The Essential Novels

by James Luceno

  “No, just let him off with a warning, I guess.” The fighter pilot smiled. “Do you want some of the ryshcate? You made it, so you should have some of it.”

  She hesitated, then nodded her head. “A small piece, but only if we can think of a reason to celebrate.”

  “How about being alive?”

  “Good enough for me.”

  Corran punctured the plastic wrap with his thumb and broke a corner off the moist, flat cake. He split it in two and handed her the larger of the pieces. In keeping with the tradition he said, “We share this ryshcate in the same way we share our celebration of life.”

  “To the celebration of life.”

  They each bit into the cake and Corran clumsily caught crumbs in his left hand. The cake itself was delicious. The sweetness softened the woody bite of the whiskey, and the vweliu nuts just melted in his mouth. He swallowed and smiled. “This is wonderful!”

  “Even if it was made from smuggled ingredients?”

  “Even more reason to eat all the evidence.” He shook his head. “As a peace offering, I can’t think of anything better.”

  “Good.” Mirax stood and ruffled his brown hair with her hand. “When this Alliance finally gets around to going after Coruscant, I’ll make another ryshcate and you can carry it to whoever thinks they’re in charge. Make the war shorter.”

  “This ryshcate might have been able to turn Darth Vader into a Jedi again, but I’m not sure it would work on old Iceheart.” He set the case on the bed. “Sure you don’t want more?”

  “Thanks, but I need to go back to the Skate.” She looked at her datapad. “I have about six hours until I pull a run Coreward.”

  “Are we going to fly cover for you?”

  “Nope, I’m using my wits and guts to get me through.”

  Corran frowned. “No slight intended, but isn’t that dangerous?”

  Mirax shook her head. “I’ve been ambushed once and you Rogues have been ambushed twice. Right now I suspect traveling without you might be a bit safer than traveling with you, but this is a simple run anyway.” She kissed him on the cheek as the hatch opened. “Thanks for your concern. See you when I get back.”

  The hatch eclipsed her as it closed. It struck him that while he had been relieved when Erisi left, he wished Mirax had stayed. He knew he didn’t lust after her—though she didn’t surrender much, if anything at all, to Erisi in the way of looks. With her, because of their common world of origin, he had a connection that he and Erisi would never share. Even the fact that their fathers had been enemies somehow strengthened the bond between them.

  He shook himself. “Snap out of it, Horn. You’re fixing on her the way Erisi fixed on you. Booster Terrik’s daughter and Hal Horn’s son might be able to be friendly enemies—maybe even friends—but nothing more than that. Remember, first, last, and always, she’s a smuggler. There’ll come a point when you’re not cost effective and she’ll cut her losses.”

  He heard his words and knew there was a lot of truth in them. He also heard a lot of his father in them, and that gave him pause. He popped the other half of his piece of ryshcate into his mouth. There are better things to do with my mouth than give voice to speculations that dishonor her gift. We can be friends and will be friends. Out here, with the Empire cutting us off from our home, what we have in common is more important than any differences that might drive us apart.

  24

  Wedge’s feelings about the briefing on Home One had started bad and quickly went to worse. It hadn’t helped that he had no time to pull Admiral Ackbar and General Salm aside to work out some sort of compromise on Corran’s case. Leaving him hanging is more of a disservice than disciplining him. Given the Admiral’s apparent distraction with the briefing, Wedge assumed he would get no chance to make a case in support of Corran.

  Though he was a Commander, he was the most junior officer in attendance at the meeting. He recognized several people besides Admiral Ackbar and General Salm but by no means knew who all those in attendance were. He noticed a knot of four Bothans—a General, two Colonels, and one Commander—up toward the front of the room, but could not name any of them. Clearly, though, they were in charge of the briefing—a point made abundantly clear when the junior officers moved through the room, downloading information from their datapads into those of the other officers.

  The Bothan General took the podium at the front of the room and the lights above his audience dimmed. The Bothan’s white fur became almost dazzling and his golden eyes appeared to be made of liquid metal. Wearing an Alliance Army uniform and clutching a telescoping silver pointer in both hands at the small of his back, he began speaking in a soft voice that did not lack for intensity.

  “I am General Laryn Kre’fey and I am now going to brief you on the mission that will open the way to Coruscant for our valiant forces. If you will look to your datapads, you will see the basics on the installation we are to hit. You do not need to know where it is right now, but suffice it to say possession of this base is the key to the Imperial Core.”

  Wedge did his best to follow the briefing. The world—codename Blackmoon—was normal and habitable, not unlike Endor save that it had no native lifeforms akin to the Ewoks. Initial survey teams, sent out under the Old Republic, had rated the world poor in mineral or otherwise exploitable wealth. A small base had been created there because the system proved useful as a plotting point for runs to the Corporate sector and beyond, but being a crossroads in space was insufficient to spur much growth and commerce. Other than some experimental attempts at development—all of which failed when exotic research no longer earned generous investment tax credits under the Empire, the world was left largely alone.

  “The Empire did expand the base and provide force shield projectors but only so the Rebellion would not find it an inviting target for transition into a sanctuary so close to the Core.” General Kre’fey gestured with an open hand. “The base also supports four heavy ion cannons and has two squadrons of TIE fighters available to it.”

  Wedge frowned. The defenses struck him as odd—too much for an out-of-the-way world, but too little for a world that would put them perilously close to Coruscant. Vladet, a sector headquarters, had only had four TIEs on the ground, two ion cannons, and a set of shields, but not enough power to bring both cannons and shields on-line at the same time. Wedge didn’t get the feeling that Blackmoon was some sort of Imperial trap, but he did think it was tough enough that the Imps on the ground might be able to summon help from other worlds nearby and hold on until it arrived.

  The Bothan General went on and described his proposed mode of attack. It consisted of using the Emancipator—one of two Imperial Star Destroyers that had been captured at Endor and repaired by the Alliance—to batter down the shields. General Salm’s Defender Wing would then go in to pound the Imperial facilities and defenses, with Rogue Squadron keeping the TIEs away from the bombers. Once ground resistance had been weakened, troop transports would land Alliance troops and complete the conquest of the world.

  General Kre’fey concluded, “I expect to be operational in two weeks, with conquest completed within fifteen standard days from now.”

  General Salm looked past Wedge to Admiral Ackbar. “This plan is already approved?”

  Ackbar, who had a silver Mon Calamari Admiral—Ragab of the Emancipator—on his other side, wore a pained expression on his face. “Yes, General Salm, this plan …”

  Kre’fey interrupted him. “Forgive me, Admiral Ackbar, but I believe I can answer that question myself.” The Bothan brushed the white fur on his face with his left hand, bringing the fur down to a point at his chin. “Yes, General, the Provisional Council has approved this plan. Would you be objecting to their exercise of wisdom in this matter?”

  “I would never do that, General Kre’fey, but two weeks to prepare for an assault is a very short time.”

  “If your pilots are not up to it, General, there are other Y-wing squadrons in the fleet.”

  “My peo
ple will be ready.”

  No love lost between those two. Wedge raised his hand. “If I might, I do have some questions about the operation.”

  The Bothan opened his hands indulgently. “Please, proceed, Commander.”

  “The deflector shields—your report shows them vulnerable to bombardment when they are projected far enough to cover nonessential satellite facilities on the ground. What if the commander just shrinks the diameter of the coverage?”

  “It would not matter. The base has insufficient generating capacity to bring up shields that could withstand our bombardment.”

  “Even if the ion cannons are not on-line?”

  That question brought a moment’s hesitation before it was answered. “It would make no difference.”

  Wedge didn’t like the faint confidence in Kre’fey’s voice. The success of the operation was predicated on bringing the shields down. While Wedge didn’t want to think General Kre’fey was being stupid, his reliance on bombardment from space seemed remarkably shortsighted. The Imps had chosen to use a ground assault on Hoth to bring the shields down. While bombardment had worked elsewhere in the past, the Hoth solution seemed to work the best. And the presence of ion cannons on the ground meant the ships doing the bombarding could be disrupted, slowing their schedule and raising the specter of help coming in from another system in time to beat back the assault.

  He raised his hand again.

  “Yes, Commander Antilles.”

  “I don’t see a breakdown of the TIEs on Blackmoon. Are they eyeballs, squints, dupes, or brights?”

  The Bothan’s eyes hardened. “I beg your pardon?”

  General Salm translated. “He wants to know if the fighters are TIE starfighters, Interceptors, bombers, or advanced models.”

  “Ah, starfighters mostly, and some others.” Kre’fey looked around the room for other questions, but no one had any. “To maintain operational security you will not be given the actual coordinates of your destination until you head out. The simulation packages you are given will fill your needs for detailed information. Ysanne Isard has stepped up her counterintelligence efforts against us and without surprise, this mission will suffer.”

  Without surprise, our people will suffer. Wedge shook his head. “I don’t like this.”

  The Bothan General’s eyes narrowed to golden crescents. “Your likes and dislikes are immaterial, Commander. The Provisional Council has approved this plan, and that is enough.”

  The Corellian pilot bristled at the rebuke. “They may approve of it, but they’re not going to be flying this mission, General.”

  “But I will be there, Commander, in the first transport, leading the way down to take Blackmoon.” Kre’fey’s nostrils flared as if he were sniffing about for prey. “I trust you do not doubt Bothan courage.”

  How could I when you Bothans take every opportunity to remind all of us that your people captured the location of and information about the second Death Star? “No, sir, I do not. I trust you do not doubt the courage of my people. They’ll do the mission, but I feel I have an obligation to them to make sure they’re going to come home from it.”

  Kre’fey’s lip curled in a sneer. “An obligation you have acquitted so well in the past, Commander Antilles.”

  Wedge felt a fist tighten around his heart. The faces of all the friends and comrades he had lost throughout the Rebellion flashed through his mind. It struck him that each one of them had become posthumous heroes specifically to allow idiots like Kre’fey the opportunity to make more Rebels into posthumous heroes. The ranks of the dead seemed endless, and inside a heartbeat the fire Wedge would have turned on Kre’fey was snuffed by the void that had claimed those he remembered.

  Ackbar stood abruptly. “I believe, General Kre’fey, that Commander Antilles’s concerns are valid. I am surprised your normally painstaking precision in matters of intelligence gathering has been allowed to flag here. If you will, you have told us the hour the tide will be high, but some of us need to know the minute and the second. You have it within your ability to provide us this information and you will.”

  The Bothan glared at the Mon Calamari. “Or?”

  “Or I will see fit to cancel the operation.”

  “But the Council approved it.”

  Ackbar’s chin came up. “The Council is a political body that makes political decisions. Unlike a battle where the outcome cannot be reconsidered, political decisions can be recalled and revised endlessly. The Council did decide that a move toward Coruscant needed to be made, and your assault met the parameters they set forth. This does not mean it is the only plan that might do that.”

  “We shall see whether or not this assault goes forward, Admiral. I will distribute simulator packages to all the commands so they may begin training.”

  The Mon Calamari rested his fists on his hips. “You’ll get that data, or I shall destroy all your simulator packages myself.”

  The Bothan nibbled his lower lip, then nodded to his staff. “Fine, we will get you the information you want, if it is obtainable.” He snapped an order in Bothan to his aides and they trailed him from the room.

  The room emptied rather quickly, leaving Wedge, Salm, and Ackbar alone before the illuminated podium. The Mon Calamari lowered his head and peered down into Wedge’s face. “You have my sympathies. That was uncalled for.”

  Wedge still felt like he’d been gutshot. “Why is it that everyone gives the Bothans credit for locating the second Death Star and announcing the Emperor would be on it? Has everyone forgotten the Emperor lured us to Endor to exterminate us? The Bothans were had, yet they wear their deception like a badge of honor.”

  The Mon Calamari nodded slowly. “I have heard others voice your opinion—mostly those in the Council who have found themselves between a Bothan and some mote of power. Bothans would tell you that the Emperor only conceived of the ambush after the information was stolen and he became suspicious. We only have the Emperor’s word that he fooled the Bothans and while Luke would never knowingly lie to us, I cannot trust the Emperor in anything.”

  Wedge sat forward and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sure you are correct, Admiral. I guess I just see that doubt as the shadow lurking behind the unbridled self-confidence the Bothans exhibit. They may have been right about the Death Star, and Kre’fey may be right about this Blackmoon, but if he isn’t, lots of people will die.”

  “I share your concern, Commander. You will get your information.”

  The Corellian nodded. “Can you tell me where this Blackmoon is anyway?”

  Ackbar hesitated. “Need to know, Commander, and right now you don’t need to know. Before you go, however, you will have all the data you need. The Blackmoon system is located in a dense sector, with limited ways in and out. Computing astronav solutions will be simple since there are so few. It makes ambushes easier, too, so the information will be provided when you need it, not when you want it.”

  Wedge mulled that over, then nodded. “I do understand the need for security. I don’t like the limitations it imposes, but I understand them.”

  The Mon Calamari’s mouth opened in a low chuckle. “We have progress. You’ll be moving from the fleet to a world called Noquivzor and you will stage from there. Several other units will join you there, including Defender Wing.” He clapped his hands together. “So, I imagine you would like to discuss the charges General Salm will bring against Corran Horn?”

  Wedge sat back up. “If we’re going to be living together I think it would be for the best. Do you concur, General?”

  Salm nodded his head. “I agree, but let’s save the trouble. Forget the charges.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The balding bomber pilot held his hands up. “If I push for a court-martial of Horn for his actions, I’d be a fool and he’d sit out this assault on Blackmoon.” Salm’s brown eyes contracted with disgust. “I still think the whole of Rogue Squadron is out of line, but I think things are going to go badly at Blackmoon. With Horn
and the rest of your pilots there, maybe things won’t end up becoming the nightmare that I’m afraid is going to haunt me for the next two weeks.”

  25

  That General Derricote managed to refrain from sweating in the steamy atmosphere of Borleias did not surprise Kirtan Loor too terribly much. The good General was toadlike enough in his demeanor that the Intelligence officer imagined it saved him from melting in the heat and humidity. The bloated, lumpen commander of Imperial forces in the Pyria system fitted his face with a smile—the abrupt curve of his mouth imitated by the sweep of the two chins jiggling beneath it.

  “I am pleased to see, Agent Loor, that the past week and a half here on Borleias have not appeared to have taken their toll on you.” The man pressed stubby-fingered hands against the dark wood of his desktop. “You found everything you needed for your survey of our defenses?”

  Kirtan nodded once, then froze and stared down at the Imperial officer for a second without saying anything. He waited, silent and unmoving, until the corners of the man’s smile began to quiver. “My security review proved satisfactory. Everything is as it should be here at the installation. Your shield generators are in good repair, your two squadrons of TIE fighters are being maintained at a high level of readiness, and your training schedule has your pilots logging enough time for twice their number.”

  “Preparation is the price for constant vigilance, Agent Loor.” Derricote’s voice remained blasé, but his bovine, brown eyes began blinking a bit more rapidly than they should have normally. “We are here to stop the Rebellion, so we must be prepared.”

  Kirtan smiled easily, then leaned forward on the man’s desk. “And you are prepared. You have done very well to keep this base secure, and in fact, your computer security is tighter than anything I have seen outside Imperial Center itself. You also work harder than any other officer I have seen since the Emperor’s death.”

  “I am all for the Empire.”

  “You are all for yourself.” Kirtan tapped the datapad built into the man’s desk. “I took the liberty of visiting your office when you were not here and I pulled the secret files from your datapad. You truly are an artist. You duplicate requisitions, append intricate routing tags to them, and send them off to multiple commands, each of which believes you are under its care. You have successfully drawn enough fuel and ordinance to maintain four squadrons of TIE fighters. Since only two are here, I have to assume the others are at the Alderaan Biotics site.”