Malgus might have hoped that the Emperor planned to force the Republic to surrender Coruscant to the Empire, but he knew better. The fleet had temporarily secured the planet, but they did not have the forces to hold it for long. The planet was too big, the population too numerous, for the Imperial fleet to occupy it indefinitely. Even a formal surrender would not end the resistance of Coruscant’s population, and an insurgency among a population so large would devour Imperial resources.

No, they had to destroy it or return it. And it looked as if the Emperor had decided on the latter, using the threat of the former as leverage in negotiations.

The pilot’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Shall I continue the flyover, my lord?”

“No. Take me to the Senate Building. Notify Darth Angral of our imminent arrival.”

He had seen all he needed to see. Now he needed to hear an explanation.

“Peace,” he said, the word a curse.

ZEERID FINALLY NOTICED the ping from Vulta’s planetary control. He watched it blink, half dazed, having no idea how long they had been signaling him. He shook his head to clear up his thinking, called up the fake freighter registry Oren had told him to use, ran it through Fatman’s comp, and used it to auto-respond to the ping. In moments he received approval to land and docking instructions.

“Welcome to Vulta, Red Dwarf,” said the controller. “Set down on Yinta Lake landing pad one-eleven B.”

Zeerid tried to let the heat of atmospheric entry burn away thoughts of Oren, of The Exchange, of engspice. He tried instead to focus only on the one hundred thousand credits that should be awaiting him, and what he could do with them.

By the time the ship cleared the stratosphere and entered Vulta’s sky traffic, he had once more begun to distance himself from work and the persona that it necessitated.

But stripping away the vice-runner was getting harder to do all the time. The hole was getting too deep, the costume too sticky. He would be ashamed if his daughter ever learned how he earned a living.

He gave Fatman to the autopilot and went to the small room below the cockpit that he’d converted to his quarters.