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

Rahn left the following day, and the Knight who never was etched is secret into stone and left it for his son. Then, like countless farmers before him, he plowed and planted. Winter waited, and people must eat.
He was murdered a few months later.


CHAPTER TWO

The planet had been a beautiful place, possessed of long, sunny days, snow-topped mountains, rushing rivers, and broad, fertile valleys. Valleys that had been cleared, farmed, and owned by four generations of settlers.
But that was before the Rebellion, before the resources it had consumed, and before one of the SoroSuub Corporation's mineral reconnaissance droids settled into the middle of Farmer Zytho's Braal field, tested the soil, and literally hit pay dirt.
Little more than three local months had passed before the liners dropped into orbit, and the settlers were "paid" for their farms and shipped to a desert world on the edge of the Rim.
The liners had barely broken orbit when a pair of SoroSuub freighters appeared and sent shuttles down toward the surface. Ten thousand machines rumbled out of their durasteel bellies, established their positions via global positioning satellites, and growled toward preassigned sectors. Each could eat, process, and deliver fifty tons of ore a day. The Emperor would get his weapons - and the share owners would get their money. Nothing else mattered.
This explained why the roads had fallen into disrepair, many of the once-tidy farmhouses had started to sag, and previously green fields had been transformed into machine-carved pits.
None of this held any particular interest for the three Jedi or the troops who accompanied them. Their attention was on the Jedi called Maw. He stood in the first skimmer's bow, nostrils flaring as he sampled the wind, looking like the figurehead on some barbaric ship. The
occasional jab of a hand was sufficient to impart his wishes. The helmsman steered accordingly.
The skimmers were perfect for the task. The large, open platforms housed repulsorlift engines and made excellent time over the gently rolling hills. Though vulnerable to ground fire, they afforded clear views of the surrounding territory and, thanks to semirigid awnings, offered protection from the summer sun.
Maw grinned and allowed the wind to support a small portion of his weight. In spite of the fact that the Rebels were clever and skilled at covering their tracks, they couldn't hide what they felt. Their fear sent ripples through the dark side of the Force, ripples Maw would follow inward until that which caused them was located and killed.
Sariss and Yun watched with amusement. Though just as ruthless, they felt somewhat superior and viewed Maw with the same affection that hunters reserve for their trackers.
Sariss was an attractive woman of medium height. She wore her hair boyishly short and, like her mentor, Jerec, always dressed in black. Black, with just a touch of red on her lips, collar, and nails. Her interest in the acquisition and exercise of power made her one of Jerec's most trusted Lieutenants - yet threatened the Dark Jedi as well.
Yun, a Jedi so young he appeared to be barely beyond his teens, sat to her right. She was his mentor and the center of his moral universe. Not only the fact that he had been invited to come but that he was treated as an equal added to his inborn sense of superiority.
A comm unit crackled. An officer touched a button, saw the wellknown face, and said, "Yes, sir."
Sariss detected the stiffness in his voice and knew who the caller was. She accepted the hand-held unit and saw that she was correct.
"Jerec. How nice of you to call."
"Have you captured them yet?" The lack of a greeting was intentional one of the many devices Jerec used to keep others off balance. The Jedi was tall, almost regal in the way he carried himself, and so emaciated that his nearly translucent skin appeared to have been sprayed onto the surface of his skull. A strip of black leather concealed the caves where his eyes had been, and tattoos curved away from his thin-upped mouth. The vengeance was in orbit above, but her sensors touched the ground.
Sariss smiled thinly. He knew that she knew that he already knew the answer to the question. It, like many of the things that Jerec said, was intended to subjugate her. "No, my lord, but soon."
Jerec smiled. No one but Sariss referred to him as "lord." It was
part of her never-ending attempt to manipulate him, and he enjoyed it. He commanded only the ship beneath his boots, but he needed more. Much more. His words were cold and said more than they were intended to. "Good. I grow tired of waiting."


Rahn looked out over the skimmer's blaster-scorched stern. A three-day growth of beard covered his jaw. His once white robe was red with Rebel blood, and black where the blaster bolt had scorched his shoulder. He could feel those who followed - and knew what they were.
Rahn turned toward the bow. His companions included Duno Dree, a young and not-so-experienced pilot; Nij Por Ral, a portly professor of ancient linguistics; Cee Norley, a wire-thin weapons expert; and Rolanda Gron, a Klatooinian technologist. They looked for encouragement, and he offered a smile. The wind caught the Jedi's words and hurled them into his face.
"We have a chance . . . if we can buy some time, if we can reach the ship, if we can shake the TIE fighters. Here's my plan. . ." The Rebels listened and were quick to agree.


Such was the confidence of those on board that the Imperial skimmers followed the road at a calm, almost leisurely pace. The Rebels could run, but they couldn't hide. Not with Maw on the job. They approached an intersection. Crudely made markers identified the spot where thirty-six farmers had died in a vain attempt to defend their land. Sariss didn't even notice. Her thoughts were focused on herself - and the task before her.
Maw saw none of the beauty around him. None of the still-unviolated fields, the sun-dappled trees, or the curve of a nearby river. He sensed only fear, which drew him like carrion to blood.
Yun found Maw's talent distasteful, likening his fellow Jedi to a Nek battle dog, sniffing its prey. He preferred more elegant demonstrations of power, such as the way in which the slipstream sought to avoid all contact with his carefully combed hair, or the manner in which a commando struggled to satisfy a nonexistent itch. A rather interesting manipulation in which he had . . .
The missile struck as the second skimmer breasted the rise behind them. Yun missed the actual explosion but turned in time to see wreckage cartwheel through the air and plunge to the ground. The imperial force had been reduced by fifty percent. The ambush had Rahn written all over it. At least one of his companions had known how to control their fear. He, or she, had gone undetected.
Yun grabbed a rail as the skimmer turned toward the threat. Sariss was on her feet, eyes narrowed, fists clenched.


Norley was still watching the effects of her handiwork rain down, still holding the empty missile launcher on her shoulder when the first skimmer started to turn.
The weapons expert dropped the first tube, grabbed a second, and brought it to her shoulder. The skimmer steadied and held. The Rebel's finger sought the firing stud. Something caressed her neck. She shivered and resisted the temptation to check it out.
"Hold . . . hold . . . center on the target." That's what Tech Sergeant Hooly had said over and over again - and that's what she did. The caress felt soft, like the scarves her mother wore. Then it started to tighten, and tighten, and tighten some more.
Norley dropped the launcher, clawed at her throat, and gasped for air. It was too late. Her eyes had started to bulge, and her skin had taken on a bluish tinge by the time the blaster bolt drilled a hole through her chest.
Sariss saw the Rebel fall, snarled an order, and prepared for the turn. The bow came around and the skimmer accelerated. Time had been lost - and gained. A Rebel had been sacrificed. Why? The answer was obvious. The fugitives had a ship. All they needed was enough time to reach it. Sariss snarled at the helmsman. And the seconds ticked away.


The ship, the same vessel that brought the team to Dorlo in the first place, was small but adequate to their needs. Precious seconds elapsed as the Rebels ripped the camouflage away, pounded up the ramp, and strapped themselves in.
Duno Dree had dirty-blond hair, freckles that dusted the top of his nose, and peach fuzz on both cheeks. He claimed to be twenty but was actually seventeen. He cut the preflight sequence by fifty percent, eyed indicators as he flipped switches, and wished he was half the pilot he claimed to be. He'd flown his father's in-system freighters for six years. Well - three, given that half his time was spent in school. It wasn't enough.
The trip had seemed like a lark at first, an adventure to tell his children about, not the life-and-death mission it had become. The team had landed on Dorlo in order to convince Nij Por Ral that he should join them. Something he had agreed to do, but with obvious reluctance.
It seemed that SoroSuub's mining droids had uncovered an ancient, three-milelong wall, and the company had hired the professor to decipher the writing that covered its surface. Not to preserve the remains of a once-great culture but to take advantage of whatever knowledge was at hand. Por Ral had decided to tolerate the endeavor rather than see the artifact destroyed. To leave now, and to do so without securing the company's permission, was to sacrifice all that he had worked for.