Solo Command (39 page)

“Put it through.”

Admiral Rogriss’s face came up on Solo’s private screen. He looked unshaken, undismayed by the events of the last few minutes. “General Solo.”

“Admiral. Let me compliment you on your flying.”

“Thank you. I think we’re done here, however. A shame.” The admiral shrugged. “It was a trap that could have succeeded.”

Solo nodded. “Let me ask you. Would you do it again?”

Rogriss froze. After a moment, he gave a slight nod. “I imagine I would. You have my frequency.”

“I do. Good luck … against the warlord, anyway.”

Rogriss laughed. Then his image vanished from the screen. A moment later,
Stellar Web
made the jump into hyperspace and was gone.

Solo sat, alone with his thoughts, his crew choosing not to disturb him.

In the murmur of their voices, he could pick up details of their status. How many pilots lost. How many starfighters temporarily out of combat, how many permanently. Damage tallies. Reports on reconnaissance pilots finally rejoining the group.

Then his communications officer said, “Sir, we’re receiving holocomm traffic.”

“That will be Zsinj,” Solo said. “Calling to brag.”

“No, sir.”

Long before she was supposed to,
Iron Fist
dropped out of hyperspace. Directly ahead, though at a sufficient distance that they were in no danger, was a yellow sun.

Zsinj leaned over to bellow down at his navigator. “What is this?”

“A star, sir,” the navigator said, then wilted as he realized how unnecessary the statement was. “Name unknown. It’s not on my charts.”

“Not on your charts?”
The words escaped Zsinj in a bellow. “Just how incompetent are you? How far did we travel?”

“Less than eight light-years, sir.”

Zsinj felt himself gaping like a fish.
“There are no unknown systems eight light-years from Vahaba!
” He turned to Melvar, dropped the volume of his voice to a whisper. “Are there?”

“Well, if we knew,” the general said, “they wouldn’t be unknown. But to answer the question more appropriately, no yellow sun like this could exist eight light-years from Vahaba without the people of Vahaba knowing—and so it would be on our star charts.”

Zsinj returned his attention to the navigator. “Well, turn us around, get us out of this gravity well and into hyperspace, and get us to our rendezvous point.” He didn’t bother to keep anger out of his voice.

“Sir?” Another voice, the officer in charge of engineering. “New damage reports. We’re experiencing a progressive failure in our hyperdrive system.”

Zsinj felt his gut turn cold. “Define ‘progressive failure.’ ”

“Primary subsystems are shut down and secondary systems
and optional reroutes are failing. But it’s not instantaneous. It’s spreading, like a disease.”

“How long before the system is inoperable?”

“One minute, maybe two.”

“Navigation, how long before we can make our next jump?”

The navigator looked up and slowly shook his head.

“Fix it,” Zsinj said. “Now. Now. Now.”

“We have a holocomm message,” called the communications officer.

“Directed to whom?” Zsinj asked.

“I don’t know, sir. It’s not to us. It’s
from
us.”

“I didn’t authorize—Oh, Melvar, we’re in trouble. Communications, put that message up where I can see it.”

The holoprojected status board was replaced by a face—that of Gara Petothel. She had goggles pushed up on her forehead and was leaning in close to the holocam. Her expression was somber. The view behind her was of the back wall of the crew pit. Zsinj looked down at her seat in the pit; it was empty.

“General Solo,” the woman said. “If everything has gone correctly,
Iron Fist
is now in the Selaggis system with her hyperdrive inoperable. Other portions of Zsinj’s fleet are continuing on to their rendezvous points and won’t be able to get to him for a little while—minutes in some cases, hours in others. I recommend you come by and take a look. Oh, bring your fleet, too. Lara Notsil out.” The image faded.

Zsinj stood there a moment, his mind a blank. For the first time in years, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He did notice the deadly quiet that had fallen on the bridge.

Finally, he turned to Melvar. “Dispatch Security. Have her found and brought to the interrogation chamber.” He took a deep breath. “I intend for her death to be so horrible that it will give
me
nightmares.”

Melvar nodded and brought out his comlink.

Zsinj addressed the navigator. “We’re at Selaggis. Selaggis is normally on our charts. What does that suggest to you?”

“Our charts have been tampered with, sir. I’m already restoring them from our archives.”

“Very good. You just saved your own life.”

Zsinj turned his attention to Captain Vellar. “How soon can we reassemble the fleet here?”

“If they’ve already launched for the rendezvous points,” the man said, “about six hours for the other units of Group One, four for Group Two, two and a half for Group Three. But, sir, Groups Two and Three had no urgent reason to leave Vahaba. If they’ve lingered, they’re only minutes away.”

“Communications! Direct a holocomm signal to any remaining units at Vahaba. Bring them here.” Zsinj returned his attention to Vellar. “Bring in
Second Death
. We may actually have to use her in her primary role. Bring in any stray vessels under my command in this region. Bring in any pirate or mercenary forces we’ve used in the past. Hire any vessel of any sort operating in or near this system. Find a good spot in this system for us to hide until our reinforcements arrive or our hyperdrive is fixed.” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “And prepare all our starfighters to launch. We’re in for a fight.”

At a half trot, Lara followed the tiny utility droid down the busy corridor, and Ensign Gatterweld followed her. “Should you be doing this?” Gatterweld asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on station?”

“No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m tending to an emergency.”

“What’s with the droid?”

“It knows where to go.”

The droid pulled over to stop beneath a utility access hatch. Lara typed numbers into the keyboard beside it. “If this weren’t authorized, would I be able to open this?” The hatch offered up a clank of confirmation and swung open. Beyond, in the narrow access shaft, waited another utility droid. A broad box was strapped to its top.

“I suppose not. Where are we going?”

Lara reached in, opened the box partway, and fumbled within it. Her hand rested first upon a trigger housing. She grabbed the weapon’s grip and switched the weapon over from blast to stun settings. “I’m going to go get killed. If you’re not
smart, you will, too.” She reached back with her free hand to give him a shove, rocking him back on his heels, then she turned and shot him.

The stun beam caught him in his midsection. He fell backwards, hitting the corridor’s metal flooring with a clang. Passersby—officers, crewmen, pilots rushing toward their launch bays—stared in momentary surprise, and some lunged toward her.

She stepped into the access shaft and yanked the hatch closed. The hammering of fists sounded against the hatch.

Lara pulled the empty package from the utility droid’s back and discarded it. Then she tapped the droid three times.

It turned obligingly and headed off into the shaft, Lara close behind it.

“But can we believe her?” Solo asked.

Captain Onoma gave him a shrug. “Your analysis team believed her before, and our engagement here at Vahaba confirmed the data she gave us.”

“True. But it could still be a plan to draw us into some trap Zsinj has set up at Selaggis. Trusting her could mean the end of the fleet.” Solo sat back, frustrated, struggling with conflicting impulses.

“Sir,” the comm officer said, “we have more holocomm traffic. A recorded message, not a live transmission.”

Solo sat up. “From Notsil again?”

“No, sir. From some sort of automated router in the Halmad system. It didn’t come straight from there, though. The route data says it went to a holocomm relay satellite in New Republic space first, then Coruscant, then to a high-security fleet satellite, then to us. It’s eyes-only for Commander Antilles or Captain Loran.”

Solo frowned. “That’s odd. And Halmad is so close the timing can’t be coincidence. Captain, is either Wedge or Loran back on board?”

Onoma nodded. “Both are.”

“Get them up to the closest conference room, right now.”

•    •    •

Solo met the two pilots in the conference room. As soon as the door was shut, he said, “Bring up the message.”

The room’s comm terminal responded in what sounded like a recorded female voice. “State your name and rank for verification purposes.”

Wedge looked at the general, who nodded, and said, “Wedge Antilles, Commander, New Republic Starfighter Command.”

“Thank you.”

The room’s holoprojector activated and a hologram swam into focus in the center of the conference table. It showed Warlord Zsinj against a neutral gray background. “General Kargin and the Hawk-bats, greetings,” the warlord said.

“It’s a recording,” Solo said. “You’re not compromised.”

“I have a proposition for you,” the warlord continued. “It’s my hope that you’re still stationed out of the Halmad system, because if you are, I can offer you a considerable sum to join me on a sort of impromptu exercise. If you’re available, please transit immediately to the Selaggis system—practically your next-door neighbor. However, our window of opportunity is very narrow—in a very few hours from this message’s time stamp, it will close. I hope to see you soon.” With a confident smile, the warlord closed down the transmission and his holo image faded.

“Notsil was telling the truth,” Solo said. “Zsinj is trapped at Selaggis.” His expression transformed from tiredness and premature age to his familiar cocky appearance.

“And he’s desperate for troops,” Face said. “He’s calling in the Hawk-bats and probably every pirate he’s dealt with within a few light-years. We’ve got him.”

“Do you want to go in as the Hawk-bats?” Solo asked.

Face shook his head. “We’d have to put on the makeup, repaint some of the interceptors. Call it half an hour to an hour’s delay. And all it would get us is proximity to
Iron Fist
in a half dozen TIEs.”

“Where do I know the name Selaggis from?” Wedge asked.

“Another Zsinj strike zone,” Solo said. “One of the first I looked at after I assumed command of this task force. One of the moons of Selaggis Six was colonized. I guess Zsinj decided
to make a lesson of someone colonizing on his border without his permission.
Iron Fist
wiped out the whole colony. I think it would be very appropriate if he were wiped out in the same system.”

“Right.”

“Get back to your squadrons,” Solo said. “We’ll jump immediately.” He raced from the room, showing haste inappropriate for a general.

Wedge and Face headed back for their hangar at a trot. “Shalla is going to be so relieved,” Face said.

“How so?”

“Her assault on Netbers back in the Saffalore complex. She’s been beating herself up for a while, wondering whether she should have risked all our lives to keep the Wraith Squadron/Hawk-bats link a secret. Now she gets to know she was right.”

16

“
Second Death
is on station,” announced
Iron Fist’
s communications officer.

“Very well,” Zsinj said.

“Sir.”

Zsinj turned at the sound of Vellar’s voice. “Captain. What is it? You’re almost smiling.”

Vellar did in fact smile. “I got through to the
Chains of Justice
. Group Three had not yet entered hyperspace at Vahaba. The entire Group Three is en route to us now.”

Zsinj beamed at him. “We might not only survive—we may have just won this engagement, Captain. Thank you.”

Mon Remonda
and the New Republic fleet dropped out of hyperspace well within the Selaggis system.

“Contact,” announced the sensor operator. “Multiple contacts moving well ahead of us. Their course takes them toward Selaggis Six.”

“Show me,” Solo said.

The holoimage brought up to hang before Solo’s chair jerked and flickered, the result of the extreme visual enhancement
needed to offer any detail at this range. It showed a gradually lengthening line of ships headed toward a distinct yellow-orange world. The closest ships, those at the rear of the formation, were two Star Destroyers—one Imperial, one Victory—and a smaller vessel. Like
Carrack
-class cruisers, the small ship looked like a thick bar with thickened areas fore and aft, but Solo recognized it as a
Lancer
-class frigate. Smaller than Carracks, the Lancers were configured to repel starfighter squadrons. Stretching out ahead of these vessels were two Dreadnaughts and, in front, a smaller craft that would have been difficult to identify if seen from an above angle, where it would look like a simple triangle. But
Mon Remonda’
s position was slightly below the flight path of the outbound ships, and from this perspective Solo could see the teardrop-shaped command pod hanging from the bow, the boxy starfighter bay depending from the stern. It was a
Quasar Fire
-class starfighter transport. Solo had one in his own fleet.

Solo ran the numbers through his head. It was a habit he’d gotten into as a general; the Corellian habit of ignoring odds until one crashed right into them was inappropriate for an officer who had lives depending on his decisions.

“If they join up with
Iron Fist
, they will outgun us,” Captain Onoma said, confirming Solo’s calculations.

“But not by an impossible amount,” Solo said. “We’ll just have to be better than they are.”

The world the enemy forces approached, Solo knew, was a gas giant, a beautiful yellow-orange thing whose atmosphere was characterized by constant storm activity. The storms unceasingly changed the planet’s patterns of swirls and lines of color, so that each new day offered variations in the worldscape. It must have been an ever-changing work of art for the colonists on one of the world’s moons. Selaggis Six also had a heavy debris ring thought to have been another moon at one time.