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“He said he had nothing to fear from Corran’s investigation.”

“As if he knew there would be no investigation?”

Nawara stood quickly. “Objection! It calls for speculation and is inflammatory.”

“Sustained.”

Ettyk turned and nodded to Nawara. “Your witness.”

Nawara hesitated for a second. The evidence Halla Ettyk had laid out so far came as no surprise and was circumstantial. All she had gotten from Pash was that he had seen Tycho and Corran exchange some harsh words. That would go to motive, and some of the comments did cover opportunity to fix Corran’s fighter, but without the Headhunter there was no evidence of tampering.

All he could accomplish on cross-examination would be to ask Pash to recount Tycho’s explanation for the meeting where Corran saw him talking to Kirtan Loor. Tycho had explained he’d been speaking to a Duros trader, Lai Nootka, not Kirtan Loor. Nawara knew Ettyk would object to Pash’s repetition of Tycho’s explanation on hearsay grounds. Without being able to call Lai Nootka—or putting Tycho on the stand—there was no way to get at that whole subject.

Unless I called Kirtan Loor and he denied ever meeting Tycho! He put the chances of that happening at something just under the chances of the Emperor showing up and granting the Rebels one and all an Imperial pardon.

“Counselor Ven?”

Nawara looked up at Admiral Ackbar. “Sorry, sir. I have no questions of this witness at this time.” The Twi’lek resumed his seat.

“Very well. Next witness, Commander Ettyk.”

Ettyk stood once again. “The state calls Erisi Dlarit to the stand.”

14

Corran Horn felt as clumsy as the Trandoshan dragging him through the interrogation center’s corridor. The injection an Emdee droid had given him back in his isolation cell had already begun to take hold. He had it in his mind that at least part of the concoction used was skirtopanol and that was not good. The one time he’d been under its influence, back during an exercise at the Corellian Security Force Academy, he confessed to all sorts of minor transgressions from his childhood. That would have been merely comical, but one of his father’s cronies was overseeing the interrogation seminar and supplied his father with the text of his confession.

I don’t think Iceheart will … When he started he’d had a full thought there, but the very image of Ysanne Isard that sprang into his mind killed things. Corran knew enough to know the drugs were working the way they were supposed to. He started to moan from fear and frustration, which earned him a backhanded cuff from his guard.

The blow and the dry-rot scent of the Trandoshan combined with his fear to bring memories rushing full-blown and terrible back into his mind. He saw little holographic images hovering in the air before him. Three figures, two men and a female Quarren, sat at a table in the darkened corner of a tapcaf. The two men—one of them his father—were deep in conversation. His father showed his agitation in the way he poked a finger at the smaller man and the color rising in his face.

Into the picture walked a Trandoshan bounty hunter wearing a bulky dust-cloak thrown over his shoulders. The lizard-man strode past the table and on up toward Corran until his green, scaly face eclipsed sight of Corran’s father. The Trandoshan, Bossk, stepped back, slapping a power pack into the blaster carbine he’d produced from beneath the cloak. He spun slowly and sprayed red blaster bolts back and forth over the trio at the table.

The Quarren all but exploded into a black mist. Corran’s father caught two shots high in the chest, slamming him against the back of the booth. As he slid from sight, the little man to whom he had been speaking tried to dive for cover. Unfortunately for him, the Trandoshan’s fire blasted the table into flaming splinters and half-melted metal and still hit him. The little man took three bolts in the torso and a fourth that blew the back of his head off.

Corran saw himself in the scene. He saw no transition, no arrival. He just was there, kneeling in the blood, surrounded by burning bits of table.