Chapter Ten.

Ferus was put through to the Emperor immediately. The hologram floated in front of him, full-size. Palpatine's hood was drawn over his head, and Ferus could only see a trace of the yellowish skin, the slash of a mouth.

"I have located the resistance and delivered your message."

"Excellent."

"They will consider your offer."

"Will they accept?"

Ferus was expecting this question. He thought the chance was zero, but he had to keep Palpatine happy and Vader away. "I think there is a slim chance," he said. "They are disheartened because the majority of Samarians don't support resistance. So they feel isolated. I don't get the sense that there are very many of them. They don't trust me, of course."

"Continue to monitor the situation. Did you gain any information that would be helpful to Lord Vader?"

"Just a drop. The used speeder stand on Telos Street. But I'm sure they'll change it now. I haven't told him about it - my orders were to report to you first."

"I will inform him. You have done well, Ferus Olin."

"Lord Vader isn't happy that I'm reporting to you," Ferus added. He was hoping to probe Palpatine a bit.

"That is not your concern."

"It makes it hard to work together. Perhaps if I knew more about him .

He saw Palpatine pause. He'd interested him. "So, you are becoming curious about Lord Vader."

"Everyone is curious about Lord Vader."

"He prefers mystery. It is helpful. You have something else. Uniqueness. You were trained in the Force, and you rejected it. All the Jedi have been eliminated, but the Force remains. You could use it again."

"I'm a little rusty," Ferus said. Palpatine thought he was corruptible.

"You managed to find a lightsaber."

"Lots of weapons around for sale after the Clone Wars. I managed to get my hands on one. It's a dangerous galaxy out there."

"You could have more power than any officer. More power," Palpatine rasped, "than even Lord Vader himself."

Here it was. The beginning.

"I'm not interested in power," Ferus said.

"Everyone is interested in power," Palpatine said. "But not everyone has the vision to see what real power can accomplish."

Ferus rested his hand on the hilt of his light-saber. The Jedi hadn't been about power. They'd used the Force to bring justice to the galaxy. But in truth the Force gave them great power, and many Padawans wrestled with the concept of it. When to use it, when to retreat, when to advance, when to demolish an enemy, and when to let them go. It was a constant struggle. And what every Padawan could not admit, even to each other, at night on their sleep couches, for even a whisper might bring the dark side too close - power felt good.

Ferus had fought against that feeling, had denied it existed, had thought he'd conquered it . . . but had he really?

He had brought up the topic with Siri - because Siri was the kind of Master you could talk to about anything. One of the countless things he missed about her was how nothing he could ask could possibly shock or disappoint her.

They were together on one of the terraces of the Temple. Siri had her booted feet propped up on a bench and was lying on the ground, her eyes closed. Ferus sat cross-legged (stiff as always, he thought now) by her side. It had been raining on Coruscant for weeks, and as soon as the sun appeared, she'd dragged him outside.

"For a lesson?" he had asked.

"For fun," she'd answered.

He had waited, gathering his courage. Only when he was sure she was completely relaxed did he bring up the subject. Maybe he was hoping she was asleep, and he wouldn't have to bring it up at all.

"Master, I've been thinking about something," he said. "I feel myself growing stronger in the Force. On this last mission . . . when we fought . .

. I was . . . happy."

She opened one eye and looked at him. "Do you mean, when we fought side by side on Meldazar together, you felt pleasure in how you could move, could bring down your enemy with one stroke?"

"Yes." Ferus felt ashamed. "Is that wrong?"

"Well." She raised herself on her elbows. Sunlight picked out bright individual strands in her blond hair, which she'd recently cropped even shorter than usual.

"Yes," she said. "It is wrong to attach emotion in a battle. It's wrong to feel pleasure when an enemy falls. A Jedi should feel regret - regret that a life has been taken, regret that a physical battle had to be fought at all. But the Force gives us great gifts, Ferus. It isn't wrong to take pleasure in your own gifts. To take pleasure in your mastery of skill. It's a struggle for every Jedi to attain balance, sometimes even for Jedi Masters. Look at Mace Windu. His style is Form VII. What do you know about Form VII?"

"That only the best fighters can control it."

"Exactly. It can bring you close to the dark side, to what the Sith focus on. But Mace Windu can control it. My point is that even Mace Windu must acknowledge this danger, of the pleasure in power. That's the only way he can dismiss it. In other words, my perpetually worried Padawan" - Ferus remembered her smile, the rare smile that was gentle, not mischievous or mocking - "the fact that you ask the question guards you against the dangers of it."

It had been a typical Jedi response. If you are aware of a problem, you take the first step toward eliminating it. Helpful at the time, but that was when he had a Temple to go to, Jedi Masters around him. All that careful study, all those simple and profound rules of the order - they had answered his every doubt.

Was leaving the Jedi a relief in a way because he never had to think about that again?

Why was he thinking about it now?

The memory and the questions had taken place in a mere flash of a moment, but Ferus was suddenly afraid. Afraid that too much time had pa.s.sed between Palpatine's statement and his own response. Afraid that Palpatine had known, somehow, unerringly, exactly what he'd been thinking.

"This is an interesting conversation, but I have some duties to take care of," Ferus said, swallowing. His mouth was dry.

"Of course," the Emperor said.

The hologram disappeared. Ferus felt the light-saber hilt under his fingers. He ran his fingertips over the worn grooves in the carving. He thought of Garen Muhl, the great Jedi Master who had given it to him. With that gift came responsibility, and also a connection to the way things used to be when he had a whole Jedi order to lean on. Before he was alone.

Give me your certainty, Garen, he thought. Give me your courage.

Chapter Eleven.

Exercise was important. Bog got off the vibrotonic all-muscle trainer and padded off to the shower. He shipped the all-muscle trainer from post to post because he knew the importance of fitness. It cleared his head. He didn't trust a being who didn't take care of him-or herself. He was never too busy for his daily routine. Excess flesh disgusted him. He didn't want to turn into a Hutt.

His comlink buzzed. His a.s.sistant's voice came through. "Sano Sauro trying to reach you."

"Tell him I'll contact him shortly."

"He won't like that."

"No," Bog said, grabbing a towel, "he won't."

Sano Sauro. He'd been helpful. Everyone thought he was the brains behind Bog. It was true that Sauro had been instrumental in plotting the moves to get Bog in a position of influence, but Bog was tired of Sauro thinking he was in control. And now that Sauro's big idea, the True Justice ship that tried political prisoners in s.p.a.ce, had been hijacked, he'd been censured by the Emperor. A little distance would be a good idea right about now, until Bog figured out if Sauro was out of the loop permanently or not.

In the meantime, let him sweat.

The forty-five minutes of training had focused Bog's mind, made it sharp. All the steps he had taken were paying off. The Emperor himself had come to Sath, and Bog didn't think he was exaggerating to say that it had just a bit to do with him. He was making his mark.

n.o.body had ever believed in him. Not his father, not his wife. But he'd always believed in his destiny.

At the thought of Astri, Bog frowned involuntarily. He'd gotten over the fact that his wife didn't love him anymore, long ago. He hadn't expected love. He'd expected a partnership. He was a politician; it helped to have a pretty wife. She never understood her role. Well, it. was his own fault for picking a cook in a greasy diner as a wife. His head had been turned by her curls and her smiles. Her closeness to the Jedi hadn't hurt at the time, either.

Now she was gone. Disappeared. It didn't look right that he didn't have contact with his own son. He'd find Lune one day. When he was ruler of Samaria he would have much more muscle. And he wouldn't need a vibrotonic all-muscle trainer to exercise it, either! Pleased at his joke and at the results of his workout, Bog stepped into the shower.

The vote of no-confidence would be a lock. He'd made sure of that. But a little insurance might not be a bad idea. Something to boost him even more with the population so that when he took over, the transition would be smooth.

Becoming ruler of Samaria was just the first step. Why couldn't he control the whole Lemurtoo system, and move on from there?

This was his moment. He didn't need Sauro's advice. He didn't need anyone's. He was ready to strike out on his own. Take the big chance.

He slipped into his tunic and picked up his comlink as it signaled again.

"Sano Sauro is waiting," his a.s.sistant said.

"Tell him I'm busy," Bog said. He smiled, thinking of how that would infuriate Sauro. Let him steam.

Bog placed his personal droid on his shoulder. What a useful little device it was turning out to be.

Sauro had taught Bog well. To control a population, one must create an enemy, something for them to be afraid of. Then save them from it. It was as simple as that.

Chapter Twelve.

For now, Ferus pushed the thought of who Vader might be to the back of his mind. It would be impossible to figure it out. Unless Vader made some kind of verbal slip or Ferus managed to stumble over new information, he wouldn't be able to discover it. He might never know.

What was he still doing here, anyway? Although he kept his eyes open, he hadn't learned very much about the Empire. Ferns had contacted the resistance, but he still wasn't sure how he could help them.

There were times that he felt he was doing absolutely the right thing for absolutely the right reasons. This was not one of those times.

He had been in the resistance on Bella.s.sa, but he'd always been a reluctant hero. He'd fought briefly in the Clone Wars, but he hadn't been a great general like Obi-Wan. He hadn't adapted well to the army at all. He had fought side by side with Roan, but he hadn't been like the others, who'd joined the army for adventure. He'd seen adventure as a Jedi. He'd seen death and destruction and greed. He had no illusions about how thrilling great battles were. Great battles were hard and b.l.o.o.d.y and you never got the smell of it off you.

Maybe he wasn't that great at being a double agent, either. He had hoped to learn more about the Empire's plans. He'd hoped that getting close to Palpatine and Vader would afford him the opportunity to discover if any Jedi were known to be alive, or held prisoner. But he could see that although it appeared he had the confidence of Palpatine, he wasn't really given access to anything that might help. He could observe all he wanted, but what he was able to observe was carefully controlled. Vader, he was sure, controlled it.

Would they ever let him in?

The city of Sath was running smoothly; there were no protests or fears that the Empire would take over, but Ferus felt uneasy. There was no battalion here, and though he'd kept his eyes arid ears open he'd found no evidence that they were around. If Bog lost the vote, Vader would need muscle.

What he still hadn't figured out was why Palpatine himself had turned his attention here, and why his enforcer, Vader, was here, too. Was he missing something?

He just wanted to go back to the secret base and forget about Samaria, but something inside wouldn't let him. He hadn't had a chance to talk to Roan, to see what he'd been up to on Bella.s.sa. He wanted to steal time, just a few days, to spend with him. He wanted to make sure the base was thriving, that Raina and Toma had what they needed. He wanted to enlist Clive to help them. There were things to do.

Ferus moved through the city streets of Sath. He stopped at the Twilight Fountains and paused to watch the colored spray change from aquamarine to gold to deep orange to navy blue and back again. He felt sadness wash over him but couldn't determine the cause. On Somaria, he felt something sucking at his footsteps, draining him. It wasn't the plight of the planet. Was it the fact that he couldn't see his path clearly? He kept going, one step at a time, and now he found himself shoulder to shoulder with Vader and Palpatine. He was learning nothing except that he had a powerful impulse to flee.

The possibility of Vader being a fallen Jedi chilled him. How had it happened? How had he been corrupted? What terrible seduction drew him in?

"Ferus. Follow me."

The words were low, spoken by someone behind his back. He recognized Nek's soft tone. He began to move along the fountain, not turning to glimpse her until he felt it was clear. Then he leisurely made his way through the crowds out enjoying the artificially cooled air. He followed her reddish curls and weaved his way to her as she stopped near a wall. She put her hands on the top and hauled herself up, then sat, legs kicking, a few meters away from others who had done the same.

Ferus pulled himself up beside her. He could see immediately why she'd chosen this spot to perch. The entire plaza was visible from here. Behind them was another wall. Another short jump would lead them to an upper walkway with access to several airbus routes and main thoroughfares. It would be relatively easy to lose a tail if they spotted one.

Still kicking her feet casually against the wall, Nek spoke in a worried voice. "We've got trouble. Maybe."

"Tell me."

"We've been monitoring some of Bog's activities through his PD. We've got evidence of bribery."

"That's good."

"There's something else . . . the personal droid has been linked up with two Roshan prowler droids."

"Aren't they illegal on Samaria?"

"Yes. He must have smuggled them in."

"Why would he do that?"

"Maybe he's going to do something and blame it on the Roshans. That's what we fear."