“Corran! Corran Horn, come on over here.”
Corran’s smile grew at the sound of the man’s voice. “Pash? What are you doing here?” He cut between and around tables and gave the taller, slender man a friendly, back-slapping hug. “Normally you aces fly your A-wings through this system so fast I didn’t think you even saw us here.”
Pash pulled a chair over for Corran, then pointed at one of the quartet of pilots already seated at the table. “Linna caught an unstart in one of her J-77 engines just as we swung through the fringes of Yag’Dhul’s atmosphere. We called in an emergency and put into the station here. Zraii said he can fix it up—looks like a micrometeorite chewed up the alluvial compressor.”
Corran nodded. “That blows the pressure in the reaction chamber, and the engine pops out of synch with its twin. X-wing’s damper system prevents that from happening.”
Linna, a blond woman with a mouth just a bit too wide, snorted. “Sure, if you want to be piloting something that should be in a museum. Speed is what will keep a pilot safe and the A-wing has plenty of speed to burn.”
Corran looked at Pash. “You let your pilots talk like that?”
The red-haired man shrugged. “Children. What can I do?”
“You can explain to them that going faster doesn’t mean they’re flying better.”
Linna and the other three A-wing pilots regarded Corran as if he and Pash had just taken public loyalty oaths to the Emperor. “If you can’t handle the speed, you’re not much of a pilot.”
Corran shook his head. “Pash, you were just hoping I would walk in here, weren’t you?”
Pash laughed lightly. “Actually I was waiting for Wedge or Tycho, but I figured you’d be up to the challenge. I know you know of times when speed wouldn’t have helped at all.”
Corran nodded. “Or hurt.”
“Sure, as if such a time could exist.” Linna grabbed a half-full pitcher of Lomin-ale, filled her mug, and topped it with foam. “Speed can’t hurt.”
“Oh, the innocence of youth.” Corran took the mug from in front of her and blew off the foam. “Let me tell you about this time we were on a mission and we got jumped by a Lancer-class frigate. If I’d been in an A-wing, well, Rogue Squadron would have a lot more dead on its rosters and Isard would still own Coruscant”
Though he knew the news he had would make Ysanne Isard happy—in and of itself a feat worthy of monuments—Fliry Vorru kept any sign of it from his face as he entered her office. He intended to surprise her so he could gauge her disposition. The weather becoming hotter and the inclusion of daily rainstorms that hit in the early afternoon had combined with the pressure from Ashern strikes to make Isard more than disagreeable.
Antilles and his antics had further exacerbated the problem. Their hit-and-run tactics were costing the cartel in both credits and prestige. Each raid cost the cartel one or two TIE fighters, which really amounted to insignificant losses, if someone had access to a TIE fighter production facility. Sienar Fleet Systems had numerous starfighter factories scattered throughout the galaxy, but they neglected to put one here, on Thyferra. As a result, the cartel had to trade for replacements with the likes of Supreme Warlord Harssk and High Admiral Teradoc. They gratefully accepted bacta in return for the fighters, but the scorn that came with each delivery could drive Isard into furious tantrums.
When Isard turned to look at him and smiled, Fliry Vorru felt something cold and serpentine slither through his abdomen. “Ah, Minister Vorru, do come in. I was hoping we would have a chance to speak, and here you arrive before I need send for you.”
Glad he had saved himself from being summoned, Vorru nodded graciously and returned a smile of his own. “I have information I think you will find useful and even pleasing.”
Isard’s scarlet diaphanous outfit rustled as she took a seat in a high-backed chair. “Good news is most welcome, Minister Vorru. Would you be seated? Refreshment?”
There is something going on here I do not understand. Have the Ashern poisoned her somehow? “Perhaps I will give you my report and you’ll have a chance to reconsider your offer, Madam Director.”
Isard’s eyes widened. “You can’t think me so capricious that I could rescind my offer because you’ve overestimated what you want to tell me, can you?” She waved away any reply before he’d even made an attempt to open his mouth. “My news is good enough to make me offer you something to drink. Give me your news, then you shall have mine and you can see if you want to drink with me.”
I knew one of us would be surprised here, but I didn’t expect it would be me. He nodded slowly. “As you will, Madam Director. Our main problem in dealing with Antilles and his people is that they are striking at us and running quickly because there is nothing to hold them back. They have no attachments to the systems they are hitting. We arrive, they launch proton torpedoes or concussion missiles, then they scatter like shrapnel from a proton mine.”
Isard nodded, her smile not having shrunk a millimeter. “This has been the course of things to this point. I trust you have found a way to change this.”
“Two aspects of it, yes.” Vorru lifted his chin. “My network of spies has begun to produce information. I have yet to find out what the location of Antilles’s base is. He and his people are being very cautious, but I have no doubt we will discover it in time. Until then I have uncovered two very important pieces of information: Where they are getting their munitions and, more to the point, where the next shipment will be placed in the hands of the Antilles group.”
“Really?”
The hint of falsetto in her voice didn’t escape Vorru, but he did not consider it important at the moment. “It is true, Madam Director. A woman working for Talon Karrde had previously been employed by Jabba the Hutt. Subsequent to his death she spent a couple of years in abject poverty on Tatooine. Karrde took her in and has helped her get back on her feet, but her taste for fine things has never been satisfied—nor has her ambition. Karrde appointed her to liaise with the Antilles people—Booster Terrik, in fact—an old friend from Kessel.”
“Fascinating. Karrde’s name is not unknown to me, though I would not have thought his organization of sufficient size to meet Antilles’s needs.”
“Carniss indicates Karrde’s operation is larger than anyone suspects. Karrde prefers to maintain a low profile to escape trouble with authorities. Booster Terrik placed a huge order for munitions and equipment, which Karrde is meeting in installments. Karrde’s people are shipping the supplies to a rendezvous point, then Terrik is taking them back to Antilles’s headquarters.”
Isard sat forward. “Does Carniss know where that is?”
“No, but I have been given the location of the rendezvous point. They will be making the transfer in the Alderaan system.”
“They probably draw some sort of ephemeral strength from visiting the site of Alderaan’s sacrifice.”
“Undoubtedly so, Madam Director. What is important is that Antilles will have his fighters and his freighters there. If we divert our warships to Alderaan we can ambush the Antilles group and destroy them.”
Isard’s eyes narrowed, but her smile did not die and this contradiction confused Vorru. “No, Minister Vorru, I’m not going to send all my ships in case this information is false. I don’t doubt you or your source, but Antilles might catch wind of our ambush and refuse to show up. He could even hit a bacta convoy and subject us to yet more ridicule. No, I won’t have that.”
She held up her right index finger. “I do know what I will do. I will send Convarion and the Corrupter. He’s ambushed them once and can do it again.”
Vorru shook his head. “But if you only send the Corrupter, Antilles and his people will scatter as usual. We will accomplish nothing.”
“No, Vorru, we will accomplish everything.” Isard laughed aloud, her voice full of triumph. “While you have woven a net of spies to catch Antilles, I have been searching for the means to kill him. I have found it, and in twelve hours it will be here and rea
dy to join Convarion as he goes for the kill.”
Vorru frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It is rather simple, Minister Vorru.” Isard’s smile became cold. “At great expense I have leased from High Admiral Teradoc a ship, the Aggregator.”
Vorru’s jaw dropped. “An Interdictor Cruiser.”
“Exactly.” She clapped her hands together. “When it arrives at Alderaan and powers up its gravity well projectors, Antilles and his ships will be trapped. There will be another sacrifice at Alderaan—another victory there for the Empire to celebrate. What do you say to that?”
“I say, Madam Director, I will accept that drink you offered”—Vorru smiled—“and raise a toast to victory.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wedge’s X-wing reverted to realspace above the plane of the elliptic in the Alderaan system. Spread out in a flat disk, the rubble that had once been Alderaan looked like the crumbs left behind after the cutting of a ryshcate. He slowly shook his head. Dying only once isn’t nearly enough punishment for the Emperor to atone for this evil.
Mynock beeped with each ship entering the system. The Rogues in their X-wings had come in first and oriented themselves toward the Graveyard. The most likely threat to them would come from there, from pirates or others hidden amid the debris. Some of the chunks are large enough to screen even a Star Destroyer. If there was one there, the plan was clean and simple: The X-wings would target it with a full salvo of proton torpedoes, giving the other ships a chance to run.
The dozen freighters Booster had rounded up came in next with the Pulsar Skate in the lead. Moments after reversion they made course corrections to get themselves pointed toward their exit vectors. The Chir’daki came in last and split their squadron up so each freighter had a fighter escort. If trouble erupted, the Twi’lek and Gand squadron could reassemble and screen the escaping freighters from any TIEs or other snubfighters, then head out themselves.
Wedge glanced at his screen and saw the names of the various ships in his fleet scroll up. Green letters indicated they were all set to fulfill their part in the mission. At least we’ve gotten here in one piece. Now we need Karrde to do his job.
Booster’s grudging respect for Karrde counted for a lot with Wedge. He’d actually met Karrde years earlier, back in the days before he joined the Rebellion. Wedge had owned a freighter and was hauling cargo all over the Empire. Karrde had inquired if Wedge wanted to move some cargo for him, but Wedge had turned down the offer. He’d heard nothing bad about Karrde and that had set him back a bit. No negative rumors means too little is known about the man, and I wasn’t inclined to trust him as a result.
Since joining the Rebellion, Wedge had not run across Karrde, but he didn’t doubt Karrde’s ability to produce the weapons and equipment they needed. The fact that Booster went to him first is proof enough that Karrde is genuine and can be trusted to deal straight with his clients. The munitions, launchers, and sensor systems would give them what they needed to complete Isard’s downfall.
“Lead, this is Seven.”
“Go ahead, Tycho.”
“Wedge, I’m getting anomalous contacts from the Graveyard on my IFF frequency.”
Wedge frowned. The Identify Friend/Foe system involved the identification beacon all ships carried. It sent out a signal that other ships picked up, telling them the name of the ship and its identification designation. Smugglers often had two or three IFF modules that they could swap in and out to run under clean names. Contacts on the IFF frequency were simple rechecks of a ship’s identity. And if Imps are waiting in the asteroids it’s an unbelievably stupid way to tip us to their presence.
“Tycho, is it the same signal over and over again?”
“Seems so. You thinking an automated beacon of some sort?”
“You are running an Alderaanian code. Perhaps there is an old system traffic satellite in the asteroids wanting to check you for Alderaan control.”
“Probably. I’ll punch up the gain on my passive sensors and see if I find anything in that direction.”
“I copy.” Wedge looked at his main screen as Mynock began beeping again. “Heads up, people, we have incoming traffic.”
A string of freighters entered the system, led by a ship tagged Starry Ice by the IFF system. A half-dozen ships drifted in behind Ice, staggering their positions so strafing runs along any one particular vector would pick up only two targets. Because Karrde’s ships were bigger than most of the freighters Booster had collected, the smuggler only needed half as many to deliver his goods.
A man’s voice broke in on the comm channel. “This is Quelev Tapper for Karrde. We’ve gotten the initial payment for this lot and you’ve got fifty million credits still in your account. In another month we should have another thirty percent of your order ready.”
Booster responded to him over the comm channel. “Fine with us. Begin the transfer.”
One of the freighters began to move forward, but as it cruised in right below the Ice, a huge patch of space went from black and star-strewn to white, angular, and deadly. The Interdictor Cruiser’s bulk eclipsed a massive slice of the Graveyard. The sight of its quartet of domed gravity well projectors caused Wedge’s stomach to fold in on itself. The cruiser will stop us from running into hyperspace, but it’s far too weak to engage us by itself. It’s going to be carrying a dozen TIEs at best, and the freighters can maneuver out of the effective range of its guns. Going after two squadrons of snubfighters, half of us with proton torpedoes, means this cruiser has gotten itself into a fight it really can’t win.
Before Wedge could begin to issue orders, two things happened. The first, the lighting-up of a red warning light on his console, was something he expected. It told him that the Interdictor Cruiser had powered up the gravity well projectors and that none of the ships in the system could jump to hyperspace to escape. Not a wise move to trap us here.
The second thing squeezed an icy fist around his heart. One third larger than the Interdictor Cruiser, the Corrupter appeared to interpose its bulk between the cruiser Aggregator and the snubfighters. Its turbolaser batteries and ion cannons immediately began spraying green-and-blue energy bolts out toward the waiting freighters. Wedge knew instantly the barrage was untargeted, meant more to inspire panic than do damage.
As TIE fighters started pouring from the Destroyer’s belly, Wedge immediately started snapping orders to his people. “Booster, scatter freighters. Move! Tal’dira, give me a flight to orient on me and another to orient on Tycho. Use the others to vape those TIEs, but don’t close with Corrupter. Rogues, slave your torpedo targeting to my signal. Transmitting now. Tycho, I go first, then you follow.”
“I copy, Wedge.”
Wedge’s droid, Mynock, shrieked furiously as Wedge punched the throttle forward and drove straight at the Victory II-class Star Destroyer. “Shut up, Mynock. Distract me with your screaming, and we’ll both end up dead!” The droid fell silent, and Wedge promised himself that if he survived the run, he would get the droid’s memory wiped and rename it something suitably heroic.
Though the droid lacked courage, his assessment of the current situation was dead on. And worth screaming about. The Destroyer and cruiser carried, between them, three squadrons of TIEs. Wedge’s confidence in his people knew no limits, but the Rogues were standing off to shoot their proton torpedoes, which left the Twi’leks to fight against the TIEs. The chances that some TIEs would get through to harass the freighters were overwhelming.
The TIE threat was the least of the problems they faced in the system. The only way to counter the Corrupter’s threat was for the X-wings to hit it with a spread of proton torpedoes. The squadron, firing double shots, could pump out twenty-two proton torpedoes. If they hit—and missing a nearly kilometer-long ship was tough—they could blow through the shields and do some damage. Wedge would fly in close to target the ship for the first volley, then have Tycho follow up for a second, hopefully catching the Corrupter without shields in place. If the se
cond spread hits the Star Destroyer in an unshielded area, it could rip it apart. We’ll get damage on the first spread, but it will be the second that knocks it out.
Wedge pushed all power to his forward shields as he hit a wall of TIE fighters six kilometers out from the Corrupter. Once past them he evened his shields out with a flick of his thumb and then started draining his lasers of energy and pumping it into his shields. At two and a half kilometers he would get a firing solution for the Corrupter. He’d hold it until his squadron had launched, launch himself, then pull up and out. “Coming up on targeting. On my mark. Five, four, three, two, one. Get ready.”
The targeting reticle on his head-up display went red. “Mark!” Wedge pulled the trigger on his stick, launching two proton torpedoes. Launch report after launch report from his squadron scrolled up on his screen. Hey, even the Gands got off two concussion missiles.
Preparing to break off and run, Wedge glanced at his sensors and saw four TIEs in his rear arc. Realizing that pulling up and away would allow them to pounce on him, Wedge rolled his X-wing to port, then took the snubfighter down in a long loop that would carry him below the Corrupter’s hull. If they want to come after me, they get to brave their own fire, too. Juking right and left, Wedge bounced the fighter back and forth between streams of turbolaser fire.
A brilliant incandescence blossomed above him. The proton torpedoes slammed into the Corrupter’s shields all along the ship’s length. The shields acted like huge, invisible parasols to ward off the fierce energy unleashed by the proton torpedoes’ detonations. Roiling plasma curved up and around, following the arc of the Corrupter’s port shields as if some energy creature were trying to take a bite out of the ship. Then several torpedoes arrived late and pierced the shield at its heart, causing it to collapse. The tardy torpedoes and two concussion missiles pounded the destroyer’s hull, blasting apart armor plates and crushing turbolaser batteries.