“They escaped?”
“It wasn’t clear at the time that they were criminals.”
“Do we know what account they were attempting to infiltrate?”
“I don’t have that information, sir. According to Bloomi, they hadn’t gotten far enough in their scam.”
“I want Bloomi under interrogation now. Make sure he is telling the truth. Do you have the cruiser’s registry numbers?”
“Of course. It’s been reported as stolen.”
“Put it through the highest security search. I want that ship.” Vader closed the communication. It could mean nothing—but he didn’t like the coincidence. Eve Yarrow’s accounts were on Niro 11. And just now, he’d felt something was amiss at her retreat.
Someone was on Eve Yarrow’s tail.
He activated the comm unit again. In a moment, Hydra’s hologram shimmered. “I am at your service, Lord Vader.”
“Where is Olin?”
“We completed our investigations, and he went back to Coruscant to receive our next orders.”
“Have you heard from him since he returned?”
“No, Lord Vader. I am scheduled to meet with him after I tie up some loose ends here.”
“Forget your orders. I need you to track this ship.” Vader recited the registry numbers. “Detain the ship and arrest whoever is aboard. Give this your highest priority.”
“Yes, Lord Vader.”
“This is your last chance to redeem yourself. Things on Alderaan did not go well. Contact me when it is done. Then I might have need of you again.”
Vader blasted into hyperspace. He had to return to Coruscant.
Ferus bypassed the parts stores that advertised their gleaming wares in organized rows on ramps that brought your order seconds after you keyed it in. He was looking for an older shop, a little cluttered, that wasn’t doing so well and would be glad for the business. He found it about a half a kilometer from the spaceport, in a rundown area that had seen better days. He passed a droid repair shop, a messenger service, and a takeout tea shop. Then he saw it—a grimy laser sign blinking TUTEN’S STARS IP REPA RS. He figured if a repair shop couldn’t be bothered to repair its own sign, it would be a safe bet that the people inside would help him without asking too many questions.
He entered the shop. A humanoid male came out from behind a battered desk heaped with oily parts. His thick-fingered hands were black with grease. Even his cranial crown was black and oily, looking more like a spare part of a ship than a part of his body. Ferus recognized him as a Koorivar. He had heard that there were plans to shift many non-human species out of the Core Worlds and move them farther out among the Mid-Rim worlds. He imagined that this proprietor wouldn’t be a fan of the Emperor.
“Tuten at your service,” the Koorivar said. “We have everything you need, everything guaranteed.”
Ferus looked around the cluttered shop. He wondered how Tuten could find anything here. “I need a transpasitor.”
“Not a problem, I have many over here. I always keep many models in stock. Let me show you and you can choose.” Tuten led Ferus over to a wallful of drawers, some huge, some tiny. Spilling out of them were various tools and parts. Ferus kicked through a pile of greasy rags to get to the drawer. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here. What if the parts were defective?
As if Tuten had caught his thought, he pulled open the door with a flourish. “What the others don’t understand is, grease makes these parts work. You slip them right into your engine, power up, and they hum like babies. Look. I only procure the best for my customers.”
Ferus scanned the parts. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew engines. These parts looked in good shape. He ran his fingers along the transpasitor, searching for the telltale seam that would mean it had been re-welded.
“No re-welded parts in this drawer. Only the best. Did you come through a magnetic storm on the way here? Because that can make them go wonky if they’re not calibrated just so by a good mechanic, not a smidge off because if not...poof, bam, smoke, and you’re in trouble. These new models with the twin ion engines, very fancy, right? But they don’t tell you about that, do they?”
“I’ll take this one.”
“Excellent choice. Discerning customer. I like that.” Tuten smiled, and Ferus wished he hadn’t. His teeth were as black as his cranial crown.
Ferus followed him back to his cluttered desk. Tuten reached under and fished out a battered datapad from the pile. “Okay, just the routine questions. ID registry number of ship?”
Ferus knew this was coming. The Empire was trying out a new policy at major spaceports, forcing parts dealers to obtain ship registry numbers for major parts requests. It was just another way to keep up with ships going in and out, just another regulation, just another tax.
And just another way for the Empire to track his ship.
He leaned over the counter, holding credits in his hand. “Do we really need to do this? It’s such a small part. It would fit in my pocket, and I could walk out of here.”
“True, true. And regulations are so...pushy. What a bunch of meddlers, those officials are.”
“All that paperwork for just a transpasitor.”
Tuten eyed the credits. “Transpasitors are expensive...”
“Getting more expensive all the time.” Ferus added more credits to the pile.
Tuten grabbed them. “Now, since we’ve made such a nice deal, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll throw in a re-welded one as a backup. Then you tell everyone you know to come to Tuten’s, to get the best deal in the Mid-Rim. Hang on.”
Tuten disappeared into the back storeroom. Ferus put the transpasitor in his pocket. He waited a moment, and then another.
And then he got a very uneasy feeling.
Maybe it was time to go.
He looked out the dusty front window. Two stormtroopers were pulling up in a landspeeder.
Ferus vaulted over the counter and ran into the back. Tuten had wedged himself between two towering piles of junk and was trying to look invisible. His eyes widened when he saw Ferus. “Sorry!” he whispered. “They threatened to close my shop if I don’t inform! Anybody who doesn’t want me to give the registry numbers, I have to tell. Sorry!”
Ferus ignored him and headed for the back exit. He entered the back alley just as one of the stormtroopers rounded the corner, blaster in hand. Ferus leaped, avoiding the blaster fire that struck the door, leaving it a smoking wreck. He ran along the top of the wall and then leaped onto the next roof, blasterfire streaking the air behind him. He could feel the heat at his back.
This wasn’t good. He meant to just slip in and out, fix the ship, and be off. Now he had stormtroopers on his tail, and he couldn’t lead them back to the spaceport.
Ferus leaped down from the roof into the next alley. He saw that a maze of alleys ran behind all the shops, connecting them to a utility lane on one side.
One of the skills he’d learned as a Jedi was a practical one—Jedi didn’t get lost. He’d had enough memory drills at the Temple, exercises called “urban pursuit” in which he’d had to memorize a map of a large city in a matter of minutes and then plot an escape route in a matter of seconds, following a trial run through the streets of a quadrant of Galactic City.
So a twisting maze of alleys shouldn’t have been a problem.
He had an advantage. He was on foot, and the stormtroopers were in a landspeeder. What they gained in speed they lost in maneuverability on the narrow passageways, some barely wider than his shoulders. He ran, dodging garbage and the occasional surprised proprietor leaning against his or her back stoop. In his mind he kept the location of the spaceport firmly fixed, even as he turned left, right, then left again in a series of twists and switchbacks. Sometimes he could hear the hum of the landspeeder’s repulsorlift engine but he would double back and dodge behind a convenient heap of parts or garbage and the noise would grow fainter.
Things would have been fine—well, not fine, but doab
le—if he hadn’t run out of alleyways. And if he hadn’t heard the doubling, then tripling, of engine noise. Airspeeders now, capable of flying over the alleyways. They’d sent in reinforcements.
Ferus knew now that he’d eventually be cornered. He couldn’t outrun this amount of Imperial support.
He could hear the noise of the engines as they circled, waiting for him to emerge. He would be spotted as soon as he did. The landspeeder was in the next alley, searching for him, hoping to drive him out.
He contacted Trever on his comlink. The boy sounded relieved when he heard his voice.
“Did you get the transpasitor?” Trever asked.
“Got it.”
“Good. Is everything okay?”
“Great,” Ferus said, wincing as another airspeeder buzzed overhead. “Where are our passengers?”
“They went to the cantina. Wil and I are on the ship, but we’re about to follow.”
Ferus thought quickly. “All right. Find tables on the terrace, the one nearest to the runway. And watch for me. When I give the signal, get everyone aboard.”
“Okay, got it,” Trever said. “We’ll be ready.”
Ferus doubled back down the end of the alley. He recognized that he’d come full circle. He was looking for something now, a business he’d seen on the way to the repair shop. He scanned the signs over the doorways, trying to decipher the faded and missing letters. He stopped in front of SPEEDZING MESSENG RZ 4 ALL YO R NEEDZ.
A pen held a battered array of swoops. A group of youths loitered around them, leaning against the walls of the building. They watched Ferus with flat gazes. He knew that often messenger boys and girls were recruited from the poorer sections of cities, paid little and worked hard, with long hours and much abuse. On some planets with aging communications systems and frequent planetary atmospheric disturbances, it was sometimes faster and easier to employ a messenger than rely on the comm network.
Ferus nodded at several members of the group. He picked out the one with the most obvious attitude, the one who looked him up and down with a hostile expression.
“Who’s the fastest here?” he asked.
“Ditto,” one of the kids said, jerking his chin toward the boy Ferus was eyeing. “He’s the one.”
Ferus gave a quick look at the battered swoops. They were basically engines with seats and handlebars. “On these machines?”
“If you got the stuff, it shouldn’t matter what you’re sitting on,” the boy named Ditto said. “But not many have the stuff.”
“So, do you think you do?” Ferus asked him.
“Said I did, didn’t I?”
“Because I’ve got a job that pays, but I need someone who’s not only fast, but who can maneuver through traffic. Heavy traffic.”
Ditto rolled his eyes. “Space traffic is easy. If you go fast enough, the others just get out of your way.”
“Even stormtroopers?”
“Stormtroopers?” the boy snorted. “They only think they know how to drive.”
The girl standing next to Ditto spoke up. She had short, spiky red hair and a dust-streaked face. “You’ve got to clear all jobs through the boss.” She jerked her chin. “Inside.”
“I don’t want to go through your boss.”
The group fell silent. Ferus knew what he was asking. If anyone did a job for him, they’d risk dismissal. “But the job will take less than three minutes. Ditto here would be the first rider, but I need the rest of you, too. I’ll pay triple rates.”
“This is becoming an almost interesting proposition,” Ditto said.
The girl looked him up and down. “We better see the credits first.”
Ferus reached into his pocket. Luckily Flame had given them all substantial amounts of credits before they’d left.
“Who wants to work for me?” he asked.
All the boys and girls crowded close. Ferus handed out credits. “You’ll get the second half at the spaceport, at the terrace at the cantina.”
The rest of the messengers looked at Ditto and the girl. They seemed to be the leaders. Ferus waited, watching them. Ditto and the girl stared at him, trying to make a judgment as they held the credits in their fists.
“Why not?” Ditto said. “It’s been a slow day.”
The crowd of swoops rose into the air like birds, with Ditto in the lead. Ferus stayed in the middle of the flock, flying so close to the others that he could have reached out and touched his neighbor’s elbow. He’d borrowed an old cap, pulled it down on his head the way the others did, and kept his head low, the wind in his face.
The red-haired girl, Laurn, who turned out to be Ditto’s sister, flew next to him. They flew fast, straight up out of the alley district. The airspeeders full of stormtroopers came close to check them out, but the messengers only laughed. They buzzed close to the airspeeders, circled around, dived, and climbed, zooming away as the stormtroopers ignored them and still kept a tight cordon on the area. They were used to the antics of the messenger fleet.
The fleet kept close ranks around Ferus. He was just glad he was a good enough pilot to keep up with them.
“Not bad for a space pilot,” Ditto circled back to yell at him. Ferus could tell he’d earned the boy’s respect.
When they were clear of the airspeeders, he signaled Ditto that he was leaving and peeled off toward the spaceport. He dodged the air traffic and zoomed inside the hangar. He abandoned the swoop and activated the ramp on the cruiser. He knew it was only a matter of time before the stormtroopers figured out what had happened.
The ship was empty. He accessed the engine compartment and climbed in. He slid the transpasitor into place and heard it click. Then he ran a quick systems check, careful to set the calibration perfectly. Everything flashed green. He was good to go.
He started up the cruiser and contacted Trever on the comlink at the same time. “Be ready. I’ll be there in thirty seconds.”
“But I haven’t finished my bantha burger.”
Ferus grinned. He knew Trever would be ready.
He maneuvered the cruiser out of the hangar and out into the spaceport while he called for clearance at the tower. He headed for the cantina, a large building that was on one side of the landing area so that smaller space cruisers could pull up directly outside. At this slow speed he could see Trever’s blue hair and the knot of the resistance leaders huddled around a corner table on the terrace. It was a busy cantina, with beings entering and exiting and table-hopping, and though he couldn’t hear the roar and buzz of conversation, he could imagine it.
His comm unit crackled to life, and he heard his registry number.
“Report to control office,” an officer commanded.
They had checked on the registry and seen it was temporary.
Ferus activated the comm. “Didn’t read that. Heading for departures and will check in with departure agent. Over.”
“Check in at control office, over.”
“Over,” Ferus muttered, shutting down the comm.
He stopped outside the terrace. Trever already had the leaders moving, heading for the cruiser by the back exit. Ferus activated the ramp. The leaders hurried toward him. Ferus was counting seconds now.
The airspeeder patrols came winging over the spaceport. Suddenly the red light flashed near the departure area. They must have traced Ferus here. They’d closed down the spaceport.
Suddenly the messengers appeared from out of the sky, piloting their swoops with seeming recklessness but perfect control. They dived toward the permacrete runways, circled, and spun in tight loops. Ferus saw Laurn’s red hair fly and her cap tumble to the ground.
The stormtrooper patrols had to practice evasive action in order not to crash. Other vehicles scrambled to get out of their way. In seconds, the scene was mayhem.
The resistance leaders attracted no notice as they hurried toward the ship. Everyone else was looking up at the sky.
“Take over,” Ferus said to Wil. Wil slid into the cockpit as Ferus leaped out a
few meters onto the runway. Ditto flew down, close to him, his hand outstretched. Ferus tossed the bundle of credits high. Ditto snatched it and zoomed away.
The leaders were all aboard now. Ferus hurried back inside the ship and closed the ramp. He took the pilot seat back from Wil.
“Time to get out of here,” he told Trever.
He lifted off into the crowded sky. Ditto and the others flanked him for a moment. Ditto gave him a salute.
Ferus zoomed away. He could see the Imperial ships taking off after him. He pushed the engines hard. The craft responded. Within seconds they’d reached the upper atmosphere.
He dived and pushed the speed, hoping to make it past the planet’s gravitational pull and into space.
Trever bent over the radar. “We’ve got ten ships coming up...they’re splitting into two groups.”
“They might not be authorized to leave the planet’s atmosphere,” Wil said. “But they’ll send out an alert galaxy-wide.”
They stared out at the Imperial fighters, willing them to turn back.
Ferus pushed the engines. He was close now. He had a fast ship and enough lead time. The fighters couldn’t catch him. One by one, they dropped out.
Wil passed a hand over his forehead. “That was a little too close.”
Trever grinned. “Ferus always pulls it out.”
Next stop was the asteroid. But now their ship was on the Imperial alert list. They had a long way to go.
Clive and Astri weren’t sure of their next move. They had to assume that Toma would be able to reach Ferus. But if they had an idea of where he was, they could track him down themselves. They decided to head to Coruscant and see if they could find Curran and Keets.
They stopped for refueling at a spaceport on a small planet near the Core. They couldn’t make it back to Coruscant without refueling, but they didn’t like to stop. They chose a limited spaceport with rudimentary services, hoping the security would be as lackluster as their amenities. The spaceport was basically a large landing platform with a line of docking berths on pockmarked permacrete. A tiny cantina without a door was tucked in a corner. A couple of mechanics sat outside, playing sabacc.