Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [52]
The two blackened holes in his father’s chest stared up at him. At first they reminded him of a viper’s fang marks, then they blinked. One became an icy blue and the other a volcanic red. The world blurred for a moment, then all the colors flowed together and became solid white, as they did when he was in hyperspace.
Then he reverted and found himself standing before Ysanne Isard in a predominately white room.
She frowned. “It fascinates me how all of our interrogation sessions with you end up coming back to your father’s death. There are countless psychiatric advocates who would find your preoccupation with your father’s death to be grand justification for adherence to disciplines as useless as Jedi training. I do not.”
Corran blinked his eyes. He couldn’t recall going from the corridor to the interrogation chamber, nor being bound to the man-form that held him upright. The straps at his shoulders, and across his chest, waist, wrists, and ankles all pinched and chafed in such a way that he knew he’d been in restraints for quite some time. He couldn’t remember anything but seeing his father die again, yet his throat felt raw enough that he knew he had to have been speaking or shouting or screaming.
Isard turned, presenting him her profile, and nodded to unseen minions beyond a mirrored wall. “What I have learned so far is a great deal of gossip that might be suitable for embarrassing the Corellian Diktat, but that sort of information is hardly in short supply. You have not ensconced yourself highly enough in the councils of the Rebellion to be of use to me—at least, I do not believe you have. It is entirely possible you have managed to resist interrogation in certain areas.”
Corran shook his head. “You got the wrong guy.”
“Then I will just have to make you into the right guy, won’t I?” Her eyes narrowed with irritation as she faced him again. “Had Gil Bastra not sent you to the outlier worlds, you would have become part and parcel of the Rebellion. You would have found yourself in General Cracken’s confidence and I would have found you very useful in that regard. Then again, it is possible that he set you in Rogue Squadron so you could watch Tycho Celchu and uncover his ties to me.”
“No.”
“No? Cracken must have done that. You were his agent, yes?”
Corran shook his head adamantly. “No. I wasn’t a spy for Cracken.”
“Were I inclined to believe anything, I might be inclined to believe you in this case. Unfortunately I need proof.” She stepped aside as the Trandoshan wheeled in a device that bristled with probes and danced with the colorful illumination of an ever-changing light array. The probes had been fitted on a concave surface that could easily close over him and the rack to which he was bound. Corran caught the stink of ozone as the Trandoshan brought the device closer. He didn’t like the fact that he heard a click down at his feet when the lizard-man finally nudged the device into place.
Isard smiled in a manner that made Corran want to shrivel up and die. “This is a variant on a design Darth Vader created to torture, among others, Han Solo at Bespin. As you know, humans have a number of different types of neural receptors. This device is designed to stimulate three of them—the original only worked on the pain receptors. I have found that adding stimulation for the heat and cold receptors is most effective in getting what I want out of those I interrogate.”
Corran wanted to snap off some quip, but fatigue and anxiety prevented him from mustering the required concentration.
“So, now we begin, Lieutenant Horn. Just tell me what I want to know.…”
“… and I won’t have to ask the court to let me treat you like a hostile witness.”
Iella Wessiri almost felt sorry for Erisi Dlarit as Halla Ettyk tried to coax cooperation out of her. In going over the depositions before the trial opened, Iella and Halla had agreed that members