Sienar's expression did not change. He needs the codes necessary to switch on one of the trackers.
"Hurry," the Blood Carver said, its voice thin but self- possessed. Sienar noticed the tall gold being was recovering from a number of wounds, some superficial, but at least two more serious.
"Give me the ship's serial number, and I'll give you the code," Sienar said. "As a friend. Really, Tarkin."
Tarkin gestured quickly to the Blood Carver. He held out a small datapad on which the number was displayed, blinking rapidly in red. Beneath the number, an orbital registry account was also blinking, indicating the docking slot would soon be open for another Senate-sponsored vessel.
It took him no time at all to reconstruct the code string for that particular vessel. He had created the code based on an equation that utilized the serial number. He told them the code, and the Blood Carver entered it into his comlink and transmitted it.
Sienar shifted in his clothes, hoping to find the small spy droid that had obviously been set upon him during Tarkin's last visit. "The tracker will be useless in hyperspace," he told Tarkin. "It's low-power and unreliable at extreme distances. I've since learned how to build better."
"We'll have a newer tracker partner with yours before the ship leaves orbit. We need the code for them to communicate. Together, they'll serve our purposes."
"A senatorial vessel?" Sienar asked.
Tarkin shook his head. "Owned by an auxiliary of the Jedi. Stop fiddling with your pants, Raith. It's unseemly." Tarkin showed a small control unit fitted into his palm. He waved it casually, and something rustled in Sienar's pants. He squirmed as it dropped down his leg and crawled away from his booted foot. It was a tidy little droid of a kind Sienar had not seen before, flat, flexible, able to change its texture to match that of clothing. Even an expert might have missed it.
Sienar wondered how much this knowledge was going to cost him. "I was about to agree to your proposal, Tarkin," he said with petulance.
"I say again, we are very pressed for time."
"No time even for simple manners. . between old friends?"
"None at all," Tarkin said grimly. "The old ways are dying. We have to adapt. I have adapted."
"I see. What more can I offer?"
Tarkin finally saw fit to smile, but it did not make him seem any friendlier. Tarkin had always shown a little too much of the skull beneath the skin, even as a youth. "A great deal, Raith. It's been some time since you used your military training, but I have faith you haven't forgotten. Now that I'm sure you're with us-"
"Wouldn't dream otherwise," Sienar said softly.
"How would you like to command an expedition?"
"To this exotic planet you spoke of earlier?"
"Yes."
"Why tell me of this world before now? If you couldn't trust me enough to give you such a thing as a tracker code."
"Because I have recently been informed that to you, this world was no secret."
Raith Sienar drew his head back like a serpent about to strike and sucked in his breath. "I am impressed, Tarkin. How many of my most trusted employees will I have to… dismiss?"
"You know the planet is real. You hold one of its ships."
Sienar did not like being caught out in a ruse, however innocent. "A dead hulk," he said defensively, "acquired from a corrupt Trade Federation lieutenant who had killed its owner. The ships are useless unless their owners are alive."
"Good to know. How many of these ships have been manu factured, do you think?"
"Perhaps a hundred."
"Out of twenty million spacecraft, registered and unregis tered, in the known galaxy. And how much do they cost their owners?"
"I'm not sure. Millions, or billions," Sienar said.
"You have always thought yourself smarter than me, one step ahead of me," Tarkin said tightly. "Always on top of things. But this time, I can save your career, and perhaps your life. We can pool our sources, and our resources-and both come out far ahead."
"Of course, Tarkin," Sienar said evenly. "Is now the time, and is this the place, for a good, firm handshake?"
Chapter 8
Obi-Wan and Anakin donned their boots and joined Charza in the pilothouse in the starboard nacelle. Through the broad ports surrounding the pilot's position, they could see Coruscant's night side below them, the endless metropolis twinkling like a Gungan deep-sea menagerie. Anakin stood beside a line of small, hard-shelled, many-clawed creatures that fidgeted in the pool of water behind the pilot's backless couch. Obi-Wan stooped to sit in a smaller, empty seat on the opposite side of the couch.
Charza Kwinn did not need to turn his body to look them over with a pair of silver-rimmed, deep purple eyes. "I'm told you possess a scale from a garbage worm," Charza said to Anakin. "Won during a pit competition."
"Not a formal competition," Obi-Wan said.
"You wouldn't let me hand it over to the Greeter and claim my rank," Anakin said resentfully.
"I enjoy watching the pit races," Charza Kwinn said. "My kind engages in so little competitive behavior. It is amusing to watch more aggressive species rush to their fates." With this, he suddenly arched over backward, swept his spike fringe along the line of clawed creatures, and grabbed two. They were guided into a seam that opened between the thick bristles on his underside and quickly consumed.
The remaining members of the line kept their formation, but clacked tiny claws as if applauding.
"You are most welcome," Charza said to the survivors.
Anakin shuddered. Obi-Wan shifted in his seat and said, "Charza, perhaps you should explain your relations to my Padawan."
"These are friends, confidants, shipmates," Charza told the boy. "They aspire to be consumed by the Big One."
Anakin screwed up his face, then quickly blanked it as he realized Charza could still see him. He glanced at Obi-Wan, feeling at a loss.
"Never assume the obvious," Obi-Wan cautioned in an undertone.
"We are all partners," Charza said. "We help each other on this ship. The little ones provide food, and once they are consumed I carry their offspring inside me. I give birth to and take care of their babies. Their babies become shipmates and partners. . and food."
"Do you eat all of your partners?" Anakin asked.
"Stars, no!" Charza said with a scrubbing, shuffling imitation of human laughter. "Some would taste terrible, and besides, it's simply not done. We have many different relationships on this ship. Some food, some not. All cooperate. You'll see."
Using controls mounted on struts that curved along his sides, Charza pulled the ship away from the orbital dock and engaged the sublight engines.
For its age, the YT-1150 accelerated with remarkable smoothness, and in minutes they were out of Coruscant orbit, moving for the point where they would make their jump into hyperspace.
"Good ship," Charza said, and his bristles and spikes stroked the closest bulkhead. "Good friend."
Chapter 9