“Nice ship,” the giant growled deeply. It’s voice sounded as if it could easily shake planets apart.
“T-thanks,” Lina stammered, grabbing Milo’s arm. She tried to maneuver her brother around the nonhuman. “We like it.”
The hulking alien blocked their way. “I like, too. I take it.”
“It’s not for sale,” CR-8R informed him. The alien grinned, revealing rows of yellow teeth.
“Sell? You give to me!” the alien demanded.
“Is that right?” came an accented voice from behind them. The children turned to see another alien glaring at the giant with hooded bloodred eyes. This alien was tall. His powerful frame was draped in a long, heavy cape with a large hood that rested on top of the two pointed horns on his head.
The larger bully backed away instantly.
“S-sorry,” it stuttered, its multiple eyes wide with panic. “My mistake. Thought you someone else.”
The giant turned and fled, faster than Lina would have thought possible.
“T-thanks,” Lina said, looking at the newcomer skeptically.
“Not a problem,” he replied. “This is not a safe place for children. You should come with me.”
CR-8R put a mechanical hand on Lina’s shoulder defensively. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I am sure we will be just fine on our own,” he said.
The droid started guiding Milo and Lina away.
“Of course,” the horned alien said, waving good-bye. “After all, it’s not like you need help finding your transmission.”
Milo turned back to the alien, who was grinning like a Danorian wolf. “How do you know we’re even looking for one?”
The alien pulled down his hood to reveal two pointed ears, each furnished with gold rings.
“I couldn’t help but overhear, kid,” he grumbled. “The question is whether you’re going to trust me or not?”
Lina took a hesitant step forward. “You can take us to the person who’s making the transmissions?”
The alien’s smirk grew wider. “Not personally, but I know someone who can help. For the right price, of course.”
“And how much is that?” Lina said, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice.
The alien poked the tip of a pink tongue through sharp teeth. “That’s something you’ll need to ask my boss.”
“Your boss?” CR-8R repeated. “We don’t even know who you are, sir!”
“My apologies. How rude of me.” The alien gave a mock bow. “Cikatro Vizago at your service.”
“ARE YOU SURE this is a good idea?” Milo asked as they flew along the road to Capital City.
“No,” Lina replied. After introducing himself, Vizago had crammed the children and CR-8R onto the back of a landspeeder, which was now whizzing away from the landing strip. “But what choice did we have?”
“We could have gone back in the ship and flown away,” CR-8R replied. “If we hadn’t wasted all our fuel getting here in the first place.”
“It won’t be a waste if it can help us find Mom and Dad,” Lina scolded him.
Vizago looked curiously over his shoulder. “Who’s that you’re trying to find?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lina said quickly. She did not want to reveal too many secrets to the horned stranger. “We just need to find out who’s behind those transmissions.”
Vizago laughed. “That’s what everyone wants to know. Especially the Imperials. Old Azadi is running out of time.”
“Who?” Milo asked, shifting closer to the pilot.
“Him!” Vizago said, pointing to a large holo-screen on the side of a skyscraper. The face of a stern man glared back at them. “Ryder Azadi, governor of Lothal. The Empire’s given him a month to find and capture whoever’s been making those broadcasts.”
“But you said your boss can find them.”
“My boss can find anything.”
“Then why doesn’t he just tell the Empire?”
Vizago threw back his head and laughed. “My boss working with the Empire? That’ll be the day. He’d be happier if they left and were never seen again.” Vizago’s smile faltered for a second. “Although I wouldn’t hold your breath on that happening.”
The landspeeder turned a corner. They were in the middle of the city now, the buildings stretching high into the air above them. All around people went about their business—speeder bikes dodging each other along the roads.
Everything looked so clean and new. It looked nothing like the slum they’d just come from.
And every now and then, between the towers, Milo caught a glimpse of the looming Imperial building that was being built on the other side of town.
“If no one likes them, why did Lothal invite the Empire here in the first place?” he asked.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Vizago replied. “Capital City may look wealthy, but the planet was broke. Lothal used to sell crops all over the galaxy, but ever since the Clone Wars, people on other planets can’t afford to import food anymore. All of Lothal’s customers started growing their own crops. With no money coming in, the planet was quickly in financial trouble.”
“And that’s when the Empire came knocking,” Lina said quietly.
Vizago nodded. “We welcomed them with open arms. They had the solution to all our problems.”
Milo and Lina could tell from Vizago’s tone that he didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. “Now they’re here, there’s no getting rid of them. But hey, Imperial credits are as good as everybody else’s. The boss doesn’t really mind, as long as the cash keeps coming in.”
“You still haven’t said what your boss does,” Lina pointed out.
“You’re right, I haven’t,” Vizago replied, slowing the landspeeder. “You can ask him yourself.”
“Why are we stopping here?” Milo asked as they came to a halt beside a large warehouse.
“Because it’s the end of the road.”
Vizago jumped out of the speeder. He pointed proudly at a large sign that ran along the side of the building.
“‘Twin Horns Storage,’” he read aloud. “My own little empire.”
“You own a storage company?” Lina asked, hopping out after him.
“Yes and no,” Vizago said. “Come on.”
The alien marched toward the large front door.
“Can we trust him?” Milo whispered to his sister as they followed. Morq clutched tightly to Milo’s neck.
“No!” CR-8R insisted. Lina just shrugged.
“Your guess is as good as mine, but we don’t exactly have anyone else to ask.”
Vizago stopped by the door and waited for them. “This way please, although the rat will have to stay.”
Milo crossed his arms across his chest. “What rat?”
“That thing,” Vizago said, pointing at Morq. “The boss is allergic to monkey-lizards. He uses them for target practice.”
Morq squealed in alarm, clinging even tighter to Milo.
“You better wait here,” Milo said, trying to free himself from the monkey-lizard’s grip. “We won’t be long, I promise.”
“Allow me,” CR-8R piped up, swinging one of his manipulator arms toward the animal. Morq snarled and jumped off Milo. He landed on the wall of the building and scampered up to the roof.
“That’s better,” Vizago said, leading them through the door. They found themselves in a large reception area, where a pair of golden droids sat behind the front desk. Vizago swaggered toward them.
“I’ve got some friends here to meet the boss.”
The first droid shook its head, letting out a series of electronic chirps and whistles.
“I don’t care if he’s not available,” Vizago snapped. “He’ll want to see these guys, okay?”
The droid continued to argue, but Vizago wasn’t having any of it. “Listen. Either you let me show my friends through, or I test my new blaster on your head.”
To make his point, Vizago dropped his hand to the holster on his hip. The two droids
whistled at each other before a door opened behind them.
“Thank you,” Vizago sneered as he stalked past them.
“I thought you said you owned this place,” Milo pointed out, chasing after the alien. “Shouldn’t those two just do what you say?”
Vizago stopped at the doorway. “Don’t ask too many questions, kid. Now, step through the archway.”
Milo did what he was told. A red light washed over him as he passed through. Vizago checked a screen that was set into the wall.
“You’re clear. You’re not carrying any weapons. Now your turn, girlie.”
He pointed at Lina, who stepped up beside her brother. The red light flashed, although this time it was accompanied by a warning bleep. Vizago frowned.
“Hands up.”
“What for?” Lina asked, although she did as she was told. Vizago stalked over to her and grabbed her belt. Flipping open her belt pouch, he extracted one of the tools inside.
“What’s this?” he asked, flicking the tool’s activation toggle. A tiny energy blade appeared at the tip.
“That’s just my fusion torch.”
Vizago regarded her with suspicion. “Why do you need a cutting tool?”
Milo jumped to his sister’s defense. “You’ve never traveled in our ship. Lina’s always having to fix things.”
Vizago looked Lina up and down, sizing her up. “Little engineer, eh?”
“I try,” she said, sticking out her chin.
He pushed the torch back into her hands.
“Just keep it in your belt, okay?” he said. He walked back to the controls before turning to CR-8R. “You’re next, droid.”
CR-8R hesitated. “I can assure you I have nothing to hide.”
Vizago raised a heavy eyebrow. “You either do the scan, or I dismantle you piece by piece….”
Grumbling, Crater hovered through the archway. “Oh, very well.”
Vizago grinned as the screen bleeped again. “Perfect,” he said, reading the results of the scan. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Don’t tell him that,” Milo muttered under his breath. “His head is big enough as it is!”
“I heard that, Master Milo,” CR-8R complained.
“I think you were supposed to,” Vizago said, winking at Milo. “Come on.”
He led them into a large chamber full of stacked crates, each the size of a landspeeder. The stacks stretched all the way up to the ceiling. Every crate looked exactly the same, with gray metal sides and no markings.
“Impressed?” Vizago asked, noting their open mouths.
“There’s so many,” Lina said. “There must be hundreds and hundreds.”
“What’s in them?” Milo asked.
Vizago tapped the side of his nose. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”
He stepped over to the arch and flipped a switch. A shutter slid down, sealing them in.
Beside Lina, CR-8R made an irritated tutting noise. “Are we supposed to be intimidated, sir?” the droid blurted out. “You’re not fooling anyone.”
Vizago regarded the droid with an amused expression. “Is that so?”
“That security arch is military grade, far too sophisticated for a second-rate storage company,” CR-8R snapped.
“Oh, my company is second-rate now, is it?”
“No,” the droid continued, ignoring Lina’s attempts to shut him up. “You’re worse than that. You’re a crook. This entire ‘business’ is an obvious front for some kind of criminal enterprise.”
Vizago’s smile faded. “And how exactly would you know that?”
The droid wagged a mechanical finger at the alien. “Your company is as fake as you are, Cikatro Vizago. I just checked the Galactic register. According to the tax records, Twin Horns Storage made little to no profit on the books last year. You want to know what’s in the boxes, Master Milo? Nothing but weapons and stolen property, I’d bet. This is a smuggling den!”
“And this is Vilmarh’s Revenge,” Vizago snapped, a blaster suddenly in his hand. He was pointing it straight at the droid. “It was a gift from the boss. It’s an antique, but a powerful one. Keep your vocalizer shut, or I’ll blast the head from your shoulders—understand?”
“You can’t do this,” Lina said, putting herself between Vizago and the droid.
“Why can’t I?” the horned alien sneered. “So I don’t exactly operate within the law, but guess what? Neither does your mysterious broadcaster. And what about two kids and a droid on the run from the Empire? What does that make them?”
“How do you know the Empire’s looking for us?”
Vizago’s sneer returned. “I didn’t—until now. Either way, I wouldn’t be too picky about the company you keep.”
With his point made, Vizago slipped his blaster back into its holster and walked over to a control console.
“So I don’t know what’s in all the boxes,” he admitted, flipping open a panel to reveal a keypad. “That’s the boss’s business, but I do know that each crate has its own code. Just punch it in here…”
He tapped a five-digit code with one of his razor-sharp nails. Above them, one of the crates slid smoothly out of its stack.
“It’s got repulsors!” Lina exclaimed.
“They all do,”Vizago said as the crate descended toward them. “Enter the code and you get your box. Cool, huh?”
The large crate landed softly beside them, its repulsors humming.
Vizago grinned before calling out into the warehouse. “Hey, Rom, you there?”
His question was answered by footsteps as a green-skinned alien appeared from behind the nearest stack. This one was a Rodian with large round eyes and a prominent snout. As he approached, the alien pulled out a stubby blaster that he aimed straight at the children.
“Don’t mind Rom,” Vizago said. “He’s just here to keep the contents of this box nice and safe.”
“Safe,” Rom repeated sluggishly.
“What’s in it?” Milo asked.
“Nothing yet,” replied Vizago as he slid open the crate’s door to reveal an empty space inside. “Get in, now!”
“YOU WANT US to get in there?” Lina asked, staring into the empty crate.
Vizago chuckled and turned to the Rodian. “She’s a clever one, isn’t she, Rom?”
The snout-nosed alien echoed Vizago’s laugh. “Yeah, smart!”
“And what if we say no?” Milo asked.
Now Vizago’s weapon was back in his palm. “We’re the ones with the blasters, kid! What do you think will happen?”
Milo was fed up with being threatened. Looking behind Vizago and Rom, he shouted one word—“Morq!”
The two aliens turned slightly, expecting to see the monkey-lizard behind them, but it was the distraction that Milo needed. He darted around the empty crate and ran into the stacks. He had no idea where he was going, or what he would find. Maybe there was another exit. If he could get out of the warehouse, he could go find help.
Milo dashed around a nearby stack only to find himself looking at another pile of crates. He turned right and then left. There were just more crates everywhere, stacked all the way up to the ceiling. It was like being in a maze.
He picked a direction and ran in a straight line, passing column after column of boxes. Then, without warning, a crate slipped out of its stack in front of him. Milo skidded but couldn’t help banging into its side. The clang of the impact echoed around the warehouse.
He ran back the way he’d come only to find another crate sliding across his path. More crates were hovering into place, boxing Milo in. Vizago must be operating them remotely, Milo thought. He jumped up, trying to climb the sides of the box in front of him, but the smooth metal was too slippery. He was trapped! There was nowhere to go.
“Not bad,” Vizago called from above. Milo looked up to see the alien standing on top of a floating crate. “You’ve got spirit. The boss will like that.”
“Didn’t get me very far,” Milo grumbled, glaring up
at his captor.
“Don’t beat yourself up, kid,” Vizago said with a grin. “We’re professionals.”
Vizago marched Milo back to his sister and CR-8R. Lina threw her arms around him tightly. “What were you thinking, Milo? They could have blasted you!”
He knew it was stupid, but he’d needed to try, although it hadn’t done them any good. Rom herded them all into the crate. He followed them through the open door with his blaster trained on them. Milo covered his nose. The inside of the crate reeked of rotten fish.
“Enjoy your trip,” Vizago called from the outside.
“Wait!” Lina pleaded. “What are you going to do with us?”
Smirking, Vizago pressed a button on the side of the box and the door slid shut, plunging them into darkness. Milo ran forward and banged on the closed door.
“Let us out of here! Let us out!”
Lights flickered to life on the ceiling, illuminating the claustrophobic box.
“Away from the door,” Rom grunted as the crate lurched. The repulsors powered up with a whine.
Outside, they could hear the keypad beep as Vizago entered a longer, eight-digit code.
“We’re moving,” CR-8R said, lunging forward to catch Milo, who stumbled with the sudden movement.
Milo steadied himself. It felt like they were flying into the air.
“You can’t keep us in here,” Lina told Rom. “We have friends who know we’re here,” she lied. “Big friends. With bigger blasters than yours.”
“I like blasters,” Rom said blankly.
Lina joined her brother and the droid.
“Crater,” she whispered. “Can you burn your way out of this?”
CR-8R turned to look at the walls of the crate. “I don’t know. That looks like duramentium, one of the toughest steels in the galaxy.”
Lina sighed. “Which means my fusion torch will be next to useless, too.”
CR-8R nodded. “Unfortunately, that warty thug would blast us before we could even make a dent.”
“Rom blasts fast,” the Rodian commented. Milo sighed. There was obviously nothing wrong with Rom’s ears.
The Heist Page 2
