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. He held his father’s body in his arms. He wiped the Quarren ichor from his father’s face with a borrowed rag, all the while willing his father to open his eyes and announce he would be fine.
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 of Rogue Squadron would be hostile and resistant to anything that made them speak against Tycho Celchu. Halla had decided, therefore, to bring them up first and get them out of the way before she brought in the investigators and other witnesses who could attest to Tycho’s involvement with the Empire. Halla had pointed out that Nawara Ven would probably end up calling all the Rogues back to the stand, but by the time he did that, their positive affirmations about Tycho would sound hollow and unsupported to the Tribunal.
“Flight Officer Dlarit, how did you come to be on Coruscant two weeks ago?”
Erisi brought her chin up and her blue eyes flashed defiantly. “Corran Horn and I were inserted into Coruscant under the guise of being a Kuati telbun and his mistress. For the entire journey to Coruscant and the subsequent week, we were together almost constantly. We were good friends and talked a great deal.”
Halla Ettyk nodded. “So you were confidants?”
“We shared confidences, yes.” The black-haired woman smiled politely. “It is difficult to keep secrets when you are living in such close proximity with someone.”
“And Corran Horn felt free to discuss things with you?”
“Objection: relevance.”
Iella glanced over at Nawara Ven. The twitching of his braintails betrayed some nervousness, but the Twi’lek was objecting at all the places Halla had predicted he would. She said he had talent. She didn’t think he could win the case, and his decision not to cross-examine Cracken wasn’t what Halla had anticipated.
Halla looked up at Admiral Ackbar. “This is foundational, Admiral. She was living with Corran Horn for a considerable portion of the last part of his life. I would suggest this would qualify her to give opinions on his demeanor.”
“Overruled.”
Erisi frowned briefly. “We discussed many things rather openly and frankly.”
“How would you characterize the conditions under which you spent time with Lieutenant Horn?”
The Thyferran pilot shrugged. “I saw him in combat, during which he was calm and a leader. A hero. I saw him in regular circumstances as well. He could be funny and compassionate and, well, attractive. I saw him in all different ways and situations.”
“On the night Coruscant fell, how would you characterize him?”
“Anxious and agitated.”
“And what was the source of his irritation?”
Erisi chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Corran said …”
“Objection.” Nawara Ven stood. “This is hearsay.”
Halla Ettyk took a step forward. “I would ask for an excited outburst exception, your honor. She has already testified that Horn was anxious and agitated.”
The Twi’lek stepped up beside Halla. “My learned colleague certainly understands that being agitated and saying something in no way makes it subject to the excited outburst exception.”
“Sustained.”
Nawara smiled slightly as he returned to his bench, but Halla’s expression just darkened. “Very well. Flight Officer Dlarit, did you speak with Lieutenant Horn before you took off on the mission that evening?”
“Yes.”
“You stated he seemed anxious and agitated. Did you find his state of mind unusual?”
“Objection, counsel is leading the witness.”
“Rephrase the question, Commander.”
“Flight Officer Dlarit, how did Lieutenant Horn’s state of mind strike you at the time?”
Erisi tugged at a wisp of hair behind her left ear. “Anxiety I could understand. We were all anxious to get going and to see if the mission would succeed or not.”
“And his agitation?”
“That wasn’t like Corran.”
“Had you seen or heard anything that, in your mind, explained his agitation?”
The witness hesitated. “I saw Corran speaking with Captain Celchu. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw them speaking together. Then Corran came over and spoke with me.”
“And you concluded?”
“Something in their conversation had set Corran off.”
Iella glanced down at the datapad on the prosecution table. Halla had gotten out of Erisi all she expected the witness to admit—testimony showing Corran to be out of sorts as a result of his conversation with Captain Celchu. When they had deposed Erisi they had learned the nature of her conversation with Corran. While Halla would have loved to get that testimony in, hearsay prevented it. The excited outburst exception wasn’t something she had expected to succeed.
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 do.” She nodded solemnly as the rack hissed and slowly lowered him toward the Inducer. “And when you break, I will put you back together again, and in gratitude you will do all I ask, without question or regard for loyalties you once held dear.”