Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(28)
Taking a deep breath, feeling a fresh sense of loss, Padmé stepped inside.
Duja’s ship was small and plain, the kind of ship flown by billions of ordinary people across the galaxy. As in so many cases, though, appearances were deceiving. Padmé walked past the twin bunks and the compact galley, squeezed through the cockpit doorway, and slipped into the pilot’s seat. “This is Queen Padmé Amidala of Naboo,” she announced. She hadn’t been queen for years, of course, which made it unlikely that anyone else would think to use that title as an identification phrase. “Duja, talk to me.”
There was a short pause. Then, like a ghost from a lost past, Duja’s voice came from the speaker. “Hello, my lady,” she said. There was none of her usual impish humor, but only a hard-edged focus. “I’ve been poking around this area, and I believe I’ve uncovered a Separatist factory on Mokivj.”
Padmé blinked. A factory? Way out here?
“I don’t know what they’re making, or who’s in charge,” Duja continued. “But from what I’ve been able to glean it’s a top-notch operation. I’ve got the location—planetary coordinates are in the attached file—and I’ll see what I can learn about its layout and defenses before you get here.”
Padmé sighed. That search was probably what had led to her death.
“Of course, I’ll wait until you get here before we make our move against it. Depending on what we find, we might even be able to get the chancellor or the Jedi to come out and join us.”
“Guaranteed,” Padmé murmured the promise to her friend.
Because the minute Anakin heard about Duja’s death he would be here in a Coruscant second, whether or not the Council had him slated for some other duty.
“Travel safely, my lady, and I’ll see you soon.” The recorder clicked off.
For a few minutes Padmé sat silently in the command seat, gazing out at the forest and offering one final farewell to her friend. Then, slowly, she reached to the control board and pulled up the factory’s coordinates.
Duja had planned to wait for Padmé before moving against the facility. That hadn’t ended well. The smart move for Padmé now would be to send an alert to Anakin and wait until he arrived before taking any further action.
Only the Separatists were onto them now. They’d caught Duja, and the presence of the coffin outside the cantina proved they suspected she had backup on the way. Worse, they’d now seen Padmé and were undoubtedly putting two and two together. If she hung around Batuu too long waiting for Anakin, there was a good chance they’d run her down.
Even if she avoided that fate—if she took her ship into deep space, say, and hid there—what would happen to the factory in the meantime? She’d seen Separatists destroy factories and mining facilities rather than let Republic forces get them. And if this place was as secret as its location implied, it was all the more likely that she and Anakin would arrive to find nothing but smoking debris.
No. Duja had given her life to alert the Republic to this threat. Padmé wasn’t going to waste that sacrifice by sitting around doing nothing until Anakin could get free or the Separatists could cover their tracks.
Which wasn’t to say she thought she could attack the factory all by herself. Years of terrible risks and narrow escapes had proved that she was anything but indestructible.
On the other hand, the enhanced shields and heavy weaponry lurking beneath the plain exterior of Duja’s ship gave Padmé an advantage that the Separatists would never expect. Surely she could at least take a quick look and try to figure out what they were doing there.
Reaching to the control board again, she keyed for a quick preflight diagnostic. She would collect a few supplies from her own ship and send a final message to Anakin, and she’d be ready to go. A quick trip to Mokivj, a brief look around, and she’d be back. Probably before Anakin even arrived.
She smiled to herself as she squeezed back out of the cockpit. It was rare when she was able to surprise Anakin. But it was always so satisfying when she did.
* * *
—
There were two more droids waiting in the rear of the freighter. But Anakin was ready, and it was easy to sucker them into choke points where he had the advantage. Two skirmishes later, he and Thrawn arrived at the cargo bay.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much information to be gleaned once they got there.
“If the labels are correct, these appear to contain various alcoholic beverages,” Thrawn commented as they walked slowly between the lines of safety-webbed crates. “Does that seem odd for your Separatists?”
“Not really,” Anakin said. “Separatists drink as much as everyone else.” He picked a crate of Tevraki whiskey, popped off the webbing, and used the Force to lift it from its shelf and lower it to the deck.
“Twister-sealed,” Thrawn murmured, peering at the fasteners. “There should be an opening tool somewhere nearby.”
“Never mind,” Anakin said. Igniting his lightsaber, he carefully sliced off the top of the crate.
It wasn’t a line of bottles that glittered at him in the dim light. Instead, an orderly row of slender metal ingots filled the crate, separated by soft plastoid spacers. “Interesting,” Thrawn said. “It appears to be gold.”