Chapter 171 · The Waiting Road

The medical checks had become one more part of life aboard the Faded Glory.

Not every morning, and not according to any schedule Eli had ever bothered to write down, but often enough that neither of them gave the process much thought anymore. Usually Stent remembered first. He would retrieve the reader while Eli was finishing breakfast or going over the day's freight listings, run it over the implant in his arm, inspect the results and return the device to the medical kit a minute later.

Eli had stopped objecting weeks ago.

That morning they were between contracts, with several hours remaining before they needed to leave their berth, and he was halfway through his second cup of caff when Stent sat beside him with the reader.

“Arm.”

Eli continued looking through the freight board on his datapad and held it out without comment.

Stent pushed the sleeve of his shirt a little higher and passed the reader slowly over the implant on his upper arm. The device gave the familiar soft tone as it established the connection.

Usually that was followed by a few seconds of silence, a glance at the display and some variation of everything is normal.

This time Stent kept looking.

Eli finished reading the contract in front of him, rejected it for having an absurdly narrow delivery window and opened another before realizing that the reader was still in Stent's hand.

He glanced sideways. “Something?”

“The implant is functioning normally.”

“That sounded suspiciously like the beginning of a sentence.”

Stent shifted the reader so Eli could see the display.

The glucose regulation data looked unremarkable. Eli had seen enough of those graphs by now to recognize what normal looked like, and there was nothing particularly dramatic in the recent history.

Below it, however, another notification had appeared.

INSULIN RESERVOIR LOW — REFILL RECOMMENDED

Eli frowned.

“Already?”

“That was my reaction.”

Stent opened the service history and brought up the entry from the previous refill.

Eli remembered that one rather well. Less because there had been anything particularly unpleasant about the procedure than because, at the time, he had still found the idea of somebody deliberately inserting a needle into the access port of a device attached to his pancreas deeply unsettling.

The estimated interval after that refill had been forty-three days.

Stent checked the date.

“Thirty-eight.”

Eli looked at him. “Days?”

“Yes.”

He took the reader and checked for himself, although there was little point. Thirty-eight days since the last refill. Five fewer than the previous estimate.

“Well. That's irritating.”

“It is earlier than expected.”

“By five days. I'm not sure that qualifies as a medical emergency.”

“I did not suggest that it did.”

“No, but you have that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where something has failed to behave according to specification and you take it personally.”

Stent ignored him and returned to the usage data.

“The reservoir estimate is based partly on previous consumption. Your average insulin requirement has increased.”

“By much?”

“Not significantly.”

Eli leaned closer.

There was a slight rise over the previous couple of weeks, enough to account for the difference without anything else in the readings looking particularly alarming.

They had also spent those weeks working irregular schedules, eating at inconsistent hours and accepting whatever food happened to be available near commercial ports, freight depots and industrial installations. Eli suspected his diet would have offended more than one physician on principle.

“Could just be what we've been eating.”

“Possibly. Or the change in your activity levels. There are several variables.”

“But glucose control is still normal.”

“Yes.”

“And the implant is working properly.”

“Yes.”

“So it wants a refill a few days early.”

Stent handed the reader back.

“That appears to be the situation.”

Eli considered it for another moment, then shrugged and picked up his caff.

“All right. We'll refill it before we leave.”

Stent looked faintly surprised.

“What?”

“You objected considerably more the previous time.”

“The previous time I had never seen the procedure done before.”

“You had been told how it was performed.”

“Being told that somebody is going to put a needle through a port in your arm and into a piece of machinery connected to an internal organ is not quite the same thing as having survived it once already.”

“The needle does not enter the pancreas.”

“I know that now.”

“You knew it then.”

Eli pointed his cup at him. “Knowing something intellectually and being enthusiastic about it are entirely different matters.”

Stent accepted that with the small inclination of his head that meant he had decided further argument would accomplish nothing.

Eli returned to the freight listings.

“After breakfast.”

“Yes.”

“And if the next refill comes five days earlier again, then you may start looking concerned.”

“I was not concerned.”

“You reran the scan.”

“I was verifying the reading.”

“Of course you were.”

Stent collected his tea and said nothing more.

The refill could wait another twenty minutes.

Their next contract could not.

By the time the Faded Glory approached Epikonia, Eli had become rather fond of the Imperial supplemental freight program.

He would have preferred to develop that particular affection under different circumstances, preferably ones that did not involve searching half the galaxy for a missing Grand Admiral, but he was prepared to appreciate a good business opportunity when one presented itself.

Three and a half weeks had passed since they left Quelli, and their accounts looked considerably healthier than they had at any point since acquiring the ship. They had completed another four transport contracts, negotiated several additional deliveries along their existing routes and discovered that a surprisingly large number of Imperial procurement officers were delighted to deal with anyone who understood the difference between promising to deliver something and actually delivering it.

The first job had taken them to a refinery installation whose regular supply of clouzon ice had been interrupted by a dispute between two contracting authorities. The installation needed the material urgently, the supplier had a substantial quantity ready for collection, and the original carrier had apparently decided that the contractual disagreement was an excellent reason to withdraw its services altogether.

Eli had negotiated a delivery premium large enough to cover the specialized transport containers, the additional fuel expenditure and a very respectable profit.

The containers had also made the hold uncomfortably cold.

"Remind me never to do this again," he had complained while examining the refrigeration system's power consumption.

Stent had looked up from the contract. "You said that after the additional shipment on Phindar."

"And I meant it then, too."

"Nevertheless, you accepted this one."

"Yes, but this one pays better."

Stent had apparently considered that a satisfactory explanation, also he seemed to be in his element in the cold temperatures.

The second job had been considerably more straightforward. A commercial scrapyard operating in the shadow of an uninhabited moon needed a collection of reclaimed alloy panels transported to a manufacturing facility several systems away. The payment was unremarkable, but the scrapyard lay almost directly along their intended route, and the collection could be completed without spending more than a few hours in port.

They had arrived to find an extensive field of dismantled vessels surrounding an automated processing station.

Eli had spent a considerable portion of the loading operation identifying obsolete Imperial ship components among the debris, while Stent supervised the cargo and Tee established an enthusiastic professional relationship with the scrapyard's maintenance droids.

The little astromech had been distinctly reluctant to leave.

Eli suspected that the opportunity to communicate with several dozen other droids without having to accommodate the opinions of organic lifeforms had been a particularly attractive prospect.

Their next contract involved transporting imported teas and spices to a collection of commercial establishments along a busy trade corridor. It was the sort of shipment Eli's family company had been handling for generations, and he had taken considerable satisfaction in negotiating a supplementary delivery agreement with two of the smaller customers.

The original contract had required them to transport the entire shipment to a central warehouse. Instead, they had distributed part of it directly to the intended recipients, saving the distributor a significant amount in local freight charges while collecting a perfectly reasonable additional fee.

Stent had been impressed by the arrangement. Eli had enjoyed pointing that out.

Their fourth contract had involved replacement communications equipment destined for Epikonia, a major relay hub in the Ojoster sector. The shipment consisted of signal amplifiers, industrial control units and several particularly expensive components whose packaging carried enough handling instructions to make Eli suspect that their manufacturer had been personally offended by every previous transport company to handle its products.

The destination, however, was ideal.

Epikonia maintained extensive connections with the surrounding sectors, and its position within the galactic communications network made it an excellent place to establish contact with practically anyone who could be reached through ordinary HoloNet channels.

And after more than five weeks without hearing from Faro, Eli was beginning to think that they might need to reconsider their options.

Their business arrangements had become considerably more efficient as days passed.

The first time they applied for a new supplemental freight allocation, Eli had prepared an elaborate proposal containing their commercial history, available cargo capacity, intended operating corridor and a detailed explanation of how they planned to meet the requested delivery schedule.

The procurement office had accepted it within six hours.

The second application had required approximately half as much documentation.

By the third, Eli had discovered that their previous deliveries were already recorded in the system and that most of the necessary information could be retrieved automatically from their contractor registration.

He had spent several minutes examining the simplified application form in disbelief. Then he had submitted it before anyone could change their mind. They had also begun receiving inquiries directly from suppliers.

The first arrived while they were transporting the reclaimed alloy panels. A procurement officer from a neighboring system wanted to know whether the Faded Glory might be available to carry a small shipment of replacement filtration components. Eli had to decline because the proposed collection window conflicted with their existing contract, but the officer had thanked him for responding and asked permission to contact them again if another requirement arose. He felt sympathy for that guy, he’d been there.

The second inquiry had been more promising.

By the end of the following week, they had three additional companies on their list of potential customers, two confirmed commercial references and an invitation to participate in a regional transport tender that would have been entirely inaccessible to them a month earlier.

Eli considered it an impressive achievement. Stent pointed out that a growing list of potential customers was not the same thing as confirmed income. Eli pointed out that confirmed income had to begin somewhere.

They had eventually agreed that both statements were correct, although Eli privately believed his was considerably more encouraging.

The improvement in their financial circumstances was equally satisfying.

Their first priority had been to establish a reserve sufficient to cover the rest of their way back to the Ascendancy. Fuel, docking charges, maintenance, insurance, supplies and the occasional unforeseen repair all had an unfortunate habit of requiring payment regardless of whether the ship was currently generating income.

The second priority was a separate emergency fund.

After their experiences over the previous six months, neither of them required much persuasion on that subject. They had agreed not to touch it except in circumstances involving immediate danger, essential repairs or an opportunity directly connected with their search for Thrawn.

Eli had rather enjoyed transferring the first substantial payment into that account.

It was considerably less enjoyable when Stent insisted that the funds remain there. "That's the entire point of an emergency reserve," he had explained.

"I know what an emergency reserve is. My parents ran a shipping company, remember?"

"Then you should have no difficulty understanding why we are establishing one."

"I understand perfectly. I just liked looking at all those credits in the operating account."

Stent had declined to consider that a convincing argument.

Nevertheless, by the time they accepted the contract to Epikonia, the emergency fund had reached its initial target, their ordinary operating account contained a comfortable surplus and they could finally afford to reject work that offered inadequate compensation for the distance involved.

That last development pleased Eli almost as much as the money.

The passage to Epikonia was comfortably uneventful.

They had become accustomed to dividing their days between watches, routine maintenance, contract administration and whatever domestic activities could be accommodated aboard a freighter. Eli generally handled negotiations and customer correspondence, while Stent preferred route planning, cargo calculations and the rather less glamorous business of ensuring that their earnings were not being consumed by unnecessary expenditure.

Tee monitored the ship's systems, assisted with navigation and occasionally reminded Eli that certain components required maintenance even when they appeared to be functioning perfectly well.

Ch'eth contributed nothing whatsoever to the commercial operation. He did, however, remain convinced that he was an indispensable member of the crew. His activities had become a familiar part of their daily routine. Stent usually let him out of his enclosure after breakfast, provided they were not engaged in any maintenance work that might expose the little animal to dangerous equipment. He had acquired several additional toys during their recent travels, including a small collection of fabric balls that he seemed determined to distribute throughout the common room.

Eli had grown accustomed to discovering them in unexpected places. Like under the table. Behind the galley storage units. Inside his boots.

On one memorable occasion, Ch'eth had managed to conceal a cloth ball beneath Stent's pillow. Eli had found that particularly entertaining. Stent had been considerably less amused.

The little kivren had also developed a renewed interest in socks. Fortunately, Stent had anticipated that particular problem.

During their first long journey after leaving Quelli, he had finished knitting his new pair using the wool he had purchased there. The result was rather more impressive than Eli had expected, with a neat ribbed cuff, a properly shaped heel and an almost offensively consistent arrangement of stitches.

He had examined the finished socks with genuine admiration. "Well, I'll be damned. They actually look like socks."

Stent had regarded him over the top of his datapad. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Something with more holes."

"The fabric necessarily contains openings between the stitches."

"You know what I mean."

Eli had subsequently discovered that handmade socks were considerably more comfortable than he had anticipated, a fact Stent had demonstrated by allowing him to examine the finished pair.

Stent had then announced that he was going to knit another. "Take off your shoes," he said.

Eli looked up from his datapad. "What?"

"I need to measure your feet."

"Why?"

"Because I thought I might knit you a pair of socks." That was unexpected. Eli regarded him for a moment, then shrugged and removed his boots and socks. Stent retrieved a flexible measuring tape from his sewing supplies and gestured for him to sit on the bench. "Give me your foot."

Eli obligingly stretched out his leg. Stent settled his foot in his lap and began measuring its length, carefully positioning the tape from heel to toe. He had barely reached the ball of Eli's foot when Eli jerked his leg. "Sorry!"

Stent looked up. "What?"

"That tickles."

"I have barely touched you."

"Yes, well, apparently that's enough."

Stent resumed his measurements, this time wrapping the tape around the widest part of Eli's foot. Eli immediately squirmed, attempting to pull his foot away while simultaneously trying not to kick him.

"Eli, please hold still. I cannot obtain an accurate measurement if you keep moving."

"I'm trying!"

"You are doing a remarkably poor job of it."

"You're tickling me!"

"I am measuring your foot."

"There's a difference in intent, perhaps. Not much difference in the result."

Stent regarded him with an expression of diminishing patience, then firmly repositioned his foot and finished taking the measurements as quickly as possible. By the time he reached Eli's ankle, Eli was laughing so hard that Stent had to stop and wait for him to recover. "I had no idea you were this sensitive."

"Neither did I! Nobody's spent this much time messing about with my feet before."

"That is difficult to believe."

"Well, excuse me for having an unexplored medical condition."

Stent finally released his foot and entered the measurements into his datapad, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. Eli hastily retrieved his, ordinary, socks before the chiss could discover any further opportunities for experimentation.

"Next time," he announced, pulling on his boots, "I'm measuring my own damned feet."

"An excellent suggestion. Although I suspect your measurements would be considerably less accurate."

"At least I'd survive the experience."

Stent picked up his knitting, took the double pinted needles and began calculating the number of stitches he would need.

Eli watched him for a moment, still grinning. He hadn't expected Stent to offer to knit him anything, and despite the indignity of having spent several minutes laughing helplessly while Stent measured his feet, he found himself rather looking forward to having a pair of handmade socks.

He wisely refrained from mentioning that Ch'eth would almost certainly attempt to steal them.

Their arrival at Epikonia was announced by a particularly enthusiastic series of communications alerts.

Eli had been reviewing the final delivery instructions when the ship's navigation console began registering incoming traffic updates, automated routing notices and revised docking information from several different authorities.

He looked toward Stent. "Well, somebody certainly enjoys sending messages."

Stent was already examining the available communication frequencies. "Epikonia maintains one of the principal relay networks in this part of the Outer Rim. The volume of communications traffic is considerably higher than in the systems we have recently visited."

"I can see that."

He dismissed another automated advisory and opened the planetary approach information.

Epikonia appeared on the forward display as a terrestrial world surrounded by an extensive network of orbital communications infrastructure. Relay platforms, signal distribution stations and commercial facilities occupied several orbital bands, their positions carefully coordinated to avoid interference with the planet's principal transmission arrays.

A steady procession of transports moved between the surface and the orbital installations.

Eli examined the traffic data with interest. "Look at all those little cargo ships."

Stent enlarged the relevant section of the display. "TR-286 transports. Most appear to be operating automated distribution schedules."

"That many?"

"Epikonia manufactures data-discs used for droid code updates. According to the commercial directory, the facility distributes them throughout the sector using an automated fleet."

Eli studied the traffic patterns.

The transports were following neatly organized routes between the manufacturing facilities, orbital distribution stations and designated departure corridors. Their movements were sufficiently regular that the traffic-control system appeared to handle them almost as a separate category of vessel. "Well, there goes our opportunity to make a fortune delivering droid updates."

"Unless their automated transport capacity becomes inadequate." Eli looked at him. Stent continued examining the traffic data. "Or one of their distribution facilities experiences an interruption."

Eli smiled. "You know, you're getting rather good at this."

"I have been paying attention."

"I should hope so. You're the one who keeps telling me not to spend the profits."

Stent returned to the docking instructions without acknowledging the remark.

The Faded Glory received clearance to approach one of the planet's principal commercial spaceports, where their shipment of communications equipment was due for delivery to a contractor responsible for maintaining several regional relay installations.

Their assigned landing bay was located beside an extensive industrial terminal that appeared to specialize in electronic equipment.

Eli considered that a perfectly appropriate destination for the final contract of their current itinerary.

He also hoped that the receiving personnel would be considerably less imaginative than their counterparts on Phindar.

The unloading operation took most of the afternoon.

Their customer had been expecting the shipment for several days and was sufficiently pleased by its arrival that he dispatched an entire team of cargo handlers to assist with the delivery.

Eli found himself accompanying the receiving supervisor through a detailed inspection of the more expensive components, while Stent supervised the unloading and Tee monitored the cargo restraints.

The equipment had survived the journey without damage. The paperwork was in order. The payment was authorized.

Eli was beginning to suspect that he might finally have discovered a profession in which competence was rewarded rather than regarded as an invitation to assign him additional responsibilities.

He signed the final delivery certificate and returned to the ship.

Stent was already reviewing the available docking arrangements. "The port authority offers a reduced rate for commercial operators remaining more than three standard days."

Eli considered that. "How reduced?"

Stent showed him. "That's not bad."

"There are also several maintenance facilities nearby, should we wish to arrange another general inspection."

Eli glanced toward the ship's maintenance schedule.

They had accumulated a considerable number of flight hours over the previous month, and several components were approaching their recommended inspection intervals. There was nothing particularly urgent, but the opportunity to complete routine maintenance at a well-equipped commercial port was worth considering.

"All right. Three days. Maybe four, depending on what the local freight listings look like."

Stent nodded and confirmed the extended berth reservation. Eli gathered the remaining delivery paperwork and opened their accounts. The final payment had already arrived.

He examined the balance with satisfaction. "Well, Captain, I believe we can officially declare ourselves solvent."

"We have been solvent for some time."

"Comfortably solvent, then."

"That would be more accurate."

Eli transferred the agreed portion of their latest earnings into the emergency reserve and updated the projected operating budget.

Then he opened the temporary HoloNet mailbox. Nothing.

He refreshed the display. Still nothing.

He checked the connection, although Epikonia's communications network was performing considerably better than any system they had used in weeks.

There were no transmission errors, no pending messages and no indication that anyone had attempted to contact them. Eli stared at the empty mailbox. It had been a little over five weeks since he had sent the package from Jiruus.

Their agreed waiting period had expired several days earlier.

He had noticed, of course. He had been counting the days almost from the moment the clerk accepted the parcel, although he had gradually become rather good at finding other things to occupy his attention. The freight contracts had helped enormously. So had the constant movement, the business negotiations and the discovery that there was actually a rather respectable income to be made from the Empire's inability to organize its own transport requirements.

But none of those things changed the fact that Faro had not answered.

He closed the mailbox and went looking for Stent.

He found him in the common room, where he was attempting to persuade Ch'eth that the wool in his knitting bag was not intended for the animal's personal entertainment.

The little kivren had apparently developed a particular interest in one of the remaining skeins and was making determined efforts to investigate it.

Stent retrieved the wool, substituted a knotted cloth toy and settled Ch'eth on his lap.

Eli took the seat opposite him. "Nothing."

Stent looked up. "The mailbox?"

"Not a thing."

Stent set his knitting aside.

Eli leaned back and examined the ceiling for a moment. "Five weeks."

"Yes."

"Well, five weeks and a three days, if we're being precise."

"We agreed that the interval would be sufficient to allow for ordinary delays. It was not a guarantee that the package would reach her within that period."

"I know."

"And we have no way of establishing whether she has received it."

"I know that, too." Eli rubbed a hand across his face.

That was the most frustrating part. If the package had been rejected or returned, they might at least have known that their attempt had failed. Instead, somewhere inside the Imperial military postal system, two jars of exceptionally expensive Lysatran quince had either reached their intended recipient or disappeared into an administrative void.

He was no closer to knowing which.

Stent watched him for a moment. "We have several options."

Eli looked up. "I'm listening."

"We could continue operating from this region while allowing additional time for a response. Epikonia's communications infrastructure makes it a reasonable location from which to maintain contact."

"True."

"Alternatively, we could begin investigating other possible means of locating Admiral Faro."

Eli considered the suggestion.

They had been discussing that possibility since Jiruus, although neither had been particularly enthusiastic about devoting substantial resources to an entirely new investigation while their first attempt remained unresolved.

Now, however, they had something they had lacked five weeks earlier.

Money. A respectable commercial registration. And a ship that could travel considerable distances without requiring them to accept the first available contract simply to pay for the fuel.

Eli glanced toward the financial summary on his datapad. "We could afford to spend some time looking."

"Yes."

"Properly, I mean. Not just picking up whatever information happens to come our way."

"That would be possible."

Eli thought about it for a while.

There was no particular urgency forcing them to make the decision that evening. Their cargo was delivered, their accounts were healthy and they had already arranged to remain on Epikonia for several days.

They could use the time to review their information, inspect the ship and decide which leads were worth pursuing.

For once, they could afford to make a plan before committing themselves to it.

He reached for his datapad. "All right. Tomorrow, let's go through everything we've got. The forwarding receipt, the old contact information, whatever public records we can still access. Maybe we've overlooked something."

Stent nodded. "And in the meantime?"

Eli glanced at the empty freight listings he had left open earlier. "In the meantime, I suppose we should see whether there's any decent work around here. I'm beginning to enjoy having money."

Stent retrieved his knitting. "I had noticed."

Ch'eth immediately attempted to investigate the moving needles.

Eli watched Stent carefully redirect him toward his toy, then returned his attention to the datapad.

Outside, Epikonia's orbital communications network continued transmitting an enormous volume of information between distant systems. Messages arrived, were amplified, redirected and dispatched toward destinations scattered across the galaxy.

Somewhere among them, Eli hoped, there might eventually be one intended for him.

For now, he had a ship to maintain, a business to run and enough credits to decide what they wanted to do next.

The following morning, the Faded Glory went into maintenance.

They had booked a general inspection at one of Epikonia's commercial repair facilities, taking advantage of the fact that their extended berth reservation entitled them to a substantial discount on routine servicing. Eli had been delighted to discover that the discount also applied to engine diagnostics, although considerably less delighted when the maintenance supervisor informed him that several of the ship's access panels would have to be removed.

By midmorning, the aft maintenance compartment was crowded with equipment, the starboard engine cowling was open and a technician was attempting to determine why one of the thermal regulators had been producing slightly inconsistent readings.

Eli was reasonably certain the regulator was simply old.

The technician appeared to agree, although he insisted on checking it anyway.

Stent had taken advantage of the inspection to examine the environmental systems, which had been operating continuously for months without anything more comprehensive than the maintenance they could perform themselves. Tee was helping him, or at least offering an enthusiastic running commentary on the condition of the ship's components.

They had just removed the main intake grille when Tee emitted an unusually indignant series of beeps.

Stent looked up from the maintenance diagrams. "What is it?"

The droid extended his manipulator toward the opening, where something dark appeared to be lodged behind the first filtration screen. Stent leaned closer, reached inside and carefully extracted a thoroughly dust-covered sock.

He stared at it.

Eli, who had been passing through the compartment carrying a replacement filter, stopped in the doorway.

"Is that...?"

"Yes, that’s my sock."

There was a short silence. Eli looked at the ventilation grille, then at the sock dangling from Stent's fingers. "How the hell did it get in there?"

Stent examined the fabric. The toe was slightly chewed, and several loose threads hung from the cuff. "I believe we have a fairly obvious suspect."

Eli started laughing. "Oh, you little bastard. He's been hiding them in the ventilation system!"

"Apparently."

"And we've been buying you new socks while the old ones were sitting in the air ducts!"

Stent regarded the filthy garment with an expression of profound resignation. "At least we have established what happened to it."

Tee beeped again, this time directing their attention toward the interior of the duct. Stent shone his inspection light inside and went very still.

“There is more, it seems.”

Eli leaned over his shoulder.

Behind the first filtration screen, tucked into the corner where the airflow was weakest, was a small collection of debris: the brittle remains of several dried insects, a fragment of something that might once have been fruit, a few crumbs too old to identify and what appeared to be part of a nut shell.

Eli stared at it. “He’s been storing food in there.”

“Apparently.”

Tee produced a deeply offended whistle.

“Oh, don’t look at me,” Eli told him. “I didn’t know we had a pantry in the ventilation system.”

Stent reached in with a pair of maintenance tweezers and began removing the remains one by one. “This would also explain why he has occasionally disappeared with pieces of food.”

“I thought he was eating them.”

“He was. Just not necessarily immediately.”

Eli glanced toward the common room, where Ch’eth remained confined in his enclosure, entirely unaware that weeks of careful provisioning had just been discovered. “So he had a sock, snacks and a private little den.”

Stent looked down at the filthy sock still in his hand. “Apparently he was better established aboard this ship than we realized.”

Eli was still grinning when Stent dropped the recovered sock aside. "Are you keeping it?"

"It has spent an indeterminate amount of time inside the ventilation system, and the toe is damaged. I believe I shall manage to repair it."

"Well, that's one mystery solved."

Stent gave him a long look. "I would prefer not to dismantle the entire ship looking for anything else."

Ch'eth, meanwhile, was confined to his enclosure. And he was not happy about it.

Eli could hear him occasionally scratching at the bedding whenever he passed through the common room, apparently determined to remind the entire crew that he was being subjected to a gross injustice. "He's going to have to get used to it," Eli remarked as he returned to the maintenance compartment with a replacement filter.

Stent looked up from the open environmental unit. "He has food, water and sufficient space to move about. He is merely dissatisfied with the restrictions."

"That's what I told him."

"And?"

"He disagreed. He doesn’t understand Basic."

“Have you tried with cheunh?” Eli joked.

“Neither does he.”

Stent accepted the filter and examined its specifications before removing the old one.

Eli watched him work for a few minutes, then returned to the engine compartment, where the technician had finally concluded that the thermal regulator was indeed old. He was just beginning to explain how much a replacement would cost when Eli's comlink chimed. Eli glanced at the notification.

A new message had arrived in their temporary HoloNet mailbox.

For a moment, he simply stared at the screen. Then he abandoned the conversation. "Excuse me. I'll be right back."

The technician looked mildly offended, but Eli was already heading toward the common room.

He opened the mailbox as he walked, expecting another automated notification or one of the unsolicited commercial messages that had occasionally found their way into the account.

Instead, he saw a single new message.

Its sender was identified only by an anonymous routing address. There was no subject beyond the reference number assigned by the mailbox service, and the transmission had arrived through several commercial relays.

Eli stopped.

He opened it.

INCOMING MESSAGE — TEMPORARY MAILBOX

Your package has reached its intended recipient. Thank you for the gift. I had almost forgotten how difficult it is to obtain genuine Lysatran quince these days.

I would be interested in speaking with the person who arranged its delivery. If you are still monitoring this address, please confirm that you can receive a secure transmission and indicate when you will be available.

Please do not attempt to contact me through military channels.

Eli read the message.

Then he read it again. For several seconds, he was vaguely aware of the maintenance technician calling after him from the engine compartment, although he had absolutely no idea what the man was saying.

"Ren!"

The chiss appeared in the corridor almost immediately, still carrying the tool he had been using to remove the environmental unit's access panel. "What is it?"

Eli turned the datapad toward him. "We've got a reply."

Stent stopped.

His eyes moved across the message, then returned to the beginning. He read it a second time before looking up at Eli. "Is it she?"

"Who else?"

"We should establish that before responding."

"Oh, come on. The quince, the anonymous mailbox, the fact that she specifically says not to contact her through military channels. It has to be her."

"It is certainly consistent with the intended recipient."

Eli looked at him. "You're enjoying being difficult."

"I would prefer not to compromise our communications with an unverified correspondent."

That was fair. Irritatingly fair.

Eli returned his attention to the message. Whoever had written it knew the package had arrived and understood that the sender was expecting a reply through the anonymous address. That alone was encouraging, but it did not necessarily mean Faro herself had sent it.

If the package had been intercepted, the hidden message might have been discovered.

He disliked that possibility considerably.

"All right. We confirm it's her. How?"

Stent considered the question. "We should ask something that establishes her knowledge of your previous service without disclosing information that would identify us to an unauthorized recipient."

Eli thought about that for a moment. Then he smiled. "I've got something."

He began typing.

Stent leaned closer to read the message.

Delighted to hear the package arrived. Before we arrange anything, I'd like to confirm I'm speaking to the right person. During our service together, you once expressed a rather strong opinion about the timing of a certain CO’s strategy briefings. What was your principal complaint?

Stent examined the question. "Is that sufficiently specific?"

"Oh, she'll know."

"You have mentioned his scheduling habits on several occasions."

"Yes, but you haven't heard her complain about them. Believe me, she'll know."

He sent the message before he could reconsider.

Stent glanced toward the maintenance compartment. "We should finish the inspection."

Eli turned to him. "You cannot seriously expect me to go back to discussing a thermal regulator right now."

"The technician is waiting for you."

"Let him wait."

"He is charging us by the hour."

Eli looked at the maintenance schedule, then at the mailbox.

He sighed. "Fine. But I'm keeping this thing with me."

"I had assumed as much."

It was perhaps the least productive twenty minutes Eli had spent since arriving on Epikonia.

He returned to the engine compartment, authorized the replacement thermal regulator and attempted to pay attention while the technician explained several minor discrepancies in the propulsion system's diagnostic history.

Ordinarily, Eli would have found the discussion interesting. He knew the Faded Glory's engines well enough to appreciate the importance of keeping them in good condition, and he had been planning to arrange a more comprehensive inspection ever since their finances improved.

Unfortunately, he was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the datapad in his pocket.

He checked it twice.

Then a third time.

The technician eventually stopped talking. "Are you expecting something?"

"Possibly."

"Well, the regulator won't install itself."

"Right. Sorry. Go on."

The man resumed his explanation.

Eli managed to listen for another five minutes before the comlink chimed again. He nearly dropped the diagnostic reader. "Excuse me!"

This time he didn't bother pretending that he would be right back.

He hurried out of the compartment, opened the mailbox and found a second message waiting.

INCOMING MESSAGE — SAME CORRESPONDENT

My principal complaint was that he considered a scheduled briefing an approximate indication of when his audience ought to make itself available.

On one memorable occasion, he arrived forty minutes late, proceeded to speak for nearly three hours and then appeared genuinely surprised to discover that I had rearranged the duty roster in his absence.

I trust that answers your question.

Eli burst out laughing. Oh, that was Faro. He could practically hear her saying it.

Stent emerged from the maintenance compartment at the sound. "Has she answered?"

Eli handed him the datapad, still grinning. "Read that."

Stent examined the message. "Thrawn did that?"

"Yep. Believe me, that's Faro. She complained about that briefing for a week."

He took back the datapad and sat down at the common-room table.

For the first time in more than five weeks, the uncertainty surrounding their attempt to contact her had been replaced by something considerably more useful. They had reached her. She was alive, she had received the package, and she was willing to talk. He could feel himself grinning again.

Stent sat opposite him. "We should respond."

"Oh, I intend to."

Eli opened a new message, then hesitated.

There was a great deal he wanted to say. He wanted to ask where she was, what had happened to the Seventh Fleet after Lothal, whether she had heard anything about the disappearance of the Chimaera and whether there was even the remotest possibility that she knew something about Thrawn's whereabouts.

But she had specifically requested a secure transmission.

He was not going to attempt to conduct that conversation through an anonymous commercial mailbox, particularly when they had no idea who might be monitoring the traffic.

Instead, he typed a short reply.

That answers it perfectly. We're currently on Epikonia, where the communications infrastructure is excellent. We can arrange a secure transmission at any time convenient to you. Let us know what you require.

He showed it to Stent. He considered the wording. "I would remove the reference to our precise location."

Eli looked at the message. "Epikonia's a communications hub. There are probably thousands of people using temporary mailboxes from here."

"Nevertheless, there is no reason to disclose our location until we have established the security of the connection."

"Fair enough."

Eli removed the planet's name and replaced it with a more general assurance that they had access to reliable communications facilities.

Then he sent the message.

Stent rose and began gathering the tools they had left beside the environmental unit.

Eli watched him. "You know, you could look a little happier."

"I am very pleased."

"Could've fooled me."

Stent glanced back at him. "Our attempt succeeded. Admiral Faro has received the package, and we may soon have an opportunity to speak with her directly. I consider that an excellent result."

Eli smiled. "That's more like it."

Stent returned to the maintenance compartment. "And now, if you have finished celebrating, I suggest we complete the inspection before the technician decides to charge us for the entire afternoon."

Eli glanced at the open mailbox.

Then toward the engine compartment.

For once, he found himself entirely willing to agree.

They had waited five and a half weeks for Faro to answer.

A few more hours were unlikely to make much difference.