Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [134]
Sil Sorannan witnessed the arrival of the New Republic fleet on the three-dimensional monitors in the flagship’s fire control center.
It was from that room that Pride of Yevetha’s individual batteries would be assigned targets. Those decisions were in the hands of the three Yevethan officers seated at the consoles in the pit. Sorannan’s responsibility ended at maintaining the data server for the target registry and its electronic links throughout the ship.
Still, he studied the holographic image-map with as much intent devotion as did the fire control proctors. As the first warships appeared, his hand slipped into his pocket and found the hard-toothed comb. He rubbed its spine like a worry-stone as the New Republic fleet grew. His respect for the attackers grew as well as he listened to their commander’s warning.
“—Your past aggressions will not be tolerated. Future aggression will not be permitted. I call on the captains of all Yevethan vessels: Stand down your weapons. Lower your shields. Maintain your current orbits—or be destroyed. I call on Viceroy Nil Spaar: Order the immediate surrender of all Yevethan forces everywhere. Yield your claim to authority and your post as viceroy, and your cities will be spared. Resist, and you invite the total destruction of both your fleet and your way of life.”
A frontal assault with overwhelming force—that is the way war was meant to be fought, thought Sorannan admiringly. Strength against strength—not the weak and cowardly tactics of the Rebel Alliance. You have grown some since I last knew you.
As A’baht spoke, Sorannan slid toward the leftmost section of his station and opened one of the several small service panels in its instrumented face. But he did not yet pick up the hand-built blaster pistol resting inside atop the circuits. He was waiting for Nil Spaar’s answer, even though he had little doubt what it would be.
Standing with arms crossed and feet set apart, Etahn A’baht frowned deeply as he watched the Yevethan fleet form up. The bridge of Intrepid had fallen under a suffocating silence as he sent his ultimatum, and the silence was growing more uncomfortable by the second.
“Anything?” he asked finally.
“Not unless you count continuing toward us as a reply.”
“That may be all the reply we get,” said A’baht. “Time to weapons lock?”
“Six minutes twenty.”
A’baht nodded. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “Get the pilots into their cockpits. Start locking down the shield doors. And let’s have about twenty of our thumpers light up that Super with range-finder lasers. Let’s remind the estimable viceroy that we know where he lives.”
As the minutes dragged out and the distance between the fleets continued to shrink, Sil Sorannan brought the comb out of his pocket and ran it through his thinning red hair. He knew that Nil Spaar’s silence was an expression of contempt for his adversaries, but he was also confident that the viceroy would not be able to resist expressing his contempt directly. Sorannan waited calmly for it to come.
But when the most powerful weapons on Pride of Yevetha—on Intimidator, Sorannan reminded himself—were only a minute away from being able to deliver an effective blow to the nearest of the New Republic vessels, he could wait no longer. Holding the comb before him in both hands, he twisted it sharply, and it came apart in his hands. One of the pieces was a thin wand with three small buttons—it had been hidden inside the comb’s hollow spine.
Keeping his eye on both the proctors and the holo tracks, Sorannan moved the wand to his right hand and picked up the blaster in his left. As he did so, Nil Spaar began to broadcast his answer of defiance to both fleets.
“You are low and impure creatures, and your threats mean nothing to me,” the viceroy said. “Your presence