by Jude Watson
Her calm dark eyes met his for a moment. “I will find Roan and Dona. I’ll bring them to safety.”
It was a promise, from one Jedi to another.
They didn’t say it, but their gazes sent the message: May the Force be with you.
Ferus turned and strode up the ramp. Moments later, the ship shot out into the space lanes. He headed for the hyperdrive ring, and he was off.
Samaria was a small planet in the tiny system of Leemurtoo, in a strategic area of the Core Worlds. After receiving permission to land, Ferus buzzed over the city of Sath to get an airborne view.
The Samarians had manufactured a huge bay that was channeled into large canals that ran though the city. Along the edges of the bay, the engineers had built fingers of white sand that flung out into the aquamarine water, forming flowerlike designs. On these fingers were the most exclusive buildings, primarily residences and offices for the rich. The buildings were topped with domes that competed for attention, each with its own rich color and metallic inlays.
The complex of buildings that comprised the royal court of Samaria took up one whole flower made up of ten long petals with gleaming white buildings built of synthstone.
Ferus decided to ignore his instructions to land on the private landing platform of the prime minister of Samaria. Instead he headed for the main spaceport of Sath. He could always claim ignorance, and he wanted to get a feel for the city on his own, before he was briefed by some Imperial or government functionary.
“Boots logic,” his Master, Siri Tachi, had called it. She meant get your feet on the ground, look around, and get a feel for the place yourself, instead of relying on the data you were given.
After landing, he activated the ramp and received a blast of heat from the dry air. He headed over to register with the dockmaster, a Samarian who waved him off. “You’ve already been cleared. The spaceport is closed to all vehicles but those with Imperial registration,” he said. He turned back to the pile of durasheet records on his desk. “Can’t believe I have to do this without a computer,” he muttered.
“Why don’t you just wait until the data is up and running again?” Ferus asked.
The Samarian looked up and blinked his mild blue eyes. “But then I’d be behind.”
“True,” Ferus said. He recognized a dedicated bureaucrat when he saw one.
“Take the turbolift down to the city levels. If you take an air taxi, you take your life in your hands. Space lanes are free-for-alls now. No controls at all.”
Ferus nodded and walked to the turbolift. He took it down to the main level of Sath. It was a three-level city, with buildings of various sizes punching through the main street levels. Laid out on a grid, it had numerous ways for pedestrians to navigate with lift tubes, mobile ramps, and movers that could carry up to forty people at a time. All of the walkways were under cooling systems and shaded from the hot sun. Many buildings were connected by covered walkways at various levels. It was possible to walk the entire city without going outside. Fountains had been designed to refresh the air but were now shut off, no doubt because of the citywide system failure.
Ferus alternately walked and hopped on a repulsorlift mover. He saw disorder everywhere. Obviously the breakdown of the system had affected everything. The people were distressed, milling about, carrying on anguished conversation and desperately waiting in long lines. Considered highly advanced, the system on Sath didn’t use physical credits, relying on computers to record every transaction, from a mug of tea to the purchase of a speeder. Now there were long lines at banks, clinics, and food distribution outlets. Frustrated Sathers crowded the streets, relying on barter to get what they needed.
Lighting systems were on half-power. Huge vidscreens that had once broadcast news and information were blank. The air lanes were snarled with traffic.
He could feel the panic in the air. This was a society on the brink of spiraling out of control.
Ferus finished his journey at the expanse of a blue-green bay. He hopped a repulsorlift ferry to take him out to the large, flowerlike span where the government residences were built. The heat was like a blast from a flamegun as he made his way down the empty boulevard.
He reached the gate to the palace and stood in front of the vidscreen, then realized it wasn’t working. He looked around for a button to push or a comm device to activate but met only the smooth stone wall of the gate.
Then it slid open and he stared into the muzzle of a blaster rifle. The soldier was dressed in sand-colored fatigues. “State your business.”
“Ferus Olin. I’m expected.”
The soldier checked a durasheet. “This way.”
Ferus followed him into the entryway to the palace. It was a large, sprawling white structure with seven domes inlaid with stone the color of the sea. Huge slabs of stone had been cut and placed in a striking pattern on the floor of the entryway. The glowlights were set in beautiful globes of blue glass. Ferus followed the soldier into a reception area lined with long, low seating with tapestried cushions. He stood in the center of the tiled floor, a mosaic of a map of Sath. He looked down and reflected how fragile a mighty city could be.
He waited for fifteen minutes, until he realized he was deliberately being made to wait. Rather an odd way to treat an emissary from the Emperor. He had long ago learned—not from Siri, who could be so impatient, but from Obi-Wan—that part of diplomacy is never being irritated at being kept waiting, but using it to your advantage. So he used the time to study the map of Sath and memorize the main boulevards and districts.
At last the doors slid open and a tall man with graying hair entered. He was dressed modestly in a dark tunic and pants, and Ferus was surprised when he introduced himself as the prime minister of Samaria, Aaren Larker. He had expected someone in rich robes, someone who would match these opulent surroundings.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Larker said. “I was in conference with the Imperial advisor. He’ll be along in a moment. I assume that you were briefed on Coruscant.”
“I was briefed by the Emperor himself,” Ferus disclosed.
“Imperial Advisor Divinian is here to oversee the search for the saboteur,” Larker said. “You are to work closely with him.”
Ferus inclined his head. He had no intention of working closely with anyone.
“Divinian,” he said. “Is that Bog Divinian, the former Senator from Nuralee?”
Larker nodded.
Ferus was surprised. He’d met Bog Divinian before the Clone Wars, when he was still a Padawan. Bog had been married to a friend of Obi-Wan’s, Astri Oddo, but Ferus had lost track of both of them when he’d left the Jedi Order. Bog had fallen into disgrace after he’d conspired to take control of the Senate from Chancellor Palpatine. He’d been kicked out of office and scorned by his own people. How odd that the Emperor would allow him to gain such a high title, when Bog had once conspired to unseat him.
The doors opened again. Now Ferus realized fully why he’d been kept waiting. Bog wanted to make sure that Ferus knew that even though he’d been sent by the Emperor, it was Bog who was in charge.
“Ah,” Bog said, by way of greeting. He held out a hand but didn’t move. Ferus had to step forward to greet him. Bog was dressed in the gray tunic that most Imperial functionaries wore to match the soldier’s outfits. Over it, he had thrown a royal blue cloak embroidered with gold thread. He had aged since Ferus had last seen him, ten years ago at the Galactic Games. His hair was dyed jet-black, and his florid face was now broad. His middle had thickened and his hair had thinned.
“Ferus Olin,” he said. “Welcome to Samaria. I trust you found the Emperor in good health.”
Ferus didn’t think that “good health” would under any circumstances describe the Emperor, but he nodded anyway.
“The government of Samaria asked for our help,” Bog said, folding his hands and putting on a grave expression. “Naturally the Empire was quick to reach out a hand. I am that hand,” he said portentously.
&nb
sp; Which I guess makes me a finger, Ferus thought. But he kept his mouth shut. It was important to keep Bog on his side, at least for now.
“The prime minister here seems to have lost control of his planet,” Bog continued in a jovial tone. “Haven’t you, old friend?”
Ferus saw the flush of annoyance on Larker’s face. The contempt within Bog’s tone made it clear again who was in charge here.
“How kind of you to elevate me to old friend when we’ve known each other such a short time,” Larker said in a polite tone. Ferus strained to hear the sarcasm in it but could find none. Nevertheless he knew it was there.
“A friend in need, indeed,” Bog continued. He wheeled and addressed Ferus. “You were supposed to land at the palace,” he said.
“I wasn’t aware I was under orders,” Ferus replied.
Bog stared at him expressionlessly for a moment, then let out a booming laugh. “Just so! You’re not in the Imperial army! So I suppose it makes sense to reject the advice of those who know better. The space lanes are dangerous in Sath.”
“I walked,” Ferus said.
This brought an incredulous look from Bog. “In the heat? I guess you’re not aware that Samaria is a desert planet, ha-ha!”
Ferus was getting bored with Bog’s attempts to put him in his place. He turned to Larker. “Have you had many problems with lawbreaking?”
Relieved to have his expertise consulted, Larker shook his head. “Not yet, but of course it is of concern. So far the Sathans are making the best they can out of a hard situation.”
“Yes, I see that they’re setting up a bartering system,” Ferus said.
“We’re working on establishing government-approved values,” Larker said. “That way, everything will be clear, and the people will be able to figure out how to get food and fuel. That is our most important job at the moment. The saboteur has left no trace in the system. Every time we go in to try a fix, something else malfunctions. One day we’ll have our transportation running, or our space lanes monitored, and then the next they’ll be out again.”
Ferus nodded. “I’ve seen this kind of bug before. If the saboteur is clever enough, it can be extraordinarily difficult to fix.”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to crack it,” Bog said, obviously annoyed at being left out of the conversation. “Then we’ll get everything under control.”
Everything under his control, Ferus realized. This would be a test for Bog. Ferus would fix the problem, Bog would take the credit, rise in the Imperial hierarchy, and be the real power on the planet. It was a transparent plan, and the funny thing was that although Ferus was aware of it and Larker was undoubtedly aware of it, Bog still thought that his plan was shrouded in mystery. There was nothing worse, Ferus thought, than a dull man who was convinced of his cleverness.
But he couldn’t underestimate Bog. He knew from experience that the combination of aggressiveness and ambition could make a being dangerous. Especially with the full might of the Empire behind him.
Now Ferus realized why he’d been sent. This wasn’t about helping a planet—not that he’d believed that in the first place. Bog’s presence here and the way he treated Larker made it clear: This was about taking over Samaria. If Ferus fixed their central computer system, he’d be giving the Imperials the method to control the planet completely.
The spaceport at the city of Ussa on Bellassa was tightly controlled by the Empire. All arrivals and departures were monitored. Since Trever was wanted on his home planet, he needed to arrive with false ID docs.
Thank stars and planets, Trever thought, for Dexter Jettster. He had turned out to be a crucial ally for them. He was a member of the Erased on Coruscant, one of those who had completely wiped their identities in order to hide from Imperial security. Dex now lived in the Orange District on Coruscant, with access to the best identity thieves the planet had to offer…and that was saying something.
It had taken Dex less than an hour to pull together what they needed. He’d given them text docs and credits and a wardrobe—everything they needed to pose as a group traveling to Bellassa for its renowned spa treatments. Solace would be a wealthy woman, Trever her son, and Oryon their bodyguard.
To Trever’s surprise, the no-nonsense Solace had agreed with the ruse, readily donning the fur-trimmed cloak and aurodium-colored boots of a wealthy woman. “Sometimes it’s better not to sneak when you’re breaking in,” Solace said. “Make as much noise as you can, and nobody gives you a second thought.”
Now Solace stood at the top of the ramp of the chromium-hulled starship that Dex had borrowed for them from a wealthy friend. She was resplendent in her rich ruby chaughaine robe. The black fur collar fanned out around her angular face. Instead of the scruffy warrior they were used to, she looked striking and regal. Trever wore a close-fitting cap made of some expensive material that itched.
He couldn’t suppress a tremor of nerves as they waited to be checked in by Bellassan security. After all, he was wanted on this planet. He’d stolen a gravsled and pretended to be a laundry worker so he could break Ferus out of an Imperial prison. His image had been captured on a vidscreen. They could get touchy about things like that.
Dex had made sure he was well disguised. He was wearing a cap, and a large visor covered his eyes and most of his nose, a fashion among the young wealthy Coruscanti.
Solace created a stir around her, ordering security officers to hurry, and even hailing a corporal to carry her bag. Quickly she established herself as a presence to be placated. Security officers rushed to clear them, hurrying them to the front of the line and then quickly checking their ID docs against their list of those wanted by the Empire. Trever tried to appear bored, as if he were used to being coddled and swept through security.
The official looked over their docs with a skeptical eye. “You’re here for the spa treatments? Haven’t you heard about the unrest?”
“I came here for rest, not unrest,” Solace said haughtily. “And I intend to find it. I’m not going to let some rabble-rousers come between me and my lasersalt rub treatments.”
The official returned the docs. “Just don’t go out alone.”
“That’s what I have my bodyguard for,” she snapped.
They were cleared.
Trever’s heart was tripping in his chest. It wasn’t just about the fear of getting caught. It was about being on Bellassa again.
When he’d left his homeworld, he’d never wanted to come back. Stowing away on Ferus’s ship was a way to escape a place that held only bad memories. His mother, father, and brother had all died here. When they’d been a family, they’d always been together, going to concerts at the Ussa halls and outdoor venues, or playing laserball in the many parks. Almost any corner could suddenly blast him with a memory. He’d enjoyed being part of the black market, because it meant he could stay in a quadrant that was unfamiliar to him, rarely venturing into the neighborhoods he’d known.
But here was Bellassan air and Bellassan light, and they were as familiar to him as his own skin. Home. He fought against the concept, but here it was.
Another security officer rushed to hail them an air taxi. They entered, and Solace told the driver to take them to the Eclipse, the most exclusive hotel in Ussa. Trever had lived in Ussa all his life and had never been inside.
When they got to the hotel, the extraordinary service continued. Their luggage was whisked away, and check-in was accomplished in a matter of seconds. Soon they were stepping into a transparisteel turbolift that whisked them up to the two hundred and second floor.
Trever let out a disbelieving whoop as soon as the porters left them alone. He had a full view of Bellassa now. On this cloudless day, he could clearly see the seven lakes, the winding roads, and the pink and blue buildings in the soft, clear light.
“Can we stay here forever?” he asked. He was joking, of course. But deep inside he felt a connection to this world. It hadn’t been wrong to leave, but it felt wrong to stay away.
“Just
a day,” Solace said. “Maybe less, if they figure out the account number I gave them was a phony. Dex said we have about eight hours until it comes up blank.”
“Let’s get moving,” Oryon said.
“What, no room service?” Trever asked with a grin.
They changed into less conspicuous clothes and took the turbolift back downstairs, leaving by a side entrance. Trever led them down the boulevards. His home city of Ussa had changed in the short time he’d been gone. The Imperial forces had cracked down hard after the entire city had rose in passive resistance against them. Stormtroopers were on every street. Security checks were set up on corners.
They passed a café where Trever and his family used to go on weekends. The waiter used to sneak him special sweets. Now Imperial officers crowded the best tables.…
He looked away.
“It’s a sorry sight,” Oryon said.
Trever shrugged. “This was never my favorite part of town, anyway.”
Oryon gave him a quick look, his dark eyes piercing. Trever knew he hadn’t fooled him one bit.
They continued on, Trever leading them through the winding streets. It was easy to get lost in Ussa if you weren’t a native. The presence of stormtroopers grew less frequent, and though some prowler droids occasionally passed overhead, they must have been set on general surveillance, for they always moved on. Coded to intimidate rather than track.
Trever was leading Solace and Oryon to the hideout of The Eleven, the now-famous resistance group. Everyone on Bellassa knew about The Eleven, but not many knew how to find them. They were named after the core group who had started a resistance movement soon after the declaration of the end of the Republic. Roan and Ferus had been two of its founders.
The Imperials had quickly moved to establish a garrison on Bellassa, and the objections of the natives were met with fierce oppression and mass arrests. The initial number of eleven members in the group had grown until now it was rumored to be in the hundreds.
