in his chair, not sure he’d heard correctly. “Say again?”
“You heard me.”
Zeerid had heard him; he just couldn’t believe it. Mere hours ago, he imagined he could never get clear of The Exchange. Now Oren was offering him just that. He tried to keep his voice steady.
“This just a drop?”
“It is a drop.”
“What’s the cargo?” He tried not to choke on the next word. “Spice?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it going?”
He figured it had to be heading to some seriously hot hole of a planet for Oren to have offered to clear his debt.
“Coruscant.” Oren pronounced the name reluctantly, as if he expected Zeerid to balk.
“That’s it?
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I did. You said ‘Coruscant.’ So what’s the catch?”
“The catch?”
“Coruscant ain’t exactly a hot LZ. It’s a vacation compared with what I’m used to. So what’s the catch?”
“You haven’t caught the holo?”
“I’ve been in hyperspace.”
“Of course.” Oren chuckled. “The Empire attacked Coruscant.”
Zeerid leaned in close, once more not sure he had heard correctly. Oren’s simple statement and the flat tone in which he delivered it did not seem to have the wherewithal to carry the import of the words Zeerid thought he’d heard.
“Repeat? There were peace negotiations taking place on Alderaan. I just saw them on the holo. What do you mean by ‘attacked’?”
“I mean attacked. An Imperial fleet is in orbit around the planet. Imperial forces occupy Coruscant. No one knows much else because the Empire is jamming communications out of Coruscant.”
Zeerid’s thoughts still could not quite wrap around the idea. How could the Empire have attacked any of the Core Worlds, much less the capital?
“How could they have gotten past the defense grid? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I neither know nor care about the particulars, Z-man. Though I gather it was a surprise attack that occurred right in the midst of the peace negotiations. If nothing else, one can appreciate the Empire’s boldness. You fought against the Empire, didn’t you, Z-man?”
Zeerid nodded. He had traded shots with Imperial forces many times, originally as a commando in the Republic army, then as … whatever he was now. For a moment, he flashed on the ridiculous notion that he should re-up with the army. He chided himself for stupidity.
“You can get the rest from the holo,” Oren said. “Meanwhile, start planning for this drop.”
The drop. Right.
“You want me to fly a ship full of spice into a freshly conquered world occupied by the Empire? You said they locked down comm traffic. They’ll have orbital traffic to a minimum, too. I can’t sneak through that, even flying dark. They’ll blow me out of space.”
“You’ll find a way.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“I have faith you’ll figure something out.”
“At the least we should wait until matters settle. The Empire will probably allow regular commercial ship traffic to resume in a week or so. At that point—”
“That will not work.”
“It’s got to work.”
“No. The cargo needs to move immediately.”
Zeerid was starting to like things less and less. His sense of smell picked up something turning to rot. “Why?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I do if I’m hauling it. Which I haven’t even decided yet.”
Oren fell silent for a moment. Then, “This is engspice.”
Zeerid blew out a sigh. No wonder the job would wipe his slate clean. Chem-engineered spice was not only especially addictive, it also altered users’ brain chemistry such that only more of the same “brand” of engspice could satisfy their need. Mere spice would not do. Dealers called engspice “the leash,” because it gave them a monopoly over their users. They could charge a premium, and did.
“We have a buyer on Coruscant whose supply is running low. He needs this order to get to Coruscant quickly, Empire or no Empire. You know why.”
Zeerid did know why. “Because if the users can’t get their brand of engspice, they’ll go through withdrawal. And if they get through that …”
“They break their addiction to the brand and our buyer loses his market. His concern over this is great, understandably.”
“Which means The Exchange got to name its price.”
“Which works well for you, Z-man. Don’t sound so contemptuous.”
Zeerid chewed the corner of his lip. He felt a bit nauseated. On the one hand, he could be free with just this run. On the other hand, he’d seen an engspice den on Balmorra once, while serving in the army. Not pretty.
“No,” Zeerid said. For strength, he stared through the cockpit canopy at Vulta, where his daughter lived, and shook his head. “I can’t do it. Spice is bad enough. Engspice is too much.