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“My opinion exactly.” Casterfo had the same sort of aristocratic accent Grand Moff Tarkin had spoken in, the one so many senior Imperial officers affected, the one she’d mocked when she and Tarkin last stood face-to-face. She tried not to let that put her on edge. “Please, do come in and sit down. Can I offer you tea? Water? Anything?”
Leia turned her attention to one of the server droids, one that appeared sophisticated enough to answer questions. “Is everybody enjoying their drinks?” “Free intoxicants are among those gifts most welcomed by sentient biological life-forms,” the droid replied.
He said, “Destroying the Death Stars, for a death toll of nearly one and a half million people, the vast majority of whom were low-level Imperial officers or even civilian workers?
The slaughter on Noult after the rebels had left, and the planet was discovered to have housed a secret base? Or what about the rebel assault on Vivonah? Or the campaigns of Saw Gerrera’s Partisans? Can you condone that?”
“Good to meet you both,” Yendor said, “even if you have absolutely no right to be so young.” Korrie and Joph gave each other a look. Leia managed not to react to their dismay, but it struck her again how youthful they appeared—younger even than Ben, with their puppyfat cheeks and unlined faces. Yet somehow Leia had been a senator at Korrie’s age, and not even as old as Joph when the Rebellion won the Battle of Endor. Yendor could only be five or six years older than Leia herself. And if Joph and Korrie looked so young to her, how old must she look to them? They had to feel as if they were
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Leia experienced the vaguely guilty sensation that surfaced every time she realized that droid personalities were more than programmed conversational quirks. A computer core could be lonely. C-3PO could take pity on it.
Lemniscate beneath Coruscant, the floating asteroid prison of Orko 9, and the Goa Penal Colony.
