Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [96]
He had a group of new junior librarians coming in for orientation later in the day, and tons of things to do before they showed up. His personal files were proof against any of them stumbling across anything secret by accident or intent. He assumed as a matter of course that one or more of them had to be some kind of Imperial spy. That was usually the case in any organization, and even if it weren’t, it was better to make that assumption and be wrong than to not make it and be thrown into prison for underestimating the powers-that-were. A man didn’t get to be his age and status by being completely foolhardy, even though he had certainly stepped over the line a time or ten. In his lifelong war against authority, he had won more battles than he had lost, even if they didn’t know it.
Much to do, he reminded himself, and little time in which to do it. Best get moving.
44
GRAND MOFF TARKIN’S QUARTERS, EXECUTIVE LEVEL, DEATH STAR
Daala stepped from the shower, a waft of hot water vapor following her out. Tarkin smiled as she dried herself with a fluffy black towel made of virgin cotton from the Suliana fields and slipped into a matching robe. She stood under the air jets and dried her short hair, then came into the bedchamber and sat on the foot of the bed.
“Feel better?” Tarkin asked.
“Much. So much nicer to have hot water than the sonics.”
“Yes. Rank has its privileges. You have news for me?”
“I do. You won’t like it.”
He sat up and looked at her.
She went to the desk, opened a drawer, and removed an info disk. She dialed his computer terminal to life.
“You have my access codes?” Now he slid out of the bed, the silk of his sleepwear causing static electricity as it moved across the sheets. His gown crackled and clung to his body, but he ignored it as he walked to where she stood.
She smiled at him. “Of course.”
“Did I give them to you?”
“You don’t remember? Well, if you didn’t, I know you meant to.”
Tarkin wasn’t sure if he should be angered or aroused by this evidence of Daala’s boldness. Before he could decide, a hologram blinked on. It showed rows of sealed cargo containers, the white everplast boxes stacked three-deep, with corridors between them to allow access. They looked like standard two-point-five-meter units, but it was hard to say just by looking.
“Security cam,” she said. “Aft cargo hold on the Undauntable.”
“A security cam that was not destroyed in the explosion?”
“Oh, it was blown up with the rest of the ship. But it was rigged to feed a signal to a receiver. I obtained the recording.”
“How?”
“A moment. Watch.”
There was a date/time stamp in the lower right-hand corner of the image, the seconds flashing by …
A figure moved into view. Tarkin frowned. It was still hard to judge size without some kind of scale.
As if reading his thoughts, Daala moved her hand over a sensor, and a grid overlaid the image. The figure was slightly less than two meters tall. That still didn’t tell him much. With the cloak and hood concealing it, it could have been any of a hundred species.
The mysterious being walked along the row of containers. It reached one in the middle of the cam’s field and tapped the keypad on the door with one gloved finger.
“Why didn’t we have bioscanners going as well?” Tarkin asked, annoyed. “We’d have data on species, sex, age—”
“Shh,” she said. “We were lucky to have gotten this much. Now watch.”
The door rolled up and the figure entered the container.
Thirty seconds passed. The figure emerged, closed the door behind him—or her—and moved out of cam view.
Daala waved the recording off. She looked at him, waiting.
Tarkin was nobody’s fool. “The explosive device was in the cargo container and ready to go. All the agent had to do was trigger it.”
“Yes. He didn’t bring anything with