Tales from the New Republic (5 page)

As the landspeeder sped off, Bel Iblis stumbled from the shop and ran across the street. He’d seen the woman’s senseless murder and though he would not have questioned the truth of someone reporting Ysanne Isard had ordered such a thing, to see it unfold before him was another thing entirely. Reaching the alley mouth he saw blood and, just for a moment, he expected to follow the trail and find his wife at the end of it.

No, she’s gone. Poor Arrianya, you died for a cause you didn’t even believe in
. Bel Iblis choked back the lump rising in his throat, then looked deeper into the dim alley and saw the woman slumped against a wall. Her right arm hung limply at her side, the sleeve of her coat soaked in blood. A cigarra hung from the corner of her mouth, and she kept trying to strike a lighter with her blood-slicked left hand.

The woman looked over at him and grinned. “Got a spark, pal?” Then her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed.

The senator ran to her and knelt at her side.
The only virtue of being shot with a Penetrator is that the tiny beam makes a neat hole
. Bel Iblis saw a nasty entry wound and a smaller exit on the front side of her shoulder. He stripped off his own coat and wrapped it around the wounds, then lifted her in his arms and started back toward Arkos’s store.

It occurred to him that the last woman he had carried in his arms like this had been his wife, on an anniversary getaway several years earlier. It had been a wonderful time, an escape from the pressures of his office and her duties, and they had both told each other that they would do it again, soon.
Very soon
.

Bel Iblis’s expression hardened.
I lost her to the Empire; I’m not losing anyone else
. He knew, given the course the Rebellion would likely take, that resolution would never hold.
Well, at least I won’t lose this woman. It’s not saving the galaxy, but it’s saving the part of it I can, and that works for now
.

He looked up as Arkos held the shop’s door open. “We need to get her some medical help—now. That woman was Ysanne Isard, late of Imperial Center and employed by Imperial Intelligence.”

“If she’s here…” Terror choked off Arkos’s voice.

The senator put steel into his voice. “Hang with me, Arkos. She’s not invincible—she walked right past me, remember, and snagged someone who’s got nothing to do with our business. Keep your head and we’ll all keep ours.”

Arkos thought for a moment, then nodded quickly. “You’re right. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Let’s get things going.” Bel Iblis smiled. “There will come a point when Isard realizes she needs to come back here and complete her business with you. By then I want everything we need to do done, and the only thing left for her here is our laughter at her blunder.”

Hal Horn’s afternoon sojourn with Agent Glasc and her aide, Trabler, made one thing abundantly clear to him. These two, as efficient as they might be as investigators, were not part of Darkknell Special Security, not even whatever they might call their internal investigations bureau.
They have all the arrogance I’d expect from the Isk-isk division, but it’s usually only displayed to Hutted-up cops, not civilians
.

Glasc had moved Hal from location to location, proclaiming each to be a suspected Rebel contact site. Most were sleazy little holes like Arky’s store, but a couple had been more upscale and toward the west side of Xakrea. The gourmet caf shop where Hal and Trabler waited outside on either side of the door was one of the more prosperous places. Hal had enjoyed the rich aroma of the small shop, and had reluctantly agreed to wait outside as the owner took Glasc into her private office to discuss things.

Hal arched an eyebrow at Trabler. “Hard to believe the owner didn’t think we’d fit in with the clientele.”

The bigger man frowned, causing his blond brows to kiss each other above his nose. “You think we look like Rebels?”

Hostility poured through Trabler’s voice and Hal was perfectly glad his Force senses were a bit tired, since it saved him the full force of the anger rolling off the guy. “Easy, my friend, I didn’t mean to suggest that at all. You know as well as I do that the Rebel tag on this place was likely snitched by the other caf shop around the corner. Customers here seem a bit too prosperous to be Rebels.”

“Think so, do you?” Trabler snorted coldly. “You’d be surprised at how highly some Rebels are placed. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t.”

“And that’s supposed to mean?”

“Means one can’t be too sure who’s gone over or not.” Trabler half smiled. “The Core Worlds have their share of Rebels, sure, but rimkin have more.”

“Interesting point.” Hal let a pair of women exiting the shop shield him from Trabler. The last time Hal had heard the word “rimkin” used, he had broken up a fight in a Corellian tapcafe where a local had beaten someone from Imperial Center to a pulp for applying such an insulting term to him.
Not too many rim-dwellers apply that word to themselves
.

The door opened again and Agent Glasc appeared. She was daubing a white handkerchief against a dark spot on her gray blouse. “She was useless. Broke down and blubbered about evading taxes, but she knows nothing about the Rebellion. Or the plot against Bel Iblis.”

Trabler glanced at his datapad, then pointed on down the street. “Continuum Void is next on the list. It’s that way.”

Hal took the lead and found Glasc quickly pacing beside him. “The owner didn’t react to any of the holographs you showed her?”

Glasc shook her head. “Ignorant, completely ignorant, as was her staff. Places like this claim to bring the latest in Imperial culture to Darkknell, but it’s only what they imagine really goes on at the heart of the Empire. I mean, Corellia is a Core World—did you think the Corellian blend caf was the sort of thing you’d drink at home?”

“Well, no, but that’s because at CorSec we brew it strong enough to be used for medicinal purposes.” Hal shrugged. “When doing a rimstint I try not to let the indigs and their ways get to me, you know?”

“You’re very charitable, Inspector Horn.”

Hal smiled. “I try to be.” The fact that Glasc didn’t react at all when he referred to the citizens of Darkknell as “indigs” or his time on the world as a “rimstint,” told him very clearly she wasn’t the local she was purporting to be.
A local could no more have failed to react than Moranda could give up her cigarras. Something is not right here, and I’m not looking forward to finding out
how wrong
it’s become
.

Trabler moved ahead and opened the door to the crowded tapcaf. Hal descended the trio of steps to the serving floor, then worked his way around past a table of boisterous Devaronians. He wanted to reach the bar before Glasc did. He managed to delay her by tapping a Devaronian on the shoulder. As the man swung his head around to see who had touched him, a horn snagged Glasc’s uniform tunic, slowing her down.

Hal spotted a small man wearing a name tag that proclaimed him to be the manager and moved to intercept him before the guy could head through a doorway leading into an office marked “Private.” “I’m Inspector Horn; these are Agents Glasc and Trabler. We have some questions for you. Do you want to answer them now, or
after
we lock this place down and have it searched for contraband?”

The little man gulped air audibly, and coughed half of it back up. “I don’t want trouble.”

Hal half turned toward Glasc. Her glare had only been partially melted by the way he’d braced the man. “Agent Glasc here has some holographs for you to look at.” Hal held his hand out, and she gave them to him, then he fanned them in front of the manager. “Recognize anyone?”

The man gave them a cursory glance. “No, I don’t think I do.”

Hal settled his left hand on the man’s right shoulder. “Look, pal, I’m just trying to give you a chance to help yourself here. The surveillance team we’ve got on this place has pointed out to us which of these guys has actually been through here. Now you confirm their information and answer more questions, or we send you away for obstructing justice. We can still send him to Kessel for that, right, Agent Glasc?”

Glasc nodded, her expression getting cold. “For a long time.”

The little man shivered. “Kessel? I don’t even know what that is.”

“And that’s the way you want to keep it, friend. Look at the holographs again, closely.”

The man did, running a finger across the surface of each. The manager didn’t let recognition flash through his eyes on any of them. Even so, with his hand on the man’s shoulder, Hal could feel the tiny twitches of shoulder muscle that marked each pause over an image. Three of the five guys had actually been in the place, but the longest pause had come over the center picture, the one of the short blond guy with a military-style haircut.

The manager blinked. “I’m not sure.”

“Let me help you.” Hal shuffled the blond’s picture to the top of the pack, then plucked it off the top and smacked it against the man’s forehead. He did so with a bit more gusto than he wanted to, but the fact that the man’s head bumped against the wall eased Glasc’s scowl and, after all, Hal was playing more to appease her than anything else.

“This guy was in here and you remember him. How recently?”

“Um, um, yesterday maybe, no, wait, this morning. Early. Only the habituals in that early, you know?” The manager aped Hal’s growing smile. “He was waiting for someone, but then he burst into flames.”

Glasc pounced on that remark. “Burst into flames?”

The manager winced at the sharp tone in her voice. “Well, he was sitting there, then this woman with a drink and cigarra tripped and spilled the drink on him. Cigarra caught it on fire, I guess. She helped him put it out and he was okay.”

Hal gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze. “Great, and what else do you remember?”

“Well, when the guy he was waiting for showed, they talked and the blond guy there, he got agitated. He said he’d been robbed, then he took off like he’d stolen Vader’s cloak, you know?”

Glasc narrowed her eyes and glanced at Hal. “Whatever he had was lifted, you figure? The woman who set him on fire must have it. What did she look like?”

The pink tip of the manager’s tongue wormed its way over dry lips. “Well, she wasn’t that tall, and she had brown hair…”

Hal shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I have a holograph for you to look at.” He reached into his pocket and slipped a holograph from his wallet, then pulled it out. He ripped the blond man’s holograph from the manager’s forehead and tossed it to Glasc, then showed the other holo to the manager. “Was this her?”

The manager shook his head. “Never seen her before in my life.”

I should hope not. My wife wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this
. Hal shrugged and slipped the holograph back into his pocket. “Thank you for your help. You’re free to go.”

The man scurried off as Glasc grabbed Hal’s shoulder and spun him toward her. “What do you mean dismissing him?”

“Forgive me for preempting your investigation, but you know this lead was a complete bust. We’re looking for the person who killed Bel Iblis, right? Well, what assassin sits around in some dump tapcaf like a jewel thief waiting for a fence? I’ve no doubt your pretty boy there is guilty of something, but he was a rank amateur if he got lifted the way he did. And a lifter that good has likely already put plenty of hyperspace between her butt and this rock.”

Trabler frowned. “The assassin was waiting to get paid.”

Hal rolled his eyes. “Then what was lifted? Proof he’d killed Bel Iblis? I would have thought the galaxywide broadcast of the state funeral on Corellia would have pretty much been taken as proof. Moreover, an assassin that good would have demanded at least partial payment up front, so he’d never have to dive to these depths again. We should be looking on some luxury resort world, not here.”

Hal watched Glasc and saw her eyes flicker back and forth for a moment. He expected panic to roll off her, but he caught none of it.
Which means my Force reserves are absolutely gone, or she’s just that good at self-control
. Her whole cover story, thought up on the fly as Trabler shot Moranda down, was falling apart, and Trabler’s spackle job had only pointed out how absurd it had been from the start. Whatever they were really here searching for had been brought to Darkknell by the blond and lifted by Moranda. The fact that these two reeked of Core World arrogance suggested to Hal that they were most likely Imperials.

Hal shook his head.
And that means both Moranda—if she’s even alive—and I are in far deeper than we ever wanted to be
.

Garm Bel Iblis looked around the threadbare apartment as Moranda gingerly shrugged on a new blouse and jacket. Her living quarters were little more than a box with a window and a small refresher station walled away toward the rear, right beside the closet in which she rooted about for clothes. He didn’t see much there that made him think this was a place she’d lived long-term—and before congratulating himself on his deductive ability, he did recall that a CorSec inspector had come looking for her, which meant she’d been on the run.

The room, he thus decided, was one of those places that was the underworld’s equivalent of a safe house. Governments used safe houses as places where they could hide a witness before a trial or house a spy during debriefing. There were little bits and pieces of stuff here—mismatched glowlamps, a half-dozen periodical datacards, a melange of sheets and blankets that covered a thin pad laid down out of sight of the window—that had probably been left behind by previous criminal tenants.

Now that I’m full into the Rebellion, I guess this will be the sort of place I’ll be spending my time in, too
.

“The place isn’t much, I know. Neither am I.” Moranda emerged from the closet wearing a vibrant blue tunic and a dark brown coat over it. She eased her right shoulder around in a tiny circle and almost totally suppressed the grimace that resulted. “There, good as new.”

“A bacta bath would make you good as new.”

“True, but the shot mostly just roasted meat—lots of aches but no breaks. Besides those Emdee droids have a nasty habit of reporting blaster burns to the authorities.” Moranda eyed him closely. “Seeing as how you’re a Rebel, I don’t think you’d want that sort of scrutiny.”

Bel Iblis stiffened, quite involuntarily, then narrowed his eyes. “How did you guess?”

“No guess about it.” She tapped a finger against her temple. “First, you cared to come find me, and it wasn’t to pick over my bones. Compassion is rare these days and the Rebels seem to have a lock on it. Second, you came even though you were smart enough to know the folks who shot me were probably Imperial Intelligence.”

Bel Iblis nodded. “The woman was Ysanne Isard, Armand Isard’s daughter.”

Moranda’s eyes grew wide at that, then she shivered. “I knew this was tricky business, but just how tricky…”

“What else made you think I’m a Rebel?”

“Arky has a rep. You’re clearly a Corellian and
all
Corellians hate taking orders. The patch job you did on me suggests you’ve done your time in the military, which helps breed loyalty to the way it was before Palpatine got greedy. Finally, if the Imps are sniffing around for something, the folks opposing them are likely to be Rebels.”

“Really?” Bel Iblis let the question linger for a moment. “Perhaps I’m Black Sun.”

“Ha! There’s that compassion thing, remember?”

“Hmmm, good point.” Bel Iblis thought for a moment. “What makes you think the Imps are sniffing around for some
thing
and not some
one
?”

“Well, I could tell you I deduced that from the fact that Iceheart’s daughter is here. For wet work they’d just send out a bunch of her drivers. She’s presumably got brains, so they must want to ask questions before they shoot.”

“Save in your case.”

“Hey, that’s a better shot than he got in.” Moranda gave Bel Iblis a lopsided smile. “Fact is, I lifted something from a nervous young man here and it has Imperial property—
important
Imperial property—coded all over it. That was what you were sent to pick up, wasn’t it?”

Bel Iblis shrugged as casually as he could manage. “Can you prove you were the thief?”

She nodded and pulled a black scarf from the pocket of her jacket. “The packet I exchanged for the one I stole had the mate of this tying it up all nice and pretty. Recognize it?”

He reached out and ran a thumb over the material. “Where’s the package now?”

She laughed. “Not so fast, Reb. I’m grateful for the patch on my arm, but I’d like the resources to leave this mudball and get far away from Hal Horn. What’s it worth to you?”

“Twenty-five thousand credits.”

“How about fifty?”

“Sold.”

Moranda’s eyes widened again. “That valuable, eh? Can we work some bonus pay in here, too?”

“Where is it?”

She hissed and Bel Iblis felt his heart tighten. “In a very safe place.”

“And that would be?”

“The reason I want to know about bonus pay.” She shook her head. “I slipped the datacards into the door of Isard’s rental speeder. I can see that surprises you, but don’t worry. Challenges like that, they always bring out the best in me.”