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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.