Star Wars - dark forces - soldier for the empire

by William C. Deets

  The pilot turned. "You ready?"

  Jan smiled. "Always."

  The girl nodded. "Good. Now let's get a couple of things straight. I go by `Jes,' not 'Jessica,' not `dear,' and not `honey.' This is my ship, I run it my way, and I don't need any advice

  from freeloading goof-offs. Got it?"

  Jan kept a straight face. "Got it."

  "Good. Strap in, keep your mouth shut, and hang on to your lunch. You'll be standing on Danuta before you know it."

  Jan strapped into the copilot's position, thought about Kyle, and wondered how he was doing. If the pilot was even half as good as she claimed to be, and if the courier ship was even half as fast as it was supposed to be, she'd land a day before he did, and have plenty of time to reconnoiter. The hatch sealed itself, Jes brought the drives up, and the stars beckoned.

  The run to Danuta took five days. The navcomp handled most of the piloting. When not asleep, or deeply involved in some maintenance procedure, Kyle rode an emotional roller coaster, but tried to marshal his mental forces.

  There was a high as the mission began but that period was all too brief. The more he thought about the mission, the more problems he discovered, until they were like mynocks that sucked the courage from his bones.

  The obvious solution was to devise a plan that dealt with the potential problems, and thereby defeat them, in his mind if nowhere else. He spent a lot of time constructing clever scenarios, his hopes rising as they took shape, only to encounter a barrier so large, so insurmountable, that everything collapsed. Finally, after many hours of frustrating work, he was forced to confront the fact that he lacked sufficient information. The answers, assuming there were any, waited on Danuta. Air whispered through the Moldy Crow's vents, the deck vibrated, and Kyle was alone.

  Jan followed the Kubazian landlord up some twisting stairs, down a Filthy hall, and into apartment 4G. The "4" was missing, but the agent had memorized the landings and emergency exits. The entire building shook as a freighter lifted off. The landlord, who had been

  unable to let this particular set of rooms since the last tenant, a hearing impaired Rybet, had been murdered the year before, tried to minimize the negatives "It gets noisy at times - but the view makes up for it."

  Jan, who never turned her back on him, pulled a curtain aside. Thousands of dust motes

  sprang free, fell through filtered sunlight, and joined their predecessors on the floor. The window was a local product, and hadn't been washed in a long, long time. The agent thumbed the latch and pushed. Additional light poured into the room and the landlord adjusted his goggles accordingly. Exposure to the red wavelengths gave him headaches.

  Jan considered the view. The airport's security fence was only twenty meters away. Beyond that, out past a line of grounded ships, the freighter engaged its in-system drives, and blasted the length of the runway. It was fast and disappeared moments later. The terminal was a slow, one-story affair, and could have passed for a warehouse except for the antenna farm, and the surface-to-air missile battery that nestled against the west end of the building. There was no sign of the Moldy Crow.

  The stench of fuel, ozone, and sewage wafted in through the window. The Kubazian wanted to slap a scent disk over the end of his Link but thought better of it. Maybe, just maybe, the human was stupid enough to take the apartment in spite of the stench.

  Jan turned toward the Kubazian, dropped some coins into his eternally ready hand, and said "Nice ambiance. I'll take it." The bag, still loaded with ordnance, bounced as it hit the heavily stained bedspread. Rebel agents had a saying "Home is where you lay your head."

  Danuta more than filled the ship's view screen and Kyle was celebrating his first planetfall when the proximity alarms went off. The reason was quickly apparent. Two Imperial TIE fighters, one to either side of his ship, appeared from nowhere. A comm transmission followed. There were no preliminaries -just demands.

  "Orbital patrol vessel X-Ray-two-niner-one to unidentified freighter. Report the commanding officer's name, number of passengers aboard, cargo if any, port of origin, and business on Danuta."

  The words had a sing-song quality, as if the pilot had uttered them countless times, which he probably had. Kyle felt his heart pound in his chest, reminded himself that such checks were standard, and opened his mike. The story had been rehearsed numerous times, and, thanks to the experts on the Hope, Kyle had the forgeries to back it up.

  "Moldy Crow to Imperial X-Ray-two-niner-one. Roger that . . . My name's Drexel, Dan Drexel, and I'm the sole person aboard. My port of origin was Drog VI in the Corporate Sector. I've got a load of high priority spares for the Brodsport Mining Corporation. Rel Farley's the assistant manager there . . . tell him the first beer's on me."

  Farley was a Reb sympathizer, or so Kyle assumed, and was ready to confirm the agent's story. Silence ensued as the pilot checked with Brodsport, talked to his buddy on a different frequency, or picked his nose. Kyle had his credits on the last possibility when the clearance arrived.

  "This is X-Ray-two-niner-one. You have clearance for Trid. Approach vectors are being uploaded to your navcomp. Stay inside them. It'll be safer that way. Have a nice day."

  Kyle took note of the threat but felt a tremendous sense of relief anyway. "Roger that - Crow out."

  The TIE fighters accelerated, curved away, and were lost to sight. Kyle allowed himself to relax a little, made contact with Trid ground control, and descended through the atmosphere. It looked as if a huge brown blanket had been thrown over the planet's surface. It was smooth at first, rounded where hills pushed from below, and wrinkled where canyons came and went.

  The badlands gradually gave way to farms where hardy colonists, men and women like his father, coaxed circles of green from the hard brown earth. Sunlight winked off metal roofs, vehicles added an occasional touch of color, and a two-lane road led towards Trid.

  The streets had been laid out grid-style by Brodsport engineers who saw the town for what it was - a miserable little outpost to which they were committed for no more than the duration of their contracts. The result was a community in which what few niceties there were had been tacked on later.

  The spaceport was located at the eastern end of town, the direction from which Kyle was coming. It shimmered in the afternoon heat. Beyond the landing strip, and the low-lying city to which it belonged, Kyle saw a cluster of distinctly upscale buildings, and knew what they represented. The Imperial Research Facility on Danuta, the Death Star's intellectual birthplace, and, unless he was careful, the place where he would die.

  He pushed the ship down, deployed the flaps, and fired retros. The Crow lost altitude, but way out there, on the very edge of the horizon, the agent saw an enormous black lake. It lay well within the Imperial Military Reservation, and it didn't take a geologist to see that the surface had

  been heated till it was liquid, and allowed to cool. Why would such a thing exist? Unless it was the result of an experiment of some kind. Kyle imagined a superlaser powerful enough to drill holes through the planetary crust and gave an involuntary shudder.

  Then, with Trid ground control babbling in his ears and the navcomp beeping in sympathy, he killed forward motion, pulled the ship up, and lit the repulsors. Forces equalized and the ship hovered. Kyle checked the lay of the land, saw how the slots were configured, and danced the ship sideways.

  The automated ground guide had been painted once, but that was a long time ago, and most of the covering had worn away, leaving islands of orange. Kyle followed the mottled machine to space twenty three where he plopped down between an autohopper that wore governmental markings and a Brodsport shuttle.

  The other end of the spaceport, the part that was heavily festooned with "do not enter" signs, and guarded by a squad of stormtroopers, was home to six carefully maintained TIE fighters, still gleaming from the morning wash down. A good place to stay clear of.

  Kyle ran the shutdown procedures, checked to make sure his indicators were green, and preset the emerg
ency start-up sequence. When he left, if he left, there was a fairly good chance he'd be in a hurry. The local customs agent used a hydrospanner to hammer on the belly hatch, Kyle slipped into his Dan Drexel persona, and hurried to lower the ramp. To bribe or not to bribe - that was the question. Not that there was much doubt.

  The noise, combined with the way the building shook, brought Jan up out of an uncertain sleep. Her boots came off the sill, the front legs of her chair hit the floor, and she fought to focus her eyes. Though not especially busy by the standards of a planet like her native Alderaan, which had multiple ports a thousand times larger than Trid's, the strip was reasonably active, and she had already monitored the comings and goings of at lest fifty ships, not counting TIE fighters or atmospheric craft. So she was pleasantly surprised to see the Moldy Crow, and, after he had secured the ship, Kyle Katarn. The electrobinoculars wobbled over the tarmac, centered on the agent, and brought him closer.

  He looked tall and fit as he talked to the local customs agent, shook hands, and checked the Crow's landing skids. What did she like about him anyway? Besides the fact that he'd saved her life? Was it the determined look in his eyes? The strength in his hands? Or the laugh that came so seldom she found herself working for it? She wasn't sure.

  Kyle completed his inspection, sealed the belly hatch, and headed for the terminal. The action was sufficient to remind Jan of the mission she had accepted and the possibilities involved. What if Kyle was a spy? Sent to destroy all that she fought for? Her resolve hardened.

  Jan checked to ensure that her weapons were loaded, set the satchels's self-defense mechanism, and let herself into the hall. The target had arrived. She had work to do.

  Having already inspected the town from the air, Kyle wasn't especially surprised by Trid's lackadaisical seediness. As with most planets, the nightclubs, strip joints, and cheap eateries sat elbow to elbow with the terminal, and the outfitters, suppliers, and parts houses were just up the street.

  The local architecture could best be described as Imperial prefab with a touch of rimworld colonial. Examples could be seen in the colorful planters that hung off second-story balconies, the wrought-iron bars that protected ground-floor windows, and the trash-filled water fountain that graced the town square.

  The citizens were just as basic. They fell in six categories contract employees, who sported caps with Brodsport logos on them; hardened colonists with work-thickened hands;

  scholarly types, whose clothes looked badly out of place; space trash like Dan Drexel, just waiting to leave; an assortment of aliens, none of whom seemed very happy; and stormtroopers who went everywhere in pairs. Partly for the sake of security, and partly so they could watch each other.

  The troopers gave Kyle the most cause for concern, since he was wanted by now. They might or might not have seen his face during the last shift briefing. Their presence, and the fact that he couldn't see their eyes, reminded Kyle of the extent to which the Emperor ruled through fear. He remembered what it felt like to be that powerful, and came to the sickening realization that he had enjoyed it.

  Kyle waited for a tractor-wagon combination to growl past, stepped off the curb, and crossed the square. Though careful to seem casual, Kyle had a destination in mind, and drifted in that direction. The possibility that he would look at the research facility and see a way in was more than a little remote, but he would give it a try.

  As Kyle moved west, following the afternoon sun, his surroundings started to change. The buildings assumed a residential air and seemed more prosperous. Judging from the overall cleanliness, and the children who played in the street, this particular neighborhood had been set aside for research staff and their dependents. This was something Mon Mothma had neglected to mention, which might have been used in support of a commando raid.

  A complex scheme that involved kidnapping a scientist and using his or her credentials to gain entry presented itself and was eliminated. Simplicity was the key, along with a healthy dose of luck.

  Kyle felt something press against his back. It felt like - what? Someone watching him? But that was nonsense - wasn't it?

  A seedy caf spilled out onto a patch of carefully swept sidewalk and presented a chance to rest, have something to drink, and check his back-trail. Kyle smiled at the hostess - she looked to be no more than twelve - and followed her to a plastic-covered table. She cleared the previous occupant's dishes away and promised to return. Kyle sat, turned toward the east, and scanned the street.

  Jan rounded a corner, took two steps forward, and knew something was wrong. Kyle had disappeared, no, there he was, seated on the sidewalk. She pulled a wanted poster out of her

  pocket, pretended Kyle's face was a street map, and retraced her steps. The corner blocked his view but the question remained Had Kyle seen her? And if he had, did

  Kyle frowned. There had been something familiar about the distantly glimpsed figure, but he wasn't sure what. A person from town?

  Probably, but he resolved to keep a sharp lookout just in case. He touched his blaster for reassurance. It was new, but not too new, and secured in a cross-draw holster. Fast, but uncomfortable when you sat. Side arms, and even heavier weapons for that matter, were common on planets like Danuta.

  Kyle finished his drink, left some coins on the sticky tabletop, and resumed his reconnaissance.

  The residential area was relatively small and quickly gave way to a carefully maintained security buffer, complete with pole-mounted surveillance cameras, recon droids, weapons emplacements, and a four-meter high razor-wire-topped chain-link fence. The buildings were

  low, sturdy affairs, at least half underground, and hardened against attack. He remembered Mon Mothma's holo and marveled at someone's bravery. Which raised an interesting question - what

  happened to that agent anyway? And why hadn't he or she been asked to retrieve the plans? The answer seemed obvious.

  Kyle paralleled the security perimeter for a while, walking briskly as if for the exercise, and knew he wasn't dressed for it. The main gate was a massive affair, complete with a guard station, at least a dozen stormtroopers, an AT- ST, and a brace of armored ground cars. Not the sort of defenses he cared to test.

  Careful lest he draw attention to himself, Kyle turned toward the east, chose what seemed like a quiet street, and followed it towards town. The reconnaissance had confirmed his worst fears. The Research Complex was essentially impregnable. The only way an unauthorized person could get in was if someone allowed them to enter.

  The fact that Kyle knew someone stationed in the secured area had plagued him ever since he'd seen Meek Odom's face on Mon Mothma's holo. To force a choice between friendship and duty, to place Odom in terrible danger, went against everything Kyle believed in. After all, what could be lower than that? Yet what of the millions, the billions put at risk by the Death Star? What would they think of his moral dilemma? He knew the answer.

  His feet seemed to be on automatic for the rest of the journey, as he made his way back through Trid. The Moldy Crow's security system indicated that there had been no less than three attempts to enter the ship while he was gone, none of them successful. Kyle scanned the video secured by the rivet-sized lens, dismissed the would-be burglars as common thieves, and reset the system.

  Once sealed, the hull was more than adequate protection against the spaceport's noise and stench. In fact, if it hadn't been for the vibration generated by the ships that used the strip, he would have been unaware of their comings and goings. His dinner, purchased from a street vendor and carried back to the ship, was delicious. Especially after five days of dehydrated food. He wolfed it down, drank a quart of local spring water, and hit the rack. Sleep came fast - as did the dreams.

  He had switched places with a Rebel back on the asteroid. The hatch made a natural point of defense. There were so many stormtroopers that it was impossible to miss. Bodies were piled on bodies until they blocked the corridor. That's when the fighting stopped, medic s removed their helmets, and Kyl
e started to scream. Every single corpse had Meek Odom's face.

  Given the fact that Kyle had spent the night aboard the Moldy Crow, and she had spent it within the confines of her miserable apartment, Jan assumed that he had slept better than she had. That's why she felt resentful when he opted for an early start and forced her to do likewise. She double-timed around the west end of the runway just in time to see him emerge from an eatery. Her breakfast, which consisted of a cup of tea purchased on the run, left her hungry.

  Still, it was interesting to see him on the move, especially after the somewhat inconclusive meanderings carried out the day before. What was he up to anyway? Assuming that an agent with no real training and no experience - had a plan.

  Kyle stopped to get directions from a street vendor, turned down a side street, and found what he thought was the correct address. He turned, saw nothing suspicious about the woman staring into a shop window, the man emptying slops, or the droid that whirred down the sidewalk. Then, having checked once more to make sure he was in the right place, the agent climbed a short flight of stairs and disappeared within.

  There was a carving over the dilapidated door and Jan strained to see what it was. It looked like a wheel, with complicated spokes radiating out from the center. Jan had the sense that she'd seen it before, but she couldn't place it.

  One good thing about the situation was the fact that it allowed her to buy a sweet roll in a nearby shop. She was licking frosting off her fingers when Kyle emerged. He scanned the general vicinity, failed to see her through the plate glass window, and headed for the business district.

  That left Jan in a dilemma She could follow Kyle, and see where he went, or investigate the building and figure out why he'd gone there.

  She chose the second alternative, waited till he was out of sight, and mounted the stairs. The door opened on well-oiled hinges, bells jingled, and the odor of incense filled her nostrils. The Ortolan monk had a long snout, floppy ears, and two disk-shaped eyes. His bright blue fur clashed with the saffron robe he wore. "May I be of assistance?" His voice was soft but audible over the distant chant.