Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 07_ Conviction - Aaron Allston [98]
Daala, standing unyielding and unbowed in the face of political treachery and trumped-up charges, did not deign to answer the judge or even look directly at him.
“Additionally, given the resources available to these individuals and groups, we hereby order that you be held over in a maximum-security facility pending trial.”
Daala’s attorney, a fair-haired human male about Daala’s age, tried one last time. “Your Honor, my client is an honorable veteran of the armed forces and constitutes no flight risk. These measures are entirely inappropriate, and their enforcement could conceivably prejudice jurors against her.”
“We will have to see that this does not happen, Counselor. This arraignment is hereby concluded.” The judge banged his gavel and it was done.
Her attorney turned a sympathetic face toward Daala. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t concern yourself, Counselor. Not all the reason and precedent in the galaxy can convince conspirators that they shouldn’t conspire … On another matter, if I write a message, can you deliver it?”
“Of course.”
“Without reading it yourself?”
He hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Yes. But I must advise against your taking any action related to your case that doesn’t involve your defense team.”
A GA Security guard, a huge Ithorian whose eyes, widely spaced in her broad, fleshy head, betrayed nothing, approached, gesturing for them to depart through the side door reserved for attorneys and clients.
Daala turned that way. “There are some things, Counselor, that I must do without consultation. I’m still the legitimate Chief of State of the Alliance. Some of my measures must remain secret.” Reaching the door, she offered an absent wave to Wynn Dorvan, who sat in the front row of audience seats. Then she passed through and lost sight of him.
“Of course, Admiral.”
Not long after, her personal possessions confiscated, her clothes replaced with a yellow inmate’s jumpsuit, Daala was transported via personnel airspeeder to the maximum-security Armand Isard Correctional Facility. A seeming eternity of documentation, hand- and sole-printing, gene sampling, and retina scanning followed, to which Daala paid very little attention.
She had better things to do. In her mind, she composed letters. One was to her civil attorney and banker, instructing them in the liquidation of some of her personal funds.
Another was to Boba Fett.
Eventually, all red tape accomplished, she was led up to her private cell in the maximum-security upper reaches of the prison. It galled her that she was to be housed in the same corridor as the most violent of offenders, sociopaths who killed without remorse, nonhumans whose physical abilities made them too dangerous to house in the common prison population.
At least no one she knew would see her under these circumstances.
She entered her cell and the vault-like door slid into place behind her. She turned and stepped up to the door, watching through its trapezoidal viewport as her guards walked away.
Across the broad corridor, behind a cell door opposite hers, someone was waving to her through another viewport. Daala narrowed her eyes, focusing on that individual.
Female, human, pretty features, blond hair, and a wide, wide smile …
Daala’s heart sank. It was Tahiri Veila.
No, Daala couldn’t even be imprisoned where she would be allowed to preserve her dignity. That Jedi, that murderess, would be able to peer through her viewport day in and day out, spying and mocking.
Daala stepped away from the door and rested her forehead on the wall beside it. She hoped that this would be the final insult offered