“That would explain the rigged doors …,” Tarkin said. “But it’s also possible that whoever originally found the cache made use of some of the components to engineer the false distress call transmitted to Sentinel Base.”
Vader fell silent for a long moment, then said, “I agree. Your proposal, then?”
Tarkin glanced around. “We cam everything and record and transmit to Coruscant any serial numbers or markings we find. Any suspect components should be relocated to the Carrion Spike and also returned to Coruscant for further analysis. The rest should be destroyed.”
Vader nodded in agreement.
Tarkin glanced around again and sighed with purpose. “We have our work cut out for us.”
“The stormtroopers can see to most of it,” Vader said. “There is someone I wish to speak with before we return to the Core.”
Tarkin showed him a questioning look.
“The Imperial Security Bureau asset who first reported the find.”
Fair game
AS THE GUNSHIP SPED back toward the center of the city, Tarkin, gazing on the devastation, thought: This might have been Eriadu had he not warned the planetary leadership that supporting Dooku would have meant inviting cataclysm.
Not every member of the planet’s ruling body had agreed with him, but in the end he’d gotten his way and Eriadu had remained loyal to the Republic. For Tarkin, though, the stewardship of his homeworld had come to an end. When word of his decision not to seek reelection became known, his aging and by then ailing father had summoned him to the family compound for a frank conversation.
“Politics hasn’t been enough of a battleground for you?” his father had asked from the bed to which he was confined, his body punctured by feeding tubes and shunts. The view out the large window took in nearly all of the calm bay.
“More than enough,” Tarkin said from a chair beside the bed. “But the immigration issues are solved, the economy is back on track, and our world is now thought of as a Core world in the Outer Rim.” The adjoining room of the master suite had been transformed into a kind of intensive care unit, with a bacta tank and a team of medical droids standing by in the event the elder Tarkin should desire resuscitation.
“Granted,” his father said. “That, however, does not mean that your work is done. A lot of people worked very hard to get you in office.”
“I’ve done what I set out to accomplish and paid them back in full,” Tarkin said more harshly than he intended. “Some more than they even deserve.” He fell silent for a moment, then added: “I’m exasperated by having to appease so many separate interests and fight to have laws passed and enacted. Politics is worse than a theater of war.”
His father snorted. “This from someone who has always preached the importance of law and rule by fear.”
“That hasn’t changed. But it has to be on my terms. What’s more, Eriadu’s internal problems scarcely matter in the present scheme of things. When I met last with Dooku, he made it sound as though galactic war is both inevitable and imminent.”
“And why wouldn’t he? In his determination to persuade you to throw in with his Separatists, he would make use of enticement, threats, whatever it takes.”
Tarkin thought back through his recent conversation with the count, and shook his head. “There was something else on his mind, but I couldn’t pry it from him. It was almost as if he was offering me an opportunity to join some secret fraternity of beings who are actually responsible for this mess.”
His father seemed to consider it. “What will you do, then? Wait for the Republic to instate a military and enlist?” He shook his head in disgust. “You served in Outland, you served in the Judicial Department. Enlistment would be a backward step just when Eriadu needs you most. Especially if this schism leads to war. Who will be able to keep Eriadu safe should it fall to Dooku’s forces?”
“That’s precisely the point. There’s only so much one can do with words and arguments.”
“So you’ll race to the light of the lasers. Wasn’t that what you used to exclaim as an Outland commander?” His father managed a rueful laugh. “You may as well adopt it as a personal motto.”
“Death or renown, Father. I am, after all, your son.”
“So you are,” his father said, slowly nodding his head. “Has the supreme chancellor remarked on your decision?”
Tarkin nodded. “Palpatine is in my corner, as it were.”
“I was afraid of that.” His father regarded him for a long moment. “I urge you think back to the Carrion, Wilhuff. When a pride’s territory is threatened, the dominant beast stands its ground. It doesn’t run off to enlist in a larger cause. You must think of Eriadu itself as the plateau.”
Tarkin stared out the window, and then turned to face his father. “Jova told me a story that bears on my decision. Long before you were born — long before even Jova was born — a group of developers had designs on the Carrion and all those resource-rich lands the Tarkin family had amassed. Our ancestors initially attempted to resolve the matter peacefully. They attempted to placate the developers with credits. At one point, as Jova tells it, they were even prepared to offer the developers all the lands north of the Orrineswa River clear to Mount Veermok, but their offer was rejected in the strongest terms. For the developers, it was either the entire plateau and all the surrounding territory or none at all.”
His father smiled weakly. “I know how this story ended.”
Tarkin smiled back at him. “The Tarkins understood that they weren’t going to keep their adversaries at bay by posting NO TRESPASSING signs or encircling the Carrion with plasma fences. Giving all evidence that they were prepared to capitulate, they lured the leadership of the conglomerate to the bargaining table.”
“And assassinated them to a man,” his father said.
“To a man. And that was the end of it.”
His father took a deep breath and loosed a stuttering exhale. “I understand. But you’re naïve to think that the Republic has the guts to do that with Dooku and the rest. Mark my words, this war will drag on and on until every world pays a price. And I’m glad I won’t be around to see that happen.”
The ambassador to Murkhana was waiting at the top of the ornate stairway that fronted the principal building of the Imperial compound. A tall, broad-shouldered woman, she was dressed appropriately for Murkhana, Tarkin thought, in that she was sporting stormtrooper armor.
Seemingly unable to decide whether to salute or bow as he and Vader approached, she simply spread her arms in a welcoming gesture and adopted a cynical smile. Murkhana’s acid rain and soupy air had taken a toll on her hair and complexion, but she appeared otherwise healthy.
“Welcome, Lord Vader and Governor Tarkin. I was aware that Coruscant was sending an investigative team, but I had no idea—”
“Has the operative arrived?” Vader interrupted.
She gestured to the residence with a flick of her head. “Inside. I summoned him as soon as I received your comm.”
“Show us to him.”
She spun on her boot heels and made for the reinforced front door, two stormtroopers flanking the entrance stepping aside and saluting Vader and Tarkin as they passed. The entry hall and main room of the residence were sparsely furnished, and the dry air was artificially scented. A Koorivarn male taller than Tarkin and draped in tattered robes stood silently behind a curved couch. His cranial horn was of average size for his species, but his facial ridges were marred by intersecting scars.
The ambassador gestured for Vader and Tarkin to sit, but they declined.