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

by Michael A. Stackpole

  And somewhere in there are the mortal remains of Corran Horn. Wedge shook his head. The building Corran had hit had been on the line of the construction droid's advance, so when Mirax used the warning beacon to get the computer center evacuated, this building had likewise emptied of people. Most of the newly unhomed already picked up on Rebellion phrases and said that the Force had truly been with them when they got out. And yet others had determined that Corran, knowing his Headhunter was going down, had deliberately driven it into a tower he knew had been evacuated. They said that made him a hero.

  As if that's what it took for him to be a hero. As if

  nothing else he had done would have made him one. Wedge realized his hands had knotted into fists again. He forced them open, as he had found himself doing numer­ous times since Coruscant had fallen. When it came down to it, because of the efforts of his people, Coruscant had not been drenched in blood. In fact, aside from the casu­alties in the space battle and limited actions on the planet, virtually no one had been injured. "Yet another miracle, another sign the Force was with us."

  Wedge hated the mocking tone that came with his words. People all around had gone berserk with joy when Coruscant fell. Even he had celebrated, albeit a bit sub­dued, because Aril Nunb had been found alive and nearly well in Invisec. Her return did not cancel the pain of Corran's loss, especially with Mirax Terrik wandering around as if her heart had been torn out and Iella Wessiri not being much better off. The big hologram, the libera­tion of Coruscant, became hard to focus upon with such an immediate loss.

  While he pointed to Corran's death as the wellspring of his anxiety and frustration, he knew he did so because he did not want to consider the question that all members of the Rebel staff had been asking themselves: Why hadn't it been harder? To even consider that question somehow seemed to cheapen their victory that was, by all accounts, hard fought and won through superior planning and exe­cution. Even so, an average deck of sabacc cards had more computing power than the whole of the Imperial Naval staff left to conduct the defense of the planet.

  The inescapable conclusion that could be drawn from the utterly inept defense of Coruscant was that Ysanne Isard wanted the New Republic to take the world. The Provisional Council had seen Coruscant as a symbol. Once they took it they would have won the right to rule the galaxy. There was no doubt that many worlds that had proclaimed themselves neutral would indeed throw their allegiance to the Republic. In that way the conquest of Coruscant did hasten the fall of the Empire.

  Coruscant also became a black hole from which the

  New Republic could not escape. Just as taking it had been a goal for them, so taking it would be a goal for any other pretender to Palpatine's throne. The Rebellion that had survived detection by the enemy through moving their headquarters dozens of times now had bottled itself up. It traded flexibility and mobility for legitimacy and Wedge wasn't certain that was a trade made in their favor.

  He also knew the conquest of Coruscant would not be without a price. Ysanne Isard had clearly traded the world for her escape from it—no one had found any trace of her and the reason for her evacuation seemed quite sound. Already rumors of a plague spreading through Invisec were flying thick and fast. Nawara Ven and Riv Shiel had undergone bacta therapy and were recovering. What little General Cracken had told him about Aril Nunb's debriefing suggested the virus might have been created by the Empire specifically to leave Coruscant a charnel house, but the conquest had aborted that plan. Virus had been found in the water supply, though Rogue Squadron's boil-off of a lot of water may have killed a vast quantity of the virus.

  Wedge heard footsteps behind him and, expecting to see Tycho and Winter, was surprised when instead he saw General Cracken and Pash. Wedge began to smile, but Pash appeared hesitant and Airen intent, which led him to believe something serious was going on. "Good afternoon, General, Lieutenant. Is there something I can do for you?"

  The elder Cracken nodded. "There's been some head­way in the investigation of what happened to Lieutenant Horn. My people went over all the sensor traces we could find concerning the crash, as well as comm transcripts and the statements made by everyone who heard his last transmissions."

  Wedge smiled genuinely. "This is good news. If you don't mind waiting a minute or two, I know Tycho will want to hear this, and it will save you telling it again." Wedge glanced at his chronometer. "He should be here momentarily."

  Airen Cracken shook his head. "I'm afraid he won't

  be joining you. He's been arrested for treason and the murder of Corran Horn."

  "What? That's impossible." Wedge stared at the head of Alliance Intelligence. "Tycho would never do that. Never."

  General Cracken held a hand up. "There are some things you don't know, Commander, and I shouldn't have to remind you that an arrest is not a conviction. It is just that we have sufficient evidence to arrest him and it was deemed appropriate to do so."

  Wedge folded his arms across his chest. "What evi­dence?"

  "He was absent without leave from his post at Noquivzor. He traveled from there to Coruscant, bringing with him an M-3PO droid full of highly sensitive data."

  "He did those things on my order, General. Those or­ders were issued and sealed by me at Noquivzor."

  The older man nodded. "So I have been told and so it says in your statement. If we ever get down to where your office was, I believe I will find those orders. How­ever, until I do, his vanishing act looks highly suspicious, especially when coupled with other things."

  "Such as?"

  "Captain Celchu knew the command codes for the Headhunter Horn was flying."

  "He knew them for all those Headhunters."

  "Yes, but no other pilot threatened him with expo­sure for treasonous activities." General Cracken looked at his son. "Pash overheard a heated conversation between Horn and Celchu right before the mission began. Celchu told Horn he'd checked his machine out special."

  Wedge's head came up and Pash winced at the harsh­ness of his stare. "Is this true?"

  "I wasn't spying, Commander."

  "My son was not placed in your unit to spy. He just happened to be there." Airen frowned. "He didn't want to tell me about the conversation and has proved a most reluctant witness."

  "I see." Rogue Squadron's leader nodded toward

  Pash. "Corran was probably hot about all this. What was Tycho's reaction?"

  Pash's tense expression eased. "He said he welcomed any investigation Corran wanted to make. He said he had nothing to fear."

  Wedge raised an eyebrow. "That hardly sounds like a man with any fear of discovery."

  "He wouldn't fear it if he'd disabled the manual over­ride and had given his masters the command code for the Headhunter. What you did with that Interceptor, they did with Horn's Headhunter."

  "You still haven't established a link between Tycho and the Empire."

  "But we will, Commander." Cracken shrugged his shoulders. "We have means, motive, and opportunity. That's all we need for an arrest and trial."

  Wedge just shook his head. "This is wrong, and you know it. After all we've fought for, to get to this point and arrest someone who's risked his life time and again for the Rebellion on evidence that's circumstantial at best is a crime itself. A crime worthy of the Empire."

  "No, Commander Antilles, you're wrong." Anger sparked in the elder Cracken's eyes and jetted into his voice. "The Empire would have snatched Celchu, broken him down until he confessed, then they would have killed him. He would have disappeared and no one would have dared ask about him. That's how the Empire would have handled it. The way we will handle it is to have a trial and assess innocence or guilt publicly, openly, aboveboard, so there is no question about justice being done or not."

  Cracken raised his head up and met Wedge's stare openly. "That, sir, is exactly what we fought for. You know it, and you know there's no other way to handle this situation."

  Wedge hesitated, then closed his eyes and nodded. "You're correct, of c
ourse, General. We did fight for jus­tice." He turned to stare at Corran's grave and thought of Tycho. "The pity is, even in victory, justice still eludes those who deserve it the most."

  Epilogue

  If there was a part of him that didn't hurt, Corran Horn couldn't name it. His chief complaint came from his shoulders. He could feel the binders holding his arms at the small of his back constantly exerting pressure to pull his elbows closer together. They sheathed his arms in metal from fingertips to elbows and were the kind of re­straints that had been outlawed for CorSec's use.

  He found himself tying on his stomach in the dark on a thin cot of some sort. He was naked, save for the bind­ers, and the room was slightly chilled. A weak, barely no­ticeable vibration ran through the cot, producing a low hum that depending on how he turned his head, he could occasionally hear. He strained his eyes to determine if there was anything to see, but the utter absence of light foiled him.

  Corran found his thoughts wandering, which made him think that he'd been drugged. That sensation, along with the binders, his nakedness, and the darkness, led him to the inescapable conclusion that he'd been captured by the Empire. The darkness and drugs kept him disoriented. His nakedness made him defensive—or was supposed to. He recalled a CorSec training seminar about methods

  used by kidnappers to keep their victims off balance and was able to pinpoint himself as the subject of such treat­ment.

  The chill in the air and the vibration suggested he was on a starship heading out through hyperspace to some destination or other. He knew the Imps would be fleeing Coruscant, but for a moment he had no idea why. Then he remembered the Alliance fleet having arrived at Corus­cant. If they are running, we won. He frowned. But if we won, why am I their captive?

  He tried to remember what he could of his last mo­ments on Coruscant. He'd lost control of his Headhunter and the manual override didn't work. Then a light had flashed on the console indicating the acceleration com­pensation unit had gone out. The ship flipped itself into a high g-force turn and he remembered nothing more. Without acceleration compensation, I felt the full effect of the turn. Blood drained from my brain and I went out.

  Corran rolled onto his left side, then drew his knees up to his chest. He rocked himself a little bit and man­aged to get up onto his knees. The world immediately spun, which was a sensation that was made worse be­cause the utter darkness gave him nothing to look at, nothing to occupy his attention. He brought his head down and rested it on the cot, but refused to let himself flop down again. It didn't matter that he felt terrible, he'd gotten to his knees and refused to retreat to his belly again.

  Lights flashed on brilliantly in an instant, stabbing forked pain into his brain. He heard a door whoosh open and the careful, deliberate clank-clack of shoes on metal lattice steps, but he made no attempt to look in the direc­tion of the sound. He refused to look, part of him know­ing the individual had desired to make an entrance, and he congratulated himself for his restraint.

  He waited until the sound of the footsteps stopped before he slowly brought his head up. He kept his eyes all but shut, letting eyelashes and welled-up tears protect his eyes against the light. Out of the corner of his right eye he

  saw a blot of red, so he slowly turned his head toward it and looked up. Even before he got to the mismatched eyes, he knew who she was and he hoped against hope she was a figment of whatever drugs they'd pumped into him.

  Her first words came cold and even, tinted with just a hint of curiosity. "I would have expected you to be more formidable somehow."

  "Clothes make the man," he said. At least he thought he said it. He did hear sound coming out of his mouth, a kind of harsh croaking that seemed closer to Huttese than Basic. Had he any spit to let gurgle in his throat as he spoke he'd definitely have been taken for a Hutt.

  "Ah, the infamous Horn wit."

  Corran opened his eyes wider and shuffled on his knees around to face her. "I left most of it back on Free Coruscant."

  She brought her hands up and clapped gently. "I'm amazed a man in your condition can make jokes." She squatted down and caught him across the face with an openhanded slap he never saw coming. "I'm amazed a man in your situation would make jokes."

  Corran played his tongue over his split lip. "Lieuten­ant Corran Horn, Alliance fleet, Rogue Squadron."

  Ysanne Isard stood again but he didn't bother follow­ing her with his eyes. "Very good, defiance. I like defiance."

  "If that were true, you'd find all you want on Corus­cant."

  "Indeed, perhaps I would. That is no concern of yours, however." Her low chuckle filled the room and made it seem even colder. "I'll have you know that your Rebel forces are indeed now in control of Imperial Center. What they have discovered, though they know not the depth of the problem, is that Imperial Center is a poi­soned world, a sick world. It is a black hole from which they cannot escape. They have truly bitten off more than they can possibly chew and they will be choked to death because of it."

  "I'm not inclined to take your word for all this."

  Corran put as much disdain in the sentence as he could muster, but what she said disturbed him. Shiel and Nawara Ven and Portha had all become ill enough that they could not participate in the squadron's final action. He didn't think anyone could have gone forward with re­leasing some sort of plague on a world deliberately, but then he'd not thought anyone would use a weapon that destroyed whole planets on an inhabited world. The Em­pire had done the latter, so using a biological agent to de­stroy people and leave the world infrastructure intact just seemed like an economical refinement of Imperial doc­trine.

  "I neither desire nor care about your belief in what I say. Ultimately what you think is immaterial to me. I have you, you are mine, and I will do with you what I see fit."

  Corran brought his head up despite the pain. "What you did to Tycho Celchu to get him to betray me? He gave you the codes for my ship. That's how you got me."

  She looked down at him and her eyes narrowed. "Oh, well done, Horn, well done. I would deny this, of course, but the latest word from Imperial Center is that Tycho Celchu has been arrested by Alliance Intelligence on charges of treason and murder. Specifically, your mur­der."

  "Hardly an injustice, given the circumstances."

  "Perhaps not, but I will find a way to use it. I will re­turn you to them after they have convicted and executed him. His wrongful death will gnaw away at consciences and undercut the Rebellion's illusion of moral superior­ity."

  "I'll tell them the truth."

  "The only truth you'll know is the truth I give you." Isard's smile slithered cruelly onto her face. "We are bound to Lusankya, my private workshop for people like you. By the time I am finished with you, your mind will be mine and your heart's desire will be what I wish."

  Corran shook his head violently, hoping the pain would be enough to make him black out. It was not. "I will never betray my friends."

  She laughed again. "I have heard this chorus many times before and it always sounds so sweet. You will be­tray them, Corran Horn, just as Tycho Celchu betrayed you. You will be the instrument of Rogue Squadron's death and will strike a mighty blow against the Alliance's precarious unity. When I am through with you, little man, you will become the instrument of the Emperor's ven­geance and nothing and no one will be able to stop you."

  About the Author

  Michael A. Stackpole is an award-winning game and computer game designer who was born in 1957 and grew up in Burlington, Vermont. In 1979 he graduated from the University of Vermont with a BA in history. In his ca­reer as a game designer he has done work for Flying Buf­falo, Inc., Interplay Productions, TSR Inc., West End Games, Hero Games, Wizards of the Coast, FASA Corp., Game Designers Workshop, and Steve Jackson Games. In recognition of his work in and for the game industry, he was inducted into the Academy of Gaming Arts and De­sign Hall of Fame in 1994.

  Wedge's Gamble is his seventeenth published novel and the second of four Star Wars X-wing
novels. In addi­tion to working on the novels he has worked on the X-wing comic series from Dark Horse Comics, building a continuity between the two sets of stories.

  He lives in Arizona with Liz Danforth and two Welsh Cardigan Corgis, Ruthless and Ember. In his spare time he plays indoor soccer, enjoys gaming, serves as the Exec­utive Director of the Phoenix Skeptics, and does his best to remain caught up with the on-line traffic on GEnie.

  The World of STAR WARS Novels

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