DARK FORCES

　The Star of Empire was more than two kilometers long and equipped to carry five thousand passengers in addition to her considerable crew. The sole property of Haj Shipping Lines, she, like the rest of the company's ships, was a durasteel testament to the family's ability to court favor with the Emperor, while simultaneously maintaining a positive relationship with the burgeoning Alliance. "Let others play at politics - we're in the shipping business," old man Haj liked to say, and, thanks to their cheerful neutrality, the clan prospered as a result.
　All of which had nothing to do with Kyle, but everything to do with the Star's diverse passenger list. After hitching a ride on a military transport, Kyle made his way from the Academy on Carida to the orbital transfer station off Dorlon II, where he and a variety of other sentients boarded a well-appointed shuttle.
　Now, as Kyle sipped a complimentary glass of wine and watched the Star fill the viewport, he found himself shoulder to tentacle with a Twi'lek merchant, a Mon Calamari engineer, a pair of Klatooinian technicians, a Rodian bounty hunter, a Gran of indeterminate profession, and some other species of which he was none too certain. They, plus a variety of specially adapted humanoids, all manner of relatives, bonds beings, and droids made for a cosmopolitan crowd. Quite a change after four years on Carida where nonhumans were rarely seen, much less encountered.
　The liner sparkled with decorative lights, her enormous hangar bay yawned to accept them, and the shuttle seemed to drift forward. Kyle admired the precision with which the retros were fired and wondered if he could do as well. He doubted that he could. Practice makes perfect, and he, like all the rest of the Academy's engineering students, had less flight time than he would've liked.
　Space-suited crew waited to receive them, droids criss-crossed the deck on various errands, and smaller ships, many of which were the personal property of wealthy passengers, squatted in orderly rows. It was an impressive sight, considerably different from the Carida-bound freighter he had ridden four years before.
　It took half an hour to close and pressurize the bay and disembark the shuttle's passengers. Those who could affard first-class accommodations were greeted by members of the Star's eternally solicitous crew and escorted to their various staterooms. Sentients only slightly less fortunate were met by one of the ship's identical purser droids and shown to their smaller but still respectable cabins.
　Thanks to the generosity and political savvy of the Haj family, Kyle and a handful of other military personnel were entitled to reduced fares, a thoughtful gesture which pleased the Empire's senior officers. They carried their own luggage as they were herded through a maze of halls, corridors, and tubeways until they arrived on the euphemistically named Starlight Deck, where none of the accommodations had a viewport and the drive chambers were only a bulkhead away.
　Kyle had a cubicle-like cabin all to himself, however, which seemed palatial when compared to four years in a shared room. It took less than an hour to take a shower, unpack his gear, and check the terminal. He scanned the ship's layout and settled on the Observation Deck as the most logical destination for someone as poor as he. Unlike many of the restaurants and clubs, it was free, and according to the continually refreshed text, an excellent spot from which to get another look at Dorlon II.
　He left the cubicle, checked to make sure the door was locked, and bumped into a Navy rating. They exchanged salutes, nodded to each other, and went their separate ways. Officers didn't fraternize with enlisted people - not openly anyway - and both knew the rules.
　It took a while to make his way from the Starlight Deck to the Observation Deck via narrow passageways, crowded lifts, and moving sidewalks. Kyle didn't mind, though, since sentient watching was one of his favorite hobbies, and there were plenty to watch - especiaily the girls. Having just spent four years in a mostly male environment, Kyle was fascinated by them. So much so that he forgot himself for a moment and didn't realize how obvious he was until the twins he was ogling pointed in his direction, giggled, and said something to their mother. She aimed a frown at the officer, he tripped over his feet, and the girls laughed.
　Kyle's face was bright red as they all entered the observation salon. Thanks to the fact that the area was packed with standing, sitting, reclining, and even squatting sentients, it was easy to get lost in the crowd.
　Though different species exhibited a wide variety of behaviors, abilities, and preferences, Kyle had observed that almost all of those equipped with even the most rudimentary organs of sight enjoyed gazing at planets. It didn't matter which planets since, like rocks on a beach, each had its own special kind of beauty.
　In fact, there was something about the experience of looking at something so huge, so majestic, that transcended the barriers of species and bound the viewers together. This was such a moment, and while some were engaged in quiet conversation, the vast majority were silent, their attention focused on what lay beyond the transparisteel bubble.
　Kyle saw a vast sphere, its surface blackened where volcanoes had spewed ash and lava, gradually giving way to tans, yellows, and a dusting of what looked like powdered sugar where sulfur compounds dominated the soil.
　Others, those who were limited to the gray scale, or beings who had the capacity to detect infrared emanations, saw different but no less impressive sights, each according to his, her, or its abilities.
　Kyle winced as an all-too-familiar voice sounded from behind him. "Rimmer? Didn't know you were booked aboard the Star - could have offered you a lift. Family yacht you know - safely stashed below."
　Kyle forced a smile as he turned. "Nathan. What a pleasant surprise. How's the hangover?"
　Donar, who had consumed too much wine on graduation night and had thrown up all over the inside of a friend's ground car, looked left and right. His drinking was a sore subject where his mother was concerned, and he didn't want another lecture. "Long gone, old rimmer, long gone. Come now, enough rubbernecking, it's time to meet my parents. In fact, how 'bout lunch? The old man's rather fond of a good feed and we can latch on."
　With the single exception of Meck Odom and his family, it was the first time that Kyle had received such an invitation, and in spite of the fact that he knew the gap between rimmer and the Empire's inner circle to be all but unbridgeable, he couldn't help feeling complimented. Besides, what with Nathan dragging him through the crowd, and his parents already in sight, there was no way to refuse. Nasal though it was, Nathan's voice was loud, and cut through the noise. "Mother... Father... look who I ran into? I'd like you to meet Kyle Katarn - you know, the cadet who won the medal."
　Although the honorable Madame Donar looked pleasant if somewhat emaciated, Nathan's father, Dol Donar II, Governor of Derra IV, was something else again. He was an imposing man, as portly as his wife was thin, with eyes like twin turbolasers, and three chins. His clothing, which shimmered with reflected light, hung in great folds, as if to conceal his weight. He regarded Kyle with a look akin to an entomologist examining a brand-new specimen. The words, as nasal as his son's, came like jabs. "Decorated, you say? When? Why?"
　Nathan, who was used to his father's style, was quick to explain. "During the graduation ceremony - for valor on a Rebel-held asteroid."
　The Governor extended a beefy hand. Kyle noticed that he wore a pinkie ring set with what must have been a five-karat Rol Stone. It sparkled with light. "Of course. Silly of me to forget! Congratulations, son. A medal of valor is something to be proud of."
　"As was your son's leadership during the graduation ceremony," Kyle replied tactfully. "I wouldn't be here if it weren't for his judgment."
　The older man smiled and put an arm around Nathan's shoulders. "It was something to see, I can tell you that! You lads did a fine job. Scared the heck out of his mother, though."
　Nathan, who lived to earn his father's respect, turned pink with pleasure and chattered nonstop through the subsequent lunch. The Nebula Room was one of the most expensive restaurants on board. Kyle, who could have subsisted for a week on the food Governor Donar consumed during that single meal, settled for a green salad, a freshly baked scone, a serving of runyip stew, and then, because he couldn't resist, a bowl of candied insects. The dish was a favorite among the Kubaz, and the dessert chef brought it to the table himself. Kyle had just consumed the last of the sweet-and-sour morsels when Governor Donar turned his way. "So, tell us about your family, son, what line of business are they in?"
　Nathan frowned and looked genuinely sorry as Kyle forced himself to look the older man in the eye. "My father was a craftsman - the Rebels murdered him."
　The statement was a clear admission of social inferiority, but, rather than showing disdain as Kyle had feared, the Governor was genuinely outraged. "Rebels, you say? Blast their miserable hides! A pox on every one of them!"
　Madame Donar, who was well aware of the fact that the sentients seated around them might be Rebels, or Rebel sympathizers, placed a hand on her husband's arm. "Your voice carries, Dol. Remember where we are."
　"I don't care where we are!" Donar declared loudly, ignoring those who turned to stare. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The only good Rebel is a dead Rebel! Mark my words, son, the Emperor has a thing or two in store for the so-called Alliance, and your father will be revenged."
　The way the man said it, the certainty of his expression, all led Kyle to believe that something real lay behind the words. Whatever it was must be awesome indeed if the Empire was to suppress the kind of fanaticism he'd encountered on Asteroid AX-456. He was about to say as much when a well-dressed man approached the table. He bowed to Madame Donar and turned to her husband.
　"Madame Donar. Governor. Please allow me to introduce myself. The name is Calrissian, Lando Calrissian, and I hear that you enjoy the occasional game of sabacc."
　Madame Donar, whose lunch had consisted of little more than some leaves with berries on them, frowned and tried to establish eye contact with the Governor. It was too late, however, since a gleam had entered his eyes and eagerness colored his voice. "Sabacc, you say? Lando Calrissian? It's a pleasure to meet you, citizen Calrissian. Please allow me to introduce my wife Rissa, my son Nathan, and his friend Kyle Katarn. I'd be glad to join you and your friends, assuming it's a friendly game, consistent with my somewhat limited skills."
　Calrissian bowed from the waist. "I expect the game to be extremely friendly. And I sense you are far too modest regarding your skills. The Corellia room, then? About two?"
　"The Corellia room at two."
　Calrissian nodded to each person seated at the table and walked away.

Dark Forces
Soldier for the Empire
P. - P.

　Nathan and his father departed for the Corellia room immediately after lunch, while Madame Donar, who had developed a headache, retired to the family's suite. Kyle thanked them for lunch, promised to visit the game, and went for a walk.
　Now, away from the nearly fanatical Imperialism of Carida, and outside the protective bubble that surrounded the Donar family, Kyle began to pick up on the hatred that seethed just below the Empire's surface. There were long hard looks, shoulders that seemed to intentionally bump into his, and comments, some loud enough to hear. "Imperial scum!"
　"Stormtrooper!"
　"Slimeball."
　The comments made him embarrassed, angry, and confused all at the same time. Didn't they understand? Didn't they know what the Rebels had done? Surely they couldn't be so stupid. But apparently they were, as occasional bits of graffiti confirmed.
　Discouraged, and more than a little depressed, Kyle headed for one place where he felt sure he'd be accepted - the Corellia room. Like all the rest of the world-class public rooms, the Corellia had been decorated with its namesake in mind.
　Rather than the transparisteel viewport one might have expected, the outer bulkhead featured a vid screen designed to look like a viewport. The image projected there was so real, so convincing, that if Kyle hadn't known better, he would have sworn the ship was orbiting Corellia herself. That, plus cases filled with Corellian artifacts, and walls hung with Corellian art, gave the space its unique look and feel.
　The game was well under way by the time Kyl earrived. It had attracted a good many onlookers. Nathan bade him welcome, as did the Governor, but both were preoccupied. There were twenty-five or thirty beings present, but only four were seated at the game table.
　Their cards, dealt by one of the ship's game droids, bore electronically generated images. There were four suits - staves, flasks, sabres, and coins. Each could be scrambled through the use of a button located at the lower left-hand corner of the card. And there were various sets of rules, including the Empress Teta Preferred system, Cloud City Casino, Corellian Gambit, and at least one more that Kyle couldn't remember. The simple truth was that he'd never enjoyed games much. He was, he had to admit, a sore loser.
　Kyle looked up from the table, and caught a glimpse of a face that looked familiar. Or did it? The face belonged to a girl, and much as he might want to, Kyle didn't know any girls. He stared, but she disappeared behind a pair of head-tailed Twi'leks on the farside of the table. Kyle moved to the left, trying to get a better look at her, and accidentally bumped into a Rodian bounty hunter. It was hard to say which was worse, the alien's body odor, or the cheap cologne he used to conceal it.
　Suddenly, like clouds parting to admit a ray of sunlight, two of the onlookers moved apart. The girl looked his way, their eyes met, and they recognized each other. It was her! The girl from the asteroid!
　Kyle saw her eyes widen in surprise, saw an emotion he couldn't quite identify cross her face, and watched her turn away. Without thinking, Kyle followed her as she moved quickly through the crowd.
　He told himself that it was her status as a Rebel - that he was doing his duty - but he knew it was something more. He wanted to hurt her, to punish her for everything the Rebels had done. But he wanted to talk with her, too. She had been there on the asteroid, and she might be the only person who could understand the way he felt.
　Kyle rounded the table, sidestepped the droid that never seemed to stray very far from Calrissian's side, and lunged for the door. The Rodian bounty hunter, his large purple eyes empty of all expression, watched him go. Outside, Kyle saw little more than a flash of blue as the girl merged onto a moving walkway.
　Running to catch up, Kyle dodged, passed, and brushed any number of sentients, murmured "Excuse me" over and over again, kept both eyes on his quarry. Once on the walkway, he moved to the outside lane, passed a businesswoman and her secretarial droid, and broke into a fast walk.
　The girl had a significant lead on him by then. She looked back over her shoulder, confirmed that he was there, and walked even faster. Seeing that, Kyle redoubled his efforts, broke into a jog. He failed to notice the tall, nearly cadaverous man who touched the plug in his right ear, murmured "Waller here - he's on the way," into a comlink, and ambled along behind.
　The walkway ended, the girl paused long enough for Kyle to get a fix on her, then headed for a lift tube. The young officer pushed his way through the crowd, apologized right and left, and arrived in front of the lift just as it closed.
　Kyle pounded on the metal in frustration, ignored a droid's offer of help, and watched the indicator light. There were two levels below the one he was on, but the second was off limits to passengers, which told him what he needed to know.
　The ladderway, which was intended for emergencies and only rarely used, ran parallel to the tube. Kyle touched the panel next to the access door, waited for it to slide out of the way, and stepped inside. The ladder was designed to accommodate both gravity and null gravity conditions. He clamped his feet against the outside rails and used his hands as brakes. The ship's artificial gravity handled the rest.
　The descent lasted five seconds. His boots hit the next plat format the same moment that someone threw a choke hold around his neck. Kyle pried at the arm but found it was useless. He might as well have been trying to bend a durasteel bar. The words warmed the right side of his face. "So what's the hurry, bucko? What if you fell and broke your neck? What would the Emperor do then?"
　Kyle tried to say something, tried to respond, but could only make a gargling sound. Another voice intervened. It was distinctly feminine. "That's enough, Rosco. The passageway is clear. Bring him out."
　As if by magic, the choke hold metamorphosed into a wrist-lock. Rosco applied some leverage, and Kyle winced and turned toward the hatch. The girl waited to make sure the officer was still under control, nodded approvingly, and stepped into the passageway. Kyle, with some encouragement from Rosco, followed.
　Rosco was built like a barrel. He had a blond crew cut, fist-flattened nose, and tiny blue eyes. They sparkled knowingly. "Life sucks, don't it? 'Specially if you're a no-good, slime-sucking Imperial parasite."
　Kyle, who knew he was being baited, remained silent. His chance would come, or so his unarmed-combat instructor had promised, and patience was the key.
　A tall thin man appeared as if out of nowhere and fell in behind them. Kyle realized that while his capture hadn't been planned in advance, it had been coordinated on the fly, and expertly at that. Say what you might about the Rebs, they were competent.
　The girl stopped in front of a hatch, entered a series of numbers into the key pad, and waited for the door to open. Kyle caught a glimpse of storeroom shelves, realized his captors had support from at least one member of the ship's crew, and wondered if there were other privileges as well.
　The giri stepped aside and Kyle was shoved through the opening. The young officer stumbled, fell, and hit the deck face down. He did a pushup, brought his knees under his torso, and launched a backward kick. His left foot missed but his right made contact with Rosco's knee. Kyle fell, rolled, and scrambled to his feet.
　Most people would have screamed, grabbed the place where it hurt, and collapsed to the floor. The Rebel wasn't most people. He gave a grunt of surprise, frowned, and was about to retaliate when the girl spoke. "Hold it right there. You asked for that one, Rosco - and learned something in the bargain. The Lieutenant may not look like much, but he took AX-456."
　"All the more reason to kill him," Rosco growled. "I had friends on 456."
　"And I was stationed there," the girl replied steadily, her eyes locked with Kyle's. "He could have killed us, should have killed us. But he didn't. That took guts."
　Kyle searched her face for the hate, for the evil that had killed his father, and couldn't find it. What he saw were the same calm eyes that had connected with his on the asteroid, the same unwavering determination, and yes, the thing he had hoped for but least expected to see: understanding. She knew the taste of fear, the weight of command, and the horror of defeat. The thin man cleared his throat. "So? Where does that leave us?"
　The girl raised an eyebrow. "What's it going to be, Imperial? You gave me my life. I'll give you yours."
　The answer came so easily that Kyle felt a sense of guilt. "I'll take it."
　The girl nodded, glanced at the thin man's weapon, and said, "Stow the hardware."
　The blaster stayed where it was. "Why should we trust him? The fact that he isn't entirely heartless doesn't qualify him as an ally."
　The girl stepped forward and held out her hand. It felt cool and dry. "I'm Jan Ors - and you are?"
　"Kyle Katarn."
　"Glad to meet you, Kyle. Do I have your word? No funny business so long as we're aboard this ship?"
　Kyle nodded soberly. "You have my word."
　Rosco gave a grunt of disgust. "And what would that be worth? A Hutt's breakfast?"
　Ors ignored him. "All right then, we go our way, and you go yours. Remember, though - my debt's been paid. And all bets are off next time we meet."
　Kyle felt a sudden sense of desperation. The girl had told him goodbye. There would be no next time. The thin man had backed into the passageway and Ors would follow. "Wait - I want to talk to you - to learn more about what happened."
　The words sounded lame, terribly lame, but caused the girl to pause. Her eyes softened slightly. "Talk? And that's all? You won't attempt to turn me in, or something stupid like that?"
　Kyle shook his head. "No. I promise."
　"All right," the girl agreed. "We'll talk. But we'll do it in public, where everyone can see. The library. One hour from now."
　Kyle nodded. "The library. I'll see you there."
　Jan Ors smiled and disappeared.

Dark Forces
Soldier for the Empire
P. - P.

　Jan watched the other dancers out of the corner of her eye, waited for the music that would bring them around, matched their jete, turned to a pirouette, and held an arabesque. It collapsed for the lack of pointe shoes and the practice necessary to sustain it, but applause thundered nonetheless, and flowers landed around her feet.
　The whole thing looked so real, and sounded so real, that for one fleeting second Jan imagined it was real and took a bow. Then, as the sound died away, and the video started to fade, she lifted the visor. She was shocked to see him sitting there, to hear the sound of his clapping, and heard herself lash out. "You don't have anything better to do than make fun of me?"
　Kyle looked hurt. "You have it wrong. You were wonderful. Where did you learn to dance like that?"
　Somewhat mollified, and secretly pleased, Jan retrieved her blue coverall and stepped into the lower half. "When I was a little girl. My mother was the choreographer for Alderaan's premier ballet company. And I was raised between rehearsals."
　"And your father?"
　Jan's head was tilted forward. She regarded him from under raised eyebrows. "Nosy, aren't you? My father was - and as far as I know still is - a first class aerospace engineer. Hand me those boots."
　Kyle looked around, saw a pair of well-scuffed boots, and bent to retrieve them. "Really? Does that mean you can repair drives as well as you dance?"
　"Yes," Jan said matter-of-factly, "it does. How 'bout you, sparky? Got any talents other than the ones you demonstrated on that asteroid?"
　Kyle frowned. "I went to the Academy to get an education. I'm more engineer than soldier."
　"Yeah, and I'm a dancer," Jan said skeptically. "Come on. I'm thirsty."
　The cafeteria catered to the less prosperous members of the passenger list and was half full. They waited through the line, made inconsequential small talk, and obtained their drinks. Kyle offered to pay and Jan allowed him to do so. It seemed natural to seek out the most distant and therefore private part of the room. They sat down, sipped their drinks, and regarded each other across the table. "So," Jan offered noncommittally. "You wanted to talk."
　Kyle shrugged. "Yeah... You probably won't believe me, but most of the troopers who died on that asteroid were good men."
　Jan was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft but determined. "A lot of good people died that day, Kyle. Some were on my side - some were on yours. That's how war is. You chose to be a soldier. What did you expect?"
　Kyle felt an unexpected surge of anger. "Yeah? Well, what about my father? He was a craftsman, not a soldier, and the Rebs killed him anyway. Explain that."
　Given his tone, and the partisan nature of the subject, Kyle half expected her to leave the table. To his surprise, and subsequent relief, she made mo such move. In fact, her expression could better be described as one of surprise. "What planet?"
　Kyle was taken aback. "A moon called Sulon. It orbits Sullust."
　She nodded. "I'm aware of it. Your father's name?"
　"Same as mine. Katarn. Morgan Katarn."
　"And where did you get the idea that your father died at the hands of the Alliance?"
　Kyle shrugged. "The Commandant sent me a message."
　Jan shook her head in apparent amazement. "My mother says the Force moves in mysterious ways - and I never cease to be amazed at how right she is. Come on - I want you to meet someone."

Dark Forces
Soldier for the Empire
P. - P.

　Knowing that open contact with members of the Rebel Alliance could easily bring him to the attention of the Emperor's spies, Kyle made his way to Jan's cabin on his own. He touched the sensor pad. A tone sounded within and the hatch whirred open.
　Whether due to luck, the connivance of a Rebel sympathizer, or a more generous budget than Kyle would have supposed, Jan's cabin was slightly larger than his. However, the fact that she shared the space with a chrome-plated translator droid more than compensated for that particular advantage. The machine came to life as Jan spoke itsname. "A-Cee. I want to introduce someone."
　The droid's head came up and servos whirred as he looked in Kyle's direction. What happened next took both humans by surprise. A-Cee stiffened, backed even further into the corner, and spoke in a hard unyielding voice: "I am a bomb. Unauthorized access, manipulation, or interference with me or my programming, data storage modules, or other systems will result in the detonation of four point two kilos of plitex nine explosive. I have identified a class three threat, and, in accordance with my programming, am taking appropriate action. Detonation sequence activated. Countdown initiated. Ten - nine - eight..."
　Kyle took a step towards the hatch and looked at Jan. She ran the words together in her eagerness to get them out. "Override code alpha, bravo, zeta, one-niner-six. Execute."
　A-Cee paused, broke the count down sequence, and seemed to relax. "Override authenticated. Detonation sequence terminated."
　Jan looked at Kyle and grinned weakly. "Sorry about that. It was the uniform, combined with the fact that he's something of an orphan. The reason will become apparent in a moment. First, answer a question. When they sent your team to 456, did they say why?"
　Kyle frowned. "No, not exactly. They said the objective was to take a communications relay station - no more than that."
　Jan nodded. "Well, the information they gave you was accurate so far as it went, but there's more. The truth about the Emperor and his many atrocities is one of the most potent weapons the Alliance has. Once aware of it, neutral parties become more sympathetic, new alliances are formed, and support is solidified. The vast distances that separate the Empire's planets make that difficult, however."
　Kyle started to object but Jan raised her hand. "Hear me out - see with your own eyes - then say what you will.
　"The Alliance has reporters, brave men and women who roam from planet to planet, often within Imperial-controlled space, collecting stories for dissemination to those willing to see, hear, and understand. Many of these correspondents have companions like A-Cee here, who are equipped to capture, store, and edit whatever they witness. Once the stories have been prepared, they are distributed throughout the Empire via communications relay stations like the one on Asteroid 456."
　Kyle, who was none too pleased by all the anti-Imperial propaganda inherent in what she'd said, crossed his arms. "This is all very interesting. But why should I care?"
　Jan was silent for a moment, and, for reasons he couldn't understand, looked sorry for him. "Kyle, there's no way in heck that I should show you this, but I'm going to do it anyway. Remember the reporters I mentioned? Well, A-Cee was assigned to a woman named Candice Ondi. She was one of our best correspondents and died covering the story you're about to see. A-Cee - show Lieutenant Katarn the battle for the Sulon G-Tap."
　Servos whined as A-Cee stepped to the computer terminal, with-drew a cable from the compartment located on the lower right side of his torso, and made a connection to the input panel. There was a moment of black followed by a holo of a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman. She introduced herself as Candice Ondi and said she was reporting from the site of an impending battle.
　Kyle recognized the place immediately. There was no mistaking the canyon and the cavern. Thanks to the urging of his father and other influential members of the community, initial survey work had been under way before he left for the Academy.
　Ondi described recent raids by stormtroopers disguised as Rebels, offered some none-too-convincing home video as evidence to support her allegations, and alluded to "confidential sources of information" that had warned of a major assault on the G-Tap.
　Then, as the droid-mounted holocam panned acrosst he caverns interior, Kyle saw a sight that caused his heart to skip a beat. His father, Morgan Katarn, addressing a rag-tag group of teenagers and senior citizens. Kyle knew most of them by their first names. His father - a Rebel leader - the knowledge came as a shock. Ondi's commentary made the scene all the more moving.
　"As you can see, when it comes to battling the Empire, both young and old agree. This group, under the command of a local militia leader, will defend a passageway the locals refer to as the 'backdoor.'"
　Kyle, who had vivid memories of playing hide-and-seek through the passageway in question, felt a lump form in his throat. He came to his feet. The story wasn't true, it couldn't be! But even the possibility made his palms sweat. The rest was worse.
　Ondi and her faithful droid were there when Major Noda and his carefully disguised stormtroopers pushed their way up the river. Kyle, who had been more than a little cynical about the veracity of the report, experienced a sinking feeling as the first AT-ST appeared, only to be destroyed by a Rebel SLM.
　Yes, he caught a glimpse of the Rebel designator painted on the machine's flanks, but knew how easily that could be faked. Especially since it was so difficult to envision a scenario in which Rebels had captured the machines and put them to such casual use. More than anything, though, it was the way the attackers moved up river that convinced him of the report's authenticity. Every action they took was right out of the Academy's manuals, and, as his father liked to say, "If it sounds like a bantha, walks like a bantha, and smells like a bantha, chances are it's a bantha."
　Then, just as another AT appeared around the bend, and the rate of incoming fire increased, Ondi turned to the camera. She was about to say something, about to comment on the action, when a look of surprise came over her face. She'd been hit, and the foot age as A-Cee ran to catch her was more eloquent than words. She tried to say something as she lay cradled in the droid's arms, frowned when the words refused to come, and lost all expression.
　The holo faded to black and silence settled over the cabin. When Kyle spoke the words came as a croak. "I'm sorry about Ondi. Do you have any idea what happened to my father?"
　He saw something unreadable in Jan's eyes. Pity? Compassion? Sorrow? He couldn't tell. Her voice was gentle. "A-Cee took some additional video - but I'm not sure that I should show it."
　"Show me what you have," Kyle said grimly. "I want to know how my father died."
　The droid looked at Jan inquiringly and she nodded her head. The screen came to life and Kyle found himself peeking out through a gap where a tarp had come loose and flapped in the breeze. Trees whipped by and beyond them Kyle saw the warehouses that lined the western perimeter of Sulon's spaceport and the northern outskirts of Baron's Hed. A checkpoint manned by men in glossy white armor appeared. There was a moment of darkness as A-Cee pulled back, followed by the sound of gears, and a brief glimpse of run-down buildings as the vehicle moved forward.
　Then, safely through the checkpoint, A-Cee returned to work. The road paralleled the spaceport. Kyle saw a graffiti-defaced wall appear, noticed the strange-looking bumps that lined the top, and wondered why the birds liked them so much. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of flitting wings, bursting into flight at the slightest hint of danger, only to settle again.
　Then, as the road moved up against the wall, and the truck started to slow, Kyle realized the bumps were human heads. He was still absorbing that, still struggling to deal with it, when the truck ground to a halt. Kyle saw his father's face, felt his lunch rise, and forced it back down.
　There was more, but Jan signaled A-Cee to stop and the droid obeyed. Jan, unsure of what to do or say, watched Kyle's face. She saw sadness appear there, quickly followed by anger, and hardening resolve. He seemed to age before her eyes, and when he spoke, the words came as if from another man. "Thank you. The truth can hurt. But lies are worse."
　Then, in a gesture that Jan would never forget, the officer ripped the bar that symbolized his Medal of Valor from the front of his uniform and threw it in the recycling bin. The Empire didn't know it, but a Rebel had been born.

Dark Forces
Soldier for the Empire
P. - P.