32

Colonel Vessery entered the dimly lit briefing room with his helmet under his left arm. He started to sketch a salute, but neither Major Telik nor Ysanne Isard looked up at him. Instead they intently studied the small holograph of a man’s head and shoulders.

The holographic figure spoke in hushed tones. “Ackbar’s fleet left here ten standard minutes ago on an outbound course that will bring him to Ciutric. Ship list appended.”

Telik stood back and smiled. “The message was sent two hours ago, which means Ackbar has eight hours to hit his target. We only need six to get to ours.”

Isard nodded solemnly, then turned toward Vessery. “Colonel, I know you developed some affection for the Rogues while you trained them.”

The cold tone of her voice sent a chill through Vessery, but he met her gaze openly. “I did. They are fine pilots. I have little doubt they will acquit their portions of the operation admirably. My feelings and respect for them aside, Madam Director, my pilots and I stand ready to execute our orders as well.”

“I had no doubt of that, Colonel.” Isard pursed her lips for a second. “I have allowed a message to reach Krennel that indicated another attempt to reinforce Liinade Three is being made in two days. That will keep Krennel at Ciutric in preparation for another ambush. He may even call in additional troops and ships, which would translate into a surprise for Ackbar. It will be a glorious battle over Ciutric, I believe.”

Telik shrugged. “We would not have time to watch much of it anyway.”

“No, indeed you wouldn’t, so it’s just as well you won’t be there.” She laughed, but Vessery heard no mirth in it at all. “In rushing out to destroy Krennel, Ackbar has stripped the defenses from the greatest prize of all. Come with me, men, and in six hours we will be in a position of power that will make the New Republic tremble itself to pieces.”

Prince-Admiral Krennel smiled predatorily as he listened to Isard’s report. “Another convoy? How rich. How can they afford to be sending so many freighters on these very dangerous missions?”

Isard stalked the shadows at the fringes of his office. “I am not certain they can continue to do so, Prince-Admiral.”

Krennel looked up from his desk. “Explain.”

She stopped pacing and faced him. “The primary problem with a free society of the sort the New Republic represents itself to be is that a great deal of information is available on any and all subjects, save those they wish to keep secret. The fact remains, however, that a great deal of the publicly available information does touch on the secret. For example, in the past, when freighters have been diverted from their normal commercial duties to haul supplies, commodity prices on worlds that are experiencing a delay in shipping tend to rise and fall depending upon their import and export status. Factories that produce the sorts of materials a convoy like that will carry have to hire new workers, or offer overtime pay, all of which is data that is noted in stock advisories. These and dozens of other indicators like them can be correlated to a military operation. The plain fact is that I’ve not seen such indicators rise in the pattern set by the previous convoys.”

“No movement at all?”

“I didn’t say that.” Isard frowned. “There are movements, but they hint more at another planetary invasion. It has been a quiet buildup and would have been unnoticed save for downward fluctuations in entertainment sectors of the economy that are tied to military bases from which the troops are drawn. As well an inordinate number of ships are being reported as being ‘on maneuvers,’ which usually presages action.”

“And this information about a convoy, it was leaked to you through a previously reliable source?”

“Yes, though no report goes unverified.” She pressed her hands together and rested her chin on her fingertips. “This is why I have noted the problems to you.”

“I gathered that, thank you. I suspect, if we check the course of that convoy, there is really only one good spot for an ambush, and we would have been hit there ourselves. Two days, is it, when they expected to hit us?”

“Two days, yes.”

“Good.” Krennel stood and punched a button on his desktop comm unit. “Captain, have my shuttle standing by, I will be heading up to the Reckoning. Issue recall orders for all crew on leave. That recall applies to Binder as well. Have Captain Phulik meet me on Reckoning. Krennel out.”

Isard nodded her head at him. “You’ll be striking somewhere in the New Republic.”

“I will. Once on Reckoning I will call for Emperor’s Wisdom and Decisive to join me here to stage our raid. They should get here in four hours or so. From here we will be ready to launch the boldest raid yet, one that will show the New Republic as the sham it truly is. Eighteen short hours after we leave here, they will learn the folly of attacking me.”

Isard’s eyes glistened. “Eighteen hours. You’ll strike at Coruscant?”

“Yes. It’s a lesson the New Republic has never learned.” Krennel gave Isard a thin-lipped smile. “To kill an enemy, the quickest method is always to strike at the head.”

Corran Horn had actually gotten to like some of the pilots in Krennel’s employ. The nicest were the guys drawn from the Hegemony itself. They seemed interested in defending their homes from encroachment by the New Republic, and Corran had to respect that. Still, their motivation wasn’t the main reason Corran liked them.

He looked down at his sabacc hand and stifled a smile. These guys from the Hegemony must be the worst sabacc players I’ve ever met. The stack of credit chits in front of him dwarfed the piles before the other three men playing. Better yet, he had the ace of flasks down on the table, in the interference field, and the flux had shifted the two cards in his hand into the ace of coins and the court card endurance, which was worth negative 8. Since each ace was worth 15, this left his hand with a total of 22, which was only one shy of the 23 total to win.

A grizzled older pilot looked at him. “Your bet, Klick.”

Corran slid his other two cards facedown on top of the ace of flasks. “I’m locked. I’ll bet two hundred credits.”

Two of the pilots tossed their hands in, but the older man squinted at his cards, then tossed two gold credit chits onto the hand pot pile. “I call.”

“Twenty-two.” Corran slowly flipped his cards over so the others could read them. “Can you beat it?”

“No.” The older man snarled. “Emperor’s Black Bones, you are the luckiest cardplayer I’ve ever met.”

“Not luck, skill.” Corran glanced at the sabacc table’s data readout. It indicated the pot contained 2,500 credits, 250 of which he skimmed off and fed into the sabacc pot, which currently stood at 15,000 credits. A two-card 23—which was known as a pure sabacc—or another three-card combination of 0, 2, and 3—the idiot’s array—would win that pot and end the game. “My deal, I believe.”

Corran gathered the cards and reached up to feed them into the LeisureMech RH7 Cardshark dealer-droid. The dealer-droid—which hung down from the ceiling—shuffled the cards, then extended its body so its manipulator arms could drop a card before each player. It swiveled around noiselessly and the twin stun pikes—which most players called “cheater prods”—remained retracted. After a second circuit, the cylindrical body withdrew into its base. Its with-drawal triggered the flux, shifting the value of the cards.

Corran reached for his cards, but before he could get them off the table, a siren began to rise and fall in tone and volume. Yellow lights began burning over every doorway. The other players immediately looked up, scooped up their winnings, then turned away from the table.

“What’s going on?”

The old man shrugged. “Report to your ship.” He gestured at a holographic imaging station at the far end of the hangar. “If it’s like before, the Prince-Admiral will tell us what’s going on.”

“What about the pot?”

“We give sabacc pots to the Survivor’s Fund. You have a problem with that?”

“Not me.” Corran stuffed his winnings into the pockets of his flight suit. “Get going, I’m right behind you.”

They ran from the ready room and Corran split off to the right where the whole Defender squadron had been assembled in the back of the hangar. He found the rest of the Rogues already there, with Hobbie and Myn rubbing sleep-sand from their eyes, and Tycho rubbing his wet hair dry with a towel from a refresher station. The only person he couldn’t find was Wedge.

The imaging station at the other end of the hangar filled with bright light that resolved itself down into the face of Prince-Admiral Krennel. “Greetings loyal warriors of the Hegemony. I would apologize for summoning you so abruptly, but this is a call to war and one I imagine you will relish. Our enemies have made a mistake and have provided us an opportunity that is quite rare. With one blow we can end the tyranny of the New Republic and send their shattered forces scurrying home.”

Corran glanced over at Tycho, then tapped the chronometer on his left wrist. By my count, we’ve got a couple of hours yet before Isard’s people and the New Republic get here. “Any guesses?”

Tycho shook his head. “Too soon for guesses.”

Krennel smiled magnificently. “All squadrons will be getting their assignments. You will be on board your appointed ships as fast as possible, and then we will depart to fulfill our destiny.”