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“You’re just gonna have to imagine my handsome face, Flight.”

The controller chuckled; a human female, Kaird realized. “I’ve seen nerf herders who were more handsome. In fact, I’ve seen nerfs who were.” The voice grew more serious. “What are you doing, Bogan? We don’t show any flight plans for the admiral today.”

“I need practice time,” Kaird replied as Bogan, “if I want to fly commercial liners after I get out of the navy. I’ll only be gone a couple hours. A few loops, a couple of rolls, I get to log it, everybody’s happy.”

“And the admiral doesn’t mind?”

“He said he wasn’t going anywhere. I think he was headed for the soak tubs after I saw him, but you can call him and clear it, if you want.”

“Get the admiral out of a soak tub? Yeah, right. Give me the airlock codes.”

Kaird grinned his raptor’s grin and rattled off the code.

“Check,” Flight replied. “Cleared to vacuum chamber.”

The doors between the pressurized chamber and the airlock opened. A slight breeze stirred bits of trash as Kaird rolled the ship into the gigantic lock. The massive doors shut behind him, a warning siren hooted, and a red light flashed. The comm’s autovox said, “Warning, warning— hold depressurizing. All unprotected personnel must clear the chamber immediately. Warning, warning—”

The voxbox repeated its alert drone until the siren stopped and the red light went out. After another moment the outer doors opened, revealing the blackness of space, with its pinpricks of distant stars.

“A-one, give me your launch codes.”

Kaird complied.

“A-one, you are cleared for launch. Try not to hit the walls on the way out.”

Kaird grinned again, and reached for the controls. The ship began to ease out of the lock. He was leaving Drongar, by the Cosmic Egg, and bearing valuable gifts for his masters—gifts that would soon free him, and let him go home at long last. What could be better?

34

There wasn’t much to pack—Den’s years as a field correspondent had taught him how to live lightly. It wasn’t down to the point where all he needed was his dewflap brush, but it was pretty close. His multiclimate clothes were all compressible fabrics, his voxwriter not much bigger than his thumb. Two pieces of luggage, both small, were all he needed. Load it up, move it out. He’d done it a thousand times. At least.

The announcer chimed.

“Come in.”

The entry panel slid open, revealing I-Five.

“Just the droid I was looking for,” Den said.

I-Five’s left photoreceptor made the droid equivalent of a raised eyebrow. He looked around. “You seem to be packed and ready for departure—though it’s somewhat difficult to tell, given the general …ambience.”

Den grinned. “I’m not the best housekeeper on this planet,” he admitted. “Probably not on most of the known planets. Or, I expect, the unknown ones.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” the droid said. “Give me thirty minutes and a flamethrower attachment, and—”

“You know, there’s still one more transport lifting soon, with the last of the entertainers. I’m sure a droid who does stand-up would be high on their list of needs.”

“No doubt. And, as it happens, I will be on the next shuttle after that.”

Den nodded. He’d expected as much. “You have your mission from Barriss, then?”

“Yes. Information—eyes-only, very hush-hush—and a vial that I must also deliver.” I-Five extended a hand. “I came to say good-bye.”

Den did not take the droid’s hand. “No need. I’m coming with you.”

Another subtle shift of luminosity, this one registering surprise. “Indeed? To what do I owe this honor?”

“To the fact that, very soon, this place will be overrun with Separatist droids, mercs, and anything else they’ve got that’s smart enough to move and shoot at the same time.” Den explained briefly about the bota mutation, and what the likely outcome would be once this became common knowledge.

“The mutation comes as no surprise,” I-Five said. “This entire planet is one huge transgenic experiment. Given all the cross-pollination of the spores