Qorl strode forward, intent on the Adamant’s helm. He needed to get this ship moving soon. The dark goggles of his TIE helmet allowed little peripheral vision, and as he passed the command station, the Rebel commanding officer—a fish-faced Calamarian—leaped up and tackled him. Qorl’s blaster pistol clattered to the floor.
The officer wrestled with Qorl, fighting with flipper hands, but the TIE pilot drove his powerful droid fist into the face of the alien, knocking him out cold. Qorl retrieved his blaster pistol and climbed to his feet, brushing off his black uniform.
A stormtrooper captain marched up to him smartly. “The bridge is secure, sir. Ready to move out.”
Qorl sat down in the Adamant’s command chair. “Very well.” He sealed his helmet and his padded suit for total containment, which would protect him from the rapid decompression when the assault ship detached itself from the hull. He hesitated. “Stuff these Rebels into an escape pod, and launch it.”
“Save them, sir?” the trooper asked, perplexed. “We don’t have much time.”
“Then be quick about it!” Qorl snapped. Conflicting emotions warred within him. These were the enemy, and he had sworn to fight them—but the crew on this ship had battled valiantly, and he couldn’t stomach letting them die as they lay there unconscious.
The stormtroopers paused for only a second, then hustled as they dragged the limp forms to the bridge escape pod and unceremoniously dumped them inside the defenseless craft. The stormtrooper captain sealed the hatch and punched the pod’s external launch control. With a hiss from explosive bolts and a gush of compressed gases, the escape pod shot away.
Qorl studied the Adamant’s tactical station. Rebel defensive forces were finally on their way, streaking up out of orbit and heading toward the besieged supply ship. “Go!” he said to the troopers. “Take the assault shuttle and escape. I will meet you back at the base.”
The stormtroopers hurried to the shark-mouthed assault shuttle and sealed the boarding hatch. Qorl braced himself as the modified ship detached itself, letting the contained atmosphere rush out of the bridge through the gaping hole, to space.
Secure in his suit, Qorl powered up all the engines. He fed in preprogrammed coordinates, and the Adamant lurched into motion. As the Rebel fleet zoomed in, Qorl followed his Imperial ships, carrying with him an incredible treasure that would help the Second Imperium gain its rightful place of military superiority.
The base was very close indeed.
Admiral Ackbar returned to consciousness, and found himself crammed with his crew inside an escape pod that whirled out of control through space. His head ached, and he felt as if a space mine had exploded inside his skull. His crew members groaned and stirred, coming awake. For some reason their lives had been spared. He wriggled his way over to one of the tiny viewports so he could watch for rescue craft.
As the escape pod spun about in a nauseating spiral, Admiral Ackbar saw his own ship from the outside. The hijacked space cruiser Adamant lumbered into motion and picked up speed as the Imperial fighters streaked ahead of it.
New Republic reinforcements headed on a direct path to recapture the precious weapons and supplies—but already Ackbar could see that the Imperial ships would be long gone by the time those reinforcements arrived.
Ackbar watched the Adamant vanish before the Coruscant ships came close enough to fire a shot. He wished he could just fall back into unconsciousness, but the splitting pain in his skull kept him wide awake.
8
As Zekk hurried through the night streets of Imperial City, heading away from the palace, he took back stairways and crossed alley catwalks, wanting to see no one. Overhead, blinking lights from shuttles taxiing across the atmosphere fought through a blurring mist of condensed moisture from roof exhaust vents. The city’s myriad lights and its sprawling landscape of skyscrapers extending beyond the horizon taunted him with the knowledge that, despite the millions upon millions of inhabitants, he was totally alone.
After the evening’s miserable escapades, he felt as if a marquee droid was hovering over his head, broadcasting to everyone that Zekk was a clumsy fool, an embarrassment to his friends. What had he been thinking—trying to fit in with important society, mingling with ambassadors and diplomats, making friends with the children of the Chief of State? Who was he to spend time with such people?
He looked at his feet for something to kick, finally spotted an empty beverage container, and lashed out with his boot, a boot he had spent time polishing so he would look good in front of his so-called friends. The container clattered and bounced against a duracrete wall, but to Zekk’s frustration it refused to break.
He kept his gaze turned downward, to the shadows and the clusters of garbage in the gutter. He shuffled aimlessly, wandering the back streets, not caring where he might end up. The lower world of Coruscant was his home. He knew it well, and he could survive here—which was good, because it looked as if he would be stuck in this gloomy place for the rest of his life. There was no hope, no chance for advancement. He simply wasn’t the equal of those people who could look forward to a bright future—people like Jaina and Jacen.
Zekk was a nobody.
He saw a group of merchants closing up their kiosks for the night, chatting cordially with the New Republic guards who patrolled the streets. Zekk didn’t want to go near them, didn’t want any company whatsoever. He slipped into a public turbolift and punched a button at random, descending nineteen floors and emerging in a dimmer section of the city.
Old Peckhum had already gone up to the mirror station on his tour of duty, so even Zekk’s home would be empty and uninviting. He’d have to spend the night alone, trying to keep amused with games or entertainment systems … but nothing sounded at all interesting.
He could wander around for as long as he liked, so he decided to enjoy it. No one would tell him to go to bed, no one would admonish him for going places where he wasn’t allowed, no one would breathe down his neck.
He smiled thinly. He had a freedom Jaina and Jacen didn’t have. When they were out exploring and having fun, the twins constantly checked their chronometers, making sure they would be back home at the appointed time, never making allowances for unexpected circumstances. They certainly didn’t want to give their protocol droid a burned worry circuit by not following their explicit orders. The twins were prisoners to their own schedules.
What did it matter if Zekk didn’t know all the manners a life in the diplomatic court required? Who cared if he didn’t understand which eating implement to use, or what the appropriate phrase of gratitude was when speaking to an insectoid ambassador? He snorted with derision. He wouldn’t want to live like Jaina and Jacen. No way!
As he wandered along the abandoned corridors, purposely scuffing his toes against the floor plates, he paid no attention to the thickening shadows, to the oppressive silence that surrounded him. He sniffed and clenched his teeth in remembered humiliation. He didn’t care about any of that. Zekk was his own person, independent—just the way he liked it.
Overhead, the glowpanels flickered intermittently; those at the far end of the corridor had completely burned out. A skittering sound in the ceiling ducts signaled the passage of a large and clumsy rodent. Ahead he heard another rustling sound, something even bigger.