Read Online Tales from the New Republic by Peter Schweighofer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Schweighofer
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She hesitated for a moment and Hal wanted to cringe for reasons he could not identify. “I am almost inclined to trust you, but because I don’t have a full security profile on you, I will demand one condition to our alliance.”
“That being?”
A thin, black, ribbonlike device rolled across the floor and unfolded as it came to rest on its side. It looked like a tiny belt with a black clasp, and Hal recognized it immediately as choke-collar. When snapped around his neck it could be given a remote command to constrict, cutting off the bloodflow to his brain, rendering him unconscious. They were often used to restrain prisoners on work details. A constriction override command pulsed out from a central control unit, so the collar constricted when prisoners moved out of range and put a quick end to escapes.
Hal picked it up and let it dangle from one hand. “You’ll have the control unit and it will be a dead-man device?”
“If I give a command or my pulse stops, the collar constricts. Without a key, or without trusting someone to shoot it off your neck, you’ll be dead shortly after I am.”
Hal didn’t want to put the collar on, but shooting her and then living a life on the run seemed to be his only alternative. “A lightsaber ought to be able to cut through this.”
“Perhaps, but the Jedi are all gone. The age of Imperial Justice is here, Hal Horn.”
“Of that I’m well aware.” Hal slipped the collar on, snapped it closed, then raised the collar on his shirt to hide it. He tossed out the Penetrator and slowly stood. “Here I am, at your service.”
Isard appeared and flashed him a quick glimpse of the control device, then holstered her blaster. “We resume our search at the place I first met you.”
“Don’t bother. Arky will be long gone. He knew you were Imp Intel long before I did.” Hal smiled. “Back to the Continuum Void. It’s the only place that stocked Gralish liqueur and Moranda’s a fiend for it. Having been shot the way she was, she’ll be wanting some fortification. That’s the best place to begin.”
Part IV
By Michael A. Stackpole
“What are you talking about?” Isard demanded, the already wintry tone of her voice dropping into subzero territory as she leaned a few centimeters further over the Continuum Void’s bar. “He was here two hours ago. Where in this vat of rimspit could he have gone?”
“I don’t know, Agent Glasc,” the nervous-looking Devaronian standing on the far side of the bar stammered, twitching his way backward the same few centimeters Isard had moved forward. “As the Emperor himself is my witness, I truly do not know. All I can tell you is that he received a call half an hour ago, told me to handle the bar for the rest of the day, and then took off like Vader himself was after him. That’s all I know. I swear.”
“It probably is,” Hal murmured from Isard’s side, all his senses focused on the Devaronian. The species was easy enough to read if you knew what to look for. Hal did. “Offhand I’d say our quarry’s been busy cleaning up a few loose ends.”
“He has no idea what a loose end really is,” Isard said acidly, her smoldering eyes still pinning the hapless barman to the wall. But there was a subtle change in her tone, enough for Hal to recognize that the focus of her anger had shifted from the Devaronian to Moranda. To Moranda, and her as-yet-unidentified accomplice.
And that one was starting to worry Hal a little. Fine if it was some fellow criminal, either an old friend or a new acquaintance—dangerous enough, but at least fringe types were a relatively known psychological type. But under the circumstances, her ally could instead be a member of the Rebellion.
And that was another vat of vinks altogether. As the late and unlamented Trabler had pointed out, Rebels came in all sizes and shapes, with profiles that ranged from opportunistic to fanatical. Fringe criminals generally avoided killing law enforcement officials
“That being?”
A thin, black, ribbonlike device rolled across the floor and unfolded as it came to rest on its side. It looked like a tiny belt with a black clasp, and Hal recognized it immediately as choke-collar. When snapped around his neck it could be given a remote command to constrict, cutting off the bloodflow to his brain, rendering him unconscious. They were often used to restrain prisoners on work details. A constriction override command pulsed out from a central control unit, so the collar constricted when prisoners moved out of range and put a quick end to escapes.
Hal picked it up and let it dangle from one hand. “You’ll have the control unit and it will be a dead-man device?”
“If I give a command or my pulse stops, the collar constricts. Without a key, or without trusting someone to shoot it off your neck, you’ll be dead shortly after I am.”
Hal didn’t want to put the collar on, but shooting her and then living a life on the run seemed to be his only alternative. “A lightsaber ought to be able to cut through this.”
“Perhaps, but the Jedi are all gone. The age of Imperial Justice is here, Hal Horn.”
“Of that I’m well aware.” Hal slipped the collar on, snapped it closed, then raised the collar on his shirt to hide it. He tossed out the Penetrator and slowly stood. “Here I am, at your service.”
Isard appeared and flashed him a quick glimpse of the control device, then holstered her blaster. “We resume our search at the place I first met you.”
“Don’t bother. Arky will be long gone. He knew you were Imp Intel long before I did.” Hal smiled. “Back to the Continuum Void. It’s the only place that stocked Gralish liqueur and Moranda’s a fiend for it. Having been shot the way she was, she’ll be wanting some fortification. That’s the best place to begin.”
Part IV
By Michael A. Stackpole
“What are you talking about?” Isard demanded, the already wintry tone of her voice dropping into subzero territory as she leaned a few centimeters further over the Continuum Void’s bar. “He was here two hours ago. Where in this vat of rimspit could he have gone?”
“I don’t know, Agent Glasc,” the nervous-looking Devaronian standing on the far side of the bar stammered, twitching his way backward the same few centimeters Isard had moved forward. “As the Emperor himself is my witness, I truly do not know. All I can tell you is that he received a call half an hour ago, told me to handle the bar for the rest of the day, and then took off like Vader himself was after him. That’s all I know. I swear.”
“It probably is,” Hal murmured from Isard’s side, all his senses focused on the Devaronian. The species was easy enough to read if you knew what to look for. Hal did. “Offhand I’d say our quarry’s been busy cleaning up a few loose ends.”
“He has no idea what a loose end really is,” Isard said acidly, her smoldering eyes still pinning the hapless barman to the wall. But there was a subtle change in her tone, enough for Hal to recognize that the focus of her anger had shifted from the Devaronian to Moranda. To Moranda, and her as-yet-unidentified accomplice.
And that one was starting to worry Hal a little. Fine if it was some fellow criminal, either an old friend or a new acquaintance—dangerous enough, but at least fringe types were a relatively known psychological type. But under the circumstances, her ally could instead be a member of the Rebellion.
And that was another vat of vinks altogether. As the late and unlamented Trabler had pointed out, Rebels came in all sizes and shapes, with profiles that ranged from opportunistic to fanatical. Fringe criminals generally avoided killing law enforcement officials
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