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Everyone present knew that Needmo heartily disapproved of the current situation on his homeworld. He had chosen not to be politically active, but it was one reason he had left his homeworld for Coruscant. Some things in this galaxy were just wrong.

Finally, the producer shrugged. “It’s the Perre Needmo hour, boss. If you want to do this, we’ll do it. And I bet it will boost ratings better than ‘The Jedi Among Us with Javis Tyrr.’”

The laughter broke the nervous tension. “Well, then,” Needmo said, his trunk undulating with amusement, “that alone should be a reason to do it, don’t you think?” More laughter. They were on board with him, and he was proud of every one of them. He’d assembled a great team over the years, and went to bed every night knowing that they’d all worked hard to inform and enlighten their viewers. And maybe, just maybe, help make the galaxy a better place.

NINTH HALL OF JUSTICE, CORUSCANT

ERAMUTH BWUA’TU HAD ONE GLOVED HAND GENTLY PRESSING ON THE small of Tahiri Veila’s back to guide her through the throng of journalists restrained only by a red cordon and a few scowling guards. Eramuth’s other hand grasped the ornately decorated cane, with which he tapped quite deliberately on the marble floor as they strode forward.

The holojournalists, their tabards a colorful array of logos, all were vying for her attention. Each of them wanted “the” shot to lead on the evening news.

“Miss Veila! Over here!”

“Tahiri! How are you feeling on this first day of your trial?”

“Former Jedi Veila, at what point do you consider that your betrayal began?” This last from, of course, the biggest sleemo of them all, Javis Tyrr. Tahiri kept her head held high and her gaze focused straight ahead.

“Good girl, you’re doing beautifully,” Eramuth said, his voice soft. “Hateful beings, the press, but utterly necessary to a free society. Are you ready for this, my dear?”

“Yes,” Tahiri replied, her voice just as soft, knowing his sharp Bothan ears would pick up the faint sound. She was ready. She’d known from the moment the arrest warrant had been served that it would come to this, and she harbored no illusions as to how difficult the journey to “not guilty” would be, if it was even successful.

But Eramuth, dapper and debonair and antiquated, had given her hope. He had listened and taken copious notes as she told the story of how she had come to be influenced by Jacen. She hadn’t sugarcoated or omitted anything. She fully owned her part in what she did, but did not take on those burdens that were not hers to bear.

For his part, Eramuth managed to grill her gently, which she would have thought an oxymoron. By the time he was done with her, Tahiri mused to herself that he knew more about her than her closest friends. Of course, she didn’t have close friends, not anymore.

Not since Caedus.

The main entrance was a set of double doors that slid open as they approached. Tahiri got her first look at the place where she would be spending most of her time for the next… however long it took. The courtroom of the Ninth Hall of Justice at the Galactic Justice Center looked exactly how she would have imagined it to look, and she realized that her elegant, eccentric attorney would appear right at home here. Certainly she knew Eramuth would feel right at home—he had told her that he had argued, and won, more than twenty-seven cases in this very room.

The walls were dark wood paneling. The floor was a continuation of the marble tile of the hallway, the path through the “general public” seats in the back covered with a soft, thick, red carpet. On her right were the seats for the jury beings. There were many different shapes and sizes, and Tahiri realized that a variety of beings would determine her fate, not just humanoid. She wondered if that was a good or a bad thing, but trusted her lawyer to have vetted any obvious GA plants. Regardless of the shape, the seats were padded and comfortable-looking. Jurors had an important responsibility, and they would be well tended to for the duration of the trial.

On the right were