A wheel of life, a monk, and the sound of chanting. Everything came together. A temple had been established in the building. There were thousands of religions within the Empire, and while Palpatine disapproved of many, most were tolerated so long as they remained apolitical. Jan smiled. "No, thank you. I chose the wrong door."
The monk bowed. "There are many doors - and many paths beyond them. Go in peace."
Jan bowed, knew she wouldn't find much peace, not for a while anyway, and returned to the street. She looked back over her shoulder. What did a temple have to do with Kyle? Or the Imperial Death Star for that matter? She could have asked, but what if the monk tipped Kyle off? He would recognize her description in a second. No, better to wait and see.
Jan took three steps and stopped. What if she'd been suckered? What if Kyle was a lot better trained than she thought he was, knew she was following him, and was determined to lose her? It seemed unlikely, but anything was possible. Especially for a double agent.
Jan broke into a run. It carried her down the street, around a corner, and onto the main drag. She stopped and looked both ways. Where had he gone? What was he doing? The answer, once she had it, was anticlimactic. Kyle, apparently at ease, was strolling toward his ship.
A lot of people had filtered into the Blue Moon during the last hour or so. Spacers mostly, with a leavening of colonists, and aliens with nowhere else to go.
A mirror ran the entire length of the room, its insect-specked surface barely visible between the bottles, jugs, gourds, decanters, and squeeze bulbs racked in front of it. The club's proprietor wore a dingy apron, and polished the same section of bar over and over again, as if doing so would bring him luck.
Up toward the front, where she could be seen through the window, a dancer bumped and ground her way through a two-hour shift, her face empty of all expression, her eyes far away.
Further back, seated around a too-small table, a group of farm boys, their empties ranked before them, ogled the dancer, and bragged of exploits they'd never had.
Kyle, who occupied one of about ten booths that lined the wall opposite the bar, split his attention between the dancer and the entryway. Not because the dancer was especially attractive, but because she was a legitimate place to look. The last thing he needed was a man with a "Who are you looking at?" drunk. The afternoon and early evening had passed slowly, very slowly, and Kyle was nervous. So nervous he held the blaster cradled in his lap. Once he had made the decision to place his friend at risk, the rest had been easy. Comm calls were almost sure to be monitored, as was E-mail, which left word of mouth. The fact that Odom was a spiritualist, almost certain to visit the local temple, offered a path for communications.
Now, having set events in motion, Kyle worried lest something go wrong. What if Odom hadn't gone to the temple today? Or didn't go this week? How many days could he wait? Or even worse, what if Odom had been to the temple and came through the door now backed by a half dozen stormtroopers? People change. Odom could have. The Blue Moon had a rear exit, he'd made sure of that, but it would be covered.
The better part of an hour passed, Kyle bought round after round of nonalcoholic drinks, and refused two offers of female companionship.
Finally, at the point where he was ready to give up, Odom arrived. He wore civilian attire and looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Kyle forced himself to wait, saw nothing suspicious, and released the grip on his blaster. Odom scanned the crowd and Kyle waved. Visibly relieved, the officer nodded, said something to the hostess, and made his way toward the back. His face registered concern as he slid into the booth. "Kyle! It's you! I nearly didn't come. The security types lay traps sometimes."
Kyle nodded soberly. "You took a big chance. I'm sorry to put you at risk."
"What? And miss my chance to talk to the most infamous member of the class? No way!"
Kyle glanced around. If anyone was watching they hid it well. "Infamous? How infamous?"
"This infamous," Odom replied, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Here, take a look."
The paper was folded. Kyle opened the document, flattened it on the tabletop, and was shocked when his own face looked back at him. The Empire had used the holo from the Academy's yearbook. The crimes he stood accused of included desertion, treason, and murder. He felt vulnerable and resisted the temptation to look over his shoulder. "I didn't kill anyone. Not intentionally, anyway."
Odom grinned. "And the rest?"
"Guilty as charged."
"Which brings us to the present."
"Yes."
"I know I'll regret this question. But where do I come in?"
Kyle explained.
Jan waited outside the Blue Moon, saw Odom enter, and felt sick inside. Mon Mothma was right. Kyle was about to meet with the officer he'd lied about knowing. Why? What were
they up to? It was her job to find out.
Jan moved along the side of the building toward the back door. A drunk lurched out of the darkness and she shoved him out of the way. He backpedaled and fell into some poorly tended shrubbery. She ignored his pleas for assistance, turned the corner, stepped over a pool of vomit, and made her way up the back stairs. Hinges screeched as she pulled the door open and stepped inside. The rest rooms smelled of urine and the agent made a face. There was halfhearted applause as the dancer bent to collect her tips and a four-piece band started to play.
The agent spotted Odom, saw Kyle's back, and made for the adjoining booth. The hostess saw her, registered alarm, and rushed to intervene. At least two customers to a booth after 800 p.m., the owner was strict about that, and so was she. A half-dozen bracelets jangled as she made her way across the floor.
Jan allowed herself to be intercepted, smiled innocently, and showed five fingers. "We're a party of six. The rest will be here shortly."
Relieved, and optimistic about the evening's take, the hostess returned to her station. Jan struggled to hear. It was difficult, especially after the band swung into a rendition of "Rimmer's Delight," and the customers started to clap. She heard snatches though, including Kyle's promise to keep Odom's identity secret, and "the need to build a believable story."
The meeting ended after about thirty minutes. Odom left via the front door, and Kyle headed for the back. Jan paid for her drink, loosened her blaster, and followed. Her heart was beating like a trip-hammer. She'd killed people, more than she cared to remember, but never like
this. Never someone she knew, and never in cold blood.
The door closed behind Kyle and Jan pushed it open. Drives roared as a ship lowered itself onto the tarmac a quarter klick away. She looked around. The area appeared clear, and the ship would cover the noise she made. The possibility that Kyle might have body armor under his clothes suggested a head shot. Jan raised her weapon, adopted a two-handed stance, and took
careful aim.
The old Kyle would have felt the pressure against the back of his head and dismissed it. This one drew his weapon in one smooth motion, turned, and started to squeeze the trigger. But he saw his would-be assassin's face, and stopped. Jan saw his hesitation, knew she should have
fired, and cursed her weakness.
Kyle, unable to trust his own eyes, held the weapon where it was, but closed the gap between them . She'd been prepared to kill him, that much was clear, but why? The Empire, yes, but the Alliance was supposed to be above such things. Kyle knew he should shoot her, should burn a hole through her brain, but couldn't bring himself to do it.
He remembered the first time he'd seen those eyes, calm even in the face of death, centered on something he couldn't see. His arm sank and the blaster with it. Hers did likewise. Jan spoke first. "You deserve to die, Katarn. But someone else will have to do it."
The roar of repulsors stopped suddenly as the pilot shut them down. The relative silence made his words seem louder. Kyle shook his head. "You have it wrong, Jan."
"What about Odom? You told Mon Mothma you didn't know him."
&nbs
p; Kyle shrugged. "I wanted to protect him, to leave him out of it."
"And now?"
"I pulled him in. There's no other way."
Jan allowed her blaster to slip into its holster. A pair of drunks wobbled around the corner, stumbled, and laughed hilariously as they helped each other up the stairs. She searched his face. "Why? Why would he help our cause?"
Kyle looked away and back again. "I don't know for sure. Friendship, his religious beliefs, it's hard to say."
"But you believe he will?"
"I'm willing to bet my life on it."
There was momentary silence. Jan thought about what she'd been prepared to do and shivered. If she had killed him, would it have been an act of fanaticism or patriotism? How did one tell the difference? The answer, if one existed, refused to come. She forced a smile. "Come
on. Let's have dinner. Assuming we can find a restaurant dark enough to hide your face. And it's on me."
CHAPTER SEVEN
It took three hours for Kyle to make his way across the ravine, find a path through the maze of boulders, and arrive opposite the gate marked "S-2." It was three meters tall and constructed of solid durasteel. An energy cannon might burn a hole through it, but nothing less would touch it.
Odom had explained that the gates had letter designations E for East, W for West, N for North, and S for South. Each side of the rectangular perimeter had four or five such openings for the convenience of maintenance and security teams who would otherwise have been forced to rely on the main gate, which would be an inconvenience at least, and dangerous in case of attack.
Kyle checked his chrono, found that he had a full hour to wait, and ducked behind a rock. He was well within the range of the nearest surveillance cam and would be vulnerable until darkness cloaked his movements.
The window of opportunity, and it wouldn't last for long, would occur at precisely 2100 hours when the officer of the watch, Meek Odom in this case, would use remote testing equipment to open and close the door locks. It would be during this test, while the door was momentarily unlocked, that Kyle would slip through. That, combined with Odom's ability to momentarily override the collateral security systems, would allow Kyle to penetrate the outer perimeter. The rest would be up to him, and, assuming he made it to the extraction point, Jan Ors, who had agreed to pull him out.
Kyle remembered the night before, their mutual reluctance to kill each other, and smiled. His expression froze as stones rattled nearby.
What was it? An animal? Or something more ominous?
The agent wanted to investigate but knew better than to do so. Whatever it was might sense his movements. And what? Attack? Report his presence? Either possibility would be disastrous.
Kyle held his breath and kept a grip on his blaster. There was silence, followed by a sound similar to the first one, only closer this time. Metal rasped on metal, then moved away.
Slowly, his blood pounding in his ears, Kyle started to breathe again. The machine, whatever its purpose, had left.
The sun sank over the western horizon, stars appeared in the sky, and Kyle felt very, very small. The entire mission was insane. Fear spread icy fingers through his veins. How would a more experienced agent handle a moment such as this one?
Kyle remembered the breathing exercises the Academy had taught him and put the knowledge to work. His vital signs slowed, brain activity flattened, and time stood still.
Kyle was surprised when his eyes popped open, his chrono read 2070 hours, and the moment was at hand. Widely spaced blue-green perimeter lights had come on at some point
during the last half hour. They threw a ghostly glow across the rocks.
Marveling at how rested he was, Kyle turned toward the fence and did some stretches. Then, confident that his body would respond the way it was supposed to, the agent elbowed his way toward the fence. He hadn't moved more than a meter or two when a security droid appeared in the distance. It floated a meter off the ground and was mounted with no less than three auto blasters and a pair of independently controlled spotlights. They chased each other back and forth, probing the shadows for intruders, verifying the integrity of the fence.
Kyle weighed his alternatives. The lock would open in a little more than seven minutes. The droid was traveling at maybe two or three klicks an hour. There was no way to evaluate the variables precisely, so he would have to guess.
Kyle gritted his teeth, resolved to stay low, and low-crawled upwards. Loose gravel rattled away from his boots, his senses seemed unusually acute, and the droid grew larger.
The agent sprinted across the unpaved maintenance road that Fronted the fence and dived into the shadow opposite the door. A quick check showed he had three minutes to go. More than he would have liked, but a necessary trade-off.
The droid moved forward, sensors scanning, searching for anything outside the parameters of what its programming classified as "normal." Was the machine faster now? Or did
it only seem that way?
Whatever the truth, Kyle knew the droid would spot him before the lock opened, assuming it ever did.
Desperate now, and unable to come up with a better alternative, Kyle felt around the ground, found a baseball-sized rock, and stood straight up. He threw as hard as he could, not at the droid, but over its CPU housing, hoping to trigger a motion detector, or failing that, to
generate some noise.
The rock flew straight and true, landed in the scrub, and caused a miniature landslide. The droid turned, aimed its spotlights toward the noise, and brought two auto blasters to bear.
Kyle turned toward the door, looked at his chrono, and saw the final seconds tick away. Then, just as the readout changed from fifty-nine to double zeros the agent heard an
unmistakable "click." Kyle's heart was in his mouth as he gripped the T-shaped handle, gave it one turn to the right, and pushed. The door swung miraculously open and Kyle slipped through. The droid's spots washed over the door only seconds after it closed.
Kyle allowed himself a two-second celebration, checked his surroundings against the mental map created from Odom's descriptions, and started to jog. Half a klick separated the fence from the complex. A surface patrol would sweep through the area in fifteen minutes or so.
That gave Kyle plenty of time to reach the entry point.
The air shaft was Odom's idea. Like similar ducts located throughout the complex, the vent was intended to collect fresh air and carry it to the sublevels below. Security was ensured
by heat and motion detectors mounted inside the shafts. The only problem was that a persistent software glitch had triggered a long series of false alarms. Repair requests had been submitted, and would be acted upon, but that was a week or more away. During the interim, alarms from that particular source were routinely ignored, providing Kyle with the perfect opportunity.
The complex loomed ahead. Kyle scrambled up a bank, leaped an ornamental hedge, and arrived in front of a duracrete wall. The roof was low and readily accessible due to the fact that ninety percent of the building was underground. Kyle followed the vertical surface to a corner, found the horizontal slots intended to make the facility more interesting to look at, and climbed
hand over hand.
The roof was broad and flat. There was a gravel-like substance that crunched under his boots, a cluster of antennas, a reinforced landing pad marked with four flashing lights, and yes, the top of an air duct.
Moving quietly, or as quietly as the gravel would allow, Kyle crossed to the far side of the roof. The duct was protected by a pyramid-shaped all-weather cap. His multitool made quick work of the screws - one to each side of the vent. They gleamed as they hit the roof.
That out of the way Kyle wrapped his arms around the sheet metal, bent his knees, and lifted. There was momentary resistance followed by sudden freedom as the cover popped loose.
Kyle set the structure on the roof and peered into the pitch-black duct. He patted his belt, found the glow rod, and pulled it free. The ladder w
as obvious. The agent turned, stuck the light between his teeth, and lowered himself into the shaft. He found a rung with his feet, tested the
metal with his weight, and started his descent.
The light wavered back and forth across bare metal as Kyle sank into the darkness. He was committed now - and it was literally do or die.
Jan had retrieved her satchel from the apartment and used most of the contents to build a tidy little bomb. She buried the device near the north side of the security fence. The explosion would take place at precisely 2145 and should be sufficient to draw at least some of the surface forces away from the main complex. Then, at 2200 hours she would pass over that exact spot in the Moldy Crow, hose the area down, and head for the pickup point. It was not an especially fancy plan. But it should be sufficient to the purpo se.
Jan was about to enter the Crow's belly when movement caught her eye. Pole-mounted lights bathed the area directly in front of the terminal. The local customs agent was there, as were half a dozen stormtroopers. The official waved a piece of paper and yelled something unintelligible. The Imperials turned, looked in Jan's direction, and started her way.
Jan ran up the ramp, hit "retract," and made for the cockpit. The battle was about to begin.
Kyle saw a large white numeral 1 and knew he had gone far enough. The ladder continued downward through a man-sized hole. Kyle stepped onto the grating provided for that purpose. The access hatch, also marked with a big white 1, stood in front of him. There would be guards on this level, lots of them. Odom had emphasized that.
Kyle drew his blaster, took a deep breath, and touched the entry plate. The door slid open, a commando appeared, and Kyle fired. The Imperial staggered, fired a shot into the ceiling, and fell. It happened so quickly there was no time to be afraid.
Star Wars - dark forces - soldier for the empire Page 11