Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [68]
“Is that how you get rid of tension?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“What do you do when you just want to scream?”
He pointed farther down the shaft. “Two blocks down, there’s a powered door to the left. It leads to a cross tunnel. It has lights and gravity until you get to the boundaries marked in yellow, about a hundred meters. Don’t go beyond those boundaries.”
“Thank you.”
He was right. Once the door to that cross tunnel shut behind her, she could feel that she was cut off from the Wraiths, from all contact with people. She was surrounded by the reassuring solidity of stone walls and metal doors.
She screamed, an expulsion of anger and confusion that stripped her throat raw. Her cry echoed down the half-lit corridor and was lost in the distance. She did it again and again, until she had almost no voice left. Almost no bewilderment left. Just tiredness. Then she put her back against the rough stone wall and slid down to sit, her face in her hands.
Her little vacation was over. It was time to think analytically again.
First, Zsinj was about to consume the future that she’d just decided she wanted. What could she do about that?
Second, she’d just had a crisis of identity she should never have suffered. She never should have felt any confusion about who she’d been. Where she’d come from. Much as she wanted to be Lara Notsil, there should never have been any doubt that she’d originally been Gara Petothel. What was that all about?
All right. First problem.
Possible solution: Return to original plan and join Zsinj. She shook her head over that. At Lavisar, she’d decided, once and forever, that Zsinj was unworthy. Not just unworthy of her, unworthy of any aid, of any success. He was dishonorable. She would never join him.
Possible solution: Confess all to her commanding officer. No, that would solve only some of her problems. Wedge Antilles might accept her aid in the continued campaign against Zsinj, but he would never trust her again. No one would. That trust, she’d found, was more addictive than spice was supposed to be. She could not live without experiencing it again and wondered how she’d lived so long without it. And on a more pragmatic note, Lieutenant Myn Donos was a member of Wraith Squadron. Before he’d been a Wraith, he was the commander of Talon Squadron. And during the time when Gara had been a deep-cover operative working for Admiral Trigit, she’d blithely obeyed orders and spliced some false information about the security designation of a specific world into the New Republic database; Talon Squadron, later relying on that information, had been annihilated. All but Donos. If he knew what she’d done, he might kill her.
Possible solution: Put Zsinj off, delay him, perhaps feed him false information, and ride out this campaign against him. Once he was destroyed, he could no longer expose her. That was possible. With delicate handling, that might work. She decided on that approach for the time being.
Now, her emotional crisis of a few minutes ago.
You must become your role.
The voice was male, silky. Its tones caressed. A casual listener might think that the speaker cared about the person he was talking to. Lara knew better; he was simulating affection.
But whose voice was it? She couldn’t remember. She supposed it was one of her teachers when she was training to become an Imperial Intelligence agent. Context made that clear.
Plant your triggers deep in your mind. When they are activated, come back to yourself. Achieve your objectives. And then bury everything beneath your role again.
She couldn’t quite see the face; it was a man silhouetted by lights behind him. Peering into those lights made her eyes water.
Let Gara go. All today, you’ll be Kirney.
That jolted her, brought her eyes open. She’d forgotten about