Wedge smiled. “Because, Hobbie, we rely on pluck, courage, and skill instead of capital expenditure.”
“I guess, then, that the rumors of a raise are not true?”
Wedge joined the others in laughter, then cleared his throat to settle them down. “Our mission is going to be a simple one. We’re guiding a T-Six-Five-R into the system. We’ll do fly-bys on Distna to collect what data we can, then we get back out. Because of the gas giant, the various moons, and the asteroid belt, jumping into that area is going to be difficult. We have a limited number of entrance and exit vectors, and they will change, so we need to work up a variety of exit solutions.”
Corran raised a hand. “Two questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“First, who gets stuck driving the snoopscoot?”
Wedge pointed to the Quarren pilot sitting next to Tycho. “For those of you who don’t know him, this is Nrin Vakil. He flew with the Rogues back before most of you joined the squadron. The New Republic has had him on other duties for a while, but he’s good with the recon ship. He’ll be Rogue Alpha for this run.”
Nrin raised a hand and Hobbie reached over to slap him on the shoulder. The other pilots nodded and murmured hellos. Wedge assumed Nrin would be interrogated by the others once the briefing was ended.
Given Nrin’s penchant for being a bit dour, they’ll learn that whatever hardships they’ve faced, they were nothing compared to the earlier days of the squadron.
“Your second question, Corran?”
“The Vic around the fourth planet, it’s not going to be a problem?”
“
Aspiration
isn’t likely to come off-station because of the difficulty of navigating in and out of hyperspace for that sort of micro-jump. Thrawn may have used that sort of jumping to tactical advantage, but landing in here would mean the Vic couldn’t jump back out to defend the inhabited worlds without some very difficult maneuvering. Using sub-light drives to get out there would eliminate the problem, but it would also take far longer for transit than we’ll be in the system. If it
does
jump in, we use Distna to shield us from its guns, run to the asteroid belt, and hit an exit vector.”
“Other questions?”
Khe-Jeen raised a hand. “No reports of fighters being stationed on Distna?”
“None, but intel is weak on that point.” Wedge sighed. “Look, people, we could run into anything out there, and the sims you’ll be running over the next two days will point that out. We’re not expecting heroics, we’re just there to get some data. Clearly, because we’re going in with a full squadron instead of just a flight for cover on the snoop-scoot, we’re prepared for trouble. Regardless, this is a recon mission, not a raid. We’ll fight what we have to fight and roll on out of there.”
He looked around the room and let the gravity of his words sink in for a moment. “Okay, two days from now we’ll be in the Corvis Minor system at approximately twenty-one hundred hours local time. Within six hours you should be back here, safe and sound.”
Janson laughed. “And in another forty-eight hours we’ll be back at Corvis Minor finishing the job by splashing that station.”
“Probably right, Wes, probably right.” Wedge hit a key on his datapad. “Okay, you all have the briefing details in your datapads. Sims commence in an hour. Let’s work
hard at this here, people, so we don’t have to work hard over Distna.”
Corran slumped down outside the simulator cockpit and closed his eyes against the sting of sweat. This last run, the squadron’s third, had been the most grueling. The first recon run at Distna had showed minimal electromagnetic radiation, but occasional spikes above normal background readings demanded a closer look. As Nrin came in on a tighter pass, Interceptors and TIEs boiled out of Distna to tangle with the Rogues. The sim pitted them against a full flight group—half a wing—which left them outnumbered three to one. The faster Interceptors broke runs for exit vectors and herded the Rogues back toward the waiting TIEs.
He opened his eyes as Gavin grunted and slid to the floor. “Nice work there, Corran. You got, what, five of the eyeballs?”
“Yeah, but you vaped two squints and let us make a break for it.”
Asyr dropped down beside Gavin and rested a hand on his thigh. “You shouldn’t have waited around for me, Gavin. You should have just gotten out when you could.”
The young man shrugged. “The scenario was done, we’d gotten hammered. I had nothing to lose.”
Asyr’s claws snagged in the orange fabric of Gavin’s flight suit. “Listen to me, Gavin Darklighter, you cannot treat these sims as games. If my ship is disabled out there, I don’t want you disobeying orders and hanging around to protect me against impossible odds. If I have to die, I want to do so knowing that you continue to live. You have to promise me that’s what you’ll do.”
The Quarren, Nrin Vakil, approached, his boots clicking against the tile. “Do not, Captain Sei’lar, ask of Captain Darklighter such a sacrifice. Do not make him give such an oath.”
Intense pain rolled off Nrin in waves that sliced through Corran. “Voice of experience, Major Vakil?”
Nrin nodded slowly, his mouth tentacles knotting and
unknotting slowly. “When I was with the squadron we had another pilot, a Mon Calamari, named Ibtisam. She died on Ciutric. Krennel’s pilots killed her. I killed many of them, but she did not make it.” His shoulders slumped forward a bit, and he leaned against Corran’s simulator. “She and I, we had been friends, close friends.”
Nrin crouched, resting his forearms on his knees, and looked at Asyr. “Had Ibtisam demanded of me such a promise, I would have been destroyed. I could not have left her alone, but I would have hated to violate my promise to her. In your heart, in all of our hearts, we know what the right thing to do is. We have to trust each other that we will do it, keeping faith with each other, and with our mission.”
Corran nodded slowly. Even more daunting than the idea of dying was the idea of surviving the death of others. The death of a friend slashed the spirit and made it that much harder to continue living and fighting. The Rebellion had united everyone in the pursuit of a future that would be bright for all, but the deaths accumulated along the way dimmed that future.
“Speaking of the mission, you’re a pretty hot hand with the recon ship.” Corran patted Nrin on the shoulder. “You spend a lot of time driving these things?”
“Some, but mostly on training exercises.” Nrin looked down at his hands. “After Ciutric I took a leave from the squadron, to think about things. I realized I couldn’t quit the Rebellion since it was too important a cause. I also realized that I had no desire to fly in combat anymore. That doesn’t mean I didn’t, but I did get a transfer into a training squadron. Training pilots and then sending them away to die meant I didn’t have to deal with the pain of their deaths.”
Gavin settled his hand over Asyr’s. “But you’re back flying missions now.”
“Indeed, I am. The Thrawn threat caused the New Republic to reshuffle their assets …”
“Which landed your asset in a cockpit.” Corran rolled his head around to loosen his neck muscles. “Is this your first recent combat mission? Because you sure didn’t fly like it in sim.”
“I flew in a few battles against Thrawn.” The Quarren shrugged. “I don’t have the desire for bloodletting that I once had. I also know I’m better suited to some missions than others might be. I accept my responsibility.”
“Do you like being back with the Rogues?”
Nrin hesitated before he responded to Asyr’s question. “Yes, I think I do. There is a proud tradition here and I enjoyed being part of it. Getting a second chance to be part of it is rare. Now I can view Ibtisam’s death with some perspective, which allows me to deal with the pain more easily.”
Corran’s eyes narrowed. “And coming back to deal with Krennel, that has to be satisfying as well.”
The Quarren’s tentacles parted enough to display two needle-sharp fangs. “Yes, that aspect was not lost upon me.” Nrin stood, then offered Corran his hand and pulled him to his feet. “In the old Rogue Squadron we’d often discuss these runs over a mug of lum. Is that behavior still suitable?”
Corran stretched. “Drinking? Rogues?”
Nrin blinked. “Have things changed that much?”
Gavin laughed. “He meant to ask ‘Drinking lum?’ Nope. More lomin-ale these days.” He climbed to his feet and gave Asyr a hand up. “Lead the way, Major, and you’ll see that some Rogue traditions live on very strong.”
Wedge glanced through the numbers hovering above the holoprojector pad. “I don’t know, Tycho. I don’t like the losses we took in that last run. Five pilots lost.”
Tycho, who wore his black flight suit unzipped to his navel, scratched at his throat. “They jumped us with thirty-six fighters and we blasted twenty-five of them apart. Nice kill ratio,
and
Nrin’s snoopscoot got away with its data intact. I don’t like the results of the exercise, but the performance wasn’t bad.”
Wedge sat back and tapped a stylus against his right cheekbone. “You’re right, we performed better than a computer projection would have had us doing; which means
we’re capable of performing the mission within acceptable parameters for a worst-case scenario.”
“ ‘Within acceptable parameters for a worst-case scenario’? Feeling a bit feverish there, Wedge?”
“Would it get this mission scrubbed?”
“Probably not.” Tycho frowned. “What’s with the phrasing?”
Wedge tossed the stylus at his datapad. “Missions are being evaluated on a risk basis to determine if we go or don’t go. We’re only allowed casualties within acceptable limits lest folks in the New Republic think too much blood is being shed for too little gain.”
Tycho’s jaw dropped open, then he snapped it shut again. “Um, for us pilots, the acceptable level of blood being shed is zero, right? Especially if it’s
our
blood.”
“That’s my thinking, yes. As nearly as I can tell, losing Rogue Squadron would be a negative for the New Republic, and I’m certainly in favor of them doing everything to preserve our lives. Balancing our lives, though, against the discovery of a superweapon I think is rather short-sighted of them.” He shook his head. “I mean, you and I have survived Death Star runs before, but we had a bit more help than just the other Rogues.”
“Right, but this is just a recon run. We’re not being asked to take the thing out, just to see if it’s there.”
“And if Janson’s prediction is correct, that mission will be next.”
“And when was Janson ever right with one of his predictions?”
“Well, I can’t argue with you on that point.” Wedge hit a couple more keys on his datapad and the numbers hovering in the air collapsed in on themselves. “There we go, that’s it, I’ve just sent Command confirmation of our orders and mission specs. Unless we uncover some serious problems in future sims, we’re locked in. We pull a quick swing through Corvis Minor, get out again, and await orders from our masters.”
Tycho stood and stretched. “Back to the simulators, then?”
“Yeah. That worst-case scenario, I want to run it again.” Wedge nodded solemnly. “I want to run it until it becomes Krennel’s worst case, not ours.”
The order confirmation memo that Wedge fed into the Rogues’ computer on Liinade III was shoved through an encryption program and then dropped into the queue for routing through the HoloNet. Once into the HoloNet, the message traveled all but instantaneously to its desired destination, then was decoded and sent on to Admiral Ackbar.
During that process, as the message entered the queue and as it worked its way through the computer network on Coruscant, copies of it were created and appended to other information transmissions. They shot off through the Holo-Net to a different destination where the masking messages were discarded and the Rogues’ message was decoded, compared to the New Republic’s decoded version, and transmitted to a holoprojector for display.
Shrouded by the shadows of her sanctum, Ysanne Isard sat back and steepled her fingers as she reread the simple text message glowing green in the air above her holoprojector. “ ‘Corvis Minor, the moon Distna, 2100 hours local, two days time.’ Splendid, better than I could have hoped. Now I have Rogue Squadron exactly where I want them.”
20
Mirax waited at the base of the shuttle’s gangway and gave Baz Korral a warm hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Getting us out of that bind, and finding me that deal on those Alderaanian statuettes. They’re exquisite. If you find more, I have a number of clients who will take them off your hands.”
“I’ll see what I can do to get more.” Korral smiled broadly, then looked past her. “Booster, you look more fit than ever. Running this ship must agree with you.”
Mirax’s father, who towered over Korral and out-massed him by being fit rather than fat, boomed a hearty laugh. His left eye, a mechanical replacement, burned red, while his brown eye reflected his joy at welcoming the shuttle to the
Errant Venture.
“The profit margin agrees with me, though the overhead does not. Good to see you again, Baz; and you, Iella.”
He held his arms wide open for Mirax, but she poked a finger into his breastbone. “I don’t think I’m talking to you,
Father
.”
Booster winced. “That formal, and that tone? What did I do?”
Mirax narrowed her brown eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “You had Baz watching us, that’s what.”
Her father looked confused for a moment. “But having the Verpine watch you and report on what was happening saved you from being taken away and killed.”
Iella shook her head. “Booster, just leave it alone.”
“No, just wait a minute there, Iella. Mirax is
my
daughter and I feel some responsibility for her safety.”
Mirax looked at Iella. “He’s following the script, isn’t he?”
Booster’s head came up and his eyes slitted. “Script? You two discussed how this chat would go?”
Iella nodded and tried to pull Booster away, deeper into the Imperial Star Destroyer’s aft docking space. “We did, and you’re following it too closely for my comfort.”
He slipped his arm from her grip and posted his fists on his hips. “You have a problem with my having Baz watch you, Mirax?”