Star Wars: X-Wing I: Rogue Squadron

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Dozen? I’ll bet Corran will leave us half that number.

  Wedge sat back for a moment. He realized he thought of Corran as Corran, not Lieutenant Horn. The distance he had placed between himself and Corran had collapsed in on itself. He’d purposely chosen to distance himself from all the new recruits to maintain authority over them. As loose as Rogue Squadron was, that detachment was necessary if they were to follow him.

  Even so, he suddenly realized, he had insulated himself from them for his own protection. Having lost so many friends, having felt the pain of their deaths, he had been reluctant to let anyone else get close. Not befriending them meant he could blunt the pain of seeing them die. He regretted Lujayne Forge, Andoorni Hui, and Peshk Vri’syk dying, but he had not been as deeply hurt by their deaths as he had when Biggs or Porkins or Dack had died.

  Emotional distance is armor for the heart. That armor was necessary because without it the overwhelming nature of the fight against the Empire would crush him. After seeing how many had been slain, it would have been easy to assume all was for naught. But if we did assume that, the Death Stars would be ravaging planets and the Emperor would still rule the galaxy.

  Corran had earned the friendship Wedge felt for him, and not just through his skill in an X-wing. He had taken to heart the things Wedge had told him about becoming part of the unit. Corran had clearly known that to go after the Interceptors closing on an assault shuttle was to be left behind. He had made that choice because it was really no choice at all. The rest of the unit would have made the same choice, too.

  And they’ll want to go back to get Corran. By jumping straight from Noquivzor to Borleias, without making a side jump first, they could reach the world in under three hours. Doing that would expose Noquivzor to discovery by Imperial forces, but Wedge expected Page’s people to be giving them other things to think about. Even so, a jump to the outer edge of the Borleias system and then another jump in closer would bring them out of hyperspace from a direction that would hide their point of origin. I hope.

  A green button started blinking on the command console. Wedge punched it and hyperspace melted into the Noquivzor system. He immediately keyed his comm. “Rogue Leader to Emtrey.”

  “Emtrey here, sir. I have an urgent message for Bror Jace.”

  “It’s not as urgent as my orders, Emtrey. Get Zraii set up to refuel us and get techs mounting lasers on the Forbidden. An hour from now, at the most, we’re heading back out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And contact Intelligence. I want any holonet data coming out of Borleias.”

  “Yes, sir.” The droid sounded agitated. “Sir, we do have some information from Borleias.”

  “You do?” Wedge’s heart started to pound inside his chest. “What is it? Is it about Corran?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Give it to me.”

  “It’s a hologram.”

  Wedge frowned. “Have the computer mash it to two dimensions and send it.”

  “You may want to wait, sir.”

  “Emtrey!”

  “Transmitting now, sir, at your request.”

  The monitor resolved itself into an image of Corran Horn. Wedge shook his head. What?

  “If you’re seeing this, Commander Antilles,” Corran said solemnly, “I know I was left behind …”

  39

  Corran popped one proton torpedo off and watched the lead Interceptor evaporate. Thumbing his weapons control over to lasers, he started to track the next TIE. The tractor beam limited his ship’s range of motion, but a heavy foot on a rudder pedal started turning him in the right direction. Just a bit more …

  The Interceptor exploded as red laser bolts ripped through the cockpit.

  Corran looked down at his hand and couldn’t recall having hit the trigger.

  More laser fire transformed another TIE into a fireball. What in the Cloak of the Sith?

  Whistler started hooting frantically.

  Corran hesitated, not comprehending, then flipped his comm unit back on as his fighter began to rise through the volcano, picking up speed.

  “… repeat, is your hyperdrive still operational?”

  He recognized the voice. “Mirax?”

  “Yeah. You ready to get smuggled out of here?”

  “Hyperdrive is a go.”

  “Key it to my signal.”

  “Whistler, do it.”

  Corran didn’t afford himself the luxury of looking back at the ship that had tractored his fighter—the forward view had more than enough to entertain him. Borleias’s moon was receding quickly into the starfield, as were the squints. Green lancets of laser fire reached out toward him, but they splashed harmlessly against his shields. His return fire scattered the TIEs and one more fell prey to Skate’s gunner.

  Whistler piped a warning at him, then the starfield stretched into columns and they entered hyperspace. A second or two later they came back out again at a point well below the Pyria system’s elliptic plane.

  “Corran, bring your fighter around and come up into the hold.”

  “Gladly, Skate” He complied with the order and found his twelve-and-a-half-meter-long fighter fit snugly in the hold. He waited for Mirax to repressurize the hold after closing the loading bay doors, then he popped his cockpit canopy open and vaulted from the X-wing. He landed on the deck with a thump, then smiled as the hold hatch opened.

  “Permission to come aboard, Captain Terrik.”

  “Promise you won’t tell my father?” Mirax smiled and strode boldly across the deck to him. “He’d die if he could see an X-wing with CorSec markings in the belly of his ship.”

  “And if my father hadn’t been killed years ago, having my ship here would have gotten him, too.” Corran enfolded Mirax in a hug. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Likewise, Corran.”

  He didn’t let his arms slacken until he felt her hug loosen first. “And I commend you on your shooting. You popped three Interceptors in no time.”

  Mirax pulled away from him and pointed toward the hatchway. “He did it, not me.”

  The silhouette in the hatchway shrugged. “The Skate is a fairly stable gunnery platform. And the squint pilots weren’t the Empire’s best.”

  Pulling off the helmet, Corran crossed the hold and offered the man his hand. “Still and all, Captain Celchu, it was superior shooting.” With skills like that, I can’t imagine why you’re not flying with us. Commander Antilles said not to ask, and now is not the time, but I want to know the answer.

  Mirax patted Corran on the back and let her hand linger there for a moment—a sensation he relished. “Come on up to the bridge. We’ll go to hyperspace and get back to Noquivzor before the others do.”

  “We will?”

  Mirax slapped the nearest bulkhead. “The Skate can push .6 past light speed—not as fast as the Falcon, but definitely better-looking. With our speed we can trim time off the trip back to Noquivzor and fly a course that’s shorter. We’ll beat them by an hour, just as we did getting here.”

  Corran frowned. “But how could you get here since no one was supposed to know where here was? Commander Antilles didn’t tell the others until our second jump.”

  The smuggler smiled sweetly at him. “Not my fault you talk in your sleep.”

  Tycho laughed. “Mirax discovered a possible security breach. We arrived and went to ground on the dark side of the moon. We monitored Borleias control traffic and didn’t notice unusual activity down there, so we maintained comm silence when the squadron arrived.”

  Corran sat down across from him. “If you told us you were there you might have alerted the Imperials.”

  “Exactly.” Tycho followed Mirax into the Skate’s cockpit and dropped into one of the jumpseats. “Since the squadron was running with weak comm system transmissions, we couldn’t hear what Wedge had planned when he went sunside, but we figured things out from Imperial intercepts—the Verpine droid here has slicing skills that broke the Imp scrambling quit
e quickly. We stayed hidden when the squints started to search, assuming we’d break and run when they reached the volcano.”

  Mirax looked back at Corran. “Then you arrived with them on your tail, we grabbed you and pulled you out.”

  Corran chuckled as he strapped himself into the seat. “I thought I was dead.”

  “I imagine that is what the rest of the squadron will be thinking when they reach Noquivzor.” Tycho slapped Corran on the knee. “Won’t they be surprised?”

  “Yeah, I imagine they will.” Corran’s eyes narrowed. “And I’ve got an idea which means we can have some fun with them.”

  Mirax tapped the console and smiled at her Sullustan pilot. “Get us going, Liat, and fast, too. The Pulsar Skate will be the first ship ever to smuggle a man back from the grave, and I mean for us to do it in record time at that.”

  40

  “… on Borleias’s moon,” Corran’s image continued. “I know the decision to leave me behind wasn’t easy.”

  Wedge’s eyes narrowed. “… on Borleias’s moon?” How could he have known? Wait a minute!

  “I want you to know I harbor no ill will concerning my abandonment. To prove this to you, I pried some Whyren’s Reserve away from Emtrey and a ryshcate should have finished baking by the time you land.”

  “Wahoo!” Gavin’s voice echoed through the comm.

  Wedge keyed his comm. “Horn, if you aren’t dead, you will be.”

  Corran’s image broke into laughter. “I’m happy to see you, too, Commander. Welcome home.”

  Wedge sat back in his chair and held the half-full tumbler up so the light from the center of the recreation room made the amber liquid in it glow. Its chemical warmth, aided and abetted by seeing Corran alive and unhurt, had chased the chilly dread from his belly and melted the stress in his shoulders and neck. Putting his feet up on the table, he actually began to relax for the first time in conscious memory.

  In retrospect Corran’s message was rather funny. He watched his green-eyed lieutenant cut the warm ryshcate and hand it out to the other pilots in the squadron. They were all giddy with their success and his survival. Wedge knew they all had been as horrified as he had when the message began to play in their cockpits, but no one was more relieved than he had been when the truth of it was revealed to them.

  As jokes go, Corran, it was good. You’ll pay for it, of course, but it was good.

  Wedge glanced sidelong at Tycho. “I can’t believe you let him send that message.”

  The Alderaanian shrugged. “The shocked expression on your face was even better than I imagined it would be.”

  “I won’t forget that, Captain Celchu.”

  “Besides, I can’t wait to see how you’re going to get back at Corran.” Tycho took a swallow of his lum. “I trust you’ll make it good.”

  “You can be assured of that.” Wedge sipped a little more whiskey and let it sit on his tongue for a moment. Sucking air in through slightly parted lips let the crisp, woody aroma fill his head, then he swallowed and smiled. “Corran comes back from the dead and I understand you were resurrected, too. Three squints?”

  Tycho nodded solemnly. “Two were at point-blank range—Emtrey could have shot them. The third was at range—decent shot.”

  “Of course, the Alliance Security team is a bit upset at having been detained in your quarters.”

  “No, they weren’t very happy when we took them prisoner.” His Executive Officer winced. “The problem was we had a possible security leak, but explaining everything we would have had to explain would have made it impossible for us to get to Borleias in time to warn you, if that’s what we needed to do.”

  “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” Wedge chuckled. “I was planning the same sort of thing for the return trip to Borleias. You’ve got the security problem under control?”

  “I think so. Locking this thing down will mean a lot of time being spent with Emtrey.”

  “Put Corran on it.”

  Tycho shook his head. “Eew, that’s nastier than even I assumed you’d be.”

  “Well, leading a unit isn’t a young man’s game, after all.” Wedge swung his feet to the floor and set his tumbler on the table as Corran approached with two pieces of ryshcate. “Smells good.”

  “Mirax made it.” Corran handed the other piece to Tycho. “Corellians use it for celebrations.”

  Wedge hefted his piece of the sweetcake. “Getting you back from Borleias is worthy of celebration, as is having the Alliance’s hottest new pilot being a member of the squadron.”

  Corran looked surprised. “Me?”

  “No.” Wedge smiled past him at the man arriving late to the celebration. “Congratulations, Bror Jace. The trio of kills you got on the Interceptors following us out of the Pyria system puts you at twenty-two kills. You beat Lieutenant Horn by one.”

  The Thyferran beamed, his blue eyes alive with pride. “Thank you, Commander.” He glanced down for a second, then accepted a piece of the cake from Mirax. “This is good news and helps offset what I have just heard.”

  Wedge set his cake down next to the glass of whiskey. “And that is?”

  “The message waiting for me was from Thyferra. My great uncle, our patriarch, is dying. The Emdees give him two weeks at best. Even bacta cannot cure old age.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Jace, Bror.” Wedge glanced at his XO. “Tycho, can you …?”

  “No problem, Wedge.” Tycho stood up. “Compassion leave won’t work, but if we send our pilot home on a recruiting run, I think the diplomatic corps will back us up. You’ll be on your way as soon as you can pack your X-wing, Mr. Jace.”

  “Thank you.”

  Corran offered Bror his hand. “I’m sorry to know your uncle is ill. I’m also sorry to lose to you, but I’m not sorry about how well you did.”

  “Nor I about your performance.” Bror pumped Corran’s hand. “I would give you another chance at such a contest, but I do not want even the slightest hint of division within this squadron.”

  “I concur.” Corran nabbed a small piece of cake from the serving tray on the table and popped it into his mouth.

  Everyone followed Corran’s lead and as he chewed, just for a second, Wedge felt himself back on Yavin 4, catching a hasty last meal before he and his friends went off to attack the Death Star. He knew it wasn’t the taste of the ryshcate that brought the memory back—on Yavin 4 there had been no time and no ingredients to create something so indulgent. No, it’s the sense of unity that takes me back. The core spirit, it was there before Rogue Squadron was ever formed. It was the squadron’s soul and it’s still here. This is Rogue Squadron, not reborn, just continuing as it should.

  “I’d like to offer a toast, my friends, if I may.” Wedge raised his glass and the others joined him. “To Rogue Squadron, to the friends we’ve lost, the battles we’ve fought, and the utter fear our return will bring to our enemies.”

  Epilog

  Kirtan Loor dropped to one knee before Ysanne Isard’s life-size hologram. “Please forgive my disturbing you, Madam Director, but you said you wanted to be informed immediately on any developments.”

  She frowned impatiently at him. “I have seen General Derricote’s requisition request for more Gamorreans. Has there been a breakthrough?”

  “I am not certain.”

  “But you approved the request.”

  “Yes, Madam Director.” Even though she was projecting her image from her tower office nearly three kilometers above and away from his cramped workspace, the distance did not insulate him from her ire. Somehow her eyes seem to project venom through the holonet. “You will forgive me, Madam Director, but General Derricote is still upset about the loss of his facility on Borleias. He said you promised him it would be returned to him if he completed his work within your parameters.”

  “And so it shall. The Alliance stewardship of Borleias will be of little consequence in the grand scheme of things.” Isard’s image stared hard at him. “So, there
is no breakthrough with Derricote?”

  “None to my knowledge, Madam Director.”

  “Then what would have prompted your call to me, Agent Loor?”

  “Our agent in Rogue Squadron has provided us with some useful information. Rogue Squadron will be moving to Borleias and the base will become a major staging operation for a move Coreward.”

  Isard tapped her teeth with a fingernail. “This was not unanticipated.”

  “It was also reported that the best of the new pilots, Bror Jace, will be returning to Thyferra to visit his family.” Loor reached back and pulled a datapad from his desk and glanced at it. “Given the precarious balance of loyalists and Rebel sympathizers on Thyferra, it seems to me that having a hero of the Rebellion visit will not be a good thing. Since his course of travel has been communicated to us, I have prepared orders for the Interdictor cruiser Black Asp to intercept and destroy him.”

  “Very good thinking, Agent Loor.” Isard nodded slowly, her eyes focusing distantly. “Amend the orders to have him taken alive if possible. I have a facility that is most successful in convincing ardent Rebels they really should be on our side. I have room at Lusankya for this Jace. He will prove very useful in the future.”

  “I have the intercept set for a system where enough smuggling goes on that the Black Asp’s presence makes sense. An increase in general interception activities will hide our foreknowledge of Jace’s course.”

  The ruler of Coruscant looked quizzically at him. “Do you truly think so?”

  “I do not follow your meaning.”

  “Don’t you think your Corran Horn will be suspicious?”

  He thought for a moment, then bowed his head. “He will be, but he is not so single-minded that he cannot be distracted.”

  “That concurs with my reading of his datafile.” She smiled slightly. “But it would take information of sufficient import to distract him, yes?”

  “Yes, Madam Director.”

  “Good.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “I have let slip the information that you killed Gil Bastra.”