Star Wars - X-Wing 07 - Solo Command

by Aaron Allston

  "But he's the key. The fact that he was sent to kill Gast means that he was working for Zsinj. The fact that he was seen speaking to both Tal'dira and Nuro Tualin means that he was involved with them, and therefore with the whole supposed Twi'lek conspiracy, which makes it a certainty that Zsinj is be­hind that."

  Solo took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, our knowing that doesn't mean that everybody understands it. I have one more piece of news. Very, very unfortunate news."

  He told Wedge.

  It was a few hours later, a few minutes after most of the pilots and civilian crewmen began their day shifts. In his own office, Wedge looked at the three good people he'd assembled and prepared to give them what might have been the grossest insult he could offer.

  Nawara Ven gave him a close, evaluative look. It was ob­vious to Wedge that he knew something bad was up. It was harder for him to read Dia Passik's face. His chief mechanic, Koyi Komad, looked unsure.

  "I have orders from the Provisional Council," Wedge said. "The effect on our immediate group is that I'm obliged to take you three temporarily off active duty."

  Koyi registered shock. Dia's eyes narrowed. Nawara Ven nodded, as though this were what he expected. "It's because we're Twi'leks," he said.

  "I'm afraid so."

  Koyi's voice climbed a register in indignation. "I don't be­lieve this."

  "Believe it," Dia said. "It's fleetwide, isn't it, Commander?"

  Wedge nodded.

  "So much for the human promises of equality among the species," Koyi said. Her voice was bitter. "I don't have to stand by and be treated this way. You know how many jobs, civilian jobs for a lot of money, I've turned down? But no, I transferred back to the Rogues. I stayed with you after Zsinj blew down Noquivzor Base on top of us and killed almost everyone I worked with. I did this because the Rogues were the spearhead of this cause I wanted to support. A galaxy where species didn't matter. Now that's gone."

  "It's not gone," Wedge said. "It's taken a body blow, but it's not dead."

  Koyi gave him a smile, but there was neither amusement nor friendliness in it. "So I'm off duty. I have some reading to do. May I be excused, sir?"

  Wedge nodded. "For what it's worth, Koyi, I'm sorry."

  "I'm sure it's worth something, sir." On her way out, she said, "Ask me in a year and maybe I'll know what."

  "I think I should go too, sir." Dia rose.

  "How are you doing, Passik?"

  "The Provisional Council has just announced to all the New Republic that I'm not worthy." Her red eyes flashed for a moment. Then she managed a smile. It wasn't, like Koyi's, a bitter smile. Wedge recognized it as mockery. "Fortunately, their opinion is worth nothing next to my squadmates'. I think I'll go keep company with them. I'd do that any day rather than slum with the Provisional Council." She saluted and left.

  Nawara Ven said, "That was a lot of insolence for you not to dress her down."

  "I feel almost the same way she does. I'm not sure when the last time was I felt this low. I just can't believe Tal'dira turn­ing against us the way he did." A memory jogged at him. "Can you tell me something? Does the phrase 'one-leg-hopping ma­niac' have any special meaning in Twi'lek culture?"

  Ven smiled. "You're asking me?" He gestured down to the lower portion of his right leg, the one that had been amputated in Ven's last mission as a Rogue Squadron pilot.

  "I'm sorry. I forgot about that. But, yes, I'm asking. It's se­rious. It's what Tal'dira called me just before he died."

  "Oh." Ven's eyes lost focus as he stared back into his memory. "I can't think of one."

  "Odd. What would cause him—" Wedge's eyes opened wider. "Cause. Effect. What's the cause and what's the effect?"

  "I'm not following you—"

  "It didn't matter whether Admiral Ackbar died. Or Mon Mothma. Their assassins were successful."

  "What? No, they weren't."

  "Yes, they were. Koyi Komad was their first victim."

  Ven's expression suggested that he was within seconds of calling in the medics to deal with his commander.

  "Get the Wraiths together," Wedge said. "We're going to conduct one of their insane speculation and planning sessions. Pilots' lounge. And invite any Rogues who want to attend. As usual, with Zsinj, we have to dig one level farther down." Wedge was in the corridor before Ven had a chance to rise to his feet.

  All the Wraiths were there, except Runt and Janson, whose in­juries kept them in bacta-tank treatment for the time being, and so were Tycho, Hobbie, and Corran Horn of the Rogues. Donos decided that Tyria and Horn looked unusually glum, and couldn't blame them. At least Tyria had someone to offer her support; Kell stayed next to her. The others were keeping a little distance between themselves and Horn; whether it was out of respect for his feelings or because of their own unease at being in the presence of someone who had just killed one of his squadmates, Donos couldn't tell.

  Wedge walked in, his bootheels clattering. "So we know about a sudden rise in terrorist activity by Twi'leks," he said without preamble. "We've determined to our own satisfaction that Zsinj is behind them."

  Ven said, "Though we lack evidence to prove it conclusively." "Not important for our discussion. Why is Zsinj doing this?"

  "To hurt the New Republic," Kell said. "Losing Admiral Ackbar and Mon Mothma would be a serious blow."

  Wedge took a seat and nodded. "Sure, it would. And they'd be replaced by people who probably aren't quite as good as they are at their tasks. If everyone on the Inner Council were murdered, we'd have an Inner Council that was just a little less adept at doing what it does. Not exactly a master stroke on Zsinj's part." He leaned forward, still oddly intent. "This morn­ing at six hundred hours I was obliged to relieve every Twi'lek aboard Mon Remonda of active duty. And that, I think, is what Zsinj wanted."

  "To be rid of our Twi'leks?" Kell asked.

  Wedge shook his head, but it was Horn who spoke up. "Suddenly the Twi'leks are second-class citizens. Rumor has it that Gotals will be next because of the attempt on Mon Mothma's life and the follow-up shootings."

  Lara said, "Twi'leks and Gotals don't make up much of a percentage of the New Republic armed forces. They're not even signatories to the New Republic; there are just a fair num­ber of them in service. I mean, their loss is important, sure ,.. but it's not going to cripple the fleet."

  "It'll cripple the entire New Republic," Wedge said. "Right now, it's one species making up a fraction of one percent of the New Republic population. But we suddenly have a precedent that divides them from the New Republic. In their eyes, it casts humans as villains. To human eyes, the Twi'leks and Go­tals are already starting to look like villains. What if, tomor­row, it's a species that has been with the Alliance since the start of the Rebellion? An important contributor to the New Repub­lic cause?"

  Donos saw the Wraiths and Rogues looking among them­selves as the idea took root. He drew a breath. "Until this three-pronged attack on you, sir, and on General Solo and Dr. Gast, we had no real reason to believe that it was Zsinj's work."

  "Correct," Wedge said. "It could have been an Imperial project, a criminal action, or an actual species-based conspiracy. But in trying to kill us under the same umbrella of this false conspiracy story, he's shown his hand."

  "Which does us no good," Donos said. "We're not going to he able to convince the Provisional Council of this theory."

  "Why not?" Wedge looked challenged, rather than angry, at the statement.

  "Who's going to convince them of it? Ackbar? He trusted the Twi'lek who almost killed him. Mon Mothma? She's in­jured, not capable of leadership at the moment. Princess Leia? Off on some diplomatic mission. Han Solo? He'd have to leave the fleet, and abandoning his task is not the way to make the Provisional Council confident in him. You?" Donos repressed a wince at the words he'd have to say. "You, sir, also trusted the Twi'lek who almost killed you."

  Wedge nodded. "Correct. But here's the answer to your question. To convince the Provisional Council, we're ail g
oing to become geniuses."

  "I vote we start with Elassar," Lara said. "He has the far­thest to go."

  The Devaronian pilot winced. "No more. I surrender." •

  "What kind of geniuses?" asked Ven.

  "Prophetic ones. The kind who can tell the Provisional Council just what's going to happen next. What's Zsinj's next step? If we can predict it, we can convince the powers that be that they're dealing with a methodical plan of Zsinj's . . not a conspiracy of terror against humankind." He looked among them. "Otherwise, in six months, a year, the New Republic consists of humans on one side, nonhumans on the other, no possible trust or interdependence between them . . . and Zsinj can march in and take whatever he wants."

  "I have a thought." That was Piggy. "A theory. About where I fit into Zsinj's plan."

  "Go ahead."

  "We know for a certainty that Zsinj has for some time been trying to create very intelligent examples of humanoids not known for their intelligence," Piggy said. "The question, especially as it relates to your other theory, is why?"

  "Obviously," Tycho said, "to have intelligent agents who could infiltrate those species, and therefore not look out of place in locations where those species are found."

  "Correct." Piggy nodded in the exaggerated way of Gamor­reans. "But that's only part of the equation. What does a leader require in an agent in addition to intelligence? More important than intelligence?"

  "Loyalty," Lara said. Her voice seemed a little sad. Donos gave her a close look. She saw his sudden interest, shook her head to suggest that her momentary disquiet was nothing.

  "Correct," Piggy said. "Yet I am not loyal to Zsinj. I under­went no indoctrination from youth, nothing like the teaching the stormtroopers receive. Why not? Was I just a laboratory test specimen? Was I to be purged when tests on me were complete?"

  Nawara Ven nodded. "Possibly so."

  "Yes. But consider. Zsinj would not have embarked on a process like the creation of me and the other hyperintelli­gent humanoids without making some provision for loyalty. What if he found a way to instill it by force rather than through training?"

  "Like brainwashing." Tycho's voice was flat, hard. Donos noticed that the captain now sat absolutely still. Small wonder: Tycho had at one time been suspected of being a brainwashed agent of Ysanne Isard, the former head of Imperial Intelligence. "You think the assassins were brainwashed by this technique."

  "Yes," Piggy said. "But we know we're not facing brain­washing as we have experienced it before. The Twi'lek who at­tacked me and Admiral Ackbar might have been brainwashed, but he was missing only for a week—a possible, but very short— amount of time to do such a thing. From the time he joined Rogue Squadron, what was the longest time Tal'dira was out of sight of the other members? His longest leave?"

  Tycho and Wedge conferred, and Tycho said, "About a day at a time. Various leaves on Coruscant."

  "One day." Piggy nodded. "If we assume that Tal'dira was a victim and not a conspirator, then he was brainwashed in less than a day. Surely such a treatment must leave evidence on the body of the victim. Signs of probes. Blood chemical imbalances from drug treatments. Neurological disorders. Something."

  "Unfortunately," Wedge said, "we don't have Tal'dira's body to examine. Or Flight Officer Tualin's. We might be able to put in a request to Admiral Ackbar to see if he can perform autopsies on his attacker and Mon Mothma's. And the two Gotal shooters."

  "If only Doctor Gast had survived," Piggy said. "I feel no sense of loss at her passing; in fact, I am met with relief. But in retrospect, I wish we had the knowledge she possessed."

  Wedge and Nawara Ven exchanged a glance. "We'll have to do without," Wedge said. "All right, let's get to work on these theories of ours ... and see whether we can have success­ful careers as prophets as well as pilots."

  It drifted off the bow of Mon Remonda, a saucerlike shape with two forward prongs signifying the bow and a small cock­pit projecting from the starboard side to give the ship an off-balance look.

  To Wedge's eye, it looked just like the Millennium Falcon, except that its top-hull dish antenna was much smaller. A shut­tle occupied by Donos, Corran Horn, and the Wraiths's chief mechanic Cubber Daine, Corellians all, plus Emtrey, the Rogues's quartermaster, had escorted the battered-looking freighter from a scrapyard in the Corellian system, where such craft were most common ... and cheapest to acquire.

  "Ugliest ship I think I've ever seen," said Solo.

  Captain Onoma, standing on the other side of Solo at the bridge's new forward viewport, wrinkled his forehead in a fair approximation of a human frown. "It looks like the Falcon to me."

  "Nothing could look less like the Falcon," Solo said. "You could slap a paint job on a desert skiff and it'd look more like the Falcon." He sighed. "Still, with Chewie in charge of dress­ing her up, she might be able to fool Zsinj for a couple of min­utes. What did our crew of Corellians pay for her?"

  "They traded that hyperspace-enabled TIE interceptor Shalla Nelprin took off Razor's Kiss."

  Solo looked at him, eyes wide. "That's crazy. Trade a valu­able combat-ready starfighter for that hunk of junk?"

  "No. They traded a valuable combat-ready starfighter for a chance to blow Zsinj up."

  Solo's features settled into calmer lines, though he still looked tired, stressed. "Oh. Well, that makes sense. She'll never have the Falcon's speed. Without a few years's head start, Chewie won't be able to make her insides work like the real thing."

  "We don't want him to," Wedge said.

  "How so?"

  "Because if they count on this new ship being the Falcon, our modifications can trip them up. For example, the Falcon isn't packed with high explosives."

  Solo shuddered. "There's a very good reason for that."

  "Right. But since the Falcon isn't packed with explosives, you'd never send her into a crash dive into the side of a Super Star Destroyer. With this hunk of junk, you wouldn't feel any such compunctions."

  "Except for not wanting to die."

  "Well, that's what escape pods are for. You know what I mean."

  "Yeah. Yeah." Solo returned his attention to the Corellian YT-1300 transport hanging off the bow. "All right. Secure Bay Gamma One to authorized personnel only and direct this fly­ing trash receptacle there. Let's get to work."

  It drifted off the bow of Iron Fist, a nightmare vessel. Her bulk was an irregular oval of wreckage more than three kilometers long held together by thousands of kilometers of cabling. Around the wreckage was a superstructure—a cluster of en­gines at one end, a wedge-shaped bow at the other, a gigantic spar of metal connecting them and acting as a frame for the en­velope of wreckage to hang upon. The name, barely visible on the bow, was Second Death.

  "Ugliest ship I think I've ever seen," said Zsinj. His face shone with admiration. "Melvar, you have done a magnificent job."

  The general gave him a little bow. "There are a dozen ex­plosive pockets within the body of the wreckage; they will send the components of Razor's Kiss out in all directions. There are more explosives in the engines and bridge, sufficient to remove most evidence that these extra components ever existed. It should be convincing. Unfortunately, she's slow. She can't be expected to keep up with Iron Fist or other elements of our fleet."

  "Pity. Still, we'll do what we can. How does the crew escape?"

  "Both bow and stern are equipped with a Sentinel-class landing craft. The crew has a chance not only to evacuate, but to fight their way out of pursuit." Melvar offered a little sigh. "The crew doesn't know that if a capital ship approaches within a kilometer before they've engaged the hyperdrive, they, too, will detonate. The crew will not be captured, will not be able to betray your secret to the Rebels."

  "Excellent. Fine work, as usual. Give her a station in the fleet, outside of visual range of any of the other vessels. I am so pleased." Zsinj smiled. He hoped he'd never be forced to utilize the hideous amalgamation that had earned his ap­proval and praise. Using it meant failure on his pa
rt—meant he'd been beaten and needed to hide to lick his wounds. But he liked to keep his options open. "Oh. What about the Night-cloak function?"

  "Working ... mostly. Would you like a demonstration?"

  "Please."

  Melvar held up his comlink. "Second Death, this is Gen­eral Melvar. Activate and initiate Nightcloak."

  "Yes, sir," came the tinny voice from the comlink. "Deploy­ing satellites."

  Tiny flares erupted from Second Death, four from the bow and four from the stern, deploying at precise angles so they suggested the corners of a wire-frame box surrounding the junkyard vessel. After a few moments of flight, the satellites ceased their acceleration; their burn trails vanished and they became all but invisible in the starfield.

  "Nightcloak engaging," said the comlink.

  And Second Death was suddenly gone.

  Where she had been, where the space around her had been, was blackness. Not starfield—not even the stars were visible through it.

  Zsinj offered a little exhalation of happiness. "Sensors, give me a reading on Second Death."

  The sensor officer in the crew pit below examined his screen. He took on a stricken look as he raised his head to face the warlord. "Nothing, sir. We don't even get a return on the active sensors. It's a sensor anomaly."

  "Fine, fine."

  Out in space, stars briefly flickered through the darkness, then shone brilliantly again, and Second Death once more floated before them.

  Melvar frowned. "Second Death, I didn't order an end to the test."

  "Sorry, sir. System failure. It's still not entirely reliable."

  "Well, bring in the satellites and get back to work. Until it's one hundred percent, it's not adequate. Until it's one hundred percent, we're not happy with you. Melvar out." The general pocketed the comlink and turned to his warlord. "I'm sorry, sir."

  "Don't be." Zsinj waved his apology away. "It's a fine demonstration. A wonderful adaptation of what we're accom­plishing at Rancor Base. They'll have it done in time. Or else." He smiled.