“I didn’t!” Skelly said, wresting free.
“You’re lying!” Kanan grabbed Skelly’s left arm and twisted it behind his back. Turning, he started to shove the unwanted guest toward the airlock. “They’re looking for you? I’m giving you back to them!”
“Watch it! Not that arm! Not that arm!” Skelly said. Putting his free hand—his mechanical hand—before him, he grabbed on to a handle near the airlock door. After a few moments’ scuffling, Kanan realized the hand was in a death grip, and that Skelly wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Fine,” Kanan said. He turned and grabbed his holster, which had been hanging on the back of his pilot’s seat.
Skelly looked back and sneered. “What, are you going to shoot me now?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s gratitude! I saved you!”
Kanan had the blaster fully out of the holster when he finally registered what Skelly had said. “Wait. What?”
“I saved you,” Skelly said. “You and your whole rotten corporate bunch!”
“Saved—” Kanan was flabbergasted. “You brought a mountain down on my head!”
Skelly went silent.
Aggravated, Kanan stood and turned back to the controls to direct Expedient onto a path well away from any other convoys, Imperial or otherwise. He glanced back to see Skelly slumped against the airlock door, massaging a hand that had finally come free from the handle.
Kanan lowered his pistol but didn’t put it away. Suddenly exhausted, he dropped onto the acceleration couch facing the airlock. “I need a drink,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “Now, tell me this again. You were saving us by blowing us up?”
“I wasn’t trying to blow you up. I was trying to show the Imperial inspectors we shouldn’t use baradium to open new chambers. Cynda can’t take it.”
“You could’ve killed people!” Kanan said.
“No, no,” Skelly said. “You Moonglow guys weren’t supposed to be working Forty-Two until tomorrow. I saw Boss Lal’s schedule earlier!”
“That was the schedule before the Empire got here. We were working double time. We weren’t on today’s schedule anymore.”
“Oh,” Skelly said in an awkward, small voice. “Er—so, did anyone die?”
“Glad you care,” Kanan said, reaching for his shoulder holster and putting it on. “No. Not that I know of.”
“Good,” Skelly said. “I was just trying to prove a point—and it worked.” He tugged at his collar. “The joint caved in, just like I said. If they’ve told Vidian I was right, he’s probably looking for me now to thank me.” He gestured with his left hand to the cockpit window. “That’s what all the ships are about. They think I’m down there still. Search-and-rescue!”
“Uh-huh. Which is why you stowed away, instead of staying there.”
“I needed a place to wait while the Empire figured out what happened. I had no idea you’d come back so fast and take off!”
Kanan shook his head and holstered his blaster. He didn’t know what to believe. But before he could say anything, Skelly got to his feet and walked forward like a man with a purpose.
Kanan stood. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m hailing the Star Destroyer!”
Kanan did a double take. “What?”
“I told you, they’re looking for me.” Skelly reached for a button, only to be shoved into the passenger seat by Kanan.
Reaching for the seat’s restaint harness, Kanan snapped Skelly in. Then he pulled out his blaster again.
“Hey! Don’t shoot!”
Kanan didn’t shoot. Instead, he activated the safety and turned the blaster over in his hand. Using the butt of the handle as a hammer, he pounded Skelly’s harness buckle until it was bent out of shape.
“You broke it. I can’t believe you did that.”
“It’s not my ship,” Kanan said. Or it wouldn’t be, after he landed. The harness would keep Skelly in place now. “I’m not letting you hail the blasted Star Destroyer!”
Skelly shook his head. “You still don’t get it.” With his left hand, he reached inside his vest and pulled out the holodisk he’d shown Kanan earlier. “I just need to take this information to Vidian—”
“Vidian.” Kanan sat down in the pilot’s seat, his head spinning. “That weird guy the Empire sent?”
“Don’t you follow the news? Vidian’s a fixer. He’s like me—he sees what’s wrong and he takes care of it. He’s probably suspending all work on Cynda right now for an investigation. All I have to do is get in touch with him, show him my facts. He’ll whip those corporate hacks into shape!”
Kanan looked out at Ultimatum, shrinking in the starboard window—and then back at Skelly. “You really think that’s what’ll happen?”
“Sure. Once they see what I have to show them, they might even reward you for bringing me in.”
Kanan looked back to the controls—and then up. There, from the darkness of Gorse’s permanent nightside, he saw something familiar rising into space.
“There’s your response,” he said.
“What?” Skelly turned his head. He saw dozens of ships: empty cargo vessels, personnel transports, and explosives haulers like Expedient. All were headed to Cynda. “The next shift?”
Kanan laughed. “So much for the Skelly Memorial Holiday.”
He turned on the comm system. The Imperial traffic was all scrambled, but Boss Lal was talking on Moonglow’s dedicated channel. Work zones affected by the collapse were being cordoned off, but mining operations would continue in the other areas. “Count Vidian’s orders,” she said, launching into a list of rerouted landing instructions.
Listening, Skelly was dumbfounded—but only for a moment. “They’ve just seen what blasting in the wrong place can do. And they’re keeping on?” Shaking with rage, he spat three words Kanan could tell Skelly hated. “Business as usual.”
Kanan snapped off the comm system and stretched back in his chair.
Skelly, unable to move, stared at him. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, now what?”
“I’m going home,” Kanan said.
“Home?” Skelly asked. “Where’s home?”
“I’m taking Expedient to Moonglow’s shipyard, like always. I’m going to park the ship, and I’m going to turn you over to that security chief husband of Lal’s.” Kanan turned his attention to flying the ship.
Skelly shook his head and lowered his voice. “Some friend you are!”
Kanan bolted upright in his seat and turned. “Let’s get something straight,” he said, jabbing a finger in Skelly’s direction. “I’m not your friend. I’m not your accomplice, and I’m certainly not your co-conspirator. I didn’t help you in this, and I am not going to help you get out of it. I’m done!”
Skelly looked at Kanan for a few moments—and then turned his head away. “Great,” he growled. “It’s just like always. Nobody ever—”
In the window, Skelly caught the reflection of Kanan standing up. He turned his head to see Kanan walking into the back. “Wait, where are you going now?”
“Somewhere I can’t hear you.”
—
Safely back aboard her starship, Hera sent the encrypted message to her contact on Gorse. She was more certain than ever that a meeting was necessary. That the Empire spied on workplaces in a system that produced a strategic material was no surprise. But it had no qualms about using such technologies everywhere, and her contact could tell her a lot about the latest Imperial surveillance capabilities and how to defeat them. She had to risk the meeting, whether she got another chance to spy on Vidian or not.
Hera studied the scene outside. Listening, she took everything in. The Empire was encrypting its own signals, but the mining companies weren’t, and she had gotten a clear picture of the hours that had just passed on Cynda.
A miner tagged as a troublemaker or dissident had been identified by Imperial surveillance. But Skel
ly the demolitions guy had surprised his employers, the Empire, and everyone else by using explosives in order to escape arrest. And not long after that, the big explosion had occurred in a work area—unscheduled, and evidently far more destructive than anything to be found in normal operations.
The Empire had hustled then, sending more than half the Star Destroyer’s complement of troop shuttles to Cynda. Since no medical ships were on the way from Gorse—the moon’s clinic was limited—she had to assume there were no casualties. That meant the stormtroopers sure to be on the shuttles weren’t part of search-and-rescue. They were there to continue looking for the bomber.
But in between the reports of the blast and the Imperial scramble, she’d noticed something else. An explosives hauler—Moonglow-72, by the call sign—had been the only ship besides hers to depart Cynda before the grounding order came. She’d seen it jerk violently when the TIE formations approached—and while the sight of the Imperial fighters might have that effect on any simple tradesbeing, the ship had flown unusually after that, as if no one was piloting. Finally, it had settled on an approach to Gorse that kept well away from the most traveled lanes.
Skelly, Hera concluded, was on that transport.
It was more than a guess, but it was hardly a scientific deduction. She didn’t want to let it deter her from her real goals. Her connection on Gorse, she now saw, had just responded to confirm their meeting for later. That was the important thing.
But as she was now going in Skelly’s direction anyway, Hera decided it wouldn’t hurt to find out what his story was…
KANAN HAD LIVED with secret stress every day for years without showing it. It was out of necessity in his case, but it was also a choice. Gloom attracted gloom, as he saw it. Acting like a victim only made things worse.
Gorse and Cynda were a case study. The gravitational dance between the two worlds put both under constant stress, but Gorse wore it worse. Cynda, with its crystal lattice innards, kept it together, foolish acts of sabotage notwithstanding. Gorse, with mud on the surface and mush beneath, suffered incessant groundquakes as Cynda made her close approach. It didn’t help residents’ attitudes that everyone was trapped in permanent night.
But even a rattled loser could catch a break, and Gorse got one every full moon. Cynda sat huge and glorious in the sky for standard days on end. Streetlights were doused. Crime decreased, marginally. And living on Gorse didn’t seem so bad.
Cynda was a few days from full, Kanan saw as he stepped off Expedient’s ramp onto the tarmac. He wouldn’t stick around to see it. Looking toward the cluster of low buildings ahead, he spied an approaching burly figure with four arms and multiple holsters slung around his midsection. It was Gord Grallik, Boss Lal’s security chief husband. Gord was a decent sort, Kanan thought: capable, if a bit doting on his wife.
“Kanan. Heard about the collapse—glad you’re safe.”
“I’m staying that way,” Kanan said, reaching for his ID badge. “Give my ship to someone else.”
“I don’t blame you,” Gord said. He put two of his hands up, rejecting the badge. “You should talk to Lal first. She’d hate to see you go.”
“Not changing my mind.”
“Go across to Cousin Drakka’s and get a meal. Lal should be down here by the time you’re finished.” Gord looked up at the moon and shook his head. “I’m sure she’s worn out.”
Kanan’s mind was still back on the mention of food. He’d have to see Lal to get his final pay, anyway. Remembering something else, he snapped his fingers. “Oh, and I brought you a farewell gift.”
Gord followed Kanan up the ramp into the ship. There, in the front passenger seat, sat Skelly, still bound to the seat. He had a rag stuffed in his mouth and hatred in his eyes.
“Mmmph! Mrrppph!”
“What in—” Gord put a hand over his own mouth.
“There’s your mad bomber,” Kanan said. “No bounty requested.”
Gord laughed heartily. Everyone around Moonglow knew about Skelly. The security chief examined the smashed restraint buckle. “I’ll have to cut him out of there.”
“I suggest taking the seat out and him with it,” Kanan said, patting Gord on the shoulder as he turned to leave. “You don’t want the rag to fall out of his mouth. He’ll just start talking again.”
—
Count Vidian sat alone in the troop compartment of Cudgel as it rose from Cynda. The newly arrived shuttles had landed behind him, and there was no more point staying on the moon. The stormtroopers, including his escort, had remained to investigate.
Whatever had happened down in Zone Forty-Two, it had left several areas unworkable. If it had been a deliberate act of sabotage, Vidian’s forces would find out. And if the one responsible had lived, well, he would find that out, too. Either the stormtroopers would find the culprit on Cynda, or Transcept’s surveillance assets would locate him on Gorse. There was no third possibility. The Empire could not be resisted.
No—it should not be resisted. The Empire was the only way.
The Empire, Vidian understood, was the logical result of a thousand years of galactic government. For centuries, the Republic had expanded not through force, but by quietly exerting a powerful magnetic pull on bordering systems. The promise of trade with Core World markets had great value, and the prospect inexorably lured nonmember worlds into ever-tighter cooperation with the body.
But the Republic was often slow to invite new systems in. The addition of territories tended to diminish the political power of existing senators. New members invariably aligned themselves with blocs in their own galactic neighborhood—yet most senators who controlled the invitations represented worlds near the Core. The Republic repelled even as it attracted. And there were other constituencies that had slowed expansion. Republic bureaucrats disliked the expense of extending services and protection to the hinterlands. The result was that many useful star systems were left waiting, some for centuries, on the Republic’s political doorstep, even though it came at the cost of the body’s overall power.
To Vidian’s mind, Emperor Palpatine had brought sanity to the Republic’s growth policies. In standing up to the secessionists as chancellor, he’d signaled the Republic was no longer some social club that could be exited at will. That move had attracted Vidian’s attention, and his financial support. Now, as Emperor, Palpatine had shown an eagerness—no, a zeal—when it came to expansion. The Core Worlds had always been the heart of the Republic, drawing nutrients from the periphery. The Emperor had taken that biological model and refined it, improved it. The Empire was growing robustly, with the fat of bureaucracy no longer clogging its arteries and veins. A single brain was directing it, not an aggregation of minds with conflicting ideas.
The Emperor had done everything right—so far. Selecting the count to represent his interests was his best decision yet. Surely no one could be more effective in advancing the Emperor’s goals. Vidian was the perfect Imperial man, seeing without sentiment, reshaping what he found, and moving on.
He had but one ritual he held to—and even it was purely practical. Seated in the low light, hearing only the normal pings from the cockpit and whirs from the Lambda’s guts, Vidian commanded his lungs to let out a deep breath. His prosthetic eyes no longer had lids, nor any need for them, so he set them to display nothing. What Vidian did required as few distractions as possible.
Vidian’s mind was his most powerful asset—and yet, he dealt every day with its limitations. His artificial eyeballs recorded the sights of his entire waking life, but their storage capacity was limited: The data had to be purged every sleep cycle. Where Vidian had once dreamed in images, now, when he slept, he lost them.
More invasive cybernetic technologies existed that might have given Vidian near-total recall, allowing him to process all the information he had at his disposal. But he had decided against upgrading, afraid to risk harming whatever brain chemistry gave him his extraordinary genius. An irrational fear, perhaps—but while he’d never belie
ved in the Jedi’s mystical Force, he did allow that some things might defy logic where the mind was concerned.
So every evening Vidian sat as he did now, reviewing the day’s events and deciding which images to commit to permanent storage. Cargo vessels en route to Cynda, yes. The backs of others’ heads in countless corridors, no.
He didn’t preserve the images of the death of the guildmaster. He knew no repercussions would come from it, and he didn’t take undue joy from violence, apart from the satisfaction he always felt in setting a failing enterprise aright. He saved the image of the old man he’d confronted, to remind him to follow up on the new age restrictions, but he deleted the face of the foolish gunslinger. The old man’s rescuer was likely just another roisterer, too brave for sense. There wasn’t anything special there, either.
But the word the man had said: Moonglow. That gave Vidian pause.
He’d seen the name of Moonglow Polychemical for the first time while doing his advance research on Gorse. He’d paid it little mind. It was a small firm, probably a start-up—or maybe a piece of a broken-up conglomerate, being run now by its old employees. That trick never worked, he thought. Why did people always insist on trying to reanimate the dead?
Calling up the company’s files over the HoloNet, however, he was surprised by its numbers. The blaster-toting fool was right about its efficiency. The firm’s production targets were lower, relative to the other corporations, but it was the only one coming anywhere close to meeting them. Maybe there was something there, he thought: some ideas to steal for the other manufacturers.
Scraping ideas from the bottom of the bin, Vidian thought. It galled him that the state of things on Gorse was such that he’d have to resort to—
“Message from Coruscant, my lord.”
At the sound of the captain’s voice, Vidian’s eyes flickered and reset themselves, and Cudgel’s passenger area reappeared around him. “Patch it through.”
A figure appeared before him in holographic form. Rugged and sharply dressed, the blond young man placed his hands together and bowed. “Count Vidian! Wonderful to see you.”
The Rise of the Empire Page 39