Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 5 (2 page)

What a joke. The government of Bellassa was under the domination of the Empire. Nobody would be foolish enough to conspire against it.

Palpatine’s voice curled around his ear, thick and rancid. “However, if you could extricate yourself from your other commitments, I could request leniency from the Bellassan
government. Perhaps even clemency.”

There it was—the catch.

Just like that. Snap. He was caught.

He’d expected a catch. He just hadn’t expected it to be so personal.

Trapped.

He’d walked right into it.

He’d had to agree to Palpatine’s request. He’d had no choice.

Furious, he strode down the hallway that connected him to the main Senate building. He couldn’t believe he had just agreed to work for a Sith.

He felt disgusted with himself, but he saw no way out—not if Roan and Dona’s lives were on the line. Now he was headed to the Senate landing platform, where Palpatine had arranged a
starship for him.

The usual crowd of senatorial aides, assistants, droids, and Senators swirled all around him. BD-3000 luxury droids hovered near the Senators, oozing compliments into ears and fluffing up capes.
It was a sight he remembered well from his years on Coruscant.

Yet he did not feel the same sense of busy discord he remembered from earlier times. Once there had been the buzz of conversations and arguments. Now there were blocs of Senators walking in
lockstep, their rich robes in bright colors. Their collars, the larger the better, were made of fur or stiff silk and framed their glossy, well-fed faces. They were followed by trails of
assistants, dressed just a shade less extravagantly than their bosses. Ferus saw more displays of wealth, and less displays of deference. There did not seem to be the busy hum of important work
being discussed.

The Senate had changed, and he wanted no part of it.

A new addition to the Senate was the constant presence of Prowler 1000 seeker droids. They could be assigned to track any individual. He was certain that from the minute he stepped foot outside
Palpatine’s office, his movements were being watched.

He’d have no opportunity to get to Dex’s hideout now. He couldn’t even risk using his comlink. He had to assume that comm transmissions were monitored. Somehow he’d have
to find a way once he was on Samaria. He couldn’t trust the comm unit on the ship, either.

Trapped.

Ahead he saw a worker mopping up the hallway. Dressed in bright yellow coveralls, the man bent over the vibromop, putting as little energy as possible into the task. His dark hair was covered by
a rag that he had knotted in four corners, and he wore a face mask, no doubt to protect his lungs from constantly breathing in the strong cleanser. He swung the vibromop wide, and Ferus had to
dance away in order to prevent himself from tripping over it.

“Sorry about that, mate,” the worker said, and Ferus realized with a pleased shock that it was Clive.

“I see you’ve found your calling at last,” Ferus murmured. He bent down to pretend to examine a spray of cleanser that had dotted his trousers. “They’ve arrested
Roan and Dona.”

The prowler buzzed overhead, and he moved on. Within a few steps he saw a cafe, one of the many eating areas tucked underneath the overhangs on the Senate’s main hallways. A waiter was
sponging off a table, dressed in the gray tunic the servers wore. Now that he was alert for it, Ferus picked out Keets right away.

He stopped at the counter and ordered a small cup of juice. He stood, sipping it, as the line moved forward, shielding him momentarily from the prowler. Keets approached to wring out the sponge
at the sink near Ferus.

“Heading directly to Samaria,” Ferus said as he turned away.

He walked down the hallway, turned the corner, and saw a young boy selling the
Senatorial Record Digest
. Although the Senate cam droids sent official transcripts directly to the
computers of the Senators, many of them still preferred to pick up durasheet copies of the digest, which summarized the events of a day, hour by hour.

This time, the newsboy was Trever, his bluish hair covered by a cap with a visor that shadowed his face.

Ferus reached out for the newssheet. “Blackmailed me to take the job,” he said, tossing Trever a credit.

He pretended to scan the
Record
as he walked, then tossed it in a wastebin by a fresher. He waved his hand over the sensor to enter. The prowler followed him inside. The droid was as
impossible to shake off as bantha drool.

He paused to wash his hands. An attendant handed him a towel. It was Oryon, his Bothan friend. Oryon had swathed his powerful frame in coveralls and his luxuriant mane in a close-fitting
cap.

He dried his hands. “Computer systems crash on Samaria,” he murmured.

He walked out. He knew that they would pass each tidbit of information along until they had a full picture of his dilemma. Despite his predicament, his heart felt full. He was surrounded by
friends. Each one of them was wanted by the Empire. Each one of them was endangered by being here. Yet they were here.

Ferus reached the landing platform. He saw a pilot drinking a mug of tea by the opulent personal transports of the Senators. He was a slender Svrenini in a pilot’s uniform. It was Curran
Caladian, his furred face neatly combed, his bright eyes covered by the visor on his helmet. Ferus walked by him, pretending to admire a gleaming Nubian yacht with a chromium hull.

Drawing closer, he said, “I’ll be going to the city of Sath. Reporting to an Imperial advisor.”

He walked on. The only one of his crew he hadn’t seen was Solace, but he didn’t expect to. Out of all his friends, she was the most wanted by the Empire. The entire Imperial army and
security forces, as well as Coruscant police, were on the alert for her. She had fought a battle in the underworld of Coruscant, trying to protect the group she’d gathered in the caverns of
the underground oceans. She’d personally taken down squads of stormtroopers. It was truly too dangerous for her to be here.

An Imperial officer met him at the ship and told him the coordinates were already entered into the nav computer. The ship would need no refueling. He was not to stop at any space station. They
were awaiting him in Sath. He was to land directly on the prime minister’s landing platform.

The officer turned away as Ferus started toward the ramp. Suddenly another pilot accosted him.

“Don’t think you’re jumping the fueling line, fella,” she said in a grating tone. “I’ve been here for twenty minutes.”

It was Solace. She had disguised herself so well he didn’t think he’d have been able to pick her out if she hadn’t said something. She seemed taller and broader. She wore a
black helmet and gloves up to her elbows, and tall boots.

“Got all the info,” she told him quickly. “I’ll take Trever and Oryon to Bellassa to track Roan and Dona. Trever knows the ropes there. Keets and Curran will stay on
Coruscant and dig for information. Clive will follow you to Samaria.”

Her calm dark eyes met his for a moment. “I will find Roan and Dona. I’ll bring them to safety.”

It was a promise, from one Jedi to another.

They didn’t say it, but their gazes sent the message:
May the Force be with you
.

Ferus turned and strode up the ramp. Moments later, the ship shot out into the space lanes. He headed for the hyperdrive ring, and he was off.

Samaria was a small planet in the tiny system of Leemurtoo, in a strategic area of the Core Worlds. After receiving permission to land, Ferus buzzed over the city of Sath to
get an airborne view.

The Samarians had manufactured a huge bay that was channeled into large canals that ran though the city. Along the edges of the bay, the engineers had built fingers of white sand that flung out
into the aquamarine water, forming flowerlike designs. On these fingers were the most exclusive buildings, primarily residences and offices for the rich. The buildings were topped with domes that
competed for attention, each with its own rich color and metallic inlays.

The complex of buildings that comprised the royal court of Samaria took up one whole flower made up of ten long petals with gleaming white buildings built of synthstone.

Ferus decided to ignore his instructions to land on the private landing platform of the prime minister of Samaria. Instead he headed for the main spaceport of Sath. He could always claim
ignorance, and he wanted to get a feel for the city on his own, before he was briefed by some Imperial or government functionary.

“Boots logic,” his Master, Siri Tachi, had called it. She meant get your feet on the ground, look around, and get a feel for the place yourself, instead of relying on the data you
were given.

After landing, he activated the ramp and received a blast of heat from the dry air. He headed over to register with the dockmaster, a Samarian who waved him off. “You’ve already been
cleared. The spaceport is closed to all vehicles but those with Imperial registration,” he said. He turned back to the pile of durasheet records on his desk. “Can’t believe I have
to do this without a computer,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you just wait until the data is up and running again?” Ferus asked.

The Samarian looked up and blinked his mild blue eyes. “But then I’d be behind.”

“True,” Ferus said. He recognized a dedicated bureaucrat when he saw one.

“Take the turbolift down to the city levels. If you take an air taxi, you take your life in your hands. Space lanes are free-for-alls now. No controls at all.”

Ferus nodded and walked to the turbolift. He took it down to the main level of Sath. It was a three-level city, with buildings of various sizes punching through the main street levels. Laid out
on a grid, it had numerous ways for pedestrians to navigate with lift tubes, mobile ramps, and movers that could carry up to forty people at a time. All of the walkways were under cooling systems
and shaded from the hot sun. Many buildings were connected by covered walkways at various levels. It was possible to walk the entire city without going outside. Fountains had been designed to
refresh the air but were now shut off, no doubt because of the citywide system failure.

Ferus alternately walked and hopped on a repulsorlift mover. He saw disorder everywhere. Obviously the breakdown of the system had affected everything. The people were distressed, milling about,
carrying on anguished conversation and desperately waiting in long lines. Considered highly advanced, the system on Sath didn’t use physical credits, relying on computers to record every
transaction, from a mug of tea to the purchase of a speeder. Now there were long lines at banks, clinics, and food distribution outlets. Frustrated Sathers crowded the streets, relying on barter to
get what they needed.

Lighting systems were on half-power. Huge vidscreens that had once broadcast news and information were blank. The air lanes were snarled with traffic.

He could feel the panic in the air. This was a society on the brink of spiraling out of control.

Ferus finished his journey at the expanse of a blue-green bay. He hopped a repulsorlift ferry to take him out to the large, flowerlike span where the government residences were built. The heat
was like a blast from a flamegun as he made his way down the empty boulevard.

He reached the gate to the palace and stood in front of the vidscreen, then realized it wasn’t working. He looked around for a button to push or a comm device to activate but met only the
smooth stone wall of the gate.

Then it slid open and he stared into the muzzle of a blaster rifle. The soldier was dressed in sand-colored fatigues. “State your business.”

“Ferus Olin. I’m expected.”

The soldier checked a durasheet. “This way.”

Ferus followed him into the entryway to the palace. It was a large, sprawling white structure with seven domes inlaid with stone the color of the sea. Huge slabs of stone had been cut and placed
in a striking pattern on the floor of the entryway. The glowlights were set in beautiful globes of blue glass. Ferus followed the soldier into a reception area lined with long, low seating with
tapestried cushions. He stood in the center of the tiled floor, a mosaic of a map of Sath. He looked down and reflected how fragile a mighty city could be.