Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [22]
At times like this, he wished Daala were here. Clever, beautiful, and utterly ruthless when the situation demanded it, she could be most diverting—a great relief for a man such as himself, beset on all sides as he was with weighty problems. But the only female admiral in the Imperial Navy was still stationed at the Maw with her four Destroyers, protecting the hidden base where the battle station’s plans and weaponry were in ongoing development.
Abruptly, Tarkin made a decision. He waved his hand over the comm on his desk.
“Sir?” came the immediate query from his aide.
“Is my ship prepared?”
“Of course, sir.” The aide’s tone was polite, but with just a bit of surprise to indicate what an unnecessary question it was.
“Meet me at the flight deck.”
“Yes, sir.” Cautiously: “Might one ask where we are going?”
“To inspect the damage to the battle station from the explosion. I want to see it for myself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tarkin stood, feeling a glow of fierce satisfaction. He had not always been a desk-bound commander. He had spent plenty of time in the field. Now and again it served the rank and file to know that he was still capable of getting his hands dirty—or bloody, depending on the situation.
GRAND MOFF’S LIGHTER, 0.5 KILOMETERS FROM THE DEATH STAR
“Look to the forward viewport, sir,” the pilot said.
Tarkin, who had been poring over a schematic hologram of the station that showed where the damage was, turned and stared through the port at the real thing.
It was indeed a mess. It appeared as if a giant hand had smashed the dock, then petulantly ripped sections of it loose and flung those into space. Debris of all sizes and shapes whirled and tumbled aimlessly, not having had time yet to settle into any sort of orbit.
Tarkin’s expression was pinched tight in anger, but his voice was level as he said, “Bring her around and let’s have a closer look.”
“Sir.” A pause. “There’s a lot of debris, sir.”
“I can see that. I suggest you avoid running into it.”
The pilot swallowed drily. “Yes, sir.”
As the pilot began to swing the small cruiser into a wide turn, Tarkin’s aide approached.
“Yes, Colonel?”
“The forensic investigation team has a preliminary report, sir.”
“Really? This soon?”
“You did indicate a desire for alacrity, sir.”
“Indeed.” Tarkin offered the colonel a small, tight smile. “Hold off on the flyby,” he instructed the pilot. “I’ll take the report here.”
“Sir.” The pilot was visibly relieved at this.
A moment later, the holoprojector lit over the command console at which Tarkin stood, displaying a one-third-sized image of a security force major standing at attention.
“Sir,” the major said, giving a military bow.
Tarkin made an impatient gesture. “What do we have, Major?”
The major reached off-image to touch a control, and a second holoimage blossomed next to him. It was that of an Imperial gas tanker. As Tarkin watched, the images grew larger and translucent as the point of view zoomed closer. A flashing red dot appeared toward the rear of the ship, and the POV zoomed in closer still to reveal the interior of the vessel.
“From the dispersal pattern of the ship’s interior and hull, which we backtracked by computer reconstruction, the source of the explosion was here—” The officer pointed into the hologram, only his hand and pointing finger becoming visible in the blown-up image before Tarkin’s eyes. “—in the aft cargo hold. The precise location was plus or minus a meter of the pressure valve complex on the starboard tank array.”
“Go on.”
“Given the size of the tanks and the pressure—the oxygen is liquefied, of course—and the estimated explosive potential and expansion, we have calculated that a leak and subsequent accidental ignition of expanding gas in an enclosed compartment is highly unlikely to have produced the level of damage recorded.”
Tarkin nodded, almost to himself. “Sabotage, then,” he said. “A bomb.”
“We believe so, sir.” The image zoomed back out to encompass the major again. “We have not yet recovered parts of the device itself, but we will.”
Tarkin gritted his teeth,