Alphabet Squadron (Star Wars)

by Alexander Freed

  Chadic squeezed her hands into fists, then released. “So are you kicking me out?” she asked. “Are we done?”

  The hands released Quell. She didn’t look back at the specforce troopers. Chadic’s words, smug and confident, echoed in her mind. They mixed with Adan’s arrogance and her own certainty that she was failing her squadron.

  “No more unauthorized flights. We’ve got a mission coming up,” Quell lied. “If you’re not ready, you never hear about the 204th again. If that doesn’t matter to you…”

  Chass na Chadic saluted. She saluted, swinging her hand to her horned temple and her shock of hair, showing teeth in a grin or a snarl. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

  Quell left the medbay and the infuriating Theelin behind. Her mind drifted to the yellow-skinned man in the bed and the words, “She saved the jinx’s life.”

  She had to find a mission for her squadron. Something Syndulla would approve, even if it was outside a combat zone. Simulations and drills would destroy them by the time they proved themselves, and Chadic was only the first sign of trouble.

  IV

  Nath recognized the fatigue in Quell as easily as he’d spotted Adan’s opportunism and Wyl’s sense of righteousness; as easily as he’d recognized that the Empire was just a shinier place for the same thugs and gangsters he’d grown up with. His new squadron commander was so desperate to prove herself that she was working herself to a hollow shell.

  She hadn’t been at her best at the last status meeting with Adan, and she’d grown worse daily. Her eyes were bloodshot and her voice was husky. She’d gained a ragged edge during drills, and Nath had followed her one night to find her slumped over a table listening to a headset. He wondered if she was taking stimulants, and if so, whether the torture droid was providing them.

  He wasn’t sympathetic. Quell loathed him, seeing him as a reminder of her own moral failings—where he’d been a rebel for years, she was still desperate to show she wasn’t an Imperial spy. But Nath wasn’t ready to see her fall apart, either. She was his best route to Shadow Wing.

  He needed to find Shadow Wing. He’d made the bet and put everything at stake. He just chose not to show his desperation the way Quell did.

  Nath’s routine kept him busy seventeen hours a day even when the squadron (“Alphabet Squadron,” the Lodestar’s pilots called it with a snicker) demanded fewer. Early mornings were for study: He’d never been much of a student, but he knew how to read the documents Adan sent over on Pandem Nai and Colonel Nuress. He reread the debriefing interviews Wyl and Chass had given on their run-ins with the TIE wing and Quell’s profiles on squadron leaders like Broosh and Gablerone. While the other troops in his berthing compartment dressed and shouted and ran around like idiots, he sat in his bunk and jotted notes on the people he wanted to die.

  He missed having his own quarters. He hadn’t slept in a shared berth for years. He hadn’t had a chance to meditate uninterrupted in weeks.

  Daytime belonged to Quell and the squadron, or—when the morning drill didn’t last long—to his ship and his droid, neither of which he trusted with the Lodestar’s engineers. The old Y-wing had enough custom parts and jury-rigging in its tonnage that even the best mechanic was likely to break something while puttering around. It worried Nath that T5 had taken a shine to the tattooed engineering chief, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. T5 had listened to Reeka and obeyed Ferris out of fear of disassembly; Nath couldn’t even wipe the thing’s memory, thanks to carbon scoring around the circuits.

  The drills themselves varied from tense to interminable. On the days when Quell re-created an old encounter between the 204th and rebels or pirates, breaking down tactical decisions moment by moment, the work seemed grueling but the effort well spent. Simulated dogfights, on the other hand, were both frustrating and tedious. The squadron could beat any computerized game, but it meant nothing in realspace. And racking up digital kills hadn’t persuaded General Syndulla to let them fly again.

  When evenings rolled around he engaged in less tangible work. Some days he put a few hours into the Lodestar’s crew, in either the mess or the Krayt Hut, eating and drinking and gambling with people who might eventually matter to his survival. He picked out the small-time crooks—a smuggler running contraband, a pilot running a rigged game of liar’s dice—but didn’t make more than cursory contact with them. He was staying clean for now.

  Socializing with the troops came second to investing time in the squadron, however. Wyl Lark didn’t trust Nath yet, but the boy liked Nath and he was too mild-mannered not to listen when Nath planted thoughts in his brain. Chass was more trouble, but she was warming to Nath, too—if he worked the two just right, he could keep them from killing each other and count them both as allies against Quell and Adan.

  Because although he might have needed Quell, and Adan might have needed him, Nath wasn’t a fool.

  In her awkward, Imperial way, Quell had tried to convince him that he wanted vengeance for Reeka, the woman with a face full of scars and a heart even meaner he’d lusted after; Piter, whom he’d practically reared—never less than terrified, usually infuriating, but as trustworthy as any of his crew; even for Braigh, whom Nath had expected to put down himself. Back at the Hive, Quell had offered him the chance to learn the names of their killers and balance the scales. To see justice done.

  He’d refused, of course.

  Justice was the vice of bold, honorable men who died swift, stupid deaths, and vengeance was justice without the sheen of respectability. Nath had survived as long as he had by controlling his vices, not letting temptation lure him down suicidal alleys.

  But he’d let himself take another offer, a better offer. One Quell didn’t know about and he didn’t plan on sharing. Now Nath was committed.

  He hoped Quell didn’t turn out to be more trouble than she was worth.

  * * *

  —

  Nath slid into a chair in Meteor Squadron’s ready room, two seats to Chass’s side and one row behind Wyl, and slapped a meaty hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Want to guess what we’re up to today?” he asked.

  Quell had called them to the briefing without notice. Probably to see if we’d come running, Nath thought, knowing he’d done the same thing with his own crew. Quell hadn’t arrived yet, which also suggested…something. Nath wasn’t sure what.

  “We had an elder back home who said she could see the future,” Wyl said, tilting back his head to look at Nath. “I don’t have her talents.”

  “One day,” Nath said, “we’re going to talk about your crazy world.” He turned toward the door as he heard the creak of leather and the rustle of cloth. Kairos had arrived, moving to take up a position at the back. “What about you?” he called. “You want to guess why we’re here?”

  Kairos lowered her head. Nath laughed. Chass snorted. It was a better answer than anyone had expected.

  Quell arrived a moment later. She looked gaunt enough to cut in half with a paring knife, but she was rigid and proud as ever. Adan followed her in, giving the room only a cursory glance. After Adan came a woman Nath didn’t recognize at first—a jade-skinned Twi’lek with white-patterned head-tails and a confidence that made Quell, in comparison, look like a trembling child.

  General Hera Syndulla.

  Legend of the Rebel Alliance. The woman who’d helped free Lothal, survived Scarif, and led the charge at Endor. Commander of the battle group and special guest aboard the Lodestar. If she was making time for a briefing, they were in for very good news or very bad.

  “General?” Quell asked.

  Syndulla shook her head. “It’s your show, Lieutenant.”

  Quell showed no surprise as she stepped to the front. Syndulla and Adan lingered to one side. “The squadron has been authorized,” Quell said, “for limited noncombat operations. Our first mission has been determin
ed, and we fly in six hours.”

  Nath looked to Syndulla. Limited noncombat operations meant a trial run. Syndulla nodded at Quell and said, “The job is recon and asset extraction. I’d send my own people but as you know, we’re short on resources. When this situation was brought to my attention, I agreed that it fell into your area of expertise.”

  Nath heard the tortured grammar and smirked. When the situation was brought to my attention suggested she didn’t want to give credit or spread blame.

  Quell touched one of the ready room displays, and a series of images flashed onscreen: An ancient city flooded by colorful mud, shattered airspeeders and human corpses floating past; a gleaming Imperial population center, modern chrome-and-crimson towers battered and streets silent and lifeless; a village in a field of black grass, residents running from a lightning storm that filled the horizon.

  “Operation Cinder,” Quell said. She spoke with the hoarseness of emotions smothered and stomped. “You’ve seen the reports. Most of the targets were saved. Some of them weren’t. It’ll be years before the full casualty count is known.”

  Wyl stiffened in his seat. Chass shifted uncomfortably. Neither had been around to help stop the genocides; Nath wondered if they felt guilty.

  Quell kept talking. “For all the horrors of Cinder, however, it gave us useful intelligence. It exposed the enemy’s most loyal and ruthless units—marked them by their participation in atrocities. We think that information can be useful.”

  She nodded to Adan, who paced as he picked up the briefing. His voice was crisp; he was a man used to persuading audiences of his brilliance. “The Empire is in disarray. That’s obvious by the sheer number of splinter factions—we aren’t fighting one enemy, but several dozen. Some are isolated by happenstance: Moff Royen’s fleet is cut off from support near the Red Hand Cluster. Others, like Adelhard’s faction in the Anoat sector, have decided they’re better off securing their own territories and to hell with everyone else. We haven’t seen a lot of interfactional warfare, though it’s early days yet.

  “So how does this relate to Cinder? You have to imagine that Imperials willing to commit atrocities on the orders of a dead Emperor—” Nath watched Adan’s eyes, but the spy didn’t so much as glance at Quell. “—probably feel a level of solidarity. They’re loyalists. Even if they’re scattered across the galaxy and attached to different factions, they’ll look to one another as allies and make contact when possible.”

  Quell stepped in again. “The 204th Imperial Fighter Wing committed a war crime on Nacronis. Now they’re sitting on a treasure trove at Pandem Nai. Who are they going to share those resources with? Who can they trust more than other Cinder veterans?”

  Nath looked from Quell to Adan to General Syndulla, searching for a sign of doubt or hesitation. He could accept the logic of Cinder units sticking together, but it was hunch, not operational intelligence.

  “The planet Abednedo,” Quell said, “was a target of Operation Cinder. Thanks to local resistance and a New Republic special forces team, it barely escaped destruction. Following the battle, the specforce team relayed that all Imperial units had fled or been destroyed.

  “Five days ago, a coded transmission was sent from Abednedo suggesting that the strike team was in error—that surviving Imperial forces are still hiding on the planet surface. It’s not the first report to that effect—New Republic Intelligence has heard rumors of Imperial holdouts before—but it’s the first to come through official channels.”

  “What’s the source on this?” Nath asked. Everyone turned to him, and he cut Adan off before the spy could answer. “No, I know, I’m not cleared for that. Put it this way: How reliable is your source on this?”

  “Not very,” Adan said. “We don’t have a full ID or background on the sender, but they used the right codes. No specific reason to think the intel isn’t valid.”

  No wonder Syndulla’s not bothering to use her own people, Nath thought, and graciously nodded to Adan. She can’t possibly believe this is worth pursuing.

  Quell grunted softly. “The purpose of the mission is, in part, to determine the source’s credibility and authenticate their information. We will rendezvous with the source, transport them to the Lodestar, and if possible perform basic reconnaissance in an effort to locate the Cinder holdouts.”

  General Syndulla stepped forward again. “I’ve reviewed Lieutenant Quell’s plan and I believe it has merit. Your squadron commander knows what she’s doing, and so do all of you. This is what you’re best at.” She paused, let the words sink in, then dropped her voice an octave. “I want to be clear, however: You are not authorized for combat operations. You want to prove yourselves? This is your opportunity.”

  “Check your consoles for the flight plan,” Quell said. “We resume in fifteen minutes.”

  Quell, Adan, and Syndulla exited the briefing room together. Nath saw the general place a hand on Quell’s arm, but it could have been a warning as easily as a gesture of support. Wyl was already reviewing the flight documents, while Chass appeared to be punching them up on her screen with her feet. “This is what they’ve finally got for us?” she muttered.

  “You figure it’s busywork?” Nath asked. He knew the answer. He also knew his audience.

  Wyl was the one to reply, which didn’t surprise Nath. “I’m more worried we end up killing one another,” he said.

  That did surprise Nath, and he laughed. “That’s dark, brother.”

  “I’m not entirely joking,” Wyl said. “We haven’t flown in atmosphere as a squadron. There’re a lot of unknowns. And—” Chass was glowering in Wyl’s direction. Wyl finished with a bitter smile. “—Chass wants me dead.”

  “Not true,” Chass replied. “I just don’t care if you live or die.”

  “Then start caring.” Quell’s voice, brittle and deadly as glass, broke through the chatter as she returned through the doorway.

  Wyl looked chagrined, and his voice softened as he answered Quell. “My fault. But you’re asking for a lot of faith.”

  “No,” Quell said. “I’m not. I’m giving you orders, and I expect to be obeyed. This isn’t a volunteer mission.”

  Chass and Wyl both looked to Nath, but Nath only shrugged. “Let’s look at that flight plan,” he said.

  He needed Quell, he told himself. He needed her squadron. He had a job to complete.

  Double or nothing.

  CHAPTER 10

  SPONTANEOUS ETHICAL RECONFIGURATION

  I

  From a distance of four hundred thousand kilometers, Abednedo resembled nothing so much as a clod of dirt wrapped in desultory clouds. It possessed no majesty; inspired no awe. For Quell, it was nonetheless her best hope for salvation.

  She had been the one to dig up the obscure transmission from the New Republic Intelligence data banks. She had concocted the strangled reasoning connecting theoretical Abednedo holdouts to Shadow Wing. She’d done so knowing that her squadron was falling apart and required something more than simulations to stay together. She’d done so for her own sake, in response to the longing she’d felt when she’d seen Chadic return from her specforce sojourn.

  It wasn’t likely to work. She was ashamed at how quickly the others had figured it out.

  “Chadic, Kairos, with me,” she said as D6-L adjusted her X-wing’s course toward the southern hemisphere. “Lark and Tensent, establish geostationary orbit above Neshorino and await further instructions.”

  “Shout if you need us,” Tensent replied.

  Quell watched two blips on her scanner peel away, while Chadic’s assault ship and Kairos’s transport followed Quell at a respectful distance. If all went well, Lark and Tensent would never need to make planetfall; the A-wing would make its scouting pass from orbit, if the opportunity arose. The Y-wing was there if everything went terribly wrong.

 
The X-wing trembled as the vessel penetrated the outermost layer of Abednedo’s atmosphere. “We’re in the soup,” Quell announced as she thumbed through messages from the astromech—signals to and from computerized flight controllers in the city of Neshorino, transmitted far faster than she could read.

  The droid’s actions disconcerted her. A TIE pilot had no astromech unit to rely on—she was dependent on her carrier ship and flight controllers to plot her course and choose her dock. A TIE pilot needed to trust her team. Now Quell flew a ship that didn’t even need her to function.

  She thought about Tensent’s ancient T5 droid, and how Tensent treated it like a member of the squadron—argued with it in the hangar, wandered with it through the corridors of the Lodestar. She’d barely crossed paths with her astromech off-duty. It hadn’t seemed to mind.

  She approved D6-L’s proposed trajectory and let the droid take her down. The silence of space—broken only by the noise and rattle of the ship—gave way to the roar of wind as the X-wing cut through gray cloud cover. Temperature controls activated automatically, chilling Quell as the ship’s exterior baked in the heat of reentry. She heard her repulsors thrum to life a moment later, adjusting for the planet’s gravity.

  Neshorino rose out of a mountain range of endless rust-brown rock. Jagged natural spires stood tipped by ornamental towers, and great cliff faces were carved with painted statuary. A thousand narrow streets and stairwells blurred beneath Quell as she made for one of a series of protruding buttes. There was a beauty to the city, but it was a foreign beauty—Neshorino had been built by a species native to caverns and stone, and no human could ever find comfort there.

  Ten minutes later Quell was admiring the stonework up close, walking down a tessellated roadway studded with brightly glazed tiles. Chass na Chadic strolled toward her from a path leading to a neighboring docking platform as the wedge-faced, wide-eyed natives scurried on business around them.