“What is it, Baron?”
Vidian had pleasantries for few—and none at all for Baron Lero Danthe of Corulag. The wealthy scion of a droid-making dynasty had a sinecure in Imperial administration but was always angling to turn it into something more, usually at Vidian’s expense. As now. “The Emperor has embarked on several amazing new initiatives,” Danthe said, beaming. “We need more thorilide.”
“I already know the quotas—”
“Those are the old quotas. The Emperor desires more.” Danthe’s eyes widened with happy malice. “Fifty percent more per week.”
“Fifty?”
“I told the Emperor you were on the scene, and that if anyone could do it, you could.”
“I’m sure.” Vidian knew Danthe could never have said such a thing: It didn’t involve stabbing the cyborg in the back.
“Of course, if my droid factories can help in any way, you have but to—”
“Vidian out.” He cut the transmission.
He was still steaming a minute later when he felt the thump indicating the shuttle had arrived on Ultimatum’s landing deck. There weren’t any “new initiatives,” Vidian knew: It was all Danthe’s doing, part of his continued pursuit of the count’s position in the Empire. Vidian had thwarted the upstart at every turn in the past, but this was something else. Given what Vidian had seen on Cynda, even 5 percent improvement would be a challenge.
Holding a datapad, Captain Sloane met him at the foot of the landing ramp. “You asked for updates every half hour on the chamber collapse,” she said. “We’ve confirmed it was intentional. A blasting team located a device set by the fugitive Skelly.”
Vidian wasn’t surprised. “The team survived. How did they escape?”
“Somebody played hero,” she said. “We’re trying to find out how—”
“Forget it,” Vidian said, looking through the magnetically screened landing bay entrance into space. After a few long moments, he nodded. “It’s time for the next phase.”
“Of the inspection, you mean?”
Vidian looked back at her. “Of course. It’s what we’re here for. The thorilide mines on the moon are only part of the problem. The refineries must be put in order. I must go to Gorse.”
Sloane blinked. “I had thought you’d decided it was more efficient to meet with the planetary managers here, by hologram.”
“I know what I decided. Don’t question me!” A second passed, and he lowered his voice’s volume. “My plans have changed. I’ll need your assistance on the ground.”
“I’m…not sure what you mean, my lord. Planetary security should be able to coordinate your efforts.”
“Captain, I have many more steps to take that will not be popular with the masses,” he said, hitting the last word with particular disdain. “As we’ve just seen, they need to know my moves have the full weight of Imperial might.” He studied her and thought for a moment before continuing. “You’re helming Ultimatum only while Captain Karlsen is detached elsewhere, no?”
Sloane averted her eyes a little. “Yes, my lord. There are more captains than postings.”
“Then we must build Star Destroyers faster. Perhaps Karlsen can return to one of those, instead—while you keep Ultimatum.”
She looked up at him. “But he’s more senior.”
“I hold some sway in certain quarters. Serve me well, and you may find this a permanent position.”
Sloane gulped, before straightening. “Thank you, my lord.” She saluted needlessly and departed.
Vidian turned to look into space. Gorse was down there, in darkness as it always was; only the lights occasionally peeking through the clouds gave any indication that the black body wasn’t just another part of the void.
Gorse had been a disappointment to him before—in ways nobody knew about. And now, it and its lazy workers threatened to do more than disappoint.
But he would deal with it. Efficiently, as only he could.
IT HAD BEEN, bar none, the worst work shift in Zaluna’s memory.
The new security condition had been executed earlier, quadrupling the surveillance workload on Myder’s Mynocks. Imperial security officials, an occasional sight in the elevators of World Window Plaza, were crawling all over the place—and more startling to Zaluna was the presence of stormtroopers in the building. All were following leads generated by her office and others, preparing to round up troublemakers in advance of what she’d gathered was Count Vidian’s impending visit to Gorse.
There had been visits to Gorse’s factories by bigwigs before, but none on this scale. Vidian’s role in the Emperor’s administration was no secret. He’d been a wealthy entrepreneur before joining the Imperial cabinet. The poor planet and its moon of riches were recent additions to his portfolio: He’d never set foot on Gorse before, so far as she knew. So if the security steps were exceptional, they were at least explainable. Gorse needed to put on a good show for the new boss. That the boss himself had ordered the measures was only added inducement. The Sec-Con One had created a frenzy, true—but an ordered one.
While her Mynocks scanned Cynda’s caverns for Skelly, Zaluna had looked for the dark-haired character she’d seen Skelly arguing with earlier in the elevator, in case he might know something. A Transcept file hadn’t been started on him—it took a while for migrant workers to get one—but she knew she’d seen him several times via various cams in recent weeks. The Rugged Pilot, she’d called him: always steering his cart and minding his own business—except when he wasn’t.
She had just found the pilot’s name in the Moonglow personnel records when she caught him on a Cynda cam, saving an old man from abuse by the frightening Count Vidian. Vidian, who had earlier done something to the guildmaster: The cams couldn’t see what, but Palfa had immediately turned up dead, and Vidian had remotely ordered the records of their meeting purged. It was the sort of thing that happened far too frequently these days.
So for standing up against Vidian, Zaluna had decided to reward Kanan Jarrus by leaving him alone. He’d already been intimidated enough for one day.
Work had proceeded normally for a while. Then came news of the explosion and collapse in Cynda’s mines—and everything went berserk.
Now the Imperials were on the work floor, quizzing Zaluna and going over recordings of events on the moon. They’d been at it for hours. While public reports from Cynda held that the collapse had been a natural phenomenon, the officers clearly thought a bomber was responsible and had already taken all the files on Skelly and a dozen other potential suspects known to have been on the moon. Making things worse for the Mynocks was the fact that few in the mining community seemed to believe the cover story—which just resulted in even more borderline seditious statements for her team to evaluate. It seemed as if every miner preparing to leave Cynda for the day had said something about it in a monitored place.
And the mere presence of the stormtroopers was rattling everyone. Intellectually, Zaluna knew the white-clad figures were on the side of peace and order, but there was no doubting how intimidating they looked. What must it be like to have them come to your home or workplace? She’d always wondered.
They’d all found out. Hetto, normally a source for tiny treasons in the safety of the office or during the isolation of his walks with Zaluna, was clearly nervous. He’d said nothing since the Imperials entered the room, keeping his dark eyes fixed straight ahead on his work whenever the officers came near.
And once, as she’d walked through his aisle, he’d reached out to tug at her sleeve. “Are they talking about me?” he whispered.
“You? Why would—”
“Never mind.”
She thought she knew why he was worried. If Skelly had indeed done harm on the moon, her team would get the blame for not flagging him sooner. But the remedy to that was obvious: vindication. And so she continued running her searches of Cynda’s surveillance network, hoping to catch sight of Skelly.
Then Zaluna had a flash of insight. Gorse!
She paused her search of the lunar surveillance cam feeds and started a new scan of Gorse, instead. The routine took less than a minute to find a vocal and retinal match.
“Got him,” Zaluna announced. Down on the work floor, the visiting Imperials paused in their conversations. “Skelly’s on Gorse. Moonglow Polychemical’s offices, over in Shaketown.” It was one of the covert feeds, coming off the corporate security cams.
“Here on Gorse?” The lead officer sounded alarmed. “How did he get down to the planet?” The burly lieutenant stomped up the steps to Zaluna’s dais and unceremoniously pushed past her. “Let me see. Out of my way, creature!”
Zaluna thought to stomp on the rude officer’s foot. Instead she listened in on her earpiece. “They’ve taken Skelly into custody. The factory manager’s contacting planetary security now.” That was plainly the case, from the images: She and the officer could clearly see Skelly secured to a chair and being watched by a Besalisk guard. She’d seen the guard many times over the years.
The lieutenant turned and barked an order, and three of the stormtroopers left the room. “Inform Ultimatum,” he said to one of his remaining aides as he brushed past and exited her platform.
The boss saves the day again, Zaluna thought. She exhaled, hoping against hope that the uncomfortable moments for the staff had passed. It wasn’t any easier on the watchers than the watched, and she’d never seen poor Hetto looking so rattled. She turned to face his workstation, hoping to find him relieved.
She didn’t find him at all.
Zaluna looked around for a few moments before realizing he was behind her, peering up at her through her shelves of plants. He’d gone around to the opposite side of the platform, out of earshot of the Imperials.
“You startled me,” she said with a relieved grin. “Thinking of taking up gardening?” Hetto was trying—and failing—to be nonchalant, she thought, pawing through the soil of her yellow stasias.
“They’re not leaving,” he said softly.
Zaluna cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The gaggle of agents was still off to the side, talking furtively about something. She looked back at Hetto reassuringly. “Don’t worry. We found Skelly again.”
“That’s not it.” He looked up at her. “Act like you dropped something.”
Hearing uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice, Zaluna lifted one of the pots from the upper surface and knelt, pretending to change the saucer beneath the plant. That brought her face-to-face with Hetto, who reached through the rails and took her hands. “Zaluna, I’ve…gotten involved with something. There’s someone I’ve been chatting with on the HoloNet about—never mind. I’m meeting—was going to meet her tonight.”
“Wait. What are you—”
He moved her hands onto the pot. “The address is on the note on the outside. Go alone. Please, Zal.”
Zaluna looked down at the pot. Something was half buried in the soil, she saw. It resembled a data cube, a high-density storage medium. Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. Some woman on the HoloNet? “Oh, Hetto, what have you gotten yourself into?”
“Nothing you didn’t know was coming.” He dipped his head and spoke somberly—more seriously than she’d ever heard him speak before. “If my help’s ever meant anything to you, you’ll deliver this. And…I’m sorry.” With that, he released her hands and departed from the railing.
Bewildered by the exchange, Zaluna picked up the pot and stood, looking to see which way Hetto had gone. He wasn’t hard to find. The big Imperial was back again, having stopped Hetto in his tracks—and there were stormtroopers with him.
“You’re Hetto?”
Hetto glared. “I am.”
“You are under arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“Sedition. We have a record of your comments—comments intended to disturb order.” The lieutenant yanked at Hetto’s shoulder. “All made while working here—here! You’ve abused the trust of the Galactic Empire!”
Hetto’s upper lip curled in defiance. “Galactic Empire? I think you’re confused. Didn’t you see the sign on the building? I work for Transcept Media Solutions!”
“Same difference! You work for us—and we won’t have traitors in our midst.” The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed beneath bushy red eyebrows, and he looked about suspiciously. “And what about the rest of you? Perhaps you people didn’t overlook the bomber on Cynda. Perhaps you all looked the other way!”
A shocked rumble came from the other members of the surveillance team. Zaluna moved forward to defend her people. “Now, wait a minute! This team has done everything the Empire has ever asked of it!”
“You’d better hope so.” The lieutenant sneered. “Everything that happened here today will be reviewed. If there’s anything to find, we’ll find it.” He gestured to Hetto. “We caught him, didn’t we?”
Hetto tried to move, but the stormtroopers grabbed his arms. His smirk disappeared. “Hear that, Mynocks?” he announced. “You’re all being watched, too.” He glared at the lieutenant. “Watching us, watching everyone! Well, go ahead and review all you want. Nobody here had anything to do with your stupid mine collapse—not like you care!”
“Perhaps,” the officer replied. “But you know the things you’ve said in the past about the Empire, Hetto. And so do we.”
Zaluna stepped down from her platform, almost ready to take on the stormtroopers herself if she had to. “Hetto, I swear. I didn’t know anything about this!”
Hetto looked at her and nodded. “I know, Zal. This isn’t the only floor in this building. These days, everyone is watched. Everyone. I’m just an idiot.”
With that, the lieutenant pointed toward the door, and the stormtroopers pushed Hetto ahead of them. Sounds of shock and dismay came from other employees.
Hetto looked back from the doorway—but not at Zaluna. His eyes were on the yellow plant on the top shelf. And then captors and prisoner were gone.
A hush fell over the work floor.
Eyes glistening, a young woman looked up at Zaluna. “Hetto’s been with us for ten years.”
“Twenty.”
“What’ll happen to him? You must know what…what goes on.”
Zaluna straightened, too uncomfortable to look at anyone directly. “I try not to ask. All of us here—we’re a tool that can stop bad things. Like we did—could have done—with that event on Cynda today.” She shook her head. “I don’t know about the rest.”
Imperial agents reentered the room. “Back to work, Mynocks,” Zaluna said, sounding resigned.
But she only sounded that way. Because after a moment’s thought, she marched back up to her platform—and pretended to water her plants.
It was a data cube, all right. And buried with it was a small note, quickly scrawled in Hetto’s hand. It bore the name of a local cantina. And one word:
HERA.
—
Hera would have to work fast.
It had taken her too long to find a place to park her starship. Gorse was a patchwork world, with one dead industry layered over another. The muddy ground wouldn’t permit the towering skytowers of the city-canyon worlds; that left a horizontal urban sprawl that seemed to go forever. She’d finally found a spot between some abandoned buildings. Her route here had taken her from one bad neighborhood to another.
She’d arrived at Moonglow’s headquarters only in time to see a Besalisk security guard and his helpers carrying someone bound to a starship acceleration seat out of the explosives hauler she’d tracked. They’d disappeared into the factory building after that; by then, Hera was sure the prisoner was Skelly.
Hera wanted to find out more about the man, but she still didn’t know whether it was worth any effort. Skelly had evidently driven the Imperials up the wall, and that was a good thing. He might know something useful. Or he might be a waste of time. Her cause required a disciplined approach—not impulsive acts. Or people prone to them.
A corporate shuttle landed, discharging a female Be
salisk—the head of operations here, Hera figured. Time was running out. A choice had to be made, and soon. She could see shadowy figures beginning to gather outside the building behind her: criminals, likely, now watching her. They were talking and pointing. Whatever their idea for her was, it was certainly no good.
But she got an idea for them, first.
NEVER MAKE A life-changing decision on an empty stomach. Good advice from Okadiah. But the food over at The Asteroid Belt was only edible in theory, and while Kanan Jarrus wasn’t going to change his mind about leaving Gorse, he wasn’t going to have his last meal come from picked-over snack bowls atop a bar. Especially not after the day he’d had.
That meant the diner by Moonglow. Just a few meters across Broken Boulevard—no one used the official name, Bogan—the establishment had survived years of hard times in the Shaketown neighborhood not just on the quality of its food but on the strength of its chef. Drakka’s volatile temper had made him notoriously unemployable at his cousin Lal’s mining firm, but it—and his four almost comically muscular arms—had made him eminently capable of dispatching any troublemakers.
He also made a mean bowl of stew. “Thanks,” Kanan said, taking another steaming serving.
The cook didn’t respond, keeping his bony beige headcrest down over his work as four massive hands worked the pots and pans.
“I’ll miss these great conversations,” Kanan added.
Drakka looked up long enough to growl, a creepy sound made creepier by the way the fleshy sac beneath his mouth fluttered. Then he returned to his cooking.
That was fine with Kanan. He prided himself on making it alone. Certainly, he talked to people every day: the people he had to deal with in order to get his job done. Mostly, though, he talked to no more than he absolutely had to. It wasn’t because of the secrets of his past; it just suited him. People could be real pains.
Okadiah was the exception. The old man had been friendly from the start, offering a drifter a place to stay and, later, a job. Thorilide mining had left Gorse for Cynda, but the quarries on the south side of town remained, making for a lot of cheap real estate; Okadiah had opened his cantina there, in the neighborhood known as The Pits. He’d hired Kanan to drive his ancient hoverbus, running miners back and forth between the Moonglow facility and the bar. Later, he’d recommended Kanan for the job of flying explosives for Moonglow. No one on Gorse was as kindly to newcomers.
The Rise of the Empire Page 40
