“His code cylinder identified him as Commander LaSal.”
“One moment, Administrator,” Tarkin said, stepping out of cam range and turning to the nearest specialist in the command post. “Run the hologram through the roster database. If indeed there is a Commander LaSal, find out where he is currently deployed.”
“Yes, sir,” the specialist said.
Tarkin moved back into view of the holocam. “You were saying, Administrator …”
“Only that LaSal’s rank plaque insignia and command cap disk looked legitimate.”
Tarkin wasn’t surprised. With all the shipjackers had already accomplished, forging command cylinder codes and insignias must have been child’s play.
“Sir,” the specialist said from his station, “the roster shows a Commander Abel LaSal deployed aboard the Star Destroyer Sovereign, currently docked at Fondor. But the likenesses don’t match up the way they should. Shall I contact the Sovereign?”
Tarkin shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”
The words had scarcely left his mouth when a starfighter signals officer entered in a rush. “Governor Tarkin, Lord Vader requests that you join him in the bay soonest.”
Tarkin ended the duplex transmission and hurried through the hatch and across the deck to where a yellow-and-gray V-wing was powering up. The canopy was open, and a red astromech occupied a socket aft of the cockpit. Vader’s black Eta-2 warmed nearby. Catching sight of Tarkin, the Dark Lord grabbed a flight helmet and life-support chest pack and carried them to him.
“Highly recommended,” Vader said, handing over the gear.
Tarkin began to slip into the chest pack.
“It seems your calculations were correct, Governor.”
“Yes, but coming all this way had to be a stretch for them. There’s good reason to suspect that they did in fact refuel before launching from Murkhana.”
“Then someone may have warned them away from Gromas.”
“A point worth considering,” Tarkin said. “In addition, they’ve betrayed themselves in other ways. Not only are they conversant with the Carrion Spike’s instruments, they are also well acquainted with Imperial procedure. The self-styled commander looks every bit an officer, and he used code cylinders to requisition the fuel cells.” He looked up at Vader. “Some of the Empire’s own?”
“The Emperor has limited patience for puzzles, Governor. Whoever they are, we need to put an end to their game.”
The tanker orbited above hospitable Phindar. A lengthy cylinder of unshielded alloy, the enormous station’s aft bridge was elevated above a trapezoid of shielding that protected a quartet of sublight engines and a generic hyperdrive. Pressurized radioactive gas, liquid metal, and composites were housed in proprietary sections. Extravehicular droids of several varieties carried out refueling operations by installing fresh fuel cells in starships and removing and transporting spent cells to storage bins anchored along the tanker’s starboard side. The Carrion Spike was still umbilicaled to the station, its bow facing the huge tanker’s trapezoidal stern, as Teller hastened through the docking ring air lock and into the main cabin.
“Retract the transfer tube and get us out of here,” he shouted toward the command cabin.
“Trouble?” Anora asked, leaping from her chair.
Teller shook his head while he peeled the scar from his cheek and the fake implant from his left eye. “That’s the problem. Everything went way too smoothly. The Phindian didn’t question anything, didn’t even ask about the ship or the special fuel cells.”
“You said yourself we’re just another corvette out here,” Anora said.
“Not up close we’re not.” Hearing the segmented umbilical retract into the hull, Teller hurried for the command cabin, Anora right on his heels.
“Easing us away,” Salikk said from the captain’s chair.
The corvette lurched slightly as maneuvering jets separated it from the tanker. Teller moved to the forward viewports to sweep his gaze over local space.
“What are you looking for?” Artoz asked from one of the other chairs.
“I won’t know till I see it,” Teller started to say when Cala cut him off.
“Ship reverting Rimward!” He paused to study the sensors. “Imperial escort carrier. On screen.”
Teller, Anora, Hask, and Artoz crowded behind Cala’s chair as an image resolved of a boxy vessel with a curved upper hull and a flat ventral one. Aft, the hull extended over the carrier’s engines.
“Transponder signature identifies it as the Goliath,” Cala continued. “Capable of carrying a wing of starfighters. Armed with ten Taim and Bak H-eights and a Krupx missile delivery system. Not much in the way of shields—”
“I’m not interested in testing its mettle,” Teller said.
“It could be here simply to refuel,” Artoz said, sounding unconvinced.
Abruptly, the escort vanished from the screen.
“Where’d it go?” Anora asked.
And just as abruptly the escort reappeared — now visible through the forward viewports.
“Microjump!” Cala said. “And deploying starfighters!”
Teller watched as starfighters dropped from the escort’s deployment chute. “V-wings, led by an Eta-Two Actis.”
“Bets on who’s piloting the black one?” Hask said.
Anora was shaking her head in dismay. “How did they know?”
Teller’s dark eyes were wide with surprise. “Tarkin may have figured if he could scare us away from Gromas by sending ships, we’d come to Phindar.”
“Or he hedged his bet,” Artoz said. “Capital ships at Gromas, he and Vader here.”
Teller shook himself alert. “Doesn’t much matter now.” He turned to Cala. “How much time do we have?”
“A quarter hour,” the Koorivar told him.
“Marking that,” Artoz said.
“How far to the nearest jump point?”
Salikk swung to the navicomputer. “We need to get out of the way of Phindar and the principal moon.”
“Then you’ve got some fancy flying to do first,” Teller said. “Keep us as close to the tanker as possible and protect the hyperdrive generator at all costs. A couple of errant beams and everything’s toast.”
“Don’t we know it,” Cala said.
Salikk laughed shortly and madly. “If you think that’ll keep Vader and Tarkin from firing, you’re your own worst enemies.”
Teller ignored the remark and looked at Anora. “Get your cams ready.”
“Stay on my left wing,” Vader told Tarkin over the tactical net as they fairly fell out of the escort, five additional pairs of V-wings at their backs.
The mammoth cylindrical tanker was straight ahead of them, profiled against the planet and with the Carrion Spike just beginning to drop beneath it, the shipjackers intent on putting the tanker between themselves and the approaching starfighters. With the corvette all but wedded bow-to-stern to the tanker, there was little point in enabling the ship’s stealth system.
Schematics of the Carrion Spike’s airframe and hyperdrive generator had been uploaded into the targeting computer of each starfighter and astromech, as well as into the fire-control systems of the Goliath, a precise strike from whose larger guns could be enough to immobilize the corvette.
The squadron pilots reported in by call signs — Yellows Three through Twelve — as they formed up on Vader’s black starfighter and accelerated toward the tanker.
“Our goal is to force the corvette to lower its deflector shields before we return fire,” Tarkin said through his helmet headset. “Once we’ve done so, our priority will be to target the hyperdrive generator, which is aft of the main guns along the corvette’s spine.”