The droid didn't know who Jan was. But he had no desire to wind up as sc.r.a.p. He did as he was told, rose from the pa.s.senger position, and turned toward the rear. A blaster bolt scored the side of his processor housing. He gave a long, drawn-out beep.

Kyle fired. A Tusken fell backward over the tailgate, was. .h.i.t by one of the speeder bikes, and tumbled down the highway.

Wind whipped through Kyle's hair, and heat wrapped his shoulders as the Crow descended. The Tuskens fired at the ship as a hatch opened, a ramp was extended, and Jan shouted in Kyle's ear. "Here comes the roadblock! Jump!"

The Rebel heard her and was about to relay the order when he was s.n.a.t.c.hed into the air. The droid had seen the ramp, grabbed the human's utility belt, and fired his repulsorlift engine. They had pa.s.sed through the hatch by the time the transport hit the barricade.

The impact and the explosion that followed sent an AT-ST off the bridge, killed a platoon of stormtroopers, and created a wall of fire. Most of the surviving Tuskens were going too fast to stop. They screamed as their bikes raced into the conflagration and blew up.

A few, those blessed with quick reactions or positioned toward the rear of the pack, curved away. Heavy, dark smoke boiled up into the skv, pointed a finger toward the ship named vengeance, and was blown away.

CHAPTER SIX.

Kyle squirmed forward, waited for Jan to join him, and looked down on Baron's Hed. It had been an attractive city once, back during his childhood, but things had changed since then. He brought the electrobinoculars up to his eyes, made a minor adjustment, and scanned the sprawl below.

A castlelike structure served as the natural focal point of the city. It was called Government House and stood at the very top of a hill called Baron's Knoll, the geological feature around which the town was built.

Though not as high as the hill on which the agents lay, the tower was tall enough to offer a tactical advantage to anyone who sought to defend it. It also forced those below to look up as if to a higher authority - a psychological trick that was anything but accidental. No less an ent.i.ty than Jerec himself had supervised its construction during his brief tenure as Governor.

The city fell away from the stone-built house in a series of steps, not unlike a traditional wedding cake, with the wealthiest citizens living toward the top and the poor at the very bottom.

Walls that Kyle remembered as eye-catchingly white had been allowed to turn gray, almost black, and the gardens, traditionally red with pyro flowers at that time of year, were largely untended now, or home to the weapons emplacements, antenna farms, and other military equipment deployed to cope with Rebel attacks. Attacks that had increased since the day Morgan Katarn's head appeared on a spike.

The s.p.a.ceport was located a half-klick to the east and showed signs of regular use. Repulsors flared as a freighter lifted off, paused as if to get its bearings, and departed toward the south.

"So," Jan said, allowing her gla.s.ses to fall, "What do you think?"

"I think it'll be tough," Kyle replied honestly. "The city is crawling with Imperial troops, bounty hunters, and mercenaries."

"Government House seems like the logical objective."

"Yeah, but how to get in? Knock on the door?"

"I could drop you on the roof."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Kyle replied. "You'd have to wait, and that would give them time to organize. Look at those weapons emplacements. They'd cut you to pieces."

Jan raised an eyebrow. "Me? Or the Moldy Crow?" She made it sound like a joke, but she knew it wasn't.

Kyle met her eyes and looked away. "You. The Crow can be replaced."

It was the closest the agent had come to declaring his feelings for her, and although Jan regretted the manner in which the comment had been elicited, she liked the response. The silence felt awkward. She broke it. "Be careful down there - call, and I'll come running."

Kyle smiled and indicated the comm unit on his wrist. "Don't worry. I will."

Jan nodded. She wanted to say something more but wasn't sure how it would come out. "Okay - see you later."

"Yeah," Kyle replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Later."

The female agent backed away, leaving Kyle to contemplate the city below. The sun had dropped toward the west, and lights twinkled through the evening haze. The city looked inviting, especially in the twilight, but Kyle knew better. He sighed and worked his way down off the skyline. A trail led toward the bottom. Gravity pulled him down.

The room was large but lacked external windows and felt dreary. A table had been placed at the center of the s.p.a.ce and was bathed in light. 8t88 moved slightly, which caused the arm to do likewise. It was new, to him anyway, and had been removed from another 88 unit which he maintained for parts. How that machine felt or would manage without one of its limbs was of no interest to the droid. The arm had been flown in earlier that day. Lacking the services of a qualified roboticist, the droid had installed the part himself.

The wiring harness had been connected as had the tubes that carried hydraulic fluid to that particular extremity. He would fine-tune the wrist relay, adjust the roto-actuators, and test it out. Once that was accomplished, he would deal with the issue of the room.

8t88 held out his left hand. "Tuning stylus." The droid maintained a large retinue of servants, all of which were biologicals. The fact that "naturals" had created him and that he had enslaved them pleased the machine. Metal rang on metal as a human placed a tool in 88's hand. The droid threw it across the room. The tuning stylus, idiot! "Here give me that."

The robot took the correct instrument, made the necessary adjustments, and was finished a short time later. "There," 8t88 said while making a fist, "that's better, much better. Summon the fool in charge."

8t88's henchmen, two humans and a Gamorrean, looked at each other, shrugged, and wrote off the request as one of the droid's numerous eccentricities. A human mined Rol, the same one who couldn't tell the difference between a tuning stylus and a testing probe, left the room.

The person he sought - a rather snooty specimen who bragged that he had served Jerec during that individual's stint as planetary governor and for every executive since - had a.s.sumed what could only be described as airs. He took his own sweet time answering his page, preceded Rol up the stairs, and swept into the droid's somewhat Spartan quarters. The tiniest of smiles touched the majordomo's carefully pursed lips as he entered the room and bowed to 8t88. "Greetings, your eminence. Can I be of service?" The words dripped with condescension. They made even Rol uneasy.

"You can tell me about the history of this house," 8t88 replied smoothly.

"Why, certainly," the majordomo replied. "What would you like to know?"

"Let's start with this room," the droid said casually, waving toward his surroundings. "I notice it adjoins the ballroom. A rather unusual location for guest quarters. Tell me to what purpose this magnificent enclosure was originally dedicated - and why I was chosen to occupy it."

The majordomo swallowed nervously. The a.s.signment had been a jest, his way of putting an uppity machine in its place while impressing the staff. The possibility that the droid could and would take him to task for it had never occurred to the increasingly nervous human. Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. His hands started to shake. Should he apologize - or bluff it out? He chose the second, less humiliating alternative.

"This is a VIP suite, sire, chosen because of your stature and rank. And located in close proximity to your work."

8t88 wiggled his right index finger. It operated flawlessly, which pleased him. "Come a little closer, please. My amplifiers aren't what they used to be."

Rol exchanged looks with the Gamorrean. They knew that 8t88 could hear a pin drop from a hundred meters away.

Convinced that his story had been accepted, and eager to insinuate himself into the machine's good graces, the majordomo shuffled forward. He wore an elaborate, self-invented uniform. A robe dragged behind him. It was dirty where the edge touched the floor.

8t88 waited until the human was within range of his new right arm, reached out, and grabbed a fistful of robe. The majordomo's head snapped forward as the droid pulled him closer. "Look into my face it's the last thing you will ever see."

The previously haughty servant seemed to come apart as he gazed into the machine's metal countenance. "Please! I'm sorry I gave offense - tell me how to make amends!"

"Ah," 88 said judiciously, "if only you could. But the malfunction is hidden within your skull, a difficult place to make repairs. I don't know if you've seen any brains lately, but they're hard to sort out. A CPU makes more sense."

The human was beside himself by now. A puddle had collected at his feet, and the guards wrinkled their noses - except for the Gamorrean, that is, who didn't notice. "My brain?"

"Why, yes," the droid replied. "a.s.suming you have one .... You know, the organ that believes it's superior to machines, and enjoys making fun of them."

The majordomo tried to object, tried to explain as the metal-cold hand spanned his face but soon lost interest. It seemed that the pressure, plus the sound of cracking facial bones, had caused him to faint. Not before he screamed, though - and sent birds fluttering out from the eaves.

If the security in and around Baron's Hed had been lacking before, it certainly wasn't now. Kyle's presence at the farm and subsequent escape had resulted in a heightened level of security.

Lines had formed in front of the city gates. Residents were eyescanned prior to admission, and nonresidents were subject to interrogation. It was not a process the agent wanted to endure, especially given his status as a renegade and the price on his head. No, there had to be a better way to gain access, or so he hoped.

An hour pa.s.sed while Kyle lurked in a heavily shadowed doorway and watched the western gate. Disguises, ruses, and all manner of clever and notso-clever stratagems were conceived, considered, and rejected, including a potentially suicidal plan that involved climbing the wall and shooting the guards. There were so many plans, in fact, that he nearly failed to recognize the chance when it came.

The Imperials sent patrols out into the countryside on a regular basis, which meant that they returned at all hours of day and night. A pair of commandos on speeder bikes pa.s.sed the doorway, followed by an armored hoverscout loaded with stormtroopers.

Kyle had been on similar patrols and knew how tiring they were. The troopers wanted to shuck their armor, take a shower, and find some beer. Their morale, like their state of readiness, was at its lowest ebb .... Perfect for someone as desperate as he was.

An XI'-ST followed behind the hoverscout, and it - plus an unexpected diversion - provided the opportunity for which the Rebel had been waiting.

The diversion came courtesy of an unfortunate citizen who had the monumentally bad luck to drive his flock out into the arterial at the exact moment that the patrol happened past.

The speeder bikes sliced the herd in half, the gra ran in circles, and their owner tried to put things right. It wasn't easy, though, and the commandos didn't help when they kicked the goatlike animals, starting a panic.

What with the owner shouting, the gra bawling, and the Imperials swearing, Kyle had little difficulty slipping out of the doorway, dashing across a section of pavement, and jumping onto one of the AT-ST's podlike feet. Then, having plastered himself against the inside of the walker's leg, Kyle did his best to hang on, a seemingly simple task that turned out to be a good deal more difficult than he had predicted.

Riding the pod up off the heat-fused pavement was relatively simple. The hard part followed. The quarter-ton foot fell with alarming speed and struck the ground with so much force that Kyle nearly lost his grip. The impact made the agent's knees bend, sent a jolt up his spine, and rattled his teeth.

The whole thing was so bad that he barely noticed as the machine crushed a gra, minced through the remains of the herd, and turned toward a heavily guarded gate.

The agent held his breath as the sentry aimed a salute at the ATST's commanding officer, looked up when he should've looked down, and missed seeing a suspicious pair of arms.

Kyle held on for dear life as the machine made its way through the warren of streets that comprised low town, the section of Baron's Hed where the poorest citizens lived and the majority of businesses were located.

The patrol turned a corner preparatory to heading for their barracks. The Rebel waited for a likely looking shadow, jumped just before the pod hit ground, and scurried for cover.

The agent hid in the shelter of a vine-draped wall, made sure that his departure had gone unnoticed, and straightened his clothes. The fact that they still bore traces of mud and grease would work in his favor. The idea was to fit in, and the citizens of low town weren't known for their sartorial splendor.

Kyle stepped out onto the street, adopted the air of someone who belonged there, and made for the center of town. The homes of high town were well lit, which gave definition to the hill on which they sat. Government House, which blazed with lights, crowned the very top. Finding it would be easy - getting in would be more difficult.

The side street gave way to Rimmer's Alley, a long, garishly lit thoroughfare that led to the base of the hill. Signs glowed, lights pulsed, and music blared beyond eternally open doors. The alleys stank of urine, vomit, and the incense used to cover up the smell.

Traffic, crust of which was pedestrian, increased, and so did the danger. Kyle allowed his hand to drift toward his weapon as a brace of stormtroopers appeared on the far side of the street, paused to question a street vendor, and continued on their way. The agent felt relieved but knew the most dangerous adversaries would be less obvious.

A s.p.a.cer lurched out of a bar, staggered to the curb, and threw up.

A droid, its extremities twisted by accident or design, begged (or alms.

A woman, her makeup glowing as if lit from within, smiled and winked.

None posed a threat, but those hidden among them did. The Rodian bounty hunter, his eyes scanning for prey, the informer listening while he swept the street, and the Imperial agent made obvious by his boots - all were enemies.

Kyle walked the length of the street as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention to himself. It wasn't until he had left the main drag and entered the relative darkness of a residential area that the Rebel knew he'd been followed. He felt the other person's presence before he actually saw her with his eyes. The Force rippled away from the tail in the same manner that oil separates itself from water.

Kyle waited for the pool of light offered by one of the widely s.p.a.ced streetlamps, paused as if looking for a landmark, and turned.

The tail made no attempt to mask her interest and nodded politely. The woman had been attractive once, but that was before her left eye had been destroyed and a bionic implant installed in its place. The device was equipped with a three-lens turret which whirred as it turned and delivered a tight shot to her hard-wired brain. Kyle noticed that the woman wore two blasters to his one. A sphere hovered over one shoulder, its purpose unclear. Her voice was deep and husky. "You looking for something, citizen? Maybe I can help."

"Thanks," Kyle replied, "but no thanks. How 'bout you? Would you like some directions? Or do you plan to follow me all night?"

"That's an interesting weapon you have there," the woman replied easily. "Kinda rare isn't it?"

Kyle cursed his own stupidity. The lightsaber was not only rare but valuable and certain to attract attention. He should have concealed it. The woman might or might not have help. Kyle had no desire to find out; he'd have to deal with her, and quickly.

"Yeah, it is kinda rare, sort of like that sphere over your shoulder .... Interested in a trade?"

Kyle moved his left hand toward the lightsaber and went for the blaster with his right. He pulled the weapon and fired it a tenth of a second before the would-be thief fired hers. Her bolt went wide his struck her throat. She made a gargling sound and collapsed in a heap.

Kyle shifted his attention to the sphere, saw an eight-centimeter-long spike emerge, and backed away. The ball hummed menacingly, wove back and forth, and bored inward.

The agent backpedaled again, tried to correct his aim, and tripped on the curb. He fell over backward, felt the blaster fly out of his hand, and heard it clatter on the pavement. He was about to roll in that direction, about to expose his back to the needle-sharp probe, when a voice entered his mind. He'd heard it before - and knew it belonged to Rahn.

"Remember Nar Shaddaa? Go to the peace within."

Kyle remembered the landing platform, the manner in which time had slowed, and the ensuing battle. Achieving the necessary state was easier this time. The sphere slowed, and the hum became a lowpitched growl.

"Now," Rahn continued, "fight like a Jedi."

Kyle stood, thumbed a b.u.t.ton, and heard the air crackle as the lightsaber came to life. Though slower now, the sphere continued its hypnotic motion.

"Good," Rahn said. "Now, close your eyes."

Kyle eyed the deadly looking sphere and shook his head. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Close your eyes, or I will leave. There are other students, some of whom show considerable promise." The criticism hurt, but the fact that Rahn regarded him as a student made Kyle feel good. He remembered the Academy's fencing instructor - a man who had expected unquestioning obedience from his students and never abused their trust. He closed his eyes.

"Now," Rahn continued, "feel the sphere, feel the way it moves, and merge with it."

Kyle tried to see himself the way the sphere would, as a heat signature, moving, but in ways that his on-board computer could a.n.a.lyze and extrapolate from.

"Excellent," Rahn said encouragingly. "You know where the sphere will go next. Aim for that spot."

Kyle "knew" the sphere would move to the right, brought the lightsaber down through the spot where it would be, and knew he'd missed.

"You were close," Rahn said, "very close. Try again."

Kyle tried again. He visualized a grid this time, green, with white lines, and "saw" the sphere displayed on it. It moved left, right, and left again. He sensed where the target would go and acted accordingly. As the agent opened his eyes, it was to confirm what he already knew ....

The sphere exploded, and a tiny fragment of hot plastic hit his cheek. Shrapnel flew, and time returned to normal. It felt as if an hour had pa.s.sed, but a quick check of his chrono suggested otherwise. The entire incident had lasted no more than three or four minutes.

The Rebel hit the thumb switch, stuck the lightsaber through his belt, and retrieved his blaster. Time was pa.s.sing - and there was reason to hurry.

Jerec couldn't see 8t88 in spite of the fact that the holographic projection was eight meters tall and more than eleven meters wide. He pretended that he could, though, knowing his actions would feed the carefully fashioned myths that surrounded him. Myths that overstated his considerable power by a factor of ten.

Still, he could imagine how 8t88 looked, along with the re-created mosaic and the holo-animated star map. Imagine, and glory in the knowledge that he was about to become the most powerful individual in the civilized worlds no, in the universe - a position for which he was eminently suited.

"Well done, 8t88. The Valley of the Jedi will soon be mine. Meet the cargo ship Sulon Star at the refueling station outside of Baron's Hed. Your payment awaits."

The droid bobbed his head in what could have been interpreted as a nod or a bow, touched a b.u.t.ton, and was gone.