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Pash’s tense expression eased. “He said he welcomed any investigation Corran wanted to make. He said he had nothing to fear.”

Wedge raised an eyebrow. “That hardly sounds like a man with any fear of discovery.”

“He wouldn’t fear it if he’d disabled the manual override and had given his masters the command code for the Headhunter. What you did with that Interceptor, they did with Horn’s Headhunter.”

“You still haven’t established a link between Tycho and the Empire.”

“But we will, Commander.” Cracken shrugged his shoulders. “We have means, motive, and opportunity. That’s all we need for an arrest and trial.”

Wedge just shook his head. “This is wrong, and you know it. After all we’ve fought for, to get to this point and arrest someone who’s risked his life time and again for the Rebellion on evidence that’s circumstantial at best is a crime itself. A crime worthy of the Empire.”

“No, Commander Antilles, you’re wrong.” Anger sparked in the elder Cracken’s eyes and jetted into his voice. “The Empire would have snatched Celchu, broken him down until he confessed, then they would have killed him. He would have disappeared and no one would have dared ask about him. That’s how the Empire would have handled it. The way we will handle it is to have a trial and assess innocence or guilt publicly, openly, aboveboard, so there is no question about justice being done or not.”

Cracken raised his head up and met Wedge’s stare openly. “That, sir, is exactly what we fought for. You know it, and you know there’s no other way to handle this situation.”

Wedge hesitated, then closed his eyes and nodded. “You’re correct, of course, General. We did fight for justice.” He turned to stare at Corran’s grave and thought of Tycho. “The pity is, even in victory, justice still eludes those who deserve it the most.”

Epilogue

If there was a part of him that didn’t hurt, Corran Horn couldn’t name it. His chief complaint came from his shoulders. He could feel the binders holding his arms at the small of his back constantly exerting pressure to pull his elbows closer together. They sheathed his arms in metal from fingertips to elbows and were the kind of restraints that had been outlawed for CorSec’s use.

He found himself lying on his stomach in the dark on a thin cot of some sort. He was naked, save for the binders, and the room was slightly chilled. A weak, barely noticeable vibration ran through the cot, producing a low hum that depending on how he turned his head, he could occasionally hear. He strained his eyes to determine if there was anything to see, but the utter absence of light foiled him.

Corran found his thoughts wandering, which made him think that he’d been drugged. That sensation, along with the binders, his nakedness, and the darkness, led him to the inescapable conclusion that he’d been captured by the Empire. The darkness and drugs kept him disoriented. His nakedness made him defensive—or was supposed to. He recalled a CorSec training seminar about methods used by kidnappers to keep their victims off balance and was able to pinpoint himself as the subject of such treatment.

The chill in the air and the vibration suggested he was on a starship heading out through hyperspace to some destination or other. He knew the Imps would be fleeing Coruscant, but for a moment he had no idea why. Then he remembered the Alliance fleet having arrived at Coruscant. If they are running, we won. He frowned. But if we won, why am I their captive?

He tried to remember what he could of his last moments on Coruscant. He’d lost control of his Headhunter and the manual override didn’t work. Then a light had flashed on the console indicating the acceleration compensation unit had gone out. The ship flipped itself into a high g-force turn and he remembered nothing more. Without acceleration compensation, I felt the full effect of the turn. Blood drained from my brain and I went out.

Corran rolled onto his left side, then drew his