Sacrifice

Omas looked stunned for a moment but then let out a small involuntary "Hah!" of oddly horrified amusement. "And Fett knows this?"

Jacen's face was as calm and impenetrable as a statue's. "He does now."

"Then I imagine you'll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, Colonel."

Jacen looked as if he hadn't thought about that. His composure wobbled for a second as he rearranged his clasped hands. "Asking him for a favor wouldn't be the smartest thing to do, no."

Niathal wondered if Jacen had finally bitten off more than he could chew. Gossip reached her ears, and gossip from Jacen's secret police was a wholly different and much more reliable source than the murmurings in the pleekwood-paneled Senate corridors.

But it didn't suit her plans to have Jacen crash and burn. And she didn't have to like people to work with them.

"I've arranged to meet the ambassadors from Las Lagon and Beris with the diplomatic corps later today," said Omas. "Let's see if we can talk them back inside the fold. I don't want to start a stampede."

"What's their problem?" asked Niathal.

"Unwilling to commit troops."

"Give them a waiver."

"And what kind of message does that send to Corellia? That's backpedaling." Omas seemed indignant. "That's why we went to war in the first place—the principle of pooled defensive capability for the Alliance."

"Las Lagon and Beris between them contribute twenty thousand troops, tops. The diplomatic benefit strikes me as outweighing both the principle and any use they might be." The worst thing in the world, Niathal decided,