Kyle released his grip on the weapon and watched the droid place it on the far side of the table. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, our friend Jerec. He has many plans, Jerec does. Unfortunately, you don't factor into any of them. But I'm not without a heart. Ooops! My mistake . . . I am without a heart! Still, I might allow you to live, if you answer my questions."

8t88 held up a disk. It was approximately six centimeters in diameter and gleamed in the light. "Look familiar? Well, it should. I found dozens of them in your father's home."

Kyle made a grab for the disk, but hands held him back. The droid didn't seem to notice. "I'm pretty good with codes, but this one eludes me. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to provide some advice. Or shall I allow my friends to indulge the darker aspects of their personalities?"

Kyle eyed the disk and wondered what was on it. "The dark side? I've been there. Do your worst."

8t88 shook his head. "Too bad. What's the saying - 'Like father, like son'? Not a very pleasant thought, given the way your father ended his days. Have a nice evening."

The droid slid sideways, got to his feet, and made for the door. Someone chuckled as another body took the recently vacated seat. It was a Gran, and all three of his stalk-mounted eyes were bloodshot. His voice sounded like a gravel crusher stuck in low gear. "Remember me? It took three months for that blaster burn to heal."

"Can't say that I do," Kyle replied honestly, "but the streets are filled with trash - and it's hard to tell one piece from another."

The Gran was just starting to respond when Kyle reached over his shoulder, grabbed the second bounty hunter, a foul-smelling Rodian, and yanked. The diminutive alien arced through the air and slammed onto the table. The blaster took on a life of its own. It slid across the wellworn surface and into Kyle's hand. The Gran blinked in quick succession. "You'll never leave here alive. Nar Shaddaa will be your grave!"

Kyle grinned. "I'm not interested in leaving. Not till I conclude some business with 8t88 . . . . "

The bounty hunters watched the Rebel slide out of the booth, get to his feet, and back away. "Thanks for everything. Let's have lunch sometime."

n.o.body laughed.

Jan Ors guided the Moldy Crow down through the upper reaches of the city. There were all sorts of navigational hazards - spires, gantries, platforms, and sky bridges - all of which had been constructed for the convenience of those who owned them, without regard for the public good. It seemed as though an entire constellation of red warning lights floated around her. Not to mention the sometimes deceptive signs that might guide pilots to their destination - or into an isolated cargo bay where they would be murdered and their cargos stolen.

Not that the Crow was likely to attract much attention, especially in light of her lowly status and battered appearance. Originally commissioned as a freighter, she had filled many roles since then and had suffered in the process. She was Corellian-built, though - faster than she looked, and armed to the teeth - just right for the sort of jobs the Alliance a.s.signed to its network of agents.

Jan frowned, bit her lower lip, and killed forward motion. The globeshaped drone-ship rose like a bubble from the bottom of the sea. Repulsors strobed the darkness below as lights circled its vast midsection. Static crackled over the c.o.c.kpit speakers as the other vessel climbed and cleared the nearby towers. Lightning stabbed a distant tower, causing the view screen to darken.

Jan checked her sensors, peered into the night, and eased the ship forward. The Rebel agent hadn't gone more than a hundred meters before a formation of three ships hurtled past. Turbulence threw the Crow sideways, and Jan fought for control. A voice blasted her ears. "This ain't no parking lot. Fly it or park it."

The ships, two TIE fighters and a TIE bomber, were gone before Jan could reply. The imperials - and there was no shortage - were as arrogant as ever. The Empire might be on the ropes somewhere, but there was no evidence of it in the vertical city. Fighting them, and what they represented, had consumed most of her life, a life that would have come to a premature end on Rebel-occupied asteroid AX-456 had anyone but Cadet Leader Kyle Katarn led the raid to recapture it.

Kyle's act of mercy and their subsequent friendship had formed the basis of a successful partnership, one in which he always found new ways to get into trouble - and she to bail him out. When she was allowed to, that is ....

The trip to Nar Shaddaa served as an excellent example. Jan had opposed the idea and believed she had talked Kyle out of it only to discover that he had gone without her. What would she find? Some crusty remains? A full-fledged firefight? Or the little boy "why worry about me?" act? There was no way to know. Kyle was good at any number of things, but teamwork wasn't one of them.

A remote-controlled landing drone appeared, ordered Jan to follow, and drew her toward the public landing platforms. Lights strobed, and she followed it in.

Kyle pulled a small comm set from his hip pocket, put the plug in his ear, and heard a clicking sound. It grew weaker when he turned right and stronger when he angled to the left. 88 and the tracker that had attached itself to his leg were on the move. There was a steady flow of foot traffic, and the Rebel shouldered his way through.

A Twi'lek pa.s.sed by his robes shimmering as he argued with an Ithorian herd merchant.

There was no way to know who or what rode in the heavily curtained sedan chair, only that he, she, or it must have been heavy, judging from the construction droids chosen to support the load.

An Imperial officer appeared, his rank hidden beneath a cloak, closely followed by his Commando bodyguards. Kyle felt his stomach muscles tighten and allowed his hand to stray toward the cross-draw holster at his waist. The vertical city recognized no authority save its own, and the Empire wanted him for desertion, treason, murder, and other crimes too numerous to mention.

Kyle b.u.mped into a long-nosed Kubaz, ignored the invective directed at his back, and pa.s.sed a bank of turbolifts.

The clicking lost some of its urgency. The Rebel did an about-face, forced his way onto an already packed platform, and felt his stomach do a somersault as it surged upward. Where was 88 headed, anyway? There was no way to be sure, but the launch platforms were up above, and that suggested a ship. Once 88 was gone, it would be next to impossible to recover the disk.

The clicking grew louder and settled into an unbroken tone. The droid was close, very close, yet beyond his reach. The agent swore under his breath as the platform coasted to a stop and paused while a female Whiphid stumped aboard. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the turbolift resumed its journey.

Kyle waited for the words "Launch Deck Three" to appear on the entry arch and jumped when they did. The tracker was so loud that Kyle removed the receiver from his ear. The tiny comlink made an excellent subst.i.tute. There was no way to tell if Jan was in the vicinity. But he would hear when and if she called. The Rebel craned his neck, saw his quarry disappear through a circular portal, and hurried to intercept.

8t88 had composed five different lies to account for his failure. Which would Jerec believe? The droid wondered as he stepped through a portal and descended a short flight of stairs. He was forced to pause. The clones were human, wore little more than rags, and were linked by short lengths of chain. They were miserable creatures with even less freedom than the average droid. A Gamorrean guard issued a steady stream of grunts, snorts, and burping noises. The prisoners kept their eyes on the deck.

While 8t88 waited for the slaves to pa.s.s, the brighter of his two bodyguards, a heavily muscled specimen who went by the name of Grentho, saw something and bent to examine it. The tracker clung stubbornly at first, popped free, and tried to escape. The human clamped the scorpion-shaped device between a heavily callused thumb and a nic-i-tain-stained forefinger. "Hey, boss! Look what I found on your leg!"

8t88 recognized the tiny machine instantly, instructed the bodyguard to destroy it, and took a quick look around. Kyle Katarn appeared as if on cue, moving to intercept.

The tracker squealed as Grentho ended its mechanical life. Windblown grit peppered 88's alloy skin. Klaxons sounded as an Imperial shuttle invaded the bay. Like most of his kind, 88 liked precision. The fact that the ship was on schedule pleased him. Various kinds of comm units had been incorporated into the droid's body and he used one of them to make contact with the pilot. "Punctuality is a virtue, Lieutenant. I shall see that your superiors hear of it. There's no need to land. Just lower the ramp."

The shuttle roared obediently and moved in over the ramp. Kyle drew his weapon, made the leap to the platform below, and yelled over the noise. "What? Leaving so soon?"

Sparks flew as the ramp touched the deck. 8t88 felt a sudden desire to taunt the human. He removed the disk from a storage compartment and waved it over his head. "Is this what you want? Come and get it!"

The bodyguards were reaching for their weapons when Kyle fired. The energy bolt removed 88's arm with almost surgical precision. The droid watched in disbelieving horror as the now-severed limb cartwheeled through the air, spewing hydraulic fluid in every direction, and clanged on the deck.

Kyle watched the arm roll to the edge of the platform, wobble, and disappear. The disk, still contained within the droid's tightly clenched fist, went along for the ride.

8t88 grabbed for his stump, located the arterylike tube, and pinched it off. A stormtrooper appeared, wrapped an arm around 88's midsection, and helped the droid up the ramp. The walkway cleared the platform and started to retract.

An energy bolt blipped past Kyle's shoulder, grazed a pa.s.sing Weequav, and scorched the bulkhead beyond. The none-too-intelligent creature roared his outrage, swung his pike at a group of Bith sand artists, and triggered a stampede.

Kyle fired in return. Grentho threw his arms out as if to welcome a friend and toppled over backward. Smoke eddied from the hole in his chest.

The second bodyguard fared better at first. She made it onto the ramp and was headed for the lock when a stormtrooper shot her in the face. She tumbled backward, fell off the ramp, and smashed into the platform below.

The shuttle rose on brightly flaring repulsors, turned, and headed away. Kyle took a parting shot, saw movement from the corner of his eye, and dived for cover. He was flying through the air, wishing that the deck was made of something softer than durasteel, when blaster fire scorched the platform behind him. The shuttle was clear, and an Imperial TIE bomber had been dispatched to even the score. The platform smashed into his chest, and he struggled to breathe.

All Kyle could do was watch as the TIE bomber rose - and swiveled in his direction. There was no place to hide. The Rebel stared into the laser cannon and waited for them to blink coherent light. He was still waiting when cannon fire struck the bomber from behind. It staggered and drifted into a wall. The resulting explosion lit the area, triggered various alarms, and activated the tower's emergency response systems.

Wall-mounted nozzles covered the wreckage with foam as rescue, medical, and hazmat droids walked, rolled, and, in one case, slithered to the rescue.

Still another ship descended into view, and Kyle, who was determined to go down fighting, lifted his weapon. He was about to fire when he recognized the ship's beaklike bow. Though not especially pretty, the Crow was a welcome sight. Jan was worried, relieved, and angry -all at the same time. "You're always in trouble!"

The Rebel holstered his weapon. "Not after you bail me out."

The pilot grinned in spite of herself. "I saw the vultures gathering over something and figured it might be you. How would you manage without me?"

Kyle scanned the still-smoking debris. "Perish the thought. I wouldn't last long, that's for sure."

c.o.c.kpit alarms started to sound, and Jan checked her screens. "More company on the way. Jump on the ramp, and we'll make a run for it."

Kyle shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. Meet me at the top! The disk fell off the platform. I'm going after it."

Jan wanted to ask, "What disk?" Wanted to find out what made it so important. But she knew Kyle wouldn't take the time to tell her. Darn him, anyway. He was brave to the point of recklessness and eternally out to prove himself even when the tests were over - first, at the Imperial Military Academy, and later within the Alliance, where his long list of accomplishments was credential enough, or should have been.

All of this and more pa.s.sed through Jan's mind in the twinkling of an eye. Someday there would be time to talk - but not now. a.s.suming they lived that long. "Roger that - be careful. I'll see you at the top."

The Crow spun on her axis, paused, and moved away.

Kyle scanned his surroundings, spotted a likely looking maintenance ladder, and jogged in its direction. It was a st.u.r.dy affair, made of durasteel and welded to an outer wall. On closer examination, Kyle saw that the ladder had been built to accommodate bipeds and, judging from the track mechanism mounted beside it, a highly specialized maintenance droid. What if he got halfway down and the droid arrived?

The Rebel looked up, looked down, and debated what to do. This decision, like so many, was taken from his hands. The stormtroopers doubletimed onto the far side of the platform, paused, and waited for orders. The ranking NCO had a parade ground voice and liked to use it. "All right, men spread out and find him! There's a price on his head - so you could be rich by morning."

The noncom's words were more than sufficient motivation. The stormtroopers had been summoned from nearby nightspots and, though not entirely sober, were adequate for the task at hand.

Kyle took one look, swung over the abyss, and located the first crosspiece with his feet. The rungs were close together - as if to accommodate beings with shorter legs - and ice cold. The Rebel wished he had gloves and pulled his hands into his sleeves, using them for insulation.

The city rose around him as the agent lowered himself into the depths. With a slight turn of his head, Kyle could see all manner of vertical structures, their cylindrical, rectangular, and even trapezoidal shapes connected by sky bridges, causeways, and arches. Everything was so intertwined that Kyle had the impression of multiple trunks all rising from a common set of roots, as if the entire city was part of a single organism on which a wide variety of symbiotes and parasites managed to flourish. And what did that make him, he wondered? A momentary infestation?

The thought amused him. He almost laughed aloud when an unexpected blast threatened to tear him loose. At least it felt like a blast, although there was nothing natural about the behemoth that caused it or about the way the air pummeled Kyle's body.

The ship was far too large for use within the narrow confines of Nar Shaddaa's lower canyons and had been pressed into use without regard for the safety of those who lived in the surrounding towers. A searchlight swept across Kyle's body, paused on the wall beyond, and came back again. A voice was amplified and audible over the ship's repulsors. "Hey, you! The man on the ladder! Hold it right there!"

Kyle ignored the order and increased his rate of descent. A rectangle of white light appeared and was gone. Kyle had the impression of a woman dressed in white, a Mon Calamari officer, and a chromeplated droid. They all looked surprised, and the woman, if she was typical, frightened.

The people on the ship were annoyed. Cannon fire rippled across the wall beneath Kyle's boots. He had no choice but to climb, even if that meant going to the landing platform above. Or did he? Kyle climbed up to the window, paused, and peered into the room. The occupants had fled.

Whoever commanded the ship took exception to the pause and fired. Kyle scrambled upward, heard the transparisteel windows shatter, and saw lights appear. Stormtroopers? No, a maintenance droid, sent to knock him clear.

The ship, unable to hold its position for more than a few seconds, had fallen two or three stories and was in the process of rising again. Kyle lowered himself downward, eyed the window, and made the sideways leap.

The maneuver was more difficult than he'd thought it would be. His arms. .h.i.t the windowsill, his legs kicked the wall, and the ship hovered meters away. It was so close that he might have been able to see the crew's faces had he turned to look. What were they doing? Waiting for him to fall?

The droid, well aware of its circ.u.mstances, wailed as it roared by. The crash came five seconds later.

The vessel was so huge, so overpowering, that it took every bit of Kyle's courage to throw a leg over the sill, ignore the cuts he had suffered, and pull himself into the recently devastated apartment. The ship addressed him via the loudspeakers. He waved in hopes that they would continue to hold their fire. Debris lay everywhere, holes had been punched through walls, and a fire burned in one corner of the room.

There was nothing graceful about the way he tumbled through the window, scrabbled toward the still-open door, and threw himself through it. He was barely through when the ship fired. The recently vacated apartment seemed to explode.

Kyle made it to his feet, sprinted down the hall, and heard the ship continue to fire. Windows shattered, walls vanished, and kitchens exploded as the Imperials probed the inside of the building. How many had died? The Imperials neither knew nor cared.

The corridor came to an end; the agent slipped into a fire escape and made his way downward. The attack and the noise that accompanied it gradually died away.

It was tempting to take a moment to reflect on what he'd been through, to check whatever wounds he'd sustained, but Kyle knew better than to do so. The Imperials would stop at nothing, and reinforcements were on the way. He took the stairs two at a time.

Kyle considered using the turbolifts after three or four floors but knew they would be dangerous and settled on the stairs, drop tubes, and ladderways instead. And he was not alone. Over time, other beings had been forced into the city's back ways. Now they called them home.

Still, threatening as some of them were, most had no desire to mix it up with the wild-eyed lunatic who came careening out of the dark, blood clotting along one side of his face, clothes hanging in shreds.

They appeared like snapshots, their expressions of fear, hatred, or surprise forever burned into Kyle's memory as they peered out of tunnels, bared their fangs, or jumped out of his way. Gravity and his own inertia pulled him downward.

There wasn't much time to think, to a.n.a.lyze his progress, but certain things were obvious. The city was constructed in layers. By descending into Nar Shaddaa's depths, Kyle was traveling back in time.

The metal beneath his boots took on a different ring as old alloys replaced new.

The ever-present graffiti transitioned from standard to alien hieroglyphics and back again.

Murals spoke through layers of grime, telling stories of a people so wealthy, a culture that held art in such high esteem, that it beautified even the most insignificant of pa.s.sageways.

Wreckage, including the hull of an ancient s.p.a.ceship, spoke of hard times, too, when someone or something had been shackled to wellanch.o.r.ed ring bolts and spent days scratching its name into the wall.

The farther Kyle went, the warmer it became - so warm that moisture ran down the walls, rust coated everything in sight, and his clothes hung heavy on his body.

The source of the warmth was no mystery. As Kyle neared the moon's surface, he entered the realm of the city's ma.s.sive exhaust ports. Built to vent the excessive heat thrown off by Nar Shaddaa's antiquated power plants, the stacks were one of the reasons why the city's residents had pushed their structures up and away from the moon's rocky surface.

Sweat poured off Kyle's body as he made his way down ancient stone stairs, pa.s.sed through a shattered gate, and stepped over a strangelooking skeleton. The Rebel activated a glow rod and played the beam on the area in front of him.

Water was everywhere, dripping, gurgling, and gushing, as if part of a conspiracy to mask the sounds his enemies made. The agent swallowed and drew his blaster. Its weight was comforting.

A series of left-hand turns carried the Rebel away from the tower and out into a gap. An exhaust stack rose to Kyle's left, the remains of what appeared to be a temple appeared on the right, and a plaza opened in front of him.

The rain was warm and sticky. It soaked Kyle's hair and ran down his face. Moving cautiously, his eyes probing for movement, the agent edged his way forward. A landscape composed of puddles surrounded him. The rain churned them into miniature oceans with waves that dashed every which way.

Light gleamed off something, and Kyle used the back of his gun hand to wipe water from his brow. The glow rod wavered, touched something, and returned. Could it be? Yes, there it was! 88's arm was stump-down and fistup! The disk glowed with reflected light.

Kyle splashed his way forward and was reaching for the disk when a Trandoshan exploded out of the water next to him. He was armed with a vibroaxe and knew how to use it. It seemed that what the Rebel had taken for a puddle was a good deal deeper - deep enough to hide a bounty hunter.

Kyle turned in the direction of his attacker, raised the blaster, and felt it struck from his hand.

The Trandoshan was proud of the manner in which he had disarmed his opponent on the upswing and planned to cleave the human's skull on the downstroke. One blow, one kill. Now, that's the way of the warrior!

Kyle, who had no desire to be split like a piece of firewood, dived to the side. He saw 88's arm and took it with him. Water broke the Rebel's fall, sprayed sideways, and rushed back in.

Furious at the manner in which the cowardly human sought to avoid what the bounty hunter saw as a righteous and well-deserved deathblow, the Trandoshan charged.

Kyle turned onto his back and instinctively raised his hands. The vibro-axe made a clanging sound as it hit 88's arm. The Trandoshan roared, raised his weapon, and went cross-eyed as Kyle kicked him between the legs.

The resulting splash brought help from the shadows. "Porg? Is that you? What's going on?"

Kyle swore, grabbed the bobbing glow rod, and turned it off. The agent felt the seconds tick away as he groped for the weapon's familiar outlines. Then he remembered the trick, the one he'd learned by accident and had used in the Rimmer's Rest. Would it work?

The agent forced himself to concentrate, to step outside his fear and feel the blaster in his hand. Suddenly it was there, b.u.t.t-first, ready for use. He brought the weapon up out of the water and wondered if it would fire.

The Aqualish carried a light-mounted blast rifle and stomped out into the open as if he owned the place.

Kyle aimed just above the light, shot the bounty hunter in the chest, and watched the bolt bounce away. Body armor! A head shot, then . . .

The Trandoshan sat up. It was a poor decision. The Aqualish fired first the human second. The Trandoshan took both bolts. Water boiled around the still-functioning vibro-axe.

The Aqualish was not only surprised but momentarily taken aback and paid the price. Kyle shot him in the head, paused to make sure of the kill, and took a moment to pry the disk out of 88's still-clenched fist.

Then, with the shouts of even more reinforcements ringing in his ears, Kyle decided to run. He knew the glow rod could betray his position. But he was forced to use it. It was either that or injure himself on unseen obstacles.

Kyle splashed through an ancient cemetery, wove between the rainsmoothed tombstones, and aimed for a dimly visible arch.

The noise was barely noticeable at first but grew in volume until it shook the ground under Kyle's feet. Thump. Thump! THUMP! It sounded like a heartbeat, as if the moon was alive and Kyle had discovered its pulse.