Tales from the New Republic (4 page)

Across the street, hidden in the shadows of an alley, Moranda Savich smacked an open hand against the wall. Seb Arkos had been the only shadow broker who had been willing to talk with her. The Imperial interdiction had scared everyone else.
Of course, you don’t have to be a genius to know a Corellian expatriate wouldn’t be smart enough to be afraid of the Imps
. The local authorities were ruled and regged up so badly they had to fìll out Kbytes of dataforms before they could even draw a blaster.
Not so the Imps—rumor has it they get bonus pay for saving the state the cost of a trial
.

She wanted to get off Xakrea as fast as possible, and meeting Seb Arkos the previous evening had seemed a fine stroke of luck—
luck which has soured
. As she headed toward his store to make her arrangements, who should pop out of a hovercab but Hal Horn, as big as life and too damned close for her comfort.

Closest he’s gotten so far. A minute later and he would have caught me in that shop
. She allowed herself a half smile.
Well, not
all
my luck is bad
.

It hadn’t taken Moranda long to put together a few puzzle pieces as events unfolded on Xakrea. She’d used her datapad to take a look at the cards she’d lifted, but they were encrypted. While she was no ace slicer, she knew a few tricks and was able to determine that the files had been coded with some heavy-duty Imperial encryption routines. Given the eight cards in the set, she figured they had to be some fairly extensive military files—military files being the only thing that matched up with the courier’s demeanor. The only folks who would want Imp military files would be the Empire’s enemies, which meant the Rebellion. The Imperial interdict on the spaceport had a search for Rebels linked to it, confirming her suspicions.

This gave her a brand-new problem, and one that made Hal Horn a decided side issue. Moranda had heard rumors about the Rebellion, passed some on, and marveled at others, but by and large she kept away from being involved. In her line of work the face on the coin really didn’t matter much, just the fact that the coin was there and could be lifted. Any government would take a dim view of how she made her living, be it Imperial, local, or whatever these Rebels would put into place.
Those folks worry about laws, where I worry about evading them
.

Having a datapack chock full of Imperial military secrets could easily be construed by local and Imperial forces as a sign that she was a Rebel. She had no idea if the rumors of what the Imps did with captured Rebels were true or not, but she’d prefer an extended stay on Kessel to what she’d heard about. Keeping the datapack was not a good idea, and she knew it. And, she kept telling herself, she was going to ditch it at the earliest opportunity.

And yet there its weight was, in her jacket pocket, slapping against her hip as she crouched down. Someone, she knew, would pay good money for the cards, and that money would take her places Hal Horn couldn’t even begin to dream about finding her. She didn’t see hanging on to the datacards as a gamble as much as she did a balance. Right now the risk wasn’t too great, but when things got unbalanced, she could ditch the datacards.

Right, that’s what I’m going to do
.

Her self-mocking smile died as a woman got out of a landspeeder farther up the block. The front registration plate had a rental code on it and looked far too new to be in this part of Xakrea unless it was driven by a booster looking to piece it out for parts. The woman spoke to the driver, then set off down the street, heading for Arky’s store.

Though the woman wore civilian clothes, Moranda knew she was Imperial, straight from Imperial Center, and that meant she was most probably Imperial Intelligence. The cut of her clothes marked her point of origin, and the haughty way her chin lifted as she navigated past a derelict glitbiter lying up against a building marked her as Imperial.
And she’s going straight for Arky, which means Intel, and that means I’m in very deep
.

Ysanne Isard wrinkled her nose at the store’s thick scent. She ran a finger across a feline statue carved from Ithorian
toal
wood, then gently brushed her hands against each other to rid her finger of dust. As she did so, she took quick stock of the store and the three men in it. Seb Arkos she recognized from a file on her datapad. The other two men seemed unremarkable until the larger one speaking with Arkos glanced at her.

Horn, from Corellia. CorSec, if the file flashed to me was accurate
. It struck her as odd that a man newly arrived on Xakrea would come so quickly to a known Rebel contact point.
Unless, like Bel Iblis, he’s a Rebel
,
too
. She frowned. Nothing in Horn’s file indicated any Rebel sympathies, and Isard dimly recalled his father being a highly placed member of CorSec, one who had been lauded for his diligence in hunting Jedi.

She turned to examine a filthy Weequay chin-harp, knowing full well it could never function without the matching chord hammer, and raised her comlink to her mouth. In a whisper she commanded Trabler to bring the landspeeder up to the store’s door. Through the window she caught a hint of movement as he complied with her order, so she pocketed the comlink and walked smartly over to Hal Horn.

“Inspector Horn? I am Katya Glasc of Darkknell Special Security.”

A grin blossomed on Arkos’s face. “In trouble, Inspector?”

Horn shook his head. “I shouldn’t be. Am I, Agent Glasc?”

Though slightly shorter than Trabler, Horn had a powerful build and a metric ton more intelligence in his hazel eyes than Trabler could ever hope for. He wore his brown hair cut conservatively short, and that revealed the gray hairs growing in at his temples. She guessed he was a half-dozen years older than she was, and someone who saw himself as a good man.
Which means he can be useful or very dangerous
.

“That depends. Your identification, please.”

Horn carefully drew a datacard from within his jacket, which Isard slipped into her datapad. She glanced at his information and took in the warrants, then nodded and returned the card to him. “I wanted to make certain. Please, forgive the caution. Your investigation, we may have a break in it…”

Her head came up, then she frowned. “Perhaps this is not the place to discuss this sort of thing. If you don’t mind, I have a speeder waiting outside…”

Horn watched her carefully. “You’ve found Savich?”

“We’ve found evidence of her presence. I would feel more at ease explaining outside.” She hooked a hand through his left elbow, letting it rest lightly enough there to be construed as an invitation, not an order.

The Corellian nodded slowly. “Your world, your rules.” He turned back and pointed a finger at the shopkeeper. “Don’t let me down, Arky.”

“Right, Horn.” The thin man scoffed loudly. “I’ll have her wait right here for you. You bet.”

Garm Bel Ibis suppressed a shudder as Isard led Hal Horn out of the shop. Bel Iblis had been so careful in reaching Arkos’s store that when Horn walked in, he felt certain he’d been trapped. Arkos had recognized the inspector right off and had muttered, “Emperor’s black bones, CorSec, here,” under his breath. Bel Iblis had braced himself not to jump when Horn grabbed him, but the man had just passed him by without so much as a glance.

As Horn started in on Arkos, Bel Iblis had begun to relax. He still had no evidence that anyone was looking for him, or that anyone thought he still lived. The anonymity of death gave him a chance to operate without surveillance, but how long it would last he had no idea. He hoped Arkos would provide him with a good set of documents to allow him to continue his search for the thief on Darkknell and, possibly, even act as a broker for any exchange.

It struck Bel Iblis as possible that Horn could be a Rebel operative sent to Darkknell by Bail Organa and Mon Mothma to recover the datapack, since neither of them knew he was alive and out to get it himself. He had no idea if Horn was a Rebel; Bel Iblis admired the efficient cell system that had been set up to deny all but those who needed to know that sort of information. He hesitated, almost prepared to make his identity known to Horn, but the direction of the CorSec agent’s questioning of Arkos made him hold back.

The Senator found himself secretly smiling as Horn worked on Arkos. One of the most galling things about being a senator from Corellia was dealing with the reputation his system had for its smugglers. Bel Iblis and the majority of the other Corellians were good people, but they were judged by association with others. While Bel Iblis didn’t know Hal Horn, he knew plenty of folks like him, who worked hard to make Corellia a better place. His admiration for Horn’s dedication to duty spawned his smile.

The arrival of Ysanne Isard killed that smile again. Bel Iblis had only ever met her once, at an Imperial reception. She had been on her father’s arm. Bel Iblis detested Armand Isard. A little man with iron eyes and a wiry speed that made Bel Iblis feel clumsy, Armand Isard had ruthlessly ferreted out and destroyed Rebel cells, both real and imagined. His daughter, with her mismatched eyes of fire and ice, had inherited her father’s singleness of purpose and, worse yet, had developed a personal devotion to the Emperor. For her to be on Darkknell meant the original theft had been discovered and that Armand Isard was sparing no effort in getting the datapack back in Imperial hands.

A cold chill sank into the Senator’s bones as he realized Armand Isard had undoubtedly given the order that slew his family and almost got him. His hands closed into fists, but he didn’t lash out; he didn’t smash Ysanne Isard in the face with all his might, though he sorely wanted to.
No, even killing her would not hurt her father, and even hurting him is not the focus here. The datapack she’s hunting for, that will help bring down the Empire. If we do that, never again will there be a place for an Armand Isard or Emperor to hurt people
.

Gaining control of his anger, Bel Iblis turned to watch the door close behind Isard and Horn. “Well, Arkos, the time we have to complete our business is slipping away. I think we should conclude it before the Emperor himself comes wandering in, don’t you?”

Moranda Savich saw the landspeeder cruise down and come to a stop in front of the store and felt as if a hand were tightening around her heart. She’d spent a lot of time doing her best to avoid Imperial scrutiny, but that didn’t mean she allowed herself to be ignorant of her enemies. Imperial Intelligence ops, as a rule, cast a wide web when going after a target. The fact that she could see the spider in the center of that web meant that other forces were closing in.

And that means I get caught holding a prize morsel
. Again the urge to throw the datapack away nearly overwhelmed her. She reached into her pocket to get it, then noticed the landspeeder’s driver’s-side window sliding down into the door. The bruiser of a driver glanced around, then looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His vanity, which struck her as very human, brought her out of her panic and sparked a plan.

She pulled the datapack out of her pocket, broke it open, and pulled out the eight datacards. She stacked them one on top of another and laid them against the bottom of her datapad. Straightening up, she tugged her jacket into place, then boldly strode over toward the landspeeder. She consulted the map on her datapad a couple of times, looked around, and let a puzzled expression contort her brow.

She’d closed to within three meters before the driver noticed her, and by then she was flashing her datapad at him. “Excuse me, please. I believe I’m lost. Can you help me, please?”

The man’s expression eased. “Yeah, I guess maybe I could.”

Moranda leaned over and smiled broadly at him. She took the datapad from her left hand into her right and thrust it into the vehicle, stabbing toward the datapad he had mounted in the dashboard holder. “Our maps look different.”

The driver studied her map, then his own, taking her datapad into his hands to do so. Moranda crossed her arms and let the datacards in her left hand slip, one by one, down into the window well of the landspeeder’s door. She coughed lightly to cover the minute clicks as they descended, and was pretty certain that the driver would take any sounds he heard to be key clicks from the datapad.

The driver handed her back her datapad. “See, this is
East
Ryloth Street. Your map was showing
West
Ryloth Street. You were five kilometers off, that’s why you couldn’t tell where you were.”

“Oh, thank you very much.” Moranda studied the datapad, then shook her head and smiled. “I can’t tell you what a big help you’ve been.” She backed away from the vehicle and headed off the way she had come, valiantly resisting the urge to burst out laughing.
The prize he came here for is now ten centimeters from him and he has no clue
.

Unable to help herself, Moranda spun around in midstreet, thinking to thank the man again. As she came around, she looked up and locked eyes with Hal Horn.

Seeing Moranda Savich there, in the middle of the street, capering around in a circle like a child, sent a jolt through Hal Horn. He started to move after her, but the Darkknell Security woman’s hand became a claw on his arm. Moranda had already turned and begun to run when Hal looked at his escort. “She’s getting away.”

“Trabler,” the woman snapped, “get her.”

The driver’s door on the landspeeder in front of the store opened and a huge man piled out. Hal knew he was huge not only because he towered over the roof of the landspeeder, but his massive paw dwarfed the blaster he drew from beneath his jacket. Hal recognized it as a Luxan Penetrator, favored by many because of its concealability and the serious power it packed. Most models didn’t even have a stun setting and that, combined with a cool sense of lethality rippling off the man, prompted Hal to act.

He took a second to focus, then used a trick his father had taught him long ago, before the Clone Wars and before the Jedi hunters had come. He pushed his consciousness into Trabler’s mind. He saw through Trabler’s eyes, watching the Penetrator come up and center itself on Moranda Savich’s back. He watched Trabler track her for a second and knew she’d never reach the safety of the alley in time.

Drawing on the Force within himself, he projected a blurred image of Moranda into Trabler’s mind.

Trabler’s finger tightened on the trigger. A red-gold beam stabbed out and caught Moranda in the shoulder just as she reached the alley. Hal heard her scream and watched her tumble down into a pile of debris. He started to go after her, but Isard held on to him again.

Hal batted her arm away. “What are you doing? She’s down, either dead or seriously wounded. I need to check.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and though their color did not match, the venom in them did. “We will have the locals find her and bring her to the morgue. We have more important business to attend to.”

Hal frowned, wishing he could get a solid read off the woman. His use of the Force had left him a bit drained—it had been far too long since he had done anything that active, and he was grossly out of practice. As a result, he couldn’t even get the menace that had to be roaring off Trabler as the man turned and aimed his blaster at Hal. “What’s going on here?”

Glasc’s face tightened. “I couldn’t tell you in there, but we have a Rebel operative on the loose and I need your help in tracking him.”

“Look, you got me out here saying you were helping me with my case, and now your man has killed my suspect. I’m not here to hunt Rebels.”

Her chin came up. “But you are loyal to the Empire, are you not?”

“I serve CorSec to maintain order, so, yes, I’m loyal to the Empire.”

She let her expression soften and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “There are members of Darkknell Special Security who are not, which is why my search is running into trouble. I have to rely on someone from outside my own service—you—to make some headway. I know this is unorthodox, but surely you’ve resorted to unusual methods to push cases forward before.”

“Some, but I don’t see that this is any concern of mine, really.” Hal shook his head. “My purpose for being here is lying in a heap over there.”

“So it might seem, but the Rebel we’re after was involved in the assassination of Senator Garm Bel Iblis and his family.” The woman’s voice became very solemn. “The speech he was to give that night was one in which he was going to denounce the Rebellion. They murdered him so that wouldn’t happen. I thought that you, a Corellian, might want to help us find his killer.”

Hal shivered and felt his flesh puckering. As much as he couldn’t believe the casual way Trabler had shot Moranda—nothing in her file warranted death as a punishment—the idea of a bomber who killed hundreds of people just to get one man filled him with revulsion.
If Bel Iblis’s assassin is here, he must be found and brought to justice. Bel Iblis was from Corellia. I owe it to him to help find his killer
.

The CorSec inspector nodded. “Okay, I’m in.” He leveled a finger at Trabler. “Just no shooting first, okay? If your suspect murdered Bel Iblis, we want him to talk and lead us back to the others involved in the Rebellion, right?”

Glasc nodded, then opened the landspeeder’s rear door. “After you, Inspector Horn. With your help, our quarry won’t get away.”