Chapter 163 · Maintenance

The night had been relatively quiet, by Stygeon's new standards.

The port remained under lockdown, and although the fighting in the industrial district appeared to have stopped, Imperial TIE patrols continued to pass over the city at irregular intervals. Twice, Eli had woken to the unmistakable shriek of engines overhead. The second time, he had checked the ship's security feed before going back to sleep.

Nothing. Just another patrol.

By morning, the rain had stopped, the sky was a uniform gray, and the public traffic channel was still displaying the same restriction notice.

SECURITY CORDON ACTIVE. ALL DEPARTURES SUSPENDED.

Eli studied it over breakfast. “Well, that's convenient.”

Stent glanced up from his tea. “The departure restrictions?”

“The fact that we finally have time to do maintenance and can't leave the port to buy the parts.”

“We have other maintenance to perform.”

Eli considered the list they had assembled the previous evening. Most of it required components they did not have, although several less urgent tasks had been accumulating since they left Lysatra.

Then he remembered the engine nozzles. “We could do the nozzles...”

Stent looked at him. “They are considerably overdue for cleaning.”

“I know. That's why I was hoping you wouldn't remember.”

They had discussed the problem at least twice during their journey. The Faded Glory's atmospheric maneuvering thrusters had accumulated a thick layer of combustion residue around their exhaust nozzles, particularly where the deposits collected along the inner edges of the housings. Nothing that would prevent the engines from functioning, but it reduced efficiency and would eventually begin causing problems if they continued to ignore it.

Unfortunately, cleaning them was an exceptionally unpleasant job.

It also required atmospheric conditions. Many of their previous stops had been at orbital stations, where the work was impractical without specialized equipment. The planetary stops had generally been too brief, too dangerous or occupied by considerably more urgent matters.

Now they were parked on solid ground with no prospect of departing.

Eli sighed. “Fine. Let's see whether the port will let us work outside.”

The response from the berth administration took almost twenty minutes. They were still forbidden to leave their assigned landing area, but routine maintenance within the berth was permitted, provided that they registered the activity and did not interfere with the security patrols.

Eli registered the maintenance.

Then he went to find the cleaning supplies.

Their equipment locker contained two sets of sealed protective goggles, respirators with replaceable filters, a powered orbital sander and three containers of cleaning compound. They had bought the compound several stops ago, back when Eli had still believed they might find a convenient afternoon to perform the work.

The instructions on the label were refreshingly direct about the necessity of protecting skin and eyes. He inspected the first container. “Lovely.”

Stent appeared beside him carrying a box of tools. “We should also inspect the mounting brackets while we have access.”

“Yes, that too.”

“And the thermal shielding.”

“Naturally.”

Stent looked at him. “You suggested we make productive use of the delay.”

“I suggested improving the ramp locks. That was going to involve shopping.”

“We can do that tomorrow.”

“Your optimism is inspiring.” Tee rolled into the cargo bay and issued a questioning whistle. Eli showed him the maintenance registration. “We're cleaning the exhaust nozzles.” A pleased chirp. “Don't look so happy. You aren't the one who has to do it.”

Tee apparently saw no reason to apologize for this.

They shut down the propulsion systems, secured the controls and prepared the aft maintenance area. Tee remained connected to the ship's systems, responsible for monitoring the lockouts and keeping Ch’eth safely inside, well away from the cleaning chemicals and the open cargo ramp.

That last precaution produced an immediate complaint from the common room.

“He's going to hate us,” Eli said.

“He has food and water. We will let him out when we have finished.”

“He doesn't regard either of those things as adequate compensation for being excluded.”

“Then he will be disappointed.”

Eli carried the first container outside.

The aft end of the Faded Glory was still wet from the previous day's rain, but the drainage channels around the landing pad had cleared. They laid down containment sheets beneath the nozzles, positioned their equipment and set up a small work platform to reach the upper edges of the exhaust housings.

It was shortly after nine when they finally started.

By ten, Eli had remembered exactly why he disliked this particular maintenance task.

The cleaning compound softened the accumulated residue, but it did not magically remove it. The deposits had to be worked away with the powered sander, which produced a deeply unpleasant combination of noise, vibration and stubborn black sludge.

And there was a considerable amount of it.

Eli stopped long enough to inspect the section he had just finished. Then he looked at the rest of the nozzle. This was going to take all day.

Stent, working on the other side, appeared entirely untroubled by that prospect. He had adopted a systematic approach, dividing the housing into sections and inspecting each one before moving on.

Eli suspected he was enjoying himself. Not the cleaning, necessarily. The opportunity to perform a task with a clear procedure, measurable progress and no Rebel intelligence officers asking questions about Thrawn.

He could appreciate that. He simply wished the task involved less scrubbing.

They had been working for nearly two hours when Tee alerted them to movement approaching the berth.

Eli switched off the sander and turned. Three stormtroopers were coming along the access road.

Wonderful.

One of them stopped at the boundary of their landing pad while the other two continued toward the ship.

Eli pulled down his respirator and waited.

The lead trooper looked at the open equipment containers, the protective sheets and the partially cleaned engine housing. “What are you doing?”

Eli considered the black residue covering his gloves. “Cleaning the engines.”

“You're aware this sector is under security lockdown?”

“Very aware.”

“Then why are you outside your vessel?”

“We have authorization for berth maintenance.”

The trooper held out a hand.

Eli jumped off the raised platform, removed his gloves, retrieved the maintenance registration from his datapad and passed it over. The trooper examined it. Stent switched off his own equipment and climbed down from the platform as well. The second trooper moved toward the cargo ramp.

Eli noticed. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't walk through the containment sheet. The compound isn't particularly friendly to boots.”

The trooper stopped. Looked down. Then stepped around it.

Small victories.

The patrol leader handed back the datapad. “This authorization permits routine maintenance. It doesn't exempt you from the movement restrictions.”

“We haven't left the berth.”

“Your ramp is open.”

“We're carrying equipment between the ship and the engines.”

“Close it when you aren't using it.”

“All right.”

The trooper looked at Stent. “Identification.”

Stent produced his commercial ident. “Ren Viros.”

The trooper scanned it, then Eli's. “Horatio Figg. Your vessel was involved in the investigation yesterday.”

Eli sighed. “Our delivery customer was involved in the investigation. We were trying to get back to our ship when the cordon went up.”

“Did you know the occupants of that warehouse?”

“We dealt with the receiving personnel. We were delivering freight, not visiting friends.”

“And now you're repairing your engines.”

“Cleaning them,” Eli corrected. “We'd need parts to repair anything, and we aren't allowed to go shopping.” The trooper looked at him for a moment. Eli gestured toward the nearest nozzle. “We've been putting this off for weeks. It’s nasty, but it has to be done. Since we're going to be stuck here anyway, we thought we might as well get it done.”

The trooper glanced at the sander, then at the black deposits still covering most of the exhaust housing. “What's in those containers?”

“Cleaning compound. Moderately corrosive. You can check the labels.”

The second trooper did exactly that, apparently dissatisfied by the prospect of finding nothing more interesting than industrial maintenance supplies.

The third was examining the underside of the ship. “Any weapons aboard?”

“Nothing outside the standard vessel security equipment,” Eli said.

“Cargo?”

“Berth is empty. We delivered our commercial shipment yesterday.”

The patrol leader looked back at the open ramp. “Remain within your assigned berth. Close the ramp when you've finished moving equipment. If the security situation changes, you will return aboard immediately.”

“Understood.”

“And keep this area clear of the access road.”

Eli looked at the containment sheets, which ended comfortably inside the marked berth boundary. “Of course.”

The three troopers continued on their way.

Eli watched until they disappeared around the neighboring warehouse. Then he turned toward Stent. “That went well.”

“That was a routine patrol? There were too many questions.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Eli climbed back onto the platform, and began putting his gloves back on. “Now I’m glad we didn’t install that cannon from the Lambda back them, it would have risen a lot of questions around here.”

Stent considered that. “Fair point.” He pulled his respirator back into place and returned to work.

By midday, they had finished the first two nozzles and discovered that one of the thermal shielding brackets had developed a small crack. It was not serious, but Stent added a replacement to their shopping list.

Eli added a second replacement, because if one bracket had failed, he had no intention of waiting for the next one to do the same.

They stopped for lunch, washed thoroughly and ate in the common room while Tee displayed the latest public traffic information and Ch’eth enjoyed his moment of freedom by racing around the room with apparently inexhaustible enthusiasm. He chased one of his knotted cloth balls beneath the table, pounced on Eli’s ankle as he reached for his drink and disappeared behind the cushions before Stent could retrieve him. A moment later he emerged at full speed, skidded across the deck and launched himself at the dangling end of Stent’s sleeve.

“Someone has a lot of energy,” Eli observed, rescuing his ankle from another ambush.

“He has been confined all morning.”

Ch’eth abandoned the sleeve and made a determined dash toward the corridor. Stent caught him before he reached the exposed maintenance equipment, turned him around and set him down beside his toys. The kivren immediately attacked the nearest cloth ball as though it had been personally responsible for his imprisonment.

The cordon was still in place. One Star Destroyer remained visible in the published orbital data. The second had not reappeared. There was no information concerning the prisoners.

Eli checked anyway. Then he put the datapad aside.

When they returned outside, Ch’eth went back into his enclosure with relatively little protest, apparently having decided that the afternoon was an excellent time to sleep.

A fine drizzle had started falling, the sort that barely seemed worth noticing until it had soaked through your clothes. Eli glanced back at the enclosure, where Ch’eth was already curling up in his warm, dry bedding, and envied him. The little bastard was going to spend the next several hours sleeping in perfect comfort while they stood outside getting progressively wetter and scrubbing combustion residue off the engines.

The remainder of the day passed in a succession of cleaning, sanding, wiping down equipment and inspecting areas that neither of them had been able to examine properly for weeks.

The residue was considerably worse on the starboard side.

Stent found another damaged mounting bracket. Eli found a section of thermal shielding that had been repaired by a previous owner using a fastening arrangement he considered technically inventive and morally indefensible.

They took pictures of it for future reference.

By late afternoon, both of them were thoroughly tired of looking at engine nozzles.

By early evening, the job was finished.

Eli stood beneath the aft section of the Faded Glory and examined their work. The housings looked almost respectable. He had forgotten that they were supposed to be that color.

“Well,” he said. “At least something good came out of this.”

Stent inspected the final nozzle with a portable light. “The deposits were more extensive than expected. We should schedule this maintenance more frequently.”

Eli stared at him. “Not today, please. I’ve had enough for a while.”

“I was referring to future maintenance.”

“I'm aware.”

They disposed of the collected waste through the berth's industrial maintenance facilities, cleaned their equipment and returned everything to the ship.

The ramp closed behind them. Tee immediately demanded a report. Eli gave him the maintenance log and went to take a shower.

He had earned it.

The following morning, the security cordon was still in place.

Eli was beginning to suspect that the Empire intended to keep them there until the Faded Glory qualified as a permanent local landmark.

There was very little left to do on the engines without additional parts, so they spent the morning on smaller maintenance tasks. Stent inspected the ramp mechanism again, this time with its interior access panel removed, while Eli worked through their inventory and checked which components they could obtain locally.

They would need two independent locking assemblies, a revised control unit, replacement mounting brackets and a collection of comparatively inexpensive electrical components.

Tee contributed several recommendations of his own.

Eli removed two of them from the list. “No.” Tee protested. “We are improving the ramp locks. We're not turning the cargo bay into a detention facility.” A longer whistle. “I don't care how effective it would be.”

Stent examined the revised list. “The additional internal locking circuit is reasonable.”

“Don't encourage it.”

“It would prevent unauthorized activation through the external access panel.”

“That part I agree with. The part where Tee suggested electrifying the entire ramp is where I draw the line.”

Tee expressed its disappointment.

At eleven forty-three, the public traffic channel finally changed.

SECURITY CORDON LIFTED. COMMERCIAL ACCESS RESTORED. DEPARTURE RESTRICTIONS REMAIN IN EFFECT.

Eli read it twice. Then he stood and clapped his hands. “Time for shopping!”

Stent replaced the ramp's access panel. “We should take the component specifications.”

“Already have them.”

“And the dimensions of the mounting brackets.”

“Those too.”

Tee beeped.

Eli looked down at him. “You stay here.” Another beep. “Yes, with Ch’eth.”

The droid rotated his dome toward the common room, apparently considering whether another day in sole charge of the ship and its smallest passenger was an acceptable arrangement.

Eli collected his jacket. “Try not to lose anything this time.” Tee's response was immediate and extremely rude. Stent looked at Eli. “The sock has still not appeared? I'm beginning to think you should check behind the maintenance panels.”

Stent did not seem to find that particularly funny.

They left before the conversation could develop into another search.

Stygeon had not recovered from the previous day's operation.

The streets were open again, but the city was operating around the damage rather than through it. Several intersections remained closed, and the local traffic system had been reduced to a combination of temporary signals and officers directing vehicles by hand.

An Imperial transport stood outside a municipal building with its engines running. A line of civilians waited nearby while stormtroopers checked their identification.

Farther along, a repair crew was replacing the shattered frontage of a commercial office. Nobody appeared particularly pleased to see the soldiers.

Eli kept walking.

He and Stent had their own problems to solve, and attracting attention by examining the aftermath of the raid was not going to help.

The first supplier on their list was closed. The second had reopened but was unable to access half its inventory because its main warehouse sat inside a district that remained under military control. The third was more promising. It occupied two floors of an industrial supply building and appeared to sell everything from replacement engine components to commercial security hardware. Half the shelves were empty, but that was apparently normal.

A bored-looking employee listened to Eli describe what they needed, examined their measurements and disappeared into the back.

He returned with two locking assemblies.

“Older model,” he said, placing them on the counter. “But they'll fit your ramp if you modify the brackets.”

Eli examined one. Stent examined the other.

“Do you have the mounting kit?”

“Not for that model.” The employee looked entirely unfazed.

Stent turned the assembly over. “We can fabricate the brackets from standard stock.”

Eli nodded. “We have the tools.”

They purchased the locks, the revised control unit and most of the electrical components. The replacement thermal shielding brackets required another stop at a shop specializing in engine parts, where a surprisingly enthusiastic mechanic insisted on telling them about the extraordinary number of ships currently requesting maintenance services.

Apparently an Imperial military operation was excellent for local business. Provided the military did not occupy your workshop.

By early afternoon, they had everything they needed except one specialized connector, which Eli substituted with a compatible component after checking the specifications three times.

The purchases were bulky enough to justify hiring a small cargo cart.

That was probably fortunate, because the streets were becoming increasingly busy as commercial activity resumed. Freight operators who had spent two days trapped in their berths were now attempting to make up for lost time, and every supplier in the industrial district appeared to have acquired a queue.

Eli checked the cart's load before they left the final shop. “Locks, brackets, control unit, wiring, connectors. Are we missing anything?”

Stent examined the list. “Fasteners.”

Eli stared at him. Stent indicated the bottom of the datapad.

Eli sighed. They went back inside.

They were halfway down the access road toward their berth when Eli noticed the Imperial officer.

Not the sergeant from the previous day's checkpoint.

This one wore a standard field-gray uniform and was accompanied by two stormtroopers. He stood beside a neighboring freighter, questioning its captain while one of the troopers checked the vessel's registration against a portable terminal.

The second trooper was examining a stack of cargo containers beside the ship.

Eli slowed. Stent followed his gaze. “Another inspection.”

“Looks like it.”

They watched the officer finish with the freighter's captain, return a datapad and move toward the next berth.

Their berth.

Eli looked down at the cargo cart. “It's a good thing we bought all this stuff.”

Stent glanced at him. “Why?”

“Because we can spend the next several hours doing something useful while we wait for yet another Imperial officer to decide we're not spies.”

Stent considered that. “We should avoid volunteering that particular concern.”

“Thank you.”

They continued toward the Faded Glory.

Tee had already noticed them approaching. The ramp remained closed, but the external access panel lit up as they entered the berth.

Before Eli could enter the code, the officer called out. “You two. Hold there.”

Eli stopped.

The officer approached with both stormtroopers following a few steps behind. He appeared to be in his early forties, with neatly trimmed dark hair and the expression of a man who had already conducted enough inspections for one day. “Vessel identification.”

Eli handed over his commercial ident. “Faded Glory. Horatio Figg, registered operator. Ren Viros, co-owner.”

The officer scanned both documents. “Port of origin?”

“Sembla.”

“Purpose of visit?”

“Commercial delivery.”

“Recipient?”

“Marek Industrial Systems.”

The officer looked up. Of course he did.

Eli maintained the expression of a man who was becoming extremely tired of explaining the same perfectly legitimate transaction to different branches of the Imperial security apparatus. “Communications components,” he added. “Sealed case, customer collection. We delivered it the day before yesterday.”

The officer entered something into his terminal. “You're aware that Marek Industrial Systems is under investigation?”

“We've gathered that.”

“What is your relationship with the company?”

“Customer. We were contracted to deliver their freight.”

“By whom?”

“The contracting agency on Sembla. I've got the documentation on my datapad, but it's aboard the ship.”

The officer nodded toward the Faded Glory. “Accompany him,” he instructed the stormtroopers.

Eli was about to head for the ramp when he reconsidered. Leaving Stent alone with an Imperial officer who was already asking questions about their involvement with a compromised Rebel cell struck him as a particularly bad idea.

He turned to Stent. “Ren, would you mind fetching my datapad? It's in the cockpit.”

Stent looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Of course.”

The officer made a small gesture to the troopers, who followed Stent toward the ramp. Eli stayed beside the cargo cart, watching until all three had entered the ship.

The officer followed his gaze briefly, then looked down at their purchases. “And what is all this?”

“Ship maintenance equipment. We spent yesterday cleaning our engine nozzles and found a few things that need replacing.”

The officer gestured toward the cart. One of the troopers approached and began examining the boxes. “Your current cargo manifest?”

“Empty outbound hold. Personal provisions and ship stores only. We haven't accepted another shipment.”

“Why not?”

Eli looked at him. “Because we've been under lockdown for two days.”

The officer's expression did not change. Eli suspected he had heard considerably worse answers that morning. “Your vessel's registration and purchase documentation.”

“Of course.”

Eli opened the appropriate file on his datapad. The officer studied it.

Then he looked past them at the Faded Glory. “How long have you owned this ship?”

Eli felt the familiar beginnings of a headache. Apparently this was going to be another thorough inspection. He answered the question, supplied their commercial registration and brought up the ship's purchase records. The officer compared the details with the vessel identification on his terminal, then examined their port entry record. “You arrived nine days late for your delivery.”

“Yes.”

“Reason?”

“Our ship was stolen.”

The officer looked up. Eli waited. The man consulted his terminal again, apparently discovering that the explanation was not quite as ridiculous as it sounded. “Traders' Union incident report. Unauthorized vessel movement.”

“That's the one.”

“Recovery at Meridian Auxiliary.”

“Yes.”

The officer scrolled through the attached documentation.

Eli was beginning to appreciate just how comprehensively their miserable week had been recorded.

The officer returned to the registration screen. “You landed at a private industrial berth rather than the main commercial terminal. Why?”

“Our customer assigned the landing location.”

“Did you meet anyone from the company?”

“The receiving personnel. They inspected the shipment and took custody of it.”

“Names?”

Eli supplied Vela's commercial name from the delivery paperwork. He had no intention of volunteering either her Rebel affiliation or the identity of the man currently sitting in Imperial custody.

The officer checked the name. Nothing in his expression changed. “And the cargo is no longer aboard?”

“No. We have a signed delivery receipt.”

Eli produced it. The officer studied the receipt, then looked toward the ship again. “I'll need to inspect your hold.”

There it was.

Eli nodded. “Of course. We've just bought some equipment, so would you mind if we bring it aboard at the same time?”

The officer considered the request. “Very well. My men will accompany us.”

Eli turned toward the Faded Glory. The ramp was still open from when Stent had gone aboard to retrieve the datapad. He picked up the cargo cart's controls and started toward it, with Stent beside him and the three Imperials following.

Tee was waiting at the top of the ramp. His dome turned toward the two stormtroopers, then toward the Imperial officer, and finally, very slowly, back toward Eli.

Eli gave him a warning look. “Routine inspection.” Tee responded with a low, deeply skeptical whistle. “Behave.” Another whistle.

The officer glanced at the droid. “Problem?”

“No,” Eli said, pushing the cart up the ramp. “He just doesn't like visitors.”

Tee chose that moment to demonstrate exactly how much.

Stent intervened before the droid could develop his objections into a full-scale diplomatic incident. He stepped quietly between Tee and the Imperials, placed a hand against the droid's dome housing and began guiding him backward toward its charging station. Tee protested in a series of increasingly indignant whistles, but Stent continued pushing until the astromech was safely out of the way. A final, particularly pointed beep earned it a look that apparently settled the argument.

Eli concentrated on maneuvering the cargo cart through the entrance. He had no intention of explaining to an Imperial officer why his astromech appeared ready to declare war on the occupying forces.

The officer had watched the exchange without comment. Once inside, he stopped in the middle of the cargo bay and surveyed its contents while one of the stormtroopers checked the identification plate beside the ramp. The other remained near the entrance, occasionally glancing toward Tee, who was still muttering to itself at the charging station.

Eli parked the cart beside the maintenance cabinet and waited for instructions. He had been on the other side of enough Imperial inspections to recognize what was happening. The officer was taking his time, looking at the loading equipment, the tie-down rails and the accumulated wear around the cargo bay before deciding what deserved closer attention.

The Faded Glory was particularly cooperative in that respect. Her cargo deck bore the marks of years of commercial service, including several repairs of varying quality and a particularly impressive collection of scratches around the starboard loading rails. The portable cargo lifter was secured against the forward bulkhead, their maintenance equipment occupied its usual cabinet, and the hold itself was empty apart from the supplies they had just purchased.

The officer approached the cabinet and indicated that Eli should open it. Inside was the usual assortment of tools, spare couplings, sealants, electrical components and miscellaneous fasteners. Eli moved aside to give him a better view while one of the troopers scanned the serial numbers on the new locking assemblies.

“These are for the ship?” the officer asked, examining the purchases.

“Extra locks for the ramp. We're installing them this afternoon.”

The officer examined the assemblies, then glanced toward the entrance. “Show me the existing mechanism.”

They returned to the ramp, where Stent opened the external access panel. The officer crouched beside it and examined the scratches and tool marks left by the attempted intrusion, comparing them with the incident report on his terminal. He inspected the damaged housing, checked the surrounding fasteners and asked Eli to operate the lock so he could observe the mechanism.

Eli complied, privately appreciating that the people who had tried to steal the Faded Glory had at least left them plenty of physical evidence.

The officer spent another minute examining the panel before standing. Whatever conclusions he had reached, he kept them to himself and continued his inspection of the ship.

They moved into the common room, where his attention settled on the ordinary clutter of two people who had been living aboard a freighter for months. There were cups drying beside the sink, a folded blanket on the bench, Stent's tea and Eli's caff in separate containers, and a small collection of personal belongings that had gradually migrated out of their proper storage compartments.

One of Ch’eth's knotted cloth toys lay beneath the table.

The officer noticed the enclosure almost immediately. “What kind of animal is that?”

“A kivren,” Stent answered.

The unfamiliar voice had apparently disturbed Ch’eth's nap. He stirred beneath the makeshift burrow Stent had fashioned from half an old shirt, then poked his narrow head out to investigate. He watched the officer with considerable interest, his nose twitching, but made no attempt to leave the safety of his little hiding place. When the man stepped closer, Ch’eth retreated slightly beneath the fabric, keeping just enough of his face exposed to continue observing this unexpected visitor.

The officer studied him for a moment, then turned his attention toward the sleeping quarters.

Eli showed him the principal cabin first. It was the larger of the two, with a proper bed rather than bunks, a built-in wardrobe and a narrow work surface that had accumulated a few personal items alongside a portable terminal. The bed was made, although not particularly neatly, and a clean shirt lay folded over the back of the chair. The officer glanced around from the doorway, apparently satisfied that the room was in regular use, and moved on without asking to open anything.

Stent's cabin was considerably smaller, with two narrow bunks arranged along one wall. The lower bunk was made with considerably more precision than Eli's bed, while the upper one served primarily as additional storage, holding spare bedding and a travel bag secured against the bulkhead. Stent's belongings occupied a modest amount of shelf space, and his neatly folded clothing was visible through the partially open wardrobe.

The officer took a brief look inside, then returned to the corridor. Eli was relieved that the inspection had remained visual. He had no particular objection to Imperial security searching through his underwear if they felt like they had to, but he preferred to keep the contents of their personal lockers personal.

The cockpit required rather more attention.

The officer settled into the copilot's seat and brought up the commercial navigation records while one of the stormtroopers checked the ship's registration against the port database. Eli remained beside the pilot's station, answering questions about their recent destinations, previous cargo contracts and the unusually circuitous route that had brought them to Stygeon.

Fortunately, independent freight operators rarely travelled in straight lines.

“We follow available contracts,” he explained when the officer questioned one of their earlier stops. “Sometimes the customer pays enough to justify a detour. Sometimes we take whatever freight is available because the next place on our route doesn't have much commercial traffic.”

“And you travel without additional crew?”

“Most of the time. Ren handles navigation and maintenance, and Tee manages the automated systems. We occasionally take passengers when the contract makes it worthwhile, although I'd rather carry cargo. It tends to complain less.”

The officer made no comment on Eli's preference. He continued examining the records, occasionally asking for clarification about particular stops or requesting the corresponding commercial documentation. Eli supplied it without argument, although he was becoming thoroughly tired of demonstrating that he had been inconvenienced by an attempted ship theft rather than secretly arranging to arrive on Stygeon nine days late.

Stent remained beside the secondary station, contributing only when a question concerned the ship's technical specifications or a maintenance operation he had personally performed. He was considerably better at that than at pretending to be an enthusiastic conversationalist, and Eli was perfectly happy to leave him to it.

Eventually, the officer returned the navigation display to its default configuration and stood.

“Engineering.”

Eli led the way.

The engineering compartment was perhaps the most convincing part of their commercial cover, largely because no one in their right mind would deliberately manufacture the Faded Glory's maintenance history. The original schematics had been amended repeatedly, several components had been replaced with parts intended for other models, and some of the older repairs could only be understood by examining the actual installation.

The officer spent several minutes comparing their maintenance log with the equipment around him. When he reached the entries concerning the previous day's work, he asked Stent to explain the procedure and what they had found.

Stent described the exhaust deposits, the condition of the nozzles and the damaged mounting brackets in sufficient detail that Eli began to suspect the officer might regret having asked. He showed him the holos they had taken before and after cleaning, followed by the list of replacement parts they had purchased that morning.

The explanation was entirely accurate. They had spent most of the previous day outside in miserable weather, wearing respirators and grinding accumulated residue out of the engine housings. Eli would have been quite offended if all that work failed to count as evidence that they were legitimate operators.

The officer examined the holos and nodded minutely. “Do you perform your own maintenance regularly?”

“Whatever we can,” Eli said. “It's cheaper than paying somebody every time something stops working, although we do have our limits.” He neglected to mention that those limits had occasionally been established through extremely expensive practical experience.

The officer checked one final access panel before indicating that they could return to the cargo bay. He had remained remarkably quiet throughout the inspection, occasionally conferring with the troopers but giving Eli very little indication of what he thought of the ship or its occupants.

Eli could only hope that the evidence spoke for itself.

The Faded Glory was an elderly, extensively modified commercial freighter with a history of minor mechanical problems, an astromech who took his responsibilities far too seriously and two owners who appeared to spend a considerable amount of their time keeping her operational. Her cargo records matched their declared activities, her crew had the appropriate commercial credentials, and their present visit to Stygeon was supported by a delivery receipt issued shortly before the Imperial operation began.

Unfortunately, the same paperwork also connected them to a warehouse that had just been raided. The officer stopped beside the cargo cart and reviewed the contents of his terminal one last time. “Your documentation is consistent with your declared activities. However, Marek Industrial Systems remains under investigation, and you may be required to provide additional information concerning your delivery.”

Eli nodded. “Understood. We've already supplied the receiving documentation, but if there's anything else you need, we'll cooperate.”

“For the time being, your departure remains subject to the current security restrictions. I recommend that you complete your repairs and remain available in case further questioning is necessary.”

“We were planning to do exactly that.”

The officer returned Eli's datapad and gestured for his men to follow him. Stent accompanied them as far as the open ramp, remaining there while the three Imperials crossed the landing pad toward the next berth.

Tee had been watching from his charging station throughout the inspection. The moment the officer disappeared from view, he rolled forward and began delivering what sounded like a comprehensive assessment of Imperial security procedures.

Eli closed the ramp before the droid could decide to share those opinions with the rest of the port. “Well?”

Stent glanced toward the maintenance equipment still sitting on the cargo cart. “We should install the new locks before the next inspection.”

“The next inspection? You're expecting another one?”

“We have been questioned by Imperial personnel three times in approximately twenty-four hours. I see no reason to assume they are finished. They must be checking every version for inconsistencies on our part.”

Eli considered that while Tee continued complaining behind them. They had survived another encounter without attracting any apparent suspicion beyond the inevitable questions about their unfortunate choice of delivery customer, but Stent had a point. The sooner they could finish their repairs and resume behaving like two thoroughly uninteresting freight operators, the better.

He picked up one of the locking assemblies.

“All right. Let's make this thing harder to steal.”