"I don't think Chief Omas has a platoon up there, somehow."

Wirut didn't reply. Jacen was the first to admit that going to arrest the elected head of the most powerful organization in the galaxy with a couple of troopers was low-key, but he saw no point flooding the area with an entire company. Omas wouldn't put up a fight. If he did, one Jedi and two armed troopers were ample to deal with it.

Jacen opened the comlink to Niathal.

"We're in position now," he said. "We're going in."

"I have an emergency appointment with Senator G'Sil in ten minutes," Niathal said. "He's not happy about it, but I told him it couldn't wait."

"He's got no inkling of what's happening?"

"If he has, he hasn't shown the slightest sign of acting upon it."

"Okay. There's no going back now. We're committed."

"Just do it . . ."

The security guard on the front reception was a man used to seeing all kinds of uniforms wandering in and out of Republica House. The luxurious tower housed the elite of the GA, and every Senator seemed to have his or her own entourage of bodyguards as well as military visitors.

Most Coruscanti knew what a GAG uniform looked like by now anyway —Jacen had made sure his secret police were anything but secret, at least in terms of their existence—but he gave the guard proper identification without being asked. There was no point being rude or throwing his weight around. The man was only doing his job.

"No need to announce me," Jacen said.

The guard checked his datapad. "You're on his admission list anyway. Go on up."

It took minutes for the turbolift to reach Omas's floor. As the cab climbed, the two troopers simply stared at the wail ahead of them. Jacen felt their reluctance, and wanted to know if it was due to a fondness for Omas or a distaste for military coups, but he didn't ask. Any army that liked the idea of a coup wasn't worth having. It had to be the last resort.

"How the other half lives . . . ," Wirut said as the turbolift doors

opened onto a lobby of extraordinary luxury. The air was perfumed, a

pleasantly neutral woody scent, and the broad corridor was lined with niches filled with rare Naboo crystal—Omas had a weakness for that—and iridescent Shalui ceramics. "I could fit my apartment and my ten neighbors in here."

"If we put fancy pottery in the corridors of my building, it wouldn't be there long," said Limm. She cast an envious eye at a shimmering red vase that changed gradually to green and turquoise as the angle of the observer changed. "Still, his insurance payments must hurt."

"Possessions are burdens." Jacen smiled. "What you have can always be taken away, so wealth breeds fear."

"I'll willingly face that kind of fear, sir," Wirut muttered. "And a nice big SoroSuub yacht. That would scare me very nicely."

The magnificent doors to Omas's apartment were engraved bronzium, an abstract design by one of Coruscant's top artists. Jacen couldn't recall the name. It seemed a waste of talent when the doors were seen only by Omas, his inner circle, the housekeeping staff, and repair droids. Republica House had the kind of architecture and design that warranted public tours.

Jacen paused, marshaling his thoughts before pressing the bell. The troopers stood back and pulled down their visors, standard procedure when entering a building. For a moment Jacen thought they were going to stack either side of the door, but they were simply taking a pace backward, Limm keeping an eye on the corridor as a routine precaution.

Omas answered the door himself. Jacen knew he didn't have day-and- night close protection these days, but somehow he expected a droid or even a real butler to receive callers. The Chief of State looked at him with a puzzled frown, and then at the two troopers.

"Good evening, Jacen." He stepped back and ushered them in.

"Wretched business, this shooting. I can't say I liked Gejjen, but it shows

how careful we have to be in our line of work."

He ambled down a long hallway that made the corridor outside look like a lower levels slum. The art on the walls was breathtaking, and most of it seemed to predate the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Some gallery curator had a very secure hiding place, then. At the end, Omas turned around.

"Can I get you good people something to drink before we sit down?"

Somehow it would have been so much easier if Omas had been hostile.

"Sir," said Jacen. "I'm arresting you in the name of the Galactic Alliance for activity likely to compromise the safety of the state."

Omas frowned slightly, as if he hadn't heard right. He walked a few steps back along the passage where the downlighters cast pools of light on velvet-pile ruby carpet.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're under arrest, sir. We'll let you call your lawyer later, but right now it would be a good idea if you came with us."

Omas gave a little snort of amusement. "Jacen, my dear boy, this is Cal Omas you're talking to. Don't be such a prat—arrest me? Arrest me?"

Jacen reached in his jacket and took out a datapad. "Under the terms of the Emergency Measures Act, anyone, including heads of state, politicians, and any other individuals believed to be presenting a genuine risk to the security of the Galactic Alliance can now be detained. That's a quote, sir. The amendment to the law to include heads of state came into effect at midnight, and you are a head of state . . ."

Omas looked stunned rather than alarmed. Jacen was used to the GAG

producing fear when they paid a visit, but amazement was disconcerting.

"I saw that amendment come through on the notifications circular

yesterday," Omas said, still quite casually conversational. "Good grief.

You really did it, didn't you? You actually changed the law and planned this."

"Sir—"

"Am I allowed to know what risk I'm supposed to pose to my own state?"

"I can show you, sir," Jacen said, and switched his datapad to the strip- cam footage of the meeting with Gejjen. He cued it up and then held the pad so that Omas could see the screen. "Please feel free to view it all and then tell me if that's not you in the room with two Alliance Intel officers, the late Prime Minister, and his two CorSec protection officers."

The look on Omas's face was priceless. Jacen felt a flood of relief that he had finally, finally made Omas realize that he was now a man with no future. Omas stared at the datapad and did indeed watch the whole meeting. Behind Jacen, Wirut and Limm waited in patient silence.

"Well," said Omas. "What can I say?"

"Sergeant Wirut will accompany you to pack an overnight bag," Jacen said. "We'll take you out as discreetly as possible."

"Secretly? Oh, I see . . ."

"No, sir, you're not going to disappear and turn up floating facedown in some sewer. This will be conducted legally and openly."

Omas stared impassively into Jacen's face and then looked past him at the two troopers. Jacen could feel the man's fear even though he looked perfectly at ease. "Sergeant, I do keep a bag packed for eventualities," Omas said, almost smiling. "If you don't trust me not to blow my brains out in the bedroom, by all means go to the fifth door on the left and pick it up for me. It's in the first closet as you enter the room. Tan leather holdall."

There was nothing worse than a dignified detainee. Jacen knew that within

twenty-four hours the barracks and the CSF bar would be full of the gossip about how magnificently brave Omas had been. Wirut disappeared into the bedroom while Limm stood guard.