Star Wars_ Rebel Force 05_ Trapped - Alex Wheeler [8]
All these years, X-7 would have felt grateful, if he could have felt anything at all.
But now everything was going wrong. It had started with the feelings. Frustration, impatience, rage. They'd clouded his mind; that was why he hadn't been able to complete his mission, he told himself. It was why Skywalker still lived. And the more often Skywalker foiled him, the angrier he grew.
Then, as if the feelings had wedged open a long-sealed vault, the memories had arrived. Not even memories—just flashes, really. Nothing he could grab hold of or understand. A too-familiar scent. A few notes of a long-forgotten song. A voice. And now, it was even worse, these incomplete moments, confusing stories from someone else's life. As nonsensical as a dream.
Dreaming. Something else X-7 wasn't supposed to be capable of.
He was broken.
He must be broken, because that was the only possible explanation for his not wanting to be fixed. For his suddenly having wants, which were as alien as the feelings. For his disobeying a direct order from his commander to return for retraining.
It was why instead he was here, guiding his speeder into the alley behind the Commander's building, with an armory of weapons on the seat beside him.
He didn't want retraining. He wanted answers.
The thirty-story building was home to several third-rate Imperial officers, those deemed unworthy of space in the more desirable Imperial headquarters. On the plus side, being this far from the Emperor meant less chance of running into Lord Vader in the hallway. On the other hand, placement in this quadrant was often the first stop to a far less appealing posting: the Outer Rim perhaps. Or to being "promoted" to commandant on a prison moon, forced to live out the rest of one's life eating diluted gruel, administering executions, and waiting to die.
X-7's research had revealed that this was likely to be his master's fate—although the Commander himself hadn't yet figured that out.
The building was stocked with a full complement of stormtroopers in addition to the handful of Imperial has-beens and never-weres. But again, they were hardly the cream of the crop. With a little stealth and some cheap false docs, X-7 could have waltzed into the Commander's office without notice.
He chose not to.
The docs brought him into the building and onto the turbolift. But when he reached the sixty-second floor, he stepped out with his dart shooter in hand. It was small enough to be concealed in his palm; the guards never knew what was coming. He aimed for the small pocket of flesh just below their helmets and above their body armor—a little-known but fatal weakness. One stormtrooper, two, three, toppled to the floor with a satisfying clatter. Three more dropped, leaving only one on his feet. On a whim, X-7 decided to give him a chance to fire. Lasers shot from the blaster, peppering the wall of the turbolift as X-7 dodged the beams. The stormtrooper charged, and X-7 leapt out of the way, firing a blaster as he soared through the air.
The stormtrooper screamed and dropped to the floor beside his friends.
X-7 had hoped a little exercise might leave him calmer for his encounter with the Commander. Killing was always a good pressure release. But not this time.
No matter, X-7 thought. I'll have likely more to do on the way out.
He blasted the lock on the Commander's office door. Soresh leapt out of his chair, reaching for a switch above his desk. "What the—"
X-7 streaked across the room and slapped a hand over the Commander's mouth. He pressed a blaster to the Commander's temple. "Your security team has been taken care of," he informed the Commander. "All the same, I'd prefer you not to press your silent alarm. Please."
Very slowly, the Commander lowered his arm.
"Sit down," X-7 ordered him.
It was strange giving orders to his master: No satisfaction in it. But he had no intention of hurting the Commander. He just