Long seconds passed before Taia spoke. “I believe I understand. Your reasoning is logical, yet tempered by your emotions, yes?”
“You got it.” Nolan hid a smile. “You’re getting a lot better at this being human thing, Taia.”
Before Taia could respond, the skimmer-cab slowed to a halt. Nolan opened his eyes and found they had reached the entrance to the Shipyards. The massive titanium gate stood open but guarded by a squad of Strongarms, the Imperial Planetary Port’s private security forces. All six of the men and women stationed at the entrance wore heavy tactical gear, with assault rifles slung over their backs and holstered sidearms on their belts. One approached the skimmer-cab’s window and motioned for the driver to roll it down.
The Protection Bureau agent-turned-chauffeur complied, but before the Strongarm could speak, he held up a small comm device, its screen facing the guard. The woman’s mouth snapped shut without a word and, turning, she gestured for them to enter.
The five accompanying Strongarms eyeballed the skimmer-cab as it rolled through the checkpoint, but the driver paid them little heed.
As always, Nolan couldn’t help marveling at the sheer size of the Imperial Planetary Port. Spread out across more than two hundred square kilometers, the port dominated the southwestern corner of New Avalon. Thousands of enormous cargo tankers, supply ships, long-range passenger shuttlecraft, cruise liners, and commercial barges docked at the port every day, disgorging hundreds of thousands of people and millions of tons of goods, supplies, and materials from around the Empire.
Nolan’s eyes were drawn to the Stardock, the superstructure that dominated the port’s center. Fifty kilometers long, twenty wide, and more than a hundred and fifty stories tall, it served as the hub for all the activity in the Imperial Planetary Port. If anyone or anything came or went from New Avalon, it officially passed through the Stardock.
Of course, a great deal of unofficial activity occurred in the massive port and the Shipyards surrounding it. Even the thousands of Strongarms employed by the Imperial government couldn’t hope to monitor such a massive area—a fact the Protection Bureau and every other clandestine and illicit operation knew all too well.
The skimmer-cab turned away from the Stardock and cut through the countless smaller structures, warehouses, hangars, and cargo storehouses that cluttered the port’s southern edge. The driver followed a twisting route to the berth where Nolan knew his transport would be waiting.
Berth Z-115 was occupied by a boxy freight hauler—an ugly ship just under two hundred meters long, with an outward bulge in the middle that gave it a tubby look, and four engines capable of lifting it off the ground when full. Nolan grimaced; a ship like that was typically used for hauling cargo containers off-world, designed for maximum carrying capacity rather than speed.
But when the skimmer-cab circled around the back of the freight hauler, Nolan was surprised to find two more engines integrated into the ship’s stern. And not just any engines! They were high-potency torchdrives, the sort of engines that made interplanetary travel possible—and far faster than the average travel time for a conventional propulsion system. With those two torchdrives, the thirty-six-hour journey to Moabus would be nearly slashed in half.
Damn! Nolan thought, his eyebrows rising. The Protection Bureau’s not messing around on this one. Either the terrorist threat is real, or Agent Styver is serious about taking out Elden Croyle before he can say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Either way, Nolan had a few extra hours to track down and eliminate his target before the suspected attack.
He wheeled up the ramp into the cargo bay of the freight hauler, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of the starspeeder docked within. It didn’t look like much—a two-person craft, its exterior dinged and its paint flaking, with engines that appeared in need of repair—but Nolan had no doubt the craft was in good working condition. The Protection Bureau had never short-changed him when it came to equipment. The more tools they provided him, the more efficiently he could carry out the missions they assigned.
The cargo bay itself appeared as featureless and stark as he’d expect from a typical freight hauler, though a pair of benches—the sort he’d sat on in countless dropships and military spacecraft—had been installed against one wall. The Protection Bureau’s way of trying to make him as comfortable as possible in the barebones ship, perhaps.
The hatch to the cockpit and pilot’s quarters never opened, but Nolan hadn’t expected the pilot to pay him a visit. He had no doubt that whoever was flying him to his destination would be as conversational and outgoing as the agent driving the skimmer-cab.
The cargo bay door rumbled closed and, without warning, the ship’s engines roared to life. Nolan had to steady himself by grabbing a hull support beam to keep his chair from rolling as the freight hauler lifted from the ground and began its ascent into orbit.
“Incoming message from Agent Styver,” Taia chirped.
“Put him on,” Nolan said aloud.
Lights flickered to life on one of the cargo bay’s walls, and a screen Nolan hadn’t spotted turned on. Agent Styver’s boring, forgettable face popped up.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite shuttle service!” Nolan grinned up at the screen. “Thanks for that, by the way. Saved me the cost of a skimmer-cab fare.”
Agent Styver didn’t bother with pleasantries or rise to Nolan’s mockery. “Cerberus, we’ve received an update on Elden Croyle’s location.” A new image appeared on the screen: a topographical map of Moabus’ eastern hemisphere. “He’s been spotted at one of the mining operations established near the town of Grindbanks.”
Nolan’s gut twisted, but he kept his expression blank. “I’m familiar with the place.”
The screen zoomed in on the town, and a blinking red dot appeared on the map roughly fifty kilometers from the western edge of Grindbanks. “The chances he’ll still be there when you arrive are slim,” Agent Styver continued, “but that’s a place to start looking and asking around. I’ll update you with more information if and when I have it.”
“Thanks.” Nolan was too busy struggling to mask the emotions swirling within him to bother with sarcasm or mockery.
The map disappeared and Agent Styver’s smooth, featureless face filled the screen once more. “I won’t bother emphasizing the importance of eliminating Elden Croyle before he goes through with whatever he’s planning. I’ve made sure you have everything you need for the job. So get it done, Cerberus.”
The abrupt ending of the call underscored the “or else” Agent Styver had left unsaid.
But for once, Nolan didn’t give a damn about the Protection Bureau man’s disdainful dismissiveness. Of all the places on Moabus Elden chooses to hide out, it just had to be Grindbanks! Grindbanks, the town where Nolan’s parents had died, and where he and Jared had been sent to foster at Littlewood Home.
The next instant, the ship suddenly lurched beneath him, and Nolan’s stomach bottomed out. A strange, momentary feeling of weightlessness washed over him, followed by a terrible jolt. The freight hauler shuddered, jerked, and yawed so wildly Nolan’s wheelchair nearly toppled.
“What the shit?!” he shouted. He flung his hands out to steady himself, and the chair rolled backward across the cargo bay, careening toward a bulkhead. He snatched at the pushrim, but the wheels were spinning too fast for him to grab bare-handed without risking broken bones. The bulkhead rushed at him at a terrifying speed and he had only time enough to brace himself for impact as he slammed into the steel wall. His head struck the bulkhead so hard he saw sparks.