by Jude Watson
She didn’t reply, and Ferus guided the airspeeder toward a cluster of official buildings in a central area of the city of Aldera. He’d have to dump Hydra somehow. She was too watchful. His job here was to investigate the report as fast as possible and then close the book on it. He didn’t want her around. Obi-Wan seemed less interested in the possible presence of a Force-sensitive child than he was in getting the Inquisitors off the scent. If Ferus found the child, he’d be honor-bound to make sure he or she was protected. It could be tricky.
He was anxious to get free of Hydra and contact Amie Antin. She was a doctor and scientist, and he needed her expertise. Just days ago he’d broken into EmPal SuRecon and was able to steal some supply records. The Emperor’s private medical facility had to have been the place where Darth Vader’s suit had been constructed and fitted. No other place in the galaxy had that expertise. Ferus hoped that after Amie Antin analyzed the records, she’d be able to give him a clue to Vader’s identity, or at least a place to start.
If his suspicions were correct, Darth Vader was a fallen Jedi. Not only that, Ferus had the nagging feeling that he’d known him. Perhaps even known him well.
If Ferus could discover the nature of Vader’s injuries, he might discover who he’d been. That might give him an edge in a battle.
Because they were heading for a fight.
Vader had killed his partner Roan Lands in cold blood. He had done it just to infuriate Ferus. He had taken a life just for his own amusement.
He had to pay for that.
Ferus knew that by giving in to his rage he was jeopardizing his rediscovered grasp of the Force. He had never become a Jedi officially; he had resigned from the Order when he was still an apprentice. He knew his limitations. He wouldn’t be much of a match for Vader as he was.
He had learned detachment as a Jedi Padawan, but he didn’t feel detached. Not at all. A calm, steady fury was at the core of him now. It needed only a trigger to explode. He had been taught all his life that avenging a death was wrong. But this didn’t feel wrong.
The Emperor had told him that he could teach Ferus about the dark side of the Force. He had told him that his anger would only make him stronger. Ferus had to admit he’d been right. You couldn’t argue with results. The few times he’d tapped into his anger and felt the dark side of the Force, he’d been able to move objects at shocking velocities just by concentrating his rage.
Before he’d left Coruscant, he’d met briefly with the Emperor. Palpatine had given him a Sith Holocron, small enough to tuck into his tunic pocket. He’d told him that if he had the courage to access it he could gain great power.
He didn’t tell him what he’d see. He didn’t tell him what he’d learn. But the way he’d rasped the word power, the way he’d caressed the Holocron, had told Ferus everything. If he wanted to beat Vader, this was the only way.
He hadn’t yet accessed the Holocron. He could feel it in his tunic, lending a weight out of proportion to its size. Sometimes it seemed to have warmth. Sometimes it was like an icy burn that penetrated the fabric of his clothes. Sometimes it seemed to affect him in odd ways. It felt as though the world was fracturing along invisible fault lines. There was a curious doubleness to his vision, as though he could see through things into their core underneath. Sometimes he felt a flash of contempt toward his fellow beings and their weakness.
Keeping it close felt dangerous enough.
Trever Flume waved his hand over the sensor that turned the stairs into a ramp and slid down to the front door. He plugged in the exit code of Dex’s hideout on Coruscant and headed out into Thugger’s Alley. There was a meeting in progress, and though the topic was exciting—at last, the meeting of resistance leaders from planets all over the galaxy would take place—the talk was dull.
How could they organize a galactic resistance if they couldn’t agree on the simplest thing: a place to meet?
Wil, the head of the already-legendary Eleven on Bellassa, had suggested a planet in the Outer Rim. But none of the resistance leaders thought that was a good idea. Too many checkpoints between here and there, although they would feel relatively safe once they arrived. Dex had suggested Coruscant, where he could provide security, but that suggestion was met with outrage. Put themselves right under the Emperor’s nose? A good portion of the resistance leaders, the ones appearing in hologram form, had offered their homeworlds. They thought their networks were tight enough to guarantee safety, but only on their own planets. In other words, they didn’t trust anyone else to provide security for them. Because they didn’t yet trust each other.
Whatever. All Trever knew was that the arguments bored him silly. It was almost as bad as sitting in the Senate galleries.
Trever exited from Thugger’s Alley, knowing every step he had taken down the twisting byway had been monitored by Dex’s security system. He walked through the seedy levels of the Orange District, used to them now. He hardly gave a look to the other denizens of the district, where even Imperial security forces hesitated to enter. If you lived here, you knew not to initiate eye contact.
No turbolifts or pedestrian transports worked here. If a project was begun to improve the lighting, or resurface the walkways, it would be sabotaged or mysteriously destroyed, no matter how much security was used to cordon it off. So getting out of the Orange District took some time. But time was something that Trever had plenty of. That group would keep blabbing forever. No one would even notice that he’d skipped out.
Trever was wanted on his homeworld of Bellassa, but here on Coruscant he felt oddly safer than anywhere else. He’d rather have a crush of beings to hide in. If he felt the need for air and light, he found his way to the surface and entered into the swiftly flowing currents of pedestrians in the Senate district. He felt invisible there.
And besides, before Ferus had left Coruscant, he’d given Trever a secret mission to do.
The crowds surged around him on the pedestrian walkway in the Senate district. Bright sunlight caused random flares to burst from the metallic detailing on the airspeeders flashing in the space lanes. Trever kept his eyes open for Imperial security, which sometimes initiated random ID checks.
He was often alone now. Astri’s son, Lune Oddo, was on the secret asteroid base that Ferus had established. Lune had been in training with Ry-Gaul, but the silent Jedi had brought him to Garen Muln for more lessons. Even though Garen was frail now, he had a special, newfound gift for teaching. Garen had been one of the most daring Jedi pilots back when the Jedi were still around. Now he was in seclusion on the asteroid and had, he said, discovered new parts of himself, like patience.
Trever was surprised to find himself missing Lune. He’d never paid much attention to the kid until the eight-year-old had been kidnapped and forced to enroll in the new Imperial Naval Academy. Trever had enrolled in order to get him out, and he’d discovered that the little guy had full-moon smarts and nerves of durasteel. Not to mention that he was pretty good company. They’d spent a bit of time together before Ry-Gaul had whisked him off to the asteroid. Maybe it was the spooky Force-connection Lune had, but the kid definitely kept you on your toes.
Trever hopped on a moving ramp that brought him up another fifty levels in the crisscrossing levels and mid-levels of the district. As the ramp moved upward, a new perspective of the shimmering buildings appeared. His gaze rested on the ruined Jedi Temple, now directly in front of him.
He turned his head. He’d been inside the Temple with Ferus, early in their friendship. He’d hung onto that spire and followed Ferus inside. Even he, with no Force connection at all, had felt the power that still hummed inside those walls.
It hurt his eyes to see it now.
He’d heard the ruined Temple was now a site of ghoulish fascination to the elite of Coruscant. It was a place where so many Jedi had died. It was considered a mark of status if you’d been permitted to tour it. The whole idea disgusted him. He wouldn’t tell Ferus. He knew how much it would upset him.
Just th
en, to his surprise, he caught sight of Flame above, moving through the crowds. As the ramp moved upward, he saw her turn onto another walkway. He leaped off the ramp and followed her.
He caught up with her near the fountains on the edge of one of the many plazas surrounding the Senate building.
“Sightseeing?” he asked as he came up beside her.
She must have jumped a meter. “I didn’t see you,” she said. “Trever, you gave me a fright. I’m always on the lookout for an Imperial ID check.”
“Sorry.” He leaned back against the fountain wall, feeling the spray against his neck. “What are you doing in these parts?”
“Is the meeting over?” she asked, running over his words. An anxious look was on her face. “They asked me to leave so they could debate more freely.”
“They’re still blabbing away.” Trever shook his head. “You’d think a bunch of resistance fighters would have more nerve. Everyone’s afraid of being caught.”
“It’s a question of trust,” Flame said, looking at the play of sunlight on the fountain. Her green eyes narrowed. “Decisions like this take a cohesiveness that the group doesn’t have yet.”
“Cohesiveness?” Trever snorted. “It takes guts. That’s all.”
“They’ve already proved their courage,” Flame chided gently. She frowned. “But I don’t like this. I’m afraid Moonstrike will fall apart. I had a meeting with Bail Organa. I was given an introduction to him by one of the resistance leaders, a former trusted associate of his. I asked him to join Moonstrike, and he refused. He said there was no resistance on Alderaan and that he was committed to working through the Senate. He must be lying,” she said, clasping her hands together. “There’s got to be an underground movement on that planet. What does Ferus say?”
“He only just got there. He didn’t say much.”
“Bail Organa is the key,” Flame said. “If only we had Senators in Moonstrike! That would lend it legitimacy. We could form a galaxy-wide movement for certain then, with a political arm and a military one. But if Bail Organa refuses, others will.” She turned to Trever. “Do you think Ferus could convince him?”
“Ferus is undercover,” Trever said. “Organa thinks he’s part of the Empire, remember?”
“Well, he’d have to reveal his identity as a double agent, of course,” Flame said. “But Bail Organa is trustworthy. We need him, Trever!”
“I’ll ask Ferus,” Trever said. He’d do just about anything for Flame. Rumor had it she’d sacrificed a pretty sweet life and a personal fortune to start the Moonstrike movement. Next to Ferus, he admired her more than anyone in the galaxy. “But all I can do is ask. You can’t make Ferus do something he doesn’t think is right. He’s really annoying that way.”
“Tell him how important it is,” Flame urged.
Trever nodded, noting how strained Flame seemed. She was usually so cool and collected, even under blaster-fire. He guessed it was because she was so close to her goal.
“I’m counting on you,” Flame said. She smiled and reached out to tug at the brim of the cap he wore to conceal his bluish hair. “As I always do.”
The affection of the gesture pleased him as much as the confidence in her eyes. “I won’t let you down,” he promised.
He continued on his way. He looked above and saw the tall Republica 500 tower ahead. Ferus had contacted him earlier that day and asked him to check out the security measures there.
Ferus still felt bad that when he’d broken into EmPal SuRecon he’d had to leave one of the scientists, Linna Naltree, behind. She’d willingly returned to continue as the barbaric scientist Jenna Zan Arbor’s assistant, in order to ensure that Lune and Ferus would be able to escape. Ferus owed her a debt, and he intended to get her out if he could. The first step was to see if she was staying at the Republica tower along with Zan Arbor, who had demanded an apartment in that most exclusive housing tower in the city.
They still didn’t know what Zan Arbor was working on, but they knew it involved Darth Vader. More investigation was needed. Linna might know by now what the secret project was. If they could get to her, they could discover what she knew and free her from Zan Arbor’s grip. A little surveillance was the first step.
Trever stopped in an exclusive florist that he knew sold exotic blooms from all over the galaxy. He balked at the prices and finally chose the cheapest thing he could find, a small plant with vibrant yellow leaves native to the planet Huro. He asked them to wrap it extra carefully, with plenty of their signature lilac gemweb fabric and trailing rainbow ribbons. He got attitude from the clerk but he didn’t care. He picked it up and headed for the plaza in front of the tower.
The elite of Coruscant swirled through the plaza, some striding forward quickly, as though they were on their way to a crucial appointment, others carefully balancing ridiculous coiffures and headdresses, walking in a slow, stately fashion so that others would notice them. Trever felt invisible as he moved through the crowd. No one noticed just another insignificant boy, one of the hundreds who ran errands and did the Senators’ bidding. They were on the lowest rung of the Senate hierarchy. Trever had been sure to get hold of the brown caps they wore pulled down to their eyebrows. Under the brim, his gaze could study the front of the tower and see through the massive transparisteel doors into the lobby. Within only a few moments he’d scoped out the security.
Not completely, of course. He knew from being a street thief on Bellassa that there was security you saw and security you could only guess at. He would be able to make it into the lobby without trouble, thanks to his package. But he’d have to do some curvy tricks to get himself inside a turbolift.
Luckily, when it came to curvy tricks, he was an expert.
Ferus had only asked him to scope out the obvious and speculate on the rest. Ferus hadn’t asked him to actually break into Zan Arbor’s apartment.
But he was going to anyway.
Ferus left the airspeeder with Hydra and took off his Inquisitor robe, stuffing it in his pack. He immediately felt better, lighter, and easier in his mind.
He struck out into the streets of Aldera. Like a Jedi on a mission, he wanted his boots on the ground. Sometimes a simple walk through a city plaza could tell you more about the state of a planet than a full briefing.
Aldera was built on an island over a vast shallow lake. Most of the buildings were built from the same glowing white stone, with domes and towers thrusting up into a sky that seemed to arc like a delicate teacup overhead. The people of Aldera went about their business with pleasant expressions, hailing friends, slowing their steps to admire the day, stopping at a café. Unlike the other worlds he had visited, Alderaan didn’t seem touched by the hand of the Empire.
And that worried him.
He didn’t know if the Emperor had plans for Alderaan, but he sensed that the people here thought he would never dare to. They were protected by their Queen, by their Senator, and by their own peacefulness. Alderaan had banned weapons long ago, and its citizens had found a way to coexist without the strife and anger that split other societies.
Ferus knew that sooner or later Palpatine would turn his eye on Alderaan. Bail was too powerful a figure to allow to remain so influential. It might take months or years, but it would happen.
Ferus felt his comlink signal buzz against his side. He saw that it was a coded message. Hoping it was Amie Antin, he drifted over to a small park tucked in between two buildings. The park was in shade and no one was sitting there. He stood and answered.
“I’m glad I could reach you. It’s Amie.”
“You have news for me?”
“I’ve gone over the information you forwarded to me from the break-in at EmPal. I haven’t found much. Except…during the time period you gave me there was an emergency shipment of a special strain of bacta that has been proven effective in cases of severe burns and regeneration of tissue. That would be standard equipment for any med center. Except…”
Amie’s voice faded out, and he couldn’
t tell if it was the transmission or her hesitancy. “Except?” he prompted.
“Added to this emergency shipment was a trio of detoxification drugs and devices specifically designed to treat a being with heavy metal contamination. Which means that most likely a patient had been injured in either a mine explosion or, more likely, a volcanic eruption in which the lava held an unusually high concentration of metal allotropes….”
“Amie, I beg you. Get to the point.”
“So I researched mining planets and volcanic planets, but the database was just too large to pin down. So I went back to the supply list and found something I’d overlooked. Well, I hadn’t overlooked it, but it hadn’t seemed significant. One of the med agents ordered for the center had been ordered in a very small quantity, too little, really, to be logical if it was a standard order for outfitting a new care facility. This was a rush shipment of a very expensive medication, which only has one medical use: to neutralize an extremely rare but toxic heavy metal that is only found on two hundred and eleven planets…” Amie took a breath “…which I cross-checked for volcanic activity. The weird thing is that this allotrope can’t survive in normal lava; the lava has to be a bit cooler. Say about eight hundred degrees.”
“That sounds pretty hot to me.”
“That’s because you’re not a volcano. So this particular allotrope stays liquid, which increases its toxicity. So then I cross-checked for volcanic eruptions in the last year of the Clone Wars, and amazingly enough, because this never happens, only forty-three planets met all the criteria.”
Ferus sighed. Forty-three wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t close enough. It would take time to narrow down the list. “Thank you, Amie, you can send the—”
“Wait. I’m not finished. I took the list to Dex, and Oryon was there. Remember he was a master spy at the end of the Clone Wars? Well, he recognized one of the planets. Reports at the end of the Clone Wars cited it as a hideout for the Separatist Council. Mustafar. Look, I’m a scientist, so I don’t like jumping to conclusions. All of this is speculative. But if I had to guess where this patient had been injured, I would bet on Mustafar.”
