Teller answered his own question. “Because all of them share the same vision. They’re the entitled ones who know what’s best for the rest of us—who should live, who should die, to whom we should bow and how low.” He glanced at Cala, Artoz, and Salikk. “I don’t need to remind any of you what Tarkin did at the end of the war when there weren’t Jedi around to keep a lid on the violence and retribution. We wouldn’t be aboard this ship otherwise. The Emperor is going to winnow the populations of the galaxy until the only ones left are the ones he can control. And he and Vader and Tarkin are going to accomplish that with an army of steadfast recruits who might as well be clones for the little independent thinking they do, weapons that haven’t been seen in more than a thousand years, and fear.”
Teller stepped away from the bulkhead, limping slightly as he found his way in the scant light to one of the acceleration chairs. “You can think of the Carrion Spike as just a ship, but she’s more than that. She’s an expression of who Tarkin is; a small-scale example of the lengths he’s willing to go. Stealth, speed, power…That’s Tarkin, the omniscient, ubiquitous Imperial enforcer. And that’s why we’re turning her into a symbol of something else: of resistance.”
Hask narrowed her feline eyes and nodded in an uncertain way. “You know, it’s funny, Teller. The last time you uncorked one of these lectures, you were saying how none of those we’ve killed were civilians because they were serving the Empire. To me, it sounds a lot like Tarkin’s targeting of anyone who was aiding the pirates.”
Teller nodded back at her. “Yeah, Hask, except for one thing—”
“We’re the good guys,” Anora said, pinning Teller with a sardonic look.
—
Back in uniform and hands clasped behind his back, Tarkin stood side by side with Vader at the center of the Goliath’s bridge, their presence imbuing the cabinspace with a sense of uncharacteristic urgency.
“Anything?” Tarkin sharply asked the noncom seated at the communications board.
“Nothing, sir.”
“Keep trying.”
The escort carrier was still in Phindar space, in part so that Tarkin could iron out responsibility for the tanker’s destruction with the planetary leadership. Off to his left sat the ship’s ashen-faced commander, not yet over the fact that he had nearly been made answerable for the deaths of the few starfighter pilots who had survived the fierce engagement with the Carrion Spike.
While he didn’t show it, Tarkin felt more accountable than the commander realized. He and Vader had been baited and had come close to paying the price for rushing headlong into a trap. He took himself to task for his overconfidence at having predicted where the shipjackers would turn up, and promised that he wouldn’t allow himself to make the same mistake twice. That the Goliath’s arrival had taken the shipjackers by surprise only made their cunning escape all the more impressive.
A tone sounded from the comm board and Tarkin stepped forward in a rush, realizing at once that he had been premature.
“Report from Phindar’s rescue-and-recovery operation, sir,” the noncom said after listening to her headset feed for a moment. “They suspect that the tanker was destroyed by an explosive device concealed inside a spent fuel cell.”
“Then the dissidents weren’t merely attempting to use the tanker as cover,” Tarkin said. “They were hoping to draw us in, as much to avoid having to face the storm of our unexpected arrival as in the hope that we, too, would be caught up in the explosion.”
A short holovid of the clash, the ensuing chase, and the explosion had been received three hours earlier by a couple of local systems. The delayed transmission of the holovid told Tarkin that the shipjackers had waited until the Carrion Spike emerged from hyperspace, which also provided him with some idea of the distance the ship had traveled, though not in which direction.
Turning to Vader, he said, “Perhaps it would have been wiser to target the tanker from the start.”
Vader folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “The Emperor would not have approved.”
Tarkin regarded him. It was an odd comment coming from Vader, given the atrocities he had perpetrated for the Emperor since the end of the war. He wondered if Vader was testing him, just as he felt the Emperor had been doing during their most recent meeting.
“If we aren’t willing to do whatever is required,” he said finally, “then we risk losing what we have been mandated to protect.”
The remark paraphrased something Skywalker had said to him following the Citadel rescue. But it got no reaction from Vader beyond his saying, “You misunderstand, Governor. As I said, we need to gather all of them in our net.”
The comm board chimed again, this time with better and more anticipated news.
“Sir, we’re receiving location coordinates from the tracking device.”
Tarkin didn’t bother to hide his excitement. “The Phindian administrator did one thing right. I was almost certain he lied to me.”
Vader nodded. “He served the Empire well in his final moments.”
Tarkin stood behind the noncom at the comm board. “What is the source of the transmissions?”
The noncom waited for interface data to arrive from the Goliath’s navicomputer. “Sir, the source is sector-designated as LCC-four-four-seven. Parsec equidistant from the Sumitra and Cvetaen systems.”
“Those are Coreward—in the Expansion Region,” Tarkin said, with genuine unease.
“Yes, sir. Closest principal planets are Thustra and Aquaris.”
Vader looked at Tarkin. “Now, Governor, we get to spring the trap.”
—
One of the few areas of the former Jedi Temple that had not undergone renovation was the holographic galactic map, an enormous globular representation of the galaxy located mid-level in what had been the Jedi Council spire. The Order had used the map to keep track of its far-flung members; now it served to identify trouble spots in the Emperor’s realm.
The Emperor had consented to allowing the members of his Ruling Council to confer with representatives of the intelligence services in the hope that Tarkin and Vader’s latest strategy would conclude the search for the Moff’s ship and bring the shipjackers’ co-conspirators to light. While no less irritated by the fact that a group of insignificant mutants from the galactic underbelly were scurrying about trying to stir up trouble, curiosity had gotten the better of him. Mere eddies in the current of the dark side had transformed into rapids and whirlpools.
He sat in a simple chair atop a podium not unlike the one in the audience chamber, with some of his colorfully clothed advisers arrayed beneath him—Mas Amedda, Ars Dangor, Janus Greejatus, and Kren Blista-Vanee. Intelligence chiefs Ison and Rancit stood opposite the Ruling Council members, making their cases from a circular walkway secured to the curved wall of the spire at the base of the holographic globe.
“My lord, Vice Admiral Rancit and I do find ourselves in agreement on one issue,” Ison was in the midst of saying. “If Governor Tarkin is going to continue to make unilateral decisions of the sort he made at Phindar, then he should be doing so on Coruscant, coordinating the efforts of the Imperial military instead of chasing his errant corvette all over the Outer Rim.”
Rancit waited until he was certain that Ison had spoken his piece. “My lord, with the Carrion Spike now reported to be in the Expansion Region, this crisis takes on greater exigency. It’s possible that the dissidents’ plan calls for the corvette to be joined by the warship—”
“I’m not interested in what is possible, Vice Admiral,” the Emperor interrupted. “I’m interested in knowing your plans for dealing with the possibilities.”
Rancit bowed his head. “Of course, my lord. Though I must stress that Naval Intelligence has detected unusual activity throughout that sector of the Expansion Region, as if unknown parties are attempting to flood certain star systems with traffic.”
The Emperor leaned toward him. “As you are flooding star systems with our warships.”
The Emperor’s gaze favored Ison. “Do you disagree with the vice admiral, Deputy Director?”
“Not entirely, my lord. The increased activities Vice Admiral Rancit alludes to could be the result of holovids transmitted from the Carrion Spike. COMPNOR surveillance and investigation operatives in several sectors have noted an increase in both anti-Imperial propaganda and mobilization among malcontent groups. ISB is making arrests and interrogating prisoners in various Imperial facilities in an effort to learn the identity of the culprits. As odd as it sounds, my lord, we have also been receiving intelligence from the Crymorah syndicate, which apparently shared some nefarious affiliation with the criminal subcontractors who operated Phindar’s fueling station.”
The Emperor steepled his fingers. “My instructions to Lord Vader and Moff Tarkin were to make an example of the shipjackers, not to allow the shipjackers to make a laughingstock of the Empire’s intelligence chiefs.” Turning his hooded gaze on Rancit, he made a beckoning motion with the fingers of his right hand. “Enlighten us as to what you would have us do, Vice Admiral.”
Rancit cleared his throat before beginning. “My lord, rather than engage the dissidents at the present location—which Governor Tarkin has yet to make known to us—he proposes waiting for them to plot a course to their next target and ensnaring them there.”
In fact Vader and Tarkin had made the location known, but the Emperor kept that to himself. Instead he said: “Given that they have successfully escaped each such attempt, just how do you propose to ensnare them?”
“By utilizing Interdictor cruisers, my lord—precisely placed to yank the Carrion Spike from hyperspace short of its destination system and reversion point. Governor Tarkin assures us that any jump from the dissidents’ current location will require at least two reversions to reach potential Imperial targets. Thus, Interdictors can be positioned in advance of the Carrion Spike’s arrival.”
The Emperor looked down at Kren Blista-Vanee.
“The requested Interdictors are being developed as part of the Deep Core Security Zone, my lord.” Fond of wearing flamboyant hats and frequenting the opera, Blista-Vanee was a relative newcomer to the Ruling Council, but had already proven an asset in blazing hyperspace routes into the Deep Core star systems. “I hasten to add, however, that the ships’ gravity well projectors have not been tested in scenarios of this sort.”
The Emperor mulled it over for a moment, then looked at Rancit once more. “Tell me about these ‘potential’ targets.”
“Permit me, my lord,” Rancit said, gesturing to the star map and amplifying a portion of it. “Our main concerns are Lantillies, from which we have already repositioned many of our resources. Also, the Imperial facility on Cartao, and Ice Station Beta on Anteevy. An attack on Taanab—though on the Perlemian Trade Route—would earn the dissidents more condemnation than praise, as Taanab’s agricultural projects feed billions in the Mid and Outer Rim. The same holds true for an attack on Garos, because of the university, though there is also an Imperial facility onworld.” Rancit paused. “Do you wish me to go on, my lord?”
By way of answer, the Emperor glanced at Ison.
“As I’ve said on countless occasions, my lord, the fleet is already too scattered. On the Admiralty’s counsel, the navy is now redirecting resources from as far away as Rothana and Bothawui.”
“And at the risk of repeating myself,” Rancit said, “Imperial interests must be protected.”
The Emperor spent a long moment studying Ison and Rancit, stretching out with his powers to discern alignments, configurations, some syzygy of events. Then his thoughts turned to Vader and Tarkin. He appreciated how well they were working together, but he began to wonder if they were perhaps too close to the details of the dissidents’ scheme to recognize their ultimate objective. One needed to have a safe remove, as he felt he had, gazing into the 3-D representation of the galaxy he had made his own. How Plagueis would have mocked him for allowing himself to become personally involved in such a seemingly trivial matter; but then his Master had never foreseen that his onetime apprentice would become Emperor.
With a subtle gesture he signaled Mas Amedda to join him on the podium. When the Chagrian arrived, he said: “Tell me again how the cache of communications jammers was discovered on Murkhana.”
“One of Imperial Security’s assets was tasked with investigating the find by his case officer,” Amedda said in a little more than a whisper.
The Emperor considered this. “His ISB case officer, here on Coruscant?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Emperor collapsed the steeple he had made of his fingers. “Summon them, Vizier. I suspect some benefit will accrue from my speaking personally with both.”
WEAPONS RECHARGED, the interior made as shipshape as possible, the Carrion Spike waited for instructions regarding when to launch and where to jump. From the copilot’s chair Teller, back in boots and cargo pants, watched Salikk run through a preflight check of the instruments and systems. When the Gotal’s hand reached the navicomputer, however, it hovered in hesitation.
“Problem?” Teller asked.
Salikk kept his eyes trained on one of the status displays. “It’s probably nothing, but…”
Teller sat bolt-upright in the chair’s webbing. “It’s probably nothing, but I’ve had this pain in my side…It’s probably nothing, but my girlfriend’s been acting distant lately…” He gave his head an aggravated shake. “Whenever I hear that phrase—”
“It’s the fuel capacity,” Salikk cut in. “Factoring in the cells we took on at Phindar, something doesn’t add up.”
“That Phindian cheated us!” Teller exclaimed. “No wonder he was being so nonchalant.”
Salikk’s twin-horned head was shaking back and forth. “That’s not it.”
Teller leaned toward the console. “Maybe you didn’t notice we weren’t full up when we separated from the tanker.”
The Gotal’s head continued to shake. “I checked—at least I think I did. But even if I overlooked a detail, the discrepancy doesn’t make sense.”
“We had to override that tractor beam—”
“No.”
Teller looked at Artoz, who was sitting quietly in the comm officer’s chair, watching both of them. “Any ideas?”
The Mon Cal thought for a moment, tapping his webbed hand on the console. “The hyperdrive motivator may be addled. We could try recalibrating the synchronization relays.”
Salikk forced an exhale. “It’s probably nothing.” His hand was reaching for the navicomputer controls again when Teller told him to hold off, and then shouted through the ruined hatch for Cala, who was in the conference cabin.
“You’ve gotta put the hazmat suit back on,” Teller said as the Koorivar entered from the afterdeck.
Cala stared at him. “You’re trying to overdose me on rads, is that it? You’ve decided I’m expendable.”
“Calm down,” Teller said, gesturing. “I just need you to go into the fuel bay and run tests on the fuel cells we took on at Phindar. You’ll know them because they’re Wiborg Jenssens, marked with the tanker’s logo—a kind of triple S.”
Cala’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“With any luck, nothing more than an empty or faulty cell,” Artoz said.
Cala scowled. “That Phindian cheated us!”
“Let’s hope so,” Teller said, freeing himself from the chair’s safety webbing and getting to his feet. “Come on, I’ll help suit you up.
”
Frozen hatches and malfunctioning air locks forced them to follow a circuitous route to the fuel hold. Once sealed into the hooded, face-shielded hazmat suit, Cala disappeared through the air lock and Teller returned to the command cabin, where he found Anora seated in the copilot’s chair.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her words more a demand than a question.
“It’s probably nothing,” he started to say, then stopped himself. Enabling the intraship comlink, he said: “Cala, you inside?”
“I’m checking them now. Power-level indicators look good.”
Teller had turned toward Anora when Cala added: “Wait. The sensor found one. The cell is reading empty.”
“One of the Phindian’s?”
“It has the logo.”
“Can you remove it?”
Cala replied with a lengthy curse. “I told you we should have brought a droid along.”
“I know you did, but think of the headaches a droid would have caused Salikk.” Teller aimed a grin at the magnetically sensitive Gotal. “Besides, we didn’t, and you’re our best bet. Is the repulsorlift conveyor still in there?”
“Right where I left it after rigging the bomb.”
“Task the conveyor to remove the cell,” Artoz said toward the audio pickup, “and transfer it into the decontam bay so the diagnostic unit can have a look at it.”
“Have a look at it how?” Cala said. “The sensor says it’s empty.”
“We need to open it up,” Teller said.
“Are you out of your mind?” Cala barked. “Suppose there’s a bomb inside?”
Teller tried to make light of the idea. “That’s something only we do. Anyway, that’s why you’re letting the diagnostic unit do it. It’ll scan the cell first.”
“This is the last time I’m putting this suit on,” Cala said.
“Deal. Next time I’ll have Anora do it.”
A gesture from her revealed her feelings on the matter.
Another curse from Cala broke the long silence. “It’s not empty.”
Teller exchanged nervous glances with Salikk and Artoz. “What’s inside?”
The Rise of the Empire Page 22