out the datapack and leaving her decoy behind in its place.
"I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over in her best embarrassed voice,
still pounding the tablecloth across his shoulders even though the fire was
already out as she slipped her prize into her hip pack behind her datapad. "So
terribly sorry. My ankle went and-are you all right?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," the kid growled, twisting half around to his right
and grabbing at the tablecloth. "It's out now, right?"
"Oh yes," she said, giving his back one final slap before letting him
pull the now wadded tablecloth away from her. "I'm so sorry. Can I buy you a
drink?"
"No, forget it," he said, waving her away and trying to turn a little
farther around. Trying for a clearer look at her? "Just go away and leave me
alone."
"Sure, of course," Moranda said, easing around as she pretended to
resettle his jacket back onto his shoulders, staying just out of his sight.
Out of the corner of his eye she saw his hand steal beneath his jacket to the
pocket. The fingers probed the shape other decoy and fell away, apparently
reassured. "I'm so sorry."
"Go away," he repeated, starting to sound a little angry now. Clearly he
wasn't happy at having all this attention focused his way.
"Yeah, sure." Moranda stepped away to his left, and as he twisted his
head in that direction, still trying for a clear look at her face, she turned
her back to him and worked her way through the crowd toward her table.
She reached it but didn't sit down. The kid's buyer could be here any
time now, and she had no intention of being anywhere in the vicinity when he
hauled her decoy triumphantly out of his pocket. Leaving the price of her
drink on the table, she slouched her way to the door and out into the tangy
Darkknell air. Time to find a nice, quiet place to go to ground for a while
and see just what it was she'd scored.
Bel Iblis stared across the tapcafe table at the young blond man, a sense
of unreality thudding through his brain in time with the pulse pounding in his
neck. "What do you mean, you lost it?" he demanded in a low voice. "How do you
lose an entire datapack? Especially from within your own coat pocket?"
"Don't use that tone with me, friend," the other growled back, his eyes
darting nervously around the half-empty room. "And if you're hinting that I'm
trying to repulsorlift my price, you'd better think again. I took a huge risk
getting that stuff and bringing it here. A huge risk. I'm not any happier than
you are that it got lifted."
Bel Iblis took a careful breath, trying to throttle back his growing
anger. He might not be a Rebel field operative like Aach, but he knew how to
read people, and the youth's face and voice had the ring of truth in them.
Which meant they were both now squarely in the middle of an incredibly
dangerous position. The minute the thief realized what it was she'd found...
"Is there any way they can trace it back to you?" He asked quietly.
The young man snorted into his cup. "Sure, if they really want to go to
that much effort. Knowing Tarkin's reputation, they probably will."
"Then we'll just have to get it back."
The kid snorted again. "You can go looking under rocks for it if you
want. Me, I'm heading for the tall weeds while I still can."
"You run now and they'll know for sure you were the one who lifted the
data," Bel Iblis warned.
"Like that's going to matter any," the other countered harshly, draining
his cup and bringing it back down onto the table with an unnecessarily loud
thud. "She's not going to sit on this long, you know. And the minute she turns
it in, the spaceport's going to be locked down solid while Tarkin's people fan
out across the planet. You want to wait for that to happen, you be my guest."
He stood up. "So long, have fun, and forget you ever saw me."
He strode across the room and vanished out the door. "I'll try," Bel
Iblis murmured after him. Taking a sip from his mug, he tried to think.
Because his erstwhile drinking companion was wrong. The thief wouldn't
hand her prize over to the authorities just like that. Someone cool enough to
lift a data pack in the middle of a crowded tapcafe would also be cool enough
to try to turn a profit from her acquisition. And that meant selling the
datapack.
Which left only the question of how to persuade her to sell to the Rebel
Alliance instead of the Empire.
Fishing in his pocket for some coins, he dropped them onto the table
beside his mug and headed for the door. One thing that was certain was that he
wasn't going to be able to track her down in a city the size of Xakrea by
himself. That meant someone with connections in the planet's fringe
population; and that meant getting in touch with Aach's local contact.
He hoped the man owed Aach a lot of favors.
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 x, 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. Off balance 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 theirthe 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 wascompetence 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 other 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 data pack, 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. "Goodbye, 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."
***
Interlude at Darkknell
PART 2
by Michael A. Stackpole
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 theirthe 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 Ny roska, 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 lightsaberjustice 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."
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.
&
nbsp; "It would be easy for me to lie to you. Colonel Ny roska, 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