Above Brentaal, the freighter would be subjected to the same, routine queries as the other vessels in its convoy. Its manifest would be recorded, its point of origin would be recorded and verified, the name of the pilot or, otherwise, the presiding officer would be recorded, as would the individual, organization, or government in whose name the freighter was registered. The registrations of both would be verified, as would the cargo, as the vessel would be routinely, passively scanned for anything out of the ordinary. All of this would take place quite efficiently—Brentaal was arguably the most thoroughly traveled commercial port in the galaxy, and its controllers (primarily droids) presided over thousands and thousands of vessels on a daily basis.

Most ships were simply waved through, but this particular one would be subject to additional customs scrutiny since it had come bearing goods for Brentaal itself. Assuming that it could pass this aforementioned scrutiny without arousing suspicion, the ship would (after an average delay of 58 minutes) be issued coordinates of where to land on the planet, and a suggested approach vector of how to get there. Like all vessels, it would be presented with the recommended option of having the vector automatically synched to the autopilot—frustratingly, the pilot would be required to select "No, thanks" twice before manual operation was allowed. Whereupon, the ship would recieve a standard "Welcome to Brentaal" broadcast which included information on the planet's gravity, atmosphere, and so on, as well as precautions for various species to observe during their stay.

The ship's transponder would be forwarded automatically to the sensors at the ground control at the port to which it had been assigned. The ground control, in turn, would contact the ship as it approached the port, with specific landing instructions, information on wind and weather, and the proper customs procedures. A rather dull man with a bureaucratic tone of voice who did not identify himself by name—but whose name was Wallace Thoroughgood—would, finally, offer a terse "Enjoy your stay" to the freighter (assuming, again, that it had proceeded this far inauspiciously).

The vessel was traveling at 603.125 kilometers per hour, which equated to 10.052083 kilometers per minute, or 6.24607 miles. The chateau, at this moment, was 48.392 miles distant. At this rate, adjusting for altitude, the vessel would be upon the chateau in 7.74759 minutes, or rather, 7 minutes and 45⅝ seconds. TD-28, Cambrist's tactical droid in command of security at the chateau, computed these figures in a fraction of a second. Simultaneously, it—"he"—postulated several reasons why the vessel would be approaching, and doing so at an unreasonable speed. There was a 1.23% probability of pilot error. There was a 3.09% probability of malfunction of the ship's engines or navigations computer. There was, meanwhile, a statistically significant 91.49% probability that the vessel was headed toward the chateau deliberately and, if so, there was an 89.93% probability that it would collide with the building.

This was a precious use of TD-28's formidable tactical acumen, which often languished at Cambrist's chateau. There simply wasn't much use for him here. But like many T-series tactical droids, TD-28 was imperious; eventually he began applying his military precision to housekeeping, assuming command of the various service droids that tended to the chateau in the Senator's absense. It was a dictatorship in microcosm, and an efficient one at that. As a result, the house gleamed. But TD-28 was never truly content—insofar as a droid was capable of being either "content" or "incontent"—without a challenge. And so, he savored the moment when ground control warned the chateau of an incoming, unauthorized vessel.

It was suspicious enough when the ship veered from its designated vector and did not respond to ground control. It was all the more suspicious, however, when it tresspassed on the private airspace over Senator Cambrist's large and secluded estate. Ground control had deduced—though not as efficiently as TD-28 had—that something was amiss, and did indeed scramble a pair of airspeeders to meet the freighter. But they would not make it in time. It was up to TD-28, then, to devise a response.

As it happened, his options were few. There were weapons emplacements on the grounds, but they were not operable on a regular basis. The droid computed that it would take too long to power and activate them, so this was not a feasible option. The only other alternative was, of course, the chateau's shield generators. The shields had been designed to repel laser fire, however, not a collision; the redundant layers of deflector shielding, thus, would not be especially helpful. It did have a layer of particle shielding as well, but it remained to be seen how well this would fare against a ship of this mass and this speed. TD-28 calculated that the shields would indeed be overwhelmed but, depending on the placement and angle of the impact, the amount of fuel and the composition of the cargo on the vessel, they would absorb as much as 71.0546% of the destructive force.

Please wait, computing. He retrieved the freighter's cargo manifest from ground control. Sunfruit liqueur: flammable. Specialized fertilizer: flammable. Durasteel plates: hazardous. He ran his numbers again and revised his estimate down to 65.464%.

He ordered the shields activated immediately, with a burst of 0's and 1's communicated electronically to the security system. They would be at full strength in 57⅔ seconds. The vessel would be upon the chateau, now, in 7 minutes and 44⅞ seconds—enough time to evacuate to the lower floors of the chateau. That is, enough time to evacuate himself. For he calculated that if the housekeeping droids were destroyed, there was a 98.95% probability that they would be replaced by newer, more efficient models. This was most advantageous. He ordered the droids to proceed to the higher floors, which were more likely to suffer damage.

TD-28 activated the chateau's additional, internal defense mechanisms and then proceeded, unhurriedly, to a turbolift that would take him to the saferoom in the secure lower levels. In a few moments (that is, in 5 minutes and 14⅛ seconds), if the ship continued on its heading he would turn on the flame retardant sprinklers in the chateau to saturate the building in advance of the impact.

He stood now, a few days after the incident, in one of the charred, black staterooms in the chateau, staring at Brentaal's heavens where once there was an ornate, gilded ceiling. The chateau was a tremendously large structure, and the vessel had collided, roughly, with its higher levels—the castle's ancient, embattled parapets were destroyed in the blast, as were most of its towers and the keep (which, fortunately, had been pulverised into bricks by the explosion and blasted clear of the building, rather than collapsing into it and, thus, potentially causing worse damage to the lower levels).

The damage was significant, of course, and the beautiful structure was but a shadow of its former glory, but as far as the Senator was concerned it could have been much worse; the upper levels, which suffered the most, were primarily staterooms for guests which had been empty at the time. Normally, the lord of the castle would reside here in the keep, but Cambrist would often be up into the small hours of the night and preferred to remain close to his study. His stateroom, thus, as well as the study and gallery, were safely below the worst of the damage and remained intact (although some of Cambrist's volumes would need to be replaced on account of water damage from the sprinklers. His antiques, meanwhile, such as his ancient Jedi and Sith scrolls, holocrons, and lightsabers, had remained safe within their insulated, climate controlled, transparisteel cases).

The cost of repairing the chateau would be considerable, but it was insured and, regardless, money was no object to House Cambrist. Once the finest masons, artists, and an adequate number of construction droids, materials, and specialty, antique fixtures and the like were retained, it would take no more than 2 months to restore it. It would, in fact, become something of a hobby for Cambrist; he would become personally involved in the architecture, design and engineering of the new structure, which would closely resemble the old. When he was away or busy, TD-28 would see to the details in his stead with typical efficiency.

In the meantime, the Senator did his best to stall the official investigation into the incident—in public, he heavily implied that the collision was "very possibly an accident" while, in private, he did not doubt that it was an act of terrorism; he simply didn't want to give the terrorists the benefit of publicity until well after the media had forgotten about the story (the fact that 187 separate terrorist groups publicly took responsibility for the incident also rather diminished the true perpetrator's notoriety).

However, Cambrist did privately implore New Republic Intelligence to investigate, and he hired a small army of private investigators and even contracted with the Bothan Spynet to find the perpetrators. In this endeavor, he spared no expense. There had been heat, and now there would be light.