James Luceno - Tarkin

“Then get down here.” He commed the cockpit. “Salikk, navigate to the jump point, but hold there until I give you the word. We’ve got something to take care of before we go to hyperspace.”

“Understood,” Salikk said.

“Oh, and one more thing: Destroy Galidraan’s hyperspace buoy on the way out. We don’t want anyone following us this time.”

Vader stood unmoving at the Predator ’s forward viewports, the scarlet light of emergency illuminators reflecting off his helmet, the black orbs of his helmet mask seemingly fixed on the escaping Carrion Spike .

“Galidraan Station is dispatching a shuttle and readying their fastest corvette for pursuit,” Tarkin said from the copilot’s chair. “Sergeant Crest reports three dead.”

“Your ship is still in the system,” Vader said slowly. Then, turning his head, he barked, “Squadron Commander, are you hearing me?”

A warbling voice drifted from the cockpit nunciator. “Loud and clear, Lord Vader. Awaiting your orders.”

“Commander, direct your starfighter squadron toward the bright side of Galidraan Four’s outermost moon.”

“My scanners aren’t showing anything in that vicinity, Lord Vader.”

“I will supply all the targeting data you need, Commander.”

“Affirmative, Lord Vader. We’re keeping the battle and tactical nets open.”

Tarkin pressed the padded speaker of a comm headset to his left ear. “Station navicomputers are calculating all possible egress points.”

Vader clasped his hands behind his back. “The Perlemian Trade Route is a short jump from this system.”

“Escape is not their intention,” Tarkin said.

Vader turned away from the viewport to look at him.

“If escape were their plan,” Tarkin said, “they would have already done so.” He cleared his throat meaningfully. “No. They have something else in mind. Perhaps to strike at another target.” Once more he pressed the headpiece speaker to his ear, then toggled a switch that routed the audio feed to the enunciator.

“—calculations are ready, Governor Tarkin,” a deep voice announced. “We’re transmitting them to the shuttle, so that you and Lord Vader will have immediate access to them.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Tarkin said into the headset mike. “In the meantime, I want a list of local systems that host Imperial resources.”

“I can provide that information now, Governor. We have a large garrison in the Felucia system. Rhen Var has a small dirtside outpost. Nam Chorios has both a mining colony and a small Imperial prison facility. We have additional outposts at Trogan and Jomark. And of course, the naval base and R/M Facility Four deepdock at Belderone.”

“What do we have parked at R/M, Colonel?”

“Several CR-ninety corvettes, two Carrack -class light cruisers, a couple of Victories, and a Venator -class destroyer — the Liberator .”

“Stand by, Colonel.” Tarkin muted the audio feed and swiveled toward Vader. “Are you reasonably certain that our particle beams wounded them?”

Vader nodded.

“If the hyperdrive is damaged, they might opt to lie low to effect repairs,” Tarkin said.

Vader nodded again. “Or go in search of replacement parts.”

“And if they’re not wounded?”

“Continue their mission,” Vader said with finality.

Tarkin fell silent for a long moment. Never having had an opportunity to put the Carrion Spike through her paces, the recent engagement had left him with an even more profound appreciation for the ship. “Why didn’t they kill us when they had the chance? Could it be they believe they were being pursued by the Sugi crime lord?”

“No,” Vader said sharply. “They know that we are here.”

“Then perhaps they didn’t kill us because they have a rendezvous or a schedule to keep?”

“Perhaps,” Vader said.

Tarkin swiveled in place. “Belderone?”

“Too heavily fortified — even for your corvette.”

“Felucia, then — in reprisal for the way the Republic left it.”

“Of no significance.”

“Rhen Var is merely an outpost … So: Nam Chorios?”

Vader took a moment to respond. “Instruct Belderone to send the Liberator there.”

Tarkin activated the headset microphone. “Colonel, we need to contact Belderone and Coruscant,” he started to say, then cut himself off on hearing Vader growl.

“What is it?”

“Whoever they are, they are resourceful.” The Dark Lord turned slowly from the viewports. “They have jettisoned the meditation chamber.”

The voice of the starfighter squadron commander issued from the enunciator. “Lord Vader, our scanners have detected an object—”

“Commander, order your pilots to open fire along that vector — lasers and proton torpedoes if they have them.”

“Lord Vader, we have a detonation,” the commander said a moment later.

Tarkin leapt from the chair to stand alongside Vader. “Did they hit the Carrion Spike ?”

The answer was slow to arrive. “Lord Vader,” the commander said, “the enemy has taken out the system hyperspace buoy. Our sensors are also picking up wake rotation readings.”

“They have jumped to lightspeed,” Vader said.

Tarkin ran a hand over his high forehead. “Then they’ve managed to make themselves untraceable, as well as invisible.”

ITS TIERED ROOFa canopy of scanner, sensor, and communications arrays, Naval Intelligence headquarters heaved from Coruscant’s metallic crust as if thrust up by tectonic forces from the depths of the planet. Along with the Palace and the byzantine COMPNOR arcology — which housed the Imperial Security Bureau, the Ubiqtorate, and other ambiguous organizations — Naval Intelligence was the third point of the Federal District’s supreme triangle. The fact that the shielded, hardened, near-windowless complex more resembled a prison than a fortress had given rise to speculation that its sheer walls were designed as much to keep the agency’s staff of tens of thousands of military officers inside as to keep ordinary Coruscanti out.

Constructed soon after the end of the war atop monads that had once made up the Republic’s strategic center, Naval Intelligence was a nexus for gathering and analyzing transmissions that poured in from across the ecumenopolis and from all sectors of the expanding Empire. And yet its operations were not conducted in complete secrecy. During the construction phase, micro-holocams had been installed in every nook and cranny so that the actions and conversations of every staffer could be monitored at any hour of the day or night; not by the members of the Senate’s various oversight committees, however, but by the Emperor and the most trusted members of the Ruling Council. Everyone involved with Naval Intelligence knew that the cams were there and had gradually grown accustomed to their presence. While the officers and others no longer played to the spy eyes as they had early on, they went about their business well aware that at any given moment they might be on stage.

Just now the Joint Chiefs of the Empire’s military were gathered — Admiral Antonio Motti, General Cassio Tagge, Rear Admirals Ozzel, Jerjerrod, and others — along with several top officers from COMPNOR, including Director Armand Isard, ISB deputy director Harus Ison, and Colonel Wullf Yularen. Naval Intelligence was represented by Vice Admirals Rancit and Screed, who had requested the meeting.

With the bright light of late afternoon pouring through the tall windows of the Palace spire’s pinnacle room, Sidious studied their holograms from his chair, using controls in the armrest to choose from among several cams and to provide alternative vantages. The droid, 11-4D, stood by him, one of its appendages plugged into an interface socket that routed holofeeds to the summit from what had been a Jedi communications suite in the base of the spire.