Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 4 (7 page)

All in all, he’d rather have a lightsaber.

Already he heard them coming. They didn’t let you sit for long.

He still had the Force. It was here, even on this stinking, dismal planet, even in this dark cage of a room. It was inside him and around him and he could access it whenever he chose.

He stood.

Today he would either die or escape.

It would be his choice. Not theirs.

The door slid open. There were six stormtroopers. One was an officer, consulting a datapad attached to his wrist.

“Ferus Olin, criminal from the planet Bellassa. Retinal scan.” He held up a scanner to Ferus’s eye. “Identification confirmed.”

They pushed him into another room, a larger one, with several chairs with restraints that were bolted to the ceiling and trailed down like lethal vines. There was a med droid in the corner. So
it would be lethal injection.

They pushed him past the droid. He palmed the restraining bolt as he passed. He hoped the guards would keep shoving him, and they did, poking him with their blaster rifles. He pretended to
stumble and reached out with an arm to steady himself. He grabbed on to the med droid.

“Off!” The stormtrooper slammed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder.

The pain radiated down Ferus’s arm. It didn’t matter. He’d been able to slip the bolt into the droid’s socket.

They brought him toward the chair, then slammed him down into it.

“Prepare injection,” the officer said.

The droid didn’t move.

“Prepare injection!” the officer snapped.

“Restrained,” the droid answered succinctly.

“What?”

The officer turned. It was the moment Ferus had been waiting for. With one kick he sent one stormtrooper into another; an elbow sent a third spinning. The Force hummed around him as he leaped
over the pile, snatching up two blasters on the way. He twisted in midair, held himself motionless for one instant to blast the droid to smithereens, then landed. He dived away from blaster fire
and used the momentum to roll himself like a ball, taking down the rest of the stormtroopers. On his way up he grabbed a security card out of a stormtrooper’s utility belt.

The officer faced him, his blaster held steady.

Ferus held his blasters. Neither of them moved.

The officer fired. Ferus had already taken advantage of the instant before the blast and leaped. He fired above at the ceiling. The bolts holding the restraints in place fell. The restraining
cables dropped to the floor. He wrapped the officer in them and fled.

Since he’d been in the restraint box, he wasn’t sure where he was in the prison complex. He would have to find the factory. He wasn’t sure if Clive had been able to disable the
loader but he had to assume that the plan was on schedule. Clive would expect him to show up. If he didn’t, he had no doubt that Clive would leave without him…if he could.

Ferus ran through the halls. There had to be another entrance to the factory, one for the guards to use.

He found it. The blast doors opened with a swipe of the card. The racket of the factory assaulted his ears.

Glad to kiss this place good-bye.

He ducked behind a machine. The line of prisoners kept their faces toward their work. A guard patrolled—up and down, up and down. Ferus could see no disruption in routine. In the distance,
the transport freighter sat, while a conveyor ramp rolled crate after crate inside.

Then he heard the crackle of a transmitter and saw an officer walking quickly down the aisle, toward the freighter. Another officer was hurrying from the opposite direction.

Ferus was covered by the noise of the machines and the regular routine of the patrolling guard. While the guard’s back was to him, he rushed forward and took down the first officer. The
officer cracked his head on machinery and was out cold.

Keeping his head down, Ferus ran past the clamor of the turbines stamping durasteel into sheets and forming them into gears and pins. He grabbed a handful of gears as he ran.

By now the prisoners had noted him but they said nothing. If one of them was going to break out, he would make it or not make it. They would neither help him nor hinder him. But he could feel
their avid interest in his progress and their conviction that he would fail.

The bay doors were open now, and the second officer was striding up the ramp, ready to do the manual count. No doubt he expected his fellow officer at any moment. They had a window of time to do
this. Once he was unable to raise the officer on his comlink, the officer would become suspicious.

“About time you showed up.” Clive was beside him now.

“Blasters.” Ferus said the word not as a need but a warning.

“Wha—”

Ferus had felt the surge in the Force, warning him. He shoved Clive down as the blaster fire exploded overhead. It hit a stamping machine, sending molten fire through it.

“We’ve been spotted,” Ferus said.

“You think?”

They raced up the ramp, zigzagging to avoid the fire from the guards behind them. Stormtroopers appeared and thundered up the ramp. Clive used an old trick, tossing the handful of gears down the
ramp. The stormtroopers slipped and fell. With a Force-push, Ferus gave them an extra boost, sending them flying back onto the factory floor.

Clive gave him a surprised look but there was no time for questions. Clive hurled the spoon, end over end over end, toward the sole Imperial officer. It hit him straight in the center of the
forehead with such force that the officer’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a heap. Ferus quickly closed the bay doors.

“Cockpit,” Clive said. “They’ll be coming after us with the big guns now.”

“Those weren’t the big guns?”

They raced to the cockpit and barreled through the door. Two freighter pilots stood up from where they’d been lounging with one eye on the nav computer panel. They saw the blaster in
Ferus’s hand and the determined look in Clive’s eyes.

They held up their hands. “I didn’t sign on for this,” one said.

“Me either,” said the other.

“The door’s that way,” Clive said. He hit the cockpit ramp button with his fist.

They catapulted themselves out, jumping off the ramp before it hit the floor. Clive hit the ramp control again as Ferus fired up the engines.

The freighter ship shot into the sky. The prison became a gray blur in the middle of a jungle.

And then the first starfighters began to rise from the landing platform below.

“Do they have to be so stinking
fast
?” Clive muttered.

“What’s the status on our weapons system?” Ferus asked, pushing the speed.

Clive reviewed the computer readouts. “Uh, not great. We’ve got a couple of low-power laser cannons.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Ferus gave a quick glance at the nav computer. The Imperial starfighters were gaining. The freighter was old and slow. Its weapons were rudimentary. They could play hide-and-seek, but there were
no asteroids in the vicinity, and anyway it would be like hiding a Wookiee behind a twig.

“We didn’t come this far to be turned into space dust,” Clive said fiercely.

But they both looked out at the ships and knew they were doomed.

Trever and the others had kept in touch at first, but as the planet Dontamo drew closer they maintained comm silence. Even if they scrambled communications, they didn’t
want Imperial scouts to pick up anything.

Dex had pulled in a major favor and outfitted them with two small starships. They had seen service in the Clone Wars and their hulls were battered and pockmarked with the ghosts of small
asteroid collisions and missile fire. But the engines were tweaked and their hyperdrives had been overhauled.

Trever, Keets, and Solace were in one modified ARC-170 starfighter, Oryon and Curran in an overhauled Jedi starfighter. Their plan was not much of a plan, in Trever’s opinion, but they
didn’t have a choice. They simply had to land and see what they found. There was no time to obtain the prison specs, no time for surveillance. If an execution order had been issued, the small
group of combatants had to move as fast as they could and take their chances.

Trever kept his eyes on the nav computer. He was alert for any signs of Imperial patrol ships. Oryon had told him that they often did routine inspections of the airspace surrounding the prison
worlds. Every nerve inside him was screaming to land and find Ferus.

Suddenly he sat forward. “Something’s going on. Look.” He pointed to the dots on the computer. “A ship is being chased.”

“A freighter, by the looks of it.” Solace keyed in a few strokes. “And those are starfighters.”

“Imperial starfighters chasing an old freighter? Why?”

“Not our problem. Could be good news for us,” Solace said. “They’ll be distracted by whatever’s going on, and we can—”

She stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” Solace’s face had suddenly gone still and tight, a look Trever was becoming familiar with.

“The Force. Something…” She stared hard at the screen. “Ferus is on that ship.” She reached for the comm unit. “Oryon, come in. The ship on XYZ coordinates
1138, 1999, 2300—”

“We see it.”

“Our target is on that ship. And at the controls, by the looks of it.”

“Looks like he could use a hand. Let’s go.”

Trever was suddenly slammed back in his seat as Solace took the fighter into a spinning dive.

“Did I warn you to hang on?” she yelled over the scream of the engines.

Trever felt plastered back against the seat. He had seen Solace’s piloting skills, navigating through the tight spaces and close shaves that was Coruscant air traffic. This was combat
flying—fast, dangerous. It might have even felt exhilarating, if he hadn’t also felt like he was about to die any second.

“You’re going to have to operate the laser cannons,” Solace told him. “Can you do it?”

“I’m pretty good,” Trever said, even though technically he hadn’t operated any before.

“Get to it,” she said. “Just don’t shoot Oryon.”

Trever switched on the cannons. He spread his legs, keeping his balance, his eye at the scope. The Imperial fighters were firing on the starfreighter. Compared to the agile fighters, the
freighter looked like a gigantic clumsy tractor plowing through stars.

The starfighters hadn’t realized the two newcomers were a threat, not yet. They might get a few clear shots first.

Trever lined up a shot. Almost within range. Almost…almost.…

He pressed the activator—

—and was rewarded with the bloom of smoke from one of the starfighters.

“Good work!” Solace shouted. “Let me get closer. They’ll be on us now.”

Trever quickly discovered that shooting at a starfighter was much more difficult when the star-fighters were engaged in evasive maneuvers…and shooting back at him.

Space suddenly erupted in fire. It had bumps and peaks and valleys, currents of percussive bumps that Solace rode with ease, one hand on the controls, the other on her own weaponry controls.

Oryon was looping around the starfighters, peppering them with fire and trying to stay between them and the freighter. Suddenly Ferus’s voice popped into their frequency.

“Whoever you are, thank you!” he yelled.

“It’s us, sweetcake. Watching your back as usual,” Keets’s voice boomed out.

“It’s good to see you! I owe you one.”

“You owe us plenty!” Trever shouted from the gunport.

Oryon’s constant blaster hammering hit one starfighter, which spiraled out of control. Now only two were left, and Solace and Oryon proved to be the better pilots, maneuvering their ships
so that they boxed the starfighters in, then blasted them. Fire burst on their wings and fuselage and they careened down toward the prison world.

Ferus’s freighter did a lazy circle around them.

“How about a rendezvous point?”

Solace clicked through the possibilities. “How about Alba-16? It’s not far, and the Empire has no real presence there.”

“And it’s got a great cantina!” an unfamiliar voice roared through the comm unit.

“Who was that?” Oryon asked.

Trever felt his heart rise as he heard Ferus’s chuckle. It was good to hear it. He couldn’t help feeling that everything would be okay.

“Don’t ask,” Ferus said.

It wasn’t until Alba-16 was close that Clive brought up to Ferus what he’d seen. He was sitting in the copilot’s chair, boots on the console, leaning back as
far as the chair would allow him to go.

“I always thought there was something odd about you, but I never guessed you were a Jedi,” he said.

“I was never a Jedi,” Ferus corrected. “I left when I was still a Padawan.”

“Never heard of one leaving. A story there, eh?” Clive said, but he didn’t ask for it. “You could have told me. I would have felt a mite easier about our escape
probability factor. As it was, I thought for sure we were going to die.”

“My abilities aren’t as sharp as they were. And I had no lightsaber. I didn’t want you to overestimate what I could do.”

“Well, it was a nice surprise, mate. You did all right.”