[Last Of The Jedi] - 07 (10 page)

As soon as they were inside, Ferus took them to the central office where he’d seen Moff Tarkin. Then he pointed out the scientist’s meeting rooms and labs.

“I’ll take the labs,” Amie said.

“I’m going to check out the computer in the hangar,” Trever said. “Flight records might tell us something.”

“I’ll try the main computer,” Roan said. “Come on, Ferus.”

It was like old times. Ferus and Roan hit the keyboards under pressure, trying to track down secrets. Once it had been from dishonest multisystem corporations, and now it was from an empire they were certain was choking the life and heart of the galaxy.

“I’m going to key in Despayre and see what I get,” Roan said. “After you mentioned it, I researched it but didn’t find much. Outer Rim planet, in the Horuz system, a penal colony … a curious lack of real information.”

“I’m going to take a look at Tarkin’s files, see if I can access anything,” Ferus said.

For long seconds there was only the clicking of keys and buttons.

Suddenly, Roan whistled. Ferus knew that whistle. Roan was busy whipping out his datapad.

“That probably has a safety wipe on it,” Ferus warned. “If you try to download information, it will erase itself.”

“Disabled it. Don’t you remember how very good I am at this?” Roan grinned as he flipped through the data. “This is interesting. … I’ve got a memo from Tarkin to the factory manager telling him to bypass normal safeguards for any workers. We can release this information and bust a big smoking hole in their “we’re here for the betterment of Bellassa’ spacejunk.”

Ferus returned his attention to his own search. “Weapons delivery system,” he said. “That’s what they must be working on. I’ve got orders for high-functioning engineering droids…. Whoa — a shipment of Loquasin and Titroxinate.” He paused. “Some of these memos have been forwarded to ZA.”

“Friend of yours?”

“There’s only one ZA. Jenna Zan Arbor. Galactic criminal and all-around vicious rival.”

“Sounds like they’re working on weapons here as well as infrastructure. That’s totally against what they said.”

“With false labels … it’s all undercover.”

Just then Amie entered. “We’ve got about four more minutes,” she said. “I’m finding out some strange stuff. It’s not so much what they’re working on as the scale of it. Like they’re planning to take over an entire planet and redo its infrastructure or something …”

“Take a look at this,” Ferus said, tilting the data-screen toward her.

She read it swiftly. “This is similar to some of the methods they’ve used on torture victims, Roan included,” she said. “Totally against the regulations the Senate passed generations ago.”

“The Emperor doesn’t believe in following regulations,” Roan said. “He lets the Senate pass them and then ignores them. It’s a convenient version of democracy.”

“And it’s all for the good of the galaxy, remember?” Ferus said. “We’d better get out of here. Time’s up. I think we have enough. Where’s Trever?”

“Late, as usual,” Roan said, shutting down the computer. “Let’s meet him at the door.”

Running now, with the sense of the chrono ticking the time away, they reached the exit door, but no one was there.

Roan let out an exasperated sound. They had less than a minute now. Where was Trever?

Trever didn’t learn anything on the hangar computer. He wasn’t a whiz like Roan. He’d picked up a couple of hacking techniques from Ferus, but he wasn’t a mastermind.

So he did what came naturally — he snooped. In his experience, information was often not hidden in computers. It was around the next turning in the hall, or behind a closed door.

He had only ten minutes, but he could cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. Trever hoofed it down the hallway, peeking into offices and laboratories, looking for something. He didn’t know what it was, but he’d know when he found it.

He turned a corner and stopped. He was at the opposite end of the factory complex now. It should be deserted. But his senses told him otherwise. It wasn’t as though he heard something or saw something. He felt something.

He shook his head. Was that Force bunkum starting to work on him? No, it wasn’t that. It was his street instincts. He trusted them just as much as Ferus-Wan trusted his Force.

He stopped and held his breath. Closed his eyes.

Whoosh, ah. Whoosh, ah.

Well, this was a new moon day. Darth Vader. Just what he needed.

He shrank back, moving quietly. There was an equipment closet to his right, and if he could just sneak into it and get out his comlink to warn the others, he just might make it out of here alive. Except that they were on comlink silence, because they figured communications could be intercepted in an Imperial facility.

He eased into the closet and kept the door open a crack. How lucky could a guy get, meeting up with Lord-on-High Vader again?

He watched as Vader swept down the hall, waved his gloved hand over a sensor, and walked into an office.

Russell Wake had always tried to stay out of politics. He was fortunate to live on Bellassa, for it made it easy, at least before the Clone Wars. Rulers were elected, and the normal ebb and flow of scandal and missed opportunities, corruption, and grandstanding, was easy to ignore. Even when the Clone Wars began, he found himself able to avoid taking a position. He couldn’t get excited about fighting Separatists, for they were fighting a Senate that was riddled with greed and corruption. Who could say they were wrong?

Then the Empire took over. And suddenly everything he valued in his life was thrown away. The Emperor turned his stone-gray gaze on Bellassa and deemed it worthy of conquest and example. He wanted to install a governor, and the Bellassans objected. And once that objection registered as solid opposition, the Empire had to come down on them.

They had underestimated the opposition. And though he tried to keep out of it, Russell Wake’s old heart was stirred. Freedom became more than a concept to him; it was a reality as firm as the turborake he held in his hands.

The things he counted on had disappeared. The quarrelsome politicians, silenced. The press, shut down. Once the Empire had moved its garrison in and controlled the government, people were imprisoned without trial or charges; fear ruled the city, and those who ran the government were replaced if they protested.

But if Russell was moved to care about all this, it didn’t mean he ever wanted to fight it. Resistance members had physical courage. Russell could show no mercy when it came to a weed choking his silverbloom bush, but he knew very well he would crumble under any real danger. The idea of joining a resistance movement was never in his plans.

Until he walked through a door and saw Ferus Olin.

So now he sat here, his palms slick with sweat, and waited for Ferus and his crew to do whatever they needed. He had given them fifteen minutes. Surely he could hold his nerves steady for fifteen minutes.

If only they weren’t such long minutes….

His door hissed open, and he shot out of his chair so fast he smashed his knees on the console.

His worst fear stood in his doorway.

“You seem … nervous this evening,” Darth Vader said.

His heart was pounding, slamming against his chest so hard, surely it was visible. He couldn’t seem to find his breath. “It’s a long night,” he said.

Somehow, even while his heart was slamming and his breath was gone and his mouth was as dry as a desert planet, somehow he managed to stand up, right in front of the console where the indicator light shone yellow, indicating a problem with security, and block it.

“You were seen talking to Ferus Olin today,” Darth Vader said.

He pretended to look blank for a moment. “Oh, yes.” So this was what it was, just a regular inquisition. He’d heard Vader liked to question beings at odd hours, keep them off balance. He cleared his throat. Don’t clear your throat, it makes you sound guilty. “In the garden. For a few minutes.”

“What did you discuss?” “Gardening.”

Suddenly Russell felt an odd constriction in his throat. His hand flew up to loosen his tunic.

“It is not your clothing,” Darth Vader said.

The constriction grew. He was croaking out a breath now.

It wasn’t as though Russell’s life flashed before his eyes. It wasn’t as though he remembered everything from birth until this moment. He thought of his wife, and he thought of his daughter, and he thought of the courage he thought he didn’t have, and suddenly, there it was, in his hands. Courage and defiance and pride.

“I have nothing … to tell… .”

He stared into the black visor, heard the rushing sound of Vader’s breath. He felt an emptiness, as if the creature so casually choking the life out of him had no feelings about it whatsoever. He closed his eyes so he could block out that merciless void. Instead he pictured the things that nourished him. His garden. His wife. His daughter.

He was traveling down a rushing tunnel of black. Sparks shooting out of his fingers, his heels. No pain now.

He just wished … he just wished someone could know this.

He’d found his courage in the end.

*

Ferus saw immediately that the hangar was empty. He took off down the hall. He was almost to the northeast section when he saw Trever running full tilt toward him, his hair dripping with sweat.

“Vader,” he gasped out.

“Where?”

Trever pointed with his chin. “He went to an office, asked questions about you… from some old guy —”

“Russell.” Ferus started to take off, but Trever called to him.

“It’s too late.” Ferus turned. Trever’s face was ashen. “He questioned him, but Russell didn’t say anything … so …” Trever gulped in air. “I saw it. I saw it all, Ferus!”

Ferus saw that the boy was close to the edge. He had seen so many things, but he hadn’t yet seen this — the casual destruction of a living being, face-to-face, for no other motive than to extract a piece of information,

Ferus grabbed Trever and hurried him toward the laboratory. He brought him to a small room filled with equipment. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll get you when it’s safe. And take this.” Ferus handed Trever the information chip from Roan’s datapad. “Hide it.”

“But what…”

“Wil has to see it. If I don’t come back, get yourself to the hangar just before daybreak. There will be transports coming in and out. Try to sneak aboard — you’re good at that. I should be able to come back and get you.”

“But what will you —”

“Trever, there’s no time. One of us has to get out. It might have to be you. Just one thing — stay away from Vader!”

Ferus took off. He at least had to ensure Trever’s safety. He was too late for Russell.

He ran back the way he had come, thinking fast. He couldn’t fight Vader; he didn’t have the skill. He would, if it were a last resort. But his best strategy now would be to bluff. He had to remember that as far as Vader knew, he was loyal to the Empire.

He raced down the last hallway, turning toward the door where Roan and Amie waited. He skidded to a halt. Darth Vader stood between him and his friends.

Vader didn’t turn. “Ah, Olin has joined us. Perhaps you can explain what these thieves are doing here.”

“I was asked by the Emperor to keep an eye on security here,” Ferus said, improvising. Vader wouldn’t be able to check until later. And later Ferus would be back underground or off-planet.

If it worked.

“I can take them into custody,” he said.

Vader half turned. “Do you think I do not recognize

Roan Lands? Do you think I would be foolish enough to let you take him away?”

“He is a former associate, yes, but —”

It happened before he could get out another word. Faster than an eyeblink. Faster than he’d seen anyone move, anyone except Yoda.

The lightsaber hadn’t been there, and then it was, and the lightsaber was a blur. Vader moved without seeming to move, and the lightsaber sliced into Roan, straight into his chest. Straight into his heart.

Roan fell to his knees. At first, pain filmed his gaze but he didn’t flinch, he just looked at Ferus. Looked long and hard and said many things in the space of a second.

Don’t give yourself away for me.

Amie cried out and knelt to support Roan. Ferus ran forward and caught him as he fell. He didn’t care about his cover, he didn’t even care about Roan’s warning, he only knew the remarkable pain he felt.

Roan reached out for Ferus’s forearm, his fingers slipping off. Ferus picked up Roan’s hand and placed it on his arm. Then he put his hand on Roan’s other arm in their private greeting, their private farewell. He squeezed Roan’s arm, wishing he could pass his strength into him.

He’d seen enough of death to know it was too late. “Farewell, brother,” he whispered. He felt Roan’s spirit lift, he felt it fly.

And he was left alone.

So alone that there was no thought, only rage so black it blotted everything else out.

He launched himself at Darth Vader, his lightsaber in his hand.

His lightsaber came down on empty air.

He thought he’d have the element of surprise, at least, but Vader had expected the attack. He had wanted it. He had provoked it. He had killed Roan to provoke Ferus. There was no other explanation for it, and it served to fuel Ferus’s rage.

Roan had died for this?

Ferus heard Amie shout, but he couldn’t focus on anything but his own need to plunge his lightsaber deep into Vader. He whirled and attacked again, but Vader again was gone, moving with a speed and lightness that was surprising considering his body armor.

Ferus felt the dark side of the Force fill the air, choking him. And suddenly his body was wrenched forward, and he hung in the air like a puppet. He looked down at Vader’s helmet.

“I am bored,” Darth Vader said. He placed his glowing lightsaber against Ferus’s neck.

Ferus waited to be killed. He looked into that helmet and felt the stirring of something … personal. A hatred deep in a black heart, a hatred so big it was directed not so much at Ferus but at what he represented.

What is the source of his hate?