Jax checked his chrono. Five hours. He made a quick decision. “I’m going up to the Palace District to see if I can get close to Vader’s ship.”
I-Five went so still that Jax thought for a moment the droid’s joints had frozen. “Why?”
“If he’s brought Yimmon to Coruscant, he may be moving him to wherever he’s sent the Inquisitors.”
“Or he might have sent Yimmon on ahead with those other ships.”
“But if he’s here, Five, I might be able to get to him.”
Den stepped fully onto the bridge. “Yeah, and it might be a trap.”
“A trap? How? As far as he knows, I’m dead.”
“When it comes to Vader,” Den said, “all bets are off. The Force only knows what Vader thinks. We should lie low here and be ready to shadow him when he takes off.”
“I, too, would advise against closer inspection,” I-Five agreed.
Jax shook his head, frustration bubbling just under the surface of his calm. “I can’t pass up an opportunity like this. If we wait until he lifts off, our chances of being able to trace him aren’t all that good. We’d still be taking a shot in the dark.”
“And if you get too close to him on the ground, you’ll be taking a chance that he’ll sense you—if he hasn’t already,” argued I-Five. “Better a shot in the dark than a shot in the head.”
“If he’d sensed me he’d have come after me. This landing zone would be crawling with Inquisitors. But he’s sent his most effective Inquisitors offworld. I need to know where they’ve gone.” Jax eyed Den, who was still standing in front of the hatchway, blocking his path. “Are you going to let me out?”
“I shouldn’t,” growled the Sullustan. “I think this is a crazy idea.”
“I’ll be in disguise. No one’s going to suspect a policeman of being Jedi.”
“Nobody but Darth Vader, maybe,” Den said.
Jax laid a hand on his shoulder and met his worried gaze. “I’ll be careful. Trust me. Okay?”
“You, I trust. I’m not sure about anyone else. What if that uniform Haus gave you is a flag? What if it’s been wired or chipped?”
“I checked for chips.”
“What if Vader knew you’d do something like this and had Haus give you a uniform you thought would give you safe passage? What if—”
Jax squeezed the Sullustan’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Den, we can’t distrust everyone. If Haus were a double agent, he’d have brought Whiplash down by now. He’s had repeated opportunities to do so. I trust him. You should, too.”
Den exhaled, nodded, and stepped aside. “All right,” he said. “But I’d like to go on record as saying that I’ve got a bad—”
“Noted and logged.” Jax went to his quarters and changed into the uniform. A few minutes later, Lieutenant Pel Kwinn left the ship and headed for the Palace District, a large diplomatic pouch slung over one shoulder.
Twelve
The Imperial Palace grew up out of the crust of Coruscant like a malignant coral reef, a mountain of native stone, duracrete, and transparisteel with a crown of spires that reached greedily into the sky. The Senate District, Security Bureau, and Eastport were mere satellites of the massive structure, and existed in its shadow.
Though many kilometers away from the Palace itself, Jax still felt it as if the ISB sat atop the world and watched.
Shaking off the sensation, he looked away from the Palace and turned his attention to the forecourt of the Imperial Security Bureau. Guards were plentiful. Fortunately, they were all Imperial Guards, and all human, with not a Force-sensitive among them. Farther in, with Darth Vader in residence, there would be stormtroopers … and Inquisitors.
Jax was prepared for that.
He crossed the broad plaza without hesitation and approached the first checkpoint that would require him to present identification. He offered his identichip, keeping the Force tightly coiled within him. He’d added blond hair and blue eyes to his disguise—his own Master wouldn’t have recognized him.
The guard—a human—scanned the identichip, obviously bored. Boredom was good.
“Lieutenant Kwinn?”
“That’s right.”
The guard raised an eyebrow. “From the Zi-Kree Sector? I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Where’s the usual courier—Sergeant … what’s his name?”
Jax met the question with the most subtle tendril of the Force possible.
“I’ve been on this duty for months. I carry the most important dispatches. You’ve seen me here before.”
The man looked up into Jax’s eyes and frowned. “Wait, I know you. I’ve seen you here before.” He glanced at the diplomatic pouch. “That must be quite important. Not something a prefect would task a sergeant with.”
Jax smiled and stepped through the checkpoint. “Exactly.”
“So, what is it, Lieutenant? What’s in the pouch?”
His core suddenly twenty degrees colder, Jax turned on his heel, a plastic smile on his face. “You know what? I have no idea. They hand me a bag and they say, ‘Take this to Security.’” He shrugged. “It’s all need to know. And I don’t. Just a beast of burden, I guess.”
The guard laughed. “Aren’t we all?”
Jax moved across the broad permacrete courtyard, feeling the tiniest wriggle of concern that perhaps Vader was strong enough to sense even that infinitesimal use of the Force. He hoped not. If there were any Inquisitors about, their emanations would surely mask it. On the other hand, if he met one of them … well, he’d just have to think fast.
He knew that the ISB’s internal landing platforms were fairly deep within the complex. He also knew that security would be much tighter there. It was a chance he’d have to take. He kept his head up and his steps confident.
What he wanted was a vantage point from which he could see Vader’s transport clearly. A vantage point like the one offered by the high walkway that ran between the control tower and the hangar bays that housed the bureau’s contingent of stealth fighters. The only problem was that, to reach it, he’d have to pass through the offices of Airspace Control.
He’d planned for that.
Jax made his way to the interior of the bureau, presenting his “credentials” to a series of guards. When he was confronted with his first stormtroopers, he knew he was getting close to the goal.
He strode briskly up to the checkpoint and presented his identichip.
The stormtrooper’s assessment of Jax’s ID was perfunctory, at best. He barely glanced at the data scrolling across the screen of his reader. He didn’t cross-check it with security files—which would have revealed that Lieutenant Pel Kwinn had retired over a year ago and moved home to Corellia. Stifling a yawn, he handed the identichip back to Jax, who received it with what he hoped was a commensurate amount of boredom and moved on.
Almost too easy, he thought; then, just beyond the stormtroopers’ checkpoint, he was confronted with a whole set of choices: left, right, and straight on. A short flight of natural stone steps led down into a broad, high-ceilinged gallery that was different from what had come before. This was the oldest section of the ISB complex, and also the most secure. The ribs of the gallery’s vaulted expanse were durasteel and clearly intended to withstand a major assault. A sign at the far end of the corridor proclaimed this area to be isb airspace control.
Jax glanced left. An armored archway led to the offices of Airspace Security. To the right, a set of thick doors led out into a manicured garden courtyard that flanked the gallery. He could see the full length of it through the transparisteel windows that ran down the right-hand side of the hallway, admitting a shimmering wash of natural light.
The garden contained sculpted foliage, walkways, and benches placed so the visitor could admire the statues and moving holographic images of Imperial heroes. Jax recognized an alumabronze sculpture of Palpatine in his Senate robes, as well as one of Phow Ji, the hero of the Drongaran occupation. No doubt there was an effigy of the Emperor in one of his gui
ses in every display of statuary in the complex.
Jax started down the steps, head high, stride certain—the model of a policeman and official courier. He’d gone only a few steps when he felt a ripple in the Force. A moment later, the doors of the control center glided open and a hooded figure stepped out across the threshold.
An Inquisitor.
For Jax, time slowed to an impossible crawl, though his feet still moved him forward. He could not pass the Inquisitor in such close quarters. A particularly adept one would almost certainly sense that there was something different about this particular policeman, and while Vader had ostensibly sent his best and brightest offworld, all Inquisitors were, by virtue of their station, high-level adepts.
Jax stopped. With a feigned air of annoyance, he produced his comlink and pretended to be speaking to someone. As the Inquisitor moved toward him down the long gallery, Jax turned and exited through the right-hand doors into the courtyard, continuing to ask questions of a pretend superior on the other end of the link. He kept walking until he had put the statue of Palpatine between himself and the Inquisitor.
He could see the through the arched windows along this side of the corridor that the other Force-user did not hesitate, but exited the hall without even a nod at the troopers guarding it.
Jax sat on a bench in the lee of the statue, still pretending to be in conversation with someone, and scanned the garden courtyard. There was another door at the far end, diagonal to the Flight Control entrance. That was the only other access. He had no doubt that there were cams everywhere in this restricted area. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t be a problem—he could make them see what he wanted them to see—but with Vader so near …
Jax wished, for the hundredth time, that he had some idea what long-term effects the bota had had on Vader’s Force abilities. Not being able to gauge an adversary’s resources accurately was nerve racking. Jax got up and paced around the statue of Palpatine, his eyes taking in the surveillance cams. Drawing on the merest breath of the Force, he calculated what was perhaps the only blind spot in the area and made for it, his steps meandering as if he were more intent on his feigned dialogue than where he was putting his feet.
If he’d had more time, he would have tried to procure some taozin scales to mask his Force signature—but he should have thought of that back at the market. He had what he had—his own native intelligence and creativity, the Force, and the fact that there were other Force-users in the complex whose presence would offer some camouflage.
Between two holograms of some long-dead Imperial luminaries, which screened him from two holocams, and blocked from a third by a bronze free-form sculpture with some iconic meaning he couldn’t begin to guess at, Jax pocketed his comlink and pulled a long, hooded robe out of the diplomatic pouch. It took him mere seconds to draw the robe on over his uniform and pull the cowl down over his face. Pel Kwinn, police lieutenant, disappeared; it was an Inquisitor who stepped out from between the holograms and reentered the gallery at the far end, the diplomatic pouch hidden beneath his robe.
The doors to Flight Control slid open, and he strode inside.
Jax took a moment to orient himself. Before him was a pristine room filled with ISB functionaries. Beyond them, a huge expanse of transparisteel looked down on the landing stages. He could see the shaft of the control tower at the far right, the walkway stretching from it to the hangar bays. Straight ahead, the wing tips of a Lambda-class long-range shuttle peeked above the railing of the walkway.
He might, he realized, actually be able to see the landing platform from the windows right here in the offices. But Inquisitors didn’t, as a rule, tend to loiter around staring out windows. He turned right and made his way to a set of doors that would take him outside and allow him access to the base of the control tower.
There were two more stormtroopers stationed at the tower entry. They didn’t even look at him as he passed by. In fact, both averted their gazes.
But once inside the tower, he realized his dilemma: A Jedi could manipulate a sentient being. But he could not control a turbolift AI that was asking for his security clearance before allowing him to ascend.
Jax considered going back outside and Force-jumping to the walkway, then discarded that as too great a risk—the area was too open, the guards would have to be distracted. There must be emergency stairs …
He had turned to look for those when the turbolift behind him was activated from above. The lift was going up! Jax moved swiftly to the doors and pried them open. High above his head the lift continued to ascend the fifty or so floors toward the top.
The walkway access was half that distance.
Jax swung himself into the lift tube and Force-jumped. He’d no more than left the ground when he realized the lift had stopped short of the top and was descending again. Swiftly.
Time slowed to a crawl for the second time that day. Jax’s gaze sought the doorway to the level he needed to reach. He would get there at approximately the same time the lift would.
There was no escape that way.
Nine or ten meters from the first floor, he reached out both hands and called the Force to his fingertips—just enough to buffer his impact with the descending lift. It was still a bone-jarring jolt, one he was sure the occupants of the lift car felt. Grasping the undercarriage, Jax let momentum carry his body into contact with the steel box. His feet found purchase on a crossbar that ran along one edge.
Air rushed by him, roaring in his ears as the lift descended. The long robe he’d affected was molded to his body‚ the hood obscuring his vision. He shook his head, and the hood lifted away—he almost wished he hadn’t bothered. Now he could see the floor of the turbolift shaft rushing up to meet him.
It’d be all right, he reminded himself, as long as the carriage didn’t use the entire depth of the shaft to halt before bobbing back up to its stop. Of course, if he was really lucky, it would stop on the second level.
He wasn’t that lucky. The turbolift shot down to the premier level, and its antigravity cushion engaged. Jax, caught in the field, was suddenly weightless. The cloak billowed. He held on with his entire will, knowing that gravity would return with a vengeance when they reached bottom.
The car dived below the first-level exit, the ground floor rushing up to meet it. Jax coiled the Force within him, knowing that if he had to use it save himself he would very likely give himself away.
The lift stopped and gravity reasserted itself. Jax felt at once the pull of the planet and the light pressure of a padded crossbeam against his back before the car bobbed lightly back up to the exit portal. It vibrated as its doors opened and its occupants exited.
Now, would it just sit here until someone else called for it, or …
The lift hummed. In moments, it was ascending again with Jax still clinging to its underside. He watched the portals for each level as they slid by. He wanted Level Nine … and there it was.
He swung his legs down and let go of the lift’s undercarriage, then used the Force—gently, oh so gently—to slide down the curving wall of the shaft to the Level Nine portal. There was just enough room for him to stand on the lip of the entry. He applied the minimum amount of effort to opening the doors and all but fell through them out onto the high walkway.
In the lee of the tower, he adjusted his cloak and hood, then slid slowly down the sparkling length of permacrete until he could see the target.
Vader’s shuttle sat in the center of the largest landing stage, dwarfing the smaller vessels close to it. The Lambda-class shuttle, its wings folded, tips pointing skyward, was well armed and well guarded. Stormtroopers—no doubt members of Vader’s Fist—stood at intervals, facing outward as if to accost anyone who might approach the ship.
Standard procedure? Or evidence that there was a special passenger on this trip?
Jax felt a chill down his spine. He’d been sweating during his encounter with the turbolift, but now he was freezing cold. Did that shuttle contain Thi Xon Yimm
on? Was there any way he could find out without revealing himself?
He’d been moving more and more slowly along the walkway, his head tilted as minimally as possible toward the shuttle. His spirit was not quiet. He wanted to fling himself over the parapet, rush to the ship, and tear it open to reveal what—or who—was inside. He willed himself to calmness, to dispassion.
Impossible. He settled for focus.
He had come here at great risk and could not go back without knowing something. Gritting his teeth, he reached questing tendrils of Force sense toward the vessel, seeking Yimmon. He applied himself to the bow of the ship first, reasoning that a prisoner of such importance would be kept in or near the detachable forward section of the vessel in case an emergency forced them to separate the bridge from the cargo and passenger sections.
His steps slowed further as he concentrated. There were people aboard the vessel, but their similar energies told him most were the cloned soldiers of Vader’s guard.
But here was a different signature … and there.
He withdrew slightly. That, surely, was the taozin-blurred energy of an Inquisitor. He moved on, feeling every inch of the vessel as if it were a model he held in his hands.
He finished with a deep sense of disappointment. Maybe Yimmon was in the building beneath Jax’s feet. Maybe he simply hadn’t been put aboard yet. Jax wanted Yimmon to be here. Desperately, he now realized. He wanted …
He had no further opportunity to consider what he wanted. The ramp of the ship was extending from the port side of the vessel. Two Imperial officers descended to stand at the lower end.
Jax stopped walking and turned to face the ship. Below him, someone moved from the shadow of the walkway and strode toward the vessel in a swirl of black robes.
Every hair on Jax’s body stood on end.
Vader.
I should keep walking, Jax told himself. He should seem to be just one more Inquisitor going about his mysterious duties. He tried to make his feet move, but his gaze refused to let go of Vader.
He had left his lightsaber aboard the Laranth and now regretted it. He could still throw himself over onto the landing platform. He didn’t need the weapon to use the Force effectively—something Laranth had always been at pains to remind him. She thought the Jedi were too obsessed with uniformity as opposed to unity. You could have one without the other, she had argued. A Jedi shouldn’t limit him- or herself to a particular weapon or even to a particular way of doing things. Successful life-forms were also adaptable life-forms. But Laranth was dead and the man responsible for her death was, even now, crossing the duracrete surface of the landing stage.
The Last Jedi Page 12