Tales from the New Republic (3 page)

The room was small and dark and sparse, a sharp contrast to the bright lights and scrollwork and expensive glitter that was the norm throughout the rest of the Imperial Palace. It was a shock to most of the uninitiated who came into it, and even those who knew what to expect invariably wasted their first few minutes adjusting their eyes and minds to the contrast.

Which was precisely how Armand Isard liked it. Offbalance people were vulnerable people, and vulnerability was one of his favorite qualities in enemies and allies alike. For allies, after all, were merely people who had not yet outlived their usefulness to the Empire, the Emperor, and Isard himself.

Ultimately, invariably, all of them did.

His comlink pinged. “Director Isard?” his aide’s voice came from the speaker. “Field Operative Isard has arrived.”

“Send her in,” Armand instructed, allowing himself a smug smile. Not many men, he knew, had daughters who had thrown themselves so willingly and so self-sacrificingly into their father’s line of work as had his Ysanne. Already an outstanding Intelligence agent, she had time and again demonstrated a vigor and ruthlessness in her pursuit of the Empire’s enemies that had put even some Moffs to shame.

An attitude, fortunately, which was solidly backed up by competence and cleverness and efficiency. Nothing, in Armand’s mind, was more contemptible than a shining-eyed Intelligence agent whom smugglers and Rebels alike could fly casual rings around.

The smug smile faded. Clever and efficient, to be sure. But she was going to need every bit of her skill if she was to pull this one out of the fire.

The door slid open. “You summoned me?” Ysanne said gravely from the doorway.

“Sit down,” Armand said in the same tone, feeling another flicker of pride as he gestured her toward a chair. No mention of her being his daughter, with the underlying suggestion or invitation of preferential treatment such an acknowledgment might have implied. In this room, in this building, she was an agent and he was her director, and that was the totality of their relationship. “I have an important job for you.”

“How important?” she asked as she lowered herself with sinuous grace into the chair.

“It could be a career-maker for you,” he said. “It also could be a career-breaker for a large number of others.”

Her eyes flickered, just noticeably. She had the Isard family ambition, too, the same ambition that had taken Armand himself to the top. “Tell me more.”

Armand selected a datacard from a stack on his desk. “An eight-card datapack has been taken to Darkknell,” he said, sliding the datacard across the desk toward her. “This datapack must at all costs be retrieved.”

“Point of origin?”

“The Despayre system,” Armand said, watching her face closely.

Once again, the brief flicker of her eyes showed that his long-held suspicion was correct. Despite the most stringent of security procedures, Ysanne had somehow managed to learn about the Death Star project, even to the point of knowing where the massive weapon was being constructed. “So you understand the seriousness of the situation,” he went on. “Under the circumstances, I can hardly declare an Empirewide state of emergency and seal the Darkknell system with a ring of Star Destroyers.”

“Certainly not for a project that doesn’t officially even exist,” Ysanne agreed, almost off-handedly. “I presume that also means you’re not sending a full Intelligence force with me.” Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Or is there more to it than that? Is this theft somehow personal?”

Armand grimaced. “Personal enough,” he conceded. “The suspected thief was given his security clearance by a close associate of mine, a man high up in our department, who will be in serious trouble if we can’t retrieve the datapack before the Rebel Alliance gets hold of it.
Or
before someone else in Intelligence does.”

Ysanne picked up the datacard. “Is the traitor’s file in here?”

“The suspected traitor, yes,” Armand said. “Along with several possibilities of who the Rebels might send to pick it up.”

Ysanne nodded. “So you want me to retrieve the datapack, confirm the traitor’s identity, and capture the Rebel agent. Is that it?”

Armand suppressed a smile. The famous Isard family confidence… “Or as much of that as you can manage in the time you’ll have,” he said. “I’ve ordered an interdiction of Darkknell’s spaceports, but I doubt the local authorities will be able to keep them sealed for very long. Just remember that retrieving the datapack is the most important part of the job.”

“Then I’d best get started,” she said, sliding the datacard into a tunic pocket. “I presume it’s all right for me to take one of my enforcers along.”

“If you have to,” Armand said. “Make sure it’s someone you trust, and don’t tell him what it is you’re actually after.”

“Of course not,” she said, standing up. “You’ll order me a courier ship?”

“It’s already standing by,” Armand told her. “Good-bye, and good luck.”

She favored him with a faint smile. “The Isards make their own luck,” she reminded him softly. “I’ll be in touch.”

Hal Horn sighed heavily as the Darkknell Defense Agency officer glanced at his identification card, travel permits, and the warrants he had brought with him. It seemed to Hal that every member of the Xakrean bureaucracy had studied those same datafiles with an intensity that suggested they were digitizing the data and loading it straight into their brains. He had come to Darkknell and specifically the city of Xakrea because the local officials’ legendary attention to detail and hatred for disorder made them natural allies in his search for Moranda Savich.

Now I’m not so sure
, he thought. He glanced down at the smaller, slighter man. “I think you’ll see, Colonel Nyroska, that all my files are in order. All I really want is for you to issue an alert that will have your people looking for my target if she tries to leave the planet.”

Nyroska’s dark eyes narrowed. “You realize, of course, Inspector Horn, that you have absolutely no jurisdiction here.”

“I do know that, but…”

“And while we are willing to cooperate with fellow officers of the law, long gone are the days of Jedi vigilantes traveling hither and thither, chasing miscreants and rendering harsh verdicts right then and there. The days of lightsaber justice are no more.”

“I understand, Colonel.” Hal turned partway to the side, so his height and bulk wouldn’t seem to be threatening to the Xakrean. “As per your regulations, I surrendered my blaster when I made planetfall and I have no weapons on me.”

“Commendable, Inspector. And I think it good you remain in civilian clothes, so your presence cannot be misconstrued.” Nyroska hit a button on his datapad, ejecting the datacard that contained Hal’s documents. He toyed with it for a moment, then held it out to the Corellian. “Your quarry, this Savich, she is not a violent criminal? Nothing in her records indicates that she is.”

“No, sir. She’s just good at liberating valuables from the unwary.”

“A lifter, then?”

“One of the best.”

Nyroska stood abruptly, his oversized chair sliding back. The chair and the huge desk had helped dwarf Nyroska, but had not needed to work very hard to do so.
He’s even smaller than Corran!
Hal catalogued that fact to use the next time his son complained about being short. The Colonel waved his hand toward the door of the office.

Hal blinked. “That’s it?”

“We really have nothing else to discuss.”

“But what about putting the spaceport inspectors on alert?”

Nyroska gave him an oily smile as he came around from behind the desk and rested a hand on the small of Hal’s back. “My dear Inspector Horn, our spaceport inspectors are already on alert. We received a request from Imperial authorities to be on the lookout for Rebel operatives coming here. You witnessed our thoroughness—you fit the profile we were given. As you can imagine, this Imperial matter is consuming much of our time. I will append this Savich woman’s name to the detain list, but unless you can link her to the Rebels, she will be a secondary concern.”

Hal closed his eyes for a moment and slowly exhaled. The galaxy had turned upside down in recent years, so much so he hardly recognized it. Imperial authorities had become obsessed with the Rebellion and, while folks with Rebel sympathies could be found all over the place, on Corellia very few Rebel agents had been discovered. He’d heard rumors that Garm Bel Iblis had been connected to the Rebellion, but he considered most of the rumors the normal fallout of politics.
And with Bel Iblis dead, there’s no way he can defend himself against such lies
.

Still, those lies had helped brand Hal and every other Corellian as a potential Rebel agent. While the authorities he had come to for help in finding Moranda Savich were checking him out, she could have been dancing onto any number of ships headed for points unknown. Time once was when nabbing someone with her reputation would have made a man like Nyroska jump for joy, but as the Emperor focused more energy on the Rebellion, priorities shifted.

“It would be easy for me to lie to you, Colonel Nyroska, and tell you she is the Rebel agent you’re looking for.” Hal shook his head slowly. “She isn’t—at least, I don’t know of any Rebel connections she has.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Inspector.”

Hal paused in the doorway and arched an eyebrow above a hazel eye at him. “You didn’t expect honesty from a Corellian?”

“All I expect of you is respect for our regulations, Inspector.” Nyroska shrugged uneasily. “These days I never expect honesty, from anyone.”

The Corellian thought for a moment, then nodded. “Have to hope for a return to the old days, then, when those we hunted actually committed crimes. Thanks for your help. I’ll let you know when I find her.”

Ysanne Isard glared up at Trabler as her aide finally cleared the Immigration checkpoint. “What detained you?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Profile check, I assume.”

She almost snapped that he should not assume anything, but she checked herself. She’d chosen Trabler to accompany her because of his unswerving loyalty to the Empire and because she recalled his wrenching the head off a captive Ithorian with his bare hands.
He is here for his muscle, nothing more. He will do what I tell him to do when I tell him to do it. The blond hair and Corellian background of his cover identity likely did trip the Xakrean profiling system. Their tendency toward being overly thorough will only slow us down, which is why I want no official contact with them
.

“No matter. They’re bringing our landspeeder around. You are confident you can navigate?”

Trabler nodded once. “I studied the local maps and always have my datapad to back things up.”

“Good.” She led the way to the spaceport exit and found a man standing next to a rental landspeeder. He bore a sign that read “Glasc,” her assumed surname. She and Trabler made their way over to him, identified themselves, and took possession of the vehicle. As Trabler slipped into the driver’s seat, she took her place in the back.

Isard powered up her datapad. “I have the files on Xakrea’s fringe population and am getting comlinked updates as the locals flag files. Since the Rebel will undoubtedly be taking refuge among the scum here, we will hunt there as well. Our quarry will want to alter his identity, and there are only a few places that offer such services here. We will begin by checking them.”

“As you wish, Special Agent Isard.”

“There is one address on East Ryloth Street and another on Palpatine Parkway. Which is closer?”

“Ryloth Street should be.” Trabler glanced at her in the mirror. “That would be your preference, then?”

“Indeed.” She smiled coldly at the reflection of his eyes. “Anyone who would sell him a new identity will sell him to us. Let’s go, we have a lot of shopping to do today.”

Hal thanked the hovercab driver and tipped him half-again the fare he’d been charged. “Really, this is it; 24335 East Ryloth Street, right where I want to be.”

The Devaronian looked around at the seedy neighborhood and back at Hal again. “West Ryloth is more your kind of place, my friend.”

Hal shook his head and jerked a thumb at the curio shop. “Arky is an old friend.” He gave the cabbie a conspiratorial wink. “You never saw me, hey?”

“Got it, pal. Never saw you.”

The Corellian exited the cab and slammed the door shut. He watched the cab pull away, then stepped over a midden of litter and made his way straight for the shop’s transparisteel door. The lettering painted on the door proclaimed the shop to be Arky’s Emporium of Forgotten Treasures; Hal figured most of them were forgotten because they had to be excavated from beneath layers of dust. All the items on display in the viewports were sun-faded and cracked, hardly inviting the casual passerby to venture inside.

Not that they get many casual passersby down here
, Hal thought. He opened the door and quickly scanned the place. The only other customer glanced quickly in his direction when the door buzzed as Hal opened it, then turned and seemed very interested in not letting Hal get a look at his face. That behavior would have struck Hal as odd, but the customer was likely taking his cue from the way Arky had paled when he recognized Hal.

“Seb Arkos, what a surprise.” The Corellian Security Force officer kept his voice light. “Last I recall, you’d won an all-expenses-paid trip to Kessel.”

Seb Arkos snorted. He stood as tall as Hal, but had a skeletally thin build that matched the rheumy grumble that underscored his words. “Yeah, well, glitmining isn’t my kind of thing. Out of your range, aren’t you, CorSec?”

“I’m hurt, Arky. Here I come all this way to see you, and all I get is hostility.” Hal strolled through the store, seeing only a collection of junk. He almost remarked about that fact, but he remembered that his wife had a knack for walking into such a place and rescuing treasures from it. “Dealing in antiques
is
your sort of thing now, or are those delicate hands still forging the best transport and identification documents in the galaxy?”

Arky’s smile betrayed him for a second, then he scowled. “I keep my nose clean.”

Hal raised opened hands. “Hey, the local snoopers are no friends of mine.”

“But you are looking for a friend?”

“Someone I feel about the same way I feel about you, Arky.” Hal slipped a static holograph of Moranda Savich from his pocket and flashed it for the forger. “Moranda Savich. Seen her?”

“Moranda Savich?” The slender man tapped a bony finger against his chin. “Moranda Savich?”

Hal jerked a thumb at the store’s other customer. “You want me to start asking your clientele?”

Arky’s eyes widened, the pale blue communicating a jolt of fear. “No, no need to do that. I seen her around, you know, places.”

“She retaining your services?”

The forger shook his head. “Nope, she hasn’t asked me to dummy anything up for her.”

Hal caught a hint of deceit from the shopkeeper. “Let’s not try to slice the truth too thin here. She’s talked to you about smuggling her off this rock, right? And you figured you’d nail her for clean datadocs in the process?”

The cadaverous man’s eyes narrowed, and a lank of white hair drifted down over his forehead. “Okay, straight bytes, no bits flipped. We talked. She wants to be gone, and you’re the reason. She’s getting very insistent.”

“And you’re going to let me know when you’re meeting with her next?”

Arky’s head came up. “Look, Horn, you know I don’t play that way. You set me up to join Booster and the others on Kessel, but I didn’t Vader them out, did I? I was loyal to my mates.”

Hal shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. “Fine. I can wait here forever. We’ll be business partners, you and I. I’ll be your silent partner, checking everyone out, at least until you decide not to be silent.”

Arky glowered at him, then swiped a hand under his nose. “Okay, maybe she was going to be around. Soon, maybe.”

The CorSec inspector nodded. “Good enough. I can wait.”

“Outside, hey?”

Hal glanced from Arky to the other man in the store, then saw a woman approaching the door. “Sure. Looks like it will be crowded in here soon anyway. I’ll wait outside. She won’t see me and will never know it was you.”