Dark Forces: Rebel Agent

by William C. Deets

  None of this held any particular interest for the three Jedi or the troops who accompanied them. Their attention was on the Jedi called Maw. He stood in the first skimmer's bow, nostrils flaring as he sampled the wind, looking like the figurehead on some barbaric ship. The

  occasional jab of a hand was sufficient to impart his wishes. The helmsman steered accordingly.

  The skimmers were perfect for the task. The large, open platforms housed repulsorlift engines and made excellent time over the gently rolling hills. Though vulnerable to ground fire, they afforded clear views of the surrounding territory and, thanks to semirigid awnings, offered protection from the summer sun.

  Maw grinned and allowed the wind to support a small portion of his weight. In spite of the fact that the Rebels were clever and skilled at covering their tracks, they couldn't hide what they felt. Their fear sent ripples through the dark side of the Force, ripples Maw would follow inward until that which caused them was located and killed.

  Sariss and Yun watched with amusement. Though just as ruthless, they felt somewhat superior and viewed Maw with the same affection that hunters reserve for their trackers.

  Sariss was an attractive woman of medium height. She wore her hair boyishly short and, like her mentor, Jerec, always dressed in black. Black, with just a touch of red on her lips, collar, and nails. Her interest in the acquisition and exercise of power made her one of Jerec's most trusted Lieutenants - yet threatened the Dark Jedi as well.

  Yun, a Jedi so young he appeared to be barely beyond his teens, sat to her right. She was his mentor and the center of his moral universe. Not only the fact that he had been invited to come but that he was treated as an equal added to his inborn sense of superiority.

  A comm unit crackled. An officer touched a button, saw the wellknown face, and said, "Yes, sir."

  Sariss detected the stiffness in his voice and knew who the caller was. She accepted the hand-held unit and saw that she was correct.

  "Jerec. How nice of you to call."

  "Have you captured them yet?" The lack of a greeting was intentional one of the many devices Jerec used to keep others off balance. The Jedi was tall, almost regal in the way he carried himself, and so emaciated that his nearly translucent skin appeared to have been sprayed onto the surface of his skull. A strip of black leather concealed the caves where his eyes had been, and tattoos curved away from his thin-upped mouth. The vengeance was in orbit above, but her sensors touched the ground.

  Sariss smiled thinly. He knew that she knew that he already knew the answer to the question. It, like many of the things that Jerec said, was intended to subjugate her. "No, my lord, but soon."

  Jerec smiled. No one but Sariss referred to him as "lord." It was

  part of her never-ending attempt to manipulate him, and he enjoyed it. He commanded only the ship beneath his boots, but he needed more. Much more. His words were cold and said more than they were intended to. "Good. I grow tired of waiting."

  Rahn looked out over the skimmer's blaster-scorched stern. A three-day growth of beard covered his jaw. His once white robe was red with Rebel blood, and black where the blaster bolt had scorched his shoulder. He could feel those who followed - and knew what they were.

  Rahn turned toward the bow. His companions included Duno Dree, a young and not-so-experienced pilot; Nij Por Ral, a portly professor of ancient linguistics; Cee Norley, a wire-thin weapons expert; and Rolanda Gron, a Klatooinian technologist. They looked for encouragement, and he offered a smile. The wind caught the Jedi's words and hurled them into his face.

  "We have a chance . . . if we can buy some time, if we can reach the ship, if we can shake the TIE fighters. Here's my plan. . ." The Rebels listened and were quick to agree.

  Such was the confidence of those on board that the Imperial skimmers followed the road at a calm, almost leisurely pace. The Rebels could run, but they couldn't hide. Not with Maw on the job. They approached an intersection. Crudely made markers identified the spot where thirty-six farmers had died in a vain attempt to defend their land. Sariss didn't even notice. Her thoughts were focused on herself - and the task before her.

  Maw saw none of the beauty around him. None of the still-unviolated fields, the sun-dappled trees, or the curve of a nearby river. He sensed only fear, which drew him like carrion to blood.

  Yun found Maw's talent distasteful, likening his fellow Jedi to a Nek battle dog, sniffing its prey. He preferred more elegant demonstrations of power, such as the way in which the slipstream sought to avoid all contact with his carefully combed hair, or the manner in which a commando struggled to satisfy a nonexistent itch. A rather interesting manipulation in which he had . . .

  The missile struck as the second skimmer breasted the rise behind them. Yun missed the actual explosion but turned in time to see wreckage cartwheel through the air and plunge to the ground. The imperial force had been reduced by fifty percent. The ambush had Rahn written all over it. At least one of his companions had known how to control their fear. He, or she, had gone undetected.

  Yun grabbed a rail as the skimmer turned toward the threat. Sariss was on her feet, eyes narrowed, fists clenched.

  Norley was still watching the effects of her handiwork rain down, still holding the empty missile launcher on her shoulder when the first skimmer started to turn.

  The weapons expert dropped the first tube, grabbed a second, and brought it to her shoulder. The skimmer steadied and held. The Rebel's finger sought the firing stud. Something caressed her neck. She shivered and resisted the temptation to check it out.

  "Hold . . . hold . . . center on the target." That's what Tech Sergeant Hooly had said over and over again - and that's what she did. The caress felt soft, like the scarves her mother wore. Then it started to tighten, and tighten, and tighten some more.

  Norley dropped the launcher, clawed at her throat, and gasped for air. It was too late. Her eyes had started to bulge, and her skin had taken on a bluish tinge by the time the blaster bolt drilled a hole through her chest.

  Sariss saw the Rebel fall, snarled an order, and prepared for the turn. The bow came around and the skimmer accelerated. Time had been lost - and gained. A Rebel had been sacrificed. Why? The answer was obvious. The fugitives had a ship. All they needed was enough time to reach it. Sariss snarled at the helmsman. And the seconds ticked away.

  The ship, the same vessel that brought the team to Dorlo in the first place, was small but adequate to their needs. Precious seconds elapsed as the Rebels ripped the camouflage away, pounded up the ramp, and strapped themselves in.

  Duno Dree had dirty-blond hair, freckles that dusted the top of his nose, and peach fuzz on both cheeks. He claimed to be twenty but was actually seventeen. He cut the preflight sequence by fifty percent, eyed indicators as he flipped switches, and wished he was half the pilot he claimed to be. He'd flown his father's in-system freighters for six years. Well - three, given that half his time was spent in school. It wasn't enough.

  The trip had seemed like a lark at first, an adventure to tell his children about, not the life-and-death mission it had become. The team had landed on Dorlo in order to convince Nij Por Ral that he should join them. Something he had agreed to do, but with obvious reluctance.

  It seemed that SoroSuub's mining droids had uncovered an ancient, three-milelong wall, and the company had hired the professor to decipher the writing that covered its surface. Not to preserve the remains of a once-great culture but to take advantage of whatever knowledge was at hand. Por Ral had decided to tolerate the endeavor rather than see the artifact destroyed. To leave now, and to do so without securing the company's permission, was to sacrifice all that he had worked for.

  Dree flipped the final switch, listened to repulsors scream, and pushed the planet away. He harbored no illusions about what would happen next. It was too late to tell the truth, too late to tell Norley how much he cared about her, and too late to take refuge in his father's

  business.

  The ship came o
ff the ground, spun on its axis, and nosed down the road. Norley was dead, and the Imperials would pay.

  Maw spotted the vessel first, roared a challenge, and waved his lightsaber over his head. The ship fired its blaster cannons, carved matching trenches down both sides of the road, and disappeared.

  The skimmer bucked as it entered the ship's slipstream, veered off course, and rammed a hand-built stone wall. Maw jumped prior to the impact, Sariss was thrown clear, and Yun bruised a thigh. With the single exception of the helmsman, whom Maw beheaded, casualties were light.

  The TIE fighters were waiting at the point where the last vestiges of the planet's atmosphere disappeared and space began. Dree put the ship into a turn, pushed the power plants to max, and entered a carefully prepared trap.

  Like all ships of her size, the Vengeance mounted multiple tractorbeam projectors. Though normally reserved for docking and maintenance related purposes, they could be used to immobilize any ship foolish

  enough to pass within range. The only problem was the fact that they consumed a great deal of power and required skilled operators. The vengeance lacked neither.

  Dree swore as his vessel lost forward momentum. He fought to dampen the runaway power plants, and wished he were home with his family. Sensors beeped, a shuttle approached, and he was powerless to stop it.

  Boc, also known as Boc the Crude, was in an excellent mood. And why not? Life was good. He enjoyed tormenting other living creatures and looked forward to the hours ahead.

  A green light appeared as the assault shuttle made lock-to-lock contact with the Rebel ship. Boc released his harness, stood, and made his way forward. He wondered what the Commandos were thinking. The Imperials, ninety-nine percent of whom were human, had a strong xenophobic streak and were suspicious of aliens.

  His species, the Twi'leks, had twin appendages that protruded from the back of their heads, which explained why bigots referred to them as "worm heads."

  Still, the Commanders were his, not the other way around. His to use, abuse, conserve, or spend. He could do anything he wanted with their human bodies, and the thought brought him pleasure as did the opportunity to assert his superiority. "On your feet, scum. There's work to do."

  The Jedi led from the front and would have been amazed to know that the Commandos respected, even liked him for it. Not that it mattered, since thcir opinions were of no value whatsoever.

  An order went to the Rebels: "Throw down your weapons, open your lock, and surrender. You have sixty seconds to comply."

  Sixty seconds passed, and nothing happened. Boc shrugged, motioned toward the hatch, and watched a specially trained team drill a hole through the barrier and shove a nozzle into the newly created opening. The sleep gas made a hissing sound as it entered the Rebel vessel.

  Then, with their opponents unconscious, it was a simple matter to force the lock, strap the Rebels to stretchers, and remove them to the shuttle.

  The Rebel vessel was left to drift, and the assault shuttle was on final clearance into the Star Destroyer's hangar bay, when the XO authorized a live-fire exercise. Turbolaser Battery Five scored a direct hit. The crew cheered, and the ship ccased to exist.

  Rahn opened his eyes and looked up from his position on the deck. Something, he wasn't sure what, looked back. It had two heads - wait a minute - two heads and two bodies. One was two meters tall, and the other a good deal smaller - so small, that it hung off the larger creature's combat harness. Both carried lightsabers, and that suggested Jedi. The smaller one spoke. "Get up."

  Rahn's hand went to the place where his lightsaber would hang. Not the first weapon, the one that he had left for Katarn's son, but the second, which had been Yoda's. The smaller creature, who was known as Pic, smiled. "Thanks for the lightsaber . . . Hurry up. Or we'll use it on you."

  Rahn struggled to his feet. The sleep gas had aftereffects. His head hurt as did the blaster burn. A hatch opened. The giant had an oversized lightsaber. He used it as a pointer. A grunt took the place of words.

  Rahn forced a smile. "A creature of few words. How refreshing."

  Pic frowned. "Shut up."

  Rahn nodded agreeably and stepped out into the corridor. A squad of Commandos stood behind his companions. They were a bedraggled lot, and Gron was bleeding from a recent cut. The Jedi started to say something but stopped when he was shoved from behind.

  It was a long march down gleaming corridors, past the sick bay and weapons control center, and onto the bridge. A utility droid crossed in front of them, and crew people passed in the other direction. None of them had the slightest bit of interest in who the prisoners were or what would happen to them. Rahn had never felt so lonely and isolated. More than that - he'd never encountered a concentration of evil like that which lay ahead.

  It felt as though the Force had been turned inside out. The dark, inner core was a seductive place in which power could be had, but at the cost of one's spirit.

  And there, like a shadow within a shadow, waited the one called Jerec. A man once, but less than that now - or so it seemed to Rahn. The Force churned as the Dark Jedi schemed, hated, wanted, and plotted.

  But the good side of the Force was present as well, and Rahn drew on its power, wrapped himself in a cloak of white, and smiled as the darkness retreated before him.

  Duno Dree, Nij Por Ral, and Rolanda Gron followed behind, their features downcast, unaware that a battle had begun.

  Jerec waited as he had chosen to wait, with his back to the

  command pit and his nonexistent eyes on the stars beyond. It was a trick, but an effective one. At least half the crew believed he could see, in spite of the fact that both of his eyes were clearly missing. The manipulation amused the Dark Jedi and fed his gigantic ego.

  There was a considerable amount of shouting and stomping as a noncom led the prisoners onto the bridge and rattled off some military nonsense. Regardless of what his position seemed to imply, Jerec had never spent so much as a day in the military. He saw their rituals as boring.

  The Jedi waited for the commotion to cease and waited some more. He wanted to turn, wanted to rip the knowledge from their brains, but refused to submit to such weakness. No, it required discipline to control his spirit, as well as those belonging to his subordinates, subordinates who had more power than they knew, or were likely to know, since jealousy, envy, and a nearly universal lust for power kept them apart. That's why he never showed any signs of weakness, never revealed what he really wanted, even when others thought they knew.

  Finally, when the self-imposed penance had been paid, Jerec turned. Captain Sysco was waiting. "The prisoners are ready for interrogation, sir."

  Jerec nodded. He felt Rahn the way hands feel a fire, as a presence that can warm flesh or burn it beyond all recognition. Even here, even now, the man was dangerous. Fear trickled through Jerec's veins and made him angry. Others were supposed to react this way, especially when he arrived. But him? Never!

  Rahn watched the other Jedi's approach. Sadness filled his heart. Here was a spirit so malignant that it rivaled Emperor Palpatine's. If allowed to achieve its goals, it would plunge the civilized worlds into a darkness so complete that a thousand years would pass before the light managed to dawn. The Jedi's head continued to hurt, and his shoulder felt hot. He pushed both sensations aside and waited for the assault.

  Six additional Jedi, including Yun, Sariss, Maw, Boc, Gore, and Pic, emerged from the shadows and added their power to the growing sense of menace. Duno Dree, Nij Por Ral, and Rolanda Gron stirred uneasily.

  Jerec, careful to count his steps, stopped five meters short of his subjects and regarded them through long-dead eyes. "Rahn - we meet at last. And who might these sad specimens be? Servants, perhaps?"

  "I speak for myself," the Klatooinian technologist growled. "My name is Rolanda Gron, and you will learn nothing from me."

  Jerec seemed to consider the technologist's words. He nodded in agreement. "It shall be as you say. Kill him."

  Rahn lurched t
oward Jerec, but hands held him fast. The odd pair known as "the twins" shambled forward. Gorc walked and Pic rode. The Klatooinian tried to back away as the pair approached, but guards held him in place. Gore activated his clubsized lightsaber and seemed ready to strike when Pic jumped for the technologist's chest. He landed, hissed, and drove a dagger into the scientist's throat.

  The Klatooinian looked surprised, felt blood gush through his fingers, and toppled over backward. Pic rode the body down, retrieved his knife, and wiped it on his victim's clothes. His three-toed feet left tracks through the blood. He jumped onto one of Gores tree-trunk-sized legs and scrambled upward.

  "So," Jerec said reasonably, "now that the stakes are clear, please answer my questions. I have reason to believe that you know about the Valley of the Jedi, that you may have been there. Where is it? Provide the coordinates for the planet, or the location where the coordinates can be found, and die a merciful death. Deny my request, and the suffering will last a long time. The choice is yours."

  Rahn had spent a great deal of his life in contemplation. He knew there were things worse than death. "No."

  Jerec turned to Yun. "Show us your strength."

  Head up, eyes bright, the youngest Jedi stepped forth. His lightsaber crackled into life. Nij Por Ral swayed and fell to his knees. "Please! I beg of you, spare us! Rahn has the information you seek - not I."

  Yun, conscious that all eyes were on him, paused, ready to strike. His eyes locked with Rahn's. "So, what will it he old man? The coordinates, or death?"

  Rahn, who knew hr was executing Por Ral as surely as if he held the lightsaber in his own hand, closed his eyes. "Death."

  The linguistics expert screamed as the bar of bright blue energv sank into his shoulder. He screamed again as the blade was withdrawn from his still-smoking flesh. Yun was embarrassed by his failure to make a clean kill. He lifted the weapon over his head and brought it down. This blow was successful.