Star Wars: X-Wing II: Wedge's Gamble

by Michael A. Stackpole

Gavin shook his head. “Probably not.”

  “For your own sake,” Nawara added.

  Inyri smiled cruelly. “These are the people who brought Black Sun back to Coruscant.”

  The Bothan covered her surprise well, then stared right at Gavin. “True?”

  He shrugged. “I’m afraid so.”

  Asyr frowned. “Freeing folks from Kessel explains why you’ve got no love for the Imps, but I don’t think the Rebels will think much of your doing that either. Makes the galaxy kind of small for you. That’s a big problem.”

  “Not really, not at all.” Corran handed Gavin back his blaster. “As things go, that’s really a minor problem.”

  “A minor problem?” Asyr’s frown deepened. “Do I even want to know you people?”

  “Probably not.” Gavin smiled at her. “We’re Rebels—pilots in Rogue Squadron.”

  “And you’re here on Coruscant?” Asyr’s amethyst eyes widened. “I begin to see your perspective on things.”

  Corran nodded. “Let me help you get the full hologram. We’re here to figure out how to liberate Coruscant. In comparison with our mission, any other problem is a minor problem.”

  Aril Nunb had decided to feign unconsciousness when they dragged her from the rubble, but the cracked ribs on the right side of her chest were painful enough to make her squeal when a stormtrooper pulled on her right arm. He hauled her to her feet, then shoved her toward the group of cut and bleeding refugees standing behind the Floating Fortress.

  Aril didn’t think she’d blacked out when things started happening, but she couldn’t be certain. She remembered the stormtroopers arriving, then the far door going down. She’d broken for the exit along with the other Rogues, but a blast from the Fortress had exploded part of a hovel to her right. She thought only the shock wave had knocked her down, but the ache in her ribs suggested she’d been hit solidly by flying debris. Then she’d seen a Sullustan toddler begin to scream and thrash in a midden. She’d bent to help him out when the rest of the building came down.

  She glanced back at the pile from where they had pulled her, but she saw no child. Aril turned to look forward again, but she saw no child among the hollow-eyed survivors. Those that could cry did, others licked their wounds; many stared off into space.

  A Too-Onebee glanced in her direction, then pointed off to the left. Aril mutely followed the directions and found a group of Sullustans huddled together, segregated from the other refugees. A number of children clung to adults, hiding behind legs or burying their faces in a parent’s neck. Aril couldn’t see the child she had gone after. She had a hard time actually recalling the child’s face, which told her she’d probably been concussed.

  Instead of letting herself think she’d failed, she arbitrarily picked out one child and decided he had been the one she had tried to help. She nodded in his direction, but he just hid further behind his father’s leg.

  Someone grabbed her left arm. Aril looked up into the jowly face of a man who stood a good forty centimeters taller than she did. He was quite heavyset, yet his brown eyes shone with a cunning that removed him from the class of man she would have called bovine. He wore his thinning black hair in a short military style cut, which was in keeping with his General’s uniform.

  “You seem healthy. A good specimen.”

  Aril lightly tapped the right side of her chest and winced.

  The man dropped his thick-fingered hand to her flank and probed her ribs. She squeaked out a protest. His touch, while clinical, was also forceful and hurt. “Cracked ribs maybe, probably just bruised.” He looked down into her eyes and turned her head to the left and right. “You look fine. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

  He straightened up. “Diric!”

  An older, dull-eyed man in a bloodstained orderly’s uniform spun on his heel. “Yes, General Derricote?”

  Derricote patted Aril on the shoulder. “This is one we’re taking with us. Put her with the others.”

  “She makes a dozen and a half, sir.”

  “Good.” Derricote pointed to the orderly. “Go with him. You will have the best of care. In fact, I daresay, you will have the best medical care available for the rest of your life.”

  27

  Admiral Ackbar closed his eyes for a second, then nodded to his aide. “I suppose the tide is high, so I cannot escape it. Please show Councilor Fey’lya in.”

  The human aide departed, giving Ackbar a moment of silence in which he could prepare for the coming confrontation. No, Ackbar, if you assume bitter water, you’ll not taste the sweet. The Admiral refused to consider the Bothan a rival for power, primarily because Ackbar himself had no desire for power in any political sense of the word. He had risen to his position at the head of the Alliance military because of his intimate knowledge of Imperial doctrines—learned while he was Grand Moff Tarkin’s slave—and because the Mon Calamari had contributed their considerable fleet to bolster the Rebel Navy for the battle at Endor. Once the Empire was defeated and his services were no longer needed, he would happily retire to Mon Calamari and spend the rest of his days living through tide cycles.

  He realized his refusal to see Borsk Fey’lya as a rival probably was shortsighted, but he could not afford the distraction. With the death of General Laryn Kre’fey at Borleias, the Bothans had lost their most celebrated military leader. The Bothans had no other candidate to offer as viable for running grand operations like the taking of Coruscant.

  Which meant any Bothan agenda had to go through Ackbar.

  Which is why Fey’lya has come to me now.

  The hatch to Ackbar’s cabin on Home One opened and Borsk Fey’lya entered the dimly lit office. Ackbar started to adjust the lighting upward, but the Bothan shook his head. “Be comfortable, Admiral, I can see well enough in this light.”

  The subdued tones of Fey’lya’s voice, and the conciliatory nature of his words, immediately put Ackbar on his guard. “You honor me with your visit, Councilor.”

  Fey’lya held a gold-furred hand up. “Please, the formality of titles is unnecessary between us. We have not always been on the same side, nor do you probably consider me a friend, but you do acknowledge the bond we share within the Rebellion.”

  “Of course.” Ackbar nodded slowly. “You came to speak to me about Noquivzor.”

  “Indeed. The reports I have gotten were sketchy.”

  Ackbar sat back in his eggshell repulsorlift chair. “You have the basics: one standard day ago Warlord Zsinj showed up in the system with the Iron Fist, launched a wing of TIEs, and proceeded with a planetary bombardment. Our base there was hit hard, though since most of it was underground, the damage was not as extensive as Zsinj undoubtedly would like to think.”

  Fey’lya’s purple eyes glowed luminescently in the half-light. “We met on Noquivzor approximately seven standard weeks ago. Do you think this was a misguided assassination attempt?”

  Ackbar thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Unlikely. If he killed the Rebellion leadership he would make himself a target. I suspect he thought he was attacking Rogue Squadron, to pay them back for hitting his ships. His facility for carrying a grudge is all but legendary. We made no secret of where Rogue Squadron was staying primarily to keep the Empire looking at Noquivzor instead of closer to home.”

  “How badly was Noquivzor hit?”

  Ackbar’s eyes half closed. “We had major damage to the barracks complex. Multiple floors collapsed one atop another. We will be a long time digging bodies out. Rogue Squadron lost a significant portion of their support staff. The hangar complex, on the other horizon, escaped damage. When we get them back from Coruscant they will have ships to fly.”

  “Even the worst plague will spare some of the virtuous.” The Bothan slowly shook his head. “Warlord Zsinj is becoming more of a problem. If we do not strike back at him and hit him hard, he will be emboldened and hit us again.”

  “Agreed, but where do we hit him? He’s as elusive as the Katana fleet. The galaxy is a big
place and even with back-plotting and reports coming in, pinpointing his location is all but impossible. To find him would demand a full fleet operation, and that would mean we delay the Coruscant operation indefinitely.”

  “But if we were to do that and try to hunt Zsinj down, we would suddenly open ourselves to more reprisals by him and might give Ysanne Isard the opening she needs to strike at us.” Fey’lya smoothed the fur around the mouth with his left hand. “Fighting on two fronts is folly.”

  “Truly spoken.” Ackbar cocked his head slightly. “You would not be here if you did not have an idea to offer, for this discussion merely verbalizes facts plainly in evidence to anyone who has read the reports.”

  A hurt expression stole upon Fey’lya’s face, but the intelligence in his eyes robbed it of its intended effect. “To escape a rancor, one is wise to ignore the bite of a flea.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We cannot shift our focus from the Empire. What I propose is a bold strike at Coruscant.”

  “We’re not ready.”

  “We must be.” Fey’lya opened his hands. “We are already staging for it and nothing in reports from Coruscant give any indication that Isard is increasing her defenses. She must know we are not ready so she thinks she has time to prepare. If we go now, soon, she will be taken unawares.”

  “You grossly underestimate Iceheart if you think she is ever unprepared.”

  Fey’lya’s head came up and his jaw opened in a predatory grin. “You are not protesting the plan as utter madness. Your thoughts parallel mine, don’t they?”

  Ackbar sat forward again, his barbels quivering. “We are at a critical junction. Iceheart’s preparations for the invasion she has to know is coming have been insufficient. Reports from Coruscant are favorable. Because of recent developments it appears it is possible to unite disparate parts of the Coruscant population to give us a partisan force on the planet. They are poorly equipped, but can be disruptive and distracting.”

  “Can they disrupt and distract enough to bring the shields down?”

  “I do not know.” Ackbar shook his head. “I have sent a message to Commander Antilles directing him to formulate and prepare to implement a plan to do just that, with the resources he has on hand. Once I receive a reply that indicates he has such a plan prepared, I will give him a target time for when it has to go into effect. When the shields go down, we will arrive at Coruscant.”

  The Bothan’s eyes narrowed. “You allow for no slippage in his plan. What if he cannot bring it off in time?”

  Ackbar’s jaw opened in a smile. “I have had a report which makes this plan viable in the event that Commander Antilles and his people fail to bring the shields down. You may recall that in recent months the Interdictor cruiser Black Asp ran afoul of Rogue Squadron? Their Captain, a woman named Uwlla Iillor, filed a protest over the transfer of her flight operations officer from her command. The protest was ignored and, apparently, was enough to prompt her and her staff to decide to defect. This gives us an Interdictor cruiser, something we have not had before.

  “Depending upon the course we choose, the journey from Borleias to Coruscant will take approximately twenty standard hours. My intention is to send the Black Asp in early and have it jump to the outer edges of the Coruscant system. If the shields are not down, the Interdictor will power up the gravity well projectors and drag our invasion fleet from hyperspace prematurely. If the shields are down, Iillor will do nothing and allow us to revert from hyperspace right on top of Coruscant.”

  Fey’lya slowly nodded. “Elegantly simple but decidedly effective. You clearly trust this Captain Iillor. You do not think her coming over is one of Ysanne Isard’s deceptions?”

  “No. Captain Iillor cites interference by Imperial Intelligence with her command as the primary reason for her defection. General Cracken has cleared her and has his people working on her staff. Within a week the Black Asp will be operational with an Alliance crew.”

  The Bothan nodded. “The ship will be renamed?”

  “The crew has chosen a hopeful name: Corusca Rainbow.”

  “An omen, to be sure.”

  “That is my hope.” Ackbar gave Fey’lya a wall-eyed look. “You will propose this plan to Mon Mothma?”

  “In both our names, yes.” Fey’lya smiled. “With her support and the two of us backing it, the Provisional Council cannot fail to make it operational.”

  “Good.” The Mon Calamari nodded. “Then I just have to see that the operation does not fail.”

  28

  Kirtan Loor dropped to one knee before the holographic image of Ysanne Isard but did not bow his head. “Thank you for replying to my request so quickly, Madam Director.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Displays of ego and spirit always attract my attention, Agent Loor.”

  “Good, then I can take it that you will be reprimanding General Derricote?”

  “Why?”

  Loor blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Why? Madam Director, he took it upon himself to go into In visee and select subjects for his experimentation who were transported directly to his lab. He violated every known security procedure we have in doing that. The Sullustans he took were not properly screened so we do not know who they were. The other captives spoke of an Alien Combine and the Sullustans might have been able to supply more useful information on that organization.”

  Isard dismissed his protest with a sneer. “I have told him you are to be allowed to interview his subjects.”

  “Oh, yes, but he immediately injected them with the newest strain of his Krytos virus. The interviews would have to take place with my people in isolation suits, which means the subjects would know they were never getting out. Their motivation to cooperate would be gone. And if he’s right, if this strain has an incubation period of two weeks, the subjects would be well into dementia and death before analysis would let us conduct other interrogations.”

  “That is not your concern at this moment, Agent Loor. General Derricote’s Krytos project is of paramount importance. This new strain could be the breakthrough we need to prepare Imperial Center for the Rebels.” Fire flared in her molten left eye. “That idiot Zsinj attacked the Rebels to salve his own wounded pride. He doesn’t realize that if they were to mobilize their entire fleet and devote it to hunting him down they’d have him inside a year. The fool thinks he is powerful, but he doesn’t realize all he has done is to force the Rebels to move more swiftly to take Imperial Center—too swiftly.”

  Loor sat back on his heel. “There is no indication of impending operations according to our spy in Rogue Squadron.”

  “I know that, but I also know their leadership. They mean to wipe us from the galaxy and they cannot do that if they end up chasing after every Moff who decides he should be the next Emperor. Imperial Center is the key to power in the galaxy. They know that and they know the sooner they sit Mon Mothma on the Imperial throne, the easier their crusade will be.”

  The audacity of launching a strike at Imperial Center surprised Loor, but he knew the leaders of the Rebellion often saw the impossible as necessary and their successes against the Death Stars had made them think they could succeed at anything. Isard had purposely left Imperial Center vulnerable, but only so the Krytos virus could cause the Rebel Alliance to collapse. If it were not ready, her plan would fail and the Alliance would be stronger than ever.

  “I will monitor the situation, Madam Director.”

  “Oh, yes, you will.” She stabbed a holographic finger at him. “The Rogues can plan all they want, but nothing can actually be done for two weeks. I am going to deploy this version of the Krytos virus so it can be introduced to the planetary water supply starting now. We will see if Derricote’s predictions on its speed and lethality are correct, and assuming they are, we will save ourselves two weeks of waiting. If the Rogues strike too soon, all will be lost. Two weeks minimum—a month would be better. Develop the resources you need, do whatever you must, but see to it that the Rogues do nothing s
ubstantive before I want them to.”

  “It will be done, Madam Director.” Loor bowed his head, but when he looked up again her image had vanished. He stood, slowly, and a smile spread across his features. “Develop resources and do what I must. By your order.”

  He walked from his dark, cramped office down a short corridor to another room. The door whisked up into the ceiling, revealing a dark room with a figure bound to a chair and flanked by two stormtroopers. Loor walked in and took the man sitting there by the chin, eliciting a snarl from him.

  Loor laughed, releasing the chin, then backhanded the man across the face. “Displays of spirit can be painful.”

  “Nothing you can do will hurt me, Loor.”

  “Ah, you do remember me. I should be flattered, Patches.” Loor looked down at Zekka Thyne and hit him again. The man’s head rocked back, but the red eyes stared up at him, full of defiance. Striking Thyne had a cathartic effect on him, but Loor refused to indulge himself. “Fortunately for you, I remember you as well.”

  “You’ll get nothing from me, Loor.”

  “But you have nothing I want, Patches.” Loor tapped fingers against his own breastbone. “I have something to offer you, however. Rogue Squadron brought you and other Black Sun scum to Imperial Center, then they followed you. There is only one implication for this, which is to suppose you and they are preparing for an assault on Imperial Center.”

  “I know nothing about that.”

  Loor grabbed an ear and twisted it cruelly. “You’re listening now, not speaking.”

  Thyne stared vibroblades at him but remained silent.

  “Good.” Loor released him. “You will be my eyes and ears within the Alliance community here. I want to know their plans. I want timetables, suppliers, personnel rosters, anything and everything. If you give me what I want, I let you live.”

  “If I walk out of here, you will never be able to get me again so your threat means nothing.”

  “Oh, I won’t be the one to kill you. Not firsthand, anyway. What I will do is allow Black Sun slicers to obtain files that even go back to my CorSec days noting how you were working for me. They will implicate you in the downfall of Black Sun here on Imperial Center. Your fate will be decided by your brethren, not me.”