Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 9

by Jude Watson

  Bail closed the panel on the security screen and left his office quickly. He decided to meet Vader head on.

  He walked without hurrying toward the back rooms of the palace, the private family rooms that Vader had now polluted with his presence. He had already sent Breha to keep Leia out of sight along with the other children. He would stand between Vader and his family and his homeworld. He would not let the corruption in.

  The Dark Lord lurked in the inside-outside room they used in the mornings and evenings because the blush of sunset made it glow like a flower. Bail couldn’t stand the sight of him there.

  “Lord Vader, if you would follow me to the reception room,” he said coldly.

  Vader ignored the request. “It has come to my attention that you are organizing a protest against the installation of Imperial Governors.”

  “It is the right of any Senator to deliver votes against measures adopted by the majority.”

  “You are trying to organize a voting bloc.”

  “And I am within my full rights to do so.”

  “You would not think so if you were charged with treason and thrown in an Imperial jail.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Bail said. “The Senate may be controlled by the Empire, but it still exists. You cannot charge a Senator with treason for following procedural rules.”

  “The rules have changed,” Vader said.

  “I haven’t been informed.”

  “A special session is taking place at this moment. Call off your voting bloc or the treason charge will stand.”

  Frustration and anger roiled in Bail. No matter how he twisted and turned, the walls were closing in on him. He saw a future ahead where the Senate would cease to exist. Justice and reason would die with it.

  “I should add that the Emperor sees a need for an Imperial Governor here on Alderaan.”

  Bail stiffened. “Alderaan has no reason for an Imperial Governor. We have a stable society. There is no risk for the Empire here. We have no weapons.”

  “What you have is insubordination. The Imperial Governor will arrive in two days.”

  Vader turned and left the way he had come, out through the wide doors and across the grass, cutting through the trampled garden on his way to the family gate.

  Only then did Bail allow himself to tremble. He put out a hand behind him and slowly sank onto a chair.

  Things were changing too fast. He was failing to see the Emperor’s next step. He needed to be quicker.

  He needed to confer with Mon Mothma.

  He remembered the striking woman who had come to his office…Flame. She had been vetted by those close to him. She was the real thing. She was linking the resistance members, planet by planet. What she had done so far was impressive.

  Alderaan couldn’t hold out alone. He would need allies. Secret allies. Especially if they sent an Imperial Governor. Deara told him that there were those who were reconsidering the use of weapons. If there were only a few, soon there would be more.

  Moonstrike could be a way out for Alderaan. A confederacy of planets would give them support. If he and the other Senators joined, it would be a political and grassroots alliance, and that could be potentially powerful. He had sent a message to Mon Mothma with Raymus Antilles, asking her to meet with Flame.

  Maybe it was time he reconsidered. Maybe it was time to join Moonstrike.

  Zan Arbor had one of the apartments that took up an entire floor, in one of the upper levels of the tower. Trever stood in front of the door, running his fingers across its edges. A little discreet explosive would blast the lock. But he had to cover his tracks, too; he couldn’t leave evidence that he’d been here.

  He had a solution for that, a trick he’d used back on Bellassa. Tucked inside his tunic were a variety of items that would help him replace the sensor suite that locked the door. Even in high-security buildings the actual locks on the doors were usually pretty basic. The trick was not to use too much alpha charge to damage the door.

  He had never exactly perfected it.

  He had learned a few things from Ferus, however. One, you had to believe you could do the thing. Two, you had to be very, very careful. Three, you could always run.

  Carefully, Trever packed his alpha charge, estimating the blast he’d need. He took out some synthblast and pushed the gummy material along the seam of the door. Then he embedded the small alpha charge in it.

  He set the charge and backed up.

  A small explosion, a slight puff of smoke. Sounded pretty good.

  Trever bent over to examine his work. Although he was anxious to get inside, he knew he had to fix the lock now, just in case he was surprised later by someone entering the suite. He could possibly talk his way out, but not if a busted door was between him and freedom. The first mistake a thief could make was impatience.

  He spread out his tools on the floor and went to work. Within three minutes he had replaced the small sensor suite that controlled the locking mechanism, sanded the metal flap, and polished it. You’d have to look very close to see the work.

  He quickly replaced his tools in their pouch and fitted it inside his tunic. He was ready to search the apartment.

  First he went through it, checking it out. There was a large living area with a window that overlooked the busy space lanes of Galactic City. A large terrace. He checked the mechanism and saw that the window rose into the ceiling above so that the terrace was accessible to the room. No landing platform, though. That meant she had to use one of the many semi-private ones that staggered up the building. There was a network of turbolifts that took the swells straight to their door.

  All in all, pretty swanky.

  There was a small, windowless room at the rear that Trever assumed could be used as a small closet or office. Instead, a bed had been moved in. He saw a maroon tunic neatly folded on top of a small table and a hair ornament with a small white stone. This was Linna Naltree’s room. Naltree had saved his life when he’d been almost paralyzed with fear (okay, he could admit it now, he’d lost it) deep inside an Imperial-controlled factory in Ussa. He owed her.

  He went back to the bedroom. All the cabinetry was built in flush to the wall. It didn’t take him long to find Zan Arbor’s datapad. This one was larger than a personal datapad, and heavier. Here was where she would keep most of her files, he guessed, accessing them when she needed to and storing them on a lighter model she would keep with her.

  He flipped through the holo-directory, but all the files were coded. He didn’t have Ferus or Astri’s expertise, so he didn’t even try to decode them. He’d hoped to find some stray piece of information that had been carelessly left unguarded—a message, a directive, anything—but he was disappointed.

  Trever heard a noise from the other room that he recognized instantly—the door to the terrace had just risen. Someone must have entered the apartment without his hearing it, which was spooky because he’d kept an ear out the whole time.

  Trever tugged down his cap. He’d try to get out without being seen…but if he was, he’d have to talk his way out. He reached for the smallest alpha charge he possessed and held it in his fingers. He’d gotten out of tough situations before by tossing the charge. The charge was so small that it didn’t make a sound, but the whisper of smoke and the smell had convinced people that a small electrical fire was in progress. Trever would then pretend to be a handyman’s assistant, sent to check out the problem.

  Stealthily Trever tiptoed to the bedroom door. He peeked out into the living area. He didn’t see anyone, but someone must be there. The large window had disappeared into the ceiling. He felt the hint of a breeze.

  He waited, but he didn’t hear a sound. Could the window be on a timer?

  This was making him antsy.

  He cautiously moved forward enough to see a little further into the room.

  Nothing.

  He fingered the alpha charge. Might as well use it. He tossed it gently just a few meters into the room and stepped back.

 
; Nothing. No smoke. No smell.

  It was a dud. Great.

  He’d have to bluff his way out somehow. Unless there wasn’t anyone out there at all….

  No one could be that quiet.

  Trever moved out into the room. No one was there.

  He let out the breath he was holding. He’d seen enough anyway. No need to push his luck.

  He looked around for his dud alpha charge. Where had he aimed it, exactly?

  He caught the shadow at his left, felt someone turning, coming out of nowhere, in full attack mode. He reached for his blaster, already knowing it was too late.

  The blaster was kicked out of his hand. Trever gasped as he whirled around and saw Ry-Gaul standing in front of him, Trever’s alpha charge in his large hand.

  “What are you doing here?” Trever asked furiously.

  Ry-Gaul’s usual neutral expression didn’t waver. “You first.”

  “Ferus asked me to monitor Zan Arbor’s comings and goings—”

  “This isn’t monitoring. It’s breaking and entering.”

  “I just took it one step further, that’s all. I thought if I could get a look at Zan Arbor’s datapad…well, it’s coded.”

  “I would expect that.”

  “Ferus needs a plan if he wants to rescue Linna when he gets back. There’s got to be a way to get her out of here.”

  “There is.”

  “How?”

  Ry-Gaul moved swiftly through the room, his silver eyes taking it all in. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Hey, your turn. Why are you here?”

  “Tobin Gantor escaped from the Empire.”

  “Linna’s husband?”

  “Her husband and my friend. He’s here on Coruscant. He contacted me. Linna managed to send him a message on a secret channel. Zen Arbor is working on a memory agent. When she perfects it, she’s going to administer it to Linna as her first adult subject.”

  Trever let out a long whistle. “Nice way to say thanks. How close is Z.A. to the end?”

  “We have no way of knowing that. But Linna thinks they’re close.”

  “So we’ve got to rescue her,” Trever said. “We can’t risk waiting for Ferus.”

  “Who’s we? I work alone.”

  Trever shook his head. “Not this time, you don’t.”

  Ry-Gaul regarded him for a moment. “All right,” he said. He moved back toward the bedroom again.

  “So what are we doing?”

  “Rule number one when you have a hostage,” Ry-Gaul said. “Never follow a routine. Zan Arbor is going to arrive this evening on one of those landing platforms, and we’re going to be on it. We can snatch Linna and get away. If everything goes right.”

  He sat down at Zan Arbor’s dataport. “The work files have layers of coding, but I’m betting the instructions on where to land are routed through the Republica tower’s system. We’re just going to do a little slicing into that.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  “Jedi have many skills.”

  Trever watched as Ry-Gaul worked the keyboard. He pulled up a schematic of the hotel landing platforms. “That one, I think,” he murmured. “Level 1010. East side. We’ll have a clear shot out into a major space lane. We can get lost in the traffic.” He pushed several keys. “All right then. When Zan Arbor returns, she’ll have new directions telling her where to land.”

  “And?” Trever asked.

  Ry-Gaul stood. “We’ll be waiting.”

  Clive couldn’t help it. He was enjoying himself. He’d been the one to suggest that Astri pose as his wife when they infiltrated the banking system on Niro 11. She’d known it was the best course to take, but she couldn’t hide her discomfort.

  It made sense to pose as a wealthy couple seeking a safe place to stash the loot they were hiding from their homeworld tax authorities. They would pass scrutiny and get into the inner sanctum of the bank, where an old source of Keets’s had agreed to meet with them.

  They arrived at the spaceport in a driving rain. They had already been cleared while onboard the luxury class cruiser and were immediately whisked aboard a private air shuttle with a uniformed pilot. As soon as they were seated he pressed a lever and a tray slid out with a variety of refreshments.

  “Help yourselves,” he said. “We’ll be at Bank Niro Eleven in twelve point two minutes.”

  Clive leaned back against the cushy upholstery. “I could get used to this. Hey—I’m already used to it.”

  Astri looked tensely out the window at the streaming rain. “Being rich is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you were married to a politician,” Clive said. “Must have been an easy life.”

  “Easy,” Astri repeated. She turned her dark eyes on Clive and gave him a look of such sadness that it stopped the jest on his lips.

  They said nothing for the remainder of the ride. They sped over an icy gray sea, so vast they couldn’t see the edges of it, and headed for a cluster of tall buildings, each with a differently colored spire at the top.

  “Your meeting is in Building Yellow,” the driver said. “An escort will be at the landing platform. Have a pleasant stay.”

  He piloted the craft to a smooth landing on a landing platform under a canopy. Not a drop of rain touched them as they exited. An escort waited, a tall, angular woman in a long white tunic. She inclined her head.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Telstarr,” she said. “Herk Bloomi is expecting you.”

  She led them to a turbolift and it rose swiftly. Clive looked at the levels flash. It stopped on level three hundred and ten.

  They stepped out to a panoramic view of silver lake and gray sky. Up here the rain had turned to hardened crystals that tapped on the transparisteel. They were led to a plush couch and left there. The air was cold and Astri shivered.

  “I don’t like this place,” she said. “There’s a bad feeling here.”

  “It’s the feeling of those who have too much and want to keep it all to themselves,” Clive said.

  Moments later a plump, fastidious older man entered. His bald head shone and his boots gleamed with polish. “Mr. and Mrs. Telstarr. Pleased to meet you. Herk Bloomi, director of new accounts at Bank Niro.”

  “Pleased to meet you, mate. We’re looking for a safe place to stash our considerable fortune,” Clive said. “Just what you like to hear, eh?”

  “Just a moment. I’ll activate the privacy booth. Our clients feel more secure that way.”

  He waved his hand over a sensor and curved transparent walls lowered around them, encasing them in a small room within the room. He pressed a button and the walls acquired a shimmer.

  “We can see out but no one can see in. And this blocks surveillance devices. Complete privacy, but we should be brief,” Herk said.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” Astri said. “Keets Freely said that you’d agreed to help.”

  “I am a banker,” Bloomi said. “A banker believes in certain things. The sanctity of wealth. The right to privacy. I don’t agree with what the Empire is doing. The financial future of the galaxy depends on the right of the wealthy to protect their accounts. We are now asked to hand over details of deposits and withdrawals on a weekly basis to an Imperial investigator.” He shuddered. “It’s a terrible thing.”

  Clive couldn’t believe it. The Empire was smashing whole societies and this guy was worried about some fat rat’s pile of credits?

  Astri shot him a look that told him to be quiet. She leaned forward and asked softly, “So you’ll help us?”

  He licked his lips nervously. “Keets said that you needed details on only one account….”

  “Only one. It will help us enormously,” Astri said. “You’ll be doing a great service to the galaxy.”

  “The Empire’s disregard for rules offends me,” he said. “That’s the only reason I would violate a client’s privacy…and you say that you are trying to help this person….”

  “Absolutely, mate,” Clive said. “It’s
life or death. And money.”

  “All right then.” Bloomi pressed a button on his armrest and a small datapad slid out. He tapped the keys. “Yarrow Industries moved their accounts offworld near the end of the Clone Wars.”

  “Who moved the accounts?” Clive asked.

  “At first, Evin Yarrow, the chief officer of Yarrow Industries. After his death, his daughter Eve completed the transfer. It was under Imperial order. That happened to many of our clients around that time.”

  “So even though the Empire moved the account, she still controlled it?”

  “Oh, very much so. She asked that we key the Yarrow account to numbers instead of names. We also wiped all evidence of ties to Acherin.”

  “Is the account still active?” Astri asked, even though she knew the answer.

  “Oh, yes. Regular payouts.” Bloomi checked the screen. “As a matter of fact, the payouts have been increasing of late.”

  “Where do the credits transfer to?” Clive asked.

  “A numbered account on Revery. Do you know the planet? Many of our clients have homes there.”

  Clive nodded. He’d never been there, but he’d certainly heard of Revery. It was a noted haunt for the super-rich. It was known for its beaches and mountains…and also for its privacy.

  “Can you get us Eve Yarrow’s coordinates on Revery?” Clive asked.

  “No,” Bloomi said, his head bent. “No, that’s not accessible. Addresses are strictly private.”

  “But you said that the Empire violates the privacy of your clients,” Astri said. “That they cross-check numbers with names…so if they do that, you must have the information in your files.”

  Clever girl, Clive thought.

  “I told you, there’s only so far I can go,” Bloomi said. He raised his head. Clive saw fear in his eyes. “I gave you the planet—isn’t that enough?”

  Astri hesitated. “Suppose we were clients of yours, and we needed a moment to confer? Couldn’t you step out of the privacy room and leave us for a moment? And maybe forget to close the datapad?”