Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [140]
A holoprojector mounted in the floor conveyed a three-quarters tall image of a winded Wintle to her, placing it at her feet. “Forgive me, Madam Director, but I only just got here. The atmosphere here is a bit lighter than expected—the equivalent of a mountaintop. We are working with environmental controls to change that now. The atmosphere would be appropriate for Verpine technicians, and there is some indication the creatures have been working here.”
“I see.” Isard’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem adjusting the atmosphere? That should be a simple matter.”
“It should, yes, but environmental and helm controls seem to be locked out up here. They are routed into the auxiliary bridge. We’re preparing a team to go down there and shift control back up here.”
Isard’s frown deepened. “Dispatch your team, and send commandos with them. Do it at once. I will meet them at the auxiliary bridge.”
“As ordered, Madam Director.”
“Be quick about it, Captain Wintle. Isard out.”
She plucked her comlink from the chair slot and stood, for the first time noticing the open door to the rest of the suite and the woman standing there with a drawn blaster. Isard thought for a second, then nodded slowly. “Yes, you are the Wessiri woman. You work for Cracken. You were married to one of my people.”
Iella Wessiri’s brown eyes hardened. “Diric was never one of your people. Even at the end he defied you.”
“Ah, then the reports I read of his killing Kirtan Loor and your killing him were incorrect?” Isard allowed herself a smile. “I can tell you about your Diric. He broke almost immediately. We’d barely gotten him strapped into the interrogation unit when he started babbling on about all manner of things. I know more about you and the intimate details of your life with him than anyone should have been forced to listen to. Why …”
“Shut up.”
What surprised Isard was not what Iella said, but how she said it. Isard expected a shrill, snapped answer, uttered as censure and meant to inflict pain. Instead it came as a matter-of-fact comment, devoid of emotion. Isard couldn’t believe Iella could be so calm in the face of what she had been saying. And she will not remain so forever.
Iella shook her head. “You’re not in control here, Isard. I have three people in the auxiliary bridge. Your people left on the bridge will suddenly find themselves with too little oxygen to function and they’ll drop into a deep sleep. Those heading down to the auxiliary bridge will find themselves trapped in a section of corridor in which the atmosphere will be pumped up to five times normal pressure. Even if they have their own sources of oxygen, the pressure will prevent them from being able to breathe. They’ll go out, too.
Isard twisted the bottom of her comlink, then raised it to her lips. Her words burst out over the ship’s internal communications system. “Now hear this, I am Ysanne Isard. To the three people in the auxiliary bridge, I offer twenty-five million Imperial credits each to turn the ship over to my representatives. If your compatriots object, kill them and the whole amount is yours.”
The holoprojector burned to life again, showing a tall, white-haired man with a mechanical left eye standing between a dark-haired woman and a black Bothan with splashes of white over her fur. “This is Booster Terrik, Acting-Captain of the Lusankya. My loyal bridge crew and I agree there are not enough credits in the galaxy for you to buy control of this ship from us. Iella, kill her and be done with it.”
As the holograph faded, Isard looked over at Iella. “So, I forced you to murder your husband, and now you will shoot me in cold blood? Is that the plan?”
Iella shook her head. “Booster’s idea of justice is a bit more direct than mine, a little less refined.”
“Really? No desire for revenge?” Isard arched the eyebrow over her blue eye at