“As if by the power of voice alone he could dislodge me from my perch, Lord barked louder than the rest combined. After all, it was incumbent on him to deal with this intruder. But before he had a chance to act, Shadow issued another series of vocal clackings that prompted his followers to launch an attack on the Spike from all sides, their lethal claws scoring the volcanic glass with a sound that made every nerve in my body jangle. As if intent on splitting my attention, some feinted while others leapt as high as their legs could carry them. They roared and gnashed their big, triangular teeth, but I refused to give in to fear. Moreover, something unusual was going on. The attacks by Shadow’s minions were chaotic, nothing at all like the well-coordinated exercises I had watched them utilize during hunts. The turmoil sent Lord into a rage. Desperate to restore order, he batted at the young males who were charging back and forth or trying to gain purchase on the glass. He drew blood from a few but was unable to control them.
“I glanced at Shadow in time to hear him issue a low, warbling groan, and at once the young males turned on Lord with teeth and claws set to one purpose. For a moment the old veermok champion seemed too confused to respond, almost as if the communal attack violated their code of behavior, some etiquette particular to the species. Quickly, though, he realized that he had to fight for his life, and he gave himself over to defending himself, killing three of the young males before the rest finally got the better of him. And throughout it all, Shadow didn’t move a muscle.”
“An assassination,” Vader said. “With you providing the necessary distraction.”
Tarkin nodded. “An opportunity they had long been waiting for.”
“And the pretender—Shadow?”
Tarkin forced an exhale. “I gave the veermoks a moment to laud their new leader, then I hurled my lance and promptly killed him.
“I might as well have dropped a bomb on the hill. One moment the young veermoks didn’t know what to make of their victory in overcoming Lord; now they behaved as if they had nowhere to turn. Without a leader, a true inheritor, they fell victim to a kind of bewildered grief, an almost existential despair. They dropped to their bellies and stared up at me in almost docile expectation. I didn’t trust them, but I had no option but to descend the Spike at sunset, and when I threaded among them to retrieve my lance from Shadow’s inert body, not one of them loosed even so much as a growl, and they actually followed me down the hill.”
“What was your uncle’s reaction?” Vader asked.
“Jova said it was good to see me in one piece, particularly since he and the others had wagered that my bones would be joining those of my ancestors.” Tarkin paused before adding: “The following morning, the veermok troop abandoned the hill and the Spike. They left the plateau and weren’t seen again.”
“They failed to realize what they would bring down on themselves by turning on their leader,” Vader said.
“Precisely.”
“Then you are the last Tarkin to have passed the test.”
Tarkin nodded. “That particular test, yes.”
By then they had reached the shuttle bay. Tarkin walked alongside Vader to the foot of the ramp.
“Safe journey, Lord Vader. Be sure to give the pretender my regards.”
“Rest assured, Governor Tarkin.”
With an abrupt nod of his head and a swirl of his black cloak, Vader disappeared up the ramp and Tarkin started for the Star Destroyer’s command bridge.
THE SECUTOR-CLASS Star Destroyer Conquest hung in fixed orbit above the Carida Imperial Navy Deepdock Facility Two, some half a million kilometers from the eponymous planet. On the bridge Vice Admiral Rancit received an update from the ship’s commander.
“Sir, the Carrion Spike has reverted to realspace, bearing zero-zero-three ecliptic. Target is acquired, firing solutions have been computed, and all starboard batteries are standing by.”
Rancit took a final look at the myriad ships that made up the task force, and turned from the bridge viewport. “Prepare to fire on my command.”
“Awaiting your word—”
“Belay that command,” a voice boomed from the rear of the command bridge.
Rancit, the commander, and several nearby officers and specialists turned in unison to see Darth Vader storming forward on the elevated walkway, his cape billowing behind him, a squad of armed stormtroopers marching in step in his black wake.
“Lord Vader,” Rancit said in genuine surprise. “I wasn’t informed you were aboard.”
“With purpose, Vice Admiral,” Vader said, then swung to the bridge officer. “Commander, direct your technicians to scan the Carrion Spike for life-forms.”
The commander looked to Rancit, who returned a dubious nod. “Do as he orders.”
Vader came to a halt in the center of the walkway and put his gloved hands on his hips, fingers forward. “Well, Commander?”
The commander straightened from peering at a console over the shoulder of one of the specs. “The scanners aren’t picking up any life signs.” He glanced at Rancit in confusion. “Sir, the corvette is deserted, and appears to be astrogating on autopilot.”
Rancit shook his head in denial. “But that can’t be.”
Vader looked at him. “Your co-conspirators abandoned the ship before it jumped to hyperspace, Vice Admiral.”
Alarm found its way into Rancit’s perplexity. “My co-conspirators, Lord Vader?”
“Don’t act surprised,” Vader said. “This entire charade was yours from the start.”
Rancit tightened his fists and worked his jaw while the warship’s commander and the rest exchanged worried glances. When he began to move toward one of the forward chairs, Vader raised his hand and clenched it.
“Stay right where you are, Vice Admiral.” Vader pointed his finger at the bridge officer. “Order the commanders of the task force flotilla to stand down from general quarters.”
The bridge officer nodded and walked backward to the communications board. “Immediately, Lord Vader.”
Vader turned to Rancit once more.
“You made a deal with some of your former intelligence assets. Displeased with certain events that occurred at the end of the war, they were seeking a way to avenge themselves on the Empire, and you provided one. You allowed them access to confiscated technologies, and you facilitated the theft of Governor Tarkin’s ship after luring him into your plot with counterfeit holotransmissions. You supplied them with tactical information along the way, and by doing so you are complicit in the deaths of thousands of Imperial effectives and the destruction of Imperial facilities.”
Vader paced to the viewports and returned, positioning himself a meter from Rancit.
“You assured your co-conspirators that they would be allowed to strike at Carida and continue their reign of terror. But in fact you planned to betray them here, seeing to their deaths and so eliminating everyone who had been witness to your treachery. By having predicted where they would show themselves and by having put an end to their campaign, you would have earned the approval of the Emperor and…And what, Vice Admiral? Exactly what did you hope to achieve?”
Rancit regarded him with sudden loathing. “You of all people need to ask?”
Vader said nothing for a long moment, then approximated a sniff. “Power, Admiral? Influence? Perhaps you simply felt overlooked, that you, too, should have been named a Moff.”
Rancit bit back whatever he had in mind to say.
“If only you had been one step ahead of your co-conspirators rather than one step behind,” Vader continued in false lament. “Consider how far you might have risen in the Emperor’s estimation had you been able to predict that they would betray you and go on to execute the plan they had in mind from the beginning.”
Curiosity seeped into Rancit’s rigid expression. “What plan?”
“This system was never meant to be their final target, Vice Admiral. The deal they made with you merely gave them free rein to carry out a mission of their own. They transferred to
a different ship and are now on their way to the actual target.”
“Where?” Rancit asked in an insistent tone.
“That is not your concern. Understand as well, Vice Admiral, that the Emperor has long held suspicions about you. He allowed your scheme to unfold as a means of ensnaring everyone involved in your conspiracy.”
Rancit’s courage returned. “What is the target, Vader? Tell me.”
“Your apprehension is misplaced,” Vader said in a menacingly calm voice. He lifted his right hand and began to bring his thumb and fingers together, then stopped. “No. You have already determined the method of your execution.”
He swung to the squad of stormtroopers.
“Lieutenant Crest, Admiral Rancit is to be escorted to and placed inside an escape pod. I will give the order to launch the pod, and Admiral Rancit, once removed to a distance from this vessel, will issue the fire order that destroys it.” Vader glanced over his shoulder at Rancit. “Does that meet with your approval, Vice Admiral?”
Rancit snarled. “I won’t beg you, Vader.”
“It would not affect the outcome in any case.”
Vader nodded to the stormtroopers, who moved forward to surround Rancit.
“One last thing, Vice Admiral,” Vader said as Rancit was being escorted aft down the walkway. “Moff Tarkin sends his regards.”
—
A warship lay in wait in the shadow of a cratered, waterless moon in a star system Coreward of the Gulf of Tatooine.
Since it was not the product of a major shipbuilding conglomerate, the vessel lacked both a name and a registered signature. It was instead a farrago—a medley of modules, components, turbolasers, and ion cannons acquired by its assemblers from Imperial surplus depots, deep-space salvagers, smugglers, and others in the business of selling stolen parts and proscribed armaments. Fittingly the ship most resembled the Quarren Free Dac Volunteer Corps’s Providence-class carrier, but at less than half the length was stubby by comparison and did not boast an aft communications tower. Its belly housed several squadrons of droid starfighters, and its weapons were operated by computer-controlled droids, but the ship was commanded by sentients—in this case a small group of humans, Koorivar, and Gotals, along with a sole Mon Cal starship systems engineer. It was the sort of vessel that would become closely associated with Outer Rim pirates in the postwar years. And in fact, it was the same capital ship that had briefly revealed itself at Sentinel Base weeks earlier.
“We’ve come full circle,” Teller was telling Artoz in the starfighter hangar. Dressed in a flight suit, he had a helmet under one arm and was standing alongside a warming Headhunter retrofitted with a rudimentary hyperdrive—the very model Hask had used in crafting the false holovid that had been transmitted to Sentinel Base.
For the benefit of Knotts and the handful of other sentient pilots, Artoz said, “The convoy will revert to realspace at the edge of this system and continue by sublight to the Imperial marshaling station at Pii. From there, supply ships are escorted to Sentinel Base, and finally to Geonosis.”
“Not this convoy,” Knotts said. The world-weary human broker had helped pilot the hodgepodge carrier from its place of concealment near Lantillies. “Rancit did us a great favor by reallocating the convoy’s protection.”
“He promised us clear skies at Carida and gave us just that here,” Teller said. “He had no reason to believe he’d be leaving the convoy vulnerable. He was simply shuffling ships around for show.”
“Any word from Carida?” Knotts asked.
“Nothing yet,” Artoz said.
“The evidence trail that links him to us is too much of a maze for anyone to follow,” Teller said. “Accusations will be flying every which way about our not getting apprehended, but the assumption will be that we simply abandoned the cause.”
“Rancit won’t be happy with being denied his expected promotion,” Knotts said. “He’ll be on the hunt for us for betraying him.”
Teller shrugged that off and glanced at Artoz. “Any suggestion Rancit makes about our being involved in the attack on the convoy would only make matters worse for him for pulling ships away. Rancit’ll be lucky to be removed from Naval Intelligence with his pension intact, let alone be in a position to pose a threat to us.”
“And Tarkin?” the Mon Cal asked.
“He gets back what’s left of his precious corvette,” Knotts said before Teller could reply.
“Tarkin won’t be held accountable for any of it,” Teller added. “He’s a Moff. And besides, it wasn’t his idea to go to Murkhana.” He shook his head with finality. “I’m guessing he retains command of Sentinel Base.”
Knotts nodded in agreement. “The question is, will he come after us?”
“Oh, you can count on that,” Teller said. “We’re going to need to scatter far and wide. The Corporate Sector’s probably our safest bet.”
No one spoke for a long moment; then Knotts said, “Once the convoy is history, how far will we have set them back?”
Artoz replied: “Work on the hyperdrive components alone had been in progress for three years before I was sent to Desolation Station. Even with perfected plans and a redoubling of their efforts, I suspect that we will set them back four years.”
Teller smiled lightly. “I wish we had a better sense of what they’re up to at Geonosis.”
“A weapons platform of some sort,” Knotts said. “Do we need to know more than that?”
Teller looked at him. “I suppose not. If we can just keep delaying them with strikes…Once the rest of the galaxy gets to know the Emperor as well as we know him, we won’t be alone in the fight.”
Doubt surfaced in Artoz’s huge, glistening eyes. “With shipyards turning out Imperial-class Star Destroyers, any revolt will be hard-pressed to make so much as a dent in the Emperor’s armor. Even if we can continue to impede construction of whatever they are building at Geonosis, something unexpected is going to have to enter the mix in order for any rebellion to succeed. Yes, people will begin to recognize the truth about the Empire, but numbers alone will never make the difference—not against the likes of the Emperor, Vader, and the military they’re amassing. And don’t expect the Senate to restrain them, because it is even less effective than it was during the Republic.”
Teller gave his head a defiant shake. “We can either decide right now that it’s hopeless and call it a day, or we can hold out for hope and do what we can.”
“That decision has never been in dispute,” Artoz said.
“For Antar Four, then, and for a brighter future,” Knotts said.
Heads nodded in concert.
While the assembled pilots were moving toward their starfighters, Cala hurried into the hangar. “The supply convoy has dropped from hyperspace. HoloNet and communications jammers are enabled, and all weapons systems are standing by.”
Knotts extended his hand to Teller. “Good luck out there.”
Teller shook his old friend’s hand and tugged the helmet down over his head. Turning to Cala, he said, “Tell Anora and Hask that we expect nothing less than a galactic-class holovid.”
—
The attack on the battle station convoy was well under way by the time the Executrix reverted from hyperspace close enough to a small moon to all but tweak its orbit. Tarkin and several officers were at the viewports as the stars shrank back into themselves. With his booted legs spread, hands clasped behind his back, graying hair swept back from his high forehead as if blown in the wind, the governor might have been the vessel’s figurehead, taunting the enemy to face off with him personally in mortal combat.
“Sir, they’ve jammed the local HoloNet relay,” a spec reported from behind him. “That’s why our alerts weren’t received. For the moment our countermeasures are managing to keep the battle and tactical nets open.”
“Can we communicate with any of the convoy transports?” Tarkin asked without turning around.
“Negative, sir. It’s possible we’re not even registering
on their scanners.”
“Keep trying.”
The boxy cargo ships and transports that made up the convoy had drawn together to allow the escort gunboats and frigates to fashion a defensive circle around them, but enemy lasers were chipping away at the perimeter, allowing droid fighters to dart through openings and prey on the larger vessels.
“Sir, battle analysis is showing one capital ship reinforced by a Nebulon-B frigate, multiple tri-droid fighters, and three—make that four starfighters. Two friendly tugs, two escort gunboats, and more than a squadron of ARC-one-seventies are already out of the fight.”
Tarkin took in the scene.
Same cobbled-together Providence-class warship, same swarm of droid fighters and antique starfighters. Only this time he was commanding the counteroffensive, and instead of Sentinel Base the enemy’s objectives were the hyperdrive components he had been worried about since leaving for Coruscant.
Pivoting away from the viewports, he made his way down the observation gallery to watch a simulation of the attack resolve above a holotable. The spherical defense mounted by the Imperial escorts was being dismantled by steady fire from the warships; pieces of gunboats and frigates drifted through a frenzied nimbus of ARC-170s and droid starfighters in pitched combat.
“V-wing fighters are away,” the noncom who had followed him down the observation gallery updated. “Tactical net is viable, and the wing commander is awaiting your orders.”
“They are to engage with the frigate and the carrier and leave the droid fighters to the convoy escorts.”
Tarkin regarded the simulation for a moment longer, then paced forward to rejoin the officers at the viewports. By shunting ships to systems imperiled by the Carrion Spike, Naval Command and Control had left the convoy defenseless; like Tarkin, taken in by the dissidents’ ruse. Had he not been called to Coruscant, he never would have allowed the convoy’s defensive escorts to be redeployed elsewhere, and it irked him that he had not made a stronger case for his remaining at Sentinel. He could only hope that the Emperor had made a wise choice in allowing Rancit’s and the shipjackers’ ploy to unspool, and that all of them were now caught up in the net. He narrowed his eyes at the enemy carrier, wondering whether the crew that had pirated the Carrion Spike was aboard, or if the shipjackers had gone into hiding after deserting the corvette.
The Rise of the Empire: Star Wars: Featuring the novels Star Wars: Tarkin, Star Wars: A New Dawn, and 3 all-new short stories Page 27