“No cargo compartment,” Cherek said. “We rented this one for speed.”
“And style,” Livintius added. “Intelligence agents should have style.”
“Besides,” Cherek said, “she’s not a hostage. She’s a prisoner of war.”
“So where does the prisoner go?”
Cherek and Livintius looked atone another. “Across your laps?’1 Cherek said.
“I don’t think so,” Joram said.
“I’m the mission leader, and I say...”
“We’ll vote on it, as usual. But there’re three of us in the back, and we’re the ones who’ll have her across our laps, so I predict we’ll all vote against.” Joram got an immediate nod from Mapper, and, after a moment of consideration, a matching nod from Tinian. “See?”
Cherek sighed, vexed. “All right. We’ll put Tinian up here between me and Livintius. Then you can have the hostage...”
“Prisoner of war,” Livintius corrected.
“...prisoner of war between you. That way everyone’s equally uncomfortable. Ah, here we are.”
Cherek pushed the controls forward and sent the airspeeder into a power dive. Joram grabbed at the restraining straps. They held him in place but somehow let his stomach drift alarmingly within his body. The ground got bigger fast, its landspeeders starting as distant toys but growing in seconds to fast-moving traffic.
Joram looked over at Mapper; the trooper was holding on to his own straps with one hand and the seat back in front of him with the other, and Tinian was desperately holding on to him.
Then the world tilted again, and the landspeeders they were diving toward became landspeeders rushing straight at them. Joram felt the airspeeder shudder as its hull scraped the ground. They were skidding, turning the world beyond the windscreen into a whirl of lights that wobbled and shook. Finally they were still.
“Good job,” Livintius said. “Not far from a parking slot.” The aging academic seemed calm, although his skin had become reddish. It now began to fade back to its normal hue.
They were on a landspeeder lane, parked at an incorrect angle a meter from the raised walkway on one side. On the other side was a residential building. Although a midget by Coruscant standards, it rose high enough to loom over surrounding residences, twenty stories at least, and had a marquee sign on the front that read “Liezder Towers.” A moment later the words faded and were replaced by “Coruscant Living at Tarhassan Rates.”
“I’m going to throw up,” Tinian said.
“Wait until we get back to my quarters,” Cherek suggested. “Now, we have to-what’s the sub-agenda, Livintius?”
“Item One, enter the building without being seen. Two, eliminate anyone who sees us. Does that mean we get to kill them?”
“If absolutely necessary.”
Livintius offered a sigh of satisfaction. “Three, determine which quarters belong to Zazana Renkel. Four, proceed to that set of quarters. Five, enter those quarters. Six, determine whether Renkel is there. And now we branch. If she’s there...”
“That’s enough for now,” Cherek said. “Let’s start on the operational details. Entering without being detected.”
“There she is,” said Mapper.
“We could pretend to be comlink repairers,” Tinian said. “We’ll need to acquire service uniforms. We’d enter the lobby and tell the security personnel that Renkel has reported a comlink outage.”
“So he calls heron his comlink, and she denies it,” Livintius said.
Cherek shook his head. “Back it up a step. Before that, we kill the power to the building so the comlink outage is plausible.”
Tinian considered. “Then we’d need to be power-grid repairers, wouldn’t we?”
“There she is,” Mapper said again. He was pointing through the air- speeder’s transparisteel windscreen. A woman, tall, lean, and dark-haired, dressed in a dark blue uniform with orange trim, was thirty meters from the front of the building and approaching it at a rapid walk.
“Yes, yes,” Cherek said, “Livintius, when she goes in, you can strike Item Six and the ‘she’s not home yet’ branch. Now, how do we get to the building’s power controls?”
“But we can grab her now,” Joram said.
“What, and spoil the plan?”
Joram growled to himself, a credible imitation of a holodrama rancor. “Mapper, go get her, standard talk and pop.”
“Thank you,” Mapper said. The relief in his voice suggested he’d been given a reprieve from a death sentence. He hit the button beside him, and the airspeeder door slid up and out of the way.
“Wait, wait,” Cherek said.
Mapper didn’t wait. He unstrapped himself in an instant, untangled himself from Tinian’s grip in another, and moved toward the woman.
Joram took a look around. There were pedestrians on this walkway and others on the one opposite, but none within forty or fifty meters. He drew his Intelligence-issued blaster-his primary weapon, not the holdout weapon-and switched it over to its stun setting.
“You can’t do this,” Cherek said. “You can’t just jettison the plan we spent so much time creating. That way lies anarchy and confusion.”
“He’s right, you know,” Tinian said.
“You’re demonstrating a marked tendency toward rebellion arid aggression, “ Livintius said.
Tinian looked thoughtful. “A dietary imbalance could be contributing to your bad attitude, Joram.”
Joram ignored them. Over on the walkway, Mapper and the woman now stood together. Mapper gestured up and down the landspeeder lane like a lost tourist, 3 role he’d played before. Joram steadied his blaster in the viewport frame of the aircar and squeezed the trigger.
A blast of light sizzled across to strike the woman in the torso. She jerked in a full-body spasm and began to fall backward.
Mapper caught her, swinging her arm up over his shoulders, tucking her in close to him as though she were a close friend who’d had too much to drink. Still talking, Mapper hauled her back toward the airspeeder.
Joram lowered his blaster out of sight and took stock of the potential witnesses. Several of them had obviously heard the noise of the blaster and were looking around. Two, not far away, were staring at Mapper and the unconscious woman in some confusion. But there was no visual evidence to convince them that a crime was being committed. Tinian, you need to be in the front seat.”
“Right.” She snapped out of what looked like a momentary trance. She slid out Mapper’s door and moved around to stand beside the front passenger door. “Livintius, let me in.”
The aged Falleen opened it and stood as Mapper reached the air-speeder. This is very irregular...”
“Gunnery seat!” Tinian said. Her face was suddenly alight with a victorious smile.
“Oh, blast you.” Livintius got back into the airspeeder and slid over to take the middle seat. Tinian hopped in beside him, looking smug.
Mapper levered the unconscious woman in through the open door. Joram dragged her in beside him; Mapper crowded in and sealed the door. “Ready to go,” Joram said.
With a snarl, Cherek returned his attention to the controls. In a moment they were airborne. “Joram, I’m going to report your insubordination and insolence to our superior as soon as we get back to the safe house. And you’ll be shipped out of here with a black mark on your record. Or you can promise not to countermand my explicit orders, or the explicit plans worked up by this committee, ever again. What’s it going to be?”
“So my experience and initiative, which have saved you hours and limited danger to this unit, don’t mean anything to you.”
“No, they don’t You’re nor our intellectual equal. Your experience is obviously irrelevant and your initiative is nothing but rebellion. Now, you can obey or go home in disgrace. What’s it going to be?”
Joram set his jaw. He wanted Cherek to send him home. It might keep him from getting killed.
But then Cherek, Tinian, and Livintius would foul up their mission, and t
hey would be caught or killed. Maybe Mapper, too. Cherek hadn’t said anything about sending Mapper back. And if he ordered Mapper to stay, the loyal and determined clone trooper might just feel obligated to obey.
“Well?” Cherek repeated.
Finally Joram was able to work his jaw again. “All right,” he said. “I promise.”
“Not good enough. I want your word of honor. Repeat my instructions back to me so we’re all on the same item on the agenda.”
Cherek’s neck looked very vulnerable. Joram could reach up, give the man’s head a twist, and snap it. He had been taught how.
Every word was like a stone he had to cough up from his guts. “All right. I give my word of honor that I will not countermand your direct orders or the agreed-upon plans of this... committee.”
“Good enough,” Cherek said. “For now.”
“I don’t know where he is,” the woman protested.
She was in one of the chairs in Cherek’s rented quarters, and just binding her there had been quite a feat. The billowy furniture had no loops, holes, distinct legs or other components that would permit ropes to be firmly attached, so instead of ropes they’d had to use broad silver binder-tape. Layer upon layer of the stuff adhered her limbs to the furniture. More layers crossed her forehead, holding her head back against the puffy headrest.
Zazana Renkel was a good-looking woman, Joram decided, not holo-drama beautiful, but every-man-working-with-her-would-gravitate-to-her attractive, with dark brown eyes and a manner of expressing herself that suggested intelligence. She was doing what she could to hide the fact that she was very afraid.
Of course she was afraid. Joram would be afraid, too, if he were being interrogated by five masked lunatics.
The masks were cheap rubber things Livintius had bought. They all bore the same face, a broad set of male features marked with horizontal bands of war paint in red, yellow, and black. Livintius had said that they commemorated a hero from Tarhassan melodramas. So in addition to everything else, the spies were interrogating the woman with the face of one of the local cultural icons.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know Edbit was with Republic Intelligence,” Cherek said.
Renkel’s eyes opened wide. “What?”
Joram sighed silently. In his peripheral vision, he saw Mapper begin to bang his head on the wall.
“We don’t much care for liars, you know.” Cherek drew a deep breath and expelled it as if banishing the demons of petty irritation. “But we might forgive you if you tell us where you’re interrogating him.”
“I don’t... I didn’t... I really don’t...”
“Oh, come on,” Cherek said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get lots of praise and a big bonus for bringing in the sole Republic Intelligence agent on your planet.”
“But...”
Joram grabbed Cherek by his shirt and yanked, hauling the man down the short hall and into the ground-floor bedroom. Cherek uttered a protracted “Hey...” as he was drawn along.
Joram slid the door shut behind the two of them and pulled his mask off. He tried very hard to keep his voice reasonable. “Cherek, do you know what you just did wrong?”
Cherek pulled his own mask off. His face was flushed, but it looked as though he was merely overheated from the mask. “You’re walking dangerously close to insubordination again.”
“No, I’m within the parameters of my promise. Listen. In the course of this interrogation, you’ve given her more information than you’ve received. If she didn’t know before that Teeks was Intelligence, she does now. And even if she did, she might not have known that he was the only Intelligence officer on-world... and she does now. You see?”
Cherek considered. “Uh... damn.”
“So when we go out there again, either I can take over the questioning-”
“Or I can continue, implementing your suggestions. Which is what we’ll do. Thank you.” The last two words sounded slightly less grudging than usual.
Joram turned away, put his mask back on, and slid the door open again.
In the main room, Renkel was saying, “So Tarhassan rates only one Intelligence officer? Total? I mean, not even support personnel?”
Livintius, his voice soothing, said, “Don’t take it so hard, young lady. I’m sure you’re really a wry dangerous world at heart. There are five more now; is that better?”
Behind Joram, Cherek said, “Livintius, you idiot.”
Everyone in the room turned to look at him. Joram, seeing Mapper’s eyes widen behind his eye-slits, also turned.
Cherek’s face was now flushed with anger as well as heat. Joram could see this because the man’s mask was still in his hand.
Cherek charged forward, grabbed Livintius by the arm, and hauled him back into the bedroom. Tinian followed.
Mapper put his head into his hands. His shoulders shook as he tried to repress sobs.
Joram returned to the bedroom and listened to Cherek repeat Joram’s own words of a moment ago.
As Cherek reached the end of the spiel and took a breath, Joram said, “And there’s another problem. Now she’s seen your face and heard Livintius’ name.”
“Eh?” Cherek looked at him, then glanced at the mask still in his hand. “Oh. Yes, that is a problem.”
“She can identify us,” Livintius said. He sounded breathless. He pulled off his own mask. His eyes were shining. “We have to kill her.”
“Wait, no,” Tinian said.
Cherek looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
“We’re not going to get anything more out of her,” Livintius said. “She’s tough. Let’s kill her now.”
“That’s not right,” Tinian said.
“Not a good idea,” Joram said. “You and she both belong to the same intelligence community, even though you’re on opposite sides right now. But in six months, five years, you may be working together... or you may be on opposite sides but have a common enemy. You’ll need to have relationships with people in the trade you can trust-within limits. People you know won’t kill unnecessarily.”
Livintius shook his head, vigorous in his new desire. “This is absolutely necessary,” he said. “She can endanger our mission and our departure from this world. We have to kill her. Kill kill kill.”
Cherek’s troubled expression cleared. “I hate to say it, but Livintius is right.”
“Have you ever killed a prisoner of war?” Joram asked.
“Well,” Cherek said, “of course I’ve killed. I am very...”
“Proficient in the combat arts,” Livintius and Tinian said.
Cherek glared at them.
“But have you ever killed a prisoner?” Joram continued. “Someone who is helpless?”
“No.”
Livintius and Tinian also shook their heads.
“Do you want to?”
“Well, it’s not... sporting,” Cherek said.
“Though it would be interesting to watch,” Livintius said.
“Then leave it to Mapper.” Joram looked toward the living room as if he could see through the intervening walls. “He’s a merciless killer. He’ll not only eliminate her, he’ll dispose of her in such a way that they’ll never find the body. He’s very fond of construction sites and duracrete foundations.”
“Ah,” both men said, new wisdom and respect in their voices, Tinian said nothing. She glared at all of them.
Joram put his mask back on.
“No need for that now,” said Cherek.
“Yes, there is. If we all three go out there with our masks off, she’ll know that we intend to kill her. She’s a cunning PlanSec operative, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Cherek nodded in confused agreement.
When they returned to the main chamber, Mapper was kneeling beside Renkel’s chair. She was talking, “...snatched him off the street. I was walking home as usual and couldn’t catch up to their speeder. I don’t know why he was taken. And I don’t know why you’ve taken me. I’m only a civilian employee.
I don’t have access to any important information. I do statistical analyses of criminal activity databases.”
“Ooh,” Livintius whispered. “Now I’m sorry we have to kill her. The conversations we could have...”
“Shhhh,” Cherek cautioned.
“So,” Renkel continued, “he couldn’t just have been using me. There would be no point to it, would there?! think he loved me. I know I love him.” There was desperation in her voice, and she stared into Mapper’s half-concealed eyes as if seeking affirmation in them.
“I suspect you’re right,” Mapper said. “I mean, the most he could get from you would be-what? Identification documents that would get him into your building?” Renkel nodded, and Mapper continued, “And if that was all he wanted, then he’d have taken it and left you. Correct’”
“Yes!” There was relief in her voice.
“So I’m sure his feelings for you were genuine,” Mapper said.
“Do you think he’s hurt?” she asked.
Livintius said, “Probably being tortured. Do you think he’d stand up well to torture?”
“We don’t torture people!”
“Of course you do,” Livintius shot back. “Everyone but the Republic tortures captives.”
“He’s kidding,” Joram said. “You’d know better than we would, right?”
Renkel nodded again.
Mapper, his voice soothing, continued, “So he’s been locked up, and he’s fine, and he’s waiting for this war to be over so he can rejoin you. It’s as simple as that,”
Renkel let out a long sigh of relief. “How much longer are you going to hold me?”
Joram moved around behind her and silently drew his blaster. He checked to make sure that it was still on its stun setting.
“Not long,” Mapper said. “You’ve been very cooperative...”
Joram aimed. Mapper stepped back and away from the woman. Joram shot her again and watched the balloonlike chair convulse as the shock hit her system.
“It might be better to kill her now,” Livintius said, his voice breathy. He pulled his mask free.
The others followed suit. Joram shook his head. “Forensics might detect minute traces of carbonized flesh in this chamber if we did. Better to kill her well away from here.”
Star Wars: The Clone Wars Short Stories: The League of Spies Page 2