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.
“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.”