Rogue Squadron (8 page)

Rhysati looked over at Corran. “What do you think?”

“Me? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever ran into her when I was in CorSec, but I have trouble telling one Rodian from another and I can’t speak their language. I do know she wasn’t on any apprehension lists I ever saw, so she didn’t have a death mark before I left the service.” He shrugged. “Shiel probably
does
have a death mark on him, on the other
hand. A lot of the wolfmen were put out of the scouting business because of the Emperor’s restrictions on exploration. Some of them turned around and sold their services to the Rebellion and found havens like Dantooine and Yavin. I don’t think the Empire appreciates that sort of activity.”

“More correctly, Mr. Horn, Riv Shiel earned his death mark when he slew a stormtrooper team that tried to apprehend him, thinking he was Lak Sivrak.” The black protocol droid carefully ascended the stairs. “Forgive me for interrupting, and please allow me to introduce myself. I am Emtrey, human-cyborg relations and regulations with a military specialty. I am fluent in over six million languages and familiar with an equivalent number of current and historical military doctrines, regulations, honor codes, and protocols.”

The ends of the Twi’lek’s brain tails twitched. “As well as being familiar with the personnel files of everyone in the squadron?”

“Why, yes.” Golden lights glowed deep in the dark hollow of the droid’s face. “My primary function requires me to carry such data around with me. Without it …”

Nawara held a hand up. “So you could tell us who the other individual is with a death mark on him or her.”

“I could.” Emtrey’s head canted at an angle. “Shiel has made no attempt to conceal his death mark, but the other person has said nothing about it. Would revealing his identity be wise, Mr. Horn?”

Corran shrugged. “I stopped being a law enforcement officer a bit ago, so I don’t know if revealing that information would be a violation of the law. Counselor Ven might.”

The Twi’lek half closed his eyes. “Hardly. Death marks imposed by the Empire are meant to be a
matter of public record. And, in this company, it is hardly a disgrace.”

“Who is it?” Rhysati asked.

“Nawara’s right, it’s more a badge of honor here than anything else.” Corran crossed his arms. “C’mon, Emtrey, say what you know.”

The droid looked at Corran carefully. “Are you sure, sir?”

Why ask me?
“Of course.”

“Very well.” The droid righted its head again. “The other death mark was issued after the brutal murder and vivisection of a half-dozen people.”

Corran’s blood ran cold. “Who did that?”

The droid’s eyes burned bright. “You did, sir. You’re wanted on Drall, in the Corellian Sector, for the murder of six smugglers.”

6

Laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach, Corran sat down abruptly. He only partially landed on the bench, and ended up on the floor at Emtrey’s feet. “That’s nothing.” He swiped his hands at the tears streaming down his face. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

The Gand looked down at him. “Ooryl was not aware murder was seen as mirthful.”

Nawara Ven folded his arms. “It isn’t.”

About the time Rhysati stepped back, imposing Emtrey between herself and him, Corran realized he’d quickly destroyed what his previous socializing had accomplished. He scrambled to his feet and composed himself. “I can explain this, I really can.”

The Twi’lek lawyer twitched a brain tail at him. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Yeah, well, this is the truth, unlike what your clients were probably saying.” Corran looked at the droid. “Can you tap into registry files from here?”

“I am fully capable of a whole host of functions in that regard …”

“Good. See if you can pull up the death files for
the names in the reports about the murders, then match them up with birth bytes.” As the droid’s eye-lights started to flicker, Corran turned back to his squadron mates. “The short form is this—at CorSec, in my division, we had an Imperial Liaison officer who had enough ambition to dream about being a Grand Moff, and just enough talent for dealing with regs and bureaucracy to be a severe problem. He wanted us to bear down on all Rebel smuggling in the system, but we were more concerned about hunting down the kind of pirates who actually hurt folks—glit smugglers and the like. Loor—that was the Intelligence officer’s name—threatened to bring us up on charges of aiding the Rebellion. The Imperials fleeing to Corellia after the Emperor’s death gave the Diktat a lot of support, and that meant Imperial officers suddenly had the muscle to back up their threats.

“My boss, Gil Bastra, decided to make up new identities for himself, my partner Iella Wessiri, her husband Diric, and myself, but he knew Loor would be suspicious of time we all spent together outside the office. Gil and I made up the records for these smugglers, put hints out that they existed and were very bad, and then put out reports that they’d been murdered. Loor saw all the reports—and reading them was the closest he ever got to a field investigation. In a staged scene in the office, Gil accused me of having executed the smugglers and I said I hadn’t and that he couldn’t prove it anyway. We had a public falling out and Loor assumed we never met with each other after that. We did and set things up so we could head out and away from the Empire.”

Corran sighed. “Loor and I did not get along at all. He threatened me with a death mark for those deaths if I ever got out of line. When I took off—when he set me up and failed to kill me—
he followed through. That’s where the death mark comes from.”

The Twi’lek opened his hands and looked at the droid. “Do you have the records, Emtrey?”

“I do. They have birth bytes.”

“Gil did good work. Convert the time of their births to military time. Reverse values for minutes and hours, then compare that to the birth date of the next person in alphabetical order—using Basic, of course.”

The droid tilted his head to the right. “There is a progression. The birth time of one is the month and day of the birth of the next, but the pattern does not loop all the way around.”

“It does if you add in my birthday and birth time.” Corran smiled. “On top of that, the hospital where they were born doesn’t exist—nor does the town where it’s supposed to be.”

Rhysati emerged from behind the droid and patted Corran on the shoulder. “I’m happy to know you’re innocent, but couldn’t you have found something aside from death to use to fool your Imp?”

“Well, when you’re in CorSec, you see enough death that you have to joke about it or it grinds you down. Besides, watching Loor read the fictional reports and react to them was funny.”

“Then he would find Gil Bastra’s death file amusing, I take it?”

Corran’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

The droid’s head became level. “There is a notice of Gil Bastra’s death. It came when I asked for the data on all the names with the report.”

“That can’t be.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it is, sir.” Emtrey’s head tilted to the left. “It was appended to Imperial holonet transmission #A34920121.”

The pilot shook his head, wishing he didn’t feel
so hollow inside.
Gil, dead?
“No, I don’t believe it. Gil can’t be dead.”

The Twi’lek eased Corran down onto the bench. “How reliable is the report of his death?”

The droid’s eyes flickered for a moment. “Answering that question could compromise intelligence-gathering operations.”

“What difference does it make, Nawara?” Corran rubbed both hands over his face. “It was reliable enough to be put out on the holonet.”

Nawara smiled carefully, though the sight of his sharp peg teeth carried with it a hint of menace. “No, Corran, the
report
of a death went out on the holonet. That says
nothing
about the reliability of the information upon which the report was based. That report could have been based on something your Gil did, or even something this Loor did to get at you.”

He’s right
. “You must have been one grand lawyer to spot that sort of inconsistency.”

The Twi’lek slapped Corran on the shoulder. “You would have hated me if you were trying to make a case against one of my clients—whether he was lying about his innocence or not. So, Emtrey, how reliable is this report? Are there other reports that corroborate it?”

“I have no related reports.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference if you did, at least not any that came out of Corellian Security Force files. Gil had full access to the database. The same way he created new identities for my partner, her husband, himself, and me, he would have entered everything to make it look good. He really went all out—we had temporary identities that let us travel to the worlds where he had created solid identities we could hide behind. At my last destination
he had me working as an aide for the local Military Prefect.”

Rhysati gave Corran a hard stare with her hazel eyes. “So are you saying you aren’t Corran Horn?”

“No, I
am
Corran Horn. I used the identities Gil made for me when I ran and hid, but I joined the Rebellion as myself.” Corran took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “Look, what I’ve told you about myself is true, but I haven’t told you everything. It’s not that I haven’t trusted you, but a lot of it I didn’t want to talk about. I …”

The blond woman reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, we all have bad memories.”

“Thanks, Rhys.” Corran’s chest felt tight, but as he spoke he could feel some of the tension ease. “There was a lot of bad blood between Loor and me, and knowing I was going to head out, I really started defying him. He decided to have me dealt with. On what I thought would be my last assignment I drew an X-wing from the pool of craft we’d captured and converted to CorSec use. I was supposed to pull a surprise inspection on small-time smugglers who were coming in-system. Whistler and I mounted up—the R2 had served as my partner in the field and had all the new identity files Gil had made up for me. Unbeknownst to Loor, Whistler also had already computed a number of jumps from Corellia since I had planned to take him with me when I left.

“Where the smugglers were supposed to be I found debris and two flights of TIEs looking for trouble. I
illuminated
a couple with my lasers, then jumped out. That’s the start of a long story about how and why I’m here now.”

Emtrey looked down at him, his eyes glowing like stars in his black face. “Sir, do you have copies of the identity files for Mr. Bastra and the others?”

“Nope. Gil was the only person with a complete set and I’m sure he destroyed them. I’ve only got mine and they’re stored in Whistler’s memory.”

“Perhaps, sir, if you could provide me with
your
files, I can search our databases and see if I can locate other files that were similarly sliced, thereby determining if Mr. Bastra’s new identity is known to us.”

“Ooryl sees the wisdom of this.”

Corran smiled over his shoulder at the Gand. “So do I. I don’t see how it can hurt.”

“Sir, if you will permit me then, I will make inquiries of your R2 unit and try to solve this mystery.”

Corran nodded. “Do what you need to do.”

“Yes, sir, which reminds me.” The droid passed each of the pilots a narrow piece of plastic with an embedded black magnetic strip on the back. “These are your room assignments. Mr. Horn and Mr. Qrygg will continue to be billeted together. Mr. Ven, you will room with Mr. Jace, and Mistress Ynr will share a room with Mistress Dlarit.”

The Corellian looked back at the Gand. “At least I know you don’t snore.”
Heck, I don’t even know if you breathe
.

The soft tissues just inside Ooryl’s mouth wobbled around for a second. “Ooryl does not believe you do either. Ooryl does not sleep in the same manner as most others, so your occasional production of rhythmic nocturnal sound is not a problem. Ooryl finds it somewhat soothing, in fact.”

“First time I’ve heard it described as ‘soothing.’ ” Corran blushed, then stood and patted the Twi’lek on the arm. “I don’t think you can describe anything about your roommate as soothing, my friend.”

Nawara’s red eyes darkened slightly. “Since I
won’t be fighting with Jace for mirror space to preen, I think our conflicts will be minimal—I shall take solace in that fact. Rhysati, on the other hand, will have more trouble with the other Thyferran.”

“Why? You think I’m going to worry about my looks to impress the lot of
you
? No chance.” Rhysati folded her arms across her chest. “I’m going to be spending my time becoming the best pilot there is in this squadron, so romance is not high on my list of priorities.”

Corran smiled. “Besides, you don’t need to work to be beautiful, Rhys.”

“Sure. Just you remember that when I turn your X-wing into slag.”

“Oh, I hope you would not do that, Mistress Ynr.” A plaintive tone warbled through Emtrey’s words and his arms flailed. “The forms I would have to fill out, the court-martial and requisitions for new parts—the work would be endless.”

“Easy, Emtrey, I was joking.”

“Ah, oh, yes, of course you were.” The black droid’s arms settled back down to his sides. “If you have no further need of me, I will find this Whistler of yours, Mr. Horn, and see what I can do to learn more about the fate of your friend.”

“Thank you, Emtrey.” Corran suppressed a smile as the droid turned about with tiny steps, then headed for the door. “Nawara, did you have to deal with protocol droids in court?”

The tips of the Twi’lek’s head tails recoiled. “They functioned as paralegals, but none were allowed into court without restraining bolts. A judge once threw a gavel at one.”

“Not your droid, I take it?”

“No.
I
was not a welcome sight in Imperial courts, so any droid I could have afforded would not have been allowed in.”

Rhysati frowned. “But then there was no chance that the defense you offered your clients would be as strong as it should have been. That’s not just.”

“Law and justice are seldom served at the same time.” Nawara shrugged. “The quest for justice has brought us all to the Alliance, has it not? Rhys, you want justice for the dislocation of your family when the Empire made them flee Bespin. I am looking for the justice I could not get for my clients. Corran wants the justice denied to innocent people oppressed by Imperial officials.”