Down in the front row, Gavin leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. “We’re taking all the risk on this run. We go in first, we’re there for a week before the attack comes. We have a lot of exposure, and I can’t help but feel that Isard might just betray us to Krennel.”
Wedge nodded. “Of course, if she wanted us dead,
she could have killed us at Distna, or at any time she’s had us here. She could have even brought us to Krennel as prisoners.”
“But by having us inserted into Ciutric, she shows Krennel the weakness in his security setup.” Inyri Forge fingered her lower lip for a second. “Revealing that breach to him could reinforce the idea that Krennel needs her.”
Tycho disagreed from his position by the square room’s only door. “Allying herself with Krennel would put her in an inferior position. If we pull this off, if she’s instrumental in taking Krennel down and freeing the
Lusankya
prisoners, she’ll put the New Republic’s government in a difficult position. They will be in her debt, but she’s the one who had the Krytos virus created. How she is dealt with could create major human-nonhuman fractures in the New Republic.”
“I agree with Tycho, but I think that political pressure angle is too slow for her.” Corran sat back, tugging absently at one end of the long mustache he’d grown as part of his disguise. “I think we can all agree that she’s going to backstab us somehow, right?”
Wedge saw everyone’s head bob in agreement with Corran’s question. “Okay, so now we have to figure out how she’ll do it.”
Myn Donos raised a hand. “Look, I don’t have the same history with her that the rest of you do, but from all I’ve heard I get the impression she’s very pragmatic.”
“Keep going, Myn.”
“Okay, so if she’s pragmatic, it strikes me that she’s going to use the group that beat her—Rogue Squadron—to hurt Krennel badly. You did it before on Axxila and Ciutric, so you can do it one more time, putting an end to him. This suggests to me that whatever she’ll do to us, she’ll do
after
we take Krennel down.”
Wedge felt a chill run down his spine. “Or she’ll do it
before
we take him down, but have it take effect
after
we’ve succeeded.”
Gavin frowned. “I’m not sure I follow that.”
“Remember the mess she made with the Krytos virus?” Wedge, feeling weary, rubbed his eyes with his left hand.
“She gets someone into the facility where the
Lusankya
prisoners are being held and infects them with a deadly virus that takes a long time to manifest: a month, a year, maybe longer. All of them will be heroes, all of them will be paraded around through the upper crust of the New Republic. All at once this disease wipes out the New Republic’s leadership, leaving the nation in turmoil while a public health crisis looms. Isard and an alliance of ex-Imperials step in to restore order, offering a cure for the disease. She blames the initial infection on her clone, comes in as a hero to save the day, and suddenly she’s back in power.”
The room fell silent as the pilots pondered Wedge’s scenario. The surprised expressions and pale faces reflected the horror Wedge felt in his gut. What amazed him the most was that no one offered a denial of the plot he’d described.
We all know, firsthand, that she’s capable of such cruelty
.
Corran spoke first. “The nastiest part of your scenario is that it would also kill off the
Lusankya
prisoners. When she and I spoke, she said she was glad the
Lusankya
had been destroyed at Thyferra because after I escaped from it, it had been soiled. The prisoners were part of that desecration and I think she would have killed them if she had been in control of them. She doesn’t like keeping reminders of her failure around with her.”
Wedge nodded. “That’s a good point. Tycho?”
“I think we all agree she’s more than capable of doing what you’re suggesting. I also think there are simpler ways of causing us trouble. Perhaps the defenses for the prison are tougher than we imagine, so the guards will have a chance to kill all the prisoners. That would make us all feel horrible, and likely get Two Flight killed in its attempt to neutralize the defenses.”
“Okay, so we run sims in which we toughen up the opposition.” The General looked around the room. “What else?”
Nrin raised a hand. “I think it will be important for us to have a plan to quarantine the prisoners to prevent the disease from spreading. We need to let them know they’re at
risk. They’ll need to speak with someone they know and trust, which means Tycho or Corran.”
Corran shook his head. “Ah, um, the last time I was with them, I let them know that Tycho was a traitor. I can roll in and talk to them.”
“Ah, Corran, General Dodonna knows me, too.” Wedge smiled. “We’ll both record messages to him and everyone will carry a datacard with the messages on them. If we go down, the messages still get in.”
A knock at the door ended the discussion. Tycho opened the door and admitted Colonel Vessery. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Just debriefing after a sim run. We want to make some changes—a worst-case scenario thing. We want to see how bad it can get.”
Vessery nodded. “Good idea, but you’ll have to hurry. Negotiations are final. You’ll be going in to Ciutric two days from now. Krennel believes you’ll be hyperspacing for a couple of days to get there, but the trip will only take six hours or so. Once you’re in place, you send the appropriate message and set things in motion.”
“Thank you, Colonel. We’ll be ready.”
“I’m sure you will.” Vessery hesitated. “I’ve enjoyed working with you all. I believe you have a saying for times like this: May the Force be with you. I really do hope it is. If you succeed, if
we
succeed, we can all go home again.”
Popping out of hyperspace near Ciutric, Wedge tried to match his memory of the system with what he saw now. He got no sense of recognition, of having been there before, but that struck him as just as well. On Ciutric Rogue Squadron had lost one of its most beloved pilots, Ibtisam. Remembering brought a lump to his throat, which he swallowed against.
He keyed his comm unit. “How are you doing, Eight?”
Nrin’s voice came back even, but a bit tight. “I am fine, Colonel Roat.” His words revealed none of the pain he had
to be feeling. He had been closer to Ibtisam than anyone else had—a fact made remarkable because of the traditional rivalries between the Quarren and the Mon Calamari. Her death had crushed Nrin emotionally and, after a leave of absence, he had accepted a transfer from Rogue Squadron to a training squadron.
“Good to hear, Eight.” Wedge flipped the comm unit over to the Spaceport Authority channel he’d been given. “This is Colonel Antar Roat with Requiem Squadron. We are nine ships in total and wish landing clearance.”
“Ciutric Spaceport Authority here. You will be switched to military control. Destination beacon at one-three-nine-three-eight coming on now. Please tune your autolanding function to that frequency and initiate autolanding programs.”
“As ordered, Ciutric. Executing now.” Wedge punched a red button with his left thumb and felt the control buck a bit as the Defender’s computer controls locked on to the beacon and began to use the data it was sending to plot the entry and landing speed and vectors. Wedge relaxed his grip on the yoke, but didn’t let it go entirely. He had a pilot’s distrust of mechanical flying systems, and since he was running into a hostile environment, he wanted to take full control of the ship if anything started to go wrong.
Of course, the disguise he was wearing did make flying a bit more awkward. When he had assumed the Roat identity to get onto Imperial Center, the head prosthetic had been an extensive affair that covered the right side of his face, from forehead to cheek and back over his ear. A piece of it had wrapped down over his jaw and pressed against his voice box. Because Roat had been bound for Imperial Center for reconstructive surgery, the prosthetic had been modified and minimized to be a metal device that built up his right eye socket, with a thin line of metal that led down to the blinking device that pressed against his larynx and altered the sound of his voice. The eye construct unbalanced his face enough that, coupled with the beard, he looked nothing like the various images the Empire had circulated of Wedge Antilles.
His helmet hid the facial modifications, but his flight suit did not hide the other change. His right hand ended in a blocky construct that featured only two thick fingers and a thumb. It whirred and clicked as Wedge moved the hand around. The device slowed his hand movements somewhat, but it had a cutout switch that he could use in combat to let him have full use of his hand.
As annoying as all this stuff is, it’s much better than flying with an Ewok puppet in my lap
. That recollection tightened Wedge’s gut. He’d been forced to fly disguised as an Ewok pilot because of one of Wes Janson’s practical jokes.
Wes will be sorely missed
.
Despite his misgivings about turning control of his fighter over to Krennel’s people, the automatic beacon brought the Defenders down without incident. Military control informed the pilots that they would have to land their own fighters and designated landing spots for each of them. Wedge offered his thanks. Letting his pilots land their own craft marked the respect the military controllers had for pilots.
Wedge was impressed to see Krennel waiting with other staff officers to greet his people. Wedge set his Defender down with a gentle hand, shut down all systems, and popped open the egress hatch. He thanked the tech rolling up a staircase for him, and when on the deck, doffed his helmet and handed it to the tech. He stepped to the front of his fighter, then looked to his left, down the row of pilots. When they’d all taken their places, he took one step forward and saluted Krennel.
The Prince-Admiral returned the salute, then stepped away from his advisors and approached Wedge. “Colonel Roat, I am most pleased you have chosen to bring your squadron of Defenders to me. You will be a great asset to the Hegemony.”
The modulator on Wedge’s throat injected a buzz into his voice. “It is our pleasure to find the single man with the courage to keep the spark of the Empire alive.”
“Walk with me, Colonel. Introduce me to your me … people.”
Wedge fell into step with Krennel. He introduced him to Gavin, Hobbie, and Myn as One Flight. Krennel spoke with each, but never offered his right hand to them. Since it was a prosthetic, this did not surprise Wedge at all. Krennel instead patted them on the shoulders with his flesh-and-blood hand, gracing each with a smile and a nod of the head.
Wedge had to admit Krennel was good. The display suggested Krennel took it as a personal compliment that the pilots had come over to join his Hegemony. He made a personal connection with each of them and Wedge had no doubt Krennel would remember and use the details he learned about them in subsequent conversations, when or if he ever saw them again.
He does have a certain charisma, which explains how he has gotten this far
.
Krennel slowed as he reached Two Flight. First in order were Tycho and Inyri. Both had dyed their hair a bright red and they looked enough alike to be brother and sister, which was exactly how Wedge introduced them. “Prince-Admiral, this is Major Teekon Fass and his sister, Inyon. While it is unusual to have a female pilot in a squadron, Requiem’s mission required the best pilots we could find. Inyon tested out very highly, so I brought her into the program. It is a decision I have not had cause to regret.”
“Indeed?” Krennel’s smile diminished only slightly. “I shall look forward to a demonstration of her prowess. A pleasure to meet you both.”
They moved on down the line to Ooryl. “This is the Gand Zukvir. He is a Findsman, much like his kinsman Zuckuss, who worked for Lord Vader. The Findsman’s skill in a fighter is superior to most men, and his loyalty is absolute.”
“Fascinating.” Krennel pointed toward Nrin with his metal hand. “And here we have a Quarren.”
“Captain Notha Dab, yes.” Wedge smiled as much as his prosthetic allowed him to. “Dab has been tireless in his training and, while we were considering joining your Hegemony, he was your greatest proponent.”
“Really?” Krennel lifted his chin. “And why was that, Captain Dab?”
Nrin’s facial tentacles curled up to reveal two needle-sharp
fangs. “Can’t kill Mon Cals in the New Republic, Prince-Admiral. You will give me the best opportunity to do that.”
A cold smile blossomed on Krennel’s face. “You’ll get that chance, Captain Dab, very soon, I’m certain.” The Prince-Admiral turned to Wedge. “I commend your employment of interspecies rivalries to fuel your people’s desires to fight.”
“So nice of you to notice, Prince-Admiral.” Wedge led him on to where Corran stood. In addition to growing the mustache, Corran had dyed his hair jet black. His pale skin and green eyes made for a sharp contrast that made him a bit difficult for Wedge to recognize. “This is Captain Pyr Hand. He is better known among us as Klick.”
“ ‘Klick,’ as in slang for kilometer?”
Corran nodded.
“And why is that?”
Corran blinked his eyes once, slowly. “I’m a dead shot at that range, Prince-Admiral.”
“Excellent.” Krennel turned from the line and led Wedge with him toward his knot of advisors. “Well, Colonel Roat, your people impress me, for the most part. I’m pleased to have you with us.”
“Thank you, Prince-Admiral.” Wedge gave the man a quick smile. “I think you’ll find we add a dimension to your defenses you haven’t even realized you lacked until now.”
31
Iella Wessiri glanced over to where Booster Terrik lay sleeping in the corner of the briefing room, then smiled at Mirax. “Nice thing about Booster’s snoring is that it’s likely to knock out any listening devices the scanners have missed.”
“I’d begrudge him the sleep, but he’s been really good at thinking like Isard.” Mirax rested her chin on both hands. “Of course, realizing my father can simulate a cold-blooded mass murderer so well isn’t very reassuring. If we have kids, I’m not sure how often we’ll let them stay with their grandfather.”