Wedge nodded, then looked up. “If we refuse to help you?”
Isard arched an eyebrow at him. “Refuse?”
Vessery cleared his throat. “If you refuse, General, then my men will go into Ciutric in your place. Krennel will fall, but not quite so bloodlessly. He has to.” The Imperial pilot rested a hand on Wedge’s shoulder. “Despite our differences, you and I are united in the knowledge that Krennel is a scourge on the Hegemony’s people. He must be dealt with, and with your help, his disposition will bring other warlords in line.”
Wedge felt a shiver run down his spine. I know I can’t trust you, Isard, but I also know that if I don’t go along with your plan, you can kill me and my people, and no one will know you’re out here until too late. I don’t know what your plan is, but I know you have one, and that, for now, is enough.
He nodded slowly. “I hate to think you and I are of like mind in anything, Isard, but the desire to see Krennel taken down seems to qualify. Rogue Squadron is at your disposal. Let’s get started.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Corran Horn rested a hand on Gavin Darklighter’s shoulder, noticing how the dark green of his own flight suit contrasted with the bright orange of Gavin’s. He felt the younger man stiffen, so he gave Gavin’s shoulder a squeeze and slowly lowered himself to a spot on the concussion missile storage crate. “I hope you don’t mind my sitting here, Gavin.”
The younger pilot looked at him with red-rimmed brown eyes. “I’d really rather be alone.”
“I know you would, Gavin, which is why I’m sitting here.” Corran’s left hand slipped from Gavin’s right shoulder and patted the man’s knee. “I remember, back when we were first on Coruscant, you came to me to ask me about Asyr and if things could work between you. You wanted some perspective then, and you need some perspective now.”
“No, Corran, what I need now is grieving.”
“I know.” The bleak pain in Gavin’s voice stabbed deep into Corran’s heart and threatened to reopen the wound left there by his own father’s death. No, now’s not the time for self-pity. “Look, Gavin, there’s all kinds of trite things I could tell you. I could tell you that I’ve been where you are, when my father died. I could tell you the same things that folks told me at that time, that I had to buck up, I had to be tough, because that’s what my father would have wanted of me. And you and I both know, that’s what Asyr would have wanted of you.”
Gavin sniffed and glanced over at him. “You’re right. That’s pretty trite and doesn’t help at all.”
Corran nodded and glanced around the hangar area into which the surviving Rogues had been conducted. The site itself appeared to be vintage Imperial—the Rogues had been in enough captured facilities to know the architectural style. The main difference here was that Imperials were in full force, and three squadrons of TIE Defenders filled the launching racks above the scattered X-wings. The R2 and R5 units milled about together, while the pilots had broken up into small groups, each one dealing with the loss of his comrades and wondering what news General Antilles would bring on his return.
“I know that, Gavin, which is why I’m going to share something with you that I’ve not shared with another living being—except Iella. Even Mirax doesn’t know this.” He took a deep breath and hesitated until Gavin nodded slightly. “You’ve heard how my father died, but not my mother. In CorSec, given what my father and I were doing for a living, we figured that we were more likely to die than she ever was, but she went first. It was a stupid landspeeder accident. A truck was blocking the other lane, some lum-dumb whipped around it and smashed head-on into her. It busted her up badly, too badly for bacta to help.
“My father and I arrived at the hospital as fast as we could, and we were allowed to visit her. We’d been told she had no chance, there’d just been too much damage. She knew that, but she lay there in bed just talking to us about what we’d be doing the next week and month. She wasn’t regretting the fact that she’d not be there with us, but pretty much letting us know that she would be, in our memories and in our hearts. The whole time she was dying, she just went on living. And when she finally closed her eyes, it came as a surprise to everyone, her included.”
Corran brushed a hand across his face, smearing tears away to nothingness. “Understand this, Gavin, the pain you’re feeling right now, it never really goes away. It will always be there, and you can find it whenever you want to, but, in time, the amount it dominates your life will shrink. It will become a small part of the memories you’ll have of Asyr, and the good memories will dominate. You can’t see that now, and telling you this now doesn’t mean much, but you need to hear it to know the sphere of pain you’re in isn’t inescapable.”
Gavin rested his head on his hands, with the heels of his palms grinding into his eye sockets. “It was in the squadron that the first person I actually knew died: Lujayne Forge.”
“I remember.”
“And I remember wondering if I could have saved her. I wonder the same thing about Asyr.”
“You’re not alone. But let me tell you, Asyr was wondering what she could do to save us. She was magnificent out there, Gavin, flying beyond herself.” Corran rubbed his left hand over Gavin’s back. “All of us knew we were in a hopeless situation, but she understood it and rejected it. It was as though she stopped being a flesh and blood pilot and became flight and fight and death all rolled into one. We didn’t fail her, nor she us, but some obscure rule of the universe broke her ship and grounded her back in reality. She was truly stellar and, after that performance, I don’t know that there was any way for her to return to just being mortal.”
Gavin sighed and sat back, raising his face toward the dim ceiling of the cavernous room. “That’s it, though, now, isn’t it? She’s no longer mortal. She joins my cousin Biggs and Lujayne Forge and Wes Janson and Dack and the others on the Rogue Squadron roll of the dead. The Bothans will have another Martyr to celebrate.”
Corran’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re afraid that they’ll take her away from you, right? You’re afraid the Asyr you knew will be forgotten as she’s memorialized?”
Gavin’s lips pressed together tightly, his goatee bristling. His larynx bobbed up and down once, then he nodded, splashing tears down his cheeks. His voice failed him as he first tried to speak. He rubbed his throat, then nodded. “I think I knew her better than anyone and that, with me, in private moments, she could relax. She didn’t have to be a Bothan hero. She didn’t have to be a pilot. She could just be herself. When we talked about getting married, adopting kids, she came alive.”
His voice trailed off and Corran sensed a flash of anger like lightning run through Gavin. “What is it, Gavin?”
He frowned. “She met with Borsk Fey’lya. She didn’t tell me what happened, but I think he tried to make trouble for her about adopting. I think she may have fought as well as she did at Distna in the hopes that no one, not Fey’lya, not anyone, could deny a hero of her stature what she wanted. She would have gotten her way, but now she’s dead, so the point is moot.”
“Maybe your chance to adopt kids with her is gone, but remember what was behind that whole plan: the fact that you’d make great parents. I’m not going to tell you that you owe it to her to continue on and prove her right, but you can bet the Emperor’s Black Bones that I’d rather see you teaching a child right from wrong than any of a billion ex-Imp bureaucrats.”
“Maybe it’s a plan for the future.” Gavin shook his head slowly. “Admitting there’s a future at all is the tough part right now. I don’t really care and I hurt enough that if there isn’t one, it’s all the same to me.”
A fearful bleating from Whistler and the droid’s sudden appearance as he raced around from behind Corran stopped the pilot’s response to his friend. “What’s the matter?”
Clattering after the droid came an Imperial tech with a restraining bolt and a welding rod. “Gotta put a restraining bolt on him. All droids get them.”
Corran shot to his
feet. “I can tell you where you can affix that restraining bolt, Huttpuss-for-brains.”
The tech raised a hand and two armor-clad storm-troopers came jogging over, blasters in hand. “You want to get out of the way, Captain Horn.”
“You’ve no idea what I want.” Corran dropped a hand to the lightsaber hanging at his left hip. “You’re putting a restraining bolt on Whistler over my dead body.”
The tech raised an eyebrow. “Over your stunned body, perhaps. I have my orders.”
“Back off, Captain Horn.” Wedge Antilles entered the hangar area and headed toward the confrontation, drawing the rest of the squadron in his wake. “Let’s not make things more complicated than they need to be.”
Corran turned to Wedge, and was pleased to notice that Gavin had risen to his feet and was shielding Whistler with his own body. “General, they want to put a restraining bolt on Whistler.”
Wedge nodded solemnly. “I know, all our droids get them, even Gate.” He held up a hand to forestall comment. “The situation here is complicated, but it’s working in our favor. We’re going to be trained to fly these Defenders, then we’ll be given a back door into Krennel’s capital. We’re dead right now and if we can stay that way—as far as Krennel is concerned—until we’re ready to strike, he will fall and fall hard. What that means, though, is that our droids have to be stored away for the time being.”
Tycho arched an eyebrow. “Hostages?”
Wedge shook his head. “Just more variables than can be controlled right now. They’ll be locked away, safe, out of trouble.”
Corran frowned. “I don’t like it, but if you say that’s the way it has to be…” He walked over to the tech and snatched the restraining bolt and welding rod from the man’s hands, then dropped to one knee in front of Whistler. “Sorry to do this, pal, but it’s not the first time. You’ll get through it.”
He pressed the bolt to the droid’s chest panel, then turned to the tech. “Okay with you?”
“A little to the left.”
Corran made the adjustment, then used the welding rod to fix the bolt in place with a shower of sparks.
The tech pointed a remote at Whistler, hit a button, and the droid shut down. Another button and Whistler was back on, moaning mournfully.
Corran rose in one swift motion and gently tapped the tech under the chin with his dormant lightsaber. “Hey, just because you have the power, don’t abuse it.”
Wedge laid his hand on Corran’s forearm. “Put it away, Captain. The tech here will take good care of all the droids, won’t you?”
“Lock ’em up snug and tight.” He glanced at Corran. “I may not understand your attachment to the droids, but I’ll respect it. We aren’t all heartless monsters.”
“Good.” Corran smiled coldly and tapped the man on his chest with the lightsaber. “Something happens to Whistler and you will be. You have my promise on that.”
Borsk Fey’lya was not accustomed to being kept waiting, but he understood Booster Terrik’s game and decided to humor him. The Bothan Councilor had never before been on the Errant Venture, and he occupied his time studying the ship. He recalled his ire when General Cracken reported that an intact though largely disarmed Imperial Star Destroyer had been turned over to a smuggler who had served five years on Kessel. The idea that a private citizen—an outlaw even—could bully the government into tolerating his possession of a war engine seemed the first sign of impending anarchy. Fey’lya wanted to demote Cracken for his failure to secure the Errant Venture for the New Republic, but the rest of the Council disagreed.
He’d let memory of the ship slip from his mind until the Thrawn crisis. Fey’lya had advocated the immediate nationalization of the ship, but New Republic Intelligence had a hard time locating it. Through Terrik’s daughter, the Council had been informed that Booster would welcome the ship’s rearming and his own commissioning as an Admiral. That idea had been rejected outright. Fey’lya got a degree of satisfaction when Cracken suggested leaking intelligence that would have Thrawn looking over his shoulder for the Errant Venture, but Terrik’s failure to rally to the cause of the New Republic still infuriated him.
And now I am here, but now I have the measure of the man, and a mission for which he is well suited. A quick message from the Errant Venture had alerted the Council to Rogue Squadron’s destruction. Terrik had returned immediately to Coruscant from Distna, bringing with him the debris which was all that was left of Rogue Squadron and those who had killed them. The ship also brought back a sole survivor: Wes Janson, and the body of one other pilot, the Quarren, Lyyr Zatoq. Save for ship scraps, there was no trace of anyone else.
Fey’lya looked out over the docking bay at the variety of ships occupying deck space. Aside from his own Lambda-class shuttle, with two Bothan warriors standing guard at the base of the gangway, the ships present all could easily have been described as salvage. While Fey’lya was fairly certain the Errant Venture’s aft docking bay was reserved for customers who patronized the Diamond deck, the level of deterioration in the forward bay marked how difficult it was for Terrik to keep his ship operational. At least one of the turbolifts didn’t work, and several of the winches that lifted small ships into storage racks were frozen. Terrik’s dream of a ship that would pay for itself clearly had become a nightmare.
“Welcome, Councilor Fey’lya. How good of you to grace my humble ship with your presence.” Booster appeared in the doorway of an office on the main deck and waved Fey’lya into its dim interior. “How may I be of service to you?”
Fey’lya flicked a finger toward his shuttle in a subtle gesture meant to tell his bodyguards to stay where they were. He strode past Booster and into the interior of a small office choked with datacards, cargo crates, enough parts to construct a half-dozen droids, and sufficient personal weapons to hold off an Imperial boarding team. The cloying scent of human habitation caused Fey’lya to wrinkle his nose, but he sat in the one chair that had been cleared of debris.
Fey’lya waited for Booster to take his place behind his desk, but the smuggler vexed him by perching himself on the corner of his desk and folding his arms over his chest. The Bothan smoothed the fur at the back of his head, then glanced up at the man’s face. “I have come to thank you for bringing back to Coruscant as much of Asyr Sei’lar’s ship as you did. The images recovered from her battleroms have confirmed her great skill and bravery in this, her final fight. Bothans everywhere will take pride in what she did.”
Booster nodded solemnly. “ ’Pears she even scraped a TIE or two off my daughter’s dead husband.”
Fey’lya noted that Booster did not refer to Corran Horn as his “son-in-law” and catalogued that fact away for possible use. “Her devotion to her squadron-mates was quite clear. Likewise her devotion to the highest of Bothan ideals. She is an example to the younger generation.”
“Indeed, appears you have another Martyr to hold up.”
“It is a pity you were unable to recover her body.”
Booster leaned back, pressing his hands behind him against the surface of the desk. “When we got there I sent recovery teams out. We found Captain Janson still alive—just barely. Got him into bacta. All the bacta on Thyferra wouldn’t have helped the Quarren. Your Asyr and the rest, I suspect they burned up in the gas giant. Kind of fitting for Rogue pilots—blaze of glory and all.”
“True, but this presents something of a problem because I had a different glory in mind for one of them.” Fey’lya shifted in his chair and studied the talons on his left hand. “I was wondering if you had considered going back to look for more bodies.”
The eyebrow above Booster’s mechanical eye shot up. “Go back into a war zone to a system guarded by a ship better armed than this, to look for bodies that long since have been sucked into a gas giant? I’ve no reason to do that.”
“But your daughter’s husband—”
Booster’s voice dropped into a bass growl. “He’s dead and I’m helping her deal with that.”
&nb
sp; “And I want to help the Bothan people deal with their grief, too.” Fey’lya looked up. “The Bothan people hold dear the memory of the Martyrs, but the Imperial troops who killed them also destroyed their bodies. The monument on Bothawui is empty and, because of that, it is diminished somewhat. I wish to see Asyr interred there, and I am willing to cover the costs of an expedition to find her. I really think, if you went back, you would find Asyr’s body.”
Booster frowned. “Did you miss what I said? It’s not there.”
“And I think you missed what I said. I need a body as a symbol.” Fey’lya smiled. “I think a man who is as resourceful as you could find a suitable body, and you would be well rewarded for that search.”
Booster’s mouth slowly opened as he sat forward. “You think I could just find a Bothan body out there?”
“I have the utmost respect for your ability to get things done discreetly.”
“Even if it meant the death of a Bothan?”
“There are bandits and others whose lives will come to no useful end. This could redeem them.” The Bothan smiled. “I would be most generous and grateful. You would find my gratitude very useful.”
“Perhaps I would.” Booster slid from the desk and peered past Fey’lya for a second, then snatched him up by the front of his tunic and hauled him out of his chair. The Councilor struck at Booster’s arms and felt the chair go tumbling behind him. As surprised as he was, it took him a moment to remember his claws could open the man’s arms in seconds.
Booster slammed Fey’lya into a bulkhead with tooth-rattling force. All reason evaporated from Fey’lya’s brain as stars exploded before his eyes. The man hammered him into the wall again, then drove his forehead into the Bothan’s sensitive snout. Fey’lya raised his hands to protect his nose, then felt a heavy fist pound his stomach. Air whoofed from him and he wanted to vomit.
The dim closeness of the office vanished as the man carried him out to the docking bay and tossed him to the deck. Booster towered over him, his fists doubled, and Fey’lya shrank back, pulling himself along the decking for a moment. Then he remembered who he was. He stopped, but still flinched as Booster feinted with a fist.
Isard's Revenge Page 21