Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 06_ Vortex - Denning Troy [82]
“And what is your reason for asking to withdraw, Counsel?”
Eramuth struggled to his feet, looking even older and shakier than he had been over the past few days. “I’m sure the court is aware of the assassination attempt on my nephew, Admiral Nek Bwua’tu.”
Zudan nodded. “Of course—as is the entire civilized galaxy.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Eramuth inclined his head as though accepting condolences she had not issued, then continued, “As long as he remains in a coma, I’m afraid my presence is required at his bedside to such a degree that—”
“Excuse me, Counselor,” Zudan said, raising a hand to silence him. “But hasn’t your nephew been in a coma for nearly three weeks now?”
“He has.”
“And you have only now decided that it’s interfering with your ability to provide an adequate defense?”
Eramuth shrugged. “It has only recently become apparent, Your Honor.”
“I see.” Zudan’s narrowed eyes suggested that what she saw was the lie Eramuth was telling her. She turned to Sardonne. “And you, Counselor Sardon? Are you prepared to take the defense?”
Sardonne rose, her carefully controlled Lorrdian face betraying no sign of the surprise and anxiety that Tahiri knew she had to be feeling right now.
“Not at this time, Your Honor,” she said. “But if I can ask for a recess of three or four days to prepare—”
“You can ask,” Zudan interrupted. Her gaze shifted to Eramuth. “Counselor Bwua’tu, your request to withdraw is denied.”
Eramuth’s ears flattened in anger. “But, Your Honor, my nephew—”
“I have made my ruling, Counselor.” Zudan ordered the bailiff to bring in the jury, then leaned over her bench to glare down at the defense table. “I don’t know what you people are trying to pull here, but rest assured that you won’t be pulling it in my court. Is that clear?”
Sardonne was the first to answer. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Counselor Bwua’tu?” Zudan demanded.
“Your Honor, I assure you—”
“I’ll take that as ayes, Counselor.” Zudan turned her gaze on Tahiri. “And the defendant?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Tahiri sank down in her chair, contemplating what she already knew was going to be another bad day in court. “I understand completely.”
TODAY THE BIG CIRCLE OF FUN LOOKED MORE LIKE A STOCKYARD THAN a dirt field used to hold footraces and shoving contests. Several thousand shaggy Octusi were gathered in the primitive arena, singing and stomping and working themselves up for another parade through downtown Arari. Madhi Vaandt found it impossible to tell who was in charge, for there seemed to be dozens of elders making speeches, issuing instructions, and supervising the repair and replacement of the placards that the Mandalorians had shot up during the last march.
Nearly fifty Octusi, all proudly displaying the burn holes where they had been hit by blasterfire, were positioning themselves at the near end of the circle, almost directly in front of the droid-repair shop where Madhi and her crew were hiding. From her vantage point, in a darkened second-floor storeroom, it appeared the demonstration would be the largest yet, with the violence suffered during the last march only hardening the resolve of the slaves.
Madhi glanced toward the adjacent window, where her cam operator was crouching on the floor, attaching a small right-angle surveillance lens to his cam. A slender human male with graying blond hair and a weatherworn face, Tyl Krain had taken Madhi under his wing early in her still-blossoming career, teaching her not only the hows of getting the story but also the ethics of pursuing it, and her duty to present a fair and balanced report. In short, Tyl had helped shape a young, ambitious Devaronian female into a journalist whom even the legendary Perre Needmo felt comfortable airing—and Madhi loved him like a father for it.
Well, maybe not exactly like a father. He was a fairly handsome human, after all.
Tyl finished attaching the surveillance lens, then quickly adjusted the focal length and activated