"Star Wars - Dark Forces 02 - Rebel Agent(1998)(Dietz, William C & Tucker, Ezra)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dietz William)

STAR WARS: DARK FORCES
Rebel Agent

BY

William C. Deets
Ezra Tucker



CHAPTER ONE

Morgan Katarn was afraid. Afraid that he had missed something important, afraid that the planet which hung just beyond the transparisteel view port would prove unsuitable, and afraid that in spite of his considerable efforts, the Imperials would find the three hundred and forty-seven men, women, and children under his care and transport them to slave labor camps from which few, if any, would return.
All because they had exercised that most basic of human liberties - the right of free speech. First in meetings held within the privacy of their own homes, then in loosely organized gatherings, and finally in Baron's Hed, Sulons principal city. Because the demonstration was over before Imperial forces had time to react, the colonists escaped without arrest, much to the local Commandant's embarrassment.
However, thanks to the holos that had been taken and a traitor in their midst, it was only a matter of time before the "agitators" would be identified and punished.
Even though Morgan Katarn admired the philosophy of nonviolent resistance, which the demonstrators espoused, and believed the strategy would work in the long run, he feared the "long run" might last a thousand years - a period of time during which millions might suffer and die. That being the case, he had elected to stay home. Some of the demonstrators had labeled him a coward and pointed out that nonviolent resistance often required more courage than combat, but Morgan stuck to his convictions. Armed resistance had weakened the Empire's grip and armed resistance would bring it down.
The Imperials could have responded to the demonstration in anynumber of ways - including show trials, transportation to slave labor camps, or out-and-out murder. But the demonstrators considered that unlikely . . . until three families were massacred in one night, their homes burned to the ground, and Imperial AT-AT tracks left for everyone to see.
Morgan Katarn had their attention by then and, with funding supplied by Rebel sympathizers, organized an escape plan. The effort that followed, which involved hiding the fugitives on a long-abandoned space station, hiring a blockade runner, slipping out of Sulon's system undetected, and making the long, uncomfortable flight to Ruusan, had been nothing less than a series of minor miracles. However, the hard part was over now - or so Morgan hoped. He turned to Captain Jerg.
The merchant officer was a tall, somewhat gaunt man, who favored a Republic-era Captain's cap, a sweat-stained tank top, and once-white pants. His feet, for reasons Morgan had never understood, went eternally bare. "So," Morgan asked, "what's it like down there?"
Jerg gave a characteristic shrug. "There's some low-profile indigs, pockets of ruins, and a lot of good-for-nothing real estate. The planet has a class-one atmosphere though, enough gravity to keep your feet on the ground, and something more . . . Something so special you can't hardly find it anymore."
Morgan saw the gleam in the other man's eyes, knew it was a setup, and asked the question anyway. Success, assuming such a thing was possible, would hinge on Jerg's cooperation. "Yes? What's that?"
Jerg grinned. His teeth were badly in need of cleaning. "There ain't no Imperials down there .... Get it?"
Morgan forced a chuckle, indicated that he "got it," and posed the obvious question. "So how did you find it? And what's to say the Imperials won't, too?"
Jerg shrugged. "It happened about ten years ago. There was a Destroyer on our tails. We took a random hyperspace jump and wound up here. As for the rest, heck, you're old enough to know there ain't no certainties, no way to be absolutely sure of the crew or to guarantee that an Imperial probe droid won't drop in for a look-see. But it ain't happened yet . . . and that makes this the best shot you're likely to get."
The answer wasn't especially reassuring, but it was honest, and the fact that Jerg and his crew continued to store contraband on Ruusan was a testament to the blockade runner's faith. That, plus the fact that the space station's holds were both cold and crowded helped make the decision. Morgan nodded. "All right, then . . . take them down."
The Cyclops carried two shuttles - both of which were kept in excellent repair - a necessity since so many of Jerg's cargoes were transferred under less-than-ideal circumstances. And it was a good thing, since each shuttle would have to make nine trips before the fugitives and their gear arrived dirtside. Morgan accompanied the first load of passengers.
The colonists, for that's what they were about to bccome, were an uncharacteristically silent group - teeth chattering from days spent in the nearfreezing holds and bodies hidden beneath multiple layers of clothes. The children, a normally rambunctious lot, were withdrawn.
Morgan could hardly blame them. Life on Sulon had been hard, but most of the protesters had been second- or even third-generation farmers, which meant the security of a house to live in, whatever possessions they had managed to accumulate, and enough to eat.
Now they faced starting over, and, even worse, on a planet they'd never heard of, with a minimum of supplies and the constant threat of discovery. It was enough to make the most determined optimist a little depressed. A line formed and jerked through the lock as a crew member checked the settlers against the list on his datapad.
Morgan spotted a woman struggling to corral three small boys. Citizen Roskin, if he remembered correctly. The Rebel leader scooped the youngest of the brood into his arms and offered the boy's mother a grandfatherly smile. "Can I give you a hand? My son is grown. But I remember when he was this size."
The woman smiled gratefully, provided her name to the purser, and passed through the lock. Morgan nodded and followed. One vessel was dawn on the surface, so the hangar bay seemed half empty. The remaining shuttle crouched as if ready for action. The ramp gave slightly as they shuffled aboard. The interior smelled of paint and ozone. Twenty rows of bolt-down seats had been installed in the cargo compartment. A crew woman pointed them toward the rear, and they obeyed. Morgan found a seat for the boy, secured his harness, and did the same for himself.
There was a wait, and the youngster atarted to fuss. Morgan removed the multi-tool from a belt pouch, popped the power pak into the palm of his hand, and offered the device for inspection. Kyle had given it to him five years before, and the handle bore his initials. The toddler grabbed the tool and shoved one end into his mouth.
Morgan remembered that Kyle had been equally fascinated by his father's tools and, more important, by what they could accomplish. By the time he was a teenager, the lad could disassemble, troubleshoot, and repair anything on the farm, including Wee Gee, the family's one-of-a-kind droid.
The pilot interrupted Morgan's thoughts with a perfunctory safety lecture, lifted the shuttle on its repulsors, and guided the vessel out through widely gaping doors. The cargo compartment had no view ports, so there was nothing to look at.
The boy removed the now-gooey object from his mouth, said something unintelligible, and allowed the tool to slip from his grasp. Morgan strained against his harness and managed to grab the device before it drifted away. His thoughts returned to Kyle.
There were only two things he regretted about his life - his wife's premature death, and the fact that his lack of financial resources had forced Kyle into a choice between life as a subsistence farmer and the Imperial Military Academy on Carida, an institution well known for its engineering curriculum, its unbending discipline, and its ability to produce the kind of fanatics he sought to defeat.
Morgan remembered the day they had parted - how Kyle had looked in his uniform and how difficult it had been to keep his voice steady. "I want you to remember, son, when you're at the Academy, how very proud I am of you."
Kyle nodded, said all the right things, and boarded the first in a series of ships that would carry him to Carida. Time passed, but the questions continued to nag: What would the Imperials make of his son? A man to be proud of? Or a monster capable of murdering people in their beds? And whose fault would that be? Kyle's? Or his?
The boy gurgled, smiled engagingly, and crossed his eyes. Morgan smiled in return. "I don't know about Kyle, but they won't get you."


"Fort Nowhere," as Jerg's crew liked to call it, was shaped like a six-pointed star. All-purpose blaster cannon had been mounted at each of the star's points, the ball turrets ensuring that any attacker, regardless of approach, would enter an effective crossfire.
The cannons, plus subsurface missile batteries and rammed-earth walls, made the fort impregnable by anything less than a full-scale Imperial raid. A more-thansufficient deterrent to pirates and the rarely seen natives.
A series of interconnected caverns were used to warehouse Jerg's cargoes and the supplies required to maintain the 'Clops.
The pilot produced the necessary codes, received clearance, and lowered the shuttle onto a sun-faded X.
The ramp touched duracrete, a light appeared, harnesses were released, and the passengers were allowed to disembark. Many
appeared dazed as they left the ship, staggered under the weight of the noonday sun, and shucked layer after layer of clothes.
Morgan followed them off the ship, located those he had identified as having leadership potential, and led them through a blastproof gate. The land looked tough, as if it had been half-cooked and then left out to dry under the sun.
Mountains were a barely seen presence to the west. A roadbed so old that only its vegetation-clad symmetry served to give it away angled to meet them. The settlers eyed the harsh landscape, squinted into the sun, and kept their thoughts to themselves as they climbed a hill. Fresh crawler tracks led the way.
The supplies were stacked as Morgan had requested, within eyesight of the fort but beyond the scope of its direct influence, a necessity if the newcomers were to establish their independence and protect their children from the seamier aspects of fortress life.