Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [141]
“I’m not going to shed any tears when you die, Isard.” Iella smiled easily. “Killing you would be too easy, though. It would deny you the time you’ll spend agonizing over how we found you, how we knew you were coming for this ship.”
A shiver ran down Isard’s spine at the thought she was predictable, but she twisted a smile onto her face to hide her consternation. “Actually, I wonder how you even knew I was alive. Deducing the rest from that fact I can imagine. None of Horn’s messages got out.”
“No? And when was the last time you checked on the droids you had put into storage?”
Isard’s head came up and an unfamiliar sensation of dread crawled through her belly on sharp, icy claws. “The droids were restrained and used as hostages, but no one checked on them. So, one got away.”
“Two, actually.”
“Base security will be purged for that.” Isard nodded a salute to the other woman. “Next time, no such mistake will be made.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“No? The New Republic won’t dare put me on trial. Too many of the people you rely upon to administer the government could be exposed. I know all their secrets, and that includes many members of your precious Senate.” Isard allowed herself to smile broadly. “I’ll never come to trial in a Ministry of Justice court.”
“No, you won’t.” Iella’s smile matched her own. “You attempted to take control of this New Republic ship. That’s piracy, and that’s an offense for which you can and will be tried in a military court. No public trial, no chance to stir up hysteria. You’ll just be convicted and sent to a very secure prison.”
The woman hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I understand they’re thinking of keeping you here, on Lusankya. You’ll be an anonymous prisoner, cared for by droids, forgotten, locked away in the heart of the very prison you yourself created. For the rest of your natural life.”
That prospect stunned Isard and, in a moment’s introspection, was what undid her. The terror inspired by such a fate prompted her to shoot her left arm forward, letting the holdout blaster slide down into her left hand. It was a rash act, one only possible when the horror of life entombed outweighed the horror of death.
Her shock also made her a bit slower than she should have been. Her first shot took Iella Wessiri in the left shoulder, halfway twisting her around. The blaster in Iella’s right hand remained steady, however, and the shot from it caught Isard square in the stomach. She felt herself snapping forward, then flying back. Pain shot down her legs as she struck the wall, then stars exploded before her eyes as her head rebounded. She heard the distant clatter of her blaster on the floor as she slid down the wall.
Peering down, she saw her red uniform jacket was smoldering. Smoke rose to her eyes, which was the only reason she began to shed tears. Blood soaked her jacket and began to seep into her trousers. Pain, a raw, fiery sensation, pulsed through her body, and every breath came with wringing agony.
She looked up at Iella and opened her mouth to make yet one more taunt about Diric, but her lungs couldn’t project as much as a squeak. Isard tried to give her a hard stare, the sort of hard stare that had broken Imperial nobles and invoked fear in her inferiors, but her gaze swam out of focus.
Then, before she could find any other way to try to hurt another human being, the world grew dark around her. In that last moment, in the sanctum the Emperor had given her, she realized she had failed him. With that realization held solidly in her mind, she admitted to herself that death would not be so bad after all.
38
Standing in the midst of a party being held on the Lusankya summoned up for Corran Horn a variety of conflicting emotions. The freed prisoners and anyone who had been in contact with them had been brought to Lusankya and ensconced on a crew deck, being served by droids alone, for two weeks until New Republic medical officials