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By Root 502 0

plenty of design flaws in the sub-plans she had reviewed. Nothing so major that the place would fail to function or fall apart if somebody bumped into a wall, but enough little bits and pieces here and there said without a doubt that the designers had paid less attention to details than they should have. Another draft or two of the schematics would have corrected most of those; many were being caught and fixed on the fly, such as she had just done—poorly placed entrances and exits, less-than-adequate ventilation systems, thermal vents badly located … the usual minutiae that cropped up in big construction projects. There was just more of it, but then there was a lot more vessel for mistakes to happen in, wasn’t there? This Death Star was, after all, as big as a Class IV moon, with a minimum of over a million beings making up the crew. Nothing this size had ever been built before … at least as far as Teela was aware.

What it all came down to was, she would do what she could do. Working for the Empire was bad, no getting around that, but not as bad as living in a makeshift hut on a world that was, for the most part, either jungle or swamp, and whose inhabitants would sooner kill you than look at you. After all, what could she do? Architecture wasn’t exactly the sort of exciting and dashing thing that people could rally around. She would, in all probability, just get herself killed if she tried to aid the Rebels. But by doing what she knew how to do, she might actually save a few lives, or at least make those lives more comfortable. Yes, those lives would belong to servants of the Empire, but after all, not every single being here was evil.

As rationalizations went, that one wasn’t so bad. Her inner self almost bought it.

10

MEDICAL FRIGATE MEDSTAR FOUR, POLAR ORBIT, DESPAYRE

The secretary droid C-4ME-O stood gyroscopically balanced on its single wheel in the hallway as Uli exited the surgery theater. The procedure had been routine, an operation to graft in a new liver for a Wookiee slave injured in the recent explosion at the construction site. Some of the enslaved species were considered expendable, as there were always more potential conscripts on the planet below, but Wookiees were too valuable to lose, a colonel had told him. They were worth three of just about any other worker, and Uli had already heard it at least ten times since he’d gotten here: if you want a job done right, get a Wookiee to do it. They were able to better withstand the temperature extremes of vacuum, they had more endurance than the other species, and their work ethic was unimpeachable—they seemed incapable of giving less than 100 percent, even on a project they had been conscripted for. The only drawback was that their vacuum suits had to be specially made to accommodate their huge, hairy forms. Uli had wondered why he’d seen so many of them when he’d arrived. He’d soon realized that like himself, they were not here by choice.

“Dr. Divini,” the droid said, in its pleasing tenor. “How are you?”

“As well as can be expected, Fourmio. Is there something you need?”

“I am quite self-sufficient, thank you, Doctor. But Commander Hotise would like to see you when it is convenient.”

Inwardly, Uli groaned. He’d been pretty much on the go ever since he’d gotten here, and now that his rotation was finally over, he’d been looking forward to some sleep. “Did he sound urgent?”

“Actually, sir, his precise words were, ‘Get Divini’s butt up here on the double.’ ” The droid did a perfect imitation of Hotise’s voice.

Uli had to smile at that. Hotise might be a career man, but he was honest and direct in his speech and actions. And he was just another cog in the Empire’s giant machine—no point in blaming him for the situation.

Uli was wearing surgical blues, which he did not waste time changing. While standard service protocols ordinarily required more formal dress when attending a commanding officer in a noncombat area on board a ship, the medical units were less stringent. Most medics were draftees and didn’t give a Psadan’s patoot what the navy thought