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“Your Honor, the defense rests.”

This time the judge did not even blink. She stared at the Bothan as if her eyes were being held open by adhesive. The low murmur began again in the echoingly empty gallery.

Finally she turned to Dekkon. “Master Dekkon, are you ready to begin closing arguments?”

“The prosecution has no closing arguments to offer, Your Honor.”

That caused a noise to emerge from Bwua’tu, faint, a sigh of pain.

“Master Bwua’tu?”

“The defense has no closing arguments, Your Honor.”

“How interesting. We will recess for another few moments while I send for the usual documents, and then I will issue final instructions to the jury.” She rapped her gavel again.

JEDI TEMPLE

In the upper reaches of the Temple, below the Masters’ chamber on a broad patio capable of holding a few hundred people, lay the bier of acting Grand Master Kenth Hamner, Hamner’s body atop it. His robes were spotless and military-crisp, not the ones in which he had died, and his eyes were closed, but none of the Jedi and visitors filing past to pay their final respects offered the comforting, idiotic opinion that he looked as though he were only sleeping.

A very few of the mourners, having passed by him and offered a few words or a salute of respect, broke away from the line of people exiting the patio. These few stood in knots to watch the procession and speak in hushed tones. One was made up mostly of Jedi Masters, senior Jedi Knights, and their close associates—Saba, Corran, Han, Leia, Jaina, Amelia, Tionne, Kam, Cilghal, Jagged Fel, Octa, and Kyp.

Jaina caught Corran’s eye. She kept her voice appropriately low. “Any word on Valin and Jysella?”

Grim, Corran shook his head. “It’s pretty clear that they found someone who could do a sophisticated sweep on them for transmitters, found and discarded theirs … and then just disappeared. The only reasonable conclusion is that they’re still suffering the madness effects that plagued all the Shelter Jedi.”

There was regret in Cilghal’s rumbling tones. “We must conclude that the fact that they were in carbonite suspension when the other Shelter Jedi Knights were cured prevented them from being cured, as well.”

Corran offered an I-don’t-care-why shrug. “And there’s no telling where they might be hiding.”

“Are you joining the search?”

If possible, he looked even more glum. “In any military, paramilitary, or security organization, including Corellian Security and the Jedi Order, there’s a rule that is sometimes implicit, usually explicit. You’re never assigned to a case involving your own loved ones, never allowed even to participate. Normally, I’m all in favor of that rule. At times like this, I just have to trust in others.” He did not look as though he were a very trusting soul at that moment.

Jaina reached out a hand and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. He nodded and turned away, standing a couple of paces apart from the others, watching the procession.

Wynn Dorvan had now reached the bier. Solemn, he said a few words to Hamner’s body and moved on. Behind him, Senator Treen and General Jaxton paused to pay their respects.

Jag’s mouth quirked just for a moment into a slight smile. “The Alliance’s Triumvirate and the Empire’s Head of State all gathered in one place, open to the sky, just one missile drop away from galaxywide chaos … my security people were not happy.”

Saba offered a nod. “Some—the friendz of Master Hamner from the armed forces—have been saying that such a strike would be appropriate. Where this one is concerned, that is.”

Jag gave her a look of sympathy, though the Barabel was not necessarily going to be able to interpret the human facial expression. “What about the Department of Justice? What’s their reaction?”

Saba glanced toward the crowd on the opposite side of the bier. “That man, the tall human with white hair.” Jag followed her gaze and saw an aristocratic-looking man, pale of skin, dressed all in gray, his left hand clearly robotic in origin.