Tales From the New Republic

by Peter Schweighofer

  "But..." was He floundered.

  She lifted her eyebrows. "What, just because Horn's chased me halfway

  across the Empire you think I should be willing and eager to let him get

  vaped?"

  "Something like that, yes."

  She shifted her gaze away from and back to the boutique. "Strange as it

  may seem, Garm, over the past few years I've gotten sort of used to having

  Horn on my tail. He's a pretty good opponent, you know, well worth matching

  wits against. I rather enjoy that sort of challenge."

  She smiled wryly. "Besides, I know that if he's the one who brings the

  hammer down on me, I'll be treated fairly. In Palpatine's grand new Empire

  there aren't a lot of enforcement types I would trust that far."

  "I'm glad we're on the same side on this," Bel Iblis said, some of the

  tightness lifting from his chest. Arkos had known little about this woman

  except her name, but her airy confidence, deviousness, and pocket-picking

  talents had created in his mind the stereotypical fringe image, someone

  willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted. The fact that casual

  murder, or even collateral murder, was apparently outside her ethical

  boundaries made working with her considerably more palatable to his own

  conscience.

  In fact, it made her no worse than some of those he was already fighting

  alongside in the Rebellion. Maybe even no worse than the average. "So what

  now?" Moranda bit gently at her lip. "Were you able to get any details on the

  choke-collar?" she asked. "Design, manu facturer-anything?"

  Bel Iblis searched his memory. "All I could see was that it was black,"

  he said. "Oh, and it had what looked like a small keylock to the left of his

  throat."

  "Interesting," she said thoughtfully. "Probably aJostrian design, then-

  they use straight mechanical keylocks to keep anyone from scanning along lock

  frequencies and unfastening it."

  "So we can't do anything?"

  "I didn't say that," she said, still thoughtful. "Keep watch here-I'm

  going to pop into t little electronics shop over there."

  "And then?"

  She patted his hand. "Trust me."

  "I was right," Isard said, tapping keys on the quiet-drop's computer.

  "Those Defense airspeeders were indeed responding to your friend Savich."

  "Does it identify her by name?" Hal asked. Isard threw him a contemptuous

  look. "Of course it does. And she included her ID listing and associates

  profile, too. If you're going to ask stupid questions, Horn, keep your mouth

  shut."

  Hal clamped down firmly on his tongue as Isard turned back to the

  computer with a snort. She had been becoming progressively more ill-tempered

  as the day wore on, and finding that their last known link between Arkos and

  the Continuum Void manager had flown the nest had apparently been the last

  click. The anger and frustration and bloodlustwere simmering barely beneath

  the surface, held in check by sheer force of will.

  And if something didn't break soon, Hal suspected, some of that bloodlust

  could very well expend itself on a convenient CorSec inspector whom she was

  clearly starting to consider less than useful to her.

  He swallowed, the movement of his throat constricted noticeably by the

  unyielding noose around his neck. What in the name of Vader's tailor was in

  that missing datapack, anyway?

  And then, at his belt, his comlink beeped.

  Isard spun around as if she'd been stung. "What's that?" she demanded.

  "My comlink," Hal said.

  "I know it's your comlink," she bit out icily, sliding out of her chair

  and stepping over to him. "Who knows you're here?"

  "Only Colonel Nyroska," Hal said, pulling out the device. "Do you want me

  to answer it?"

  "Of course," she said, stepping close to him. "Maybe he's got a line on

  Savich."

  Hal nodded and clicked it on. "Horn."

  "Hello, Inspector," a cheerful female voice replied. "It's Moranda

  Savich. How are you?"

  Hal felt his breath catch in his throat. "How did you get this frequency?

  "

  "Oh, don't be silly," she chided. "You registered it when you arrived on

  Darkknell, remember? Unfortunately, your friend the Imp didn't do that, at

  least not under a name I could find. Is she there with you, by any chance?"

  "I'm here," Isard spoke up, glacially calm. "You have my datapack?"

  "Sure, if you have my money," Moranda said. "The price is one million, in

  Imperial currency."

  Hal looked furtively at Isard's face, wondering if she was approaching

  meltdown yet. But to his surprise, the eyes gazing back at him were as calm

  and cool as any he'd ever seen. With at least a potential handle on the

  situation now, her earlier frustration and irritation had evaporated in! -

  plete professionalism.

  "You have a rather inflated opinion of what it's worth," Isard said.

  "I'll pay you a hundred thousand."

  Moranda sniffed audibly. "That's pretty chintzy, even for an Imperial. If

  you don't want to play, I'm sure someone else will."

  "Like Colonel Nyroska, for instance?"

  "Exactly like Colonel Nyroska," Moranda said approvingly. "That's right-I

  forget sometimes how adept you Imps are at slicing into official computer

  systems. You wouldn't happen to have noticed if he's pulled together his

  million yet, would you?"

  "He's started making inquiries," Isard confirmed calmly. "I can assure

  you, though, that you'd rather deal with me."

  "My plan is to deal with the top bidder," Moranda said pointedly. "Still,

  I'm sure Imperial Intelligence can bid higher than a backwater fuel stop like

  Darkknell."

  "Most certainly," Isard said, her voice almost silky with implied menace.

  "Along with that hundred thousand I can also guarantee you the chance to leave

  here with your skin intact."

  "Don't make me laugh," Moranda sniffed. "I've eluded Inspector Horn for

  years-you think I can't do the same with Imperial Intelligence?

  "No," Isard said flatly. "I don't think you can."

  "Hear me shaking," Moranda said. "Here's the deal. I'll give you and

  Nyroska an hour to put together your packages-cash only, of course. Then I'll

  meet you both at the Number Fourteen warehouse in the Firtee Cluster north of

  town, and one of you will leave with the data pack. Clear?"

  "Very," Isard said softly.

  "And don't insult my intelligence by trying anything cute," Moranda

  warned. "I'm quite good at this sort of game. One hour, and come alone."

  The comlink clicked off. "Certainly we'll come alone," Isard agreed, as

  if talking to herself as she sat back down at the computer. "We wouldn't want

  the inconvenience of witnesses, would we?"

  "What are we doing?" Hal asked as she began keying the terminal.

  "I am clearing out the potential ground clutter," she told him.

  "Specifically, I'm sending Colonel Nyroska's entire contingent on a little

  impromptu training exercise."

  Hal felt his jaw drop. "You aren't serious. There's no way he won't catch

  something that blatant."

  "Let him," Isard retorted. "By the time his squawks get anyone's

  attention the datapack and I
will be long gone."

  Hal grimaced. "Leaving him with nothing to do but find someone to pin the

  blame on. Me, for instance?"

  Isard favored him with a cool, dispassionate look, then turned back to

  the computer. "Think of it as your opportunity to provide a unique service to

  the Empire."

  "Yes," Hal murmured. "Of course."

  "I can't say the General's exactly thrilled by the situation," Barclo

  reported, clicking off his comlink. "But he is rather intrigued by it. He says

  that if you can prove this datapack is genuinely worth a million, he can have

  the money ready in two hours."

  "Good," Nyroska said, clicking keys on his computer. "Well, well: the

  backtrack on our big blond cipher down in the morgue just came up empty. Which

  means his ID was completely phony."

  "Big surprise," Barclo grunted. "Half the ID'S in south Xakrea are

  probably phony."

  "Yes, but not of this quality," Nyroska said. "His tracked all the way

  back to Coruscant before it petered out. That means-was

  He broke off as his comlink beeped. "Here we go," he said, picking it up.

  "I'll bet you your next promotion this is her." He keyed it on. "Nyroska."

  "Colonel?" an unfamiliar human male voice said. "My name is-well, never

  mind that. I'm an associate- - former associate, rather-of the woman you've

  been dealing with on this datapack matter."

  "I see," Nyroska said. "What can I do for you?"

  "You can get me out of this mess, that's what," the other said nervously.

  "This whole thing's gotten completely out of hand. Did you know she's actually

  caret baiting an Imperial Intelligence agent? This is getting way too

  dangerous, and I'm ready to cut my losses and get out."

  "I applaud your wisdom," Nyroska said. "Get me the datapack, and I'll see

  to it that you walk away."

  There was a pause. "Yeah," the caller said at last, a little uncertainly.

  "Problem: I don't actually have it myself. But I can finger her for you, and

  she does know where it is. She'll be coming back to a tapcafe right next to

  something called the ClearSkyes Boutique, and she'll be back any minute now.

  Get over here fast, okay?"

  "We're on our way," Nyroska promised. On the last word, the comlink

  clicked off.

  "Well?" he added to Barclo.

  "Could be a feint," Barclo said, frowning at his board. "On the other

  hand, the trace puts him in that area. I'd say it's worth checking out."

  "Agreed," Nyroska said, keying his computer. He paused, keyed it again.

  "What in-his"

  "What is it?" Barclo asked.

  "My troops," Nyroska said, waving at the computer. "They've all been sent

  out to the spaceport."

  "What? Why?"

  "I don't know," Nyroska gritted, slapping at the keys. "They're phony

  orders-they have to be. The General wouldn't have pulled them without alerting

  me first. But the orders show proper authorization, and they're locked in." He

  swore. "And the troops are locked incommunicado, too."

  Abruptly he got to his feet. "Ten to one it's a delaying tactic by our

  datapack thief," he ground out. "And I have no intention of being delayed.

  Grab Thykele from the outer office, and let's go."

  "You think three of us will be enough?" Barclo asked, pulling his blaster

  from a desk drawer as he stood up.

  "We'll make it enough," Nyroska said grimly, checking his own blaster and

  jamming it into his holster. "This time she's not getting away."

  They had left the boutique and were heading across the street when Hal's

  comlink beeped again. "Do I answer it?" he asked.

  "Probably better," Isard grunted, getting a grip on his arm and leading

  him over to the side of the street beside their landspeeder. "Savich may not

  be finished playing her little games yet."

  Hal pulled out the instrument, giving the area around them an automatic

  once-over as he did so. There'd been some turnover in the tapcafe's clientele

  since they'd gone inside the boutique, and a half block farther down the

  street a couple of Kubaz were unloading a speeder truck, but nothing else

  seemed to have changed. "Horn."

  "Hello, Inspector," Moranda's voice came back. "Just wanted to see if you

  and your Imp were still on schedule."

  "We're working on it, yes," Hal said.

  "Good," Moranda said cheerfully. "I also wanted to tell you that I've

  talked now with Nyroska, and he's ready to offer me two million."

  "Is he, now?" Isard put in, glaring at the comlink in Hal's hand as if it

  were a display Moranda could see her through. Down the street, one of the

  Kubaz dropped a crate onto the street with a loud thud. "Now you listen to me,

  you little walking dead woman," she bit out. "And listen closely."

  She began voicing an exquisitely detailed threat, a recitation Hal would

  normally have paid close attention to if only for professional interest. But

  in this case, he wasn't even listening. Isard, her full attention focused on

  her anger and pride and threats, had apparently missed completely the fact

  that the crash of that dropped crate had been echoed faintly on Moranda's

  comlink carrier.

  Which meant that Moranda was here somewhere.

  Slowly, carefully, Hal let his eyes track across the area, studying every

  visible face and searching windows and doorways for less than visible ones.

  His gazes fell on a woman about Fifteen meters away at one of the tap - cafe

  tables, her face in profile to him as she gazed meditatively at the distant

  mountains rising over the cityscape, a mug held to her lips. She was the right

  height and build, but he could see both hands clearly enough to tell there was

  no comlink palmed in either of them. Unless she had the device clipped to her

  collar or something...

  "I get the point," Moranda put in, cutting off Isard's threat. "Here's

  the route I want you to follow to the warehouse. Listen closely, and don't

  interrupt."

  She launched into a detailed list of streets, corners, turns, and

  backtracks. As she did so, the woman at the tapcafe table set her mug down and

  stood up, digging a coin out of her hip pouch and dropping it on the table.

  She turned toward Hal and Isard and started in their direction, glancing back

  and forth between the various business signs lining the street.

  And there indeed was no comlink fastened to her collar, nor a telltale

  bulge beneath her jacket where one might be hidden. Listening with half an ear

  to Moranda's instructions droning on from his comlink, Hal shifted his

  attention back to the doorways around the area. She had to be here somewhere..

  ..

  "Hal?" a woman's voice called excitedly. "Hal Horn?"

  He wrenched his eyes back to the woman approaching them. She was looking

  at him with wide eyes, her mouth gaping open in a happy grin of recognition.

  "It is you," she said, now almost bounding as she closed the distance toward

  him. "Well, I'll be a mynock's breakfast. Allyse Conroy-remember? How are you?

  "

  "Uh," Hal said, glancing in confusion at Isard as he searched his memory

  in vain for an Allyse Conroy. "I'm..."

  Isard plucked the comlink from his hand. "We've got trouble," she cut
>
  into Moranda's monologue. "Call us back in ten minutes." Without waiting for a

  response, she clicked off.

  "Imagine running into y here on Darkknell, of all places," the

  approaching woman said, her grin if anything even bigger than it had been.

  "How are Nyche and Corran? He's what, sixteen years old now?"

  "Eighteen," he said, flinching back as she raised her arms for a hug. But

  her ebullience was hardly to be stopped by anything as simple as a flinch, and

  the next thing he knew she had her arms around him, pressing her body tightly

  against his. "Ah-Allyse-was.."

  "It's so good to see you," she said, her voice oddly muffled as she spoke

  into his shoulder, her face pressed against the left side of his face, her

  breath disconcertingly warm on his neck. "How have you been these last few

  years?" Hal glanced past the side of her head. Isard had now stepped around

  behind her and was giving Hal the same kind of look she'd just been giving the

  comlink. "Actually, Allyse, I'm kind of busy right now," he told her, trying

  to diplomatically ease her away from him. A waste of effort; her arms merely

  tightened all the harder around him. "In fact, I'm in the middle of something