by Timothy Zahn
Artoo grunted contemptuously. “Don’t blame them too much,” Luke told him with a sigh. “There may be cultural or political entanglements here we don’t know about.”
He resumed his climb. “Or they may just be wary of getting involved in someone else’s fight,” he added. “We’ve certainly seen enough of that over the years.”
Five minutes later they’d reached the gap. Luke had been right: the cut continued upward toward the top of the cliff at a much more leisurely angle while still keeping them under tree cover the whole way. “Perfect,” Luke said, peering up along it. “Let’s get up to the top and see where we go from here.” Collecting the syntherope, he started to coil it—
And suddenly Artoo emitted a startled squawk.
“What is it?” Luke demanded, grabbing reflexively for his lightsaber as he spun around. There was no danger around them that he could see or sense. “Artoo, what is it?” he asked again, turning his attention to the droid.
Artoo was gazing back down into the valley along the way they’d come, moaning mournfully. Frowning, Luke followed along the droid’s line of sight—
And felt his breath catch in his throat. Down on the valley floor, their X-wing had vanished.
“No,” Luke breathed, gazing hard at the browns and grays down there. His first, hopeful thought was that his camouflage job had simply been better than he realized and that the starfighter was still right where they’d left it. But a moment of careful searching with Jedi-enhanced senses put that hope quietly to rest.
The X-wing was indeed gone.
Artoo warbled anxiously. “It’s all right,” Luke soothed. “It’s all right.”
And to his own mild surprise, he found he actually meant it. The X-wing’s disappearing act was frustrating and annoying; but oddly enough, there was no sense of danger or fear accompanying it. Not even any serious concern, despite the fact that the loss of their ship meant no chance for a quick escape should the situation warrant it.
A prodding from the Force? A sense, perhaps, that the X-wing was merely misplaced and not actually lost?
Unfortunately, he realized soberly, it could just as easily be a prodding in the opposite direction. That the loss of the ship didn’t matter because he would not be leaving this world alive anyway.
Unbidden, an image of Yoda rose from his memory: the old Jedi Master sighing with weariness as he settled onto his bed for the last time. Luke could remember his gut-churning fear at Yoda’s frailness; could recall the exact tone of his own voice as he protested to Yoda that he must not die. Strong am I with the Force, Yoda had gently reproved his student But not that strong. Twilight is upon me and soon night will fall. That is the way of things … the way of the Force.
Luke took a deep breath. Obi-Wan had died, Yoda had died, and someday it would be his turn to face that same journey. And if this was the place where that journey would begin, so be it. He was a Jedi, and would face it as one.
In the meantime, the reason he had come here had not changed. “Nothing we can do about it now,” he told Artoo, turning away from the valley and returning to the task of coiling the syntherope. “Let’s get to the top and see where we go from there.”
From directly above came a soft chirp. There are better ways to pass.
Luke looked up. The young Qom Qae was back, hovering on some updraft he’d found and gazing down at them. “Are you offering to help us?” he asked.
The Qom Qae bent one of his wings slightly, the change in air pressure sending him sidling over to the cliff face beside Luke. He caught one of the bushes in his talons as he reached it, folding his wings behind him. I will help you, he chirped. The Qom Jha have said another has arrived and is with them. I will take you there.
“Thank you,” Luke said, wondering if he should ask about his missing X-wing. But after the young Qom Qae’s skittishness earlier it probably would be better to leave any interrogations for later. “May I ask why you’re willing to take the risk?”
I am known to some of the younger Qom Jha, he chirped. I do not fear them.
“I’m not necessarily talking about the Qom Jha,” Luke said, wanting to make sure the young alien genuinely understood the risks. “The others Hunter Of Winds spoke of may also try to stop us.”
I understand that. The alien fluffed his wings. But you asked Hunter Of Winds if he had ever had a friend in danger. I have.
Luke smiled. “I understand,” he said. “And I’m honored to have your assistance. I’m Luke Skywalker, as I said, and this is my droid, Artoo. What’s your name?”
The Qom Qae spread his wings and made a short hop to a bush in front of them. I am too young yet to have a name. I am called merely Child Of Winds.
“Child Of Winds,” Luke repeated, eyeing him thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t by any chance be related to Hunter Of Winds, would you?”
He is my sire, Child Of Winds chirped. It is indeed true about the wisdom of the Jedi Knights.
Luke suppressed a smile. “Sometimes,” he said. “But we should get moving now. Along the way, perhaps you can tell me more about your people.”
I would be honored, Child Of Winds said, spreading his wings eagerly. Come, I will show you the path.
CHAPTER
3
The communications blister on the New Republic Dreadnaught Peregrine was something of an anachronism among modern warships, a throwback to the pre-Clone Wars design philosophy that had prevailed at the time the Peregrine and its Katana-fleet sister ships had been built. Not only was the ship’s entire primary antenna array located in the blister, but so were the complex and delicate encryption/decryption computers.
The handful of other Katana-fleet Dreadnaughts still in New Republic service had had their comm blisters extensively renovated, with the encrypt/decrypt equipment moved inside into a more sheltered area between the bridge and Intelligence ops. But somehow, no matter how often the renovation procedure was talked about, the Peregrine always seemed to slip through the cracks in the work schedule.
Wedge Antilles had wondered about that on occasion. There was, he knew, still some bad blood between General Garm Bel Iblis and a few of the New Republic’s upper echelon, dating back to Bel Iblis’s years of running his own private war against the Empire after his falling-out with Mon Mothma. Wedge had always suspected the lack of renovation on this, the general’s flagship, was tied to that animosity.
It wasn’t until Wedge and Rogue Squadron had been permanently assigned to Bel Iblis that he’d learned the truth. Intelligence sections, Bel Iblis had explained to him, were crowded and public places, and having a decrypted signal piped to bridge or command room gave abundant opportunity for anyone with a modicum of skill and a surplus of curiosity to tap into the conversation. A comm blister, in contrast, was about as isolated a place as one could find aboard a warship; and having the encrypt/decrypt computer close at hand meant that the message began and ended right there. Whenever any really private transmissions were due, that was where Bel Iblis was to be found.
He and Wedge were there now. At Admiral Ackbar’s personal request.
“I understand your concerns, General Bel Iblis,” Ackbar said, his face filling the comm display, his huge eyes swiveling around to take in Wedge as well. “And I do not disagree with your assessment. But I must nevertheless turn down your request.”
“I strongly urge you to reconsider, Admiral,” Bel Iblis said stiffly. “I appreciate the political situation on Coruscant, but that can’t be allowed to blind us to the purely military considerations here.”
The Mon Cal’s lip tendrils seemed to stiffen. “Unfortunately, there are no longer any pure military considerations involving the Caamas issue,” he rumbled. “Political and ethical questions have pervaded everything.”
“Unusual combination,” Wedge murmured under his breath.
One of Ackbar’s eyes swiveled briefly toward him before turning back to Bel Iblis. “The final line of the situation is that any serious New Republic presence over Bothawui at this point would be co
nstrued as support of the Bothans against their critics.”
“It would be nothing of the sort,” Bel Iblis objected. “It would be a voice of calm and reason in the middle of a very dangerous flash point. There are sixty-eight warships here already, all of them engaged in a twelve-way glaring contest with each other, all of them ready to jump if any of the others so much as sneeze. There has got to be someone here who can mediate any problems before they collapse into all-out war.”
Ackbar sighed, a darkly rasping sound. “I agree with you wholeheartedly, General. But the High Council and Senate are in ultimate authority here, and they have come to a different conclusion.”
Bel Iblis threw a baleful glance at Wedge. “I trust you’ll continue trying to change their minds.”
“Yes indeed,” Ackbar said. “But whether I am successful or not, you will not be the one chosen for the dubious honor of mediator. President Gavrisom has already selected another task for you.”
“More important than keeping the peace over Bothawui?”
“Far more important,” Ackbar assured him. “If Bothawui is the flash point, then it is the Caamas Document which is the spark.”
Wedge felt a sudden premonition hit him. Could Gavrisom actually be considering—?
He was. “President Gavrisom has therefore concluded that the New Republic’s best chance of defusing the controversy is to obtain an intact copy of the document,” Ackbar continued. “To that end, you are to proceed immediately to Ord Trasi, where you will begin assembling a force for an information raid on the Imperial Ubiqtorate base at Yaga Minor.”
Wedge stole a furtive glance at Bel Iblis. The general’s expression hadn’t changed, but there was just enough of a tightness in his jaw to show he was thinking along the same lines Wedge was. “With all due respect, Admiral,” Bel Iblis said, “President Gavrisom must be joking. Yaga Minor is possibly the most heavily defended system in Imperial or New Republic space. And that’s just considering a straight-line attack, where it doesn’t matter which enemy positions come under fire. Having to keep the enemy data system intact adds five extra layers of difficulty to the whole operation.”
“The President is well aware of the challenges involved,” Ackbar said, his voice even more gravelly than usual. “I’ll be honest: I don’t like this any more than you do. But it has to be tried. If war breaks out over this issue, we don’t have enough ships or troops to either force or maintain a peace. The entire New Republic could conceivably collapse into total civil war.”
Bel Iblis looked at Wedge again, turned back to the display. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m forced to agree with your assessment.”
“I may also say,” Ackbar added, “that if there’s any way this can be done, you are the one who can do it.”
Bel Iblis smiled wryly. “Thank you for your confidence, Admiral. I’ll do my best.”
“Good,” Ackbar said. “You and your task force are to leave Bothawui immediately for Ord Trasi. I’ll be quietly sending you the rest of your ships over the next two weeks, at which time I expect you to have a battle plan formulated and ready to go.”
“Understood,” Bel Iblis said. “What about special equipment or units?”
“Anything the New Republic can supply is yours,” Ackbar assured him. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll have it sent to you.”
Bel Iblis nodded. “We will of course need total secrecy on this,” he warned. “If even a hint leaks to the Empire, what little chance we have will be gone.”
“The secrecy will be complete,” Ackbar promised. “I’ve already set a cover story in motion which should convince any Imperial spies that the ships are secretly being assembled in the outer regions of the Kothlis system for the defense of Bothawui, should that become necessary.”
“That should work,” Bel Iblis said. “Provided they don’t head to Kothlis and take a look for themselves.”
“Two Rendili Space Docks have already been moved to the Kothlis system,” Ackbar said. “They’ll be equipped with dummy ships carrying the proper IDs and markings for the benefit of any Imperials who happen by.”
“Interesting.” Bel Iblis cocked an eyebrow. “So this isn’t just some slice-of-the-moment idea Gavrisom came up with last night. This has been in the works for some time now.”
The Mon Cal nodded his massive head. “The preparations were begun the day after the riot at the Combined Clans Building on Bothawui,” he said. “With General Solo’s implication in that incident, the President knew it would no longer be possible for the New Republic government to make any overt political moves without our motives coming under fire.”
“I understand the reasoning involved,” Bel Iblis said heavily. “Ord Trasi it is, then.”
“A liaison team from my office will be waiting there when you arrive,” Ackbar said. “Good luck, General.”
“Thank you, Admiral. Bel Iblis out.”
The general touched a key, and the transmission ended. “Which doesn’t mean I entirely agree with it,” he commented under his breath to the blank display as he turned to Wedge. “Well, General. Comments?”
Wedge shook his head. “I was on an information raid once, back when we were trying to get data on Grand Admiral Makati out of the Boudolayz library,” he said. “I think the bit-pushers estimated afterward that we were about eighty percent successful. And that was Boudolayz, not Yaga Minor.”
“Yes, I’ve read the reports on that raid,” Bel Iblis said, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “This is definitely not going to be easy.”
Wedge grimaced. “Meanwhile, Bothawui keeps collecting warships like a floodlight collects night insects. Eventually, sir, someone’s going to try to take advantage of that.”
“I agree,” Bel Iblis said. “Which is why I asked you to come up here with me this afternoon.”
“Oh?” Wedge said, regarding him closely. “Then you knew this was coming?”
“Not the Yaga Minor raid specifically,” Bel Iblis said. “But I had a feeling Coruscant would turn down my request to stay here and keep order. It also occurred to me that if my task force was ordered away—as we now indeed have been—that Rogue Squadron isn’t technically part of that task force.”
Wedge frowned “You’ve lost me, General. I thought we’d been permanently attached to you.”
“To me, yes,” Bel Iblis agreed. “But not to my task force. It’s a fine but very important technical distinction.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Wedge said, trying without success to sift confirmation of that point from his own memory of the New Republic’s military regs. “So what does that mean?”
Bel Iblis swiveled the encrypt station chair around and sat down. “It means I agree with you that someone is likely to take advantage of this mess,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “Possibly this shadowy Vengeance organization that keeps throwing riots and demanding the Bothans pay through the snout for their part in the destruction of Caamas.”
“Yes,” Wedge said slowly as a sudden thought hit him. “And since the Bothan contribution to that attack was to sabotage the Caamas planetary shields …?”
Bel Iblis nodded. “Very good. Yes, my guess is someone’s going to try to take out Bothawui’s shields.”
Wedge whistled softly. “Do you think that’s even possible? The Bothans are supposed to have one of the best shield systems in the galaxy.”
“They did once, back at the height of the Empire,” Bel Iblis said. “Whether they’ve kept it up I don’t know. But of course an enemy wouldn’t have to take down the entire grid to do serious damage. Dropping the shield just over Drev’starn would open up a hole you could pour a lot of turbolaser damage through.”
“Yes,” Wedge murmured. “Trouble is, it wouldn’t be just the Bothans who’d get hammered.”
“That is indeed the problem,” Bel Iblis agreed soberly. “At last count, there were over three hundred megacorporations with their headquarters on Bothawui, plus thousands of smaller companies an
d at least fifty pledge and commodity exchanges.”
Wedge nodded. It wouldn’t exactly mean universal economic chaos if they were hit, but it would add a considerable degree of extra anger and resentment to the stew already heating up out there.
And with all those warships trying to stare each other down overhead, it might do considerably more than just heat the stew. “What do you want me to do?”
Bel Iblis seemed to be studying his face. “I want you to go down to the surface and make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Wedge had had a sneaking suspicion that was the direction this conversation was going. It came as something of a shock just the same. “All by myself?” he asked. “Or do you think I might need the rest of Rogue Squadron, too?”
Bel Iblis smiled. “Relax, Wedge, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said. “I’m not expecting you to stand in front of the Drev’starn generator dome, a blaster in each hand, and hold off the Third Imperial Heavy Armor. So far Vengeance has shown more trickery and subterfuge than brute force; and trickery and subterfuge are things a couple of clever X-wing pilots ought to have a good chance of spotting.”
So the proposed scout party was up to two now, Wedge noted, thereby doubling their chances of rooting out this theoretical splinter in a sand hill. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind as the second clever X-wing pilot?”
“Of course,” Bel Iblis said. “Commander Horn.”
“I see,” Wedge said between suddenly stiff lips. A search for a hidden saboteur … and Bel Iblis had immediately come up with Corran Horn. Could he somehow have deduced Corran’s carefully hidden Jedi skills? “Why him?”
Bel Iblis’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Because his father-in-law is a smuggler,” he said. “He’s bound to have a network of contacts Horn will be able to access.”
“Ah,” Wedge said, relaxing a bit. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“That’s why I’m a senior general,” Bel Iblis said dryly. “You’d better get below and give Horn the good news. You heard Ackbar—I only have a couple of weeks to pull all this together, and I’ll want you back with the squadron when we hit Yaga Minor.”