The Desperate Mission

  him enough credits, contacts, and help to start a new life. But those

  practical things had not helped with the bewilderment he felt.

  It was Roan who had saved him. Roan who had shown him what it meant to

  have a home. When Ferus had come up with the idea for the business, Roan

  had sold everything he had to finance it. They had become partners as well

  as friends.

  He and Roan had made an agreement as soon as they had pledged to fight

  the Empire: If one of them was able to escape, he would not return for the

  other. They had pledged this using the Bellassan method of grasping each

  other's shoulders and looking into each other's eyes.

  Ferus had pledged his honor, and yet he knew he would break that

  pledge in a heartbeat as soon as he was able. Every day he was stronger.

  Every day he was one day closer to leaving.

  He heard the creak of the door behind him. Instinctively his hand went

  to his belt. It had been years since he'd left the Jedi, and he could not

  remove the habit of reaching for a lightsaber that was no longer there.

  "What are you doing? You can't stand by the window!" Dona moved

  forward quickly. She waved one thick, broad hand over a sensor and the

  armor-weave curtains snapped shut. "I told you, the Imperials are sending

  seeker droids everywhere. They will send them even here, eventually, or

  sooner than that." Dona tossed her waist-length gray braid behind her

  shoulder and moved around the room, smoothing a thermal blanket, moving a

  water pitcher from here to there, adjusting the tilt of a data screen. She

  was always moving, usually talking, and driving him crazy.

  He was fond of her, though. He owed his life to her. He had made his

  way here, wounded, half out of his head with pain and exhaustion, and she

  had taken him in without question. She had hidden him and cared for him and

  would die for him, if she had to.

  She had been his first client. He and Roan had started the business,

  and they had barely opened their doors when she'd walked in the door. She'd

  collected evidence against her employer for three months, as soon as she'd

  found out he was cutting corners on a vaccine for children that could be

  tainted. She was ready to take it to the authorities, but she knew she

  would not only be fired but could possibly be a target of assassination.

  Ferus and Roan had thought she'd been exaggerating, but they'd taken her

  on. She had been right. The government of her homeworld had been involved

  in the coverup as well as the corporation. They tried to discredit her,

  then they tried to arrest her, and finally, they tried to kill her. Roan

  and Ferus had spirited her away, found her a new identity, and she had

  testified against them in a galactic court. She had brought down a

  government as well as a corporation, and she still had enemies.

  Dona was so resourceful that Ferus did not take credit for saving her

  life. She had taken the mountain cabin they'd found her and transformed it

  into a fortress. She had planted booby traps and devised her own

  surveillance techniques. He told her that she would have defeated them

  without the help of Olin/Lands. But he could not talk her out of her belief

  that he and Roan had saved her.

  He heard the buzz of her conversation as static, then tuned back in.

  "... the trouble with the galaxy now, you can't trust anyone. At least

  before, you knew who you could trust and who you couldn't, at least most of

  the time. I should be the last one to say this, of course. I don't trust

  anybody. But now I really don't. So don't stand in front of the window,

  that's all I ask. Now, would you be wanting anything? I just made a pot of

  - "

  Not more soup, Ferus thought. "No, thanks, Dona," he interrupted

  quickly, "I - " Ferus reached out to turn on what he thought was a switch

  for a glow lamp, and suddenly, the floor opened up. He slid down a chute

  and spilled out onto a stone floor, bumping his head in the process.

  He looked up into the gloom. Dona looked down into the passage,

  squinting at him while he rubbed his head.

  "Soup?" she asked.

  Roan, I can't wait to tell you about this. Stay alive. Stay alive, so

  we can laugh again, Ferus begged in his head as he nodded.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Obi-Wan walked through the narrow streets of the area around Moonstone

  Lake, the most distant lake on the outskirts of town. Compared to the rest

  of Ussa, this was a grimy district. The streets were narrow and twined

  around one another in baffling patterns. The houses huddled together, and

  the pedestrians walked quickly, their eyes down. Obi-Wan was alert for

  movement from the shadowy alleys. He had gotten a crash course in how the

  black market operated from Wil and Rilla.

  He kept his left hand free and held a disposable cup with steaming tea

  in it. He did not drink it, but held it. There were many tea stands in

  Ussa, and it was easily obtainable. All one had to do, Wil and Rilla.

  assured him, was walk the streets of the Moonstone District holding a cup

  in the left hand. Sooner or later, he would be approached. It was a system

  that. everyone knew, and so far, the Empire had not been able to crack it.

  The black market flourished in Ussa, something that infuriated the Imperial

  forces, Obi-Wan had been told.

  "You see," Wil had said, "they can have our government and our press

  and our factories. But they cannot have our loyalty. Their spies do not

  work here."

  Rilla had nodded. "It is why they hate Ferus so much. No one will

  betray him, not for all the credits on Bellassa. It gives other planets

  hope."

  It didn't take long for Obi-Wan to make contact. A young woman, her

  hair tucked under a dark cap, drifted close to him. "What are you looking

  for?"

  "Clothing," he said.

  She sighed in disappointment. "I have tech items... some functioning

  datapads, cloud car parts.."

  "Not today, sorry."

  "Then turn left into the next alley and whistle."

  Obi-Wan followed her directions. The alley was dark, even though night

  had not fallen. He whistled softly.

  After a moment, there was a rustling sound. A gravsled hummed forward,

  clothing tumbled in it in an array of colors and fabrics. It looked as if

  it had already been pawed through. Behind the controls was Trever. When he

  caught sight of Obi-Wan, the boy shook his head.

  "Oh, no. Not you."

  "Nice to see you again, too," Obi-Wan said. "I thought we had an

  agreement that you'd wait for me."

  "I get itchy around stormtroopers. I'm funny that way."

  "You owe me credits. And my cloak - I hope you haven't sold it. I paid

  you to wait."

  Trever shifted his feet. "Look, I don't have the credits okay? I spent

  them already. You can take some clothing. I still think you'd look sharp in

  Ramordian silk. I think I've still got your cloak in here..." Trever began

  to dig through the garments. He came up with Obi-Wan's cloak and tossed it

  to him. "There. Now we're square, all right?"

  "Not yet. I want an Imperial uniform."

  "You told me to take them back to Marian
a, remember?"

  "But you didn't. They could be valuable. You would have kept those for

  yourself."

  Trever groaned. "I knew today was a no-moon day. Come on."

  Obi-Wan followed the gravsled over the paving stones of the alley.

  Trever pushed through a battered metal door and motioned Obi-Wan through.

  Trever left the gravsled in a small foyer crowded with other battered

  repulsorlift vehicles, most of them stuffed with objects in various states

  of deterioration.

  There was nowhere to go except through another battered door. Obi-Wan

  reached out to push it open, but Trever said, "Wait." He stepped forward

  and waved his hand over a battered, grimy sensor that Obi-Wan had assumed

  was broken.

  In the old days, he would know better than to assume. Was he losing

  his Jedi awareness? Obi-Wan corrected himself. He had to have the same

  focus he always had. He could not let the days of isolation, the weeks and

  months of grief, dull his abilities.

  The door clicked, and Trever pushed it open. Inside was one large

  room, taking up the entire first floor of the warehouse. It was crammed

  with contraband. Obi-Wan stopped, marveling. Household appliances, droids,

  computer parts, speeder parts, clothing, office equipment, and even one

  intact cloud car. The material was divided into separate piles. Men and

  women took items from various stacks and placed them on carts, or hid

  smaller items under their cloaks, then headed outside again. Some appeared

  to be shopping, followed closely by the sellers.

  "How do they guard their own items?" Obi-Wan asked.

  "Honor among thieves. Come on."

  He led Obi-Wan to a far corner, A group of durasteel bins were neatly

  arranged in rows. He went directly to one in the back. He pulled out an

  Imperial uniform of a low-grade officer. But before handing it to Obi-Wan,

  he hesitated. "Don't tell me what you're going to do with this. And this is

  the last favor I do for you."

  "Last favor. Promise." Obi-Wan took the uniform.

  "And don't change into it here," Trever advised. "You'll start a

  panic. Everyone will think you're here to arrest them." He hesitated for a

  moment. "Is this about Ferus?"

  "I thought you didn't want to know."

  "Well, if you do find him, tell him..."

  Obi-Wan waited. He saw the struggle on the boy's face. He did care

  about Ferus.

  "Tell him he stinks like a bantha," Trever said in a rush.

  "I'll do that," Obi-Wan promised, and headed for the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Once, long ago, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had been walking through a

  torrential rainstorm. The rain had seemed to hit Obi-Wan in relentless

  sheets of water. He struggled with every step, while ahead of him his

  Master's broad back had moved steadily on. Obi-Wan had flinched from the

  onslaught, wiped the rain from his eyes so he could see, and slipped on the

  slick stones of the path they were following. Qui-Gon never even flinched.

  He had struggled on for kilometers, hoping his Master had not noticed

  his difficulty. When at last they stopped to rest, Obi-Wan had leaned

  against the wall of the cave they had found for shelter. Everything was

  sodden - his cloak and hood, his pack, his boots. He felt he had been

  carrying stones in his pockets.

  He still remembered Qui-Gon looking out at the rain cascading from a

  metallic sky. "You must own the rain, Obi-Wan. It must be part of you, an

  extension of you. If you fight it, it will win. Acceptance is the key to

  all difficulties."

  He had been fourteen then. He had learned that lesson, and, like all

  of Qui-Gon's lessons, it had extended to so many things. Heat, wind, cold -

  he had learned how to accept them, not fight them.

  Now he wore the uniform of an Imperial officer, and he owned it. His

  face was newly shaven, his expression impassive. He strode through the

  streets, and did not care that Bellassans shrank when they saw him, that

  they retreated before him like a toxic wind. For the time he would wear it,

  he would not shrink from the contact of it on his skin. He would not

  betray, by a look or a gesture, that he hated every fiber of it, for it

  represented everything he fought against.

  The Imperial code cylinder got him into the front door of the garrison

  without trouble. That meant the owner had not reported it stolen. Still, he

  had to work fast. Obi-Wan strode down the hall. He knew the clones were

  ruthless and unimaginative. The Imperial officers were either brutes or

  opportunists, or both. They all carried themselves with the arrogant

  assurance that absolute power gave. They had all been a part of Emperor

  Palpatine's betrayal of the Jedi... but Obi-Wan had to block that out in

  order to make it through. He could not let anger or sadness seize him. Not

  now. Not ever.

  No one stopped him or gave him a second look. The garrison was busy,

  with troops filing down the hallways and officers walking briskly, trying

  not to rush. The Empire had expanded its ranks, and he noted that many of

  the beings were not clones but crafty opportunists recruited from every

  corner of the galaxy. The stormtroopers were dressed in riot armor,

  carrying stun batons and blast shields. Was something afoot? Obi-Wan wasn't

  sure, but he wanted to be sure to get his information and get out before

  something happened.

  He followed signs in Aurebesh for INTELLIGENCE UNIT/SECURITY and found

  an empty office. Obi-Wan quickly closed the door and, using the code

  cylinder, accessed the computer database. He entered the name ROAN LANDS.

  Surveillance files popped up. Obi-Wan had been lucky. The cylinder

  must have belonged to a commander. He had high-level security clearance.

  Intelligence breakthrough by paid operative indicates that Lands is a

  founding member of the Eleven along with Ferus Olin... considered dangerous

  to the goals of the Empire...

  Paid operative? A spy? Obi-Wan searched, but could find no further

  mention of the operative. Only a direction to the files of the Inquisitors.

  When he tried to access them, he was denied. His officer didn't have that

  high a clearance.

  Subject left office, proceeded to Bluestone Lake district. Subject

  lost after entering large market.

  Subject left home, proceeded to Gree Park. Subject lost among hiking

  trails.

  "Good for you, Roan," Obi-Wan murmured. Roan Lands was obviously good

  at shaking the surveillance he'd known was behind him.

  The file was a long one. He flipped through the hologram quickly. It

  ended with the arrest of Roan and Ferus. They had been surrounded by a full

  platoon, in the middle of the city, and had given themselves up rather than

  endanger the surrounding civilians. Obi-Wan could find no mention of

  charges. But then, the Imperials did not concern themselves with what they

  thought of as the petty rules of law.

  Ah, the med record. Obi-Wan scrolled down to a section titled

  PERSUASIAN TECHNIQUES. His heart fell.

  Roan had been exposed to many neurotoxins. He had proven to be

  extraordinarily strong. Obi-Wan committed the drugs to memory,
>
  concentrating on those administered during Roan's last days in prison.

  He could hear more footsteps in the hallways and could pick up the

  buzz of energy outside. He sensed that he wouldn't have much time left, but

  he owed it to the Eleven to find out as much as he could. As long as he

  could get inside the database, he had to keep looking.

  He exited from Roan's file and browsed through directives to officers,

  most of them at the highest level of security clearance.

  ARREST SWEEPS. Rotating neighborhoods To Be Determined. Any suspicious

  characters to be picked up. Targets to include: journalists, writers,

  artists, weapons experts, former army officers and soldiers...

  The title of a directive caught Obi-Wan's eye.

  SCENARIOS FOR BODY DISPOSAL POST ORDER THIRTY-SEVEN.

  Obi-Wan felt a chill. He accessed the file.

  It is imperative that bodies not be released to family members... All

  HoloNet communication must shut down that morning and comm silence

  maintained for the next month so COMPNOR can control information outflow...

  . No accounts to be disseminated as they can prove detrimental to Imperial

  control of surrounding systems.... Proof of body disposal documented for

  Inquisitor Malorum to pass to LDV...

  LDV... Lord Darth Vader?

  Hundreds of bodies. They were planning for the disposal of hundreds of