Isard's Revenge

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The woman finished typing her request and an image flashed to life above the holoprojector pad, just hanging there in the air.

  “Oh, you have been cooperative with someone, big-time cooperative.” Corran felt his guts tightening into a knot. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks as if you were going to help someone build himself a Death Star.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The briefing room felt hot and close to Wedge, even though it dwarfed the X-wing cockpit he’d ridden in on his return to Coruscant. Corran had flown on his wing in a borrowed X-wing and now stood with him at the far end of the briefing table. Mon Mothma sat stone-faced at its head, with Leia Organa Solo at her right hand and Borsk Fey’lya at her left. In the middle of the table a holoprojector displayed a schematic of a Death Star.

  The New Republic’s Chief Councilor looked through the holograph and Wedge felt energy sizzle through her pale, aquamarine eyes. “I am certain that General Cracken and your own experience have made it abundantly clear to you that what you know in this matter is highly classified. You will not speak of it outside this room, neither between yourselves nor to others.”

  Wedge nodded. “Understood.”

  “As ordered.”

  Corran’s voice carried with it the weariness that Wedge felt. The Rogues had brought Kapp Dendo’s Team One in to secure the lab, then New Republic Intelligence operatives had pounced on it, hustling off the workers and dismantling the equipment and carting it all away. In the meantime the Rogues had returned to active duty, engaging in support missions that lasted another three weeks until no Hegemony hostiles were present on Liinade III. Immediately following the planet’s conquest and reinforcement, Corran and Wedge had been recalled to Coruscant.

  Borsk Fey’lya’s claws scraped along the table’s matte black surface. “It is hard to believe that someone even as cruel as Krennel would resurrect Death Stars.”

  Leia shook her head. “Since we have not found the original shipyard that created the Death Stars, the possibility that one or more are under construction is something we can’t ignore.”

  Wedge pointed at the holograph. “You’re also wrong in calling this a Death Star. It looks like one, but this is a decidedly scaled down version. It looks to be inspired by how the Emperor used the Death Star at Endor, targeting capital ships. That was a gross underutilization of its power, but it was very effective.

  “What Krennel was creating here is a system domination weapon. It pops out of hyperspace, cranks up gravity well generators—that’s what those blisters around the center are—and all traffic in or out stops cold. The planet-splitting beam from the original Death Star has also been scaled back and multiple sites for it have been created. Those are all the dimples on the thing. With each of those beams capable of killing a Super Star Destroyer, it’s a decidedly lethal ship. It also bristles with smaller antiship weapons and can support a half-dozen TIE wings, which gives it plenty of defensive capabilities.”

  Corran folded his arms over his chest. “We’ve taken to calling it a Pulsar Station.”

  Mon Mothma calmly pressed her hands together. “Does Krennel have an operational version of the device?”

  Wedge shrugged his shoulders. “Unknown, but unlikely.”

  The Bothan Councilor’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

  Wedge raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought it would be obvious to you, Councilor. Creating a ship this size would require an incredible amount of resources. Just the durasteel alone would necessitate the mining of a planetoid and its total conversion into metal. The factories needed to turn out the finished pieces don’t exist in Krennel’s Hegemony—or, as Captain Horn would point out, we don’t know of their existence.”

  The Bothan waved a hand graciously in Corran’s direction. “Would you care to explain?”

  Corran shrugged his shoulders. “Data on some of the Hegemony worlds is thinner than the cushions on a Hutt’s reclining platform. Krennel is clamping down on information sources, so getting any data out is going to be tough. Some worlds we can eliminate as candidates: Ciutric, for example, is a well-charted and traveled system. Others, like Corvis Minor, are hardly known at all. The shipyards could be there, perhaps positioned to always be opposite the main world in orbit, so the sun blocks any sensor readings of the construction on that world.”

  Leia sat back, her brows knitted with concentration. “The only way to confirm this would be to scout the systems.”

  “That’s the quickest way.” Wedge nodded. “We can run a T-Six-Five-R through the system and have it pull all the intel it can gather.”

  Leia frowned. “The X-wing recon version has no weapons, so such a run would be risky.”

  Wedge laughed. “I wasn’t thinking of taking it in all alone, even though an accompanied ship will be easier to spot. Still, we pick the right location to come into the system, make a quick hit, and go, and we might be unnoticed.”

  “Fact is, though, we might need to be noticed.” Corran nodded toward the holograph. “The facility we found was relatively new, with the team there assembled only over the last couple of months. As nearly as we can determine they’re not part of a design team per se, but are analyzing the data being produced by the actual designers. They’re trying to look for flaws in the thing the way you did at Yavin.”

  The fur rose on the back of Borsk Fey’lya’s neck. “I fail to follow the significance of this information.”

  “Two main points really. The first is that we don’t have an exhaust port to dump proton torps into.” Corran ticked points off on his fingers. “Second, their simulated assaults are run against the Pulsar in various stages of construction. Within a year of construction starts, the hyperdrives should be operational. Two months after that, one of the big beams will work, as will shields, gravity well generators, and two of the TIE wing bays.”

  “So it can defend itself.”

  “Right, but its primary mode of defense will be to run.” Corran opened his hands. “If we can make it run, we stop construction. We can harry it until supplies run out and then take it at our leisure.”

  The Bothan Councilor drew himself up tall in his seat. “You mean to suggest that a squadron of X-wings might be enough to scare this Pulsar Station into running?”

  Wedge let mock surprise wash across his face. “Well, we are Rogue Squadron.”

  “And we were going to let Asyr lead the raid.” Corran smiled. “The fact that they’ve been discovered is going to make them jittery, especially with the New Republic fleet so close by.”

  “You overestimate the effect of your reputation, I think.”

  “Maybe, but we might be able to enhance it a bunch.”

  Mon Mothma sat forward. “What is it you are thinking, General?”

  It took Wedge a moment or two to realize she was speaking to him. “You selected Prince-Admiral Krennel as the target of our operations because we had the pretense of murder to justify what we’re doing.”

  Fey’lya snorted. “It’s more than pretense. You were there.”

  “I was, but that’s not my point. Krennel’s murder of Pestage is not clearly an evil. As you say, I was there, and I was tempted to murder him myself. The other warlords out there have seen us destroy Zsinj because he was an aggressor and attacking the New Republic. Our going after Krennel makes us the aggressor, and something as simple as this murder charge doesn’t carry with it the moral authority that defending yourself does.”

  Wedge leaned forward on the briefing table, holding himself up on his arms. “Revealing the fact that Krennel is working on a new and improved Death Star-style weapon does.”

  Fey’lya shook his head. “Impossible. We can’t let that news out.”

  Leia held a hand up. “Let Wedge finish. He has his reasons, I’m certain.”

  “I do, both political and practical. Let’s start with practical: We’re going to have troops hunting for this thing and it would be utterly immoral not to advise them of the threat they face. Moreover, it would be
stupid. If they don’t know what they’re up against, they’ll get hammered. And the fact is that no matter how good our security, once word goes out to the troops, it will spread.

  “The key thing here, however, is that this news could be very divisive and hurt Krennel a lot. Talk to anyone who ever served the Empire and came over to the Rebellion, and the Death Star resonates in their memory. It’s the embodiment of evil and, sure, lots of folks died when we blew it up, but lots more died on Alderaan and no one doubts the evil of the destruction of Alderaan. Even the most strident supporter of the Emperor—save perhaps Isard—would allow that destroying a moon could have made the point just as clearly as Alderaan’s death.”

  Leia stared at the projected Pulsar Station image. “The Emperor’s construction of a second Death Star put a lie to the claim that the first one had been Tarkin’s folly; but the Emperor’s death allowed everyone to shove the blame off onto him. His death absolved their consciences, and they believed that such a station would never appear again.”

  Wedge nodded. “Until now. And remember that Krennel has been waging a propaganda war against the New Republic, offering his Hegemony as a refuge for those we’d mistreat. If we reveal this project, folks who are inclined kindly toward him will reconsider. And the other warlords will have to wonder what this station would do to their holdings. If we make this public, we will force a lot of people to ask a lot of questions of Krennel.”

  The Bothan looked to Mon Mothma. “If we reveal this information, we could start a panic.”

  “Councilor Fey’lya has a point.”

  “Revealing the nature of the mission to those who will fight the thing will start news leaking that could start a panic. Coming from the government, this becomes a security advisory that ought to generate support for what we’re doing against Krennel.” Wedge straightened up. “It’s important that we get this Pulsar Station now, while it can’t do much more than run, and explanations about the situation should make that clear.”

  Mon Mothma nodded slowly. “This is an intriguing strategy you suggest, General Antilles. The Council shall consider it. You’ll likely be on station again in the Hegemony before you learn of our decision.”

  “I understand, Chief Councilor Mothma.” Wedge gave her a smile. “As long as the information is going to get out, I think we should make it work for us. Make Krennel’s allies and the station’s people uneasy. It might even get us the station without a shot being fired.”

  Borsk Fey’lya barked a short laugh. “Do you actually believe that, General?”

  Wedge shrugged. “No, but I hope it all the same.”

  Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel slowly extended his mechanical index finger, letting it uncurl from his fist, and pointed it at Ysanne Isard as she entered his office. “This is your doing, is it not?”

  Isard graced him with the hint of a smile. “I admire the way you keep your rage from your voice. A good skill to have.” She turned away from him and looked at the holo-projector unit in the corner of the room. “As for that, no, I had nothing to do with it.”

  Krennel shifted his finger to point at the projector, then brought his thumb up to hit one of the buttons on his index finger. The projector’s volume came up as General Cracken moved into the center of the image. He smiled briefly as the holocam pulled back to reveal a smaller holoprojector and a Death Star image behind him. Bitter bile bubbled up into the back of Krennel’s throat as Cracken began to speak.

  “One month ago, as New Republic forces liberated the world of Liinade Three, we uncovered a secret research and development base in which scientists were engaged in studies devoted to creating the next generation of weapons based on Death Star technology…”

  Isard turned back and waved her left hand dismissively at Krennel. “You may shut it off. I’ve seen it too many times in the last day. I know his boring monologue by heart.”

  Krennel’s chin came up. “Ah, you were so entranced by all this that you could not come when I summoned you after my first viewing of this message?”

  “Hardly.” She shrugged effortlessly and remained standing in the center of his office as if she owned it. “I was not on Ciutric. I traveled away from here to obtain reports from agents about this lab the New Republic says it found.”

  The Prince-Admiral heard something in her voice that sounded like a mixture of boredom and disgust. “‘Says it found’? You don’t believe the report?”

  “You do? You believe this transparent and pathetic charade?” Isard’s eyes narrowed with disbelief. “Please, Prince-Admiral, do not allow yourself to sink in my estimation. This is an obvious sham, meant to take in those who are a neuron shy of being able to form a synapse.”

  Krennel pounded his metal fist against his desk. “It’s not a matter of belief. I know I had no such lab and no such project under way.”

  She nodded, slowly crossing her arms over her chest. “I know. You could not have hidden such a thing away from me.”

  The Prince-Admiral leaned forward, his teeth set in a feral grin. “But you, Ysanne Isard, you could conceal such a base from me, couldn’t you? You could carry on such researches, couldn’t you?”

  “Indeed, Prince-Admiral, I could, but the New Republic’s analysis shows I did not. Certainly, I could have put that lab in place, moved those people in, covered the tracks so you couldn’t find them. That would be child’s play, really—indeed, such projects were my childhood amusements.” Her eyes focused distantly and she chuckled for a moment. “That’s not what you wanted to hear.”

  Krennel sat back in his chair. She was right, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was also what he expected out of her. He had assumed from the beginning she would have any number of little projects going on that he would not know about. His only control over her activities came through the resources he allotted to her. Her budgets, while not tiny, certainly were not overly generous. He expected that she supplemented what he gave her from other sources, but even doubling or tripling her funds would not allow for huge projects.

  He smiled. “Ah, I see your point. The New Republic says this base was involved in researches, which you could have financed, but the construction would be beyond your reach.” He held a hand up to forestall her protest. “Or, rather, if you had such resources, you would not have allied yourself with me.”

  Isard gave him a respectful nod. “Your Academy education does you proud. This report by the New Republic is clearly a hoax designed to provide them the moral high ground in its struggle with you. Your championing of freedom and personal choice, as well as our painting Pestage as an Imperial butcher on a scale that cried out for his elimination, had pretty well eroded support for their war against you. Their desperation shows in their use of this tactic.”

  “So there is no evidence for this lab?”

  “There is a hole in the ground where they indicate there should be one, yes. It’s gutted, with all useful material long since gone. How long it was there, none of my agents can estimate. The place has been there for a long time, but any refits were fairly recent. One agent remembers having gone fishing in that area two years ago and he saw nothing. None of your resources were used in guarding it and no traces of transactions regarding it can be found in local records.”

  “Were they sliced out?”

  Isard blinked her eyes in an uncharacteristic way that Krennel took as a sign of confusion. “It is conceivable that they were, but a completely successful codeslice job leaves exactly the same trace as no slice job at all. I suppose you could conclude the evidence on this point is inconclusive or incomplete.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “No. I think this is all a put-up job by the New Republic to get at you.” Isard began to pace. “We will have to fight this, of course.”

  “I have a more immediate concern, which is fighting the New Republic’s armed forces.”

  Isard’s features sharpened and a razor’s edge entered her voice. “Be aware of one thing and never forget it, Prince-Adm
iral: This war against you is a political war. They have forged this moral imperative to get at you because they do not have the belly to exert the force they should. Perhaps they cannot—perhaps Thrawn’s assault hurt them more than we can imagine. They are taking things gradually because slow is the only speed they can hit. Our counterassault will involve three steps that will cause them to seriously re-evaluate their chosen course.”

  “Three steps?” Krennel opened his metal hand and ran his fingers across the indentation he’d made when he pounded his fist into the desk. “And they are?”

  “First, you will issue a statement concerning this charge against you. You will be distraught and angry. Do you remember Wynt Kepporra?”

  Krennel closed his eyes for a second and saw the face of an eager young man, head shaved, blue eyes bright, in a cadet’s uniform from the Imperial Academy. “He was in my class from Prefsbelt Four. We were in the same company because our last names began with the same letter. I recall him, vaguely.”

  “Well, now he was your best friend there. He was from Alderaan—this is true—and died when the planet was destroyed. He was home on leave, visiting his family. His death hurt you terribly, so much so that you volunteered for service in the Unknown Regions. Later you reconsidered and returned to try to exert influence to make sure there would be no more Alderaans. For the New Republic to suggest you would have anything to do with a project that would re-create the weapon that destroyed your friend, well, those are tactics that are painfully Imperial in nature.”

  The Prince-Admiral pursed his lips, then nodded. “I can deliver that message.”

  “And shed a tear?”

  “I was a fighter at the Academy, not in the Thespian Union like Kepporra.”

  “No matter, we will slice in suitably altered material.” Isard turned quickly and paced back the way she had come. “The second thing we will do is release a series of files that will show that you do not have the resources in the Hegemony to build such a project. One of them, the Corvis Minor file, will have been tampered with.”