Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 05_ Allies - Christie Golden [52]
Just mostly.
Straight ahead were two exquisite, caf-colored antique marble desks from Ithor. The defense’s station, Tahiri had been told, was the table on the left-hand side. There were two equally ancient wooden chairs beside it. They were polished so they seemed to glow in the morning light coming in from the row of windows placed near the top of the high walls. Apparently, defendants did not get the same attention to physical comfort as the jurors did. The prosecution’s desk was on the right. And at the far end of the room was the judge’s elevated bench, also of antique Ithorian marble, and the witness’s chair.
The judge’s chair, in contrast with the practical but comfortable chairs for the public and the jurors and the elegant and uncomfortable seats for the defendant and prosecution, was almost thronelike. It also appeared to be an antique. It was an elegant, high-backed chair with thick upholstery and a variety of buttons on its long arms that looked at odds with the nostalgia the rest of the piece evoked. The desk it faced had been polished till it gleamed, and it, too, had had modern technology imposed upon it.
At the front of the desk was the insignia of the Galactic Alliance. A large protocol droid stood stock-still at attention, gleaming brightly. It would translate, no doubt, if there were any witnesses who did not speak Basic, and Tahiri guessed it would probably record the events as well. Standing by one of the two doors that led to the judge’s chambers in the back of the room was a large, burly, human male. Tahiri knew the proper, respectful term was “bailiff,” but looking at the man’s oft-broken nose and low brows, she thought “bouncer.” Even though he was dressed impeccably in the proper uniform for the task, he still cut an imposing, fear-inducing figure.
Behind Eramuth and Tahiri, the journalists were permitted to enter. They hastened to their stations, speaking in low voices and adjusting equipment. Eramuth directed Tahiri to her chair, courteously pulling it out for her before sitting down himself. He seemed relaxed and confident, looking around the room with what seemed to Tahiri a bit of nostalgia.
“Never lost a case in this room, Tahiri my dear,” he said, “and I don’t intend yours to be the first.”
She nodded, suddenly becoming overwhelmed. This, more than the arrest, more than having to wear specialized shock shackles and stun cuffs—the irony did not escape her that they were twins to the ones she had forced Ben Skywalker to wear—more than anything else she had encountered, this room, with its smell of furniture polish and leather, with dust motes dancing in the slanting light, the murmurs and blips and clicks of recording devices running through their paces, this brought home to her the true reality of her situation.
She was glad that Eramuth seemed so calm and confident. Because despite the dangers she had faced since her earliest years, Tahiri was nervous. Combat, she understood. But there was a stiffness, a formality, an order that permeated this room to its very core that was more intimidating than any enemy she’d yet faced.
Eramuth’s hand on hers squeezed. “Here comes Sul Dekkon, the prosecuting attorney,” he said quietly. Tahiri craned her neck as unobtrusively as possible. A tall, blue-skinned Chagrian wrapped in meticulous black- and rust-colored robes entered the room along with the press of spectators and newsbeings.
A few paces behind the Chagrian were two familiar faces—those of Han Solo and Leia Organa Solo. Their eyes fell on her and they smiled reassuringly. They had been present for her arraignment, and now it seemed they intended to be here for the trial. At least, Tahiri amended, as much of the trial as they could. It was a heartening gesture.
She nodded slightly at them, then