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He hit another button, closing the cargo compartment. The capsule continued drifting away, and he was tempted for a moment to blast it to bits with his lasers. He had no doubt that amid the debris, ships waited and searched for things to recover. The individuals who had located and brought in the Another Chance had been on a salvage mission of sorts, and countless were the stories of treasures rescued from the ruin of Alderaan.

Many of those treasures were shown to be forgeries, created and planted by confidence tricksters to prey on the Alderaanian community. Even nastier than they were the people claimed to have been from Alderaan—all rescued by miracle or coincidence—and who subsequently sought to insinuate themselves with families who had survived but had lost relatives. Because of the nature of the Imperial economy, a considerable portion of the wealth of Alderaan had survived the planet’s destruction, making the survivors quite prosperous and, therefore, targets of opportunity for criminals.

He watched the capsule until it vanished into the swirl of debris. “Rest easy. I miss you all.” He punched up the power on his IFF beacon and pulsed its transmission out in one grand confirmation of his vow, then shut it down, turned the X-wing around, and started the long trek back to Yag’Dhul and the war against Ysanne Isard.

12

Fliry Vorru fought the sense of nakedness that his abbreviated clothing inspired in him and braced himself for Ysanne Isard’s tirade. “Yes, the diversion of the convoy has been confirmed by a number of sources. It is not the utter disaster you have made it out to be since Antilles is not holding on to our tankers, but is returning them.”

“Returning them so we can refill them and he can take them again.” Her diaphanous red gown swirled around her like a tornado. “You should have anticipated this sort of strike and taken steps to prevent it.”

Vorru waved her suggestion away. “I did anticipate it and chose to ignore it. The amount of bacta taken was insignificant in comparison to both our supply and the demand for it. In fact, the loss of that bacta has provided me an excuse for hiking prices yet again, increasing our profits. I calculate our losses at between seventeen and thirty billion credits—an amount I will recoup by the end of the month.”

“Bah! We lost more than just money when Antilles hit our convoy. We lost prestige and respect.” She pointed a hand toward the sky. “We have people out there laughing at us because a dozen aging snubfighters were able to pirate bacta from us.”

Vorru let his voice sink into a bass growl as he began to pace through her roomy office. “What we lost was insignificant and provides us an opportunity to cut Antilles off from his base of support. He stole the bacta and made a present of it to many of the worlds it was meant for anyway.”

“My point exactly. He has earned their goodwill.”

“But that will fade to bitterness when he cannot repeat his gesture.” Vorru’s splayed out fingers closed into a fist. “First, we will cut allotments to worlds to cover our losses. Second, we will delay shipments to worlds that accepted bacta from Antilles; and third, we will demand payment from those worlds as if the delivery had been made by Antilles on our behalf. Delinquent accounts will receive no more service from us.”

Molten fury flowed through Isard’s left eye. “You’re giving me bookkeeping. I want blood.”

Of course you do. Vorru’s features sharpened. While Isard had been on Imperial Center—even hidden away after the Rebel conquest—her connection to that center of power had anchored her. She had been patient and prepared to be subtle. Here, on Thyferra, where the omnipresence of plant life and the languid lifestyle of the human masters of the planet made it the antithesis of Imperial Center, Isard seemed prepared to indulge her more primal urges.

“Please, Madam Director, reflect for a moment on how our current position mirrors that of the Empire prior to the death