A moment later, the Imperials were disarmed.
“Good,” Cygni said. To Eli’s eye he looked more relaxed now that the risk of combat was past. “Better call your ship, Angel.”
“Already called,” Angel said. “I suppose you want me to toss this crowd in with the others?”
“That was the deal,” Cygni said. “No deaths; no injuries. Oh, and in case I didn’t mention it, I already have people on the ground at the drop point to make sure you deliver everyone safely.”
“Well, you know, now, things don’t always go the way you want ’em to,” Angel warned. His eyes, Eli noted, hadn’t left Thrawn for a minute. “Sometimes there are accidents. Sometimes there’s trouble. There can be—”
“Sometimes there are consequences you really don’t want to face,” Cygni said. He hadn’t raised his voice, but something in his tone nevertheless sent a chill up Eli’s back. “Enough posturing. You have the other two Imperials? Good. Bring them down here. As soon as your ship arrives, we’ll transfer them over. I trust you’ve decided which of your men will help me bring the Dromedar to port?”
“Oh, yeah, I got your team,” Angel said, still eyeing Thrawn. “Starting with me.”
Cygni frowned. “There’s no need for you to come personally,” he said. “Getting the cylinders will take some time, whether we break the static-lock or use Lieutenant Thrawn’s idea of cutting them out through the hull. Plenty of time for you to drop the prisoners and rejoin us.”
“I know,” Angel said. “I just like your company, that’s all.” He nodded toward Thrawn. “I was just saying that accidents do happen. Not saying they would or wouldn’t, just saying they could.”
Cygni gazed at him, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked at Thrawn, back at Angel. Eli held his breath…
“Let me sweeten the pot,” Cygni said. “Did you notice that box in the passageway on your way in?”
“Yeah,” Angel said. “Is that a buzz droid?”
“It is indeed,” Cygni said. “Take it as a bonus. It’s probably worth, what—?” He held up a hand toward Thrawn.
“Two hundred credits as it is,” Thrawn said.
Cygni snorted. “You have no idea, Lieutenant. That’s a Mark One, Angel. At current prices, it’s probably a thousand credits just for the core’s doonium shell.”
Angel threw a startled look at the droid. “It’s got a doonium shell?”
“Refined, case-hardened, and ready for the right buyer to pull it off and drop it on the black market,” Cygni confirmed. “A thousand credits. Two hundred each for five otherwise worthless Imperials. Just to keep them alive.”
Angel scrunched up his nose. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Sure. I guess so.”
“If that’s not good enough, consider this,” Cygni said. “If I hadn’t persuaded them to surrender, they would have fought, and some of your men would be dead right now. Maybe even you.”
“I said fine,” Angel said scornfully. “They keep their noses clean, I’ll dump ’em with the rest. Happy?”
Cygni inclined his head. “You may not realize this, Angel, but it pays to build a reputation for keeping your word.”
“Not to the folks I work with it doesn’t,” Angel said sourly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
—
“So just because I don’t have your plate-crystal reputation, you think I can’t be trusted to do what I said?” Angel looks back over his shoulder at his prisoners and the other pirates. His eyes are narrowed, his lips twisted with the corners downward. The muscles in his throat and back are tight.
“Not at all,” Cygni said. His tone is calm, his words conciliatory. His movements are careful and precise. His face shows little expression, but there is a tight muscle behind his cheek. “As long as I was here, I thought I’d check up on the other prisoners. Your men were a little rough on a couple of them.”
“Hey, you throw a punch at a Culoss, it comes back with interest,” Angel growled. “They’re lucky I didn’t shoot them dead.”
“Yes,” Cygni murmured. “I suppose they are.”
“What is a Culoss?” Thrawn asked.
“What?” Angel demands. His eyes narrow, his facial heat intensifying. His tone is cautious and suddenly angry, perhaps indicating regret for speaking the word.
“It is a word I have not heard before,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto?”
“I don’t know it, either,” Vanto said. His tone is cautious, but interested. “Some slang thing, I’d guess. Probably means ‘idiot.’?”
Angel takes a step toward Vanto. His expression is suddenly furious. His hands form into fists. “Listen, pretty boy—”
“Enough,” Cygni said. “Move on, Angel. We’re on a schedule.”
The Dromedar’s crew were locked inside a large metal-barred cage that had been built into the back third of the pirate ship’s aft-starboard cargo bay. There were ten of them: seven humans of varying ages, sizes, and skin tones; two Gran, each with the three eyes and goatlike snouts of their species; and one Togruta, her cone-horn montrals and striped head-tails making her prominent among the prisoners. The Togruta watches as the new prisoners approach, her hands rubbing slowly vertically along one of the bars of their prison. She looks briefly at each of the Imperials, then turns her attention to Angel.
They reached the cage. Angel took a chained key from around his neck and unfastened the deadlock securing the cage door. The lock was a mechanical style, impervious to electronic lock breaking. The key itself was an elaborate, wavy shape with multiple nubs and indentations, likely difficult or impossible to duplicate.
Three of the pirates leveled their blasters at the prisoners in the cage as Angel disengaged the lock. He swung the door open and gestured. “Go,” he ordered.
Angel waited until the five Imperials were inside, then closed the door behind them and resealed the lock. “Satisfied?” he asked Cygni. Angel handed the key to one of the other pirates, who hung the chain around his own neck and pushed the key deep under his shirt.
“For now,” Cygni said. “Remember: They all get dropped off as agreed. Unharmed.” He raises his eyebrows in silent challenge. “No accidents. Remind your men.”
“Don’t worry,” Angel growled. “You lubs—back to your stations. I want you at the Trapo in six days.” He looks again at Cygni. His eyes narrow. “And be sure you don’t bruise any of them when you drop ’em off. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He left the cargo bay and headed forward, followed by his men. Cygni gives the prisoners a final look, his lips pressed tightly together, then follows.
“I gather you’re our rescue squad?” one of the other humans in the cage asked. Her lip is twisted, perhaps with contempt or sarcasm.
“Something like that,” Vanto said. “This is Lieutenant Thrawn; I’m Ensign Vanto. Are you Captain Fitz?”
“Yeah,” the woman said. “So he snoggered you, too?”
“Who, Cygni?”
“Yeah,” Fitz said. “Got aboard the Dromedar with a fake authorization and then managed to get the drop on everyone.”
“He didn’t get everyone,” Layneo corrected. “He said you locked down the hyperdrive.”
“Yeah,” Fitz said again. “For all the good it did us. So he talked you into starting it up for him?”
“More or less,” Vanto said.
Fitz swore. “So that’s it. The ship’s gone, the tibanna’s gone, and we’re done. They might as well kill us.”
“I wouldn’t give up hope quite yet,” Vanto said. “Lieutenant?”
“Not yet, Ensign,” Thrawn said. “Patience.”
“Not yet what?” Fitz asked. “Hey, bright-eyes—I’m talking to you.”
“Probably figuring out what he’s going to say in his report,” one of the other prisoners said. “Got to make this mess look good somehow.”
“Watch your mouths,” Vanto warned. “That’s an officer of the Imperial Navy you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, I’m real impressed—”