Alderaanian goods, and this list is current, I'm thinking the droid is
projecting the availability of products following this mission."
Tycho sat back and scowled. "I can see how you made that assumption, but ..."
"Couple it with this There's been a rumor floating around about a new source
for Alderaanian goods, but the prices have been prohibitively high. I assumed
the Empire was releasing stockpiles to soak up credits being held by Alderaanian
expatriates, denying the Rebellion a source of needed money. If there is a
source, be it an Imperial storehouse or something else, I think Rogue Squadron
is headed toward it. And it doesn't take much brains to see such a place would
be a prime target for the Alliance, given how many Alderaanian nomads would
love another piece of their world."
"Count me among their number. Such a storehouse would be an inviting target for
a raid, and a logical site for an Imperial trap." Tycho rubbed his hands over
his face and sighed heavily. "This doesn't look good, does it?"
"I've arranged to take all of these items that Emtrey can provide, so the list
is clear right now. No one else can get access to it. No one else knows of it,
as nearly as I know, so the leak should have stopped there."
"Still, there is a chance that the information could have gotten out."
"Exactly." Mirax popped up out of her chair as the door opened and Emtrey came
in.
"Good morning, Captain Celchu, Ms. Terrik. How may I be of service?"
Mirax grabbed the droid's left arm. "You have to tell me where Rogue Squadron is
going."
"I'm afraid, Ms. Terrik, that information is classified. Neither you nor
Captain Celchu are authorized to know that information. To provide it to you
would be to compromise ..."
"Emtrey, that list you gave me this morning already compromises the location."
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
Tycho boosted himself up off the bunk. "Where are you getting the Alderaanian
goods you're offering for sale?"
The droid twitched and the tone of his voice shifted slightly. "If I reveal my
sources, you'll cut in on my action. No way."
Mirax stared incredulously at the droid, then turned back toward Tycho. "Can you
believe this?"
"No, in fact, I can't."
"I'm just protecting my profit margin here."
"Emtrey, this is a matter of life and death."
"Sure it is, Ms. Terrik, the death of my business."
Tycho stood abruptly. "Emtrey, shut up."
The droid looked at him strangely, tilting his head. "I wasn't saying anything,
sir."
"His voice has changed."
"I notice." Tycho's eyes narrowed. "Shut up."
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"Shut up."
The droid's arms snapped to its sides so quickly that Mirax lost her grip on
him. The clamshell head canted forward, making the droid bow its head until its
chin touched its chest. At the top of its neck, previously hidden by the head,
Mirax saw a glowing red button.
"What's going on, Captain?"
Tycho half shrugged. "I'm not certain, really, but the droid is in a wait-state,
it seems. I discovered
this little trick when I was ferrying him to the Talasea system and we came
acro ss your ship. We were in combat and he wouldn't stop nattering. I ended up
yelling at him to shut up and after the third time, this happened. He remains
like this until roused. What's important right now is that until we hit the red
button and reset him, he's little more than a remote with access to all Emtrey's
memories."
"That's dangerous for a droid doing military work."
"It's not a standard modification for obvious reasons. There are a number of
things odd about this droid, not the least of which is the voice shift when you
start to press him on requisitions. I can check that later, though. Right now
this override should get us what you want. Emtrey, I require the name of the
system in which Rogue Squadron will be operating."
"Pyria system, Borleias, fourth planet, one moon, home to an Imperial fortress
and various failed and abandoned industrial and agricultural ventures." The
voice changed slightly. "Location of agro-manufacturing facility for Alderaanian
agricultural products with high covert trade value."
Mirax's blood ran cold. "Emtrey, the list of products available from that
facilityhow many people have had access to it?"
"Yours was the only access, Ms. Terrik."
"Could a copy have been made by a slicer without your knowledge?"
The droid did not reply for a second or two. "Impossible to determine an answer
to that question."
Mirax looked over at Tycho. "The Empire could have been warned. We have to do
something."
"What? If we send a message out it could warn
the Empire they're coming as easily as it warns our people of an ambush."
"So we go there. I can get us there fast. Maybe even before they arrive."
"And have our presence tip the Empire about the raid?" Tycho shook his head.
"Any comm message could be intercepted, even if we are in-system and try to
tight-beam it to them. That's no good."
Mirax balled her fists and hammered them against her thighs. "We have to do
something. We can't just sit around and do nothing."
"Yes, but what we do has to be the right thing." Tycho slowly smiled and reached
for the button on the back of Emtrey's neck. "And I think I know what it is."
34
When the squadron reverted to realspace, the dark craggy ball hanging in space
before them reduced Borleias to a slender blue-green crescent streaked with
white. The moon's thin atmosphere blurred Borleias's image, making it
beautifulwhich was definitely not how Corran had remembered it. Corran inverted
his X-wing, then reached up with his right hand to hit the switch that brought
his S-foils into attack position. Ahead of him Wedge's X-wing similarly spread
its wings, twisting around and bearing down on the moon.
The X-wings maintained comm silence as they leveled out and skimmed the black
lunar surface. Corran brought his snubfighter in behind and to the left of
Wedge's fighter. With their scanners in passive mode to avoid detection, they'd
only register threats that had scanners up and seeking targets. As a result
visual scanning by pilots and astromech droids became the primary defense
against ambush.
"Not that much should be here." While the simulations had represented this run
as threading their way through an asteroid ring around a planet to re-
main hidden, all the parameters used were taken from Borleias. As nearly as they
knew the Imperials had not stationed fighters or remote detection units on the
moon. Still, that possibility did exist, so the squadron did all it could to
keep their presence a secret.
Volcanic glass teeth lined gaps in crater walls. They reflected scant little
starlight, but strange shapes did appear in silhouette against the starfield.
Whipping along at near maximum speed in the pitch-darkness of the moon's
nightside did seem reckless and foolish, but no more so than the rest of the
mission. They raced through the blackness, heading toward a point on the
ever-changing horizon.
When the horizon appeared as a white crown, Wedge's X-wing pulled up and shot
away from the moon. Down on Borleias the moon only appeared to be half full and
the Rogues made their approach against the background of the moon's dark side.
They plunged down into Borleias's gravity well. They let the planet draw them
in, but before they hit the outer edges of the planet's atmosphere, Corran
brought his ship around in a looping turn to starboard and inverted to have
Borleias's dark face above him.
Pulling back on the stick, he eased the fighter's nose into the atmosphere. The
ablative shell Zraii had applied to his fighter began to glow red, then came
apart in a shower of sparks that momentarily blanketed his cockpit canopy. Once
the fiery cloud passed, he pulled back even more on the stick and started a
sharper descent into Borleias's night.
The ablative shell had given his ship the appearance of yet one more of the
Versied meteors streaking through the night sky. Corran checked his scanners
and had no indication of hostile sensors
directed at him. Entry is clean. Glancing at his instruments, he came around to
a heading and chopped his speed back so he would reach the rendezvous point
exactly on time.
Flipping a switch, he engaged the fuel pod pump so it would start to refill his
onboard fuel tank. A red-lined error message scrolled up on his main screen.
"Whistler, the T65-AFP pump isn't working. Is there anything you can do?"
A negative hoot replied to his question.
Corran shrugged. / have to run with the pod a little longer. No big deal.
Suddenly Nawara's voice crackled over the helmet speakers. "Leader, twelve,
repeat one-two, eyeballs coming in from the west, angels ten. On intercept for
run. Patrol formation."
Corran felt his stomach clench. Lucky bastards. He smiled. Or very unlucky.
"Two Flight, Three Flight, pounce on them. Nine, we're to the deck and in. Are
you ready?"
"Telemetry feed started, you are lead." Corran tightened his grip on the stick
and shoved the fighter over into a steep dive. "This is it, Whistler. Keep your
domed head down and enjoy the ride."
Wedge flipped his scanners into active mode and swooped his X-wing into the
narrow end of the rift valley. The computer used muted greens to impose
holographic highlights on the canopy that corresponded to the terrain outside.
Nudging the stick to port and starboard he sliced his craft through the sleeping
canyon. He rolled up on his port wing to slip through a narrow passage, then
noted that behind him Corran had remained level to make the same run.
"No need to be fancy, Nine."
"Yes, sir." Corran's voice drifted off for a
second. "Lead, I have two hostiles coming in behind us."
Wedge hit a switch on his console. "Power to rear deflector shields."
"Done."
"Mynock, bring up data on the trailers." The monitor flashed images of two TIE
starfighters. We should be faster than they are maneuvering through atmosphere
here, but I'd rather they weren't there.
Wedge keyed his comm. "Four, we have two down here. Can you help?"
Bror answered immediately. "Negative, Lead. Our plates are full, and long-range
scans indicate squints coming in."
"Copy, Four." Wedge frowned. The intervention by Interceptors was not good. If
both of the squadrons that showed up at the end of the last battle were to
scramble against Rogue Squadron, no one would make it home. But that's not the
objective of this missionblowing the conduit is.
"Nine, push your speed."
"As ordered."
The X-wings came out of the canyon leading into the rift valley. To the right
grassy plains stretched out through the darkness. On the left a striated
escarpment rose up nearly a thousand meters. Its craggy surface reflected
enough moonlight to let Wedge see Corran's X-wing in silhouette as the fighter
drew almost parallel to his port stabilizer. Twenty-five kilometers farther on
the valley narrowed again and five kilometers beyond that point lay their
target.
Verdant laser bolts sizzled past, splitting the space between the Rebel
fighters. Wedge juked up and to the starboard, while Corran's ship sank out of
sight on the left. Rolling his ship and letting it move back toward the center
of the valley, he saw
one TIE dive, its lasers gouging up great chunks of the valley floor in front of
Corran's jinking X-wing.
Wedge hauled his throttle back to half power and pulled a hard turn to port.
Punching the throttle forward again, he rolled the ship onto its right S-foil
and yanked it back in another hard turn. Leveling out to the left, he slipped
into the aft wash of the TIE that had been on his tail. His finger tightened
down on the trigger and scarlet laser fire exploded the Imperial fighter.
"Nine, report."
"Go, Lead, punch it. I'm coming behind."
"Status."
"I'll be good to go in a second."
Kicking the X-wing up on the starboard stabilizers, Wedge stabbed his fighter
into the narrow northern end of the valley. A brilliant flash of light painted
shadows against white rock with skeletal clarity. The X-wing bucked a bit as the
explosion's shock wave caught up with it, but Wedge's steady hand kept the
fighter clear of the canyon walls.
"Nine, what was that?"
"Fuel pod exploding."
"One more time."
"Misses on the deck kicked up debris that hit my belly pod and I had a slow
leak. I jettisoned it. The tank exploded and the guy behind me got an eyeful."
Wedge looked at his fuel indicators. His fuel pod was still a quarter full.
"Fuel status."
"I'm okay."
"How much?"
"Three-quarters." Anger in Corran's voice transmuted into resolution. "Enough
to do the job."
"Copy." One run, then you're out of here, Corran. You're into your reserve.
Wedge clicked his
weapons control over to proton torpedoes. "One klick, arming two."
"Got it. Armed two. Is that light up there?"
Wedge slowly nodded. "Be alert. Power to forward shields." Banking hard
starboard he brought the figh ter around the final turn before the run to the
conduit. Yanking the stick to the left he snap-rolled the X-wing level, then hit
the right rudder pedal and started the fighter skidding to the left. Laser
bolts exploded against his forward shields.
He pulled the trigger, sending two proton torpe-dos sizzling out, but even as he
did so he knew they would miss high. As they exploded against the canyon walls
beyond the ferrocrete tunnel, Wedge snapped his repulsorlift drives on and
bounced his fighter up and out of the canyon. Jamming his throttle full
forward, he hauled back on the stick and shot skyward.
He saw the flashes of two more explosions below him as he rocketed away from
Borleias. "Nine, report."
"Mine went low. That was a Juggernaut assault vehicle down there providing that
fire."
"And it looked like they were reinforcing the conduit."
"I saw that. I nailed a ferrocrete mixer."
Wedge checked his scanners. "We
have a squadron of Interceptors headed in our
direction."
"What do you want to do? I'm good for another run."
"Another run would be suicide, Nine, and you don't have the fuel to play."
"Sir, I'm good for another run."
Wedge shook his head. "You're heading home while you can still get there."
"No."
"That's an order, Nine, not an invitation to de-
bate." Wedge could feel Corran's disappointment. It's exactly what I felt when
Luke ordered me out of the trench on the first Death Star run. "Get clear,
Corran. You can't do any more good back there."
Dejection filled Corran's voice. "As ordered, sir. What are you going to do?"
"Blowing the conduit is our mission and the others can't break off to do it."
Wedge Antilles slowly smiled. "What the Imps have set up there will stop almost
any pilot. I'm going to remind them that in Rogue Squadron we don't take just
any pilot."
35
Kirtan Loor fussed with the hem of his tunic and adjusted his cap with a tug on
the bill. He wanted to feel confident about his recall to Coruscant, but he did
not dare allow himself that indulgence. His mission had been the destruction of
Rogue Squadron. While half of it had died at Borleias, the other half lived,
with Wedge Antilles and Corran Horn still flying. In fact, the unit had amassed
a considerable list of kills while it was his to destroy, so he could not
imagine Ysanne Isard would be in a pleasant mood.
He cracked a smile. / cannot imagine her ever being in a good mood.
The door to her office slid open and Kirtan's smile died. Isard again wore her
scarlet Admiral's uniform, complete with the black armband on her left arm. Her
hair had been drawn back and fastened at the nape of her neck with a black
clasp. She gestured invitingly, but the mannerly nature of her greeting only
played through her hand. Her mismatched eyes prophesied doom, but he thought it
might be deferred instead of immediate.
"Please, Agent Loor, do come in. I trust the journey from Borleias was not too
tiring."
He shook his head, doing his best to hide any trace of fatigue. "I apologize for
not being here sooner. My original agenda was disrupted, hence the week's delay
in my arrival."
"I know about it. Another operation demanded some resources that I had planned
to use for your return." She casually waved away concern over the