“Yimmon? Or Vader?”
Jax shook his head. What was the droid talking about? “Where we find one, we’ll find the other.”
“And if not?”
“What do you mean?”
“If Vader and Yimmon have separated?”
Jax looked at the droid with honest perplexity. “I doubt that will have happened. He’s sent his special legion through here to wherever he’s holding Yimmon. He’s sent his Inquisitors there. He’s going there, himself. That’s the only thing that makes sense. We just need to find out where ‘there’ is.”
The droid was relentless. “What if Vader has left Yimmon somewhere and gone back to his other business? Which path will you pursue?”
Jax felt a niggle of irritation. He breathed it in and let it flow out again. “I’ll go after Yimmon. And I’ll find him. Whatever it takes. Even brushing shoulders with Black Sun. Why are you grilling me like this?”
“Forgive me,” said I-Five. “I merely want to be certain that we’re in agreement on the goal.”
“The goal is to get Thi Xon Yimmon out alive and intact.”
In the back of Jax’s mind was the havoc Vader had wrought with his erstwhile Padawan, Kajin Savaros—what the Dark Lord had been able to do to the boy’s mind. But Yimmon, he told himself, was not an unschooled child. He was a Cerean and an unusually disciplined even for one of his species. He had displayed an almost Jedi-like ability to think above the physical dimensions and to shepherd his thoughts. Jax prayed that ability would help him withstand Darth Vader’s formidable array of tools.
“We don’t have to do this alone,” I-Five said, “or with Black Sun. We could return to Toprawa and enlist the aid of the Rangers. We can trust them.”
“We don’t know that. Not for sure. One of them may have betrayed us to Vader in the first place.”
“But you trust Black Sun?” Den asked incredulously.
“Not at all. Not one bit. But I know I can’t trust them. And I won’t. But with the Rangers … I can’t trust them all and I can’t treat them all as if I don’t trust them. Paradox. And by trying to tread a middle ground, I’ll put the traitor in a position of power and the loyal in harm’s way.”
“We can’t talk you out of this?” asked Den.
Jax sighed. “Look, I’m supposed to see Fabris tomorrow to find out if he’s even willing to sell us the information we need. He may still shut that door in our faces.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we’ll see what the deal is. Frankly, I don’t have that much to bargain with. I told a pretty glib fib to get my foot in the door.”
“Great,” Den muttered. “We’re dealing with a demon and we’ve got no leverage.”
Jax smiled wryly. “I didn’t say we don’t have leverage. I’ll create leverage out of thin air and spit if I have to.”
I-Five tilted his head, obviously focusing his optics on the Holocron in Jax’s hand. “Using that?”
“Using whatever it takes.”
Pol Haus carefully read the report that had just dropped into his datapad. The ISB had been moving resources about in a most intriguing way, and now the Emperor was on the move, as well. In a matter of days he’d be going to a villa on the shores of the Western Sea. Several members of the Imperial Senate were also planning trips to the seashore. Pol didn’t believe for a moment that this was coincidental.
The Emperor’s villa was small—at least compared with the Imperial Palace—and part of it sat out over the water. This last bit of information would likely be of interest to Tuden Sal. Pol could see that it might be possible to approach the villa by water with the right personnel and resources.
He returned the datapad to the pocket of his coat and looked up as the Whiplash Express—as he’d come to think of it—glided into the run-down transit station in a whisper of air.
Tuden Sal would view this windfall as a sign that it was time to put his plan into action … which was precisely why he should not know of it.
Eighteen
Tuden Sal looked up from his drink as Acer Ash slid into the booth across from him and set his own beverage down, sliding it to the center of the tabletop. A data wafer was concealed behind the cup. The human pushed it over behind Sal’s glass with one finger.
“Were you able to get everything?” Sal asked, palming the wafer.
Acer smiled. “Not everything, but most of it. And—” he added, before Sal could respond, “the rest of it is coming.”
“The rest of it? How much of it?”
“The cloaking system you wanted has components that are illegal for public consumption. It will be a few days before I can get those. But I will get them, thanks to a little windfall.”
Sal smiled, lifting his cup. “Good news. Here’s to your windfall.”
Acer touched the rim of his cup to Sal’s. “To my windfall.”
“What was it—your little stroke of luck?”
“Some Imperial security forces are going to be moving in a day or two, and that will leave certain facilities and routes less well patrolled than usual. Something is going on, looks like. Not sure what. There’s some more intel about that on the wafer.” He tipped his cup toward Sal’s hand.
“Something? Any idea what?”
“Not a clue. All I know is it frees me up to make some propitious moves.”
Sal raised an eyebrow. “Propitious? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch for your vocabulary, Acer?”
The smuggler grinned. His canines—capped with aurodium—gleamed with rainbow hues. “It is. I’m trying to improve myself. It means—”
“I know what it means. I’m just surprised you do. But congratulations. What’s the word for next week?”
“Haven’t chosen one yet,” Acer told him. “Got any suggestions?”
“Just my word of the week: insurrection.”
Acer looked disappointed. “Oh. I already know what that means.”
This time they met in Fabris’s office, which was reached via a secret panel beneath a staircase in the cantina. Den and I-Five had wanted to come along, but Jax saw no reason to announce to all and sundry that they were a team.
“It raises our profile,” he told them. “Which is the last thing I want to do. Better if you two work independently.”
He could tell by the look on Den’s face that the Sullustan was suspicious of his dealings with the Black Sun lieutenant, but he couldn’t help that. He wasn’t responsible to Den Dhur for his actions. The truth was, he needed to be independent to do whatever was best for the mission. Hence, he was alone when Tlinetha escorted him to meet “the Boss.”
The office suite was a study in anachronism. The furniture was wooden—some of it hand-carved. The corners of the room were illuminated, not by ambient walls but by myriad small lanterns that dotted the room with pools of light. In the largest such pool, the Arkanian sat behind a huge desk in solitary splendor, watching Jax react to the opulent space. The colors were as vibrant as its occupant was pale—they assaulted the eyes. Vivid carpets in green and deep plum covered flamewood floors that glowed in the hues of a desert sunset.
Overhead, in the center of the vaulted ceiling, hung an antique chandelier of epic proportions and ornateness. It was hung with thousands of small crystals that caught light and sprayed it about the room in millions of tiny, colorful points. Its light was generated by real candles—hundreds of them. Above the chandelier, the ceiling seemed to pulse and crawl with living light and shadow.
A rainbow of tapestries from a dozen worlds decorated the walls. Jax guessed that several of them concealed doors: his Force sense told him that a handful of sentients occupied a space behind the tapestry nearest to Fabris’s desk. This was no surprise—Tyno Fabris was, by his own admission, a careful man. Jax didn’t react to their presence, but merely surveyed his surroundings with a cool gaze.
Too cool for Tyno Fabris, apparently. The man rose and made a sweeping gesture. “Well? What do you think? Most people at least comment on the colors �
�� but perhaps with your prosthesis, you don’t see color the way most people do.”
Jax swung his gaze to the Arkanian. “Have you considered my offer?”
The pale eyebrows ascended. “All right, I guess we’ll skip the pleasantries. Yes. I find your offer most interesting. Have you been able to open the Holocron?”
“Tampering with such things naïvely can be dangerous. I had thought I might let Lord Vader open it.”
Fabris shook his head. “That would be just as dangerous. If the information you promise him is not in it …”
“That’s for me to worry about, isn’t it?”
“Not if I’m to receive a portion of your ‘reward,’ Captain Vigil. If your reward is—oh, say—death and dismemberment, then I’ll pass. I think it best if you open the Holocron and make certain of the information before selling the device to Darth Vader. He does not react well to disappointment. And I will not be the one to disappoint him.”
Jax hadn’t counted on Fabris demanding that he open the Holocron. Though he’d come near trying it the night before, he now found himself strangely reluctant. “I don’t possess the … ability to open the Holocron.”
Again the raised eyebrow. “You don’t?”
Jax’s skin prickled with wariness. “No.”
“Then how do you know—”
“It was taken from a Jedi who knew its contents.”
“A Jedi. Does he have a name?”
“Had a name. He’s dead now. His name was Jax Pavan.” He didn’t even blink at the mention of his own demise.
“Ah. And you removed the Holocron from his dead body, I suppose.”
“Something like that.”
“May I ask how you—”
“Does it matter?”
Fabris shrugged and strolled about his office, seemingly admiring its décor, touching this or that object lovingly … or perhaps significantly. Jax tensed, assuming the people in the next room were monitoring all this.
“You’re asking me to take a huge risk, Captain Vigil. You tell me a tale of a murdered Jedi, a stolen Holocron, and an alleged substance that Darth Vader would be willing to pay for …” He glanced fleetingly at Jax.
“I didn’t say the Jedi was murdered. Or that the Holocron was stolen. And Vader need never know you were the source of my intelligence about his location.”
“It is the nature of Lord Vader to know what he wishes to know. If your purpose is other than what you’ve said, or you fail to give him something he wants, he will discover who connected you to him. If I’m in your … revenue stream, he’ll follow that stream right back to me.” Again, the glance.
“If you’re not willing to deal—”
“Didn’t say that. Didn’t mean it. I’d just like to structure the deal differently.” The huge, dark eyes fixed on Jax’s face. “I want payment up front.”
“What sort of payment?”
“First, answer a question for me.”
Jax tensed anew. He’d been aware of the Arkanian’s intense curiosity; now he feared it might be more than that. “If I can.”
“You’ve been cleared of weapons, and yet I detect a white-hot source of energy on your person. What is it?”
The pyronium. Well, that gave Jax some idea of the sort of genetic modifications Tyno Fabris had been given. He reached beneath the flexible body armor into the sash of his tunic and withdrew the gleaming, opalescent object, holding it out on the flat of his hand.
The light of a dozen lamps and a hundred candles shivered on the curving surface of the gem, and it absorbed even that meager energy, cycling through rainbow hues that rivaled those in Tyno Fabris’s office. The Arkanian’s eyes were so alight with it that Jax expected him to lick his lips.
“What is that?”
“Pyronium.”
Fabris paused in the act of touching the nugget and looked up into Jax’s face. Jax felt his sudden excitement like static in the air between them.
“Pyronium? I’ve heard rumors of it. Legends. It’s said to be constantly absorbing electromagnetic energy in whatever environment it’s placed. Storing it in virtually unlimited amounts in some sort of hyperspatial lattice.”
“Those are its properties.” Jax didn’t mention that the trick was getting the rare metal to release the energy. The information on how to do that was also in the Sith Holocron concealed behind the miisai tree—or at least that was the rumor that had come with the device.
Fabris’s eyes were on the gem. “It’s also said to be quite rare—vanishingly so, in fact. This is really pyronium?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get it?”
Jax’s mouth twisted wryly. “Another Jedi who no longer exists. Are you interested in it?”
Fabris withdrew his hand. “I might be … Yes. Yes, I’m interested.”
“Then we have an agreement? Darth Vader’s whereabouts for the pyronium.”
Fabris nodded, his eyes never leaving the jewel. “Where are you staying in Keldabe? I’ll contact you as soon as I have something for you.”
Jax folded the pyronium in his hand and tucked it away again. “I’m staying aboard my ship, the Corsair.”
“Corsair,” Fabris repeated, his gaze following the pyronium to its hiding place. “You’re at the local port, I assume.”
“You assume correctly. Until you have news, then.”
The Arkanian favored him with a businesslike smile. “I don’t expect it to take too long. Until then, enjoy your stay. I have it on good authority that Tlinetha is quite taken with you. She always did have a soft spot for pirates.”
Jax laughed at that characterization of his alter ego and let himself out of the room. He contemplated exploring Tyno Fabris’s domain a bit further, but sensed he was being watched carefully. He returned to the cantina the way he had come. Tlinetha met him beneath the staircase, her eyes confirming her boss’s sense of her fondness for “pirates.”
Tyno Fabris did not need to feel the flutter of the tapestry or hear the opening of the door behind it to know that someone else had entered the room. That one, he thought wryly, announced his presence only too effectively. He shifted in mild discomfort.
“Is that him?” the Arkanian asked, not bothering to turn around.
“Yes.” The voice sounded faintly amused. “It would seem the rumors of Jax Pavan’s demise are somewhat exaggerated.”
“And?” Fabris turned.
Prince Xizor gave an eloquent shrug, his skin flushing green. “And … you should abide by your agreement. By all means, let’s get him what he wants.”
Nineteen
Everything was going well. Better than expected, under the circumstances. The arms and equipment would be moved within the week, Darth Vader was offworld, and Jax had followed him. This last item was not what Tuden Sal would have called good news under normal circumstances, but since Thi Xon Yimmon’s abduction, circumstances were not normal and probably never would be again.
Now, Sal was convinced, it was better that Jax be away, as well. That was a trifecta of goodness—things were aligning, and he needed but one more piece to fall into place.
Standing in the shadows of the old transit hub, he heard the mag-lev coming before it pulled into the station. He waited impatiently for it to glide to a stop before hurrying aboard. He went directly to his private quarters and popped Acer Ash’s data wafer into his reader.
The contents accelerated his pulse—lists of much-needed equipment and the schedule by which they would be moved into “safe” areas scrolled down the display. This was followed by an aerial map of the routing information for the assorted shipments—information that would allow Sal to select where to have the items delivered or intercepted. He saw immediately that Ash was right—there were subtle and not-so-subtle changes in the corridors the traffickers were using to bring the contraband from the various spaceports.
Disbelief crept into the Sakiyan’s excitement as he began to understand the nature of those changes. The smugglers were using corr
idors that ran very near the Imperial Palace and the Senate complex.
How was that possible? It spoke of a radical redeployment of Imperial military and police forces. Not to mention Inquisitors. And if they weren’t guarding the thoroughfares around the Imperial power complexes, then what were they guarding?
He expanded the map view, looking for anomalies. He found them along the shore of the Western Sea. The trafficking corridors there that smugglers had used regularly had gone dark, marked as avoid until further notice.
There was only one possible reason that Sal could see: What they were guarding had moved. His pulse accelerated further as comprehension struck. The Emperor had relocated to his villa at the Western Sea.
He was reachable.
Sal turned to his communications console, intending to call the Whiplash Council together, but stopped with his hand over the controls, stunned by a sudden realization. This information that Ash had given him was gleaned from local and regional security nets. Which meant that Pol Haus should have already had it … and relayed it to him.
Why hadn’t he?
Tuden Sal activated his comlink and sent a scrambled signal to the district police headquarters.
In the engineering bay of the Laranth/Corsair, Den felt as if he had been consigned to some sort of machine shop limbo. He’d surely been sitting at this workbench fusing aural and visual synapses for days. It was mindless work, but in some ways he treasured the mindlessness. It kept him from thinking about Jax.
He found himself staring into the metal cranium he was holding, laser tool on standby, looking for something to solder.
“I believe,” said I-Five, “that you have completed the connections.”
Den put the laser solderer down. “I guess.” He picked up the topless I-5YQ head, then hesitated, uncertain what to do next.
Five took the thing out of his hands and settled it atop the neck and shoulders of the I-5YQ torso that sat on a stool at the end of the bench. With several deft moves, the little droid fastened it in place and stood back to survey the work. “I also believe it is ready for a brief trial.”
The Last Jedi Page 17
