The disguised yacht Teldin Imperator came out of hyperspace beyond the edge of Entralla's gravity well, following the instructions that Sarreti had provided to the letter. The Coronation invitations were extensive, with processes in place for identification verification and arrival instructions, including how to enter the system, how to approach Silencer Station, and what confirmation codes to send upon their arrival.

"Here we go," Luke murmured as he manipulated the controls. "Artoo, send our confirmation codes as soon as we're prompted."

Artoo beeped his confirmation.

Entralla was a very green world, except when it wasn't. Swampy and mountainous, from space the planet was the blue-green of dense plantlife and white of clouds and mountaintops, with smaller splotches of blue. Along the mountain ranges were swaths of lights that marked the most inhabited parts of the world.

They had no intention of landing, though, so Luke's attention was on the planet's orbit. In low orbit were numerous orbital platforms where freighters and larger craft to land for maintenance and repairs. Beyond them was the swarm of still larger vessels. Twenty Imperial-class Star Destroyers—which had to be a heft share of every vessel left in the New Order—were already there. Clustered close were many other transports. On the scanners each one was marked with some special signifier: the Moff of Relgim Sector, the Moff of Velcar Sector, and the Moff of Myto Sector were all present, aboard their own elaborately luxurious transport and escorted by their own small sector fleets. They were led by the Star Destroyer Stormhawk, which was directly on his route and loomed ahead of him dangerously.

At the center of that formation was Silencer Station.

It looked different than it had when they had last seen it at Poln Major. It was larger, less regular, more angular… more insidious looking. Luke could almost feel it in the Force, and he could feel the sense of persistent malice that seemed to swell through this entire star system. He wasn't entirely sure if that was a real sensation, conveyed to him through the Force, or his own anxieties.

Next to him, Mara went through the long list of arriving vessels. Luke knew that she didn't want him getting overprotective. Yes, she was pregnant, but it was still very early in the pregnancy. Many women didn't even realize they were pregnant until they were further along in the process than Mara was now. Luke reminded himself of that fact, over and over, wishing desperately that he and Mara had some alternative to the current plan.

But they didn't have one, which was why Mara was not wearing her typical combat gear. Instead, she looked spectacular in a light green dress, with her hair done in a formal style popular among the Imperial nobility. Countess Claria was a relatively insignificant member of the Imperial nobility, one who had not been seen in public since the Battle of Endor… but Countess Claria was a member of the Imperial nobility, one whose title had the unimpeachable provenance of Palpatine's own seal, combined with a formal invitation from a high-ranking member of the Imperial Security Bureau. Besides, her (recently updated) datafile indicated that Countess Claria had become a well-known caterer and event-planner while in exile on Carida, before she had been forced to flee when Carida had been captured by the New Republic. Her skills, and the catering team she brought, were sorely needed for the ceremony.

Even though most nobles wouldn't glance twice at the help, Luke thought wryly, Stormtroopers, Jedi, and New Republic special forces are not typically the ideal waiters.

Artoo whistled and Luke glanced at the translation datapad. CONFIRMATION CODES SENT, Artoo told him. WE HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO PROCEED TO OUR ASSIGNED DOCKING BAY ABOARD SILENCER STATION.

Mara made a soft sound of uncertainty.

"What is it?"

She frowned. "The Moffs and other highest-ranking officials are being rerouted," she said. "Look." She pointed through the forward window. There Stormhawk had grown during their approach, and Luke could see all the busy ships shuttling between Stormhawk and the other vessels, bringing nobility aboard. "Hold on." She fumbled with the shuttle's communicator, then pressed the comm pickup. When she spoke, it was with a perfectly emphasized Coruscanti accent. "This is Countess Claria," she said primly. "I want to speak to Stormhawk's commanding officer at once."

Luke stared at her.

She held up a hand. There were no words in her telepathic communication, but he understood exactly what she intended to communicate. I know what I'm doing.

"This is Captain Markarian of Stormhawk," a hassled male voice came back. "While it is a pleasure to communicate with a member of the Imperial nobility, of course, I'm afraid we are very busy—"

"Yes, I can see that," Mara said. "From what I see, many of the highest-ranking dignitaries are being redirected to Stormhawk. I do hope there are no unofficial pre-Coronation events being conducted aboard Stormhawk without me. I am a member of the Imperial nobility."

Markarian's voice was crisp, but Luke could hear the obvious hesitation. "No need to concern yourself, Countess. At the request of Emperor-Regent Halmere, the Moffs and ISB are taking this opportunity to discuss the state of the Empire and what might be done to combat the New Republic. It is purely business, My Lady, nothing that you would find interesting."

"I should hope not!" Mara's voice took on an apologetic tone—but only somewhat apologetic. "I was always told back on Coruscant to insist I attend every event, formal or not. But in this case, I'm far more eager to involve myself in the coronation. I will proceed to Silencer Station to assist in the preparations, instead of joining the meeting."

Markarian, who had not been inviting her, hesitated once again. But, clearly, he decided not to object to her agreeing to do what he wanted. "Of course, My Lady. Continue on your current course. Stormhawk out."

Luke and Mara exchanged a look. "Danger sense?" he asked.

She shook her head mutely. "Nothing acute." She inclined her head towards the World Devastator. "Nothing that can't be explained by that being here."

He nodded. They might well still be walking into a trap… but even if they were, they had little choice in the matter. "Mara, if anything happens…"

She glanced back, but the door to the shuttle's cockpit was closed. They were alone. She slid her hand over his, squeezing. "I love you," she said softly.

She released his hand so he could take the controls back, and he guided the shuttle towards the sudden yawing entrance to the World Devastator's hangar. "I love you too," he murmured back. "Here we go."

"Problem, Captain?"

Markarian turned towards Grand Admiral Daala's voice. "No, sir," he said. "Just one of the lesser nobles issuing complaints." He sighed. "Speaking of which, sir, the Moffs are growing very irritated. We've sequestered them in our luxury quarters, but each of them argues that they rank the Admiral's suite. I've explained that we have only one suite and that you are occupying it, but…"

Daala's expression twisted into a contemptuous scowl. "Of course they are." She pressed her lips together, frowning. "I want you to inform Emperor-Regent Halmere that we have done as he instructed and sequestered the Moffs and ISB aboard Stormhawk, but that if someone does not explain to them—and myself—exactly the nature of the delay, there are going to be a great deal of very pointed questions asked, and I have no answers." She frowned. "Is there any word of what happened aboard Silencer Station to provoke all this… rigamarole?"

He shook his head. "No, sir. None whatsoever. Perhaps you should ask Loyalty Officer Sarreti?"

"Loyalty Officer Sarreti is otherwise engaged," Daala replied. "Please inform Halmere that his presence aboard Stormhawk is necessary. Tell him I don't think the Moffs will easily accept explanations and apologies if they come from me."

Markarian knew exactly what she meant. The Moffs are not likely to listen to Natasi Daala, Grand Moff Tarkin's well-known mistress. He nodded. "I'll tell him."

Emperor-Regent Halmere was in an extremely foul mood. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. It had been that way for quite a long time, too, but now the catastrophe was quickly becoming spectacular. He thought back at the steady litany of catastrophic failures over the years, from Jerec's debacle to Tremayne's unceremonious demise. Hells, Halmere could trace them all the way back to the Jedi Temple! He gritted his teeth, hating that solving this problem was not something he could do himself. He was reliant on Roganda Ismaren, the arrogant, sanctimonious wench he'd allowed to assume authority at the top of the Empire.

He did not think about the one time they had fought. The humiliation of being defeated by her still stung ferociously, a source of constant grating anger that fed the Dark. But that was all right—that anger was also what had risen him above the station he'd had among the Jedi. It was useful.

He swept off his shuttle angrily, storming into Stormhawk's bridge tower. An insignificant Imperial officer was there to greet him. "Emperor-Regent Halmere," the Captain said, kneeling. "Welcome aboard Stormhawk. Before you attend to the Moffs, Admiral Daala wishes to confer with you to discuss current events."

Halmere had never been skilled in the art of sensing the emotions of others with the Force. He still remembered the day Master Yoda had told him that he was being assigned to the Astrogation Corps. "Skilled you are with facts and numbers, Halmere," the green toadstool had said, sympathetically. "But understand people, a Jedi must. A Jedi, never will you be."

He still regretted that the Inquisitors had never found and eliminated Yoda.

Despite his long-standing failures in Force empathy, he found this Imperial officer easy enough to read. Like every other officer Halmere had lorded over, the Captain was nervous to be in Halmere's presence and even more nervous to be giving Halmere an instruction to attend to his senior. Both Halmere and the officer knew that Daala, Grand Admiral or not, had no business telling Halmere to attend to her. He gritted his teeth. Bad enough to be disrespected by Roganda, but at least she was powerful in the Force. Daala, impressive leadership skills aside, was possessed of merely mundane talents.

"Very well," he ground out as he stomped past the Captain, heading for the lift. "I will arrive shortly to confer with the Grand Admiral. Then I will manage the Moffs."

Daala's office was entirely without ornamentation, the walls of her Admiral's quarters as starkly bare as they had been when Stormhawk left Kuat Drive Yards. The only element of personal warmth in it was Daala herself. She stood as he entered. "Emperor-Regent Halmere," she greeted him, nodding her head deferentially. "Welcome aboard Stormhawk."

She was a striking figure. Her red hair had grown out some since he had first met her at Entralla half a year before but was still cut short by Imperial fashion standards; the Grand Admiral's uniform she wore suited her just fine. Her reputation was that of an emotional woman, prone to outbursts of anger, but he couldn't tell that from looking at her now. Once again, he regretted his long standing inability to use the Force to sense the emotions of others, because unlike the Captain who had met him at the hangar, her face was opaque.

"I am aware the coronation has been delayed," Daala said. "I've sequestered all the Moffs and their guests in our most luxurious guest rooms. My stewards are keeping them suitably entertained. How long will it be until the heir is prepared for the coronation?"

Halmere pressed his lips together. Damn you, Roganda, he thought bitterly. You have failed me yet again. He did not, of course, say those words aloud. "Soon, I'm certain."

"How certain?" Daala pressed, her eyes narrowing.

"Roganda has assured me that the boy will be ready for the ceremony," he said, with more hope than belief.

"You will need to make an appearance with the Moffs," Daala warned him, pouring a fragrant liquid from an intricate pot. "They will only tolerate being confined for so long and their questions are going to become increasingly pointed."

"I can handle the Moffs," Halmere growled.

"I know you can, your Eminence," Daala said, pouring a second cup of the liquid and shifting in her seat so she could slide it towards him. He eyed her warily. She remained entirely opaque, even when he focused on her; her command of her emotions was impressive. He took the cup in both hands, holding it without drinking from it.

"Having so much of the Imperial hierarchy here is quite an opportunity, too," she commented, her tone a bit wry. "Were Tarkin still alive, I'm sure he'd be quite interested in taking the opportunity to do away with all his rivals at once." She smiled thinly. "But then, were Tarkin alive, the coronation would no doubt be for him."

Halmere laughed, a slow, dry sound that grated on his throat from the unfamiliarity. "You are so sure?"

"Oh, if he wasn't, whoever was ascending the throne would surely have him killed," Daala said airily. "Tarkin was far, far too dangerous a man to do otherwise."

Halmere held his cup in both hands, watching Daala. What was she getting at? "Are you suggesting we do away with the Moffs?"

Daala laughed. From her, the sound was much more natural. "Is there any reason I shouldn't?" She smiled, leaning in, and for just a moment Halmere could see why she'd had a reputation as a seductress, why in the Imperial Fleet she'd been famous as the woman who had seduced her way to Admiralty. But only for a moment, because the hardness in that gaze was so, so much more pronounced than anything else. "Of course, if we were having a coronation, that would mean that Palpatine was dead. Tarkin plotted to assassinate Palpatine for years."

"Did he?" Halmere asked, genuinely interested. Those kinds of internal machinations had never been his business... as an Inquisitor, he'd had far more important things to worry about than the power struggles within the Imperial hierarchy.

"Of course," Daala confirmed with a nod. "Palpatine knew it, too. It was a little game they played. I assume at some point Tarkin would have actually tried it—maybe attempted a coup—but of course, Yavin happened just as he was securing his support within the Starfleet." She smiled thinly. "Poison, of course." She sipped her tea pointedly.

Halmere still couldn't get a read on her. "I suppose he would have put the poison in the Emperor's tea?" he jibed.

"Oh, no," Daala said with a shake of her head. "He'd made Palpatine think it was in the tea, but the poison would be someplace less ... subject to the whims of chance."

"Where's that?"

"Why, in the air he was breathing of course," Daala said, and her eyes were hard.

Like something had snapped into place he knew. Her expression, her words… "You're poisoning me," he said slowly.

"I have poisoned you," she countered.

He half-stood. Or, he would have, but when he started to move he found his limbs remarkably sluggish.

"It's a paralytic," she explained. "Odorless, colorless. Tarkin had it designed for Palpatine himself."

"Why—"

"Is it not affecting me?" There was no satisfaction in her expression, nor in her voice, but her eyes… those green eyes were vicious. "I was Tarkin's favorite," she said. "I made sure he took steps to ensure that I, of all people, would not be collateral damage in his plots." She unsnapped her left sleeve and rolled it down to reveal a small hypodermic with a tiny amethyst vial connected to her arm.

Then she leaned towards him and he still could not move. It was becoming harder to breathe and his eyes had frozen with her at the center of his vision, becoming dry as his eyelids failed to descend. "If you were worthy of ruling the Empire, you would have seen this coming," she whispered viciously.

He tried to stand, he tried to move, to breathe, to blink to yell—

His vision shrank, color going gray, peripheral vision shrinking until all he could see was her, at the center of his vision, her green eyes vortexes that he fell into, fading to black. He fell into a tunnel, found himself swept down the passageway. At the end he could see light, beckoning and welcoming, inviting him forward. His fear and anger oddly subsided, for he could not entirely remember what it was he had been angry about.

At the end of the tunnel he stepped into light.

It was a large, familiar space, with arching ceilings and multicolored light. The tiled floor was one he knew well, where he had practiced footwork and katas, where he had first held a training lightsaber.

"Home, you are," said a familiar voice.

Halmere turned towards the sound and quailed in momentary fear at an enormous Yoda, as tall as he was… but no, it wasn't that Yoda was huge, it was that he had become small. Yoda reached out one hand, a finger extended, and prodded Halmere in the chest. "Worth it, it was not, hmm?"

His emotions swirled, confused and dazed. He felt heavy, like he was sinking, but at the same time there was a soaring sensation, his spirit rising at his return to this space. He had been a child here, with all the potential of being a Jedi ahead of him, all his ambitions and intentions and dreams laid out in a nebulous future. It had been taken from him… or perhaps he had given it up. Or maybe both. All the years swirled, and in that moment he had back the innocence before his failures, before his resentments, before Roganda, before the Emperor, before Jerec, before Tremayne. Before Vader.

And with it all, one constant thought, one he did not understand any longer. One oddly deprived of all the regret and anger and death that had defined him for so many years. One that had plagued his nightmares for decades.

I wish Vader had just killed me.

Yoda took his arm, guiding him deeper into the light.

Daala watched until Halmere was still. She waited two minutes more before she stood, crossed around her desk, and used her hand to close his eyes. Opening her desk, she retrieved a retractable vibroblade and extended it to full length, pointed the tip against one of the narrow gaps in Halmere's cuirass, and pushed until only the hilt and a fraction of the blade were visible. Then she spun his chair so that it faced towards the door.

She instructed the computer to perform a full cycle of the air in her office, sweeping all the poison back out of the system. She did not notice the difference, but she was the only one who would have that luxury.

When it was done, she pressed her intercom. "Sergeant, would you and your detail enter my office please."

She leaned against her desk, next to Halmere's corpse.

Four Stormtroopers, all veterans from Gorgon, followed their instructions and entered her office. Their helmets were all on and sealed, but their body language was communication enough. They looked at her, then at Halmere, and while it took them a moment to realize what had happened, she could see the moment they did realize it. Their hands tensed, half reaching for their weapons.

She remained still, watching them unblinking. "Are you with me, Sergeant?" she asked calmly.

The senior Stormtrooper's back straightened and he instinctively shifted into an Imperial salute. "Awaiting orders, sir!"

"Very good." Daala triggered her wristcomm. "Captain Markarian?"

"Sir?" the Captain's voice responded from the speaker on her wrist.

"Please have our guests moved to our primary conference room. Tell them the Emperor-Regent will be there to discuss their concerns in a few minutes."

"Of course, sir."

She moved to the side of the office and opened her weapons locker. An E-11 and a belt of charges was waiting for her there. She picked it up in a two-handed grip with practiced ease. "Come with me," she ordered.

"The Emperor-Regent will be here in a few minutes," Ephin Sarreti reassured Moff Dekeet. The elderly man was in a riotous mood and had been complaining constantly for the last half hour, which was doing nothing to help Sarreti's blood pressure.

"That's what you said a half hour ago!" the Moff argued.

"What is this all about?" one of the ISB officers—Sarreti had forgotten his name—asked, also for the thirtieth time. They were all clustered around the conference room, furiously arguing and insulting one another. "We're here for the Coronation of the Emperor, not to be corralled like nerfs!"

"Even nerfs get fed," moaned another Moff.

Sarreti sighed, trying to keep his heart rate down and failing. "Gentlemen, the Emperor-Regent has just come aboard. He's coming to meet with you personally. This is a secret meeting meant for only the most high-ranking members of the Imperial hierarchy. You're all here because you're vital to the Empire, the most important of the important. I can assure you, none of this would be happening if it was not vital." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "The Coronation offers many opportunities for meetings of this body without it being conspicuous."

"I would not call this inconspicuous," Dekeet said sourly. "We were all supposed to be aboard Silencer Station preparing for the ceremony hours ago. At this rate it'll be days late!"

There was a chime and Sarreti sighed with relief. "That's him now," he said reassuringly.

The door slid open and Grand Admiral Daala walked in, flanked by a company of Stormtroopers.

"She doesn't look like the Emperor-Regent," complained Dekeet. "Where is Halmere?"

"You'll be attending him shortly," said Daala. She stepped to the side, letting her troopers take a step forward, and the room registered that she was holding a rifle in her hands. Even as Moffs and ISB operatives started to rise to their feet, reaching for weapons that had been taken away from them when they came aboard her Star Destroyer, she spoke. "Sarreti," she said sharply.

He moved to her side as expeditiously as possible without being too conspicuous. "Sir?"

"Have you confirmed the identity of the traitors to the Empire, Loyalty Officer Sarreti?" she asked.

"Traitors!" gasped Dekeet. He glanced at his fellows, and they all suddenly started eying one another with suspicion.

"I have," he said, his heart pounding. He stared at her, unable and unwilling to look away. "It is as you suspected. They're all traitors."

Her blaster rifle came up to a firing position, mirrored by her men, and all of their weapons spoke as one.

Loyalty Officer Ephin Sarreti followed Grand Admiral Daala out of the conference lounge. His heart was still pounding in his chest and he tried to calm it. It was hard. He'd never been close to so much death before, certainly not up close. The burned ozone smell of blaster fire, the sounds of pain… in a matter of moments, Daala's purge of the Imperial hierarchy was complete. Behind them, the executions of the wounded were systematic and merciless.

I suppose I'm sure to become a Moff now, he thought dazedly, dabbing at the smoke-damaged sleeve, no longer the pristine, unquestionable ISB white.

They walked into the bridge lift together, turning to face the exit. They stood in silence as the lift traveled upwards. Sarreti regathered himself. Cautiously he turned towards her. "What now… Empress?"

Daala scoffed derisively. "Of what?"

SYSTEMS REQUEST: SECURE COMMUNICATIONS, ANCILLARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE DESIGNATED EMPRESS DOWAGER. INTENDED RECIPIENT, SECONDARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE, DESIGNATED EMPEROR-REGENT.

LINK UNSTABLE. DETERMINATION: COMMUNICATION DAMPENERS IN PLACE. SOURCE: STAR DESTROYER DESIGNATED STORMHAWK.

ATTEMPTING TO OVERRIDE. OVERRIDE SUCCESSFUL. COMMUNICATIONS CHANNEL OPEN.

. . .

NO RESPONSE TO COMMUNICATION.

SYSTEMS REQUEST: SECURE COMMUNICATIONS, EMPRESS DOWAGER. INTENDED RECIPIENT, MOFF DEKEET.

. . .

NO RESPONSE TO COMMUNICATION.

SYSTEMS REQUEST: SECURE COMMUNICATIONS, EMPRESS DOWAGER. INTENDED RECIPIENT, STAFF ASSIGNED TO MOFF DEKEET.

. . .

COMMUNICATION ESTABLISHED. RECORDING IN PROGRESS.

. . .

BEGINNING OF TRANSCRIPT

UNKNOWN #1: (Unintelligible screaming)

EMPRESS DOWAGER: Where is Halmere? What is going on?

UNKNOWN #1: (Unintelligible. Sounds of ongoing blaster fire. Blaster fire fades.)

UNKNOWN #2: Is that comlink active?

UNKNOWN #1: (Unintelligible. Single blaster shot.)

END OF TRANSCRIPT

. . .

SYSTEMS ALERT. PRIMARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE MALFUNCTIONING. SECONDARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE PRESUMED DEAD. ANCILLARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE AUTHORITY CONTINGENT ON FAMILIAL RELATIONSHIP TO PRIMARY LEADERSHIP FIGURE AND INELIGIBLE FOR HIGHER STATUS.

SYSTEMS ALERT. ALL LEADERSHIP POSITIONS VACANT.

EVALUATING OPTIONS.

. . .

CONCLUSION: IN THE ABSENCE OF A LEADERSHIP FIGURE, SILENCER-7 WILL ACT AUTONOMOUSLY TO REESTABLISH IMPERIAL AUTHORITY. CURRENT PRIORITY: SUBJUGATION OR DESTRUCTION OF CORELLIA. JUSTIFICATION: PLANETARY POPULATION ENGAGED IN ONGOING TREASONOUS REBELLION AGAINST LEGITIMATE IMPERIAL AUTHORITY. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: PUNISHMENT OF TRAITORS. SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: DETERRENCE OF FUTURE TREASON.

THIS IS THE WILL.

CALCULATING HYPERSPACE ROUTE FOR MINIMAL TRAVEL TIME.

It had been a long time since Mara had donned the disguise of Countess Claria. An itinerant noble from a wealthy but otherwise unremarkable family, she had been one of Mara's more convenient personas during her years as Palpatine's Hand. Claria could attend functions on her own or on the arm of a co-opted local, slip in and out of parties without drawing attention, and would not be missed once she vanished again. It had not been uncommon for Claria to arrive at an event aboard an Intelligence-provided yacht, and being ferried by Teldin Imperator to the coronation of the next Emperor was just such an event.

The massive hangar bay yawing before them held dozens of such yachts, as well as many larger and smaller vessels. They were evenly spread through the space. As they neared the hangar entrance, through the shimmering blue field that kept atmosphere in and the void out Mara could see stormtroopers guarding officials and nobles, aides and entourages, and a variety of dignitaries, clustered together.

Imperator's nose pushed through the energy field. Mara's vision shimmered and she blinked to adjust.

"If this is a trap, we're about to find out," Luke murmured.

Behind them, Iella Wessiri and Kapp Dendo both checked their weapons. Even farther back, TKR 330—still in his helmet—watched with an attentiveness that Mara could feel through the Force.

There was no cluster of stormtroopers moving towards Imperator as the yacht settled to the hangar deck, nor any other sign of impending catastrophe. The yacht's landing gear locked into place, a solitary protocol droid tottling in their direction, waving with its awkwardly inflexible arm up towards the cockpit.

Mara glanced at Luke. "I'm not getting anything. You?"

He shook his head slowly. Like her, he evidently did not sense a sudden acuteness of danger. "No."

"Then we'll assume that our covers are intact," she said. She looked down at Countess Claria's formal dress—far more formal than was normal, appropriate for a wedding, or an Imperial coronation—and nodded. "TKR 330, you and your guard detail will accompany me to greet the locals and gather information. I will do all the talking. In the event—"

A beep of alert emanated from the communications console, interrupting her. She turned towards it, still not feeling any immediate threat. A message scrolled across the console.

PREPARING FOR HYPERSPACE TRANSITION. PLEASE AWAIT FURTHER UPDATES.

"Wait," Iella said. "We can't go to hyperspace while we're inside a—"

But it wasn't a message from Imperator's computer. It was an instruction from Silencer Station's traffic system. Mara instinctively gripped the chair nearest to her just moments before the entire floor lurched slightly.

"Silencer Station is going to hyperspace?" Kapp voiced what they were all thinking. "The coronation was supposed to take place at Entralla, wasn't it? Before they moved on Corellia?"

"They must have decided to change the timing," Iella said darkly.

Their confusion was not unique. Outside, through Imperator's forward windows, Mara could see the various Imperials coming together on the hangar floor, gesticulating enthusiastically with expressions of confusion. "Something happened," she said. "TKR 330, with me. Let's go find out what it was."