Authors: Timothy Zahn
But the Imperial Security Bureau ran under its own rules, and everyone in the Fleet knew it. If Commander Brillstow had heard enough stories of ISB displeasure …
And to his relief and surprise, the mottled hyperspace sky outside the hangar bay faded into the star-flecked blackness of realspace. “Acknowledged, Major,” Brillstow said, his voice stiff and formal. “You’re cleared to launch.”
LaRone switched off the comm. “Let’s get moving before they change their minds,” he told Quiller.
“It could still be a trap,” Quiller warned as he keyed
the repulsorlifts and swiveled the Suwantek toward the atmosphere screen. “They might just be letting us get outside where they can nail us with the heavy stuff.”
“I don’t think so,” Marcross said. “They wouldn’t go for a burned-ground endgame without at least trying to take us alive and find out what in blazes we think we’re doing.”
“I hope you’re right,” Quiller said. “Here we go …”
Seconds later, they were outside. Quiller curved them up the Star Destroyer’s flank, swinging them around behind the superstructure as he headed for deep space. A minute after that, as LaRone watched the tactical display for signs of a last-minute change of heart, the
Reprisal
flickered with pseudomotion and vanished again into hyperspace.
“Whew,” Quiller exhaled with a huff. “It’s so nice when ISB’s cloak-and-blade nonsense works against them.”
“Though that doesn’t mean we should sit here and wait for them to wake up,” Marcross warned. “Any thoughts as to where we go from here?”
“I was thinking Drunost might be a good first stop,” Quiller said, keying in an overhead display. “It’s about three hours away, a nice little backworld place that happens to have a Consolidated Shipping hub and outlet, which means it’ll have all the fuel and supplies we’ll need. It’s a long way to the edge of the Empire, you know.”
“
If
we decide we really have to go that far,” Marcross said. “There are any number of closer systems where we could hide.”
“We can hash that over later,” LaRone said. “Go ahead and get us started for Drunost.”
Quiller nodded and keyed his board, and the stars outside flashed into starlines. “Of course, one question
we’re going to have to answer before we get there is what we’re going to do for money,” he pointed out.
There was a beep from the intercom. “Quiller?” Brightwater’s voice came. “We clear?”
“Clear and free, and the
Reprisal
’s gone,” Quiller assured him.
“Great,” Brightwater said. “You might want to set it on auto and come back to the number two crew cabin—second on your right, just aft of the lounge. Got something interesting to show you.”
Brightwater and Grave were waiting when LaRone, Marcross, and Quiller arrived. Like the crew lounge itself, the cabin was designed with the kind of care LaRone would have expected of men running on an ISB budget. Furnishings included a narrow but comfortable-looking bed, a wall locker, a small computer desk, a repeater display over the desk that showed the ship’s current heading and overall flight status, and even a small private refresher station.
“Nice,” Quiller commented, looking around approvingly. “This one must be the pilot’s.”
“It’s mine, actually,” Grave told him. “But don’t worry—they’re all like this.”
“And if you think
this
is nice, hang on to your bucket,” Brightwater added. Stepping to the repeater display, he ran his finger along the underside of the frame. With a quiet
snick
, a section of the bulkhead at the end of the bed popped ajar, and Brightwater swung it open to reveal a hidden walk-in closet.
Or rather, a hidden walk-in arsenal.
There were a dozen blasters racked together on one sidewall, everything from fleet-issue BlasTech DH-17 pistols to standard stormtrooper E-11 rifles to a pair of hold-out blasters of a make and model LaRone didn’t recognize. Beneath the racked weapons were rows of power packs and gas cartridges, plus several small bins
of assorted replacement parts. On the other sidewall was one of Grave’s favored T-28 sniper rifles plus a selection of vibroblades, grenades, stun cuffs, and a couple of Arakyd hunter/seeker remotes.
And filling the center of the space were two complete sets of gleaming stormtrooper armor.
“The number one cabin’s got a slightly different selection,” Grave said into the stunned silence. “We haven’t checked the others yet, but it’s a fair bet they’re all tricked out the same way.”
“There are two Aratech 74-Z speeder bikes in one of the cargo holds, so I figure one of the cabins must have a set or two of scout trooper armor,” Brightwater added. “
That
one will be mine.”
“These guys sure came prepared,” Marcross commented. “I don’t suppose they also happened to leave some cash lying around?”
“If they didn’t, we can always rob a bank,” Quiller put in drily, gesturing at the weaponry.
“We haven’t found any credits yet,” Brightwater told Marcross. “On the other hand, it was pure dumb luck that we found
this
. We were looking for stowaways, not buried treasure.”
“I think we should remedy that,” Marcross suggested.
“Absolutely,” LaRone agreed. “We’ve got three hours to planetfall, stormtroopers. Spread out and let’s see what else the ISB was kind enough to put aboard our new ship.”
The final tally was impressive. There were fifteen sets of stormtrooper armor—eight standard, six specialized, and a full spacetrooper rig; fifty blasters of various sorts; a hundred grenades, including shock and explosive and even a pair of thermal detonators; thirty-five changes of civilian clothing; two landspeeders; two speeder bikes; a three-seat, six-passenger speeder truck; and numerous
bits of tracking, combat, and detention gear, including a small machine for turning out personal identity tags. There was also the rack of false ship transponder codes Quiller had predicted.
And there was cash. More than half a million credits.
“What in the worlds were they planning that they needed all this?” Brightwater muttered as they sat in the lounge comparing their lists.
“My guess is that they’re going for a jab at the Rebellion’s throat,” Marcross said. “Disguised freighters would be perfect for infiltrating enemy supply convoys.”
“Or for posing as renegades who want to join up,” LaRone said.
“Well, whatever they had in mind, it sure puts us in a good position,” Grave said. “So where exactly on the Outer Rim are we heading?”
“We could try Hutt space,” Quiller suggested. “The Empire keeps a pretty low profile there, and we could easily pick up a little enforcer or bodyguard work.”
“We’re not working for criminals,” Brightwater said stiffly.
“I just meant—”
“No, he’s right,” LaRone seconded. “We’re Imperial stormtroopers, not thugs for hire.”
“We’re not Imperial stormtroopers anymore,” Quiller muttered, tossing his datapad onto the hologame table.
“We’re still not working for criminals,” Brightwater insisted.
“There’s another possibility,” Marcross offered. “Instead of running for the Outer Rim like frightened Toong, why not stay right here in Shelsha sector?”
“I don’t know,” Quiller said doubtfully. “I looked over the system list earlier, and there aren’t a lot of places we could go to ground without someone eventually noticing us.”
“Unless we kept moving,” Brightwater suggested.
“We’ve got enough credits to do that, at least for a while.”
Marcross cleared his throat. “Actually, I was thinking we might try someplace on Shelkonwa.”
LaRone frowned in surprise. From the looks on the others’ faces, they were having the same reaction. “You want us to hide on Shelsha’s
capital
?” Quiller asked.
“It
is
the last place ISB would think to look for wanted fugitives,” Marcross pointed out. “And I know people there who could help us.”
“If you have friends there, it’s the
last
place we want to go,” Grave countered. “You remember the name of the first girl you ever kissed?”
Marcross snorted. “Of course.”
“How about the second?”
“Well … no, not really,” Marcross conceded.
“Well, ISB
does,
” Grave said. “Or they’ll know soon enough. We’re
fugitives
, Marcross. That means we can never again make contact with anyone we ever knew. Ever.”
“Let’s go a little easy on the long-term planning here,” LaRone put in. “First thing is to get in and out of Drunost without tripping any alerts. Once we’ve got full tanks and a full pantry, we can talk more about our options.”
Marcross still didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But I still want a chance later to make the case for Shelkonwa.”
“You’ll have it,” LaRone promised. “We’ll all have our say, and we’ll make the decision together. Like Grave said, the five of us are all we’ve got.”
Brightwater shook his head. “Why,” he said, “does that not exactly fill me with confidence?”
“S
O
,” E
MPEROR
P
ALPATINE SAID, HIS EYES GLINTING
from the shadows beneath the peak of his hood. “It is as I suspected. Moff Glovstoak is a traitor.”
“He’s at least an embezzler, my lord,” Mara said. “I don’t yet know whether or not he’s committed actual treason.”
“I consider theft of Imperial funds to be treason,” the Emperor countered. “Your part in this is now ended, my child—others will carry on from here. You have done well.”
“Thank you,” Mara said, feeling the warmth of his approval flow through her. “Then unless there’s something more urgent pending, I’d like permission to do an investigation of the six artworks I found in Glovstoak’s safe. The ones I examined appear to be from a batch of ten that were stolen from a gallery five years ago during an attack on a Rebel cell on Krintrino.”
The Emperor’s face darkened. “So as well as being an embezzler, Glovstoak may also be connected with the Rebel Alliance?”
“Or he may have a connection with the Imperial forces who carried out the attack,” Mara pointed out, a little cautiously. The Emperor was a wise and good man, but he had an odd tendency sometimes to see Rebels and Rebel conspiracies where they might not actually exist.
“Or it could have been pirates or thieves who simply took advantage of the attack’s chaos to grab and run. The interesting point is that Glovstoak apparently bought them through an auction house, which suggests he and the seller wanted a stamp of legitimacy put on the transfer.”
“You said ten were stolen,” the Emperor said. “Yet only six were in Glovstoak’s safe?”
“Yes,” Mara confirmed. “
And
all six were apparently bought at the same time about eighteen months ago.”
“Where are the other four?”
“As far as I know, they’re still missing,” Mara said. “That’s one of the questions I’d like an answer to. Another is why the original owner suddenly decided he needed such a large influx of cash a year and a half ago.”
For a minute the Emperor remained silent, and Mara felt a flicker of satisfaction. Private transfers of valuable objects happened all the time across the Empire, for any number of legitimate or borderline-shady reasons. Such questions coming from many of the Emperor’s other advisers and assistants would likely have been dismissed out of hand as irrelevant.
But Mara was the Emperor’s Hand, recruited and trained personally by him, and he trusted her instincts. “The loss of the Death Star was a great shock to even my strongest supporters,” he said at last. “Some, perhaps, might be wondering if my Empire is indeed the likely winner in this conflict with the Rebel Alliance.”
“Of course it is,” Mara said automatically.
The Emperor gave her another thin smile. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But not everyone sees things as clearly as you and I. If Glovstoak is not connected to the Rebellion, perhaps one of our wealthier citizens has decided to play both sides. Tell me, what is the current Rebel presence in Shelsha sector?”
“I don’t know yet,” Mara said. “I was planning to comm Shelkonwa and ask Governor Choard’s office to prepare a summary for me.”
“Don’t,” the Emperor said, the corners of his lips turning down with contempt. “Barshnis Choard is a competent administrator, but he has far too many ties with the wealthy and powerful of his sector. He might leak news of your investigation to the very people you seek. No, you will instead use my personal library for your research.”
Mara bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord.”
The Emperor held out his hand to her. “Go,” he said.
Mara stepped forward and took his outstretched hand, feeling a fresh wave of warmth and strength flow into her, then stepped back again. “One other thing, my lord,” she said. “When you have Moff Glovstoak and his administration arrested, I would ask that a member of his staff, General Deerian, be exempted from punishment.”
The Emperor regarded her thoughtfully. “You believe him to be innocent of Glovstoak’s treason?”
“I’m certain of it,” Mara said. “He’s also an honest and honorable man. I don’t wish to see the Empire deprived of his service.”
The other’s lip may have twitched slightly at the word
honorable
. But he merely nodded. “As you wish, my child,” he said. “I will have General Deerian transferred immediately to a position here on Imperial Center, where he will remain untouched by Glovstoak’s imminent destruction.”
“Thank you,” Mara said. Turning, she strode across the expanse of the throne room, passed between the silent red-robed Royal Guards, and stepped into the turbolift.
The Emperor’s library was a large and very private place, used only by a few of his top people, and only
with his express permission. Normally, there were a handful of attendants on hand to assist, but as Mara walked between the tall stacks of data card file cabinets toward the retrieval stations at the center, she was struck by the unusual silence. Apparently all the attendants had suddenly found a need to be elsewhere.
As she rounded the last cabinet she discovered the reason for their absence. Seated alone at one of the three computer stations was Darth Vader.