Soldier for the Empire (2 page)

The men had memorized Morgan's face during the simulation briefing. They managed to withhold the "Yes, sirs" that came naturally to their lips and said "Gotcha," instead.

Rank hath privilege and Brazack had assigned the most interesting avenue of investigation to himself. It led through an archway and into a workshop. He had no more than passed through the entryway when something struck him in the chest and threw him backward. The armor beneath his shirt prevented serious injury but it hurt nonetheless. The missile consisted of a partially disassembled servo mechanism, and in spite of the fact that Wee Gee had thrown the device with unerring accuracy, the threat index was extremely low. However, the commandos reacted as they would to any threat, and used overwhelming force.

The antipersonnel grenade hit the floor, launched itself into the air, and exploded. The droid squeaked pitifully. Santo put a beam through the machine's speaker grill. Wee Gee considered further resistance, decided against it, and sent an electronic warning to Morgan Katarn.

High on the hill behind the farm Morgan both heard and felt his beeper go off, knew the raiders had found Wee Gee, and touched the button that would silence it. A lump formed in his throat. Yes, Wee Gee was a machine, but he'd been a friend as well.

Helpless to do anything more than document what transpired, the farmer saw fires appear among his outbuildings, and saw the ship return from the north and squat in front of his house. There was something about the raiders that bothered Morgan. It eluded him at first, but then he had it. The so-called Rebels carried identical weapons! Not to mention that every single one of them was human. They looked like Rebels, but they weren't Rebels, so what did that leave? The simple answer, the obvious answer, was Imperial troops. Sent to kill and/or capture Reb leaders. That would explain the attack.

Morgan dropped to the ground as the ship fired repulsors and rose into the air. Fires, the last ones no larger than sparks, marked the ship's passage to the west. Morgan shook his head sadly. If the Imperials thought such raids would suppress the Rebellion, the' were wrong. Many would suffer this night - and their hatred would grow. The challenge was to focus their emotion, to transmute negative energy into positive.

Morgan watched the fires in acid around leis house disappear. Activated by the household computer, and fed by the tap tree, his sprinkler system had cut in. He frowned and bit his lip. Possessions could be replaced, but what of Wee Gee? And more importantly, the map which Rahn had entrusted to him. Was it intact? Did the Imperials understand how valuable it was? Morgan ached to return, to check on his home, but knew a trap could be waiting.

Morgan turned, low-crawled off the skyline, and trudged toward the east. Opportunity dwells within disaster. That's what his friend Rahn liked to say - and he hoped it was true.

Thrawn received the unenviable task of telling Jerec that while the raid had been successful, the commandos had been unable to find and capture Morgan Katarn. Never one to delay an unpleasant task, Thrawn marched down a gleaming corridor, nodded to the stormtroopers who stood guard outside Jerec's suite, and requested entrance. It came without delay. Having no eyes and no sight, not in the ordinary sense, anyway, Jerec sat in almost total darkness. Only the soft glow provided by the bridge repeaters and light switches lit the room. The lack of illumination was intended to be intimidating, and would have been for anyone but Thrawn, who came from a species that boasted exceedingly good night vision. He waited for Jerec to speak.

"You bring bad news."

Thrawn took note of the fact that the comment came in the form of a statement rather than a question. How did Jerec know? There was no way to tell. "Yes, sir."

"You may continue."

The naval officer delivered his report the same way he delivered all reports - without excuse or elaboration. Once Thrawn was finished, thirty seconds elapsed before Jerec spoke. "Was Katarn warned?"

"There's no evidence to support that theory, sir. Lieutenant Brazack believes the subject left the farm on some sort of errand."

"Or felt a need to go elsewhere," Jerec mused out loud. "He feels the Force, and even uses it on occasion, but is afraid to reach out and seize his inheritance. `What if I make a mistake?' he wonders. 'What if I abuse the power?' 'Can I be trusted?' Such silliness is beyond all reckoning! I can feel his presence from orbit. Working, fussing, scheming. All for naught."

Thrawn allowed one eyebrow to rise. In spite of the fact that Jerec went to considerable lengths to hide certain abilities from those above him, chosen subordinates were allowed the occasional glimpse. "Sir . . . yes, sir."

"Of course this holds no interest for you," Jerec sneered. "For you're a being of the physical world, a doer of deeds, a manipulator of objects. Well, O doer of deeds, I will provide you and Lieutenant Brazack an opportunity to redeem yourselves and collect yet another of the commendations you thrive on. Listen carefully, for there is much to do."

The room was circular and packed with people. With the exception of an Alliance news team, dispatched to record the proceedings as part of the communications effort required to unite hundreds of sentient species under a single command, the colonists came from all over the district. They were hard men and women, lean of body, used to adversity. Each had been elected to represent at least ten others. They paid strict attention to what was said.

Everything about Skorg Jameson was big, starting with his body and extending to his voice, hand gestures, and movements. He had long shaggy hair that touched the tops of his shoulders, a chest that bulged under his leather jerkin, and boots planted like tree trunks at the center of the hard-packed floor. He stood with his back to a massive fireplace and glared at those around him. "I say the time is now! You saw what happened to Danga, to Katarn, and a dozen more . . . It's time to make a stand and show others what we can do!"

It was a brave speech, and Morgan admired Jameson for making it. Especially in light of the fact that a spy could be present, or a listening device so sophisticated it had escaped the pre-meeting sweep. Of course the words did have a rehearsed quality, and could be part of Jameson's campaign for Sector Leader. There was applause and Morgan allowed it to fade away before speaking his mind.

"I too tire of the pressure, the extortion, and the attacks. That's why it's tempting to look for an opportunity to strike back . . . but at what cost? Yes, some extremely interesting intelligence has come our way. Assuming that citizen Jameson's source of information is correct, and Imperials disguised as Rebels or mercenaries are planning to attack the G-Tap. "

"Which would force us to buy a fusion plant from the SoroSuub Corporation, and pay taxes to the Empire," Jameson added pointedly.

"Exactly," Morgan said agreeably. "Which is why we sold shares and drilled the shaft to begin with. But what if there's an even deeper purpose? To not only destroy the Tap, but to lure us into a pitched battle and eliminate the Rebel infrastructure on Sulon? Guerilla raids are one thing, but our forces aren't trained or equipped to fight Special Operations commandos. If we lose, we lose more than the G-Tap, we lose Sulon herself."

A good many heads nodded, and voices murmured agreement. Still, only seconds elapsed before one of Jameson's cronies stepped forward to reiterate the big man's point of view. The meeting lasted a full four hours, and by the time it was over, a consensus had been established. The time had come. The Sulon Rebels would defend the G-Tap with everything they had.

The meeting was adjourned and the colonists headed for their vehicles. A highly modified probe droid watched from the cover of some trees. The robot counted the number of people who left, made infrared recordings of their movements, and listened to their parting comments. A summary went to the Vengeance seconds after the last conspirator departed and reached Jerec only minutes after that. The Dark Jedi listened to the report and returned to his carefully scented meal. He smiled. Seeds had been sown, crops had flourished, and the harvest was at hand.

The upper end of the Geo Thermal, or G-Tap, was located in a sizable cavern chosen both for its relative proximity to the heat trapped in crustal rock formations three kilometers below, and the fact that it was impervious to air attack. A number of prefab structures had been erected around it, including buildings to house the water injection pumps, giant turbines, and adjunct control rooms. Morgan's assignment lay elsewhere, but he paused to catch his breath, and admire what the colonists had accomplished.

The principle was relatively simple and had been put to use on various worlds prior to the rise of the New Order. Crustal rock formations are warmed by volcanic action, an upwelling of magma, and the natural decay of potassium, thorium, and uranium. By drilling extremely deep wells, the colonists could force water down through carefully engineered cracks, where it could be heated and pumped to the surface. There it would bring isobutane to a boil which would be forced through power-generating turbines. And all this was done without radioactive waste, potentially dangerous technology, or governmental taxes.

That was the idea anyway, and, judging from the nearly completed complex, would soon be a reality. Assuming they could defend it. A voice caused Morgan to turn. "Citizen Katarn? I hoped I'd run into you."

The information officer's name was Candice Ondi. She had brown hair, large intelligent eyes, and an ever-ready smile. In spite of the fact that she was dressed in the ubiquitous gray coveralls that many Rebs wore instead of a uniform, Morgan knew she had a nice figure. He'd have been interested under normal circumstances, but the possibility that many of those around him might be dead soon acted to neutralize any such thoughts.

Ondi traveled with a specially equipped chrome-plated protocol droid called "A-Cee." The robot spoke dozens of languages, had a zoom lens where its right eye sensor should have been, and the ability to record and digitally store more than a thousand hours of audio and video. A-Cee walked with the slightly jerky motion typical of his kind and was engaged in a never-ending search for pickup shots.

Morgan found the possibility that the droid might be recording at any given time more than a little annoying and forced a smile. "Captain Ondi . . how nice to see you again."

The officer laughed. "I see you're thrilled. Listen, I wanted to thank you for the footage. I'm sorry about what the commandos did to your farm, but a picture's worth a thousand words. Hundreds of thousands of sentients will see it and know what happened here."

A column of Rebels jogged by, weapons held across their chests, headed for the canyon below. That was the most direct approach to the cavern and the one they expected the Imperials to take. The river which was to have fed the G-Tap would provide the stormtroopers with a straight-ahead approach. Morgan turned to Ondi. She dropped a holocam and allowed it to dangle from her wrist. Her eyes were greenish-brown and seemed to see his innermost thoughts. "So, Morgan Katarn, you don't think much of our chances, do you?"

Conscious of his role as a leader, and the importance of good morale, Morgan lied. "On the contrary, Captain Ondi, I think we'll win."

The information officer clearly didn't believe him. She nodded soberly, smiled crookedly, and removed a piece of lint from his shoulder. There was something personal about the gesture, which reminded Morgan of Kyle's mother. He smiled. "Take care of yourself, Captain. No matter what happens today, make sure they see it."

Ondi nodded, a noncom called Morgan's name, and he turned away. They never saw each other again.

In spite of the fact that Major Noda had nominal command of ground forces, he was well aware of the fact that Jerec monitored everything he said and did via comlink transmissions, probe droids, and his own seemingly supernatural powers. The knowledge added to the already considerable amount of stress Noda was under.

Though naturally cautious, Noda was no coward, and had bumped the ATAT's commanding officer to see the terrain for himself. The walker was over fifteen meters tall and lurched from side to side as it waded upstream. Heavily eroded banks, their tops decorated with hardy-looking bushes, rose to either side.

A great deal of time and energy had been spent painting Rebel insignia on the ATs. Noda considered such efforts a waste of time. After all, the very notion that the Rebels could capture such powerful weapons and turn them against their owners was absurd. Still, orders were orders, and the charade would continue.

The pilot, who had spent most of the last three days in an AT-AT simulator preparing for this precise moment, handled the current with ease. Water swirled white around the machine's massive legs and raced downstream. A bend obscured the river ahead and Noda watched as the second of two AT-STs disappeared behind it. There was an explosion, smoke boiled up from the point the walkers should be, and the battle began.

Although Morgan didn't actually sec the missile hit the AT-ST, he heard the comlink chatter that described it, and saw the smoke boil up from the canyon. In spite of his position as a resistance leader and respected member of the community, Morgan had relatively little military expertise. That's why he'd been relegated to what the Rebels commonly referred to as the "back door," the flat area above the cavern, which was accessed via an easily defended passageway that wound down through a series of caves and vaults and into the main chamber.

Which explained why the twenty-six soldiers under Morgan's command were teenagers or senior citizens. They cheered as the walker exploded and were still celebrating when a woman named Crowley touched his arm. She'd been a Master Sergeant in the Republic's Army and was the only member of his platoon with real combat experience. "Look, Morgan! Coming out of the sun!"

Morgan pulled his visor into place and turned towards the sun. The vessel was too far away for a positive ID - but the Rebel knew what it was . . . The same Corellian-built freighter that had attacked his farm. Loaded with commandos and headed his way. He switched to the platoon frequency and warned his troops. "There's an imperial assault ship headed in. Don't be fooled by the Rebel markings. Everyone but the missile team into the passageway. Trot . . . Jen . . . kill that ship before it lands."