[Black Fleet Crisis] - 02(7)

“Senator—” “But Pakkpekatt allowed these meddlers, these outsiders, these amateurs, to intervene, and suddenly it becomes impossible to write off our losses in a professional manner.”

Rieekan tried again. “Senator, have the reports from Colonel Pakkpekatt led you to reevaluate the potential gain if we succeed in recovering the Qella vessel?”

“No, General,” said Praget, with a touch of impatience at being handled. “I’m still quite convinced that this artifact is worthy of our interest. But I don’t see that the circumstances justify sending a Force Two armada wandering through a thousand cubic light-years on what is very likely to be a futile effort.”

“With all the uncertainty in Farlax, we could surely find better uses for those ships than chasing a phantom,” said Senator Amamanam. “The vagabond will turn up again.”

“Will you be personally handling the apologies to Luke Skywalker, then?” Senator Noimm asked cuttingly.

“Will the chairman make himself available to the newsgrids to explain exactly under what circumstances these notables disappeared?”

“If I might make a suggestion—” Rieekan began.

“By all means,” said Praget.

“A contact suit isn’t designed for long endurance.

Its recycling systems are simple and relatively inefficient.

Its consumables, if managed wisely, might last the wearer perhaps two hundred hours—certainly no more than two hundred and twenty,” said the intelligence director.

“So we simply wait a few days to declare them dead, is that your point?”

“Not quite,” Rieekan said. “If they are still alive, the general and his team will be highly motivated to act expeditiously. Anything they can do to impede the flight of the Qella vessel, they will do in the next several days.

So it seems only prudent to me to allow Pakkpekatt to continue the search for, say, another fifteen days.”

“If nothing else,” said Senator Amamanam, “doing so would cut the heart out of the charge that we abandoned the Baron to his fate.” He glanced expectantly down the table toward Senator Noimm.

“If you’d truly like to protect yourself, I suggest you go one step further and propose that we send Pakkpekatt the additional vessels he requested,” said Noimm. “Otherwise the search might be seen as the token gesture it is.”

“No, no, no,” said Praget. “Pakkpekatt gets no more ships. That incompetent Hortek spook what he ought to get is a review board and a dishonorable separation.

But I suppose I’ll have to settle for the general’s finding a deep, dark hole to drop him in once this is over.”

“I wouldn’t support sending additional ships,” said Rieekan, ignoring Praget’s other comments. “The way I see it, we now have assets aboard the target vessel. That changes the tactical equation. We’re not going to be trying to run it into an interdiction net, or firing on it.

We just need to find it and be on hand to pick up our people.”

“I see Pakkpekatt only has four vessels actively committed to the search at this point.”

“That’s right,” said Rieekan. “So I think we can reasonably talk about downsizing our commitment to this project. If everyone will look at page fifteen in the mission outline, the ship assignment list—”





CChapter 2


“Have you ever used a cutting blaster before, Lando?” Lobot asked with concern.

“Lots of times,” said Lando, bracing himself between the inner bulkhead and the equipment sled.

“But don’t ask me for a list. The statute of limitations hasn’t run out on all of ‘em. Artoo, can I have a little more light in here, right in front of me?”

The dome-topped droid drifted up and forward on tiny puffs of thruster gas, changing the angle of the light slightly.

“That’s good, Artoo—hold right there.”

“Be careful not to cut too deeply,” Lobot said.

“There may be mechanisms behind the wall—” “If Artoo’s right, there’s nothing behind this part of the wall. The sonogram showed a thin bulkhead and another compartment beyond, five meters in diameter.”

“I know. But a ship this size could have waste ports five meters in diameter. Or fuel conduits.”

“You know, Lobot, when you’re cut off from your databases, you’re almost as much of an old lady as Threepio here,” Lando said, but not without affection.

“Threepio, any change?”

“No, Master Lando. There has been no response to my first nine hundred sixty-one thousand, eight—” “Save it for the log,” Lando said.