“He couldn’t have known that stabilizer was about to fail,” Quell said.
“Yes, he could’ve,” Keize said. “The maintenance report warned as much.”
Was that why she was here? Did Keize consider her responsible for the ground crew’s failures and blame her for Lykan’s death?
“I should’ve caught that. I’m sorry.”
The thought was almost a relief. It let her reconcile who she was with what she was pretending to be.
“That’s not the concern.” Keize shook his head. “Lykan had the report, but he didn’t fly as if he’d read it. The squadrons are still struggling to adapt to our limitations—”
He cut himself off as Cherroi and Gargovik hurried past, hand-in-hand as they’d been in the hangar. The absurdity of it—the interruption of Keize’s intensity, of Quell’s self-loathing, with the lovers’ tryst—nearly made her laugh. Keize ignored them and went on when they were out of sight.
“Confronting Syndulla head-on is out of the question right now—we have more fighters and more escorts, but that Star Destroyer massively outguns us. I need pilots who can operate defensively and know how to improvise. I need someone devoted to keeping our people alive; someone who appreciates in her bones the reality we’re faced with.”
“I understand,” Quell said.
She hadn’t intended to agree to anything. But Keize nodded and walked away as if the matter were settled.
III
Snapper was dead, but it felt ghoulish to celebrate. Still, Wyl was in command and his pilots had shot down a foe who’d bedeviled them for months: who’d killed Rawn, the boy with blue lips, in the Oridol Cluster, and Ubellikos in their final battle on Troithe. So Wyl had made a show of moving Snapper’s name to the bottom of the list in the ready room, said a few words about the stakes at hand, and segued into a discussion about the enemies remaining. When he’d been offered a slice of cake (quick-rise corn slathered in mint frosting—a decent improvisation), he’d laughed and eaten like he was proud of his unit.
He was proud of them.
Over the course of the chase they’d spotted more than a few familiar opponents. Char’s TIE was no longer scorched and carbon-scored—now he flew a modified TIE interceptor missing one of its four gun panels—but he still flew without a wingmate, making daring solo attacks on the New Republic fighters. The Twins were quick and coordinated as ever. There was no sign of Blink, the pilot who’d spoken to Wyl twice before—once to taunt and once to warn. Wyl thought of attempting contact, but he had nothing to say.
There were new enemies to catalog, too, and he added them dutifully to the enemy roster: Dizzy and Brew and Spitsy. Wild Squadron seemed to especially enjoy keeping score and tracking their named adversaries. Once Wyl asked Nath, “You think Shadow Wing’s doing this same thing aboard the Yadeez?” and Nath had only laughed.
Whatever encouraged his people to focus, whatever helped them learn the tricks and stratagems in Shadow Wing’s arsenal, Wyl would allow. He taught them as well as he could, but none was prepared the way Wyl and Nath and Chass and Kairos were.
For Alphabet—or at least for Wyl—the skirmishes felt routine. They were comfortable, like running through a familiar simulation or reuniting with a friend: The details were fresh every time, but the tenor, the give-and-take, was the same.
Only now Snapper wouldn’t take part.
* * *
—
The next skirmish began in the G’Tep’Noi system, after hours of scouting and guesswork. The Deliverance emerged from hyperspace with Wyl and Wild Squadron escorting, and even as realspace condensed around Wyl’s A-wing he saw the wall of stone race toward him and leaned into his rudder pedal. His heart pumped and his body was crushed against the side of the cockpit as he veered away, but the asteroid passed silently by.
“Enemy located.” General Syndulla’s voice was measured. “Launching all fighters. Move in and attack.”
“We’re flying through an avalanche!” Wild Four called. “I can’t even see them!”
Specks of dust and distant mountains tumbled in all directions. Wyl attempted to orient himself by his scanner, but there were too many marks displayed; he craned his neck, dipping one wing as he tried to take in the yawning, rocky darkness around him. The Deliverance far above was the closest thing to a horizon line. “Wraive! Vitale!” he snapped. “Remember the caverns under Troithe? This is easy next to that, right?”
“Except the caverns weren’t moving,” Vitale said.
“Except for that,” Wyl conceded. “You two get behind me and lead the others—everyone, stay close as we find a path. Flare and Hail squadrons will follow.”
“What about Alphabet?” The words, each enunciated, came from Kairos. The U-wing hadn’t yet launched, but Nath, Chass, and Kairos would all be prepping.
“None of you are maneuverable enough for this asteroid field,” he said. “Stick with the Deliverance, stay inside its deflector dome, and blast anything that comes its way.”
Nath’s voice was easy and unperturbed. “Works for me.”
The A-wing’s engines roared and its frame trembled as Wyl opened his throttle. He wanted to melt into his seat, to merge fully with the ship and glide among the asteroids—but his concentration was split by the comm channel and the developing pattern on his scanner. As kilometers flashed past, he spotted metallic gleaming somewhere past the dull rocks.
Someone screamed over the comm, then amended: “I’m all right! I’m all right!” Wild Seven, who’d flown under Hera in three campaigns using an off-model X-wing too heavily modified to fit with Flare Squadron. “Glanced off my shield, but no systems damage.”
Two marks were approaching, small enough to be TIEs. Wyl thumbed his comm and switched frequencies. “General? We can barely handle the rocks. If we have to fight in this…”
There was a pause. Then the general replied: “It could get nasty, I know. But if we lose Shadow Wing we may not find them again. Not before they reach another planet.”
Not before they burn another planet, Wyl thought.
Her voice turned gentler. “If we catch up fast enough we can hold them here. Do that and we have the advantage.”
Wyl acknowledged the order and tried not to think of the cost. The Yadeez was no match for the Deliverance, if the New Republic starfighters could keep the TIEs and escort ships occupied. If the bulk freighter could be destroyed, it would leave the TIEs stranded, and after that the New Republic could flee if it had to, knowing Shadow Wing’s squadrons were trapped without transportation in a single star system.
Shadow Wing knew all of that, too. They’d strive to prevent the Deliverance from closing. But every strategy came with risks, and neither Wyl nor Syndulla had come up with a better plan.
“Looks like the freighter’s recalling the TIEs,” Wild Eight said—Lieutenant Itina, in a V-wing like Vitale’s. Wyl confirmed her assessment with a glance at his sensors. The TIEs that had been approaching—three of them, now—remained in play, but the others were retreating. “Can they jump to lightspeed already?” she asked.
“They’re leaving themselves open to attack,” Wyl said. “They must be about to clear the asteroid field and jump. It’s a risk, but it’s not crazy. Close in! Go!”
Flare Squadron and Hail Squadron were in flight now, breaking to either side of Wyl and Wild to prepare to flank the freighter Yadeez. One TIE swept toward each of the New Republic squadrons, releasing a swift cannon volley that spattered against rocks or fizzled with distance. Flare’s and Hail’s TIEs turned to retreat after firing, but the last TIE stayed on course. Wyl could see it ahead of him, its central eye occluded by a passing asteroid.
What are you planning?
The TIE jinked to one side. Wyl called out a warning to Denish Wraive, but the TIE’s next cannon burst wasn’t aimed at the elder
ly man’s fighter. Instead the bolts impacted the closest asteroid and shattered it. Wyl could see fragments, shrapnel, exploding toward him, exploding toward Wraive…
“Watch out!” he cried, leaning over the console as he gave his thrusters a burst, then pulled up to avoid smashing into another asteroid. Wraive was still alive—still on the scanner, at least—but the TIE had moved on beneath and past him, slipping between rocks for cover as New Republic fighters returned fire. “It’s baiting us!” he said. “Keep on course for the freighter and don’t engage unless necessary!”
But the TIE never moved to engage. Instead it continued cracking asteroids. It flickered in and out of scanner visibility as it activated jammers, and Wyl listened to the alarmed cries of his pilots interspersed with static. He prepared to turn back but saw with alarm that he’d outdistanced his comrades—the A-wing had pulled away when the first cloud of shrapnel had separated him from the slower fighters.
Had that been intentional? He couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter.
Wild Nine and Twelve had lost control evading the asteroids; they both went spiraling through the squadron, forcing the other fighters to scatter. The TIE had a clear path back to its freighter now, but Wyl was closer and the Deliverance had accelerated to frightening speed, plowing through the asteroid field and ignoring the rocks that dashed against its deflectors.
“They’re getting ready to jump.” It was Syndulla’s voice, almost growling from the comm. “They’re not responding to demands for surrender. If you can stop them—”
“I will pursue the TIE,” Kairos said. “Go after the freighter.”
Wyl didn’t know where the U-wing was and didn’t dare check. The asteroids were getting smaller—he was reaching the limit of the field—and he could see the freighter and its escorts in the distance, adjusting their course for a lightspeed jump.
He trusted Kairos. He trusted Syndulla. His gloved hand played across the console as he switched power from his shields to his thrusters. The A-wing sang a high-pitched metallic melody.
His cannons wouldn’t do any real damage to the freighter in the time he had left. He armed a concussion missile, pointed himself at the bright beads of the freighter’s thrusters, and ignored the chatter of the fighters behind him. Be a soldier, not a leader, he told himself. That’s what they need from you now.
“There is no violence in gravity. The empty sun consumes,” Chass said, then added: “Mess up their faces.”
He didn’t understand why she’d taken up prayer, or why she was quoting over the comm so much lately; but he’d take whatever help he could get.
His targeting computer unfolded. He was squeezing his firing trigger when another voice came through, garbled and nearly indecipherable:
“This is Lieutenant Quell of the 204th Imperial Fighter Wing. Withdraw immediately or be destroyed.”
He’d already loosed the weapon. He heard Chass swear and T5 squeal and silence from Nath and Kairos. General Syndulla had time to utter “Quell?” before the TIE activated its jammers again and Wyl was too startled to do anything but watch the exhaust trail of his missile; too startled to notice the exploding asteroid behind him until a granite chunk smashed through his depowered rear deflector and shoved his body into his harness, triggered a blaring alarm. One of his thrusters went out and he was spiraling. A thread of emerald crossed his canopy and he realized the TIE was shooting.
Yrica Quell was shooting at him.
He tried to wrestle the A-wing back on course, whispering soothing words as if to a spooked animal. His wings batted fist-sized chunks of rock, which initially flashed into dust upon contact with his shields; but as his deflectors failed, the rocks began to ring against his hull.
By the time he steadied himself the TIE had swept past. Its jammers were offline again, and he saw its scanner mark converge with that of the freighter; saw Flare and Hail approaching the freighter too late. He twisted his body to watch the Deliverance rain baleful green flame as the freighter and its escorts accelerated and distorted and burst into light, leaving behind only afterimages to suffer the Star Destroyer’s wrath.
“What the hell?” Chass asked, and she spoke what was in his heart.
What the hell? indeed.
CHAPTER 8
“GLORY OF THE EMPIRE” (THE IMPERIAL MARCH)
I
“Why’s everyone looking at me?” Nath asked.
He stood in front of his Y-wing, helmet under one arm and flight suit pinching in the wrong places. T5 remained in the bomber’s socket; Nath had barely dropped out of the cockpit before Wyl, Chass, and Kairos had closed around him like a pack of hungry predators.
Or maybe not quite like predators: Wyl reeked of sweat and seemed to be nursing a bruised arm; he’d taken a battering during the fight. Kairos couldn’t sweat, so far as Nath knew, and stood rigid as a statue; she could’ve worn her mask and seemed no more unreadable. Only Chass looked ready to rip Nath’s throat out with her teeth.
“Did you know she was alive?” Chass asked, and the calm in her voice unnerved him. “Did Intelligence know?”
“How would I have known?” he retorted, and knew it wasn’t the right answer. He held up a hand to stall as he racked his brain.
Had he known? Had there been any signs, any data from Cerberon or after that had hinted at Quell surviving the fall of the Lodestar? Anything at all about Quell rejoining the enemy? More important, had he lied about anything relevant that was about to come out?
He ran through every report he’d endured, every conversation with Nasha Gravas, and came up empty-handed. “No,” he said. “I’m as dumbfounded as anyone. I swear it’s the truth.”
The truth left a cold knot inside him, but he was the practical one of the group. With his own reputation secure, he could ignore his feelings and focus on what it all meant.
“Well,” Chass said, “you blasted well should’ve known.”
“We must find her,” Kairos said.
Chass was still talking. “Was no one counting the bodies on the Lodestar? No one bothered checking the flight recorder, looked to see if, I don’t know—an extra escape pod got off, or a shuttle, or if she strapped on a jetpack and jumped? I know people went looking for Caern Adan and his torture buddy—”
“We must find her,” Kairos said.
“We’re sure it’s her?” Wyl asked. “Could the message have been faked?”
Chass kept going. “—she’s a damn war criminal, you’d think that would matter! Or does the chancellor not care about genocide when the victims aren’t Imperials?”
“It was her,” Kairos said.
Nath glanced at T5, who’d risen partway out of its socket at the commotion. He didn’t know what he hoped the droid would contribute. “Suppose it’s possible it was a fake,” he said, “but that’d be a weird play for Shadow Wing even if they knew she was connected to us. Brother, you and Kairos got the best look at that TIE…”
“It was her,” Kairos said again.
“The TIE pilot was very good,” Wyl said, “and she acted like—I think it’s possible she knew some of our tactics, some of our weaknesses.”
The lump in Nath’s stomach was swelling, and the discomfort made him irritable. Chass was still ranting: “Maybe this was the plan all along?” she said. “Maybe Intelligence never bothered to realize they had a mole leading our special working group?”
Nath pivoted toward the Theelin and snarled, “Let me think!” It only made her louder.
“She has done vile things,” Kairos said. “She must be brought back.”
“We’ll find her,” Wyl said. “We need to figure out what she’s doing there, what she told them…”
Nath turned away, placing a palm against the Y-wing’s hull and tuning the others out. They were too much of a mess to be useful—none of them had ever come
to grips with the fact that Quell had massacred millions on Nacronis. Wyl had trusted her; Chass had—well, Chass hadn’t known how she’d felt about Quell even before the war crimes had come to light; and Kairos was Kairos.
Nath had known, though. He’d been the first to learn about her crimes, and been the one to pass the information on to Caern Adan. He should’ve been clear-eyed about Quell while everyone else was in denial, and if anyone should’ve realized she’d survived…
Another unpleasant thought forced its way into his brain: If he’d never reported Quell’s crimes to Adan in the first place, would she still have betrayed them? She’d been too terrible a liar to have always been a mole.
A hand crushed his shoulder, nails digging into his flight suit. “Don’t turn your back!” Chass snapped, and he whirled to face her.
“This isn’t about you and her,” Nath spat. “Now take a step—”
“Stop it, all of you.” There was a fierce crack—hands smacking together to demand attention—and they turned to see General Syndulla three meters away. Behind her Sergeant Ragnell slouched with the casual dispassion of a hired bodyguard. “You’re still on duty. Try to show some dignity.”
Nath had never heard Syndulla so cold. But she’d been close to Quell, too.
“General,” he said, straightening his back. Wyl followed suit. Chass scoffed but didn’t argue. Kairos was the last to respond—she kept dead eyes on Nath for much longer than he would’ve liked before finally acknowledging the newcomers.
“The enemy got away again,” Syndulla said. Ragnell scanned the pilots and, apparently deciding there was no fight about to break out, shuffled away. “That’s a shame, but not a surprise. The good news is that navigation thinks they know where Shadow Wing’s headed.”
Bold choice, avoiding the issue, Nath thought. No one here’s dense enough not to notice…
Wyl asked: “Where? How?”
…but that doesn’t mean no one will play along.
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