by Timothy Zahn
“Ready,” the boarding master called back.
Kimmund nodded, checking the readouts for himself. The grapplers that would lock them onto the freighter’s hull were armed and ready to deploy; the hatch the Darkhawk would press itself up against had already been scanned, marked, and patterned for the sizzlers that would burn through the rim and blast it open.
“Commander?” Tephan called. “One of the Defenders is coming back.”
Kimmund looked at the display. What in the—?
“Sorry, Commander,” Skerris’s voice came again. “I’ve now been ordered to open fire on the forward starboard hatch and see if we can convince them you’re coming in there instead of the aft starboard. Hang off a second, okay?”
“Not okay,” Kimmund snapped. “Get your butt out of my combat arena.”
“Commodore’s orders,” Skerris said firmly, making no effort to alter course.
“Podiry, lock onto him,” Kimmund ordered the gunner. “Skerris, break off or I swear I’ll blow you out of the sky.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Skerris warned calmly. “Grand Admiral Thrawn wouldn’t like it if you accidentally scratched my hull. I’m guessing Rukh would have something to say about it, too.”
Kimmund frowned. Rukh? What did Rukh have to do with this?
“What the hell?” someone in the rear of the staging chamber snarled. “Hey, Commander—look what the tooka-cat dragged in.”
Kimmund stood up, craning his neck as he looked between the rows of stormtroopers waiting to make their assault. Coming up from the direction of the engine compartment were Viq and Jid—
And the damn Noghri.
“What the hell?” Kimmund demanded.
“Yeah, I just said that,” Viq bit out. “He was standing outside the engine room door, like he was waiting for someone to notice him.”
Kimmund looked back at the target freighter, which was now rotating in a likely—and futile—effort to bring another, undamaged laser cluster to bear. Tephan was looping the Darkhawk around to compensate; so was Skerris’s Defender.
“Sixty seconds, Commander,” Tephan warned.
Kimmund turned back to Rukh. He didn’t have time for this. “You two sit on him,” he ordered Viq and Jid. “He stays in here—”
“You need my help,” Rukh cut in. “The grand admiral would want me with you.”
“He stays in here,” Kimmund repeated between clenched teeth, “even if you have to shoot him.” He leveled a finger at the Noghri. “And you,” he added darkly. “If you get out I’ll have those two men shot. Think about how you’ll explain that to Lord Vader. Because I guarantee Thrawn won’t intervene on that one.”
For a few seconds Rukh just stared at him. Then he lowered his gaze to the deck. “It will be done, Commander,” he muttered.
“Good,” Kimmund said. “They’re going to babysit you anyway.”
“Thirty seconds,” Tephan called.
“Strap him in,” Kimmund ordered, sitting back down and strapping himself into his seat. Tephan was famous for not caring how hard she hit during boarding ops. The freighter loomed ahead—out of the corner of his eye Kimmund saw Skerris’s Defender raking the forward hull with laser cannon fire—Tephan made a final tweak to the Darkhawk’s trajectory—
And with a jolt that rocked Kimmund right to his teeth they were there.
The soldiers at the grappler stations were ready. The Darkhawk had barely started to bounce back off the freighter’s hull when it jerked again and came to a second, less violent stop against its target. There was a slight vibration as sealant spewed out around the Darkhawk’s oversized hatch, forming an airtight barrier between the two hulls—
“Seal good,” one of the grapplers confirmed as the stormtroopers popped their straps and readied their E-11 blaster rifles. “Opening hatch.”
The Darkhawk’s hatch slid open. Kimmund stepped to the center of the squad as it formed up, confirming that the freighter’s hatch was completely enclosed by the Darkhawk’s larger opening. That was good; if the hatch was only partly visible the stormtroopers would have to cut through a section of hull metal to get in, a much slower and trickier procedure. The grapplers were already spreading sizzler paste around the hatch’s inner rim, while a third stormtrooper attached the detonator to the section of paste already in place.
“Ten seconds,” Kimmund warned. The key to successful boarding ops was to hit hard and fast, before the enemy had time to set up a proper defense.
Eight seconds later, the sizzler paste erupted in an acrid blaze of light and a halo of sparks. Kimmund keyed his helmet’s optics down a bit, ready to turn them up again once the paste burned down.
A second later the hatch blew, the Darkhawk’s deliberately increased air pressure sending it tipping over into the freighter’s entryway. The first two stormtroopers charged through the opening, their armor brushing against the remnants of the paste, their E-11s spitting fire at the aliens crouched in the entryway and pressed against the walls of the passageway leading deeper into the ship. Two of the aliens jerked and dropped to the deck as the Imperial fire found its targets, the two stormtroopers breaking to either side of the opening to allow the next in line to join in the fight. Blasterfire stabbed through the air toward the stormtroopers and was answered in kind.
By the time Kimmund’s turn came, the initial skirmish was over. The aliens lay motionless on the deck, their weapons scattered around them.
“Engine, hold, cleanup: Go,” Kimmund ordered, glancing around. Given the unknown ship configuration, the first two squads would be running mostly on guesswork as to where exactly the engine room and cargo holds were. The cleanup squad would have an easier time: confirming enemy dead, collecting weapons and equipment for later analysis, and securing the Darkhawk and their exit point.
With the cargo hold squad behind him, Kimmund headed out.
After having to burn through eight aliens at the hatch he’d expected resistance to continue at a reasonably stiff level. To his surprise, they encountered only a single pair of aliens guarding one intersection along the way.
To his surprise, and his suspicion. Unless this species had completely missed the concept of a layered defense, they were probably shepherding their resources for something serious. He and his squad rounded a final corridor—
And there they were, eight meters away: eight more aliens, standing or kneeling around a pair of tripod-mounted heavy blasters in front of a large metal hatch. Even as Kimmund and Podiry did a quick backpedaling, the passageway erupted in a barrage of blasterfire.
“I think we found them,” Podiry offered helpfully as he and Kimmund pressed themselves against the wall. Bits of metal and ceramic spattered from the corner as the fire ricocheted from the edge. “Grenades?”
“Waste of good explosives,” Kimmund said, crouching down. “High cover.”
“Right.” Leaning out just enough into the corridor to see where he was shooting, Podiry opened up with a volley of fire into the crowd.
And as the aliens concentrated their attention and firepower on him, Kimmund leaned out and sent a three-shot into each of the heavy blasters’ power packs.
He and Podiry barely got back around the corner before the packs exploded.
Kimmund waited until the sound of the blast had faded away before peering around the corner again. The blasters were gone, their death throes having decorated the walls, ceiling, and deck with blackened shards. All eight aliens were down as well, stretched out across the deck. Three were still twitching; the others weren’t.
“Come on,” Kimmund ordered, keeping an eye on the injured as he rounded the corner and headed for the control panel beside the metal hatch. Oddly enough, it seemed to have been hardly touched by the twin explosions. There were two control buttons on it, plus a small display labeled with squiggly alien writing. Mentally flipping a coin
, Kimmund pressed one of the buttons. The hatch slid open—
The first and second stormtroopers in line went down instantly in the firestorm that erupted from the other side of the hatch. The next two Imperials dropped to one knee, opening up the field of fire for those behind them. One of the kneelers took a concentrated burst in his chest plate and toppled over. As the rest of the stormtroopers opened fire Kimmund slapped the other button, sliding the hatch closed again and cutting off the battle.
Apparently, they did understand layered defenses.
“Two E-Webs to the hold,” he snapped into his transmitter. “Troopers?”
“I saw ten in the firing line,” Morrtic said, getting awkwardly to her feet from her knee-down position. She’d taken some shots to the helmet and chest, too, but was still functional. “Two more heavy blasters, plus rifles.”
“Hold went back about forty meters,” Trooper Dorstren spoke up. “Twin lines of cylinders along the walls: five meters tall, maybe three in diameter. Another eight to ten aliens working on them.”
“Not just working,” Trooper Elebe added grimly. “I’m pretty sure they were rigging them with explosives.”
Kimmund swore under his breath. So they were trying to destroy whatever it was they were carrying. Lord Vader wouldn’t like that at all. “Can’t wait for the E-Webs,” he decided. “Assault formation.”
Ten seconds later, they were ready: three loose lines—prone, kneeling, and standing—with the stormtroopers spaced far enough apart to deny the aliens easy group shots. Readying his own E-11, Kimmund slapped the hatch control.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, then tried the other control, then went back to the first. Nothing. Apparently, the aliens had let him open the hatch the first time just so they could launch their attack. Now that the element of surprise was gone, they’d gone for a lockout.
Sergeant Drav was already on it. “Grenades at break points,” he ordered. “You, you, and you. Move it, troopers.”
“Belay that,” Kimmund said as the three troopers stepped up to the hatch. During the brief moment the hatch had been open he’d seen the thickness of the metal, the honeycomb cross-section pattern, and the slight inward curvature. “Grenades won’t breach it—they’ll just open up gunports.”
“Which we can shoot through as well as they can,” Drav countered.
“Which won’t help us save the cargo,” Kimmund shot back, trying to visualize the freighter’s architecture. If he was right…
It was worth a shot. He keyed his helmet’s long-range transmitter relay—“Skerris? You still out there?”
“Right here, Commander,” the TIE Defender pilot came back promptly. “What do you need?”
“I need you to blow out the ventral cargo hatch,” Kimmund said. “Can you do that?”
“Probably,” Skerris said hesitantly. “Lord Vader wanted the cargo intact.”
“The crew’s trying to blow it up,” Kimmund said. “I figure a little explosive decompression will discourage that.”
“Got it,” Skerris said. “Coming around now. Whoa.”
“What?”
“That second freighter’s coming back up from the surface,” Skerris said. “You want me to chase it?”
Kimmund bared his teeth. Last indications from the Chimaera had been that that second freighter was heading to the same general area where Thrawn and Lord Vader had landed. “Can you get to it before it makes the jump?” he asked.
“It’ll be close,” Skerris said. “No one else is in position—they’re still off chasing the smaller ships. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Stay here and blow the hatch,” Kimmund said, making another quick decision. Whatever that other freighter had been doing, chances were Lord Vader was already on top of it. This one, though, was Kimmund’s. “And make it snappy.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when a muffled blast rattled the hatch, shaking the deck beneath Kimmund’s feet. “Never mind,” he growled. “Damn it all.”
“Yeah, got it,” Skerris growled back. “Hull and cargo hatch look damaged but still airtight if you want to go in. I’m guessing there won’t be much opposition. I’ll go see if I can chase down that other freighter.”
“Yeah, do whatever you want,” Kimmund said, motioning Drav and his grenades back to the now visibly warped hatch. They’d go in, all right, and they’d see if there was anything left to find.
Lord Vader wasn’t going to be pleased. At all.
And maybe the squad was about to get its fifth commander.
There had been three houses in the clearing when Thrawn and Vader approached from orbit. Now a single house stood beside two piles of flattened rubble.
“It is gone,” Vader said. His voice is deeper than usual. Perhaps it holds anger, perhaps accusation. “The disturbance has disappeared.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. The rubble shows evidence of blasts delivered from above. It shows further evidence of compression, also from above.
“How do you know that?”
“I believe the source was taken,” Thrawn said. “Observe the pressure indications across the area of destruction. The first two houses were destroyed in order to make room for the freighter to land beside the third.”
Vader faces the destruction. His fingers rest near the hilt of his lightsaber. “You believe the source was inside the third building?”
“Did the disturbance break off suddenly, as if destroyed in an explosion?”
“No,” Vader said. His voice grows clearer. Perhaps he has followed and accepted the logic. Perhaps he is preparing for more questioning. “Do you know the source of the disturbance?”
“I have a thought,” Thrawn said. “I would prefer not to state it, so as not to influence your own thoughts and analysis.”
Vader turned to face him. “I would prefer that you do.”
“I do not wish to influence your analysis.”
For three seconds Vader remains silent. His hand rests openly on his lightsaber. “Many years ago the Emperor asked what you would do if faced with a choice between the Empire and the Chiss,” he said. “Do you remember that question?”
“I do,” Thrawn said. “I replied that if I were to serve the Empire, he would command my allegiance.”
“And?” Vader asked.
“My word is my guarantee,” Thrawn said. “If his servant Anakin Skywalker were here, he would speak to that guarantee.”
“Anakin Skywalker is dead.”
“So I have heard,” Thrawn said. “I also have the Emperor’s trust.”
“Do you?” Vader countered. “After Atollon do you still have his trust?”
“Yes.”
Vader is silent another two seconds. “You must still earn mine.” He pauses, his head inclining slightly. “Commander Kimmund reports that the freighter that was here has escaped into hyperspace. He further states that the other freighter’s crew has successfully destroyed their cargo.”
“They will certainly have tried,” Thrawn said. “But even the most thorough destruction may leave clues.”
“You have a reputation for seeing that which others do not.” Vader removes his hand from his lightsaber and waves toward the remaining building. His voice perhaps holds challenge. “You will begin here.”
The house was of a common design. There were five sleeping rooms holding a total of twenty beds, a large common area, a combined food preparation and eating area, and three bathrooms. Two other rooms contained crates which appeared to hold mostly food and household supplies.
“These four beds have been recently slept in,” Vader said as they looked into one of the sleeping rooms. “Their occupants appear to have departed quickly.”
“I agree,” Thrawn said. The style of the building, the design of the furniture, and the patterns of color and line were consis
tent with what he’d seen elsewhere in Black Spire. Local design and construction, offering no clues as to the occupants’ origin. He pulled several of the garments from the sleeping room lockers and laid them out on the bed for study.
“Admiral!” Vader called. His voice perhaps holds cautious excitement. “Come to the rear of the house.”
Vader was waiting in a wide archway leading into a long room. “Do you recognize these?” he asked.
There were ten cylinders laid out in the room, lying on their sides on support cradles. Each was six meters long, consisting of a central portion two meters long with a swing-up top and a two-meter-long metal cap on each end. Power cables and liquid delivery tubes were arrayed neatly around and between each cylinder. The tops of all ten were open, revealing contoured body couches inside. “I have not seen such devices before,” Thrawn said. “Could they be cloning chambers?”
“They are smaller than any known Imperial design,” Vader said. He steps to one and stoops down, peering first into the open central chamber, then shifting his attention to a control board below the lid. “Do you know this script?” he asked, stepping aside.
“The script is common in the Unknown Regions,” Thrawn said. “But I do not recognize the language. An examination of the internal equipment may reveal its use.”
Vader held out a hand toward the cylinder. For a moment the cylinder shook gently, then lifted a few centimeters from its cradle. It tilted a few degrees left, then right, then settled again onto the cradle. “The bulk of the mechanism is there,” he said, pointing to the left cap, the one at the foot end of the central couch. “The other end is mainly liquid storage.”
“How do you know?”
“The inertial characteristics of solids and liquids are different,” Vader said. His voice perhaps holds confidence, perhaps rebuke.
“I see,” Thrawn said. “We need to bring one to the Chimaera. Perhaps the engineers can ascertain its function.”
“Agreed,” Vader said. “Guard them while I bring the freighter.”
“There is no need for a guard,” Thrawn said. “I will return to the cantina and examine the bodies.”
