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

Kyle tried to imagine it - a laser capable of drilling down through miles of rock, hitting the planetary core, and triggering an explosion so massive it would tear the world apart. What had Governor Donar said? " . . . The Emperor has a thing or two in store for the so-called Alliance, and your father will be revenged"? The statement made sense now - and sent a tingle down his spine. He gestured towards the holo. "Does it actually exist? Or are they planning to build it?"
Mon Mothma nodded. "Oh, it's real all right. The battle station is being constructed in orbit over the Despayre penal colony. Once completed it will measure a hundred and twenty kilometers in diameter, will have a complement of twenty-seven thousand and forty-eight officers, seven hundred seventy-six thousand, five hundred seventy-six troops, pilots, and other combat personnel, along with an additional four hundred thousand support personnel and twenty-five thousand stormtroopers.
"Besides the necessary crew, the Death Star will carry assault shuttles, blast boats, strike cruisers, drop ships, land vehicles, and more than seven thousand TIE fighters. Its hull will be protected by ten thousand turbolaser batteries, two thousand five hundred laser cannons, and more than seven hundred tractor-beam projectors."
Kyle didn't know which amazed him more, the Death Star itself, or the detailed information regarding its capabilities. "No offense, but how could you possibly know these things?"
Mon Mothma looked him in the eye. "We know because beings sacrificed their lives to find out."
Kyle nodded soberly. "And the mission?"
"The research complex where the Death Star was designed is located on Danuta. We want you to go there, find your way into the facility, and retrieve those plans. Assuming the engineers identify a weak spot, the Death Star could be destroyed."
Kyle felt his heart sink. Fighting to avenge his father was one thing - throwing his life away was another. "What you describe is little more than a suicide mission. Why not launch a commando raid instead?"
Mon Mothma nodded and touched her remote. The Death Star exploded into a thousand points of light. A series of overlapping 3-D surveillance photos appeared. They grew successively more detailed as increasing degrees of magnification were introduced. An arrow appeared and moved from object to object. "This is the city of Trid. The spaceport is here, the fusion plant, here, and, assuming our information is correct, the research facility is here . . . Within a thousand meters of these are homes, a school, and a temple. I'd be interested in your opinion. Which is better? To send an agent? In hopes of a miracle? Or, assuming such a thing could be done, put a company of commandos on the ground, and accept the collateral damage? The imperials would - why shouldn't we?"
Kyle felt blood rush to his face. Mon Mothma knew he'd been an Imperial officer, knew about the atrocities on Sullust, and was pushing his buttons. The knowledge made him angry. "Is this the way you get people to risk their lives? Through psychological manipulation?"
Mon Mothma nodded. "Sometimes . . . If I think it'll work."
Jan watched in open fascination as Kyle's and Mon Mothma's eves locked and stayed that way for a long, long time. Kyle was first to look away. "Was that all? Did your agents provide anything else?"
"Just this," the rebel leader replied. "Some video of the room in which the plans are kept."
Another holo appeared over the table. This one was grainy as if shot with a low resolution lens from inches above the floor. The kind of footage a maintenance droid might capture if it had been enlisted as a spy.
Kyle watched equipment racks roll by enough uniform clad legs to go with five or six troopers, a large expanse of highly polished floor, and there, on the far side of the room, a
vaguely T-shaped construct, suspended in a U-shaped frame.
"That's it," Mon Mothma said. "The memory matrix in which the plans are kept."
Kyle was about to reply when an officer crossed in front of the lens. There was something familiar about the image. He motioned to Mon Mothma. "Would you back up, please?"
The Rebel leader complied with Kyle's request, hit play, and allowed the video to jerk forward one frame at a time.
Kyle looked and looked again. There was no doubt about it, the officer was none other than Meek Odom, his ex-roommate and best friend. It appeared that Odom's request for a Special Operations assignment had been granted. And quickly, too. Kyle felt tiny beads of sweat dot his forehead and resisted the temptation to wipe them away. "Thank you."
Mon Mothma's face was expressionless. "Do you know that officer?"
Kyle shrugged. "I thought I did - but I was wrong."
Mon Mothma nodded noncommittally and the holo disappeared. "So what's your decision? Will you take the mission?"
It was crazy, stupid, and possibly fatal, but Kyle nodded. Not for the Rebel cause, or in reaction to Mothma's blandishments, but for his father and those who died with him.
The interview ended shortly thereafter. Mon Mothma watched Kyle go, shook her head thoughtfully, and walked to the viewport. Jan entered through a concealed hatch. The leader spoke without turning. "So? What do you think?"
Jan shrugged. "He's scared - but who wouldn't be? The chances for survival are slim."
"And that bothers you?"
"Yes."
"Do the two of you have a relationship?"
"Not in the sense you mean. No."
"Could you kill him if you had to?"
Jan frowned. "Yes, if he deserved it. What are you suggesting?"
Mon Mothma turned. Their eyes met. "Katarn lied. The officer in the holo is named Meek Odom. He was Katarn's friend at the Academy, his only friend."
Jan struggled with conflicting emotions. "So? Maybe that means something and maybe it doesn't. Don't forget about the lives he spared on that asteroid, or his actions on the Star. Not to mention the fact that the Imperials killed his father."
Mon Mothma turned back to the viewport. "Yes, but what if the whole thing were planned? The head could be faked. What if his father is alive? Held prisoner against Kyle's actions? What if the whole thing is part of a complex plan to place a spy in our ranks? The Empire is capable of that and more. I want you to follow Katarn, watch his every move, and kill him if he flips. Can you do it?"
Jan nodded. "If I have to. But what then?"
Mon Mothma turned to take Jan's hands in hers. "The only thing better than a well-laid plan is a well-conceived backup plan. Our forces on Toprawa may have a shot at the Death Star plans as well. The problem is that while the Toprawa plans include the battle station's hull
design, and life support infrastructure, the Danuta plans include additional engineering schematics, and, if we're lucky, a complete map to the offensive and defensive weapons emplacements. We need both sets to ensure success."
"You could send someone else. Someone like me."
Mon Mothma shook her head. "Katarn was one of them - he knows how they think. Besides, a man stands a better chance of getting into what may be an all-male facility."
Jan released Mon Mothma's hands. Her words took on the sound of an accusation. "And Kyle is expendable."
Mon Mothma allowed her hands to fall- The resentment in Jan's eyes was plain to see. So was her duty to the Alliance. "Yes, Jan. Kyle is expendable. We all are."


CHAPTER SIX

Kyle felt lonely and depressed as he made his way through a maze of corridors, passageways, and drop shafts to the hangar deck. In spite of the fact that he'd been granted the very thing he'd hoped for, a chance to join the Alliance, there was none of the "hail fellow well met" camaraderie he'd expected. Just an impossible mission, minimum support, and a none-too-emotional parting of the ways. Yes, Mon Mothma had shaken his hand, and Jan had sent an E-mail: "Have a new mission sorry I can't see you off - best of luck."
Pleasant enough, but not the sort of send off lavished on departing heroes. Not in holovids, anyhow. It seemed he was and would forever be an outsider. Ah well, he was on his own, which beat the heck out of taking orders. That was something he was truly tired of.
A horn beeped, Kyle stepped out of the way, and allowed the auto cart to pass. The hangar bay was just ahead and he stepped into the main lock. A group of techs continued their noisy debate as they crowded in behind him. The discussion centered around the question of which one of the ship's meals was worst - breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Kyle cast a silent vote for breakfast, smiled when dinner won, and followed the men and women out into the bay where an avalanche of stimuli assailed his eyes, ears, and nose.
Where the Star's hangar deck had been only two-thirds full, this one was crammed with X-wing starfighters, assault shuttles, and a bewildering array of other craft. It was almost impossible to hear himself think over the screech of power cutters, the rattle of chain hoists, the whine of hydrospanners, and the announcements made via the overamplified PA system.