Epilogue

If there was a part of him that didn’t hurt, Corran Horn couldn’t name it. His chief complaint came from his shoulders. He could feel the binders holding his arms at the small of his back constantly exerting pressure to pull his elbows closer together. They sheathed his arms in metal from fingertips to elbows and were the kind of restraints that had been outlawed for CorSec’s use.

He found himself lying on his stomach in the dark on a thin cot of some sort. He was naked, save for the binders, and the room was slightly chilled. A weak, barely noticeable vibration ran through the cot, producing a low hum that depending on how he turned his head, he could occasionally hear. He strained his eyes to determine if there was anything to see, but the utter absence of light foiled him.

Corran found his thoughts wandering, which made him think that he’d been drugged. That sensation, along with the binders, his nakedness, and the darkness, led him to the inescapable conclusion that he’d been captured by the Empire. The darkness and drugs kept him disoriented. His nakedness made him defensive—or was supposed to. He recalled a CorSec training seminar about methods used by kidnappers to keep their victims off balance and was able to pinpoint himself as the subject of such treatment.

The chill in the air and the vibration suggested he was on a starship heading out through hyperspace to some destination or other. He knew the Imps would be fleeing Coruscant, but for a moment he had no idea why. Then he remembered the Alliance fleet having arrived at Coruscant. If they are running, we won. He frowned. But if we won, why am I their captive?

He tried to remember what he could of his last moments on Coruscant. He’d lost control of his Headhunter and the manual override didn’t work. Then a light had flashed on the console indicating the acceleration compensation unit had gone out. The ship flipped itself into a high g-force turn and he remembered nothing more. Without acceleration compensation, I felt the full effect of the turn. Blood drained from my brain and I went out.

Corran rolled onto his left side, then drew his knees up to his chest. He rocked himself a little bit and managed to get up onto his knees. The world immediately spun, which was a sensation that was made worse because the utter darkness gave him nothing to look at, nothing to occupy his attention. He brought his head down and rested it on the cot, but refused to let himself flop down again. It didn’t matter that he felt terrible, he’d gotten to his knees and refused to retreat to his belly again.

Lights flashed on brilliantly in an instant, stabbing forked pain into his brain. He heard a door whoosh open and the careful, deliberate clank-clack of shoes on metal lattice steps, but he made no attempt to look in the direction of the sound. He refused to look, part of him knowing the individual had desired to make an entrance, and he congratulated himself for his restraint.

He waited until the sound of the footsteps stopped before he slowly brought his head up. He kept his eyes all but shut, letting eyelashes and welled-up tears protect his eyes against the light. Out of the corner of his right eye he saw a blot of red, so he slowly turned his head toward it and looked up. Even before he got to the mismatched eyes, he knew who she was and he hoped against hope she was a figment of whatever drugs they’d pumped into him.

Her first words came cold and even, tinted with just a hint of curiosity. “I would have expected you to be more formidable somehow.”

“Clothes make the man,” he said. At least he thought he said it. He did hear sound coming out of his mouth, a kind of harsh croaking that seemed closer to Huttese than Basic. Had he any spit to let gurgle in his throat as he spoke he’d definitely have been taken for a Hutt.

“Ah, the infamous Horn wit.”

Corran opened his eyes wider and shuffled on his knees around to face her. “I left most of it back on Free Coruscant.”

She brought her hands up and clapped gently. “I’m amazed a man in your condition can make jokes.” She squatted down and caught him across the face with an openhanded slap he never saw coming. “I’m amazed a man in your situation would make jokes.”

Corran played his tongue over his split lip. “Lieutenant Corran Horn, Alliance fleet, Rogue Squadron.”

Ysanne Isard stood again but he didn’t bother following her with his eyes. “Very good, defiance. I like defiance.”

“If that were true, you’d find all you want on Coruscant.”

“Indeed, perhaps I would. That is no concern of yours, however.” Her low chuckle filled the room and made it seem even colder. “I’ll have you know that your Rebel forces are indeed now in control of Imperial Center. What they have discovered, though they know not the depth of the problem, is that Imperial Center is a poisoned world, a sick world. It is a black hole from which they cannot escape. They have truly bitten off more than they can possibly chew and they will be choked to death because of it.”

“I’m not inclined to take your word for all this.” Corran put as much disdain in the sentence as he could muster, but what she said disturbed him. Shiel and Nawara Ven and Portha had all become ill enough that they could not participate in the squadron’s final action. He didn’t think anyone could have gone forward with releasing some sort of plague on a world deliberately, but then he’d not thought anyone would use a weapon that destroyed whole planets on an inhabited world. The Empire had done the latter, so using a biological agent to destroy people and leave the world infrastructure intact just seemed like an economical refinement of Imperial doctrine.

“I neither desire nor care about your belief in what I say. Ultimately what you think is immaterial to me. I have you, you are mine, and I will do with you what I see fit.”

Corran brought his head up despite the pain. “What you did to Tycho Celchu to get him to betray me? He gave you the codes for my ship. That’s how you got me.”

She looked down at him and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, well done, Horn, well done. I would deny this, of course, but the latest word from Imperial Center is that Tycho Celchu has been arrested by Alliance Intelligence on charges of treason and murder. Specifically, your murder.”

“Hardly an injustice, given the circumstances.”

“Perhaps not, but I will find a way to use it. I will return you to them after they have convicted and executed him. His wrongful death will gnaw away at consciences and undercut the Rebellion’s illusion of moral superiority.”

“I’ll tell them the truth.”

“The only truth you’ll know is the truth I give you.” Isard’s smile slithered cruelly onto her face. “We are bound to Lusankya, my private workshop for people like you. By the time I am finished with you, your mind will be mine and your heart’s desire will be what I wish.”

Corran shook his head violently, hoping the pain would be enough to make him black out. It was not. “I will never betray my friends.”

She laughed again. “I have heard this chorus many times before and it always sounds so sweet. You will betray them, Corran Horn, just as Tycho Celchu betrayed you. You will be the instrument of Rogue Squadron’s death and will strike a mighty blow against the Alliance’s precarious unity. When I am through with you, little man, you will become the instrument of the Emperor’s vengeance and nothing and no one will be able to stop you.”