Part 37 (1/2)

Car'das closed his eyes briefly. I will do whatever necessary-the words echoed through his mind. ”I was merely concerned for the safety of your soldiers,” he said.

”Let us find out how good the machines' aim is,” the Miskara said.

”Machines: fire.”

The salvo from the battle droids' carbines sent the three slaves toppling backward, dead before they even hit the floor. They were still falling when the fire from the droidekas almost literally cut them in half.

”Excellent,” the Miskara said into the shocked silence. Not shocked by the deaths, Car'das knew, but by the display of firepower. ”Where do the Chiss keep the others?”

”The commander will have them at the base,” Car'das murmured mechanically, trying without success to force his eyes away from the charred bodies.

”Then we will relieve him of them,” the Miskara said, gesturing to one of the advisers. ”Order an a.s.sault force to be prepared at once.”

”Yes, Your Eminence,” the other said. Stepping off the dais, he strode from the room.

”And while we wait,” the Miskara went on, turning back to Car'das, ”you will teach me the rest of the words necessary for controlling my fighting machines.”

Car'das swallowed hard. Whatever necessary . . . ”As you wish. Your Eminence.”

Outside the Springhawk's bridge canopy, the scattered stars and a small but magnificent globular cl.u.s.ter blazed brilliantly out of a black sky.

The stars, the cl.u.s.ter, and nothing else.

Surrept.i.tiously, Doriana looked at his chrono. Outbound Flight was late.

Apparently, the look hadn't been surrept.i.tious enough. ”Patience, Commander,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said calmly from the captain's chair. ”They will come.”

”They are late,” Vicelord Kav said, scowling at the back of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's head. ”More than two hours late.”

”Two hours is nothing in a voyage of three weeks,” the commander pointed out reasonably.

”Not for Captain Pakmillu,” Kav retorted. ”Mon Calamari are notorious for punctuality.”

”They will come,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said again, half turning to eye the Neimoidian. ”The only question is whether or not this system is indeed on the correct straight-line path between their last Republic stop and the system where you were preparing to ambush them.”

”Do you dare-?” Kav began.

”The vector was calculated correctly,” Doriana interrupted with a warning glare. ”Our question, on the other hand, is why you think they'll actually stop here.”

”They will,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo a.s.sured him. ”The droid starfighters are ready?”

”Very much so,” Kav a.s.sured him in turn, and Doriana could hear the vindictive antic.i.p.ation in his tone. The starfighters were ready, all right, complete with the second command layer the vicelord's chief programmer had built in on top of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's close-approach pattern.

The commander inclined his head to the Neimoidian. ”Then we have only to wait.” He turned back to the canopy And suddenly, with a flicker of pseudomotion, there it was, floating in s.p.a.ce not five kilometers ahead.

Outbound Flight had arrived.

”The device is called a gravity projector,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said. ”It simulates a planetary ma.s.s, thus forcing out any s.h.i.+p whose hypers.p.a.ce vector crosses its shadow.”

”Really,” Doriana said, trying to sound calm. To the best of his knowledge, no one in the Republic had ever figured out how to turn that particular bit of hypers.p.a.ce theory into an actual working device. The fact that the Chiss had solved the problem sent discomfiting ramifications ricocheting across his mind.

Kav, predictably, wasn't nearly as interested in such longterm thought.

”Then they are in our hands,” he all but crowed. ”All forces: attack.”

”Hold,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said. His voice was still calm, but there was a sudden new edge to it. ”I give the orders aboard this s.h.i.+p, Vicelord Kav.”

”It is our mission, Commander Mitthrawdo,” Kav countered. ”And as we debate, we lose the precious element of surprise.” Fis.h.i.+ng into his robes, he pulled out a comm activator. ”You and your s.h.i.+ps may do as you wish. But my starfighters will attack.”

”No!” Doriana snapped, making a grab for the activator. If Kav fouled up Mitth'raw'nuruodo's plan, whatever that plan was, Outbound Flight might yet slip through their fingers.

But his reach was too short, his grab too late. Twisting his long arms out of range, Kav triumphantly keyed the activator. Swearing viciously, Doriana looked over at the asteroid where the lines of droid starfighters waited.

Nothing happened.

Again, Kav keyed the switch. Again, nothing. ”I'm afraid that won't work, Vicelord,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said calmly. ”I took the liberty of removing the alternate command layer your programmers had created in the starfighters' systems.”

Slowly, Kav lowered the activator. ”You are very clever, Commander,” he said softly. ”Someday that cleverness will turn against you.”

”Perhaps,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said. ”Until then, allow me to thank you for showing me how such secondary programming is done. That will prove useful today.”

”So what now?” Doriana asked cautiously.

”We talk to them,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo said, keying his board.

”Communications: create a channel.”

By the time Lorana arrived, D-1's bridge had become a hive of quiet pandemonium. C'baoth was standing beside Captain Pakmillu's command chair, his back stiff as he gazed out the canopy. Pakmillu himself was over at one of the engineering stations, his flippered hands opening and closing restlessly as he studied the displays.

Outside the canopy, arrayed in the distance in front of them like a pack of hunting howlrunners, were a dozen small s.h.i.+ps of a configuration Lorana had never seen before.

”The readback seems to indicate we're in the middle of a planetary ma.s.s shadow,” the engineering officer was saying tautly as she reached Pakmillu's side. ”But you can see yourself that can't possibly be right.”

”This is Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet,” a cultured voice boomed over the bridge speakers. ”Please respond.”

”Who's that?” Lorana asked.

”The commander of that force over there,” Pakmillu rumbled, still studying the readouts. ”He's been calling every five minutes for the past half hour.”

”You haven't answered him?”

Pakmillu's mouth tendrils stiffened. ”Master C'baoth has forbidden it,”

he growled. ”He insists we know what happened to our hyperdrive before we reply.”

”Maybe the commander could tell us what happened,” Lorana suggested.

”Of course he could,” Pakmillu said sourly. ”But I cannot persuade Master C'baoth to that point of view.”

Lorana grimaced. ”Let me talk to him.”