by Jude Watson
“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.”
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.”
The fact of Padmé’s death was recorded…but that was all. There was no hint of how she’d died, nothing for him to go on. Naboo customs precluded any questions about the possible father of her child; the family was given privacy. There was no doctor’s report.
Malorum’s steps slowed. How stupid. Of course, if the records did not show him what he wanted, he must go to the source. Padmé Amidala’s grandmothers.
One problem was that the Naboo did not have a world directory. Citizens did not have to register with the government, something he knew that the Emperor would change as soon as he got around to it. Privacy was prized here. In addition, everybody seemed to know everybody else, through a network of clans and families. If you had to ask for an address, it was proof that you didn’t know the person well enough to contact them.
A small problem. Not an insurmountable one.
Malorum crossed to the building that housed the Naboo Essentials Provider, a typically gentle name for the office that controlled the power grid. He paused just inside the door to examine a large holomap on the wall, a graphic image of the main power generator. He noted the corridors lined with electron gates, the catwalks, the bridges to dozens of levels, the deep central core. Impressive. The Naboo did have some technical expertise after all. This would be an excellent world to exploit.
He strode into the main office and demanded to see the manager. In the usual display of polite evasion he was told that the office was about to close, but if he’d come back tomorrow…
“I am a personal representative of Emperor Palpatine. Get him for me now,” Malorum snapped. He couldn’t wait to squeeze the information out of these maddening people like pulp from a muja fruit.
The clerk rushed into an inner office, ornate robes flowing. Malorum had been waiting, hoping for this. He strode after him. He pushed through the door, almost knocking the man to the floor.
The manager stood up from his desk, his mouth gaping. He was older, his graying hair standing out in tufts over his ears. He had a kind face and gentle eyes. Malorum despised him immediately.
“I am looking for the addresses of the grandmothers of the former Senator Padmé Amidala.”
“Senator Amidala, alas and sadly, is deceased.”
“I am of course aware of that.” Malorum slammed his hand down. “This desk is aware of that! I am the eyes and ears of the Emperor himself. Tell me the names of her grandmothers. I know you know them so don’t waste my time with denials.”
The man swallowed. He quickly consulted a hand-crafted ledger. “Winama Naberrie. Ryoo Thule.”
“Give me their addresses.”
“Winama Naberrie, alas and sadly, died before the Battle of Naboo.”
“Then the other one!” Malorum roared at the man. He didn’t like to lose his temper—he felt a loss of control was always a mistake, but he’d been provoked by hours of evasions. And it could be effective.
To his surprise, the man stood his ground. “Ah, well, I don’t have that information per se, you see. This is the office of the Essentials Provider—”
Malorum had had enough of this. Always it was the same. The person would tell him he really didn’t have the ability to help him while maintaining an expression of deep concern, then repeat his title or the name of the agency, and Malorum would be led round and round in a helpful, polite way that got him nowhere.
He put his blaster next to the man’s cheek. “Do you see this?” No more yelling now. Just a quiet voice that held menace.
The man’s expression turned to fear. “Yes.”
Slowly he rotated the blaster until the barrel was pointing toward the outer office. “I am going to take this blaster and shoot everyone in this office in front of your eyes if you don’t give me the information.”
The man looked up at him. Incredulity turned to horror as he realized that Malorum was perfectly capable of doing it.
He bowed his head. “Ryoo Thule now lives in the lake district of Naboo in the family villa called Varykino. In Translucence Cove.”
“That isn’t much of an address.” Malorum gave the blaster an extra push against his cheek.
The man raised his head. Something flashed there, some defiance that Malorum decided he didn’t have time to smash. Naboo would come to understand, as all worlds would, who was in charge.
“That is the way we do things on Naboo. It is the only direction I can give you.”
Malorum wanted to shoot him, but he stormed out instead.
He had what he needed. It was tedious to have to do his own investigating, but he couldn’t trust anyone else. He had to dig and dig until he had what he wanted. He knew the lake district was remote; he’d need local transport. All to see an old woman who might hold the key to something he still didn’t understand.
Solace and the others landed their ships on an entry platform on the outskirts of Theed. They knew the Imperials were monitoring the hangar. Clive was familiar with Theed and led them through the streets.
“The people of Naboo are no fans of the Empire,” Clive told them. “They’l
l keep their mouths shut. Just follow me. I know Theed well.”
“I don’t need a tour of cantinas,” Ferus told him suspiciously.
Clive laughed. “I can show you those, too, mate. But let’s start with some contacts. I know a former captain in the army who can help us—Gregar Typho.”
“I know him,” Keets said. “I interviewed him a couple of times. Senator Amidala trusted him.”
“Lead on,” Ferus said.
Captain Typho was in an office off one of the wide boulevards of Theed. He rose from his desk a bit awkwardly, in the way of an active man who was unused to office work. He had a small eye patch over one eye and was wearing a uniform over his powerful build. He remembered Keets well and greeted Clive warmly.
“I heard you were in prison,” he said.
“I wasn’t crazy about the accommodations. This is my friend, Ferus Olin. We’re all here to help locate an Inquisitor named Malorum.”
Captain Typho nodded. “We know he’s here. We’ve been tracking his movements. He began at the Imperial battalion offices—we know they’re setting up a spy network here. We’re keeping them under surveillance even as they spy on us. They’ve taken over a government building next to the hangar. Despite the laws of Naboo, which forbid it, we suspect they are secretly stocking weapons and explosives there.”
Curran Caladian frowned. “That’s against the laws of the Senate as well. Do you think they’re planning to take over the government?”
Typho nodded grimly. “It’s possible. They have assault ships in orbit. They’ve done this with equally uncooperative worlds, under the guise of ‘keeping order in the galaxy.’”
“I’m well aware of their tactics,” Ferus said. “They did it on Belassa, where I come from.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Typho said. “It’s what we fear. That’s why we’ve been keeping a watchful eye on Malorum. We know how close he is to Emperor Palpatine. The curious thing is that he doesn’t seem to be on official business. He checked in with the Imperial regent, of course, but after that, he’s been on his own, keeping a low profile.”
“So what has he been up to?” Keets asked.
“We’ve been receiving reports from government officials that he’s been investigating the funeral of Senator Amidala.”
His face darkened. “I too have investigated the Senator’s death. I don’t believe the official reports that the Jedi killed her. They were her friends. She believed in them absolutely; she never believed the rumors during the Clone Wars that they were abusing their power.”
“I don’t know why Malorum is interested,” Ferus said. “I only know he must be stopped.”
Typho nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help you. What do you need?”
“Do you know where he is right now?” Ferus asked.
“He’s no longer in Theed,” Typho replied. “We just got word from the Director of Essentials, who said that Malorum forced him to reveal the whereabouts of Senator Amidala’s maternal grandmother. We’ve been trying to contact her, but she lives in seclusion and hasn’t answered our comm signals.”
Ferus stood. “You’ll have to direct us there. But first, I need to speak to Queen Apailana.”
Ferus and the others were ushered into the Queen’s presence in the throne room in the palace. She was wearing her ornate ceremonial robes—deep blue with a matching headdress. Her face was painted white, with a red slash on her upper lip, called the scar of remembrance. Captain Typho introduced each of them, and they all inclined their heads in a short bow. Typho then gave the queen a brief explanation of why they were on Naboo.
“I’m honored to meet so many distinguished guests,” the Queen said in her soft voice. “I offer you welcome.”
“Queen Apailana,” Ferus said, bowing his head again. “I have come to ask you something I have no right to ask you.”
“Yet here you are,” Queen Apailana said.
“I request that on my signal, you shut down all comm systems on Naboo. Internal and external comm systems.”
The Queen looked startled. “That is quite a large request,” she said.
“Queen Apailana, the Jedi as we knew them are no more,” Ferus explained. “Jedi Master Solace and I are among the last left alive. You were once a friend of the Jedi and the Republic. Please trust us once more. Malorum is dangerous not only to Naboo but to a peaceful future for the galaxy. I know what I ask is difficult.”
“I am reluctant,” the Queen said slowly. “Yet you are right—our history with the Jedi has led me to trust what they say. I never believed the official story of Senator Amidala’s death. I have encouraged Captain Typho to keep searching for answers, even though it seems there are none to be had. Near the end of her life, the Senator still had faith in the Jedi. We were in constant contact, so I am sure of this. I still think of the Jedi as friends—no matter if there is one or one thousand.”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“On two conditions,” the Queen said. “One, that you send the signal only out of the most dire necessity.”
“That of course would be the case,” Ferus answered.
“Two, I will shut communications down for one hour only,” Queen Apailana continued. “I cannot endanger the citizens of Naboo for longer than that. We can fake an outage for a time, but the Imperial presence will become suspicious if the outage lasts any longer.”
Ferus inclined his head. “That should be all I need. Thank you.”
“Thank you for your service,” the Queen replied. Now it was her turn to incline her head in a gesture of respect to Ferus and the others. “Thank you for not giving up.”
Ryoo Thule had been up before dawn. She had walked down to the lake to see the sunrise. She had noticed on the way to her home, as she climbed the steep grade back to the house, that she was out of breath. Yet she didn’t feel winded, exactly.
She pressed a hand to her side, then against her heart. She was an elder now, but she was still surprised when her body told her so.
She remained robust and strong, still capable of walking the steep, winding paths of the cliffsides along the lake. She just had to learn to walk slowly, not scamper up the way she had when she was a child.
That must be it.
On those early morning walks her family strolled beside her. Not the family who still lived, her daughter Jobal, her son-in-law Ruwee, their child Sola and her children, her own namesake Ryoo and her sister Pooja. Not her sister and her children.
It was her husband, long dead, who walked beside her. Her good friend, Winama Naberrie (how they had plotted to marry off their children! How surprised they’d been when they’d actually fallen in love!) and her beloved grandchild, Padmé. In some ways Padmé felt closer to her now that she was gone.
From an early age Padmé had been on her way to somewhere else. Oh, she had been the most loving granddaughter possible, but her visits had been respites from a busy life. She’d never suggested, by word or look, that this was the case. Her whole heart had been in those visits. Ryoo had felt it just the same, because she was closer to Padmé than any of her other granddaughters.
She’d had her secrets. Ryoo knew that. She’d known before Padmé had that she was in love. She’d known that love was entwined with heartbreak.
Padmé’s death had broken her own heart. Ryoo had, according to custom, been the overseer of her funeral. She had kissed her granddaughter’s cold cheek. She had tucked small white blossoms into her clothing and hair. She had wept on a cold floor.
The grief was still a stone in her belly, but she’d found peace here. Padmé had loved this place, and Padmé was all around her. Padmé was part of the galaxy now.
Part of her stays. Somewhere out there in the stars. I feel it. It is enough to feel it. Perhaps someday…
Ryoo stood at the window looking out at the azure lake. She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart flutter. Why had she woken this morning with such a sense of foreboding? Why did Padmé feel so especially close to her today?
What was this feeling? Why was she so restless?
She had been here for six months, mourning. It was time to return to her life in Theed. She wasn’t too old to find a renewed sense of purpose. Padmé would want that.
Maybe that was the source of her anxiety. She knew it was time to let go of her grief, and she was reluctant. She had to remind herself that leaving this place wouldn’t mean leaving her memories of Padmé behind.
Ryoo paused by the comlink station. Its insistent blinking told her of messages she should listen to. But she wasn’t ready. Not now. Later. Her family was used to her returning messages later in the day. They wouldn’t worry. They knew her grief needed solitude.
Ryoo smiled at that insistent red light. It spoke of the warm voices of friends and family, eager to bring her news or check on her well-being. It contained the threads of her life.
It was time to pick them up again.
She would leave tomorrow. It was time.
She heard footsteps in the reception hall below. Strange. She was alone here, without servants, and the neighbors weren’t close. She would have seen a gondola, or a speeder, if someone had come to visit.
She walked down the stairs, her slippers whispering on the stone.
He stood, his face in shadow. His robe was deep maroon, the color of dried blood. For a moment her steps faltered. It was as though Death himself had come to call.
Then she recognized the flutter she had felt all morning, the unease. It wasn’t old age at all, it wasn’t restlessness or the realization it was time to be gone.
It was fear.
Padmé, Padmé, I’m afraid.
She told herself she was being ridiculous. She’d been right; she’d been here too long alone. She walked forward, her hand outstretched, ready to greet the stranger, for on Naboo every stranger is a potential friend.
He threw back the hood. She saw his eyes, and suddenly she understood, with absolute certainty, what she’d felt the moment she’d awakened. She’d looked for the streaks of lavender that meant the sun was rising, light infiltrating darkness. Now she knew what had been chasing her throughout the day, what she’d believed, what she’d feared.