Star Wars - X-Wing 02 - Wedge's Gamble

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Corran extended the landing gear and brought the ship to rest, then killed the repulsorlift generators and en­gine. "Whistler, remember, shoot first if you have to, then go for an engine start to give you more laser energy. If you have to, hover out of reach until the rest of the squadron comes and covers you."

  The droid keened mournfully.

  "No, nothing will happen, I promise, but I want you to be careful." He missed a chunk of Whistler's reply, but took it that the annoying tone carried the meaning of the missing content. He doffed his helmet, drew the blaster from his shoulder holster, checked it, took it off safe, and reholstered it. Finally he pulled on a breathing mask and a pair of goggles, then popped the release on his cockpit canopy. It slid up and he crawled out.

  Corran jumped down and found Kessel to be just a bit lighter in gravity than Borleias or Noquivzor. He ran over to where Wedge and Nawara stood beside an or­ange, mushroomlike tent that the commandos had assem­bled. "How did your conversation with Moruth Doole go?"

  Wedge frowned slightly. "I think I got my points across, but he's right on the edge of paranoia, and it doesn't take much to push him over."

  "Doole's probably a glit-biter."

  The Twi'lek twitched a head tail in Corran's direc­tion. "I don't believe I've heard that term before."

  "CorSec slang, sorry. Glitterstim is the most potent form of spice—the stuff most people get is cut and diluted so heavily that the most they get from using is a little eu-

  phoria. Glit-biters are taking the real thing and it seems, in some folks, to punch up their latent mental abilities. They can read minds, or so they think, and they assume any mind they can't read is closed because the person is plotting against them. Doole probably forgot he was see­ing a hologram of you, Commander. You were hostile, he couldn't read you, hence he figured you really had it in for him."

  Lieutenant Page, a dark-haired man of medium height and build, came over and pointed toward the ho­rizon. "Landspeeder coming down the road."

  Wedge hit his comlink. "Lead to Twelve. How does it look?"

  "One vehicle, Lead."

  "Thanks, Twelve." Wedge turned to Page. "It's com­ing alone. If you clear it, let it come in."

  "As ordered, sir." Page went running off in the direc­tion of the big, boxy landspeeder and a squad of folks fell in behind him. The landspeeder slowed, then stopped, and a door opened. Page spoke through the open door with someone while his people checked in and around the vehicle. Apparently satisfied with the inspection, Page closed the door and jumped back off the vehicle's running boards. He waved it forward and it headed in.

  Other commandos stopped the landspeeder about a hundred meters beyond the perimeter at a point where it remained under the guns of Wedge's X-wing. Two people got out and a trooper escorted them forward toward Wedge. The man stood very tall and seemed to Corran to be painfully thin. What little hair he had left on his head was white and wispy enough that Kessel's weak atmo­sphere could make it float. The woman came up to the man's shoulder and had deep brown hair. Corran guessed from the way she moved she was younger than the man, but her face was deeply enough scored with wrinkles that he would have matched them in age were he looking at still holograms.

  The commando moved the two visitors into and through the tent's simple airlock, then Corran and

  Nawara followed Wedge through. Once inside they were able to remove their breathing masks, though the acrid stink of hot plastic almost made Corran put his back on. Resolving to breathe as little as possible, Corran joined Nawara in front of some folding camp chairs.

  Squeezing past the table with the holoprojector on it, Wedge extended his hand to the man. "I'm Commander Wedge Antilles, New Republic Armed Forces. I lead Rogue Squadron. I knew your daughter."

  The man shook Wedge's hand firmly and kept a brave expression on his face, but the slight tremor in his lower lip betrayed his true emotions. "I am Kassar Forge. This is my wife, Myda. I want to thank you for the hologram you sent after Lujayne ..." He fell silent for a moment and his wife rubbed his back with her hand. "She always said she wanted to be a hero and show something good could come from Kessel."

  "She succeeded." Wedge turned back toward his own people. "This is Nawara Ven and Lieutenant Corran Horn."

  Kassar shook their hands as well.

  Corran didn't release the man's hand, forcing himself to smile as he looked up into Kassar's dark eyes. "Your daughter really was a hero. She kept the unit together. She told me about what you do here, about teaching people so they don't have to return to crime. She spent a lot of time teaching all of us, too."

  "Thank you."

  "No, thank you." Corran patted the back of the man's hand. "I owed her a big favor I never got a chance to repay. If there's anything I can do for you, please, don't hesitate to ask."

  Kassar nodded, then freed his hand from Corran's grip and turned back to Wedge. "I guess I have to ask what it is I can do for you, Commander? I'm sure all this wasn't just so you could say hello. Your strike on the moon base caused a lot of excitement, and Doole is not happy about losing his missile launchers."

  "If Doole wants to be happy, today will not be his

  day." Wedge ran a hand along his jaw. "We're here to take some people away from Kessel—some very bad peo­ple. We are also going to take as many of the good people from here as we can. On the top of my list is you and your family, if you want to go. And go or stay, I want you here to point out people who should be on the list but aren't."

  The tall man clasped his hands together against his stomach and stared at the orange fabric floor for a mo­ment. "I came here by choice a long time ago—well be­fore any of you were born. Back before the Clone Wars even. I don't know if I have done much good here, but I think I've done very little evil. I'll stay. Myda?"

  Her hand grasped the back of his neck and shook him gently. "I didn't come here willingly, but I did stay because I wanted to be with you. We will stay, and our family will, too." Myda's voice took on an edge at the last of her statement and Corran saw her exchange a sharp glance with her husband.

  Kassar nodded slowly. "I am willing to help you, Commander, but I don't want to make decisions about who goes and who stays. I'll offer what I know."

  "If you are afraid of reprisals ..."

  "No, no, I've long since been judged harmless by ev­eryone here. You're taking them, the decision is yours to make."

  "I understand. Lieutenant Ven has my list of the good folks that we want to get out. I'd like you to review it with him." Wedge twisted around and touched the holo­projector. "I've left Moruth Doole with the impression that this is very much a rogue operation. He thinks I'm setting myself up as the middleman in this hostage oper­ation. I've told him I am willing to transport prisoners off Kessel—prisoners he'll be well rid of—in return for get­ting my people off. That's an accurate description of what will happen, but not my focus in this project. Still, Doole has to think I'm willing and able to kill his prisoners, blow up his stores of spice, and toss him into the Maw."

  Myda looked over at Wedge and Corran with a pierc­ing stare. "Are you capable of doing that?"

  "Capable, yes," Wedge nodded, "and not particularly reluctant to do so."

  She smiled. "Good. Fear is as much a part of life on Kessel as spice or air. Control it and you'll do fine."

  Wedge hit the power switch for the holoprojector. An image of Moruth Doole the size of a pilot's helmet glowed to life. The batrachian Rybet hopped impatiently from one foot to the other, then stopped and clapped his webbed hands together. He twisted his whole body around to peer closely with his good mechanical eye at the holocam in his dark office. The green of his flesh melded with the similar hue of his jacket, while the tan tracery on his flesh looked as if he'd been drizzled with paint. Because of the way he leaned forward to get near to the holocam, his head swelled out of proportion with his body and nearly made Corran laugh.

  "Is that you, Antilllles?" The Rybets voice jumped sharply between octaves a
nd added more l's into the cen­ter of Wedge's name than necessary.

  "It's me, Doole. I've got my first exchange to offer you." Wedge looked over at Nawara Ven and the Twi'lek nodded. Wedge smiled tightly at the holoprojector. "I have a group of ten Sullustans. For them I'll take Arb Skynxnex."

  "No!"

  "No?"

  "I am selling them to you, I decide what I am paid. Skynxnex is mine—he does not leave." Doole hopped up and down angrily, then searched around until the metal and glass mechanical eye again spotted the holocam. "For these Sullustans I will give you Zekka Thyne."

  The name didn't surprise Corran, but Kassar's reac­tion to it did. The old man shuddered and Myda clung to his arm. They look as afraid of Thyne as Doole sounds. Corran raised a hand and Wedge hit a mute button on the holoprojector. "Commander, he's too anxious. He wants to be rid of Thyne. We can get more for him."

  Wedge nodded, then unmuted the communications device. "Thyne isn't of interest to me. I'd have to be mad to let someone like that leave this rock."

  "You will take him, or you get nothing else."

  Wedge pulled a comlink from a pocket in his flight suit and held it up where Doole could see it. "Rogue Leader to Twelve, you're free to fire on warehouse number one."

  Doole's image capered away from the holocam, then hunched itself over, as if the Rybet was looking at a mon­itor built into an unseen desk. Doole reeled back, then ran to the holocam. "You wouldn't dare."

  "No?"

  "Twelve here, Lead. I have acquired the target. Com­mencing run now."

  "Antilles!"

  "You have something you want to say to me, Doole?"

  "The Sullustans and more ..."

  "Twelve, abort the run, but don't clear your targeting data."

  "As ordered, Lead."

  Doole's thick purple tongue played out over the thin line of his mouth. "The Sullustans you can have. What else?"

  Wedge turned away from the projector as if giving the problem due thought. Nawara held up fingers to indi­cate which of the target groups he thought should be added to Thyne's ransom. Wedge nodded, then turned back. "We're sending you the data on a group of five Bothans, including Esrca Plo'kre."

  "Plo'kre." Doole's mouth snapped shut, then he bowed his head. "Done. And Thyne brings with him an­other."

  "Who?"

  "His cutter."

  Wedge looked back at the Forges, but they gave no sign of even having heard Doole, much less understanding him. "Corran?"

  I know I've heard the term before. He thought back, then nodded. "It's a spicer term, used a lot of years ago when Thyne was still on Corellia. A cutter is someone who prepares spice for use or sale. It came to mean some­one close enough to a person that they could be trusted with cutting their spice. He probably means aide." Kassar's head came up. "He means lover." Corran shrugged. "That, too." Wedge nodded. "Do you know who it is?" Kassar hung his head and Myda answered. "We do. Her name is Inyri."

  Corran checked his datapad. "I've got nothing on anyone by that name."

  "You wouldn't. She's done nothing wrong." Something is not right here. Corran frowned. "You don't get sent to Kessel for nothing. How well do you know this Inyri?"

  "I thought I knew her very well." Myda swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek. "She's our daughter."

  11

  "Is it a deal, Antilles?"

  "Send them out." Wedge hit another button that froze the transmission. On the other end Doole would only see a holographic representation of Rogue Squad­ron's crest. He turned toward the Forges. "Say the word and we'll make sure they are separated. We'll find her a place to stay, away from Thyne."

  "Do it!" Myda reached out and clutched one of Wedge's hands in her own. "Please, don't leave her with him."

  Kassar's hands settled on his wife's shoulders and drew her back. "Myda, we can't do that. She has made her decision."

  "But it is a bad one."

  Inyri's father slowly shook his head. "And so this means we can deny her freedom? Making bad decisions is not a crime, not even under the Empire."

  "But I've seen plenty of people end up headed for Kessel because of making bad decisions." Corran saw the pain in Myda's eyes, and saw no small amount of it re­flected in her husband's expression. "I know Thyne—he is

  as bad as they come. Your daughter's choice will land her in trouble."

  Kassar straightened up. "Only if she acts on it."

  "But she's leaving with him."

  Kassar shrugged helplessly. "She has found something to value in him. Perhaps she can save him from himself."

  Corran winced. "Thyne's pretty much a black hole as far as saving is concerned."

  "My whole life has been spent here training people how to live away from Kessel. That is all I can do, though. I cannot make their choices for them. I cannot live their lives for them." Kassar looked down and wiped tears from Myda's face. "We gave our daughter—all of our children—all the love and support we could. We trust them. Just as we trusted Lujayne to go off and join the Rebellion, we must trust Inyri."

  Corran shook his head. "I'm not liking this at all, Commander."

  "It doesn't thrill me, either, Corran, but it's not our fight and not one we can win, not right now anyway." Wedge looked down at his fists, then opened them slowly. "Perhaps she will serve as a brake on him."

  "And when the brake burns out?"

  "I expect you to have something arranged to cover that contingency."

  "As ordered, sir." Corran started going through the list of criminals on his datapad. The original list had been drawn from Imperial files and annotated with rankings that determined the value of each individual to the Rebel­lion. Out of thousands of convicts, only seventeen had been identified as useful by New Republic officials. Those seventeen—now reduced to sixteen since Doole had elim­inated Arb Skynxnex from consideration—clearly had been rising stars in the Black Sun organization. While none of them had achieved upper-level status, they had shown the sort of initiative and drive that made it clear, had their careers not been interrupted by arrest and con­viction, the best of them would have been on a rough par with Jabba the Hutt in terms of power and influence.

  Corran remembered his father having complained about the changing nature of organized crime. Once upon a time Black Sun had been an honorable organization— with its own morality, of course, but with a code that its members lived by. Black Sun had always been ruthless— dump a load of spice and blaster-packers would worry about collecting the cost, or its equivalent, from the smuggler in question. Members who informed on others would be killed in a most grisly manner, and law enforce­ment officers were legitimate targets for reprisals, but these things were all done on an individual basis.

  The new breed was willing to use a bomb in a crowded cantina just to get one individual. The idea of killing an informer and his family became standard. The spice that started to be sold was stronger than ever before and the assassination of political figures who opposed the crime cartel became the rule, not the exception. Hal Horn had assumed the Rebellion's success in defying the Empire had contributed to a general easing of moral standards that carried into Black Sun and allowed savages like Zekka Thyne to thrive.

  Three silhouettes appeared on the other side of the airlock's translucent inner seal. The soldier inside the tent opened the airlock and tugged Thyne through first. The hobbles on the man's feet made him stumble, but Thyne managed to recover his balance despite having his arms bound behind him. He shook off his breathing mask, then held his head up defiantly. "I am Zekka Thyne."

  Five years on Kessel hadn't done anything to Thyne but make him a bit leaner and, as the hateful glow in his eyes suggested, a whole lot more malevolent. It's as if the years here have distilled him down to his core essence. Only a couple of centimeters taller than Corran, Thyne had a wiry build that made him seem somehow even taller. Clean-shaven and bald—he appeared to be congen­itally hairless—his head and exposed flesh gleamed like polished leather.

&
nbsp; More remarkable than in its glow, Thyne's flesh came in two shades of color. Most noticeable was the light blue

  because it seemed to have been layered on over the whitish-pink color, as if he had been splashed with midnight-blue dye that never quite washed out. The big­gest splotch cut right down along the bridge of his nose, then back under his cheekbone to his left ear and on up to the midline of his skull again. It gave the impression that he had one massive black eye that was slowly fading.

  Aside from the color, his sharply pointed ears, and black, equally sharp serrated teeth, his eyes separated him from the realm of the wholly human. The orbs were red throughout, the color of arterial blood, except for where a slender diamond pupil bisected them. Flecks of gold outlined the black diamond and, in the dark, would re­flect a little light. Those diamonds had betrayed him on Corellia, letting Corran and his father send him on his Kessel vacation.

  Wedge raised an eyebrow. "It is truly him?"

  Corran nodded. "It's Patches all right."

  "Horn, here?" Thyne hissed. "Perhaps you never got the message I sent you?"

  "What message was that?"

  "Your father's dead, isn't he?"

  The venom in the man's voice combined with the sur­prise of the question to make it feel as if Corran's heart had been slammed back against his spine. He wanted to shout something back at Thyne, but first his breath, then words failed him. Thyne had always been full of threats and intimidation, but Corran and his father had refused to acknowledge them. Thyne had not been the first crim­inal to threaten him, nor the last.

  And not the first to be blamed for my father's death. With a moment of thought Corran realized that Thyne had probably heard of his father's death and decided to claim responsibility just to get at him. Corran thought Thyne more than capable of ordering a murder, and Black Sun more than capable of carrying that order out, but Hal Horn had been killed over a year and a half after Thyne had arrived on Kessel. Black Sun preferred things a bit more immediate than that, as I recall.