Star Wars_ Rebel Force 05_ Trapped - Alex Wheeler [33]
He had come downstairs planning to look at more pictures, dull as they were with their endless grinning faces. Strangers—now nothing but corpses—who meant nothing to him.
But he couldn't face them.
I have to leave this place, he thought, standing abruptly. Suddenly certain. Now, forever.
But he didn't move. Because it was just as certain that he had to stay. There was Div.
There was his empty past. There was revenge.
This place was tearing him apart.
He was standing there, frozen and undecided, when his comlink pinged with an incoming message. And everything fell apart.
Don't believe the lies, the message said. Transmitted on an encrypted channel. If you want the truth, all you need do is ask. There was no name, but there was a time. And an address.
X-7 knew it was likely a trap. But what kind of trap could contain him?
Only a trap of lies, he thought. He told himself that no one had the ability to lie to him; he was too good at seeing through pathetic human deception. Except that was no longer true, was it? Emotions clouded everything, dulling the sharp edges of the world. It was possible Div was lying to him and he was just too foolish to see it. If there was more truth to be found, he had to have it.
And if someone was trying to trap him, X-7 had to know who it was. You had to know your enemy before you could kill it.
The building was empty, but it didn't look abandoned.
There was no thick layer of dust, no broken transparisteel, no apparent garbage or squatters, nothing to indicate that the building had been deserted for more than a few days, if that. It was a stout, unassuming building tucked into a cluster of faceless high-rises. The Imperial presence in this city was unusually heavy. Stormtroopers were posted at regular intervals, noting the movements of the citizens. X-7 knew that the Rebels believed that destroying the garrison would be the first step in reclaiming Belazura. They hoped the city would rebel against its Imperial rulers and rediscover the courage that had let them battle the Empire for so long. But X-7 had his doubts. The faces he passed weren't the faces of Rebels. They were the faces of defeated, terrified cowards who'd learned their lessons about fighting back. Astri Divinian and Clive Flax hadn't been the only ones to die that day ten years earlier. The day the weapons factory was destroyed, the city had rebelled. Three thousand Belazurans had been killed.
Those who had survived weren't eager to be punished again.
Before going in, X-7 made a thorough survey of the perimeter. His modified infrared goggles let him peer through the walls and search for heat signatures, telltale signs of an enemy lying in wait. But he saw nothing. He drew his blaster and stepped inside.
It was only one room, large and echoing, lit by nothing but the dim glow of the setting suns, filtering through dirty transparisteel. Ten meters by ten meters, ample windows and doors to serve as escape routes. Which, of course, meant ample points for possible attack.
He prowled the edge of the wide room, turning in slow circles with his weapon raised. No surprises this time, no one sneaking up on him from behind. It would be easier if he knew what he was searching for. A person? A message?
A bomb?
There was a soft, nearly inaudible click. X-7 went on high alert, spinning wildly, searching in vain for the source of the noise. The building was still empty. Then the silence was broken by a whirring hum, machinery springing into motion. Certain of only one thing—the need to leave—X-7 pivoted and raced toward the nearest exit.
A durasteel shutter slammed down across the door, blocking his way.
The room echoed with the clang of durasteel on duracrete as the thick, heavy shutters slammed down all around him, covering every window, every door, every means of escape. All except for one: The entrance to a turbolift had suddenly appeared in a previously blank wall of duracrete.