Star Wars: The New Rebellion (50 page)

It mewled at him. Then it extended its injured paw. Luke raised a splinter, and the creature batted it from his hand, sending him flying head over heels. He hit his back, and the pain made him cry out.

He stopped rolling and tried to get to his feet. The creature had run beside him. It looked down on him, its face getting closer and closer.

He had no more weapons.

The creature opened its mouth.

Luke ducked.

Artoo-Detoo led Cole and See-Threepio to a small moon. Telti, according to Cole’s navigational computer, had been a droid factory and recommissioning area since the Old Republic. Telti joined the Empire late in the Empire’s existence, when Palpatine threatened to destroy Telti if it didn’t join. Telti continued to sell droids to anyone whose credit was good, and except for that Imperial threat, the factory’s politics had remained neutral. After the Truce at Bakura, Telti petitioned the New Republic for membership, which had been granted, and had remained a quiet, stable member ever since.

So Cole felt fairly awkward, arriving in what might be considered a stolen freighter on the hunch of a droid. Artoo, on the other hand, seemed quite calm. He was in the lounge now, but earlier he had been in the cockpit. He made no sounds during the flight, but he did jack into the computer once the ship was away from Coruscant.
Cole suspected that Artoo was sending more messages. Cole watched Artoo send one to President Leia, using Luke Skywalker’s codes. Cole wasn’t certain who the little droid was sending messages to, but he trusted Artoo to make the right choices.

The messages would help. Cole really didn’t want to be doing this on his own.

As the ship entered orbit over Telti, Cole requested an immediate landing.

He received no response.

“Perhaps, sir, they use only mechanized equipment,” Threepio said. He sat in the second seat, the one behind the pilot, designed for passengers. The problem was that Threepio’s voice spoke directly in Cole’s ear. “It wouldn’t be unusual. Why, the factory on Tala 9 allowed no sentients at all. They discouraged sentient participation by using only droid languages for landing codes. Of course, they discontinued that practice when two ships collided mid-orbit because their systems weren’t designed to handle …”

Cole tuned out the chatter. He sent his message again.

“… Then on Casfield 6, they discovered that the use of droid languages in landing codes caused shipboard computers to malfunction when six ships, all built by …”

And again.

“… exploded on the launching pad. Quite a blow to the Offens, as I understand it. They were new to space travel …”

And again.

“… when their queen, a six-thousand-year-old woman kept alive by …”

“State your business, freighter.” The voice that came across the speaker was mechanized. It lacked the vocal range of Threepio’s.

“It’s a new-model navigator droid, sir. I recognize the pitch.”

It took Cole a moment to absorb what Threepio had told him, since Cole had worked so hard at ignoring him.

“Freighter. State your business.”

“I—ah—I’m Cole Fardreamer. I have business with your manager.”

“Personal or sales?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is your business personal or would you like to meet with a sales representative?”

The last question was not one that Cole expected. “It’s personal,” Cole said.

The mechanized voice gave him landing coordinates. Cole made certain that the computer entered them properly, then felt the freighter bump as it veered onto a new course.

“How very interesting,” Threepio said. “They must handle their own sales here. Some droids are good at business, you know, but most lack the finesse needed for what sentients call ‘The deal.’ ”

Cole scanned the surface. “The deal?”

“Well, yes,” Threepio said. “Droids are not adept at lying, you know, and we have no interest in profit. There are no droid smugglers, at least none that I’ve ever heard of.”

The entire moon was covered in buildings. The buildings went deep underground. The landing coordinates that the voice had given him were near another, smaller landing strip. They had to have him coming in on an official path.

“When I was Irving on Tatooine,” Cole said, not really interested in the conversation, but wanting to keep Threepio occupied, “I had heard that Jabba the Hutt had droids helping him.”

“Helping him is an entirely different thing. A droid
must serve his master. That is his primary function. Why, I even worked for Jabba the Hutt for a very short time. I served as its translator. Quite discouraging work, let me tell you. The things the Hutt said …”

Cole headed toward the landing strip. The buildings were massive, as he had thought, and there were droids all over the surface.

“… my counterpart Artoo-Detoo serving drinks. It was quite humiliating. I’m not sure he ever got over it.…”

The freighter landed on the coordinates the voice had given Cole. A dome rose overhead and closed on the ship. All around him, signs flared in several languages.

PERSONAL DROIDS MUST REMAIN ON SHIPS
.

THIS IS A WORKING PLANT. DO NOT STRAY FROM THE MARKED SIDEWALKS
.

WAIT NEAR YOUR VEHICLE. A REPRESENTATIVE WILL APPROACH YOU
.

SHIPS WILL BE SCANNED BEFORE LIFTOFF
.

THEFT IS AN INTERGALACTIC OFFENSE, PUNISHABLE BY DEATH
.

That last sign had an Imperial insignia on it. Apparently the managers of the Telti factory had not seen the need to remove it.

The dome clicked shut over them. Then a light on the side control panels flicked on. A rear hatch had opened.

“Artoo,” Threepio said. “Master Cole, you must stop him!”

Cole shook his head. “Artoo is the one that brought us here. We need to trust him, Threepio.”

“But the signs! They’ll deactivate him for certain.”

Threepio might have had a point. Cole opened the cargo door. “Not if we distract them,” Cole said. He left the cockpit and went out the door. Threepio followed.

“Go after Artoo,” Cole said softly. “Make sure he’s all right.”

“But, sir, the signs strictly forbid my leaving this vessel.”

“That’s why I want you to go now. If anyone stops you, try to convince them you’re from this place. If that doesn’t work, tell them I forced you to leave the ship, and you think I’m abandoning you here.”

“You aren’t, are you, sir? I know that they have come out with a new-model protocol droid, but Mistress Leia—”

“You aren’t mine to abandon, Threepio. Now go.”

“Yes, sir.” Threepio trundled down the path in the direction that Cole had pointed him. Cole watched him for a brief moment, wondering how a droid managed to sound so injured without sighing, sniffing, or using any of the common human clues.

Then he patted his blasters, and scanned the area. Signs everywhere. The dome was clear and open to the sky. There were walkways along the side of the runway, and doors as high up as he could see. There were probably alarms everywhere, and someone was probably watching. Threepio had better be as cunning as he bragged he was, because someone would stop him, and quickly.

A small door opened near the freighter. A man walked toward Cole. The man wore a cape and had the same sort of undefinable radiance that Skywalker had. Although this radiance had a touch of darkness. Cole wouldn’t be able to define it if he were asked, but he knew it was there.

The man was slender, tall, and very blond. He was also startlingly good-looking, a fact that shocked Cole. Cole rarely noted how attractive anyone was, male or female, and now he had done it twice in the last week or so. First with President Organa Solo, and now with this man.

There had to be more to him than was obvious to the eye.

“Hello,” the man said, his voice warm and welcoming. “My name is Brakiss. I run this facility.” He held out his hand as he approached.

Cole took it, even though he had to suppress a shudder as he did so. “Cole Fardreamer.”

Brakiss surveyed him as closely as Cole had surveyed Brakiss. “We don’t often get much call for droids from people arriving in stock light freighters. Are you buying or selling, Fardreamer?”

“Neither,” Cole said. He felt odd, as if his mind were moving more slowly than usual. He wanted to like this man, indeed he felt as if he had always known this man, but beneath that feeling was a layer of distrust so strong that it turned his stomach. “I have found a problem, and I think you might be able to help me with it.”

“A problem, Fardreamer? You own some of our droids?”

“Not exactly,” Cole said. He glanced around. The landing strip, which had been empty before, was filled now with dozens of droids. Most of them were models he had associated with the Empire: black assassin droids; probe droids; fighter droids with their powerful arms, and their lack of control. He was in a droid factory, he reminded himself, and Brakiss was probably letting Cole know how difficult any deviousness would be. He kept straining to hear Threepio’s outraged voice, but so far he had heard nothing.

“I was wondering,” Cole said, “if we could talk in private.”

“Most people are not bothered by my droids,” Brakiss said.

“Well, you’ll understand my concern in a moment,” Cole said. “Please, may we speak alone?”

Brakiss waved a hand and, as silently as they had appeared, the droids vanished. “All right,” he said.

“I assume you have holocams here,” Cole said.

Brakiss’s smile was thin. “We have watchers everywhere, Mr. Fardreamer. No matter where I take you, someone will be observing. It is for my safety as well as yours.”

Cole wanted to glance over his shoulder, to see if he could see Threepio. But he didn’t. Instead, he gripped the side of the freighter with one hand and leaned as close to Brakiss as he could comfortably get. “Someone is sabotaging your droids,” he whispered.

Brakiss blinked and took a step backward before he managed to cover his reaction. “What?”

Cole nodded. He held out his other hand, filled with several tiny detonators. “We found these in droids shipped to Coruscant. Those droids were traced here.”

“What are those?” Brakiss now seemed calmer, as if nothing could ruffle him. Cole didn’t know how to read that initial reaction: Had the man truly not known? Or was he pretending not to know?

“Detonators,” Cole said. “When combined with the proper order, action, or code, they will make the droids explode.”

“Explode.” Brakiss put a hand to his face. On the superficial emotional level, Cole believed Brakiss was upset. But underneath, he felt an anger. Or something like anger.

That darkness again.

Darkness he couldn’t pinpoint.

“I’m afraid so,” Cole said. “One of your workers might be sabotaging—”

“My workers are droids,” Brakiss said. “They cannot harm their masters or themselves.”

Cole’s mouth had gone dry. Still nothing from
Threepio or Artoo. Perhaps they had gotten away. Perhaps security wasn’t as tight as it seemed. “These were in the droids,” Cole said.

“Yes,” Brakiss said. He frowned. “Our clientele varies. Was the shipment a direct one to Coruscant?”

“I don’t know,” Cole said. He felt a faint thread of relief. Brakiss believed him. “All I know is that the droids came from here.”

Brakiss nodded. “And you came directly here?”

“As soon as I could.”

“Why didn’t one of your people contact me directly?”

Good question. Cole wished he had a good answer. “We—ah—I thought—”

“That you could blackmail me?” Brakiss’s smile was tight. “It’s not likely, Fardreamer. You outthink yourself. I control Telti. You would have done better to meet me elsewhere.”

“I wasn’t thinking about blackmail.”

“Of course not.” Brakiss’s voice was smooth. He had a lot of charm when he chose to use it. “You just happened to come here alone, in a freighter that is registered to someone else, without any orders or contact from the New Republic’s government. It seems quite suspicious to me.”

“The government sent me, hoping that you would work with me,” Cole said. “We—ah—hoped to keep this as quiet as possible. Droids are everywhere and people would be alarmed if they knew the droids to be dangerous.”

“Indeed they would, Mr. Fardreamer.” Brakiss put his hands behind his back. They swept his cape away from his hips, revealing a lightsaber like the one Luke Skywalker carried. “You don’t lie very convincingly. Perhaps you want to tell me why you brought an outdated R2 unit and an old protocol droid with you.”

Cole didn’t lie very well. It had never been a skill he had wanted to cultivate. He had never had much use for it before.

“They travel with me,” Cole said.

“I see,” Brakiss said. “You sent your droids off alone. Can’t you read the signs?” He pointed at
PERSONAL DROIDS MUST REMAIN ON SHIPS
.

“I didn’t see that one until it was too late,” Cole said. “They’ll be all right, won’t they?”

“I can’t guarantee it,” Brakiss said. “This is a factory. Droids often come here for reconditioning and repair. They might have a memory wipe or be disassembled.”