Chapter 180 · The Empty Haven

By the time they finished searching the apartment, they had found no sign that anyone had used it recently.

They had, however, found considerably more of Thrawn than the first glance from the doorway had suggested.

The apartment was not especially small. Once they began opening doors, the short passage beyond the main room proved to serve three bedrooms. The largest of them could barely be called a bedroom anymore. Boxes occupied most of the floor, stacked against two walls and in careful rows around what had once been space for a bed.

Eli stood in the doorway for several seconds. “Storage.”

Stent looked past him. “Extensive storage.”

That was putting it mildly.

Some of the containers were ordinary commercial packing cases. Others were climate-sealed art crates, archival boxes, narrow protective sleeves, and custom foam-lined cases whose shapes gave no clue at all to what they held.

Eli opened the nearest one.

Inside, wrapped in conservation material, was a carved object he did not recognize. The next contained a small sculpture. Another held something painted on a rigid panel, sealed behind a transparent protective layer.

By the fourth box he stopped being surprised.

“Of course,” he murmured.

Stent was examining the inventory marks on another stack. “You recognize these?”

“Some of them.”

Not all. Probably not even most.

But once Eli started looking properly, pieces of memory began attaching themselves to objects. A case opened to reveal something he was almost certain he had once seen in Thrawn’s office aboard the Chimaera. Another object had spent several weeks on a side table while Thrawn studied it, then disappeared without Eli ever wondering where it had gone. There were pieces he remembered being brought aboard, unpacked, examined, moved again.

He had never followed the trail after that.

Apparently, some of it ended here.

“This isn’t just a contingency residence,” Eli said.

“No.”

“It’s one of his storerooms.”

Stent regarded the ranks of boxes. “Possibly one of several.”

Eli looked at him. “I’m afraid there would be many, yes”

“It remains plausible.”

The second bedroom was the only one that still seemed intended for sleeping. It held a single bed, and a wardrobe built into one wall. Inside hung a small selection of clothing, all carefully stored and unmistakably cut for Thrawn. There were even two olive drab imperial navy uniforms - without the rank insignias - in their carry sleeves.

Nothing suggested recent use.

The third bedroom was much smaller. It might originally have been intended for a child, an office, or simply whoever had drawn the least favorable lot when the apartment was built. Thrawn had filled most of it with more boxes.

Books, this time.

Actual physical volumes, packed tightly in reinforced containers, alongside several cases of Imperial archival storage.

Eli crouched beside one of those. The markings were old. Imperial issue, but not fleet logistics. Recovery and evidence tags.

Something about the format caught his memory. 

He pulled the box forward and stared it. Then he went still.

Stent noticed immediately. “What is it?”

“I know this.”

Not the box itself. The notation. The date. The survey designation that had meant almost nothing even when Eli had first seen it.

He opened the case.

The contents had been packed carefully years ago and apparently left untouched since: objects recovered from a campsite on a planet that, as far as Eli knew, had never acquired a name anyone bothered to use.

For a moment he was back there, on his last year at the academy, during the first field mission all cadets should go through. With Captain Voss Parck. The expedition. A supposedly stranded alien they had spent far too long trying to catch sight of.

Thrawn, before Eli had known what the name would eventually mean.

“Stars,” he said quietly.

Stent crouched beside him.

“What are these?” he then recognized cheunh glyphs on the label of a cartridge inside the crate, and picked it up.

“They came from the camp. The one where we found Thrawn. Well.. where Parck found him,” Eli corrected automatically. “I mostly spent the time trying to work out why the whole thing felt wrong.”

He lifted one of the old recovery tags between two fingers.

“I knew they took things from the site. Evidence, samples, anything they thought might tell them who he was or how long he’d been there. I saw some of it inventoried afterward.” He looked into the box again. “I never wondered what happened to it.”

Now he knew.At least some of it had eventually come back to Thrawn.

Eli sat back on his heels and looked around the cramped room.

Books. Imperial archive cases. Pieces of a life Thrawn had lived before Eli had met him properly, preserved beside records from the life that came after.

There were dozens of boxes.

Possibly around one hundred across the two rooms. The sensible thing would have been to leave them alone until they had settled in.

Eli opened another.

Stent watched him. “We still have the rest of the apartment to examine.”

“I know.”

“You are cataloguing.”

“I’m looking.”

“You have already begun making a list.”

Eli glanced at the datapad in his hand. “That happened accidentally.”

Stent’s expression suggested disbelief.

Eli closed the box and stood up. “For now.”

The physical search produced only one actual concealed cache.

Behind a removable panel in the shower, Stent found a section of housing that sat fractionally farther forward than the others. Behind it was a sealed container fitted tightly into the maintenance space, protected from moisture and casual inspection.

Inside were several datasticks, eight thousand credits in physical currency and a sleek, ornate access keycard.

Eli carried the container back to the main room and set it on the table.

Compared with the reserve on Kiros, eight thousand credits was barely worth remarking upon. A few weeks earlier it would have felt like a small fortune. Now it looked more like emergency cash: enough for transport, food, temporary accommodation or whatever else someone might need after reaching the apartment unexpectedly and staying for a couple of months.

Which was probably exactly what it was.

The datasticks interested him more. There were seven. All Imperial manufacture. None labeled beyond small inventory marks that meant nothing to him at first glance.

Stent picked up one and examined the casing. “No indication of recent handling.”

“Same as everything else.”

The apartment had been maintained. That was not the same thing as having been used recently.

They had established that lesson thoroughly enough at Berchest and Kiros.

Eli picked up the keycard instead. Unlike the datasticks, it was marked.

CORUSCANT CENTRAL HEIGHTS — RESIDENCE 87-4

He stared at it for a moment, then reached for the datapad.

The public listing was easy enough to find. Coruscant Central Heights was not a hotel, serviced apartment block or ordinary residential development. It was an enclave of private residential towers in the upper levels of the city, built around restricted airlanes, private landing facilities, enclosed gardens and residences whose advertised floor areas made the Faded Glory seem modest by comparison.

Eli scrolled down through a series of polished images: pale stone, walls of glass, terraces suspended above the traffic, private reception halls and discreet security that apparently considered displaying prices unnecessary.

He looked down at himself.

His trousers had acquired stains from three different engine compartments since their last proper laundering. His shirt had been repaired twice, once by him and once much more competently by Stent. Stent's clothing was in better condition largely because Chiss discipline apparently extended to persuading old garments not to surrender, but even he had the unmistakable appearance of someone who had spent months living aboard a working freighter.

Eli looked back at the immaculate entrance pavilion glowing on the datapad. “We are not going there like this.”

Stent considered the image, then Eli, then himself. “No,” he agreed. “We are not.”

Eli looked down the corridor again.

The place made more sense now. Not a small bolt-hole with a bed and a few emergency supplies, but a private storage point that happened to be habitable. Thrawn had kept art here, books, records, old possessions, clothing, money, and information.

A place where things could wait.

Eli looked back at the nearest stack of boxes. “I’m going to need another catalogue.”

Stent nodded immediately. “That was inevitable.”

The apartment had survived their physical inspection, but neither of them knew what might be hidden in the building’s network infrastructure. Reading unknown Imperial media through whatever civilian equipment Thrawn had left behind seemed unnecessarily trusting.

“Anyway, we could move in here for our stay,” Stent said.

Eli glanced toward the second bedroom. “There’s one usable bed.”

“The couch appears functional.”

“It also appears designed as punishment.”

“You may take the bed.”

Eli looked at him. “I wasn’t volunteering you for the couch.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Stent glanced toward the couch. “It will suffice.” The chiss surveyed the apartment once more. “It provides a legitimate residence while we investigate the fourth point, and our ship is quite far from the places we need to visit.”

“That’s true. It saves us commuting three hours every day.”

“That is also relevant.”

Eli nodded. “All right. Temporary home.”

“That thing has probably been waiting twenty years for you to say that.”

They repacked the datasticks, credits and key into the sealed container. The eight thousand stayed with the sticks for now. They already had more than enough money aboard the Faded Glory, but leaving physical currency hidden behind a shower panel simply because they did not need it seemed unnecessarily philosophical.

Eli left the art and archive boxes where they were. Mostly.

The journey back to K-97 felt shorter only because they knew what they were doing.

Coruscant still required two trains, one transfer, several meters of vertical displacement and considerably more contact with strangers than Stent considered reasonable, but they returned to the Faded Glory without incident.

Tee was waiting at the top of the ramp. The moment the hatch opened, the yellow astromech produced a stream of binary that required no translation.

“Yes,” Eli said, walking past him. “We were gone longer than expected.” Tee followed. “No, nothing happened.” Another series of tones. “We found an apartment.” Tee stopped.

His photoreceptor turned toward Stent. Stent removed his coat. “We will be staying there temporarily.”

The resulting electronic noise sounded accusatory. “You’re staying here,” Eli said. That made it worse. “Somebody has to watch the ship. You know that already.”

Tee rolled closer until Eli had to step around him. “You like watching the ship.” Tee disagreed at volume.

From somewhere aft came a crash. All three of them stopped. Eli closed his eyes. “Where’s Ch’eth?”

Tee rotated his dome toward the cargo section. Another noise followed. Stent was already moving.

They found the kivren halfway inside an open equipment locker, hindquarters sticking out and tail lashing with determined enthusiasm. Stent caught him before he disappeared completely. Ch’eth came out twisting.

He immediately attempted to climb Stent’s arm. “He has been unsupervised too long,” Stent said.

Tee emitted something indignant from the doorway.

“You were technically supervising him,” Eli pointed out.

The droid’s answer suggested that this interpretation of his responsibilities was deeply unfair.

Ch’eth reached Stent’s shoulder. Stent removed him again. “We are taking him with us.”

“Absolutely.”

Tee produced a satisfied chirp.

Eli pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you’ve won.”

It clearly did.

They packed quickly.

Clothes for several days. Eli’s old Imperial datapad and its improvised power arrangement. The reader for his insulin implant. Two of the datacard cases from Kiros. The equipment they would need to examine the sticks found in the apartment without connecting them to the building’s systems.

And Ch’eth.

The kivren objected violently to the travel enclosure until Stent bribed him with food, at which point his political position changed at once.

They left Tee with the ship’s security protocols active and instructions to contact them if anything unusual happened.

Eli crouched beside him before leaving. “We’re not abandoning you.” Tee gave a skeptical warble. “You get the whole ship.” Another sound. “Yes, including my bed, if you want it.”

That appeared to improve the situation marginally.

Stent waited at the ramp with their bags.

Eli stood. “We’ll check in every few hours.” Tee flicked his photoreceptor toward him. “Within reason.”

The hatch closed behind them.

They bought supplies on the way back.

Nothing elaborate.

Food. Water filters. Cleaning products. A few basic household items that the apartment technically possessed but that Eli preferred not to trust after an unknown number of years in storage.

Stent added sealant tape.

Eli looked into the basket. “Why?”

“There is none in the apartment.”

“That’s because normal people don’t consider sealant tape a household essential.”

“It is useful.”

“That is not the same thing.”

Stent left it in the basket.

By the time they reached the building again, the surrounding shops had shifted into the evening cycle. Half the shutters were down. The noodle stand near the entrance was still operating, steam rolling into the concourse beneath its yellow lights.

Ch’eth had spent most of the return journey attacking the ventilation slots in his carrier.

Once inside the apartment, however, Eli did not open it immediately.

He and Stent made one final circuit of the rooms, this time with a very different purpose: checking beneath cabinets, behind appliances, around ventilation grilles and along the edges of the bathroom fittings for any gap large enough to admit a determined kivren.

They found several possibilities and blocked them.

Only then did Stent set the carrier down in the bedroom and open the door.

Nothing happened. He waited. Still nothing.

After several seconds, a small dark nose appeared in the opening.

Ch’eth remained where he was, only his head visible, whiskers forward as he sampled the unfamiliar air. His ears moved independently, tracking sounds from the apartment and the distant murmur of the city beyond the walls.

Eli crouched a short distance away. “Well. That’s new.”

Stent knelt beside the carrier and took a small piece of the meat they had bought on the way back. He held it between two fingers, close enough for Ch’eth to smell but without reaching into the carrier.

The kivren stretched his neck. Sniffed.

Waited.

Then darted forward just far enough to snatch the meat from Stent’s fingers and immediately retreated inside.

A moment later came the faint sound of chewing.

Eli looked at Stent. “He doesn’t trust the place.”

“Reasonable.”

They left the carrier open and arranged it in one corner of the bedroom, where it could serve as a familiar refuge. Eli set down his water and food nearby, while Stent made sure neither could be knocked over too easily.

Ch’eth did not come out again. They left him alone. He would explore when he was ready.

Eli sat down on the couch. “Home sweet temporary home.”

Stent was placing the food they had brought into the cupboards, when a sound came from the bedroom.

Stent followed it. Eli stood up and began unpacking.

The apartment changed surprisingly quickly once their belongings entered it. Two bags beside the wall. Food in the kitchenette. Datapads on the table. A jacket draped over the back of a chair.

Small signs that people occupied space rather than merely maintained it.

Stent returned carrying Ch’eth. The kivren had acquired something in his mouth.

Eli squinted. “What is that?”

Stent removed it carefully. A small plastoid cap. Neither of them recognized it.

Eli stared at Ch’eth. “We have been here less than ten minutes.”

Ch’eth tried to take the cap back. Stent placed it on a high shelf.

The kivren watched where it went. “That was a mistake,” Eli said.

“He cannot reach it.”

“He knows where it is now. He will.”

They unfolded the portable enclosure near the wall, although neither expected Ch’eth to spend much time in it while they were awake. He investigated it, recognized it as already belonging to him and immediately left again.

Eli unpacked the sealed container they had taken from behind the shower panel. The seven datasticks went onto the table.

“After food,” he said.

Stent looked toward the kitchenette. “We have supplies.”

“We also passed noodles downstairs.”

“We have food.”

“For tomorrow.”

Stent regarded him for a moment. “That distinction is arbitrary.”

“Yes.”

Eli picked up his coat again. “I’ll get enough for both of us.” He pointed toward the apartment. “Do not dismantle anything while I’m gone.”

“I make no guarantees.”

“And keep an eye on Ch’eth.”

Stent looked toward the couch. Ch’eth was no longer visible. “He is already concealed.”

“Then keep an ear on him.”

Eli left.

Stent had just finished putting away the last of the supplies when the apartment door opened.

There had been no warning from the chime.

His body reacted before his mind had time to process that fact. He turned sharply, one hand moving instinctively toward the place where a sidearm should have been.

A Sullustan woman stood in the doorway holding folded cleaning cloths and a replacement air filter.

She froze.

Stent froze.

Ch’eth’s head appeared from beneath the couch. Then he saw the open door.

Stent saw the decision happen. “Ch’eth—”

Too late.

The kivren shot across the room.

The woman reacted faster.

One of the cleaning cloths left her hand in a blur and dropped neatly over Ch’eth just before he reached the threshold. He vanished beneath it with an indignant squeal, twisting hard enough to make the fabric jump across the floor.

The Sullustan stepped forward, scooped up the bundle with both hands, and closed the door with her heel.

The entire maneuver took perhaps two seconds.

Stent stared at her.

She looked down at the violently wriggling cloth in her hands. “Oh, no you don’t.” Her tone suggested considerable prior experience. She tightened the fold just enough to prevent Ch’eth from finding an opening, then held the bundle out toward Stent. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

Stent took him carefully.

Ch’eth emerged from the cloth furious, fur disordered and dignity catastrophically damaged.

The woman retrieved her cleaning cloth and shook it out. “Fast little thing.”

“Very.”

Only then did she look properly at Stent. Stent straightened. She took one step backward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was going to be here.” Her Basic carried a strong accent but was perfectly understandable.

Stent looked at the door. “You have access.”

“Yes. Cleaning service.” She lifted the supplies as evidence. “I come once a week.”

That changed the situation immediately.

Stent nodded slowly. “For this apartment.”

“Yes.”

The woman looked him over again. Her gaze moved from his face to his hair, then back to his eyes. Recognition appeared where caution had been. “Oh, stars. You must be his brother.”

Stent blinked. “I am not.”

She frowned. “You look exactly like him.”

“I do not.”

“Same blue.”

Stent appeared to consider several possible responses and reject all of them.

The woman entered another step now that she had decided he was not dangerous. “Not exactly exactly. Younger, maybe. Different face. But you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

She looked around the apartment. The bags. Food. Datapads. The portable enclosure.

Ch’eth, who had now emerged completely and was examining her shoes.

Her expression softened. “Someone’s finally staying here.”

“How long has the apartment been unoccupied?”

She thought. “Properly occupied? Years.”

“How many?”

“Two, maybe more.”

Stent’s attention sharpened. “The previous occupant was here personally?”

“Oh, yes.” The answer came easily. “Not often. Quiet man. Very polite. Hardly ever had anything to clean, really.”

“When did you last see him?”

The woman frowned. “That I’d have to check.”

“You have records?”

“Service records, yes.”

She moved toward the small wall terminal near the kitchen, then stopped. “You’re not family?”

“No.”

“A colleague?”

Stent chose the most useful truth. “Yes.”

That satisfied her.

She keyed on the apartment terminal and scrolled through several entries. “Let’s see…”

Stent waited.

Ch’eth sniffed the hem of her work apron. She noticed him. “Oh, hello.”

Stent looked down. “Do not encourage him.”

The woman grinned. “I’ve cleaned houses with children.”

“That may be comparable.”

“Yes, pets are like children.” She returned to the records. “Here. Last time I actually saw the blue gentleman…” Her finger stopped. “A little over two years ago.”

Stent felt the answer settle. Before Lothal.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I remember because one of the building lifts had been out for three weeks and I complained about having to climb nineteen levels.” She smiled faintly. “He listened very seriously. Like he intended to invade the maintenance department.”

“Did he return after that?”

“Not while I was here.”

“Did the service continue?”

“Oh, yes. Still does.”

“Automatically?”

She nodded.

“Paid account. Never canceled. I come every week, replace filters when needed, check the water system, make sure nothing grows where it shouldn’t. Whoever arranged it paid well enough that the company never asks questions.”

Stent looked around. That explained the cleanliness. The apartment had not been waiting untouched. It had been deliberately preserved.

“Has anyone else entered?”

“Not that I know.” She paused. “Well, building maintenance once or twice. Inspection droid. Normal things.”

“No other occupants.”

“No.”

The answer was another negative. Not absolute. But strong.

Thrawn had used the apartment. Thrawn had maintained the apartment. Thrawn had not, as far as this woman knew, returned after Lothal.

The woman gathered the clean towels from her bundle.

“I can come back another day if you’re staying.”

“That would be preferable.”

She set the new filter beside the kitchenette. “Fine with me.” She gave him another curious look. “You really aren’t his brother?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

Ch’eth put his front paws on her shoe.

She bent slightly.

Stent intervened immediately. “He bites.”

The woman straightened. Ch’eth looked offended by the accusation. “I’ll remember that.” She headed for the door. Just before leaving, she looked back. “It’s good someone’s here again. Empty homes feel wrong after a while.”

Then she was gone. The door closed. Stent stood in the sudden quiet.

Ch’eth looked up at him.

“You are not helpful.”

Ch’eth disappeared beneath the couch.

A few minutes later Eli returned balancing two food containers and a cup of broth.

He stopped when he saw Stent. “What happened?”

“We had a visitor.”

Eli set the food down. “Who?”

“The cleaning service.”

“Less promising.”

“She believed I was Thrawn’s brother.”

Eli stared. Then his mouth twitched. Stent’s expression warned him against whatever thought was forming. Eli occupied himself with opening the food. “That must have been an interesting conversation.”

“It was inefficient.”

“That means yes.”

They sat.

Stent waited until Eli had eaten several mouthfuls before continuing. “She has cleaned this apartment for years. Thrawn maintained the service through automatic payment.”

Eli stopped chewing. “She knew him?”

“She met him.”

“When?”

“The last confirmed occasion was slightly over two years ago.”

Eli did the calculation immediately. “That’s before Lothal.”

“Yes.”

“Anything after?”

“She never saw him again.”

Eli looked toward the corridor, toward the rooms packed with boxes. “So he actually used the apartment.”

“Yes.”

That made Coruscant different from Berchest and Kiros.

Not useful in the way they wanted. But different.

Eli looked at the container on the table. “Then those probably aren’t just supplies someone packed for a hypothetical emergency.”

“That is more likely.”

They finished eating faster after that.

The seven datasticks lay in a row between them.

Eli connected his repaired Imperial datapad to the isolated reader they had brought from the ship. No apartment network. No external connection.

The first stick contained logistical reports. Old. Imperial.

Nothing they had not seen variations of before.

The second held technical memoranda.

The third contained fleet inventories and infrastructure assessments.

Eli frowned. “This looks familiar.”

Stent leaned closer. “It resembles material in the larger archive.”

“Exactly.”

Not identical. Older versions. Working copies.

The kind of information Thrawn appeared to preserve at multiple levels, perhaps because assuming one archive would always remain accessible was precisely the kind of assumption he disliked.

The fourth datastick produced a header Eli recognized immediately.

PROJECT STARDUST

He stopped.

Stent read over his shoulder.

“This concerns the battle station.”

“Yeah.”

Eli opened the first file.

Most of it was familiar for a different reason. These were working files. Material Eli had handled himself while serving with Thrawn: shipment records, procurement chains, refinery outputs, transport schedules, transfers between depots, and the long trail of industrial materials that had first drawn their attention, like doonium, reactor components, specialized alloys… Quantities large enough to matter, moving through systems that had no obvious reason to require them.

This was the earlier work—the attempt to understand what the Empire was building by watching what it moved.

One report contained notes on command structure and development oversight: Director Orson Krennic.

Eli sat back.

“He really hated the whole concept.”

“It was strategically inefficient.”

“It was a moon-sized target.”

“That also.”

They moved through the remaining sticks. Navigation data. Old regional assessments. Political reports. Art catalogues, again. One entire datastick consisted primarily of provenance records, restoration notes and auction histories.

Eli smiled when that appeared. “There he is.”

Stent looked at the screen. “You doubted it?”

“Not really.”

The final stick contained fewer files than the others. Mostly text. Notes.

Short analyses without formal headings. Some appeared to be fragments copied from longer reports. Others were observations Eli suspected had never been intended for Imperial distribution at all.

Near the end was a single file marked as an addendum.

Eli opened it.

One sentence appeared.

Power does not vanish. It migrates.

He read it twice.

Stent did the same.

“That is characteristic,” Stent said.

“Very.”

Eli stared at the words. In the Empire, power meant institutions: The Navy, the Emperor, governors. Industrial worlds. Fleets.

Eli gathered the datasticks and returned them to the container.

“We take them?” Stent asked, placing a mug of caff in front of Eli and sitting at the table by his side.

“Yes.”

“No reason to leave useful data behind.”

“Agreed.”

The credits followed.

Eight thousand was not much compared with what they had taken from Kiros, but neither of them saw any reason to put it back behind the shower.

Ch’eth appeared from nowhere and leapt onto the empty chair. He immediately stretched toward the open container.

Eli closed it before he could investigate. “Absolutely not.”

Ch’eth put one paw on the lid. Eli moved the box. Ch’eth followed. Stent picked up the container and placed it on the highest shelf in the kitchenette. Ch’eth tracked its movement with intense concentration.

Eli sighed. “We’ve made it interesting now.”

“He cannot reach it.”

“You keep believing that.”

Morning on Coruscant was mostly administrative.

The building’s lighting brightened. Traffic increased. Advertisements shifted to daytime schedules.

Somewhere outside, millions of people collectively agreed that a new day had begun despite there being no visible sunrise at their level.

Eli stood beside the small table fastening his trousers. Then stopped. He pulled the waistband up again. Still loose. The belt was already tightened farther than he remembered ever wearing it. He looked down. Now that he knew he had lost more than six kilograms, he could see it.

His shirt hung differently. His hips showed more sharply beneath the fabric.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would have frightened him if he had noticed it gradually. That was probably the problem.

Stent came out of the kitchenette carrying two cups.

His gaze dropped immediately to Eli’s hands at his belt.

Eli let go.

“I know.”

“Good.”

“That wasn’t permission to say anything.”

“I did not.”

Eli took the cup. The implant reader lay on the table. He looked at it for several seconds before sitting down.

The warning from Borleias had not escalated. That had become Eli’s preferred fact. Stent’s preferred fact was that it had not disappeared either.

Eli activated the reader and held it over his upper arm. The scan took several seconds.

IMPLANT FUNCTION: ACTIVE

GLUCOSE REGULATION: WITHIN ACCEPTABLE RANGE

Then:

RESERVOIR CONTENT REVIEW REQUIRED

CONTENT STABILITY VARIANCE DETECTED

CLINICAL ASSESSMENT RECOMMENDED

Same as before. Eli exhaled. “At least it’s consistent.”

Stent sat opposite him.

“That is not necessarily reassuring.”

“It’s not worse.”

“That is reassuring.”

“See? We’re making progress.”

He opened the detailed readings. Delivery rate within tolerance. No obstruction. No mechanical fault. Reservoir volume still sufficient. Glucose control broadly normal.

And yet something about the insulin concentration or stability was outside expected parameters.

That alone would have been enough to investigate.

The weight loss made ignoring it idiotic.

Eli set the reader down. “All right.”

Stent waited. “Today?”

“Yes.”

“That was a question.”

“My answer remains yes.”

Eli looked toward the window. Somewhere above them, Coruscant contained medical districts larger than cities. Synthetic organs. Advanced implants. Specialists for conditions half the galaxy could barely diagnose.

The technology that had seemed inaccessible on Baros was ordinary here.

Perhaps not cheap. But Kiros had solved that particular problem.

He picked up the datapad and opened the list of clinics he had saved while they were still in orbit.

Several specialized in endocrine implants. Two offered long-term synthetic pancreatic systems. Another advertised adaptive biological-cybernetic replacements.

He stared at that one.

Stent noticed. “What?”

Eli turned the screen. “They do pancreatic replacements.”

Stent read. “Not reservoir implants.”

“No.”

“Full endocrine replacement.”

“Looks like it.”

Eli sat back.

Years earlier, that kind of treatment would have been the obvious answer if it had been available where he was. The Imperial Navy would have covered it. Instead he had ended up with a system that worked by delivering what his body could no longer regulate properly. Functional. Manageable. Dependent on refills. Dependent on the contents remaining stable.

Dependent on far too many things, apparently.

“This could get rid of the current implant entirely,” Eli said.

“If you are eligible.”

“And if I can pay for it.”

Stent looked toward the container holding some fraction of Thrawn’s emergency funds, then back at Eli.

Eli followed the glance. “Right.” He picked one of the clinics. “Consultation first.”

Stent nodded.

Eli submitted the request.

The system returned three available appointment windows. The earliest was that afternoon. He selected it before he could reconsider. Confirmation appeared almost immediately.

Eli stared at the screen. “Well.”

Stent picked up his cup. “Well.” He echoed.

Eli closed the clinic listing. The search could wait a few hours. His pancreas, apparently, had developed its own schedule.