A thin Bothan driver, his face reminiscent of an equine, stared at him in the rearview mirror.

“Where to?”

“Just drive. Stay low.”

“Your credits, pal.”

EVEN FROM AFAR, Vrath was able to listen through the synthplas walls of the commstation. By the time the call was finished, he had a name for the pilot—Zeerid—and names of people the pilot appeared to care about—Nat and Arra.

He climbed into an air taxi and monitored the tracking droid activator. The droid driver looked back at him.

“Where to, sir?”

“Karson’s Park, eventually,” Vrath said. “But for now, follow my instructions precisely.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zeerid had shown discretion in calling Nat from a public comm station, so Vrath expected him to take a winding route, maybe change vehicles a few times. He settled in for a long ride.

Even if he lost him, he knew how to find him again.

THE AIRCAR LIFTED OFF THE GROUND and merged with traffic. Zeerid had the driver take a series of abrupt turns for about ten minutes. Throughout, he kept his eyes behind him, trying to see if anyone was following. For a time, he thought another taxi might have been tailing him, but it fell away and did not return.

The glowing sign for a casino he knew, the Silver Falcon, shone ahead.

“Right here, driver.”

He paid the Bothan, hopped out, headed into the casino’s front door and out its back. There, he hailed another taxi and went through the same exercise.

Still no one that he could see. He breathed easier.

He hailed another taxi, one that could house a hoverchair, this one droid-driven.

“Where to, sir?”

Even the droid showed some rust from the air. Its head squeaked when it turned.

“I need to purchase a hoverchair.”

The droid paused for a moment while its processors searched the city directory.

“Of course, sir.”

The taxi lifted off and took him to a medical supply reseller. Medical devices filled the cavernous warehouse, tended to by a single elderly man who reminded Zeerid of a scarecrow.

There, eighty-seven thousand credits got Zeerid a used hoverchair sized for a seven-year-old and a crash course on how to operate it. Zeerid could not stop smiling while the wholesaler’s utility droid loaded the chair in the back of the taxi.

“Don’t see bearer cards all that often,” the old man said, eyeing Zeerid’s method of payment.

“Credits are credits,” Zeerid said. He knew what the man must have been thinking.

“True. I used to be a nurse, you know. That chair is a good device.”

“She’ll love it,” Zeerid said.

The old man rubbed his hands together. “If that’s all then, sir. I’ll just need you to fill out a few forms. The bearer card is untraceable, as you know.”

“Can we do it another time?” Zeerid said, and started walking for the door. “I really have to go.”