“And when he was just starting, a Corellian smuggler.” Alema looked at her suspiciously. “Is this the speech about Corellian smugglers?”
“Yes.” Lavint raised the third finger into place again. “Three. What’s Booster Terrik?”
“Businessman, shipowner … and, we must guess, Corellian smuggler?”
“Retired.” Lavint smiled. “You’re catching on. Also father of a daughter named Mirax Terrik. What’s she?”
“Corellian smuggler.”
“Good. We’ve got the trunks all laid out. They grow from the same ground. Corellian-smuggler-hood. Now, where do the branches come together? Han Solo is married to Leia Organa, so there’s a Jedi connection-and not just any Jedi connection, because Leia’s the sister of the Grand Master. Antilles is married to an ex-New Republic Intelligence agent, so he’s got branches into Galactic Alliance Intelligence. Booster’s daughter is married to Corran Horn, another Jedi, with branches into CorSec. Horn and Antilles flew together. I’ve been doing more research on them. Antilles has a daughter named for Terrik’s daughter. You see how tight the branches are?”
Alema added it up. “So the Solos are here because of all their friends, the security they represent…”
“And money, and resources, and you’re not going to find them in the Deepcore Lounge because they don’t have to Iningle, they’re all in it together with the owner of the entire establishment. You’ve been wandering the public areas while they’re probably all on the bridge, drinking and laughing together.”
Alema felt a sudden flush of gratitude that she had not killed this woman. It was a rare emotion for her. “We must begin to search other places.”
“Yes, and right away, so I can get some sleep.”
BOTHAWUI SYSTEM
SHAMUNAAR
On the records and assignment sheets, a thin screen of starfighters and armored shuttles equipped with long-range sensors guarded the Rimward edge of the star system. If the fleets that were assembling, performing maneuvers and war games, and otherwise rattling their lasers deep within the system were to head out in the direction of the Outer Rim-toward, say, Kamino, directly opposite the direction a fleet would most logically take if headed toward Corelliathis screen would detect it and transmit that information to Shamunaar for retransmission to the Second Fleet. The Bothans would not be able to take the task force at Corellia by surprise.
In theory.
In fact, Admiral Klauskin had identified a number of this task force’s pilots and officers as traitors. He’d been very careful to flag the ones whom Captain Biurk had already written up for various disciplinary reasons, and to avoid those Biurk indicated he trusted implicitly. Then Klauskin had assigned each of them to the Outer Rim screen. He and Biurk had positioned Shamunaar at the heart of that coverage area, and had called in each of those on-duty pilots in turn, arresting them and seizing their vehicles.
Now, though they were still officially onstation, each of the alleged traitors was in the brig, and Shamunaar floated alone, doing the work of the entire screen by herself.
She was more than fit for the job, of course. She had been fitted with the best long-range sensor suites a frigate could boast. It was unfortunate that she couldn’t remain at her usual station, well outside the Bothawui system on the Bothawui-Corellia approach corridor, but there she was merely redundant. Here she was doing critical work.
“Don’t worry,” Klauskin told Biruk. “I’ve transmitted news of our success to Admiral Niathal. She’ll be sending replacement vehicles immediately.”
“Good to know.” Biurk stood in the middle of the bridge and turned to look at each officer’s display in turn. He was restless, and would continue to be until all those replacement forces were in place.
“Your officers look bored.”
Biurk gave the admiral a surprised look. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“Still … let’s shake them up a bit. I spent part of yesterday putting together a simulation. In the sim, the three Bothan fleets stage a simultaneous breakout, and one heads straight for Shamunaar. There’s opportunity for a stand-up fight, or for picking off their weaker units.”
Biurk smiled at the admiral’s mistake. “Just telling me that affects my tactics, Admiral.”
“So it does. Well, put your second in command in charge.
You and I will run things from the auxiliary bridge.”
“Right.” Biurk turned toward his second, a tall Gotal.
“Lieutenant Siro! You have the bridge for a sim. The admiral and I will be running it from the auxiliary bridge.” Moments later Klauskin and Biurk walked into the auxilliary bridge, a small, seldom-used chamber, its walls more thickly lined with displays than any other compartment on the frigate. These displays were just now flickering into life, as were the overhead lights. The bridge doors slid shut behind the two men.