The Emperor steepled his fingers. “My instructions to Lord Vader and Moff Tarkin were to make an example of the shipjackers, not to allow the shipjackers to make a laughingstock of the Empire’s intelligence chiefs.” Turning his hooded gaze on Rancit, he made a beckoning motion with the fingers of his right hand. “Enlighten us as to what you would have us do, Vice Admiral.”
Rancit cleared his throat before beginning. “My lord, rather than engage the dissidents at the present location — which Governor Tarkin has yet to make known to us — he proposes waiting for them to plot a course to their next target and ensnaring them there.”
In fact Vader and Tarkin had made the location known, but the Emperor kept that to himself. Instead he said: “Given that they have successfully escaped each such attempt, just how do you propose to ensnare them?”
“By utilizing Interdictor cruisers, my lord — precisely placed to yank the Carrion Spike from hyperspace short of its destination system and reversion point. Governor Tarkin assures us that any jump from the dissidents’ current location will require at least two reversions to reach potential Imperial targets. Thus, Interdictors can be positioned in advance of the Carrion Spike’s arrival.”
The Emperor looked down at Kren Blista-Vanee.
“The requested Interdictors are being developed as part of the Deep Core Security Zone, my lord.” Fond of wearing flamboyant hats and frequenting the opera, Blista-Vanee was a relative newcomer to the Ruling Council, but had already proven an asset in blazing hyperspace routes into the Deep Core star systems. “I hasten to add, however, that the ships’ gravity well projectors have not been tested in scenarios of this sort.”
The Emperor mulled it over for a moment, then looked at Rancit once more. “Tell me about these ‘potential’ targets.”
“Permit me, my lord,” Rancit said, gesturing to the star map and amplifying a portion of it. “Our main concerns are Lantillies, from which we have already repositioned many of our resources. Also, the Imperial facility on Cartao, and Ice Station Beta on Anteevy. An attack on Taanab — though on the Perlemian Trade Route — would earn the dissidents more condemnation than praise, as Taanab’s agricultural projects feed billions in the Mid and Outer Rim. The same holds true for an attack on Garos, because of the university, though there is also an Imperial facility onworld.” Rancit paused. “Do you wish me to go on, my lord?”
By way of answer, the Emperor glanced at Ison.
“As I’ve said on countless occasions, my lord, the fleet is already too scattered. On the Admiralty’s counsel, the navy is now redirecting resources from as far away as Rothana and Bothawui.”
“And at the risk of repeating myself,” Rancit said, “Imperial interests must be protected.”
The Emperor spent a long moment studying Ison and Rancit, stretching out with his powers to discern alignments, configurations, some syzygy of events. Then his thoughts turned to Vader and Tarkin. He appreciated how well they were working together, but he began to wonder if they were perhaps too close to the details of the dissidents’ scheme to recognize their ultimate objective. One needed to have a safe remove, as he felt he had, gazing into the 3-D representation of the galaxy he had made his own. How Plagueis would have mocked him for allowing himself to become personally involved in such a seemingly trivial matter; but then his Master had never foreseen that his onetime apprentice would become Emperor.
With a subtle gesture he signaled Mas Amedda to join him on the podium. When the Chagrian arrived, he said: “Tell me again how the cache of communications jammers was discovered on Murkhana.”
“One of Imperial Security’s assets was tasked with investigating the find by his case officer,” Amedda said in a little more than a whisper.
The Emperor considered this. “His ISB case officer, here on Coruscant?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Emperor collapsed the steeple he had made of his fingers. “Summon them, Vizier. I suspect some benefit will accrue from my speaking personally with both.”
Zero defects
WEAPONS RECHARGED, the interior made as shipshape as possible, the Carrion Spike waited for instructions regarding when to launch and where to jump. From the copilot’s chair Teller, back in boots and cargo pants, watched Salikk run through a preflight check of the instruments and systems. When the Gotal’s hand reached the navicomputer, however, it hovered in hesitation.
“Problem?” Teller asked.
Salikk kept his eyes trained on one of the status displays. “It’s probably nothing, but …”
Teller sat bolt-upright in the chair’s webbing. “It’s probably nothing, but I’ve had this pain in my side … It’s probably nothing, but my girlfriend’s been acting distant lately …” He gave his head an aggravated shake. “Whenever I hear that phrase—”
“It’s the fuel capacity,” Salikk cut in. “Factoring in the cells we took on at Phindar, something doesn’t add up.”
“That Phindian cheated us!” Teller exclaimed. “No wonder he was being so nonchalant.”
Salikk’s twin-horned head was shaking back and forth. “That’s not it.”
Teller leaned toward the console. “Maybe you didn’t notice we weren’t full up when we separated from the tanker.”
The Gotal’s head continued to shake. “I checked — at least I think I did. But even if I overlooked a detail, the discrepancy doesn’t make sense.”
“We had to override that tractor beam—”
“No.”
Teller looked at Artoz, who was sitting quietly in the comm officer’s chair, watching both of them. “Any ideas?”
The Mon Cal thought for a moment, tapping his webbed hand on the console. “The hyperdrive motivator may be addled. We could try recalibrating the synchronization relays.”
Salikk forced an exhale. “It’s probably nothing.” His hand was reaching for the navicomputer controls again when Teller told him to hold off, and then shouted through the ruined hatch for Cala, who was in the conference cabin.
“You’ve gotta put the hazmat suit back on,” Teller said as the Koorivar entered from the afterdeck.
Cala stared at him. “You’re trying to overdose me on rads, is that it? You’ve decided I’m expendable.”
“Calm down,” Teller said, gesturing. “I just need you to go into the fuel bay and run tests on the fuel cells we took on at Phindar. You’ll know them because they’re Wiborg Jenssens, marked with the tanker’s logo — a kind of triple S.”
Cala’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“With any luck, nothing more than an empty or faulty cell,” Artoz said.
Cala scowled. “That Phindian cheated us!”
“Let’s hope so,” Teller said, freeing himself from the chair’s safety webbing and getting to his feet. “Come on, I’ll help suit you up.”
Frozen hatches and malfunctioning air locks forced them to follow a circuitous route to the fuel hold. Once sealed into the hooded, face-shielded hazmat suit, Cala disappeared through the air lock and Teller returned to the command cabin, where he found Anora seated in the copilot’s chair.
“What’s going on?” she asked, her words more a demand than a question.
“It’s probably nothing,” he started to say, then stopped himself. Enabling the intraship comlink, he said: “Cala, you inside?”
“I’m checking them now. Power-level indicators look good.”
Teller had turned toward Anora when Cala added: “Wait. The sensor found one. The cell is reading empty.”
“One of the Phindian’s?”
“It has the logo.”
“Can you remove it?”