Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [54]
Halla smiled at Nawara. “Your witness.”
The Twi’lek stood. “Flight Officer Dlarit, how long was it between the time you reported speaking to Corran and the previous time you had spoken to him?”
“An hour.”
“Now, you just testified that you saw Corran speak with Captain Celchu. Did you see Lieutenant Horn speak with anyone else before speaking with Captain Celchu?”
“No.”
Nawara’s head came up as if her answer surprised him. “You didn’t see Lieutenant Horn speak with Mirax Terrik?”
Erisi shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I did. I saw them standing near each other and saw her run off, but I don’t recall any conversation.”
“But you do concede that they may have spoken to each other?”
“Yes.”
“So, as nearly as you know, Lieutenant Horn might have had multiple conversations that could have set him off?”
“I suppose so.” Erisi blinked a couple of times. “That could be it.”
The Twi’lek bowed his head. “Thank you, Flight Officer, that’s all I have for you.”
Corran felt like a block of burning ice caught in a lightning storm. His flesh felt on fire while his bones seemed chilled to absolute zero. Every pain receptor in his body strobed on and off on a near-constant basis. The pain would start at his feet and move up in a wave, or descend on him like a rain shower, or pummel him with randomly delivered jolts.
He would have welcomed death but for the horror of spending eternity with the memory of such pain so fresh.
He heard a hiss, and the rack retracted from what he had taken to calling the Inducer. Corran hung limp from the restraining straps and welcomed the constant, unrelenting, unshifting pain the straps caused as they sank into his flesh. Sweat poured down over his face and stung fiercely where he managed to bite through his lower lip, but even that sensation was a relief from what he had just been through.
Ysanne Isard entered the interrogation chamber and waved the Trandoshan out. “I would find you fascinating if you knew more, Horn.” She glanced at the mirrored panel on the wall. “Your tolerance for pain is remarkable.”
Corran would have shrugged, but every ounce of energy in his body had been exhausted in screaming answers to the questions fired at him during the session. He couldn’t remember what he had said. He recalled that in those few moments of lucidity which he could touch between pulses of agony, he had tried to focus on the cold or heat. Locking into those sensations had seemed to dull the pain somehow. Now, in the absence of pain, he doubted that observation was correct, but it had been a sanctuary into which he had retreated, and that was a very small victory.
She posted her fists on her hips. “You present a problem for me. You don’t know enough to be useful, and your position within the Rebellion is so low that you are hardly vital. If I return you to them, they will likely treat you much as they are treating Celchu now. You won’t have even the freedom he had before his arrest. This does not incline me to send you back.
“On the other hand, you would be perfect to mold into my own avenger. Your resistance to pain will make your rehabilitation into a right-thinking Imperial time-consuming, but not impossible. Your core discomfort with the unlawful nature of the Rebellion is a foundation on which I can build you anew into the tool I need. I can form an Avenger Squadron around you that will go after and destroy Rogue Squadron. Using a Rogue to destroy Rogues, that would be delicious.”
Corran summoned strength from reserves he didn’t know he had and smiled. “You won’t live long enough to see me turn on my friends.”
“Good, anger directed at me, excellent.” She politely applauded him. “Hate me all you want. I’ll turn your hatred for me into hatred for those who haven’t saved you from me. You won’t be the first broken that way, and you’ll not be the last.”
“I won’t break.”
“Ah, but you will. They all