Read Online Tales from the New Republic by Peter Schweighofer - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Schweighofer
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telling the truth. Any information Trabler could learn in person could just as easily have been given to her over a comlink.
Hal paid little attention to the world passing in a blurred palette outside the speeder’s viewports. He found himself wondering what had prompted him to show the tapcafe’s day manager the holo of his wife instead of Moranda’s holo. I recognized Moranda from the description the second he started in on it—the cigarra used to roast the blond was a giveaway—but why did I protect her? Now I know she’s involved, and that kills the assassin story dead. We have a simple lift from a thief here, but the presence of Imps suggests it’s not that simple at all .
By not showing the man the correct holo, Hal had killed the only solid investigative lead Glasc had. He assumed, because she was an Imp, and because she questioned his loyalty right up front, the quarry she was after was connected to the Rebellion somehow. Hal Horn had no love for the Rebels—they put themselves on the wrong side of the law and that was enough to earn his opposition—but he wasn’t much crazier about the Imps. More than once he’d tried to rein in the excesses of overzealous Imperial operatives, which generally resulted in his having to clean up after them.
Trabler’s actions were a perfect example of the sort of excesses he wanted to avoid. He could have easily run after Moranda and grabbed her. Instead he gave no warning, he just drew his blaster and shot. Hal hoped his messing with Trabler’s aim prevented Moranda’s death, but he pretty much assumed she was either dead, dying, or severely incapacitated.
Trabler’s willingness to shoot to kill someone who, while not innocent, clearly was a bystander in the whole situation, told Hal that the Empire wasn’t looking to take any prisoners. Whatever Moranda had lifted had to be very important—covering state secrets, no doubt. And if I know that much, I have to assume my life may be forfeit at some point—whenever I’ve exceeded my usefulness, or I become enough of an annoyance .
That realization didn’t bring with it panic. Yes, Hal felt worried and hated the idea of never seeing his wife or son again, but a sense of calm overrode his emotions. He remembered back to when he was very young, not more than six, and had thrown a temper tantrum over a toy that had been broken. His father took him back out into the yard and told him that he couldn’t let his emotions run wild that way, that it disturbed the universe. His father began to teach him simple exercises to calm himself and drilled Hal until they became second nature.
Calm, he could think, and he did so as Glasc slid the speeder to a halt before the door of a small house. Shrubbery screened it from the other nearby houses. An alley ran up the left side and seemed to connect via a gate to an alley or street at the back of the property. The place immediately registered to Hal as a safe house, and while he could imagine someone with Darkknell Special Security using one for her headquarters, the isolated nature of the building—despite its being in the city—made him uneasy.
Glasc unlocked the door and entered first, then shut the door and headed down a narrow corridor through the kitchen toward an extension that jutted out from the rear of the house. “This way; my office is back here.”
Hal followed closely on her heels. She turned to say something to him as they moved into the kitchen, but her attempt to rivet his attention to her did not completely work. A half second before Trabler emerged from behind a door and dropped his hands on the back of Hal’s neck, Hal sensed his presence and acted.
Hal tell to his knees and curled his body forward, forcing Trabler to bend over to maintain his grip. As the Imperial op tightened his hands, Hal straightened up and came up on one knee. He drove the back of his head into Trabler’s face, producing all sorts of snapping sounds that he was pretty sure were not
Hal paid little attention to the world passing in a blurred palette outside the speeder’s viewports. He found himself wondering what had prompted him to show the tapcafe’s day manager the holo of his wife instead of Moranda’s holo. I recognized Moranda from the description the second he started in on it—the cigarra used to roast the blond was a giveaway—but why did I protect her? Now I know she’s involved, and that kills the assassin story dead. We have a simple lift from a thief here, but the presence of Imps suggests it’s not that simple at all .
By not showing the man the correct holo, Hal had killed the only solid investigative lead Glasc had. He assumed, because she was an Imp, and because she questioned his loyalty right up front, the quarry she was after was connected to the Rebellion somehow. Hal Horn had no love for the Rebels—they put themselves on the wrong side of the law and that was enough to earn his opposition—but he wasn’t much crazier about the Imps. More than once he’d tried to rein in the excesses of overzealous Imperial operatives, which generally resulted in his having to clean up after them.
Trabler’s actions were a perfect example of the sort of excesses he wanted to avoid. He could have easily run after Moranda and grabbed her. Instead he gave no warning, he just drew his blaster and shot. Hal hoped his messing with Trabler’s aim prevented Moranda’s death, but he pretty much assumed she was either dead, dying, or severely incapacitated.
Trabler’s willingness to shoot to kill someone who, while not innocent, clearly was a bystander in the whole situation, told Hal that the Empire wasn’t looking to take any prisoners. Whatever Moranda had lifted had to be very important—covering state secrets, no doubt. And if I know that much, I have to assume my life may be forfeit at some point—whenever I’ve exceeded my usefulness, or I become enough of an annoyance .
That realization didn’t bring with it panic. Yes, Hal felt worried and hated the idea of never seeing his wife or son again, but a sense of calm overrode his emotions. He remembered back to when he was very young, not more than six, and had thrown a temper tantrum over a toy that had been broken. His father took him back out into the yard and told him that he couldn’t let his emotions run wild that way, that it disturbed the universe. His father began to teach him simple exercises to calm himself and drilled Hal until they became second nature.
Calm, he could think, and he did so as Glasc slid the speeder to a halt before the door of a small house. Shrubbery screened it from the other nearby houses. An alley ran up the left side and seemed to connect via a gate to an alley or street at the back of the property. The place immediately registered to Hal as a safe house, and while he could imagine someone with Darkknell Special Security using one for her headquarters, the isolated nature of the building—despite its being in the city—made him uneasy.
Glasc unlocked the door and entered first, then shut the door and headed down a narrow corridor through the kitchen toward an extension that jutted out from the rear of the house. “This way; my office is back here.”
Hal followed closely on her heels. She turned to say something to him as they moved into the kitchen, but her attempt to rivet his attention to her did not completely work. A half second before Trabler emerged from behind a door and dropped his hands on the back of Hal’s neck, Hal sensed his presence and acted.
Hal tell to his knees and curled his body forward, forcing Trabler to bend over to maintain his grip. As the Imperial op tightened his hands, Hal straightened up and came up on one knee. He drove the back of his head into Trabler’s face, producing all sorts of snapping sounds that he was pretty sure were not
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