Iella hid a yawn behind a hand. “I know I should press you on this ‘kids’ thing, but I’m too tired. It’s not that I don’t care.”
“Good. I’ve got ‘Aunt Iella’ first on the list for free baby-sitting services.”
The briefing room doorway opened and Iella caught the scent of caf before General Cracken could make it all the way into the room. He brought with him a tray containing four large, steaming mugs and slid it onto the table. “Thought you could use some caf at this hour of the night.”
“We could use some of what Booster’s getting, really.”
“Iella’s right, but I’ll settle for half my father’s caf at this point.”
Cracken seated himself and passed out the beverages. “Please, drink up. I wanted to tell you that I’m very pleased and grateful for your work. Hmmm, just as well Booster’s asleep for that part. Admiral Ackbar and I have gone over your various scenarios and agree that several are highly probable. We’re focusing in on those that involve the prisoners.”
Mirax lowered her mug and jerked her head toward her father’s sleeping form. “Those were largely Booster’s work. He concocted what he called Isard’s ‘Hierarchy of Hatred,’ then figured out what she could do to maximize damage to her enemies. Something as simple as denying ground support to liberate the prison would result in the deaths of the prisoners, a rough time for the Rogues and ground-based defenses that would make the New Republic’s fight against Krennel much closer. Everyone gets hurt: the prisoners, the Rogues, Krennel, and the New Republic. Just the kind of mischief she’d love.”
“We’re taking precautions that should cover all of those eventualities. No guarantees, but we’ll be doing our best.” Cracken sat back in his chair, wrapping his hands around the caf mug. “The other scenarios, ones based on her repeating the Krytos virus situation, are frightening as well. We’re mobilizing assets that can help us detect, isolate, and cure anyone who is infected, but for all we know Ciutric is just going to be one big sick world. It’s not at all what we want to deal with, but we can’t discount that possibility either.”
Iella shook her head. “It doesn’t seem like we’ve come up with much for two weeks’ worth of work, but we’ve gone over every file that mentions her, all the rumors about her that we’ve heard over the years, and even had Booster trying to think like her. I know we’ve worked hard, but I can’t help feel that we’ve missed something.”
Mirax reached across the table to squeeze Iella’s hand. “Isard is just one big ocean of evil. No real way to know if we’ve found all the currents running deep there.”
Iella arched an eyebrow at Mirax. “We really have been speaking a lot with Admiral Ackbar, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, it’ll be months before I stop using ocean analogies.”
“Well, you’ll get your chance to begin recovering soon. Admiral Ackbar and I leave for the primary staging area in four hours.” Cracken fished inside his tunic and withdrew two datacards. He slid one to Mirax and the other to Iella. “Because you won’t be able to talk to us, I want you to have these.”
Iella picked up the datacard and turned it over. It looked entirely normal, save for platinum triangles at each of the corners. She flipped it front again, then held it up between her left thumb and forefinger. “This contains ultra-clearance codes?”
Cracken nodded solemnly. “Army, Navy, Intelligence, Governmental from the Republic level on down to major municipal levels, and many corporate levels as well. It also has codes that will allow you to access five million credits—each. Based on the authorization in the card, you can go anywhere and do anything you need to do. If you think of something, no matter how wild, and you need to take steps to stop Isard, this will allow you to take them.”
Booster rolled over onto his back. “Good, we can use it to buy more guns for my ship.”
“That’s why you don’t have one of the cards, Booster.”
The smuggler stretched. “The New Republic has no sense of gratitude at all.”
“Go back to sleep, Father.” Mirax slipped her card into a pocket. “I take it you want us to keep working on this until Isard is found or gives herself up?”
“That’s it. Do whatever you have to do. If you have to break laws, try to be discreet, and if you have to kill anyone, well, try not to raze any planets.”
Mirax blinked. “You’re serious about this.”
“Very.” Cracken finished his caf and stood. “May the Force be with you.”
Iella watched him leave the room, then looked again at
the card in her hands. “They’re putting a lot of trust in us. They’re giving us a lot of responsibility. We can’t fail.”
“We won’t.” Mirax got up, walked over to where her father lay, and gently nudged his ribs with her toe. “Wake up, old man, time to start working again. Come up with something brilliant.”
Booster smiled as he sat up. He stretched again, then walked around and usurped Cracken’s place at the table. “Okay, ladies, we’ve examined Isard’s history of atrocities. We’ve gone through her Hierarchy of Hate. There’s only one thing left for us to look at. We have to examine her dream ladder.”
Iella shook her head and bolted another slug of caf. “I must be dreaming myself, because that made no sense. Her ‘dream ladder’?”
Mirax held a hand up. “I think I know where he’s going with this. Care to open the help files for us?”
“It’s simplicity itself, ladies.” Booster hefted the remaining full mug in a salute. “We look at her sense of greed. If control of the galaxy is her goal, we know where she’ll get when she scales that ladder. Starting from the top, then, we go down, rung by rung, looking at how she’ll have to plan her ascent. Eventually we’ll work down to the lowest rung she has access to right now, and that’s where we’ll have her.”
Iella exhaled slowly. “That will take forever and we have, at best, a week.”
Booster flicked a finger against her card. “Let’s order more caf then. If you’re right that we missed something before, this is the way we’ll find it. And when we do, we’ll spill Ysanne Isard and her dreams into a black hole she’ll never escape.”
Wedge Antilles kept his gloved right hand on his thigh, beneath the level of the table at Shine Astara, one of the premiere restaurants in Ciutric’s capital, Daplona. Wedge realized the place would require his best behavior, since the first word of the name was pronounced “sheen” with an
Imperial lilt that required the speaker to press his teeth together as he said it.
Given that I’ve already sent the message that will bring Admiral Ackbar and Isard’s people down on this world inside a week, being on my best behavior is the least I can do for my host.
Keeping teeth clenched together that way
did
make it easier to sneer, a trait that his host, Colonel Lorrir, had perfected. Lorrir struck Wedge as being an Imperial’s Imperial. Tall, slender, angular, and very proper, Lorrir almost seemed to have been put together from a kit. The fact that he only had a white fringe of hair on his head indicated this wasn’t true, since a full head of black hair would have made him the perfect image of an officer. Lorrir made up for that defect by being very demanding, which meant working with him had been tough for Wedge.
But shooting him down in sim wasn’t that tough.
Wedge suppressed a smile.
Colonel Lorrir nodded in his direction. “You are to be congratulated, Colonel, for how well your troops are trained. You are very formidable in combat.” He looked around at the others gathered at the table. “If you can believe it, Colonel Roat even shot me down.”
The other dinner guests gasped in astonishment, then looked at Wedge. “How ever did you manage that?” asked one officer’s plump wife.
“Colonel Lorrir is too kind. He made shooting him down very difficult.” Wedge nodded to his host.
His reliance on sideslipping to evade a following ship made me sure he was luring me into a trap. I was far too cautious because he’s just not that great a pilot.
“Colonel, you clearly have superior flying skills. You have many combat kills under your belt, I imagine.”
Lorrir’s bald head glowed golden in the restaurant’s muted light. “Yes, well, before I was transferred to the Prince-Admiral’s ship
Reckoning
, I spent some time in the One Eighty-first Imperial Fighter Group. That was back when Baron Fel was in command. I was a mere Lieutenant, but a Lieutenant in that unit was the equal of a Major in any other.”
Wedge tuned the man out as a waiter came over with two bottles of wine. “Since I am having the braised nerf, I’ll have the green, if you don’t mind.”
The waiter hesitated and Wedge quickly caught the curling of Lorrir’s lip into a sneer.
“Of course, I meant I would prefer the
emerald.
” Wedge shook his head. “Back where I came from the wait-beasts were hardly discerning enough to understand the proper terms for wine. They would even opt for a ruby when consuming fish, if you can imagine it.”
The voice modulator erased the slightly mocking tone in Wedge’s words, though he had serious doubts that the two Hegemony officers or their wives would have caught them. Krennel’s staff seemed to be largely filled with courtiers whose ability to please the Prince-Admiral outshone their ability to fight or properly administer a unit. He had no doubt that they followed orders to the letter, which made them perfect for Krennel’s purposes, but dulled the sort of initiative that would have made them a threat to the Rogue operation.
Lorrir’s wife, Kandise, patted Wedge’s left hand. “Now don’t you be worried about that sort of thing anymore, Colonel Roat. The Hegemony is a bastion of Imperial culture, so you are safe here.”
“You are too kind, Madam Lorrir.” Wedge gave her a quick smile, then focused on her husband. “You were telling of your time with the One Eighty-first. You were with them at Brentaal?”
“I was.” Lorrir sniffed mightily, then sipped some of the dark red wine the waiter had poured for him. “We would have held the world against the Rebels save for one man’s betrayal.”
“Admiral Lon Isoto.”
Wedge’s comment blanketed the table in silence. Lorrir set his wine glass down carefully and clasped his hands together. Kandise laid her left hand on his right forearm, but he shook it off irritably. Lorrir’s dark eyes narrowed and the man clearly struggled to keep from exploding.
“Colonel Roat, I shall assume that because you have
long been involved in researches and developments that have kept you outside the mainstream of the Empire that you have said what you said. Your ignorance of the true facts will shield you at this time from my wrath, but understand that I will not allow you to slander the name of one of the finest military minds the Empire ever had.”
Wedge went cold. Rogue Squadron had been part of the Rebel operation that took Brentaal IV from the Empire. Admiral Lon Isoto had been given command of the world and failed utterly to do anything that would protect it. He allowed the Rebels to take the moon and, from there, stage and land on Brentaal. The only serious opposition had come from Fel’s 181st.
“I apologize, Colonel, for angering you. I assumed … but that assumption was wrong. Who was it that betrayed us on Brentaal?”
“Baron Fel.”
“What?!” Wedge made no attempt to cover his surprise. “I find that hard to believe. Not to question your integrity, but I understood that Fel had fought hard at Brentaal.”
“Oh, he did, fought hard enough to lure us into a trap.” Lorrir’s voice dripped with contempt. “You probably are unaware that after we lost Brentaal Four, Fel went over to the Rebellion. He joined Rogue Squadron. Clearly Brentaal Four was the price he paid for clemency in their eyes.”
Wedge nodded. “Ah, I see.” After Fel’s defection, the Empire had begun a disinformation campaign that clearly vilified Fel and elevated Isoto to the level of a hero.
By doing that they shielded others from facing the dilemma Fel had, and prevented them from making the same choice he did. He saw the Empire was evil and rejected it, but these others, they remain willfully blind.
He sipped some of his emerald wine and relished the hints of berry flavor in the vintage. “I also understood Rogue Squadron was there at Brentaal Four.”
“Yes, the squadron that cannot die.” Lorrir laughed and his companions joined him. “Rogue Squadron is the biggest fraud perpetrated by the Rebels on their sick adherents.
That squadron is constantly being rebuilt because they die so easily. We killed eight or nine at Brentaal, and would have gotten the rest of them had they not run off. We shredded the Y-wings they should have been protecting, destroying an entire wing of them. That engagement alone, around Oradin, would have made me an ace—had I not already been one, of course.”
“Fascinating.” Wedge frowned for a moment. “I did think, however, that some Rogue Squadron members had been around for a while.”
“Indeed, and you can expect them back again. Antilles, Janson, Celchu—they will show up as a nucleus for the unit.”
“But they’re dead. Didn’t you destroy them at Distna?”
“The Rebels claim they never found bodies. Part of the ploy to bring them back again.” Lorrir lowered his voice. “Clones.”
“Oh my.” Wedge shivered. “I never would have thought they would do something like that.”
“No, nor does anyone else. That’s the pity of it, really, so many people being misled by such a dishonest group.” Lorrir shook his head, then raised his glass. “A toast: to a time when such lies will die the death they deserve, and the truth will shine forth.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Wedge touched his glass to the others. “And may that day come sooner than we might dare to hope.”
32
Colonel Vessery entered the dimly lit briefing room with his helmet under his left arm. He started to sketch a salute, but neither Major Telik nor Ysanne Isard looked up at him. Instead they intently studied the small holograph of a man’s head and shoulders.
The holographic figure spoke in hushed tones. “Ackbar’s fleet left here ten standard minutes ago on an outbound course that will bring him to Ciutric. Ship list appended.”
Telik stood back and smiled. “The message was sent two hours ago, which means Ackbar has eight hours to hit his target. We only need six to get to ours.”