The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  “Lieutenant Deegan is an excellent pilot.”

  “Agreed, General, but he’s from Corellia, the same as me and Corran Horn. It strikes me that having Corellia overrepresented in Rogue Squadron is not politically wise.”

  One of Ackbar’s eyes shifted slightly. “You have someone in mind to replace him?”

  Wedge nodded. “I’d like to use Gavin Darklighter.”

  Salm shook his head adamantly. “He’s just a Tatooine farm boy who thinks the ability to shoot womp rats from a speeder can make him a hero.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but Luke Skywalker was just a Tatooine farm boy whose ability to shoot womp rats from a speeder did make him a hero.”

  The General snarled at Wedge’s riposte. “You can’t mean to suggest this Darklighter has Commander Skywalker’s control of the Force.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir, but I do know Gavin has every bit as much heart as Luke does.” Wedge turned toward the Mon Calamari. “Gavin had a cousin, Biggs, who was with Luke and me in the trench at Yavin. He stayed with Luke when I was ordered to pull out. Biggs died there. Gavin came to me and asked to join my squadron.”

  “What Commander Antilles is not telling you, Admiral, is that Gavin Darklighter is only sixteen years old. He’s a child.”

  “You couldn’t tell it by looking at him.”

  Ackbar’s barbels quivered. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but determining a human’s age by visual clues is a skill that has long since eluded me. General Salm’s point is well taken, however. This Darklighter is rather young.”

  “Is the Admiral suggesting that someone, somewhere within the Alliance, won’t take Gavin in when we need to put someone in an X-wing cockpit? I don’t think Commander Varth would balk at bringing Gavin on board.”

  “That may be true, Commander Antilles, but then Commander Varth is far more successful at keeping his pilots alive than you are.” Ackbar’s even tone kept the remark away from being a stinging rebuke, but not by much. “And, yes, I know Commander Varth has never had to face a Death Star.”

  Rogue Squadron’s leader frowned. “Sir, Gavin came to me because Biggs and I were friends. I feel an obligation to him. Even General Salm will agree that Gavin’s test scores are very good—he’ll do his Redemption scenario in three days and I expect his scores there will measure up. I want to pair Gavin with the Shistavanen, Shiel. I think they’ll work well together.” He opened his hands. “Gavin’s all alone and looking for a new home. Let me put him in Rogue Squadron.”

  Ackbar looked at Salm. “Aside from this nebulous age problem, you do not disagree with this selection?”

  Salm looked at Wedge and bowed his head. “In this case—if Darklighter does well in his Redemption trial—I see no problem with letting Commander Antilles have his way.”

  Which means my choice for XO gets opposed fully—not that I expected less. “You are most kind, General.”

  Ackbar’s mouth opened in the Mon Calamari imitation of a smile. “Spoken with General Solo’s degree of sarcasm, I believe.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Wedge smiled, then clasped his hands at the small of his back. “I would also hope the General would see his way clear to letting me choose my own Executive Officer.”

  The Admiral looked at his starfighter commander. “Who is presently in that position?”

  “Rogue Squadron’s XO is Captain Aril Nunb. She is the sister of Nien Nunb, one of the other heroes of Endor. She is every bit as skilled a pilot as her brother and worked extensively with him during his smuggling days. Sullust is providing us aid and having her in Rogue Squadron would definitely increase support from the SoroSuub government.”

  “Commander, do you quarrel with this assessment?”

  Wedge shook his head. “No, sir, not at all.”

  “Then the problem is …?”

  “She’s a wonderful pilot, Admiral, and I’d love to have her in my squadron, but not as my XO. In that position I need someone who can help train my pilots. What Aril does, what her brother does, is intuitive to them. They can’t teach it to others. As my XO she’d be frustrated, my pilots would be frustrated, and I’d have chaos to deal with.”

  “And you have another candidate in mind?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wedge looked at General Salm and braced for his reaction. “I want Tycho Celchu.”

  “Absolutely not!” The explosion Wedge had expected from Salm did not disappoint him. “Admiral Ackbar, under no circumstances will I allow Celchu to be anywhere near an active duty squadron. Just because he isn’t in prison is no reason for me to want him in my command.”

  “Prison!” Wedge’s jaw shot open. “The man hasn’t done anything that warrants confinement.”

  “He cannot be trusted.”

  “I believe he can.”

  “Come on, Antilles, you know what he’s been through.”

  “What I know, General, is this: Tycho Celchu is a hero—much more of a hero than I am. On Hoth he fought as fiercely as anyone and at Endor he piloted an A-wing that led a bunch of TIE fighters on a merry chase through the Death Star. He took them off our backs while Lando and I went in and blew the installation’s reactor. He fought at Bakura and went on subsequent missions with the squadron, then volunteered, General, volunteered to fly a captured TIE fighter on a covert mission to Coruscant. He got captured. He escaped. That’s it.”

  “That’s all you want to see, Antilles.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You say he escaped.” Salm’s face hardened into a steel mask. “It could be they let him go.”

  “Sure, just like they let him go at Endor.” Wedge grimaced, doing his best to banish the anger he felt growing in him. “General, you’re fighting ghosts.”

  Salm nodded curtly. “You’re right, I’m fighting to prevent you and your people from becoming ghosts.”

  “Well, so am I, and having Tycho with us to train my people will give them the best chance of survival possible.”

  Salm tossed his hands up in disgust and looked at Admiral Ackbar. “You see, he won’t listen to reason. He knows Captain Celchu is a threat, but he won’t let himself see it.”

  “I’ll listen to reason, sir, when I see the product of some reasoning.”

  Ackbar held up his hands. “Gentlemen, please. Commander Antilles, you must admit that General Salm’s concerns are valid. Perhaps if there were a way to alleviate some of them, an accommodation could be reached.”

  “I thought of that, sir, and I’ve spoken with Captain Celchu about it.” Wedge started ticking points off on his fingers. “Tycho has agreed to fly a Z-95 Headhunter in our training exercises, with the lasers powered down so they can only paint a target, not hurt it. He’s agreed to have a destruct device installed in the starfighter so that if he goes to ram anything or goes outside spacelanes to which he is assigned, he can be destroyed by remote. When not flying he has agreed to remain under house arrest unless accompanied by Alliance Security or members of the squadron. He’s agreed to undergo interrogation as needed, to have all his computer files and correspondence open to examination, and is even willing to have us choose what he eats, when, and where.”

  Salm marched over and placed himself between Wedge and the Mon Calamari Admiral. “This is all well and good, and might even be effective, but we can’t afford the risk.”

  Ackbar blinked his eyes slowly. “Captain Celchu has agreed to these conditions?”

  Wedge nodded. “He’s no different from you, Admiral—he’s a warrior. What he knows, what he can teach, will keep pilots alive. Of course, there’s no way General Salm will ever let him fly in combat again.”

  “That can be etched in transparisteel.”

  “So serving as an instructor is the only way he can fight back. You have to give him this chance.”

  Ackbar activated the small comlink clipped to his uniform’s collar. “Lieutenant Filla, please find Captain Celchu and bring him to me.” The Mon Calamari looked up at Wedge. “Where is he currently?”

  Wed
ge looked down at the deck. “He should be in the simulator complex.”

  “He’s where?!” Salm’s face went purple.

  “You’ll find him in the simulator complex, Lieutenant. Bring him here immediately.” Ackbar turned the comlink off. “The simulator complex?”

  “It was Horn’s turn leading the Redemption scenario. Tycho knows how to fly a TIE better than most pilots, so I decided to have him fly against Horn.”

  Ackbar’s lip fringe twitched. “You’ve taken certain liberties concerning Captain Celchu already, it seems, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir, but nothing that isn’t necessary to make my pilots the best. I’m being prudent in this, I think.”

  “The most prudent course, Commander—if you cared to protect the rest of the trainees here, not just your own—would have been to keep Captain Celchu out of the simulator facility entirely!” Salm crossed his arms over his chest. “You may be a hero of the New Republic, but that doesn’t give you any authorization to jeopardize our security.”

  Perhaps having Tycho fly today was a bit premature. Wedge glanced down penitently. “I stand corrected, sir.”

  Ackbar broke the uneasy silence following Wedge’s admission. “What is done is done. Now using Captain Celchu in the scenario would have made it that much more difficult, would it not?”

  A smile creeping back on his face, Wedge nodded. “Yes, sir—which is what I wanted. Horn is good, very good, and the trio of pilots flying on his side in the exercise are not bad, either. Overall, Horn or Bror Jace, the Thyferran, are the best pilots in the whole group. Jace is arrogant, which gets under Horn’s skin and keeps him working hard. Horn, on the other hand, is impatient. That’ll get him killed and the only way to make that apparent to him is by having someone shoot him up in exercises. Tycho can do that.”

  The door to Ackbar’s office opened and a female Rebel officer led a pilot in a black flight suit into the room. “Admiral, this is Captain Celchu.”

  Tycho snapped to attention. “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “At ease, Mr. Celchu.”

  Wedge gave the slightly taller man a reassuring smile.

  The Admiral eased himself out of his chair. “You may leave us, Lieutenant.” The Mon Calamari waited for the door to close behind his aide, then he nodded toward Wedge. “Captain Celchu, Commander Antilles has told me that you have agreed to a remarkable number of restrictions on yourself and your activities. Is this true?”

  Tycho nodded. “Yes, sir, it is.”

  “You realize you will be flying a defenseless bomb, you will have no privacy and no freedom.”

  “I do, sir.”

  The Mon Calamari closed his mouth for a moment and stared silently at the blue-eyed pilot. “You will be treated no better than I was when I served as a slave to Grand Moff Tarkin. You will be treated worse, in fact, because General Salm here believes you are a threat to the New Republic. Why do you agree to such treatment?”

  Tycho shrugged. “It’s my duty, sir. I chose to join the Rebellion. I willingly froze on Hoth. I followed orders and assaulted a Death Star. I volunteered for the mission that got me in all this trouble. I did all those things because that’s what I agreed to do when I joined the Rebels.” He glanced down. “Besides, even the worst you can do to me will still be better than Imperial captivity.”

  Sweat gleaming from his bald head, Salm pointed at Tycho. “This is all noble, Admiral, but would we expect anything less from someone in his position?”

  “No, General, nor would we expect anything less of a noble son of Alderaan.” The Mon Calamari picked up a datapad from his desk. “I am signing orders to make Captain Celchu the Executive Officer for Rogue Squadron, and to put this Gavin Darklighter in the squadron as well.”

  Wedge saw Salm’s expression sour, so he suppressed his own smile. Even so he winked at Tycho. Two flights, two kills.

  Ackbar glanced at the datapad’s screen, then looked up again. “Commander Antilles, I expect to be informed about any irregularities or problems with your unit or personnel. An M-3PO military protocol droid has been assigned to your office to help you make out reports. Use it.”

  The Corellian rolled his eyes. “As you wish, sir, but I think that droid could be more useful elsewhere.”

  “I’m sure you do, Commander, but those decisions are made by those of us who haven’t refused promotions time and time again.”

  Wedge held his hands up. “Yes, sir.” I surrender, but you don’t fool me, Admiral. You like mixing it up in battle the same as I do, but you work with the big ships while I like the fast ones.

  “Good, I am glad we understand each other.” Ackbar nodded toward the door. “You’re dismissed, the both of you. I imagine you have things to celebrate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One last thing.”

  Wedge looked up and Tycho turned around to face the Admiral. “Sir?” they asked in tandem.

  “What did you think about the pilots in the Redemption scenario?”

  Wedge looked over at his XO. “Did you get Horn?”

  Tycho blushed. “Oh, I got Horn, but just not as much of him as I would have liked.” Smiling proudly, he added, “Admiral, if the pilots I flew against are representative of the rest of the people we have to work with, Rogue Squadron should be operational within a couple of months, and the scourge of the Empire not very much longer after that.”

  3

  Kirtan Loor struggled to keep a self-satisfied smirk from ruining the stern expression he had worked hard to cultivate. He wanted to appear implacable. He needed to be merciless.

  He feared he would fail on both counts, but laid the blame on his eagerness to confront an old nemesis finally brought to heel. What had been a blot on his record would soon be expunged. More importantly, people who had ridiculed him would learn they had grossly underestimated him. And in doing so they had doomed themselves.

  Kirtan held his head erect as he marched down the companion way on the Expeditious. The Carrack-class light cruiser had not been built to accommodate people of his height, so he felt some of his black hair brush against the ceiling. A more cautious man would have slumped his shoulders slightly and lessened the chance of bashing his head on a light fixture or bulkhead support. Kirtan, having once been told that he looked every inch a taller, younger Grand Moff Tarkin—from thinning widow’s peak and lanky frame to sharp features in a cadaverously slender face—did his best to emphasize the resemblance.

  Even though Tarkin was nearly seven years dead, the resemblance still earned him some respect. On an Imperial naval vessel, respect for an Intelligence officer such as himself was in short supply, so he took what he could get. The military arm of the Empire clearly resented having the government being run by the Emperor’s former Intelligence chief, and they took their displeasure out on the least of her servants.

  Kirtan ducked his head and entered the antechamber of the Expeditious’s brig. “I am here to interview the prisoner you took off the Starwind.”

  The Lieutenant in charge glanced at his datapad. “He just got back from medical.”

  “I know, I’ve seen the report.” Kirtan glanced at the hatchway leading to the detention cells. “He has been told nothing about the results?”

  The soldier’s face darkened. “I’ve been told nothing about the results. If he has a disease, I want him out before he infects the …”

  The Intelligence operative held a hand up. “Calm yourself, you’ll bounce your rank cylinder out of your pocket in a moment.”

  The Lieutenant raised a hand to check his rank badges and when he found them in place he blushed. “Play your little games with Rebel scum, not me. I have serious work to do.”

  “Of course you do, Lieutenant.” Kirtan flashed a smile that was more predator than comrade, then turned toward the detention cells. “Which one?”

  “Holding cell Three. Wait here while I get you an escort.”

  “I won’t need one.”

  “You may not think so, but he’s
listed as rating a four on the Hostility Index. That rating requires two officers to accompany an interrogator.”

  Kirtan shook his head slowly. “I know, I gave him that rating. I can handle him.”

  “Remember that when you’re in a bacta bath washing away his fingerprints.”

  “That I shall, Lieutenant.” Kirtan grasped his hands at the small of his back and started off through the hexagonal companionway. His black boots made a solid clanking sound on the metal grating and he measured his steps carefully to keep the sound rhythmic and daunting.

  The hatch to cell Three opened with a hiss of pressurized gas. Yellow light spilled out into the corridor and Kirtan folded himself halfway to double to fit through the opening. He paused inside the cell and stood tall. He narrowed his eyes, then immediately thought better of it. He always said it looked as if I were wincing in pain.

  The older, heavyset man swung his legs around off the cot and levered himself up into a sitting position. “Kirtan Loor, I thought it would be you.”

  “Did you?” Kirtan injected sarcasm into his voice to cover his own surprise. “How could that be?”

  The old man shrugged his shoulders. “Actually, I rather counted on it.”

  What? The Intelligence officer snorted. “You mean you thought no one but me would be able to puzzle out your whereabouts.”

  “No, I mean that I thought even you could figure out how to find me.”

  Kirtan rocked back slightly from the venom in the prisoner’s voice, bumping the back of his head on the top of the hatchway. This is not the way this is supposed to be going. Narrowing his eyes, he stared down at the old man. “You, Gil Bastra, are going to die.”