Operative Ysanne Isard.”
“Indeed,” Nyroska said calmly. “You have ID, of course?”
“Of course,” she said, shifting her hand elsewhere beneath her jacket. Her hand paused, her face changed, and she spun her head around at Allyse. “Give it back,” she snapped. “My ID. Give it back.”
“Nice try,” Allyse said patronizingly, lifting her arms. “As you’re welcome to confirm, Colonel, I don’t have anything of hers. However, if you’ll escort us back to your headquarters, I’ll be happy to have my staff transmit the credentials she mentioned.”
Isard’s mouth dropped open. “You’ll what ?”
“Present my credentials,” Allyse said, turning a glacial look on Isard. “You see, Colonel, I am Field Operative Ysanne Isard.”
“This has gone far enough,” Isard snarled. “Horn, tell the Colonel exactly who I am.”
“Inspector Horn?” Nyroska invited.
Hal hesitated. “She did tell me she was Field Operative Isard,” he conceded. “But the only ID she showed me identified her as Darkknell Special Security agent Katya Glasc.”
“Did it, now,” Nyroska said, his voice suddenly cold as he looked at Isard with heightened interest. “Impersonating law enforcement personnel is a class-one offense on Darkknell. And is she by any chance the one who put that highly illegal device around your neck?”
Hal reached up and pulled the loosened choke-collar away. “Yes,” he said, handing it to the colonel.
Isard’s eyes were simmering pools of death. “You’re dead, Horn. Dead.”
“I can only say what I know,” Hal said. “Anything in the way of further proof is up to you.”
“Indeed it is,” she breathed. “All right, Colonel, you win. Let’s go to your headquarters and sort this out.” She looked at Allyse. “Let’s all of us go.”
“Of course,” Nyroska said softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Bel Iblis waited five minutes after Moranda and the others had left the scene before cautiously approaching the now abandoned landspeeder and letting himself in. No one shouted in triumph at his appearance; no one, so far as he could tell, even noticed him. Two minutes later, working awkwardly in the cramped space, he had the inner door panel off.
The datacards were there, all right, jumbled together at the bottom of the narrow space. Nestled in among them was an extra datacard, this one bearing official Imperial markings. Ysanne Isard’s missing Intelligence ID, no doubt.
For a moment Bel Iblis considered taking it with him, decided it wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught with it, and left it where it was. Besides, if Moranda was right about being able to talk her way out of detention—though how she was going to do that he couldn’t even begin to imagine—she might want to track down the vehicle and borrow the ID herself.
He refastened the panel loosely back in place, feeling a twinge of stung conscience as he did so. Yes, this had all been Moranda’s idea in the first place, a challenge she’d seemed eager to take on, but this was his mission, and the Rebellion’s, and yet it was Moranda who had ended up doing most of the work and taking all of the risks.
And not for the flat million in Imperial currency she’d demanded from Isard, but for the relative pittance he and Arkos had been able to throw together. Someday, if they all lived through this, he would have to find a way to make it up to her.
And the first step in the survival process, he reminded himself, would be to rendezvous with Arkos and get himself and these datacards off Darkknell and back to the Rebellion. And there to find out what exactly Tarkin’s Death Star project entailed.
“Good luck, Moranda,” he murmured as he climbed out of the landspeeder and closed the door gently behind him. “May the Force be with you. May it be with us all.”
Hal would have bet money that Isard’s eyes couldn’t have gotten more wild than they had been outside the ClearSkyes Boutique. He was
“Indeed,” Nyroska said calmly. “You have ID, of course?”
“Of course,” she said, shifting her hand elsewhere beneath her jacket. Her hand paused, her face changed, and she spun her head around at Allyse. “Give it back,” she snapped. “My ID. Give it back.”
“Nice try,” Allyse said patronizingly, lifting her arms. “As you’re welcome to confirm, Colonel, I don’t have anything of hers. However, if you’ll escort us back to your headquarters, I’ll be happy to have my staff transmit the credentials she mentioned.”
Isard’s mouth dropped open. “You’ll what ?”
“Present my credentials,” Allyse said, turning a glacial look on Isard. “You see, Colonel, I am Field Operative Ysanne Isard.”
“This has gone far enough,” Isard snarled. “Horn, tell the Colonel exactly who I am.”
“Inspector Horn?” Nyroska invited.
Hal hesitated. “She did tell me she was Field Operative Isard,” he conceded. “But the only ID she showed me identified her as Darkknell Special Security agent Katya Glasc.”
“Did it, now,” Nyroska said, his voice suddenly cold as he looked at Isard with heightened interest. “Impersonating law enforcement personnel is a class-one offense on Darkknell. And is she by any chance the one who put that highly illegal device around your neck?”
Hal reached up and pulled the loosened choke-collar away. “Yes,” he said, handing it to the colonel.
Isard’s eyes were simmering pools of death. “You’re dead, Horn. Dead.”
“I can only say what I know,” Hal said. “Anything in the way of further proof is up to you.”
“Indeed it is,” she breathed. “All right, Colonel, you win. Let’s go to your headquarters and sort this out.” She looked at Allyse. “Let’s all of us go.”
“Of course,” Nyroska said softly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Bel Iblis waited five minutes after Moranda and the others had left the scene before cautiously approaching the now abandoned landspeeder and letting himself in. No one shouted in triumph at his appearance; no one, so far as he could tell, even noticed him. Two minutes later, working awkwardly in the cramped space, he had the inner door panel off.
The datacards were there, all right, jumbled together at the bottom of the narrow space. Nestled in among them was an extra datacard, this one bearing official Imperial markings. Ysanne Isard’s missing Intelligence ID, no doubt.
For a moment Bel Iblis considered taking it with him, decided it wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught with it, and left it where it was. Besides, if Moranda was right about being able to talk her way out of detention—though how she was going to do that he couldn’t even begin to imagine—she might want to track down the vehicle and borrow the ID herself.
He refastened the panel loosely back in place, feeling a twinge of stung conscience as he did so. Yes, this had all been Moranda’s idea in the first place, a challenge she’d seemed eager to take on, but this was his mission, and the Rebellion’s, and yet it was Moranda who had ended up doing most of the work and taking all of the risks.
And not for the flat million in Imperial currency she’d demanded from Isard, but for the relative pittance he and Arkos had been able to throw together. Someday, if they all lived through this, he would have to find a way to make it up to her.
And the first step in the survival process, he reminded himself, would be to rendezvous with Arkos and get himself and these datacards off Darkknell and back to the Rebellion. And there to find out what exactly Tarkin’s Death Star project entailed.
“Good luck, Moranda,” he murmured as he climbed out of the landspeeder and closed the door gently behind him. “May the Force be with you. May it be with us all.”
Hal would have bet money that Isard’s eyes couldn’t have gotten more wild than they had been outside the ClearSkyes Boutique. He was
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