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“Not normally,” Pagorski replied. “I happened to be close with a FinSec officer.”

“So you’re saying this was pillow talk?”

“That’s not what I said,” Pagorski replied.

“But it could be characterized that way?”

Pagorski blushed, then reluctantly nodded. “It could. We were very close.”

“Were?” Bwua’tu asked. “Then your relationship has ended?”

“Not in the way you’re suggesting,” Pagorski replied. “My friend was killed during the mutiny.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that.” Bwua’tu’s ears drooped in sympathy. “I take it you were in love?”

“We were.”

Sardon leaned close to Tahiri. “This is artistry,” she whispered. “I only wish we hadn’t lost the news crews. Then the entire galaxy would have seen who the real victim is here.”

Tahiri cringed. “I’m no victim.”

“Of course not.” Sardon patted her shoulder. “You were a soldier, following orders.”

In front of the witness stand, Bwua’tu paused. With his chin slightly lowered and his shoulders hanging slack, it looked as though he were giving the witness a moment to compose herself. What he was really doing, Tahiri suspected, was drawing the jury’s attention to her emotional state, making certain that they were closely watching her reaction to what he said next.

“And your friend?” Bwua’tu asked. “That would have been … Commander Liyn?”

Pagorski’s eyes grew wide. “How did you know that?”

Dekkon must have sensed the trap before Pagorski did, for the Chagrian was instantly on his feet, his long lethorns swaying as he objected. “Your Honor, I fail to see what Lieutenant Pagorski’s personal life has to do with these—”

“It goes to credibility,” Bwua’tu interrupted. “I’m simply trying to establish the reason the witness has been lying to this court.”

“Lying, Counselor?” Judge Zudan asked. She peered down from her bench, the tiny scales on her Falleen face deepening to a somber scarlet. “That’s a very serious allegation in my court.”

“And one I fully intend to prove.” Bwua’tu turned back to Pagorski. “Unless the witness wishes to recant her earlier testimony now? After all, memory sometimes fails us all.”

“My memory is excellent, Counselor,” Pagorski replied icily. “Colonel Solo instructed Lieutenant Veila not to kill Admiral Pellaeon. Of that, I’m certain.”

“I see,” Bwua’tu said. “And might that certainty be because you hold Lieutenant Veila responsible for your lover’s death?”

Pagorski narrowed her eyes. “It would not.”

“Oh.” A sardonic smile came to Bwua’tu’s muzzle. “Just checking.”

A juror—the Askajian—let out a snort of amusement, which instantly drew an outraged “Your Honor!” from Sul Dekkon and a stern glare from Judge Zudan. Bwua’tu used the opportunity to return to the witness table, where he made an elaborate show of opening a plastoid box and withdrawing a high-capacity military-grade datachip. He carried it over to the jury box and carefully displayed it, making certain that each of the occupants saw the crest of the Imperial Navy stamped on the outside of the case.

The datachip was Sardon’s accomplishment. After listening to Tahiri’s account of the killing and the events leading up to it, she had immediately begun to search for ways to expose Pagorski’s lie. A little research had revealed the Imperial obsession with security and surveillance, and from there it had been a short leap of intuition to guess that ship security might have a surveillance vid that would either prove or disprove Pagorski’s claim. Sardon had immediately requested, through formal diplomatic channels, any records relating to Tahiri’s time aboard the Bloodfin. She had received a prompt reply promising to look into the matter and get back to her within two months. A day later, Bwua’tu had supplied the comm codes for Jagged Fel’s Chiss assistant, Ashik. Two weeks later, the orginal datachips—not copies or transcripts, but the originals—had arrived via special courier.

When all the jurors had been given a chance to inspect the datachip, Bwua’tu took it to the witness stand