Solo and Wedge were among those who abandoned the last surviving card game. Solo rubbed tired eyes and said, "Not bad, man-who-looks-like-Wedge. What's Stage Three?"
Wedge gave him a smile he might have learned from a toothy Bothan. "In Stage Three, we track down Zsinj and blow him up."
"Good plan. I like it."
9
The next morning, once hangovers were shaken off and infusions of caf had taken hold, the crew of Mon Remonda moved more briskly, with weeks of frustration and bone weariness at least partially shaken loose.
At a briefing of the Rogues and Wraiths late in the day, Wedge said, "For those of you who were curious, tomorrow's mission does not seem to have been endangered by the mass amnesia that seems to have struck my pilots—no one seems to be able to recall what he was up to yesterday." That drew some chuckles. "Assuming our brains are working correctly again, we can probably get through a preliminary operational briefing now."
He tapped keys on the lectern keyboard and a holoprojection sprang into existence beside him. It showed a solar system— medium-sized yellow sun and a dozen planets around it. Their orbits were indicated by glowing dotted lines. "This is the Kidriff system. It's along what we think of as the Imperial/Zsinj border, as far coreward as Zsinj's influence extends. Its occupied world, Kidriff Five, is a very wealthy one, a heavy trade depot that develops and exports metal alloys—several improvements in Sienar TIE fighter hulls in recent years came about because of Kidriff developments.
"Kidriff Five's government patterned the world's building and expansion plans very heavily on Coruscant, as a way of becoming more attractive to the Empire and the Imperial court." Wedge activated another image, and the holoprojector displayed a city vista—a seemingly endless sea of skyscrapers that would not look out of place if dropped whole onto Coruscant. The sky, however, was not as hazy or as thick with storm clouds as Coruscant's typically was. "It wouldn't have been a bad site for Ysanne Isard to set up her government seat in exile—except, by the time the Rogues threw Isard off Coruscant, Kidriff had already fallen to Zsinj.
"We've recently received a lot of data on Kidriff and other Zsinj-occupied worlds in Imperial sectors. Analysis showed that the data had been scrubbed of certain types of information useful to the New Republic. But the scrubbing seems to have been hasty, and did not entirely eliminate the fact that there had been activity by a pro-New Republic faction in the months before Zsinj took over." Wedge called up another image, this time of a region seemingly divided equally between stretches of skyscrapers and stretches of heavy rust-colored foliage. "Kidriff Five's Tobaskin Sector. Seat of their rebel activity, which may or may not still exist. That's our target."
Janson spoke up. "And what do we do there, chief?"
"Very little, actually." Wedge brought up the image of a Corellian YT-1300 freighter. "This is not the Millennium Falcon. It's our simulacrum, which Chewbacca and a few unlucky mechanics have been transforming into a likeness of the Falcon. They painted false rust on good hull and put good paint on rusty hull so the blotches match up, and have made some other modifications. We've dubbed it the Millennium Falsehood. We're given to understand that it's approximately spaceworthy."
From the back of the briefing hall, Chewbacca uttered a sustained grumble that left the pilots no doubt that the Wookiee didn't think much of the freighter.
Wedge continued, "Chewbacca and I will pilot the Falsehood to Tobaskin Sector and land in one of those forest tracts. We'll let off a couple of intelligence operatives who are going to try to make contact with any surviving pro-New Republic factions there. But our main job is to wait there until we're seen, then take off for space."
"Which accomplishes what?" Janson asked. "Actually, I know the answer. But I thought you ought to have at least one shill in the audience."
"Good to see you're developing a skill you can use in civilian life," Wedge said. "This allows the apparent Millennium Falcon to be seen well within Zsinj's territory on a world where Zsinj knows there has been pro-Rebel activity. It's one piece of data that will pique his interest. We're going to do this again and again. At a certain point, when the Falsehood has developed a predictable pattern of mission activity, Zsinj will, we hope, show up to destroy her."
Lara raised a hand.
"Notsil."
"Um, I don't know whether this has entered your mission planning, sir, but if you go to an Imperial world, they'll probably want to kill you. And if you do land and let yourself be noticed later, they'll probably want to kill you then." She gave him a look as though she were an ingenue full of pride in her sudden tactical realization. Pilots around the amphitheater laughed.
"This had occurred to us. Data on the Kidriff system suggests that their security is very lax in order to promote fast, efficient trade—they're far more interested in making sure cargo gets taxed than in protecting government and military installations, which tend to be buried very deep and hard to hit. So our belief is that we can just fly the Falsehood in. We'll kill our transponder stream once we're low enough, so they won't know where we landed. They'll assume it's a smuggler's ploy and look for us. We'll be going in with Captain Celchu's X-wing coupled to our hull, and he'll detach to act as our escort on the trip hack out. But before we go in, the Wraiths who are assigned TIE interceptors will go in and make a preliminary landfall. If their security queries are more difficult than we suspect, they can signal us and wing out of there. Otherwise, they'll be on hand to join Tycho for escort duty on the flight out. The rest of the Rogues and Wraiths will be orbiting the planet's primary moon to offer additional support when they chase us off-world."
Wedge looked among the seated pilots. "We'll be taking out targets of opportunity, mostly enemy starfighters, on the way out. Our mission is to disengage with as little loss as possible. Does anyone see any specific flaw in this operation?"
Runt sneezed. He looked around, embarrassed. "Sorry. No flaws. Just bacta tickle in our sinus cavities."
"Which brings up another point," Wedge said. "The medical reports of the Wraiths who sustained burns look good. I don't see a sign that any Wraith has not recovered sufficiently to be part of this operation. But if any of you does still feel that he's not up to the mission, let me know privately. Believe me, no one will hold it against you."
There was silence.
"Any more questions? No? Tomorrow morning we'll get the final flight data, drop out of hyperspace outside the Kid-riff system, and execute this thing. Until then, get some rest. Dismissed."
Face leaned in, his expression conspiratorial. "We're working on a secret weapon for desperate situations on our commando raids. Runt is strengthening his lungs, his sinus cavities."
Lara said, "Before each mission in which we go into the field, we load Runt's nose with plasteel ball bearings."
"Then," Face said, "if we're captured and end up in the hands of just a couple of guards, Runt can take in a deep, deep breath and sneeze those ball bearings out at them."
Lara nodded, her own expression earnest. "In secret tests, we've clocked the ball bearings erupting from his nose at just over five hundred klicks per hour. Definitely subsonic, but still fast enough to penetrate flesh and light stormtrooper armor."
Elassar looked back and forth between them. "Hey, wait a minute. That would never work." The two conspirators dissolved into laughter, and he continued, his voice petulant, "I was being serious. Can't you be serious? Someone's going to be in trouble."
"You just summon us up some luck," Face said. "We're relying on you."
As they filed out of the briefing chamber, Elassar said, "I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this one, a bad feeling."
"Why?" Face asked. "When we were going into the briefing, you were as happy as a bantha on a mountain of blumfruit."
"Runt sneezed."
Face looked the younger pilot. "Why, yes he did. I forgot about that. Doomed the whole lot of us, did he?"
"No, this is serious. He sn
eezed right when the commander got to the point where the commander asked about flaws in the plan. That means there is such a flaw, and we didn't notice it, and Runt will be in trouble then."
"No, no, no." Face shook his head. "That's what it would have meant had it been an accidental sneeze. But it wasn't. It was a deliberate sneeze."
Elassar looked at him, his expression puzzled. "Why would he sneeze deliberately?"
Lara said, "He was clearing his chamber."
"What chamber?"
Rostat Manr was good at his job. As a Sullustan, he was supposed to be adept at piloting, at navigating, but he knew that he and his fellow Sullustan ship handlers had gotten their reputation far more through hard work than through natural inclination.
Rostat had been rewarded for his hard work, too. For four years he'd flown Y-wings for the Rebel Alliance—now known as the New Republic. Less than a year ago, sick of war, certain that he'd done his duty for the cause he believed in, he accepted a position flying tugs for a civilian firm: Event Vistas, a cruise-vessel line. Only a few months ago, he'd been promoted to chief pilot aboard Nebula Queen, one of the line's newest and most beautiful cruise vessels.
But now, he was in danger of losing all he had gained. The thought, as he stared out the viewport at the growing circle of color that was the planet Coruscant, made him sad.
He couldn't tell anyone. They'd laugh at him. Then they'd demote him ... at best.
For no one wanted to employ a pilot with Ewoks in his nose.
He could feel them dancing, hear the faint, tinny sounds of their music and singing as they made merry in his nostrils. All the digging he'd done had failed to dislodge them. He couldn't think about anything but the Ewoks, and what it would take to rid himself of them.
All he had to do was crash Nebula Queen down upon Coruscant's surface. Then everything would be all right. He smiled. Soon, soon.
As the cruise ship reached the point it should have maneuvered into high Coruscant orbit, Rostat kept her headed into the atmosphere. A carefully calculated approach, the precise speed and angle needed for her to breach the planetary atmosphere without igniting. He really needed for enough of the ship to be left to hit the planet's surface, after all.
"Rostat?" That was his captain, a human female originally from Tatooine. Other humans described her as old and leathery, but Rostat didn't have their perspective on human features. "What are you doing?"
Rostat looked at her, trying to mask his alarm. "You know, don't you?"
"I know you're out of your approach plane."
"No. I mean, about my nose."
She gave him a look that suggested she didn't know. But she had to be shamming. She had to be in on it. Perhaps she'd even been the one who put the Ewoks up his nose.
Seized with a sudden fear of what she was, what she might do to him next, he drew his duty blaster and fired on her. It was point-blank range; he would have had to go to some effort to miss. His shot took her in the side and she fell over.
But it wasn't a blaster shot. He looked curiously at his issue sidearm. It was set on kill, but a stun-level beam had emerged. Curiously, he flipped the switch between blast and stun, but no sound emerged. Perhaps the mechanism was broken.
No matter. She was unconscious, and she would stay that way long enough for the ship to crash. And relief would be his.
But the Nebula Queen's control board now showed her altitude gaining, not dropping. He stared curiously at the numbers, then took the pilot's controls again.
They didn't respond. The cruise liner began climbing back up into her proper orbit. He ran a quick diagnostic. It indicated that the auxiliary bridge currently had control.
He brought up the ship's intercom and called the auxiliary bridge. When the picture swam into focus, it showed that bridge's control seat. In the command chair was another Sullustan, a very junior officer Rostat knew. "Nurm," he said. "What are you doing?"
Nurm looked uncomfortable and glanced off-screen. "I've seized control of the ship," he said.
"Return control to the main bridge," Rostat said. His nose was really itching. The Ewoks had to be mounting a major celebration in there.
"No," Nurm said.
"Give me control right now," Rostat said.
"Make me," Nurm said.
"However you want it. Your career is at an end." Rostat switched off.
He waited for a moment, settling his temper, and then made a sudden motion, driving his finger into his nose as fast and deep as he could.
No good. The Ewoks got away, leaping up above his probing finger, as they always did. He sighed, took up his blaster, and headed aft.
Moments later, he charged into the auxiliary bridge with his blaster at the ready.
There was no one in the control chair. But there was motion to his right. He spun—
Too late. Nurm fired first, his stun blast washing across Rostat's chest. Rostat felt his body go numb and watched with a detached sort of interest as the floor angled up and knocked at his head.
Then he knew only blackness.
Nurm looked anxiously at the fellow officer he'd just shot "Will he be all right?"
The man to whom he spoke, a human in the uniform of a colonel, rose from behind the communications console. He moved over to Rostat's body and prodded it with his toe. "He should be. If we can figure out what's wrong with him."
"I couldn't believe it. You showed it to me, and I still can't believe it. He wanted to crash us."
"I don't think he did. There's something very wrong going on in his head, though. But you've saved him from scandal, or death, or both."
"Why did you want me to shoot him? I've barely qualified with blaster pistols! I'm a civilian!"
The officer gave him an enigmatic smile. "It's important. Believe it or not, the fact that you shot him instead of me may save additional lives. Just remember the story as I've given it to you."
He brought out his comlink to summon members of ship's security to take Rostat into custody, then transmitted a few words, a mission-accomplished code, to his commander.
In an orbital station in high orbit above the far side of Coruscant, General Airen Cracken, head of New Republic Intelligence, received the officer's signal. He responded with a few words of congratulation and signed off. He'd get the full report and offer more appropriate words of praise later.
He returned to the ancient, scarred desk that served him as a reminder of his many campaigns and years of service, and felt the first stirrings of relief. Suddenly, a picture once made up of shadows and inexplicable shapes was beginning to assume a form he could understand.
On his personal terminal, he called up a communications file, a full holo, and advanced it to a mark he'd placed earlier.
Wedge Antilles's face and upper body appeared at one-third scale just above Cracken's desk. The pilot seemed to be seated behind a desk of his own, and there was nothing but white bulkhead wall behind him.
"Now that the Warlord has persuaded the New Republic to institute measures that can be used as precedents when dealing with future incidents, his next step must inevitably be to make a breach between the New Republic and one of the member species that has contributed significantly to our success.
"Logic suggests that the Mon Calamari would be the best choice, since without their engineering expertise and their heavy cruisers we would have had a much harder time of this war than we've had. But we suspect that this brainwashing treatment may be confined for now to mammalian and near-mammalian species—it would be much, much harder to devise a treatment that was equally functional across the wide range of all sapient species types. So our prediction is that it won't be Mon Calamari or Verpines at this time.
"Our best guess is that the next attack will come from Sullustans or Bothans. And we have some ideas about that." Wedge typed something into the datapad before him; Cracken supposed that he was consulting notes.
"Gotals are known as expert hunters. And for the last several
years, Twi'leks, who have traditionally been thought of by Imperial humans as traders, and not particularly bold beings in general, have been trying to impress on human cultures the importance of their warrior tradition. We think it's significant that the Twi'lek and Gotal disasters have involved single warriors wreaking havoc. In our opinion, the assaults to come will correspond in some way to popular stereotypes and misconceptions about the species whose members initiate them. If the next attack is Bothan, it will involve computer slicing—such as, perhaps, falsified data transmissions that cause disasters. If the next attack is Sullustan, it's likely to involve a piloting or navigating mishap costing hundreds or thousands of lives. Either way, if it is remotely possible, it's important that the agents of these attacks be taken alive. Our hope is that they are under compulsion to do what they're doing, and that the brainwashing technique leaves some consistent physiological evidence that New Republic medics can detect."
Antilles shut his datapad. His gaze, unsettlingly enough, seemed to seek out Cracken's. "That's the best we have to offer, General. But if our predictions come anywhere close to the reality of the next set of mystery terrorist activities, you can rely on it being an attempt by Zsinj to create more chaos within the New Republic, and you can head off the damage his effort might otherwise cause.
"Thank you for your time, General. Antilles out." The hologram of Wedge faded.
Cracken sat motionless for long moments. The first time he'd heard this transmission, he'd shaken his head and wished, once again, that flyboys would just keep their attention on their cockpits and out of Intelligence affairs. The second time, after Cracken had reviewed the evidence on the Twi'lek and Gotal assaults, it had made a frightening kind of sense ... and Cracken had begun devoting resources to an investigation based on the possibility that the Antilles theory was correct.
Now, Cracken wished that one flyboy, Wedge Antilles, would pay less attention to his cockpit and devote some more of his thinking to Intelligence affairs.
Star Wars - X-Wing 07 - Solo Command Page 17