Chapter 165 · Special Delivery

Eli had spent enough years in Imperial service to know that there was a considerable difference between being watched and merely believing that one was being watched. Unfortunately, that knowledge did absolutely nothing to improve his mood whenever he saw a stormtrooper.

The two jars of Lysatran quince preserve were tucked in Stent’s coat, the chiss was looking offensively satisfied with himself, and Eli had developed an entirely unreasonable interest in the movements of every uniformed individual they encountered on their way back to the commercial terminal.

A patrol passed them outside the transport station. Eli resisted the urge to check whether the soldiers had turned to look at them. A few streets later, another patrol emerged from a side road, and he became suddenly fascinated by the prices displayed outside an electronics shop.

Stent waited until they had passed before speaking. "You're doing it again." he said, using cheunh.

Eli hesitated, brain refusing to switch languages at first. "Doing what?"

"Looking at every patrol as though you expect them to arrest you."

"I don't."

"You've checked behind us four times since we left the station."

"Three."

"Five, including the reflection in the shop window."

Eli gave him a dirty look. "You know, some of us have recently discovered that our business partners are hardened criminals."

"Petty theft does not generally qualify as hardened criminality."

"Six hundred credits' worth of petty theft."

"An inflated valuation."

Eli was still considering a suitable response when a TIE fighter passed overhead. Its familiar scream rolled between the buildings, amplifying the noise and drowning out conversation. He watched it disappear toward the industrial district, where another pair of fighters was already patrolling above the spaceport.

The Imperial security operation showed no sign of ending. Whatever had happened to the Rebel network, the authorities evidently believed that there was still something worth looking for. Eli had no particular desire to discover whether that assessment was correct.

He glanced at Stent's jacket. "We're definitely not posting those things from Stygeon."

"I agree."

That was sufficiently unusual to make Eli turn toward him. "Just like that?"

"We have already attracted the attention of Imperial security. Sending a package to an Imperial admiral from the same planet would establish an entirely unnecessary connection."

"Thank you. I was beginning to think I was the only one taking our present circumstances seriously."

Stent looked at him. "You are concerned about the possibility of being arrested for stealing preserved fruit."

"Among other things."

"I see."

Eli decided that further conversation would only encourage him.

By the time they reached the Faded Glory, another pair of TIEs had passed overhead. The patrols had become so frequent that Eli was beginning to recognize the intervals between them, although he suspected the intervals were being deliberately varied. It was the sort of security arrangement he would once have considered entirely sensible.

Now he found it extremely irritating.

Tee greeted them at the ramp with a series of impatient whistles, apparently under the impression that they had spent an unreasonable amount of time collecting two metal brackets. Eli reminded him that he was perfectly capable of supervising the ship for a few hours without human assistance, retrieved their tools and decided that the quickest way to stop thinking about Imperial patrols was to get back to work.

The machinist had done an excellent job. Both brackets fitted perfectly, their mounting surfaces had been properly finished, and the modifications were sufficiently discreet that they might almost have been part of the original assembly. Considering what they had paid for them, he would have been considerably less charitable had they been otherwise.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon completing the installation.

By the time the second locking assembly was secured, Eli had accumulated several minor cuts, an impressive quantity of grease and a growing appreciation for the mechanical ingenuity of whoever had originally designed the ramp. Stent, who had been responsible for the control circuitry, was having a rather better afternoon.

"Try it now," he said. Eli stepped clear of the mechanism and signaled Tee.

The ramp rose smoothly into position. The original lock engaged, followed by two additional mechanical bolts that slid into their newly machined housings with a satisfying series of heavy clicks. A green indicator appeared on Stent's datapad.

"Again."

They ran the sequence six times, tested the manual release and checked that a failure of the primary control unit would not leave them permanently sealed inside their own ship. Tee insisted on conducting an additional series of tests itself, producing a stream of disapproving electronic commentary whenever Eli attempted to hurry him along.

"All right," Eli said eventually, surveying their work. "I'd like to see somebody get through that without making a considerable amount of noise."

"It will not prevent a determined attack."

"Nothing short of parking an assault tank across the ramp would prevent a determined attack. The idea is to discourage anybody who thinks we're an easy target."

Stent checked the diagnostic results one final time. "Then I believe we have accomplished our objective."

They were putting the tools away when the distant sound of blaster fire reached them from somewhere beyond the eastern perimeter.

Eli stopped.

It lasted perhaps twenty seconds, an irregular succession of reports that sounded very much like small-arms fire. A heavier weapon joined in briefly, followed by a muffled explosion. Then there was silence.

Tee turned his optical sensor toward the open ramp.

"Inside," Eli told him.

Stent was already checking the local information channels. Nothing appeared immediately, although the sound of approaching emergency vehicles suggested that something considerably more interesting than an industrial accident had occurred.

A flight of TIEs passed overhead less than a minute later.

"Well," Eli said, closing the maintenance compartment, "somebody's having a worse evening than we are."

Stent glanced toward the port's eastern boundary. "That is a reasonable assumption."

Neither suggested investigating.

They finished their work, secured the ramp and ate dinner aboard the ship. By midnight, the official information channels were reporting that Imperial forces had engaged armed insurgents during an operation in the industrial district. There was no indication of casualties, no reliable account of what had actually happened and no announcement concerning the restrictions on commercial traffic.

Eli went to bed hoping that the authorities would eventually grow tired of arresting people long enough to let the rest of the planet get on with its business.

For once, the Imperial administration obliged.

The announcement came shortly after breakfast. Commercial departures would resume at midday, subject to revised traffic control procedures and additional security checks. Priority would be granted to essential cargo, previously authorized shipments and vessels whose departure schedules had been disrupted by the temporary restrictions.

Eli read the notice twice. Then he looked across the table at Stent. "We're leaving."

"That would appear advisable."

"No, I mean we're leaving today. Half the freight in this port has been sitting around waiting for somebody to lift the restrictions. There'll be people willing to pay extra to get their cargo moving."

Stent considered the announcement. "Particularly perishable cargo."

"Or manufacturing components. Medical supplies. Anything with a delivery deadline that's already two days overdue." Eli brought up the port's commercial directory. "And we happen to be an empty freighter heading Coreward. We get a priority cargo load and leave." He was already reaching for his jacket.
—--

The Traders' Lounge was busier than Eli had seen it since their arrival.

A substantial portion of the port's commercial crews appeared to have converged on the establishment at approximately the same time, encouraged by the prospect of finally being allowed to leave Stygeon. Several were arguing about revised departure slots, others were attempting to renegotiate contracts affected by the lockdown, and a particularly irritable captain near the entrance was explaining to anyone willing to listen that his refrigerated cargo had consumed more fuel while sitting on the ground than during its entire journey to the planet.

Eli sympathized.

He also suspected that the man's customers were about to become considerably less sympathetic when presented with the revised invoice.

They found a place near the freight exchange terminal and began examining the available contracts.

There was no shortage of work. Unfortunately, much of it was either heading in the wrong direction or required cargo capacity considerably beyond that of the Faded Glory. A few consignments were sufficiently valuable that Eli immediately dismissed them. They had spent quite enough time attracting attention.

Stent identified a shipment of industrial filtration equipment bound for Jiruus. Eli leaned over to examine the details. "Thirty-eight standard cargo units. Replacement filtration cartridges, environmental control membranes and six complete processing assemblies. Delivery to a commercial equipment distributor." He checked the schedule. "Two and a half days in transit. That's almost exactly where we want to go."

"The shipment has already missed its original departure."

"By forty-six hours. Which means somebody's probably getting screamed at by a customer right now."

"The contractual penalty for further delay is substantial."

Eli smiled. "Even better."

The freight broker handling the shipment was a middle-aged Sullustan who had clearly been having a difficult morning. His desk was surrounded by datapads, empty drinking cups and several captains who were attempting to persuade him that their ships deserved priority over everyone else's.

Eli waited until the immediate argument had concluded before approaching. "Contract BTX 467 Jiruus. The filtration equipment." And slid his trader id chip on the desk.

The broker looked up. "You have capacity?"

"Forty standard units, depending on configuration. We're heading Coreward anyway."

The Sullustan examined their registration and recent trading history with the weary suspicion of someone who had been disappointed by transport captains before. "Can you load this morning?"

"If the shipment is ready."

"Ready since yesterday."

"Then I can have it aboard before lunch."

The broker considered the figures. Eli considered the broker.

They spent the next ten minutes negotiating. Eli obtained a modest expedited-delivery premium, the broker secured a firm arrival window, and both emerged from the conversation looking sufficiently dissatisfied to suggest that the agreement was commercially reasonable.

Stent reviewed the final contract while they waited for the authorization to transfer the cargo. "The additional payment is acceptable."

"Acceptable? We've just been paid extra to go somewhere we were already planning to visit."

"Assuming there are no further delays."

"You're determined to ruin my morning, aren't you?"

"Not particularly."

Eli signed the agreement.

Their new cargo was neither glamorous nor especially interesting, which suited him perfectly. Industrial filtration equipment came in large, anonymous containers that required very little attention beyond ensuring that the assemblies were properly secured. The consignee was a legitimate commercial distributor with a traceable business history, and nothing about the shipment suggested that anyone would have a reason to interfere with it.

More importantly, it gave the Faded Glory an entirely respectable reason to leave Stygeon.

They completed loading shortly before the commercial departure window opened. Their additional security measures attracted no particular interest during the mandatory inspection, although the port officer examining the ramp remarked that somebody had recently done a considerable amount of work on it.

"Previous owner neglected the maintenance," Eli explained.

The officer looked at the new locking assemblies. "Good idea, with the amount of cargo theft going on."

"That's what I thought."

He signed the inspection certificate.

Eli thanked him, collected their departure authorization and returned to the cockpit before anyone could think of another reason to keep them on the ground.

The Faded Glory lifted from Stygeon beneath the watchful attention of two TIE fighters.

Stent kept his hands on the controls, followed the assigned departure vector precisely and resisted the temptation to look back at the planet until they had cleared the orbital traffic corridor. Only when Eli confirmed that they had reached their hyperspace entry point did he finally relax. "Two and a half days," he said, engaging the hyperdrive. "And then we can find somewhere considerably less exciting to post a package."

The first thing Eli did after they entered hyperspace was check the cargo restraints. The second was make himself something to eat. The third was retrieve the two jars of Lysatran quince preserve from the compartment where Stent had hidden them.

He placed them on the central table and sat down opposite his accomplice. "Right. Let's talk about your criminal enterprise."

Stent looked up from his datapad. "Our proposed communication with Admiral Faro?"

"I was referring to the fruit, but yes, that too." The two jars stood on the table between them. Eli picked one up, examined the manufacturer's seal and set it down beside the other.

"Right. Now we need to make this look like something a loving mother would send her daughter."

Stent reached for the electronics kit. "Shall we?"It contained their small electronics toolkit, several unused datachips and the recording device they had employed for keeping private logs during their journey.

Eli sighed and pulled his chair closer to the table.

The current problem was no longer obtaining the preserves. It was deciding precisely what they intended to send. They had discussed the matter several times, but the conversation had inevitably returned to the same uncertainty. They did not know where Faro was. They did not know whether she was still serving in the Imperial Navy, whether her current assignment allowed her to receive personal correspondence or whether the command structure responsible for forwarding that correspondence still functioned as it had before Endor.

And even if the package reached her, there was no guarantee that she would want anything to do with them.

Eli had spent enough time serving under Thrawn to understand that loyalty could survive considerable changes in circumstance. He had also spent enough time in the Empire to know that it would be foolish to assume everybody else shared his priorities.

"What exactly do we tell her?" Eli asked.

Stent looked at him. "This was your plan, Eli. You know Admiral Faro. I believe you are better qualified to decide what to say to her."

"That's very helpful."

"You know what she needs to hear to understand our situation and decide whether she is willing to help us."

He spent the next several minutes drafting possible messages, discarding the first three because they sounded too much like military dispatches and the fourth because it sounded as though he were attempting to solicit donations for an obscure charitable organization.

Eventually, he settled on something considerably simpler.

He identified himself, mentioned Stent, and explained that they were trying to locate Grand Admiral Thrawn. Given Admiral Faro's position and her history of service under Thrawn, Eli hoped she might have heard something about his whereabouts or know someone who had. Any information she could share would be invaluable.

Eli read through the message once more, corrected a couple of sentences and passed the datapad to Stent. While his companion reviewed it, he opened the temporary HoloNet mailbox they had set up and checked its configuration. It was a rather impersonal destination for a message that might eventually reach one of their oldest acquaintances, but that was precisely the point. Faro needed a way to reach them without knowing where they were, and Eli had no intention of making the task easier for anyone who happened to intercept their correspondence. Being on hyperspace as they were, there was no connection, but that could be checked later.

Stent finished reading and returned the datapad. "I would leave it as it is. She has enough information to recognize you, and the mailbox gives her a means of responding without committing herself to anything more."

"Assuming it actually reaches her." Eli glanced at the message, resisting the temptation to make yet another revision. He had been away from the Imperial Navy long enough that he no longer knew which of its old administrative systems could be trusted to function, much less whether Faro was still receiving correspondence through them. "And assuming she's in a position to tell us anything. We could go to all this trouble only to discover she hasn't heard from Thrawn since Lothal either."

"Then we will know that she has no information to offer. At present, we do not even know that." Stent pulled the electronics kit closer and selected one of the unused datachips. "I suggest we give her the opportunity to answer before considering what to do if she cannot."

Eli conceded the point and transferred the message to the chip. Stent checked the encryption while Eli verified the mailbox address and its access credentials, then they ran a final test to ensure that the message could be retrieved without leaving any identifying information about the Faded Glory. It was a fairly straightforward procedure, although Eli found himself checking the address twice before he was satisfied. The last thing he wanted was to go through all this trouble only to discover that Faro had been given a mailbox neither of them could access.

"May I?" Stent offered, reaching for the jar.

"Sure, go ahead."

Stent selected one of the jars and brought out a small precision heating tool. Working carefully, he softened the edge of the wax just enough to lift a narrow section without damaging the manufacturer's impression beneath it. Eli watched with interest as he slipped the datachip into the space he had created, then lowered the wax back into place.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"It is not a particularly complicated procedure."

"That's not what I asked."

Stent continued working, apparently considering the question unworthy of further discussion. Rather than smoothing the softened wax back into an undisturbed seal, however, he applied a little pressure to its center. A crack appeared beneath the manufacturer's impression and spread from one side of the seal to the other.

Eli frowned. "You've cracked it."

"Yes." Stent set the heating tool aside and passed him the jar.

Eli turned it in his hands. The seal was still firmly attached, but the fracture was impossible to miss. "I thought we were trying to make sure nobody noticed we'd tampered with it."

"We are trying to make sure Admiral Faro notices." Stent indicated the crack. "Anyone handling the package will see a jar with a damaged seal. She will have a reason to examine it more closely."

"And possibly throw it away because she thinks someone's been helping themselves to her mother's preserves."

"Which is why there are two jars."

Eli glanced at the second, untouched jar, then back at the one in his hands. He had to admit that the arrangement made a certain amount of sense. A damaged seal on an otherwise perfectly ordinary gift was unlikely to attract much attention during shipping, but Faro would certainly notice it when she unpacked the box.

"All right. One perfectly respectable jar and one that looks like somebody dropped it."

"Precisely."

"Let's hope she opens the right one first."

Eli placed the modified jar beside its companion and brought out the packaging materials.

They had acquired an assortment of suitable containers during their travels, including several empty preserve boxes that Eli had originally intended to discard. Now he was grateful for his occasional reluctance to throw away anything that might conceivably become useful.

The two jars fitted neatly inside one of the smaller boxes, with sufficient room for protective padding and a folded sheet of flimsi.

Eli stared at the blank sheet.

"Now comes the difficult part."

Stent looked puzzled. "The message is already written."

"Not that message. The one that's supposed to come from her mother."

He took out a pen and began experimenting.

They had no intention of forging an exact copy of the woman's handwriting. Eli doubted he could have done so even with an original letter in front of him. What he needed was something that looked entirely ordinary: a brief, affectionate note accompanying a small gift of food from a mother to her daughter.

His first attempt was too formal. His second sounded as though the sender were writing to a distant acquaintance rather than her own child.

Stent examined the third. "This suggests that her mother has recently visited Lysatra."

"Good point."

"Which might create an unnecessary inconsistency if Admiral Faro contacts her."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"I am attempting to help."

"Yeah, thank you."

They eventually agreed on a deliberately vague message. A few lines expressing affection, an apology for sending something a little different and the hope that Faro would find time to enjoy it despite her presumably demanding schedule.

Eli added a short postscript suggesting that she should open the jars herself rather than allow somebody else to put them away.

Stent read it. "That is rather conspicuous."

"Only if you know there's something hidden under the seal. Otherwise, it sounds like her mother doesn't trust the people handling her food."

"Does she?"

"How should I know?"

"Then perhaps we should avoid attributing personal opinions to her."

Eli stared at him.

"Stent, we're pretending to be the woman's mother. I think we've already passed the point where strict accuracy is our primary concern."

In the end, they removed the postscript.

The wrong fruit would have to do the work of attracting Faro's attention.

They placed the handwritten note on top of the jars, added sufficient padding to prevent the containers from knocking together and closed the box.

For a moment, Eli simply looked at it. It was an absurdly ordinary object.

Two jars of expensive fruit preserve, a little protective packaging and a note supposedly written by a doting mother. Somewhere beneath a manufacturer's wax seal was the first direct attempt they had made in months to reconnect with the people they had once served alongside.

And quite possibly their best chance of discovering what had happened to Thrawn.

With the package finished, Eli decided it was time to see about dinner. Stent, meanwhile, retrieved a screwdriver from the toolkit and headed toward the compartment where they had concealed their Imperial uniforms. They had taken considerable care to hide them behind a removable maintenance panel, well away from anything a casual inspection of the Faded Glory was likely to uncover. By the time Eli had started preparing their meal, Stent had removed the panel and returned with the two carefully wrapped uniforms. He laid them on the table, and Eli glanced over his shoulder at the familiar Imperial gray.

He caught his reflection in the darkened display above the counter and ran a hand through his hair. It had been months since Stent had last cut it, back when they had prepared for the infiltration of the Imperial relay at Klyssos, with Eli posing as Grand Admiral Thrawn's aide and Stent impersonating Thrawn himself. His once respectable military haircut had since grown into an unruly mess, particularly around his ears and at the back of his neck. No amount of combing was going to make it remotely compatible with Imperial grooming regulations. And then there was the beard, which he had grown rather fond of but would have to shave off if he wanted to pass for an Imperial officer again.

"Stent, I need a favor."

Stent looked up from the table, where he was putting away the remaining packaging materials. Eli pointed at his head, then at the uniform.

"Think you could do something about this? There's no way I'm getting through a military checkpoint looking like I've spent the last three months sleeping in a cargo hold."

"Your present appearance is entirely appropriate for a civilian freight operator, but not for an imperial officer, you are right."

Stent's attention moved from Eli's hair to the uniform, and the faintest suggestion of amusement appeared on his face. He agreed readily enough, although he suggested they leave the actual haircut until the following morning. Eli was in no particular hurry; they still had plenty of time before arrival, and he had spent enough of the day preparing their little deception.

He found himself looking at Stent's hair in turn. His companion had been allowing it to grow for some time, and it was finally beginning to resemble the style he had worn in the Ascendancy. The longer hair on top could almost be gathered back properly again, although the shorter sections still had some catching up to do. Eli remembered how strictly Stent had maintained the original cut, with the sides clipped short and the rest secured neatly at the nape of his neck.

"You're growing yours back, aren't you?"

"That is the intention."

"About time. I was beginning to think you'd decided to adopt the local fashion permanently." Eli studied him for a moment, comparing his present appearance with the officer he remembered from Naporar. "You know, between the two of us, we're going to end up looking like we've swapped careers. I'll be back in Imperial gray, and you'll be halfway to looking like a proper CEDF commander again."

"I have not ceased to be a CEDF commander."

"Of course not. My apologies to your hair."

Stent gave him a look, but Eli caught the small smile that accompanied it. There was something reassuring about watching Stent gradually recover an aspect of himself that had been lost during their travels. Eli had grown accustomed to seeing him in civilian clothes, his appearance adapted to whatever circumstances required of them, but he had known Stent as an officer long before either of them had set foot aboard the Faded Glory. Seeing that familiar hairstyle return was a pleasant reminder of the life they were still trying to get back to.

He folded the uniform again and returned it to its compartment, making a mental note to check whether the boots needed polishing. They probably did. Months of wearing civilian footwear had spoiled him considerably, and he suspected that putting the entire uniform back on would feel rather less comfortable than he remembered.

"Tomorrow morning, then. And don't get carried away with the clippers. I need to look like an officer, not a new recruit."

Stent regarded him with an expression of perfect innocence. "I am familiar with Imperial grooming standards."

"That's what worries me."

Eli left him to finish clearing the table and went to see what they had available for dinner.