Tales From the New Republic

by Peter Schweighofer

  out the datapack and leaving her decoy behind in its place.

  "I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over in her best embarrassed voice,

  still pounding the tablecloth across his shoulders even though the fire was

  already out as she slipped her prize into her hip pack behind her datapad. "So

  terribly sorry. My ankle went and-are you all right?"

  "I'm fine, I'm fine," the kid growled, twisting half around to his right

  and grabbing at the tablecloth. "It's out now, right?"

  "Oh yes," she said, giving his back one final slap before letting him

  pull the now wadded tablecloth away from her. "I'm so sorry. Can I buy you a

  drink?"

  "No, forget it," he said, waving her away and trying to turn a little

  farther around. Trying for a clearer look at her? "Just go away and leave me

  alone."

  "Sure, of course," Moranda said, easing around as she pretended to

  resettle his jacket back onto his shoulders, staying just out of his sight.

  Out of the corner of his eye she saw his hand steal beneath his jacket to the

  pocket. The fingers probed the shape other decoy and fell away, apparently

  reassured. "I'm so sorry."

  "Go away," he repeated, starting to sound a little angry now. Clearly he

  wasn't happy at having all this attention focused his way.

  "Yeah, sure." Moranda stepped away to his left, and as he twisted his

  head in that direction, still trying for a clear look at her face, she turned

  her back to him and worked her way through the crowd toward her table.

  She reached it but didn't sit down. The kid's buyer could be here any

  time now, and she had no intention of being anywhere in the vicinity when he

  hauled her decoy triumphantly out of his pocket. Leaving the price of her

  drink on the table, she slouched her way to the door and out into the tangy

  Darkknell air. Time to find a nice, quiet place to go to ground for a while

  and see just what it was she'd scored.

  Bel Iblis stared across the tapcafe table at the young blond man, a sense

  of unreality thudding through his brain in time with the pulse pounding in his

  neck. "What do you mean, you lost it?" he demanded in a low voice. "How do you

  lose an entire datapack? Especially from within your own coat pocket?"

  "Don't use that tone with me, friend," the other growled back, his eyes

  darting nervously around the half-empty room. "And if you're hinting that I'm

  trying to repulsorlift my price, you'd better think again. I took a huge risk

  getting that stuff and bringing it here. A huge risk. I'm not any happier than

  you are that it got lifted."

  Bel Iblis took a careful breath, trying to throttle back his growing

  anger. He might not be a Rebel field operative like Aach, but he knew how to

  read people, and the youth's face and voice had the ring of truth in them.

  Which meant they were both now squarely in the middle of an incredibly

  dangerous position. The minute the thief realized what it was she'd found...

  "Is there any way they can trace it back to you?" He asked quietly.

  The young man snorted into his cup. "Sure, if they really want to go to

  that much effort. Knowing Tarkin's reputation, they probably will."

  "Then we'll just have to get it back."

  The kid snorted again. "You can go looking under rocks for it if you

  want. Me, I'm heading for the tall weeds while I still can."

  "You run now and they'll know for sure you were the one who lifted the

  data," Bel Iblis warned.

  "Like that's going to matter any," the other countered harshly, draining

  his cup and bringing it back down onto the table with an unnecessarily loud

  thud. "She's not going to sit on this long, you know. And the minute she turns

  it in, the spaceport's going to be locked down solid while Tarkin's people fan

  out across the planet. You want to wait for that to happen, you be my guest."

  He stood up. "So long, have fun, and forget you ever saw me."

  He strode across the room and vanished out the door. "I'll try," Bel

  Iblis murmured after him. Taking a sip from his mug, he tried to think.

  Because his erstwhile drinking companion was wrong. The thief wouldn't

  hand her prize over to the authorities just like that. Someone cool enough to

  lift a data pack in the middle of a crowded tapcafe would also be cool enough

  to try to turn a profit from her acquisition. And that meant selling the

  datapack.

  Which left only the question of how to persuade her to sell to the Rebel

  Alliance instead of the Empire.

  Fishing in his pocket for some coins, he dropped them onto the table

  beside his mug and headed for the door. One thing that was certain was that he

  wasn't going to be able to track her down in a city the size of Xakrea by

  himself. That meant someone with connections in the planet's fringe

  population; and that meant getting in touch with Aach's local contact.

  He hoped the man owed Aach a lot of favors.

  The room was small and dark and sparse, a sharp contrast to the bright

  lights and scrollwork and expensive glitter that was the norm throughout the

  rest of the Imperial Palace. It was a shock to most of the uninitiated who

  came into x, and even those who knew what to expect invariably wasted their

  first few minutes adjusting their eyes and minds to the contrast.

  Which was precisely how Armand Isard liked it. Off balance people were

  vulnerable people, and vulnerability was one of his favorite qualities in

  enemies and allies alike. For allies, after all, were merely people who had

  not yet outlived their usefulness to the Empire, the Emperor, and Isard

  himself.

  Ultimately, invariably, all of them did.

  His comlink pinged. "Director Isard?" his aide's voice came from the

  speaker. "Field Operative Isard has arrived."

  "Send her in," Armand instructed, allowing himself a smug smile. Not many

  men, he knew, had daughters who had thrown themselves so willingly and so self

  sacrificingly into theirthe father's line of work as had his Ysanne. Already

  an outstanding Intelligence agent, she had time and again demonstrated a vigor

  and ruthlessness in her pursuit of the Empire's enemies that had put even some

  Moffs to shame.

  An attitude, fortunately, which was solidly backed up wascompetence and

  cleverness and efficiency. Nothing, in Armand's mind," was more contemptible

  than a shining eyed Intelligence agent whom smugglers and Rebels alike could

  fly casual rings around.

  The smug smile faded. Clever and efficient, to be sure. But she was going

  to need every bit of her skill if she was to pull this one out of the fire.

  The door slid open. "You summoned me?" Ysanne said gravely from the

  doorway.

  "Sit down," Armand said in the same tone, feeling another flicker of

  pride as he gestured her toward a chair. No mention other being his daughter,

  with the underlying suggestion or invitation of preferential treatment such an

  acknowledgment might have implied. In this room, in this building, she was an

  agent and he was her director, and that was the totality of their

  relationship. "I have an important job for you."

  "How important?" she asked as she lowered herself with sinuous grace into

  the chair.r />
  "It could be a career-maker for you," he said. "It also could be a

  career-breaker for a large number of others."

  Her eyes flickered, just noticeably. She had the Isard family ambition,

  too, the same ambition that had taken Armand himself to the top. "Tell me

  more."

  Armand selected a datacard from a stack on his desk. "An eight-card

  datapack has been taken to Darkknell," he said, sliding the datacard across

  the desk toward her. "This datapack must at all costs be retrieved."

  "Point of origin?"

  "The Despayre system," Armand said, watching her face closely.

  Once again, the brief flicker of her eyes showed that his long-held

  suspicion was correct. Despite the most stringent of security procedures,

  Ysanne had somehow managed to learn about the Death Star project, even to the

  point of knowing where the massive weapon was being constructed. "So you

  understand the seriousness of the situation," he went on. "Under the

  circumstances, I can hardly declare an Empirewide state of emergency and seal

  the Darkknell system with a ring of Star Destroyers."

  "Certainly not for a project that doesn't officially even exist," Ysanne

  agreed, almost off-handedly. "I presume that also means you're not sending a

  full Intelligence force with me." Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Or is there

  more to it than that? Is this theft somehow personal?"

  Armand grimaced. "Personal enough," he conceded. "The suspected thief was

  given his security clearance by a close associate of mine, a man high up in

  our department, who will be in serious trouble if we can't retrieve the

  datapack before the Rebel Alliance gets hold of it. Or before someone else in

  Intelligence does."

  Ysanne picked up the datacard. "Is the traitor's file in here?"

  "The suspected traitor, yes," Armand said. "Along with several

  possibilities of who the Rebels might send to pick it up."

  Ysanne nodded. "So you want me to retrieve the data pack, confirm the

  traitor's identity, and capture the Rebel agent. Is that it?"

  Armand suppressed a smile. The famous Isard family confidence... "Or as

  much of that as you can manage in the time you'll have," he said. "I've

  ordered an interdiction of Darkknell's spaceports, but I doubt the local

  authorities will be able to keep them sealed for very long. Just remember that

  retrieving the datapack is the most important part of the job."

  "Then I'd best get started," she said, sliding the datacard into a tunic

  pocket. "I presume it's all right for me to take one of my enforcers along."

  "If you have to," Armand said. "Make sure it's someone you trust, and

  don't tell him what it is you're actually after."

  "Of course not," she said, standing up. "You'll order me a courier ship?"

  "It's already standing by," Armand told her. "Goodbye, and good luck."

  She favored him with a faint smile. "The Isards make their own luck," she

  reminded him softly. "I'll be in touch."

  ***

  Interlude at Darkknell

  PART 2

  by Michael A. Stackpole

  Hal Horn sighed heavily as the Darkknell Defense Agency officer glanced

  at his identification card, travel permits, and the warrants he had brought

  with him. It seemed to Hal that every member of the Xakrean bureaucracy had

  studied those same datafiles with an intensity that suggested they were

  digitizing the data and loading it straight into theirthe brains. He had come

  to Darkknell and specifically the city of Xakrea because the local officials'

  legendary attention to detail and hatred for disorder made them natural allies

  in his search for Moranda Savich.

  Now I'm not so sure, he thought. He glanced down at the smaller, slighter

  man. "I think you'll see, Colonel Ny roska, that all my files are in order.

  All I really want is for you to issue an alert that will have your people

  looking for my target if she tries to leave the planet."

  Nyroska's dark eyes narrowed. "You realize, of course, Inspector Horn,

  that you have absolutely no jurisdiction here."

  "I do know that, but..."

  "And while we are willing to cooperate with fellow officers of the law,

  long gone are the days of Jedi vigilantes traveling hither and thither,

  chasing miscreants and rendering harsh verdicts right then and there. The days

  of lightsaberjustice are no more."

  "I understand. Colonel." Hal turned partway to the side, so his height

  and bulk wouldn't seem to be threatening to the Xakrean. "As per your

  regulations, I surrendered my blaster when I made planetfall and I have no

  weapons on me."

  "Commendable, Inspector. And I think it good you remain in civilian

  clothes, so your presence cannot be misconstrued." Nyroska hit a button on his

  datapad, ejecting the datacard that contained Hal's documents. He toyed with

  it for a moment, then held it out to the Corellian. "Your quarry, this Savich,

  she is not a violent criminal? Nothing in her records indicates that she is."

  "No, sir. She's just good at liberating valuables from the unwary."

  "A lifter, then?"

  "One of the best."

  Nyroska stood abruptly, his oversized chair sliding back. The chair and

  the huge desk had helped dwarf Nyroska, but had not needed to work very hard

  to do so. He's even smaller than Corran! Hal catalogued that fact to use the

  next time his son complained about being short. The Colonel waved his hand

  toward the door of the office.

  Hal blinked. "That's it?"

  "We really have nothing else to discuss."

  "But what about putting the spaceport inspectors on alert?"

  Nyroska gave him an oily smile as he came around from behind the desk and

  rested a hand on the small of Hal's back. "My dear Inspector Horn, our

  spaceport inspectors are already on alert. We received a request from Imperial

  authorities to be on the lookout for Rebel operatives coming here. You

  witnessed our thoroughness-you fit the profile we were given. As you can

  imagine, this Imperial matter is consuming much of our time. I will append

  this Savich woman's name to the detain list, but unless you can link her to

  the Rebels, she will be a secondary concern."

  Hal closed his eyes for a moment and slowly exhaled. The galaxy had

  turned upside down in recent years, so much so he hardly recognized it.

  Imperial authorities had become obsessed with the Rebellion and, while folks

  with Rebel sympathies could be found all over the place, on Corellia very few

  Rebel agents had been discovered. He'd heard rumors that Garm Bel Iblis had

  been connected to the Rebellion, but he considered most of the rumors the

  normal fallout of politics. And with Bel Iblis dead, there's no way he can

  defend himself against such lies.

  Still, those lies had helped brand Hal and every other Corellian as a

  potential Rebel agent. While the authorities he had come to for help in

  finding Moranda Savich were checking him out, she could have been dancing onto

  any number of ships headed for points unknown. Time once was when nabbing

  someone with her reputation would have made a man like Nyroska jump for joy,

  but as the Emperor focused more energy on the Rebellion, priorities shifted.

&
nbsp; "It would be easy for me to lie to you. Colonel Ny roska, and tell you

  she is the Rebel agent you're looking for." Hal shook his head slowly. "She

  isn't-at least, I don't know of any Rebel connections she has."

  "Thank you for your honesty. Inspector."

  Hal paused in the doorway and arched an eyebrow above a hazel eye at him.

  "You didn't expect honesty from a Corellian?"

  "All I expect of you is respect for our regulations, Inspector." Nyroska

  shrugged uneasily. "These days I never expect honesty, from anyone."

  The Corellian thought for a moment, then nodded. "Have to hope for a

  return to the old days, then, when those we hunted actually committed crimes.

  Thanks for your help. I'll let you know when I find her."

  Ysanne Isard glared up at Trabler as her aide finally cleared the

  Immigration checkpoint. "What detained you?"

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Profile check, I assume."

  She almost snapped that he should not assume anything, but she checked

  herself. She'd chosen Trabler to accompany her because of his unswerving

  loyalty to the Empire and because she recalled his wrenching the head off a

  captive Ithorian with his bare hands. He is here for his muscle, nothing more.

  He will do what I tell him to do when I tell him to do it. The blond hair and