Star Wars_ Darksaber - Kevin J. Anderson [105]
Dorsk 81 stared blankly at the speaker, but Kyp instantly responded. “On our way. Apologies for the inconvenience.” He snapped off the comm system. “They’re going to let us in,” he said. Already his mind was churning, wondering who “the admiral” could be.
Ships large and small clustered around a staggeringly immense grid of landing platforms and docking bays, a huge nexus built of metal and glittering with panes of transparisteel. It hid in the dark void of space between star systems and would not be easy to locate unless one already knew where to look. The complex was studded with antennas and trackers, perimeter defense satellites, and automated droid ships that monitored the dizzying flow of ship activity. The coordinate vectors took them to a central platform where thousands of ships had already gathered.
Dorsk 81 stiffened in his seat. “Easy,” Kyp said. “We have to do this.” The alien gave a jerky nod and brought the shuttle in to land among all the other ships.
Figures streamed toward the open mall area of the nexus station, a room large enough for an audience of tens of thousands. Stormtroopers marched about, ushering spectators to acceptable standing places for the rally.
“I can’t go out there,” Dorsk 81 said. “The Empire doesn’t allow nonhuman soldiers.”
“They seem to have changed their rules,” Kyp answered, indicating some of the uniformed personnel, an array of exotic humanoids and strange flying creatures. “Here.” Kyp rummaged in the shuttle’s uniform bin. He pulled out two sets of overalls with the insignia of the repair team assigned to the outer depot where Kyp and Dorsk 81 had stolen the shuttle. “We’ll wear these, and nobody will know the difference.”
Dorsk 81 looked at the outfit dubiously, but adrenaline sang through Kyp, whispering in his ears. “Look,” he said in a reassuring voice, “this rally should give us all the information we need. We’ll find out what the Empire is up to—and then we can go back and make our report.” He grasped the cloned alien’s arm. “Just be brave for me a little while longer, Dorsk 81.”
They stepped down the landing ramp, and the current of the crowd swept them into the open mall area of the nexus station. The sounds and smells assaulted Kyp, an exotic mélange of the familiar and the fantastic. The main language was proper Imperial Basic, though a few muttered comments came in a variety of languages Kyp did not recognize. Dorsk 81 followed closely, still looking stiff and nervous.
In the distant center of the open space, a speaking deck had been raised to enclose a stage, tall amplifiers, and a turbolift that could bring guests onto the stage without forcing them to pass through packed crowds. Scarlet-cloaked Imperial Guards stood on all corners of the stage. High-resolution screens towered over the audience like video billboards projecting an image of the speaker at the podium; the effect was to turn the distant figure into a titan looming over those gathered for the rally.
A gaunt, trim old man was speaking in a precise voice that held little charisma. His eyes were pale and narrow, his forehead creased as if with heavy thoughts. A bushy pale mustache covered his lip.
“He looks familiar,” Kyp said. “I’ve seen his image before.”
Stormtrooper guards appeared out of nowhere, their white armor clacking, voices snapping gruffly through their helmets. “Silence while Vice Admiral Pellaeon is speaking.”
Kyp held back a retort, though excitement kept him on edge, making self-control difficult. With an effort, he nodded meekly, turning back to look at the towering visage of the Imperial commander. Was this the man leading the new troops? Kyp recognized his name. From what he had heard, Pellaeon had had something to do with Grand Admiral Thrawn, though Kyp himself had been deep in the spice mines of Kessel during Thrawn’s rampages.
The vice admiral had apparently been speaking