by Timothy Zahn
“The waiting room,” Mara said, nodding her head back to the open door. “I won’t tell you again.”
“Go ahead, Master Axlon,” Ferrouz said, his voice under rigid control. “Close the door behind you.”
Axlon’s throat worked. “As you wish, Your Excellency,” he said. With a final look at Mara, he turned and retreated to the waiting room.
Mara didn’t give him the chance to obey Ferrouz’s order about closing the door. Stretching out to the Force, she did that herself.
She turned back to Ferrouz, half expecting to find a blaster in his hand. But he was just standing quietly, his hands empty. “Are you who I think you are?” he asked quietly.
“I’m the Emperor’s justice,” Mara said, striding across the soft carpet toward him. As she did so, she opened the pouch at her side and withdrew her lightsaber. “Is there some reason you’re expecting justice to come calling?”
“I hardly think you need to ask that question,” Ferrouz said. The tension was gone from his voice, a melancholy resignation in its place.
“No, I don’t,” Mara said. She pressed the lightsaber’s activation stud, and with a snap-hiss the magenta blade appeared. “You’re accused of treason, Governor Bidor Ferrouz. Of conspiring to hand over land and equipment belonging to the Galactic Empire to the Rebel Alliance. Do you deny these charges?”
“No,” Ferrouz said. “Am I permitted to plead extenuating circumstances?”
“Not for treason,” Mara said flatly. “The Emperor recognizes no excuses. Neither do I.”
Ferrouz let out a quiet sigh. “No, I suppose not.”
Mara stepped up to the front of the desk, putting herself within range of Ferrouz. “Judgment has been passed, Governor Bidor Ferrouz,” she said formally, lifting her humming lightsaber high. “Have you any final words to say in your defense?”
“I have no defense,” Ferrouz said. “But I do have a request.”
Mara frowned. Pleas, excuses, and curses were all familiar parts of a condemned criminal’s final moments. Requests weren’t. “What sort of request?”
Ferrouz took a deep breath. “That once you’ve dispensed justice,” he said, “you’ll find my wife and daughter, and free them.”
Mara felt her eyes narrow. There had been several notes in the records, she remembered now, where Ferrouz had asked his security staff to track his wife’s comlink usage. At the time, it hadn’t seemed important to her mission. “Explain.”
“Three weeks ago my wife and daughter disappeared after returning from a shopping trip,” Ferrouz said, his voice shaking with emotion. “The kidnappers sent me a holo of them in binders, along with a list of instructions.” He swallowed hard. “This deal with the Rebellion was one of them.”
“Are you saying the Rebels kidnapped your family?”
“Actually, I don’t think it was them,” Ferrouz said. His eyes flicked to the humming lightsaber, then back to Mara’s face. “I think they’re being manipulated the same way I am.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know,” Ferrouz said. “The note was sent by someone calling himself Warlord Nuso Esva. But who he is—or whether he exists at all—I haven’t been able to discover.”
For a long moment, Mara gazed hard at him, stretching out to the Force to try to read the emotions behind those tortured eyes. Treason was still treason … but if Ferrouz was really being coerced, it was worth holding off on his death sentence until she looked into it. “Do you still have the note?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ferrouz said, reaching to his desktop and picking up a data card. He hesitated, then placed it in Mara’s outstretched hand. “Please be careful with it,” he said. “It’s … it may be the last picture I ever have of them.”
“I’ll be careful,” Mara promised as she slipped the data card inside her tunic. “Is there a time limit on his demands?”
“Just a general schedule,” Ferrouz said. “Nuso Esva seems more concerned in getting everything done right than in getting it done quickly.”
“Really,” Mara said thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
“Why interesting?” Ferrouz asked. “Does that mean something?”
“It might,” Mara said. In fact, it meant or at least implied something rather important. But she was hardly going to share that thought with an admitted traitor. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to leave the palace and start looking into this. You’re going to stay here and continue to play Nuso Esva’s game.”
She reached across the desk and picked up his datapad. “You’ll also let me know immediately if he or any representative contacts you,” she continued, balancing it in the crook of her arm punching in her comlink. “Needless to say, you won’t mention this to anyone.”
“I understand,” Ferrouz said, a bit hesitantly. “What about the guards and my receptionist outside? They saw you come in.”
“There are also the three guards I had to take out,” Mara told him. “One of them is a Major Pakrie, who by the way has no business holding that rank if he doesn’t know proper prisoner escort procedure.”
“He’s somewhat new to the job,” Ferrouz murmured.
“It shows,” Mara said. “You can tell Pakrie and all the rest of them that I’m an investigator checking on reports of Rebel activity in your sector, and that I decided to check out palace security while I was here. If they don’t buy it, let me know and I’ll throw together a preliminary report you can show them.”
“They’ll buy it,” Ferrouz said firmly. “May I ask where the major and his men are?”
“Sleeping off a sonic in the guest suite above the interrogation room entrance,” Mara said. “You can send someone to collect them after I leave.”
“I’ll do that.” Ferrouz hesitated. “Agent, I’m … thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Governor,” Mara warned. “Understand that if your story doesn’t check out, I will be back.”
“Of course,” Ferrouz said. “Understand in turn that all that matters to me is my family’s safety. If you can bring them back, I’ll accept whatever punishment you feel is necessary.”
“Yes, you will,” Mara said. “I’ll check in with you if and when I find anything.”
Ferrouz nodded, pulling another data card from a rack and handing it to her. “Here’s my comlink information and my personal encryption.”
Both of which Mara already had, of course. But it seemed impolite not to take the card anyway. “Right,” she said, sliding it into her tunic with the other one. “I’ll be in touch.”
Closing down her lightsaber, she turned and headed back toward the door, her senses fully alert. She hadn’t felt any duplicity in the man, but it was still marginally possible that this whole thing was a straight-up, faceless lie. If it was, Ferrouz’s best move right now would be to try to shoot her in the back before she made it out of his office.
But she sensed no stealthy movement behind her, and no blaster shot sizzled across the room. Keying open the door, she stepped into the waiting room.
The lack of an attack didn’t prove Ferrouz wasn’t lying, of course. But it was a strong mark in his favor.
Axlon was still in the waiting room, pacing restlessly across the far side. He looked up as Mara entered, a flicker of something crossing his face. “What are you—I mean—”
“You can go in now,” Mara said calmly, tucking her lightsaber back into her shoulder pouch. Circling the cylinder and its flapping butterflies, she headed for the outer door.
“But—” Axlon’s eyes shifted briefly to the office door. “Aren’t you—didn’t you—”
“Relax, he’s fine,” Mara said. “We just had a little chat, that’s all.”
She was two meters from the door when its entire edge abruptly exploded into a shower of sparks. Before she could do more than jerk to a halt, the door blew inward.
And as Mara stepped hastily back, blinking against the smoke and dust, two men with blasters strode through the jagged opening.
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With her lightsaber tucked away in her shoulder pouch, the only thing that saved Mara in that first crucial second was the fact that the two men seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see them. They froze, their eyes going wide, their bulk blocking the doorway and the handful of other men she could see pressing in behind them.
But that moment wouldn’t last, and Mara knew she would never have time to open the pouch and draw her weapon before they recovered and started shooting. She took a long step backward toward the cylinder enclosure, snatching up her pouch and squeezing, crushing the thin material inward around the lightsaber. Her searching fingers found the activation stud.
And suddenly the room lit up with a magenta glow as the blade lanced out, burning through the side of the pouch.
The sight of the blade seemed to snap the men out of their paralysis. One of them shouted something, and abruptly the smoky air lit up with a blaze of blasterfire.
But Mara was no longer in the direct line of fire. She was already in motion, sidestepping the cylinder as she tried to deflect the incoming shots, even though the pouch strap across her shoulder severely restricted her lightsaber’s movements. A few of the shots hit the cylinder, the direct fire blasting holes in the transparisteel, the more angled ones ricocheting off. Mara made it around to the far side, and with the cylinder temporarily blocking the bulk of the attack she finally managed to free herself from the strap. Still manipulating the lightsaber through the pouch, she made two quick slashes through the cylinder, one at knee height, the other angled upward from her shoulders, then slammed her shoulder as hard as she could against the side.
With a splintering crash, the section she’d cut free toppled over into the path of the men shooting at her. They jerked back, slamming in confusion into the ones trying to push their way in behind them, their shots abruptly going wild as a hundred frightened butterflies swarmed past them and escaped through the hole where the door used to be.
“Here!” a voice shouted from behind Mara. “In here! Come on!”
She glanced over her shoulder. Axlon was standing just inside the office door, beckoning frantically to her. Keeping her lightsaber blade between her and the intruders, Mara hastily backed up toward him.
The butterflies had completed their mad dash and the blasterfire was starting to come back to focus as she reached the doorway and backed through it. Axlon was ready, hitting the control to send the door sliding shut in front of her.
“What’s going on?” Ferrouz demanded tautly as Mara reached out with the Force and double-keyed the lock.
“Someone wants my job,” Mara told him, closing down her lightsaber and finally pulling it clear of the pouch.
“What?” Ferrouz asked, sounding confused.
“There’s a mob out there that seems intent on killing you,” Mara clarified. “Nuso Esva may have decided to go for the more direct approach.”
“Wait a minute,” Axlon protested. “Nuso Esva’s trying to kill him? But why?”
“We’ll worry about that later,” Mara said, grabbing his arm and pulling him across the room toward Ferrouz’s desk. The governor, meanwhile, had pulled out a blaster from somewhere, a small DDC Model 16 hold-out type that nestled in his hand.
At least he hadn’t tried to shoot her earlier simply because he hadn’t had a weapon available. Another point in his favor. “Let’s focus on getting out of here before they blow this door, too,” she told them.
The words were barely out of her mouth when there was a violent sizzling sound from behind her.
And as she spun around, shoving Axlon toward the desk, the office door exploded.
Luke was still looking around in vain for some sign of Axlon’s Imperial agent when a sudden shout rose from somewhere in the crowd still milling around the area. “The governor is dead!” a voice called. “The governor is dead! Long live the Rebellion!”
Luke caught his breath. The governor was dead? But the Imperial agent hadn’t even shown her face.
Or maybe she had. Maybe she’d slipped into the palace without him even noticing.
Luke winced. Of course she had. He had no experience at this sort of thing. No experience, and such little ability in the Force.
But excuses were of no comfort. The hard, cold fact was that he’d been given a job, and he’d failed.
Axlon would be furious. So would Han and Leia. So would Rieekan and Mon Mothma and all the rest. Ferrouz’s death meant the collapse of the negotiations, and no hope of a Rebel base in Candoras sector—
“Here he is!” a voice shouted suddenly from behind Luke, practically in his ear. “Here’s the man who freed us from Imperial tyranny!”
Luke spun around, his heart pounding suddenly in his chest. There was a burly, squint-eyed man with greasy hair and an unkempt mustache standing behind him, waving his hand over the crowd for attention. Was that the Imperial agent? But Axlon had said it was a woman.
And then, before Luke could react, the man stepped forward, jabbed a hand at Luke’s belt, and stepped back with Luke’s lightsaber gripped in his hand. Luke stared, chagrined, wondering how he’d been caught so unaware.
“Here he is!” the man shouted again, lifting the lightsaber high into the air. “Here’s the man who saved us!”
And to Luke’s horror he ignited the lightsaber, waving the blue-white beam up above the crowd. “Long live the Rebellion!” he shouted. “Long live the Rebel Luke Skywalker!”
Quiller’s report was so unexpected that for the first couple of seconds LaRone was convinced he’d heard wrong. “Say again?” he demanded. “A riot?”
“Affirmative.” Quiller’s voice came tautly from LaRone’s helmet speaker. “Some insane flash riot, kicking off without any lead-in that I saw. And you’ll never guess who’s in the middle of it: Luke Skywalker.”
LaRone felt his mouth drop open. “Skywalker?”
“In the flesh, and waving his lightsaber around like he’s trying to swat birds,” Quiller said grimly. “You know, I didn’t really buy Jade’s story about Ferrouz and the Rebellion. But it’s starting to look like she was right.”
“Don’t go jumping on any speeder carts just yet,” Grave put in. “Skywalker’s not the one waving that lightsaber. Someone grabbed it off his belt. In fact, it looks like all Skywalker’s trying to do is get it back.”
“Confirmed,” Quiller said. “I’ve got a better look now. And—uh-oh; there he goes. A couple of the others in the crowd are trying to get him up on their shoulders.”
LaRone looked at Marcross, wishing he could see the other’s expression through his faceplate. This was rapidly passing from the bizarre to the utterly insane. “What’s Skywalker doing?”
“Trying to get away from them,” Quiller said. “And get this: the guy with the lightsaber is bellowing that Skywalker assassinated Governor Ferrouz.”
LaRone felt his eyes narrow. “Okay, this is officially getting out of hand,” he said. “Quiller, how far are you from Skywalker?”
“About a hundred meters,” Quiller said. “And there’s a fair amount of crowd standing between him and me.”
“Wait a second—they’re on the move,” Grave said. “The whole crowd’s heading across the street, moving toward the gate. Traffic’s at a stop … that one clump of men is still holding back, still trying to get Skywalker up on their shoulders.”
“LaRone, we’ve got a general order coming through,” Marcross cut in.
LaRone keyed over to his helmet’s palace comlink setting. “—at once to the gate and wall,” a grim voice was saying. “Repeat: all roving patrols proceed at once to the gate and wall. Possible riot in progress; threat assessment at critical.”
“Everyone’s being ordered to the gate,” LaRone relayed to the others. “This could get bloody.”
“They’re not going to fire on an unarmed crowd, are they?” Brightwater asked.
“I don’t know,” LaRone said. “But if they can’t get the outside guards in fast enough, they may figure they have to.�
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“We’ve got warning shots,” Quiller snapped. “Looks like they’re coming from the wall defenses.”
“Confirm that,” Grave said. “Two of the lasers are laying down a pattern; the rest are tracking the forward edge of the crowd.”
“Not good,” Marcross muttered tensely. “Very not good.”
“Which may be exactly what whoever started this thing is going for,” LaRone said grimly. “A bloody confrontation, with multiple deaths and injuries.”
“That doesn’t sound like the usual Rebel tactics,” Marcross said doubtfully.
“I’m not convinced it is the Rebels.” LaRone glared across the grounds at the stormtroopers and gray-suited security men hurrying across the grass toward the wall. Skywalker in the middle of a riot, Jade inside the palace and out of contact, no idea who or what was driving any of this madness. “We need information,” he said. “Right now, we’re shooting blind.”
“What do you want us to do?” Quiller asked.
LaRone pursed his lips. “Grave, what’s your angle on Skywalker?”
“Reasonably clear,” Grave said. “There are a few business flags and a couple of tapcaf table umbrellas in the way, but nothing serious.”
“Quiller?”
“That man’s still got Skywalker’s lightsaber,” Quiller reported. “There are another eight men still grouped around the two of them. From their positioning, I’m guessing they’re there to keep Skywalker from leaving.”
LaRone felt his throat tighten. Suddenly, like a flash of lightning from a roiling black storm cloud, he realized what was going on. Part of it, anyway. “Brightwater?”
“Within view of Quiller.”
“Okay,” LaRone said. “First job is to get Skywalker out of there. Quiller, you and Grave clear a path. Brightwater, you go in and grab him.”
“Him and the lightsaber?” Brightwater asked.
“I doubt he’ll leave without it,” Grave said.
“Yes, absolutely get the lightsaber,” LaRone said. “Destroy it if you have to, but don’t let the mob keep it. Don’t let them keep any pieces, either, if you have to blast the thing.”