“How kind of you to remember me, Comm—I mean, Master Wedge.” The black 3PO droid with the clamshell head stood beside the bed with its hands splayed out. “I realize you may not have fully recovered from your journey here, and were it up to me I’d have allowed you to sleep longer, but this is the time at which you requested awakening.”
Wedge groaned. Shortly after Corran, Mirax, and Gavin had left for Tatooine, Winter located a possible store of X-wings and parts on Rishi. Using some of the unit’s money,
Wedge rented a modified Corellian YT-1300 light freighter named Eclipse Rider and headed out with Ooryl Qrygg to check out the report. The trip out from Coruscant went well, but once they arrived in-system they ran into trouble. The freighter lost a repulsor-lift coil upon landing. Ooryl worked on replacing that while Wedge wound his way through a labyrinth of H’kig religious laws that seemed, to him, to prohibit or limit anything that could make life easier.
He did locate the cache of X-wing parts and managed to purchase it. He estimated two fighters could be cobbled together from the parts, which was something, but far short of what he’d hoped when he set out at first. Regulations on the use of repulsor-lift vehicles complicated the loading timetable and, ultimately, delayed their departure from the world by twelve hours.
When he and Ooryl finally did make it to Yag’Dhul, Wedge was four days behind schedule and exhausted. He docked the freighter, then had someone show him to his quarters. I thought twelve hours of sleep would be enough, but apparently not, because I’m hallucinating the presence of a droid that should be on Coruscant.
He rubbed his eyes, then opened them again. Emtrey was still there. “What’s going on here? Did General Cracken send you to keep an eye on us?”
“Since I do not have eyes per se, sir, I would have to say no.” The droid’s head canted to the right. “I do not recall any orders being given to me by my former owner.”
“Former owner?” Wedge realized he was becoming more awake all the time, but nothing seemed to be getting much clearer to him, and that caused him some concern. Someone has to be having fun with this. “Get Tycho for me.”
Tycho cleared his voice and Wedge turned to see him leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom. “Thought you’d like to wake up to a familiar face, since you’re in unfamiliar surroundings.”
“Right.” Wedge narrowed his eyes. “As I recall, I’ve not gotten you back for the other trick you pulled—that postmortem message from Corran at Borleias. You better watch your step.”
“Or what? You think you can cause me more trouble than a treason trial and a stay in an Imperial prison?” Tycho thrust his chin out defiantly, but softened the gesture with a smile. “You’re welcome to try any time you want, Antilles.”
Wedge shook his head. “One hopeless battle at a time. Got any caf out there?”
Tycho nodded. “Brewed hot and strong enough to dissolve transparisteel.”
“Great.” Wedge rolled out of bed and slipped into the thick robe Emtrey held out for him. Knotting the belt around his middle, he followed Tycho into the small parlor attached to his bedroom. The furnishings were a mixture of styles and colors, but all of them were fashioned from hollow metal tubes and light but strong cloth. Less mass means less cost in transport and energy to maintain the gravity generation for the station.
Wedge dropped into a chair across a low table from Tycho and wrapped both hands around the barrel of a steaming mug of caf. The steam caressed his face and could have been melting his eyebrows for all he cared because the caf tasted wonderful. He felt the warmth spread out from his belly and a layer of fog in his brain began to dissipate.
“So, Tycho, how is Emtrey here?”
Tycho’s smile broadened considerably. “Politics.”
Wedge sipped more caf. “Okay, give me the exploded view because I’m not seeing it.”
“It gets weird, but I’m not complaining.” Tycho leaned forward. “Before his capture at Yavin 4, Jan Dodonna designed the A-wing fighter. The Alliance got it into production and introduced the A-wing late on in the Rebellion. Most of them were made in locations that weren’t so much factories as they were private shops. They all worked from the same design, but were constructed on an individual basis. The one I flew at Endor, for example, had Fijisi wood panels in it—I’m guessing it was built on Cardooine.”
“I recall how reinforcements of those ships used to dribble in.”
“Right, well Incom and Koensayer are afraid their X-wing and Y-wing fighter designs are going to be supplanted by the A-wing and B-wing designs, so they’ve been trying to get the Provisional Council and the Armed Forces to open bidding on new contracts. Incom thinks it has an edge on winning a contract for new X-wings, when all of us up and resign. Koensayer starts the rumor that part of our disaffection is because we don’t trust the X-wing anymore.
“Incom turns around and says that it’s working on some new designs and would be happy to bring Rogue Squadron’s ships up to the state of the art. What they offer are A-wings manufactured by them that have been modified so the laser cannons can swivel and cover the rear arc.”
Wedge nodded. “Nice adaptation, but it doesn’t explain how we ended up with Emtrey.”
“I’m getting there, and you’ll appreciate the flight, trust me.” Tycho pressed his hands together. “Someone in the military—probably General Cracken, but maybe even Admiral Ackbar—decided accepting Incom’s gift was appropriate, so all the equipment in Rogue Squadron was inspected, listed as missing parts, and surplussed out. Winter found out about it before anyone else, and we scooped up the lot, including Emtrey and our astromech droids.”
Wedge blinked. “Surplussed out? Our stuff was sold as surplus?”
“Broken surplus. It was missing parts.”
“Such as?”
“PL-1s”
Wedge frowned. “PL-1s? I’ve never heard of them.”
Tycho shook his head. “That’s the designation for pilot.”
Wedge immediately began laughing. Someone back on Coruscant favors what we’re doing or perhaps just wants to give us the tools to destroy ourselves. I’m trusting it’s the former. “Emtrey was just thrown in on the deal?”
“He cost a little bit extra, but I thought he was worth it.” Tycho coughed lightly into his hand. “Zraii and his technical staff resigned and followed our ships over. We’ve got a full squadron, and the parts you brought in should keep them operational for a long time.”
“Good. How does the base look?”
“Not bad.” Tycho pointed back toward the bedroom. “I’ll give you a half an hour to get cleaned up, then I’ll give you a tour of the place. It’s not exactly a Death Star, but I think it will work fine for our purposes.”
Clad in a tan jumpsuit, Wedge followed Tycho through the space station. The small suite he’d been given turned out to be one of the more luxurious ones on the station. Because of construction costs space was at a premium. Refresher stations were communal, as were dining facilities. While there were private rooms for dinner meetings, all food was prepared in a central galley and delivered to the half-dozen dining facilities on the base. Those same rooms also served as lounges and recreation facilities.
Tycho led him to the core of the station and punched a button on the wall. “Here at the core we have nine turbolifts: six are for personnel and three are for freight.”
Wedge reached up and tapped a knuckle against the gray duraplast ceiling. “Everything seems shrunk down a bit. I feel like a giant.”
“It is very compact. I think it was built this way to cause stormtroopers problems if they ever invaded.” As the turbolift door slid open, Tycho passed through the opening. “There are twenty-five living levels above the docking facility and twenty-five below it. We’re starting at sub-twenty-five. I’ve got Emtrey working on the moves that will be necessary to clear the last ten sublevels for our personnel.”
“Moving everyone but our people off would make me feel better, since we know Isard will ev
entually figure out where we are.”
“Agreed, Wedge, but if we send people away she’ll find out about things all that much sooner. Because we hit this station not too long ago, and because Warlord Zsinj evacuated his folks, what’s left behind is pretty much of a skeleton crew. If we do get rid of them, we’re going to have to use our people to perform a lot of nonmission-specific duties.” Tycho winced. “I seem to recall the meal you tried to make out of tauntaun meat on Hoth and”
“I get the hologram, Tycho.” Wedge frowned. “Do they know there’s danger here?”
“They seem to think that after Zsinj, Isard might be taken as a change for the positive. I’ve spoken with the key employers here, and they know there could be trouble. They seem to think that with us here it’s actually going to be safer because the scum of the galaxy isn’t going to be drifting in every time they have liberty.”
“True, but their revenues are going to be down, and that could make for trouble.”
The turbolift stopped and opened onto the docking facility. Tall transparisteel walls gave Wedge a spectacular view of Yag’Dhul. Though small and dense, the world took on a curious appearance because of the three moons orbiting it and the tidal forces they generated as they orbited in the opposite direction to the planet’s rotation. The atmosphere boiled and swirled, with storms sowing lightning through the gray clouds and flashes of red stone visible even from the station.
“Hard to believe life could have arisen in that maelstrom.” Wedge folded his arms across his chest and shivered. “No wonder the Givin have an exoskeleton and can exist in a vacuum.”
“It’s a good thing they can. Our attack here apparently opened some of the station up to the vacuum, so they used Givin to make the repairs. Everything is fine now, though, with one exception: the old Station Master died while on an inspection tour of the repair work.”
Wedge frowned, recalling an old Twi’lek with a pockmarked face who had been as oily as Darth Vader had been evil. “His name was Valsil Torr, right?”
“I guess so. Apparently he tried to force a Givin task leader to pay him a bribe. They agreed to discuss it in Torr’s office, and there was a catastrophic loss of atmosphere.” Tycho winced. “The Twi’lek was sucked out of his office through a hole the size of, say, a blaster bolt. The Givin lived and patched the hole.”
“So now no one is running the station.”
“The merchants here have formed an Economic Council and seem to be running things fairly well as far as they are concerned. We’ll need to put someone in to control them, but I don’t have a candidate in mind yet.” Tycho opened his arms. “This is the main docking area, which contains ten levels all its own. The middle six deal with cargo transfer and storage. The outer two on each side contain crew housing, some small shops and two tapcafs—home away from home for freight haulers. The tapcafs serve exactly what the rest of us eat, but they lower the lights and hike the price.”
“You know, with the right ambiance, that tauntaun would have tasted fine.”
“Sure, Wedge, believe that if you want.” Tycho pointed to the triangular landing extending out into space. “Ships land here, unload, pick up or exchange cargo, and head out again. If the crew wants to stop over, its ship is parked in orbit and the station shuttle service brings them to and from the station. Hangar space is rare, and what this station has is being reserved for us right now, though there is some space for repairs if a ship needs it.”
“Fair enough.” Wedge watched a small yacht make an approach on the station. Its sleek lines and down-curving wings reminded him of a native Corellian fish. “Looks like the Pulsar Skate is coming in. Have you had any word from them?”
“No, but there was a funds transfer to the account of Huff Darklighter, so I assume things went well.”
“Good.” Wedge pointed back at the lift. “Let’s go down, greet them, and see exactly what our money bought us.”
Chapter Nine
Wedge wondered if he weren’t really still trapped in a dream as the turbolift door opened and he stepped into the squadron hangar. A dozen X-wings occupied the deck, and techs swarmed over them. That wasn’t what had struck him as unrealistic, however, since the hustle and bustle of a hangar was something he’d witnessed countless times before.
He glanced over at Tycho. “What’s going on here?”
Tycho gave him a grin. “Well, since we’re no longer part of the New Republic’s Armed Forces, we can’t have ships bearing its insignia or colors, can we? Now, Corran’s ship has always been green with that black and white trim, like his droid, so I thought we might just go ahead and repaint our X-wings to look like whatever we want them to be.”
He pointed very specifically at an X-wing that was bloodred except for where white had been splashed at a diagonal down across the nose and the tips of the S-foils. A broad black stripe parted the white from the red. “That one’s mine. I did some checking, and before Alderaan disarmed, that was the color scheme the Alderaan Guard unit near my home used to sport. I’ve also had Zraii switch my Identify Friend/Foe beacon over to an old Alderaanian code—the one from the Another Chance, in fact. Individualizing the paint and switching our IFF codes to those of our home planets provides further evidence that we’re not a New Republic unit.”
Wedge chewed his lower lip for a moment. Makes sense, all of it. And the fighters do look a bit more, ah, ferocious with the new paint jobs. “I like it, Tycho, but I don’t know what to do with mine. Corran’s got the CorSec green, but he’s earned it.”
“How about a dark blue, with red stripes up the sides?”
“Corellian Bloodstripes?” Wedge chuckled. “I never was in the Corellian Military, so I never earned Bloodstripes. Han Solo wears them on his trousers because he went to the Imperial Academy and won them through his bravery.”
“Oh, and you’ve not been equally brave?”
“That’s open to debate, but the fact is I’ve never been sufficiently military to earn them.” He smiled slowly. “Make everything from the cockpit back black, including the S-foils, and give me a green-and-gold check pattern on the front fuselage.”
Tycho’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recognize the color scheme.”
“No reason you should.” Wedge hesitated for a second. “Back when my parents operated a fueling station at Gus Treta, my father was saving up to buy the station and start his own chain. The green, gold, and black were going to be the colors he used for the logo and the uniforms. Your colors tie you back to your home, Corran’s do the same thing for him, and I imagine the same is true for everyone else. Mine will tie me to the home I should have had.”
“I’ll put the order in immediately.” Tycho started walking over toward where the Pulsar Skate had come through the hangar’s magnetic containment bubble and was setting down. Following it in came a boxy station shuttle, but it landed further back. “Your ship and Gavin’s will be the last ones finished.”
Wedge glanced at Ooryl’s white fighter. “You need to include Ooryl’s ship on that list.”
“No, it’s done.”
“But, it’s so plain.”
“Apparently not, if you can see in the ultraviolet range.” Tycho shrugged. “Zraii says it’s a masterpiece.”
“That explains why I’m a warrior, not an artist.” Wedge waved as he saw Corran, Mirax, and Gavin walk down the gangway from the Pulsar Skate. Wait a minute, who’s that? The fourth individual proved taller than Gavin and much bulkier, yet wasn’t slovenly or Huttlike. Then, when his head cleared the interior of the ship and Wedge saw the bristle of white hair, he recognized him.
“So that’s why Corran is looking a bit subdued.”
“What?” Tycho frowned at Wedge. “Who’s the last guy?”
“Mirax’s father.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Wedge trotted the remaining distance and thrust his hand at Booster Terrik. “It’s been far too long, Booster.”
The larger man’s hand engulfed Wedge’s. “You grew up quite a bit dur
ing my five years on Kessel. After I got out, well, about that time you were freezing on Hoth, then you were on the go. I assumed I’d run into you sometime, and now seems as good as any.”
“Indeed it is.” Wedge glanced over at Mirax. “Your daughter’s been a lifesaver, you know, and for more than just me.”
“So I gather from what I heard during the trip.” Booster Terrik threw an arm over Wedge’s shoulders, then tightened it against his neck. “I would have hoped, though, you would have found a way to protect her from the likes of Horn there.”
Wedge gently dug an elbow in the man’s ribs. “First, if you can’t control your daughter, how can I be expected to control her? Second, just as I told her, Corran isn’t his father. He’s one of the best men I know.”
“You need to get out more, Wedge.” Booster opened his arms and released Wedge. “Interesting place you have here. Not enough to stop a Super Star Destroyer, but you know that. Still, if you have to die in a box in space, this looks as good as any in which to do it.”
“Tycho’s taking me on a tour. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I’d be happy to.”
Wedge nodded, then looked over at Gavin. “How was Tatooine?”
“Good, sir. We got a fair amount of personal armor and weapons, as well as some TIE parts and assorted other things Mirax thinks we can trade. Uncle Huff said that was all that was left from the Eidolon material.”
“It all looked pretty good, Wedge.” Corran leaned against a pilot-mover. “We’ve got enough in the way of small arms to supply a decent insurgent force. The armor is stormtrooper grade.”
Corran’s voice trailed off as the sound of footsteps drew closer. Wedge turned and saw a pair of individuals coming around Pulsar Skate’s stern. The hulking brute of a man, with a shaved head and a big bushy beard, dwarfed his petite female companion. Wedge hitched for a moment, then started to laugh. “How is it possible that you’re here so soon?”
The auburn-haired woman smiled sweetly. “And I’m happy to see you, too, Wedge. You’ve not changed much, Tycho, or you, Mirax.” She nodded to the others in the group, then offered her hand to Corran. “Elscol Loro and Sixtus Quin.”
The Bacta War Page 7