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

"I'm looking for a patient named Kyle Katarn."
Although there was no outward sign of its special status, ward 114 was reserved for members of the Alliance's Intelligence and Special Operations contingents. Though not especially nice to contemplate, the fact was that some casualties were considered more important than others, and Kyle - a proven if not completely trusted agent - was on the list of those slated to receive highpriority medical treatment. That being the case, certain security measures were in place.
The medic considered himself to be something of an expert where cloak and dagger types were concerned. The civilian flight suit, nonstandard sidearm, and haunted eyes all pointed to one conclusion: a spy come to see a spy. They were jumpy at times, so it paid to be careful. The medic kept his voice neutral. "May I see your I.D.?"
Jan produced her card and watched it pass through the reader. The medic checked the readout and nodded toward a hatch. "Your friend is in tank twenty-three. We'll pull him later today. That's good, you know. He'll be up and around soon."
Jan thanked the medic, triggered the door, and stepped within. A maintenance droid was working on an empty tank, and aside from gentle tool noises, the ward was quiet. The air had a tangy smell which might have been pleasant if it weren't for the sights that went with it.
The tanks were numbered and contained things Jan didn't really want to see, things that floated like specimens in jars. Some appeared intact, but others bore obvious wounds. The agent was glad they were asleep.
Tank 23 looked like those around it except for the fact that no one had left any medals or notes on it. Kyle floated there, his body curled into the fetal position, his hair drifting like seaweed. He looked innocent, more boy than man.
The agent approached the unit and placed her hands on the tank's transparisteel surface. It was cool and damp, like recently showered skin or the hull of a starship. Something caught at the back of her throat as Jan remembered the three long days during which Kyle's condition had vacillated between good and bad. She had stabilized the shoulder wound, but the concussion led to vomiting and periods of unconsciousness, symptoms the ship's rather limited medical references flagged as serious.
But they made it to Rebel-held space, and while Kyle entered bacta tank 23, Jan collapsed on a cot. Twelve hours of sleep left her rested but concerned. She had no idea what Kyle had been up to in Nar Shaddaa or why he'd gone after the disk. This was not the sort of admission she wanted to make to their superiors. Especially when she was senior, and nominally in charge.
Each bacta tank had a small cupboard where personal items were kept. Jan knelt, tugged on the door, and pulled it open. Kyle's clothes were there along with his sidearm and boots. She rummaged through his pockets and came up with a wallet, a holo cube, and, yes, the mysterious disk.
Jan felt torn. It wasn't right to snoop through Kyle's belongings. But agents weren't supposed to have any privacy - not where their partners were concerned. In spite of the fact that Jan had complete trust in Kyle, it was hard to convince others that they should feel the same way, especially at times like this.
She triggered the holo projector, watched Morgan Katarn bid his son good-bye, and bit her lower lip. The wallet came next. She had glanced through the contents and was about to return it when she saw something unexpected. The agent came across a 3-D snapshot of herself! How and when had Kyle obtained it? There was no way to know. But the fact that it was there meant a lot.
Tears trickled down Jan's cheeks as she slipped the disk into her pocket, restored the rest of Kyle's belongings to the cabinet, and got to her feet. Her fingers left outlines on the transparisteel casing. The prints faded when she removed her hands. "I'm sorry, Kyle - I love you."
Then, walking fast, so as to complete the chore as quickly possible, Jan left the ward. The medic watched her go, wished someone cared enough to cry over him, and returned to his work. There were charts to update, and Lieutenant Commander Nidifer would check to make sure they were done.
Jan spent the better part of two hours trying to access the disk's contents but finally gave up. The contents were encrypted, and she couldn't break through. She needed help, expert help, the kind of help resident on the flagship.
Rather than request clearance for the Crow and fly the relatively short distance to the New Hope Jan decided to take advantage of a regularly scheduled shuttle. The trip to the refurbished Dreadnaught took less than fifteen minutes. Once aboard, the agent went in search of an old acquaintance, a friend of her father's, presently in charge of the flagship's Electronic Counter Measures section. His name was Chief Warrant Officer Yiong Wong, "Chiefy" to his friends and "that miserable old geezer" to those who abused his equipment and were caught at it.
She found Chiefy the same way she always did, by asking his subordinates where the trouble was and descending into the bowels of the ship. After that, it was a simple matter to follow a trail of temporarily abandoned tools through a crawl space and into a floodlit equipment bay. The Warrant Officer, along with two of his techs, was hard at work. Cables squirmed into the space from five or six directions and converged on an open junction box.
Chiefy took one look at her, gave a whoop of joy, and offered to buy her lunch - a purely symbolic invitation, since anyone could enter the chow hall free of charge.
Jan accepted, ignored the stares, and followed Wong out. There was very little chance that he could access the disk. But he'd know people who could.

Kyle awoke between clean, crisp sheets. He remembered the bacta tank - but it was nowhere to be seen. Sleep pulled him down. He dreamt of his father's home, of Jan staring at him through a window, of a man he'd never seen before. The man had dark skin and wore a plain white robe. There was something about his voice, about the way that he spoke, that captured Kyle's attention.
"A crossroads lies before you .... The same man who murdered your father contemplates an even greater evil. His name is Jerec, and he seeks a place called the Valley of the Jedi, a place where thousands of Jedi spirits are trapped, a place of almost unbelievable power, a place he must never reach. Because if he does - the results could be catastrophic. Imagine someone who could destroy a star with a whisper, eradicate a solar system with a snap of his fingers, or `think' a planet from its orbit.
"Your father gave his life to protect this place . . . and the power it contains. His destiny was linked with it . . . and your destiny is linked with his.
"Your apprenticeship has been underway for some time now. The disk will help you absorb the ways of the Jedi. Learn them well, and learn them quickly, for time is short."
Rahn faded from sight, strange-looking rock formations appeared, and Kyle struggled to see. The image steadied for a moment, slipped from focus, and faded away. The name Jerec meant something, but he couldn't remember what. Kyle was thinking about that, or trying to, when sleep pulled him down, again.

Chief Warrant Officer Xiong Wong used a hydrospanner to bang on the hatch. "Hey Wires, I know you're in there, so open up."
Silence.
Wong looked at Jan and winked. "Don't worry. I have a surefire way to get his attention." The spanner banged again.
"Okay, Wires. Have it your way. Lieutenant Commander Olifer seems like a reasonable man .... The fact that you have appropriated thirty-two percent of the tracking computer's excess capacity for your own personal gain won't bother him in the least."
The hatch jerked open, and a small man with a long, thin nose peered out. He had small, beady eyes. They ran the length of Jan's body and flicked to Wong. "What's the problem, Chiefy? I'm busy."
"Busy running a virtual gambling casino," Wong said equably. "Not that I care - as long as your computer's combat ready."
"So? You came to tell me that?"
"No," Chiefy replied calmly, "I came to get your help on this." Wong held the disk between thumb and forefinger. Light winked off its surface. "It's read-protected, and my friend wants in."
Wires looked from the disk to the Warrant Officer's face. "I crack it, and you leave me alone?"
"Affirmative."
"And Olifer?"
"Remains blissfully ignorant until you get greedy and give yourself away."
"Done. Let's get on with it."
Jan spent the next two hours in the overcrowded storeroom which Wires had converted to his own nefarious purposes. There was little to nothing the agent could do to help, but she felt obliged to stay. Partly because Chiefy had, and partly because Wires was clearly untrustworthy.
The computer expert knew what he was doing, but it was slow going, nonetheless. First, he applied some off-the-shelf encryption software. It didn't work. More than a little angry now, and a good deal more engaged, Wires tried again. The next program he ran made use of software he had written himself. Even that didn't work the first time through, although Jan did catch a glimpse of a middle-aged man who looked a lot like Morgan Katarn.
Finally, with a whoop of triumph, Wires made a partial breakthrough. It was like staring through a snowstorm, and the static made some of the words hard to hear, but there was no mistaking what was said.
Jan swore both men to secrecy, took the original and the partially decoded copy, and gave Chiefy a hug. Wires looked as though he would have enjoyed a hug, too, but was forced to settle for a handshake. The walk from the storeroom to the Dreadnaught's bridge was one of the longest Jan had ever made.

Like the Dreadnaught herself, the cabin dated back to preImperial days and was extremely spacious - fitting quarters for an admiral whose duties were mainly ceremonial.
The ship had been something of a fixture over Churba, where it had functioned as an orbital war museum until it was "liberated" by the Rebels and refitted. There were no resources to squander on decor, however, which explained why the same tapestries that had graced the bulkheads prior to the Rebellion still hung there, adding to the somewhat musty smell. Mon Mothma had grown used to the odor, but Leia Organa, formerly Princess Organa, hadn't. She sneezed, and her brother, Luke Skywalker, said, "Bless you."
Mon Mothma, who was deeply engaged in a logistical problem, took scant notice. Sneezes and what people said about them were less important than medical supplies and the systems used to distribute them. Mon Mothma wore her hair short so as to minimize maintenance and preferred loose-fitting robes - worn with a single clasp or pin - to the tunics and trousers that Leia favored. Perhaps it was a habit picked up during her years as a senator or - and this seemed more likely - it was a matter of comfort. Whatever the reason, the administrator's robes swished this way and that as she strode back and forth.
"And so," she continued, "the efficient distribution of medical supplies not only will save lives, it will signal the government's priorities and our ability to deliver on them."
Luke, who knew he should care about such matters, struggled to pay attention. The administrative and political matters that Mon Mothma and his sister found so fascinating often left him cold or, more accurately, bored. That being the case, he looked hopeful when one of Mon Mothma's aides slipped into the compartment and whispered something into the administrator's ear. Any sort of distraction would be welcome. The administrator listened, nodded, and said something in return.
The aide left, and Mon Mothma turned to her guests. "Excuse the interruption, but it seems as though something rather urgent has come up."