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[Last Of The Jedi] - 07(4)



Directly under the floor, they could hear every word. The crunch of the stormtroopers’ boots. The crackle of comlinks. A last burst of blaster fire and the muffled thud f something falling.

Someone falling.

“Dead.” The electronic mask-voice of a stormtrooper.

“Haul that one up.”

A cry and a scuffle.

“Where did the others go?”

Silence.

“Where?”

Another muffled cry.

“Kill him.”

Trever put his hands over his ears like a kid, a poor scared kid. That’s what he felt like.

He didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to know.

Time passed. It was dark now. The noises had stopped some time ago.

Flame lightly patted his knee. “It’s time.”

She eased the vent off above them. She climbed out, then reached for his hand. “All clear.”

His muscles were stiff, and his legs barely worked as she pulled him up and out. He collapsed on the floor her, then rubbed his legs and arms, trying to restore circulation.

Around them the ruins rose, blocks of stone hurled whole meters, crumbled stones, dirt, the tiled floor now pockmarked and stained. Trever looked away from the fresh stains. Hearing the battle was enough. He didn’t want to keep thinking about the details.

“Some of them got away,” Flame said. “But I don’t think it’s safe to contact the resistance again, not for a while. There was an informer. Someone who didn’t get to the meeting at the last minute, I’ll bet, or someone who got away.”

“Who?”

She shrugged as she lifted her thick hair off her neck. “Their problem.”

“We’re here to help them.”

Her green crystal eyes bored into him. “Trev, you’ve D learn something. You have to choose your battles. I’ve got a bigger one to fight. I’ll come back when the Roshans are more organized. I’ve got other places to go.”

He ran his hands through his hair. His hands came back streaked with gray dust. “Where?”

“Bellassa, for a start. It’s your homeworld, so you can help me. You know the Eleven.”

“Well, at least nine of them,” Trever tried to joke.

Flame ignored that. If she had a flaw, it was a complete lack of humor. “Bellassa’s successes in forming and maintaining a resistance are starting to get known,” Flame continued. “I need the Bellassans to be the anchor for the new network – an inspiration for the galaxy. What do you say?”

Home. The word rose in him, and it had weight and shape. It filled him up.

“Yes,” Trever said. “But on one condition.”

She frowned. “I don’t do conditions.”

“I need to go on my own little side trip first. I can’t bring you with me.”

She raised one eyebrow at him.

“But there’s one thing I need help with.”

“What?” she asked warily.

“I need to steal a ship.”

For a moment, she looked angry. She wasn’t the type to take someone bailing out on her easily. But then she shrugged.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Stealing one would be too much of a risk. There are lots of desperate Roshans here who need credits. We’ll buy one.”

“Hey, I could get used to this,” Trever said, realizing it never hurt to have a friend with money.





CHAPTER THREE


It’s not that he didn’t like kids, Clive Flax reflected. He just never noticed them. They were background in the cities he visited, registering as a flash of movement in a park, or an irritating spill of juice on his trousers if he made the mistake of sitting next to one in a diner. It wasn’t like he ever wanted to interact with one.

Now here he was, stuck on a constantly traveling asteroid in the middle of an atmospheric storm that turned the sky to gray to purple to navy, and he was trapped with a bunch of mates he didn’t know very well. And a kid.

Lune Oddo was eight years old. At first Clive had left him to the others to watch. But he’d been eyeballing this kid for over a week now, and he had to admit he was entertaining. Opinions, questions, and a certain look in his eye, a quietness that Clive associated with his pal Ferus – was that a Force thing? You got the sense that they could hang you with your own words, so you thought twice before you said you could do something you couldn’t, or boasted about something you hadn’t really done.

Not that Clive himself did that. Much.

Well, whatever the quality was, it could unnerve a guy. He’d accepted Ferus because the man had saved his life on a number of occasions. Besides, Clive liked him. Despite the whole Jedi hoo-ha, Ferus sometimes just didn’t have a clue, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. But this Lune … it was hard to remember he was just a kid.

Imagine, Clive thought, a whole Temple full of these kids? He was lucky he hadn’t met Ferus until after he’d left the Jedi. All that moral rectitude would have sent him straight to the nearest cantina.

     He watched the boy now as he flipped a laserball around the barren landscape. It would have been a normal-looking scene, if the kid hadn’t been doing it with just his mind. Garen Muln, who was as weak as a kitten and couldn’t do much, had been working with him. Garen had been some big Jedi Master back before the galaxy had been flattened by the Empire. Now he was more shadow than man.