Marchion Ro’s victory would be complete very, very soon.

He had cultivated the art of patience—an art fools like Lourna Dee could never grasp—but at this moment, as Starlight’s last cinders faded into the approaching dusk, the need to speak nearly overcame him. What is taking that lackey of mine so long—

“Slicing into the communication buoys complete,” said Thaya Ferr, never looking up from her console. “The message will be sent on the same frequency Starlight Beacon once used.”

It was an excellent touch, if Ro said so himself. An extra twist of the knife currently buried in the hearts of the Jedi and the Republic. “Put me through.”

In the last second before the holocam light came on, Ro heard Ghirra Starros scurrying even farther out of frame. Such pathetic cowardice. True courage came from putting one’s own name to one’s deeds—which was what Marchion Ro intended to do at last.

The light blinked brightly, and Ro began.

“Our entire galaxy has watched Starlight Beacon splinter, crash, and burn. By now most understand that the Nihil are responsible. Until this hour, however, very few have understood who is responsible for the Nihil. In other words—it’s high time I introduced myself. I am Marchion Ro. I am the Eye of the Storm. I am the Eye of the Nihil.”

He paused. Those watching in groups might well be exclaiming, talking among themselves, awestruck and horrified. Ro did not intend for their dismay to drown out his words.

“Much was made of the idea that Starlight Beacon was a symbol of hope,” he continued. “But there is no hope in this part of the galaxy. There is only despair. There is only the Nihil. It was the Nihil who created the Great Hyperspace Disaster—and we can do so again. It was the Nihil who attacked the Republic Fair at Valo and left your high and mighty chancellor bleeding at our feet. And today it is the Nihil who have burned Starlight from the sky. The Republic can’t protect you. The Jedi can’t protect you. We have proved they can’t even protect themselves. We go where we want. We strike where we want. Our will is the only authority in this part of the galaxy, and the only one there ever will be.”

Ghirra Starros made a small sound; to judge from her tone of dismay, she either was horrified at his words—in which case, she was even more ridiculous than Ro had believed—or had bumped into KA-R9. Would the sound have come through on his broadcast? The idea irritated Ro for the brief moment it took him to realize how much fun it would be if it had: watching the sound clip being analyzed over and over again, Ghirra’s inevitable identification, and the spectacular fallout that would follow. Better if he could have spoken uninterrupted, but the true philosopher found opportunities for satisfaction everywhere.

Ro refocused his attention entirely on that one small light. In that spark cowered the entire galaxy. His words were the true law; now they all knew it.

“I do not wish to rule the galaxy,” he said. “If I did, you would be under my boot even now. But I will take what I wish, when I wish it, and no one will stand in my way—Republic, Jedi, or anyone else. They cannot stand in my way. The Nihil have proven our power, and we will use that power however we choose. This galaxy—”

He knew he should say is ours. He should reference all the Nihil in his statement, unify them in this ultimate statement of purpose.

Instead, Ro said what he truly believed: “This galaxy is mine.”