by Star Wars
There was another jerk, and Ronan felt himself shoved toward the deck as the Star Destroyer’s tractor grabbed at them. Another quick twist on the yoke from Dayja and the freighter settled down again.
“First: Over a spaceport or other inhabited region, they’re going to use low power and tight focus,” Dayja continued, his voice casual. “That makes the beams relatively easy to break clear of.”
Another jolt, and another quick maneuver from Dayja that got them out of it. “Of course, that won’t last,” Dayja said, “especially if you’re making a pain of yourself. So second thing to remember—”
This time the jerk was much stronger, pressing Ronan even deeper into his seat as the tractor beam grabbed the freighter and started yanking it upward.
“—is that tractors don’t just freeze you in place,” Dayja continued, still in a conversational tone. “The laws of motion still apply.”
Ronan frowned out the viewport. The freighter was indeed still moving horizontally across the spaceport even as it was pulled upward.
Though how that could gain them anything he couldn’t imagine. If Dayja managed to weave the freighter out of the range arc of this particular beam, one of the Star Destroyer’s other operators would simply take over, and they’d still be caught.
“And the last thing to remember is that operators almost always lock the beam as soon as they’ve made contact,” Dayja said.
They were moving higher and higher, still angling across the spaceport—
“So if the beam gets intercepted—”
A sudden shadow fell across the Brylan Ross’s cockpit. Ronan looked up, just in time to see the larger freighter as Dayja slid them neatly beneath it.
“—then so does the lock—”
He twisted the yoke hard over, and the Brylan Ross banked into a tight curve and shot back out at right angles to its original course.
“—and sometimes you can lose them,” Dayja concluded.
An instant later Ronan was pushed back into his seat as Dayja ran the thrusters up to a power level Ronan had never guessed was even possible in this kind of commercial vehicle. They were driving across the landscape—shot over the far end of the spaceport—wove in and out of another pair of freighters, one of which got off a nervous shot at them that fortunately went wild—angled up toward the sky and the stars just starting to become visible—
And with a jolt that snapped Ronan’s teeth together, the freighter was again grabbed.
Dayja twisted the yoke. The Brylan Ross jerked like a caught fish, but it stayed in the tractor’s grip.
Dayja huffed out a breath and shrugged. “Well,” he said, as he shut down the thrusters, “I did say sometimes.”
Ronan let out a shuddering breath of his own. “What now?”
“You grab your bag and put on your fancy assistant director uniform,” Dayja said. “Cape, too. You do have one of Krennic’s silly capes, right?”
“It was issued with the uniform,” Ronan said stiffly. He was tense enough right now without having to listen to snide comments from an ISB flunky.
“Good,” Dayja said. “People in authority love capes. That should give you enough credibility that they’ll sit still for your explanation of all this. Just make it fast.”
Ronan felt his eyes narrow. “How much of a hurry are we in?”
“Enough of one,” Dayja said. “The Stormbird’s part of Savit’s Third Fleet…but if they’re here watching over the Stardust transports, it’s because Governor Haveland asked them to. That means they’ll be sending her a message as soon as they’ve gotten us aboard. If they haven’t done that already.”
“And then we’ll be turned over to her?”
“If not her directly, then whichever one of her staff coordinates these shipments.”
Ronan stared out the viewport at the last of the blue sky as it turned into starry black. Proof of treason, and the Stardust assistant director who’d found that proof…and no one with any rank or status knew Ronan was here. No one except Thrawn.
“We need to talk to Savit directly,” he said. “Not one of his officers, but the grand admiral himself. We need to plead our case to someone who can’t be intimidated or disappeared.”
“Whoa,” Dayja said. “It’s not we, friend. It’s you. You leave me out of this. My name, my position, my status—none of that gets mentioned. Clear? I’m just the guy Mole who you hired to fly this thing to Coruscant.”
“Why?” Ronan demanded. “You’re ISB, and you’ve seen the evidence of treason.”
“And if Haveland finds out about that, I’ll be disappeared a lot faster than you will,” Dayja said grimly. “ISB hasn’t exactly endeared itself to the Empire’s power structure. As soon as Haveland finds out I haven’t had a chance to check in with anyone, I’ll be done.”
Ronan looked at the comm section of the board, feeling a sudden stir of hope. If they could get a message to Thrawn—
“And Star Destroyer tractor beams usually have jamming fields folded into them,” Dayja added. “So no, we can’t call anyone.”
Ronan hissed between his teeth. “So it’s up to us?”
“Yep,” Dayja said. “Us, and maybe Vanto and his death trooper guard, if they get clear and make it back to Thrawn in time.”
“Of course,” Ronan murmured. Eli Vanto. Deserter and traitor. A man Ronan had promised to his face to bring up on charges. “Yes. I’m sure we can count on him.”
Thrawn had been aboard the conjoined Grysk ships for nearly three hours when Hammerly called Faro over to her station.
“I’m not sure what it means, Commodore,” the sensor officer said, “but one of my people just picked up a small occultation.”
“How close was it?”
“Not very,” Hammerly assured her. “About twelve hundred kilometers.”
“Dust?”
“It didn’t look like it, ma’am,” Hammerly said. “Or like a clump of normal solar wind particles, either. It may not be anything, but it was…worrisome enough…that I thought I should tell you even though we don’t have much data yet.”
“Absolutely,” Faro confirmed. “How long before we get an analysis?”
“It’s running now,” Hammerly said. “Do you think we should contact the admiral?”
“Not yet,” Faro said. “You know how he gets when he’s in deep analysis mode. Besides, communication with the Grysk ship’s been spotty—lot of big heavy containers over there creating comm shadows. Let’s wait until we have something solid to report before we bother him.”
She looked out the side viewport. On the other hand…
“Helm, do you have Hammerly’s anomaly on your board?” she called.
“Yes, ma’am,” Agral called back.
“Bring the Chimaera around,” Faro ordered. “Put us between the anomaly and the conjoined ships, bow toward the anomaly. Pyrondi, forward turbolaser crews on full alert. Hammerly, full active sensors. If there’s something out there, I want to be ready for it.”
“Acknowledged, Commodore.”
The minutes ticked by. The Chimaera took up its new position, and the status boards confirmed that Pyrondi’s weapons and crews were ready. Faro resumed her place on the command walkway, her eyes sweeping the sky. Imperial cloaking technology was limited, with several ways a good sensor operator could punch through it. Grysk tech, unfortunately, was proving a harder nut to crack. Maybe when the navy experts dissected the cloaked gravity-well generator the Chimaera had captured near the observation post, they’d find a weakness.
Or if Coruscant couldn’t do it, maybe the Chiss could. Was that why Thrawn had let Ar’alani and the Steadfast take the second generator?
Or was it that he always put his own people first, as so many persistent rumors claimed?
Could that be why he’d blocked Faro’s promotion to command Task F
orce 231? Had she unwittingly done something to annoy the Chiss?
“What is the matter?” a voice behind her demanded in Sy Bisti.
Faro scowled to herself. Speak of the devil…
She turned around to see Ar’alani striding up behind her. To her mild surprise, the admiral’s face and posture weren’t angry, as Faro had expected, but merely intense. Her eyes, too, were doing an orderly sweep of the sky in front of them. “I’m not sure yet, Admiral,” Faro said. “Our sensors picked up a stellar occultation that might have been caused by a gas discharge in the distance.”
“What kind of gas?”
“We’re still analyzing that.”
“Any objects nearby that might have caused the discharge?”
“None,” Faro said. “Though a sufficiently large gas bubble might be able to hold together long enough to drift in front of a star.”
“Not with this level of solar wind,” Ar’alani said. “Have you informed Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo?”
“Not yet,” Faro said. “We wanted to wait until—”
“Inform him now.”
Faro nodded, her arguments about Thrawn’s focus and availability evaporating in the heat of Ar’alani’s stare. “Lieutenant Lomar, signal Admiral Thrawn,” she said in Basic.
For another minute no one spoke. Faro shifted her attention back and forth between the viewport and Hammerly, hunched over her sensor console. That analysis better turn up pretty damn soon…
“Thrawn,” the admiral’s voice came over the speaker. “What is it, Commodore?”
“We’ve spotted an anomaly, sir,” Faro replied, resisting the impulse to bring Ar’alani’s name into this just in case Thrawn ended up being annoyed by the interruption. Faro had given the order, and that made the full responsibility hers. “An occultation caused by a small gas pocket or discharge—”
“Got it, ma’am,” Hammerly spoke up suddenly. “It was nitrogen gas.”
“How pure, Commander Hammerly?” Thrawn asked.
“Very pure, Admiral.”
“It was nitrogen,” Faro told Ar’alani in Sy Bisti.
Ar’alani spat out something vicious sounding. “Grysk,” she snarled. “Grysk ships use nitrogen maneuvering jets. Commodore Faro, prepare a full spread of weapons fire—”
“Calm, Admiral,” Thrawn said, his own voice glacial. “Commodore: Distance?”
“It was at twelve hundred kilometers when we spotted it, sir,” Faro said. “But we don’t know how fast it’s going.”
“Then let us find out,” Thrawn said. He switched back to Basic. “Full turbolaser salvo along the vector between the anomaly and the joined ships, to be fired at my command.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said, frowning, gesturing the order to Pyrondi. Twelve hundred kilometers was far beyond the turbolasers’ normal combat range, at least for something carrying any decent armor. “Shall I also send TIEs to intercept?”
“You may send two if you wish, but keep them well clear of the vector,” Thrawn said. “All ship’s sensors and recorders are also to be focused along that line and set for full magnification.”
“Yes, sir.” Faro caught Hammerly’s eye, got a brisk nod in return. That was Hammerly, always anticipating orders. “Major Quach?”
“I’ve diverted two TIEs from the outer sentry line, Commodore,” Quach’s voice came back with the odd tinny echo typical of TIE pilot helmets. Some TIE commanders Faro had known never left their shipboard command centers if they could possibly manage it. Quach, in contrast, climbed into a cockpit every chance he got. “Moving into position; weapons and sensors ready.”
Faro nodded. “We’re ready, Admiral.”
“Very good, Commodore. Stand by…fire.”
The sky out the forward viewport lit up as the brilliant-green bolts sizzled through the tenuous solar wind, the perspective making them seem to converge in the distance. A second salvo followed close behind them, then a third, and a fourth.
Nothing. “Widen your focus,” Faro ordered. “Blanket the area two degrees off the vector.”
“Acknowledged.”
Faro threw a sideways look at Ar’alani. The Chiss stood unmoving, with no sign of the tension that was gripping Faro’s own throat. The turbolaser blasts continued blazing across the sky—
“Got it, Commodore,” Pyrondi snapped. “Looks like a cylinder—”
An instant later the blackness in front of the Chimaera erupted in the roiling yellow cloud of a distant violent fireball. “Damn it—sorry, ma’am,” Pyrondi bit out. “It was there, and it didn’t look that damaged.”
“A self-destruct,” Thrawn said calmly. “Triggered when the barrage disabled its cloaking field. Major Quach, were the TIEs able to get some readings?”
“Yes, sir, some pretty good ones,” Quach said with grim satisfaction. “Transmitting to the Chimaera now.”
“Commander Hammerly, start at once on a full analysis,” Thrawn ordered. “Lieutenant Agral, use our two data points to calculate the speed of the projectile. Question: How soon would others coming from comparable distances at similar speeds arrive at the conjoined ships?”
Faro felt a sudden coldness run up her back. “Are you saying there are more of them, Admiral?”
“I believe there are, Commodore.”
“A doomsday device,” Ar’alani murmured in Sy Bisti. She looked at Faro—“The Grysks were prepared for their base to be captured. What they did not wish was for the base to be examined or looted.”
“Indeed, Admiral,” Thrawn said in the same language. “That’s why I believe there are other such devices converging on us. The Grysks would not content themselves with only one such weapon.” He switched back to Basic. “Lieutenant Agral?”
“Approximately four point three hours, Admiral,” Agral said.
“Good,” Thrawn said. “That should be sufficient time to arrange a defense.”
“That assumes they’re all scheduled to hit at the same time, sir,” Faro warned. “Some of the bombs might arrive earlier.”
“Unlikely,” Thrawn said. “The point of the attack is to utterly destroy the conjoined ships and anyone examining them. A sequence of explosions, rather than a single massive blast, might leave sections intact. It would certainly warn off the investigators.”
Faro shook her head. A group of cloaked bombs, presumably sent on their way by the warship before its destruction, and starting far enough back that the Chimaera hadn’t detected the emissions from their thrusters. A leisurely attack, but one intended to be overwhelming. “I hope there’s something over there worth that kind of effort.”
“Oh, there is, Commodore,” Thrawn said quietly. “There is indeed. They attempted to destroy all data before they fled, but such complete destruction is a difficult task even under the most optimal conditions. Unfortunately for them, the conditions here were rushed and apparently chaotic.”
Faro looked at Ar’alani. “You’ve found a way to defeat them?”
“Patience, Commodore,” Thrawn said, a hint of a lighter tone peeking through the darkness in his voice. “I have barely begun my investigation.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said. An investigation that was going to be over way too soon if they didn’t come up with a way to detect and stop the incoming bombs.
“I’ll return at once to the Chimaera,” Thrawn continued. “Convene a meeting of all senior officers. We have four hours to find a solution.”
* * *
—
“Let me get this straight,” Savit said, looking between the two flickering figures floating above his holopad. “You’ve captured a freighter that supposedly has proof of sabotage or theft, and a man who says he’s a senior official of the Stardust project. And you can’t tell me whether either of those claims is true?”
“It’s…complicated, sir,” Captain Lochry hedged.
“Not in the least,” Governor Haveland insisted. “This man and this ship were apprehended in my jurisdiction. Captain Lochry’s confusion is irrelevant: I get to decide what’s done with them.”
Savit kept his eyes on Lochry. “Complicated how, Captain?”
“This Assistant Director Ronan—”
“This alleged Assistant Director Ronan,” Haveland cut in.
“Yes, let’s address that first, shall we?” Savit said. “I trust you’ve been in contact with Stardust?”
“Yes, sir,” Lochry said. “I tried to reach Director Krennic, but his office tells me he’s in conference with the Emperor and can’t be disturbed. The most senior official I could actually talk to said that Ronan is off on some special assignment.”
Savit pursed his lips. How many other people, he wondered, knew that Ronan had indeed gone to oversee Thrawn’s gralloc investigation?
Probably not many. Certainly not anyone else in this conversation.
Knowledge was power. Especially knowledge no one else had, and no one else knew you had. “Any confirmation of his claim that he was sent off with Grand Admiral Thrawn?” he asked.
“No one I spoke to knew anything about that.”
“Did it happen to occur to you to try talking to Thrawn himself?” Haveland asked acidly.
“Yes, Governor, it did,” Lochry said, his face hardening. “The Chimaera is apparently out of contact, probably in some deserted system where HoloNet access is weak or nonexistent.”
“Not in my sector.”
“In anyone’s sector,” Lochry shot back. “Uninhabited systems that no one travels to aren’t worth the expense—”
He broke off, visibly gathering himself. Lochry had served in Esaga sector when Havelock’s father had been governor, Savit knew, and some residual hard feelings apparently remained. “At any rate,” Lochry continued in a calmer tone, “our alleged assistant director is asking to be delivered directly to you, Admiral, and not to Governor Haveland.”
“Ridiculous,” Haveland bit out. “Prisoners don’t get to dictate the terms of their treatment.”
“Did he say why?” Savit asked.