“Ah, the infamous Lantillies broker himself,” Tarkin said. “Nice of you to attend, Knotts.”
The broker, too, stared straight ahead and offered no reply.
Tarkin took a few more steps, stopping to look up into the face of a Mon Cal. “Dr. Artoz, perhaps?” He stepped back from the line to address everyone. “But where is Teller?” When the silence had gone on long enough, he said: “Left for dead in some other module? A starfighter casualty?” He paused, then, with an eyebrow arched, added: “Escaped?”
He gave them another long moment.
“Tell me, was it our late vice admiral Rancit who reached out to you, or did you approach him?” Tarkin glanced at Knotts. “Come now, Knotts, both you and Teller answered to him during the war, did you not? Apparently your betrayal took him by surprise, spoiling the betrayal he planned for you.” Again he waited. “Nothing to say? No last moment cheers of solidarity? No verbal abuse for the Empire or for the Emperor himself?”
“You’ll fall from your perch soon enough, Tarkin,” Anora Fair said, skewering him with an abrupt glare. “And it won’t be a soft landing.”
He grinned without showing his teeth. “And here I was expecting an apology for the condition in which you left my ship.”
She managed to contort her shackled hands into an obscene gesture before one of the stormtroopers slammed her in the back of the head with his blaster rifle.
“So much venom from such a lovely mouth,” Tarkin said. He took a backward step to scan the prisoners once more. “Anyone else, or shall I simply assume that she spoke for the lot of you?” When no one replied, he shrugged. “Well, never mind. I’m confident that once on Coruscant we can find ways to loosen all your tongues.”
Red, in tooth and claw
THE EMPEROR, Vader, and Tarkin — the Empire’s newly formed dark triumvirate — met in private in the pinnacle chamber of the spire. The Emperor was in his customary chair, with Tarkin seated opposite him across the table. Vader remained standing, as he usually did when in the presence of his Master. Three weeks had passed since the attack on the convoy, most of which Tarkin had devoted to interrogating the captured conspirators and collaborators, with some assistance from Vader and ISB specialists. None had died during the process, though all had since been executed in secret. The ISB had advocated for making a public spectacle of their deaths, but the Emperor had ultimately rejected the idea, if only to deny the dissidents martyrdom. The details of Rancit’s death, too, became a closely guarded secret, even among his peers in the intelligence community. But most got the message: No rank or position was a guarantee of privilege or exemption.
Everyone was expendable.
“It’s clear that he felt passed over,” Tarkin was explaining to the Emperor. “First he was forced to disappoint his former operatives on Antar Four due to a squabble between Military Intelligence and the ISB, and then he lost command of Sentinel Base, which he perceived as a demotion for having objected to the actions the Empire took on the Gotal moon.”
“So the plot began with him,” the Emperor said.
Tarkin nodded. “In a sense. He was informed through back channels of the conspirators’ attempts to procure proscribed armaments, confiscated Separatist matériel, and communications jammers. When he learned, however, that the prospective buyers were former Republic intelligence operatives, he facilitated their access to Imperial depots and armories.”
“The warehouse workers and salvagers who supplied the conspirators have been dealt with,” Vader pointed out, “including several scientists at Desolation Station who violated the terms of their security oaths.”
Tarkin waited for Vader to finish. “We’ve also determined that the warship was assembled at shipyards in the Bajic sector, jointly owned and operated by the Tenloss Syndicate and lower-level members of the Crymorah syndicate. Along with those, our operatives discovered two clandestine facilities located elsewhere in the Outer Rim, both of them long abandoned. We did, however, succeed in tracing the whereabouts of some of those involved, and they have since been eliminated.”
“Good,” the Emperor said. “Let that be a lesson to all of them”—he narrowed his eyes at Tarkin—“including the one who apparently got away.”
“The Headhunter was found on Christophsis,” Tarkin said, more defensively than he had planned.
“You are certain the starfighter belonged to Teller?” Vader asked.
“His genetic fingerprints were all over it,” Tarkin said.
“An intelligence officer of Teller’s skill would know better than to leave his ship to be found, much less his fingerprints.” Vader paused, then added: “He left us his calling card.”
“He’s gone to ground,” Tarkin said.
Vader regarded him. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
Tarkin took a breath and blew it out. “I don’t suppose I do.” He paused. “Finally there is the matter of funding for the warship, droids, and other matériel. Evidence points to the fact that Rancit played a role in diverting funds allocated to Naval Intelligence’s black budget, but the investigation is ongoing. Others may have been involved.”
The Emperor gestured in impatience. “Was it Rancit who brought these malcontents together?”
“No, he wasn’t responsible for assembling the cell,” Tarkin said. “The idea appears to have originated with Knotts or Teller, or perhaps they were in league with each other from the start. But Rancit may have contributed the names of people known to be on ISB’s watch lists for acts of sedition or sabotage. That may explain how the Mon Cal engineer came to be part of the cell, though it’s possible that Artoz was enlisted while Teller was head of security at Desolation Station. The Mon Cal’s involvement certainly explains their familiarity with the Carrion Spike, as well as with the convoy route.”
“But not the battle station,” the Emperor said.
“No, my lord,” Tarkin said. “Many are aware that an Imperial construction project is in progress at Geonosis, but the mobile battle station is not in jeopardy.”
The Emperor steepled his fingers and fell silent for a long moment. “I will give the matter consideration.”
“Of course, my lord,” Tarkin said. “For Rancit the plan entailed nothing more than allowing the conspirators to attack a few Imperial facilities. He promised them Carida, but he never had any intention of allowing them to fire on the Imperial academy. In fact, he attempted to betray them earlier by incapacitating the Carrion Spike at Nouane, but the dissidents managed to escape.”
“What case did the dissidents make for attacking the academy?”
“That an attack would send a message to potential enlistees,” Tarkin said. “But of course their principal target all along was the convoy. They were counting on the fact that Rancit would go to great lengths to assure that his subterfuge was beyond suspicion, as was his wont during the Clone Wars. Thus, the starship allocations and redeployments. We suspect that the conspirators had a short list of secondary targets, as well, and were monitoring Rancit’s ship dispositions. When he inadvertently fulfilled their hope that the battle station convoy would be left relatively unprotected, their decision was made.”
The Emperor’s furtive smile gave Tarkin pause. Had he actually seen through Rancit’s and the dissidents’ schemes from the beginning? Had the events of the past few weeks been less about unmasking a cell of traitors than testing Tarkin’s ability to foil the plot and to work effectively with Vader?
“Along with planning to betray two of the men he worked most closely with during the Clone Wars,” Tarkin went on, “Rancit outwitted the Naval Intelligence’s security cams, and also managed to dupe both Deputy Director Ison and Vice Admiral Screed.”