Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 4 (9 page)

“I don’t need a tour of cantinas,” Ferus told him suspiciously.

Clive laughed. “I can show you those, too, mate. But let’s start with some contacts. I know a former captain in the army who can help us—Gregar Typho.”

“I know him,” Keets said. “I interviewed him a couple of times. Senator Amidala trusted him.”

“Lead on,” Ferus said.

Captain Typho was in an office off one of the wide boulevards of Theed. He rose from his desk a bit awkwardly, in the way of an active man who was unused to office work. He had a small eye patch
over one eye and was wearing a uniform over his powerful build. He remembered Keets well and greeted Clive warmly.

“I heard you were in prison,” he said.

“I wasn’t crazy about the accommodations. This is my friend, Ferus Olin. We’re all here to help locate an Inquisitor named Malorum.”

Captain Typho nodded. “We know he’s here. We’ve been tracking his movements. He began at the Imperial battalion offices—we know they’re setting up a spy network
here. We’re keeping them under surveillance even as they spy on us. They’ve taken over a government building next to the hangar. Despite the laws of Naboo, which forbid it, we suspect
they are secretly stocking weapons and explosives there.”

Curran Caladian frowned. “That’s against the laws of the Senate as well. Do you think they’re planning to take over the government?”

Typho nodded grimly. “It’s possible. They have assault ships in orbit. They’ve done this with equally uncooperative worlds, under the guise of ‘keeping order in the
galaxy.’”

“I’m well aware of their tactics,” Ferus said. “They did it on Belassa, where I come from.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Typho said. “It’s what we fear. That’s why we’ve been keeping a watchful eye on Malorum. We know how close he is to Emperor
Palpatine. The curious thing is that he doesn’t seem to be on official business. He checked in with the Imperial regent, of course, but after that, he’s been on his own, keeping a low
profile.”

“So what has he been up to?” Keets asked.

“We’ve been receiving reports from government officials that he’s been investigating the funeral of Senator Amidala.”

His face darkened. “I too have investigated the Senator’s death. I don’t believe the official reports that the Jedi killed her. They were her friends. She believed in them
absolutely; she never believed the rumors during the Clone Wars that they were abusing their power.”

“I don’t know why Malorum is interested,” Ferus said. “I only know he must be stopped.”

Typho nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help you. What do you need?”

“Do you know where he is right now?” Ferus asked.

“He’s no longer in Theed,” Typho replied. “We just got word from the Director of Essentials, who said that Malorum forced him to reveal the whereabouts of Senator
Amidala’s maternal grandmother. We’ve been trying to contact her, but she lives in seclusion and hasn’t answered our comm signals.”

Ferus stood. “You’ll have to direct us there. But first, I need to speak to Queen Apailana.”

Ferus and the others were ushered into the Queen’s presence in the throne room in the palace. She was wearing her ornate ceremonial robes—deep blue with a matching
headdress. Her face was painted white, with a red slash on her upper lip, called the scar of remembrance. Captain Typho introduced each of them, and they all inclined their heads in a short bow.
Typho then gave the queen a brief explanation of why they were on Naboo.

“I’m honored to meet so many distinguished guests,” the Queen said in her soft voice. “I offer you welcome.”

“Queen Apailana,” Ferus said, bowing his head again. “I have come to ask you something I have no right to ask you.”

“Yet here you are,” Queen Apailana said.

“I request that on my signal, you shut down all comm systems on Naboo. Internal and external comm systems.”

The Queen looked startled. “That is quite a large request,” she said.

“Queen Apailana, the Jedi as we knew them are no more,” Ferus explained. “Jedi Master Solace and I are among the last left alive. You were once a friend of the Jedi and the
Republic. Please trust us once more. Malorum is dangerous not only to Naboo but to a peaceful future for the galaxy. I know what I ask is difficult.”

“I am reluctant,” the Queen said slowly. “Yet you are right—our history with the Jedi has led me to trust what they say. I never believed the official story of Senator
Amidala’s death. I have encouraged Captain Typho to keep searching for answers, even though it seems there are none to be had. Near the end of her life, the Senator still had faith in the
Jedi. We were in constant contact, so I am sure of this. I still think of the Jedi as friends—no matter if there is one or one thousand.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“On two conditions,” the Queen said. “One, that you send the signal only out of the most dire necessity.”

“That of course would be the case,” Ferus answered.

“Two, I will shut communications down for one hour only,” Queen Apailana continued. “I cannot endanger the citizens of Naboo for longer than that. We can fake an outage for a
time, but the Imperial presence will become suspicious if the outage lasts any longer.”

Ferus inclined his head. “That should be all I need. Thank you.”

“Thank you for your service,” the Queen replied. Now it was her turn to incline her head in a gesture of respect to Ferus and the others. “Thank you for not giving
up.”

Ryoo Thule had been up before dawn. She had walked down to the lake to see the sunrise. She had noticed on the way to her home, as she climbed the steep grade back to the
house, that she was out of breath. Yet she didn’t feel winded, exactly.

She pressed a hand to her side, then against her heart. She was an elder now, but she was still surprised when her body told her so.

She remained robust and strong, still capable of walking the steep, winding paths of the cliffsides along the lake. She just had to learn to walk slowly, not scamper up the way she had when she
was a child.

That must be it.

On those early morning walks her family strolled beside her. Not the family who still lived, her daughter Jobal, her son-in-law Ruwee, their child Sola and her children, her own namesake Ryoo
and her sister Pooja. Not her sister and her children.

It was her husband, long dead, who walked beside her. Her good friend, Winama Naberrie (how they had plotted to marry off their children! How surprised they’d been when they’d
actually fallen in love!) and her beloved grandchild, Padmé. In some ways Padmé felt closer to her now that she was gone.

From an early age Padmé had been on her way to somewhere else. Oh, she had been the most loving granddaughter possible, but her visits had been respites from a busy life. She’d
never suggested, by word or look, that this was the case. Her whole heart had been in those visits. Ryoo had felt it just the same, because she was closer to Padmé than any of her other
granddaughters.

She’d had her secrets. Ryoo knew that. She’d known before Padmé had that she was in love. She’d known that love was entwined with heartbreak.

Padmé’s death had broken her own heart. Ryoo had, according to custom, been the overseer of her funeral. She had kissed her granddaughter’s cold cheek. She had tucked small
white blossoms into her clothing and hair. She had wept on a cold floor.

The grief was still a stone in her belly, but she’d found peace here. Padmé had loved this place, and Padmé was all around her. Padmé was part of the galaxy now.

Part of her stays. Somewhere out there in the stars. I feel it. It is enough to feel it. Perhaps someday…

Ryoo stood at the window looking out at the azure lake. She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart flutter. Why had she woken this morning with such a sense of foreboding? Why did
Padmé feel so especially close to her today?

What was this feeling? Why was she so restless?

She had been here for six months, mourning. It was time to return to her life in Theed. She wasn’t too old to find a renewed sense of purpose. Padmé would want that.

Maybe that was the source of her anxiety. She knew it was time to let go of her grief, and she was reluctant. She had to remind herself that leaving this place wouldn’t mean leaving her
memories of Padmé behind.

Ryoo paused by the comlink station. Its insistent blinking told her of messages she should listen to. But she wasn’t ready. Not now. Later. Her family was used to her returning messages
later in the day. They wouldn’t worry. They knew her grief needed solitude.

Ryoo smiled at that insistent red light. It spoke of the warm voices of friends and family, eager to bring her news or check on her well-being. It contained the threads of her life.

It was time to pick them up again.

She would leave tomorrow. It was time.

She heard footsteps in the reception hall below. Strange. She was alone here, without servants, and the neighbors weren’t close. She would have seen a gondola, or a speeder, if someone had
come to visit.

She walked down the stairs, her slippers whispering on the stone.

He stood, his face in shadow. His robe was deep maroon, the color of dried blood. For a moment her steps faltered. It was as though Death himself had come to call.

Then she recognized the flutter she had felt all morning, the unease. It wasn’t old age at all, it wasn’t restlessness or the realization it was time to be gone.

It was fear.

Padmé, Padmé, I’m afraid.

She told herself she was being ridiculous. She’d been right; she’d been here too long alone. She walked forward, her hand outstretched, ready to greet the stranger, for on Naboo
every stranger is a potential friend.

He threw back the hood. She saw his eyes, and suddenly she understood, with absolute certainty, what she’d felt the moment she’d awakened. She’d looked for the streaks of
lavender that meant the sun was rising, light infiltrating darkness. Now she knew what had been chasing her throughout the day, what she’d believed, what she’d feared.

She was going to die today.

The old woman was still strong. At first she appeared to greet the stranger with respect. She even offered him tea, which he refused. Malorum hadn’t received the title of
Inquisitor for nothing. He knew when even the most skillful being was holding back.

No matter. He would find out. He had come to the end of his journey. He had no more time to waste.

“I know about Naboo rituals,” he said. “I know that you were in charge of your granddaughter’s funeral.”

The woman, small and sturdy, her white hair coiled in back of her head, smiled in a condescending way that made Malorum’s vision go red for a moment. “No one is ‘in
charge’ in our funeral rites. I was there to support our grieving family. Naboo, you see, is not hierarchical like your system. Yes, we have a queen, but we elect her, as well as her
advisors.”

Malorum felt his teeth grind. “I don’t need a lesson on Naboo political philosophy.”

She inclined her head, but he could see its meaning. She thought him a pompous fool.

She would learn.

“The grandmother is there to make sure everything runs smoothly. This can be quite complicated in a state funeral,” she continued.

“Senator Amidala died of what, would you say?”

“We don’t know.”

“Were there marks on her body?”

He saw her flinch. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Who brought her to Theed?”

“I don’t know. I was summoned after she’d arrived.”

“She couldn’t have come on her own,” Malorum said dryly. “She was dead when she got here.”

The grandmother’s cheeks suddenly flushed with anger. She didn’t like the casual way he spoke of her beloved granddaughter. Yet he was choosing his words with great care. The only
way he would get anything out of this woman was to anger her.

“Whoever brought her to us did so with great care and gentleness, and that was all that concerned us at the time,” she answered.

“She was pregnant.”

Her lips pressed together.

“Did the family know who the father of her child was?”

“That is a private matter.”