CHAPTER FIVE

Sullust hung huge in the sky as Boc stood watching the troops guide the heavily loaded grav pallet up the ramp and into the shuttle's hold.

The tiles were numbered and ready for reassembly. He shifted his weight and winced in pain.

The ache originated from the point where his tendon had been severed and reconnected. Boc favored his opposite foot as he turned to Yun. "That was the last load."

The younger Jedi nodded. "What now?"

"Here comes Sariss . . . . Ask her."

Yun turned toward his mentor. "And to what fabulous destination are we bound?"

"To Baron's Hed, so 8t88 can examine the map and try to make sense of it."

"Ah," Yun replied lightly, "and a fine piece of machinery he is

.... Come, Boc. The bright lights beckon."

There was no answer.

Yun and Sariss turned to see where the other Jedi had gone. He stood with his back to them. His eyes scanned the countryside. Yun spoke again. "Boc? Come on - it's time to go."

"Someone is watching. I can feel it."

"So?" Sariss responded impatiently. "What did you expect? This is more activity than the locals have seen for a long time. We're hard to miss."

"The Force is strong in this one," Boc continued, "and he seeks to destroy us."

"Him and a few million more," Yun said dismissively. "Come. Lunch awaits."

"Into the shuttle, Boc," Sariss ordered sternly. "Jerec wants the map, and he wants it soon." Boc took one last look, turned, and shuffled toward the ramp. The remaining Jedi exchanged glances, shook their heads in wonderment, and followed.

Kyle couldn't hear what the Imperials were saying. And he didn't really care. From his vantage point up on the hill he could see the fields, the tap tree that stood in front of the house, and the Imperial shuttle that squatted beyond. Heat shimmered above the ship's hull and distorted the vehicle parked beyond. It contained a half-dozen transports, some gravsleds, and a mobile command post.

Timing was everything, or so the saying went, and his had been poor. The heavily loaded grav pallets meant that the Imperials had removed something. But what? Whatever it was would have to be a good deal more valuable than his father's tools and equipment to justify the expenditure of so many resources.

Kyle felt a momentary sense of pride. The Empire had murdered Morgan Katarn - but his impact lingered on.

It appeared as though the Imperials were preparing to leave. Some of them, anyway. The agent raised his electrobinoculars and took one last look. Two men and a woman stood in front of the shuttle. They were Jedi, judging from the lightsabers they wore. But none was Jerec. Where was he anyway, the mysterious figure who had attended Kyle's graduation, murdered his father, and sent 8t88 to find him? Close, very close, but out of reach.

Kyle touched a button and zoomed to maximum magnification. He examined each Jedi in turn. The woman wore bright red lipstick, the youngster displayed an "I'm better than you are" sneer, and the last was a Twi'lek, a rarity among Imperial forces. The alien turned toward Kyle.

The agent felt his heart start to pound as he made contact with the space-black eyes.

Kyle lowered the electrobinoculars, certain that he'd been discovered. But he realized that he hadn't. Not in the normal sense, anyway . . . .

The others spoke to the strange-looking Jedi, and he turned away.

Kyle felt light-headed and fought to control his breathing. The encounter had been frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Here was partial validation of his dream. Maybe, just maybe, he could become a Jedi - not the kind that murdered people but the kind that fought to protect them.

The Jedi, along with a contingent of stormtroopers, had boarded the shuttle by now, and the ship was lifting. Repulsors flared, the nose rotated toward the east, and thrusters fired.

Kyle went facedown as the shuttle passed directly over his position. Bushes swayed and dust filled the air. The Rebel looked back over his shoulder, spit grass, and was thankful when the spacecraft disappeared.

He stood, gave thanks that Jan hadn't been around to witness his rather undignified dive, and brushed grass off his clothes.

A quick check confirmed that although the Jedi had left, stormtroopers and mercenaries still patrolled the area around the house while an AT-ST minced through an unplanted field.

Tough odds, but not impossible ones, especially for someone who had spent his childhood there and knew every square centimeter.

Kyle checked his blaster, shoved it back into its holster, and moved along the side of the hill. Imperial troops had a strong tendency to do everything by the book, and having studied their books, he knew what to expect.

Sentries would be posted all around the structure to be defended.

Not many, just enough to slow an incursion and call for reinforcements.

Once that occurred, a heavily armed response force would rush to the area and provide whatever muscle was necessary.

That being the case, Kyle hoped to slip between the sentries and avoid the massive response. He stayed off the well-established footpaths and took the sort of routes that only a child would be aware of, routes that were much more likely to be free of sentries, sensors, and trip wires. One such path, which was little more than a game trail now, required Kyle to get down on his stomach and elbow his way forward.

Bushes closed over his head and brushed his sides.

The going was a good deal more difficult than he remembered. Of course, now he had an adult body, and the undergrowth had closed in on itself during his absence.

The smells were the same, though, especially the yeasty odor of wild poro poppies and the sweet, almost nauseating scent of nantha blossoms.

Insects scurried to get out of his way.

A harmless eye-eye snake hissed, aimed its head-eye in the direction of travel, and used the tail-eye to monitor pursuit.

A hole ball, its fur eternally matted with the debris that provided its camouflage, took one look at the enormous invader, gave a squeak of alarm, and rolled into one of its multitudinous holes.

Kyle smiled. All the creatures around him were old friends, or descendants of old friends, first encountered during his boyhood.

The undergrowth thinned, and the farmhouse appeared through the foliage. The Rebel squirmed his way forward, spotted a patch of telltale white armor, and ceased all movement.

The stormtrooper paused, scanned the surrounding area, and resumed his patrol. Kyle waited for the sentry to leave, pushed his way forward, and stuck his head out. The way was clear, except for a blaster-burned, agro droid.

Kyle dashed across the intervening space, tried the back door, and felt it open under his hand. The lock, such as it was, had been blasted away.

The kitchen was a disaster. Cupboard doors gaped open, graffiti covered the walls, and debris crunched under his boots. The agent paused, listened, and moved on.

It appeared as if the house had been ransacked on repeated occasions. The Imperials had been first, followed by thieves who'd seen Morgan Katarn's head on display at the spaceport, then people with nothing better to do.

Someone had camped in the living room. A collection of dirty pots and pans was stacked next to the fireplace, and trash filled the northeast corner of the room. More than a little nervous, Kyle made his way to the front room and peered out the window. A Commando appeared, and the Rebel pulled back.

Getting in was one thing - getting out would be another. Still, no one had shown any inclination to enter the house, for which he was thankful. Perhaps most of them had been there already or had orders to stay out. Whatever the reason, it was fine with Kyle.

A trail of masonry drew a line between the much-abused front door and Morgan Katarn's workshop. Kyle followed it until a picture caught his eye. It hung askew, as if ready to fall. Not too surprising, given what the place had been through.

Kyle walked over, removed the 3-D print from the wall, and gazed into his mother's face. He had a single memory of her - of being held in her arms, of crying over something, something that didn't seem so bad with her arms wrapped around him.

Tenderly, reverently Kyle removed the picture from its frame and rolled it into a cylinder. A scrap of wire served to secure the roll, which went into his right cargo pocket. It might take a beating during the hours ahead, but anything was preferable to leaving the print where it was. The agent entered the workshop. His father and he had spent countless hours there, taking things apart, putting them back together, or just plain fooling around. The shop had been the center of the house and, in some ways, of their relationship.

A single glance was enough to determine that it, too, had suffered at the hands of the invaders. It appeared as though at least one minor explosion had taken place. The vast majority of his father's tools were missing, and a thick layer of debris obscured the floor. of course, that was to be expected. But where had the ceiling gone? And why?

Kyle remembered the heavily laden grav pallets and wondered if the two were connected somehow. But wait - what was that? A pattern on the remaining ceiling tiles?

Kyle removed a glow rod from his belt, climbed up onto an empty crate, and examined the area in question. He noticed that the tiles, none of which had been there on the day he left for the Academy, matched those on the kitchen counters. That meant they had originated in the same quarry - a place located twenty kilometers to the north. Etchings had been carved into the squares, some of which were clearly decorative, while others resembled a map - a map from which the central and most important section was missing.

What had Rahn said? Something about the Valley of the Jedi? Was that what the Imperials had come for? A snap that would guide them to the Valley? There was no direct evidence to support his theory, but Kyle felt it was true and had learned to trust such impressions.

The agent climbed down, directed the light into one of the darker corners of the room, and saw something familiar. It was covered with loose plaster but was recognizable, nonetheless. "Wee Gee? Is that you?"

There was no answer as Kyle made his way across the room, scooped chunks of plaster out of the way, and embraced a familiar figure. Though capable of a wide variety of configurations, the droid currently resembled an inverted U with a sensor pod mounted on top. Wee Gee boasted two graspers, one designed for strength and one intended for more delicate tasks. Kyle dragged the droid out into the middle of the room and checked its readouts.

"Hey, Weeg - what did they do to you? Whatever it was put some dents in your processor housing. No major damage, though. Let's check you out."

Morgan Katarn had built the droid himself, but Kyle had performed routine maintenance on the robot since the age of twelve and knew its workings inside out. Beyond the dirt, grime, and dents, the machine was intact.

The half slots seemed unrelated to each other until Kyle rotated both of them into alignment and pushed the disk through the opening.

Parts whirred, clicked, and hummed. A holo appeared, and with it, his father's image. It was crystal clear.

"This message is intended for my son, Kyle Katarn. Kyle, I have left two very important items for you. The first is a map to the Valley of the Jedi - and is embedded in the stone ceiling above this room . . .

. "

Kyle watched his father gesture toward the once-smooth ceiling and knew his theory had been correct. Something whirred; the agent turned and pulled his blaster. Wee Gee remained motionless. A hatch opened in his side, and a cylinder popped out. The agent caught the object and the narration continued. "The other is a lightsaber that belonged to a Jedi named Rahn. Use it well. Use it for good."

The holo snapped out of existence. A feeling of warmth suffused Kyle's body. Not only would the new image replace the one of his father's head on a spike, it meant that his father had been aware of his talent and wanted him to develop it.

Kyle thumbed a switch, and the lightsaber popped to life. The air crackled, and the smell of ozone permeated the room. He made some experimental passes, gloried in the power that the weapon conveyed, and heard his father's words echo through his mind. "Use it well.... Use it for good."

The thought had a sobering effect, as did the knowledge that the Imperials had taken possession of information that his father had gone to great lengths to protect. He thumbed the power switch, felt the handle cool, and stuck the lightsaber through his belt.

There was a series of beeps and whistles. The agent turned to find Wee Gee floating two meters off the floor. The droid held a chunk of rock in his power grasper and seemed prepared to throw it. "Hey Weeg. It's me, Kyle."

The droid seemed doubtful and moved in for a closer look. The beeps and whistles had a plaintive sound.

Kyle shook his head. "I look older because I am older. Not too old to remember how you fished me out of the river, though, and didn't tell Dad."

The droid responded with a series of quick, joyful sounds. Kyle patted the droid's sensor housing. "You've been out of circulation for a while Weeg, and things have changed. I'd like nothing better than to see Dad again, but the Imperials murdered him. I'm fighting for the Rebs now."

It took the better part of five minutes to bring the droid up to date. Once that had been accomplished and Wee Gee had absorbed all the changes, it was Kyle's turn to ask the questions.

"So, Weeg, what's the deal with the ceiling? What made it so valuable that the imperials would take the time and trouble to tear it out?"

The droid directed its vid pickup toward the area in question and issued a long sequence of beeps and whistles. The Rebel made the necessary translation. It seemed that his father had taken a long trip and had seemed preoccupied on his return. It was as if he knew of something important but wasn't sure what to do about it. The droid continued.

"Later, after Master Rahn came to stay, your father worked on the ceiling. It took more than a month, and I helped. I liked the etchings.

But your father must not have because he ordered me to cover them with plaster."

Kyle felt his heart beat faster. "Rahn? A man named Rahn came to stay?"

"Why, yes," the droid beeped. "A wonderful gentleman. Your father thought very highly of him."

Kyle's mouth was dry. "Describe Master Rahn."

Wee Gee projected a holo into the air. A lump formed in Kyle's throat as he watched the man he knew as Rahn hand a book and a lightsaber to Morgan Katarn. Their friendship was obvious.

Kyle swallowed hard. In spite of all he'd learned, the main prize continued to elude him. Given the fact that the shuttle had disappeared in the direction of Baron's Hed, that seemed like the place to start. But how to get there? Especially with Wee Gee in tow. Yes, he could leave the droid behind, but he knew what would happen. Wee Gee was like a member of the family, the only member left outside of himself, and couldn't survive on his own. No, there had to be a way ....

The answer popped into his mind as if it had been waiting there all along. Kyle snapped his fingers and motioned to the droid. "Come on, Weeg. Let's get out of here."

The towering tap tree that stood out front was more than ornamental. Its roots went down hundreds of meters, where they "tapped"

an underground aquifer and brought water to the surface. More water than the tree and its various symbiotes could use. That being the case, Morgan Katarn and his neighbors had used the trees as biological pumps, diverting the excess water to their crops and supplementing the sometimes inadequate rainfall.

However, bringing the water to the surface was one thing and distributing it to the crops was another. Like his neighbors, Morgan Katarn employed a force of droids to establish and maintain an extensive network of underground tunnels, pipes, and tubes, which took the wet stuff wherever it was needed. The system could be accessed from a number of locations, one of which was located not ten meters from the back door.

The agent made his way through the kitchen, pushed against the door in question, and peered through the crack. A stormtrooper stood five meters away. A mercenary sauntered up to greet him. The Gamorrean had green skin, a pig-style snout, and some nasty-looking tusks. He wore a bloodsucking morrt on each bicep - an indication that he had put a few credits aside and was coming up in the world. He made some grunting noises, and the human responded.

"Hey Brollo. It's been a while. You ready to lose this week's pay?"

The Gamorrean's response was lost as Kyle backed into the room.

Which was more important, stealth - or time? The Rebel considered the Jedi, how easy it would be for them to leave the planet, and made the decision accordingly.

"Weeg, see the door? When I say `go,' pile through it and turn to the left. Don't go right, 'cause you'll be in the line of fire. Got it?"

Servos whined as the droid positioned himself opposite the back door and beeped his readiness.

Kyle nodded, pulled his blaster, and took one last peek. The trooper had removed a datapad from his pocket and pointed at the screen.

"So, who do you want? Your cousin Blotho - or Master Sergeant Kine? The smart money's on Kine."

The agent pulled back. "Okay Weeg . . . ready . . .set . . .go!"

Kyle had expected the droid to pull the door open and was just as surprised as the imperials were when Wee Gee crashed through the wood, leaving nothing but splinters hanging from the hinges. There was no time to discuss the matter, however - and the strategy worked.

The Imperials were still recovering from the shock, still reaching for their weapons when Kyle shot them. The Gamorrean died first, his face registering surprise, and the trooper fell second. It took three shots to penetrate his armor, but the outcome was the same.

Kyle turned, pulled a quick three-sixty to ensure that the incident had gone undetected, and headed for the access door, which lay flush to the ground, where layers of dirt and debris served to camouflage it. Kyle found the handle and tugged. Nothing. It was jammed tight.

Wee Gee beeped, whistled, and moved into position. The droid's power grasper slipped through the handle, and a servo whined. Metal groaned as the door opened upward, and a set of stairs was revealed.

"Down the hatch," Kyle ordered, "and switch on your lights."

The droid beeped obediently and lowered itself into the underground passageway. Kyle pulled the door into a vertical position and ducked as it fell the last couple of meters. He'd be very lucky - or the Imperials extremely stupid - if the hatch went undiscovered.

It was dark in the tunnel, or would have been if it weren't for Wee Gee and his floodlights. Together they lit up fifteen to twenty meters of tunnel.

The earthen walls still bore the tool marks left by the droids who had dug and subsequently maintained the tunnels. They weeped here and there as water from a recent rainstorm percolated downward.

Side tunnels, some of which were too small for the adult Kyle to negotiate, branched left and right. Black pipes or, in some cases, tubing followed them off into the darkness. The air was moist and smelled like dirt. This particular shaft, a passageway labeled "main central" led toward the northwest and the area where the vehicle park had been established. The perfect place to borrow some transportation . . .

The attack came without warning. The passageway was empty one moment and full the next. The war droid was a lumbering thing, long outdated but threatening, nonetheless. There was no way to know if it had been sent into the tunnels or had simply lost its way. Whatever the reason, the machine had sensed their approach, lain in wait, and lurched out of a side passage.

The machine could and probably would have killed Kyle within the first few seconds of combat, but Wee Gee was a more difficult opponent.

Though extremely mild mannered and not equipped for combat, the droid had been programmed by Morgan Katarn to protect Kyle at all costs. That, plus the fact that Wee Gee had been built for heavy-duty farm work, evened the odds.

Metal rang on metal as the machines came together. The war droid boasted a variety of weapons but discovered it was too late to use them.

Kyle tried to see past Wee Gee, waved his blaster, and shouted advice - none of which was very useful.

The matter was really quite simple from Wee Gee's perspective.

Lacking the programming and initiative to do anything else, his opponent was using tactics that might have been effective against a human but were wasted on him.

While the war droid went for Wee Gee's nonexistent vital organs, Wee Gee used his power grasper to grab the other machine's throat and rip its head off. A column of sparks shot upward, a servo screeched, and the battle was over.

Wee Gee passed over the decapitated hulk, beeped a warning, and continued on his way.

Kyle shook his head in amazement, stepped on the war droid's chest, and followed along behind.

Cautious now, with blaster drawn and mud sucking at his boots, Kyle waited for another attack. But, with the exception of a small cave-in, there were no more obstacles to bar the way. Wee Gee plowed through the blockage without difficulty and stopped when the tunnel came to an abrupt end. The whistles, beeps, and buzz ended with a nearly audible question mark.

"Now I reconnoiter," Kyle answered, indicating a ladder and the hatch above. "If memory serves, this should bring us out in the center of their vehicle park."

The droid's vidcam swiveled back and forth as various aspects of his programming came into conflict and made him nervous. The noises he produced were hard and demanding.

"Thank you," Kyle replied sincerely, "but my father is gone now, and I would appreciate it if you would accept my judgments in place of his."

There was a brief moment of silence while Wee Gee considered Kyle's request. The reply was both brief and contrite.

"Good," Kyle said firmly. "I'll take a look - you wait here."

The droid watched as the Rebel agent climbed the rusty ladder, shoved on the hatch, and shoved again. Kyle grimaced as metal screeched and the cover popped free. He waited to see if the noise drew any attention and was relieved when it didn't.

The agent pushed upward on the lid, stopped when it hit something solid, and squirmed through the gap. The "something" was a transport.

He'd been lucky, very lucky, since there were plenty of Imperials, and the vehicle hid him from view.

A pair of shiny black boots crunched by, a comm unit crackled, and someone coughed. Then, with a suddenness that made the agent's heart skip a beat, a shout was heard. Had he been spotted? The Rebel rolled this way and that, looking for someone to shoot . . . . But the boots, and the bodies above them, were running away. Running toward the house. Why?

Then it came to him. Someone had discovered the bodies and alerted the rest. How long before they found the hatch - and followed the tunnel to the point where Wee Gee waited? Not very long.

Kyle knew that seconds were precious as he elbowed his way out from under the vehicle, took a quick look around, and saw nothing but backs as stormtroopers, mercenaries, and commandos headed for the house.

The T-4 was a large vehicle with an open cab. Normally used to move equipment and troops, it boasted a five-ton payload, light side armor, and a double-barreled, all-purpose, energy cannon mounted behind the cab.

Kyle jumped onto the running board, climbed into the driver's seat, and scanned the dashboard. Like his classmates, he had qualified in T-4s during his second year at the Academy. The transport boasted no fewer than four repulsor-lift engines and, like most military vehicles, was secured with a key pad. A key pad which many company commanders chose to ignore since it meant that each and every potential driver had to memorize the necessary code. The factory setting consisted of four zeros.

Many settings were just left that way.

Kyle mentally crossed his fingers, hit the zero button four times, and received a green light. The Rebel grinned as he flipped all four of the engineselect switches into the "on" position, hit the starter button, and heard the power plants whine into life. Each had its own special pitch that was soon lost in the sound made by the others.

Once the T-4 was up off its skids, it was a simple matter to slide out of the way and watch Wee Gee float up and out of his hiding place.

The moment the droid was aboard and secured to his seat, Kyle took off.

A mercenary yelled something incoherent, the Imperials turned to look, and the chase was on .... Blaster bolts sizzled past the agent's head, and one of them punched a hole through the windshield. Wee Gee issued a series of urgent whistles and beeps.

"Excellent advice," Kyle replied grimly. "Hold on to your circuits

. . . because here we go!"

Empty and possessed of considerable power, the T-4 was capable of eighty kilometers per hour. It accelerated down the lane, spewed gravel in every direction, and roared onto the highway. Baron's Hed lay to the east, a thirty-minute drive at most.

The highway had seen heavy use, but that was before the Imperials imposed a system of travel permits and "usage-" based taxes. In order to minimize costs and defend against bandits, farmers used heavily armed convoys to take their crops to market and rode tax-exempt farm animals for local transportation. Animal droppings lined the side of the road, which was otherwise clear.

What had been a convoy appeared up ahead, the line of burnedout hulks attesting not only to the dangers that lay in wait but the extent to which the Imperials allowed bandits to terrorize the land.

Kyle turned into a curve and felt the T-4 tilt in order to compensate. A turnout provided access to what had been a rest area. It was currently home to a band of Tusken Raiders. Though they were native to the planet Tatooine, the Tuskens had been brought in by the Imperials to function as "enforcers," a role they relished. The mercenaries had taken to the speeder bikes like an Aqualish to water and used them to

"patrol" the local roads. None of them seemed to miss the bantha, the huge beasts they rode on Tatooine.

An advisory had gone out within seconds of Kyle's escape, and the Tuskens were prepared. Engines roared as they lurched into the air.

Though vertical when parked, the long, sleek machines quickly went horizontal and formed on their leader, a Raider named Rogg.

Rogg knew his followers would be looking to him for encouragement.

He waved a hand over his head and screamed a tribal war cry. It was lost in the slipstream. But it made him feel better.

The Tusken enjoyed his leadership position, liked the power it conveyed, but didn't relish moments like this. Rogg regarded the notion of leading from the front as impractical, especially since said leader eventually got killed, resulting in the loss of his valuable knowledge and experience, not to mention his life.

The Tusken leader had opened the matter for discussion, hoping the rest of the band would see how silly the traditional system was, but had been blocked by Bordo, his nominal number two, and one of two or three individuals who hoped to inherit his position.

Ah well, the charm pouch he wore around his neck had protected him this long and would again. The Tusken fired his dual-nose cannon and rejoiced as the coherent energy blipped toward the T-4's tailgate and blistered the transport's paint.

Kyle checked his mirror, saw the closely packed bikers, and spoke from the side of his mouth. "Take the controls, Weeg. I'll teach them some manners.

Wee Gee beeped by way of a response, activated the second set of controls, and wondered if he had the proper programming. A quick check revealed that the buttons, switches, and pedals arrayed before him weren't all that different from those on a combine, which was fortunate since Kyle had disappeared.

The turret gun sat in a lightly armored tub located behind the control cab. The agent climbed over the side, settled into the gunner's saddle, and flicked the power switch- An entire row of indicator lights flashed green.

Blaster bolts splashed on armor, flashed over the Rebel's head, and flew wide as the lead Tuskens fired their weapons.

Kyle found the safety, switched to "live fire," and peered through the sight. Though swerving back and forth in an attempt to ruin his aim, the bikers still formed a highly concentrated target. The firing studs were located to either end of the handlebar controls. The Rebel pressed with both thumbs, watched coherent light stutter into the tightly packed formation, and whooped when a bike exploded.

Debris flew in every direction and sliced off a biker's head, leaving the body intact. The torso was still in place, still gripping the control, when the two-wheeler smashed into a bridge support. The pieces were everywhere, narrowly missed the end of the formation, and threw up clouds of dirt.

The twenty-kilometer bridge led into Baron's Hed. Six lanes narrowed to four as Wee Gee guided the transport onto the span. He glanced into a side mirror, saw that the Tuskens were gaining, and pushed with his power grasper. Nothing happened. The droid realized that the accelerator was already on the floor.

Rogg had survived. The knowledge made him happy. He raised his right hand, gave a signal, and veered to the right. Kyle tracked the movement with the handlebar, fired a three-bolt burst, and swore when another rider was snatched from his seat. The bike swerved, narrowly avoided another, and tumbled end over end.

If Kyle was disappointed that Rogg survived, it was nothing compared to what Bordo felt. He was number two and had been for three long years. Three years of "Yes, Rogg, whatever you say Rogg, and thank you, Rogg." It was enough to gag a Krayt dragon.

So Bordo led the second echelon over the left side of the transport, set his controls to auto, and dropped to the back.

He lost his balance, fell, and stood. A quick check was sufficient to make certain that the human was occupied by the need to repel additional boarders. Bordo staggered toward the opposite side of the transport. A single look confirmed that his cowardly leader had taken his own sweet time getting into position. Bordo smiled behind his bandages, waited for Rogg to look in his direction, and shot him in the goggles.

The speeder bike wobbled, veered away, and soared over the canyon.

The engine quit, and the bike fell like a rock. Confident that his actions had been lost in the confusion of battle, Bordo waved the band ahead, turned in the direction of the control cab, and made his way forward.

Wee Gee saw an unrecognizable blob up ahead, zoomed in on it, and knew what it was. A roadblock! A big roadblock, capable of stopping the T4 dead in its tracks .... He called for Kyle, knew the human couldn't hear, and wondered what to do.

Jan brought the Moldy Crow down from five thousand meters, found the ribbon of highway, and followed it toward the bridge. It had been difficult to watch over Kyle without being spotted, but she had managed to do so. Now, with the transport fleeing toward town and the bikers in hot pursuit, there was no need for pretense. If even one TIE fighter arrived - and was allowed to attack - the battle would be over. "Crow to Kyle - do you copy?"

Kyle had inserted the comm plug into his ear so long ago he had forgotten it was there. A Tusken had come aboard and was headed his way.

The agent pulled his blaster. "Yeah, I copy - what took so long?"

"You told me to stay clear - remember?"

Kyle raised his weapon and watched the Tusken do likewise. "When did you start taking orders from me?"

"I don't," Jan said primly, "as you can tell from the fact that the Crow is hanging over your mostly empty head."

"Right," Kyle replied as he shot Bordo through the chest, "which brings us back to where we started. What took so long?"

Jan smiled and was about to reply when she noticed the roadblock.

"They threw a barricade across the highway. Prepare for pickup."

Kyle saw the Crow start to descend and turned toward the cab. He threw himself forward. "Hey, Weeg! Set the controls to auto! Jan will pick us up!"

The droid didn't know who Jan was. But he had no desire to wind up as scrap. He did as he was told, rose from the passenger position, and turned toward the rear. A blaster bolt scored the side of his processor housing. He gave a long, drawn-out beep.

Kyle fired. A Tusken fell backward over the tailgate, was hit by one of the speeder bikes, and tumbled down the highway.

Wind whipped through Kyle's hair, and heat wrapped his shoulders as the Crow descended. The Tuskens fired at the ship as a hatch opened, a ramp was extended, and Jan shouted in Kyle's ear. "Here comes the roadblock! Jump!"

The Rebel heard her and was about to relay the order when he was snatched into the air. The droid had seen the ramp, grabbed the human's utility belt, and fired his repulsorlift engine. They had passed through the hatch by the time the transport hit the barricade.

The impact and the explosion that followed sent an AT- ST off the bridge, killed a platoon of stormtroopers, and created a wall of fire.

Most of the surviving Tuskens were going too fast to stop. They screamed as their bikes raced into the conflagration and blew up.

A few, those blessed with quick reactions or positioned toward the rear of the pack, curved away. Heavy, dark smoke boiled up into the skv, pointed a finger toward the ship named vengeance, and was blown away.