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absence. It’s unfortunate he couldn’t be here.”
    Rather than explain Luke’s absence, Kenth remained silent and merely looked uncomfortable.
    Kyp went on the attack. “You didn’t help matters by suggesting that the Killiks were responsible for the accident.”
    “They were,” Omas answered. “The Vratix piloting thatfreighter were so drunk on black membrosia, it’s doubtful they ever
knew
they had collided with Admiral Sovv’s transport.”
    “That’s true, Chief Omas,” Kenth said. “But it doesn’t mean that the Killiks are responsible for the accident.”
    “It certainly does, Master Hamner,” Omas said. “How many times has the Alliance demanded that the Colony stop sending that poison to our insect worlds? How many times must I warn them that we’ll take action?”
    Kyp frowned. “You know that the Dark Nest—”
    “I
know
that I’ve been attending funerals all week, Master Hamner,” Omas fumed. “I
know
that the Supreme Commander of the Alliance military and more than two hundred members of his staff are dead. I
know
who is responsible—ultimately, utterly, and undeniably responsible—and I know the Jedi have been shielding them ever since Qoribu.”
    “The Killik situation is complicated.” Kenth spoke in a calming voice that immediately began to quell Omas’s anger. “And inflaming matters with hasty accusations—”
    “Don’t you
dare
use the Force on me.” Omas stepped close to Kenth and spoke in a low, icy tone. “Sien Sovv and most of his staff-beings are dead, Master Hamner. I will
not
be calmed.”
    “My apologies, Chief Omas,” Kenth said. “But this sort of talk will only make matters difficult.”
    “Matters are already difficult.” Omas lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “You told me yourself that Master Horn suspected this was more than an accident.”
    “I did,” Kenth admitted. “But he hasn’t found any evidence to suggest that the Killiks were the ones behind it.”
    “Has he found any evidence to suggest that someone else was?” Omas demanded.
    Kenth shook his head.
    “Maybe that’s because it
was
only an accident,” Kypsuggested. “Until Master Horn finds some proof, his suspicions are just that—suspicions.”
    “Taken with what we already know, Master Horn’s suspicions are quite enough for
me
,” Omas said. “The Killiks must be dealt with—and it’s time that you Jedi understood that.”
    “Hear, hear!” a gurgly Rodian voice called.
    Omas glanced over and found Moog Ulur—the Senator from Rodia—eavesdropping with several of his colleagues from barely an arm’s length away. To be polite, the Sullustan dignitaries had moved off to a distance of a dozen meters or so—but, of course, Sullustans had better hearing.
    Omas straightened his robes. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time I made my way to the feast.” He turned toward Ulur and the other Senators, then spoke over his shoulder to the two Masters. “Have Master Skywalker contact me at his earliest convenience.”

FOUR
    The Queen’s Drawing Room smelled of emptiness and disuse, with the odor of polishing agents and window cleanser hanging so thickly in the air that Jacen wondered if the housekeeping droid needed its dispensing program adjusted. An octagonal game table rested in the center of the opulent chamber, directly beneath a Kamarian-crystal chandelier and surrounded by eight flow-cushion chairs that looked as though they had never been sat upon. The Force held no hint of any living presence, but the silence in the chamber was charged with a sense of danger and foreboding that made Jacen cold between his shoulder blades.
    Jacen’s nine-year-old cousin, Ben Skywalker, stepped closer to his side. “It’s creepy in here.”
    “You noticed. Good.” Jacen glanced down at his cousin. With red hair, freckles, and fiery blue eyes, Ben appeared typical of many boys his age, more interested in hologames and shock ball than in studies and training. Yet he had more innate