Star Wars - X-Wing - Iron Fist

by Aaron Allston

  Then there was pain, an agony so intense he couldn't even tell where it began, and he was falling, slamming down onto the passageway floor.

  Pain bent him as though he were a puppet in the hands of a malevolent child. He could see, and even barely understand, the spot on the back of his left thigh where a blaster bolt had cut through the stormtrooper armor and the flesh beneath. He could see the stormtrooper who'd shot him; the man was ad-vancing at a walk, his rifle ready for another shot.

  And then there was the turbolift door, too far away for a man reduced to crawling.

  They had him. They had him, and they had his datapad, which contained everything Zsinj would need to know about him and his mission here.

  Hands twitching from the pain, he held his datapad out before the barrel of his blaster rifle and squeezed the trigger.

  "Now," Zsinj said over the iced pastry that was their dessert course, "to the matter which has led to our meeting."

  Face sat back, assuming a false expression of contentment.

  "Please."

  "I am about to embark on a mission. It will be a large-scale military engagement."

  "You're going to attack your Rebel enemies?"

  "That's correct. I anticipate starfighter and capital ship re-sponse and need all the starfighter support I can get-especially considering my recent squadron losses." He made a growl of that last statement. "But if you're as effective against my ene-mies as you have been against me, I will have lost effectively no strength." An aide appeared over his shoulder and whispered to him. His expression did not change, but he rose. "I must at-tend to business for a few moments. Melvar, please continue this briefing." He took a few steps away with the aide.

  Melvar smiled, an expression that suggested he'd be hap-piest if pulling the wings off insects. "It's an orbital refueling and trade station. In its warehouses is a considerable quantity of material we need-critical supplies. We also need some time to load that material into our cargo vessels-not a lot of time, but enough time for the planetary defenses below to begin sending up squads of starfighters from the surface... and to bring in more squadrons from capital ships arrayed around the planet."

  Face whistled. "You're after valuable cargo. What is it?"

  Melvar shook his head. "That's a secret... until you're at

  the mission site."

  "What we need to know," Zsinj said, returning to his seat, "is how many starfighters you can bring to bear in support of this mission."

  "Six," Face said. He noted that Zsinj's merry demeanor now seemed forced. "Only six?"

  "We fight like twenty."

  "You fight like thirty. And we'll pay you like thirty."

  "Meaning..."

  "Your commission is four hundred thousand Imperial cred-

  its, deliverable immediately upon completion of the mission."

  Face tried to keep from displaying the surprise he felt.

  That was a fortune, enough to purchase two X-wings plus re-placement supplies. "And if your mission fails, no payment at all?"

  "No, you get the entire amount regardless-assuming you don't let me die in the engagement."

  "I'm still impressed. If I didn't know my unit's skills, I would suspect you were overpaying us."

  Zsinj dropped his false smile. "I am overpaying. I predict that some of yours, and some of mine, will die in this engage-ment. I intend to pay enough that all our pilots go into battle ea-ger to succeed, happy to risk their lives-and comforted that if they die, their widows and children will be amply compensated."

  Face considered it. "I'd be happy to earn still more. I have more Hawk-bats than I do starfighters. Many with technical proficiency. Many with other skills." "Intrusion skills ?"

  Face smiled. "I was right. You're going to position a team before your fleet arrives."

  Zsinj shrugged. "We obviously think alike. Yes, of course."

  "I have intrusion experts. Some with experience with both

  Imperial and New Republic systems."

  "And also," Melvar interrupted, "you have him." He ex-tended one silvery n ail toward Kell. "And his teacher," Face said. Melvar looked surprised. "His... teacher?"

  Kell brushed his hair back, his signature gesture, and looked miffed.

  "His teachen Deadliest unarmed combatant I ever met. A woman, deceptively sweet of appearance, which makes it easy to insert her in most environments. Not his equal as a pilot... but I once saw her kill a Wookiee. Unarmed."

  Zsinj and Melvar exchanged glances. Zsinj said, "Surely you're exaggerating."

  "He's not," Kell said, his first words since they sat.

  "A Wookiee's incredibly strong by human standards, but no faster... and has just as many vulnerabilities. Pressure points. Joints. You can't wrestle with one-that's automatic death.

  And its longer reach means you constantly have to drop in and out of its range. But it can be done.

  "Qatya, that's my teacher, started with a shot to the spine

  that compressed its spinal cord and apparently damaged a cou-

  ple of its vertebrae, all of which partially paralyzed it... espe-

  cially its legs. The next time it swung at her, she trapped its

  hand at a position to give her advantageous leverage, then

  twisted it to break its wrist. She broke two of its fingers then,

  too, just for fun. You know how women are. Then-"

  "Dissek, please." Face made his voice admonishing, but inwardly was pleased by Kell's improvisation-it was just the sort of gruesome detail he would not have felt knowledgeable enough to provide. "Do forgive him. Combat is his only love."

  "Quite all right," Zsini said. "You will provide me with dossiers on the Hawk-bats who have technical skills so I can evaluate possible roles for them?"

  "I will. Just give me a way to send them to you."

  "Melvar will give you a set of HoloNet times and frequen-

  cies before you leave."

  "And as much data as you can give us on this mission so we can run our own simulations?"

  Melvar produced a datapad from a pocket and slid it over to him.

  "Would you be averse to a small commission now?" the warlord asked.

  "Not at all."

  Zsinj stared back toward the security foyer, the route by

  which the Hawk-bats had entered the command center. Two

  stormtroopers there were advancing, dragging a third

  stormtrooper backward between them. The third man was

  limp in their arms and had no helmet on; his hair was golden blond.

  "I must be sure of your ruthlessness," Zsini said. "I know you are capable of killing in fair combat, but I want men-oh, yes, and womenmwho can kill under less adverse circum-stances. So, if you'd please shoot this man for me?"

  The stormtroopers dumped their human cargo by the foot of the table.

  The man they had carried was Castin Donn. His eyes were closed. There was a blaster burn mark on his right leg. His chest rose and fell in regular rhythm.

  Face swallowed the bile that tried to crawl up his throat and hoped that he had not gone as pale as he felt. Castin, you idiot. You've killed us all.

  Kell glanced down at Castin and then at Face, admirably

  keeping his features emotionless. His look was a question- lump Zsinj now? Or wait? Dia kept her gaze on Castin's face, her own expression oddly enrapt.

  "Not much of a target," Face said, stalling. There had to be something he could do without revealing their hand, some way to preserve all their lives without managing to iettison their entire mission.

  Nothing came to mind.

  "True," Zsinj said. "Would you shoot him, please?"

  "Oh, I should imagine," Face said, but did not move. "It seems rather a costly test for you, though-having us shoot one of your own stormtroopers."

  "Not one of mine," said Zsinj. "An intruder."

  "You're not going to question him?"

  Zsini shook his head. "I'm not interested in what he has to


  say. Would you shoot him, please?"

  Face clamped down on the panic rising within him. The ship's officers at the table were watching him with increasing interest. And no plan was coming to mind. "Of course," Face said. "How much ?"

  Zsini looked surprised. "What?"

  "How much to shoot him? How much are you paying?"

  "General Kargin, you surprise me. You're already here, and the cost of a single pistol blast is negligible-especially as we are providing the blaster." He nodded toward one of the of-ricers, who produced a blaster pistol. "You can't do this as a demonstration of goodwill?"

  "Intelligent life is the most precious commodity in the galaxy," Face said, making his voice pompous. "Consequently, I never take it without adequate financial reward."

  Dia stood, her sudden motion startling everyone at the ta-ble. She smiled at the warlord, a heart-melting expression, and said in her husky Seku voice, "The general is just looking out for the well-being of his officers and troops, Warlord. He can't abandon his policies; they're written up in the Articles of the Hawk-bats. But I can do this for you as a private commission. The blaster, please?" She held out her hand.

  Face felt a sudden surge of elation. She had a plan. He saw

  Kell bring his legs up under him. The big man would probably go after Zsinj. That left General Melvar for Face, with Dia to hold the others at bay with the blaster. Assuming they gave her a functional one.

  Metvar nodded; his officer handed Dia the blaster pistol.

  She checked the charge, moved over beside Castinto

  And shot him in the throat.

  A chatty junior officer, apparently cheered by the murder of the intruder, led the Hawk-bats back to their shuttle.

  Once the security foyer doors closed behind them, Zsinj rose. He clapped his hands, and all the talk in the room ceased. "You've done very well," the warlord said. "Thank you for a fine performance."

  The men saluted and began filing out of the ersatz crew pit. Zsinj sat. "How iswwhat's his name? Yorlin?"

  Melvar's features relaxed and became bland and non-threatening once more. "That man Dissek hit him hard enough to give him a concussion and damage some teeth."

  'Well, he's to be commended for following orders even at the cost of considerable pain. Give him a commendation, and when he gets out of the medical ward, give him a three-day leave." He nodded at the body of the intruder; smoke still rose from what was left of its neck. "Hand that over to our techni-cians. I want to know who he was, where he came from, where he's been living, and how he got aboard Iron Fistince he ap-pears not to have been one of the Hawk-bats after all."

  "Done. What did the intruder cost us?"

  "Initial reports indicate that he shot two stormtroopers

  and two technicians, then our best Talz specimen killed an-other two technicians and another stormtrooper, and finally the remaining troopers shot the Talz. Costly." Zsinj fixed Mel-var with a serious stare. "Have we lost an Ewok test subject?"

  "Not from Iron Fist. But it could be that one of the planet-bound laboratories has lost one-and covered up the loss."

  "I'm going to have to execute someone for that, Melvar.

  Find out who lost him, then kill that idiot."

  "Yes, sir."

  Face made it clear, by gesture and private code, that he wanted the others to remain silent even as they accelerated away from Iron Fist. Only when they had entered hyperspace, on their first leg out did he speak. "Report."

  "He was already dead." The words burst from her like water finally breaching an old dam. "He was gone, Face." Pain tugged at her words, made them waver. There was bleakhess in what he could see of her face. "He was breathing."

  "No, he wasn't. It was some sort of trick. Some sort of me-chanical pump, I don't know." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "He was completely limp when they brought him in. Not unconscious limp. Dead limp. There was blaster charring on his armor's pelvic plate that should have continued up into his chestplate but didn't, so they had to have put a new chest-plate on him-to replace the one that was burned through when he was killed. And the guards carrying him, their posture said they were hauling cargo, not a prisoner who might wake up someday." She closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Body language is something I know a lot about, Face. He was dead."

  "Accepted." Face sighed and leaned back. "Dammit. If only he'd followed orders. Will you be all right?"

  "I'll be-I'll be-" Her voice choked off. She gulped a couple of times and then just stared. "Dia?"

  She shrieked as if stabbed and was suddenly a whirlwind of motion, lashing out in all directions. Her random blows landed on Kell, on the command console, on the windscreen, on the shuttle wall beside her.

  KeU leaned between her and the controls, fending off her blows. "Face, get her off me before she bumps the wrong things and sends us down a blind hyperspace path."

  Face leaned forward, grabbing at Dia, received a blow to his chin from a brain tail for his trouble. "Dia! Power down!"

  But her shrieks and blows redoubled, joined now by what

  looked like painful spasms. Face reached around the copilot's

  seat and got both hands on her, then bodily hauled her over the

  chair and into his lap. He took another pair of random blows before getting his arms around her waist, pinning her to him.

  She let out one last, keening moan and collapsed. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks and Face found himself frozen, staring at them, evidence of emotions he had never believed she possessed. "Dia?"

  Her voice was a moan. "She's dead."

  "She? She who?"

  "Dia. Diap'assik. She is dead."

  He put heat and anger into his words. "No, you are not."

  "Yes! She would not have done that. She would not have

  shot him. She would have died first. She is dead, Face."

  He heard a snap, heard metal slide on leather, and was prepared when her hand came up with her blaster and its bar-rel came in line with her chin. He released Dia with his left hand and got his thumb under the trigger, preventing her from squeezing it.

  She shrieked again, a haunted noise compounded of agony and bottomless guilt. "Face, let me!"

  He wrenched the blaster from her hand, held it over Kell's shoulder until he took it, and pinned her agai n. "No."

  "Then kill me."

  "No. ,7

  "Yes. I will not live this way."

  "You have to. We need you."

  She surrendered then to silent tears and racking sobs. He held her to him and finally had a moment to think.

  Dia, who in simulator combats cut down the enemy with a cold-bloodedness that sometimes shook the other squadron members-where had she gone? Who was this doppelgiinger, torn by grief, in his arms? She had to be a Dia who lived under her shield of ruthlessness, some remnant of the Dia who had been stolen as a child slave off Ryloth a dozen years before. A Dia who could know terrible guilt-self-destructive guilt.

  As gently as he could, he said, "Dia, thank you."

  She didn't respond.

  He repeated his words, and finally she drew back and

  looked up at him, incomprehension and pain on her face.

  "What?"

  "Thank you."

  She shook her head. "For shooting-for shooting-"

  "No. For my life. If you hadn't done what you did, I

  would be dead. I would have failed to convince Zsinj, and he would have killed us. I prefer to be alive, Dia. Thank you."

  He finally could see comprehension flickering around in her eyes.

  Kell turned and caught her attention. "Dia. Me, too.

  Thank you. Without you, I'd be dead. Or in Zsinj's tender care, worse than dead. Face and I owe our lives to you."

  She stared at him in confusion for a long moment, then collapsed again into Face's arms. "No," she said, and repeated it again and again as her tears flowed unchecked. Finally she slept.

  Face let Kell handle the routine tasks of getting them
back to the Halmad system. They'd have to rendezvous with Cubber and-and whoever was assigned in Castin's place-in the as-teroid belt, in order to do a complete sweep of the shuttle for tracking equipment, then head on in to Hawk-bat Base.

  He had just that much time to compose his report, a report in which he had to explain just why it was that two subordi-nates had died in his immediate vicinity in just a few days.

  16

  Wedge listened to Face's report, asking for clarifications here and there, letting the man-who, despite his skill as an actor, could not quite conceal the fact that he was stricken with guilt over Castin's death-pour out the entire story of the meeting with Zsinj. It was a report Face had practiced; he'd given it to Janson on the day he'd returned to Hawk-bat Base, and had to repeat it to Wedge now that the rest-and-recreation unit had returned from Coruscant. Yet in spite of the extra practice, Face's emotions were still raw and on the surface, concealed not at all by his proficiency with acting.

  When it was done, Face said, "1 take full responsibility for Castin's death, sir."

  Wedge gave him a look of surprise. "You take full responsibility." "Yes, sir."

  "So Castin Donn played no part in his own death. None of

  the blame falls on him." "Well-"

  "I knew even better than you of his history of insubordi-nation, of rebellion. And I'm the commanding officer of this unit. Yet I bear no responsibility? It somehow is all yours?"

  "Well-"

  "Face, what do you think you could have done to prevent his death?"

  "I could have ordered the smuggling compartment searched, rather than just looked into."

  "Why would you have, when looking into it showed that he wasn't there?"

  "I could have accounted for his whereabouts before we took off."

  "But you did. You accounted for his whereabouts as they pertained to your mission. He wasn't with you, so far as you could tell, so the rest of the information about his whereabouts was irrelevant. He was just one step ahead of you, ahead of all of us. Did you know he'd rigged the duty roster so he wouldn't be on duty until after your return, that he'd set up a dummy and mechanism on his bunk to make it look and sound as though he were there sleeping?"