Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [7]
Cocking an eyebrow as he released his grip, Major Gant sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes. They were waiting for you—at an intercept point ninety-one light-years outside Koornacht Cluster. They didn’t just take a wild shot in the dark. They knew exactly who and what they were aiming at. And that’s my problem, pilot. That’s my problem with this whole affair.”
Mallar relaxed into his chair. “I don’t know how the Yevetha found out enough to be there waiting for us. If I had any ideas, I’d have told you when you walked in here, instead of making you sift through the sand. The only thing I know is, it had to come from someone who knew about it before I did—before the pilots did. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think an Interdictor could cross ninety-one light-years in four hours—not on its best day.”
“You are correct,” Gant said, reaching out and collecting the recorder. Then he slid Mallar’s ID disc across the table to him. “Sergeant, take Second Lieutenant Mallar to pilot country and show him how to find the ’fresher and berth forty-D. Mallar, you’re restricted to pilot country, comm privileges suspended, until someone cuts new orders for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Mallar slipped the disc into its pocket as he stood. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve done you no favors, Mallar. I’m looking for a traitor. I haven’t found him yet.”
“Yes, sir,” Mallar said, nodding and letting the soldier lead the way toward the hatch.
Gant stood and turned as Mallar passed him. “One other thing.”
Mallar stopped short, his heart suddenly pounding. “What, Major?”
“Why do you think the Yevetha left you and the others alive?”
“Sir—at first I thought it was so we could carry the message back, as witnesses.”
“And now?”
“Now I think they did it to humiliate us.”
“Explain.”
“Major, if we’d died out there, or been taken hostage, that would have made us important, too. What they did told us that we aren’t even important enough to kill. It’s like they understood just how to make us feel small. Futility, Major—that’s the message they wanted us to bring back. They showed us they can go where they want to and do what they want to, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Don’t you believe that for a minute, son,” Major Gant said firmly. “This isn’t over—it’s just beginning. We’re not going to roll over and surrender to this kind of blackmail. We’ll get in our whacks.”
“Then I hope someone will get in a few for me,” Mallar said, tight-lipped. “Because I think I missed my only chance.”
Half a dozen wroshyr leaves moved where there was no breath of air to move them, lifting the width of a hand and then falling again. The movement betrayed Lumpawarrump’s position some forty meters east of Chewbacca.
His son was not stalking anything. He was not even moving through the Well of the Dead in search of his prey. To Chewbacca’s dismay and disappointment, Lumpawarrump had gone perhaps a hundred timid paces into the thicket, then found himself a hiding place, his back against a wroshyr stump and his body concealed by the heavy, hanging young shoots he gathered around him.
At intervals, Lumpawarrump would peer out from his improvised blind and scan the forest for a few moments as though expecting a katarn to saunter past in full view. Then, seeing nothing, he would retreat back into the false security of his wishful invisibility.
But Chewbacca had had no trouble spotting his son, and neither would any of the Well’s predators. And the stump Lumpawarrump was depending on for protection created an enormous blind spot from which a katarn could approach and strike without warning.
Chewbacca knew that his son was in far more danger than he realized, and yet Chewbacca was honor-bound not to intervene except to stop a killing blow. All he could do was watch and wait, his bowcaster at the ready, trying not to become so distracted that he made himself a ready target.
To help keep himself alert,