jump in his seat. The translator's bland voice said, "Those without our shared history cannot understand. You cannot understand."

Vlothaw added, "He is correct. It is a complicated offer, but the Ssi-ruuk are giving considerable reparations for what they've done."

"And that's more enticing than the thriving business you've built on Bakura?" asked Storr.

Vlothaw blinked triple-layered eyelids. "That is what we are deciding."

President Recado coughed to draw attention. "We all understand the allure of seeing justice done. We want to see wrongs righted and balance served. But haven't you considered that balance is already served in the union here on Bakura? Oh, it's a fragile balance, but as a whole I really think it's served our peoples well. Are you willing to give up what you have?"

Vlothaw blinked again. "That is our choice to make. Not yours."

"Well, that's one points of view." Recado glanced at the general seated beside him. "But we have to look out for our own interests. I think it's best for all us if they coincidence."

Ovipekkis fluted loudly. "That sounds like a threat, human."

"Balance is not always a pretty thing." Recado shrugged. "Maybe it never is. Yet somehow we all seek it. Curious, yes?"

Shado decided he had to speak up. "One group's gain doesn't have to be the other's loss. I firmly believe there's a way we can work in harmony so that all our people can benefit."

He saw Recado restrain a scowl. Storr raised his glass and said, "I believe that as well. So does Coruscant, which will do anything it can to facilitate a happy resolution for all parties."

"I'll drink to that." General Koregion lifted his wine-glass.

The Ssi-ruuk and P'w'eck had no glasses to toast, but they fluted in reply. Vlothaw said, "My people have observed the wisdom of the Jedi before and found it valid. I hope it continued to be so."

Shado almost felt good, but the conversation fell into another lull. He didn't need to Force to read awkwardness in the room. After another half-hour of perfunctory talk, the banquet began to break up.

As Shado and Storr began making their way to their living quarters, the diplomat rested a hand on Shado's arm and said quietly, "I appreciate your optimism, Master Jedi, but during formal talks tomorrow, please let me lead the discussion. There are certain things Coruscant wants me to make sure I address and I've constructed a schedule of topics I'd like to stick to."

"Of course," Shado said.

"Thank you for understanding." Storr withdrew his hand. "I recommend and early sleep tonight. Tomorrow looks to be a long day."

Shado nodded. He didn't miss that Storr had just put him in his place, politely but firmly. He wondered what the Imperial really felt behind that diplomatic veneer; whether he thought Shado was a useless burden, whether he'd ever liked Jedi at all. He had a feeling that, even with the Force, Storr would be a hard man to read.

After they reached the residential quarter they went into their separate rooms. Shado found himself restless; if he was going to be Storr's silent shadow the entire time he might as well have stayed on Coruscant with the other Force-deaf Jedi. He'd still be stewing in the same sense of uselessness. His mind drew back to Recado and all that talk of balance. The president was also hard to get a read on. The little man seemed weirdly resigned to whatever way this crisis would resolve. Perhaps he was just a pessimist, bracing himself for the worst, but Shado expected a politician to at least feign can-do optimism.

Shado room included a communications suit that patched in directly with the highest on-duty security officer. Sitting in the dark beside the console he tapped it on. "This is Shado Vao of the Federation delegation. I have a request."

"How can we help you, Master Vao?"

"I was wondering if President Recado is available to speak privately, in-person. I'll submit to security checks, naturally."

There was a short pause. "I'd have to check with the president."

"Of course. Take your time."

The line went dead, and Shado sat for another ten minutes with no response. He didn't bother to turn on the light. Eventually the comm buzzed again and the same voice replied, "The president is willing to speak with you. A security officer is on the way to your quarters now."

"Thanks you." Shado added, "Please make sure you call on the right room. Ambassador Storrs went to bed early and doesn't want to be disturbed."

"Of course, Master Jedi."

Shado waited five minutes more for the guard to show up. From there he expected to be taken up to the president's office, but instead he was led outside, into the damp night air, and whisked away to the edge of the government complex, through a guarded gate, and up to the squat white building which, he realized, must be the president's home.

The security officer let him inside and escorted him all the way to the president's study. It was a homey room, with wood-paneled walls and a handful of glowlamps set to low level, as though simulating comfortable firelight. Recado himself was reclining in a chair beside a lamp. He gestured for Shado to take the seat opposite. As he did, the officer left the room, leaving them alone.

Recado seemed to sink further in his chair. "Well, Master Jedi. You wanted to speak to me. Here I am."

"Thank you for taking time." Shado sat straight-backed, hands on his thighs. "I apologize if this was an inconvenience."

Recado waved a hand. "You don't have to be formal. Storr isn't here, so I expect this is some kind of personal talk you want to have."

Shado watched him carefully. "Have you ever met a Jedi before, sir?"

"No. I have not." Recado paused. "Am I meeting one now?"

"I certainly hope so."

The old man's response was an ambiguous smile. "I understand Coruscant sent you here to help arbitration. We certainly need it. Are you here as Storr's partner? Assistant? Counselor? To be honest, no one's made that clear."

"Something of all three, I think."

"You think." His brows narrowed. "Why are you in my study, Master Jedi?"

Recado seemed to want honesty. Shado decided to give it. "Sir, for someone whose entire planet depends on these negotiations, you don't seem to care much how they turn out."

The old man stared at him for a long moment. Then he snorted laughter and sunk further into his chair. "You Jedi must be useless without your powers. Of course I care. I haven't had a sound night's sleep in weeks."

"Why do you keep talking about balance?"

"Ah. So that's it. I don't suppose they taught you much about the Cosmic Balance and the teachings of Dif Istuvi back at Jedi school."

"No, but the Jedi had ideas about balance to the Force. Do you want to enlighten me about yours?"

Recado watched stroked his gray beard. "The universe is something that is. It has a natural state, a natural way to be."

"That sounds like the Force."

"Living beings act on it. When they act, balance gets upset. The universe counters and returns balance. Bad luck returns on good luck. When two people fall in love, another pair is separated. And if one planet gains a great boon, another loses it. It all comes down to zero in the end."

"That's a bleak way of looking at things."

"Is it? Everyone blessed by life has to pay for it one day by dying. Don't you agree?"

"That's different."

"It's the most fundamental fact of existence." Recado shrugged again. "Jedi never thought much of the Balance. They have their own ideas about light and dark, but to be honest, the details always eluded me."

Shado hunched forward. "We believe the will of the Force is the will of the universe. Being a Jedi and following its light side is about moving with that will, facilitating it. Working against it- breaking the balance, if you will- is the dark side. When Jedi talk about balance we mean protecting justice and peace, in our hearts and in the wider galaxy, not some zero-sum game."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know when you're working with the Force or against it?"

Shado tapped two fingers at his heart. "We can feel the difference between dark and light, in here."

"You could feel it."

"We could," Shado admitted. "But I remember what it feels like. I remember what actions used to be right."

"I see." Recado scratched his beard again. "That seems… convenient."

He blinked. "What does?"

"Jedi work the will of the Force. They know it's the will of the Force because they're working it. That's rather circular logic, isn't it?"

"No, it's not." He tapped his chest again. "When we're working against it, we know. The dark side of the Force… affects those who use it very differently."

"Makes them Sith, you mean."

"Yes. But the point is, we know. The light and dark side exist. They're not just words we use to justify our actions."

Recado smiled tightly. "Maybe if I could feel the Force I'd feel differently. But to a lot of us who can't- especially all the people who ended up dead in the past few wars- it looks like you Jedi and Sith do whatever you damn well please, and invoke your Force as justification. You'd be no different than mere mortals in that respect. Most people do what they want and tell themselves they have noble reasons after the fact."

Shado's chest tightened with anger. "If you could feel the Force, you'd know otherwise."

"Maybe, but I'll never get the chance now. The question is, will you?"

"I don't know. There are… many ways people are trying to get the Force back." He thought on all the scientists on Coruscant, Cade wandering the galaxy in search of Khat Lah. Neither quest filled him with hope. "Until then I'll do everything I can to continue acting as a Jedi."

"And without that feeling in your chest telling you you're doing the right thing, how will you know you're doing it?"

He wouldn't; every step he took was a fumbling act he could only hope followed a Force he could not hear. Every time he thought about that he felt crushed by an awful loneliness. For this strange old man sitting before him in the dark, Shado attempted a brave smile. "That's my act of faith."

"And your faith directs you to find a happy outcome for everyone on Bakura?"

"Every life in the galaxy. Human. Kurtzen. P'w'eck. Ssi-ruuk."

"That's a lofty goal. I'm doing what I can for Bakura. Lwhekk be damned. And if I have to chose, I'll protect the humans and Kurtzen over P'w'eck. If someone else has to suffer so my Bakura can prosper, so be it. That's the inevitable results of our success." He leavened his words with a smile. "One thing you have to admit about the Cosmic Balance: it's more practical."

"No," Shado said, "Just cynical."

Recado was still smiling. "Are all Jedi such stubborn idealists?"

"I think it's because we feel a part of something bigger than ourselves."

"Feel, or felt?" When Shado didn't reply, Recado pushed his body up from the chair. He stepped slowly to the door, signaling the end of the conversation. Yet when Shado rose the old man extended a hand to shake.

"Thank you for coming, Master Jedi," he said. "That was a nice change of pace. Most bureaucrats and politicians are awful at discussing higher things."

Shado looked at the hand for a second, then shook. "I'm going to do everything I can here to make things work out for everyone."

"I'm sure you will." Recado squeezed hard and released. "One last bit of cynicism: Idealism can be the most insidious form of vanity."

Shado stared for a moment, uncertain what to say. Recado cleared his throat loudly, and the security officer appeared behind Shado to usher him outside.

"Good night, Master Jedi," Recado said as he retreated to his chair. "Pleasant dreams."

Shado nodded and followed the guard into the cool night air. He remembered what Recado had said about his own sleep and doubted his would fare much better.

-{}-

After making his stop at Mandalore, Darth Havok had expected to ride Coreward to the galactic capital. Instead a sudden hail from Darth Nihl had sent him in the opposite direction, climbing Rimward up the Perlemian Trade Route. In a way he was glad for the long ride. He needed time to absorb the ramifications of his orders.

Vorzyd V was one of the entertainment headquarters of the Outer Rim, and from the high window of the High Numbers casino, Havok could see an impressively gaudy thoroughfare thick with speeder traffic, lined by multi-colored holo-displays and luminous signboards ten storeys high. He'd never been distracted by flashiness or idle pleasures, even before joining the Sith, and he turned away from them to face Vigo Pleshchai, owner of the casino and most powerful Black Sun captain in this half of the Rim. The fat, yellow-skinned Squalris sat behind his desk, dressed in an eminently fashionable black business-suit. His hands were clasped on his round stomach and his small black eyes watched Havok intently.

"I don't give compliments lightly," the vigo said. "But you're a brave man coming here."

"Thank you."

"You might also be very stupid. I'll decide that in a moment. Let's get to the point. Why shouldn't I hand you over to the nearest authorities? The Federation would pay handsomely for a Sith." Pleshchai drummed thick fingers on the desktop. "One signal from me and you'd have four assassin droids with guns drawn on you. I doubt you could do much, given your current state."

This was the first obstacle Havok had planned for. "Our organizations have worked well together before."

"I know. I got great help several times from that lithesome Twi'lek who always forgot to put her clothes on. What happened to her? Not dead, I hope."

"She's busy elsewhere. But yes, our organizations have history, which the Sith have kept well-documented."

Auchs hadn't taken well toward attempted blackmail. Neither did Pleshchai. The vigo's hands balled to fists. "The days when your cult could extort special favors from Black Sun are over."

"We don't want favors. Only to continue a partnership. Naturally, we're willing to pay you for your work, but I think this job will be mutually beneficial."

"Oh, and what is that?"

Havok stepped a little closer to the desk. "As you've probably heard, Marasiah Fel will be leaving Coruscant soon. She's pledged to settle refugees from Dac on a new planet and she's paying a personal visit to the Mid-rim world of Bavinyar. She's set to arrive there in two standard days and meet with, and probably strong-arm, local officials."

"I heard." Pleshchai snorted. "I pity the Bavinyari, having to take in that rabble."

"As a potential home, Bavinyar makes sense. It's populated by humans and Cereans and has no native sentients. The settlers stick to Bavinyar's islands, which make up, oh, less than five percent of its total surface area. There's been a small amount of undersea mining, but over ninety percent of Bavinyar is, essentially, unused real estate."

"The Bavinyari will still resist. Nobody likes have squatters set up in the house nextdoor. But that's beside the point. The empress will be on Bavinyar. What of it?"

"If she'll be away from Coruscant, that means she'll be vulnerable."

Pleshchai's eyes widened as he understood. Here Havok had expected to the vigo to snap objection, or to outright refuse. Instead his jowls bunched tight in thought. Nihl was right; this crime lord could see the bigger picture.

Still, when he spoke his voice dripped skepticism. "You want to use Black Sun to assassinate the leader of the Galactic Federation?"

"I want there to be an attempt. The success is… secondary."

"Secondary to what? Successful or no, it'll bring a mountain down on our heads. Black Sun's still regaining strength."

"You were regaining strength under Darth Krayt," Havok reminded. "But since Marasiah Fel took office, she's been putting a heavy squeeze on your activities, hasn't she?"

It was true, but Pleshchai played confident. He looked around his lush office and said, "I'm managing well enough, thank you. When it comes to galactic politics, Black Sun's learned to stay low and stay out of the way."

"You mean your assassins can't cover their tracks? I thought yours were the best."

Pleshchai scowled. "Don't play games with me, Sith. Explain to me why we should risk bringing the whole Federation down on us. It should be good for a laugh."

"Because the Federation won't come down on you." Havok calmly folded his hands in front of him. "Successful or not, the assassination attempt must appear- very credibly- to have been the work of pro-Alliance extremists."

Pleshchai took his time to think on that one. "Is there anyone specific you have in mind?"

"Oh, one or two of the newly-elected senators should be complicit. Someone close to Tem Brighton. Senator Porat Derrol, for example, is said to have close ties with Gar Stazi. And then there's Nelloran, from the Senex sector. You know his people are prone to violent extremism. I was going to recommend hiring a very competent third party to actually do the deed. Maybe you should even pretend to be working for said senators when you hire them. Or you could send one of Black Sun's assassins, then silence them once the deed is done."

"Black Sun knows how to do its business," Pleshchai said.

"Then you should know that this is exactly the right time to sow discord inside the Federation. Once it descends into chaos, Black Sun will have all the more room to flourish. And naturally, it will benefit the Sith too."

Pleshchai sunk into his chair. "And would the Sith prefer Marasiah Fel survive, or not?"

"The Sith are amenable," Havok said, "But we'd prefer it if she live. The empress has tried to play conciliator between the Federation's factions. That will be much harder once she gets splashed with someone else's blood. If we break her appearance as the Federation's high arbiter, we break the Federation."

Pleshchai thought on that. It was what Nihl suggested he say, but a part of Havok would prefer it if the empress died on Bavinyar. He'd killed the woman's mother himself, later captured and tortured Marasiah herself. Both acts have brought to him a sense of triumph, carried by the Force's dark side. Now that its power had deserted him, Marasiah was a lingering reminder of what he'd done and failed to do. He simply wanted her gone, any was possible.

Eventually the vigo said, "This will take time to arrange."

"You only have a few days. If you're serious about this, I suggest you start planning immediately."

Pleshchai's black eyes settled on his. "We still need to talk about your initial down-payment."

Havok felt a flush of triumph. "I'm happy to negotiate. We Sith are still Sith, no matter what you may have heard. We value our old partnerships and look forward to working together for a long time to come."