The projector put a pale line across Renn’s damaged cheek.
He moved his chair out of it and pulled the route map closer with his good hand.
“That’s where Del used to stop for food.”
Darren looked at the transfer platform he had marked.
On the display it was a useful junction, with two approaches and somewhere to watch from above.
Voran reached past him and touched the stop on the map.
“Twelve minutes there. He always made it up before the yard.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Renn tapped the next junction, and they went on.
They had come from the clinic that morning to the cargo inspection room at Voran’s company.
Pell had taken the chair nearest the power socket; Sira stood where she could see the door.
Darren had cut Milo’s wrist binding before they brought him in.
Now Milo sat opposite Renn, rubbing one wrist beneath the table, his drink untouched.
Voran had agreed to put his weapon away.
Darren could still see the weight of it beneath his jacket.
Pell had brought the communicator Sira had kept overnight.
Before she let Darren return to the map, she made Milo open his messages.
Several had been deleted.
The surviving requests matched two of the access times in the records she had brought; one also named a transfer platform from the second ambush.
Milo corrected his account of which request had come first.
This time he had something to point to besides his own fear.
Renn read that message twice, then pushed the display back.
“Keep a copy.”
“Already done,” Pell said.
Voran wanted to know where Kess would be.
Milo said he did not know.
He said it again when Voran leaned forward, and Darren pulled the map between them.
“Then give him somewhere to go.”
His proposal was to give the same shipment three routes and watch which attracted attention.
The official system would carry one itinerary, Milo would sell another, and the actual delivery would use a third.
Voran listened with his arms folded.
“You want me to pay for three transports.”
“Two. Nothing travels along the route Milo sells.”
“Then what happens when the buyer checks?”
That was the difficulty.
They could make a false itinerary look plausible on a screen.
They could not make a missing vehicle pass an inspection.
Sira pulled Darren’s map toward her.
“How long do you need them to believe it?”
“Long enough to turn up.”
She removed two detours Darren had chosen for their overlooking balconies.
“No freight driver takes those unless the main lift is out.”
Darren studied the shorter route.
It left them one useful watching place instead of three.
He moved the arrival point to it.
“Keep your watching place,” she said.
“Change the lift and the final platform. Leave the rest alone.”
Milo leaned toward the map, then stopped when Voran looked at him.
Darren waited.
“He’ll want a late change. Something that hasn’t reached the public record yet.”
“Would he buy it from you now?”
“He asked this morning.”
Voran’s chair scraped.
Milo opened the request that had arrived while Pell was checking the older messages: NEXT VORAN TRANSFER.
CURRENT ROUTE ONLY.
“I didn’t answer.”
“Why didn’t you say?” Voran demanded.
Milo looked at the jacket concealing the blaster.
Sira held out her hand for the communicator, and Voran stayed in his chair.
Darren checked the time on the request.
It had been waiting while they argued over the map.
“What would you normally say?”
“When I’ve checked.”
“Then check. Tell us what won’t survive being read by somebody who knows your job.”
Milo objected to the cargo description first.
Then he pointed out that a clearance code Pell had copied belonged to an older manifest.
She checked it, deleted it and asked for the current one.
Milo gave it without looking at Voran.
His voice steadied while they worked.
Voran traced the official route with one finger and stopped where it split from the version Milo would sell.
“So my vehicle goes straight past your trap.”
“Yes. Your customer’s parts go by the third route. Separate vehicle.”
“And if nobody turns up?”
“We’ve moved your shipment and learned nothing today.”
Voran sat back.
Renn was watching him over the edge of the display.
“That’s still better than losing another driver,” Renn said.
“What do you want in the test vehicle?” Voran asked.
“Something you can afford to lose,” Darren said.
“Scrap, then. They can steal something I’ve been trying to throw away.”
They settled on scrap machinery.
Voran would drive, with Renn beside him.
Darren glanced at Renn’s bandaged arm, and Renn caught him doing it.
“I can sit in a cab.”
“You had trouble crossing a corridor yesterday.”
“I’ll still have trouble tomorrow. I know these lanes.”
Voran offered to put him in the office instead.
Renn refused without raising his voice, and the offer died there.
For the real shipment, Voran chose another driver and called him into the room.
Pell insisted he hear what they were doing before accepting the job.
He asked whether his cargo was replaceable, whether anyone would tell him if the plan failed, and whether he could turn back.
Voran answered yes to all three.
The man took the route and left to inspect his vehicle.
Renn waited until he had gone before asking Voran to bring the test vehicle to the loading ramp.
The steps into its cab were too steep for him to manage from the street.
Voran reached for his communicator at once, then stopped to ask which side Renn needed against the ramp.
“Passenger side,” Renn said.
“I’m injured, not promoted.”
Voran made the call.
Renn eased his arm into a different position beneath the table, then asked him to bring the vehicle closer to the ramp than last time.
Milo watched Voran put the communicator down.
“What happens if I say no?”
Darren took his hand off the device he had been about to give him.
Voran started to speak.
Darren cut in.
“We find another way to reach Kess.”
“And me?”
Darren looked at Voran.
“You don’t kill him for refusing this.”
“He sold my people.”
“Then say that’s why you want him dead. Don’t call this a choice while you’re holding the answer in your jacket.”
Sira shut the door to the loading corridor.
Voran’s anger settled on Darren, then shifted to Renn, who had said nothing.
Finally he unclipped the holster and put it on a shelf behind him.
“Refuse the job, then. You still don’t walk out of here.”
Milo stared at the shelf, then at the closed door.
“And if this works?”
Darren could offer him nothing firmer without lying.
Milo looked to Sira, who did not contradict Voran.
“If Kess learns you’ve got me, I’m dead anyway,” Milo said.
“I do it.”
Pell asked whether Kess usually took data by transmission.
Sometimes, Milo said; for larger packages he sent someone with cash.
This request would include the supporting manifest.
A device would be ordinary.
“Then I can put a tracer in it,” she said.
She fitted it while Milo assembled the file.
The device might travel with Kess, remain with a courier or be thrown away; when Darren asked which, she told him to watch it and find out.
Sira tested the receiver from the far end of the loading corridor.
Before sealing the file, Pell noted its client code so she could check whether it appeared in later inquiries.
Voran agreed to pay Pell for the day’s work.
He checked her price twice and made no joke about it.
When Sira returned, Milo had prepared the reply but not sent it.
“Go on,” Darren said.
Milo touched the screen.
While they waited for the handoff, Darren spent eight credits on food and transport, then seventy-five buying the blaster Sira had lent him.
She included a full power cell and a used one, refusing his first offer of sixty with such speed that he suspected she had been waiting for it.
“Am I being robbed?”
“You know the weapon works.”
He checked the cell before fastening the holster.
Fifty-five credits remained.
Beneath his jacket, the Earth pistol still held its place, with nineteen rounds left for it.
Buying the blaster had cost him several nights in a room; it also meant he would not have to ask Sira for it again.
Milo made the handoff where Kess’s message instructed, with Sira watching from a shop entrance and Darren farther down the corridor.
The courier barely looked at him.
He took the device, promised payment after verification and walked away.
Sira’s receiver showed a moving point.
Milo came back pale and furious.
“He always paid before.”
His hands were empty.
He looked from Sira to Darren as though one of them ought to make the courier return.
“Does that happen to other people?” Darren asked.
“How would I know?”
Darren looked down the corridor, but the courier had already turned out of sight.
If Darren followed him to demand payment, the courier would know Milo had brought someone else into the deal.
“Back to the office,” he said.
Milo stared at him, then went.
At the door a warehouse worker let him in and stayed beside him while Darren called Voran.
Someone would remain with Milo during the run.
Voran promised it; Darren watched the door close before joining Sira.
At midday, the test transport took the official road.
Voran drove with Renn beside him and the scrap crate secured behind them.
Darren and Sira watched it pass from different levels.
Nothing followed closely enough to concern either of them.
Two inspectors stopped it over a clearance code.
Through Renn’s open communicator, Darren heard Voran begin an argument.
“Let them read it,” Renn said.
“They have read it.”
“Then let them finish.”
Nine minutes passed while other drivers leaned on their horns.
Darren watched the men beside the cab.
Neither reached for a weapon.
Eventually one returned the display and waved the transport on.
Renn came back on the line once they were clear.
His voice sounded tired.
“If anyone wanted to steal us, they had time.”
“Go back to the yard,” Darren said.
“We’re moving to the other platform.”
Darren asked Voran to keep someone with Milo until they returned.
“I know,” Voran said.
“Go watch your platform.”
Darren ended the call.
He had the man’s assurance twice now, and the false arrival time was approaching.
The real shipment left after that, using the third route.
Darren knew its destination and who was driving; he had no view of it from where he now sat.
When its driver reported an ordinary delay behind a maintenance crew, Voran told him to wait instead of finding a shortcut.
There was nothing Darren needed to add.
The café above the false transfer point charged for its view and did not clean the windows well enough to justify it.
Sira bought one cup so they could keep the table.
Darren left his remaining credits alone.
Below them, workers crossed between lifts while a freight droid repeatedly asked a parked taxi to move.
Milo called.
Kess wanted confirmation.
“Read it to me,” Darren said.
“Route confirmed? That’s all.”
“What would you answer?”
“Yes. Late change. Same client.”
“Then answer.”
He heard Milo breathe before the line closed.
Darren set the communicator beside his hand and watched a woman wrestle a loaded cart past the taxi.
The platform was busy enough to hide a waiting crew and busy enough to make a fight disastrous.
They were here to watch.
He wished the distinction gave them more control over what happened next.
Five minutes before the false arrival time, a black speeder stopped below.
A second pulled in at the other end of the platform.
Neither driver joined the argument around the taxi.
Sira moved her cup away from the edge of the table.
“One team?” Darren asked.
“Maybe.”
He checked the nearest stairs, then the lift behind the counter.
Sira was watching the far exit.
Between them they could see the approaches, but a cargo train passing through the shaft briefly hid half the platform.
When it cleared, a man had stepped out of the first speeder.
Milo’s description had been unhelpfully ordinary.
The photograph he had supplied was better.
Sira compared it with the man below and took another image.
“Kess.”
He wore an expensive jacket cut to attract little notice.
He checked the platform clock, made a short call and waited beside his vehicle.
The tracer had stopped moving nearby, although from this distance they could not tell who held the device.
Darren kept his hands flat on the table as the false arrival time passed.
A delivery sled crossed the bay where Kess expected Voran’s transport.
One of the men watched it until its driver unloaded at a different lift.
Beside Darren, Sira stopped turning the cup.
The man at the second speeder was reaching inside his jacket.
He brought out a communicator.
Only then did she lean back.
Kess called again.
One of the men from the second speeder walked to the lift and checked its service display.
Darren could almost feel the questions travelling backward toward Milo.
“Warn the office,” he said.
Sira sent a short message.
Below, Kess looked up along the balconies.
Darren turned toward the counter, letting a server argue with him about whether he wanted another drink.
He said no twice and looked back only when the speeder door closed.
They went down to Sira’s parked vehicle.
By the time they reached the traffic lane, both black speeders were out of sight, but the receiver still showed the device moving.
Darren gave her the level number and checked it again before she took the ramp.
Twice the marker stopped while they were changing levels.
At the second stop he wondered whether the device had been thrown away.
He kept watching it while Sira drove past the next turn.
When it moved again, she had to circle back; they lost distance but kept the signal.
The signal settled inside a commercial building in a middle band of the moon.
Sira parked on the opposite side of the shaft.
They continued on foot past a parts shop, where she paused to look back in the window’s reflection.
Across the gap, a receptionist stood among real plants behind the building’s glass doors.
She let two visitors through without asking them to remove their jackets.
They took a place across the shaft where they could watch the public entrance.
The receiver could give them the building, not the room.
Kess might have been upstairs, or someone else might have carried the device in for him.
Thirty-seven minutes later, he came out alone.
Darren shifted forward as Kess approached a waiting vehicle.
Sira looked at him.
“Stay,” he said.
“See who else uses the place.”
The decision felt uncomfortably like letting the buyer disappear two days earlier.
This time they had a face, a building and a device still transmitting inside it.
Following Kess would mean giving up the entrance.
Darren watched his vehicle merge with traffic and kept his seat.
Voran called to say the real shipment had arrived.
The test vehicle was back too.
Renn had gone to lie down in the office, denying that he needed to.
Darren asked after Milo.
“Still here,” Voran said.
“What did you find?”
“Kess left a building. The device is still inside. We’re watching the entrance.”
Forty minutes after Kess left, Canto entered the building.
Darren recognized the way he turned his shoulders through the door before he had a clear view of his face.
For an instant the glass entrance became the opening at the processing center, Renn stumbling between armed men and Canto moving away while everyone else bled.
Sira’s hand touched his forearm.
She was already taking a picture.
“I see him,” Darren said.
He stayed where he was.
Canto did not look across the shaft.
They waited nearly another hour.
Darren’s leg had begun to cramp when Canto returned with a human woman and a Rodian, both carrying datapads.
They spoke briefly outside, then went in different directions.
No embrace, no visible argument, nothing that told Darren what had changed hands upstairs.
Darren sent Pell the pictures and address while Sira checked the receiver again.
He had expected Canto to leave with the device.
The marker stayed inside.
On their way back to the vehicle, Pell called.
“A hundred and forty-two registered businesses,” she said.
“Permanent offices and rooms hired by the hour. Which one did he visit?”
“We couldn’t see.”
She began sending the tenant list.
Darren stopped scrolling before he reached the end.
“Information brokerage,” Pell said.
“Among other things.”
“Does Kess rent there?”
“Not under that name.”
“Canto?”
“Same answer.”
Darren enlarged the photograph of Canto between the two strangers.
Neither face matched anyone he remembered from the processing center.
“Who owns the place?” Sira asked.
“A holding company. I’d expect Hutt money somewhere behind it, but I haven’t followed that far.”
Darren put the photograph away.
“Can you check whether the package went any farther?”
“Some inquiries used its client code. I can’t tell you what changed hands after that.”
Darren looked back across the shaft.
A different visitor was coming through the glass doors now, carrying nothing.
He could stop Milo selling another route.
He still did not know who had bought the ones already sold.
They reached Pell’s office as the corridor lights shifted to evening.
She let them in, then asked to see the receiver.
The marker had not moved.
“Leave it,” she said.
“You need to think about the person who supplied this.”
Darren had been thinking about Canto.
He took out the communicator.
Voran answered on the fourth attempt.
The warehouse worker had last seen Milo almost two hours earlier, shortly after the call that confirmed both vehicles were back.
Voran had sent the worker downstairs to help unload an incoming vehicle.
Milo had asked for food and been told to wait.
By the time anyone returned to the office, he was gone.
“You said he couldn’t walk out,” Darren said.
“He was told to stay.”
“You sent the man away.”
“I needed him on the dock.”
“Did anyone see him leave?”
“I’m asking.”
Darren paced as far as Pell’s door and stopped.
He remembered Milo coming back from the handoff, angry and empty-handed, waiting for one of them to do something.
Darren had sent him back to Voran.
“He ran,” Darren said.
“Or somebody took him,” Sira answered.
Renn came onto Voran’s line.
He had found Milo’s drink where they had left it that morning and his chair pushed under the table.
Neither detail helped.
Darren asked him to have Voran’s people check the exits and call if anyone had seen a vehicle or a struggle.
“If you find him,” Renn said, “call me before you bring him back.”
“I will.”
The line closed.
Pell checked the message account Milo had opened for her that morning.
There was no new activity visible to her.
His last known address was one they had used to catch him.
If he wanted to escape both Kess and Voran, it would be the first place he abandoned.
“If he ran, he needs another name,” Darren said.
Pell looked at him.
“Who makes people exist when they can’t afford you?”
She disliked the question.
Then she opened a map and marked the low district of Trell.
Sira was already at the door when Darren stood.
On Pell’s screen, the tracer continued to blink in the building they had spent the afternoon watching.
He left it there and went after Milo.
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Thanks for reading — and for supporting Darren’s increasingly questionable life choices.