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

The bounty hunter shrugged. "Nope. Just curious. Never worked for a machine before."
With no flesh to soften it, 88's grin took on a threatening quality. "Then get used to it - machines are the future."
"Maybe," Fett replied calmly, "and maybe not."
"A man named Kyle Katarn will enter this bar in an hour or so. He has information that I want."
Boba Fett leaned backward. Light rolled across the surface of his visor. "So? Ask him."
"He may not wish to tell me."
"And that's where I come in?"
"Exactly."
The bounty hunter remained silent for a full thirty seconds. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because I've heard of Katarn. Some say he's aligned with the Empire, while others claim he works for the Alliance."
"So? You've done work for the Empire."
"True, but the Alliance has been on a roll of late. Who knows? They might come out on top. Either way, I'll sit this one out."
"That's your final word?"
"That's it."
8t88 stood and stepped into the aisle. He was about to leave when Fett cleared his throat. "One more thing . . . "
The droid turned. A ball joint squeaked in protest. "Yes?"
"Get a lube job."

Kyle Katarn tossed his drink back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and triggered the cube. The holo played for what? The fifth time? The man with the beard was his father - and the boy was him. A younger, more innocent him before he left for the Imperial Military Academy on Carida, before the Imperials murdered his father, before the raid on Danuta's research facility. Five years had passed since then - though it seemed like fifty - and the search went on. Who had murdered his father? He, she, or it would pay dearly for the mistake. Maybe this was the night the truth would be known.
The holo flickered. Morgan seemed transparent, but his words
were warm and strong: "I want you to remember, son, when you're at the Academy, how very proud I am of you."
Something squeaked as a droid slid into the far side of the booth. The synthesizer sounded flat and unemotional. "How touching."
The holo disappeared. Shadows hid Kyle's eyes. He removed the tiny tracker droid from his pocket, pressed the button on its back, and allowed the device to scuttle away. It sought 88's leg, activated an internal magnet, and went to work. If the larger droid felt anything, he gave no sign of it.
"Don't waste my time, 88. You called this meeting. Who killed my father?"
8t88 switched to infrared, checked to see if the bounty hunters had taken their places and saw they hadn't. Blast the idiots anyway! Boba Fett would have arrived on time. He cursed the human's intransigence. All he could do was stall. "When someone desires information, they come to me."
Kyle brought the pistol up from the darkness. Light rippled along the top surface of the barrel. "And?"
The droid spoke quickly. "Patience. He's a Dark Jedi."
The hand weapon remained as before, only centimeters from 88's scanner plate.
"Jedi?"
"Dark Jedi. He is known as Jerec. He has great plans for the rebirth of the Empire."
8t88 saw two green blobs appear in the booth beyond. Help, such, as it was, had arrived.
Kyle felt his heart beat a little bit faster. Jerec! The same Jerec who had attended the graduation ceremony at Cliffside! The same Jerec who had sought him out, pinned the medal to his chest, and spoken as if to an old acquaintance?
"Greetings, Kyle Katarn. You have accomplished a great deal for one so young. Recognition is sweet, is it not? However, remember that recognition is a gift given by those who have power to those who don't. This is but the first step .... Climb the ladder swiftly, join those who possess power, and claim what is yours. I will be waiting."
Kyle hadn't been aware of it at the time, but his father had been killed weeks before. Was Jerec aware of that? Not only aware of it but of the reason for it? Had Jerec murdered his father?
The Rebel had no more than framed the question when someone rammed a blaster into the base of his skull. Something or someone laughed, and 88 made a clicking noise. "Ouch! That looks uncomfortable. I'll take the blaster so nobody gets hurt."
Kyle released his grip on the weapon and watched the droid place it on the far side of the table. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, our friend Jerec. He has many plans, Jerec does. Unfortunately, you don't factor into any of them. But I'm not without a heart. Ooops! My mistake . . . I am without a heart! Still, I might allow you to live, if you answer my questions."
8t88 held up a disk. It was approximately six centimeters in diameter and gleamed in the light. "Look familiar? Well, it should. I found dozens of them in your father's home."
Kyle made a grab for the disk, but hands held him back. The droid didn't seem to notice. "I'm pretty good with codes, but this one eludes me. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to provide some advice. Or shall I allow my friends to indulge the darker aspects of their personalities?"
Kyle eyed the disk and wondered what was on it. "The dark side? I've been there. Do your worst."
8t88 shook his head. "Too bad. What's the saying - `Like father, like son'? Not a very pleasant thought, given the way your father ended his days. Have a nice evening."
The droid slid sideways, got to his feet, and made for the door. Someone chuckled as another body took the recently vacated seat. It was a Gran, and all three of his stalk-mounted eyes were bloodshot. His voice sounded like a gravel crusher stuck in low gear. "Remember me? It took three months for that blaster burn to heal."
"Can't say that I do," Kyle replied honestly, "but the streets are filled with trash - and it's hard to tell one piece from another."
The Gran was just starting to respond when Kyle reached over his shoulder, grabbed the second bounty hunter, a foul-smelling Rodian, and yanked. The diminutive alien arced through the air and slammed onto the table. The blaster took on a life of its own. It slid across the wellworn surface and into Kyle's hand. The Gran blinked in quick succession. "You'll never leave here alive. Nar Shaddaa will be your grave!"
Kyle grinned. "I'm not interested in leaving. Not till I conclude some business with 8t88 . . . . "
The bounty hunters watched the Rebel slide out of the booth, get to his feet, and back away. "Thanks for everything. Let's have lunch sometime."
Nobody laughed.

Jan Ors guided the Moldy Crow down through the upper reaches of the city. There were all sorts of navigational hazards - spires, gantries, platforms, and sky bridges - all of which had been constructed for the
convenience of those who owned them, without regard for the public good. It seemed as though an entire constellation of red warning lights floated around her. Not to mention the sometimes deceptive signs that might guide pilots to their destination - or into an isolated cargo bay where they would be murdered and their cargos stolen.