Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 01_ Before the Storm - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [68]
And for all that, there was still not much basis for choosing among the many possibilities: There were no sentient beings aboard. There were beings aboard once, but they had abandoned it. There were beings aboard once, but they were long dead.
There were beings aboard, but in hibernation. There were beings aboard, but their ship was disabled. There were beings aboard, but they didn’t consider the armada worthy of notice. There were beings aboard, waiting for Pakkpekatt to make the first move. There were beings aboard, waiting for Pakkpekatt to make a wrong move.
It was nearly impossible to have a conversation of any length without someone asking, “So, what’s your guess?” Betting on one outcome or another had become rampant, and it was all Lando could do to make himself stay out of the action.
But when Lobot asked him privately, Lando opted for one of the less popular choices.
“Seems to me that this isn’t much of a destination, but it’s a pretty good place to hide,” Lando said. “Same with the other known sightings—all in deep interstellar space. There’s nothing out here to bring in even the low-rent crowd—prospectors, smugglers, short haulers.”
“Virtually all interstellar traffic goes by way of hyperspace.”
“Which skips right over this neighborhood,” Lando said. “Nobody goes to deep interstellar except pirates, and not many of them. This is about the loneliest place I’ve ever seen. And, something else—this ship doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere else. I don’t think there’s anyone on board.”
“Then what would be its purpose?”
“To hide something,” said Lando. “To keep something safe. Something incredibly valuable, considering the effort. I’m thinking what we have here is some sort of treasury ship.”
“There are twenty-two thousand, four hundred eight known cultures which entomb riches with the dead,” said Lobot, opening a link.
“That many? See, this could be some planetary potentate’s tomb, packed to the scuppers with all his worldly goods. That’d explain a lot about why it’s here, doing what it’s doing.” Lando pursed his lips as he thought. “I like this notion a lot.”
“Tomb robbers are reported to be a common problem,” said Lobot, still processing the link he had opened. “Tomb design frequently incorporates traps, barriers, dead-end passages, false entrances, and other defenses against intrusion.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Lando, showing an easy grin. “Maybe you’d better catalog all those defensive tricks, though.”
“I am doing so,” said Lobot. “Lando, my information suggests that tomb thefts are common immediately after construction is completed, unless the construction workers who have knowledge of the defenses are executed. Perhaps this vessel has already been entered.”
“If anyone else’d gotten inside that ship, they’d have taken her home with them,” said Lando, shaking his head. “She’s still locked up tight and ready to fight. You watch tomorrow, when we violate the perimeter. If she doesn’t put up a squawk, I’ll walk back to Coruscant.”
The pilotless ferret D-89 had an appointment with an imaginary spot in space, twelve kilometers directly astern of the Teljkon vagabond.
Racing in on a trajectory at right angles to that of the vagabond, it would slice across the imaginary defensive sphere surrounding the vagabond in the maneuver sailors call crossing the T. D-89’s mission was to breach the perimeter much as the Hrasskis ship had, but not as aggressively as the Boldheart had.
“Minimal provocation, minimal risk to our assets,” Pakkpekatt had ordered.
According to the plan, the ferret would be inside the vagabond’s defense perimeter for less than a second. If the alien vessel tried to jump into hyperspace, the interdiction pickets were directly ahead, ready to stop it.
“Like clapping your hands behind a sandfrog to make him jump into your net,” said Lando. “I hope the net holds, Colonel.”
“Do you have any reason to