Tarkin nodded. “They may be working in tandem with a scout ship. Or perhaps with the warship observed at Sentinel Base.”
“Or receiving help from the same insiders who provided them with confiscated equipment.” Vader paused. “The Emperor wishes to make an example of them, Governor. But he demands that we reel all of them in, not simply those who pirated your ship.”
“And so we shall, if my calculations are correct.”
Again, Vader waited.
Tarkin prized his datapad from the pocket of his tunic and tasked it to interface with the holoprojector table. A rotund star map resolved in midair, which Tarkin manipulated from the datapad. The Carrion Spike’s movements were indicated by a zigzagging red line, annotated by measurements and calculations.
“Fuel consumption,” Vader said after a moment.
“I should have known you’d be ahead of me.”
“I am not unfamiliar with the method, Governor.”
Vader didn’t offer an explanation, so Tarkin went on, using his forefinger to highlight his statements.
“The ship was fully fueled when it left Sentinel Base. We didn’t bother refueling on Coruscant for the jump to Murkhana, as there was more than an ample supply for the round trip. From Murkhana, however, the ship jumped first to Fial, then to Galidraan, and then to Lucazec. We have no way of assessing let alone knowing where the corvette is at present — whether it is in hyperspace or parked in some local star system — but either way its fuel is in short supply. And unless the shipjackers have completed their mission — a supposition I find highly unlikely — fuel has to be their next priority.”
Tarkin made adjustments to the star map, magnifying an area of the local sector. “Fuel requirements for the Carrion Spike are not ordinary, and replenishment sites out here are few and far between. In fact, calculations suggest only two options: here”—Tarkin pointed—“at Gromas, in the Perkell sector, or here, at Phindar, in the Mandalore sector.”
Vader circled the star map twice before coming to a halt and looking at Tarkin. “As it happens, Governor, I am acquainted with both worlds.”
Now Tarkin waited, but once more the Dark Lord offered no explanation.
“Like Lucazec,” Tarkin continued, “Gromas supports a mining operation — for phrik, I believe—”
“Yes,” Vader said.
“The Empire has a depot there that includes a full range of fuel options. Phindar, by contrast, was attacked by Separatists during the war, and hosts what is little more than a large tanker in fixed orbit. The property of a criminal cartel some twenty years ago, it is now operated by subcontractors as a fuel and service facility for Imperial starships.”
“Two options,” Vader said, “Gromas presenting more difficulties.”
“The shipjackers chose Lucazec over Nam Chorios or even Belderone, and they transmitted their attack live over the HoloNet. If, then, their plan is to spread both destruction and propaganda—”
“Gromas would be the expected choice, if only because of its relative importance.”
Tarkin nodded slowly. “It’s certainly the target we should provide to the intelligence agencies.”
Vader nodded slowly, in full understanding of Tarkin’s implication. “I’ll inform the Emperor.”
“The Carrion Spike may already be in motion,” Tarkin said, squaring his shoulders.
As if in echo of Tarkin’s posture of readiness, Vader planted his fists on his hips. “Then we have no time to spare.”
Negative capability
THE CARRION SPIKE DRIFTED above a lifeless, volcanic planet in a star system designated by number rather than by name. The crew was already assembled in the conference cabin when Teller entered, wearing the uniform of an Imperial commander.
“Turn around so we can get the full effect,” Anora said from one of the chairs that surrounded the cabin’s circular table.
“Doesn’t fit you like it used to,” Cala said.
Teller stared down at himself in disappointment. “Poverty will do that to a being.” He raised his head to speak to all of them. “But I’ve got good news—”
“Good news from a human dressed as an Imperial,” Salikk interrupted, fingering the tuft of fur on his cheek. “That has to be a first.”
“What did our ally have to say?” Dr. Artoz asked.
“A task force has jumped for Gromas.”
Artoz’s side-facing eyes grew vivid with interest. “Confirmed?”
Teller nodded once. “From multiple sources.”
“Then you were right about Tarkin,” Hask said.
Teller hitched up his trousers and straddled a chair. “When he was with Outland in the Greater Seswenna, they used to track pirates by calculating fuel consumption. Outland would track them to a fuel depot and swoop in. The Jedi did the same. You just have to know how much fuel a ship started out with and you have to be reasonably certain of its itinerary. Doesn’t always work, but when it does, it works like a charm.” He glanced at Cala. “You glad now about taking the extra time on Murkhana?”
The Koorivar wrinkled his face but nodded.
“Even with Imperials jumping for Gromas,” Hask said, “every depot between here and Centares has got to be on the lookout for this ship.”
Teller compressed his lips. “I never promised a sure thing. The altered transponder signature worked at Lucazec, and there’s no reason to think it won’t work again. To most Imperial installations, we’re just another corvette running low on fuel. But that doesn’t mean something can’t go wrong. If that happens, we have enough fuel to jump at the first sign of trouble.”
“To where, and then what?” Salikk said.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Teller told everyone. “For now, we follow the plan.”
Hask was shaking her head, her slanted eyes narrowed. “We should have stashed fuel somewhere. Refueled ourselves.”
Teller scowled at the Zygerrian. “We broke the bank getting that shipment to Murkhana.” He gestured to himself. “Like I said, poverty wreaks havoc with a diet.”
Hask looked away from him, a frown contorting her angular features, so Teller turned to Anora. “Good job with the holovid. It’s getting attention all over.”
She shrugged. “Just doing my job, Teller. Same as ever.”
Teller grew serious as he swung to Cala. “Speaking of jobs …”
“Done,” the Koorivar said. “Although I had to spend extra time in decontamination.”
“I thought your complexion looked ruddier than usual.”
“No joke, Teller,” Cala said. “That stint could cost me a couple of years.”
“If it’s any consolation, there’ll be a higher cost to the Imperials.”
“That part doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” Hask said with a sneer. “The indiscriminate killing, I mean.”
Teller frowned. “Indiscriminate? What, because not all of them are soldiers? This is where you draw the line?”
“People have to work, Teller,” the Zygerrian said.
“Don’t kid yourself, Hask. These aren’t civilian targets. They’re Imperial installations staffed by people who have bought into the Emperor’s sick vision of the future — for you, your queen, me, and everyone between here and the Unknown Regions. You’ve seen the recruitment posters: Serve the Empire and be a better being for it! That doesn’t turn your stomach? Anyone who willingly serves is a traitor to life, Hask. And don’t tell me they don’t know what they’re signing up for, because it’s as clear as those posters on the wall. It’s enslavement, suppression, military might the likes of which none of us has ever seen.” He worked his jaw. “I won’t go peacefully into that future, and neither should you. Hell, why are you even with us if you haven’t thought this through by now?”