#The iron fist free online full#
No, the story of my death was a sort of propaganda thing cooked up by the Empire to make people think the Rebel Alliance was full of evil people who'd kill a child actor. Her light-headedness worse than ever, she sat heavily at her terminal chair. She felt as though she'd just been invited into his intimate acquaintance. She knew it was an actor's smile, carefully rehearsed to suggest amusement, comradeship, and attraction, but despite the fact it did not fool her, she was still half washed away by the emotions it caused. It was him, and it embarrassed her, the way she suddenly felt light-headed.įace gave her a smile. She froze in mid-handshake and gave the other pilot a closer look. "The smart one here is the lieutenant, Garik Loran." "Actually, it's just Flight Officer Phanan," her visitor said. "It's Lieutenant Phanan, isn't it? From the hospital on Borleias? Please, come in before someone sticks a vibroblade in you." She backed away and allowed them to enter, then shut the door against the ceaseless stream of humanity outside. She returned her attention to her visitors. Her hallway was a place of thefts and assaults, but also a way for her to lose herself quickly in a crowd, which is why she'd chosen it.
Though her tiny quarters were on the fortieth floor of a building, this hallway was part of a tube access allowing people to walk across kilometers of Coruscant at this altitude, and traffic was always heavy. "Yes." She looked beyond them, to the pedestrian traffic in the tenement hallway. She knew the one with the faceplate, and it was he who spoke first.
The other would have been startlingly handsome, with luxuriant dark hair framing intelligent, active eyes and features suited to raising heart rates, but his face was marred by a puckered scar-a blaster graze, she guessed-running from his left cheek to his right forehead. One had saturnine features and a prosthetic faceplate over the upper left half of his face, a red glow where his left eye would have been. Two Rebel pilots stood outside, both in pilot's jumpsuits topped with transparent slickers more suited to Coruscant's frequent thunderstorms. No, this identity shared only a certain delicacy of features with Gara Petothel, and hair and makeup were sufficiently different that no one should recog-nize her in the time it would take her to leave. Her downy white-blond hair, cut very close, still seemed odd to her, as was the absence of a mole she'd carried on her cheek since childhood-a mole she had secretly had removed when preparing this identity. She switched off power to her terminal's screen.Īs she rose to answer the door, she looked into the mirror to make sure she looked the part she was supposed to be playing. Sign of a guilty conscience, she thought, and tried to school her features back into an expression of innocent curiosity. Away from this cesspool and away from the Rebel police and Intelligence agents.Ī heavy knock fell on the door. If he's a smart man, she thought, and by all accounts he is, within a few weeks I'!! have gainful employment again. Then, once the trail back to Gara's terminal was cold, it would transmit the data out across the New Republic HoloNet, to HoloNet addresses Gara had committed to memory weeks before.Īddresses that would lead eventually to the communications station of the warlord Zsinj. It would transfer a number of packets of encrypted data from her terminal deep in the lowrent warrens of the city-planet of Coruscant to public computer repositories, disguising the data as ancient archives of accounting data.
#The iron fist free online code#
Gara Petothel rechecked the code for the last time, her attention skipping back and forth across screens of data, then sent the command to compile the ungainly-looking mess into what she hoped would be the final version of her program.Ī work of art, it was.
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