“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.