"William C. Deets, Dean Williams Soldier for the Empire (STARWARS. DARK FORCES #1) (eng)" - читать интересную книгу автора

The Governor came to his feet. His computer clattered to the floor. "An officer? Rebels? Who? Where?"
Slyder made his way to the entertainment center and held a holocube up to the light. "May I?"
Donar nodded and the cube went in. Light swirled and a series of three-dimensional images appeared. Slyder allowed key scenes to play themselves out and made no attempt to narrate the action. There were snatches of clearly seditious conversation between the woman and her companions, a glimpse of the droid she kept hidden in her cabin, plus two conversations with Katarn. The exchange in the cafeteria seemed innocent enough, but the subsequent encounter was something else again.
Nathan didn't know what to believe. Was Kyle guilty of treasonous conduct? Or the victim of a pretty face? The halo disappeared and Nathan looked at his father. The governor was livid. "Damn their miserable lies! Did you see that? Sending trollops to corrupt our officers! We'll arrest the lot of them and put an end to this outrage!"
Slyder dry-washed his hands, nodded sanctimoniously, and remembered the officer's Medal of Valor. It would look good in his trophy case.
Kyle stepped out of the fresher, wiped the remaining water from his skin, and started to dress. He had nearly finished when a tone sounded and a message icon appeared. Curious, Kyle touched a key and watched words flood the screen. The send box was blank, but the greeting was a dead giveaway.
"Hey, rimmer - just a word to the wise - stay clear of the girl - and be ready to answer some questions. She's pretty - but not pretty enough to waste a career on." There was no signature - just a blinking cursor.
Nathan's meaning was clear. Governor Donar, or someone close to him, knew about the Rebels.
Kyle felt his stomach muscles tighten as he punched the numbers and waited for Jan to answer. Her voice was sleepy, as if she had just awoken. "Hello?"
"Listen carefully. Someone, my guess is Governor Donar, knows about you and the others. They could arrive at any moment."
Jan was far too professional to waste time on questions. "Roger that. Grab what you can, and meet us on the hangar deck."
Kyle hit the off button, felt guilty about the manner in which he had betrayed Nathan's confidence, and remembered the picture of his father's decapitated head. His mouth made a hard, thin line as he strapped the imperial-issue side arm around his waist, threw his personal items in a carryall, and left the cabin. His uniforms, with the single exception of the one on his back, remained in the closet.
Jan peeked through the peephole, assured herself that the area in front of the entry was clear, and opened the hatch. A quick check confirmed that the hallway was empty. She turned to the droid. "There isn't much time, A-Cee. Let's get out of here."
The droid checked the light level to make sure his apertures were set correctly, switched to record, and followed Jan into the corridor. They hadn't traveled more than a few yards when a voice called, "Hey, you! Hold it right there!" A blaster bolt served to underscore the words.
Jan shouted "Run!," fired a shot in return, and followed her own advice. Not very speedy to begin with, A-Cee lost even more time as he paused to record Slyder, and the assortment of Imperial military personnel recruited to support him. The Captain, who was one of old man Haj's many granddaughters, had refused to take sides.
Ondi would have been proud of the way A-Cee ripped off a four-second scene and checked to make sure it was good prior to lurching away. He didn't get far, though. Slyder's energy bolt hit the center of his back, bored a hole through one of his subprocessors, and triggered an emergency shutdown. The droid collapsed as Jan looked back. She swore under her breath, ducked around a corner, and ran even faster.
Kyle burst out of the lock, ran across the deck, and spotted Rosco. He held a blaster carbine cradled in his arms and looked ready to use it.
"Has Jan arrived?"
"Not yet."
"How 'bout Waller?"
The Reb jerked his thumb up towards the cockpit. "Manning the turret."
"Okay - I'll crank her up - you cover Jan and A-Cee."
Rosco frowned. "Who died and made you Emperor?"
"Can you fly this thing?"
Rosco shook his head. "Nah, Jan's the pilot."
"Well, I can."
"Glad to hear it, Admiral, but how you gonna open those doors?"
Kyle looked at the massive pressure doors, wondered how he had missed such an obvious problem, and tried to sound confident. "You cover Jan. I'll handle the rest."
Kyle made his way up the ramp, turned towards the cockpit, and passed through the lounge. Waller dropped out of the overhead turret, saw Kyle's thumbs-up, and returned to his post.
Jan had allowed Kyle to initialize the ship's systems after the repairs were made and the access code was fresh in his mind. He entered the numbers, watched the control panel flicker to life, and grabbed a headset. "Truly Sorry to Hangar Control."
The woman was bored. "Control here - go."
"Request permission to depart hangar bay five minutes from now."
The controller's voice was stern. "Not funny Sorry. Departure requests must be filed at least thirty standard hours prior to takeoff. Permission denied."
Kyle checked to ensure that Rosco was clear, fed power to the repulsors, and danced the ship out onto the taxiway. He hadn't flown a ship like the Sorry before, and she wobbled like a trooper on leave. The response came quickly.
"Control to Sorry! Return to your slot, power down, and lower your ramp."
Kyle tried to look in every direction at once as he spoke into the boom comm. "No can do, Control. Open the doors - or I'll open them for you."
"You don't pack enough punch," the woman countered grimly. "Return to your slot before someone gets hurt."
Kyle checked his weapon selector switches, discovered that he didn't pack enough punch, and chose a different approach instead. "Hey, Waller. See that shuttle on the far side of the bay? The one with the SoroSuub logo? Work it over."
Bolts of energy burped across the bay, hit the other ship's starboard wing, and sheared part of it off.
A klaxon sounded. Warning lights flashed. The PA system came on.
"This is an emergency. Clear the hangar deck. I repeat, clear the hangar deck. Standby for depressurization. This is . . . "
Sentients dropped their tools and ran, waddled, and, in at least one case, oozed towards the nearest lock. Kyle fought to hold the ship stationary. "Where's Jan?"
Rosco spoke into the headset he wore. "No need to panic, Admiral - she's on the way!"
Kyle saw a lock open, saw Jan start his way, and wondered about A-Cee. The Rebel agent was about halfway to the ship by the time the lock opened again and a posse spilled onto the deck. There was a Rodian in the lead, followed by Nathan Donar, and a mixed bag of Imperial military personnel. They opened fire and Rosco returned it.
Jan picked up speed, Waller fired the turret gun, and four of her pursuers fell. The rest scattered. Kyle saw Nathan duck into one of the secondary locks and felt relieved. They hadn't been friends, not in the real sense anyway, but he wished the officer no harm.
Jan watched the Truly Sorry fade in and out of focus while it lurched up and down. Her breath came in painful gasps, her heart beat faster than it should, and lead filled her legs. She realized that the bleating noise meant something, that the air was getting thin, and she was about to die. Jan threw herself forward, stumbled, and fell. The steel felt cold beneath her cheek.
Kyle saw Jan fall, guessed the nature of the problem, and moved the ship in that direction. "Rosco? Can you help?"
Rosco, who had taken the precaution of slipping an emergency oxygen mask over his face, was already in motion. Kyle saw him, fought to slow the ship, and struggled to focus. The ramp was halfway open, which meant air was being sucked out of the Sorry's cabin. Kyle fumbled for a mask, found it, and pulled oxygen into his lungs.
Rosco bent, scooped the girl into his arms, and turned. A stray piece of paper whipped past his face as the doors parted and air rushed into space. He had a minute, maybe less, to reach the ship's interior. It was that or wait for the ensuing vacuum to turn him inside out. But what about the ship? Was it there? Or had the kid left them to die?
Rosco turned, found the Sorry looming over him, and saw the ramp touch the deck. The Rebel took five steps, felt the ramp under his boots, and gave thanks as hydraulics lifted both of them into the ship. Not bad for a wet-behind-the-ears kid . . .