Free Tales from the New Republic by Peter Schweighofer Page B

Luxan Penetrator running interference for her. She’s all over Xakrea, shaking the trees for a wayward Imperial datapack.”
    “I see,” Nyroska said. His tone was studiously neutral, but Bel Iblis could hear the growing interest beneath it. “I take it the datapack is the valuable item you spoke of?”
    “It is, indeed,” Moranda confirmed. “Under normal circumstances, I’d get in touch with her directly to work out an exchange. Two problems: I don’t have her comlink frequency, and I don’t like the idea of Blondie and his Luxan lurking around the background. So I’d prefer to work the exchange through you.”
    “I don’t know anything about Imperial agents on Darkknell,” Nyroska said, his voice hardening. “But if you’re in possession of stolen or misappropriated goods, the smartest thing you can do is bring everything to Defense Agency headquarters and turn it in.”
    “Okay by me,” Moranda said. “You’ll have the million ready?”
    “The what?”
    “The million,” Moranda repeated. “That’s in Imperial currency, by the way, not the local stuff.”
    “You must be joking,” Nyroska said stiffly.
    “Do you hear me laughing?” Moranda countered. “Trust me, Colonel, a million doesn’t even begin to mark what this is worth. The Imps will be willing to buy it from you for two million. The Rebellion, if you can find them, will probably pay three. But don’t take my word for it—talk to the Imp and see what she says. Of course, if you turn all this over to her she’ll probably cut you out of the profits; but hey, virtue is its own comfort, right?”
    “And what makes you think an Imperial Intel agent won’t just laugh in my face? Assuming she’s not just a figment of your imagination.”
    “Oh, she’s here,” Moranda assured him. “And she won’t be laughing. Believe me.”
    Another pause. “All right, I’ll make some inquiries and see what I can find out. How do I get in touch with you?”
    “I’ll call you,” Moranda told him. “Remember: one million even. Just pass on that message, and then if you want you can be out of it.”
    She clicked off. “Now what?” Bel Iblis asked.
    “Like I said, we hope he’s smart,” she said, getting up from the table and putting away both her comlink and datapad. “And on the assumption that he is, we vacate the premises. Now.”
    For a moment Nyroska glared at the dead comlink. Just pass on that message , the words echoed in his ears, and then you can be out of it . “Not likely,” he murmured to himself. “Not flighty likely.”
    He looked across the room at his aide. “Lieutenant?”
    “Got it, Colonel,” Lieutenant Barclo reported briskly. “It came from one of the apartments in the Karflian Nestling block—fringe and lower-class mix, northern end of town. I’ve got an airspeeder squad on its way.”
    “Send two more squads in as backup,” Nyroska ordered. “Then check and see if we’ve got Imperial Intel operating on Darkknell at the moment.”
    “I’m sure we’d have heard if anyone declared him or herself, Colonel.”
    “We certainly should have,” Nyroska agreed grimly. “As I said: check.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Nyroska set down his comlink and swiveled his chair toward the large holo map of the city behind him. If there was a foreign operative running through his city behind his back, he wanted to know about it.
    And if said agent was chasing down something worth a million or more in Imperial currency, he most definitely wanted to know about it.
    Accessing the spaceport’s database, he pulled up the recent arrivals section and keyed for a search.
    The manager’s profile chart was short. Amazingly short. Suspiciously short.
    “Sad, isn’t it,” Isard said contemptuously as Hal finished scanning through it.
    “And they always think they’re not blindingly obvious to us.”
    “They do indeed,” Hal agreed, handing back the datapad. The “personal” section of the manager’s profile had exactly twelve