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“The Horn case is not the only death to which we can link Captain Celchu.”

Wedge’s jaw dropped in surprise. “What? You can’t mean Bror Jace?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Nonsense. The Empire killed him.”

Cracken nodded. “Agreed, but the way they got him was unusual. Previously we believed he happened to have been trapped by an Interdictor Cruiser out looking for smugglers. However, we have been forced to amend that view following the defection of the Imperial Interdictor Cruiser Black Asp. Captain Iillor indicated in her debriefing that the Black Asp was directed to go to specific coordinates to intercept Bror Jace as he headed back to Thyferra. He was a bit late in arriving, but showed up exactly where he was expected to. They tried to capture him, but his ship exploded during the fight. The arrangements for Jace’s journey home, including the plotting of his course, were made by Captain Tycho Celchu.”

“By my order.”

“Yes, Commander, by your order—which does not mean Isard could not have warped Celchu enough to make him betray your people.”

“But, again, that’s circumstantial.”

“We have more.” The Alliance Intelligence chief shrugged. “Horn told you, Commander, that he’d seen Celchu here on Coruscant talking with a known Imperial operative, Kirtan Loor. Horn had worked with Loor for years on Corellia, so the chance of a mistake in his identification are minimal. In backtracking Celchu’s time here on Coruscant—granting that you ordered him to come here, Commander—we have periods of time for which we cannot account. Moreover, we have uncovered a number of banking accounts in which large numbers of credits have been accumulated. These accounts add up to approximately fifteen million credits, which means Celchu was being paid by the Empire.”

“What?” Wedge couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was no way, just no way Tycho was an agent in the pay of the Empire. “If he was one of Isard’s sleeper agents, why would she be paying him?”

“Commander, for years I’ve been trying to fathom her mind, and I have been unable to do so. If I had to guess, however, I would say that creating those accounts was a precaution to let us uncover Tycho at some point or, as it stands now, a means to guarantee he will be tried for his crimes.”

“But she has no interest in seeing justice done, which underscores how ludicrous all these charges against Tycho are.” Wedge brought his head up. “If Isard wants a trial, you know conducting it will be to her benefit, which is yet one more reason not to go ahead with it.”

Borsk Fey’lya tapped a talon against the tabletop. “Or is she providing more evidence than we need to convict so we will be convinced Celchu is being framed? If we are convinced he is innocent, we could exonerate him, raise him into a position of trust, and find ourselves again fodder for her schemes.”

Wedge winced. He hated Fey’lya’s wheels-within-wheels reasoning because it came down to a core problem with Tycho’s case: either he was innocent and being made to look guilty, or he was guilty and being made to look innocent through a clumsy frame. The evidence served both explanations well, and sorting good data from bad was a task that could easily defy completion. Everyone could agree something was not right in the whole situation, but assigning blame and assessing truth was not going to be easy.

And no matter what happened, Tycho would end up being stigmatized, reviled, and ostracized. He would be destroyed by it all, and that was something he did not deserve.

For Wedge it was simple to separate fact from fiction, but he knew that was because he was starting from a deep belief in Tycho’s innocence. Wedge didn’t have a Jedi’s insight through the Force—he just knew Tycho. They’d fought side by side through some of the most harrowing battles the galaxy had ever seen. They’d shared hardships that others could not have even imagined, and they shared good times that others could only envy. Wedge knew Tycho could no more betray the Rebellion than he himself could, but looking around at the Council, he realized that even his