Solo Command

by Aaron Allston

  Inside the nearest was an Ewok. "Do you understand Ba­sic?" she asked.

  It nodded, its motion quick and very human. Its eyes looked like those of an Ewok but possessed an understanding that was unsettling.

  "I'm going to free you and get you off this ship. So you can go home or live where you please. Would you like that?"

  It nodded.

  One of the medics said, "Zsinj will kill you for this."

  "No, he's going to kill me for several other things." The lock on the cage was simple, mechanical; she lifted it and the Ewok emerged. The creature looked at the medics and uttered a low, rolling growl.

  Then, to Lara's discomfiture, it spoke, its voice rising and falling in a singsong that did not belong to any Basic dialect she'd ever heard. "I will kill them."

  "No," she said. "You will go to each cage. Ask each pris­oner if it will refrain from attacking me if it is freed. Tell it that I will get them all off this ship. Then free the ones who agree."

  The Ewok looked up at her, so obviously considering her command and his other options that Lara could almost see a strategic program running behind his eyes. Then he shrugged like a human and moved to the next cage.

  Out the forward viewport, Zsinj could see little but tumbling asteroids and brilliant flashes of light as Iron Fist's forward guns blasted the largest of them.

  The communications officer said, "The shuttles report our explosives packages being planted on schedule."

  "Good."

  "And Chains of Justice reports sensor contact with Solo's fleet, sir."

  "Very well."

  "And we have a report from the chief engineer."

  "Hold on." Zsinj stepped back to his hologram pod in the security foyer directly behind the bridge. "Send it to me here."

  The face and torso of the chief engineer, whose light build and scrupulous cleanliness belied his profession, swam into fo­ cus in the air. "Sir, we've identified the trouble. The engineering compartments are swarming with, well, saboteur droids."

  Zsinj gave him a look to suggest the man shouldn't make jokes. "Would you like to try again?"

  "Standard MSE-6 utility droids, sir. They've gone mad or been reprogrammed. With their internal tools, they're opening access hatches, chewing their way into wire clusters, sending false data, dragging chips out of their housings. All in the hy­perdrive systems."

  The absurdity of what the man was saying hit Zsinj and he almost snorted. "And what are you doing about this?"

  "We're, uh, kicking the things to pieces with our boots, Warlord. Between the primary and redundant systems, we're restoring the system to functionality. But when we jump, we'll need to make it a careful one; there won't be any backup sys­tems in case of component failure."

  "Understood. How long?"

  "Pessimistically, an hour. Optimistically, somewhat less. I don't know how much less."

  "As much less as possible, if you please. Out." The image faded.

  Zsinj turned to Melvar. "Very clever. I wish our analysts had anticipated such an approach to sabotage. We need thinkers like her in my organization, General."

  "Are we not going to kill her, then?"

  "I said thinkers like her. But loyal ones. Her fate will serve to reinforce that loyalty."

  The starfighters of Solo's fleet finished forming up, then broke off by task.

  Wedge's task force included four X-wing squadrons, one A-wing, and the Wraiths. They turned toward Selaggis Six and leaped forward, drifting a little out from the path taken by Zsinj's group, their intent to pass it by and reach the planet first. Other groups of starfighters would head straight for the Star Destroy­ers at the rear of the formation, hoping to get some early licks in, while still others remained on station with Solo's fleet as a defensive screen.

  "Group, this is Leader. When we reach the ring, we'll break by squads to our assigned task. Rogue and Wraith Squadrons will head counter-spinward and spread out the width of the ring for reconnaissance. Corsair and High Flight Squadrons will do the same spinward. Polearm and Shadow Squadrons will break by wingpairs and do recon runs on the moons. First pilot to spot Iron Fist gets an extra three-day leave."

  Iron Fist's communications officer announced, "Chains of Justice reports starfighter launch and deployment from Mon Remonda. X-wings incoming. Y-wings remaining behind as a screen."

  Zsinj smiled. "Launch all our squadrons, except the One Eighty-first and the experimentals." He turned to Melvar. "While they send their fastest fighters looking for us, we can concentrate ours on them. Mon Remonda is in for the beating she deserves."

  "Incoming starfighter squadrons from Selaggis Six," the sensor operator said.

  Solo nodded. "Bring the Y-wings up front. Let them think that's all we have. Array the rest behind Mon Remonda." He had four squadrons of Y-wings, two each from Mon Karren and Mon Delindo, plus two more Y-wing squadrons and a Cloakshape squad off the Battle Dog.

  The Y-wings were good at hammering large targets, and rug­ ged enough to sustain a lot of damage from enemy starfighters. But they weren't fast or nimble enough to keep TIE fighters from bypassing them and hitting a target like Mon Remonda.

  However, the last ship in Solo's formation, the Imperial Star Destroyer Skyhook, after its capture from the Empire, never had its complement of Imperial fighters replaced by the New Repub­ lic's ubiquitous Y-wings. Instead, it retained its original comple­ ment of six TIE fighter squadrons, crewed mostly by former Imperial pilots who'd joined the Alliance over the years.

  The approaching force, nine squadrons of TIE fighters and interceptors, came on in a spread pattern toward Mon Remonda, ignoring the other ships in Solo's group. Several kilometers out from Mon Remonda, as they reached maximum firing range from the Y-wing squadrons, they opened up with a salvo of lasers, then broke around the Y-wing force in four groups, leav­ ing the slower New Republic starfighters to turn awkwardly in their wake.

  "Open mass fire," Solo said. "Forward guns only. Prepare to drop them at my command. Bring up the TIEs."

  The cruiser's forward turbolaser batteries and ion cannons flashed into life, and Solo could feel vibrations in the heels of his boots as wave after wave of destructive energy poured out toward the enemy. On his sensor board, the cluster of TIEs waiting to Mon Remonda's stern, colored blue to indicate their friendly status, suddenly leaped into motion, half moving up over the cruiser, half under her hull.

  Off the cruiser's bow, the incoming TIEs began reaching ef­ fective fire range. The cruiser throbbed and vibrated as her shields absorbed concentrated laser fire from a hundred starfighters.

  The friendly TIEs reached Mon Remonda's midway point. Solo said, "Cease mass fire. Begin individual defensive fire by sensor only—with friendly TIEs out there, they can't rely on vi­ suals. Good luck to the pilots." Then, all he could do was wait and watch.

  He saw a collective waver along the line of enemy TIEs as their pilots, momentarily freed from the distraction of the turbo­ laser barrage, recognized that the incoming TIEs were not friendly. Some looped back the way they'd come. Two red dots vanished instantly, destroyed by incoming fire from the pursu­ing Y-wings. Then the clouds of red and blue targets became hopelessly intermixed.

  The turbolasers opened up again, their fire more intermit­tent, their gunners firing more discriminately now that friendly and enemy forces were in such close proximity.

  Far ahead, Solo's X-wing reconnaissance squadrons should be reaching the ring of Selaggis Six about now. "Come on, guys," he breathed. "Get me what I need, fast."

  "Group Leader, this is Polearm One. I have the Iron Fist." Cap­ tain Todra Mayn, once of Commenor, now a Starfleet Command lifer, had only to glance out her port viewport to see the mighty vessel. "I'm flying parallel to the center of the interior rim of the debris ring. Iron Fist is about forty kilometers deep in the ring. She seems to be blasting herself a channel parallel to the edge. It's the turbolaser flashes that let me spot her."

  "Polearm One, Group Leader. Good work. Stay in po
si­ tion and we'll form up on you."

  Iron Fist didn't alter course in the minutes it took Wedge to form up his group of six squadrons. "Group, Leader. Any guesses as to her intent?"

  "Leader, this is Shadow One. This sort of ring includes particles much finer and closer than we see in normal asteroid fields. Most of them won't worry a shielded Star Destroyer. But even finger-sized bits can wreck an X-wing at high speeds. I think he's giving himself a second set of shields here."

  "Good point," Wedge said. "But space around the larger as­ teroids should be a little clearer—their gravity will have drawn in some of the proximate particles. We'll take it slow going in and move from asteroid to asteroid until we're close, an island-hopping approach. Break by squads, each squad choosing its own approach." He suited action to words by heeling over to starboard, descending relative to Iron Fist's orientation, along the inner rim of the debris field. Rogue Squadron formed up be­hind him.

  Entering the debris field was like flying into an odd sand­ storm. The asteroid debris was mostly small, and was suffi­ciently well spaced so that only the larger asteroids interfered with vision. But every few seconds, forward shields would light up with the impact from a tiny asteroid, or Wedge would hear a metallic clank as something hit his hull. His diagnostics con­tinued to register full atmospheric pressure, though.

  He set his course from large asteroid to large asteroid. Some of them were the size of small moons, the others merely as large as good-sized houses.

  His comm unit crackled. "Group Leader, this is Wraith One. Wraith Squadron in position to begin assault run."

  "Wraith One, Leader. Good flying. Stand by until all squad­ rons are in position."

  "Acknowledged."

  Rogue Squadron finished a half orbit around one of the larger asteroids and suddenly Iron Fist was in full view again— less than a kilometer below. Other than the bow guns being used to clear a path for her, the ship's weapons were not active. A few large asteroids floated between the Rogues and their tar­get, partially obscuring Wedge's view.

  "Maintain this orbit," Wedge said. "Rogue Squadron in position."

  "Shadow Squadron in position."

  "Corsair Squadron in position."

  A minute later, the remaining units had reported in.

  At the end of another quick orbit, Wedge said, "Leader to group. Set S-foils to attack position. Begin your assault runs." He looped away from his orbital path and dove toward the Su­per Star Destroyer.

  As Wraith Squadron formed up to begin its assault run, Do­nos suddenly felt uncertain. More than that, he felt awash in unreality.

  He'd been here before. He knew he had.

  The last time he'd felt this way—above a moon circling the third planet of solar system M2398—he'd witnessed the de­struction of his astromech, Shiner. Then the sense of unreality had claimed him and he'd found himself back in the ambush at Gravan Seven, the one that had cost him his squad ... and his sanity.

  It was happening again—

  He clamped down on his feeling of desperation. But nei­ ther Gravan Seven nor M2398 had had an asteroid field. Nei­ther resembled the space around him. What was here that threatened to send him back into a state of collapse?

  "Break off, break off! It's an ambush!"

  Wedge grimaced. The voice was that of Donos. Wedge had been wrong. The pilot's mind had snapped back to the Gravan system ambush yet again.

  "Group Leader, this is Wraith Three." Donos's voice was in control again. "Please order an abort on the assault run. This is an ambush."

  "Group, abort. Pull back and regroup." Wedge hauled back on his yoke, veering away from Iron Fist. "Wraith Three, this better be good."

  Abruptly the Star Destroyer's gun batteries went active, pouring laser blasts into the asteroid field all around it. Wedge could see bright flashes as dozens of asteroids detonated. Comm traffic told the story of the other pilots's conditions. "This is High Flight Three. I'm hit by debris. Experiencing engine shut­ down." "Shadow Twelve is gone, repeat, is gone! He ran right into a chunk of asteroid."

  "Wraith Three, that's two casualties and all we did was break off," Wedge said. "You'd better have a good reason." Well out of range of Iron Fist's guns, he put Rogue Squadron into orbit around another planetoid.

  "Yes, sir. I thought I was going crazy for a minute. I distinctly remembered going through this exact raid once before. I hadn't, really—it was a simulator run back when I was first getting pi­ lot training with the Alliance."

  "Go ahead."

  "The sim was based on a story, a lesson from one of my in­ structors. He'd been a Y-wing pilot. His unit encountered an old Victory-class Star Destroyer in a debris field like this one. Took the same kind of approach in, island-hopping from big asteroid to big asteroid to minimize damage from debris. When they got close enough, the destroyer opened up—shooting the asteroids they were nearest. The rock debris superheated and exploded like bombs. It was a disaster for the Y-wing unit. I ran through the simulation of it several times. It was a nightmare."

  Wedge thought about it. Their target's barrage had seemed to hit a lot of the asteroids near his starfighters. "Which Victory- class Star Destroyer was it?"

  "Iron Fist, sir. The original one. Zsinj's first command."

  "Good work, Wraith Three. Group, we have a new plan. Squads who feel up to it can still approach laterally, but stay away from any asteroid large enough for them to target and blow up—say, anything half the size of your vehicle or larger. The rest, drop down into Iron Fist's wake, into the path they've already cleared out for us, and strafe her stern. Resume your assault runs." He heeled his X-wing over, choosing a path be­tween asteroids, and began another run, Rogue Squadron fol­lowing close behind.

  Deep in the automated processes of Iron Fist's main computer, a watchdog program, recently activated, detected the fact that the ship's laser batteries had recently fired on targets in a non-drill fashion. A timer associated with the program started up, counting down from three minutes.

  Zsinj offered up a heavy sigh. "The starfighter trap appears to have failed," he told Melvar. "Bring back our own starfighters from Mon Remonda. We'll need them."

  "They suffered substantial losses before they understood what they were facing there," the general said. "It'll be even worse when they have to disengage and run home."

  "I know." Dispirited, the warlord looked down at his feet, a neutral image that could bring him no bad news. "I'm getting tired, Melvar. Making mistakes. Not anticipating my oppo­nents' moves the way I should. And I'm going to have to sacri­fice more if I'm to win this engagement. I'm pouring credits on this problem instead of solving it with ingenuity." He looked up at his general. "Bring them back."

  The four medics lay with their limbs tied, their mouths gagged, as Lara assembled the humanoids she'd freed. There were two pachydermal Ortolans, three Ewoks, male and female Gamorre­ ans, three bilars looking like large children's toys, two knee-high Ranats with suspicious eyes and frequently bared incisors, one huge, white-furred Talz with four pain-racked eyes, and five waist-high Chadra-Fan whose ears flicked back and forth be­ tween listening to Lara's words and to the struggles of the medics.

  "We can get you out on escape pods," Lara said. "Unless— can any of you pilot a shuttle?"

  One of the humanoids raised a paw.

  The Ewok.

  Lara stared at him. "You're kidding."

  "No," he said. "Doctors put me in sim-u-la-tors. See if Kolot can learn to fly."

  "And you can."

  "Yes."

  "Kolot, you can't even reach all the controls."

  "Warlord had mechanics make me pros-the-tics. For hands and feet—"

  "Stop it!" The words emerged from Lara as a shout and she buried her face in her hands. "I know this joke already."

  "Joke?"

  After a moment, she uncovered her face and knelt before the Ewok to look at him from his own altitude. "Kolot, we're the same thing, you and I. We're both lies that eventuall
y be­came the truth."

  The Ewok shook his head, not comprehending.

  "Don't worry. You'll understand someday. Let's go."

  Tonin was still in the turbolift, his scomp-link inserted into the lift controls. He uttered a relieved whistle when he saw Lara returning safely.

  She counted heads as her rescuees entered the turbolift and came up two short. "Where are the Gamorreans?"

  She saw them now, down at the end of the corridor, com­ing toward her at a trot. As they got closer she could see some­thing different about them.

  Blood. It was splashed across their chests and dripped from their tusks.

  She looked at the viewport into the zoo. She couldn't see much of the containment chamber, certainly couldn't see where she had left the bound medics, but she could see the splash of blood across the inside of the near corner of the viewport.