A holotable situated starboard and below the elevated command walkway displayed a 3-D chronometer counting down in standard time to the Carrion Spike’s estimated moment of arrival. As expected, the dissidents had jumped the ship from her original location to the remote Thustra system, and after spending several hours there had charged the navicomputer to plot a course for Obroa-skai. The ETA was based on the assumption that the Carrion Spike had gone to lightspeed at that moment or soon after, and on how quickly the corvette’s Class One hyperdrive could deliver her. An earlier-than-expected arrival would find the ship reverting to realspace deeper in system, where other Imperial warships, including the Goliath, were positioned to intercept her. A more sophisticated homing beacon would have allowed Tarkin to track the corvette through hyperspace by way of S-thread transceivers, but the stormtrooper squadron assigned to the Phindar fuel tanker had had access only to a basic device that interfaced with a ship’s navicomputer.
A specialist seated at a console in the most forward of the sunken data pits got Tarkin’s attention. “Sir, the quarry is due at T minus one hundred twenty.”
Tarkin angled the microphone of his headset closer to his mouth and opened the battle net to the task force liaison officer, who was aboard the CC-7700 frigate.
“The projectors are powering up to high gain, Governor Tarkin,” the commander said. “The field will be initiated, then disabled, in an effort to keep from dragging vessels other than the quarry from hyperspace. I should caution, however, that that may be unavoidable, given the heavy traffic in this system.”
“I understand, Commander,” Tarkin said. “Order your technicians to be judicious, nonetheless.”
“I will, sir. But the power setting of the gravity wells is dictated to some extent by the relative speed of the targeted ship, and, well, sir, to be blunt about it, there aren’t many as fast as the Carrion Spike.”
Tarkin pinched his lower lip in thought. Ideally, local systems would had been notified that Obroa-skai had been designated a no-entry zone, but naval command had opted against issuing the designation for fear of alerting the dissidents. He had other reasons for concern: chiefly the question of why the dissidents would jump to Obroa-skai, which lacked anything in the way of an Imperial target, and was known mostly for its medcenters and libraries.
“T minus thirty and counting,” the specialist in the data pit announced.
Moving to the forward end of the walkway, Tarkin fixed his gaze on the trio of Interdictors. Arms folded across his chest, he counted down in silence even while the voice of the specialist was doing the same in his right ear bead.
The countdown had just reached T minus five when Tarkin was yanked forward, nearly completely off his feet. Fearing another lurch he spread his hands wide and so was kept from being slammed headfirst into the closest viewport panel. Klaxons began to howl throughout the suddenly trembling command bridge as the giant ship groaned and lurched yet again in the direction of the distant Interdictors. Struggling to remain upright, Tarkin caught a glimpse of the middle-distance frigates and pickets being pulled forward, almost as if accelerating.
“Commander,” he shouted into the headset mouthpiece, “the field is too powerful!”
“Working on it, sir,” the commander said with equal volume. “It’s the Immobilizer. The overcurrent resistors failed to prevent the gravitic systems from redlining—”
The comlink connection broke.
Close to the Interdictors, ships began to appear where there had only been star-filled space. Tarkin turned from the forward bay and stumbled back to the data pit to study the magnified view on one of the screens. First to drop out of hyperspace was an outmoded, saucer-shaped YT-1000 freighter, followed by two angular transports and a lustrous space yacht. Then another freighter winked into visibility, followed by two passenger vessels.
Abruptly, Tarkin felt as if he’d been shoved toward the rear of the bridge. With the interdiction field neutralized, the ships that had been caught in the invisible web began to whirl out of control. Two of the ships collided and drifted out of view. The magnification screen showed the sublight engines of other ships flashing, but the ships barely had a chance to flee or correct their spins when the field re-initiated, capturing them once again. Tarkin spread his legs wide in an effort to balance himself; then his eyes went wide as well as he turned to face the viewports. Listing on its port side, an enormous ship that more resembled something grown than built decanted, broadsiding the Detainer CC-2200 before careening into a spin that left its dorsal surface impaled on the Interdictor’s sloping bow.
“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.”