Soldier for the Empire (8 page)

Kyle rounded the table, sidestepped the droid that never seemed to stray very far from Calrissian's side, and lunged for the door. The Rodian bounty hunter, his large purple eyes empty of all expression, watched him go. Outside, Kyle saw little more than a flash of blue as the girl merged onto a moving walkway.

Running to catch up, Kyle dodged, passed, and brushed any number of sentients, murmured "Excuse me" over and over again, kept both eyes on his quarry. Once on the walkway, he moved to the outside lane, passed a businesswoman and her secretarial droid, and broke into a fast walk.

The girl had a significant lead on him by then. She looked back over her shoulder, confirmed that he was there, and walked even faster. Seeing that, Kyle redoubled his efforts, broke into a jog. He failed to notice the tall, nearly cadaverous man who touched the plug in his right ear, murmured "Waller here - he's on the way," into a comlink. and ambled along behind.

The walkway ended, the girl paused long enough for Kyle to get a fix on her, then headed for a lift tube. The young officer pushed his way through the crowd, apologized right and left, and arrived in front of the lift just as it closed.

Kyle pounded on the metal in frustration, ignoring the droid's offer of help, and watched the indicator light. There were two levels below the one he was on, but the second was off limits to passengers, which told him what he needed to know.

The ladderway, which was intended for emergencies and only rarely used, ran parallel to the tube. Kyle touched the panel next to the access door, waited for it to slide out of the way, and stepped inside The ladder was designed to accommodate both gravity and null gravity conditions. He clamped his feet against the outside rails al his hands as brakes. The ship's artificial gravity handled the rest

The descent lasted five seconds. His boots hit the next plate the same moment that someone threw a choke hold around his neck. Kyle pried at the arm but found it was useless. He might as well have been trying to bend a durasteel bar. The words warmed the right side of his face. "So what's the hurry, bucko? What if you fell and broke your neck? What would the Emperor do then?"

Kyle tried to say something, tried to respond, but could only make a gargling sound. Another voice intervened. It was distinctly feminine. "That's enough, Rosco. The passageway is clear. Bring him out."

As if by magic, the choke hold metamorphosed into a wrist-lock. Rosco applied some leverage, and Kyle winced and turned toward the hatch. The girl waited to make sure the officer was still under control, nodded approvingly, and stepped into the passageway. Kyle, with some encouragement from Rosco, followed.

Rosco was built like a barrel. He had a blond crew cut, fist-flattened nose, and tiny blue eyes. They sparkled knowingly. "Life sucks, don't it? 'Specially if you're a no- good, slimesucking Imperial parasite."

Kyle, who knew he was being baited, remained silent. His chance would come, or so his unarmed-combat instructor had promised, and patience was the key.

A tall thin man appeared as if out of nowhere and fell in behind them. Kyle realized that while his capture hadn't been planned in advance, it had been coordinated on the fly, and expertly at that. Say what you might about the Rebs, they were competent.

The girl stopped in front of a hatch, entered a series of numbers into the key pad, and waited for the door to open. Kyle caught a glimpse of storeroom shelves, realized his captors had support from at least one member of the ship's crew, and wondered if there were other privileges as well.

The girl stepped aside and Kyle was shoved through the opening. The young officer stumbled, fell, and hit the deck face down. He did a pushup, brought his knees under his torso, and launched a backward kick. His left foot missed but his right made contact with Rosco's knee. Kyle fell, rolled, and scrambled to his feet.

Most people would have screamed, grabbed the place where it hurt, and collapsed to the floor. The Rebel wasn't most people. He gave a grunt of surprise, frowned, and was about to retaliate when the girl spoke. "Hold it right there. You asked for that one, Rosco - and learned something in the bargain. The Lieutenant may not look like much, but he took AX 456."

"All the more reason to kill him," Rosco growled. "I had friends on 456."

"And I was stationed there," the girl replied steadily, her eyes locked with Kyle's. "He could have killed us, should have killed us. But he didn' t. That took guts."

Kyle searched her face for the hate, for the evil that had killed his father, and couldn't find it. What he saw were the same calm eyes that had connected with his on the asteroid, the same unwavering determination, and yes, the thing he had hoped for but least expected to see: understanding. She knew the taste of fear, the weight of command, and the horror of defeat. The thin man cleared his throat. "So? Where does that leave us?"

The girl raised an eyebrow. "What's it going to be, Imperial? You gave me my life. I'll give you yours."

The answer came so easily that Kyle felt a sense of guilt. "I'll take it."

The girl nodded, glanced at the thin man's weapon, and said, "Stow the hardware."

The blaster stayed where it was. "Why should we trust him? The fact that he isn't entirely heartless doesn't qualify him as an ally."

The girl stepped forward and held out her hand. It felt cool and dry. "I'm Jan Ors - and you are?"

"Kyle Katarn."

"Glad to meet you, Kyle. Do I have your word? No funny business so long as we're aboard this ship?"

Kyle nodded soberly. "You have my word."

Rosco gave a grunt of disgust. "And what would that be worth? A Hutt's breakfast?"

Ors ignored him. "All right then, we go our way, and you go yours. Remember, though - my debt's been paid. And all bets are off next time we meet."

Kyle felt a sudden sense of desperation. The girl had told him goodbye. There would be no next time. The thin man had backed into the passageway and Ors would follow. "Wait - I want to talk to you - to learn more about what happened."

The words sounded lame, terribly lame, but caused the girl to pause. Her eyes softened slightly. "Talk? And that's all? You won't attempt to turn me in, or something stupid like that?"

Kyle shook his head. "No. I promise."

"All right," the girl agreed. "We'll talk. But we'll do it in public, where everyone can see. The library. One hour from now."

Kyle nodded. "The library. I'll see you there."

Jan Ors smiled and disappeared.

The ship's library, which was actually a great deal more than that, included millions of books in thousands of languages, all stored electronically. There were interactive virtual-reality games, tutorials, and much, much more. Because of the fact that most of the materials could be accessed remotely, or copied into data pads, the facility occupied relatively little space.

Perhaps it was the library's size, or the time of day, but the first thing Kyle noticed was that it was relatively empty. Oh, there were people all right, but no more than a dozen or so, most of whom were lost in whatever text or scenario their scanners were playing, or in one case - a Rodian - seemingly asleep in a cubicle.

Given the fact that Kyle was early, he didn't expect to see Jan, and was surprised when he did. The raised area, intended for readings, was small but adequate for a single performer. Kyle looked around, found no one to take his cues from, and took one of five empty seats.

In spite of the fact that he couldn't see whatever it was that she saw, or hear the music that so clearly moved her, he knew pure, unalloyed talent when he saw it. More than that - Kyle knew he was looking at an important aspect of who Jan Ors was.

Jan watched the other dancers out of the corner of her eye, waited for the music that would bring them around, matched their jete, turned to a pirouette, and held an arabesque. It collapsed for the lack of pointed shoes and the practice necessary to sustain it, but applause thundered nonetheless, and flowers landed around her feet.

The whole thing looked so real, and sounded so real, that for one fleeting second Jan imagined it was real and took a bow. Then, as the sound died away, and the video started to fade, she lifted the visor. She was shocked to see him sitting there, to hear the sound of his clapping, and heard herself lash out. "You don't have anything better to do than make fun of me?"

Kyle looked hurt. "You have it wrong. You were wonderful. Where did you learn to dance like that?"

Somewhat mollified, and secretly pleased, Jan retrieved her blue coverall and stepped into the lower half. "When I was a little girl. My mother was the choreographer for Alderaan's premier ballet company. And I was raised between rehearsals."

`And your father?"

Jan's head was tilted forward. She regarded him from under raised eyebrows. "Nosy, aren't you? My father was and as far as I know still is - a first class aerospace engineer. Hand me those boots."

Kyle looked around, saw a pair of well-scuffed boots, and bent to retrieve them. "Really? Does that mean you can repair drives as well as you dance?"

"Yes," Jan said matter-of-factly, "it does. How 'bout you, sparky? Got any talents other than the ones you demonstrated on that asteroid?"

Kyle frowned. "I went to the Academy to get an education. I'm more engineer than soldier."

"Yeah, and I'm a dancer," Jan said skeptically. "Come on. I'm thirsty."

The cafeteria catered to the less prosperous members of the passenger list and was half full. They waited through the line, made inconsequential small talk, and obtained their drinks. Kyle offered to pay and Jan allowed him to do so. It seemed natural to seek out the most distant and therefore private part of the room. They sat down, sipped their drinks, and regarded each other across the table. "So,"

Jan offered noncommittally. "You wanted to talk."

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah . . . You probably won't believe me, but most of the troopers who died on that asteroid were good men."

Jan was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft but determined. "A lot of good people died that day Kyle. Some were on my side - some were on yours. That's how war is. You chose to be a soldier. What did you expect?"

Kyle felt an unexpected surge of anger. "Yeah? Well, what about my father? He was a craftsman, not a soldier, and the Rebs killed him anyway. Explain that."

Given his tone, and the partisan nature of the subject, Kyle half expected her to leave the table. To his surprise, and subsequent relief, she made no such move. In fact, her expression could better be described as one of surprise. "What planet?"

Kyle was taken aback. "A moon called Sulon. It orbits Sullust."

She nodded. "I'm aware of it. Your father's name?"

"Same as mine. Katarn. Morgan Katarn."

"And where did you get the idea that your father died at the hands of the Alliance?"

Kyle shrugged. "The Commandant sent me a message."

Jan shook her head in apparent amazement. "My mother says the Force moves in mysterious ways - and I never cease to be amazed at how right she is. Come on - I want you to meet someone."

Knowing that open contact with members of the Rebel Alliance could easily bring him to the attention of the Emperor's spies, Kyle made his way to Jan's cabin on his own. He touched the sensor pad. A tone sounded within and the hatch whirred open.

Whether due to luck, the connivance of a Rebel sympathizer, or a more generous budget than Kyle would have supposed, Jan's cabin was slightly larger than his. However, the fact that she shared the space with a chrome plated translator droid more than compensated for that particular advantage. The machine came to life as Jan spoke its name. "A-Cee. I want to introduce someone."

The droid's head came up and servos whirred as he looked in Kyle's direction. What happened next took both humans by surprise. A-Cee stiffened, backed even further into the corner, and spoke in a hard unyielding voice: "I am a bomb. Unauthorized access, manipulation, or interference with me or my programming, data storage modules, or other systems will result in the detonation of four point two kilos of plitex nine explosive. I have identified a class three threat, and, in accordance with my programming, am taking appropriate action. Detonation sequence activated. Countdown initiated. Ten - nine - eight . . . "

Kyle took a step towards the hatch and looked at Jan. She ran the words together in her eagerness to get them out. "Override code alpha, bravo, zeta, one-niner-six. Execute."

A-Cee paused, broke the countdown sequence, and seemed to relax. "Override authenticated. Detonation sequence terminated."

Jan looked at Kyle and grinned weakly. "Sorry about that. It was the uniform, combined with the fact that he's something of an orphan. The reason will become apparent in a moment. First, answer a question. When they sent your team to 456, did they say why?"

Kyle frowned. "No, not exactly. They said the objective was to take a communications relay station - no more than that."

Jan nodded. "Well, the information they gave you was accurate so far as it went, but there's more. The truth about the Emperor and his many atrocities is one of the most potent weapons the Alliance has. Once aware of it, neutral parties become more sympathetic, new alliances are formed, and support is solidified. The vast distances that separate the Empire's planets make that difficult, however."

Kyle started to object but Jan raised her hand. "Hear me out - see with your own eyes - then say what you will.

"The Alliance has reporters, brave men and women who roam from planet to planet, often within Imperial controlled space, collecting stories for dissemination to those willing to see, hear, and understand. Many of these correspondents have companions like A-Cee here, who are equipped to capture, store, and edit whatever they witness. Once the stories have been prepared, they are distributed throughout the Empire via communications relay stations like the one on Asteroid 456."

Kyle, who was none too pleased by all the anti-Imperial propaganda inherent in what she'd said, crossed his arms. "This is all very interesting. But why should I care?"