The Ambassador put his glass on the ornate table next to the ancient sofa. Forcefield flared as he tested systems, his table would not get pushed over by the Emperor's arrival displacement. The Med-Bot was securely comfortable in his 'cat tower', a tray of mixed nuts and bolts attached to the tower; somewhere in the distance of the Ambassadorial residence, printers were working hard, no doubt lining up replacement shells for the Diplomatic Droid, who was also no doubt fussing over sone minutiae. A three-headed Megladon snack swam through the Imperial visitors tank. All was perfect. "Oh, two base stars just jumped into the system," the Med-Bot noted, "they must be serious." "They seem awfully interested in those two civilian mining ships in this volume, wonder why?" the Ambassador joined in, "he's late." "Not like he ever sticks to any schedule," the Diplomatic Droid interjected over comms. The Ambassador twitched, as if ...