The fighters buzzed his drop ship. One of them swooped around and under Razor. As it pulled out in front of him, it activated an electromagnetic tow. A glowing blue line formed between the two ships, and the Mark VII started pulling him through space. The other fighter maintained position behind Razor so he could blow Vrath from space should it prove necessary. Ahead, the tunnel of the cruiser’s landing bay loomed.

THE FIGHTER PULLED Vrath through the throat of the cruiser’s landing bay until they reached an isolated landing pad where two dozen troopers in full gray battle armor awaited him, along with a tall, redheaded naval officer. He nodded at them through the canopy, unstrapped from the chair, disarmed himself of both his blaster and his knives, and headed out.

By the time Razor’s landing ramp clanged off the metal deck of the cruiser, he was staring at the dead eyes of fourteen TH-17 blaster rifles.

“Secure him,” the naval officer said.

Two of the armored troopers shouldered their weapons and rushed him. He did not resist as one put flex binders on his wrists and the other patted him down.

“He is unarmed,” the one said, his voice the modulated mechanical sound of the helmet’s speaker.

“Search the ship,” the naval officer said. “I want to see his flight records.”

“Yes, sir,” responded the troopers, and seven of them boarded the ship to search.

“There is nothing of interest aboard,” Vrath said. “I came from Vulta. That’s as far back as the records go.”

The naval officer smiled, a tight, false gesture, and walked up to Vrath. His unwrinkled uniform smelled freshly cleaned. The freckles on his pale face looked like a pox.

Vrath could have killed him with a high kick to the trachea, but he thought it unwise.

“I am Commander Jard, first officer of the Imperial cruiser Valor. You are under arrest for flying in restricted space. Whether your punishment is execution or mere imprisonment is entirely at my discretion and depends upon how satisfied I am with the answers you provide to my questions.”

“I understand.”

“What is your name? Where did you come from?”

He barely remembered the name his mother had given him. He offered the one his profession had most recently given him. “Vrath Xizor. As I said, I flew here directly from Vulta.”

“What brought you here, Vrath Xizor?”

“I have information of interest to the OIC.”

The naval officer cocked his head. “Are you military, Vrath Xizor?”

“Former. Special detachment from the Four Hundred and Third. Company E.”

“An Imperial sniper?”

Vrath was impressed that Jard knew his unit designation. He nodded.

“Well, Vrath Xizor of the Four Hundred Third, you may tell me your information.”

“I would prefer to speak directly to the captain.”

“Darth Malgus will not—”

“Darth? The commander is a Sith?”

Jard looked hard at Vrath.