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[Last Of The Jedi] - 08(30)

By:Jude Watson


“Bog?”

Maggis lifted a shaggy eyebrow. “How do you know who his father is?”

“He told me.”

“If you say so. Well, his daddy is an Imperial governor, so he can do what he wants. He got Lune on some special volunteer list. Big Imperial project.”

“What kind of project?”

“My, my, aren’t we inquisitive? Wish I could see some of this intellectual curiosity in the classroom.” Maggis shook his head. “It’s on a need-to-know basis, and I’m just not one of the know-it-alls. All appearances to the contrary.” He gave a laugh that had only sadness in it. “Hey, but let’s talk about you. What did you really hope to accomplish? Did you really think you could steal a ship?”

Trever hesitated. This was a different Maggis. Trever didn’t know anything about the Living Force, but he could tell that something in Maggis had changed. Or else this could be a trick. “We were just fooling around.”

“I told you already, no more ‘we-were-justs.’ You’re not some kid with Imperial stars in your eyes, are you? I knew something about you didn’t fit,” Maggis said, but he said it absently, as if he were really thinking of something else.

He looked around the hangar. Then he put his hands on his knees and took a breath.

“Okay” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Trever asked. He was prepared to run. He could outrun Maggis, unless Maggis had a stun blaster. Which he probably did.

“Anywhere but here, kid. I’m your ticket out, Fortin. Or whatever your name is.” Maggis crooked a finger at a transport. “That one?”

Was it a trick?

“Hurry up before I change my mind. You caught me on a good night. I’m sick of the Empire, and I’m sick of this hat.” Maggis tossed his officer’s cap across the hangar.

He had to take the chance. Trever moved forward. He didn’t quite believe this was happening. He started up the ramp to the cockpit.

Kestrel’s voice suddenly echoed across the hangar. “What’s this, an early morning class? Nobody told me.”

“Recruit Kestrel, how good of you to join us.” Maggis drawled the words.

Trever froze.

Maggis jerked a shoulder toward Trever. “Recruit Fortin has decided to take a joyride on an official Imperial cruiser. Unofficially.”

Kestrel took several brisk steps forward. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, he was fully dressed in his uniform. “Allow me to do the honors, sir. I’m Fortin’s shadow. I’m responsible for his behavior. I have to tell you that his door has been blown off its hinges.”

“Now that’s determination,” Maggis said. “You’re obviously taking your job just as seriously, Kestrel. Who knew I had such dedicated recruits on my hands?”

Kestrel’s hand was on his holster. “Allow me to take care of this, sir.”

“Be my guest. For this offense, I’d say twenty-five degrades should do it. That should guarantee Fortin makes it to the Mining Corps by the end of the week, at the rate he’s going.”

Trever braced himself, ready to jump as Kestrel reached for his blaster. But before Kestrel could get it out of his belt, Maggis moved with surprising swiftness. He drew his own blaster and aimed it at Kestrel.

“I think I should tell you that this is a real one,” he said in a friendly tone. “The sting is slightly more … unpleasant.”

Kestrel’s neck flushed. “I don’t believe you.”

Blasterfire streaked across the hangar and blew up a service console.

Maggis backed up the ramp, still holding the blaster on Kestrel. “Get inside,” he told Trever. “Start up the engines.”

“What are you doing, sir?” Kestrel was incredulous.

“It appears, Recruit Kestrel, that my brilliant but short Imperial career is at an end. Enjoy.”

Suddenly Kestrel streaked toward the security panel. He hit the sensor, and the alarms sounded.

Maggis could move fast when he had to. He leaped into the cockpit, jumped into the pilot seat, and grabbed the controls.

He activated the retractable canopy, but it stopped halfway, shut down by the security system. He quickly overrode the system with a code and it began to close again. “Here’s where I get to prove I can actually fly,” he said to Trever.

Angling the craft sideways, he cleared the canopy by millimeters as it slid shut, clipping the ship and sending it in a spiral that Maggis corrected by flying upside down. Then they shot out into the lights of the Coruscant night.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Ferus passed room after room of equipment and diagnostics, but no record consoles. Sweat beaded his hairline. He felt it break out on his legs and arms and trickle down his back. Was there something in the air-filtering system that was making him dizzy? A lack of oxygen? There was something about this feeling that felt familiar.