[Last Of The Jedi] - 07(2)

Ferus waited a moment, then followed, staying well behind. Vader turned into his private quarters. Ferus sprang back as Vader exited only a few seconds later and proceeded to a hallway near the bridge, where the pilot, an Imperial navy captain, emerged to speak to him.

Not much to see. It seemed an ordinary consultation.

Ferus was turning away when something pinged inside him, something small that he had noted unconsciously but hadn’t analyzed. He was getting better at this Jedi skill – to see the tiniest detail in a picture and something is off.

Darth Vader’s Imperial code cylinder was missing. It usually hung on his belt.

Ferus quickly made his way back to Vader’s quarters. He accessed the door, which had no privacy code to lock it. Vader was probably expecting to return quickly.

The code cylinder was sitting in the dataport dock.

No doubt Vader had placed it there to update it with the new information constantly streaming through the Empire’s infosphere. Each Imperial officer had one, and clearance extended upward through the ranks– the higher your rank, the higher your clearance.

Ferus had a code cylinder, too. It basically got him into the kitchen.

But Darth Vader had to have the highest clearance of all.

The possibilities thundered through Ferus’s mind in the space of a moment.

If new information was being downloaded, it wouldn’t have Vader’s privacy lock on it yet.

The things he could learn from Vader’s high clearance…

Any still-missing Jedi.

The fate of Trever.

Plans to crush the resistance.

Even a clue to Vader’s true identity.

Ferus waved his hand over the sensor and closed Darth Vader’s door.





Chapter Two


Small fires flickered all over the streets of Rosha. The Empire had cut most of the power to the city to be sure it controlled the tech infrastructure. Fighting had broken out in intense battles that left more and more Roshans dead or homeless. The smoking city had lost some of its most beautiful buildings, whole neighborhoods razed by the Empire in order to stamp out rebellion and frighten the populace. The city had been pounded from the air.

Trever Flume darted through smoke and shadow underneath an eerie red sky. The taste of flight and ash was familiar to him. His own world, Bellassa, had been brutally invaded, too. At times during the last few days he’d felt he was living in his nightmares.

He had left his homeworld as a stowaway aboard Ferus Olin’s escape ship. He’d been with Ferus ever since. Except for now. Now, Ferus was somewhere with the Empire. He had started out to be a double agent … but did he still remember his friends?

Trever thought about what had happened on Samaria. A politician had been imprisoned and killed. And the leader of a resistance cell had been arrested. Ferus had known both of the victims. Had he betrayed them?

Trever hated these suspicions. He’d thought Ferus was a hero. He’d worshipped him like a dumb, naďve kid. When really he’d been on his own for long enough to know that there was no room for heroes in this galaxy. Just beings trying to get along under the Imperial boot.

Seems like Ferus had found himself a cushy gig, traveling around on Imperial transports and hobnobbing with officers and politicians. Maybe that had gotten to him. Maybe he wanted an easier life. He’d been on the run, scrounging and hustling to find materials and support and a way to get clear. Now he was sitting pretty.

Did Ferus think he was dead? There was no doubt that he’d seen the ship burning; it had been broadcast on the HoloNet. There was no way to get word to him that he was safe.

Would he care?

Or was he one of them now?

Trever could see that Flame, his new compatriot, had her doubts about Ferus’s true sympathies. She was wary of him. Her doubt had fueled the wondering in Trever’s own mind. Flame had taken all the considerable wealth she’d amassed as a business leader on her homeworld of Acherin and established a fund to help resistance movements around the galaxy. She called the movement Moonstrike.

Now she appeared out of the darkness, a blaster rifle held steady. She lowered it when she recognized Trever. With a jerk of her head, she indicated the way.

He followed. He’d only known her a short time, but he’d follow her anywhere. Flame’s instincts were incredible, her timing flawless, and her courage remarkable. He’d seen her pilot a plane under fire and jump out into e midst of blasterfire, dragging him along, protecting him, urging him to run when he didn’t think he could make it.

Without her, he’d be dead. Another casualty of the Empire.

As she slipped into a crack of a partially demolished building, Trever followed. Inside, the building was open to the sky, but the four walls offered protection. A ramp had lost most of its surface but still led up to a second story. Blasted-out windows lined one back wall. Trever’s gaze flicked over the space with an accomplished eye. As a street thief on Bellassa, he had learned to always plan more than one exit in case of trouble.