Zekk reached in, fiddled with the wreckage, and finally pulled out the central processing unit from the metal body core. He studied the serial number on the CPU, frowning deeply.
This was not at all what he had expected.
Zekk had assumed that IG-88, an old-model semi-sentient assassin droid, had gathered a cadre of discontinued machines that were still deadly, still functional. In theory, at least, assassin droids had not been constructed for decades—not since the fall of the Empire.
But this chip was new. The date-coded serial number and designators suggested that its programming was less than two months old. This assassin droid had been manufactured recently!
Zekk held up the chip, shining his glowrod onto its surface again to double-check its markings. Something was terribly wrong here. This was a mystery he had not anticipated.
He heard a stirring noise, clear and definite this time: the cautiously approaching footsteps of a creature that had far too many legs.
Zekk stood up straight, gripping a blaster in one hand and his glowrod in the other. He dimmed the light even further when he heard clacking noises and skittering footsteps from other catacombs, coming closer, getting louder. The combat arachnids were alerted to his presence. They were nearby … and he had no doubt they intended to deal with another intruder swiftly and permanently.
Grabbing the CPU chip that held the information he needed—as well as another, deeper puzzle—he sprinted back out to the balconies and into the hazy sunlight of Kuar.
He didn’t look behind him. His legs were strong and fit and carried him at full speed back to his ship. The combat arachnids could give chase if they wanted, but he sensed that they would be cautious, for a short time, at least—and he would get to safety first. He had left the Lightning Rod prepped for a fast getaway.
Sliding into the pilot’s seat, Zekk activated the repulsorlifts and raised his ship off the dusty rim of the crater, taking time to fasten his crash restraints only after he had reached the air. Then he cruised away at a leisurely pace to give himself time to think.
Zekk held the chip in his hand, contemplating the inexplicably recent serial number. He ran a data check on the number using the Lightning Rod’s computers. The results verified his suspicions but raised many more questions than were answered.
The assassin droids that had accompanied IG-88 to kidnap Tyko Thul had been manufactured only a few weeks ago—on Mechis III.
In Tyko Thul’s own droid factory.
As he reached the blackness of space, Zekk stared out at the cascade of stars … and decided that he had no choice but to follow the mystery where it led him. He was a bounty hunter, and he had an assignment to complete. He would go to Mechis III.
But first, he had one stop to make.
13
Mechis III was a black world, its surface blanketed with slag and industrial debris, its continents covered with factories, processing centers, and automated assembly lines. It had originally been a lifeless planet with a breathable atmosphere, but ugly and barren—a place where huge factories could be set up without local inhabitants complaining about environmental damage. Better here, everyone agreed, than on some world worth saving.
Mechis III served its purpose, as evidenced by the proliferation of droids throughout the galaxy. Other planets, such as Telti, produced high-quality droids as well, but for generations this had been the center of the industry.
During the last days of the Empire, though, Mechis III had undergone a turbulent upheaval, which was largely undocumented. The supervisors of the automated assembly lines had been killed, but the mechanized, self-sufficient systems had continued regular production, unsupervised, for some time. In fact, several years had passed before anyone even noticed that the human attendants were no longer alive!
In the meantime, the systems had fallen into disarray. Programming glitches and minor breakdowns went unrepaired and gradually compounded themselves into worse disasters.
Thus, by the time Raynar’s uncle took on the immense project of restoring Mechis Ill’s former glory, entire sections of the factory had been blackened, burnt out, or shut down from lack of power. Much of the machinery lay in disrepair or total ruin. But Tyko Thul had promised to bring the place to peak production levels and had succeeded admirably—at least until he was kidnapped by an assassin droid.
Now Raynar vowed he would not let all of his uncle’s work go to waste….
As the Rock Dragon approached Mechis III, Jaina looked out the front windowports at the landscape far below. The lights of a thousand factories glittered like bright embroidery across the slag-covered surface. Beside her, Raynar sat in Lowbacca’s accustomed copilot’s seat, though the young man did not venture to help with the actual flying. Jaina did it all with only Em Teedee’s assistance—which made her miss Lowie even more.
Jacen and Tenel Ka sat beside each other in the back, talking quietly. “Say,” Jacen said, “what does an Imperial Star Destroyer wear to a formal occasion?”
“Why would Imperial Star Destroyers wear anything?” Tenel Ka asked. The warrior girl from Dathomir seemed to enjoy frustrating him, and Jacen never failed to rise to the challenge.
“Still don’t quite have the hang of these jokes, do you?” he said in exasperation. “Come on, you know that’s not the right response.”
“Very well,” Tenel Ka said with the barest smile, “what does an Imperial Star Destroyer wear to a formal occasion?”
“A bow TIE!”
Jaina groaned. “That one’s bad even for you, Jacen. I think we may have to strand you here on Mechis III.”
Raynar leaned forward in the copilot’s seat to study the view, eager and nervous at the same time. “I’ve got coordinates for the administrative headquarters,” he said. “My mother sent them. If Uncle Tyko left any messages, that’s where they’ll be.”
“All right,” Jaina said, thankful to turn back to flying the ship, “key the coordinates into the navicomputer and we’ll be on our way.” The blond young man blinked in surprise that she would have him do the work. Jaina raised her eyebrows. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
With obvious pleasure, Raynar quickly punched in the data and changed course down to the industrial planet. After cruising through thick clouds of obscuring smoke, Jaina brought the Rock Dragon down on the roof of the administration towers.
Raynar was the first to the hatch. Jaina picked up Em Teedee, tucked the little droid under one arm, and opened the passenger shuttle. Gusts of smoky air drifted in, smelling of burnt chemicals and ozone.
The companions stepped out and gazed around at the skyline. Lightning rods spiked upward from the corners of the tallest buildings, drawing down static in discharge blasts. Towering factories spewed exhaust into the air, and black clouds simmered just above the tops of smokestacks.
Tenel Ka drew a deep breath, scowled, then took a more cautious sniff. “The air is … brooding.” She looked up at the blackness in the sky. In the distance lightning flickered. “Perhaps a storm is approaching.”
“I think that’s just the pollution, Tenel Ka,” Jacen said.
A roof doorway opened, ratcheting on tracks that had not been lubricated in a long time. A platinum-colored protocol droid emerged, an older model that still managed to move with well-oiled grace.
“You are not authorized to be here. No visitors allowed.” Its voice was harsher, less silken than See-Threepio’s. “You must depart immediately … or accept the consequences.”
Em Teedee made a disbelieving sound that was muffled slightly by Jaina’s arm. “Well, really! I am authorized translating droid Em Teedee, and my companions are students at the Jedi academy on Yavin 4. I can assure you we have every right to be here.”