Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 3 (6 page)

He scooped up one of the youngling’s toys. It was used for Force practice. In the beginning, the lasertoy would fly in a straight line. As the child grew in expertise, he or she would use
the Force to make it dip and roll. The more it cavorted, the more laserlights blinked on and off. Ferus checked it. A few lights blinked at him. It still worked. This little toy had made it through
the destruction all around it.

He stood by the broken window. The officer below had been cleared to take off. Ferus let the laser-toy fly.

Now all he needed was the Force.

He felt it flow effortlessly between him and the toy. He sent the toy spinning and diving. The lights blinked and flashed, faster and faster, the colors penetrating the gloom.

The guards below pointed and raised their blaster rifles. He could see that they were puzzled, not knowing what the object could be. Was it a weapon? The pilot hesitated, unsure of what to
do.

“Hang onto me like a monkey-lizard,” he told Trever.

Trever leaped on his back, winding his long arms and legs around him. Ferus positioned himself on the ledge. Everyone below was looking at the lasertoy. He jumped. The Force helped him slow and
guide his descent.

The speeder was still hovering near the guards. Obviously the officer wanted the protection of their weaponry before he took off. Ferus kept the lasertoy spinning even as he guided his leap.

It all happened in less than an instant. He landed on the back of the speeder. Trever slithered off his back and into the backseat.

Ferus picked up the officer under the arms. The officer was too startled to struggle. “I need a ride,” Ferus said.

He tossed him from the vehicle. They were still hovering only meters from the platform; the officer wasn’t hurt, but he wasn’t very happy about his rough landing. He, too, drew his
blaster and began firing furiously.

“Time to go,” Trever said, ducking under the seat.

Blaster fire streaked around them as the guards realized what had happened. Ferus pushed the engines and they zoomed off.

What now?
Trever wondered. With every new idea Ferus had, he found himself spinning in atmospheric storms, dangling from towers, and stealing Imperial speeders. He
didn’t know if he was having the time of his life or if he was simply crazy for sticking around.

He wondered for the thousandth time why he was here. Every time he had a chance to bolt, he said no.

The truth was, the galaxy became such a big place when you had nowhere to go.

And anything he could do to destroy the Empire that had destroyed his family—he’d do it.

“We know now that Malorum believes the Jedi is alive and on Coruscant,” Ferus said. “We’d better ditch this speeder fast and start looking.”

“Now?” Trever asked as Ferus piloted the speeder to a landing at a crowded platform. “Don’t you ever stop?”

“Not having a good time?”

“Food and sleep would be nice.”

“No sleep, not yet. But I can get you some food where we’re headed. If he’s still there.” So much had changed, Ferus thought—he didn’t expect anything to be
the same. But he couldn’t stop hoping.

It was gone. Where Dexter’s Diner once occupied its tiny space there was now an empty lot. Ferus stood, looking at the space where it had been. It had been razed.
Why?

He didn’t know Dexter Jettster all that well. He’d only met him a couple of times. But Obi-Wan had told him to look up Dexter if he ever needed information or help, and to tell him
that Obi-Wan had sent him. The fact that Obi-Wan trusted Dexter with the fact that he was still alive meant something.

Ferus kicked at a piece of rubble. He wasn’t the only one who knew Dexter Jettster. His diner was known throughout Galactic City. Someone had to know what had happened to him.

A woman in a red cloak passed by and smiled at him. “I’ve seen that expression on so many faces,” she said. “Looking for sliders, right?”

“They were the best in the galaxy. What happened?”

“Disappeared,” she said. “Happened the same night the Empire destroyed his diner.”

“Why?”

“Accused of subversion, aiding and abetting enemies of the Empire.”

“The usual,” Ferus said bitterly.

The woman gave him a sharp look. “Be careful what you say,” she said softly.

There was a human man walking near them. Probably just someone on his way home after a long day of work. But you never knew who could be an Imperial spy.

Ferus waited until the man had passed. “Do you know what happened to Dexter?”

“Rumors,” she said. “Coruscant is always full of rumors. Some say he was arrested. Some say he is dead. Some say he travels the galaxy, just as he used to, going from job to
job on energy-harvesting freighters. And some say he’s joined the Erased.”

That term again. “‘The Erased’?” Ferus asked.

She gave him a curious look. “You don’t know about them?”

“I...I left Coruscant a long time ago.”

She gave him an appraising look. “Well, if you’re back here, you should know about them. The Enemy Eradication Order of Coruscant was issued shortly after the Emperor took over. It
was specifically designed to target those who had been active in the Republic. At first, it was just surveillance. They’d have to check in with an Imperial officer every week. They were
forbidden to travel. But soon surveillance led to arrest, arrest to death or a living death, so...some engineered their own disappearance. They help each other now. You can get rid of your name and
your ID docs and any record of your existence and simply...”

“Disappear.”

“As if you’d never been born. They say they live below. Far below, in one of the sublevels.”

“I see. I’m glad for Dexter, if he did make it out. He was a friend.” Their words had passed back and forth, but something else was going on underneath. She was sizing him up,
trying to decide what he was. And he was telling her, with every word, that she could trust him. He knew that she knew more than she was telling.

“It’s dangerous,” she said. She glanced around furtively.

“Everything is dangerous, these days.”

Her brown eyes were wary, and she appeared to make a decision. “My advice, of course, is not to go in the orange district near sunset.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Ferus said, as she nodded briefly and walked away. Did he imagine it, or did she breathe “good luck” as she passed him?

Most of his missions as a Jedi apprentice had taken him to the Mid-Rim worlds and beyond. He knew that a few of the other Master-Padawan teams, such as Anakin and Obi-Wan, had more experience on
Coruscant. Ferus didn’t know the underworld of Coruscant very well. But even he had heard of the orange district.

It wasn’t an official name. You wouldn’t find it on a map. It had gotten that name from the residents’ habit of replacing the Senate-issued street glowlights with orange ones
that lent the passages and walkways a lurid air. Every time the officials had changed the lights back to the clear ones, the residents somehow managed to return them to orange, block by block and
street by street. At last the Senate had given up on the problem and let the orange district be.

Ferus had never actually been there, but he wasn’t worried about finding his way around. This was part of what he did, go into dicey situations and try to find out information without
making too many stupid mistakes.

Sometimes he did better than others.

They took an air taxi down to the district. The driver zoomed off as fast as he could. Who could blame him?

There was little illumination here except for the garish laserlights that flashed invitations to various clubs and bars and, of course, the orange glowlights. Down here, it was never silent. The
press of beings made walking difficult. Those who couldn’t afford the upper levels lived here, in small cubes that passed for apartments in huge structures housing thousands. Many of them,
Ferus was sure, were scheming how to make their way to the upper levels to live underneath the sun again.

“Smart,” Trever said. “Hide in plain sight. Even the Empire would have trouble tracking someone here. Can you imagine making a house-to-house search? It would take about a
thousand years.”

They continued down the walkway. Blocks of compressed garbage towered above them. Although it had been sanitized in the processing, it still gave off a faint smell.

“I think I just lost my appetite,” Trever said.

“We’re in the quadrant now,” Ferus said. “And it’s sunset.”

“How can you tell? It’s always orange down here.”

Ferus gazed around. He could go into a shop or sit on a bench and wait until someone approached him. In districts like these, beings always had things to sell, and that always included
information. But maybe a café was best.

“It’s better not to advertise that you’re a stranger here, but not seem too at home, either,” he told Trever as he looked around. “If we can find a small
café...”

“Ferus...”

“...it has to be the right one.”

“Ferus! Look.”

Ferus followed Trever’s jerk of his chin. Down a particularly dangerous-appearing alley, a small laser-light hung over a door. It would be easy to miss, thanks to the all-enveloping orange
glow in the air. It was a round red light with cracks emanating from it. The cracks made the light appear to be a dying sun.

“Sunset,” Trever said. “In the orange district.”

“Maybe. Certainly worth a try.”

Ferus led the way down the alley. “I’ll go in first. You stay out here.”

“I’m not sure about this,” Trever said. “Maybe I should hit the street, pick up something I could pretend to sell—dataparts, for example, and—

“Pick up dataparts? Don’t you mean
steal
them?”

“Don’t be so precise. My point is, I’ll get inside pretending to be a seller and get a good look around. Nobody ever suspects a street kid.”

“No, I’ll go,” Ferus said. “I’ve got experience with this. It’s got to be some sort of cantina. You can always find someone to help you in a cantina, if you
approach it the right way. Wait here.”

He pushed open the door...and walked straight into the tusk of a Whiphid as it picked him up and threw him out the door.

Ferus landed hard. He felt his side gingerly. The Whiphid had barely nicked him with his tusk. Still, he could feel the burn. Thank the stars for small favors.

Trever strolled over to look down at him. “Oh,” he said, “so that’s how it’s done.”

The Whiphid crossed the distance in two gigantic strides. He towered over them. “This is a private club! Get your carcass back to the hole it crawled out of!”

“Hey, Tooth-Face!” Trever shot back angrily. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“They don’t like it when you call them that,” Ferus murmured. “So I wouldn’t—”

The Whiphid picked up Trever with his clawed hands and tossed him on top of Ferus. Ferus felt his breath puff out in a
whoosh
at the impact.

“Call the garbage compactors!” the Whiphid roared to someone inside. “We’ve got some trash!”

A slender human male in an ankle-length coat stood in the doorway. Ferus recognized the telltale signs of a slythmonger, a being who bought and sold narcotics and potions, sometimes without
regard to whether they were deadly or not.

I can take them both
, Ferus thought.
The Whiphid just took me by surprise. I can handle this.

The slythmonger laughed. “Come on, sweetblossoms. We’ve got two live ones!”

A tall Bothan and nine—no, ten—other beings charged out the door.

Okay. Maybe not as easy as I thought.

Trever rolled off him. Ferus sprang to his feet, his hands held up, palms out. “Hey, I’m just looking for some information.”

“And what makes you think we have any to give?” the slythmonger asked.

“Not give. Sell.”

“He’s got credits!” a tall human man called gleefully. “Get him!”

As if in one mass, the homicidal crew headed toward them.

He didn’t want to use his lightsaber. News would get back quickly that a Jedi had been spotted. He didn’t want to tip off Malorum. He knew now that Malorum believed Fy-Tor was alive,
and that would only endanger her.

Still, he didn’t particularly want to get himself and Trever killed.

Trever had the most finely honed sense of self-preservation he’d ever seen. Within seconds, he had scurried over and rolled under a burned-out speeder.

“Wooo,” a woman with a crisscrossing holster packed with blasters yelled. “Look at the little womp rat run! Get him!”

Ferus leaped and landed on top of the speeder. He drew his blaster. “You’ll have to get through me.”

With a slither and a clatter and a clang, everyone’s weapons came out. Pocket blasters. A blaster rifle. Vibroshivs. Vibroblades. And even what looked like an Imperial force pike.

“Gladly,” the Bothan said.

Suddenly a deep laugh rolled out from the dark interior.

“Would you mind not killing the poor fellow, chums?” Dexter Jettster said. “I think I might know him.”