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undisciplined maze of structures that been allowed to evolve according to the whims of those who lived there. People who, according to information supplied by the NAVCOMP, were the descendants of prisoners brought in 242 years earlier to work the now-abandoned iridium mines.
    Still, the way the local population chose to live was unimportant so long as Hong could get repairs to her ship, and return it to service. That thought gave the naval officer a renewed sense of confidence as the third, and final, clearance was given by the spaceport’s Traffic Control computer, and the NAVCOMP brought the badly damaged Pax Umana in for a landing. Both Hong and her pilot were on standby in case the NAVCOMP failed, so there was very little opportunity to eyeball the spaceport as the ship’s powerful repellers sent clouds of reddish dust billowing up into the air.
    Minutes later, once the ship’s massive skids were safely on the ground, the air began to clear. That was when the main cargo hatch whirred open, a ramp was deployed, and Hong made her way down onto Imperial soil. Sivio was by her side, and the ship’s hull made loud pinging noises as it began to cool.
    Both Imperials expected a reception of some sort. No brass bands, or anything like that, but a Port Captain and some of his or her subordinates at a minimum. What they weren’t ready for was a portly civilian in stained overalls, a work-worn robot with mismatched arms, and a black-and-white mongrel, who immediately took a possessive pee on one of the Umana ’s landing skids. “Hello!” the man in the ragged overalls said cheerfully. “Welcome to Dantha! My name is Kinkel. Homer Kinkel. I’m the Port Administrator, Port Captain, and Maintenance Chief.”
    Nearly all of the dust had settled by then, and as Hong eyed the blast-scarred area around her, she saw three dilapidated in-system freighters, an old liner that had been cannibalized for parts, six Imperial fighters that constituted the planet’s entire air defense capability, a low-slung prefab building that was at least fifty years old, and a row of multicolored atmospheric craft of various designs that presumably belonged to wealthy citizens. Assuming there were any. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Hong lied as she offered Kinkel her hand. “No offense, but we need a Class III yard, and your spaceport looks like it might be a Class V at best.”
    “Yup,” Kinkel responded unapologetically. “We were decertified about a year and a half ago. There isn’t enough money to keep things up. Or that’s what Procurator Nalomy tells me—and she oughtta know.” At that point his tiny eyes went up to the ship that loomed above them. There was plenty of visible damage, including blackened craters, metal-bright scars, and a collection of scorch marks. “What hit you anyway? A swarm of meteorites?”
    Hong shook her head. “No, we were attacked by a Vord raider. The ship needs a whole lot of things—but a reconditioned hyperdrive tops the list. If we had that, we could make it to a Class III yard.”
    Kinkel shook his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. . . . The Vords are starting to get out of hand. The Emperor needs to teach the ugly bastards a lesson! As for the hyperdrive—well that’s gonna take some time. Say a month to get the request in, another month for the bureaucrats to approve it, and a third month to ship it here. Then it’ll be up to me to install it, and I’m shorthanded at the moment.”
    A dust devil appeared out in the middle of Landing Zone Two, the dog gave chase, and the robot’s head began to twitch uncontrollably. The journey was over.

TWO

Imperial City, on the planet Corin
    LEGATE ISULU USURLUS WAS SEATED AT HIS SCRUPULOUSLY clean glass desk, reviewing the items he hoped to discuss with Emperor Emor, when he heard the familiar swish of expensive fabric as Satha entered the sun-splashed room. She was tall, willowy, and as beautiful as a slave costing ten thousand