Chapter 162 · Cold Trail

Eli was already heading toward the cockpit when Stent stopped him. “First, we get out of these clothes.”

Eli looked down at himself. His jacket was hanging beside the entrance, but the shirt underneath was still damp, his trousers were wet from the knees down, and there was something unpleasantly gritty inside his left boot. “I was going to check the traffic reports.”

“They will still be there in twenty minutes. Take a hot shower, put on dry clothes and then we can discuss what to do.”

Eli considered arguing. The day had left him with enough nervous energy to keep him awake for hours, and the prospect of sitting quietly while Tarin or any other of the rebels was somewhere in Imperial custody was not particularly appealing. On the other hand, his socks were wet. “All right. You first?”

“You go. Ch’eth has been confined for most of the day.”

That was true. They had put him in his enclosure before landing, and what should have been a brief delivery had turned into several hours of Imperial security procedures. The scratching had stopped now, although Eli could see a small dark brown nose pressed against the transparent panel.

“He’s going to make you pay for that.”

“He requires exercise, not compensation.”

“Tell him that.”

Stent removed his damp outer clothes, collected the bundle of cloth toys from the shelf beside the enclosure and opened it. Ch’eth emerged immediately, stretching his long body before climbing onto Stent’s forearm. He investigated the sleeve, found nothing interesting and made his way toward the shoulder.

Eli left them to it.

The shower was wonderful for approximately thirty seconds, until the water temperature began its usual negotiations with the ship’s plumbing. He adjusted it twice, decided that reasonably warm was better than unexpectedly scalding, and stayed beneath the spray until the stiffness in his shoulders began to ease.

There was very little he could do about Tarin from inside a shower compartment. That did not prevent him from thinking about it.

He had recognized the man immediately. The bruise, the missing jacket, the stormtroopers on either side of him. Tarin had looked straight at him and continued walking without the slightest indication that they had met. At least the man had enough sense not to acknowledge him.

Eli wondered how much the Imperials had recovered from the warehouse. Tarin had destroyed his datapad, but the slicer had clearly assembled a substantial dossier before they arrived. He had known about the Chimaera, Thrawn, Eli’s disappearance and at least some of their subsequent dealings with the Rebellion.

How much of that information existed somewhere else? And how much could the Imperials obtain from Tarin himself?

He turned the water off before he could think of another question he had no way of answering.

By the time he emerged, dressed in comfortable trousers and a clean shirt, the common room had become a hunting ground.

Stent was sitting on the floor with one of the little knotted cloth balls he had made from old fabric strips. Ch’eth was crouched behind a cushion, watching the toy move slowly across the deck.

The ball disappeared around the corner of the table.

Ch’eth launched himself after it. He caught it, rolled over with all four paws wrapped around the knot and proceeded to attack the fabric with considerable enthusiasm.

Stent retrieved the toy before he could begin pulling it apart. “Again?”

Ch’eth retreated behind the cushion. Apparently, yes.

Eli stopped beside the table. “He seems to have forgiven you for locking him up.”

“He has been out for less than fifteen minutes.”

“Ah. Still negotiating.”

Stent moved the cloth ball across the floor again. Ch’eth followed it with his head, waited until it was almost within reach and sprang.

He missed. The resulting scramble beneath the table produced a distinctly offended little chirp.

Stent inspected the toy, found a loose strip and tucked it away before offering the ball again. “He is becoming considerably more agile.”

“He’s also getting longer. I swear he’s grown since breakfast.”

“Not since breakfast.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ch’eth abandoned the ball and made a determined attempt to climb Stent’s trouser leg. Stent intercepted him and put him back on the floor, where he immediately disappeared behind the cushion again.

“Your turn,” Stent said.

Eli looked at him. “My turn?”

“I need a shower.”

“Sure.”

Ch’eth emerged from behind the cushion.

Stent moved the cloth ball toward Eli. The kivren followed at considerable speed, overshot his target and ended up halfway onto Eli’s lap.

Eli caught him before he could slide off.

“He likes the smaller knots. Move one along the floor and allow him to catch it occasionally.” Stent said.

Ch’eth had already spotted Eli’s free hand. Eli wiggled two fingers. The effect was immediate. “Oh, now that was a mistake.”

Ch’eth sprang, caught his fingers between his forepaws and attempted to wrestle them into submission. Eli pulled his hand free and tried again. The little predator crouched, waited and launched another enthusiastic attack.

Stent collected his clothes. “Do not let him reach the cables.”

“I'm beginning to think I should be more concerned about my fingers.”

“He knows not to bite hard.”

“That is a very optimistic interpretation of his training.”

Stent disappeared toward the refresher.

Eli looked down at the animal currently attempting to ambush his thumb. “Your father has abandoned us both.”

Ch’eth pounced.

For the next fifteen minutes, Eli discovered that entertaining a kivren required considerably more attention than watching one entertain himself. Ch’eth liked the cloth ball, but he liked Eli’s moving fingers much more, especially if they disappeared behind something and reappeared somewhere unexpected.

The cushion worked. The folded edge of Eli’s shirt worked. The gap beneath the table worked exceptionally well, until Ch’eth decided to investigate what else might be hiding behind the furniture.

Eli caught him just before he reached the power cable for the portable terminal. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Ch’eth wriggled indignantly as Eli carried him back to the middle of the room.

Tee, who had been observing the entire performance, produced a warning whistle. “Yes, I saw it.” Another whistle. “And I stopped him.” Tee gave a prolonged electronic commentary that Eli chose to interpret as criticism of inadequate supervision. “Would you like to entertain him?” Tee turned his dome away. “Thought so.”

By the time Stent returned, fully dressed and looking considerably more comfortable, Eli was sitting cross-legged on the floor with the cloth ball in one hand and an extremely excited Ch’eth trying to determine which direction it would move next.

Stent paused in the doorway. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

“He's a menace.”

“He needs the activity.”

“He's had plenty of activity. I, on the other hand, may never recover.”

Ch’eth sprang and caught the ball. Stent watched him wrestle with it for a moment before approaching.

Eli looked up. “By the way, did you ever find your second sock?”

“No.”

“Still?”

“It has not reappeared.”

There was a degree of irritation in Stent’s voice that Eli found entirely disproportionate to the subject. Which, naturally, made it much funnier.

“Have you checked his enclosure?”

“Twice.”

“Under your bed?”

“Yes.”

“Behind the water tank?” Stent looked at him. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I have searched everywhere accessible.”

Eli glanced at Ch’eth, who had abandoned the cloth ball and was now attempting to pull one of the loose ends of Eli’s trouser drawstring into his mouth. “I'm willing to bet our little friend knows where it is.”

Stent looked down at the kivren. Ch’eth looked back at him. Neither appeared inclined to discuss the matter.

During the week when Tee and Ch’eth had enjoyed exclusive possession of the Faded Glory, several small objects had migrated from their usual locations. Most had eventually been recovered from behind furniture or underneath the edge of Ch’eth’s bedding.

One of Stent’s sleeping socks remained unaccounted for.

Stent picked up the knotted ball and inspected it again. “He has not yet learned the distinction between his toys and our belongings.”

“Then perhaps you should stop making his toys out of our belongings.”

“That was an old shirt.”

“He may not appreciate the distinction.”

Stent considered that. Ch’eth took advantage of the distraction to make another attempt on Eli’s drawstring.

Eli rescued it and stood. “All right. I’m making dinner before he decides I'm edible.”

Stent took over the entertainment. This time he used the longer fabric strip, drawing the knotted end across the deck and around the legs of the table. Ch’eth followed it in short bursts, alternating between determined pursuit and elaborate ambushes.

Eli headed for the galley.

The first question was what to make from their recently replenished supplies without producing another mountain of dishes. He settled on fish, a packet of grain and some vegetables that had survived the refrigeration problems after the ship's disappearance. The fresh produce would need using soon anyway.

He put the grain on to cook and began cutting vegetables.

Behind him came the soft patter of Ch’eth’s paws, the scrape of fabric against the deck and an occasional quiet instruction from Stent.

For a while, nobody mentioned Stygeon.

Eli appreciated that more than he would have expected.

He was halfway through preparing dinner when Stent finally spoke. “We should discuss our next step.”

Eli glanced over his shoulder. “We should probably discuss whether we have a next step, or destination. Space Control still isn't allowing anyone to leave, and moving around is going to be hard right now.”

“That restriction will eventually be lifted.”

“Presumably.”

Stent moved the toy out of Ch’eth’s reach and waited while the kivren repositioned himself behind a chair. “I do not believe we should undertake any further assignments for the Rebellion.”

Eli stopped cutting. He had expected the conversation. He simply had not expected Stent to begin with the conclusion. “All right,” he said, putting the knife down. “Let's hear it.”

Stent drew the cloth knot across the floor. Ch’eth sprang, caught it and immediately tried to drag it beneath the chair. “Our mission is to locate Thrawn and return to the Ascendancy. We have spent considerable time pursuing objectives that do not advance either purpose. Some have been useful. Others have placed us in situations where the consequences were entirely disproportionate to the value of our involvement.”

“Stygeon being a particularly good example.”

“Yes.”

Eli turned back to the vegetables.

Stent retrieved the toy. “We have become involved in a war that is not ours.”

That one landed a little differently.

It was an easy thing for Stent to say. He had never worn an Imperial uniform, never served aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer and never watched the institution he had belonged to turn against half the galaxy.

For Eli, the Rebellion was not quite somebody else’s war.

He had made his own decisions about the Empire long before joining Stent on this ridiculous expedition, and he had no intention of pretending that the people fighting it were irrelevant to him.

On the other hand, he was no longer serving the Empire.

He was not a member of the Rebellion either.

And Tarin was in Imperial custody because an entire Rebel network had been compromised before the Faded Glory even entered the system.

“I know,” Eli said.

Stent looked toward him.

“I'm not arguing. Go on.”

Ch’eth had managed to get half the cloth strip beneath the chair and was now defending it from Stent with extraordinary determination. Stent let him win, retrieved the other toy and sent it rolling in the opposite direction.

“We have a lead,” he continued. “Your suggestion concerning Admiral Faro provides us with a plausible way to resume our original search. We should concentrate our resources on pursuing it.”

Eli stirred the grain. “Assuming we can find that kriffing quince.”

“Assuming we can find it.”

“And assuming Faro is still receiving packages through the Imperial military mail.”

“That is something we can investigate. Unlike the situation concerning Tarin.”

Eli was quiet for a moment.

There it was.

The part neither of them particularly wanted to discuss.

“Tee,” Stent said, “show us the latest orbital traffic information.”

The droid rolled closer to the galley entrance and projected a simplified display above his dome. Stygeon occupied the center. One large Imperial signature remained in the published orbital traffic data. The other had disappeared.

Eli stared at the display. “Where's the second destroyer?”

“Not visible on the civilian tracking feed,” Stent said. “It may have changed position, withdrawn beyond the monitored area or departed the system. We do not have sufficient information to determine which.”

“And if the prisoners were transferred aboard?”

“They could already be outside the system.”

Eli looked away from the projection.

Tarin had been alive when they last saw him. That was all they knew. No detention location, no list of prisoners, no indication of whether the Imperials were holding people locally or moving them elsewhere.

And no idea whether Vela had escaped or fallen.

“Suppose we wanted to do something,” Eli said. “Where would we even start?”

“That is precisely the problem.”

Stent set the cloth ball down and let Ch’eth investigate it while he continued.

“We do not know which prisoners have been taken, where they are being held, who has custody of them or whether they are still on Stygeon. We have no reliable contacts within the local organization, and at least one member of its intelligence staff is now in Imperial custody.”

“Tarin could tell them about us.”

“Yes.”

Eli looked toward the orbital display again.

That possibility had been sitting somewhere at the back of his mind ever since the terminal.

Tarin knew he was Eli Vanto. He knew about Thrawn. He knew Stent had impersonated the Grand Admiral at Klyssos.

If the Imperials extracted that information, Figg and Viros could find themselves facing an entirely different sort of investigation.

“We may have to leave earlier than we would prefer if our identities become compromised,” Stent said. “But that does not make an attempt to rescue Tarin feasible.”

Eli sighed. “I know.”

“If rescuing Rebel prisoners were our actual mission, we would begin by gathering intelligence, identifying the detention facilities and determining whether a rescue was possible at all. We would need local support, equipment, transport and considerably more information than we possess.” He paused to retrieve Ch’eth, who had apparently decided that the underside of the chair required further exploration. “We have none of those things. Nor do we have any assurance that a rescue would improve their situation rather than endanger additional people.”

Eli turned the heat down beneath the fish.

Stent was right. Not that Eli particularly enjoyed admitting it.

He could imagine half a dozen ways of making their situation worse. Contacting surviving rebels through compromised channels. Attempting to follow prisoner transports without knowing where they were going. Getting the Faded Glory identified as a Rebel vessel while trying to investigate a military security operation.

None of those ideas brought Tarin any closer to freedom.

All of them put their own mission at risk.

“I just hate leaving him there,” Eli said.

“So do I.”

Eli looked at him.

Stent was watching Ch’eth again, preventing him from pulling apart one of the knots.

“He treated us with considerably more fairness than Vela,” Stent added. “He was also sufficiently competent to have found information about you that we would have preferred to keep private. His capture is unfortunate for several reasons.”

“That might be the closest thing to a compliment I've ever heard you give a Rebel intelligence officer.”

“It was an assessment.”

“Of course.”

Stent placed the damaged toy on the table, out of Ch’eth’s reach, and offered him the other one.

Eli checked the fish.

They were not going to rescue Tarin. He knew it. Stent knew it.

And if he were being sensible, he would stop searching for an excuse to make that decision more complicated.

“All right,” he said at last. “No more side missions.”

Stent looked up.

“We finish what we started. Find the quince, find a way to contact Faro and see whether she can tell us where Thrawn went.”

“And we avoid becoming involved in further Rebel operations.”

Eli pointed the cooking utensil at him. “That part will be considerably easier if we stop accepting packages from them.”

“A reasonable precaution.”

“If we ever run into Dara or Nemi again, you can explain it.”

“I will.”

Eli believed him.

That was probably the problem.

He divided the food between two plates and carried them to the table. Stent collected Ch’eth and deposited him beside his feeding station, where a portion of thawed river grubs was waiting.

Ch’eth inspected the bowl. Then looked back toward the table.

Eli noticed. “He's holding out for the dried worms.”

“He has been receiving normal food since we recovered the ship.”

“He spent a week living on treats. You can't expect him to forget that overnight.”

“He is perfectly capable of eating what he has been given.”

Ch’eth investigated the grubs again. This time he began eating. He took one and carried it to a corner.

Stent looked satisfied.

Eli sat down. “You've won this round.”

They ate while Tee continued monitoring the port’s public information channel. Nothing particularly useful appeared. The security cordon remained in effect, military traffic still had priority and every civilian vessel in the affected district was confined to its assigned berth.

At least they were no longer sitting in a freight terminal waiting for somebody to tell them where they were allowed to go.

Halfway through dinner, Eli glanced toward the corridor. “You know, if we're going to be stuck here, we could finally do something about that ramp.”

Stent set down his fork. “The locking mechanism.”

“Exactly. I'd rather not wake up one morning to discover somebody's got aboard again and Tee has taken the ship on another unscheduled holiday.” Tee gave an outraged whistle. “I know you saved the ship.” Another whistle. “And Ch’eth. You've made that very clear.” Tee appeared satisfied.

Stent considered the suggestion. “The present mechanism is inadequate.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it.”

“The access controller can be overridden from outside. The mechanical lock was sufficient for ordinary commercial use when the ship was constructed, but it was not designed to resist a determined boarding attempt.”

“Which we have now experienced.”

“Yes.”

Eli pushed his empty plate aside and brought his personal datapad to the table.

“We could add a second set of locks. Independent ones. Something that doesn't rely on the same controller as the ramp.”mm

Stent moved the remaining cloth ball a short distance across the floor. Ch’eth followed it, though with considerably less enthusiasm now that he had eaten.

“A mechanical interlock would be preferable. Something that cannot be released by interfering with the external access panel.”

“Something Tee can still operate from inside.”

“Obviously.”

Tee chirped in approval.

“And a better alarm,” Eli added. “If someone starts tampering with the ramp, I want to know about it before they're standing in the cargo bay.”

They spent the next half hour examining the ship's existing maintenance diagrams.

The Faded Glory was old enough that a surprising amount of her original documentation had been replaced by handwritten annotations from previous owners. Several modifications were recorded in the wrong sections. One drawing referred to a component that had been removed at least two owners ago.

Eli had long since accepted that the ship’s maintenance history was more a collection of suggestions than a definitive technical record.

Stent, on the other hand, looked increasingly unimpressed.

“This installation is not consistent with the manufacturer’s specifications.”

“Which one?”

“The ramp actuator.”

Eli leaned closer.

“Oh, that. Laro mentioned something about it when he rebuilt the ship.”

“He installed a replacement intended for a different model.”

“Does it work?”

“Yes.”

“Then I'm inclined to forgive him.”

Stent enlarged the diagram. “It also leaves sufficient room for an additional locking assembly.”

“See? Forward thinking.”

“That was not his intention.”

“Let me have this.”

They identified two possible upgrades: independent mechanical locks and a revised control circuit that would require authorization from inside the ship before the external release could operate. Tee would retain full control, including the ability to open the ramp during an emergency.

The necessary parts were not particularly exotic.

Unfortunately, they did not have all of them.

Eli made a list.

“Once the cordon comes down, we can check the local suppliers. Industrial planet, plenty of ship traffic. Somebody must stock this stuff.”

“We should also examine the access panel for evidence of the previous intrusion.”

“We did.”

“We confirmed that it still functioned. That is not the same as examining it for damage.”

Eli looked at him.

“Fine. Tomorrow.”

Tee whistled.

“Yes, you can help.”

That earned them a pleased electronic trill.

Ch’eth, meanwhile, had finished his food and was investigating the leg of Stent’s chair. He climbed halfway up, changed his mind and dropped back onto the deck before disappearing under the table.

Eli felt something brush his ankle.

Then a tiny tug at his trouser leg.

He looked down.

Ch’eth was apparently ready for another game. “Absolutely not. I've already done my shift.”

The kivren stared at him. Eli stared back. Ch’eth pounced on his sock.

Stent retrieved him before Eli could become personally involved in another dispute over footwear. “He has had sufficient exercise for tonight.”

“Tell him that.”

“I will.”

Stent carried him back to the enclosure, checked the water and removed the damaged cloth toy from the floor. Ch’eth objected to being returned, although with considerably less determination than he had demonstrated earlier.

Stent waited until he had settled beneath the old shirt he used for bedding, then closed the panel.

Eli watched him straighten. “You know, when I suggested we keep him, I don't think I appreciated how much work one small animal could generate.”

“He requires food, water, exercise and a suitable environment.”

“And apparently regular opportunities to destroy our belongings.”

“We should keep the cables out of his reach.”

“Along with socks.”

Stent gave him a look. Eli smiled.

The second sock was going to remain an excellent subject of conversation until it turned up.

If it ever did.

Later, with the dishes washed and Tee still keeping an eye on the public traffic channels, they returned to the question of their departure.

Even if the cordon came down tomorrow, leaving immediately would be a mistake. The Faded Glory was a documented visitor to a business that had just been raided by Imperial forces. Its crew had already been questioned. An abrupt departure would draw precisely the sort of attention they were trying to avoid.

Eli looked at the list of ramp components on his datapad. “Well, there's our excuse to stay.”

Stent nodded. “We require repairs.”

“Actual repairs, for once.”

“Improvements.”

“Even better. We can buy the parts, spend a couple of days working on the ship and leave with an ordinary commercial departure slot.”

“Provided there is no indication that Imperial intelligence has identified us.”

That qualification remained important. Tarin was still out there somewhere. For all they knew, so was Vela. The second Star Destroyer had not returned to the public traffic display, and they had no reliable way of finding out what had happened to the prisoners.

Eli closed the maintenance file.

They would have to live with that uncertainty.

For now, they had a ship that needed work, a perfectly legitimate reason to remain in port and a lead to pursue once they were free to leave.

He looked toward the corridor, where Ch’eth had finally gone quiet.

Then toward Tee, who was monitoring three separate information feeds while occasionally checking the ramp's security status.

The Faded Glory was not much to look at, but she had already got them through considerably worse situations than a port lockdown.

And with a little work, she might be considerably harder to steal next time.