The Krytos Trap (9 page)

Each of those pilots will be debriefed, and what they know will be added to our store of information concerning Zsinj. It is entirely possible some or all of them served on the
Iron Fist,
and learning about the ship’s condition is of vital importance. It represents the core of Zsinj’s might, and will let us determine how truly dangerous he is
.

The Rebel fighters all converged on the Empress-class space station with the Y-wings in the lead. While ungainly, the Y-wings were still not easy targets tó hit. The station’s weaponry sent energy beams shooting out at the attackers, but the incoming fighters supplied three targets for each weapon system, overwhelming the crews defending the station. Added to that was the ability of fighters to approach while using part of the station to shield them from many of the lasers. Using targeting data supplied by other ships, the fighters were able to pop from cover and fire at targets that had previously been unseen.

The swooping, diving, rolling, and climbing cloud of fighters boiled around the station like insects around a bright light. Direct hits on a fighter would make the craft break off and loop away until its shields were recharged, then head back in. The battle to defend the station was lost from the very start, but the fear Zsinj inspired in his people clearly kept them fighting long after it made sense for them to do so.

Mynock beeped, and Wedge saw a comm unit frequency come up on his monitor. He punched the number into his
comm unit and keyed his microphone. “Starfighter flight, this is Commander Antilles of the New Republic Armed Forces. If you power down your weapons, we’ll consider you noncombatants. The same offer goes for the people on the station.”

“I copy, Antilles.” The voice coming back to Wedge through the comm unit had the metallic echo commonly injected in speech by Imperial equipment. “My flight is disarming itself. I’ll pass your message on to the station chief, Valsil Torr.”

“Obliged, starfighter.” Wedge checked his sensors for hostiles as he waited for a return message.

“Antilles, Torr has the message and is powering down his weapons. The station is yours. Be careful, though, he’s a wily old Twi’lek.”

Wedge smiled. Though the communications gear had robbed the voice of any humanity, it couldn’t kill the personality in it. He might have been amazed that someone who had just been shooting at him and his people would so quickly offer helpful advice, but he’d long since learned that warriors from all sides of any conflict had more in common than not. “I copy the advice. I appreciate it.”

“One thing, Antilles.”

“Yes?”

“If we surrender to you, will you haul us out of here?”

“Don’t want to be around when the
Iron Fist
gets here?”

“Not especially.”

No surprise, that
. Unlike the starfighters the Rebellion used, the TIE fighters were not equipped with hyperdrives. TIEs traveled between battles in the bellies of ships like the
Iron Fist
. The flight of starfighters was trapped unless Wedge arranged transport for them out of the system. Zsinj had a reputation for being short-tempered, so leaving them behind was tantamount to murdering them, and Wedge had no desire to have their murders on his conscience.

“Starfighter, surrendering to me means you’ll lose your ship.”

“That’s a problem, Antilles. We’re all mercenaries. We lose our ships and we starve.” The TIE pilot fell silent for a
moment, then continued. “Of course, no reason to eat and live if you can’t fly.”

“I understand, starfighter.” Wedge thought for a moment. “I have an idea. If you hire on as guards to fly cover for one of the freighters coming in, you can get out of here and be free.”

“Freighters?”

“Coming for the bacta.”

“Bacta. So that’s what we were guarding.”

“And you can continue guarding it all the way to Coruscant, where it’s needed. Give me your word you won’t fight against the New Republic in the future, and you’ve got a deal.”

“You have it, Antilles.”

Right on cue, a dozen and a half bulk freighters and specialty haulers started coming out of hyperspace and cruising in toward the space station. Most were blocky, squared-off craft that had seen better days, but a few were more elegant ships whose very designs were tributes to the romanticism of space travel. One, a converted
Baudo-class
yacht, glided through the void like a metal simulacrum of the Corellian sea creature that gave the ship her name.

“Starfighter, the
Baudo-class
yacht there is the
Pulsar Skate
. I’ll have the captain contact you on this frequency. Stand by.”

“I copy.”

Wedge opened a channel to the
Skate
. “
Skate
, this is Rogue Leader.”

“Mirax here, Wedge. We’re fourth in line to head in. What can I do for you?”

“We have a flight of four eyeballs orbiting. They’ve left Zsinj’s service and need a ride out of here. Will you?”

“Sure. Not the first time I’ve hauled a ship for you.”

No, the first one was Corran
. “Thanks, Mirax. Mynock is sending you their comm unit frequency, so I’ll leave the arrangements to you.”

“It will give me something to do while I’m waiting.”

“I copy.” Wedge glanced at the Chronographie display in
the corner of his monitor. “When we get back home, you and I will sit down and talk, yes?”

Weariness washed through Mirax’s voice. “I’ll have to offload the cargo first. Then maybe I can sleep. Haven’t been doing much of that lately. I will call you when I’m functional again.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“And keep that promise, or I talk your father into coming out of retirement by telling him you’re moping over the death of his worst enemy’s son.”

“Oh, Wedge, that’s cruel.” Light static hissed in Wedge’s ears as Mirax’s voice broke. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t mourn for Corran.”

“Agreed, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s a burden we all share, got it?”

“I copy.” Resignation tinged with relief flooded her words. “See you back on Coruscant.”

“I am counting on it.” Wedge looked out at the station and his squadron patrolling around it.
And, miracle of miracles, it looks like everyone is going to make it back home again
.

8

Corran knew that once again being in the cockpit of a fighter should have made him happy, but it did not. He could find no fault with the fighter nor with being given a patrol mission. He’d done enough of those to expect boredom, and yet even that wasn’t giving him a problem. Just to be flying again was enough to override boredom.

The fact was, he realized, that he was unhappy. Something was gnawing away at him inside. Something was wrong, and there was no way he could ignore it. It created an anxiety in him that was out of all proportion with what he was doing. It felt as if he weren’t involved in a patrol at all, but in some other mission with a hidden agenda he knew nothing about.

“Nemesis One, report.”

“One is clear, Control.”

The voice coming through the comm unit betrayed no hint of deception or urgency, but Corran couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that he was being manipulated. He had a natural aversion to being used, and he could feel unseen hands all over himself, pointing him in a certain direction, for reasons he could not fathom. He was surprised to find
himself less resentful of their agenda—whatever it was—than of being manipulated.

I’m reasonable. I don’t shy away from difficult tasks. I do what I am asked to do, within reason. Didn’t I do that
…? His thoughts dead-ended as he realized he couldn’t summon up specific memories to back up his argument. He
knew
he had performed many dangerous missions, but he couldn’t pinpoint them. His inability to do so wouldn’t have concerned him, and in fact almost did not, except that he kept feeling like a hologram being processed by someone else’s computer.

“Nemesis One, we have two contacts on the heading of 270 degrees. They are ten kilometers distant. They are hostile. You are free to engage and terminate them.”

“As ordered.” Corran punched up the data on the incoming ships and displayed it over his monitor.
Two TIEs
. The starfighters inspired no fear in him, and he would have viewed them with utter detachment except that a random thought shot off through his brain.

Two TIEs aren’t nearly as deadly as a single Tycho
. The connection seemed entirely logical to Corran: the similar sounds created a link. The fact that Tycho Celchu had been an Imperial pilot who flew TIEs reinforced it. Corran knew Tycho had betrayed Rogue Squadron, and Corran had been determined to see him pay.
If I weren’t here, I’d be
there,
taking care of Tycho
.

Before he could begin to wonder where
there
was, Control’s voice came through the comlink again. “We have additional information on the incoming ships. Transmitting now.”

The image on the monitor shifted from a TIE starfighter to an X-wing. An additional line of data beneath the fighter’s image informed Corran the ship was flown by Captain T. Celchu. A jolt of adrenaline pulsed through his body, then slammed into his brain. He couldn’t believe his luck—the coincidence of being able to fly against Tycho and avenge Rogue Squadron was incredible.
And I will make the most of it
.

Corran inverted the TIE Interceptor he flew and dove.
The X-wings started to come after him, vectoring in on his belly, so he inverted again, then pulled through a climbing loop to starboard. He soared as the X-wings dove, neither side wasting laser energy when the chances of hitting were so small. Corran kept tightening the loop into a spiral that emphasized the squint’s greater maneuverability, then streaked away to underscore its superior speed as well.

A light flicked on within the head’s-up display, indicating one of the X-wings was trying for a proton torpedo target lock, but a quick climb, roll, and twisting dive broke the lock and brought Corran out on a vector toward Tycho’s X-wing. Corran sideslipped the Interceptor to starboard, then rolled up on the left wing and climbed in toward Tycho. He flipped his lasers from quad- to dual-fire, assuming he’d have to use multiple shots in multiple passes to bring Tycho down. He led the X-wing, anticipating Tycho’s break, then hastily snapped off a shot that splashed energy over Tycho’s shields as the Interceptor overshot its target.

No reaction. That isn’t like Tycho at all
. Corran rolled up on the right stabilizer, climbed into a loop, then rolled over and out to port. Another inversion took him into a dive, but his scanners showed the X-wings hadn’t stayed with him past the first maneuver, much less through the second.

Corran shivered.
They’re handling like TIE starfighters, not like X-wings, and the pilot flying that first one isn’t Tycho
. He switched his targeting computer over to the second ship and saw that X-wing was listed as being flown by Kirtan Loor. An immediate desire to vape that ship filled him, but it did not deflect him from thinking. In fact, the vehemence of his feelings about Loor swept him past the fact that Loor and Tycho had been in collusion on Coruscant.

It carried him far enough that he recalled Loor didn’t know how to fly any space ships at all, much less starfighters.

Loor can’t be there. The chance that Tycho and Loor would show up where I could attack and kill them is unbelievable
. Whereas before he had taken great delight in the coincidence, now it became evidence that he was being manipulated. The link between a TIE and Tycho had been made in his mind before Tycho showed up as a pilot. While
he knew inferring causality from that relationship was not strictly logical, his being manipulated meant it was more than possible.

Tycho is an enemy, so he was placed in one fighter. Another enemy was plucked from a list of my enemies and placed in the second fighter
. More anger flared through Corran and battered aside the blockages in his brain that had kept him thinking of nothing outside the cockpit. The apparent insertion of personal enemies into his situation told Corran two things.
First off, I’m in a simulator, and second, someone knows enough about me to know who my enemies are. Pitting me against my enemies gives me some wish fulfillment, which is a good thing. It rewards behavior, but I have to ask myself, is flying an interceptor against X-wings behavior for which I want to be rewarded?

His stomach shrank and hardened into a rock that threatened to explode volcanically.
I’m flying an Imp ship against Rebels. I don’t want to do that
. Corran immediately realized that only his enemies—the remnants of the Empire—would want him to feel good about attacking Rebels, yet few Imps would take the time or make the effort to manipulate him that way. Some would imprison him and the rest would just kill him.

Except one.

Ysanne Isard
.

Injecting her into the jumble of thoughts bouncing around his brain immediately started to impose order on his mind. She was known and feared for her ability to warp Rebels and turn them against friends and family. She had been successful with Tycho Celchu, and he was not the only success story to come out of her Lusankya prison. Her altered agents had wrought havoc among the Emperor’s enemies, and his death had done nothing to cause Iceheart to curtail her operations.

The fog in Corran’s brain began to evaporate. He remembered having met Isard after his capture. She’d vowed to transform him into a tool of the Emperor’s vengeance. This simulator run—
and the one before it
—clearly was designed to get him to attack Rebel symbols. Subsequent sessions
would further crush his resistance, training him to greater and greater levels of efficiency while turning him against everyone he knew, loved, and respected.

She would make me over into the human equivalent of the plague she unleashed on Coruscant
.

Corran shook his head, then raised his hands from the simulator’s steering yoke and yanked his helmet off. Electrodes taped to his head pulled away rather abruptly, taking some hair with them, but he ignored the pain.
The electrodes fed my brain wave patterns to a computer. The patterns were compared to data gathered from interrogations, so the computer could recognize what I was thinking about and project the proper clues into the simufotion. Very good
.