Star Wars - [The Last of the Jedi - 04] - Death on Naboo (by Jude Watson)

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DEATH ON NABOO
CHAPTER ONE
Meetings with the Emperor were always unnerv-ing. Malorum just hoped this one wouldn't be fatal.
Malorum paused outside the airlock to theEmperor's private office, high on the top floors ofthe
Senate office building. He had undergone theweapons scan. As the Emperor's most loyal subject,it was a
process he found insulting, but he had tosubmit to it. Once he went through those doors, he'dbe whisked
in to see Palpatine by Sly Moore, thatmoonfaced nonentity who managed to slither herselfinto a position
of power.Probably by blackmailingthe right beings,Malorum thought, because he couldfind no other
reason for her prominence. The usualjealous surge passed through him as he wondered,once again, why
others got what he deserved.
He took a deep breath.
He needed a moment. He needed to remindhimself how well things were going. No matter whatlies
Darth Vader had told the Emperor, Malorumknew the truth. He was the best Inquisitor theEmperor had.
Ready now, Malorum strode through the door.He went through his usual battle of wills with Sly
Moore. She glided her way toward him and he keptgoing to the door to Palpatine's inner office, so thatit
wouldn't appear that he was waiting for her toaccess it. He just walked right through — slightlyahead of
her, of course.
He timed it perfectly.
His small victory died a quick death as Palpatineswiveled in his chair to face him. Right away,
Malorumknew this was not going to be a good meeting.
He gathered his courage and walked forwardinto the grand red room. He loved this office. Thebold
red color, the bronzium statues of the FourSages of Dwartii, the access to datafeeds that spewedout
information constantly. You felt you were trulyin the center of the galaxy, controlling everyone in it.
Palpatine stared at him with his pale eyes.Malorum wished, not for the first time, that Palpatinehadn't
been so hideously scarred by the battle withMace Windu. It was positively unnerving; you'd thinkthat
with all that access to the Force he could find away to make himself look more attractive. WhenMalorum
became Emperor (a thought Malorum onlyallowed to cross his mind occasionally; there was somuch
farther to go) he would make sure to getplenty of rest and a rejuvenating trip to the excel-lent surgeons of
Belazura once a year.
"Why did you give an order to blow up the JediTemple?" The Emperor shot the question at him. So
much for preliminaries.
"I was following through on an order by LordVader —"
"He said that you would claim that."
"But it's true." Technically. Vader had made thesuggestion only to see how Malorum would react.
Malorum had fallen right into his trap by protestingthat he had files that would be destroyed. The next
thing he knew, Vader was taking him to task for hav-ing secret files that weren't registered with the
Inquisitors' main databank.
He had taken a gamble, attempting to blow upthe Temple. He had actually enjoyed having hisoffice
there. To walk into that grand hallway was athrill. It was visible evidence of the greatness van-quished by
the power of the Empire. Proof that aForce connection wasn't enough; it was how youused the dark side
of the Force that mattered.
He knew Emperor Palpatine was frustrated withthe apprentice he'd ended up with. He had expected
someone with awesome power, but instead he gota rebuilt body in a breath mask. Darth Vader was
powerful, but compared to what he could havebeen . . . well, who wouldn't be disappointed?
What Palpatine needed was a new apprentice.Because of his Force-sensitivity, Malorum had been
plucked out of obscurity. Palpatine had revealedthat he was a Sith. He had explained what the Forcewas
in detail and how, with training, Malorum coulduse it for great things.
Malorum had expected greater access becauseof that: dinners with the Emperor and his mosttrusted
aides; confidences meant for him alone; invi-tations to Palpatine's private apartments in theexclusive 500
Republica residential tower. Instead,he himself was on the waiting list for an apartment,lined up with
Senators and bureaucrats. It was infu-riating!
Now he was scrambling to please Palpatine andbeing undercut by Darth Vader at every turn.
"You exceeded your authority," Palpatine wenton. His gaze was as chilling as a month long vaca-tion
on Hoth.
Malorum looked to the bronzium statues forinspiration, then turned his gaze back quickly. Hehad
learned to stand his ground with the Emperor.Never argue. Present your case, then change thesubject if
you can.
"The attack on Solace and her followers is pro-ceeding," he said. He unfurled his best piece of
information, the one he was holding in reserve like anexpert sabacc player. "Everyone has been killed and
the community destroyed. She is confirmed dead."
"And you saw this with your own eyes?"
"I received a report from the commander." Didthe Emperor really expect him to travel all the way
down to the Core, to the ancient ocean caverns?
"A Jedi is not dead until you see the body. Informme when this is so."
He had been dismissed. Malorum made an instantdecision to withhold the information that he had
Ferus Olin in custody. He might need that at a futuredate. And he had plans for the former Jedi appren-
tice, plans that he was just beginning to form. Feruswas the only being he could find who could connect
him to the old Darth Vader.
Malorum bowed and walked out, ignoring SlyMoore and proceeding directly to the express turbo-
lift. As he descended into the Senate office building,he thought about what he knew . . . and what he still
had to discover.
His most important piece of information wasthis: He knew that Darth Vader was AnakinSkywalker.
The Emperor didn't know that Malorum knewthis. Before the tapes of the Temple attack had been
erased, he had seen them. He hadn't been anInquisitor then, just one of the trusted Imperialintelligence
officers sent to the Temple after Order66. He had seen what Anakin Skywalker had done.And he had
seen the Jedi knight kneel down beforethe Emperor, who had called him "Darth Vader."
Since then he'd made it his business to discovereverything he could about Skywalker. Bribes and
surveillance and digging back into what had hap-pened months before.
He knew that Anakin Skywalker had been a Jediapprentice at the same time as Ferus Olin. He
knewthat Skywalker was the father of Senator Amidala'schild, the child that had never been born. He sus
-pected that the Senator had been treated on PolisMassa, but so far the disappearance of records had
stopped the trail cold.
Secrets contained surprises. Once you knew aperson's secrets, you had the key to destroying him.
Ferus Olin would be the key.
CHAPTER TWO
It wasn't so bad, for a prison. Ferus had seenworse.
He stirred on the hard duracrete where heslept . . . and found himself face-to-face with thebiggest
meer rat he'd ever seen, chewing on one ofhis boots.
Well. Maybe riot.
He tossed his other boot at the rodent and itscurried away. He figured he might as well look the
facts in the face. He'd landed in the worst prison inthe galaxy, and unless someone near and dear tohim
— or even someone who didn't like him partic-ularly much, like Jedi Master Solace — rescued him,he
was stuck here, worked to death until he wasexecuted.
It was the usual cunning plan of the Empire.Condemn the beings who displease you — don'tbother
with a trial, because your suspicions areenough — then stick them all in a stinking hole on aplanet where
nobody goes, force them to labor, don'teven let them speak to one another, and then, whenthey're too
weak to do you a bit of good, executethem. What a swell system to be stuck in. Trust himto find it.
So maybe breaking into the Temple wasn't thebestidea he ever had. And then he had to go and doit
twice. No wonder Malorum had been testy.
He had been looking for Jedi. Rumors had swirledthat they were kept in a prison there. But the
rumorswere designed as a trick to lure any Jedi into a res-cue attempt. Ferus had fallen right into the trap.
The need to find every last Jedi was leading himto places he'd never expected to go. Obi-Wan
Kenobi,now in exile on Tatooine, had refused to becomepart of his plans for a secret base. Ferus didn't
letthat stop him. He knew there must be Jedi out therewho had survived the purge. They needed a
sanctu-ary. He had stumbled on a remote asteroid thatconstantly traveled the galaxy within a moving
atmospheric storm. He had two trusted aides set-ting up a camp there, Raina and Toma, as well as the
recovering Jedi Knight Garen Muln.
When he'd found Jedi Master Solace, he'd dis-covered that she'd set up a community next to the
forgotten underground oceans of Coruscant. Theraggedy society had built its homes on a series of
catwalks over the sea in a vast cavern. When he'dtold Solace what he'd seen in the Temple — a roomfull
of lightsabers captured from murdered Jedi—she had been stricken by sadness and anger. Thenhe'd told
her that he'd overheard that there was aspy in her camp, and she'd become enraged.
She'd talked him into breaking in again. He wouldneed lightsabers, she argued, for the Jedi he was
sure were out there. And she needed to discover theidentity of her spy.
So they'd broken into the base of the Temple,thanks to Solace's odd ship with a mole miner aboard.
But they'd run into too many stormtroopers andmore trouble than they could handle. Now here hewas, in
prison, with an execution order just waitingto be carried out.
He was given a number when he arrived: 987323.He was told not to talk to any other prisoner and
notto ask the guards for anything because he wouldn'tget it anyway. "Not even for seconds on dessert?"
he'd asked, and in response had received a forcepike in the stomach. That had taken hours to recover
from. He had to remember to keep his mouth shut.
The situation was hopeless, he supposed, but hehad been trained as a Jedi, and so he resisted feeling
hopeless. There was always a way. Or, as Yoda wouldsay, a waythere always is.
He wondered about Trever, the thirteen-year-oldwho had pretty much adopted him as a guardian.
Hehad been along to break into the Temple — bothtimes. He didn't seem to want to leave Ferus's side.
Would Solace take care of him? Not that Treverwould let anyone take care of him, exactly. And not that
Solace had the warmest of characters. Still, hehoped Trever was all right. He was a street thief andan
explosives expert and a pain in the neck, but hewas still a boy.
The rat returned, and Ferus winged his boot at itagain. It retreated, baring its teeth in a rather human
way that gave Ferus a chill. He hoped he wouldn'tsee those teeth sunk into his ankle later. Maybe
sleeping wasn't such a good idea.
"Do you mind, chum?" The voice of his cellmaterose out of the corner. Ferus had been thrown into
the cell in the pitch-black and hadn't met him yet. Hewas just a shape in the corner. "I'm trying to sleep."
"There's a meer rat —"
"You don't say. What a shock." Ferus could onlysee a gleam of pale skin across the space. "They
liketo eat boots. Use them as a pillow."
"Use my boots as a pillow?"
"What, duracrete is such a nice cushion? Keep arock in your hand and crush its skull when you geta
chance. Leave the body. The others will get themessage. Better do it or else you'll find one chewingon
your face in the middle of the night."
"I don't have a rock."
Ferus could hear his cellmate's sigh. "Why do Ialways get stuck with the new guy? Heads up." A
good-sized rock suddenly loomed out of the dark-ness. Ferus caught it, but if he hadn't had quickreflexes
it would have bashed in the side of his head.
"Thanks. So where amI?"
"Dontamo Prison. But don't worry, you won't be here long. One day soon you'll be dead."
"I got that impression. Has anyone ever escaped?"
"Death is your escape, my friend." Ferus heardhis cellmate turn over to face him. Now he could see
the gleam of his eyes. "All right,I can see that I won'tget any sleep until I give you the lowdown.
Whateveryou do, don'tget sick. No one who goes to the infir-mary ever comes back. Second, don't talk
to anyoneduring the day. And don't talk to me unless you haveto.I have a whole fantasy world going on
in my head,and I don't like to be interrupted. I'm on a picnicwith my wife, and the sun is shining, and I'm
aboutto eat one of her sweetberry tarts."
"You're married?"
"Never ask a personal question," the prisonercontinued. "Never fall down. Never tell anyoneyou're
innocent. Nobody had a trial here, so we'vegot the innocent and the guilty and it makes no dif-ference.
Nothing matters here except putting inyour time until you get to die. Everybody fights over rations. That's
the currency here. Eat fast. And onelast thing, the most important thing — don't crossPrisoner 677780.
He runs the gang here. We just callhim 67. Don't even catch his eye. You'll be sorry ifyou do."
"Got it. Thanks."
"My advice is, think of the best day of your lifeand replay it in your head. Now leave me alone."
Ferus felt his cellmate turn away. He lay on hisback, staring at the ceiling, and clutching the rock.
Was this all he had left? Hanging on to a memory,replaying it until death came for him?
Best day of his life . .
He and Roan, on a hiking trip on the neighboringworld of Tati, deep in the forest, coming upon a
waterfall that slid into a deep pool of green. Theyhad been so hot, and they'd dived in, straight to the
bottom. The water was so cold they came up shiver-ing and laughing. . . .
He heard the rat scuttling forward and he broughthis hand down, hard, with the rock in his fist. The
rat lay still.
Those Jedi reaction skills sure could come inhandy. . . .
CHAPTER THREE
Trever flattened himself on the metal walkway.He heard the ping of blaster fire and the cries from
people being hit. He smelled smoke from the deto-nators and the burning dwellings. He heard thesound
of bodies falling.
He was hiding, his usual position in a battle. Butthis time it was different. This time he couldn'tmove.
His fingers shook as he curled them aroundthe grating underneath him. His hiding place wasgood, behind
one of the Imperial troops' own speed-ers. There was a guard, but he hadn't seen Trever.For a brief
moment Trever had thought of stealingthe speeder, but he knew he'd be blasted to bits inseconds.
When he and Solace had returned from the disas-ter at the Jedi Temple, Solace had heard the
battlebefore he did. She had leaped off the ship andstraight into the thick of it.
He had seen battles before, but none like this.He had run from Imperial officers, he had brokeninto
buildings, he had taken the risks needed tomaintain his own black-market operation, but thiswas
different. This was terrifying. The eerily whitestormtroopers were bent on annihilating everythingin their
path.
He had caught glimpses of Solace, fighting furi-ously to save her followers. He'd seen her moving,
diving, never losing her balance or her grace despitethe ferocity of her attack. Her lightsaber was a bea
-con of light, glowing green through the smoke.
She would lose. She would hold out as long asshe could, but she could not win. There were simply
too many of them. Almost everybody was dead now.Slaughtered without thought, without pause.
Rhya Taloon was dead. He saw her die. She'dbeen a Senator once, until they targeted her forprison
or worse and she had joined the Erased, thegroup who'd destroyed their former identities andhid in the
lower levels of Coruscant. She had fash-ioned a new, fierce look for herself, twisting hersilver hair into
horns and wearing holsters acrossher body. She'd learned how to shoot a blaster, but she'd never been
very good at it.
He and Ferus had traveled down here with othermembers of the Erased, but now they were dead,
too. It must be so, because all he could see werebodies. Among them lay Hume, who'd once been apilot
in the Republic Army. Gilly and Spence, thebrothers who hardly spoke. Oryon, the fierce Bothanwho'd
been a spy for the Republic during the CloneWars. Curran Caladian, the young Svivreni who'donce been
a Senatorial aide, had leaped to defendthe houses in the central catwalk. Trever had seen the
stormtroopers send flame grenades into the homesand had turned away.
And Keets Freely, the journalist. Trever hadseen his body, bloodied and battered, as he andSolace
had run up to investigate. He couldn't believeit, couldn't believe that the mocking, indestructibleKeets
could fall. But fall he did, from a platformabove, landing at Trever's feet. That had been thebeginning of
Trever's true terror.
In the short time he'd been traveling with them,they'd all become his friends. And now he didn'tknow
what to do or where to go, because he wassure that this was the day he would die.
A new voice rose in his mind, not a voice of fearbut impatience.
Well, if you're going to die, show some guts,will you?
He slowly, painstakingly, raised his head, ready for it to be blown off at any moment.
The battle had moved to an upper level of thecatwalks and landings that twisted so crazily belowthe
cavern walls. But there wasn't much battle left.He saw a few holdouts, but they were surroundedand
soon would be dead. He wrenched his gazeaway. He couldn't watch anymore, couldn't bear itanymore. .
. .
Suddenly a streak through the smoke made himraise his head. Solace had made an incredible leap,
jumping down from the topmost catwalk to the onejust above Trever's head. Stormtroopers were pour-
ing down the ramps after her. In another fewmoments they would corner her.
And he was here, hiding like a coward.
He had to help her, and do it fast. But how?
Stop hiding, Trever. That would be a start.
He snaked behind the other speeders and wasable to get a better look above.
The stormtrooper guarding the speeders turnedaway from the noise of battle to take a communica-
tion — he could see him speaking into his helmet,straining to hear over the noise — and Trever leaped
closer to the stairs that led to the next level. Helanded behind a smoking heap of twisted metal thathad
once been a house. He slammed into a body andnearly levitated out of the space in terror until astrong
hand clamped on his leg.
"Don't move."
It was Oryon, the Bothan. His face was black-ened with smoke, his long mane a tangled mass. His
tunic was torn and a long scratch ran down his upperarm. His eyes were reddened from the acrid smoke.
He was the fiercest thing Trever had ever seen.
"Solace is —" Trever panted.
"I know. Do you have any charges left?"
Trever nodded, ashamed. He had been too afraidto set off many of his charges. He had hidden
instead.
"I've got some grenades," Oryon said. "It mightbe enough."
"What are we going to do?"
"Blow the whole platform."
"But she'll fall."
"She's a Jedi. She'll survive. But they won't."
"Uh, and what about . ." Trever gulped. "Us?"
"We'll do it from below, then get back to thisplatform."
Trever glanced down through the grate to theblack sea below."Below?"he squeaked.
"Are you ready?"
Ready? I'm ready to run the other way.
No — keep it together.
Trever nodded.
"Follow me."
Oryon took two strides and suddenly flipped him-self over the catwalk railing. Trever moved
cautiouslyforward and hung over the railing in astonishment.He saw that there were handholds and
footholdsbelow the grating, just random pieces of metal that you could hang on to in order to scrabble
your wayacross, moving underneath the grating like a crab.Far, far below he saw the moving black sea.
There was nothing else to do but go over. A smallpart of him was pleased that Oryon was treating
himas a comrade, assuming without question that hewould do this. Ferus would have told him to con-
tinue hiding behind the speeder.
Trever swung one leg over, searching for a holdunderneath. Then he slowly slid his hands downuntil
his other toe found a hold.
They made their way upside down, looking upthrough the grating. Sometimes they had to curltheir
fingers through the grating itself to make prog-ress. He just hoped that a stormtrooper didn't stepon his
fingers. Those boots looked pretty lethal.Trever knew his fingers would be raw after this, butstrangely,
the fear had left him and a grim determi-nation to finish the job was pushing him forward.
When they were close, Oryon signaled him andspoke in his ear. "You have to go ahead. Set the tim-
ers for thirty seconds. That will give you enoughtime to get back. Then I'll throw the proton grenadesfrom
here. Set the charges carefully so only that cat-walk blows."
Trever scrabbled forward, his fingers aching. Hewould have to find a good place to anchor his feet
and one hand while he reached into his utility belt.He made his way more quickly now, used to the feel-
ing of being upside down. When he saw the whitestormtrooper boots above, he set one charge, wedg-
ing it into the catwalk, then another and another,his biggest alpha charges. By the time he finished,his
fingers were scraped raw.
Counting in his head, he went backward to whereOryon waited. "Five seconds," he grunted to the
Bothan.
"Go," Oryon whispered.
Trever quickly scrabbled back in the directionhe'd come. But he couldn't resist stopping to watch
Oryon toss the grenades.
Oryon dropped one powerful arm and lobbed thegrenade. It shot straight out then curled aroundthe
edge of the catwalk, sailing over the railing andonto the platform above. Without pausing, he threwthe
other three grenades.
Trever felt the explosion against his eardrums.Oryon was moving fast toward him, hand over hand.
The catwalk had become a living thing, buckling andwaving. It could break at any moment.
He risked another look back. The platform abovewas cracking, metal parting from metal with a
groan-ing, scraping sound. The stormtroopers were startingto fall into one another as they desperately
searchedfor traction. Some were trying to vault to safety tothe catwalk or the platform below.
Solace was the only one who used the explosionsto her advantage. She had ridden the blast like a
wave and had shot into the air. Trever watched,breathless, as she somersaulted away from the
stormtrooper army and fell — no, not fell,soared,completely in control — past the stormtroopers,over
the groaning metal, over the heat, over thesmoke, and down, down to the sea below.
"Hurry," Oryon urged Trever, his voice hoarse."We've got trouble."
To Trever's horror, he saw that the catwalk wasmelting from the heat, shaking loose from the
plat-form above. It must have been weakened from thebattle's blaster fire. They couldn't make it to
safety,he could see that. The catwalk began to fishtail asthe platform above broke into pieces, sending
stormtroopers sliding into the sea below.
"You've got to let go!" Oryon shouted. "We're notgoing to make it!"
"Let go? Are you nuts?" Trever felt his fingerscramp from trying to hold on to the twisting catwalk.
"It's the only way!" Oryon looked at him, his eyesintense. He suddenly flipped his legs forward and
wrapped them around Trever's waist. Then he let go with one hand and pulled Trever against him. Trever
felt the strength of Oryon's arms and legs, pure thickmuscle. "I'll be with you."
Trever looked down. The sea looked black anddangerous. And very far away.
"I just want you to know something," he said toOryon. "I can't swim!"
And then he let go.
CHAPTER FOUR
That brief conversation turned out to be one ofthe few Ferus had with his cellmate. Ferus knew his
number — 934890 — but his cellmate never con-fided his name or anything else about himself. Theonly
sentences he uttered were along the lines of"Move your boots."
Within a day Ferus became used to the routine,because he had to. Any hesitation about where toline
up or what to do was met with a blow and acurse from the Imperial guards. He was a step aheadof the
other new prisoners. His Jedi training hadtaught him how to anticipate, how to read bodycues, how to, as
the Jedi said, "See without looking."He was able to enter the flow of the prison withoutdisturbance.
Also, like a Jedi, he was planning his escape. Theonly problem was the sheer impossibility of it. He
had never seen so many guards for one prison. Therewere few exits that he could see. The prison itself
was a square inside a square. The cells were in theinterior, and the food hall was in the outer square in
one corner. They left every day and marched downan underground tunnel to the factory. There didn't
seem to be any laundry facilities and the prisonerswho had been here for some time looked half-deadand
wore rags.
He had seen upon arrival -- because they'dwanted him to see it — that the prison was set on asmall
planet with a dense jungle surrounding it.There were no cities or spaceports, only the smalllanding
platform outside the prison and a largerspaceport floating within the inner atmosphere above.
It was clear that his only opportunity to escapewould hinge on the factory. They were forced towork
and production levels were high. Obviouslywhat they were doing was more than busy work; itwas
important to the Empire. That meant therewould be a regular pickup service and a deliverysupply service,
most likely the same ship. That shipwould be his way out. Somehow.
He would have to wait to discover the routine.He'd keep his head down, follow the rules, and not
make a stir.
He wished he'd kept his lightsaber. He hadhanded it to Solace, knowing they would have takenit
when they captured him. He couldn't bear thethought that his lightsaber, the lightsaber that hadonce been
Garen Multi's, would be tossed on a pilewith the hundreds of others, lying on a floor in astorage room at
the Temple. He had seen that pile,each lightsaber representing a life, and it had been aheartbreaking sight.
Ferus adopted the shuffle-walk of the other pris-oners. He didn't try to catch anyone's eye. He
didn'tspeak. He could tell that the silence would get on hisnerves after a while. He had never considered
him-self a social creature, but he'd come to realize afterhe left the Jedi that a life of solitude was not for
him.He didn't like to live inside his own head.
The prisoners were kept on starvation rations.When they'd arrived, they were each run through a
bio-scanner that determined the minimum nutritiontheir bodies needed to survive. Then their mealswere
calibrated by droids and individually dished out.That left them with just enough strength to work.
By the time the midday meal came, they wereravenous. Still they had to walk slowly and stay inline
as they slid their trays along a long counter.Droids served the food, first flashing a scanner atthe ID tag on
their uniforms. This gave them thenutrition count for the inmate. They then used amachine to dish out
some sort of mealy glop andanother equally mysterious portion of something.
Still, it was nourishment, and Ferus found hismouth watering. He would eat whatever was givento
him, because he'd need his strength when thetime came.
The droid wheeled around, stuck a spoon in alarge tin, then wheeled back and deposited it on
Ferus's tray. Then another scoop of the other mass,whatever it was. Ferus didn't care. He began to
shuffle forward, keeping his eyes on the back of theneck of the prisoner in front of him. They would allfile
to long benches at tables and would have a fewminutes to eat.
He was so intent on the idea of food — he couldnot remember the last time he ate a meal — it must
have been at that mangy bar down at the Coruscantcrust — that he wasn't alert when suddenly, the
prisoner ahead of him turned and, in a movement sosmooth it must have been done many times, scooped
Ferus's food off his tray onto his own.
But if Ferus was a bit slow, he caught up. He sawin a glance that the inmate was tall, with
enormousfeet and hands and gray stubble on his skull. In alightning flash of reflexes, he put one knee in
thesmall of the prisoner's back and one arm around histhroat. At the same time, he grabbed the food with
the other hand and scooped it back onto his tray.
Lunch might be disgusting, but he wasn't aboutto miss it.
The prisoner in front of him gagged from thepressure on his throat and tripped. His own tray went
flying. Quickly Ferus released his hold and by the timethe guard turned he was staring clown at the floor,
mimicking the exhausted shuffle of the others.
"Keep moving!" The guard lifted his force pikeand brought it down on the prisoner's shoulder.He
摘要：

DEATHONNABOO CHAPTERONE      MeetingswiththeEmperorwerealwaysunnerv­ing.Malorumjusthopedthisonewouldn'tbefatal.      MalorumpausedoutsidetheairlocktotheEmperor'sprivateoffice,highonthetopfloorsoftheSenateofficebuilding.Hehadundergonetheweaponsscan.AstheEmperor'smostloyalsubject,itwasaprocesshefoundi...

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