Wandering Berserker
The Hound had not moved in four days. Gavin had buried the shuttle inside an old maintenance berth several levels beneath one of Taris's functioning freight terminals, far enough away from legitimate traffic that nobody had bothered asking questions about the large black vessel sitting in the dark. The hangar itself looked as though it had been forgotten years ago. Half the lights were dead, rainwater found its way down through cracks somewhere hundreds of feet overhead, and the outer blast doors had to be persuaded into closing with a combination of the control panel and Gavin physically forcing them the last few feet. It was uncomfortable, damp, and isolated. Gavin had slept in considerably worse places. More importantly, nobody knew he was there.
Four days on Taris had produced exactly one useful name. Gavin had started in the upper levels, following what remained of old Diarchy intelligence reports and financial records, before gradually working his way downward through freight offices, cheap hotels, docking yards, cantinas, and places where information was bought rather than volunteered. His black robes and hood helped him disappear to a point, although there was only so much anonymity available to a man who stood six feet eight inches tall. He had paid some people. Threatened others. A few recognized him, which usually made things easier. The Diarchy might have been dead, but Gavin Vel had spent years standing beside Reign as one of the most powerful men within it. Soldiers had known his name. Officers had known his face. There were still people who remembered what happened when Reign sent Gavin somewhere instead of an army.
The man he was looking for certainly would.
Legate Darius Keln. Gavin remembered him well enough. Keln had commanded a Legion during the final years of the Diarchy, thousands of soldiers whose lives had depended on the orders he gave. He had sat through briefings with Gavin, spoken confidently about duty and sacrifice, and expected men beneath him to hold their positions when doing so meant dying. Then the Diarchy had begun to collapse and Keln had vanished. Not fallen in battle. Not remained behind trying to extract his soldiers. Not even surrendered with the men still under his command. He had simply disappeared while others were still waiting for orders that never came. Gavin had spent months following men like him across the galaxy, although few had carried Keln's rank. A frightened trooper running when everything fell apart was something Gavin could almost understand. A Legate abandoning thousands of people who had trusted him was something else entirely.
The latest trail had brought Gavin to Freight Exchange Twelve, a mostly abandoned cargo facility buried deep enough beneath Taris's upper city that the neon glow barely reached it. The place was enormous. Rusting catwalks crossed an open loading floor at several different heights while old cargo containers remained stacked against the walls or suspended from overhead magnetic rails. A loading crane hung motionless over the center of the exchange, narrow maintenance bridges connected abandoned control rooms, and portions of the western wall had collapsed enough for polluted rain to blow inside whenever the wind shifted. Beyond those openings was nothing but the endless vertical city, towers disappearing into haze above and darkness below. Gavin had chosen a position on an upper platform where he could see most of the floor and every obvious entrance.
He stood there now with his hood pulled low, one shoulder resting against the railing while Keln's old identification image glowed on the datapad in his hand. Someone had seen him here. Gavin was nearly certain of that now. Whether Keln was using the exchange himself, meeting someone inside it, or merely passing through remained to be seen. Gavin shut the datapad off and slipped it beneath his robes. The lightsaber at his side remained concealed, though the familiar weight of it had been difficult to ignore ever since he entered the building.
A metallic sound echoed somewhere beyond the platform. Gavin's eyes lifted toward the darkened corridor behind him. He remained where he was for several seconds, listening as another noise followed the first. A door. Footsteps, perhaps. Freight Exchange Twelve was supposed to be empty tonight.
Gavin turned toward the sound.
He had spent four days looking for someone.
Maybe someone had finally decided to come looking for him.
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