Chapter 161 · Lockdown

Behind them, the safehouse burned.

Not properly yet. The fire had started somewhere near the verification room and was spreading through the partition walls, helped along by whatever the rebels had thrown into the burn bins. Smoke followed them into the service passage.

Vela was already moving north.

“Two groups,” she said. “Mera, take the river route. Joss with me. Tarin—”

“We’re not going with you,” Eli said.

She stopped. For a moment the rain was louder than anything else. Vela turned. “What?”

“Our ship is fifty meters from the building you just evacuated.”

“Then you’d better get to it!”

“That is exactly what we can’t do.”

Her expression hardened.

Stent had understood before she did. He looked back toward the warehouse, then toward the landing pad beyond it. “If we leave with you, we confirm an association.”

Tarin glanced between them.

Eli nodded. “We arrived here as traders. We landed on a registered commercial pad, delivered a sealed case to a local business and walked inside. If we disappear through a back route with the people the Empire is raiding, Figg and Viros stop being unfortunate freight operators and start being fugitives.”

Vela stared at him. “You think you can walk out of this?”

“No. I think we have a better chance walking out of it than running.”

Another burst of blasterfire came from the warehouse.

Closer now.

Tarin stepped back toward Eli. “The receiving company is Marek Industrial Systems. Communications repair and freight consolidation. The signed invoice must have arrived already.”

Real, then. Or real enough. Eli nodded. “What does our manifest say?”

“Sealed communications components. Customer collection.”

Eli looked at him. “Payment?”

“Cleared through an intermediary account.”

“Receipt?”

Tarin was already reaching into his jacket.

Vela looked at him sharply. “Tarin.”

“They’ll need it.”

“They may have brought two destroyers down on us.”

“And they may not have.” Tarin pulled a small data wafer from his pocket and held it out to Eli. “If they did, they already know more than this will tell them.”

Eli took it.

The receipt was almost offensively ordinary.

Marek Industrial Systems. Cargo received. Delivery complete. Commercial reference number. Timestamp.

Nine minutes before the first Imperial reversion.

“Useful.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

“I’ll put it on the list.”

Vela still had not moved.

Stent looked toward the southern end of the passage. “Your evacuation route is becoming less viable.”

That did it.

Vela pointed at Eli. “If this turns out to be you—”

“You can complain later.”

Her face suggested several alternatives to complaining.

Tarin caught her arm. “We move.”

Another impact shook the service lane.

They split. The rebels went north. Eli and Stent went south.

Not fast.

That took effort.

The instinct to run was almost physical, especially with smoke rolling over the rooftops behind them and the sound of Imperial blasters echoing through the industrial district.

Eli forced himself to slow.

“Walk.”

“I am.”

“You’re walking like you intend to kill someone.” Stent adjusted by an amount only Eli would have noticed. “Better.”

They emerged from the service lane onto a broader access road. People were everywhere now.

Workers leaving warehouses. Drivers abandoning cargo loaders in the street. Two local security officers shouting contradictory instructions. Somewhere above them a TIE fighter screamed through the clouds and vanished between the towers.

Nobody knew where to go. Perfect. Eli kept them inside the flow. Not hiding. Not hurrying. Just two men trying to get back to their ship while an Imperial security operation ruined everybody’s day.

A barricade appeared ahead. Four stormtroopers and two local officers.

One of the local officers was waving civilians away from the port road. “Landing district is closed. Move east.”

Eli stopped. “Our ship is in there.”

“Then your ship is staying in there.”

“We have a departure slot.”

“Not anymore.”

That sounded promising. Annoying traders were less suspicious than fleeing ones.

Eli let some of the frustration show. “How long?”

The officer looked at him as though Eli had personally invented the blockade. “Until the security hold is lifted.”

“That could mean anything.”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.”

The stormtrooper nearest them turned his helmet. “Identification.”

There it was.

Eli handed over his commercial ident. “Horatio Figg. Faded Glory.” Stent followed with Ren Viros. The trooper passed both through a scanner.

“Purpose in district?”

“Delivery.”

“To where?”

“Marek Industrial Systems.”

The helmet tilted slightly. Not much. Enough.

Eli felt Stent go very still beside him.

“Cargo?”

“Sealed communications components. Customer collection.”

“Where is the cargo now?”

“Delivered.”

“When?”

Eli produced the receipt wafer Tarin had given him.

The trooper scanned it. Silence. Behind them, another explosion rolled through the warehouse district.

One of the local officers flinched. The stormtrooper did not. “Remain here.” He stepped aside and spoke into his helmet comm.

Eli stared past the barricade toward the landing pad. The Faded Glory was out there somewhere. Tee was going to be furious. Ch’eth probably was awake because of the noises.

Neither problem could be solved from here.

Stent said quietly, “They are checking us.”

“Yes.”

“How complete is Figg?”

“Complete enough.”

“That was not what I asked.”

Eli kept his eyes ahead. “Ask me when there aren’t stormtroopers listening.”

A minute passed. Then two.

The trooper returned. “Your vessel is under temporary flight restriction.”

Eli frowned. “For what reason?”

“Area security.”

“I understood that part. But how long?” he insisted.

The helmet faced him.

Eli let the silence sit. Then he sighed. “Fine.”

The trooper handed back the idents. “Your movements before arrival on Stygeon are being verified.” That was less fine. Eli took his ident. “Go ahead.” The trooper paused. Perhaps he had expected resistance.

Eli gave him none. They had spent the last nine days building the best alibi in the galaxy by accident. The Faded Glory had disappeared from a registered berth. There was a port incident report. There were Traders’ Union records. There were seven days of queries, searches and official complaints attached to Figg and Viros. There were fees. Berth transfers. Provision purchases.

Too much paperwork to fake cleanly after the fact. The truth, for once, was doing useful work.

The officer had finished issuing instructions to the other checkpoint personnel and was coming toward them. The stormtrooper turned his scanner so the officer could see the display.

The officer studied it for a moment. “You were scheduled to arrive here nine days ago.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Our ship was stolen.”

A pause. Stent looked at him. Eli almost smiled. Not because it was funny. Because there was no better way to say it.

The officer glanced back at the scanner. “Unauthorized vessel movement incident.”

“That would be the one.”

“Filed through the Traders’ Union.”

“Yes.”

“Vessel recovered at Meridian Auxiliary.”

“Yes.”

“Six days, eighteen hours after departure from its registered berth.”

“Also yes.”

The officer looked up.

Eli spread one hand. “We had a bad week.”

Another pause.

The local officer beside him looked almost sympathetic.

Almost.

The stormtrooper continued through the record. “You remained in port after recovery.”

“Reprovisioning. Inspection. Transfer to a proper berth.”

“All documented. I enjoy paperwork.”

Stent said nothing. That was wise.

The officer handed the scanner back to the trooper. “Return to your vessel once the security cordon is lifted. Do not attempt departure. Do not access restricted communications channels. You may be questioned again.”

Eli nodded. “Understood.”

They were directed away from the barricade and toward the public access road, which was currently full of people who had been directed away from other barricades. A port employee in a yellow raincoat was attempting to organize them into two groups, although nobody seemed particularly interested in cooperating.

Only when they were well clear of the checkpoint did Stent speak. “You enjoy paperwork?”

“It seemed preferable to explaining South Three.”

“You worked there.”

“I know.”

“You were paid.”

“Barely.”

They joined the larger group and followed it toward the commercial terminal. The rain had intensified, and the stormtroopers stationed at every intersection were doing very little to improve the general mood.

Eli checked the time.

Tee was going to be furious.

The commercial terminal was worse than the street. Every available seat was occupied, the departure boards displayed variations of the same security warning, and several hundred people were trying to obtain information from a service desk staffed by three increasingly desperate port employees.

A public announcement informed them that all access to the industrial landing district remained suspended.

“Helpful,” Eli muttered.

Stent studied the terminal map. “There is another access point on the eastern side.”

“There was another access point. I’m willing to bet they’ve closed that too.”

They tried anyway.

The eastern access road was open for approximately four hundred meters before it ended at another barricade. A harassed local officer informed them that commercial crews were being redirected to the freight administration building.

Eli showed him their berth assignment.

The officer barely glanced at it. “Freight administration.”

“Is there any indication when we’ll be allowed back?”

“No.”

“Can we at least find out whether our ship has been affected?”

“Freight administration.”

Eli thanked him with considerably more restraint than he felt entitled to exercise.

They turned around.

“Two Star Destroyers,” Eli said as they walked. “You’d think they could manage a functioning information desk between them.”

Stent glanced at the military transports moving along the opposite side of the road. “I suspect civilian information services are not their priority.”

“That much is becoming apparent.”

Freight administration was a low building attached to one of the older cargo terminals. By the time they arrived, a queue had formed outside, and the employees were directing everyone without an essential-access permit into a covered loading area.

At least it was dry.

Relatively.

They spent the next forty minutes listening to increasingly inventive complaints from other stranded crews. A Rodian captain had left his entire crew aboard his ship and was threatening to invoice the port authority for every minute of the delay. A woman transporting refrigerated livestock was considerably more concerned about the state of her cargo than the Imperial security operation. Someone else had been ordered to leave his speeder on a public road and wanted to know who would pay if it was stolen or damaged.

Eli found himself sympathizing with all of them.

Stent was studying the overhead information screens when Eli returned from the service desk. “Anything?”

“We’re registered as temporarily displaced crew. They’ll issue access clearance once our sector reopens.”

“How long?”

“The woman at the desk suggested that I stop asking.”

“Did you?”

“Eventually.”

A distant explosion interrupted the conversation. Everyone in the loading area turned toward the sound, although the surrounding buildings prevented them from seeing anything.

An announcement followed almost immediately, instructing all civilians to remain within designated public areas.

Eli looked toward the exit. Their landing pad was less than a kilometer away. Under normal circumstances, he could have reached it in ten minutes.

Right now it might as well have been on another planet. They found somewhere to sit.

An hour passed. Then another.

The updates were infrequent and almost entirely useless. Security operations continued in several industrial districts. Civilian traffic remained restricted. All departures were suspended until further notice.

At one point, two squads of stormtroopers marched through the freight terminal escorting several handcuffed prisoners. Eli barely glanced at them at first. Another group of detainees, probably collected from one of the industrial districts. He was about to turn back toward the departure boards when he recognized the man walking between the third and fourth troopers.

Tarin.

His hands were cuffed behind his back, his jacket was gone, and a bruise was beginning to develop along one cheekbone. He walked with his head up, listening to something the trooper beside him was saying.

Eli kept his expression neutral. Beside him, Stent had gone very still.

Tarin's eyes passed over the waiting passengers. For the briefest moment, they met Eli's. No recognition. No appeal for help. He looked away and continued walking.

Eli turned toward the departure boards as though he had merely been watching the disturbance. Stent followed his lead, and neither spoke until the prisoners had disappeared through a side entrance.

“Well,” Eli said, studying a list of canceled departures.

“Indeed.”

They left it there. The terminal was full of security personnel, and the last thing two perfectly legitimate freight operators needed was to be overheard discussing their acquaintance with a man being escorted away in handcuffs.

Eli purchased a cup of thoroughly disappointing caff from a vending machine and found Stent a tea that was only marginally better. They took their drinks to a table overlooking the freight yard, where rows of cargo containers stood abandoned beneath the rain.

Tarin had been captured. That much they knew.

Vela might have escaped. She might have been taken somewhere else. She might still be fighting her way out of the industrial district, although Eli was increasingly doubtful that anyone who had remained near the warehouse would have had much of a chance.

He glanced toward Stent, who was looking out at the freight yard.

There was nothing they could do from here. Not without destroying the cover that had just kept them out of Imperial custody.

And they still needed to get back to Tee.

“Any thoughts?” Eli asked.

“Several.”

“Any you're prepared to share in public?”

Stent took another sip of tea. “I suggest we concentrate on returning to the ship.”

“That's almost reassuring.”

“I was not attempting to reassure you.”

“Of course not.”

Eli looked down at his caff. Their commercial documentation was in order, their presence on Stygeon was legitimate, and the nine-day delay was independently verifiable through the Traders' Union. There was very little to be gained by inventing a more elaborate explanation when the truth was already supported by an impressive quantity of paperwork.

For once, he could appreciate the bureaucratic thoroughness of the organization.

Another forty minutes passed before the first access restrictions were lifted.

Not theirs, naturally.

The departure boards began displaying individual berth sectors with instructions for returning crews. Eli watched the list update three times without seeing their number.

When their sector finally appeared, it came with a condition: access permitted through the southern checkpoint only.

They collected their clearance and joined another queue. The southern checkpoint was on the opposite side of the commercial terminal.

Of course it was.

By the time they reached it, the rain had eased to a cold drizzle and the first of the port's evening lights were coming on. Two local officers checked their access permits, then directed them through a fenced pedestrian corridor running alongside the cargo lanes.

At the far end, an Imperial sergeant checked their identification again.

Eli produced the receipt from Marek Industrial Systems before he was asked. The sergeant glanced at it, compared it with the access permit and handed everything back.

“Your berth is inside the restricted sector. You may return to your vessel, but understand that the security cordon remains in effect.”

“Understood.”

The sergeant was not finished. “Once aboard, you will remain aboard. No movement outside the vessel, no visitors, no unauthorized communications and absolutely no attempt to depart. If you choose to enter the restricted sector now, you won't be permitted to leave it again until the cordon is lifted. Is that clear?”

Eli considered the prospect of spending the next several hours inside the Faded Glory, with their own food, their own beds and a door they could close against the rest of Stygeon. After a day like this, the offer was positively luxurious. “Perfectly clear, Sergeant.”

The man looked faintly surprised. “You understand that we cannot provide an estimate for when the restrictions will be lifted?”

“That's fine. Everything we need is aboard.”

Stent nodded. “We have sufficient provisions.”

The sergeant looked between them, apparently expecting at least one of them to complain about being confined to their ship for an indefinite period.

Eli had spent a week working at South Three while their ship sat abandoned forty-six minutes away by shuttle. He was fairly certain he could survive a few days in his own cabin.

“Very well. Proceed directly to your berth.”

They passed through the checkpoint.

Only when they were well clear of the sergeant did Eli speak. “I think that's the first time today somebody has given us an order I actually like.”

Stent glanced toward him. “You are assuming the ship has not been searched.”

Eli's enthusiasm diminished slightly. “Thank you for that.”

They emerged onto the access road overlooking the landing pad. The Faded Glory sat exactly where they had left her. Ramp closed. Systems dark except for the normal berth lights. Nothing around her suggested anyone had tried to board, although a pair of stormtroopers stood at the intersection beyond the pad.

Eli felt tension leave his shoulders for the second time that day.

Then Eli’s comm activated. Tee’s unmistakably indignant whistles and beeps erupted from the speaker.

Eli stopped in the rain. “There it is.”

Stent continued toward the ship while Tee launched into another furious electronic tirade.

“Yes,” Eli said into the comm. “We noticed the Star Destroyers.” The answer became louder. “We were busy.” Another shriek.

Stent reached the access panel and entered the release code. The ramp lowered, revealing Tee waiting at the top. Its dome swung from Eli to Stent and back again, apparently checking that both were intact before resuming his complaint.

“We're fine,” Eli said. Tee beeped. “The ship?” An indignant whistle. “Good.”

They went inside, and Stent sealed the ramp behind them. From the common room came a faint scratching noise. Scratch. Scratch. Ch’eth had evidently heard them arrive.

Stent looked toward the enclosure. “At least someone is pleased to hear us.” Tee made a deeply offended sound. “I said someone.”

Eli took off his damp jacket and hung it beside the entrance. He had rarely been so pleased to find himself aboard an elderly freighter with questionable plumbing and an astromech who was apparently determined to spend the rest of the evening shouting at him.

He looked toward the cockpit, then back at Stent. “So… what about Tarin?”

That was the problem. Tarin was in Imperial custody, and they had no idea how much of the cell had survived, who had escaped or what the Imperials already knew. They had been very fortunate that their commercial cover had held up under scrutiny. Eli had no desire to test it again tonight.

Tee gave a questioning chirp.

“Nothing's wrong with the ship,” Eli assured him. “We're just under a temporary security restriction. We can't leave until they lift it.” Tee processed that. Then he produced a distinctly satisfied whistle.

Outside, the Imperial lockdown remained firmly in place. Two Star Destroyers were still somewhere overhead, the port was crawling with security personnel, and there was at least one Rebel intelligence officer sitting in an Imperial detention facility.

For the moment, however, Eli and Stent were back in their own ship, with enough food to last them considerably longer than the lockdown was likely to require.

And, at last, somewhere private to work out what the hell they were going to do next.