Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [135]
Fool, Sorannan thought. They have your fleet outgunned three to one—soon to be five to one. Without a flicker of change in his expression, he pressed the first two buttons on the wand with his thumb, then raised the blaster to shoulder level and began to fire.
A’baht listened to Nil Spaar’s screed with his jaw set in a grim expression and the last flickers of hope dying in his eyes.
“That’s that,” he said. “Get those people down from the ob deck—it’s not safe up there. Break the Showcase formation, and bring all the batteries up to full power.”
“General!” called the tactical officer. “The Yevethan flagship is slowing.”
A’baht nodded acknowledgment. “That’s a small break for us, if he’s decided to let the rest of his fleet do the fighting.”
“Sir, all of the Imperial types are slowing—the Super, the interdictor, the SDs—all of ’em. They’re stopping in a hurry, too—just sitting there. I can’t figure this tactic—the T-types are hard for us to knock out, but the Imperial designs have more punch.”
A’baht stared at the tactical display. “Signal the armada to slow to one eighth—let’s give ourselves a little more time to sort this out. Are any of the T-types holding off?”
“No, not one of them—they’re still coming on,” said the tactical officer. Seconds passed. “General, the Imperial types are definitely veering off now. I don’t know—maybe the viceroy’s having an attack of good sense.”
A’baht’s thoughts leaped at once to the officially discounted claim of a treaty between the League and something called the Grand Imperial Union.
“Or someone else is,” he said. “Maybe there’s a falling-out between friends under way over there. Let’s see if we can aggravate it. Task Forces Blackvine, Apex, Keyhole—the leashes are off. Pursue and engage.”
There were 513 Black Sword Command veterans aboard Pride of Yevetha and more than 15,000 Yevetha. Those proportions did not trouble Major Sorannan. His contingent was armed with more than blasters and a profound motivation. The ship was already under their control; dealing with its last owners was a mere detail.
There was a precious irony, Sorannan thought, that the principle instrumentality of their freedom was something called a slave circuit.
Within three minutes of his pressing the button that turned the ships away from the New Republic fleet and toward Byss, he was joined in the fire control room by Captain Eistern and three other men whose former duty stations had been elsewhere in the engineering section.
“Looks as though you managed without us, sir,” said Eistern, observing the carnage in the pit. Tendrils of smoke were still rising from the consoles where three blackened corpses were slumped.
“They gave me no trouble,” Sorannan said with evident satisfaction.
Eistern glanced up at the targeting holo. “Wish you could say that about the Alliance,” he said. “It looks like they’re coming after us. We’re not ready to fight this ship, you know.”
“We will be gone before they catch up,” said Sorannan.
“They don’t know what’s happening here. Maybe they wouldn’t even bother with us if they did.”
“I intend to tell them, but not for that reason,” said Sorannan. “I want them to know who they owe their victory to.”
He climbed back to his station, pulled out a pair of system boards, and replaced them upside down. The monitors flickered as the displays changed to reflect the new functions being controlled from that location.
“General A’baht, can you hear this transmission?”
“This is A’baht.” There was curiosity in the tone. “Please identify yourself.”
“Proudly, General. This is Major Sil Sorannan of the Black Sword Command, Imperial