Despite the chaos of the last six hours, Jadesei Syne took some consolation in the sight before her. The briefing room in the prime minister's tower was bustling with a diversity of staff: human and Cereans, plus a furry Bothan, a feathered Calibop, and an armor-plated Hortek for good measure. All of them- human and alien, Republican and Bavinyari- all moved for a singular reason.

It was that purpose she needed consolation for. The sudden attacks on the islands of Maressa, Lemurya, and Shaldonia had throw the entire planet into an uproar. Amazingly, no more riots had broken out on the streets of Cephalia; Syne wanted to think it was because she had acted quickly and declared martial law on all three islands that had been subject to terrorist attacks by the BIL. Even now, mixed groups of BSA policemen and BDF ground troops were putting all three islands under lockdown and searching both them and adjacent locations for the perpetrators of the attacks.

She only hoped that here, at last, the BIL had overplayed its hand. If its leaders could be found and arrested after this, it would go a long way to defusing the competitive violence between human and Cerean separatists.

She hoped, anyway.

The situation room was abuzz with constant low chatter, occasionally broken by important announce-ments. As Syne was mentally clutching her private hope, a BSA agents entered the room and triumph-antly announced that a BIL storehouse on Shaldonia had been seized. A dozen cell members had been captured as well as a good stock of supplies.

Syne sidled next to Organa Solo and told the other woman in a low voice, "This is good news. Perhaps now we can figure out who has been supplying the BIL."

Organa Solo nodded gravely. The BSA's suspicion that a Republic-made missile launcher had been used to kill Pohl-Had-Narr was not widely known, but it had been made clear to the both of them.

A wordless sensation passed between the two women, and Syne realized that Organa Solo had been trying to touch her through the Force. It was an uncomfortable feeing, being touched like that; she was uncertain what it meant.

Syne lowered her voice further and asked, "Do you want something from me?"

To her surprise, a slight smile creased Organa Solo's tired face. "I was trying to give you a suggestion."

"Apparently I'm not properly attuned to receive it."

"Or I'm not attuned to send it. Neither of us is a Jedi." Organa Solo sighed a little and said, "Can we talk privately?"

"Of course," Syne nodded, and gestured to the president to follow.

It took less than a minute for them to retreat to a private room and lock the door. Syne squared her shoulders to face the other woman. "Well, what is it? Is it something about the BIL?"

"I'm sorry, no. It's about the other half of this problem."

"You mean the CPF."

"Yes. You know that the weapons they used during the attack on you were Imperial."

"I knew that the moment I heard the blasters go off."

"Your investigators found serial numbers on some of the weapons. They shared it with NRI and NRI shared it with me."

"And did you share it with someone?" Syne narrowed her eyes.

Leia nodded. "I did. I sent that information to the Imperial Remnant."

"The Empire?" Syne snarled. "You trust them?"

"I've developed a good working relationship with Admiral Pellaeon," Organa Solo said calmly. Syne could only stare in disbelief; for what the Empire had done to her family, to Bavinyar, she'd never allowed herself to forgive them, not even when the once-great Empire had shriveled to the pathetic rump state it was now.

Yet apparently this other woman, who had even more cause to hate the Empire than she, had somehow done so. Syne couldn't decide whether she was impressed or appalled.

Organa Solo pressed on, "Admiral Pellaeon was very cooperative. He doesn't want to do anything to endanger the peace treaty the two of us put together."

"Those weapons could be decades old, and the Empire was broken into pieces since then. Could Pellaeon really help you?"

"I admit I was skeptical too, but I felt I had to at least make the effort." Organa Solo allowed a little smile. "It was worth it. It turns out those weapons were in the Remnant's registry, even after all this time. They all came from the same production batch."

"When were they made?"

"Over thirty years ago."

Syne snorted. "That tells us nothing."

"It tells us a lot, actually. Those weapons were shipped fresh from the factory to the Black Fifteen facility."

"That name is…. Familiar." She felt vaguely embarrassed at being unable to place it.

"Black Fifteen was the Empire's facility over N'zoth," Organa Solo said.

"The Yevetha?"

"Exactly. These weapons belonged to the Black Fleet that the Yevetha captured after the Battle of Endor and used to terrorize the Koornacht cluster seven years ago."

Syne remembered it now. "The Imperial crews recaptured their ships, didn't they?"

"They did, then jumped to the Deep Core. Admiral Pellaeon explained that some ships found their way to his Imperial holdings in the Outer Rim after they discovered that Byss was already destroyed."

"What does all this mean?"

"The rifles we have here were supposedly shipped to the Black Fleet's flagship, the super star destroyer Intimidator. Intimidator never made its way to Pellaeon's fleet."

"I remember," Syne nodded. "It was found drifting in space abandoned a few years ago."

"Our forensics people never figured out what happened to Intimidator," Organa Solo said, "Though it seems to have taken heavy damage using weapons we were unable to identify, then abandoned. However, our inspectors also believe that the hull had been scavenged after it was destroyed, but before our people got a look at it."

"Then that gets us nothing. Space is full of scavengers. There's no way to tell who could have raided Intimidator before your people did." She paused. "Is there?"

"I've ordered teams to re-open their review of Intimidator's remains."

"What happened to the hull? Is it still intact?"

Organa Solo shook her head. "It was dismantled for scrap last year, but our forensics teams took very thorough records. We also tried to salvage any computers we could find aboard."

"If you haven't found out who scavenged the ship before, why would you do it now?"

"To be honest, Prime Minister, it wasn't a priority before."

"A super star destroyer gets demolished by an unknown party and you didn't make it a priority to find out?"

Organa Solo allowed another sigh. "It was peacetime. There seemed to be no immediate threat. Out teams believed- and I concurred- that whoever wrecked Intimidator would have come from the Unknown Regions. We've made… some small inroads into that space recently. I thought I had an idea of who was responsible. Now I'm having second thoughts."

"And you can't just ask the people you thought did it?"

Organa Solo shook her head. Clearly there were some things that were classified that she wasn't willing to share. That annoyed Syne, but at the same time she felt small relief that Organa Solo had, at least, trusted her enough to give her this information. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it, but the gesture felt important.

"I appreciate what you told me, Princess, I really do," Syne said, and hoped her honestly came through in the Force. "However, at the moment, whoever's arming the CPF isn't our top priority. The BIL is."

She could feel the cautious goodwill between them evaporate. To her credit, Organa Solo did not act like one accused. She said, "Now that we've recovered from BIL personnel and equipment, I think a lot of things will be laid clear."

"I hope so."

"And I want you to know that whatever the truth is, people will be held accountable for what they've done, no matter who they are."

In other words, she acknowledged that someone inside the Republic might be playing a game, and that they'd be punished if found out. "I'll hold you to that, Princess."

"Good. Can you say the same?"

It was a perfectly valid question; all this time Syne knew that somewhere in her government- in the civilian structure or the BDF- there were bound to be people who were giving aid to the BIL in small or large ways. It was a reality she acknowledged to herself, but it was the kind of reality not suited for public pronouncement. Organa Solo's question felt like an accusation.

Syne knew it was unfair to feel hurt. She said, as firmly as Organa Solo had, "People will be held accountable, no matter who they are."

"I'm glad we understand each other," Organa Solo said, and Syne felt a tendril of the Force touch her; it seemed to say, I truly am glad.

Syne had spent her life observing other beings' inner emotions without even trying; now that someone was getting a touch of her hidden self she felt awkward. She knew it was hypocritical, but she still didn't like it.

Still, she told Organa Solo, "We should get back to the situation room. Reports from Shaldonia should be coming in soon."

"Yes. I think it's something we'd all like to see." Organa Solo turned and walked out of the room; Syne hesitated for the tiniest moment, then fell in quickly behind her.

-{}-

When evening fell, Asyr Sei'lar met with Tresk Im'nel again. This time he commed her and surprised her by saying he'd come to her hotel.

When he came knocking she ushered him inside. "Are you sure it's all right for you to come like this?"

"I stayed well clear of the trouble spots, and I wasn't followed," Tresk said, throwing off his cloak. "You don't have to worry about the hotel staff either."

Asyr frowned. "Did your Jedi powers help you with that?"

"I only nudged their minds so they didn't pay attention to me as I came in. I used the same thing to slip through the streets. I didn't scrub their memory or anything," Tresk sounded almost defensive, like she'd accused him of using the dark side, though Asyr didn't particularly care on way or the other.

"What about the other Republic staff? What about Princess Leia, or the other Jedi who came with you? Won't they notice you're gone?"

"Hamner is asleep after a very long day. And Princess Leia knows I'm out."

Asyr's fur bristled. "Are you saying she knows about me?"

"Not at all. She is, however, aware of the potential of, shall we say, outside forces meddling with this crisis on Bavinyar. One of my goals in coming here is to investigate that meddling as I see fit."

"Does she suspect Fey'lya is supplying the BIL?"

"She acknowledges the possibility."

Asyr felt slightly encouraged by that. "All right then. Why specifically did you come across town to meet me tonight? I'm sure you've had a tiring day."

"That's fair to say." With a tired sigh, Tresk sat himself down on her bed and pulled a new data-chip from his pocket. He tossed it onto the blanket. "That's the inventory of the supplies found in the BIL storehouse that was used to carry out the terrorist attacks on Shaldonia."

Asyr scooped up the disc, then went across the room for her datapad. As she plugged the card in she asked, "What about the attacks on Maressa and Lemurya?"

"Potential culprits have been apprehended and a few locations have been raised by the BSA, but nothing incriminating was found. My guess is that those cells moved their equipment to a new location before carrying out the attacks."

"The Shaldonia cell messed up then."

"Lucky for us. The BSA team found some very interesting items there."

Asyr breathed deeply as the list appeared on her datapad. The storehouse must have been large and the BSA investigators thorough, because it was a very long list. She scrolled down it, waiting for something to catch her eye, until it finally did: a catalog of weapons, mainly BlasTech and MerrSonn, all of recent manufacture.

"Those weren't marked with serial numbers like the Imperial weapons the CPF was using," Tresk said, "Which makes me think they never went into actual service with the NRDF."

"We need to check whether these models sold to private militias too."

"NRI already checked that. The BlasTech T-25b rifles and the MerrSonn XV-7 grenades are being sold to private buyers but the MerrSonn TV-11 is a brand new design made in cooperation with New Republic engineers. It hasn't been sold on private market at all. Which means that it was either stolen from a MerrSonn production warehouse-"

"Or it was pilfered from the NRDF," Asyr said. "Given that it's mixed in with other weapons of different make, I'd say that's near-certain."

"I would too."

Asyr sat on the bed next to Tresk. "All right then. We know someone in the Republic has been feeding weapons to the BIL. This is proof, right here."

"It's not proof until we know who is doing this. And, hopefully, who put them up to it."

And Tresk had come here so Asyr could help him get proof. She was already getting ideas, but she asked, "What about NRI? Aren't they looking into it too?"

"They are, but I think they're also suddenly busy examining into all the records they took from the super star destroyer Intimidator two years ago."

Asyr's ears flattened. "What are you talking about?"

"We've been led to believe that the CPF is being supplied with Imperial blaster rifles taken from the wreckage of the super star destroyer from the Black Sword Fleet that was found abandoned in the Unknown Regions."

"I heard about that. Why do they think its weapons are in in CPF hands now?"

Tresk shook his head; apparently there were some secrets he wasn't willing to share with her. "The point is, NRI is looking into both issues right now. Princess Leia and I both feel that if, and I say if, someone in the New Republic hierarchy has been supplying the BIL with weapons, we need to investigate very discreetly."

"I understand completely," Asyr nodded. "And I think I already have an idea where to start."

"I thought you might," Tresk smirked. "Do you need any more help from me right now?"

"Not at the moment."

"Good. Then I should be going. As you said, we've all had a long day."

"What about the riots?"

"Contained, mostly. I didn't run into any of them on the way here. And if I do run into trouble, well, I have advantages the rioters don't." He rose from the bed but didn't start from the door. She looked up at him, wordlessly, asking with her eyes if he really had to go.

"It's been a long day," he said again, and pulled his cloak back on. "I'll be in touch, Asyr."

"Stay safe, Tresk," she told him as he left. Once the door closed she tried to listen for his footsteps as he retreated down the hall, but even her sharp Bothan hearing didn't pick up anything. The entire room was deathly silent.

She looked down at the datapad in her lap, read it through one more time, then got up. She had a call to make.

-{}-

It was two hours before dawn in CoroNet city when Iella realized, very gradually and reluctantly, that the comlink resting atop her bedstand was buzzing with an incoming call. At first, she didn't react besides burying her face a little deeper into her pillow, and she only picked her head up and surrendered herself to the reality of the call when her husband muttered, "Is that you or me?"

She sighed and pushed herself upright. She fumbled for the comlink, pressed the receive button, and mumbled, "Who's't?"

She got no response, the comlink kept buzzing. That was when she remembered that she'd set her link up to serve as a router to the apartment's main comm system just in case a call came in from one very specific source. The comlink kept rattling against her palm, reminding her that Asyr was waiting for a response.

She threw back the sheets and stumbled out of bed. She heard Wedge say, "What is it?" but didn't look back.

The door slid shut behind her. She went across the living room to the comm console and sat down in front of it. She turned it on, expecting a blue holo-image to spring up and light the dark room.

Nothing came; the only glow was a small green light on the console, confirming that a connection had been made.

Iella leaned in close to the console's speaker grille and whispered, "Asyr, are you there?"

"Can you talk, Iella?"

"Sure. It's 0400 here. Everyone else is asleep."

"I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I'm sure it's important."

"It is. Have you heard anything about what's been going on at Bavinyar?"

"Only what the news-nets have been saying."

"Nothing from your old intel co-workers?"

"To be honest, Asyr, I've been trying to enjoy my retirement."

"Of course." There was a pause; then she resumed, "Arrests have been made since the attacks. BIL supplies and personnel have been taken into BSA custody. We've also examined CPF materials retrieved after the failed attempt on Syne's life."

Iella closed her eyes and sighed. The intrigue, the violence, the confusing stew of acronyms for a confusing stew of factions; those were all the things she'd been overjoyed to get away from.

"Have you found anything you were looking for?" she asked tiredly. They both knew she meant links to Fey'lya.

"Maybe. That's why I'm calling you. NRI already has investigation teams working but my contacts and I thought it would be good to take a subtle approach."

"Meaning what?"

"We believe the BIL has been receiving supplies pilfered from NRDF, specifically supplies that were sent from the manufacturer but not listed as received by the quartermaster corps."

"You mean someone on the inside is passing those supplies onto Bavinyar."

"Exactly. We're going to need someone in the quartermaster corps who can perform an audit and see where these supplies might have slipped away."

"Do you have a list for me?"

"I'm sending it as a package attached to this data-stream. This is only from a single BIL safehouse, so it's a good bet the total amount of stolen material is magnitudes bigger."

"What kind of supplies are we talking about?"

"Top-of-the-line, expensive military-grade weapons, like the kinds used to assassinate Pohl-Had-Narr and kill dozens in the recent attacks. You'll see. They've got enough for a serious military operation."

"All right." Iella's mouth felt dry. She hated, hated being thrown back into this mess but she knew she couldn't refuse, not when the stakes were so high, not when Asyr was relying on her.

"How well do you know Feylis Ardele?" the Bothan asked.

That took Iella by surprise. Then she realized it shouldn't have; Feylis was one of her husband's ex-pilots, now a senior officer in the quartermaster corps. She'd be perfect to look into this.

"I know her a little," Iella admitted. "I didn't even meet Wedge until after she'd left the Rouges, so I've only met her a few times at squad reunion gatherings."

"But she'll help you if you ask for it, won't she?"

"For something like this, I don't know if she'll have a choice."

"Good. Please work with her on this, Iella. This could be the key to solving the Bavinyar crisis."

Iella could hear the enthusiasm in her voice and was wary. "Asyr, there's no knowing for certain who helped steal these weapons. The BIL could have just bribed a regional shipping manager. It could be a lone sympathizer. We have no idea."

"I know it could be a lot of things, but it's still our best lead and we have to follow it."

"I know, and I will. Is there anything else, Asyr?"

"Nothing right now. Thank you so much, Iella, and I'm sorry for calling at a bad time."

"It's all right. I'll handle it from here." She reached for the switch to terminate the call, then added, "Stay safe, Asyr."

"Don't worry about me," the Bothan said, and the green light on the console winked off. Connection severed.

Iella checked to see that an attachment had been contained in the data-stream. She transferred it to a small card that she stuffed into the pocket of her pajamas, then walked quietly back to her bedroom.

She lay down in the bed as carefully as she could. She'd thought Wedge was asleep, but once she lay down and rested her head on a pillow she heard him mutter, "Who was that?"

Her heart quickened. Her mind raced for an answer. All she could come up with was, "Someone called by mistake."

She knew it was a bad answer but he didn't call her on it. He didn't say anything at all. She lay on her side, facing away from him, and waited a good five minutes before she realized he must have fallen asleep again.

She remembered that Coronet's local time was a few hours ahead of that in Galactic City, which meant she might have to wait until nearly noon in the coming day to place a call to Feylis Ardele in the quartermaster's office.

Somehow she didn't think she'd get much sleep before then. So instead she lay in the dark, wondering what she'd tell Wedge in the morning, assuming he remembered any of this at all.

-{}-

The BIL members captured at Shaldonia had been flown all the way to the BSA prison located on a solitary island five kilometers north of Cephalia. The complex was the largest of its kind on the planet, and the most secure.

Even though his purview was technically Pohl-Had-Narr's assassination, Sham-Vi-Diin had put in a request to visit the facility and speak with some of the prisoners. His request had been granted immediately; as he'd discovered over the past week, his new assignment had priority over pretty much everything, and all he had to do was ask. For a long-time city homicide investigator, it was a strange place to be in. He wondered how long it would take him to get used to having authority.

Sham-Vi-Diin was escorted to the prison cells by Yan-Kord-Nimmon, the chief BSA officer on Shaldonia who'd personally led the capture of the prisoners. As they walked down seemingly-endless identical white-brick hallways, Yan-Kord-Nimmon told him, "We found them when they were preparing to scatter, but they'd been slow in getting their gear packed."

"It sounds like the other cells moved safehouses before launching the attacks," said Sham-Vi-Diin.

"This cell was sloppy. From what it sounds like, the cell based on Maressa was the one to instigate the attacks. This one heard about them last-minute and scrambled to follow suite."

"So you're saying it wasn't ordered by Kolin?"

"It sounds like this was a spontaneous action taken by a handful of cells, in response to the assassination attempt on Syne."

Sham-Vi-Diin shook his head. No one had been killed in the riots in Cephalia last night, but he knew that was just the start. Next the CPF would escalate with a retaliatory strike of their own.

"How compliant have they been?" Sham-Vi-Diin asked as they stepped through the durasteel gates that marked off the highest security cells.

"Compliant enough. These aren't exactly the best of the best as far as the BIL was concerned. Of course, if they were, we'd have never captured them in the first place."

"They were fanatic enough to kill eighteen people on Shaldonia."

"In a sloppy attack, yes. Most of them are young and hotheaded, so we broke a few of them quickly enough. But since they're at the bottom of the rank ladder they didn't know much."

"Did we capture their leader?"

"His name is Nika Mardham. Would you like to speak with him first?"

"Do you think he'll talk to me?"

"He hasn't talked yet, not that we haven't tried to get stuff from him. You're welcome to your turn, Detective."

"Thank you. Can you move him to a place where we can speak safely alone?"

"His cell will be fine," Yan-Kord-Nimmon stopped abruptly in front of a blank metal door. He punched some keycode into the control panel on the wall; then the door slid open.

Sham-Vi-Diin stepped inside. He froze and stared. From his shoulder, over the threshold, Yan-Kord-Nimmon asked, "Will you need anything else?"

The detective shook his head dumbly. The other Cerean said, "Very well. Good luck."

The door slid shut. Sham-Vi-Diin braced one hand against the wall. He'd seen more than his share of dead bodies, often ones killed violently, but he was still shocked by the shape of the human crouched on the cold permacrete floor, bound to the wall be manacles clamped tight on his wrists and ankles. His clothes had been torn off, and it was clear that his captors had beaten every inch of his body with fists and boots. He was curled up in a fetal position; dried blood still caked his lips and lower jaw and his half-lidded eyes stared blankly ahead at Sham-Vi-Diin's boots.

The detective crouched low and waved a hand close to the prisoner's face. He asked, "Can you hear me? Nika Mardham, can you hear me?"

The eyes blinked into focus. The jaw worked open like a rusty hinge, open and closed, open and closed, before Mardham finally croaked, "Who are you?"

"My name is Detective Sham-Vi-Diin."

Mardham grunted and closed his eyes. He was shivering in the cool prison air. Sham-Vi-Diin took his jacket off and draped it over the naked man's hunched-up body.

"I'm sorry for the way they treated you," Sham-Vi-Diin said.

Mardham grunted and muttered, "Kriffing cone-heads… Should go back to your own world… Next time..."

"Next time what?"

Mardham's eyes opened, suddenly angry, and met his. "Next time we'll do all of you."

The churning in his stomach settled, and his empathy from a moment ago withered without totally dying. In pity, he'd allowed himself to forget what kind of man this was, beaten half to death and chained to a cold wall.

"I understand you were the leader of the BIL cell on Shaldonia," he said as calmly as he could. "Was it your decision to execute the attack or did it come from higher up?"

"What does it matter?"

"Did your leader, Aviran Kolin, authorize the attacks?"

Mardham breathed out and said nothing. Awkwardly, he shifted beneath the jacket laid over him so that he could sit upright. "Kolin had nothing to do with it."

"Did Kolin tell you not to attack?"

"He had nothing to do with it," Mardham repeated. "Nothing. We did this on our own. To get back. This is our world. You damn coneheads, you stole it. You and your Imp buddies."

"No one on this planet is a friend of the Empire."

"You could sure fool me, what with all the Imp guns your conehead buddies have. Now you bastards brought Coruscant down on us. You'll get them to crush us like they did before..." He shivered and pulled the jacket tighter over his body. "But you won't stomp us out. True Bavinyari never die."

"We didn't bring Coruscant down on you," Sham-Vi-Diin said firmly. "You brought them on yourselves when you killed Pohl-Had-Narr."

Mardham's face screwed up. "That wasn't us."

"I'm sure your group wasn't involved in it, no. But one of your cells was."

Mardham wagged his head. "It wasn't us. I talked to Kolin after it went down, see? I was in on that conference."

"What conference? Where was it?"

Mardham snickered. "I ain't telling you that, conehead. Everybody left that island when it was done anyway. I'm just saying that Kolin was shocked as anybody else when Pohl-Had-Narr died. I mean, why would he do that? What's in it for him? And why do it during the election? It just brings Coruscant down on our heads, to stomp us out."

"You have a human in the Prime Minister's office now."

"Syne?" he snorted. "She ain't one of us. Her mother, she was a hero. That lady? She's all up on compromise and coexistence and all that crap. That's what happens when she grew up with aliens. Messed up her mind."

"And I take it you didn't?" Sham-Vi-Diin said dryly.

"No, sir. Born and raised on Wallis XI. All humans, everyone alike. Best way to run things. The Imps had that right at least. But the point is, detective, Kolin didn't kill Pohl-Had-Narr. None of us did."

"Then who did? The CPF?"

"Maybe. It would make sense; they never liked Pohl-Had-Narr either. Oh, don't act all surprised. I know who you are, conehead. I've seen you on the news-nets. You're the one who's supposed to find out who killed Pohl-Had-Narr. If you're surprised by this I guess that means you ain't doing too good a job."

The words cut deeper than Sham-Vi-Diin wanted to admit. He'd never straight-out taken it for granted that the BIL had been behind the attacks, but he'd never ruled them out as the most likely suspects either. The fact that they'd never found any further evidence had always nagged at him, but if what Mardham said was true, then he was more lost than ever.

"I've got another question for you," he said. "Some-thing very different."

Mardham shrugged and looked at the wall.

"As cell leader you seem to know something about Kolin's operations. So tell me, where did you get those weapons? They seem to be high-quality Republic-made models."

Mardham tugged the throat of the jacket tighter around his neck. "Do I get to keep it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your coat. Can I keep it? It's cold here."

"I won't take it from you."

Mardham nodded, satisfied. "I don't know where we got them."

Sham-Vi-Diin frowned. "You just-"

"I didn't promise nothing. And I don't know. We get them shipped in from offworld. Maybe Kolin has somebody in the Republic who steals stuff for him, I don't know."

"Do you know how they're delivered to Bavinyar? Is it on an NRDF spacecraft?"

Mardham shook his head. "It's not. Someone else brings them, a smuggler."

"What's his name? What kind of ship does he have?"

"I never seen his ship, so I don't know. But he calls himself Pedric Cuf."

"Pedric Cuf," Sham-Vi-Diin repeated.

"That's right. I met him once. Human. Pale face, dark hair, a little older than me. I don't know who he works for. Maybe the Hutts. Maybe he's just a freelancer. Anyway, he gets the goods and ships them to Kolin."

"Is there any chance Pedric Cuf is on Bavinyar now?"

Mardham shrugged. "I don't think so. He comes, he goes. He ain't BIL, just a gun-runner."

"When was his last delivery?"

"I don't know. Maybe two weeks before Pohl-Had-Narr died. And don't ask me what he brought. All I know is the stuff our cell got. Wherever he is now, I bet he's staying far away from Bavinyar. Slick and smart, he was. Not dumb enough to come back here now that everything's hit the fan."

It was more information than Sham-Vi-Diin had been expecting. He wondered what else he might ask of this man; nothing came.

Instead he rose to his feet and said, "You can keep the jacket. I'll get a new one."

Mardham nodded and stayed where he was, huddled on the floor.

Sham-Vi-Diin spent the rest of the afternoon talking to the other prisoners. Some spouted racist curses at him, others refused to talk, and a few repeated fragments of what he'd already gotten from Mardham. All of them had been badly beaten by their captors. Given what they'd done and what they stood for, Sham-Vi-Diin couldn't blame the BSA agents who'd seized them for being angry. Still, such casual brutality reflected badly on their organization, and he brought it up that evening when he met with Korr-Mad-Narr to summarize his day.

The BSA director, though, just shrugged behind his desk and said, "You can't blame people for being angry. And we didn't lose any of the prisoners, did we?"

"No, sir."

"Then I don't think it's a critical issue." Korr-Mad-Narr put down the datapad with Sham-Vi-Diin's report and folded his hands on the desktop. "Frankly, I wouldn't give much credence to anything these men said."

"I was alarmed when he said the BIL didn't kill Pohl-Had-Narr. And skeptical."

"As well you should be. They're still your prime suspects, aren't they?"

"They are, sir. At least, they were the obvious ones from the start..." He trailed off.

Korr-Mad-Narr frowned. "What is it, Chief?"

"The men I talked to suggested that killing the prime minister would actually help the CPF more than the BIL."

The director snorted. "Of course he'd say that."

"I know. But it does stand to reason, from a certain point of view. After the latest attacks, they'll be more emboldened than ever."

"They were trying to confuse you, Detective. Don't let them win."

"I'm not, sir. I'm just voicing my concerns. The fact is, we've spent the past week investigating Pohl-Had-Narr's death and haven't gotten anywhere."

"Haven't we? The BIL supplies we seized include high-quality Republic-made weapons, just like what it's theorized was used to kill Pohl-Had-Narr. That indicates a connection."

"It does, but it's not proof."

Korr-Mad-Narr raised an eyebrow. "Should I put someone else in charge of this investigation, Detective?"

"Absolutely not," Sham-Vi-Diin wagged his head back and forth. "I promise you, sir, I am still up to the task and I will absolutely continue to carry out this investigation, no matter where it leads."

"See that you do," the director said firmly. "I have a feeling we'll be getting more breakthrough over the coming days. We all have to be ready to act on them, and if we act fast, I believe we can end this crisis before it gets any more violent."

Sham-Vi-Diin nodded. He hoped, prayed Korr-Mad-Narr was right, but he couldn't find it in his heart to believe.

-{}-

When Avan Beruss returned from the senate offices at 2200 hours, all he wanted to do was sit down, have a stiff drink, and go to bed. Instead he found his wife waiting for him, sitting on the sofa of their living room with a datapad on her lap, looking up at him with a serious, expectant look on her face.

"Feylis?" he frowned, removing his jacket. "What's wrong?"

"Avan, I'm going to need your help with something."

"Of course. What is it?"

"I need you to call your security detail. We need to apprehend someone."

"You mean arrest them? There are police for that."

"I don't know if he's done anything worth arresting. But we need to talk to him, and we should have your guards just in case."

"Okay, we need to start again. Who exactly are we going to try and arrest? Apprehend, talk to, whatever."

"A regional manager in the quartermaster division for the Third Fleet. I believe he's been secretly shipping NRDF weapons to the human separatists on Bavinyar."

Avan stared at her. "How did you figure this out?"

"I was given a list of weapons they recently found on Bavinyar, in a BIL safehouse. It's all BlastTech and MerrSonn weapons that are contractually only sold to our military, but somehow they ended up on Bavinyar, apparently without going through an inventory on our end. I've spent all day auditing shipping contracts and processing records and I think I've found the source."

"Wait, back up. Where did you get this list? If this is an NRI job, they must have people who can apprehend this guy. What did you say his name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Aston Blake. I pulled his personnel records. He lives in Galactic City, about five kilometers south of Westport."

"Where was it from, Feylis?"

"Someone we can trust."

"But not through official channels?"

"It sounds like this is something Princess Leia wants investigated quietly."

"Leia? Are you sure this has her approval?"

Feylis seemed to hesitate for a second; then she nodded. Avan was tempted to call up Leia's personal frequency and ask her for verification, but he knew that if he did, Feylis would take it as a sign of distrust. Worse, she'd be right to.

Avan sighed and sat down next to her. He placed a hand on her knee and said, "We're not X-wing pilots anymore. We can't just flit off and do whatever we feel like, just because we think it's right."

She reached out and touched his own knee, the metal one to replace the right leg he'd lost in an X-wing crash that had ended his career as a fighter pilot. "Once a Rouge, always a Rouge," she said.

Avan grimaced. "If we try to apprehend Blake, and he's the wrong man, he might press charges. This could ruin both our careers."

Feylis shook her head. "You've let your senator's job make you cautious, Avan. The first thing we'll do is talk to him. I am in the same office as him, you know. We can call this an official inquiry."

"And that's why we're meeting him at his flat?"

"Better his apartment than the office, where he could delete records or make a scene."

"Do you really think this could help us defuse the Bavinyar crisis?"

"If we can stop the flow of weapons it definitely will. It might even lead us to the leadership for the human separatists. Trust me, Avan. This is something we have to do."

He moved his hand and placed it atop hers. "All right, I'll call my security detail. We'll go straight to Blake's quarters."

"Thank you." She smiled a smile that had lifted up his heart for twenty-five years and counting, but right then it didn't calm his doubts at all.

His security team came quickly, and after that all four of them set off in a speeder through the post-rush-hour traffic on Galactic City. The flow of speeders was still slow, but Avan insisted they not break the lanes; there had already been enough complaints about senators and officials ignoring traffic rules because they thought it inconvenient, and he didn't want the embarrassment of being caught by CSF, especially not tonight.

It took them a half-hour to get to the tower where Aston Blake apparently lived. It was one of countless residential spires in Galactic City; not as bright and flashy as the residences near the government district and not the slums of the lower levels, it was the kind of middle-grade, middle-class residency one would expect for a civil servant with ten years on the job and (so Feylis said) no family living with him.

The tower's staff did nothing to get in the way of a senatorial security team. Instead, they pointed Avan, Feylis, and the guards to proper floor. When asked, one of them said that he'd seen Aston Blake enter the tower about four hours ago.

As they walked down the hallway, Feylis said in a half-whisper, "Let me go in first and talk to him. You and the guards should stay outside."

"What if he does something dangerous?"

Feylis flipped back the hem of her jacket, revealing a hold-out blaster tucked beneath one arm. She must have strapped it on while Avan was summoning security.

"I'll be all right, Avan," she said. "Besides, I don't think he'll put up a fight. He's not a murderer, he's a middle-grade bureaucrat engaging in corporate theft."

"Theft of weapons used to murder people. That's not any better. Do you have any idea why he might be helping to sell to the Bavinyar separatists?"

"No idea. According to his record he was born on Denon and spent most of his life on Coruscant. Nothing screams terrorist material. I'm guessing someone offered him extra credits to make some shipments disappear. He might not even know who he was selling to."

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Avan said as they found his door.

Feylis nodded and gestured for Avan and his guards to stand on either side of the doorframe. Once they were in position, she rang the buzzer. Avan could faintly hear the muffled sound on the other side of the door.

They waited for a full minute before Feylis rang the doorbell. There was no response. Feylis rang one more time, and once more no answer came. Finally, Feylis pounded a fist on the door and said, "Lieutenant Blake, this is Commander Feylis Ardelle of the NRDF. I'm here on official business. Please open up."

They waited thirty seconds, and still no reply. Avan said, "He may have slipped out without being notice."

"He could even be asleep," a guard suggested.

Feylis bit her lip and asked, "Can we slice through the locking mechanism?"

The two guards exchanged wary glances. The other said, "It wouldn't be legal."

"Feylis, we can come back again," Avan said. "Or we can just wait for him."

"Slice the door," she said.

"Feylis-" Avan stopped and realized the two guards were looking at him for permission. Then he looked at Feylis and saw the dark determination on her face. Finally, he said, "Go ahead. Slice the door."

It took the guards less than three minutes to override the simple locking mechanism. When the door slid open they found themselves looking down a short hallway, toward a living room with a broad viewport looking out on the night skyline. The guards gingerly plucked their pistols from their holsters and walked slowly down the hall. Feylis and Avan followed. Avan got only a few steps in before he picked up a familiar scent in the air, a scent he hadn't been exposed to in a very long time.

He was, therefore, unsurprised when he turned a corner and saw a human figure slumped at the kitchen table. There was a scorch-mark in the wall behind him and a blaster on the tabletop, just beyond the limp open palm from which it had spilled.

"Now we call the police," Avan said.

-{}-

News of the suicide of one mid-ranking officer in the Third Fleet's Coruscant quartermaster office would normally not have been of interest to a member of the New Republic Senate, much less one currently in the middle of a campaign for the highest office in the galaxy. Indeed, Senator Pwoe of Dac didn't learn of Aston Blake's death until the middle of the following day, when he received news from his Quarren chief of staff, Verrek.

The news was totally unexpected, especially as it was delivered just moment before he was due to talk with members of Coruscant's largest construction union. The meeting went ahead as planned, but all the while possible implications of Blake's death rattled around in the Quarren's head.

When he was finally freed from the meeting, he immediately commed Verrek and asked for further information on Blake's fate. His chief of staff was frustratingly unhelpful; the kept repeating that the apartment was under lockdown by local security forces and that NRI was rumored to have accessed Blake's apartment too.

By the time he got back to his office in the Senate bulding, Pwoe was already on the verge of panic. When he stepped into his suite and found Tav Brei'lya waiting for him, it took everything to keep from screaming.

"Greeting, Senator," Brei'lya said cooly. The Bothan had been Fey'lya's trusted aide for decades, though he'd never mastered the silky-smooth mannerisms of his boss; Brei'lya was known for his blunter approach.

"I'm sorry, but did you have an appointment?" Pwoe asked, wondering whether he should listen to what the furball had to say or just get rid of him.

"No. Something came up on short notice, I'm afraid."

"Well, I'm a very busy Quarren, as you can imagine. If you have a message, you can leave it and I'll get back to you later."

"I'm afraid I can't. I was told not to return to Councilor Fey'lya's office unless I brought you with me." He spread his paws and gave a helpless shrug. "I've already waited two hours. I shouldn't have to wait any longer."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely a hope." Brei'lya bore his canines. "But the Councilor was quite clear. He must talk to you, in person, immediately."

Pwoe tried to calm himself. There was no guarantee, no guarantee at all, that Fey'lya had learned anything about Aston Blake. The scheming Bothan could always be trying to pull something else; he might even want to strike some kind of deal with Pwoe.

Or he could stand ready to bring the entire power of the Justice Department down on the Quarren's squid-shaped head.

All things considered, there was only one way to know for sure.

Forcing himself to look somewhat calm, Pwoe looked over his shoulder at Verrak and said, "When is my next meeting?"

"The delegates from Kuat Drive Yards, Senator. They're set to meet you in your office in one standard hour."

Pwoe looked back at Brei'lya. "I hope the Councilor can be succinct."

"I'll make sure he's aware of your timetable." Brei'lya nodded. "Now please, will you come with me?"

It took less than five minutes to be maneuvered to Fey'lya's office on the north edge of the senate building. While the old meeting hall had been destroyed in the terrorist bombing years ago, the office structure itself had been undamaged, and Fey'lya's suite had clearly been occupied continuously since the Senate's initial formation. The shelves were lined with gifts from notables from a hundred worlds, the floor covered with hand-woven Bothan carpets that had clearly been worn by many passing feet.

When Brei'lya led him to Fey'lya's office, he said, "The Senator has another appointment in one hour. He requests you finish your business by then."

The Bothan councilor, standing behind his wood-carved desk with the midday Coruscant skyline at his back, nodded. "Our conversation will not take that long. Please, leave us."

Brei'lya nodded. He stepped out of the room and the door slid shut behind Pwoe. It might have been paranoid, but the Quarren thought he heard a lock clicking into place.

As for Fey'lya, he stayed right where he was behind the desk, paws clasped behind his back, looking like the regal statesman he always presented himself as for the press. Pwoe knew how savage he could be in private, and the fact that he wasn't acting savage now- not yet- made the senator even more alarmed.

"Well, Councilor," Pwoe said icily, "I'm sure we're both very busy with our election campaigns, so please, let's get to the point of this."

Fey'lya said, "I'm not sure you're aware of this, Senator, but last night an NRDF officer named Aston Blake commited suicide in his Galactic City apartment."

He knew. Pwoe tried to stifle his panic. Fey'lya knew something. How much he knew mattered. So did how he knew it. If he had an ally in the CSF who was feeding him information under the table Pwoe might be able to use that to his advantage. It would be a desperate barter but that was all Pwoe had right now.

"Normally," the Bothan went on, "The unfortunate personal problems of one human would not be of concern to us. However, immediately before his death, a message was sent by him to my office. It was marked as being of great importance, for my eyes only. When I saw that this morning I was skeptical. But then I read his note."

Icy fear gripped Pwoe's mind, freezing even his panic. Fey'lya leaned over his desk and got the familiar predator's glare in his eyes. "According to his dying confession, Senator, Aston Blake was first contacted by your aide, Verrek, some four months ago. On Verrek's request, he agreed to make certain shipments of weapons due for the Third Fleet simply disappear before being entered in the NRDF's equipment catalog.

"According to that note, he then made sure those stolen weapons were passed to unspecificed intermediaries. In his letter he insisted that he had no idea where those weapons were being shipped and had only accepted the job because of the money. He insisted he was not political and had no idea those weapons might be used to spark a civil war on a New Republic member world.

"I am inclinced to believe him, given where his conscience drove him. However, even if Aston Blake only figured out too late where those weapons were going, someone must have been using him as a middleman. Given that it was your aide who iniated him into his illegal activity, it stands to reason that Verrek must have known to whom the weapons were bound."

"So tell me, Senator. Did you know your chief of staff was enganged in active treason, arming human supremacists in an attempt to undermine the election? Or are you merely so stupid you couldn't see what was going on under your tentacles?"

He stopped, waiting for a response. Pwoe's frantic thoughts finally took form beneath his panic. Instead of trying to answer Fey'lya's question he managed one of his own.

"Councilor," he asked, "Have you given that note to CSF or NRI?"

Fey'lya snorted. "I will give you some credit, Senator. You can be clever even when being very, very stupid."

"I had no idea!" Pwoe blurted. "It was Verrek, all Verrek!"

"Is that so? Good. Then I will forward a copy of Blake's note to both CSF and NRI. They can begin a full investigation of treason taking place within your office. I'm sure it will do wonders for your election campaign."

"Wait!" Pwoe held up a hand.

"Yes?"

"What Verrek did…"

"Yes?"

He couldn't bring himself to say it, so Fey'lya did it for him. "Senator, are you trying to tell me that you ordered Verrek to initiate illegal shipment of NRDF weapons to a human supremacist terrorist cell with hopes of disrupting this election?"

Pwoe looked down. He couldn't actually say it.

Fey'lya snorted. "You're a fool. What did you hope to gain from this, Senator? You were never going to win. Even if, somehow, you destroyed Behn-Kihl-Nahm's campaign you'd still have me to defeat in an election. And you could never do that."

"I could have," Pwoe muttered.

"No, you couldn't. Do you know why? I'll tell you. I have more connections than you. I have better fundraising. I have been in this senate since before there was a senate. And unlike you, Senator, I am not stupid enough to stoop to outright treason just to improve my odds in this election."

"If you give that to CSF and NRI, I'm ruined. I'll go to prison."

"Undoubtedly. If this were the Empire, a crime like yours would be worthy of execution. As it is, you'll rot in jail until some lowlife prisoner slips a vibro-knife in your back."

"Don't send them that letter!" Pwoe bleated. "I'll do anything you ask! Anything!"

Fey'lya smirked. "Ah, so now you become compliant."

"Please. That letter will destroy me."

"Perhaps I'll give you better than you deserve, Senator. Perhaps I will keep this between the two of us so long as you cease your campaign, effective immediately, and agree to endorse me. Make sure all your supporting senators switch to my side as well."

Pwoe nodded. "Yes. I can do that."

"I thought you would. But there's more."

"Anything."

"If you dropped out to simply endorse me, it would look strange if I don't pass a favor to you in return."

Pwoe felt faintly, strangely hopeful. "What kind of favor?"

"The kind where you, Senator, are put on my cabinet once I'm elected. It will look as though you, like the canny politician you pretend to be, traded your electoral support for a place in my new government."

"What's the catch?" There had to be one.

"The catch is that once you are on my cabinet you support my decisions in every way. Do you understand? Every way. If you ever try to tip any votes against me, I will make sure Blake's letter gets anonymously leaked to the news-nets."

"If they try to arrest me then, I'll tell them about this conversation."

"You can try." Fey'lya shrugged, "But it will be the word of the New Republic Chief of State versus that of a craven traitor who supported terrorists for his own political machinations. If asked, I'll simply tell everyone that you came to me and struck a deal, your support in the election for a seat in my cabinet. I will realize, once pointed out, that this happened the day after Blake's suicide, then protest innocence, because after all, why would a busy councilor running for election take note of one middling lieutenant's suicide? The whole incident will stain my government, true, but I've recovered from worse.

"You, Senator Pwoe, will go to jail, and you will never recover from that."

Pwoe swallowed.

"You should be thankful I've giving you as much as I am, Senator," Fey'lya snarled. "What you did was reprehensible as well as stupid. If it were the Cereans, fighting for the right of non-humans against the BIL's racism, I could almost understand. But to support humans?" He shook his head in disgust. "You're very lucky I ended up with that note instead of another senator."

He was dead right in everything he said, and that was the worst part. Head bowed, Pwoe muttered, "Why do you think Blake sent the message to you?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because I'm head of the Justice Council. Perhaps because he was a supporter of mine." The Bothan gave a brittle chuckle. "I must confess, I am a lucky one too, Senator. As it stands, I lost one vote and gained so much more. I am not a religious being, but if I were, I'd think that somebody out there likes me."

-{}-

Leonia Tavira was in her cabin, enjoying a glass of Raltiiriain wine and feeling general accomplished, when the latest update from Pedric Cuf came in. She told Oskvarek to route it to her personal comm system, and a few seconds later, the human's blue holographic face appeared before her.

"Ah, Pedric," she smiled, "I'm so glad you're still alive."

"Alive and hale, thank you very much."

"I haven't heard anything about major BIL leaders getting captured. You're still safe, aren't you?"

"I am, but the Republic is using the latest attacks as an excuse to crack down on our entire operation."

"Have they captured any more storehouses?"

"No more than the ones I told you about last time."

Tavira nodded, satisfied. After Pedric's report from the day before, where he said some of the weapons she'd sold to the BIL had been seized by investigators, she'd decided the hasted the schedule and have Aston Blake killed before anyone could discover that he'd been the one secretly shipping weapons to Tavira, who'd in turn re-sold them to the Bavinyari separatists.

"I'm glad to hear you're safe," she said. "You should also know that I've taken steps to keep our past business dealings secure."

"Meaning what?"

"The NRDF officer who's helped us acquire your weapons is no longer breathing. My sources told me that New Republic investigators were getting close, so I had to take action. He won't be telling anyone he sold them to me, but unfortunately, that also means our supply has dried up."

She expected him to be angry, but he just nodded. "All right. We're well-armed for the moment anyway."

"Are you? You may have to deal with the New Republic military soon enough."

"If they intervene on Bavinyar, the BDF will move to stop them," Pedric said firmly. And that, Tavira thought, was something to consider.

"I'm glad to see you're confident," she said, "However, at this point I'm not sure what's left to our relation-ship."

"If you have military-grade weapons, Kolin will still be willing to buy."

"I don't suppose you'd accept Imperial ones."

Pedric's face screwed in distaste. "We have our limits."

"Of course," Tavira smiled. For all his protestations of hatred for everything the Empire had done against his people, Pedric never once showed any resentment at Tavira for her own Imperial past. That, too, was curious. "I don't see any need to stay in daily contact anymore, but if more high-quality merchandise falls into my hands, I'll be sure to let you know."

"I would most appreciate it. I'm sure we'll speak again, Admiral. Until then."

The transmission winked out, and Tavira helped herself to another mouthful of wine. Oskvarek must have been waiting for her call to end, because her comlink buzzed with a message from the bridge.

"Yes, Captain, what is it?" she asked.

"You should check the prime news nets, Admiral. You should find it interesting."

"All right then," she hummed thoughtfully. "Thank you, Oskvarek."

Tavira shut off the link and turned on her holo-projector. She'd been expecting it, but it still brought a grin to her face. The networks were all reporting the same thing: that Senator Pwoe had dropped out of the presidential race and endorsed Borsk Fey'lya. The commentators were tossing around a variety of theories about this unexpected event, from health problems to sex scandals to backstage dealings between the two candidates. Best Tavira could tell, they hit upon every single possibility except the correct one.

It had been only fourteen hours since Tavira had sent, though intermediaries, a message to Fey'lya's campaign office claiming to be the suicide note of one Aston Blake, who said he'd been commissioned by Senator Pwoe to steal weapons from the NRDF and sell them, through unspecified intermediaries, to the human separatists on Bavinyar. That much, in fact, was true, though the note had been written by Tavira herself and sent immediately after she received confirmation from the Besadii that their assassin had killed Blake in his apartment.

Before sending the message, Tavira had considered that there was a negligible chance that Fey'lya would hand the suicide note over to investigators and Senator Pwoe would be hauled off to prison in stun-cuffs. But of course, the Bothan knew how to play the game, and he'd surely blackmailed the Quarren into leaving the race the way he did. Either possibility would have been fine with Tavira, but this was better, all things considered.

She sat back in her sofa and drank her wine, watching all the stupid talking-head commentators babble on about things they didn't understand. They'd be going on for hours yet, and once her glass was done, she shuffled over to her liquor cabinet and poured another. Then she sat back down and watched the fools prattle on, sometimes breaking into haughty laughter at their stupidity.

It was a good way to spend a night.