The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  The woman frowned. “This still does not explain why you do not use pronouns to refer to yourself.”

  “Qrygg apologizes. On Gand only those who have achieved great things are permitted to use pronouns for self-designation. The use of such carries with it the presumption that all who hear the speech will know who the speaker is, and this assumption is only true in the case where the speaker is so great, the speaker’s name is known to all.”

  Corran found the system curious, but somehow satisfying. It always does seem that those who use I the most are the ones who have the least in the way of accomplishments to justify it. The Gands have formalized a system we should have come up with long ago. “So Ooryl is the equivalent of Corran, and Qyrgg is the same as Horn for me?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then why do you sometimes refer to yourself by your family name, and sometimes by your own name?”

  The Gand looked down for a moment and his mouth parts closed. “When a Gand has given offense, or is ashamed of actions, this diminishes the gains made in life. Name reduction is an act of contrition, an apology. Ooryl would like to think Ooryl will not often be called Qyrgg, but Qyrgg knows the likelihood of this is slender.”

  Whistler tootled jauntily at Corran.

  “People would know my first name was Corran even if we did use this system.” He rolled his eyes. “And any droid who wanted to keep his name would have run his little diagnostic program and told me if the extractor was adjusted correctly or not by now.”

  Lujayne glanced over at him. “Trouble with the engine?”

  “Nothing major.” Corran pointed down into the hole. “I had to replace an extractor a while back and keeping it trimmed up over the first fifty parsecs is important.”

  Lujayne nodded. “Until it seats itself properly. Looks like you’re working on the housing when you really ought to be just putting a spacer on the axle.”

  “You know about fixing these things?”

  She shrugged. “Landspeeder repair was one of the trade skills my father used to teach. The T-47 uses virtually identical debris extraction systems for the engine. What you’re doing will work, but you’ll keep making adjustments for another six months. I can measure up a spacer and have it ground down to size for you in a half an hour or so.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, if you want the help.”

  Corran frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You’d owe me a favor and you’d have to trust me.”

  Trusting someone he did not know did feel odd to him, but not so much so that he could not do it. “I see your point. I think, though, I can trust you.”

  “We have a deal then.”

  Ooryl looked up at Lujayne. “You will need a spacer and laser calipers? Ooryl will obtain them, if you wish.”

  “Please.”

  Corran leaned back on the S-foil. “I appreciate this help.”

  She smiled slyly. “I hope you think that after you hear what my favor is.”

  “Name it.”

  “After we fix up your X-wing, you come with me to DownTime and get to know some of the others who are likely to make it into the squadron. We’ve all got the thing pretty well figured out—Gavin’s a wild card, but Bror Jace thinks he will probably knock him from the running. A few of us are at the lower edge of what we assume will be acceptable scores, but we hope to make it. Anyway, we congregate down there, swap stories, and get to know each other. Since you’ll undoubtedly be in, you should join us.”

  Corran nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that, but that’s not the favor I owe you.”

  “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “Definitely.” Corran smiled at her. “I owe you for more than just helping with the engine. Asking me to become friends with folks I should already be getting to know isn’t a favor I’d be doing you, but one I’ll be doing myself. One thing though, I’m not going to have to get along with Bror Jace, am I?”

  “Why should you be the first?”

  “Good.” As Ooryl returned with the part and the tool, Corran winked at Lujayne. “Well, let’s get this engine working, then we can see if there’s a way to fix up my relations with the rest of Rogue Squadron.”

  5

  Corran Horn tried to kill his smile as he entered the white briefing amphitheater, then he saw all the other pilots who could smile were absolutely beaming. Not a one of the nervous expressions we were all wearing the other night in DownTime. The first message in the queue on his datapad had informed him that after breakfast he was to report for Rogue Squadron’s first briefing. The message itself had been neutral and routine in wording—even though it was the first official notification that he’d made it into the squadron.

  He’d had a pretty good idea that he’d make it, but despite assurances from the other candidates, he’d never allowed himself to assume he would make it. In the past he’d been burned by making unwarranted assumptions. Granted those assumptions had eventually led him to join the Rebellion, which was not a wholly bad thing, but it took him well away from where he had imagined he’d be at this time in his life.

  Even though he’d not allowed himself the luxury of believing he’d make the cut before he actually made it, he was proud of his being selected for the squadron. Corran had never been one to hold back. He’d gone into the Corellian Security Force Academy straight out of secondary school and continued the Horn family tradition by establishing new records in the training there. One of the last marks he surpassed had been set by his father, Hal, twenty years earlier, and Hal had beaten the record set by Hal’s own father.

  And now I’m a Rebel, an outlaw. What would my father and grandfather have thought? A cold sensation raised goose bumps on his skin. Whatever, they would have thought much worse things if I’d become an Imp.

  Rhysati Ynr waved Corran over to the bench where she sat. “We made it, we actually made it.”

  “It was nice of Commander Antilles to agree with our group consensus.” He mounted the steps up to Rhysati’s row and slid in next to her. “It hasn’t sunk in yet in some ways.”

  The Gand, sitting behind them, leaned forward. “Ooryl learned your Redemption run had the highest score of our training cycle.”

  Corran flashed the Gand a big smile—he’d found exaggerating his expression did indeed help Ooryl catch its import. “Who came in second? Bror Jace, I bet.”

  The Gand shook his head. “Gavin Darklighter beat the Thyferran.”

  “The kid beat Jace?” Corran glanced over at where the tall, brown-haired pilot from Tatooine sat talking with the black-furred Shistavanen wolfman, Shiel. Corran, with years of experience in the spaceports and stations on Corellia, had spotted Gavin as being young despite his size. It’s in the eyes—the years just aren’t there but apparently the piloting skill is!

  The Twi’lek sat down next to Ooryl, looping one of his brain tails back over his left shoulder. “Jace isn’t any happier about it than he was about losing to you. He volunteered to fly in an eyeball in Gavin’s exercise and got hit with a missile at range. He never had a chance.”

  Corran nodded his head and looked up toward the front of the room where Bror Jace stood. Tall, slender, and handsome, the blond-haired, blue-eyed pilot had proven himself to be very good during the selection exercises. The Corellian thought he might even have liked Jace, but the man’s ego was as big as an Imperial Star Destroyer and likely to be just as deadly. The ego-cases Corran had known in CorSec had always burned bright but burned out early. At some point they got themselves into a situation they could have just as easily avoided had they been thinking clearly.

  Corran smiled in Jace’s direction and caught a return nod from the black-haired woman to whom Jace was speaking. “Ooryl, how did Erisi Dlarit do in the exercise?”

  “Middle of the hunt, after Nawara Ven and ahead of Ooryl. Lujayne Forge came in at the back of the group, with the others in between. The scores were still very good, but competition is stiff here.”

  Wedge Antilles en
tered the room and marched down front to where the holographic briefing display grew from the floor like a mechanical mushroom. Joining him at the front of the room Corran saw the mystery pilot from the day before and a black 3PO droid with a nonstandard head. It looked more like the clamshell design seen on flight controller droids, where the concave upper disk overlapped the lower one, but left a facial hole. The unusual construction made sense, both given the lack of spare parts for droids and the fact that this droid was assigned to a fighter squadron. The little bit of a sagittal crest on its head made it look somewhat martial.

  “People, if you would be seated. I’m Wedge Antilles, the commander of Rogue Squadron.” The green-eyed man smiled openly. “I’d like to welcome you here and congratulate you on being chosen for Rogue Squadron. I want to go over with you the basic criteria we used in making our selections and let you know what will be expected of you as your training continues and missions are assigned to us.”

  Wedge looked out at his audience and Corran felt a bit of a shock run through him as their eyes met. His eyes have seen the years—have seen more than they should have. Corran knew of Wedge’s background because Hal Horn had been one of the investigators trailing the pirates who killed Wedge’s family at Gus Treta. Hal had kept his eye on Wedge and had pronounced him a lost cause when he started smuggling weapons for the Rebellion.

  Wedge exhaled slowly. “You all know the history of this squadron. Even before we were formally created, we were given the job of killing the first Death Star. We did it, and lost a lot of fine pilots in the process. All of them were and are heroes of the Rebellion—they’ll be as famous as some of the old Jedi Knights in the years to come. Rogue Squadron saw a lot of action guarding convoys and raiding Imperial shipping after that. We covered the evacuation from Hoth, fought at Gall, and a year later, at Endor, we killed another Death Star. From there we went to Bakura and fought the Ssi-ruuk.

  “After seven years of nonstop fighting, the leadership of the New Republic decided to rebuild and revitalize this unit. This was a wise choice because all of us—those who had survived—had seen a lot of new pilots come into Rogue Squadron and get killed in Rogue Squadron.” Wedge looked over at the mystery pilot. “All of the veterans wanted to see Rogue Squadron continue, but also wanted to see the pilots in it get the training they needed to survive.”

  The TIE pilot nodded in agreement with Wedge’s statement. Wedge looked back at the new pilots. “About a year ago Admiral Ackbar, at the behest of the Provisional Council, presented me with the plans for re-forming Rogue Squadron. Rogue Squadron had become a symbol for the Alliance. It needed to live up to its legend and become once again an elite group of pilots who could be called upon to do the sort of impossible jobs Rogue Squadron has always managed to complete. As you know, we have interviewed and tested a lot of pilots—nearly a hundred for each of the dozen positions you now fill.

  “The reason I mention all this to you is so that you’ll be aware of something that might not have sunk in during your selection process. You are elite pilots and you are more than just that, but no matter who you are, or how good you are, you’ll never be considered as good as Biggs Darklighter or Jek Porkins or anyone else who has died in service to Rogue Squadron. They are legends, this unit is a legend, and none of us are ever going to be able to be more than they are.”

  Except for someone like you, Commander, who already is more. A grin blossomed on Corran’s face. And I can dream, can’t I?

  Wedge opened his hands. “Truth be told, most of you are already better pilots than a lot of the men and women who have died in this unit. You are an eclectic bunch—two of you had death marks against you before you joined the Alliance and the rest of you will earn them as soon as the Empire learns who has been assigned to this unit. You were chosen for your flying skill and for other skills you possess because Admiral Ackbar wants this unit to be more than just a fighter squadron. He wants us to be able to operate independently if necessary and perform operations that would normally require a much larger group of individuals.”

  Rhysati leaned over to Corran. “Baron-Administrator Calrissian had his own group of Commando-pilots back home. The idea’s got merit, even if they couldn’t stop Darth Vader from causing trouble.”

  Corran nodded. “CorSec had its own Tactical Response Team. Wanting to make Rogue Squadron into something similar explains why some of us made it when others didn’t.” Corran still wondered what special skills Gavin was going to bring to the group, but he was willing to wait for an answer instead of assuming there wasn’t one.

  The Commander continued his briefing. “Over the next month you’ll get the most intensive training you’ve ever had. Captain Celchu will be in charge of it. For those of you who do not know him, Captain Celchu graduated from the Imperial Naval Academy and served as a TIE pilot. He left Imperial service after his homeworld of Alderaan was destroyed. He joined the squadron shortly thereafter and participated in everything from the evacuation of Hoth to the Death Star run at Endor and more. He is a superior pilot, as some of you have already learned, and what he will teach you will keep you safe from the best pilots the Empire can throw at us.”

  Wedge nodded toward the droid. “Emtrey is our military protocol droid. He will deal with all requisitions, duty assignments, and other administrative duties. You will be moving to a separate complex here to continue your training—Emtrey has your room assignments and initial craft assignments and will give them to you at the end of this meeting.

  “So you’re all now part of Rogue Squadron. What you can expect of the future is this: endless amounts of boredom and routine punctuated by moments of sheer terror. As good as you are, statistical studies of fighter pilots indicate most of you will die in your first five missions. While survivability goes up after that, the odds are still not good that you will live to see the complete destruction of the Empire. The reason for that is that you will be there to see bits and pieces of it being lopped off. Rogue Squadron will be given tough assignments and will be expected to complete them, specifically because we are the best there is.”

  Wedge rested his hands on his hips. “That’s it for now, unless you have any questions.”

  Jace stood. “Will our training consist of more simulator work, or will we be given actual X-wings to fly?”

  “That’s a fair question. Emtrey has informed me that our squadron has been assigned a dozen X-wings. We have possession of ten at this time, with two more expected inside the week. When those ships arrive we’ll start training in them. Until then, and as a supplement to flight training, we will use a lot more simulator exercises.”

  The Commander smiled. “And, yes, we could have been assigned A-wing or B-wing craft, but we’re using X-wings. You may debate the merits of the various ships among yourselves, but Rogue Squadron has always been primarily an X-wing squadron, and shall remain so. Any other questions? No? Then you’re dismissed until 0800 hours tomorrow at which time we’ll meet again and begin molding you into a true fighting unit.”

  Corran stood, intending to head down to thank the Commander for picking him for the squadron, but Jace approached Wedge first, and Corran refused to do anything that gave the impression he was following Jace. Later, I can thank him later.

  Nawara Ven stroked his chin with his left hand. “So, two of us are already under death marks. I wonder who?”

  Rhysati poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “You mean you aren’t, Nawara? You were a lawyer, after all.”

  “Yes, and there are doubtlessly some of my clients still on Kessel who would love to kill me, but I’m not aware of having a death mark.” His red eyes narrowed. “The Shistavanen is a rough customer. I could see him as being wanted by the Empire.”

  The blond woman frowned. “I’d taken his being one of them for granted. What about Andoorni Hui? She’s a Rodian and most of them tend to work with the Empire. Did she do something to anger her old employers?”

  Ooryl blinked his big compound eyes. “Not her. Rodian
s are hunters who live and die by their reputations. Andoorni is a huntress who decided that joining the most celebrated hunting band in the galaxy—Rogue Squadron—is a way of furthering her reputation. Ooryl does not think she did anything to bring the wrath of her past patrons down on her head.”

  Rhysati looked over at Corran. “What do you think?”

  “Me? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever ran into her when I was in CorSec, but I have trouble telling one Rodian from another and I can’t speak their language. I do know she wasn’t on any apprehension lists I ever saw, so she didn’t have a death mark before I left the service.” He shrugged. “Shiel probably does have a death mark on him, on the other hand. A lot of the wolfmen were put out of the scouting business because of the Emperor’s restrictions on exploration. Some of them turned around and sold their services to the Rebellion and found havens like Dantooine and Yavin. I don’t think the Empire appreciates that sort of activity.”

  “More correctly, Mr. Horn, Riv Shiel earned his death mark when he slew a stormtrooper team that tried to apprehend him, thinking he was Lak Sivrak.” The black protocol droid carefully ascended the stairs. “Forgive me for interrupting, and please allow me to introduce myself. I am Emtrey, human-cyborg relations and regulations with a military specialty. I am fluent in over six million languages and familiar with an equivalent number of current and historical military doctrines, regulations, honor codes, and protocols.”

  The ends of the Twi’lek’s brain tails twitched. “As well as being familiar with the personnel files of everyone in the squadron?”

  “Why, yes.” Golden lights glowed deep in the dark hollow of the droid’s face. “My primary function requires me to carry such data around with me. Without it …”

  Nawara held a hand up. “So you could tell us who the other individual is with a death mark on him or her.”

  “I could.” Emtrey’s head canted at an angle. “Shiel has made no attempt to conceal his death mark, but the other person has said nothing about it. Would revealing his identity be wise, Mr. Horn?”