Aftermath: Empire's End (Star Wars: Aftermath #3)(63)

“Be careful,” Jom says over the comm.

“Relax, I got this,” Han says.

Now Sinjir’s blood is up. It’s probably nothing, but his skin prickles with the twin sensations of excitement and fear. He roots himself near the bar and keeps an eye out. There’s Ek, over by a table of Arconans—and approaching now is someone in the gold, red, and white of Alderaan. Did they finally elect a senator, even though the planet is destroyed? A nail of guilt sticks in Sinjir’s heart. He had literally nothing to do with the destruction of that planet, but even still, when he heard that the Empire had destroyed it, he had weeks of nightmares about it. Millions of people dying…

A hand grabs his elbow.

He tenses up like an animal about to strike, spinning heel-to-toe— Only to see a young woman standing there. A young man hurries up behind her. She has golden hair and bronze skin. He’s a bit shorter, with a body thin as an antenna but a head round as a moon.

“You’re him,” she says.

“And you’re her,” Sinjir answers, irritated. “Glad we got that out of the way, now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You’re the Imperial,” the young man says, beaming.

“Ex-Imperial,” she corrects with a very temporary scowl before her big smile returns. To Sinjir she says in a low voice: “You’ll have to excuse Dann, he is a bit thick. My name is Merra.”

“Yes. Good. Fine. Nice to meet you.”

In his ear comes Temmin’s voice: “Hold on. Senator Sorka is slipping away—she’s ducking around the corner. I’m gonna follow her.”

“Be careful,” Jom chides. “Han, you got anything?”

But there’s no answer.

Sinjir tries to push past the two wide-eyed wonder children standing there, but the girl reasserts herself in front of him, blocking his path.

“We’re Akivans,” Merra says excitedly. “Our mother, Pima Drolley, is the newly appointed senator here.”

“Lovely,” Sinjir says. He lifts his eyes above them, expecting to see Ashmin Ek with the Arcona contingent—but they’re there alone with the Alderaanian woman. Ek isn’t there. Blast it all to hell. He scans the crowd looking for that meringue peak of silver hair—there, is that him? No!

“Akiva,” Dann says, laughing nervously. “You know, the planet you…helped liberate?”

“Uh-huh, wonderful planet. Hotter than a bantha’s belly, but just wonderful.” Still no Ek anywhere. He’s taller than most here, so he lifts himself up on his toes and glances over toward Nim Tar— The Quermian is gone.

And so is Conder.

“I have to go,” he says suddenly.

The young woman interrupts again: “If you have a moment, our mother would like to meet you and thank you in person—”

“No time.”

“You’re not a very good senator,” Dann says, suddenly bitter.

Sinjir bares his teeth. “That’s because I’m not a senator, you bloat-headed buffoon.” He pushes between the two of them and heads deeper into the crowd. He’s not thinking straight enough to be surreptitious, so he speaks right into the comm: “Hello?” he says. “Conder? Where is he?”

“How should I know?” Jom asks. “Han, Tem, you got anything?”

Neither of them answers.

“Jom, what’s at your location?”

The commando answers: “Nothing. Everything’s fine here. Rethalow’s still in the dep chamber.”

“No suspicious characters? No shenanigans of note?”

“No. Where is everyone else?”

“I don’t know.” Sinjir winces. “I lost Ek, too.”

“Bloody kriffing hellstar, Sinjir.”

Don’t worry, I’m just as disappointed in myself. He says nothing and gets moving, cleaving a hard line through the crowd of senators, looking for Ashmin Ek or Nim Tar or Conder (please be all right) and seeing none of them. He hops down off the farthest patio, onto the fibercrete street—he does a loop around the whole restaurant. He moves past the trash compactors out back, feet splashing in puddles from a recent rain. Then he moves up the other side of the building, down a narrow alley— There.

Ashmin Ek and Nim Tar. The man from Anthan Prime is shorter than the Quermian, and yet somehow seems to lord over Nim Tar—Ek is seething. He’s got the long-necked alien by the scruff of his shirt, and with his other hand he thrusts a smug, accusatory index finger up in the alien’s face. Sinjir begins to march right toward them.

“Hey! Hey, stop right there,” he says before a plan actually forms in his head. I’m not security bureau, what am I doing? They turn toward him, looking like children with their hands caught in the sweets drawer.

Ek’s eyes flit to him. And then past him. As if— Sinjir hears the scuff of a boot.

There’s someone behind me.

Something hard clubs him in the back of the head. A white flash pops behind his eyes, and it’s lights-out even before he hits the ground.





Coruscant is in chaos, and Mas Amedda is trapped.

He’s a prisoner of his own Empire. Those few remaining here in the impenetrable Imperial Palace are keeping him to his quarters. He has not left in months. Those present are loyal not to him, no. They belong to another: to Gallius Rax, the true keeper of the Empire’s fate and fortunes.