Tales From the New Republic

by Peter Schweighofer

  willing to buy it from you for two million. The Rebellion, if you can find

  them, will probably pay three. But don't take my word for it-talk to the Imp

  and see what she says. Of course, if you turn all this over to her she'll

  probably cut you out of the profits; but hey, virtue is its own comfort,

  right?"

  "And what makes you think an Imperial Intel agent won'tjust laugh in my

  face? Assuming she's notjust a figment of your imagination."

  "Oh, she's here," Moranda assured him. "And she won't be laughing.

  Believe me."

  Another pause. "All right, I'll make some inquiries and see what I can

  find out. How do I get in touch with you?"

  "I'll call you," Moranda told him. "Remember: one million even. Just pass

  on that message, and then if you want you can be out of it."

  She clicked off. "Now what?" Bel Iblis asked.

  "Like I said, we hope he's smart," she said, getting up from the table

  and putting away both her comlink and datapad. "And on the assumption that he

  is, we vacate the premises. Now."

  For a moment Nyroska glared at the dead comlink. Just pass on that

  message, the words echoed in his ears, and then you can be out of it. "Not

  likely," he murmured to himself. "Not very likely."

  He looked across the room at his aide. "Lieutenant?" "Got it. Colonel,"

  Lieutenant Barclo reported briskly. "It came from one of the apartments in the

  Karflian Nestling block-fringe and lower-class mix, northern end of town. I've

  got an airspeeder squad on its way."

  "Send two more squads in as backup," Nyroska or - dered. "Then check and

  see if we've got Imperial Intel operating on Darkknell at the moment."

  "I'm sure we'd have heard if anyone declared him or herself. Colonel."

  "We certainly should have," Nyroska agreed grimly. "As I said: check."

  "Yes, sir."

  Nyroska set down his comlink and swiveled his chair toward the large holo

  map of the city behind him. If there was a foreign operative running through

  his city behind his back, he wanted to know about it.

  And if said agent was chasing down something worth a million or more in

  Imperial currency, he most definitely wanted to know about it. less-than

  Accessing the spaceport's database, he pulled up the recent arrivals

  section and keyed for a search.

  The manager's profile chart was short. Amazingly short. Suspiciously

  short.

  "Sad, isn't it," Isard said contemptuously as Hal finished scanning

  through it.

  "And they always think they're not blindingly obvious to us."

  "They do indeed," Hal agreed, handing back the datapad. The "personal"

  section of the manager's profile had exactly twelve names in it: parents, one

  brother, and nine friends. There were Corellian fungal colonies that had

  longer associates lists than that. "Still, just because he's gimmicking his

  associates list doesn't mean he has any particular involvement with Moranda."

  "He's fringe," Isard said flatly. "That list practically screams it. And

  fringe types always stick together when the crunch begins." She considered.

  "Not when we start tightening down, mind you, when they start having sprint

  races to see who can crumble on each other the fastest. But up until then they

  stick together."

  "Perhaps," Hal murmured, his gaze drifting to the city's northern

  skyline. The single red-and-white airspeeder he'd spotted a moment ago had now

  been joined by two others, all of them scooting like their tails were on fire.

  Markings were impossible to see at this distance, but he'd seen airspeeders

  with that color scheme parked outside Colonel Nyroska's office. "I presume we

  start with the family?"

  "Since his truly close friends-assuming he's got any-are undoubtedly not

  on that list, I'd say so," Isard said acidly. "Unless they're phonies, too.

  What do you think they're up to?"

  "Who?"

  Isard gestured with her datapad. "Those three Dark knell Defense

  airspeeders," she said. "Don't try to tell me you hadn't noticed them."

  "I noticed them," Hal confirmed calmly. "You think they've got a line on

  your Rebel?"

  "Can't think what else they'd be using Defense personnel for," Isard

  murmured, her mismatched eyes gazing thoughtfully at the now descending

  airspeeders. "Well, if they have, we can pull it out of their computer records

  at the quiet-drop."

  "We heading there now?"

  "Soon enough," Isard said, holding up the datapad. "I see a name on this

  profile that was also on Arkos's frequent-customer list. Let's go see if

  perhaps he hasn't had the sense to vanish like everyone else."

  "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly," Nyroska said into his

  comlink, glancing over the device at Barclo and giving him a sharp nod. Barclo

  nodded back and busied himself with the trace board.

  "Not a problem," the woman's voice came back. "You ready to believe me

  yet about the Imp agent?"

  "Possibly," Nyroska said. "We don't have your agent, but we do have a

  large blond human male in a tank down at the morgue. The analysts tell me he

  was shot at close range with a Luxan Penetrator."

  There was a brief pause at the other end. "Interesting."

  "So you didn't know he was dead?" Nyroska probed.

  "Are you suggesting I had something to do with it?" she shot back.

  "No, of course not," Nyroska said soothingly. Which was, in point of

  fact, a true statement. He'd made a career of reading people's faces and

  voices, and that brief pause had been all the reaction he needed to know the

  news had indeed taken her by surprise.

  Which meant that while she might be a thief, she was not likely to be a

  murderer. A point in her favor. "I merely brought it up to let you know that

  that part of your story checks out."

  "I'm happy about it if you are," she said, withJust a trace of sarcasm.

  "But until and unless you get to the Imp agent herself, we're no further along

  than when we started."

  "Not necessarily," Nyroska said. "Now that I know that your story has

  some actual substance to it, I can hopefully persuade my superiors to take the

  matter seriously."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning I'd like to meet with you," he said. "No obligations or

  promises, except of course that I won't try to arrest you or take the

  merchandise. For now I just want to talk."

  "Yeah, right," the woman sniffed. "All completely clear and aboveboard."

  "Exactly," Nyroska said, turning up the calm trustworthiness in his voice

  to full power. "You have to realize you're in a seriously untenable position,

  especially with a dead body in the morgue that the Intel agent might well

  believe is your doing. I may be the only one who can help you. And you can

  check with your fringe friends that I keep my word."

  There was another long pause. "I'll think about it," the woman said at

  last. "I'll call you later."

  The connection clicked off. "Barclo?"

  "She's moved south to the edge of Little Duros," the lieutenant reported.

  "I've got three airspeeders on the way."

  Nyroska nodded. "A waste of time, probably."

  "She does seem to be pretty good at slipping out of c
omnets," Barclo

  conceded. "So what now? Wait until she calls again?"

  "More or less," Nyroska said, peering at his computer display. The dead

  man's ID was being backtracked, along with that of the woman who'd arrived at

  the spaceport with him, but so far both probes were coming up dry. Probably

  another waste of time. "Anything on the landspeeder they rented?"

  "Hasn't been spotted yet," Barclo said. "Of course, an Imperial might

  have altered the reg tag just on general principles."

  "An unlikely term to use in the same breath with Imperial agents,"

  Nyroska growled, scowling at the display. "I think it's about time we took

  back some of the initiative. I want you to check with the General as to how

  fast we could put together a sizable cash package."

  Barclo's jaw dropped slightly. "You want to pay her off?"

  "Not without knowing what exactly she's got," Nyroska said. "But if it

  does turn out to be as explosive as she claims, it would be nice to have some

  options available."

  "I suppose," Barclo said, shaking his head. "I just hope you're not

  getting in too deep, Colonel. This is Imperial Intelligence we're dealing

  with, you know."

  "This is my world, Barclo," Nyroska said coldly. "Our world, not

  Palpatine's. He may someday be able to run the whole Empire from Coruscant,

  but until then we do have certain jurisdictional and governmental rights here

  on Darkknell. And I am flighty well going to exercise those rights."

  "Yes, sir," Barclo said, sounding subdued as he reached for his comlink.

  "I'll call the General right now."

  Moranda clicked off her comlink. "Come on," she said. They crossed the

  street and entered the sweets shop she had marked before making her call to

  Nyroska. Weaving through the mass of mostly Duros customers, she led the way

  back to the employees" entrance in the rear and down a flight of steps to the

  street at the bottom of the hill. With gratifying promptness, the street-

  maintenance speeder truck she'd spotted from their earlier vantage point came

  lumbering by just as they reached the street, and a moment later she and Garm

  were safely nestled into the empty debris-storage bin in the back.

  "You don't think they'll search this thing?" Garm asked, looking

  cautiously out through the rear access opening they'd just climbed in through.

  "Not when they see the bin is already full of dirt," Moranda told him,

  unfastening her outer skirt and pulling it off. Flipping it over so that its

  brown side was showing, she arranged it across their feet and knees where it

  would be all that could be seen through the opening without a close

  examination. "It's all in perception."

  "I suppose." He hesitated. "So he was shot with his own weapon?"

  "Unless someone else in town is packing a Luxan," Moranda agreed soberly.

  "What do you think? Horn, or Isard herself?"

  "Hard to believe it of either of them," Garm said, shaking his head.

  "Unless Isard found the datacards and assumed her assistant was in on it."

  "Could be," Moranda said, studying Garm's face out of the corner of her

  eye. They'd kept their introductions on a strict first-name-only basis; but

  even through the simplistic disguise he was wearing there was something

  vaguely familiar about this man.

  His eyes in particular. Very strong and knowing eyes, they were, rich

  with knowledge and wisdom and some deep but very private pain. Recent pain,

  too, if she was any judge of such things. Or maybe it was his voice. Was he

  someone she might have heard speaking on the newsnets?

  Decisively, she turned her eyes away. The situation piqued her curiosity,

  but at the moment she had more urgent things to worry about than another man

  on the run. "Any sign of the airspeeders yet?"

  "Oh, they're out there," Garm assured her, leaning over Moranda's knees

  to peer out past their makeshift camouflage. "Whatever else Colonel Nyroska

  might be, he's also fast on his feet."

  "Yes," Moranda agreed. "Well, one more call hopefully should do it."

  "Do what, get us caught?" Garm asked pointedly. "Aside from appealing to

  your playful side, I don't know what these calls are supposed to accomplish."

  "We need to flush Isard out of hiding," Moranda told him patiently. "That

  means drawing her to some known location. Assuming she's smart enough to

  notice all this Defense airspeeder activity, I'm hoping it will intrigue her

  enough to head to one of the Security offices to find out what's going on. The

  only trick will be guessing which one she'll pick."

  "Probably none of them," Garm said. "Odds are she'll go to the local

  Intelligence drop site instead."

  Moranda blinked. "Intelligence drop site?"

  "Sure," Garm said. "It'll have computer access capabilities, and maybe

  some extra personnel she can draw on. Probably not, though-this station should

  be too small to be continually staffed."

  Moranda stared at his profile. "How do you know about all this?"

  He shrugged. "I have access to certain files."

  "Terrific," she growled. "And it didn't occur to you to mention this to

  me before now?"

  He turned those piercing eyes on her. "Before now, I didn't know what you

  were going for," he reminded her mildly.

  She ground her teeth. But he was right. "One of these days we really have

  to get our act together," she said. "Fine. Where is this drop site?"

  "It's a small, apparently out-of-business boutique in the main west-side

  shopping district," he told her. "I don't remember the name, but I have the

  address."

  "Good enough," she said. "As soon as we're clear of Nyroska's net, we'll

  find a landspeeder and get over there." She frowned as a sudden thought struck

  her. "I don't suppose this place would have a cache of extra weapons Isard

  could load up with, would it?"

  "Probably."

  Moranda nodded grimly. "Terrific."

  They'd been sitting at the back of the crowded open-air tapcafe next to

  the ClearSkyes Boutique for nearly half an hour when Moranda suddenly

  straightened up and nodded. "There she is," she said, nodding over the lip of

  her mug toward Bel Iblis's right.

  Casually, taking a sip from his own drink as he did so, Bel Iblis looked

  in that direction. Barely twenty meters away a familiar landspeeder was

  pulling into a parking zone. And out of it stepped-

  "Well, well, well," Moranda murmured. "Horn's still with her."

  "I told you Isard spun him a story back at Arkos's place," Bel Iblis

  reminded her.

  "Sure, but I wouldn't have expected him to still be tagging along,"

  Moranda said. "He should have sliced through her story long ago."

  "Or else she should have gotten whatever she wanted from him and tossed

  him away," Bel Iblis agreed, frowning as Horn turned slowly around beside the

  landspeeder, automatically checking out the area. His eyes passed over them

  without a flicker of recognition, the breeze pulling his collar open as he

  continued his turn- - "Give me your macrobinoculars. Quickly."

  "What's up?" Moranda asked, passing the tiny set to him beneath the

  table.

  "Possible trouble," Bel Iblis told her. Concealing the macrobinoculars<
br />
  with hands and mug, he lifted them to his eyes and focused in on Horn's neck

  as they crossed the street toward the boutique.

  One clear look was all it took. "Make that definite trouble," he said

  grimly, lowering the macrobinoculars. "Horn's wearing a choke-collar."

  "Oh, lovely," Moranda said. "What a pleasant woman your Ysanne Isard is."

  Isard keyed the door lock, and she and Horn disappeared into the

  ClearSkyes.

  "This changes things, Moranda," Bel Iblis said quietly, bracing himself

  for the inevitable argument. "That choke - collar's going to have a dead-man

  switch attached. I'm not going to risk Horn's death if Isard drops the thing

  or is injured or killed."

  "I agree," she said. "On the other hand, there's no way I'm going to try

  to sneak those datacards out of the car if you aren't pinning them down with

  blaster fire was...

  "Wait a second," Bel Iblis cut her off, frowning. The inevitable had

  failed to happen. "Did you hear what I said? Horn's a good and valuable man,

  and I'm not going to risk his life."

  "Yes, I heard you," she said. "I said I agreed."