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Star Wars_ Planet of Twilight - Barbara Hambly [138]

By Root 995 0
or space pirates. But the events that had transpired since the two droids and the unfortunate Yeoman Marcopius’s escape from the doomed Borealis had given the protocol droid a little more confidence in his ability to negotiate possible transport. In any case his power core was dangerously close to reserve, and even another pas de deux with space pirates seemed preferable to going cold on the dead world, leaving Her Excellency to her own devices with no one who knew where she was. All the way through the dark, utterly silent streets of the plague-stricken dome, he composed scenarios and arguments to talk his way into passage to Coruscant without informing potentially hostile—or simply verbally incontinent—hosts what his message and mission might be.

And they all fell silent within him as he and Artoo stepped through the doorway of the largest of the docking bays, and he saw before him in the actinic glare of its landing lights the black ship that stood there, an Imperial Fleet Seinar IPV System Patrol Craft, like a sleek-shelled crab, lowering its boarding ramp.

Threepio said, “Oh, dear.”

On the face of it, there seemed very little chance that any amount of money would persuade the inhabitants to drop him and Artoo off at Coruscant.

It was too late to turn tail, however. Figures in dark e-suits were coming down the ramp—both men and women, judging from the way they walked, which was unusual for the Imperial Service—followed by two black, spider-armed floating remotes that scanned the base with hard beams of white light while the troopers crossed the stained floor of the bay to where the two droids stood. One of them, a dusky Twi’lek woman with an enormously extended helmet, touched the comm button in her suit and said, “Two of them,” and again Threepio wondered. The Imperial Service would ordinarily no more employ nonhumans than it would employ nonmales. On closer study he identified the e-suits of Imperial design—CoMar 980s—but without emblems, though the sleeves and chest bore marks where emblems had been removed.

“No other signs of life on the base?” inquired a very small, very tinny voice from the comm.

“No, Admiral. Looks well and truly looted to me.”

“There was, in fact, extensive looting during the final throes of the epidemic,” provided Threepio helpfully. “My counterpart and I counted five separate parties of looters, and the Computer Core of the base system was so extensively dilapidated that we could not even use it to signal out.”

“Put them through cleansing procedures,” said the tinny voice. “Bring them to me. I want to find out once and for all what’s taking place in this sector.”

“You know, Artoo,” surmised Threepio, when after a very thorough passage through two radiation chambers and a chemical bath the two droids were conducted, still by the Twi’lek Sergeant, to a small lift marked “Private,” “I think this isn’t an Imperial mission at all. The ship, though of Imperial design and manufacture, does not bear the markings of any of the various satrapies of the former Empire. Neither do the uniforms of such crew members as we have seen. We might be dealing with a case of extensive theft of Imperial matériel by a completely neutral third party.”

The doors of the lift closed soundlessly. There was a shivering vibration as it ascended. Artoo tweeped.

“Clandestine operation? What kind of clandestine operation would be undertaken by any of the remaining Imperial governors? I’m sure it can’t be that.”

The doors slid open. Imperial Captains and Admirals always tended to favor a black sleekness in their offices, in part in the interests of spare unclutteredness, in part, quite frankly, in the interests of intimidation. The chamber into which the two droids stepped now was no exception. Threepio was quite well aware that computer screens and consoles lurked behind those obsidian-mirrored panels, that a touch on an access hatch would summon chairs, if necessary; more lamps; dictation equipment, if required; implements of torture; articles of restraint; a mirror and shaving equipment; or wine, coffeine, and

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