Star Wars_ Allegiance Part 12

"Great," Quiller said blandly. "Does that mean you're promoting me from finger to thumb?"

"No fair," Grave said, in the exaggerated tone LaRone remembered all too well from growing up with two younger brothers. "I want to be the thumb."

"All joking aside, LaRone, there'd better not be a next time,"

Bright.w.a.ter put in. "I know we needed to get our speeder bikes back, but we were pus.h.i.+ng our luck way too far on this one." "Actually, I don't think we were," LaRone said. "Trust me," Bright.w.a.ter said. "Stormtrooper armor may carry a psychological edge, but even at that five against three hundred shouldn't have worked."

"Except that it never is only five of us," LaRone reminded him. "That's the point. The presence of even a single stormtrooper always implies an organization of men and weaponry lurking somewhere in the shadows behind him. They saw five of us and a.s.sumed there were hundreds more."

"Which only works up to the point where someone calls our bluff," Quiller warned.

"At which point they die," Grave countered.

"Maybe," Quiller said. "By all rights, though, we still should have had our skins handed to us. The sooner we leave this whole sector behind us, the better."

Marcross stirred in his seat. "What's your hurry?" he asked.

"What's our hurry?" Quiller retorted. "He still wants us to go to Shelkonwa," Grave reminded him.

"Actually, I was thinking more about this connection between Cav'Saran and the BloodScar pirates," Mar-cross said.

"What about it?" LaRone asked.

"Remember that swoop gang we dusted on Drunost?" Marcross asked. "I thought chose shoulder patches they were wearing looked a little too cla.s.sy for that kind of lowlife, so I did some checking after we got back to the s.h.i.+p. Turns out the lower section of the patch is basically the BloodScars' twisted-thorn insignia."

"Small galaxy," Quiller murmured.

"Or maybe not so small," Marcross said. 'The BloodScars may be trying to branch out."

"What, into swoops and law enforcement?" Grave asked.

"Go ahead and laugh," Marcross said darkly. "But look at where both these groups were positioned. The swoopers were sitting on top of a Consolidated s.h.i.+pping hub, which is a perfect carrier for small to medium quant.i.ties of valuable or sensitive material. Cav'Saran set up shop in a city only a few hundred kilometers from an Incom plant turning out I-7 attack starfighters. Anyone else noticing a pattern?"

There was a moment of silence. "Hiring three hundred thugs is an expensive proposition," Bright.w.a.ter said at last. "I doubt swoop gangs come cheap, either, even ones as amateurish as that lot were. If the Blood-Scars are expanding, they must be doing very good business."

"Or are being funded from the outside," Quiller said quietly.

"Exactly," Marcross said. "And who's the most obvious money source that would also have an interest in fighters and clandestine s.h.i.+pping?"

"The Rebellion?" Grave asked.

"Who else?" Marcross said.

"I don't know," Bright.w.a.ter said, sounding doubtful. "Pirates are an awfully low form of life to a.s.sociate with. Even for Rebels."

"They're trying to destroy the Empire and tear down the New Order," Grave reminded him.

"Sure, but hitting military targets is a far cry from piracy against civilians," Bright.w.a.ter countered.

"Which is why we're trying so hard to stop them,", Marcross said, a little tartly. "Or maybe the BloodScars aren't a real pirate gang at all.

The name and reputation could be a cover label for a Rebel cell."

"I think Marcross is right," LaRone said. "It's something that should be looked into."

"So send an anonymous note to the nearest Imperial garrison and let them handle it," Grave suggested.

"A nice thought, but impractical," Marcross said. "You heard what Krinkins said-it's been eight years since they even had Imperial visitors here, and that was almost by accident. In fact, as far as I know the Reprisal is the only Star Destroyer in the entire sector. Shelsha is pretty low on everyone's priority list."

"It didn't sound like Shelkonwa was all that interested in this part of their territory, either," Grave said.

"No, it didn't," LaRone agreed. "Maybe that's why the BloodScars have decided to set up shop here."

"We, on the other hand, happen to have some time on our hands," Marcross said. "At the least we could see if we can find a connection between the BloodScars and the Rebellion. At best we might be able to follow the links and give Shelkonwa and Imperial Center an actual military target to aim at."

"Which brings up the point that we're something of a target ourselves,"

Quiller reminded him. "I thought we were supposed to be looking for a place to hide."

"I'm not talking anything high-profile," Marcross a.s.sured him. "Just a little soft probe into enemy territory. No matter what our current circ.u.mstances, we're still Imperial stormtroopers."

"Who other Imperial stormtroopers are currently hunting," Quiller persisted.

"We took an oath to protect the people of the Empire," Marcross said doggedly. "Rooting out a Rebel ceil is well within that job description."

"How do you suggest we start?" LaRone asked.

"We go back to Drunost," Marcross said. "Cav'Saran was stupid enough to leave an incriminating data card behind. I doubt those swoopers were any brighter than he was."

"Of course, the people of Drunost have already seen us and the Suwantek,"

Quiller reminded him.

"No, the people of one store saw us," Grave corrected him. "And even that group only saw LaRone and me."

"As for the s.h.i.+p, we can certainly afford to burn another of the fake IDs that ISB left us," Marcross said. "LaRone?"

LaRone waited a moment before answering, as if he were carefully thinking it through. It was all for show, though-he'd already made up his mind.

"It's worth the risk," he said. "Even if someone actually recognized us and called it in-which I think is unlikely-we'd still have several hours to poke around before anyone could make trouble."

"And if the trail's already cold?" Quiller asked.

LaRone shrugged. "We can leave for the Outer Rim from Drunost as easily as we can from here." They had reached the docking bay, and he let the speeder truck roll to a halt by the Suwantek's starboard cargo lift. "Are we in agreement?"

"I'm in," Quiller said.

"Me, too," Grave said. "If the Rebels are consorting with pirates, I want them and the pirates nailed to the wall. Bright.w.a.ter?"

"I still don't like it," Bright.w.a.ter said heavily. "But I don't like shredded grum on flatcake, either, and 1 learned to eat it. If you really think we'll find something useful, I'm game."

"Then we're on," LaRone said. Pus.h.i.+ng up the swing-wing door, he climbed out and stepped to the turbolift control. "Let's stow this thing and get moving."

"Drunost," Han said flatly. "Oh, come on, Han," Luke cajoled. "It can't be that bad."

Standing a little way off at the foot of the Falcon's entry ramp, Chewbacca made a soft urf sound. "Sure it can," Han growled, sending a warning glare at the Wookiee. "1 was there once. It's all farms and ranches and mines and a few company towns. A few very well-organized company towns."

"We'll stay as clear of the towns and companies as we can," Luke soothed with that irritating farm-boy cheerfulness.

"Sure," Han said, knowing full well it wouldn't happen. "Why can't we just meet this Porter guy out in deep s.p.a.ce like Leia's doing?"

"Because Porter hasn't got a s.h.i.+p of his own," Luke said patiently.

"Drunost is where he lives, that's where his team is, and that's where he wants to meet."

"It's also where those stormtroopers of his popped up out of nowhere,"

Han reminded him.

"And then left."

"According to him."

Luke c.o.c.ked his head in a look of strained patience that was almost as irritating as his cheerfulness. "If you don't want to do this, I can go alone," he offered. He looked sideways at Chewbacca. "Or Chewie and I could do it."

"Just get in the s.h.i.+p," Han growled. When he'd agreed to this whole thing, the plan had been to take a quick trip out to Shelsha sector, nose around a few cantinas and pick up a few leads, then head for home.

But after Luke and Rieekan and Her Royal Plush Gowns and Hair Fas.h.i.+ons had gotten through with it, the mission was looking to turn into a major diplomatic tour, complete with talks with the local Rebel leader.

In other words, politics. Exactly what he'd backed out of Leia's trip to avoid.

Except that on this one Leia wouldn't be along to at least keep things fun.

A movement at the far end of the hangar caught his eye, and he grimaced.

Typical. The minute he started thinking about her, there she was.

She was dressed in a practical tan jumpsuit, apparently getting ready for her own departure. For a moment their eyes seemed to meet, though it was hard to be sure at that distance. She stirred, her shoulders moving as if she was thinking of coming over to him- "Hey, guy," a cheerful female voice came from the other direction.

Han turned. It was one of the new X-wing pilots- Stacy something, he vaguely remembered. "Hey," he said, watching Leia out of the corner of his eye as he walked over to the pilot. Leia's shoulders weren't moving anymore, and she seemed to be standing stock-still as she gazed across the hangar at him.

"You and the big guy off again?" Stacy said brightly as she strolled over toward him.

Han suppressed another grimace, forcing it into a friendly grin instead.

And he thought Luke's cheerfulness was irritating. "You know how it is,"

he said. "There's a problem, and they need someone to fix it."

"So they call you," she said with a knowing smile. "Well, have fun."

"Everywhere I go," he a.s.sured her, flicking a finger through the edge of the girl's hair. If Leia wanted a show, she was going to get one. "You hold things down here, okay?" "Sure," she said. With another smile, she sauntered away.

Han watched her go, then turned around again.

Leia was definitely no longer thinking about coming over to him. Leia, in fact, had disappeared completely.

He smiled tightly at the empty chunk of deck s.p.a.ce. That would teach her to maneuver him around. Giving the Falcon's undercarriage a final glance, he headed up the ramp.

And tried to ignore the nagging little pang of guilt.

Chapter Nine.

Barshnis Ch.o.a.rd, governor of Shelsha sector, was a big rancor of a man: tall and broad-shouldered, with wild black hair and a bushy beard that made him look more like a pirate than the governor of a sizable chunk of Imperial territory. He invariably paced around his office when he was angry, striding back and forth across the thick carpet, his expression daring anyone to get in his way or even to breathe very loudly.

And he was angry now. As angry as Chief Administrator Vilim Disra had ever seen him.

"I don't want excuses," Ch.o.a.rd snarled. "I want results. You understand me, Disra? Results."

"Yes, Your Excellency," Disra said, bowing his head in the half-groveling att.i.tude that was the best way to steer clear of these outbursts. "I'll see to it at once."

"Then don't just stand here," Ch.o.a.rd growled. "Get going and do it."

"Yes, Your Excellency." Bowing again, Disra made his escape.

His own office was two doors down the corridor from the governor's far more expansive reception chamber. Humble though it might be, it was still connected to the same warren of secret pa.s.sageways as the governor's own working and living areas. That meant Disra's private visitors could slip into the palace unannounced just as easily as Ch.o.a.rd's could.

And sure enough, the visitor he was expecting was waiting in one of the comfortable chairs in the office's conversation circle. "You're late,"

Caaldra told him.

"I was busy," Disra said, making sure the door was privacy-locked. "The governor is unhappy."

"The governor's always unhappy about something,'' Caaldra said contemptuously as Disra came over to the circle. "What was it this time?

Soup too cold? Wrong flatware pattern for the next big dinner party?"

"Let's talk about something a little more interesting, shall we?" Disra suggested. "Starting with the Bargleg swoop gang. Did you send them to Drunost to intercept a s.h.i.+pment of heavy blaster rifles?"

"The BloodScars sent them, yes," Caaldra said. "What happened? The Rebel couriers put up a fight?"