by James Luceno
“As ordered.”
Corran pulled back on his stick and climbed sharply to get at the first target. He shot it before its laser could depress enough to shoot back at him. Rolling his ship to the left, he moved back to the center of the canyon, then finished the roll with an inside loop that brought him down to target the second diamond. It hit him once before he took it out, but the shot from the target did not penetrate his shields.
Climbing back up, Corran stood the fighter on its right S-foil and arced around a corner in the trench. Coming up to let his sensors read the valley beyond a steep rise, he took laser fire from two bunkers nearly a kilometer distant. He pushed the stick forward and brought the X-wing down to the deck, then worked his way back up to the rise. “I’ve got the one on the port side, you take starboard.”
A brief, high-pitched whistle came through the comm to signal Ooryl’s understanding of the order.
The X-wing streaked over the ridgeline and immediately started taking fire from the target on the left. Corran dipped below it, intending to repeat his steep-climb run from before when Whistler started wailing. A threat light burned in the aft position. “Full shields aft, Whistler!”
Laser bolts shot past the X-wing as Corran jinked to the left. He punched the right rudder pedal, vectoring thrust to kick the tail of his fighter into a bit of a skid to port. Doing that took him out of line with both guns, while allowing him to keep his nose on his intended target. He triggered four bursts of fire, hitting with the second and third.
He rolled the fighter to present its belly to the mountain wall that had housed the gun he’d silenced, then he cut in his repulsorlift generators. They created a field that bounced him off the wall and pushed him back toward the center of the canyon. Rolling back down to starboard, he killed the repulsorlift generators and dove to pick up a little speed. In doing so he came out beneath Ooryl and still had laser bolts popping past him.
Whistler shifted views of the canyon for a moment and showed Corran what had been happening in that section. An emplacement had been located on the reverse slope of the rise. Had Corran not ducked his ship back down when he took fire the first time, his sensors might have picked up its location.
I would have come up, looped, hit it, then rolled out and picked up the right side target. Ooryl could have nailed the left target and we’d have been set. “Forward view again, Whistler.” Seeing the array of targets upcoming, Corran trimmed his speed back to allow him more time on target. “It’s going to get busy.”
Whistler hooted something about understatement.
Targets came fast and seemed to get more accurate the deeper he ran into the trench. Corran tapped his lucky charm once, then forced himself to concentrate. He analyzed target locations and plotted angles of attack. Rolling his fighter, diving and climbing, he wove his way through the gunnery course. He didn’t get every target he shot at, but fewer of them hit him.
Two thirds of the way through the course Corran and Ooryl approached another ridge like the one that had hidden a gun position on its back slope. “Drop back, Ten. Let me draw fire from any back slope guns, then you can roll in and nail them.”
A squeal answered him. Corran sailed up over the rim prematurely and snapped a shot off at the guns to the left. Rolling wide to the right, he sideslipped out of fire from below. “Midslope down, Ten.” Without waiting for confirmation Corran corkscrewed his X-wing around and lased the starboard target. The port target still fired at him, but he dove below its line of bolts and cruised farther into the canyon.
“Ooryl got it, Nine.”
“Congrats, Ten.”
Coming around the last sweeping turn Corran saw a narrowing of the canyon down toward the deeper part of it. Above that crevasse four laser targets had a perfect field of fire for blowing any X-wing out of the sky, but they couldn’t shoot down into the split in the rocks. “Whistler, give me the width of the crevasse.”
The droid mournfully reported it was 15 meters on average, 12.3 meters wide at the most narrow point.
“Good. The walls will cover me.” Behind him, anticipating him, Ooryl had already rolled his X-wing up on its starboard S-foil. Corran smiled and dipped toward the crevasse while keeping his wings parallel to the ground.
“Nine, you need to roll.”
“Negative, Ten. It’s wide enough—a meter to spare on each side.”
“If you go dead down the middle.”
“If I don’t I’ll be dead.” Taking a deep breath, Corran focused on an imaginary point about ten meters off the nose of his fighter. He kept his hand gentle on the stick and steered for that point. He kept it in the middle of the crevasse, floating left and right as sections of the wall jutted out from one side or the other.
The choke point closed with him. Easy, easy. He drifted to port for a half meter and suddenly the tight spot was behind him without his having left any paint on either side of it. The walls streaked by, black and grey blurred together. Corran found himself steering the ship almost effortlessly. He knew he could have handled the run at full throttle and not had a problem.
It almost feels as if I have kilometers off each S-foil, not a meter or two. The bright line marking the end of the crevasse yawned open before him. And now I’ve got targets.
Swooping up and out of the rock slit, Corran’s X-wing spat fire. He started with the lowest target, hit it squarely with the first shot, then tracked his fire up and to the starboard with a roll and climb. He blasted the second target, then continued his roll until he was inverted. Firing two controlled bursts got him the third gunnery station and Ooryl, threading Corran’s loop, tagged the last one.
Corran came down, around, and shot past Ooryl as they headed out of the range. Hauling back on the stick, he stood his X-wing on its tail and rocketed away from Folor. Rolling out into a long loop, he traded distance for time and pulled up on Ooryl’s wing as they both headed in toward where the rest of the squadron orbited.
Commander Antilles’s voice filled Corran’s helmet. “Very impressive flying, Mr. Horn. Your score is 3250 out of a possible 5000. Quite good.”
Corran smiled broadly. “Hear that, Whistler? Rogue Leader was impressed.” He activated his comm unit. “Thank you, sir.”
“You can head back to base now, Mr. Horn. Your participation in this exercise is at an end. Consider yourself at liberty for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, sir. Rogue Nine heading home.”
Yeah, I was at liberty—liberty to be humiliated. Muscles bunched at the corners of Corran’s jaw as he ground his teeth. He’d waited in the hangar for the others to come back to base, hoping to hear his mark had stood through the rest of the exercise. He knew he was looking for congratulations on his great flying, but not in the egotistical way Bror Jace would have been. He didn’t want to lord it over the others, but he did want to know they thought he was good.
The others had come back in pairs and, for the most part, had tried to avoid him. Lujayne Forge and Andoorni Hui had been the first to return. As he saw their ships come in his smile became broad. He knew he had blown past any score they could set. They’re good pilots, but I was really flying out there. They couldn’t touch me today.
Andoorni had remained silent, possibly brooding—but who could tell with Rodians? Lujayne had been almost apologetic. “I got 3300, Corran. Andoorni hit 3750.”
“What?”
Lujayne hesitated, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her left ear. “It was just our day to fly well. You inspired us, really.”
“Inspiring, Horn.” The Rodian’s ears rotated toward him, then back again as Andoorni wandered away.
Lujayne gave him a sympathetic smile. “Want to head to DownTime and get something to eat?” The tone of her voice suggested strongly that he wanted to take her up on her offer to spare himself from what was headed in his direction.
Despite the unspoken warning, he’d shaken his head. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you at the tapcafe later.”
Corran continued to w
ait for the rest of the squadron to return. Peshk Vri’syk and Ooryl came back together. The ruddy-furred Bothan took great delight in reporting a score of 4200. The Gand had been very quiet and when he finally spoke he said, “Qrygg scored 4050.”
That answer told Corran something very strange was going on. In reverting to calling himself by his family name Ooryl had shown himself to be ashamed of his score, but Corran knew he should have been ecstatic about it instead. The fact that Ooryl clearly didn’t want to speak with Corran, and only relented after Corran insisted, meant that whatever Ooryl was ashamed of had to do with Corran.
The others in the squadron didn’t say much of anything except to report their scores. Each pilot had scored better than Corran and most had done so by over 1000 points. That didn’t seem possible to Corran. He knew he had flown that course as best as he could. On subsequent runs I might score up in that range, but not first time out. That’s not possible. Unless …
Corran jogged over to where Whistler had plugged himself into a recharging outlet. “Whistler, at the start of our run, you set up a communications link with someone. Who?”
The droid’s holographic projector began to glow. A miniature image of Wedge Antilles floated between them.
“You sent him my sensor data, right?”
Sharp scolding whistles followed an affirmative tone.
“I know I didn’t prohibit it.”
A curt squawk made Corran wince. “Yes, Whistler, I did approve your action. Never again give out that sort of data without my permission, got it?”
The little droid piped demurely, then shifted to the singsong tone he had used to warn Corran when Loor had entered the CorSec office. The pilot turned and saw the Headhunter Trainer come through the magcon bubble, followed closely by Rogue Leader. Purposely ignoring Whistler’s bleats, Corran watched the ship land.
“Time to get some questions answered.”
Corran felt a tug at his flight suit leg as Whistler’s pincer attachment closed on the cloth. He pulled away, tearing the material. “You betrayed me once here, Whistler, don’t compound the problem.”
The droid’s mournful tones played out in time with a funeral march as Corran closed with Wedge’s X-wing. He ducked beneath the nose and snapped to attention as Wedge descended the ladder. His throat thick with anger, Corran saluted and held his quivering hand in place until Wedge returned the salute.
“Do you want to speak to me about something, Mr. Horn?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wedge tugged his gloves off. “Well?”
“Permission to speak frankly, sir?”
“Knock yourself out, Mr. Horn.”
Corran’s hands convulsed into fists. “You gave everyone else my targeting data. I flew my heart out and flew that course as good as anyone possibly could on his first time through. You turned that data over to the others, so they were making a run based on the things I had done. You gave them my score as a base and they built on it.”
Wedge’s brown-eyed gaze did not waver as he met Corran’s stare. “And?”
“And? It’s not fair, sir. I’m one of the best pilots in this squadron, but it looks like I’m the worst. The others appear better but they’re not. I’ve been robbed.”
“I see. Are you finished?”
“No.”
“Well, you should be, or you can be. Do you understand me?”
The icy tone in Wedge’s voice filled Corran’s guts with frozen needles. “Yes, sir.”
Wedge nodded past him toward the exterior of the base. “You need to examine why you’re here, Mr. Horn. You’re part of a team and have to act like it. If I need you to shoot a trench like that and feed your data back to a Y-wing squadron coming through, I’ll have you do it. How good you are means nothing if the rest of the people in the squadron get killed. You might be the best pilot in the squadron, but the squadron is only as good as the worst pilot in it.
“Today the others learned to use data from a reconnaissance flight to help them through deadly territory. You learned that you’re not more important than anyone else in this squadron just because you’re a gifted pilot. I’m pleased with those lessons having been learned by my people. If you’re not, I’m certain there are other squadrons who would love to have Rogue’s washouts.”
Corran’s cheeks burned and his stomach turned itself inside out. He’s right—he saw the same thing Lujayne did and found a way to point out how serious a problem it can be. I’ve been an idiot. He swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, what, Mr. Horn?”
“I’m happy learning what I learned, sir. I want to stay with the squadron.”
Wedge nodded slowly. “Good, I don’t want to lose you. You’ve got the makings of a superior pilot, but you aren’t there yet. You have the skills you need, but there is more to being part of this squadron than flying well. The training you get will be a bit different from the others, but your need to learn is just as great. Do you understand?”
Corran nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Wedge handed his helmet and gloves to an astrotech. “And just so you know, you’re right to be angry. Remember this, though, giving in to that kind of anger in battle will get you killed. I don’t think you want that any more than I do.” The leader of the squadron tossed him a sharp salute. “You’re dismissed, Mr. Horn.”
Corran returned the salute, spun on his heel, and marched stiffly away, deeper into the hangar. He threaded his way through the fighters, stepping over power cables and around tool carts. He purposely steered himself away from where Whistler was recharging—the little R2 unit had perfected an “I told you so” whistle that Corran realized he’d heard far too often since his father’s death.
“Mr. Horn.”
Corran stopped and blinked away the gathering clouds of dark memories. His hand rose in a salute. “Captain Celchu.”
The blue-eyed man returned the salute, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Still walking and talking?”
“Sir?”
“Either Commander Antilles is losing his touch in dressing down recruits or”—Tycho smiled lopsidedly—“you’re made of sterner stuff than I might have otherwise imagined.”
9
Corran’s green eyes narrowed. “I don’t think the Commander cut me any slack, sir.”
Tycho held a hand up. “Forgive me, Mr. Horn, that did not come out the way I wanted. From your CorSec record and the way you tend to excel in scenarios where you act alone, you have struck me as a loner. Loners don’t tend to like it when they’re made to be a team player.”
But that’s not how I am. Is it? Corran frowned. “I can work with others, but I know I can only rely on myself when things fall apart. I can’t help that attitude because it kept me alive in tough times.”
Tycho pointed toward the passage deeper into Folor base and Corran fell into step with him. “The problem with that attitude, Corran, is that it keeps others away. It makes it more difficult for them to help you when you need it. It keeps them uncertain that you will help them when the time comes that they need you.”
“Hey, I’ll never leave a buddy in trouble.”
“I don’t doubt that, but you define buddies on your terms. Others may not see themselves as your friends.” The taller man pressed his lips together in a grim line. “It’s clear that being here is not easy for you.”
That’s an unwarranted assumption. I’ve adjusted as well as anyone. Corran glanced to the right at Tycho. “Why do you think that, sir?”
“You were with the Corellian Security Force and spent a good deal of your time hunting down people who are now your allies. That transition isn’t something you can make overnight.”
“It couldn’t have been any easier for you, sir. You were an Imperial pilot.”
Tycho did not reply immediately and Corran sensed a window of vulnerability that had opened, then slammed shut almost immediately. He knew it with the certainty he’d known when he’d hit on lies suspects told him during interrogat
ion. He wanted to pounce and push, but the hint of pain he saw flash through Tycho’s eyes stopped him.
“Let’s just say, Corran, that my situation was quite different from yours.” Tycho’s face slackened into an emotionless mask. “Different time, different circumstances.”
Corran heard pure honesty in Tycho’s words and decided against pushing. That honesty cleared his mind and punched through walls he didn’t realize he’d erected. “You may be right, sir. Looking around here I see the sort of smuggler’s hideaway my father and I ached to bust wide open. Just looking at this place I know it had to have been used by smugglers before the Alliance turned it into a base. If I’d known then what I know now …”
“You would have been even more convinced that the Rebellion was wrong.”
“Yeah, I guess I would have.” Corran slapped his own belly with his right hand. “I remember being in the CorSec Academy when the Imperial warrants for Han Solo and Chewbacca were issued. They were charged with the murder of Grand Moff Tarkin—no word about the Death Star, of course. I remember thinking that if I were already in CorSec I’d have gotten Solo. I thought he was a blot on Corellia’s honor.”
The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Tycho’s mouth. “And you still do.”
Corran winced. “He smuggled spice for a Hutt. I understand that he made some choices that made his life fall apart. I can sympathize with his freeing Wookiee slaves—no one on Corellia liked the idea of slaves—but he sank pretty low after that.”
Tycho nodded. “When your life disintegrated, you didn’t sink that far, so he shouldn’t have?”
“Something like that.” Corran stopped just before they entered the corridor out of the hangar. “Is that your assessment of my opinion, or your assessment of Solo in relationship to your leaving Imperial service as he did?”
Tycho’s smile broadened. “Interesting insight. I think there was a time that Solo, who had bound his conception of honor to his service to the Empire, forgot that honor could exist outside Imperial service. This seems to be a misconception that has been corrected.”