Dark Forces: Rebel Agent

by William C. Deets

  "This is a VIP suite, sire, chosen because of your stature and rank. And located in close proximity to your work."

  8t88 wiggled his right index finger. It operated flawlessly, which pleased him. "Come a little closer, please. My amplifiers aren't what they used to be."

  Rol exchanged looks with the Gamorrean. They knew that 8t88 could hear a pin drop from a hundred meters away.

  Convinced that his story had been accepted, and eager to insinuate himself into the machine's good graces, the majordomo shuffled forward. He wore an elaborate, self-invented uniform. A robe dragged behind him. It was dirty where the edge touched the floor.

  8t88 waited until the human was within range of his new right arm, reached out, and grabbed a fistful of robe. The majordomo's head snapped forward as the droid pulled him closer. "Look into my face it's the last thing you will ever see."

  The previously haughty servant seemed to come apart as he gazed into the machine's metal countenance. "Please! I'm sorry I gave offense - tell me how to make amends!"

  "Ah," 88 said judiciously, "if only you could. But the malfunction is hidden within your skull, a difficult place to make repairs. I don't know if you've seen any brains lately, but they're hard to sort out. A CPU makes more sense."

  The human was beside himself by now. A puddle had collected at his feet, and the guards wrinkled their noses - except for the Gamorrean, that is, who didn't notice. "My brain?"

  "Why, yes," the droid replied. "Assuming you have one .... You know, the organ that believes it's superior to machines, and enjoys making fun of them."

  The majordomo tried to object, tried to explain as the metal-cold hand spanned his face but soon lost interest. It seemed that the pressure, plus the sound of cracking facial bones, had caused him to faint. Not before he screamed, though - and sent birds fluttering out from the eaves.

  If the security in and around Baron's Hed had been lacking before, it certainly wasn't now. Kyle's presence at the farm and subsequent escape had resulted in a heightened level of security.

  Lines had formed in front of the city gates. Residents were eyescanned prior to admission, and nonresidents were subject to interrogation. It was not a process the agent wanted to endure, especially given his status as a renegade and the price on his head. No, there had to be a better way to gain access, or so he hoped.

  An hour passed while Kyle lurked in a heavily shadowed doorway and watched the western gate. Disguises, ruses, and all manner of clever and notso-clever stratagems were conceived, considered, and rejected, including a potentially suicidal plan that involved climbing the wall and shooting the guards. There were so many plans, in fact, that he nearly failed to recognize the chance when it came.

  The Imperials sent patrols out into the countryside on a regular basis, which meant that they returned at all hours of day and night. A pair of commandos on speeder bikes passed the doorway, followed by an armored hoverscout loaded with stormtroopers.

  Kyle had been on similar patrols and knew how tiring they were. The troopers wanted to shuck their armor, take a shower, and find some beer. Their morale, like their state of readiness, was at its lowest ebb .... Perfect for someone as desperate as he was.

  An XI'-ST followed behind the hoverscout, and it - plus an unexpected diversion - provided the opportunity for which the Rebel had been waiting.

  The diversion came courtesy of an unfortunate citizen who had the monumentally bad luck to drive his flock out into the arterial at the exact moment that the patrol happened past.

  The speeder bikes sliced the herd in half, the gra ran in circles, and their owner tried to put things right. It wasn't easy, though, and the commandos didn't help when they kicked the goatlike animals, starting a panic.

  What with the owner shouting, the gra bawling, and the Imperials swearing, Kyle had little difficulty slipping out of the doorway, dashing across a section of pavement, and jumping onto one of the AT-ST's podlike feet. Then, having plastered himself against the inside of the walker's leg, Kyle did his best to hang on, a seemingly simple task that turned out to be a good deal more difficult than he had predicted.

  Riding the pod up off the heat-fused pavement was relatively simple. The hard part followed. The quarter-ton foot fell with alarming speed and struck the ground with so much force that Kyle nearly lost his grip. The impact made the agent's knees bend, sent a jolt up his spine, and rattled his teeth.

  The whole thing was so bad that he barely noticed as the machine crushed a gra, minced through the remains of the herd, and turned toward a heavily guarded gate.

  The agent held his breath as the sentry aimed a salute at the ATST's commanding officer, looked up when he should've looked down, and missed seeing a suspicious pair of arms.

  Kyle held on for dear life as the machine made its way through

  the warren of streets that comprised low town, the section of Baron's Hed where the poorest citizens lived and the majority of businesses were located.

  The patrol turned a corner preparatory to heading for their barracks. The Rebel waited for a likely looking shadow, jumped just before the pod hit ground, and scurried for cover.

  The agent hid in the shelter of a vine-draped wall, made sure that his departure had gone unnoticed, and straightened his clothes. The fact that they still bore traces of mud and grease would work in his favor. The idea was to fit in, and the citizens of low town weren't known for their sartorial splendor.

  Kyle stepped out onto the street, adopted the air of someone who belonged there, and made for the center of town. The homes of high town were well lit, which gave definition to the hill on which they sat. Government House, which blazed with lights, crowned the very top. Finding it would be easy - getting in would be more difficult.

  The side street gave way to Rimmer's Alley, a long, garishly lit thoroughfare that led to the base of the hill. Signs glowed, lights pulsed, and music blared beyond eternally open doors. The alleys stank of urine, vomit, and the incense used to cover up the smell.

  Traffic, crust of which was pedestrian, increased, and so did the danger. Kyle allowed his hand to drift toward his weapon as a brace of stormtroopers appeared on the far side of the street, paused to question a street vendor, and continued on their way. The agent felt relieved but knew the most dangerous adversaries would be less obvious.

  A spacer lurched out of a bar, staggered to the curb, and threw up.

  A droid, its extremities twisted by accident or design, begged (or alms.

  A woman, her makeup glowing as if lit from within, smiled and winked.

  None posed a threat, but those hidden among them did. The Rodian bounty hunter, his eyes scanning for prey, the informer listening while he swept the street, and the Imperial agent made obvious by his boots - all were enemies.

  Kyle walked the length of the street as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. It wasn't until he had left the main drag and entered the relative darkness of a residential area that the Rebel knew he'd been followed. He felt the other person's presence before he actually saw her with his eyes. The Force rippled away from the tail in the same manner that oil separates itself from water.

  Kyle waited for the pool of light offered by one of the widely spaced streetlamps, paused as if looking for a landmark, and turned.

  The tail made no attempt to mask her interest and nodded politely. The woman had been attractive once, but that was before her left eye had been destroyed and a bionic implant installed in its place. The device was equipped with a three-lens turret which whirred as it turned and delivered a tight shot to her hard-wired brain. Kyle noticed that the woman wore two blasters to his one. A sphere hovered over one shoulder, its purpose unclear. Her voice was deep and husky. "You looking for something, citizen? Maybe I can help."

  "Thanks," Kyle replied, "but no thanks. How 'bout you? Would you like some directions? Or do you plan to follow me all night?"

  "That's an interesting weapon you have there," the woman replied easily. "Kinda rare
isn't it?"

  Kyle cursed his own stupidity. The lightsaber was not only rare but valuable and certain to attract attention. He should have concealed it. The woman might or might not have help. Kyle had no desire to find out; he'd have to deal with her, and quickly.

  "Yeah, it is kinda rare, sort of like that sphere over your shoulder .... Interested in a trade?"

  Kyle moved his left hand toward the lightsaber and went for the blaster with his right. He pulled the weapon and fired it a tenth of a second before the would-be thief fired hers. Her bolt went wide his struck her throat. She made a gargling sound and collapsed in a heap.

  Kyle shifted his attention to the sphere, saw an eight-centimeter-long spike emerge, and backed away. The ball hummed menacingly, wove back and forth, and bored inward.

  The agent backpedaled again, tried to correct his aim, and tripped on the curb. He fell over backward, felt the blaster fly out of his hand, and heard it clatter on the pavement. He was about to roll in that direction, about to expose his back to the needle-sharp probe, when a voice entered his mind. He'd heard it before - and knew it belonged to Rahn.

  "Remember Nar Shaddaa? Go to the peace within."

  Kyle remembered the landing platform, the manner in which time had slowed, and the ensuing battle. Achieving the necessary state was easier this time. The sphere slowed, and the hum became a lowpitched growl.

  "Now," Rahn continued, "fight like a Jedi."

  Kyle stood, thumbed a button, and heard the air crackle as the lightsaber came to life. Though slower now, the sphere continued its hypnotic motion.

  "Good," Rahn said. "Now, close your eyes."

  Kyle eyed the deadly looking sphere and shook his head. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

  "Close your eyes, or I will leave. There are other students, some of whom show considerable promise." The criticism hurt, but the fact that Rahn regarded him as a student made Kyle feel good. He remembered the Academy's fencing instructor - a man who had expected unquestioning obedience from his students and never abused their trust. He closed his eyes.

  "Now," Rahn continued, "feel the sphere, feel the way it moves, and merge with it."

  Kyle tried to see himself the way the sphere would, as a heat signature, moving, but in ways that his on-board computer could analyze and extrapolate from.

  "Excellent," Rahn said encouragingly. "You know where the sphere will go next. Aim for that spot."

  Kyle "knew" the sphere would move to the right, brought the lightsaber down through the spot where it would be, and knew he'd missed.

  "You were close," Rahn said, "very close. Try again."

  Kyle tried again. He visualized a grid this time, green, with white lines, and "saw" the sphere displayed on it. It moved left, right, and left again. He sensed where the target would go and acted accordingly. As the agent opened his eyes, it was to confirm what he already knew ....

  The sphere exploded, and a tiny fragment of hot plastic hit his cheek. Shrapnel flew, and time returned to normal. It felt as if an hour had passed, but a quick check of his chrono suggested otherwise. The entire incident had lasted no more than three or four minutes.

  The Rebel hit the thumb switch, stuck the lightsaber through his belt, and retrieved his blaster. Time was passing - and there was reason to hurry.

  Jerec couldn't see 8t88 in spite of the fact that the holographic projection was eight meters tall and more than eleven meters wide. He pretended that he could, though, knowing his actions would feed the carefully fashioned myths that surrounded him. Myths that overstated his considerable power by a factor of ten.

  Still, he could imagine how 8t88 looked, along with the re-created mosaic and the holo-animated star map. Imagine, and glory in the knowledge that he was about to become the most powerful individual in the civilized worlds no, in the universe - a position for which he was eminently suited.

  "Well done, 8t88. The Valley of the Jedi will soon be mine. Meet the

  cargo ship Sulon Star at the refueling station outside of Baron's Hed. Your payment awaits."

  The droid bobbed his head in what could have been interpreted as a nod or a bow, touched a button, and was gone.

  Jerec turned his back to the holo tank and let the bridge crew gaze into long-dead eyes. Sariss was there - he could feel her presence. "We have what we came for . . . . Sariss, prepare the Vengeance for hyperspace."

  Sariss bowed. "Yes, my lord."

  Orders were given, drives engaged, and the ship broke orbit.

  Though not possessed of the emotional nuances that human beings claim to experience, 8t88 felt what he imagined to be an enormous sense of satisfaction.

  In order to complete his assignment, the droid had created a threedimensional star map from the ceiling mosaic and beamed the digitized information up to the Vengeance. The original, which 8t88 continued to project toward the center of the room, floated before him. It was a thing of beauty . . . . He took one last look before shutting the image down. The map had been delivered, payment was assured, and he could afford to gloat.

  The majordomo's death had worked wonders on the household staff, who had a sudden and unprecedented respect for intelligent machines. The thronelike chair was a little over the top, perhaps, but the symbolism was appreciated, and 8t88 took pleasure in using it. His pet, a winged monstrosity with an underthrust jaw and heavily lidded eyes, growled and crouched to his right. Its short, stubby tail made a thumping sound as it struck the wooden floor.

  A long, ornately carved table stretched toward the far end of the room. Chairs stood to either side, some pulled back to allow access, some pushed forward. The reassembled mosaic occupied most of the table's surface. The beast growled and sniffed the air. The droid patted the monster's head. "What's the matter, my pet? Hungry again?"

  The shadows stirred. Kyle Katarn stepped out into the light. He held a blaster in his hand. The beast rose to its feet. Saliva dripped from its jaws, and a growl rumbled deep in its throat. 88 took a grip on the animal's harness. "Not yet, my pet - you can eat him later."

  "I see you found a new arm," Kyle commented lightly. "I should have aimed for your head."

  The droid stood. An electronic signal went out. "Rot! Hontho! Trox! Take him!"

  The Rebel shook his head mockingly. "Sorry, old rust bucket, but Rol and his friends are permanently indisposed. I want the map."

  The droid gestured toward the table. "So? Take the map. Go ahead - put it in your pockets."

  "Thanks," Kyle said dryly, "but no thanks. The digital version will be a good deal more convenient."

  A motor whined, a section of ceiling started to descend, and light leaked around it. Kyle shifted his aim to cover the platform as a pair of legs appeared. 88 backed away. His pet resisted and left claw marks on floor.

  Yun smiled, dropped to the table, and thumbed his lightsaber. It popped to life. "You want the map? Here, I'll cut it to size."

  The lightsaber rose and fell. Super-heated tiles exploded. Kyle adjusted his aim and felt a sledgehammer hit his chest. Not a real sledgehammer but one shaped from the Force, and just as effective. He backpedaled and slammed into a chair. The blaster tumbled away, and Yun shook his head.

  "So, this is what the light side sends against us. No wonder we succeed." So saying, lightsaber buzzing in his hand, he strode the length of the table. Broken tile skittered away from his bets.

  Kyle recognized the Jedi as one of the three he'd seen at the farm . . . the young one.

  The Rebel raised his feet, kicked the table, and did a backward somersault. The chair crashed to floor, and the agent landed on his knees.

  8t88 dragged his still-unwilling pet into an alcove. A durasteel door slammed down in front of him. Machinery whined as the turbolift carried him upward.

  Surprised by Kyle's move and more than a little intrigued, Yun moved forward. Kyle, who was still on his knees and at a disadvantage, pulled his lightsaber. Energy crackled and the smell of ozone filled the air as the Rebel managed to raise his weapon an
d block the Jedi's blow.

  Yun frowned. It seemed that his opponent was more capable than the first impression would have suggested. The Jedi felt the tiniest trickle of fear enter his belly.

  Kyle sensed the other man's hesitation, gained his feet, and allowed his opponent to disengage. In spite of the fact that his fencing lessons had made use of a fixed blade and his duel with the sphere had been somewhat brief, the combination gave the Rebel experience from which to draw. He concentrated on the Jedi's eyes, felt the Force flow around him, and lunged to the right.

  Yun saw his adversary shift position, moved to intercept, and ducked as lethal energy swept through the space where his head had been. It was close. Too close for a complete novice.

  Kyle struck again. Though slightly off, his blow sliced through the upper part of Yun's arm and drew blood, which was cauterized by the weapon's heat.

  A cry escaped the Jedi's lips as the lightsaber fell from his hand, and he lost his balance and skidded on his back. Kyle approached, and Yun raised his arm. He was frightened, very frightened, but determined to maintain his pride. "So, kill me, Rebel, just as I would kill you!"

  It seemed like good advice, and Kyle raised his weapon. But as he was about to strike, the other man's words echoed in his head. "Just as I would kill you." Was that the kind of man he wanted to be? The kind who would kill without reason? 8t88 had the map, and the Jedi had been neutralized. Kyle took three steps backward, lowered his weapon, and turned the device off. Rahn, absent till now, reappeared.

  "Your father and I are proud of you, my son, for mercy is first and foremost among a Jedi's virtues."

  Yun was amazed yet philosophical at the same time. There was something about the other Jedi's actions that felt right. But how could that be? Mercy was synonymous with weakness, He thought of Sariss, of how ashamed his mentor would be, and willed himself to be elsewhere. Yun floated toward the ceiling. His weapon followed.