Star Wars: X-Wing V: Wraith Squadron

by Aaron Allston

  The two TIE fighters ceased drifting. One came up to speed, heading toward the corvette, and the other spun back toward Phanan’s X-wing. That eyeball fired, its green lasers shredding the derelict snubfighter.

  Wedge grimaced. “Amateurs. Wraiths, open fire.”

  Not all the Wraiths had angles on the eyeballs, but enough did. The fighter approaching the corvette was hit by two quad-linked bursts, the one that had destroyed Phanan’s craft by three. Both exploded.

  His blaster pistol once again tucked away and the chopped-down laser cannon hanging from its power cable, Piggy climbed the TIE fighters’ landing brackets. He kept a strong grip on those brackets; if the atmosphere vented, he didn’t want to be pulled out with it. He saw the door through which the hold crew had run begin to close.

  At the top of the brackets, he was only three feet from the hold ceiling. If he remembered the layout of Corellian corvettes from the training he’d received, there would be a floor of officer and guest quarters above the hold, and the ship’s bridge would be immediately above that. If his cannon would chew holes in both ceilings and he could find a means to keep climbing, he could be in the bridge before anyone knew he was coming.

  He dragged up the cannon, pointed it at the ceiling, averted his eyes, and fired.

  The light produced by the shot was overwhelming, dazzling him even when reflected from the canopy of the TIE fighter below. The noise was incredible, a shriek of metal and displaced air. Melting metal scraps fell all around him—and on him, burning through his pilot’s suit.

  He ignored the pain. As his eyes cleared, he clambered up atop the bracket beams and leaped up through the hole he’d made—

  Into the bridge. Around him, lying on the floor where they’d leaped for cover, running toward the exit, reaching toward holsters for blasters they’d never grasp, were the members of the bridge crew.

  Where was the officers’ quarters floor? It didn’t matter. Piggy shouted, “Stop where you are! One move and I fire!”

  And he aimed the still-smoking laser cannon toward the bow of the bridge, where metal walls and transparisteel windows were all that held in the chamber’s atmosphere.

  The bridge officers glanced at one another, then at an officer wearing the insignia of an Imperial naval lieutenant. The lieutenant nodded glumly and raised his hands.

  Only when ash began to drift down from the ceiling did Piggy glance up, there to see what was left of another ship’s officer.

  “Captain Voort saBinring of the New Republic corvette Night Caller hailing Wraith Squadron. Wraith Squadron, come in.”

  Wedge couldn’t restrain his grin. “Captain? That’s a sudden promotion.”

  “A temporary promotion, sir. I am in command of this vessel. I thought a captaincy would be most appropriate.”

  “Oh, it is. Permission to come aboard?”

  “Granted. And please hurry.”

  12

  Inconvenient as the planet’s weather was, they brought Night Caller down to the surface of Xobome 6 to perform their examination. Jesmin Ackbar remained on station in orbit to alert them to any other enemy arrivals.

  Wedge stayed on the bridge, accumulating information, while the Wraiths performed their duties as fast as possible. Wedge could see them, dim shapes moving among the rocking X-wings while the wind drove ice particles past the bridge windows and obscured his vision. He was careful to stay well away from the hole melted in the floor. The object fried to the ceiling above that hole, remains that had once been a man named Captain Zurel Darillian, had fallen free during the ship’s landing and dropped into the TIE fighter hold; Falynn Sandskimmer, unperturbed by their grisly nature, was dealing with them.

  Squeaky, just back from his initial tour of the ship, seemed fascinated by what he’d seen. “It’s all so very clean, sir. The captain must have been quite a stickler for cleanliness.”

  Wedge gave him a rueful look. “Usually a sign of a diseased mind … What about the structural modifications?”

  “It has been very heavily modified from the standard corvette, Commander. Where the Tantive IV had a luxury quarters deck beneath the bridge, Night Caller has eliminated the deck, I suspect to make extra room in the bow hold for the four TIE fighters. The bow has also been widened, the hull armor on the sides of the bow narrowed, electronic apparatus that should be between bulkheads there moved somewhere else. The topside hold has been converted into a skimmer hangar. There are no laboratories; that’s where the luxury quarters are located.”

  Wedge nodded. “It appears that this was no retrofit job. It came out of the shipyards this way.”

  “I agree, Commander.”

  From the main weapons console, Janson said, “They’ve given up one of their bow turbolaser twin cannons and installed a tractor beam instead.”

  “Most ships this size have a tractor.”

  Janson grinned. “I mean a real tractor beam. Something suited to a frigate or larger war vessel, not just a beam suitable to drag a fighter around.”

  Grinder, bent over one of the bridge’s data consoles, called, “Oh, Commander.” He made the rank sound like part of a song. When he straightened and turned, Wedge could see the Bothan’s teeth bared in a meat-eating smile.

  “Yes?”

  “Piggy got to the bridge so fast—oh, this is sweet. They didn’t have time to shut down, to purge the memory, to activate the most basic security. They have a state-of-the-art Imperial HoloNet system, a real luxury on a vessel this size, and it was hot, ready to go—and they didn’t even get a message off.”

  Wedge blinked at him. “Whatever fleet it came from is unaware it’s in trouble?”

  “Completely. I pulled up its mission profile, its standing orders, its schedule, everything.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It belongs to Zsinj—”

  “No surprise.”

  “No surprise. But it’s temporarily assigned to Admiral Apwar Trigit. Its mission is to lay mines, Empion mines, a type I’m not familiar with—”

  “Ask Kell about them. I think I had him redesign them in his head earlier today.”

  “Right. Anyway, it’s supposed to plant them, to monitor their hypercomm frequency for alerts that they’ve been triggered, to inform Admiral Trigit of the results when they go off.”

  “Go on.”

  “I also got their schedule, mostly visiting unaligned planetary systems and demonstrating that Zsinj has muscle, also some routine meetings with refueling ships. A schedule they’re supposed to return to once this minelaying is done.”

  “Show me.”

  Grinder brought up a list on-screen. Wedge read off the list of planets. “Viamarr 4, Xartun, Belthu, M2398, Todirium, Obinipor, Fenion. Can you plot that for me?”

  “I’m way ahead of you.”

  “That seems to be a short description of my recent command history.” Wedge looked over the star chart Grinder brought up. It tracked a course through Rimward planets just outside the New Republic’s current zones of control. “And Trigit doesn’t know we’ve captured this vessel.”

  Grinder shook his head, sending ripples through his silver fur. “Sir, he can’t.”

  Wedge whistled as the first elements of a plan began to percolate in his mind.

  Cursing the cold, Cubber and Kell staggered against the gale-force winds of Xobome 6 and reached the stern of the Narra.

  There, as Squeaky had described, tucked neatly away in one of the recesses beside the main thruster of the main drive unit, was a rectangle of the dimensions Kell remembered. This one was black to match the surrounding components of the drive unit.

  The two mechanics looked at each other. “Doesn’t belong here,” Cubber said. “Let’s pull it off.”

  “Let’s scan it first, Cubber. Remember my other occupation?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll wait over there. Behind the outcropping.”

  Kell pulled out the sensor pack Squeaky had saved for him, the one optimized for demolitions work, and hoped that it would hold up
in this cold environment. He moved it slowly across the surface of the mystery box and carefully watched the sensor’s display.

  The heat-based visual display showed intricate electronic components inside, some of which were consistent with advanced comm gear, none of which seemed to include the sort of nondifferentiated material that usually made up the explosive portion of a bomb. There seemed to be some sort of armature attachments on the other side holding it to the shuttle’s surface.

  He waved Cubber over, then carefully gripped the box and pried at it. It resisted him; then, as he applied more pressure, it came away from the shuttle. Four mechanical limbs, each articulated, half a meter long, and ending in gripping hands, hung limply.

  “I think it’s dead,” Cubber said.

  “What do you want to bet that the bomb that scrambled our droids’ memories did the same thing to this?”

  “No bet. Let’s get inside where it’s warm and find out for sure.”

  Jesmin remained at her station in orbit; Falynn and Runt guarded fifty-plus ship’s officers and crewmen now crowded into the stern lounge. The rest assembled in the small meeting room that was part of the captain’s quarters.

  “First,” Wedge said, “I want to commend the principal parties involved in the capture of Night Caller. Piggy, Face, Kell—excellent work.”

  There was general applause, and Piggy said, “Can I keep the ship?”

  “If you mean as a personal possession, no. If you’d like to remain in command, the answer is probably yes.”

  Piggy looked startled. “I was joking.”

  “Well, the question would have been a joke in the Imperial navy or the Corellian fleet or a lot of other places, but it’s actually a reasonable one in the fleet of the New Republic. It’s all because many of our traditions are rooted in the more piratical times of the Alliance’s first days. Still interested?”

  Piggy nodded, silent. His expression was made up of surprise and confusion.

  “The first thing you’d do is transmit an informal request for command of Night Caller to Fleet Command. Then you’d submit a formal application for transfer out of Starfighter Command and into Fleet Command. I’d have little choice except to approve it, and the Navy is nearly one hundred percent likely to accept you. They have a keen appreciation of officers who capture ships to add to the fleet, after all.

  “Then you’d receive a crash course in naval traditions and capital ship command, along with a promotion to naval lieutenant … and an immediate temporary promotion to captain. Because of your lack of experience, you’d be given very simple missions for your first several months—guarding convoys of ships carrying nonessential goods, for example. Eventually, within the year, I’m certain, they’d become aware of your competence, begin giving you more critical missions, and make that last promotion a permanent one.

  “Let me just say, though, I personally think it would be a shame to take a promising fighter pilot like yourself and turn him into a barge driver. But I have to admit that those are the words of an irredeemable X-wing jockey.”

  Janson barked out a laugh, which Wedge ignored. Wedge continued, “What about it, Piggy? Naval captaincy within a year? Still interested?”

  Piggy was still for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Perhaps I am selfish. But everyone remembers Lando Calrissian and Wedge Antilles and what they did at Endor. Who remembers the name of the captain or the gunner on the Home One at the same battle?”

  Wedge smiled. “I do. But I know what you mean. And I appreciate the fact you’re staying.” He turned back to the others. “All right, back to Night Caller and our current situation. Cubber, fuel?”

  “We’re good. Night Caller’s tanks were almost full, and they have proper refueling equipment. I’ve siphoned off enough to top off the Narra and all the X-wings except Jesmin Ackbar’s.”

  “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll bring her down and send Myn up so you can refuel her as well.”

  Jesmin’s voice came out of the intercom on the table. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Oops. Forgot you were listening. Grinder, did you transfer the nav data?”

  The Bothan nodded. “We can jump out of system at any time.”

  “Phanan? Your status?”

  Ton Phanan looked less pallid than he had up in orbit, but he looked no less unhappy. “They blew up my snubfighter.”

  “Your physical status, I mean.”

  “Oh. The damage to flesh was all trivial. I didn’t lose any limbs or organs this time, which is quite a treat, I assure you. The damage to the prosthetics is not all fixed yet, though. My left leg isn’t receiving proper neural input and drags a bit. And my right hand works just fine for most things, but when I start to work with a datapad, there’s some sort of leakage of signals and it just goes crazy.” Phanan waved the hand in question. It ordinarily looked like a normal hand, but now it twitched continually, the ring finger jerking rhythmically and the flesh on the back of the hand crawling in an inhuman fashion. Phanan did not seem disturbed by the phenomenon. “But with a little more work with the ship’s computers, I should be able to set everything right.”

  “Cubber, Kell, the attachment on the shuttle?”

  Kell shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with its memory blown out, but I think it was some sort of parasitic communications device. It was mobile and had a camouflage coating; it can alter its color to match whatever vehicle it’s attached to. It also has a very small, very limited hypercomm ability … but again, with its memory gone, I can’t find out where it was transmitting to. My guess is that it went from ship to ship and occasionally broadcast its current location to its maker.”

  Grinder said, “Which is nothing if there’s only one of them … but important if they could build hundreds or thousands. They could build up a map of anomalous hits and find all sorts of things. Smugglers’ bases. Deep-space assembly points.”

  Wedge said, “And hidden Alliance bases. Jesmin, add that to the report we’re sending to Command. ‘All ships, be advised …’ ”

  “Understood.”

  Wedge checked the next item on his list. “All right. We’ve faked up a report in Captain Darillian’s name, with all the appropriate security checks on it, explaining that he jumped into this system, found the abandoned X-wing, assumed that the pilot had ejected, sent over a party to retrieve it—and it blew up, some nasty treachery on the part of its original pilot. We’ve sent that report off. We hope it will forestall any further inquiry on the matter of the Xobome system. Now, we’re going to take some time, rotating you among the guard duties, but giving everyone a chance for a few hours’ rest. When we’re all feeling a bit more recovered, we launch.”

  Kell said, “Doldrums, here we come.”

  “No, Mr. Tainer. Not Doldrums. First we’re going to three different uninhabited systems to pick up three unexploded Empion mines. Then we’re going to the Viamarr system.”

  Kell frowned, confused. “If I may ask, sir—”

  “Why this schedule? Because that’s the order of business for Night Caller. Ladies, gentlemen, I’m acting on my own initiative and sending off a request that High Command approve my new plan. Which is this: We’ve just become crewmen in Warlord Zsinj’s fleet … and we’re going to do his bidding until we can find a way to strike at him.”

  Kell emerged from his temporary quarters wearing a black TIE fighter pilot’s jumpsuit—one that was, miraculously, large enough for him—and toweling his hair dry.

  Night Caller seemed eerily quiet. They were still on the ground, so the ship did not tremble from the efforts of her engines, and she was massive enough to be immune to Xobome 6’s winds. With most of the old crew collected in the stern lounge under guard, and with Wraith Squadron spread thinly through the rest of the ship, there were few noises to be heard.

  He headed forward, toward the bridge, along the main corridor running the length of the ship. When he was almost to the bow, he heard voices drifting down a stairwell to port.

  He followe
d them up. Off the main corridor of Deck One, he found himself peering into the ship’s main communications bay, a smallish chamber whose walls were solid, modular blocks of communications gear.

  Jesmin and Face were seated there, and another man was with them—a hologram, actually. The man, thin, cleanshaven, with hawklike features, was dressed in a sharp-looking black uniform with Imperial captain’s bars. He was seated in an imposing command chair and was much given to irritating theatrical gestures as he spoke. “We have been charged,” he said, “with weaving the net that will capture any Rebels who are so fortunate as to survive the destruction of the base on Folor and flee. Our assignment: lay Empion bombs along the four most likely escape routes and then wait at the astrographical center of that array to snatch up whatever poor insects fall into our trap.” He leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Personally, I hope some of them can effect repairs in the time it takes us to get to them. I could do with a bit of a fight.”

  The Wraiths burst out in laughter. Jesmin hit a button on the main console and the captain’s image froze there, his expression still suggesting he had just let the viewers into his confidence with that little revelation.

  “What is this?” asked Kell.

  Face leaned back and stretched. “That’s our former ceiling decoration, Captain Zurel Darillian. He apparently kept the ship’s log in full holo.”

  “What an ego.” Kell shook his head. “That must take up massive storage.”

  Face said, “The ego or the graphics?”

  Jesmin turned one eye admonishingly toward Face, then nodded toward Kell. “Oh, it does. But I thought that since Face was an actor, he should see this man’s performance. I have seldom seen anything so florid, so self-satisfied, so … repellant.”

  “Oh, I have,” Face said. “I once sat in Ysanne Isard’s lap.”

  Kell and Jesmin stared at him. Kell said, “You’re kidding.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not. Win or Die had just been released Empire-wide. I played a little boy, a son of two patricians of the Old Republic, only I know that the Empire is the way to go and I try to run away to safety with the new Emperor. But my dad doesn’t see it that way and shoots me in the back, and I die in the Emperor’s arms, begging him to finish conquering the galaxy so that the evil of people like my parents can be eradicated …”