Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 4 (8 page)

“You didn’t have to punch me.”

“Authenticity, Master Ferus. That’s the key to every escape.”

Ferus landed the ship at the Alba-16 spaceport. It held the usual collection of freighters and haulers as well as a few personal craft. Because the planet was without an Imperial garrison, no
one questioned the arrival of the ships. Behind him, the two starfighters landed. Solace popped the canopy on hers and a moment later Trever stuck his head out. He jumped out on the wing and leaped
to the ground, then ran toward Ferus. Suddenly he stopped, embarrassed. Ferus saw his hands dangling. He knew that Trever wanted to show his feelings, but didn’t want to expose them. The boy
was such a curious mixture of emotion and toughness.

Ferus had once been a stiff person, too, but not anymore. He slung one arm around Trever’s shoulders and gave him a quick, fierce hug. “Thought you lost me, didn’t
you?”

“You do have a way of cutting things close,” Trever said.

The rest of the group walked up.

“Do me a favor,” Keets said to Ferus. “Try not to get arrested again.”

“Who’s he?” Solace asked, indicating Clive.

“The answer to your dreams, precious,” Clive said, linking an arm through hers. “Let me buy you a grog.”

In a flash, Solace slipped out of his grasp, twisted one of his arms behind his back, and had her lightsaber hilt nudged up against his chin.

“Did I mention Solace was a Jedi, too?” Ferus asked.

Solace released Clive, who smiled at her discomfort, and they all headed into the noisy cantina located near the spaceport. The music and conversation would cover their words.

Clive rubbed his hands together as he surveyed the mangy dive. “This is just about the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

They ordered drinks and food, and Clive ate ravenously while Ferus filled the group in on what had happened to him. They told him about the attack on Solace and her followers. Ferus was grieved
to discover that the Empire had acted so quickly and that the other Erased had been killed.

“The good news is that we all reactivated our information networks,” Oryon said. “We were able to find out where the Imperial thugs were holding you.”

“We’re not ready for a real resistance movement—not yet,” Keets said. “But we can see a day where we could link up with other planets.”

Ferus saw it, too. It was years away, he knew. But someday the pockets of resistance on each planet would communicate with each other and form a network. Maybe even an army. It all had to start
somewhere.

Ferus nodded. “We just have to begin. And Coruscant is the perfect place to start. The Senate has always been full of informers, people eager for a bribe. Just because the Emperor has
taken over doesn’t mean it isn’t still true.”

“Yeah, we also heard Malorum is on Naboo on some top-secret mission he concocted for himself,” Keets said. “So you don’t have to worry about him for a while.”

Naboo.
A warning bell went off in Ferus’s mind. Why?

Because Obi-Wan told me to be alert to any investigations into the death of Senator Amidala of Naboo. Her funeral had been held there, in the city of Theed.

He tried to dismiss the importance of Malorum’s visit. There could be any number of reasons for him to go to Naboo. But he could not forget that Obi-Wan had told him that Malorum could
threaten the future of the galaxy if he was allowed to continue his investigations.

For a moment, he felt a spurt of annoyance at Obi-Wan. The Jedi Master was sitting in exile, giving Ferus a vague order to watch out for something without telling him what was at risk. Ferus
would have preferred a clear-cut mission.

Yet he couldn’t ignore this.

He looked around at the table. He would go alone, of course. But he had the feeling that this unusual collection of fighters wouldn’t let him. He wasn’t sure how it had happened or
why, but they shared a bond. Even Clive.

“I have to go to Naboo,” Ferus said.

Keets put down the pitcher of grog he was about to pour. “Just when I was starting to relax,” he moaned.

“I’m not asking you to come,” Ferus said truthfully. “But I have to go.”

He felt the weight of the moment as they considered his words.

Clive slammed down his heaping forkful of food. “This place has really gone downhill,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Naboo was a lovely world. Theed was renowned across the galaxy for its natural marvels. The waterfalls kept the air in a state of constant, exhilarating freshness. Flowers and
vines twined on every gracious building. The people of Naboo were known for their warmth and cordiality, their love of peace. There was an art to living, they felt, and their food, their buildings,
and their clothes indicated this. It was a beautiful, ornate world, and Malorum wanted to blast it into space dust.

Everywhere he turned, he was met with smiles and bows. When he asked questions, he was met with earnest desires to help him, thoughtful frowns, fingers clicking on data keys, careful reviewing
of records.

But no answers. “Alas and sadly…” the functionary would say with a helpless shrug.

It was infuriating. No one defied him, no one refused him, but no one gave him what he wanted. As soon as he thought he had grasped something as firm as carbonite, he found he was holding only
air. And there was no way he could threaten them, for they seemed to cooperate fully.

Why did he get the feeling that behind his back they were delighted to thwart him?

He could see why the Emperor decided to send an Imperial battalion here despite the objections of Queen Apailana. They hadn’t interfered in the planet’s governance, but their
presence was a necessary reminder of who was actually in charge. They had completely taken over one of the gracious domed government buildings in Theed, right next to the vast hangar. It was a
smart choice. They could monitor all official comings and goings, and also use the hangar to store explosive devices should the people rebel. Strictly against Senate rules, of course, but who would
ever know?

Malorum thought that the citizens of Theed would have learned something from the Trade Federation blockade years ago. They’d discovered just how vulnerable they were. The fact that they
had won that particular skirmish had been mere luck. If the Emperor had been in control they would have been cowed and defeated.

Naboo was completely reliant on the rest of the galaxy for its industrial materials. They had no factories to speak of. If Malorum had been in charge, Naboo would have attacked surrounding
worlds that were rich in minerals and industry. But no—they just kept on making their clay pots and their paintings and their clothes and stupidly left themselves vulnerable.

Malorum walked by the Imperial garrison, hoping the sight of it would give him fresh energy. He had visited the place where Senator Amidala’s body was prepared for burial. He received no
new information…except a crash course he didn’t need in the funeral rites of the Naboo. Apparently the grandmothers were designated as the ones who dressed the body and prepared it for
the “last journey.”

The fact of Padmé’s death was recorded…but that was all. There was no hint of how she’d died, nothing for him to go on. Naboo customs precluded any questions about the
possible father of her child; the family was given privacy. There was no doctor’s report.

Malorum’s steps slowed. How stupid. Of course, if the records did not show him what he wanted, he must go to the source. Padmé Amidala’s grandmothers.

One problem was that the Naboo did not have a world directory. Citizens did not have to register with the government, something he knew that the Emperor would change as soon as he got around to
it. Privacy was prized here. In addition, everybody seemed to know everybody else, through a network of clans and families. If you had to ask for an address, it was proof that you didn’t know
the person well enough to contact them.

A small problem. Not an insurmountable one.

Malorum crossed to the building that housed the Naboo Essentials Provider, a typically gentle name for the office that controlled the power grid. He paused just inside the door to examine a
large holomap on the wall, a graphic image of the main power generator. He noted the corridors lined with electron gates, the catwalks, the bridges to dozens of levels, the deep central core.
Impressive. The Naboo did have some technical expertise after all. This would be an excellent world to exploit.

He strode into the main office and demanded to see the manager. In the usual display of polite evasion he was told that the office was about to close, but if he’d come back
tomorrow…

“I am a personal representative of Emperor Palpatine. Get him for me now,” Malorum snapped. He couldn’t wait to squeeze the information out of these maddening people like pulp
from a muja fruit.

The clerk rushed into an inner office, ornate robes flowing. Malorum had been waiting, hoping for this. He strode after him. He pushed through the door, almost knocking the man to the floor.

The manager stood up from his desk, his mouth gaping. He was older, his graying hair standing out in tufts over his ears. He had a kind face and gentle eyes. Malorum despised him
immediately.

“I am looking for the addresses of the grandmothers of the former Senator Padmé Amidala.”

“Senator Amidala, alas and sadly, is deceased.”

“I am of course aware of that.” Malorum slammed his hand down. “This
desk
is aware of that! I am the eyes and ears of the Emperor himself. Tell me the names of her
grandmothers. I know you know them so don’t waste my time with denials.”

The man swallowed. He quickly consulted a hand-crafted ledger. “Winama Naberrie. Ryoo Thule.”

“Give me their addresses.”

“Winama Naberrie, alas and sadly, died before the Battle of Naboo.”

“Then the other one!” Malorum roared at the man. He didn’t like to lose his temper—he felt a loss of control was always a mistake, but he’d been provoked by hours
of evasions. And it could be effective.

To his surprise, the man stood his ground. “Ah, well, I don’t have that information per se, you see. This is the office of the Essentials Provider—”

Malorum had had enough of this. Always it was the same. The person would tell him he really didn’t have the ability to help him while maintaining an expression of deep concern, then repeat
his title or the name of the agency, and Malorum would be led round and round in a helpful, polite way that got him nowhere.

He put his blaster next to the man’s cheek. “Do you see this?” No more yelling now. Just a quiet voice that held menace.

The man’s expression turned to fear. “Yes.”

Slowly he rotated the blaster until the barrel was pointing toward the outer office. “I am going to take this blaster and shoot everyone in this office in front of your eyes if you
don’t give me the information.”

The man looked up at him. Incredulity turned to horror as he realized that Malorum was perfectly capable of doing it.

He bowed his head. “Ryoo Thule now lives in the lake district of Naboo in the family villa called Varykino. In Translucence Cove.”

“That isn’t much of an address.” Malorum gave the blaster an extra push against his cheek.

The man raised his head. Something flashed there, some defiance that Malorum decided he didn’t have time to smash. Naboo would come to understand, as all worlds would, who was in
charge.

“That is the way we do things on Naboo. It is the only direction I can give you.”

Malorum wanted to shoot him, but he stormed out instead.

He had what he needed. It was tedious to have to do his own investigating, but he couldn’t trust anyone else. He had to dig and dig until he had what he wanted. He knew the lake district
was remote; he’d need local transport. All to see an old woman who might hold the key to something he still didn’t understand.

Solace and the others landed their ships on an entry platform on the outskirts of Theed. They knew the Imperials were monitoring the hangar. Clive was familiar with Theed and
led them through the streets.

“The people of Naboo are no fans of the Empire,” Clive told them. “They’ll keep their mouths shut. Just follow me. I know Theed well.”