Dark Forces: Rebel Agent
Page 11
Kyle watched for a moment, his eyes locked with Yun's, and realized his mistake. 8t88! The agent turned and raised his weapon. But the room was empty, or so it seemed until a blaster bolt sizzled past the agent's head. "There he is! Kill him!"
Blaster bolts flashed out of the darkness and bounced away as Kyle used the lightsaber to deflect them. The action seemed natural. But it threw a scare into the stormtroopers. "Did you see that? He's a Jedi!"
There was a pause as some of the troopers tried to run and were stopped by a blaster-wielding noncom. It was necessary to kneecap one of them before the tide turned.
Kyle retrieved his blaster, backed his way into a stairwell, and brought the wrist comm to his mouth. "Hey Jan, how 'bout a lift?"
Jan circled the house, waited for an Imperial shuttle to clear the roof pad, and came in for a landing. "Ready and waiting, Kyle - meet me on the roof."
"Glad to hear it," Kyle replied, spraying the ballroom with blaster fire. "I seem to have overstayed my welcome."
"You have that effect on people sometimes," Jan agreed. "I'm the exception."
Kyle pounded up the stairs, pushed the door open, and stepped into the night. Repulsors flared as the Crow settled onto the pad. The agent grinned. "Lucky for me."
"Yeah," Jan agreed, "lucky for you. Now, get aboard."
Kyle ran up the ramp, entered the ship's belly, and made his way to the control room- "Did you see someone leave?"
"Yeah, a shuttle took off just as I came in."
Kyle swore. "That was 88. . . . The miserable pile of junk has the map! Don't let him escape!"
Jan knew she should have asked "What map?" but was tired of the charade. "No, sir. Yes, sir."
The Crow lifted free of the roof, turned as an anti-aircraft battery opened up, and blasted toward the south. A stream of energy bolts cut across the bow. Jan took evasive action. Kyle was thrown to the deck. He scrambled to his feet. "Thanks for the warning."
"Sorry. A slip of the hand, that's all. Better strap in."
Kyle did as he was told and watched Jan out of the corner of his eye. She was both wonderful and maddening at the same time. How did she manage that?
Lights appeared on the horizon, and Jan smiled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fuel City had been sited ten klicks south of the spaceport for reasons of safety. It included rows of storage tanks, which were connected by a maze of pipes and served nine elevated refueling stations. Lights, which seemed to have been mounted helter-skelter throughout the complex, threw a thousand mysterious shadows.
The Sulon Star hovered by station six and was held in place by a network of interlocking tractor beams. Fuel entered the ship via hoses large enough to crawl through.
8t88 guided the shuttle in under the cargo vessel's belly and waited while computers communicated with each other. A hatch opened, and the shuttle rose inside a cone of greenish-blue light. The bay was intentionally small to maximize the vessel's cargo capacity. There were slots for four small craft, three of which were taken - two by lifeboats and one by an Imperial shuttle.
8t88 registered a sense of satisfaction as he engaged the ship's autopilot and left the cockpit. The shuttle belonged to the Vengeance. Jerec was efficient - a rare quality where biologicals were concerned, and one worth celebrating.
The beast licked himself, heard a noise, and turned in that direction. His tail thumped inquiringly. 88 nodded. "Yes, my pet, you can come."
The beast purred and stretched his wings while 88 released its harness. The machine would have preferred to leave the animal behind, but with no bodyguards to protect his back, the beast was better than nothing.
They left the shuttle, made their way to a hatch, and waited for it to
open. There was no one to greet them - an insult the droid wouldn't forget, and still another manifestation of antimachine bias.
Footsteps echoed off bulkheads, and claws clicked on metal as the twosome made their way through empty corridors and entered the ship's wardroom. Light gleamed off the surface of a scratched metal table, shadows clung to recesses set into the bulkheads, and there were no signs of life. The droid's hip squeaked as he turned. "Hello? Anyone here?"
Something stirred. One, no, two figures separated themselves from the darkness and stepped out into the light. 8t88 felt the same sense of notrightness that humans refer to when they have a "bad feeling" about something. Gorc? Pic? Why would Jerec dispatch Jedi on what amounted to a routine errand? Or had someone decided to afford him the respect he was due? Yes, the droid decided, that would explain it. He spoke with the authority natural to a superior being. "I'm here to collect my pay."
The "twins" smiled, but the expressions were empty of humor. It was Pic who spoke. "Good - because we're here to deliver it."
Jan was still apologizing to Fuel City air control, still making excuses, as the Crow departed. "Sorry about that, Control. I got confused, that's all. Over."
Captain Zyak was well aware of how confused civilian pilots could be. He shook his head in disgust. He wore a pencil-thin mustache and a standard-issue sneer. "Copy, one-niner-two. Just get that pile of junk off my screen. Arid be more careful in the future."
Jan grinned. "Roger that, Control."
Zyak liked the sound of her voice and decided to offer some advice. "Watch your vector, one-niner-two, there was trouble in Baron's Hed, and it would be real easy for one of those missile batteries to make a mistake. Over."
Jan struggled to sound concerned. "Trouble - yes, sir - thanks for the tip. Over."
Zyak walked to the window and watched the running lights lose themselves among the galaxy of floods. He wondered what the pilot looked like and knew he would never get to find out. Life, if that's what this tour of duty could be called, was anything but fair.
Kyle watched the Crow depart, waited long enough to ensure that Jan was okay, and turned to the task at hand. Tracking 8t88 was mach more difficult by the fact that machines didn't seem to disturb the Force the way living beings did.
Thanks to the fact that only three of the nine refueling stations were occupied, however, the agent was able to narrow his choices. One vessel was too small, and one was fully automated, which left a cargo vessel named the Sulon Star. The Rebel chose what appeared to be the correct catwalk. It was empty and rang to his footsteps.
As with most vessels of her type, the Sulon Star was equipped with an emergency-access hatch located on the topmost surface of her hull. The catwalk passed approximately ten meters above it. Kyle paused, checked the surrounding area, and swung his legs over the railing. The jump seemed do-able, in spite of the hull's curvature.
Having checked his weapons to make sure they were secure, the agent stepped out into midair and fell like a rock. He absorbed most of the impact with bent knees, checked to make sure the jump was unobserved, and made his way to the hatch.
The top hatch, like the rest of the ship's locks, was open in compliance with the station's safety regs. The open ports would allow autohoses to enter in case of fire while the crew escaped.
Kyle had concocted a story to explain his presence should he run into a crew member. But he wasn't called upon to use it. The agent lowered himself through the lock and dropped into the corridor all without challenge.
Was the ship deserted? It seemed that way until Kyle felt the Force ripple away from something and knew others were about. 8t88? No, but the feeling was reminiscent of the droid's loathsome pet. And if the pet was present . . .
Cautious now, and having no desire to go head-to-head with the winged beast, Kyle pulled his blaster.
The corridor curved right, and he curved with it. He could feel the creature. And something less defined, as if it were somehow screened.
The agent rounded a corner, saw light spill out through a hatch, and paralleled the bulkhead. He paused next to the opening, listened for movement, and heard air whisper through the overhead ducting. It was strange, very strange, and Kyle didn't like it.
The Rebel narrowed hi
s eyes, rewrapped his fingers around his blaster, and made his move. He slipped through the hatch, put a layer of durasteel behind his back, and scanned the compartment.
He saw 88 and heard the growl at the same moment. The droid was seated in a chair with his back to the door, and the monster squatted
beyond. Its eyes were red and made tunnels through the darkness. Kyle half expected the beast to attack, but it remained where it was. Somewhat reassured but ready to fire if the need arose, the Rebel moved forward. "I've been waiting for this moment."
"And so have I," a voice said.
A number of things happened at once. 8t88's head toppled from his shoulders, bounced off his lap, and rolled across the deck. The monster pounced, swallowed the tidbit whole, and looked surprised.
Kyle heard the voice and turned toward the sound. A mental shield dropped, and the shadows produced something huge. It wore a helmet, chin guard, and chest armor . . . . But of even more importance was the enormous lightsaber that the Dark Jedi clutched in a three-fingered hand. The air crackled as the monstrous weapon scythed through the air.
Kyle frowned, wondered how a Jedi could be so stupid, and shot Gore in the face. The giant swayed and toppled backward. He landed with a thud. His lightsaber pinwheeled through the air, hit handle-down, and turned itself off.
Kyle was still thinking about what had occurred when a banshee dropped onto his back and sank razor-sharp talons into his flesh. "You killed Gorc! Now you will pay!"
Kyle attempted to shake the assailant off, felt a blade nick the side of his throat, and released the blaster. Fingers sought the agent's eyes as he reached up and back. He found a bone-thin arm and wrestled with it as he backpedaled across the room. The agent hit the bulkhead as hard as he could. There was a crunching sound.
Pic uttered a high-pitched scream, directed a blast of energy at Kyle's mind, and fell to the deck.
Stunned by the attack and bleeding from a half-dozen puncture wounds, Kyle staggered away.
Aroused by the scent of blood and eager to make an easy kill, the beast launched its attack. The monster's claws made a scratching noise as they sought traction on the deck. A roar emanated from deep within its throat as it charged.
Though slowed by the pain in his head, Kyle still managed to pull the lightsaber from his belt and turn. The weapon blurred through the air, took the monster in the mouth, and cut off the top of its head.
Kyle was unaware that the animal was dead - its legs continued to pump until the monster hit an equipment locker and collapsed. Metal buckled, doors popped open, and spare parts spilled onto the deck.
Dazed, and glad to be alive, Kyle killed the lightsaber and fell into a chair. The once-immaculate room had been transformed into a charnel house. The sight of it, not to mention the smell of it, made him nauseous.
Slowly, so as to minimize the pain, the agent rose to his feet. He stood over the monster and pondered what to do. The creature lay facedown, or would have, had its face survived.
The Rebel grabbed hold of a quickly stiffening leg, levered the monster over, and re-lit the lightsaber. The smell of burnt hair filled Kyle's nostrils as he made a long, only slightly wavy incision.
The agent gagged as coils of blue-green intestine boiled out of the monster's abdominal cavity and squirmed over the deck. There were three stomachs to choose from. But only one looked twice its normal size.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Kyle sliced the organ open, spotted 88's head, and reached in to get it. The agent's fingers slid through a coating of green bile, found the droid's scanner sockets, and used them to secure purchase. Kyle pulled the casing free and fought a series of dry heaves.
Having wiped the head dry with linen taken from a locker, the agent was about to depart when a high-pitched scream caused him to turn.
Pic had regained consciousness. The Jedi was little more than a blur. He had covered half the distance between them and was airborne by the time the Rebel started to react. There was no time to think. Instinct took over.
The head weighed a good ten kilos and was made of metal. It described an arc around Kyle's body and struck with considerable force. There was a loud cracking noise as skull hit skull, and Pic, who resembled nothing so much as a rag doll, flew across the compartment, smashed into a bulkhead, and fell to the deck.
Paranoid by now, the Rebel recovered his blaster, checked each body for a sign of life, and left the compartment: The safest, most expedient thing to do was to return the way he had come.
Kyle turned to the left, heard someone shout, and sensed rather than saw the energy bolt that flashed past his head. The agent yelled into his wrist comm and ducked around a corner. He had what he'd come for. But could he escape?
The 3-D print had been rolled into a cylinder and secured with a piece of wire. Jan had come across the item while searching for her multi-tool and had opened it up. A woman stared out at her, a woman so pretty that Jan felt momentarily jealous until she recognized Kyle's eyes and knew where they had come from. Here was a woman who had loved him, too, albeit in a different way.
The sound of his voice made her jump. "Hey Jan. I got what I came for, but these clowns want it back. How 'bout a ride? Over."
Jan took her boots off the console and spoke into her headset. "Hang in there. I'm on my way. Over."
All the major systems were on-line. Jan flipped some switches, waited for the corresponding green lights, and fired the ship's repulsors. The Crow went straight up.
A farmer returning from a late-night errand saw the starship rise out of the hollow, lost control of his gravsled, and took a nasty tumble.
Jan turned the bow toward Fuel City and added power. The lighthearted banter didn't fool her for a moment - Kyle was in trouble. Seconds would count.
She was low this time - so low, that Fuel City Control wouldn't see her till it was too late. A flock of gra scattered as she skimmed a hilltop, and lights twinkled on the horizon.
It seemed as if someone had called for help because the ship was crawling with troops. Kyle shot an officer, hurtled down the passageway, and saw the access ladder.
Armored legs appeared, followed by a stormtrooper's torso. His boots hit the deck; he turned, saw Kyle, and went for his assault weapon. It was slung across his back and not readily accessible. The agent shot the Imperial three times in quick succession and watched him fall.
An indicator flashed red and signaled the need for a fresh power pack. There were backups on the agent's belt but no time to mess with them, not with a perfectly good assault rifle waiting to be taken. He holstered the blaster, grabbed the more powerful weapon, and spun toward the other end of the passageway.
A trio of Commandos came around the corner, paused by their officer's body, and opened fire.
Kyle ducked, fired three short bursts, and brought two of them down. The third thought better of the whole thing and fled.
Kyle took advantage of the respite to scramble up the ladder and slam the inner hatch. Two minutes' worth of sustained fire was sufficient to spotweld the door in place.
Once that was accomplished, the Rebel climbed through the lock and stuck his head outside. There was no sign of Jan. But there was lots of opposition. Ten or twelve Imperials were visible on the catwalks around him. A trooper spotted him, yelled something incoherent, and opened fire.
Thankful for the protection offered by the lock, Kyle returned the favor. The Imperial threw out his arms and fell into the darkness below. Orders were shouted, and fire came from all around.
Captain Zyak had completed his shift and was about to head for his quarters when all heck broke loose. Information was hard to come by but judging from fragmentary comm traffic and the manner in which energy beams zipped back and forth, a full-fledged firefight was under way.
Given the fact that his replacement - a sallow-faced specimen named Nomo - had just graduated from air-traffic control school, the officer decided to stay. He peered through electrobinoculars and spoke from the side of his mouth.
Nomo's hand shook as he lifted a comlink and made the necessary call.
"Incoming ship," a tech said laconically. "Vector eight - and coming fast."
"Tell them to break it off," Zyak ordered, scanning the battle below. "I have enough problems."
"I spoke with their commanding officer," Nomo said urgently. "He has orders to kill the infiltrators regardless of cost."
"His butt will be the first to fry," the officer said wearily, "but there's no reasoning with people like that. Call operations - tell them to stop the pumps and bleed the pipes. Order switching to close valves one through forty-six. The less fuel in circulation, the better."
"The incoming craft suggests that we perform an unnatural act on ourselves," the tech said patiently. "Response?"
Zyak turned, strode over to the tech's position, and scanned his screens. He'd seen the target before. One-niner-two was back - and there was very little doubt as to why . . . . The pilot with the nice voice had dropped a team of agents into his complex and was planning to extract them. Zyak remembered the advice he had given and felt betrayed. It was stupid - he knew that - but that's how he felt.
"Blow her out of the sky," Zyak said flatly, "and do it now."
Jan kicked the Crow from port to starboard in an effort to confuse the surface-to-air missile batteries. She heard a tone as the weapons were launched. The ship's computer found the missiles, classified them by type, and fed the information to her console.
Jan ejected chaff in an effort to create more targets, fired four antimissile missiles, and used her energy cannon to strafe an outlying fuel tank. It exploded, attracted every heat-seeking missile then in the air, and erupted again. An obscene red-orange flower blossomed, consuming everything around it, and sent petals toward the sky.
"By all the gods," Nomo said, his voice filled with wonder, "look at that! We blew the ship out of the air!"