Dark Forces_ Rebel Agent Part 5

Mon Mothma, who was deeply engaged in a logistical problem, took scant notice. Sneezes and what people said about them were less important than medical supplies and the systems used to distribute them. Mon Mothma wore her hair short so as to minimize maintenance and preferred loose-fitting robes - worn with a single clasp or pin - to the tunics and trousers that Leia favored. Perhaps it was a habit picked up during her years as a senator or - and this seemed more likely - it was a matter of comfort. Whatever the reason, the administrator's robes swished this way and that as she strode back and forth.

"And so," she continued, "the efficient distribution of medical supplies not only will save lives, it will signal the government's priorities and our ability to deliver on them."

Luke, who knew he should care about such matters, struggled to pay attention. The administrative and political matters that Mon Mothma and his sister found so fascinating often left him cold or, more accurately, bored. That being the case, he looked hopeful when one of Mon Mothma's aides slipped into the compartment and whispered something into the administrator's ear. Any sort of distraction would be welcome. The administrator listened, nodded, and said something in return.

The aide left, and Mon Mothma turned to her guests. "Excuse the interruption, but it seems as though something rather urgent has come up."

Leia and Luke rose as if to leave, and Mon Mothma gestured for them to stay. "No. I would appreciate your opinions on this."

The hatch opened, and a woman entered. Leia noticed she was pretty, though not self-consciously so, and dressed in a civilian flight suit. The fact that she had pa.s.sed through a security check and still wore a sidearm testified to her clearance. Mon Mothma gave the newcomer a hug and turned to her guests. "Jan, this is Leia Organa and her brother Luke Skywalker... Leia, Luke, this is Jan Ors. It was Jan who, along with an agent named Kyle Katarn, stole the Death Star plans from the lab on Danuta."

Jan felt blood rush to her cheeks. Leia Organa? As in Princess Leia Organa? And Luke Skywalker? The Jedi Knight? Both were famous. She wasn't sure what kind of reception she would get.

But there was no mistaking their enthusiasm, the warmth of Leia's handshake, or the grin on Skywalker's face as they circled the table to greet her. "This is a real pleasure .... What you did took guts. And it saved a lot of lives. Thank you."

Jan blushed all over again, stammered something about how Kyle had carried out the most difficult part of the mission, and was glad when Mon Mothma brought the conversation back to the present. "You have something to report? Something about a valley?"

Jan nodded. "It's called the Valley of the Jedi."

Luke sat up straight. "What did you say? The Valley of what?"

Alarmed and somewhat taken aback, Jan repeated the name. "The Valley of the Jedi . . . Why? Have you heard of it?"

Luke looked thoughtful. "Yes, I've heard of it. First from Yoda. And then from others. None of them had actually seen it, though . . . and that makes me wonder."

Jan shrugged and held the disk up for them to see. "Well, Kyle's father thought it was real and left a message to that effect."

Leia frowned. "Thought it was real? What happened to him?"

Jan remembered the holo she and Kyle had seen on board the Star of Empire and winced. "The Imperials murdered Morgan Katarn and placed his head on a spike."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "He was beheaded? That's how they killed him?"

"I guess so. Does it make a difference?"

The Jedi's bionic hand strayed to the lightsaber at his side. "Maybe, and maybe not," he replied vaguely. "But it's my observation that beheadings are as rare as the weapons used to carry them out."

Jan was just starting to consider the implications of that when Mon Mothma gestured toward the disk. "Let's see what Katarn has to say."

Jan apologized for the quality and dropped the disk into a player. What looked like a snowstorm swirled, static crackled, and an image appeared. The man had gray, almost white hair, and a full growth of beard. His eyes were kindly but tired. A workshop or similar area appeared in the background.

"This message is intended for my son Kyle Katarn -" crackle . . . pop, . . . crackle. . . "- Kyle, I have left two very important items for you. The first is a map to the Valley of the Jedi, which is embedded in the stone ceiling above this room. The other is a lightsaber that once belonged to a Jedi named Rahn. Use it well. Use it for good."

Mon Mothma knew Rahn and wondered where he was. Luke had heard of the Jedi from Yoda.

Leia broke the silence. "No offense to you or the Katarn family, but so what? Why should the Alliance get involved? Resources are scarce. They must be allocated with care." Mon Mothma nodded in agreement.

Jan felt defensive and tried to conceal it. "The Imperials care, so we should care. They tried to keep the disk, lost it to Kyle, and fought to get it back. That's the best answer I can give."

Luke intervened before Leia could reply. "Listen to the legend, and you will understand."

Mon Mothma started to say something and thought better of it. Luke continued. "Hundreds and hundreds of years ago a Jedi named Kaan turned away from the light and formed the Brotherhood of Darkness. The Brotherhood used the dark side of the Force to build an empire and were well on their way toward expanding it when an army was raised to oppose them.

"The army of opposition consisted of beings from many species and planets, representing all walks of life. But they had one thing in common. They were Jedi.

"The two sides came together on a remote and little-known world. Salvos of pure energy were exchanged, storms raged across the land, and lightning flashed from the skies. Entire cities were destroyed, a species was pushed to the edge of extermination, and spirits separated from their bodies.

"Finally, after days of mortal combat, the Brotherhood was defeated. Knowing that he had lost but unwilling to accept defeat, Kaan lured his opponents into a valley. And it was there that the Brotherhood of Darkness committed suicide, taking good Jedi with them. Not to the freedom of death but into a state of suspended animation where they remain trapped.

"Their spirits should be released and allowed to merge with the Force, but there are those who would tap the energy they represent and use it for evil. a.s.suming the stories are true, a.s.suming such a place exists, it would be well worth fighting for."

There was momentary silence as the rest of the group took the story in. Jan was the first to speak. "Kyle will be up and around soon. We'll find the map."

Mon Mothma shook her head. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Jan. Kyle needs time to heal."

Leia saw the way Jan's eyes narrowed, the manner in which her mouth formed a hard, straight line, and knew the agent disagreed. What she didn't know was the extent to which Jan had matured over the last year or so, giving her the courage to challenge Mon Mothma's authority.

"With all due respect, agents are wounded all the time and thrown into action the moment they can walk. If this is about Kyle and the fact that he was an Imperial officer, then say so."

The fact that the agent in question had been a member of the Imperial military forces was news to Leia and Luke. They exchanged glances but remained silent. Mon Mothma felt no such compunction. "All right, it may not be fair, but I don't trust him. He's a graduate of the Imperial Military Academy. How can we be sure of his loyalty?"

Leia looked from one woman to the other and said what she felt. "Han was a smuggler, and some say worse. He graduated from the Academy, yet you trust him. People can and do change."

Jan shot Leia a grateful look. It confirmed what Leia had suspected all along. Jan Ors was in love with Kyle Katarn - for better or worse.

If Mon Mothma was annoyed, she gave no sign of it. "So, Luke, you've heard both sides of the issue. What do you think?"

The Jedi stared at the floor, lost in thought. His words came slowly, as if from a distance. "I think the second part of the message bears on the first. What did Katarn say? Something about a lightsaber that belonged to Rahn? The gift implies talent - talent and something more connections that I sense but can't put into words. I believe we can trust Kyle. The real question is whether he can trust himself. A self-taught Jedi? A great deal could go wrong. Still, the path is his, and he must walk it."

Mon Mothma looked thoughtful for a moment and turned to Jan. "Say nothing of this meeting. Allow Kyle to do as he will. If he's even half the man you say he is, all will be well. If he turns on us - kill him. Agreed?"

Kyle? Jedi? Was such a thing possible? And what about Mon Mothma's orders? Jan remembered Danuta - and the moment when she had pointed her blaster at Kyle's head. She hadn't been able to do it then. Could she do it now? Probably not. But she nodded anyway. "Agreed."

Leia saw the lie and allowed herself the tiniest of smiles. Life had never been, and never would be, simple.

Kyle hovered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. He heard the medic enter the room, watched her through carefully slitted eyes, and maintained his silence. The shoulder wound felt better, much better, but he was in no mood to talk.

The medic glanced in his direction as if to make sure that the agent was all right and turned her attention to the officer in the next bed. Tubes snaked in and out of his body, and the respirator made a gentle wheezing sound as it pushed oxygen into his lungs. The medic checked to make sure everything was operating properly, tapped some readings into a datapad, and left the compartment.

Kyle allowed himself to drift and was just about to take still another nap when someone entered. The medic? Back already? He peered through half-closed eyes.

Jan came in, looked around, and approached the foot of his bed. She looked just plain wonderful - pretty in spite of the coveralls she wore, yet pensive, as if she was worried about something.

Kyle was about to greet Jan, to tell her he felt better, when she turned away. Two lockers, one for each patient, were bolted to the bulkhead. Jan opened Kyle's, removed his trousers, and slipped her hand into a pocket. Then, after placing a kiss on his forehead, she left.

Kyle waited to make sure she wouldn't return, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and got to his feet. The deck was cold and hard. He opened the locker, grabbed his pants, and checked the pockets. Everything, including the all-important disk, was just as he'd left it. Or was it? What was Jan doing anyway? And if she had removed something - only to replace it - what had it been? His wallet? The disk? The holo cube? And why?

The agent frowned, shucked his gown, and started to dress. The disk, the dream, and Jan. The pieces were in front of him. But how did they fit? The answer was out there - and he would find it.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Sull.u.s.t hung huge in the sky as Boc stood watching the troops guide the heavily loaded grav pallet up the ramp and into the shuttle's hold. The tiles were numbered and ready for rea.s.sembly. He shifted his weight and winced in pain.

The ache originated from the point where his tendon had been severed and reconnected. Boc favored his opposite foot as he turned to Yun. "That was the last load."

The younger Jedi nodded. "What now?"

"Here comes Sariss . . . . Ask her."

Yun turned toward his mentor. "And to what fabulous destination are we bound?"

"To Baron's Hed, so 8t88 can examine the map and try to make sense of it."

"Ah," Yun replied lightly, "and a fine piece of machinery he is .... Come, Boc. The bright lights beckon."

There was no answer.

Yun and Sariss turned to see where the other Jedi had gone. He stood with his back to them. His eyes scanned the countryside. Yun spoke again. "Boc? Come on - it's time to go."

"Someone is watching. I can feel it."

"So?" Sariss responded impatiently. "What did you expect? This is more activity than the locals have seen for a long time. We're hard to miss."

"The Force is strong in this one," Boc continued, "and he seeks to destroy us."

"Him and a few million more," Yun said dismissively. "Come. Lunch awaits."

"Into the shuttle, Boc," Sariss ordered sternly. "Jerec wants the map, and he wants it soon." Boc took one last look, turned, and shuffled toward the ramp. The remaining Jedi exchanged glances, shook their heads in wonderment, and followed.

Kyle couldn't hear what the Imperials were saying. And he didn't really care. From his vantage point up on the hill he could see the fields, the tap tree that stood in front of the house, and the Imperial shuttle that squatted beyond. Heat shimmered above the ship's hull and distorted the vehicle parked beyond. It contained a half-dozen transports, some gravsleds, and a mobile command post.

Timing was everything, or so the saying went, and his had been poor. The heavily loaded grav pallets meant that the Imperials had removed something. But what? Whatever it was would have to be a good deal more valuable than his father's tools and equipment to justify the expenditure of so many resources.

Kyle felt a momentary sense of pride. The Empire had murdered Morgan Katarn - but his impact lingered on.

It appeared as though the Imperials were preparing to leave. Some of them, anyway. The agent raised his electrobinoculars and took one last look. Two men and a woman stood in front of the shuttle. They were Jedi, judging from the lightsabers they wore. But none was Jerec. Where was he anyway, the mysterious figure who had attended Kyle's graduation, murdered his father, and sent 8t88 to find him? Close, very close, but out of reach.

Kyle touched a b.u.t.ton and zoomed to maximum magnification. He examined each Jedi in turn. The woman wore bright red lipstick, the youngster displayed an "I'm better than you are" sneer, and the last was a Twi'lek, a rarity among Imperial forces. The alien turned toward Kyle. The agent felt his heart start to pound as he made contact with the s.p.a.ce-black eyes.

Kyle lowered the electrobinoculars, certain that he'd been discovered. But he realized that he hadn't. Not in the normal sense, anyway . . . .

The others spoke to the strange-looking Jedi, and he turned away. Kyle felt light-headed and fought to control his breathing. The encounter had been frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Here was partial validation of his dream. Maybe, just maybe, he could become a Jedi - not the kind that murdered people but the kind that fought to protect them.

The Jedi, along with a contingent of stormtroopers, had boarded the shuttle by now, and the ship was lifting. Repulsors flared, the nose rotated toward the east, and thrusters fired.

Kyle went facedown as the shuttle pa.s.sed directly over his position. Bushes swayed and dust filled the air. The Rebel looked back over his shoulder, spit gra.s.s, and was thankful when the s.p.a.cecraft disappeared.

He stood, gave thanks that Jan hadn't been around to witness his rather undignified dive, and brushed gra.s.s off his clothes.

A quick check confirmed that although the Jedi had left, stormtroopers and mercenaries still patrolled the area around the house while an AT-ST minced through an unplanted field.

Tough odds, but not impossible ones, especially for someone who had spent his childhood there and knew every square centimeter.

Kyle checked his blaster, shoved it back into its holster, and moved along the side of the hill. Imperial troops had a strong tendency to do everything by the book, and having studied their books, he knew what to expect.

Sentries would be posted all around the structure to be defended. Not many, just enough to slow an incursion and call for reinforcements. Once that occurred, a heavily armed response force would rush to the area and provide whatever muscle was necessary.

That being the case, Kyle hoped to slip between the sentries and avoid the ma.s.sive response. He stayed off the well-established footpaths and took the sort of routes that only a child would be aware of, routes that were much more likely to be free of sentries, sensors, and trip wires. One such path, which was little more than a game trail now, required Kyle to get down on his stomach and elbow his way forward. Bushes closed over his head and brushed his sides.

The going was a good deal more difficult than he remembered. Of course, now he had an adult body, and the undergrowth had closed in on itself during his absence.

The smells were the same, though, especially the yeasty odor of wild poro poppies and the sweet, almost nauseating scent of nantha blossoms.

Insects scurried to get out of his way.

A harmless eye-eye snake hissed, aimed its head-eye in the direction of travel, and used the tail-eye to monitor pursuit.

A hole ball, its fur eternally matted with the debris that provided its camouflage, took one look at the enormous invader, gave a squeak of alarm, and rolled into one of its mult.i.tudinous holes.

Kyle smiled. All the creatures around him were old friends, or descendants of old friends, first encountered during his boyhood.

The undergrowth thinned, and the farmhouse appeared through the foliage. The Rebel squirmed his way forward, spotted a patch of telltale white armor, and ceased all movement.

The stormtrooper paused, scanned the surrounding area, and resumed his patrol. Kyle waited for the sentry to leave, pushed his way forward, and stuck his head out. The way was clear, except for a blaster-burned, agro droid.

Kyle dashed across the intervening s.p.a.ce, tried the back door, and felt it open under his hand. The lock, such as it was, had been blasted away.

The kitchen was a disaster. Cupboard doors gaped open, graffiti covered the walls, and debris crunched under his boots. The agent paused, listened, and moved on.

It appeared as if the house had been ransacked on repeated occasions. The Imperials had been first, followed by thieves who'd seen Morgan Katarn's head on display at the s.p.a.ceport, then people with nothing better to do.

Someone had camped in the living room. A collection of dirty pots and pans was stacked next to the fireplace, and trash filled the northeast corner of the room. More than a little nervous, Kyle made his way to the front room and peered out the window. A Commando appeared, and the Rebel pulled back.

Getting in was one thing - getting out would be another. Still, no one had shown any inclination to enter the house, for which he was thankful. Perhaps most of them had been there already or had orders to stay out. Whatever the reason, it was fine with Kyle.

A trail of masonry drew a line between the much-abused front door and Morgan Katarn's workshop. Kyle followed it until a picture caught his eye. It hung askew, as if ready to fall. Not too surprising, given what the place had been through.

Kyle walked over, removed the 3-D print from the wall, and gazed into his mother's face. He had a single memory of her - of being held in her arms, of crying over something, something that didn't seem so bad with her arms wrapped around him.

Tenderly, reverently Kyle removed the picture from its frame and rolled it into a cylinder. A sc.r.a.p of wire served to secure the roll, which went into his right cargo pocket. It might take a beating during the hours ahead, but anything was preferable to leaving the print where it was.

The agent entered the workshop. His father and he had spent countless hours there, taking things apart, putting them back together, or just plain fooling around. The shop had been the center of the house and, in some ways, of their relationship.