Death on Naboo Page 5

  The officer faced him, his blaster held steady.

  Ferus held his blasters. Neither of them moved.

  The officer fired. Ferus had already taken advan­tage of the instant before the blast and leaped. He fired above at the ceiling. The bolts holding the restraints in place fell. The restraining cables dropped to the floor. He wrapped the officer in them and fled.

  Since he'd been in the restraint box, he wasn't sure where he was in the prison complex. He would have to find the factory. He wasn't sure if Clive had been able to disable the loader but he had to assume that the plan was on schedule. Clive would expect him to show up. If he didn't, he had no doubt that Clive would leave without him . . . if he could.

  Ferus ran through the halls. There had to be another entrance to the factory, one for the guards to use.

  He found it. The blast doors opened with a swipe of the card. The racket of the factory assaulted his ears.

  Glad to kiss this place good-bye.

  He ducked behind a machine. The line of prison­ers kept their faces toward their work. A guard patrolled — up and down, up and down. Ferus could see no disruption in routine. In the distance, the transport freighter sat, while a conveyor ramp rolled crate after crate inside.

  Then he heard the crackle of a transmitter and saw an officer walking quickly down the aisle, toward the freighter. Another officer was hurrying from the opposite direction.

  Ferus was covered by the noise of the machines and the regular routine of the patrolling guard. While the guard's back was to him, he rushed forward and took down the first officer. The officer cracked his head on machinery and was out cold.

  Keeping his head down, Ferus ran past the clamor of the turbines stamping durasteel into sheets and forming them into gears and pins. He grabbed a handful of gears as he ran.

  By now the prisoners had noted him but they said nothing. If one of them was going to break out, he would make it or not make it. They would neither help him nor hinder him. But he could feel their avid interest in his progress and their conviction that he would fail.

  The bay doors were open now, and the second officer was striding up the ramp, ready to do the manual count. No doubt he expected his fellow officer at any moment. They had a window of time to do this. Once he was unable to raise the officer on his comlink, the officer would become suspicious.

  "About time you showed up." Clive was beside him now.

  "Blasters." Ferus said the word not as a need but a warning.

  "Wha —"

  Ferus had felt the surge in the Force, warning him. He shoved Clive down as the blaster fire exploded overhead. It hit a stamping machine, send­ing molten fire through it.

  "We've been spotted," Ferus said.

  "You think?"

  They raced up the ramp, zigzagging to avoid the fire from the guards behind them. Stormtroopers appeared and thundered up the ramp. Clive used an old trick, tossing the handful of gears down the ramp. The stormtroopers slipped and fell. With a Force-push, Ferus gave them an extra boost, send­ing them flying back onto the factory floor.

  Clive gave him a surprised look but there was no time for questions. Clive hurled the spoon, end over end over end, toward the sole Imperial officer. It hit him straight in the center of the forehead with such force that the officer's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed in a heap. Ferus quickly closed the bay doors.

  "Cockpit," Clive said. "They'll be coming after us with the big guns now."

  "Those weren't the big guns?"

  They raced to the cockpit and barreled through the door. Two freighter pilots stood up from where they'd been lounging with one eye on the nav computer panel. They saw the blaster in Ferus's hand and the determined look in Clive's eyes.

  They held up their hands. "I didn't sign on for this," one said.

  "Me either," said the other.

  "The door's that way," Clive said. He hit the cockpit ramp button with his fist.

  They catapulted themselves out, jumping off the ramp before it hit the floor. Clive hit the ramp con­trol again as Ferus fired up the engines.

  The freighter ship shot into the sky. The prison became a gray blur in the middle of a jungle.

  And then the first starfighters began to rise from the landing platform below.

  "Do they have to be so stinking fast?" Clive muttered.

  "What's the status on our weapons system?" Ferus asked, pushing the speed.

  Clive reviewed the computer readouts. "Uh, not great. We've got a couple of low-power laser cannons."

  "And?"

  "That's it."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it."

  Ferus gave a quick glance at the nav computer. The Imperial starfighters were gaining. The freighter was old and slow. Its weapons were rudimentary. They could play hide-and-seek, but there were no asteroids in the vicinity, and anyway it would be like hiding a Wookiee behind a twig.

  "We didn't come this far to be turned into space dust," Clive said fiercely.

  But they both looked out at the ships and knew they were doomed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Trever and the others had kept in touch at first, but as the planet Dontamo drew closer they maintained comm silence. Even if they scrambled communications, they didn't want Imperial scouts to pick up anything.

  Dex had pulled in a major favor and outfitted them with two small starships. They had seen service in the Clone Wars and their hulls were battered and pockmarked with the ghosts of small asteroid colli­sions and missile fire. But the engines were tweaked and their hyperdrives had been overhauled.

  Trever, Keets, and Solace were in one modified ARC-170 starfighter, Oryon and Curran in an over­hauled Jedi starfighter. Their plan was not much of a plan, in Trever's opinion, but they didn't have a choice. They simply had to land and see what they found. There was no time to obtain the prison specs, no time for surveillance. If an execution order had been issued, the small group of combatants had to move as fast as they could and take their chances.

  Trever kept his eyes on the nav computer. He was alert for any signs of Imperial patrol ships. Oryon had told him that they often did routine inspections of the airspace surrounding the prison worlds. Every nerve inside him was screaming to land and find Ferus.

  Suddenly he sat forward. "Something's going on. Look." He pointed to the dots on the computer. "A ship is being chased."

  "A freighter, by the looks of it." Solace keyed in a few strokes. "And those are starfighters."

  "Imperial starfighters chasing an old freighter? Why?"

  "Not our problem. Could be good news for us," Solace said. "They'll be distracted by whatever's going on, and we can —"

  She stopped abruptly.

  "What is it?" Solace's face had suddenly gone still and tight, a look Trever was becoming famil­iar with.

  "The Force. Something . . ." She stared hard at the screen. "Ferus is on that ship." She reached for the comm unit. "Oryon, come in. The ship on XYZ coordinates 1138, 1999, 2300 —"

  "We see it."

  "Our target is on that ship. And at the controls, by the looks of it."

  "Looks like he could use a hand. Let's go."

  Trever was suddenly slammed back in his seat as Solace took the fighter into a spinning dive.

  "Did I warn you to hang on?" she yelled over the scream of the engines.

  Trever felt plastered back against the seat. He had seen Solace's piloting skills, navigating through the tight spaces and close shaves that was Coruscant air traffic. This was combat flying — fast, danger­ous. It might have even felt exhilarating, if he hadn't also felt like he was about to die any second.

  "You're going to have to operate the laser can­nons," Solace told him. "Can you do it?"

  "I'm pretty good," Trever said, even though tech­nically he hadn't operated any before.

  "Get to it," she said. "Just don't shoot Oryon."

  Trever switched on the cannons. He spread his legs, keeping his balance, his eye at the sco
pe. The Imperial fighters were firing on the starfreighter. Compared to the agile fighters, the freighter looked like a gigantic clumsy tractor plowing through stars.

  The starfighters hadn't realized the two new­comers were a threat, not yet. They might get a few clear shots first.

  Trever lined up a shot. Almost within range. Almost . . . almost. . . .

  He pressed the activator ‑

  - and was rewarded with the bloom of smoke from one of the starfighters.

  "Good work!" Solace shouted. "Let me get closer. They'll be on us now."

  Trever quickly discovered that shooting at a starfighter was much more difficult when the star­fighters were engaged in evasive maneuvers . . . and shooting back at him.

  Space suddenly erupted in fire. It had bumps and peaks and valleys, currents of percussive bumps that Solace rode with ease, one hand on the con­trols, the other on her own weaponry controls.

  Oryon was looping around the starfighters, pep­pering them with fire and trying to stay between them and the freighter. Suddenly Ferus's voice popped into their frequency.

  "Whoever you are, thank you!" he yelled.

  "It's us, sweetcake. Watching your back as usual," Keets's voice boomed out.

  "It's good to see you! I owe you one."

  "You owe us plenty!" Trever shouted from the gunport.

  Oryon's constant blaster hammering hit one starfighter, which spiraled out of control. Now only two were left, and Solace and Oryon proved to be the better pilots, maneuvering their ships so that they boxed the starfighters in, then blasted them.

  Fire burst on their wings and fuselage and they careened down toward the prison world.

  Ferus's freighter did a lazy circle around them. "How about a rendezvous point?"

  Solace clicked through the possibilities. "How about Alba-16? It's not far, and the Empire has no real presence there."

  "And it's got a great cantina!" an unfamiliar voice roared through the Comm unit.

  "Who was that?" Oryon asked.

  Trever felt his heart rise as he heard Ferus's chuckle. It was good to hear it. He couldn't help feel­ing that everything would be okay.

  "Don't ask," Ferus said.

  It wasn't until Alba-16 was close that Clive brought up to Ferus what he'd seen. He was sitting in the copilot's chair, boots on the console, leaning back as far as the chair would allow him to go.

  "I always thought there was something odd about you, but I never guessed you were a Jedi," he said.

  "I was never a Jedi," Ferus corrected. "I left when I was still a Padawan."

  "Never heard of one leaving. A story there, eh?" Clive said, but he didn't ask for it. "You could have told me. I would have felt a mite easier about our escape probability factor. As it was, I thought for sure we were going to die."

  "My abilities aren't as sharp as they were. And I had no lightsaber. I didn't want you to overestimate what I could do."

  "Well, it was a nice surprise, mate. You did all right."

  "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."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  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."