[Last Of The Jedi] - 06(19)

“This is an interesting conversation, but I have some duties to take care of,” Ferus said, swallowing. His mouth was dry.

“Of course,” the Emperor said.

The hologram disappeared. Ferus felt the lightsaber hilt under his fingers. He ran his fingertips over the worn grooves in the carving. He thought of Garen Muhl, the great Jedi Master who had given it to him. With that gift came responsibility, and also a connection to the way things used to be when he had a whole Jedi order to lean on. Before he was alone.

Give me your certainty, Garen, he thought. Give me your courage.





Chapter Eleven


Exercise was important. Bog got off the vibrotonic all-muscle trainer and padded off to the shower. He shipped the all-muscle trainer from post to post because he knew the importance of fitness. It cleared his head. He didn’t trust a being who didn’t take care of him-or herself. He was never too busy for his daily routine. Excess flesh disgusted him. He didn’t want to turn into a Hutt.

His comlink buzzed. His assistant’s voice came through. “Sano Sauro trying to reach you.”

“Tell him I’ll contact him shortly.”

“He won’t like that.”

“No,” Bog said, grabbing a towel, “he won’t.”

Sano Sauro. He’d been helpful. Everyone thought he was the brains behind Bog. It was true that Sauro had been instrumental in plotting the moves to get Bog in a position of influence, but Bog was tired of Sauro thinking he was in control. And now that Sauro’s big idea, the True Justice ship that tried political prisoners in space, had been hijacked, he’d been censured by the Emperor. A little distance would be a good idea right about now, until Bog figured out if Sauro was out of the loop permanently or not.

In the meantime, let him sweat.

The forty-five minutes of training had focused Bog’s mind, made it sharp. All the steps he had taken were paying off. The Emperor himself had come to Sath, and Bog didn’t think he was exaggerating to say that it had just a bit to do with him. He was making his mark.

Nobody had ever believed in him. Not his father, not his wife. But he’d always believed in his destiny.

At the thought of Astri, Bog frowned involuntarily. He’d gotten over the fact that his wife didn’t love him anymore, long ago. He hadn’t expected love. He’d expected a partnership. He was a politician; it helped to have a pretty wife. She never understood her role. Well, it. was his own fault for picking a cook in a greasy diner as a wife. His head had been turned by her curls and her smiles. Her closeness to the Jedi hadn’t hurt at the time, either.

Now she was gone. Disappeared. It didn’t look right that he didn’t have contact with his own son. He’d find Lune one day. When he was ruler of Samaria he would have much more muscle. And he wouldn’t need a vibrotonic all-muscle trainer to exercise it, either! Pleased at his joke and at the results of his workout, Bog stepped into the shower.

The vote of no-confidence would be a lock. He’d made sure of that. But a little insurance might not be a bad idea. Something to boost him even more with the population so that when he took over, the transition would be smooth.

Becoming ruler of Samaria was just the first step. Why couldn’t he control the whole Lemurtoo system, and move on from there?

This was his moment. He didn’t need Sauro’s advice. He didn’t need anyone’s. He was ready to strike out on his own. Take the big chance.

He slipped into his tunic and picked up his comlink as it signaled again.

“Sano Sauro is waiting,” his assistant said.

“Tell him I’m busy,” Bog said. He smiled, thinking of how that would infuriate Sauro. Let him steam.

Bog placed his personal droid on his shoulder. What a useful little device it was turning out to be.

Sauro had taught Bog well. To control a population, one must create an enemy, something for them to be afraid of. Then save them from it. It was as simple as that.





Chapter Twelve


For now, Ferus pushed the thought of who Vader might be to the back of his mind. It would be impossible to figure it out. Unless Vader made some kind of verbal slip or Ferus managed to stumble over new information, he wouldn’t be able to discover it. He might never know.

What was he still doing here, anyway? Although he kept his eyes open, he hadn’t learned very much about the Empire. Ferns had contacted the resistance, but he still wasn’t sure how he could help them.

There were times that he felt he was doing absolutely the right thing for absolutely the right reasons. This was not one of those times.

He had been in the resistance on Bellassa, but he’d always been a reluctant hero. He’d fought briefly in the Clone Wars, but he hadn’t been a great general like Obi-Wan. He hadn’t adapted well to the army at all. He had fought side by side with Roan, but he hadn’t been like the others, who’d joined the army for adventure. He’d seen adventure as a Jedi. He’d seen death and destruction and greed. He had no illusions about how thrilling great battles were. Great battles were hard and bloody and you never got the smell of it off you.