Текст книги "Tarkin"

Автор книги: James Luceno

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Zero defects

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?”

Everyone stared at the command center enunciator, as if the Koorivar were there, in the command cabin.

“A device of some sort,” Cala reported finally. “Nothing like I’ve ever seen.”

“All right,” Artoz said, trying to keep his resonant voice calm. “Task the diagnostic to cam the device, then run the image through the ship’s library.”

Cala exhaled loudly. “Hold on.”

Again the intraship comlink went quiet, and Teller ran a hand down his face.

“It’s probably noth—” Anora started to say when he shushed her.

“Damn, Teller, it’s an Imperial homing beacon!” the Koorivar said. “Database describes it as a paralight tracker – a kind of HoloNet transceiver that parses commands from the ship’s navicomputer.”

Salikk swiveled to face the others, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Tarkin knows not only where we are, but also where we’re planning to go. Which means we’re essentially marooned, unless you want to get there by sublight, which will only take”—he glanced at a console readout—“on the order of fifty years.”

“Maybe we’ve done enough,” Anora said, touching her injured scalp. “We call it quits right here.”

Teller shook his head at her. “We haven’t done near enough.”

Cala’s distant voice intruded. “Should I disable this thing?”

“No, don’t do anything just yet,” Teller told him. “Let it sit in there, and get yourself forward.” He glanced around the command cabin. “Let’s consider this from Tarkin’s side.”

“Yes, why don’t we,” Anora said in plain anger.

“Tarkin knows we’re here,” Artoz said, “and he is convinced that he has a good read on our intentions.”

“With good reason,” Salikk said.

“He knows we’re here,” Teller said, thinking out loud, “but he hasn’t come for us.” He cut his gaze to Artoz. “Obviously he’s waiting to see what we enter into the navicomputer so he can beat us there.”

“So he and Vader and whoever else – maybe the entire Imperial Navy by this time – can beat us there,” the Mon Cal said. “No doubt they’re calculating all possible jump egresses from this system.”

Teller nodded in agreement. “Of which there have to be dozens.”

“Meanwhile,” Salikk said, “the navy’s deploying ships to every system where Tarkin thinks we’ll show ourselves.”

Anora looked up from studying her hands. “Is there a way to enter false coordinates into the navicomputer?”

Salikk shook his head negatively. “Not while that tracker is enabled.”

No one spoke for a moment; then Teller said: “At this point, we just need to buy some time, right? So suppose we supply Tarkin with jump coordinates into a very busy star system.”

Anora’s thin eyebrows formed a V. “I don’t see how that helps us, unless you’re counting on hiding in a traffic jam.”

“We supply the coordinates,” Teller said, “but we don’t jump.”

“You mean—”

“We get someone else to do it.”

Standing proudly on the elevated command bridge walkway of the Star Destroyer Executrix, Tarkin felt more at home than he had in years. An Imperial-class wedge-shaped titan, the warship had just decanted in the Obroa-skai system after a jump from Lantillies, on Tarkin’s learning that the Carrion Spike was on her way. The panoramic view through the bridge’s bay of trapezoidal windows included nearly all the ships that made up the task force. In the distance, positioned against a radiant sweep of stars, floated three Interdictor vessels, a Detainer CC-2200, a newer-model CC-7700 frigate, and – fresh from deepdock in the Corellia system and as yet untested – an Immobilizer 418. Thickly armored, the former two had downsloping bows and stubby winglike lateral projections housing quartets of gravity well projectors. The Immobilizer, by contrast, featured four hemispherical projectors aft on the ship’s sharp-bowed hull. Deployed in the middle distance between the Interdictors and the Executrix were frigates, pickets, and gunboats. The centermost picket carried Vader, Crest – promoted by Vader to lieutenant – and some two dozen stormtroopers, who made up a boarding party, in the unlikely event that the Carrion Spike could be retaken without a fight or at least put out of commission rather than reduced to wreckage.

A holotable situated starboard and below the elevated command walkway displayed a 3-D chronometer counting down in standard time to the Carrion Spike’s estimated moment of arrival. As expected, the dissidents had jumped the ship from her original location to the remote Thustra system, and after spending several hours there had charged the navicomputer to plot a course for Obroa-skai. The ETA was based on the assumption that the Carrion Spike had gone to lightspeed at that moment or soon after, and on how quickly the corvette’s Class One hyperdrive could deliver her. An earlier-than-expected arrival would find the ship reverting to realspace deeper in system, where other Imperial warships, including the Goliath, were positioned to intercept her. A more sophisticated homing beacon would have allowed Tarkin to track the corvette through hyperspace by way of S-thread transceivers, but the stormtrooper squadron assigned to the Phindar fuel tanker had had access only to a basic device that interfaced with a ship’s navicomputer.

A specialist seated at a console in the most forward of the sunken data pits got Tarkin’s attention. “Sir, the quarry is due at T minus one hundred twenty.”

Tarkin angled the microphone of his headset closer to his mouth and opened the battle net to the task force liaison officer, who was aboard the CC-7700 frigate.

“The projectors are powering up to high gain, Governor Tarkin,” the commander said. “The field will be initiated, then disabled, in an effort to keep from dragging vessels other than the quarry from hyperspace. I should caution, however, that that may be unavoidable, given the heavy traffic in this system.”

“I understand, Commander,” Tarkin said. “Order your technicians to be judicious, nonetheless.”

“I will, sir. But the power setting of the gravity wells is dictated to some extent by the relative speed of the targeted ship, and, well, sir, to be blunt about it, there aren’t many as fast as the Carrion Spike.”

Tarkin pinched his lower lip in thought. Ideally, local systems would had been notified that Obroa-skai had been designated a no-entry zone, but naval command had opted against issuing the designation for fear of alerting the dissidents. He had other reasons for concern: chiefly the question of why the dissidents would jump to Obroa-skai, which lacked anything in the way of an Imperial target, and was known mostly for its medcenters and libraries.

“T minus thirty and counting,” the specialist in the data pit announced.

Moving to the forward end of the walkway, Tarkin fixed his gaze on the trio of Interdictors. Arms folded across his chest, he counted down in silence even while the voice of the specialist was doing the same in his right ear bead.

The countdown had just reached T minus five when Tarkin was yanked forward, nearly completely off his feet. Fearing another lurch he spread his hands wide and so was kept from being slammed headfirst into the closest viewport panel. Klaxons began to howl throughout the suddenly trembling command bridge as the giant ship groaned and lurched yet again in the direction of the distant Interdictors. Struggling to remain upright, Tarkin caught a glimpse of the middle-distance frigates and pickets being pulled forward, almost as if accelerating.

“Commander,” he shouted into the headset mouthpiece, “the field is too powerful!”

“Working on it, sir,” the commander said with equal volume. “It’s the Immobilizer. The overcurrent resistors failed to prevent the gravitic systems from redlining—”

The comlink connection broke.

Close to the Interdictors, ships began to appear where there had only been star-filled space. Tarkin turned from the forward bay and stumbled back to the data pit to study the magnified view on one of the screens. First to drop out of hyperspace was an outmoded, saucer-shaped YT-1000 freighter, followed by two angular transports and a lustrous space yacht. Then another freighter winked into visibility, followed by two passenger vessels.

Abruptly, Tarkin felt as if he’d been shoved toward the rear of the bridge. With the interdiction field neutralized, the ships that had been caught in the invisible web began to whirl out of control. Two of the ships collided and drifted out of view. The magnification screen showed the sublight engines of other ships flashing, but the ships barely had a chance to flee or correct their spins when the field re-initiated, capturing them once again. Tarkin spread his legs wide in an effort to balance himself; then his eyes went wide as well as he turned to face the viewports. Listing on its port side, an enormous ship that more resembled something grown than built decanted, broadsiding the Detainer CC-2200 before careening into a spin that left its dorsal surface impaled on the Interdictor’s sloping bow.

“Mon Cal star cruiser!” a voice in his ear said, loud enough to be heard over the head-splitting racket of the klaxons. “The luxury liner Stellar Vista out of Corsin. Approximately ten thousand aboard!”

A brief but nova-bright explosion flared in the distance, ferocious enough to leave Tarkin blinking and seeing stars that weren’t there. When he was able to focus through the viewport’s blast-tinting, he saw that the stern of the organically sculpted passenger ship had disappeared and that the Interdictor had been knocked ninety degrees from its former position. In moments podlike lifeboats and flocks of spherical escape pods were streaming from the stricken liner.

“The Stellar Vista reports that it is in imminent distress,” the specialist said. “The ship’s captain is requesting all the help we can provide.”

Tarkin swung toward the data pits, but spoke into the headset. “Order the frigates to render assistance. Instruct the Interdictors to negate the field, and move us into a position where we can utilize the tractor beams to grab the lifeboats.”

All at once Vader’s voice was booming in his ear. “Where is your corvette, Governor? It is not on any of our scanners. Do you have it?”

Tarkin hurried to the edge of the walkway and gestured to one of the seated noncoms. “Have you located the Carrion Spike?”

The spec turned to him. “No sign of the corvette, sir. Could it be in stealth mode?”

Tarkin compressed his lips and shook his head. “Not even a cloaking device could keep it from being detected in an interdiction field.”

A second spec called to him. “Sir, the task force commander wants to know if you wish the Interdictors to re-initiate the field. Some of the transports are trying to make a run for it.”

Tarkin had his mouth open to reply when Vader said, “I want all those ships corralled. Hold them in place with tractor beams if you have to, but none should be allowed to leave.”

Tarkin nodded to the noncoms. “Contain those vessels.”

“And the lifeboats, sir?” one asked.

“We’ll see to them when we can.”

Yet a third specialist joined in. “Sir, one of our frigates is taking fire.”

Tarkin moved farther down the command walkway to stand over her. “On screen.”

A grainy image of a modified Lux-400 yacht took shape, green hyphens of laserfire erupting from the ship’s well-concealed lateral cannons.

“Do we have the transponder signature of that vessel?” Tarkin asked.

“The Truant, sir,” the tech said. “On the wanted list in several sectors for arms smuggling.”

“Draw a bead on it,” Tarkin commanded.

The spec relayed the command into her headset, then glanced up at him. “Our gunners report they’re having difficulty finding a clear shot because of the lifeboats and the debris field.”

Tarkin fumed. “Acquire it and open fire!”

He turned his attention to the screens as turbolaser beams from the Star Destroyer’s starboard-side turrets found the Lux-400, and it vanished in a short-lived fireball.

“The Truant is no longer on the wanted list, sir. Minimal collateral casualties.”

Tarkin strode forward on the walkway to the primary data pit. “Have you confined the rest of those ships?”

“They’re not going anywhere, sir, and Lord Vader’s picket is currently closing on the group. Still no sign of the Carrion Spike.”

“Do the sensors detail any instances of ships jumping to lightspeed?”

“None, sir. No instances of Cronau radiation – though the interdiction field would make that a long shot, in any case.”

Tarkin shook his head in bewilderment. Had the shipjackers had a last-moment change of plans? Or had they been forewarned?

“Is the homing beacon still transmitting?”

The tech attended to his various instruments. “No signal from the tracker, sir. Nothing.”

So they had discovered it. But when?

Tarkin continued to move forward until he was standing just short of the viewports, just short of the chaos beyond. Vader’s voice fractured his introspection.

“Which vessel appeared first?”

“The YT-One-Thousand freighter,” Tarkin said.

“Then we’ll begin with that one, since it arrived closest to the projected arrival time of the Carrion Spike.”

“Begin what, Lord Vader?”

“The failure of the corvette to appear does not owe to any impromptu change of plans, Governor. The dissidents are trying to throw us off the scent, and I intend to search each interdicted ship until we have answers.”

Tarkin watched the picket accelerate as Vader made haste for the immobilized antique, ignoring the flaming hulk of the passenger liner and the scattering of lifeboats and escape pods to all sides.

Tarkin let his gaze become unfocused, so that the stars and the strewn ships lost all definition. His thoughts returned to the plateau and the lessons he had learned. Sometimes, especially when he, Jova, and the others had gone without food for several days – and despite their best efforts to stalk faultlessly – an elusive hunt took on such desperation that the importance of thinking like the prey was abandoned. Vader was correct: The dissidents hadn’t had a last-moment change of plans; early on they were aware of the trap being set for them. Creatures understood themselves to be most vulnerable during flight and evasion. That’s when they paid strict attention to warnings issued by other animals. Fleeing for their lives, they picked up scents on the wind; they sharpened their senses, granting themselves the ability to hear and see their pursuers at great distances. They took all advantage of knowing the territory better than the ones chasing them. The savannas and jungled areas of the plateau would perk up when Jova and his band were about, because they were the intruders, and usually up to no good.

His loathing and frustration notwithstanding, Tarkin could respect the dissidents for their cleverness and foresight, but clearly their plan had been hatched with the aid of confederates, and those allies were now beginning to play their part in keeping the Carrion Spike from being reclaimed.

Tarkin had lost all sense of how long he had been standing in the viewport bay when Vader’s fury brought him back to the moment.

“This freighter is to be tractored aboard the Executrix for a thorough inspection. The crew is to be kept in detention until I’m through interrogating them.”

Hung upside down

VADER STOOD OMINOUSLY motionless in the illuminated cargo hold of the YT freighter, breathing deeply and looking as if he was ready to draw his lightsaber and cut everything around him to shreds. Tarkin, too, thought it unlikely they were going to discover anything of interest among the haphazardly stacked shipping crates, but he was willing to have a look nonetheless.

The foul-smelling and disheveled old ship sat in the glare of spotlights in one of the Star Destroyer’s ancillary hangars, like some stultified and wary insect. Circular in design, with an outrigger cockpit sandwiched between a pair of rectangular mandibles, the Reticent had seen better days a century earlier, and was now barely spaceworthy. The cargo ramp beneath the cockpit had been lowered, and glow rods set up inside and out to flood the hold with light. Vader and Tarkin’s cursory search had revealed consignments of tools, medical supplies, bolts of fabric, trays of gaudy costume jewelry, tankfuls of alcoholic beverages, and droid parts. Recording devices and scanners in hand, Lieutenant Crest and two other stormtroopers – all three without helmets or armored plastrons – were following Vader and Tarkin as they nosed around.

The Reticent was the only ship to have been sequestered following the catastrophe at the edge of Obroa-skai space. The rest that had fallen victim to the faulty interdiction field had been checked out and allowed to go on their way, which for most of them meant directly to the system’s namesake planet for repairs, after collisions with escape pods and debris from the wrecked Mon Cal star cruiser. That ship and the Detainer had also been towed to Obroa-skai, with the death toll from the crash estimated at eleven hundred beings. The state-of-the-art Immobilizer whose fail-safes had malfunctioned had been returned to Corellian Engineering for reassessment. Legitimate holovids of the events had flooded the HoloNet, most of them cammed by passengers aboard the luxury liner, and by media teams who had received word from unidentified sources of an Imperial operation taking place at the periphery of the star system. As for Carrion Spike, she had yet to turn up in any system. By the time the task force’s fastest frigate had reached Thustra, Tarkin’s rogue ship had already jumped to unknown space.

Crest was reading from a datapad.

“The ship’s identification signature doesn’t appear to have been altered. It hasn’t even changed names in decades. The crew acquired it three years back from a dealer on Lantillies. The itinerary we sliced from the navicomputer corroborates the captain’s story. They jumped from Taris to Thustra to pick up replacement parts for a fleet of Sephi flyers that were sold in bulk at the end of the war to an Obroa-skai emergency medevac center.”

“How was the pickup and delivery arranged?” Tarkin asked.

“Through a broker on Lantillies – maybe the same dealer in pre-owned ships. He gets a line on what’s needed when and where and dispatches crews to make the transfers.”

“The Reticent’s crew are freelance operators?”

Crest nodded. “They describe themselves as itinerant merchants.”

“Where were they bound after Obroa-skai?” Vader wanted to know.

“Taanab,” Crest said, “to buy foodstuffs. Parties at Thustra, Obroa-skai, and Taanab have substantiated all this.”

“And the communications board?” Tarkin asked.

Crest turned to him. “It isn’t set up to record incoming or outgoing transmissions, but the log checks out, at least in terms of supporting the captain’s claims about who contacted them and where the freighter was at the time.”

Vader scanned the hold, as if in search of something unspecified. “How long did they spend at Thustra?”

“Three hours, Lord Vader.”

Vader glanced at Tarkin. “What, I wonder, was their rush?”

Tarkin considered it. “Apparently the goods – the flyer replacement parts – were already crated and waiting for them. The medcenter on Obroa-skai had requested that they expedite the delivery.” He fell briefly silent. “The Reticent’s hyperdrive is vastly inferior to that of the Carrion Spike. No better than a Class Five, I would imagine. That means that even though they arrived in the Obroa-skai system at almost precisely the moment we were expecting the Carrion Spike, the Reticent had to have gone to hyperspace much sooner than the Carrion Spike would have. The timing could owe to nothing more than coincidence, but one question to ask is just what the dissidents were doing in the Thustra system for so many hours.”

Vader had swung abruptly to Tarkin on the word coincidence, and now the Dark Lord was in motion, pushing crates aside as he stormed about – without actually touching any of them.

“This ship rendezvoused with the Carrion Spike. I’m certain of it.”

Tarkin threw Crest a questioning look.

“If so, Lord Vader,” the stormtrooper said, “there’s no evidence of the ships linking up. No evidence in the comm board showing intership communication, and no evidence in the docking ring’s air lock memory showing that the Reticent was umbilicaled to another ship.”

Vader took a moment to reply, and when he did it was to pose a question to Tarkin. “Why would the dissidents elect to send us a ship, in any case?”

Tarkin smiled faintly, aware that the question was rhetorical. “To throw us off the scent, if I recall your phrase correctly. To give us plenty to deal with while they’re busy making plans to strike elsewhere.”

Vader turned and proceeded to the cargo hold ramp. “Let us see what the captain of this scrap heap has to say for himself.”

“You are not an itinerant merchant, Captain,” Vader said, gesticulating with his right hand. “You are in league with a group of dissidents intent on destroying military installations as a means of undermining the sovereignty of the Empire.”

A Koorivar with a long cranial horn, the Reticent’s naked and shackled captain was suspended a meter overhead, captive of a containment field produced by a device whose prototype had been manufactured on Geonosis long before the war. As far as Tarkin knew, the Executrix was the only capital ship in the Imperial fleet to have such an appliance, which created and maintained the field by means of disk-like generators bolted to the deck and to the ceiling directly above. The detention center’s version of prisoner interdiction, the field required that the detainee wear magnetic cuffs that not only anchored him in place but also monitored life signs: Too powerful a field could stop a being’s heart or cause irreversible brain damage. As well – and as if the field itself weren’t enough – the cuffs could be used as torture devices, capable of unleashing powerful electrical charges. Vader, however, had no need to utilize the cuffs. His dark powers had the captain writhing in pain.

“Lord Vader,” Tarkin said, “we should at least give him an opportunity to respond.”

Reluctantly, Vader lowered his hand, and the Koorivar’s ridged facial features relaxed in cautious relief. “I’m a merchant and nothing more,” he managed to say. “Torture me as you must, but it won’t change the fact that we came to Obroa-skai on business.”

“The business of conspiracy,” Vader said. “The business of sabotage.”

The Koorivar shook his head weakly. “The business of buying and selling. That is what we do, and only what we do.” He paused. “Not all of us were Separatists.”

Tarkin smiled to himself. It was true: Not all Koorivar population centers and worlds had thrown in with Dooku. Nor had all Sy Myrthians, a pair of which made up the rest of the crew.

But why would the captain say that?

“Why do you make a point of stating that fact, Captain?” he asked.

The Koorivar’s bleary eyes found him. “The Empire demands retribution for the war, and so it lumps the innocent with the guilty and holds all of us responsible.”

“Responsible for what, Captain? Do you believe that the Separatists were wrong to secede from the Republic?”

“I move about to keep from having to decide who is right and who is wrong.”

“A being without a homeworld,” Tarkin said. “As your species was once without a planet.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“You’re lying,” Vader countered. “Admit that you swore allegiance to the Separatist Alliance, and that you and your current allies are the ones seeking retribution.”

The Koorivar squeezed his eyes closed, anticipating pain Vader opted not to deliver.

“Tell me about the broker who provides you with leads,” Tarkin said.

“Knotts. A human who works out of Lantillies. Contact him. He’ll verify everything I’ve been telling you.”

“He helped you procure the Reticent?”

“He loaned us the credits, yes.”

“And you’ve been in his employ for three years.”

“Not in his employ. We’re freelance. He provides jobs to several crews, and we accept jobs from several brokers.”

“How did you originally find your way to a human broker on Lantillies?”

“An advert of some sort. I don’t recall precisely.”

“This time he instructed you to travel from Taris to Thustra?”

“Yes.”

“A rush job,” Tarkin surmised.

“The medcenter relies on its Sephi flyers for medical evacuations.”

“So, in and out,” Tarkin said. “No interaction with anyone other than the provider.”

“No interaction. Exactly as you say.”

“And no ship-to-ship interaction.”

“There was no need. The supplies were groundside on Thustra.”

Tarkin circled the Koorivar. “In your recent travels, have you seen holovids of attacks launched against Imperial facilities?”

“We try to ignore the media.”

“Clueless, as well as homeless,” Tarkin said, “is that it?”

The captain sneered at him. “Guilty as charged.”

Tarkin traded glances with Vader. “An interesting turn of phrase, Captain,” Tarkin said.

Vader loosed a sound that approximated a growl. “We’re not in some Coruscant courtroom, Governor. Questions of this sort are useless.”

“You’d prefer to break him with pain.”

“If need be. Unless, of course, you object.”

Vader’s menacing tone rolled off Tarkin. “I suspect that our captain will go insane long before he breaks. But I also agree that we’re wasting our time. The longer we spend here, the greater the chance that the Carrion Spike will elude us entirely.” He watched the Koorivar peripherally as he said it.

Vader looked directly at the captain. “Yes, this one is stronger than he looks, and he is not innocent. I want more time with him. For all we know the dissidents abandoned your ship at Thustra and transferred to the YT freighter. He may be one of them.”

“Then someone else must have the Carrion Spike, as there was no sign of her there.” Tarkin glanced at the captain a final time and forced an exhalation. “I’ll leave you to your work, Lord Vader.”