The Last Jedi

Eighteen


Tuden Sal looked up from his drink as Acer Ash slid into the booth across from him and set his own beverage down, sliding it to the center of the tabletop. A data wafer was concealed behind the cup. The human pushed it over behind Sal’s glass with one finger.

“Were you able to get everything?” Sal asked, palming the wafer.

Acer smiled. “Not everything, but most of it. And—” he added, before Sal could respond, “the rest of it is coming.”

“The rest of it? How much of it?”

“The cloaking system you wanted has components that are illegal for public consumption. It will be a few days before I can get those. But I will get them, thanks to a little windfall.”

Sal smiled, lifting his cup. “Good news. Here’s to your windfall.”

Acer touched the rim of his cup to Sal’s. “To my windfall.”

“What was it—your little stroke of luck?”

“Some Imperial security forces are going to be moving in a day or two, and that will leave certain facilities and routes less well patrolled than usual. Something is going on, looks like. Not sure what. There’s some more intel about that on the wafer.” He tipped his cup toward Sal’s hand.

“Something? Any idea what?”

“Not a clue. All I know is it frees me up to make some propitious moves.”

Sal raised an eyebrow. “Propitious? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch for your vocabulary, Acer?”

The smuggler grinned. His canines—capped with aurodium—gleamed with rainbow hues. “It is. I’m trying to improve myself. It means—”

“I know what it means. I’m just surprised you do. But congratulations. What’s the word for next week?”

“Haven’t chosen one yet,” Acer told him. “Got any suggestions?”

“Just my word of the week: insurrection.”

Acer looked disappointed. “Oh. I already know what that means.”



This time they met in Fabris’s office, which was reached via a secret panel beneath a staircase in the cantina. Den and I-Five had wanted to come along, but Jax saw no reason to announce to all and sundry that they were a team.

“It raises our profile,” he told them. “Which is the last thing I want to do. Better if you two work independently.”

He could tell by the look on Den’s face that the Sullustan was suspicious of his dealings with the Black Sun lieutenant, but he couldn’t help that. He wasn’t responsible to Den Dhur for his actions. The truth was, he needed to be independent to do whatever was best for the mission. Hence, he was alone when Tlinetha escorted him to meet “the Boss.”

The office suite was a study in anachronism. The furniture was wooden—some of it hand-carved. The corners of the room were illuminated, not by ambient walls but by myriad small lanterns that dotted the room with pools of light. In the largest such pool, the Arkanian sat behind a huge desk in solitary splendor, watching Jax react to the opulent space. The colors were as vibrant as its occupant was pale—they assaulted the eyes. Vivid carpets in green and deep plum covered flamewood floors that glowed in the hues of a desert sunset.

Overhead, in the center of the vaulted ceiling, hung an antique chandelier of epic proportions and ornateness. It was hung with thousands of small crystals that caught light and sprayed it about the room in millions of tiny, colorful points. Its light was generated by real candles—hundreds of them. Above the chandelier, the ceiling seemed to pulse and crawl with living light and shadow.

A rainbow of tapestries from a dozen worlds decorated the walls. Jax guessed that several of them concealed doors: his Force sense told him that a handful of sentients occupied a space behind the tapestry nearest to Fabris’s desk. This was no surprise—Tyno Fabris was, by his own admission, a careful man. Jax didn’t react to their presence, but merely surveyed his surroundings with a cool gaze.

Too cool for Tyno Fabris, apparently. The man rose and made a sweeping gesture. “Well? What do you think? Most people at least comment on the colors … but perhaps with your prosthesis, you don’t see color the way most people do.”

Jax swung his gaze to the Arkanian. “Have you considered my offer?”

The pale eyebrows ascended. “All right, I guess we’ll skip the pleasantries. Yes. I find your offer most interesting. Have you been able to open the Holocron?”

“Tampering with such things naïvely can be dangerous. I had thought I might let Lord Vader open it.”

Fabris shook his head. “That would be just as dangerous. If the information you promise him is not in it …”

“That’s for me to worry about, isn’t it?”

“Not if I’m to receive a portion of your ‘reward,’ Captain Vigil. If your reward is—oh, say—death and dismemberment, then I’ll pass. I think it best if you open the Holocron and make certain of the information before selling the device to Darth Vader. He does not react well to disappointment. And I will not be the one to disappoint him.”

Jax hadn’t counted on Fabris demanding that he open the Holocron. Though he’d come near trying it the night before, he now found himself strangely reluctant. “I don’t possess the … ability to open the Holocron.”

Again the raised eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Jax’s skin prickled with wariness. “No.”

“Then how do you know—”

“It was taken from a Jedi who knew its contents.”

“A Jedi. Does he have a name?”

“Had a name. He’s dead now. His name was Jax Pavan.” He didn’t even blink at the mention of his own demise.

“Ah. And you removed the Holocron from his dead body, I suppose.”

“Something like that.”

“May I ask how you—”

“Does it matter?”

Fabris shrugged and strolled about his office, seemingly admiring its décor, touching this or that object lovingly … or perhaps significantly. Jax tensed, assuming the people in the next room were monitoring all this.

“You’re asking me to take a huge risk, Captain Vigil. You tell me a tale of a murdered Jedi, a stolen Holocron, and an alleged substance that Darth Vader would be willing to pay for …” He glanced fleetingly at Jax.

“I didn’t say the Jedi was murdered. Or that the Holocron was stolen. And Vader need never know you were the source of my intelligence about his location.”

“It is the nature of Lord Vader to know what he wishes to know. If your purpose is other than what you’ve said, or you fail to give him something he wants, he will discover who connected you to him. If I’m in your … revenue stream, he’ll follow that stream right back to me.” Again, the glance.

“If you’re not willing to deal—”

“Didn’t say that. Didn’t mean it. I’d just like to structure the deal differently.” The huge, dark eyes fixed on Jax’s face. “I want payment up front.”

“What sort of payment?”

“First, answer a question for me.”

Jax tensed anew. He’d been aware of the Arkanian’s intense curiosity; now he feared it might be more than that. “If I can.”

“You’ve been cleared of weapons, and yet I detect a white-hot source of energy on your person. What is it?”

The pyronium. Well, that gave Jax some idea of the sort of genetic modifications Tyno Fabris had been given. He reached beneath the flexible body armor into the sash of his tunic and withdrew the gleaming, opalescent object, holding it out on the flat of his hand.

The light of a dozen lamps and a hundred candles shivered on the curving surface of the gem, and it absorbed even that meager energy, cycling through rainbow hues that rivaled those in Tyno Fabris’s office. The Arkanian’s eyes were so alight with it that Jax expected him to lick his lips.

“What is that?”

“Pyronium.”

Fabris paused in the act of touching the nugget and looked up into Jax’s face. Jax felt his sudden excitement like static in the air between them.

“Pyronium? I’ve heard rumors of it. Legends. It’s said to be constantly absorbing electromagnetic energy in whatever environment it’s placed. Storing it in virtually unlimited amounts in some sort of hyperspatial lattice.”

“Those are its properties.” Jax didn’t mention that the trick was getting the rare metal to release the energy. The information on how to do that was also in the Sith Holocron concealed behind the miisai tree—or at least that was the rumor that had come with the device.

Fabris’s eyes were on the gem. “It’s also said to be quite rare—vanishingly so, in fact. This is really pyronium?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get it?”

Jax’s mouth twisted wryly. “Another Jedi who no longer exists. Are you interested in it?”

Fabris withdrew his hand. “I might be … Yes. Yes, I’m interested.”

“Then we have an agreement? Darth Vader’s whereabouts for the pyronium.”

Fabris nodded, his eyes never leaving the jewel. “Where are you staying in Keldabe? I’ll contact you as soon as I have something for you.”

Jax folded the pyronium in his hand and tucked it away again. “I’m staying aboard my ship, the Corsair.”

“Corsair,” Fabris repeated, his gaze following the pyronium to its hiding place. “You’re at the local port, I assume.”

“You assume correctly. Until you have news, then.”

The Arkanian favored him with a businesslike smile. “I don’t expect it to take too long. Until then, enjoy your stay. I have it on good authority that Tlinetha is quite taken with you. She always did have a soft spot for pirates.”

Jax laughed at that characterization of his alter ego and let himself out of the room. He contemplated exploring Tyno Fabris’s domain a bit further, but sensed he was being watched carefully. He returned to the cantina the way he had come. Tlinetha met him beneath the staircase, her eyes confirming her boss’s sense of her fondness for “pirates.”



Tyno Fabris did not need to feel the flutter of the tapestry or hear the opening of the door behind it to know that someone else had entered the room. That one, he thought wryly, announced his presence only too effectively. He shifted in mild discomfort.

“Is that him?” the Arkanian asked, not bothering to turn around.

“Yes.” The voice sounded faintly amused. “It would seem the rumors of Jax Pavan’s demise are somewhat exaggerated.”

“And?” Fabris turned.

Prince Xizor gave an eloquent shrug, his skin flushing green. “And … you should abide by your agreement. By all means, let’s get him what he wants.”