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Krennel sat back in his chair. She was right, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was also what he expected out of her. He had assumed from the beginning she would have any number of little projects going on that he would not know about. His only control over her activities came through the resources he allotted to her. Her budgets, while not tiny, certainly were not overly generous. He expected that she supplemented what he gave her from other sources, but even doubling or tripling her funds would not allow for huge projects.

He smiled. “Ah, I see your point. The New Republic says this base was involved in researches, which you could have financed, but the construction would be beyond your reach.” He held a hand up to forestall her protest. “Or, rather, if you had such resources, you would not have allied yourself with me.”

Isard gave him a respectful nod. “Your Academy education does you proud. This report by the New Republic is clearly a hoax designed to provide them the moral high ground in its struggle with you. Your championing of freedom and personal choice, as well as our painting Pestage as an Imperial butcher on a scale that cried out for his elimination, had pretty well eroded support for their war against you. Their desperation shows in their use of this tactic.”

“So there is no evidence for this lab?”

“There is a hole in the ground where they indicate there should be one, yes. It’s gutted, with all useful material long since gone. How long it was there, none of my agents can estimate. The place has been there for a long time, but any refits were fairly recent. One agent remembers having gone fishing in that area two years ago and he saw nothing. None of your resources were used in guarding it and no traces of transactions regarding it can be found in local records.”

“Were they sliced out?”

Isard blinked her eyes in an uncharacteristic way that Krennel took as a sign of confusion. “It is conceivable that they were, but a completely successful codeslice job leaves exactly the same trace as no slice job at all. I suppose you could conclude the evidence on this point is inconclusive or incomplete.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“No. I think this is all a put-up job by the New Republic to get at you.” Isard began to pace. “We will have to fight this, of course.”

“I have a more immediate concern, which is fighting the New Republic’s armed forces.”

Isard’s features sharpened and a razor’s edge entered her voice. “Be aware of one thing and never forget it, Prince-Admiral: This war against you is a political war. They have forged this moral imperative to get at you because they do not have the belly to exert the force they should. Perhaps they cannot—perhaps Thrawn’s assault hurt them more than we can imagine. They are taking things gradually because slow is the only speed they can hit. Our counterassault will involve three steps that will cause them to seriously re-evaluate their chosen course.”

“Three steps?” Krennel opened his metal hand and ran his fingers across the indentation he’d made when he pounded his fist into the desk. “And they are?”

“First, you will issue a statement concerning this charge against you. You will be distraught and angry. Do you remember Wynt Kepporra?”

Krennel closed his eyes for a second and saw the face of an eager young man, head shaved, blue eyes bright, in a cadet’s uniform from the Imperial Academy. “He was in my class from Prefsbelt Four. We were in the same company because our last names began with the same letter. I recall him, vaguely.”

“Well, now he was your best friend there. He was from Alderaan—this is true—and died when the planet was destroyed. He was home on leave, visiting his family. His death hurt you terribly, so much so that you volunteered for service in the Unknown Regions. Later you reconsidered and returned to try to exert influence to make sure there would be no more Alderaans. For the New Republic to suggest you would have anything to do with a project that would re-create the weapon that destroyed your friend, well, those are tactics