"Now I reconnoiter," Kyle answered, indicating a ladder and the hatch above. "If memory serves, this should bring us out in the center of their vehicle park."
The droid's vidcam swiveled back and forth as various aspects of his programming came into conflict and made him nervous. The noises he produced were hard and demanding.
"Thank you," Kyle replied sincerely, "but my father is gone now, and I would appreciate it if you would accept my judgments in place of his."
There was a brief moment of silence while Wee Gee considered Kyle's request. The reply was both brief and contrite.
"Good," Kyle said firmly. "I'll take a look - you wait here."
The droid watched as the Rebel agent climbed the rusty ladder, shoved on the hatch, and shoved again. Kyle grimaced as metal screeched and the cover popped free. He waited to see if the noise drew any attention and was relieved when it didn't.
The agent pushed upward on the lid, stopped when it hit something solid, and squirmed through the gap. The "something" was a transport. He'd been lucky, very lucky, since there were plenty of Imperials, and the vehicle hid him from view.
A pair of shiny black boots crunched by, a comm unit crackled, and someone coughed. Then, with a suddenness that made the agent's heart skip a beat, a shout was heard. Had he been spotted? The Rebel rolled this way and that, looking for someone to shoot . . . . But the boots, and the bodies above them, were running away. Running toward the house. Why?
Then it came to him. Someone had discovered the bodies and alerted the rest. How long before they found the hatch - and followed the tunnel to the point where Wee Gee waited? Not very long.
Kyle knew that seconds were precious as he elbowed his way out from under the vehicle, took a quick look around, and saw nothing but backs as stormtroopers, mercenaries, and commandos headed for the house.
The T-4 was a large vehicle with an open cab. Normally used to move equipment and troops, it boasted a five-ton payload, light side
armor, and a double-barreled, all-purpose, energy cannon mounted behind the cab.
Kyle jumped onto the running board, climbed into the driver's seat, and scanned the dashboard. Like his classmates, he had qualified in T-4s during his second year at the Academy. The transport boasted no fewer than four repulsor-lift engines and, like most military vehicles, was secured with a key pad. A key pad which many company commanders chose to ignore since it meant that each and every potential driver had to memorize the necessary code. The factory setting consisted of four zeros. Many settings were just left that way.
Kyle mentally crossed his fingers, hit the zero button four times, and received a green light. The Rebel grinned as he flipped all four of the engineselect switches into the "on" position, hit the starter button, and heard the power plants whine into life. Each had its own special pitch that was soon lost in the sound made by the others.
Once the T-4 was up off its skids, it was a simple matter to slide out of the way and watch Wee Gee float up and out of his hiding place. The moment the droid was aboard and secured to his seat, Kyle took off.
A mercenary yelled something incoherent, the Imperials turned to look, and the chase was on .... Blaster bolts sizzled past the agent's head, and one of them punched a hole through the windshield. Wee Gee issued a series of urgent whistles and beeps.
"Excellent advice," Kyle replied grimly. "Hold on to your circuits . . . because here we go!"
Empty and possessed of considerable power, the T-4 was capable of eighty kilometers per hour. It accelerated down the lane, spewed gravel in every direction, and roared onto the highway. Baron's Hed lay to the east, a thirty-minute drive at most.
The highway had seen heavy use, but that was before the Imperials imposed a system of travel permits and "usage-" based taxes. In order to minimize costs and defend against bandits, farmers used heavily armed convoys to take their crops to market and rode tax-exempt farm animals for local transportation. Animal droppings lined the side of the road, which was otherwise clear.
What had been a convoy appeared up ahead, the line of burnedout hulks attesting not only to the dangers that lay in wait but the extent to which the Imperials allowed bandits to terrorize the land.
Kyle turned into a curve and felt the T-4 tilt in order to compensate. A turnout provided access to what had been a rest area. It was currently home to a band of Tusken Raiders. Though they were native to the planet Tatooine, the Tuskens had been brought in by the Imperials to function as "enforcers," a role they relished. The mercenaries
had taken to the speeder bikes like an Aqualish to water and used them to "patrol" the local roads. None of them seemed to miss the bantha, the huge beasts they rode on Tatooine.
An advisory had gone out within seconds of Kyle's escape, and the Tuskens were prepared. Engines roared as they lurched into the air. Though vertical when parked, the long, sleek machines quickly went horizontal and formed on their leader, a Raider named Rogg.
Rogg knew his followers would be looking to him for encouragement. He waved a hand over his head and screamed a tribal war cry. It was lost in the slipstream. But it made him feel better.
The Tusken enjoyed his leadership position, liked the power it conveyed, but didn't relish moments like this. Rogg regarded the notion of leading from the front as impractical, especially since said leader eventually got killed, resulting in the loss of his valuable knowledge and experience, not to mention his life.
The Tusken leader had opened the matter for discussion, hoping the rest of the band would see how silly the traditional system was, but had been blocked by Bordo, his nominal number two, and one of two or three individuals who hoped to inherit his position.
Ah well, the charm pouch he wore around his neck had protected him this long and would again. The Tusken fired his dual-nose cannon and rejoiced as the coherent energy blipped toward the T-4's tailgate and blistered the transport's paint.
Kyle checked his mirror, saw the closely packed bikers, and spoke from the side of his mouth. "Take the controls, Weeg. I'll teach them some manners.
Wee Gee beeped by way of a response, activated the second set of controls, and wondered if he had the proper programming. A quick check revealed that the buttons, switches, and pedals arrayed before him weren't all that different from those on a combine, which was fortunate since Kyle had disappeared.
The turret gun sat in a lightly armored tub located behind the control cab. The agent climbed over the side, settled into the gunner's saddle, and flicked the power switch- An entire row of indicator lights flashed green.
Blaster bolts splashed on armor, flashed over the Rebel's head, and flew wide as the lead Tuskens fired their weapons.
Kyle found the safety, switched to "live fire," and peered through the sight. Though swerving back and forth in an attempt to ruin his aim, the bikers still formed a highly concentrated target. The firing studs were located to either end of the handlebar controls. The Rebel pressed with both thumbs, watched coherent light stutter into the tightly packed formation, and whooped when a bike exploded.
Debris flew in every direction and sliced off a biker's head, leaving the body intact. The torso was still in place, still gripping the control, when the two-wheeler smashed into a bridge support. The pieces were everywhere, narrowly missed the end of the formation, and threw up clouds of dirt.
The twenty-kilometer bridge led into Baron's Hed. Six lanes narrowed to four as Wee Gee guided the transport onto the span. He glanced into a side mirror, saw that the Tuskens were gaining, and pushed with his power grasper. Nothing happened. The droid realized that the accelerator was already on the floor.
Rogg had survived. The knowledge made him happy. He raised his right hand, gave a signal, and veered to the right. Kyle tracked the movement with the handlebar, fired a three-bolt burst, and swore when another rider was snatched from his seat. The bike swerved, narrowly avoided another, and tumbled end over end.
If Kyle was disappointed that Rogg survived, it was nothing compared to
what Bordo felt. He was number two and had been for three long years. Three years of "Yes, Rogg, whatever you say Rogg, and thank you, Rogg." It was enough to gag a Krayt dragon.
So Bordo led the second echelon over the left side of the transport, set his controls to auto, and dropped to the back.
He lost his balance, fell, and stood. A quick check was sufficient to make certain that the human was occupied by the need to repel additional boarders. Bordo staggered toward the opposite side of the transport. A single look confirmed that his cowardly leader had taken his own sweet time getting into position. Bordo smiled behind his bandages, waited for Rogg to look in his direction, and shot him in the goggles.
The speeder bike wobbled, veered away, and soared over the canyon. The engine quit, and the bike fell like a rock. Confident that his actions had been lost in the confusion of battle, Bordo waved the band ahead, turned in the direction of the control cab, and made his way forward.
Wee Gee saw an unrecognizable blob up ahead, zoomed in on it, and knew what it was. A roadblock! A big roadblock, capable of stopping the T4 dead in its tracks .... He called for Kyle, knew the human couldn't hear, and wondered what to do.
Jan brought the Moldy Crow down from five thousand meters, found the ribbon of highway, and followed it toward the bridge. It had
been difficult to watch over Kyle without being spotted, but she had managed to do so. Now, with the transport fleeing toward town and the bikers in hot pursuit, there was no need for pretense. If even one TIE fighter arrived - and was allowed to attack - the battle would be over. "Crow to Kyle - do you copy?"
Kyle had inserted the comm plug into his ear so long ago he had forgotten it was there. A Tusken had come aboard and was headed his way. The agent pulled his blaster. "Yeah, I copy - what took so long?"
"You told me to stay clear - remember?"
Kyle raised his weapon and watched the Tusken do likewise. "When did you start taking orders from me?"
"I don't," Jan said primly, "as you can tell from the fact that the Crow is hanging over your mostly empty head."
"Right," Kyle replied as he shot Bordo through the chest, "which brings us back to where we started. What took so long?"
Jan smiled and was about to reply when she noticed the roadblock. "They threw a barricade across the highway. Prepare for pickup."
Kyle saw the Crow start to descend and turned toward the cab. He threw himself forward. "Hey, Weeg! Set the controls to auto! Jan will pick us up!"
The droid didn't know who Jan was. But he had no desire to wind up as scrap. He did as he was told, rose from the passenger position, and turned toward the rear. A blaster bolt scored the side of his processor housing. He gave a long, drawn-out beep.
Kyle fired. A Tusken fell backward over the tailgate, was hit by one of the speeder bikes, and tumbled down the highway.
Wind whipped through Kyle's hair, and heat wrapped his shoulders as the Crow descended. The Tuskens fired at the ship as a hatch opened, a ramp was extended, and Jan shouted in Kyle's ear. "Here comes the roadblock! Jump!"
The Rebel heard her and was about to relay the order when he was snatched into the air. The droid had seen the ramp, grabbed the human's utility belt, and fired his repulsorlift engine. They had passed through the hatch by the time the transport hit the barricade.
The impact and the explosion that followed sent an AT-ST off the bridge, killed a platoon of stormtroopers, and created a wall of fire. Most of the surviving Tuskens were going too fast to stop. They screamed as their bikes raced into the conflagration and blew up.
A few, those blessed with quick reactions or positioned toward the rear of the pack, curved away. Heavy, dark smoke boiled up into the skv, pointed a finger toward the ship named vengeance, and was blown away.
CHAPTER SIX
Kyle squirmed forward, waited for Jan to join him, and looked down on Baron's Hed. It had been an attractive city once, back during his childhood, but things had changed since then. He brought the electrobinoculars up to his eyes, made a minor adjustment, and scanned the sprawl below.
A castlelike structure served as the natural focal point of the city. It was called Government House and stood at the very top of a hill called Baron's Knoll, the geological feature around which the town was built.
Though not as high as the hill on which the agents lay, the tower was tall enough to offer a tactical advantage to anyone who sought to defend it. It also forced those below to look up as if to a higher authority - a psychological trick that was anything but accidental. No less an entity than Jerec himself had supervised its construction during his brief tenure as Governor.
The city fell away from the stone-built house in a series of steps, not unlike a traditional wedding cake, with the wealthiest citizens living toward the top and the poor at the very bottom.
Walls that Kyle remembered as eye-catchingly white had been allowed to turn gray, almost black, and the gardens, traditionally red with pyro flowers at that time of year, were largely untended now, or home to the weapons emplacements, antenna farms, and other military equipment deployed to cope with Rebel attacks. Attacks that had increased since the day Morgan Katarn's head appeared on a spike.
The spaceport was located a half-klick to the east and showed signs of regular use. Repulsors flared as a freighter lifted off, paused as if to get its bearings, and departed toward the south.
"So," Jan said, allowing her glasses to fall, "What do you think?"
"I think it'll be tough," Kyle replied honestly. "The city is crawling with Imperial troops, bounty hunters, and mercenaries."
"Government House seems like the logical objective."
"Yeah, but how to get in? Knock on the door?"
"I could drop you on the roof."
"Thanks, but no thanks," Kyle replied. "You'd have to wait, and that would give them time to organize. Look at those weapons emplacements. They'd cut you to pieces."
Jan raised an eyebrow. "Me? Or the Moldy Crow?" She made it sound like a joke, but she knew it wasn't.
Kyle met her eyes and looked away. "You. The Crow can be replaced."
It was the closest the agent had come to declaring his feelings for her, and although Jan regretted the manner in which the comment had been elicited, she liked the response. The silence felt awkward. She broke it. "Be careful down there - call, and I'll come running."
Kyle smiled and indicated the comm unit on his wrist. "Don't worry. I will."
Jan nodded. She wanted to say something more but wasn't sure how it would come out. "Okay - see you later."
"Yeah," Kyle replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Later."
The female agent backed away, leaving Kyle to contemplate the city below. The sun had dropped toward the west, and lights twinkled through the evening haze. The city looked inviting, especially in the twilight, but Kyle knew better. He sighed and worked his way down off the skyline. A trail led toward the bottom. Gravity pulled him down.
The room was large but lacked external windows and felt dreary. A table had been placed at the center of the space and was bathed in light. 8t88 moved slightly, which caused the arm to do likewise. It was new, to him anyway, and had been removed from another 88 unit which he maintained for parts. How that machine felt or would manage without one of its limbs was of no interest to the droid. The arm had been flown in earlier that day. Lacking the services of a qualified roboticist, the droid had installed the part himself.
The wiring harness had been connected as had the tubes that carried hydraulic fluid to that particular extremity. He would fine-tune the wrist relay, adjust the roto-actuators, and test it out. Once that was accomplished, he would deal with the issue of the room.
8t88 held out his left hand. "Tuning stylus." The droid maintained a large retinue of servants, all of which were biologicals. The fact that "naturals" had created him and that he had enslaved them pleased the machine. Metal rang on metal as a human placed a tool in 88's hand. The droid threw it across the room. The tuning stylus, idio
t! "Here give me that."
The robot took the correct instrument, made the necessary adjustments, and was finished a short time later. "There," 8t88 said while making a fist, "that's better, much better. Summon the fool in charge."
8t88's henchmen, two humans and a Gamorrean, looked at each other, shrugged, and wrote off the request as one of the droid's numerous eccentricities. A human mined Rol, the same one who couldn't tell the difference between a tuning stylus and a testing probe, left the room.
The person he sought - a rather snooty specimen who bragged that he had served Jerec during that individual's stint as planetary governor and for every executive since - had assumed what could only be described as airs. He took his own sweet time answering his page, preceded Rol up the stairs, and swept into the droid's somewhat Spartan quarters. The tiniest of smiles touched the majordomo's carefully pursed lips as he entered the room and bowed to 8t88. "Greetings, your eminence. Can I be of service?" The words dripped with condescension. They made even Rol uneasy.
"You can tell me about the history of this house," 8t88 replied smoothly.
"Why, certainly," the majordomo replied. "What would you like to know?"
"Let's start with this room," the droid said casually, waving toward his surroundings. "I notice it adjoins the ballroom. A rather unusual location for guest quarters. Tell me to what purpose this magnificent enclosure was originally dedicated - and why I was chosen to occupy it."
The majordomo swallowed nervously. The assignment had been a jest, his way of putting an uppity machine in its place while impressing the staff. The possibility that the droid could and would take him to task for it had never occurred to the increasingly nervous human. Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. His hands started to shake. Should he apologize - or bluff it out? He chose the second, less humiliating alternative.
Dark Forces: Rebel Agent Page 9
