Star Wars - dark forces - soldier for the empire

by William C. Deets

  Kyle forced a smile as he turned. "Nathan. What a pleasant surprise. How's the hangover?"

  Donar, who had consumed too much wine on graduation night and had thrown up all over the inside of a friend's ground car, looked left and right. His drinking was a sore subject where his mother was concerned, and he didn't want another lecture. "Long gone, old rimmer, long gone. Come now, enough rubbernecking, it's time to meet my parents. In fact, how 'bout lunch? The old man's rather fond of a good feed and we can latch on."

  With the single exception of Meek Odom and his family, it was the first time that Kyle had received such an invitation, and in spite of the fact that he knew the gap between rimmer and the Empire's inner circle to be all but unbridgeable, he couldn't help feeling complimented. Besides, what with Nathan dragging him through the crowd, and his parents already in sight, there was no way to refuse. Nasal though it was, Nathan's voice was loud, and cut through the noise. "Mother . . . Father . . . look who I ran into? I'd like you to meet Kyle Katarn - you know, the cadet who

  won the medal."

  Although the honorable Madame Donar looked pleasant if somewhat emaciated, Nathan's father, Dol Donar II, Governor of Derra IV, was something else again. He was an imposing man, as portly as his wife was thin, with eyes like twin turbolasers, and three chins. His clothing, which shimmered with reflected light, hung in great folds, as if to conceal his weight. He regarded Kyle with a look akin to an entomologist examining a brand-new specimen. The words, as nasal as his son's, came like jabs. "Decorated, you say? When? Why?"

  Nathan, who was used to his father's style, was quick to explain. "During the graduation ceremony - for valor on a Rebel-held asteroid. "

  The Governor extended a beefy hand. Kyle noticed that he wore a pinkie ring set with what must have been a five karat Rol Stone. It sparkled with light. "Of course. Silly of me to forget! Congratulations, son. A medal of valor is something to be proud of."

  'As was your son's leadership during the graduation ceremony," Kyle replied tactfully. " I wouldn't be here if it weren't for his judgment."

  The older man smiled and put an arm around Nathan's shoulders. "It was something to see, I can tell you that! You lads did a fine job. Scared the heck out of his mother, though."

  Nathan, who lived to earn his father's respect, turned pink with pleasure and chattered nonstop through the subsequent lunch. The Nebula Room was one of the most expensive restaurants onboard. Kyle, who could have subsisted for a week on the food Governor Donar consumed during that single meal, settled for a green salad, a freshly baked scone, a serving of runyip stew, and then, because he couldn't resist, a bowl of candied insects. The dish was a favorite among the Kubaz, and the dessert chef brought it to the table himself. Kyle had just consumed the last of the sweet-and-sour morsels when Governor Donar turned his way. "So, tell us about your family, son, what line of business are they in?"

  Nathan frowned and looked genuinely sorry as Kyle forced himself to look the older man in the eye. "My father was a craftsman - the Rebels murdered him."

  The statement was a clear admission of social inferiority, but, rather than showing disdain as Kyle had feared, the Governor was genuinely outraged. "Rebels, you say? Blast their miserable hides! A pox on every one of them!"

  Madame Donar, who was well aware of the fact that the sentients seated around them might be Rebels, or Rebel sympathizers, placed a hand on her husband's arm. "Your voice carries, Dol. Remember where we are."

  "I don't care where we are!" Donar declared loudly, ignoring those who turned to stare. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again The only good Rebel is a dead Rebel! Mark my words, son, the Emperor has a thing or two in store for the so-called Allia nce, and your father will be revenged."

  The way the man said it, the certainty of his expression, all led Kyle to believe that something real lay behind the words. Whatever it was must be awesome indeed if the Empire was to suppress the kind of fanaticism he'd encountered on Asteroid AX-456. He was about to say as much when a well-dressed man approached the table. He bowed to Madame Donar and turned to her husband.

  "Madame Donar. Governor. Please allow me to introduce myself. The name is Calrissian, Lando Calrissian, and I hear that you enjoy the occasional game of sabacc."

  Madame Donar, whose lunch had consisted of little more than some leaves with berries on them, frowned and tried to establish eye contact with the Governor. It was too late, however, since a gleam had entered his eyes and eagerness colored his voice. "Sabacc, you say? Lando Calrissian? It's a pleasure to meet you, citizen Calrissian. Please allow me to introduce my wife Rissa, my son Nathan, and his friend Kyle Katarn. I'd be glad to join you and your friends, assuming it's a friendly game, consistent with my somewhat limited skills."

  Calrissian bowed from the waist. "I expect the game to be extremely friendly. And I sense you are far too modest regarding your skills. The Corellia room, then? About two?"

  "The Corellia room at two."

  Calrissian nodded to each person seated at the table and walked away. Nathan and his father departed for the Corellia room immediately after lunch, while Madame Donar, who had developed a headache, retired to the family's suite. Kyle thanked them for lunch, promised to visit the game, and went for a walk.

  Now, away from the nearly fanatical Imperialism of Carida, and outside the protective bubble that surrounded the Donar family Kyle began to pick up on the hatred that seethed just below the Empire's surface. There were long hard looks, shoulders that seemed to intentionally bump into his, and comments, some loud enough to hear.

  "Imperial scum!" Stormtrooper! "

  "Slimeball."

  The comments made him embarrassed, angry, and confused all at the same time. Didn't they understand? Didn't they know what the Rebels had done? Surely they couldn't be so stupid. But apparently they were, as occasional bits of graffiti confirmed.

  Discouraged, and more than a little depressed, Kyle headed for one place where he felt sure he'd be accepted - the Corellia room. Like all the rest of the world-class public rooms, the Corellia had been decorated with its namesake in mind.

  Rather than the transparisteel viewport one might have expected, the outer bulkhead featured a vid screen designed to look like a viewport. The image projected there was so real, so convincing, that if Kyle hadn't known better, he would have sworn the ship was orbiting Corellia herself. That, plus cases filled with Corellian artifacts, and walls hung with Corellian art, gave the space its unique look and feel.

  The game was well under way by the time Kyle arrived. It had attracted a good many onlookers. Nathan bade him welcome, as did the Governor, but both were preoccupied. There were twenty-five or thirty beings present, but only four were seated at the game table.

  Their cards, dealt by one of the ship's game droids, bore electronically generated images. There were four suits staves, flasks, sabres, and coins. Each could be scrambled through the use of a button located at the lower lefthand corner of the card. And there were various sets of rules, including the Empress Teta Preferred system, Cloud City Casino, Corellian Gambit, and at least one more that Kyle couldn't remember. The simple truth was that he'd never enjoyed games much. He was, he had to admit, a sore loser.

  Kyle looked up from the table, and caught a glimpse of a face that looked familiar. Or did it? The face belonged to a girl, and much as he might want to, Kyle didn't know any girls. He stared, but she disappeared behind a pair of head-tailed Twi'leks on the far side of the table. Kyle moved to the left, trying to get a better look at her, and accidentally bumped into a Rodian bounty hunter. It was hard to say which was worse, the alien's body odor, or the cheap cologne he used to conceal

  Suddenly, like clouds parting to admit a ray of sunlight, two of t he onlookers moved apart. The girl looked his way, their eyes met, and they recognized each other. It was her! The girl from the asteroid!

  Kyle saw her eyes widen in surprise, saw an emotion he couldn't quite identify cross her face, and watched her turn away. W
ithout thinking, Kyle followed her as she moved quickly through the crowd.

  He told himself that it was her status as a Rebel - that he was doing his duty - but he knew it was something more. He wanted to hurt her, to punish her for everything the Rebels had done. But he wanted to talk with her, too. She had been there on the asteroid, and she might be the only person who could understand the way he felt.

  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 kn ew 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,"