had undoubtedly given the order that slew his family and almost got him. His
hands closed into fists, but he didn't lash out; he didn't smash Ysanne Isard
in the face with all his might, though he sorely wanted to. No, even killing
her would not hurt her father, and even hurting him is not the focus here. The
datapack she's hunting for, that will help bring down the Empire. If we do
that, never again will there be a place-or an Armand Isard or Emperor to hurt
people.
Gaining control of his anger, Bel Iblis turned to watch the door close
behind Isard and Horn. "Well, Arkos, the time we have to complete our business
is slipping away. I think we should conclude it before the Emperor himself
comes wandering in, don't you?"
Moranda Savich saw the landspeeder cruise down and come to a stop in
front of the store and felt as if a hand were tightening around her heart.
She'd spent a lot of time doing her best to avoid Imperial scrutiny, but that
didn't mean she allowed herself to be ignorant of her enemies. Imperial
Intelligence ops, as a rule, cast a wide web when going after a target. The
fact that she could see the spider in the center of that web meant that other
forces were closing in.
And that means I get caught holding a prize morsel. Again the urge to
throw the datapack away nearly overwhelmed her. She reached into her pocket to
get it, then noticed the landspeeder's driver's-side window sliding down into
the door. The bruiser of a driver glanced around, then looked at himself in
the rearview mirror. His vanity, which struck her as very human, brought her
out of her panic and sparked a plan.
She pulled the datapack out of her pocket, broke it open, and pulled out
the eight datacards. She stacked them one on top of another and laid them
against the bottom of her datapad. Straightening up, she tugged her jacket
into place, then boldly strode over toward the landspeeder. She consulted the
map on her datapad a couple of times, looked around, and let a puzzled
expression contort her brow.
She'd closed to within three meters before the driver noticed her, and by
then she was flashing her datapad at him. "Excuse me, please. I believe I'm
lost. Can you help me, please?"
The man's expression eased. "Yeah, I guess maybe I could."
Moranda leaned over and smiled broadly at him. She took the datapad from
her left hand into her right and thrust it into the vehicle, stabbing toward
the datapad he had mounted in the dashboard holder. "Our maps look different."
The driver studied her map, then his own, taking her datapad into his
hands to do so. Moranda crossed her arms and let the datacards in her left
hand slip, one by one, down into the window well of the landspeeder's door.
She coughed lightly to cover the minute clicks as they descended, and was
pretty certain that the driver would take any sounds he heard to be key clicks
from the datapad.
The driver handed her back her datapad. "See, this is East Ryloth Street.
Your map was showing West Ry loth Street. You were five kilometers off, that's
why you couldn't tell where you were."
"Oh, thank you very much." Moranda studied the datapad, then shook her
head and smiled. "I can't tell you what a big help you've been." She backed
away from the vehicle and headed off the way she had come, valiantly resisting
the urge to burst out laughing. The prize he came here for is now ten
centimeters from him and he has no clue.
Unable to help herself, Moranda spun around in midstreet, thinking to
thank the man again. As she came around, she looked up and locked eyes with
Hal Horn.
Seeing Moranda Savich there, in the middle of the street, capering around
in a circle like a child, sent a jolt through Hal Horn. He started to move
after her, but the Darkknell Security woman's hand became a claw on his arm.
Moranda had already turned and begun to run when Hal looked at his escort.
"She's getting away."
"Trabler," the woman snapped, "get her." The driver's door on the
landspeeder in front of the store opened and a huge man piled out. Hal knew he
was huge not only because he towered over the roof of the landspeeder, but his
massive paw dwarfed the blaster he drew from beneath his jacket. Hal
recognized it as a Luxan Penetrator, favored by many because of its con
cealability and the serious power it packed. Most models didn't even have a
stun setting and that, combined with a cool sense of lethality rippling off
the man, prompted Hal to act.
He took a second to focus, then used a trick his father had taught him
long ago, before the Clone Wars and before the Jedi hunters had come. He
pushed his consciousness into Trabler's mind. He saw through Trabler's eyes,
watching the Penetrator come up and center itself on Moranda Savich's back. He
watched Trabler track her for a second and knew she'd never reach the safety
of the alley in time.
Drawing on the Force within himself, he projected a blurred image of
Moranda into Trabler's mind.
Trabler's finger tightened on the trigger. A red-gold beam stabbed out
and caught Moranda in the shoulder just as she reached the alley. Hal heard
her scream and watched her tumble down into a pile of debris. He started to go
after her, but Isard held on to him again.
Hal batted her arm away. "What are you doing? She's down, either dead or
seriously wounded. I need to check."
The woman's eyes narrowed and though their color did not match, the venom
in them did. "We will have the locals find her and bring her to the morgue. We
have more important business to attend to."
Hal frowned, wishing he could get a solid read off the woman. His use of
the Force had left him a bit drained- - it had been far too long since he had
done anything that active, and he was grossly out of practice. As a result, he
couldn't even get the menace that had to be roaring off Trabler as the man
turned and aimed his blaster at Hal. "What's going on here?"
Glasc's face tightened. "I couldn't tell you in there, but we have a
Rebel operative on the loose and I need your help in tracking him."
"Look, you got me out here saying you were helping me with my case, and
now your man has killed my suspect. I'm not here to hunt Rebels."
Her chin came up. "But you are loyal to the Empire, are you not?"
"I serve CorSec to maintain order, so, yes, I'm loyal to the Empire."
She let her expression soften and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial
whisper. "There are members of Darkknell Special Security who are not, which
is why my search is running into trouble. I have to rely on someone from
outside my own service-you-to make some headway. I know this is unorthodox,
but surely you've resorted to unusual methods to push cases forward before."
"Some, but I don't see that this is any concern of mine, really." Hal
shook his head. "My purpose for being here is lying in a heap over there."
"So it might seem, but the Rebel we're after was involved in the
assassination of Senator Garm Bel Iblis and his family." The woman's voice
became very solemn. "The speech he was to give that night w
as one in which he
was going to denounce the Rebellion. They murdered him so that wouldn't
happen. I thought that you, a Corellian, might want to help us find his
killer."
Hal shivered and felt his flesh puckering. As much as he couldn't believe
the casual way Trabler had shot Moranda-notothing in her file warranted death
as a punishment-the idea of a bomber who killed hundreds of people just to get
one man filled him with revulsion. If Bel Iblis's assassin is here, he must be
found and brought to justice. Bel Iblis was from Corellia. I owe it to him to
help find his killer.
The CorSec inspector nodded. "Okay, I'm in." He leveled a finger at
Trabler. "Just no shooting first, okay? If your suspect murdered Bel Iblis, we
want him to talk and lead us back to the others involved in the Rebellion,
right?"
Glasc nodded, then opened the landspeeder's rear door. "After you,
Inspector Horn. With your help, our quarry won't get away."
As the landspeeder sped off, Bel Iblis stumbled from the shop and ran
across the street. He'd seen the woman's senseless murder and though he would
not have questioned the truth of someone reporting Ysanne Isard had ordered
such a thing, to see it unfold before him was another thing entirely. Reaching
the alley mouth he saw blood and, just for a moment, he expected to follow the
trail and find his wife at the end of it.
No, she's gone. PoorArrianya, you died for a cause you didn't even
believe in. Bel Iblis choked back the lump rising in his throat, then looked
deeper into the dim alley and saw the woman slumped against a wall. Her right
arm hung limply at her side, the sleeve other coat soaked in blood. A cigarra
hung from the corner of her mouth, and she kept trying to strike a lighter
with her blood slicked left hand.
The woman looked over at him and grinned. "Got a spark, pal?" Then her
eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed.
The senator ran to her and knelt at her side. The only virtue of being
shot with a Penetrator is that the tiny beam makes a neat hole. Bel Iblis saw
a nasty entry wound and a smaller exit on the front side of her shoulder. He
stripped off his own coat and wrapped it around the wounds, then lifted her in
his arms and started back toward Arkos's store.
It occurred to him that the last woman he had carried in his arms like
this had been his wife, on an anniversary getaway several years earlier. It
had been a wonderful time, an escape from the pressures of his office and her
duties, and they had both told each other that they would do it again, soon.
Very soon.
Bel Iblis's expression hardened. I lost her to the Empire; I'm not losing
anyone else. He knew, given the course the Rebellion would likely take, that
resolution would never hold. Well, at least I won't lose this woman. It's not
saving the galaxy, but it's saving the part of it I can, and that works for
now.
He looked up as Arkos held the shop's door open. "We need to get her some
medical help-now. That woman was Ysanne Isard, late of Imperial Center and
employed by Imperial Intelligence."
"If she's here..." Terror choked off Arkos's voice.
The senator put steel into his voice. "Hang with me, Arkos. She's not
invincible-she walked right past me, remember, and snagged someone who's got
nothing to do with our business. Keep your head and we'll all keep ours."
Arkos thought for a moment, then nodded quickly. "You're right. Thanks."
"Not a problem. Let's get things going." Bel Iblis smiled. "There will
come a point when Isard realizes she needs to come back here and complete her
business with you. By then I want everything we need to do done, and the only
thing left for her here is our laughter at her blunder."
***
Interlude at Darkknell
PART 3
by Michael A. Stackpole
Hal Horn's afternoon sojourn with Agent Glasc and her aide, Trabler, made
one thing abundantly clear to him. These two, as efficient as they might be as
investigators, were not part of Darkknell Special Security, not even whatever
they might call their internal investigations bureau. They have all the
arrogance I'd expect from the Isk-isk division, but it's usually only
displayed to Hutted-up cops, not civilians.
Glasc had moved Hal from location to location, proclaiming each to be a
suspected Rebel contact site. Most were sleazy little holes like Arky's store,
but a couple had been more upscale and toward the west side of Xakrea. The
gourmet caf shop where Hal and Trabler waited outside on either side of the
door was one of the more prosperous places. Hal had enjoyed the rich aroma of
the small shop, and had reluctantly agreed to wait outside as the owner took
Glasc into her private office to discuss things.
Hal arched an eyebrow at Trabler. "Hard to believe the owner didn't think
we'd fit in with the clientele."
The bigger man frowned, causing his blond brows to kiss each other above
his nose. "You think we look like Rebels?"
Hostility poured through Trabler's voice and Hal was perfectly glad his
Force senses were a bit tired, since it saved him the full force of the anger
rolling off the guy. "Easy, my friend, I didn't mean to suggest that at all.
You know as well as I do that the Rebel tag on this place was likely snitched
by the other caf shop around the corner. Customers here seem a bit too
prosperous to be Rebels."
"Think so, do you?" Trabler snorted coldly. "You'd be surprised at how
highly some Rebels are placed. Then again, maybe you wouldn't."
"And that's supposed to mean?"
"Means one can't be too sure who's gone over or not." Trabler half
smiled. "The Core Worlds have their share of Rebels, sure, but rimkin have
more."
"Interesting point." Hal let a pair of women exiting the shop shield him
from Trabler. The last time Hal had heard the word "rimkin" used, he had
broken up a fight in a Corellian tapcafe where a local had beaten someone from
Imperial Center to a pulp for applying such an insulting term to him. Not too
many rim-dwellers apply that word to themselves.
The door opened again and Agent Glasc appeared. She was daubing a white
handkerchief against a dark spot on her gray blouse. "She was useless. Broke
down and blubbered about evading taxes, but she knows nothing about the
Rebellion. Or the plot against Bel Iblis."
Trabler glanced at his datapad, then pointed on down the street.
"Continuum Void is next on the list. It's that way."
Hal took the lead and found Glasc quickly pacing beside him. "The owner
didn't react to any of the holographs you showed her?"
Glasc shook her head. "Ignorant, completely ignorant, as was her staff.
Places like this claim to bring the latest in Imperial culture to Darkknell,
but it's only what they imagine really goes on at the heart of the Empire. I
mean, Corellia is a Core World-did you think the Corellian blend car was the
sort of thing you'd drink at home?"
"Well, no, but that's because at CorSec we brew it strong enough to be
used for medicinal purposes." Hal shrugged. "When doing a
rimstint I try not
to let the in digs and their ways get to me, you know?"
"You're very charitable, Inspector Horn."
Hal smiled. "I try to be." The fact that Glasc didn't react at all when
he referred to the citizens of Darkknell as "indigs" or his time on the world
as a "rimstint," told him very clearly she wasn't the local she was purporting
to be. A local could no more have failed to react than Moranda could give up
her cigarras. Something is not right here, and I'm not looking forward to
fending out how wrong it's become.
Trabler moved ahead and opened the door to the crowded tapcaf. Hal
descended the trio of steps to the serving floor, then worked his way around
past a table of boisterous Devaronians. He wanted to reach the bar before
Glasc did. He managed to delay her by tapping a Devaronian on the shoulder. As
the man swung his head around to see who had touched him, a horn snagged
Glasc's uniform tunic, slowing her down.
Hal spotted a small man wearing a name tag that proclaimed him to be the
manager and moved to intercept him before the guy could head through a doorway
leading into an office marked "Private." "I'm Inspector Horn; these are Agents
Glasc and Trabler. We have some questions for you. Do you want to answer them
now, or after we lock this place down and have it searched for contraband?"
The little man gulped air audibly, and coughed half of it back up. "I
don't want trouble."
Hal half turned toward Glasc. Her glare had only been partially melted by
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