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

been heated till it was liquid, and allowed to cool. Why would such a thing exist? Unless it was the result of an experiment of some kind. Kyle imagined a superlaser powerful enough to drill holes through the planetary crust and gave an involuntary shudder.
Then, with Trid ground control babbling in his ears and the navcomp beeping in sympathy, he killed forward motion, pulled the ship up, and lit the repulsors. Forces equalized and the ship hovered. Kyle checked the lay of the land, saw how the slots were configured, and danced the ship sideways.
The automated ground guide had been painted once, but that was a long time ago, and most of the covering had worn away, leaving islands of orange. Kyle followed the mottled machine to space twenty three where he plopped down between an autohopper that wore governmental markings and a Brodsport shuttle.
The other end of the spaceport, the part that was heavily festooned with "do not enter" signs, and guarded by a squad of stormtroopers, was home to six carefully maintained TIE fighters, still gleaming from the morning wash down. A good place to stay clear of.
Kyle ran the shutdown procedures, checked to make sure his indicators were green, and preset the emergency start-up sequence. When he left, if he left, there was a fairly good chance he'd be in a hurry. The local customs agent used a hydrospanner to hammer on the belly hatch, Kyle slipped into his Dan Drexel persona, and hurried to lower the ramp. To bribe or not to bribe - that was the question. Not that there was much doubt.
The noise, combined with the way the building shook, brought Jan up out of an uncertain sleep. Her boots came off the sill, the front legs of her chair hit the floor, and she fought to focus her eyes. Though not especially busy by the standards of a planet like her native Alderaan, which had multiple ports a thousand times larger than Trid's, the strip was reasonably active, and she had already monitored the comings and goings of at lest fifty ships, not counting TIE fighters or atmospheric craft. So she was pleasantly surprised to see the Moldy Crow, and, after he had secured the ship, Kyle Katarn. The electrobinoculars wobbled over the tarmac, centered on the agent, and brought him closer.
He looked tall and fit as he talked to the local customs agent, shook hands, and checked the Crow's landing skids. What did she like about him anyway? Besides the fact that he'd saved her life? Was it the determined look in his eyes? The strength in his hands? Or the laugh that came so seldom she found herself working for it? She wasn't sure.
Kyle completed his inspection, sealed the belly hatch, and headed for the terminal. The action was sufficient to remind Jan of the mission she had accepted and the possibilities involved. What if Kyle was a spy? Sent to destroy all that she fought for? Her resolve hardened.
Jan checked to ensure that her weapons were loaded, set the satchels's self-defense mechanism, and let herself into the hall. The target had arrived. She had work to do.
Having already inspected the town from the air, Kyle wasn't especially surprised by Trid's lackadaisical seediness. As with most planets, the nightclubs, strip joints, and cheap eateries sat elbow to elbow with the terminal, and the outfitters, suppliers, and parts houses were just up the street.
The local architecture could best be described as Imperial prefab with a touch of rimworld colonial. Examples could be seen in the colorful planters that hung off second-story balconies, the wrought-iron bars that protected ground-floor windows, and the trash-filled water fountain that graced the town square.
The citizens were just as basic. They fell in six categories: contract employees, who sported caps with Brodsport logos on them; hardened colonists with work-thickened hands;
scholarly types, whose clothes looked badly out of place; space trash like Dan Drexel, just waiting to leave; an assortment of aliens, none of whom seemed very happy; and stormtroopers who went everywhere in pairs. Partly for the sake of security, and partly so they could watch each other.
The troopers gave Kyle the most cause for concern, since he was wanted by now. They might or might not have seen his face during the last shift briefing. Their presence, and the fact that he couldn't see their eyes, reminded Kyle of the extent to which the Emperor ruled through fear. He remembered what it felt like to be that powerful, and came to the sickening realization that he had enjoyed it.
Kyle waited for a tractor-wagon combination to growl past, stepped off the curb, and crossed the square. Though careful to seem casual, Kyle had a destination in mind, and drifted in that direction. The possibility that he would look at the research facility and see a way in was more than a little remote, but he would give it a try.
As Kyle moved west, following the afternoon sun, his surroundings started to change. The buildings assumed a residential air and seemed more prosperous. Judging from the overall cleanliness, and the children who played in the street, this particular neighborhood had been set aside for research staff and their dependents. This was something Mon Mothma had neglected to mention, which might have been used in support of a commando raid.
A complex scheme that involved kidnapping a scientist and using his or her credentials to gain entry presented itself and was eliminated. Simplicity was the key, along with a healthy dose of luck.
Kyle felt something press against his back. It felt like - what? Someone watching him? But that was nonsense - wasn't it?
A seedy caf‚ spilled out onto a patch of carefully swept sidewalk and presented a chance to rest, have something to drink, and check his back-trail. Kyle smiled at the hostess - she looked to be no more than twelve - and followed her to a plastic-covered table. She cleared the previous occupant's dishes away and promised to return. Kyle sat, turned toward the east, and scanned the street.
Jan rounded a corner, took two steps forward, and knew something was wrong. Kyle had disappeared, no, there he was, seated on the sidewalk. She pulled a wanted poster out of her
pocket, pretended Kyle's face was a street map, and retraced her steps. The corner blocked his view but the question remained: Had Kyle seen her? And if he had, did
Kyle frowned. There had been something familiar about the distantly glimpsed figure, but he wasn't sure what. A person from town?
Probably, but he resolved to keep a sharp lookout just in case. He touched his blaster for reassurance. It was new, but not too new, and secured in a cross-draw holster. Fast, but uncomfortable when you sat. Side arms, and even heavier weapons for that matter, were common on planets like Danuta.
Kyle finished his drink, left some coins on the sticky tabletop, and resumed his reconnaissance.
The residential area was relatively small and quickly gave way to a carefully maintained security buffer, complete with pole-mounted surveillance cameras, recon droids, weapons emplacements, and a four-meter high razor-wire-topped chain-link fence. The buildings were
low, sturdy affairs, at least half underground, and hardened against attack. He remembered Mon Mothma's holo and marveled at someone's bravery. Which raised an interesting question - what
happened to that agent anyway? And why hadn't he or she been asked to retrieve the plans? The answer seemed obvious.
Kyle paralleled the security perimeter for a while, walking briskly as if for the exercise, and knew he wasn't dressed for it. The main gate was a massive affair, complete with a guard station, at least a dozen stormtroopers, an AT- ST, and a brace of armored ground cars. Not the sort of defenses he cared to test.
Careful lest he draw attention to himself, Kyle turned toward the east, chose what seemed like a quiet street, and followed it towards town. The reconnaissance had confirmed his worst fears. The Research Complex was essentially impregnable. The only way an unauthorized person could get in was if someone allowed them to enter.
The fact that Kyle knew someone stationed in the secured area had plagued him ever since he'd seen Meek Odom's face on Mon Mothma's holo. To force a choice between friendship and duty, to place Odom in terrible danger, went against everything Kyle believed in. After all, what could be lower than that? Yet what of the millions, the billions put at risk by the Death Star? What would they think of his moral dilemma? He knew the answer.
His feet seemed to be on automatic for the rest of the journey, as he made his way back through Trid. The Moldy Crow's security system indicated that there had been no less than three attempts to enter the ship while he was gone, none of them successful. Kyle scanned the video secured by the rivet-sized lens, dismissed the would-be burglars as common thieves, and reset the system.
Once sealed, the hull was more than adequate protection against the spaceport's noise and stench. In fact, if it hadn't been for the vibration generated by the ships that used the strip, he would have been unaware of their comings and goings. His dinner, purchased from a street vendor and carried back to the ship, was delicious. Especially after five days of dehydrated food. He wolfed it down, drank a quart of local spring water, and hit the rack. Sleep came fast - as did the dreams.
He had switched places with a Rebel back on the asteroid. The hatch made a natural point of defense. There were so many stormtroopers that it was impossible to miss. Bodies were piled on bodies until they blocked the corridor. That's when the fighting stopped, medics removed their helmets, and Kyle started to scream. Every single corpse had Meek Odom's face.
Given the fact that Kyle had spent the night aboard the Moldy Crow, and she had spent it within the confines of her miserable apartment, Jan assumed that he had slept better than she had. That's why she felt resentful when he opted for an early start and forced her to do likewise. She double-timed around the west end of the runway just in time to see him emerge from an eatery. Her breakfast, which consisted of a cup of tea purchased on the run, left her hungry.
Still, it was interesting to see him on the move, especially after the somewhat inconclusive meanderings carried out the day before. What was he up to anyway? Assuming that an agent with no real training and no experience - had a plan.
Kyle stopped to get directions from a street vendor, turned down a side street, and found what he thought was the correct address. He turned, saw nothing suspicious about the woman staring into a shop window, the man emptying slops, or the droid that whirred down the sidewalk. Then, having checked once more to make sure he was in the right place, the agent climbed a short flight of stairs and disappeared within.
There was a carving over the dilapidated door and Jan strained to see what it was. It looked like a wheel, with complicated spokes radiating out from the center. Jan had the sense that she'd seen it before, but she couldn't place it.
One good thing about the situation was the fact that it allowed her to buy a sweet roll in a nearby shop. She was licking frosting off her fingers when Kyle emerged. He scanned the general vicinity, failed to see her through the plate glass window, and headed for the business district.
That left Jan in a dilemma: She could follow Kyle, and see where he went, or investigate the building and figure out why he'd gone there.
She chose the second alternative, waited till he was out of sight, and mounted the stairs. The door opened on well-oiled hinges, bells jingled, and the odor of incense filled her nostrils. The Ortolan monk had a long snout, floppy ears, and two disk-shaped eyes. His bright blue fur clashed with the saffron robe he wore. "May I be of assistance?" His voice was soft but audible over the distant chant.
A wheel of life, a monk, and the sound of chanting. Everything came together. A temple had been established in the building. There were thousands of religions within the Empire, and while Palpatine disapproved of many, most were tolerated so long as they remained apolitical. Jan smiled. "No, thank you. I chose the wrong door."
The monk bowed. "There are many doors - and many paths beyond them. Go in peace."
Jan bowed, knew she wouldn't find much peace, not for a while anyway, and returned to the street. She looked back over her shoulder. What did a temple have to do with Kyle? Or the Imperial Death Star for that matter? She could have asked, but what if the monk tipped Kyle off? He would recognize her description in a second. No, better to wait and see.
Jan took three steps and stopped. What if she'd been suckered? What if Kyle was a lot better trained than she thought he was, knew she was following him, and was determined to lose her? It seemed unlikely, but anything was possible. Especially for a double agent.
Jan broke into a run. It carried her down the street, around a corner, and onto the main drag. She stopped and looked both ways. Where had he gone? What was he doing? The answer, once she had it, was anticlimactic. Kyle, apparently at ease, was strolling toward his ship.
A lot of people had filtered into the Blue Moon during the last hour or so. Spacers mostly, with a leavening of colonists, and aliens with nowhere else to go.
A mirror ran the entire length of the room, its insect-specked surface barely visible between the bottles, jugs, gourds, decanters, and squeeze bulbs racked in front of it. The club's proprietor wore a dingy apron, and polished the same section of bar over and over again, as if doing so would bring him luck.
Up toward the front, where she could be seen through the window, a dancer bumped and ground her way through a two-hour shift, her face empty of all expression, her eyes far away.
Further back, seated around a too-small table, a group of farm boys, their empties ranked before them, ogled the dancer, and bragged of exploits they'd never had.
Kyle, who occupied one of about ten booths that lined the wall opposite the bar, split his attention between the dancer and the entryway. Not because the dancer was especially attractive, but because she was a legitimate place to look. The last thing he needed was a man with a "Who are you looking at?" drunk. The afternoon and early evening had passed slowly, very slowly, and Kyle was nervous. So nervous he held the blaster cradled in his lap. Once he had made the decision to place his friend at risk, the rest had been easy. Comm calls were almost sure to be monitored, as was E-mail, which left word of mouth. The fact that Odom was a spiritualist, almost certain to visit the local temple, offered a path for communications.