Chapter 172 · A Place to Meet

By the time the last maintenance technician left the Faded Glory, the message from Faro had been sitting unanswered for almost forty minutes.

Eli had not intended to leave it that long. Under normal circumstances, he would have replied the moment Stent finished verifying the authentication question, but establishing a secure means of continuing the conversation had proved considerably more complicated than either of them expected. Epikonia was one of the best-connected worlds they had visited in months, which made it excellent for sending information and rather less attractive for anyone hoping that information would pass unnoticed. Every major relay maintained transmission records, commercial providers retained routing data for billing purposes, and the sheer number of signal-boosting stations meant that a poorly configured connection could leave copies of its metadata scattered across half the sector.

Stent had therefore rejected Eli’s first two suggestions, dismantled the temporary relay arrangement they had used for the anonymous mailbox and spent the remainder of the maintenance inspection building something more suitable. Tee assisted from the communications terminal, chirping whenever one of the routing nodes introduced a delay or failed an integrity check. By the time the technicians were packing their equipment, the Chiss had produced a chain that bounced their messages through several public commercial relays, removed most of the identifying information from the outgoing packets and changed the routing path at regular intervals.

It was not invisible. Stent refused to use that word.

“It is sufficiently difficult to reconstruct that someone would need to know what they were searching for before beginning,” he explained, studying the diagnostic display. “That is the best we are likely to achieve without access to a dedicated military encryption network.”

Eli leaned over the back of his chair and examined the maze of relay identifiers. “Considering we’re trying not to attract the attention of the military encryption network, I’ll take it.”

They had agreed immediately that neither voice nor visual transmission was worth the risk. A text conversation revealed less, required far less bandwidth and could be broken apart into encrypted packets without maintaining a continuous connection. More importantly, there would be no recording of Faro’s voice attached to a suspicious civilian transmission and no image of an Imperial admiral speaking to two men who had very good reasons not to appear on anyone’s official reports.

That limitation was precisely why meeting her in person mattered.

Whatever Eli needed to tell Faro about Thrawn, the Ascendancy, the Grysks and the circumstances that had brought him back into Imperial space was not going through a communications relay, regardless of how pleased Stent might eventually become with the encryption.

When the final technician descended the ramp, Eli closed and secured it behind him, then returned to the common room. Ch’eth had been released from his enclosure and was currently investigating the lower edge of one of the maintenance panels with suspicious concentration.

He was also, Eli noticed, in a mood.

After spending most of the day confined while strangers dismantled portions of the ship around him, the little kivren appeared determined to make his displeasure known. The moment Stent reached down to redirect him away from the panel, Ch’eth twisted around and caught two of his fingers in his mouth.

Stent stopped. Ch’eth bit down harder than usual. “That is unnecessary,” Stent informed him.

The kivren released him, only to immediately seize the side of his hand instead.

Eli leaned against the table, watching. “I think he’s angry.”

“I had reached that conclusion.”

Stent carefully disengaged his hand and examined the shallow marks left by Ch’eth’s teeth. “He is also using considerably more pressure than is appropriate.”

“You locked him up all day.”

“For his own safety.”

“I don’t think that distinction matters to him.”

Ch’eth launched himself at the cloth ball the moment Stent rolled it across the floor, attacked it with unnecessary violence, then bounded after it when it struck the leg of the table.

Stent watched him go. “Apparently not.”

At least the excess energy now had another target. While Ch’eth tore around the common room in pursuit of the toy, Stent took his place beside Eli at the communications terminal. “Ready?”

“The channel is ready,” Stent said. “Whether Admiral Faro is still monitoring the other end is another matter.”

Eli opened the encrypted session.

The interface was deliberately plain. No names, no profile identifiers, no automatic archival functions. Only a small status indicator showed that the remote authentication key remained valid.

Eli typed first.

Package sender present. Secure text channel established.

The message disappeared into the relay chain.

He expected to wait. Faro had already taken more than five weeks to respond to the original package, and there was no reason to assume she was sitting beside a terminal waiting for him now.

Her answer arrived less than a minute later.

Secure is a generous description. I will accept adequately inconvenient to intercept.

Eli smiled.

Stent read the message over his shoulder. “She appears to have reached the same conclusion.”

I have someone here criticizing it from this end. You two would probably get along.

There was a slightly longer delay.

Someone?

Eli glanced at Stent. “That was quick.”

“You were imprecise.”

“Deliberately.”

Eli considered the wording before replying.

Commander Stent is with me.

The answer took noticeably longer this time.

Commander of what?

Eli looked sideways at the Chiss. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Stent gave him a flat look.

Eli typed:

He’s Chiss.

The remote indicator remained active, but no reply appeared for several seconds.

Then:

You disappeared without explanation, remained missing for years, and have now contacted me from somewhere in the Outer Rim accompanied by a Chiss commander.

Another message followed before Eli could answer.

You have a great deal to explain.

Eli leaned back in his chair. “That sounds more like her.”

Stent studied the screen. “Her conclusion is reasonable.”

“Nobody asked you.”

He returned to the terminal.

Yes. That’s one of the reasons we need to meet in person.

Faro’s reply came almost immediately.

Agreed. None of that goes through this channel.

Eli leaned back. “Good. We agree on something already.”

He typed:

Same here. We need to meet.

The status indicator blinked while the message traveled through the relays. For nearly a minute nothing changed, then the reply appeared.

Explain why a physical meeting is necessary.

Eli stared at the words.

He could almost hear the professional suspicion behind them.

It was a fair question. They had successfully established contact, Faro had verified that Eli was alive, and they now possessed a channel capable of carrying ordinary text without advertising their identities to every communications office between them. If all he wanted was information about the Seventh Fleet, they could probably exchange a reasonable amount of it this way.

But that was not all he wanted.

Eli flexed his fingers once before answering.

Because what we need to discuss includes information that should not exist in Imperial communications records at all. I also need information from you that I do not want you transmitting electronically. This channel is for arranging the conversation, not having it.

Stent read the message before Eli sent it and nodded.

Faro took longer this time.

Agreed.

A second message followed almost immediately.

I can suggest a location. Then a planetary name appeared. NIAMOS.

Eli frowned.

He opened the navigational database on the adjacent display while Stent did the same on his datapad. The route calculation had barely begun when Eli saw enough of the projected distance to know they had a problem.

“Absolutely not.”

Stent studied the developing route. “It is inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient? We’ve spent the last three and a half weeks working our asses off to get into a sensible position and she wants us to turn around and cross half the galaxy.”

“That is an exaggeration.”

“A modest one.”

Niamos made sense from Faro’s perspective. It was busy, civilian, transient and sufficiently unimportant that an Imperial admiral could plausibly pass through without every local official treating her arrival as a political event. A meeting in a tourist district would disappear into the ordinary movement of thousands of travelers.

Unfortunately, Faro did not yet know where they were.

Eli replied.

Too far.

Her answer came quickly.

From where?

That gave him pause.

Until now, neither side had disclosed a precise location. Faro had clearly routed her own messages carefully enough that Stent had been unable to identify their origin beyond the fact that they entered the network from much farther Coreward. Telling her they were on Epikonia narrowed their position considerably.

On the other hand, they were discussing where to meet. At some point geography had to become part of the conversation.

Stent considered it, then nodded.

Eli typed:

Epikonia.

The reply did not arrive for almost three minutes.

What are you doing on Epikonia?

He looked at Stent.

“Do you think ‘running a surprisingly successful freight business’ sounds too smug?”

“Yes.”

Eli typed anyway.

Freight contract. We have been working as independent haulers.

There was a pause long enough that he wondered whether the relay had failed.

Then:

You have a lot to explain.

Eli laughed.

Stent raised an eyebrow. “I assume she finds your current occupation surprising.”

“Apparently everyone except my parents does.”

He turned back to the route map. Niamos was not impossible, but it was a poor choice from Epikonia. They would have to spend far too long traveling simply to reach the meeting point, and the route would undo much of the careful Coreward positioning they had accomplished through their recent contracts.

Stent was already expanding the map and comparing alternatives. Several worlds appeared as possible intermediate points, but most failed for one reason or another: too little civilian traffic, inconvenient approach routes, significant military presence or simply poor positioning relative to Faro’s probable location.

Then the Chiss highlighted one.

“Porus Vida.”

Eli leaned closer.

The route calculator assembled the likely itinerary. It was still a substantial journey, but nothing like Niamos. Approximately nine days from Epikonia under ordinary conditions, with enough established connections that the Faded Glory would not be forced into a series of obscure local jumps. More importantly, it took them Coreward rather than away from the direction they had already been working toward.

“That’s much better.”

“It also provides several approach options,” Stent said. “We would not need to arrive by the same route if circumstances changed.”

Eli checked the available commercial information. Porus Vida had enough ordinary traffic to conceal a meeting without requiring them to pretend the planet was some vast anonymous metropolis. Ships came and went, visitors had reasons to be there, and a pair of freight contractors arriving under legitimate commercial registration would attract little attention.

He typed:

What about Porus Vida?

Faro’s answer was immediate this time.

Reason?

Eli glanced at Stent.

“Closer to the Core, multiple commercial approaches, sufficiently busy and approximately nine days from here.”

“Also less disruptive to our established travel profile.”

Eli added that.

Closer to the Core, multiple commercial approaches, enough civilian traffic to disappear into, and it fits our existing travel profile. Around nine days from Epikonia.

Several seconds passed.

Nine days?

Approximately.

You have become distressingly concerned with travel time.

Eli smiled.

I pay for my own fuel now.

This time the answer arrived almost at once.

That explains a great deal.

He laughed loudly enough that Ch’eth abandoned the cloth ball and looked over from beside the table.

“Definitely Faro,” Eli said.

Stent’s mouth moved at one corner.

They waited.

Faro was apparently considering the proposal seriously now. The delay stretched beyond two minutes, then three. Eli resisted the urge to send another message. He had served with her long enough to know that silence generally meant she was thinking, and interrupting Faro while she was thinking had rarely produced anything useful.

Finally the reply appeared.

Porus Vida is workable.

Eli straightened.

Good.

Faro continued before he could add anything else.

I will not send a meeting location until you are closer.

Wasn’t expecting you to.

I will transmit final coordinates through this channel once you are within one standard day. If the situation changes before then, I will send a cancellation phrase.

Eli considered that sensible. They did not need a café address or landing district sitting in an encrypted message for the next nine days. If anyone compromised the channel before their arrival, knowing only the planet would be far less useful than knowing the exact place and time.

Cancellation phrase?

The response came back:

NO FRESH FRUIT AVAILABLE.

Eli stared at the screen.

Stent leaned slightly closer.

Ch’eth, apparently deciding that whatever had made Eli laugh earlier remained more interesting than his toy, climbed onto the bench beside him.

Eli typed:

You cannot be serious.

You sent me quince.

That does not mean the entire security protocol has to become fruit-themed.

It is memorable.

It is ridiculous.

A pause.

Those conditions are not mutually exclusive.

Eli looked at Stent.

The Chiss had adopted the carefully neutral expression he used when something amused him but he had no intention of acknowledging it.

“Don’t.”

“I said nothing.”

“You were going to.”

“No.”

Eli returned to the terminal.

Fine. “No fresh fruit available” means abort. Anything else means we continue.

Correct.

From there, the exchange became more practical. Faro wanted to know their vessel type and civilian registration status without requesting the actual transponder code over the channel. Eli explained that the Faded Glory was operating legitimately and that their recent work had given them an active supplemental freight registration. That detail seemed to interest her.

Imperial supplemental transport?

Yes. Long story.

I am beginning to suspect everything you have done is a long story.

That’s fair.

They discussed the likely arrival window. Stent recommended that they plan for ten days rather than nine, giving themselves margin for traffic restrictions, route changes and the ordinary delays that had become increasingly common as Imperial authority fragmented across distant sectors.

Faro agreed.

Ten days. Do not rush the route merely to arrive early.

Eli stared at that message for a moment.

You really are Faro.

I am not repeating the authentication exercise.

Wasn’t asking you to.

A second message appeared.

And do not accept any freight contract that prevents you from changing course.

Eli looked offended despite the fact that Faro could not see him.

“Now she’s interfering with the business.”

Stent read the message.

“She is correct.”

“That’s beside the point.”

They had already reached the same conclusion themselves. The whole purpose of building a financial cushion had been to avoid exactly that problem: they no longer needed to carry cargo on every journey merely to afford the next one. For the first time since becoming independent haulers, they could travel for nine or ten days without a paying customer waiting at the destination and without worrying that the fuel expenditure would consume their operating funds.

Eli typed:

No cargo commitments. We can afford the trip.

There was a longer pause before Faro replied.

You really have become freight haulers.

Good ones.

I will reserve judgment.

Eli grinned.

The conversation might have ended there. They had a destination, an approximate arrival window, an abort phrase and a method for receiving the final meeting location. Everything else belonged in person.

Instead, the remote status indicator remained active.

Eli waited.

A new message appeared.

Vanto.

He stared at his surname for a second before answering.

Yes?

The cursor remained inactive for almost half a minute.

Then:

I am glad you are alive.

The words were simple enough that Eli found himself unprepared for them.

For more than five weeks he had been thinking about Faro as a lead: someone who might know what had happened after his departure, someone who might still possess access to records, clearance codes or old Seventh Fleet information, someone connected closely enough to Thrawn to understand why Eli had sent a parcel halfway across Imperial space.

It was easy to forget that from Faro’s perspective, Eli Vanto had simply vanished.

No transfer announcement. No farewell. No explanation she had been permitted to read. One day he had been Thrawn’s aide; then he had been gone.

He rested his hands on the edge of the console.

Stent did not look at him. The Chiss had shifted his attention deliberately toward the navigation display, granting Eli the small privacy available in a common room barely large enough to contain all three of them.

Eli typed:

I’m glad you’re alive too.

He hesitated, then added:

There’s a lot to explain.

Faro’s answer followed after a moment.

I assumed there would be. Do not explain it here.

Wasn’t planning to.

Good.

The next message returned immediately to business.

Ten days. Porus Vida. Final location when you are within one day. If you receive the cancellation phrase, do not attempt to contact me again until I reopen the channel.

Eli read it twice.

The instruction carried more weight than the earlier jokes about fruit. Whatever Faro’s current circumstances were, she clearly believed there was a realistic possibility that the meeting could become unsafe quickly enough that even replying to an abort message would create a problem.

Stent had reached the same conclusion.

“Ask whether she requires acknowledgment of the cancellation.”

Eli did.

No. If I abort, disappear. I will contact you when possible.

That settled it.

Understood.

The remote indicator remained active for another few seconds, then disappeared. The encrypted session closed automatically behind it, purging the temporary key and leaving only the local transcript that Stent had insisted remain disconnected from the ship’s ordinary communications archive.

For a while neither man said anything.

Ch’eth filled the silence by climbing from the bench onto Eli’s thigh and immediately attempting to reach the inactive terminal.

Eli intercepted him. “No. You are not sending Admiral Faro anything.”

The kivren resisted briefly before deciding Eli’s sleeve offered an acceptable alternative.

Stent began closing the relay software, preserving only the routing information and encryption parameters they would need to reconstruct the channel later. Once he was satisfied that nothing unnecessary remained in the communications archive, he disconnected Tee from the interface and returned the ship’s network to its normal configuration.

Then, instead of closing the terminal, he opened the freight portal.

Eli noticed almost immediately. “What are you doing?”

“Checking the available contracts.”

Eli stared at him for a moment. “We just told Faro we weren’t going to complicate the trip.”

“I am not proposing that we complicate it.”

Stent filtered the listings by destination and route, eliminating anything that required a substantial diversion or imposed a narrow delivery window. Eli moved closer, already interested despite himself. “You’ve been corrupted.”

“By what?”

“The trade virus.”

Stent ignored him.

Most of the available work was unsuitable, but one contract survived the filters: a small shipment of replacement sensor components bound for a commercial maintenance facility directly along their route. The cargo was compact, required no special conditions and had a generous delivery window. They would have to stop for little more than the time required to unload it.

Stent opened the full details. “This would not materially affect our arrival time.”

Eli read over his shoulder. “No.”

“And it would offset part of the fuel expenditure.”

“It would.”

Stent glanced toward him. “It also justifies our displacement.”

Eli laughed. “You really don’t have to convince me.”

“I was establishing the advantages.”

“You opened the freight listings thirty seconds after arranging a secret meeting with Faro. I think your position was already clear.”

The Chiss returned his attention to the contract. “Do you object?”

“Not even slightly.”

They checked the route once more to make certain the delivery could not interfere with Faro’s timetable, then submitted the application. Their contractor record did most of the work for them now, and approval arrived shortly afterward with collection instructions for the following morning.

It was hardly an important job, but that was precisely what made it useful. They could continue toward Porus Vida without attracting attention, carrying an ordinary commercial load under a perfectly legitimate contract. If anyone cared enough to examine the Faded Glory’s movements later, there would be a straightforward reason for the ship to have traveled Coreward.

By the following morning the sensor components were secured in the hold, their fuel tanks were full and the last of the provisions had been brought aboard. Tee completed the departure checks while Stent verified the cargo documentation and Eli obtained clearance from Epikonia traffic control.

Ch’eth, apparently recovered from the indignities of the previous day, was already prowling around the common room in search of something new to interfere with.

Eli settled into the pilot’s seat and watched the departure corridor appear on the navigation display.

“Ready?”

Stent checked the final clearance. “Yes.”

The Faded Glory lifted away from Epikonia with a small commercial cargo in her hold, a legitimate delivery ahead of her and a considerably less legitimate reason for continuing beyond it.

Eli smiled as the planet began to fall away behind them.

That, at least, felt much more like them.