He could still summon the odors of musky excretions he had been forced to smear over himself during hunts or surveillance exercises on the plateau. The rodent Jova had struck with the airspeeder one night had only been the beginning. After that had come the dizzying, often nauseating scents of sly vulpines, antlered ruminants, squat felines … But in countless situations the excretions had given them the upper hand, allowing them to kill or infiltrate as needed.
Except at the Spike. But of course that wasn’t the idea.
At Lucazec, the shipjackers hadn’t even bothered to activate the Carrion Spike’s stealth systems until they had reached their target. They were experimenting, perhaps in preparation for their next attack. Deflector shields had protected the mining facility for a time, but its fate had been sealed. The destruction and casualties the ship had left in her wake were consistent with what she had wrought at Galidraan.
When the shipjackers’ HoloNet transmission had been received by the Liberator, Tarkin had tried to convince himself that it was another counterfeit, that the holovid had been cobbled together from wartime news feeds and created images, as had been the case at Sentinel and on Murkhana. In his eagerness to prove himself correct — and to the bewilderment of some of the Liberator’s petty officers — he had practically placed himself inside the blue holofield, searching for evidence of corruption that would have identified the feed as a fake. But he found no such signs. It had taken some time to disabuse himself of the notion that the shipjackers were deliberately provoking him, and to accept that they were merely making use of the Carrion Spike’s sophisticated communications suite to call attention to their agenda, as Count Dooku had managed to do early on in the Clone Wars. And like Dooku, the shipjackers had succeeded in broadcasting the Lucazec holovid live over civilian HoloNet frequencies to thousands of Outer and Mid Rim star systems before Coruscant was able to shut down vast portions of the communications grid.
Still, the damage had been done. According to the latest reports from Naval Intelligence, the shipjackers were already attracting media attention in some of the outer systems, and certain members of the Ruling Council were worried about blowback: that disaffected factions might begin to think that the Empire was vulnerable, and that imitators would spring up, convinced that they, too, could make themselves heard far and wide.
Tarkin had also learned that the contentious debate between Imperial Security and Naval Intelligence on how best to proceed had yet to subside, especially with the Carrion Spike on the loose once more, hiding in hyperspace or lurking in some remote or unpopulated star system. It appeared, however, that Vice Admirals Rancit and Screed were currently the gears getting the most grease, as the Admiralty had been granted permission by the Emperor to deploy forces to unprotected worlds along the Perlemian Trade Route and the Hydian Way. That, in any case, was how the Goliath came to be at Nam Chorios, and apparently why the Liberator had been deemed needed at Ord Cestus.
No sooner had the support carrier arrived than Vader had had himself ferried aboard, as it had brought from Coruscant his personal starfighter.
Tarkin had been busy since he and Vader had parted company, speaking with Commander Cassel at Sentinel Base, with intelligence assets on Murkhana, and with the commanders of Imperial posts throughout the sector; and as well with Wullf Yularen — who had his hands full keeping the peace among the intelligence agencies. Tarkin had spent the past ten hours in the Liberator’s data center, poring over star maps and charts and performing complex calculations.
He needed sleep, but sleep would have to wait until after he met with Vader.
The shuttle’s wings folded upward as it lazed through a magcon field into the support escort’s main hangar. The ship’s commander and a dozen of his top officers and black-uniformed noncoms were standing eyes-front on the deck as Tarkin descended the ramp. Alongside the group stood a full company of stormtroopers, in addition to Sergeant Crest and the remaining six members of Vader’s personal detail.
“Welcome aboard, Governor Tarkin,” the commander said, stepping out of line to greet him.
“Good to see you again, Ros. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“We’ll just have to make them better.”
Tarkin smiled without amusement “Where is Lord Vader?”
“Starfighter bay. I’ll escort you.” The commander turned to dismiss the others, then gestured politely to Tarkin and set off across the deck.
It took only moments to reach the starfighter bay, where the commander left Tarkin to his business. Tarkin didn’t need to look far for Vader’s starfighter, as it was the only Eta-2 among a squadron of V-wings. The absence of color might have struck Tarkin as a dramatic choice had black not been the Dark Lord’s preferred color. What’s more, many pilots during the war had made an effort to distinguish themselves, so why not Vader now?
Vader was standing between the weapons arms of the craft’s split prow tinkering with something, while a silver astromech droid stood by, plugged into a portable diagnostics unit. Without so much as a word of greeting from Tarkin, Vader turned and stepped out from between the forward laser cannons.
“I trust that your fighter weathered the jump from Ord Mantell in good repair,” Tarkin said.
“Not entirely, Governor, but the starfighter’s troubles do not concern me at the moment. What have you learned?”
Tarkin lifted an eyebrow. “An interesting question, Lord Vader.”
The foul humor Vader had been in since the attack at Lucazec hadn’t faded. “I am not referring to lessons, Governor. Do you have new information?”
Tarkin nodded. “Something we need to discuss in strict confidence.”
Vader turned to respond to a series of urgent twitters from the droid, then wordlessly led Tarkin to a small unoccupied situation room adjacent to the starfighter bay. The room featured a holotable and an array of communications modules.
“Our isolation is assured,” Vader said. “Now: What have you learned?”
“I believe I have discovered a way to predict where the Carrion Spike will next emerge.”
“Your prediction will need to improve greatly on our hunch at Galidraan, Governor.”
“I’ve removed some of the guesswork.”
Vader waited.
“Several things before I speak to my forecast. First, the device serial numbers we recorded on Murkhana indicate that the components were in fact part of a Separatist communications cache confiscated by the Republic during the war and warehoused in an Imperial depot until they disappeared sometime within the past three years.”
“Disappeared,” Vader said. “Like the warship modules and droids you traced from Sentinel Base.”
“Precisely. Sold, stolen, or perhaps given away.”
“All three possibilities imply the conspiracy of insiders.”
Tarkin smiled with purpose. “There’s more. The dissidents’ attack on the Galidraan wheel was especially well timed, in that a Victory-class Star Destroyer had jumped from the system not an hour before the Carrion Spike arrived.”
Vader considered it. “The dissidents knew.”