You're not sentient, Daiman said in his mind. Don't pretend to be Don't pretend to be.

Narsk screamed.

"They're here for the girl!"

Kerra froze on the steps when she heard her neighbor's voice. Tall, shadowy figures had just entered Gub Tengo's apartment at the far end of the long basement hall. She couldn't make out any details about them, but they'd certainly attracted the attention of the other residents, still buzzing in the halls. They're here for the girl They're here for the girl.

Not waiting to inquire, Kerra twirled and dashed back up the steps to the streets. None of it made sense. She hadn't felt any malevolent presence while entering the borrat warren that was Gub's apartment block. And Daiman's Correctors weren't exactly keeping a low profile. Far from it.

She'd seen them, earlier, in the transport station, making examples of the poor wretches they'd rousted from the factories. They'd been doing it for five days, at every shift change so the commuters could see. None of the harassed had anything to do with the destruction of the testing center, but she figured Daiman probably knew that. Two of the "Faulty Encumbered" had been ripped from her own workplace earlier in the day. One had recently criticized the work schedule; the other, a Snivvian grandmother, had accidentally used an offhand expression invoking the spirits of her ancestors. Both were candidates for a public form of "correction" involving alternating bouts of mental and physical abuse. Spectacle always served Daiman when something went wrong.

Kerra had wanted to leap the platform and do something, there and then, but she'd learned her lesson since Chelloa. Gub and Tan didn't deserve to be endangered over something they knew nothing about. It had been risky even moving in with them. After arriving on Darkknell, she'd looked for someone who needed a boarder; then, their home had seemed the perfect cover. But now, as she ducked outside, it felt like the worst idea ever. She couldn't make this mistake again.

Vannar had said it: "Keep saying 'next time,' Kerra, and someday there might not be one waiting." "Keep saying 'next time,' Kerra, and someday there might not be one waiting."

Kerra doubled back behind the apartment building, an iridium-processing plant long since retired. The idea of using an old factory for housing always seemed noxious to her, but she was glad of the place now, with its many ways in and out. The two ankle-level windows of Gub's place lay ahead, just behind the sad little gnawroots he'd planted to supplement their rations. Kerra had never entered this way in daylight before, but there wasn't any choice.

Seeing Tan absent, Kerra slipped in and examined her duffel. Yes, everything was still there. Fingering her lightsaber, she listened for the voices beyond the recently replaced privacy curtain. Gub was out there, along with someone else-voices excited, but not distressed. Tucking the weapon into the deep pocket inside her work vest, she allowed herself to breathe. Maybe it's not so bad after- Maybe it's not so bad after- "Hey!"

The curtain jerked back, causing Kerra to reach abruptly for the bulge in her vest. Wide black eyes peered up at her from waist level. Kerra relaxed as she recognized her young charge. "You scared me, Tan."

"I didn't know you were home," the Sullustan girl said, "but I'm glad you are." Normally a bundle of energy, Tan was nearly bursting today, her young jowls curled upward in absolute joy. "They're here! They're here for me me!"

Kerra could only look down in puzzlement as the girl grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into the main room. Seven eyes suddenly stared back. Old Gub stood before two taller beings in the doorway. A male Gran peered at her curiously, his trio of dark eyes curling on leathery stalks. The other, an Ishi Tib female, gave a squawk of mild surprise, her lidless yellow eyes shining in the low light. Both, Kerra noticed, wore blinking cybernetic implants at their temples.

"Pardon me," Gub grumbled, turning away from the visitors. He glared at Kerra. "What were you doing in there? I didn't see you come in!"

"Didn't you?" Kerra changed the subject, hoping he would forget. "Who are your guests?" She bowed her head toward the visitors.

The Gran seemed pleased, leaf-like ears wiggling above his implants. "Ah. You must be the tutor." His face curled into a tiny smile, about the most his narrow snout could manage. "Ler-Laar Joom, at your service-and my colleague is Eraffa. We're from Industrial Heuristics."

Kerra looked at the badge proffered by the Gran. "You're salespeople?"

"Certainly not," Ler-Laar said. Beside him, the starfaced Ishi Tib gurgled something like a guffaw. Somehow, the cybernetic devices were allowing them to communicate.

Gub, unhappy at the interruption, glared at Kerra. "They're the reason I took you in, human. They're talent scouts," Gub said, "here to see Tan."

Talent scouts. The stresses of the previous minutes evaporating, Kerra's eyes narrowed. The twelve-year-old Sullustan spent her mornings in one of Daiman's scavenge plants, disassembling the technological detritus of decades past for salvage. But even the supervisor at that miserable place had noticed Tan's acuity with electronics, loaning the girl operator's guide datapads found in Republic wrecks to peruse. With Gub too busy discovering the creator of the universe in scraps from the trash, he'd hired Kerra to teach Tan how to read. Any advance in her skills might mean a softer future. Assembling blasters, perhaps.

These visitors, however, had more in mind. Kerra looked more closely at the Ishi Tib's badge, of a kind she'd never seen before. The identification allowed newcomers to move about on Darkknell; it would be worth getting hold of one, she thought. She'd never heard of Industrial Heuristics, either. Daiman dissolved most corporations he captured, but she'd seen a few commercial names operating in his space. This was a new one.

"Our headquarters is in Lord Bactra's region," Ler-Laar said, sensing her confusion. "Lord Daiman has generously provided a dispensation allowing us to recruit in his territory."

Not for nothing, Kerra thought. "You're taking Tan away?"

"We mean to transform transform Tan." The jade-skinned Ishi Tib squawked something in evident agreement. Tan." The jade-skinned Ishi Tib squawked something in evident agreement.

"This morning," Ler-Laar went on, "at her place of work, we evaluated her proficiency on the advice of her superiors. And we have determined to a mathematical certainty her talent, her destiny. That which makes her special." The Gran clasped his bony hands together. "Bombsights." "Bombsights."

"Bombsights?"

"Yes. Lord Daiman's fighters use precision-guided munitions-but for the most part, the guidance comes from the weapons themselves. To keep the vehicles small and nimble, as few systems are built on board as possible."

That much is true, Kerra thought, rolling her eyes. She'd ridden in one of Daiman's flying death traps soon after her arrival in Sith space. She was surprised he'd bothered with oxygen.

The Gran continued, "Generally, gravity-assisted bombs are smart enough to find their targets on their own-but in the presence of electronic countermeasures, it can help to have manual guidance." Ler-Laar gestured to Tan, now blushing so hard her skin had turned a pale brown. "Tan will join an offworld team devoted to developing the next generation of optics."

"For Daiman?" Kerra asked.

"For whomever he chooses," Ler-Laar said. "She is his to dispose of, of course." The Gran rambled about Industrial Heuristics' long history in the sector, and how the company had proudly supplied a long list of Sith Lords over the years. He seemed thrilled that Daiman would be added to the list. "Your leader supplies us the raw materials. We finish the product."

"What product?"

"Why, Tan is the product. Properly educated, that is." He rested his bony hand on Tan's head. "Industrial Heuristics is, in its own way, another factory. We manufacture intellects."

Tan smiled up at the visitors, and then at Kerra. The youngling was ecstatic. "This is what I've always wanted, Kerra! What we've been working toward!"

Kerra had never known of any specific goal Tan was working toward; she'd just assumed literacy was good in and of itself. But the girl acted as if she'd been reprieved from a death sentence. Maybe she had.

At the same time, though, it seemed like another kind of prison to Kerra. And so, it seemed, to Gub.

"Bombsights." Gub stared at his granddaughter, his eyes weary. "That's all she'll learn about? Only that?"

The Ishi Tib trilled an answer, which Ler-Laar translated. "An engineer is a part like any other," he said. "Specialized. Devoted to a specific function. Replaceable, should the need arise." Tan would learn her specialty in a setting with other handpicked students who would form her work group in later life. "There isn't any need for her to learn about anything else." The Gran chuckled. "You wouldn't try to boil water with a blaster."

Kerra steamed. It was all so backward. Tan would be doomed to a life little different from Gub's, putting Daiman's imprint on the past. Almost anything in the "next generation of optics," she estimated, would have been discovered long ago. Discovered, and lost, in the interminable years of conflict during which countless universities, corporations, and scholars had been lost. They were constantly trying to rediscover knowledge they, themselves, had destroyed.

"Where would she go?" Gub asked, looking down.

Not seeming to understand why it mattered, the Gran explained that his company had education centers throughout Bactra's space-as well as some mobile centers. "Of course, after ... recent events recent events here, Tan might well find an opening closer to home." Daiman had proclaimed publicly that the Black Fang had been demolished to make way for a new and better research center. Even if the ongoing public inquisition suggested otherwise, Daiman might well be in the market for more brainpower. here, Tan might well find an opening closer to home." Daiman had proclaimed publicly that the Black Fang had been demolished to make way for a new and better research center. Even if the ongoing public inquisition suggested otherwise, Daiman might well be in the market for more brainpower.

"It's what His Lordship intends," Gub said. Limping across the room, he took his granddaughter's hands in his. The old man trembled, holding back tears. "You will go."

Kerra shot the scouts a look as the Sullustans embraced. As far as they were concerned, Tan didn't have an option. They wanted her. She would would go. And right away. The Ishi Tib waved off Gub's efforts to give his granddaughter anything to take along. The recruits were being taken to a staging area at the spaceport, Ler-Laar said; transports had already been sent for. What ever facility she went to would have everything she'd ever need. go. And right away. The Ishi Tib waved off Gub's efforts to give his granddaughter anything to take along. The recruits were being taken to a staging area at the spaceport, Ler-Laar said; transports had already been sent for. What ever facility she went to would have everything she'd ever need.

And it will be all she'll ever have, Kerra thought. But as she'd seen every day, life under Sith rule was a constant negotiation. The only way to improve things was on the margins. "Take care," she said, hugging a tearful but happy Tan in the doorway. May the Force be with you. Let it be with something, out here, for a change May the Force be with you. Let it be with something, out here, for a change.

Gub lingered, sad and small, in the doorway. Outside, neighbors parted and watched, amazed, as one of their own escaped.

"She'll remain a slave," Kerra whispered behind her landlord's back.

"But she'll have an easier time of it," Gub responded. In a year, Tan would be thirteen-and obligated to work three shifts daily if she wanted to be fed at all. There was no guarantee her next assignment wouldn't be more dangerous. She could even wind up drafted. A safer monotony wasn't a bad thing, especially if it was somewhere else. The old man straightened, his leg braces creaking. "She'll have an easier time of it," he said again, almost to himself. "As will I."

Limping back inside, he found Kerra's curtain again. A stiff yank brought it down for the second time in a week.

The message was clear. "You want me to go?"

Gub looked up at her, fat eyes communicating the obvious. The child was gone. Kerra was no longer necessary. He took the curtain-now a sheet again-and draped it across the chair where he did his work.

Kerra looked blankly into the darkened room. Evicted from a closet Evicted from a closet.

"Come now," the old man said, depositing himself in his seat before the desk. "Now you will be able to work a third eight-hour shift-and qualify for a room and ration of your own."

But, of course, Kerra needed her nights.

"I'm ... glad I was able to help, Master Tengo," she said to his back. "I'll be out in the morning."

"To night," he said, charging his pen against his knee. he said, charging his pen against his knee.

CHAPTER FOUR.

"We're racing against time, here! Step it up!"

Scratching his muscled neck, Jarrow Rusher squinted up at the crane. They were losing the sun-the one sun that did anything, anyway. Daiman's "eyes" had set earlier, beyond the smokestacks west of the parade grounds. Now the cannoneer was watching major surgery on the vessel that was his livelihood-and facing the prospect that the operation might have to be completed in the dark.

Squatting on what once had been a bolo-ball field, Diligence Diligence resembled nothing more than a mammoth, two-clawed crustacean. Two colossal retro-rockets provided the ship with its footing, each engine the center of a cluster of four giant cargo modules. Large X's when viewed from above, the cargo clusters were joined together by the oversized fuselage of the crew section- resembled nothing more than a mammoth, two-clawed crustacean. Two colossal retro-rockets provided the ship with its footing, each engine the center of a cluster of four giant cargo modules. Large X's when viewed from above, the cargo clusters were joined together by the oversized fuselage of the crew section- -or at least, that was how things were supposed supposed to be. At the moment, Rusher's precious warship was in two pieces, while his team levered up three thousand metric tons of metal to make room for the new hydraulic accumulator unit the Lubboons had sent over. But the old one had to be dealt with first. to be. At the moment, Rusher's precious warship was in two pieces, while his team levered up three thousand metric tons of metal to make room for the new hydraulic accumulator unit the Lubboons had sent over. But the old one had to be dealt with first.

"Watch out!"

A steel cable snapped with an earsplitting crack crack, causing the mass of metal bound to the crane to dangle wildly. Seconds later the remaining cable gave out, rocketing around the pulley and flinging outward, bisecting a metal scaffold in the process. The crane's lopsided cargo fell to the ground, burying itself in the turf and just missing Rusher's chief machinist.

At least it was the old unit, Rusher thought. He scanned the scrambling crowd. "Who set that rig?"

"Rookie!"

Rusher didn't need to hear any more than that-and he didn't need to look. It had made some sense, initially. The new hydraulic module had bought Beadle Lubboon a place in the crew, after all, and the Duros teen had assured them that he'd worked with the equipment in his parents' factory. But it was looking less like a bargain for Rusher all the time.

The new recruit scurried past in his too-small fatigues, offering something between a wave and a shrug. "Sorry, Captain."

"That's Brigadier Brigadier."

Trooper Lubboon was already out of earshot, slamming the door to the portable refresher set up at the field's edge. The team had learned earlier in the day that stress did something vile to the boy's stomach. This evening was having much the same effect on Rusher, standing in the long shadows cast by his disjointed creation. If the playing field had ever been under the lights, it wasn't anymore. Soon the only illumination would be what they could generate themselves-and, of course, from those fool holographic statues at the four corners of the field.

It was a crazy idea, mounting a full-sized troop transport ship on top of a couple of cargo haulers. But the daring design of Diligence Diligence had made Rusher something of a legend in Sith artillery circles. Most methods of cannon deployment in the sector involved shipping guns and their operators separately. That was dangerous on several scores. Often, one or the other wouldn't make it to the battlefield. Or worse, the crews would have to traverse contested ground to reach their weapons. Frequently, artillery pieces were simply dropped from space, with no provision for retrieval. That had been good for scroungers like Rusher, but it was hardly efficient. had made Rusher something of a legend in Sith artillery circles. Most methods of cannon deployment in the sector involved shipping guns and their operators separately. That was dangerous on several scores. Often, one or the other wouldn't make it to the battlefield. Or worse, the crews would have to traverse contested ground to reach their weapons. Frequently, artillery pieces were simply dropped from space, with no provision for retrieval. That had been good for scroungers like Rusher, but it was hardly efficient.

Some pieces were were carried aboard ships with their operators, but the guns tended to be small. Weapons could be disassembled, but as Rusher had seen, another problem came in: most ships unloaded down a single ramp, causing traffic jams as workers got parts into position. Rusher had longed to combine the large, automated cargo pods dropped from orbit with a vessel hauling the gunnery crews. carried aboard ships with their operators, but the guns tended to be small. Weapons could be disassembled, but as Rusher had seen, another problem came in: most ships unloaded down a single ramp, causing traffic jams as workers got parts into position. Rusher had longed to combine the large, automated cargo pods dropped from orbit with a vessel hauling the gunnery crews.

No such ship had existed in Sith space-until Rusher, a few years after leaving Beld Yulan's crew, built it himself. Salvaging a Devaronian cruise liner, Rusher and a sleepless work team mounted the massive ship atop a superstructure bridging two cargo pod clusters. Their modules opened outward in four directions, allowing eight crews to off-load weapons simultaneously. "Down, gun, and done," he'd called it. Few crews were faster than Rusher's Brigade.

They'd even solved the problem of shipping long guns by mounting the barrels outside the ship, jutting outward from the cargo pods. That didn't do much for the ship's appearance, and there were few city platforms wide enough to accommodate Diligence Diligence with all the metal prods sticking out. On the other hand, as Rusher had once observed, in Sith space it didn't hurt to appear to be bristling with guns. That the guns were nonfunctioning parts of cannons yet to be assembled was their little secret. with all the metal prods sticking out. On the other hand, as Rusher had once observed, in Sith space it didn't hurt to appear to be bristling with guns. That the guns were nonfunctioning parts of cannons yet to be assembled was their little secret.

"That's better," Rusher said, seeing Prenda Novallo and her engineers hoist the new hydraulic unit into place. He retreated to the sidelines. They were literal this time, but Rusher usually stood there anyway for these kinds of jobs. It was easier on the nerves. Dackett, Novallo-he'd been blessed on the maintenance side of things. No one knew better how to run an artillery carrier in all of Sith space than his crew. And they'd kept him free.

Free enough, anyway.

Rusher looked to the rumbling skies. More warships were arriving. Independents, like him. There were even a couple of corporate transports mixed in that he didn't recognize. He swore. Something was going on. He'd put in at Darkknell for refit and recruiting, not to take on a new mission right away. People just didn't show up on a Sith Lord's homeworld unbidden. Not if they wanted to be able to leave.

"That's Mak Medagazy," called a voice from behind as a Toong battle droid carrier soared overhead through the darkness. Master Dackett pointed to the vessel, lighting on the other side of the field. "What's this about?"

"I've seen what you've seen," Rusher said. It was a problem with working for Daiman. Normally, the chiefs of mercenary vessels would gather at local cantinas and compare notes. But Daiman had dismantled most services that marketed to the public, unwilling to waste entertainments on those who existed to provide him him entertainment. He'd wiped out a key source of information-and a lot of good cantinas to boot. entertainment. He'd wiped out a key source of information-and a lot of good cantinas to boot.

Stepping into the light of one of the holostatues, Dackett made his report on the refit. Diligence Diligence's unusual configuration put extreme stresses on its frame when landing in high-gravity environments; functioning hydraulic systems were vital. "We'd like another two weeks to get the whole thing done right."

"Two weeks." Rusher looked again to the darkening skies, filled with lights from descending vehicles. "Well, do what you have to. As long as we don't hear from His Craziness, we should be-"

"Lord Daiman speaks!" thundered a voice from above. thundered a voice from above.

Startled, Rusher and his aide looked to the holographic statue behind them. Three times life-sized, the figure of Daiman had ceased its automated posturing and was now addressing them. Specifically, him him. "Jarrow Rusher is destined for the Sanctum Celestial, tomorrow at noon."

Rusher shot a glance to the dark wall of the palace, looming to the northwest. "Do you have a mission for-"

"Jarrow Rusher is destined for the Sanctum Celestial, tomorrow at noon. Meet your destiny." At that, the holographic statue was as it had been before, depicting Daiman looking thoughtful and complicated.

"I regret to inform you, the mission has been scrubbed," Dackett said.

"So much for your two weeks." Rusher looked at Dackett. "Think he heard me?"

"I doubt it. But who knows?"

It would certainly be an excellent way for Daiman to impress his omniscience upon his people, Rusher thought. Eavesdrop on everyone electronically, and then use his virtual personage on every street corner to react. It would be right up there with some of the more effective totalitarian states he'd read about. But, like his aide, Rusher doubted it. He'd never met the young lord, but he'd known people who had. Spying on everyone sounded like too much work for someone like Daiman. If you didn't think anyone else existed, why bother?

Dackett clapped his datapad against his artificial hand. "Right, then. I'll tell Novallo she's working through the night."

"Tell you what, Dackett," Rusher said. "I'll finish the welding. You You visit His Lordship." visit His Lordship."

"No, sir," the older man said, his gapped tooth whistling. "Every band has a front man. I just play the pretty music."

Rusher chuckled. Front man? Front man? Maybe. But even for the so-called independents, someone else always called the tune. Maybe. But even for the so-called independents, someone else always called the tune.

When she was a child, Kerra had visited the chilly polar regions of Aquilaris-about the only place on the planet where the weather wasn't gorgeous constantly. Even that had been beautiful, with whitecaps cresting one after another in the fjords.