“STEP LIVELY, THERE! If you were loading torpedoes on my ship, I’d be launching you, next!”

The orange-clad workers began moving marginally faster, but now they were walking so as to avoid Sloane, negating any increase in speed. It wasn’t going well. Three of the miners from Gorse had dropped canisters, causing coolant leaks that cleared the floor for ten minutes each time. And while the repair workers had removed the fool droid that had somehow gotten itself crammed into the pneumatic tube, they had put a long gash on the inner cushioned wall in the process. Now that was being repaired. Civilians!

At least this experience gave the lie to a little of Vidian’s legend, she thought. If Calcoraan Depot was supposed to be the domain of the man who saw everything and kept everything moving, he was sleeping on the job.

There’d been no sign of trouble otherwise. Aware that the bomber from Gorse might be among the workers drafted to load explosives, she’d accepted a pistol and holster from the stormtroopers. It hadn’t been necessary. Neither had any of the workers tripped to what they were really assisting in: the possible destruction of their own homes. That, she thought, could get ugly.

Her comlink beeped. She reached for it. “Sloane.”

“Captain,” droned a familiar voice.

“Count Vidian,” she said briskly. “The loading is almost complete. We’ll be ready to return to Gorse shortly.”

“I need you. Report to my executive chambers—alone.”

Sloane’s brow wrinkled. “Is it something about the report to the Emperor?”

“You could say that,” came the reply. “Come at once.”

“Yes, my lord.” She snapped off the comlink. She was growing tired of being at Vidian’s beck and call—but Ultimatum’s regular captain could show up to reclaim his command at any moment, sending her back to the waiting list with everyone else. She had to do as told.

She passed a lieutenant as she marched toward a waiting tramcar. “Tell Commander Chamas to monitor the loading,” she said. “I’ll be back shortly.”

—

Vidian’s antechamber was lavishly appointed, but the workplace’s occupants seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Two dozen men and women of various species, all “enhanced” with cybernetic computer implants, wandered the opulent room like monastics, nodding as if listening to music. Not one noticed Sloane’s arrival. Each was tuned in to events many systems away, all managing the flow of goods and services vital to the functioning of the Empire in Vidian’s managerial domain. Sloane wondered if anybody had ever walked into an open elevator shaft while his or her mind was on moving widgets from Wor Tandell.

Identifying herself to the stormtroopers standing guard, she entered a long hallway. The double doors at the end opened as she reached them. The room beyond lay in darkness.

Sloane rolled her eyes. More weirdness. Taking a deep breath, she took a step inside. “Count Vidian?”

Another step—and the doors behind her clanged loudly shut. Sloane heard movement in the dark. She reached for her sidearm—only to feel pain in her wrist as someone kicked the blaster from her hands. The weapon clattered off in the dark. A lithe, shadowy figure whisked by to her right: her assailant. The captain reached again, this time for her comlink—when someone grabbed her arms tightly from behind, spun her around, and shoved.

Sloane didn’t hit the floor, or anything else. She heard the hum in the air above, felt the strong pull of an invisible force holding her body in place. It was a stasis field, like the ones in her brig. The person who had pushed her walked ahead in the dark before turning and shining a bright portable light in her face.

“Captain Sloane?” It was Vidian’s voice, coming from the direction of the light.

“Count Vidian? What’s going on?”

The light shifted—and Sloane saw that while Vidian’s voice had indeed spoken to her, the man himself was strapped to a table, motionless. The light traced slowly across the count’s form. There was a dark recess in his neck ring where his electronic speaker belonged.

“Glad you got my message.” This time, Sloane realized the voice was coming from the person with the portable light—and squinting, she could just make out the figure pressing something against his own neck. “Nifty little doodad. Triggered by the throat muscles.”

“You impersonated him!”

“And well,” the speaker said, still using the device. His light shifted back toward Vidian, and the speaker turned his back to her. “Get this hooked back up,” she heard him say to someone in a different, softer voice. Someone else in the room shuffled toward the table.

Sloane strained to see, to move, to do anything.

“Release us now,” she said in her most commanding tone. “You won’t get away with this!”

No answer.

“The count had better be alive and unharmed, or you’ll have a death mark in every system in the galaxy!”

Still no answer.

Sloane grew concerned. Fanatics like the bomber on Gorse might not care about getting away. After a short silence, she decided on another tactic.

“Look,” she said more calmly, “I can get your grievances a hearing. But that’ll only happen if you let me and the count walk out of here right now.”

The figure with the light directed it at her again. “Oh, don’t go so soon. This is our first date!”

She recognized that voice. Gawking, she said, “You’re the mouthy pilot!”

He moved the light underneath his chin and flashed a devilish smile. “Nice to be remembered.”

Sloane was flabbergasted. “We checked your badge back on Gorse. Kanan something.”

“Kanan Something will do.” He shone the light on her again.

She put the pieces together. “A pilot at Moonglow. That’s how you got here.” She glared into the light. “You’ve wandered off the tour, mister.”

“I had to see you,” he said, voice sugary. “You missed me, right?”

“Kanan!” came a loud whisper from the shadows.

Sloane’s eyes darted to the speaker. “Ah. The co-worker.” She was the person who’d kicked at her, she realized. And there were other shadowy figures in the darkness, including a slender person at the table fiddling with Vidian’s vocoder. “Did you all come with him? You’re accomplices. What did he ask you to do?”

“Forget about them,” Kanan said. “Haven’t you figured it out? I am an infiltrator—but on a mission you’ll approve of. I serve the Emperor.” He paused, before adding: “Directly.”

Sloane stared down at Kanan for several seconds. Then she burst into laughter. “You, an agent of the Emperor?”

“What?” Kanan scowled. “It’s possible.”

Sloane struggled to stop laughing. “I think he can do better than you! What do you suicide fliers do, drink your way from port to port? Did you wander off from your keeper?”

Kanan thumped his chest. “I’m a man with a mission.”

“You’re an oaf with a delusion. Do you know what the penalty for impersonating a personal agent of the Emperor is?”

“No.”

“A personal agent of the Emperor would!”

“You’re wrong. There is no penalty—because nobody would ever do such a thing.” Kanan sat the lamp on the floor, angled to point up at Sloane. He walked to a control panel near where she was suspended and touched a dial. “Now listen to what’s going to happen. I’m going to give you my message, and be on my way. The stasis field’s timer will release you with enough time to do what you need to do, before Vidian wakes up. Is that understood?”

“Let me tell you what will happen instead,” Sloane said. “You’ll let me down, turn on these lights, release Vidian—and then we’ll march you down to the detention block. You can do your talking to an interrogator droid.”

“That would be a mistake.” Kanan began pacing around the darkened room. “I have information that’s vital to you—and to the Emperor.”

“If you’re the Emperor’s agent, you’re already reporting to him directly. What do you want from me?”

“Vidian controls all communications from this depot. I can’t afford to have this intercepted. I need an Imperial captain, with her own resources.” He looked at her cannily. “You are resourceful, aren’t you?”

“I can tell when I’m being played.” She strained against the stasis beam. “Enough of this. Someone is going to come looking for me.”

“Then I’d better talk fast,” Kanan said. “And you’d better listen. Like your life depends on it.”