"That's not quite what I had in mind."
Umber studied the holographic projection hovering between himself and the dealer. A battered Imperial customs corvette rotated slowly above the counter, its starboard engine assembly conspicuously absent. The seller, an enterprising fellow with an impressive collection of gold teeth, had assured him the vessel was otherwise in excellent condition.
"She's an Imperial design, just like you asked."
"Yes, I can see that." Umber leaned forward, examining the projection from another angle.
"Though I'm reasonably certain the Imperial Navy preferred its ships with both engines attached."
The dealer didn't seem particularly amused.
"Parts are easy enough to find."
"Then I imagine you'll have no trouble finding someone to sell it to."
He straightened, offering the man an apologetic smile before retrieving his datapad from the counter. Three days on Ferrix and he was beginning to understand why the local salvage industry had such a colorful reputation. There was certainly no shortage of inventory, though much of it appeared to consist of ships that had been dismantled with considerably more enthusiasm than care.
Still, he'd expected as much.
The vessel he was after had never been particularly common. A specialized assault transport, built for black and boarding operations, its distinctive profile was recognizable enough to anyone familiar with the type. Finding a serviceable example after so many years was unlikely. Finding one that hadn't been reduced to its constituent parts would be something of a miracle.
As it happened, Umber had a specific example in mind.
The serial number,
FO-SC-0719, had appeared in a disposal manifest he'd obtained several weeks earlier. A string of letters and numerals that would have meant absolutely nothing to most people, but one he recognized almost immediately. He'd checked it twice, then retrieved an older record to be certain.
There was no mistake.
He had last seen that particular vessel during an assignment of his, nearly a lifetime ago. He remembered the ship well enough, though probably less fondly than some of the people who'd served aboard her. He could still recall the cramped accommodations, the constant vibration of the machinery beneath the deck plates, and an exceptionally disagreeable commanding officer who'd regarded intelligence personnel as an unnecessary complication to an otherwise perfectly straightforward military operation. They'd disagreed on nearly everything. To the man's credit, he'd also been very good at his job.
Umber wondered, briefly, whatever had become of him.
According to the manifest, the vessel had passed through several owners before disappearing into the salvage markets. Ferrix was its last recorded destination, though whether that meant the ship was still here, or even still resembled a ship, remained to be seen.
He wasn't especially concerned about the engines, weapons, or much of the internal equipment. Those could be replaced, and he had access to people considerably better qualified than himself to oversee the work. What mattered was the hull, its structural integrity, and whether enough of the original vessel remained to justify the expense of rebuilding it. Though, there, there might be some wiggle room.
The resources of Aurodium Sword would make the restoration possible, though he rather suspected his accountants would have questions about the wisdom of the investment. They usually did.
"Look," the dealer interrupted as Umber turned, evidently unwilling to let a potential sale walk away.
"I've got plenty of Imperial hulls. You give me a little more to work with, maybe I can find something."
Umber considered the offer. He doubted the man had anything useful, but there was no harm in asking.
"Something a little older. Specialized military transport, possibly listed as an assault vessel. Long forward section, wedge-shaped prow, broad engineering assembly aft." He brought up the schematic on his datapad and turned it around.
"Something like this."
The dealer squinted at the display.
"Can't say I've seen one."
"No?" Umber studied the dealer for a moment, wondering whether the answer was genuine or merely an attempt to extract a better price.
"Not here, anyway."
Umber tilted his head slightly as he considered the word.
"Somewhere else?"
The dealer hesitated, glancing toward the open doorway before looking back at the schematic. His fingers drummed briefly against the counter, as though he were weighing the benefits of passing along the information against whatever inconvenience it might cause him.
"Maybe. There's a breaker works out past the main yards. Gets a lot of the old military stuff, especially anything too big or too expensive to move. Name's Varko."
"Does he have a business address, or am I expected to wander around asking after him?"
The dealer gave a short laugh, apparently finding the question amusing.
"Everybody out there knows Varko. You won't have trouble finding him."
"That's reassuring." Umber regarded him expectantly until the man reluctantly turned to his terminal and retrieved a set of coordinates.
He accepted the information, though something about the man's reluctance had caught his attention. Pell had been perfectly happy to sell him a corvette that was missing half its propulsion system, yet the prospect of referring him to another dealer appeared to require considerably more thought. Ordinarily, he'd have attributed that to an understandable reluctance to send business elsewhere. There was something about the man's manner, however, that suggested a different explanation.
"Something I should know?"
"Nah. Just been a lot of strangers out that way lately." Pell busied himself with the terminal, making a show of returning to his work.
"Strangers?" Umber repeated, allowing a little curiosity into his voice.
"Offworlders. Armed types. Some Imperials, from what I hear. Mandalorians, too. Everybody's looking for something."
Umber glanced toward the schematic still displayed on his datapad. He had no particular desire to involve himself in the affairs of either group, though their presence in the same stretch of scrapyard was certainly worth noting.
"Well, I should hope so. It is a scrapyard."
Pell didn't laugh. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice despite the absence of anyone else near the counter.
"Just saying, friend. People have been asking questions. Might be a good idea to mind your business while you're out there."
"I assure you, I intend to do precisely that." Umber switched off the schematic and slipped the datapad into his coat. He could appreciate a warning when one was offered, particularly from someone with no apparent reason to provide it.
He settled the consultation fee and made his way back onto the street. The industrial air carried the familiar smells of hot metal, lubricant, and machinery.. Somewhere beyond the crowded workshops and transport depots lay the outer salvage fields, where thousands of discarded vessels had been deposited over the years. Ferrix had made something of an industry out of dismantling the past, and there was no shortage of material to work with.
The prospect of Imperial personnel conducting operations on Ferrix was interesting enough, although he doubted they had any interest in a decades-old assault transport. The Mandalorians were another matter. Their presence suggested either a competing interest or some question of local jurisdiction, neither of which particularly appealed to him. More likely, someone had uncovered a valuable piece of equipment, and word had spread faster than the interested parties would have preferred.
He had seen enough intelligence operations unravel over considerably less.
Still, there was little to be gained from speculating. He had a name, a location, and a reasonably promising lead on the vessel he'd come to find. Whatever else was happening in the scrapyards could remain someone else's problem until circumstances dictated otherwise. Umber checked the coordinates once more and started toward the transport depot. He'd come to Ferrix looking for a ship, and he had every intention of leaving with one.
Preferably without becoming involved in whatever trouble the local authorities were investigating.
That, he conceded, might be asking a bit much.
Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr
were making efforts to thaw relations between the Imperials and the Mandalorians.
