Star Wars: X-Wing I: Rogue Squadron (14 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m making Rogue Squadron operational within the week.”

“What?” Wedge felt as if he’d been snared by a Stokhli stun-net. “It’s only been a month since the roster was finalized, sir. Advanced training takes six months normally—four if it’s rushed. We’re not ready.”

Ackbar returned to his desk and tapped the datapad. “That is not what your numbers suggest.”

“Admiral, you know there is more than just numbers to a unit. My people are good pilots, but they’re still green. I need more time.”

Salm folded his arms. “Rogue Squadron has gone into battle before with less training.”

“Yes, and I lost a lot of good men and women because of it.” He opened his arms and appealed to Ackbar. “Admiral, I’ve not even run any hyperjump exercises with these pilots.”

“Ah, but I thought all the pilots were pre-screened for being astronav capable.”

“They are, but …” Wedge was going to protest that Gavin Darklighter needed more work with astronavigation, but Lujayne had been tutoring him and reported Gavin was a natural.
Just like his cousin. Dammit, I don’t like this
. “I would still prefer having time to take them through more drills.”

“We would all like that luxury, Commander, but we don’t have it.” Salm frowned. “I’m taking my Y-wings—the wing you so neatly chewed up—operational in two weeks.”

Wedge fell silent.
My people are far closer to battle-ready than Salm’s. As always, the needs of the Rebellion outweigh the needs of its people—but this we knew going in
. “Admiral, can I at least run some astronav exercises to get my people working together when they come out of hyperspace?”

“By all means, Commander. In fact, I have the perfect assignment for you to use in that regard.” Ackbar touched his datapad screen in two or three locations and the lights in his office dimmed. As they did so, a swirling disk of stars appeared suspended between ceiling and floor. It tipped up on edge and a green circle slowly zoomed in on Commenor, locating it just outside the dense Galactic Core. “I will be moving Rogue Squadron from here to Talasea in the Morobe system.”

Even before another green circle could appear and pinpoint the new system, Wedge’s eyes narrowed. “That’s Coreward of here.”

Ackbar nodded. “There has been much debate in the Provisional Council about how we should proceed in the war against the Empire. Much of what we have discussed has been paralleled in the conversations held by the vast majority of citizens, Rebel and Imperial alike.”

“We’re going after Coruscant? Imperial Center?”

Ackbar’s chin fringe twitched. “We are given little choice, really, if we wish to overthrow the last remnants of the Empire—that goal being an exercise that may well take generations to complete, mind you. Many of the Moffs are adopting a wait-and-see attitude about the New Republic. Others, like Zsinj, have proclaimed themselves warlords and are doing what they can to consolidate their holdings with those of weaker neighbors. Any of these warlords could decide to turn his forces toward Coruscant and, by taking it, proclaim himself heir to Palpatine’s throne.”

“So we have to get there first.”

“Or at least appear to be bent upon that goal, discouraging others from usurping our place in the galaxy.” Salm tried to keep his voice even, but his desire to see the Rebels in power hurried his words. “These pretenders will learn that we have not labored so long just to give them an opportunity to rape and pillage whole systems.”

Wedge agreed with the General’s sentiment, but he knew breaking Coruscant open and taking the world would be far from simple. “It almost seems to me that an expedient alternative is to let some Moffs push themselves forward and have Iceheart deal with them.”

“Your opinion was also heard in our councils. It was decided that leaving anyone to her tender mercies was a crime of grand proportion.”

Ysanne Isard had risen to fill the power vacuum left by the Emperor’s death. The daughter of Palpatine’s last Internal Security Director, she came of age in the Emperor’s court. Wedge had heard rumors that she had been the Emperor’s lover for a time, but he had no way of verifying that story. What he did know was that she had betrayed her father to the Emperor, claiming he was going to defect to the Alliance. Her father was put to death immediately and it was said she triggered the blaster shot that killed him. The Emperor elevated her to replace her father and in his absence she did a remarkable job in holding the core of the Empire together.

The Mon Calamari warrior pointed to the galactic display. “From Talasea, Rogue Squadron will provide escort to ships pushing even deeper, setting up safe worlds and supply depots. You will be but one unit of many probing the central Imperial defenses.”

“You want to see how hard Iceheart will hit back. Gauge strength based on speed and the nature of response?”

“Yes, as well as determining supply routes for possible disruption.”

That made perfect sense to Wedge. Though space provided a limitless number of ways to get from one point to another, some simple basic rules governed how and where ships traveled. A ship attained speed and direction before jumping to light speed, and then maintained velocity in hyperspace. A ship moving fast enough could skirt phenomena like black holes, cutting parsecs off a more conservative and safer route.

Because objects with mass—stars, black holes,
planets, and Imperial
Interdictor
-class cruisers—exerted influence over hyperspace, they had to be navigated around. Their presence could abort a hyperspace flight and, in the case of a black hole or a star, could spell disaster for any ship that traveled too close to them. Making a trip through hyperspace required precise calculations that took advantage of a ship’s speed and mass to get it safely to its destination.

Because hazards to navigation diminish the number of calculable routes between places, trade tended to move through predictable corridors. Since traveling between stars was not inexpensive, merchants chose routes that allowed them to visit the most profitable systems along the way. These routes, including systems where ships leave hyperspace to change their travel vectors, were well known and piracy was not uncommon.

Disrupting Imperial supply routes would have a double effect for the Rebellion. Not only would it deprive Imperial garrisons of needed matériel for making war, but it would provide those same matériels to the Rebellion. While the New Republic and the Empire used different starfighters and capital ships, supplies like blasters, rations, and bacta could easily be employed by either side.

Wedge ran a hand along the edge of his unshaven jaw. “I understand the mission, and I appreciate the urgency for it. I do have a question, though.”

Ackbar nodded. “Please, Commander.”

“Rogue Squadron will do the job, but I was wondering if we were advanced for it because we’re the unit that can do the job, or if we’re being used as a symbol.”

“Frankly asked.” The Mon Cal’s coloration brightened to a salmon-pink on the dome of his
head. “I argued against employing you this soon, but others aptly pointed out that if you were not put in place
now
, our operations might not have time to succeed. Rogue Squadron is a symbol in the Alliance and by positioning you to drive against the Empire we show we have made a commitment to liberating everyone in the Empire.”

Wedge’s mouth became dry. “But the only way our use can function as a symbol is if our use is well publicized. And that publicity must get out to the warlords you expect to be frightened off by our presence.”

Ackbar’s shoulders slumped every so slightly. “Your words are ripples of my discussions with the Council. Borsk Fey’lya is quite persuasive and he has Mon Mothma’s ear in many things.”

Wedge looked at Salm. “And you’re worried about Tycho being a security risk!”

“Tycho Celchu did not risk his life to get the Alliance the location of the second Death Star.”

“No, he only risked his life to destroy that Death Star.”

Ackbar stepped between his subordinates. “Please, gentlemen, if I want petty bickering I can go to more Council meetings. It is important for you to air your grievances, but I will not have you fight and refight the same battles over and over again.”

“Sorry, sir. My apologies, General.”

“Accepted, Commander. I beg your pardon, Admiral.”

Ackbar nodded slowly. “Commander Antilles, in an effort to minimize damage done by the public profile being given your mission, we will keep your destination secret. This means your pilots will not know where they will be stationed and they will only be told that they are going on an extended training exercise. Logistics and Supply Corps staffers
have prepared lists of equipment that cover anything your unit might not carry with it on the trip. We have an Imperial shuttle that Captain Celchu will use to bring supplies on your journey.”

“Nav data will be fed out to my pilots prior to each jump?”

“Exactly. You should give your flight leaders numerous routes for which they will compute navigation solutions, then you choose the appropriate one and have it communicated to your squadron at each change of course.” The Mon Cal pointed at the representation of Talasea on the display and it zoomed in. “The Morobe system is a red-yellow binary and Talasea is the fourth planet in orbit around the yellow primary. The world is cool and moist with indigenous insect and reptilian life. There are mammals there as well—feral descendants of the animals brought in for an early farming colony. Your base is on the largest of the island continents. The atmosphere is thick, fog is common, but the world is safe.”

“What happened to the farming colony?”

“Over the centuries most of the children emigrated to worlds where they could see the stars and didn’t have to work so hard. The last group of them made the mistake of harboring a Jedi after the Clone Wars. Lord Vader destroyed them as an example. Settlement ruins are on your island but our people have reported there was nothing of interest left behind there.”

“Home Sweet Home.” Wedge smiled. “When are we to be on station?”

“A week from now.”

“That’s not much time.”

“I know.” Ackbar shrugged his shoulders. “It was all I could buy you. May the Force be with you, Commander Antilles. I hope you won’t need it.”

Kirtan Loor clutched his hands at the small of his back so they would stop trembling. “I am in your debt, Madam Director, and at your service.”

“How kind of you to say so, Agent Loor.” Ysanne Isard thumbed a small device. The lights in the room slowly brightened while shields descended over the windows. The rising illumination revealed the room to have a tall ceiling, with dark wooden beams curving up from the four corners to meet in an apex above the center of the floor. The walls and carpet shared the same deep blue, though a strip of carpet the same bright red as worn by Imperial Guards bordered the floor at the edge of the wall. In the far corner he saw a desk and chairs that were elegant yet far from ornate—in keeping with the general spartan nature of the room.

It struck him as odd that a large room that was all but empty could seem so decadently opulent. The only thing the room seemed rich in was wasted space. Then it struck him.
On a world that is so crowded with so many people, wasting this amount of space is the height of luxury
.

Isard’s predatory pacing in the center of the room snatched his attention away from the subtle messages of the architecture and appointments. She wore an Admiral’s uniform, complete with boots, jodhpurs, and a dress jacket, though the garments were red. A black armband circled the upper part of her left arm and the jacket bore no rank insignia or cylinders at all. Yet even without the external signs of rank, her intensity and the deliberation with which she moved radiated power.

Though he would have put her age at a dozen years older than his own, he found her attractive. Tall and slender, she wore her black hair long, and the white streaks descending from her temples made her seem more exotic than middle-aged. Her face appeared classically beautiful to him. A strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, a high forehead, a gracefully small nose, and large eyes were all the elements that most women would have killed to possess, or would have paid to have given to them.

Even as he catalogued all the bits and pieces of her that should have triggered some sort of lust in him—and the aura of power surrounding her was terribly exciting—fear overrode any glimmerings of carnal desire. When she looked at him, with dark brows accenting her eyes, he knew where the menace dwelt in her. One eye was ice-blue—as cold as Hoth and as cruel as a Hutt in a sporting mood. The other eye, the left one, was a molten red, with golden highlights that flashed with fiery determination. The left eye told him that any effort by him that was not fully devoted to her service would be met with the bloodless retribution promised by her cold right eye.

Kirtan shivered and she smiled.

“Agent Loor, your personal file has a number of interesting inputs. You are rated as having a visual
memory retention rate of nearly one hundred percent.”

He nodded. “If I read it or see it, I remember it.”

“This can be a useful tool, if applied correctly.” Isard’s expression lost some of its hardness, though this in no way made Kirtan feel as if he were any safer. “In the report about Bastra you mentioned not using
skirtopanol
during his interrogation because he had been dosing himself with
lotiramine
. This was a precaution you learned to take because of a case on Corellia where doing just that had negative effects, yes?”

“The suspect died.”

“Your report says you used the fact that the
lotiramine
masks the presence of
blastonecrosis
to confront Bastra with his own mortality. When that did not prove effective, you began conventional interrogation.”

Kirtan nodded. “Sleep deprivation, protein starvation, coercive holographic and auditory illusions taken from what I knew of him. It all proved quite promising until the
blastonecrosis
began to make his whole body septic. I then initiated treatment for the condition.”