If it was Tarkin’s aim to confound and confuse, he had done so brilliantly. The V-wing fighters were creating such chaos, it was impossible to predict what Tarkin would do next. And where a more cautious commander might have steered a course around the chaos, Tarkin was taking the massive ship right into the middle of it, placing not only himself but his own pilots and everyone else in peril.
Teller had made repeated attempts to raise Salikk and the others on the battle net without success. Abruptly, the interference abated, and Salikk’s face resolved in flickering fashion on the cockpit display screen.
Teller got right to the point. “Get clear and jump the ship to hyperspace while there’s still time,” he told the Gotal.
“Back to you, Teller,” Salikk said through a pall of smoke drifting over the warship’s bridge.
“Get clear of that Star Destroyer!”
Salikk shook his head. “We’re already committed.”
“You’d have a better chance flying into a supernova!”
Anora leaned into cam range from behind the captain’s chair. “Teller, haven’t you ever seen a holodrama? You’re the one who’s supposed to live to fight that other day.”
Teller grimaced for the cockpit cam. “I’m not the one being dramatic. I’m the one who’s talking sense!”
“Listen to her,” Salikk said. “For my part, I’ll always be grateful for the extra years you gave me after Antar.”
Teller’s nostrils flared. “You dumb, flat-faced space jockey!”
Salikk ignored the insult. “I’m transmitting jump coordinates to your fighter. Ease out of the fight while Tarkin is concentrating on us. The Headhunter’s hyperdrive will do the rest.”
Anora nodded soberly. “Looks like we’re destined to be martyrs after all, Teller.”
“Over and out,” Salikk said before Teller could reply.
“Carrier’s shields are failing,” a tech updated.
“The carrier is modular,” Tarkin said. “If we can’t blow it to pieces we can certainly dismantle it. Order armaments to target the assembly points.”
Coherent light from the Executrix’s turbolaser batteries stratified local space, skewering the carrier like a beast set upon by lancewielding hunters. Debris streamed and corkscrewed from jagged breeches in the ship’s belly, and illumination systems began to wink out from stern to bow. Two modules blown from the main body pirouetted away from the ship and exploded. The sublight engines flared and died.
“Droid fighters are powering down,” the tech updated. “HoloNet signal-to-noise is better than fifty percent.”
“Our lasers must have found the master control computer,” the bridge officer said.
Its curved bow severed and deflector shields sparking out, the carrier continued to come apart as Tarkin and the others watched, the droid fighters twirling about like storm-tossed leaves. Quartered by the Star Destroyer’s cannons, what remained of the vessel listed to starboard and showed its belly to the vanquisher.
“Cease fire,” Tarkin said.
The order had scarcely left his mouth when the spec spoke. “Two marks reverting from hyperspace.”
For a moment Tarkin thought that he had stumbled into another trap, but then the tech said, “Star Destroyers Compliant and Enforcer from Imperial marshaling station Pii.”
“Sir, we have one Headhunter unaccounted for,” a second tech said. “Sensors indicate that it may have jumped to hyperspace.”
“We’ll find it,” Tarkin said. “In the meantime, ready a boarding party. I want the carrier crew taken alive.”
• • •
Standing alone at the summit of the Palace spire, the Emperor narrowed his eyes as he gazed out on Coruscant, spread below him like a stage set. The sky was clearing after a cleansing of the Federal District by weather control, and the skyscrapers and towering monads shone like new. The power of the dark side coursed through him like a transfusion of unsullied blood.
Out there were people who wished him dead, others who envied his station, and still others who wished merely to be close enough to him to sate themselves on the crumbs he brushed aside. The thought of it was almost enough to transform his disgust to sadness for the plight of the ordinary. But the wretched practices of the Republic endured: corruption, decadence, the lust for prestige. A penthouse in an elite building, a position that opened doors anywhere in the Core, collections of priceless art, the finest foods, the most able servants … He never had need for any of it, even when a senator, even when Supreme Chancellor, and had subscribed to luxury only to satisfy juvenile fantasies and, of course, because it was expected of him. Now he had only the dark side to answer to, and the dark side had an appetite for extravagance of a different sort.
A plot had been foiled, a distraction laid to rest. Needless energy had been expended, and resources wasted. Eventually the dark side would grant him infallible foresight, but until such time future events would remain just out of clear sight, clouded by possibilities and the unremitting swirlings of the Force. He had made himself lord of all he surveyed, but he had much to learn. Actions meant to topple him from his lofty perch wouldn’t end with the successful containment of this most recent fiasco. But he would deal with any who chose to challenge him with the same precision he had applied to exterminating the Jedi. And he would not allow himself to be sidetracked from his goal of unlocking the secrets many of the Sith Masters before him had sought: the means to harness the powers of the dark side to reshape reality itself; in effect, to fashion a universe of his own creation. Not mere immortality of the sort Plagueis had lusted after, but influence of the ultimate sort.
As his Empire swelled, bringing more and more of the outer systems into its fold, so too would his power unfurl, until every being in the galaxy was held captive in his dark embrace.
A search of the carrier’s extant module yielded thirteen dead crewmembers — humans, Koorivar, and Gotals — and twice the number of survivors, representing the same mix of humans, humanoids, and nonhumans. Tarkin stepped from one of the module’s air locks as the latter group was being herded into a thoroughly ruined cabinspace by the stormtrooper squads who had captured them. The floor was awash in fire-suppressant foam, and the air reeked of fried circuitry and melted components.
Tarkin waited for the prisoners to be shackled and formed up into two lines before conducting an inspection. He began with the inner line, stopping to regard each being before moving on. As he turned to move down the outer line, a smug smile softened his expression.
“Anora Fair,” he said, stopping in front of the only human female among the captives. “Though I see you’ve restyled your hair.” Leaning back to glance farther down the line, his eyes settled on a willowy, red-furred Zygerrian female. “And you would be Hask Taff. I trust you found the Carrion Spike to your liking?”
Neither uttered a word or altered her forward gaze — not that he would have expected them to. A sidestep brought him eye-to-eye with a rheumy-eyed middle-aged man.