Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [56]
Luke considered the long list of sources he had tapped the last time, but none seemed promising enough to justify the time and trouble. What he really wanted most was something he had tried for before and been denied—the Fleet Office’s daily tactical briefing memorandum. But to get one, he would have to find a military-grade secure-link hypercomm. Or—
“Access Fleet Almanac,” he said.
“Ready.”
“Reference current location.”
“Referencing Taldaak Station, Utharis.”
“Identify the nearest Fleet asset in this sector—training center, repair yard, supply base, whatever.”
“This access requires a current level blue authorization code.”
Luke rattled off his code. “Now give me some good news.”
The only New Republic Defense Fleet installation on Utharis was a tiny listening post. The listening post consisted of a three-man office in Taldaak, a four-man maintenance crew flying a work skipboat based at the planet’s main geosynchronous station, and a pair of complex antenna arrays located in hundred-year solar-polar orbits.
The highest-ranking officer on orbit was a senior specialist—dirtside, it was a green lieutenant in the first month of a yearlong rotation. The operational continuity of the post came largely from the three civilian employees, all Utharis natives.
It was one of those civilians who Luke encountered first when he entered the security foyer of the listening post’s small silo-dome, located adjacent to an abandoned Imperial fighter base, now home only to wild jack-a-dale and black-winged touret. Luke had dressed to the Jedi stereotype, black cape and dangling lightsaber, and allowed the Li Stonn disguise to dissolve as he passed through the concussion hatch.
“I am here to see the post commander,” Luke said, resting his palm on the scanner.
The young woman looked up at him with eyes widened by surprise. Her tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her as a follower of the Duality, a popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the twin principles of joy and service. She looked down at the scanner when it beeped at her, then back up to Luke’s face wearing a look of awe on her own.
“You are him,” she said.
Luke flashed a small smile as he lifted his hand from the scanner. “But I am not here,” he said.
“I understand.”
“Who is the duty officer?”
“Tomathy—Senior Specialist Manes. Lieutenant Ekand comes on in two hours. But I can call him in early—”
“There’s no need,” said Luke. “I will speak with Manes. Clear me through, please.”
“Yes, of course.”
The secure room of the installation accounted for the rest of the volume of the silo—a floor full of instrument stations, a domed ceiling fifteen meters overhead, and two rings of catwalks spaced between to give access to the transceiver arrays.
“I’ll be right down,” called a voice from above. That was followed by the brisk clatter of shoes descending metal-mesh stairs.
While waiting, Luke sized up the installation. The first thing that struck his eye was that the data system used three black-bodied memory droids for storage. That meant that everything of value, staff and secure data, could be removed from the post in a matter of minutes in a six-place speeder or orbital jumper.
“My goodness,” Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level and saw Luke clearly. “My goodness. This is an honor.” As an afterthought, he gathered himself for a salute. “Forgive me, sir—I don’t know your proper rank—”
“I no longer hold one,” said Luke, leaning over one of the data stations.
“Oh—I see. Then I’ll confess that I’ve never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual there, I guess—I don’t know anyone who has. Is there a proper form of address—”
“You can call me Luke.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Manes shook his head. “Forgive me for staring. I’m on my second tour here, and in all that time you’re only the second person to come through that door who didn’t work here. And to have it be you—” As though suddenly aware of his flustered babbling, Manes cut himself