The Bacta War (9 page)

At first this threatened Corran—in part because of the utter chaos of the situation but mostly because the children thrust responsibility into his hands. The fact that none of the Darklighters seemed to mind their children paying him attention—as long as the kids didn’t seem to be bothering him or to be ill-mannered—meant he had to accept that responsibility
and act on it. The openness of the families drew him in and they accepted him, but Corran was uncertain if he was ready to be accepted.

Mirax and her father, by way of contrast, formed a little insulated party within the grander goings-on. The hushed tones of their conversation, their quiet laughter and their general ease with each other reminded Corran very sharply of the relationship he’d had with his own father. Hal Horn had been friend and confidant as well as parent and work associate. Corran had always thought of family as a place where he could open himself up and get advice without fearing censure or ridicule.
Shared blood meant a bottom-line alliance that no disagreement could shatter
. He and his father had disagreed on plenty of things, but that which united them was far stronger than anything that could divide them.

Despite the efforts of everyone to include him in what was going on, Corran began to retreat a bit as melancholy over his father’s death slowly seeped into his heart. It was all too easy for him to imagine his father at the gathering, again hearing his laughter and watching the others react to the stories Hal used to tell.
They would have loved him here. And he would have loved being here, too
.

A chill ran down Corran’s spine. The openness of the families twisted like a vibroblade into his guts. His father, Hal Horn, had known his own father, the Jedi Master Nejaa Halcyon. Hal had never told Corran anything about Nejaa.
I know he did that to protect me, but I know he had to have been proud of his father. When I told my father that I had “hunches” and he told me to go with them, he knew they were manifestations of my—our—Jedi heritage. That was his quiet way of telling me of his pride, but it must have torn him up to have to remain silent. Perhaps he anticipated telling me about that stuff later, after the Rebels had destroyed the Empire, but he never lived that long
.

Corran absented himself from the gathering, walking up the steps to the surface of the planet. The twin suns had set, letting the day’s heat begin to bleed off into space. The chill creeping into the desert likewise began to gnaw at him. It
found a willing ally in the sorrow sloshing around in Corran’s guts.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant Horn, I don’t want to intrude.”

Corran looked back and saw Jula Darklighter silhouetted against the glow from the pit mansion. “No intrusion, sir. I came from a small family, so this is rather overwhelming.”

“I came from a big family, and it’s overwhelming.” Jula glanced down at the ground and toed an alkali crust into dust. “I wanted to say thank you for taking care of my son out there.”

Corran smiled, but shook his head. “Gavin takes care of himself out there.”

“He said you had confidence in him and that you got another pilot to stop picking on him. He didn’t say it that way, mind you, but he’s not hard to read.”

Corran laughed lightly. “No, your boy—young man—does tend to digitize and broadcast his emotions. The situation he refers to, though, was one where another pilot, Bror Jace, and I were having a bit of a conflict, and Gavin just happened to find himself in the middle. I’m glad he took heart in my having confidence in him, because I did and do believe in him and his skills, but he needs no protection. You raised a man of whom you can be proud.”

Jula smiled and nodded, then looked Corran straight in the eyes. “He’s almost ended up like Biggs, hasn’t he?”

“We’ve
all
almost ended up like Biggs, sir. The Empire may be in retreat, but there are plenty of folks still willing to fight for them.” Corran raised a hand to his breastbone and unconsciously stroked the Jedi medallion he wore. “Gavin has been wounded and did almost die, but the fact is that he was too tough to die. As a pilot, he’s getting better and better and has vaped his share of the enemy we’ve faced. He’s brave without being stupid. He’s the sort of person who is the Rebellion’s backbone and the reason it has succeeded as well as it has.”

“What you’re saying, Lieutenant Horn, makes me very proud indeed.” Jula sighed. “It also fortifies me against anticipating the worst. I imagine your parents are equally worried about you and proud of you.”

Corran frowned. “My parents are dead, sir.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Jula jerked a thumb back toward the sounds of the gathering. “This isn’t very easy on you, is it?”

Corran shrugged. “Compared to an Imperial prison, it’s actually very nice. The trick of it is that there I had a focus for my negative thoughts—the people who had me imprisoned. Here there is no such focus.”

“Perhaps that means that you should just let your negative thoughts go.” Jula patted him on the shoulder. “Nothing wrong with feeling and acknowledging sorrow and pain, Lieutenant Horn. The crime is letting them hold you prisoner. Come on back, and we’ll do all we can to set you free.”

He’s right. Mourning is appropriate, but not here and not now
. Corran smiled. “Thanks. I think I
will
rejoin the group. In fighting the Imps I’ve been in so many places where I’ve been reviled, it’s great, just for once, to be welcomed so openly and graciously.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Jula threw an arm over Corran’s shoulder and steered him back toward the light. “Darklighters believe in treating friends like family and family like friends, and we’re always glad to add yet one more to the family.”

8

This has to be a dream. A nightmare even
. Wedge cracked his left eye open and let it slowly attempt to focus. At first he noticed nothing unusual in the unlit room, but then he caught sight of little motes of light streaking like shooting stars across night sky. The possible presence of something in his quarters did convince his sleep-besotted brain that he should continue his trek toward consciousness, but until he heard the voice a second time, he wasn’t wholly certain he wasn’t enmeshed in a nightmare.

“Good morning, sir. It is very good to see you again.”

Wedge rolled over and reluctantly opened both eyes. “Emtrey?”

“How kind of you to remember me, Comm—I mean,
Master
Wedge.” The black 3PO droid with the clamshell head stood beside the bed with its hands splayed out. “I realize you may not have fully recovered from your journey here, and were it up to me I’d have allowed you to sleep longer, but this is the time at which you requested awakening.”

Wedge groaned. Shortly after Corran, Mirax, and Gavin had left for Tatooine, Winter located a possible store of X-wings and parts on Rishi. Using some of the unit’s money,

Wedge rented a modified Corellian YT-1300 light freighter named
Eclipse Rider
and headed out with Ooryl Qrygg to check out the report. The trip out from Coruscant went well, but once they arrived in-system they ran into trouble. The freighter lost a repulsor-lift coil upon landing. Ooryl worked on replacing that while Wedge wound his way through a labyrinth of H’kig religious laws that seemed, to him, to prohibit or limit anything that could make life easier.

He did locate the cache of X-wing parts and managed to purchase it. He estimated two fighters could be cobbled together from the parts, which was something, but far short of what he’d hoped when he set out at first. Regulations on the use of repulsor-lift vehicles complicated the loading timetable and, ultimately, delayed their departure from the world by twelve hours.

When he and Ooryl finally did make it to Yag’Dhul, Wedge was four days behind schedule and exhausted. He docked the freighter, then had someone show him to his quarters.
I thought twelve hours of sleep would be enough, but apparently not, because I’m hallucinating the presence of a droid that should be on Coruscant
.

He rubbed his eyes, then opened them again. Emtrey was still there. “What’s going on here? Did General Cracken send you to keep an eye on us?”

“Since I do not have eyes per se, sir, I would have to say no.” The droid’s head canted to the right. “I do not recall any orders being given to me by my former owner.”

“Former owner?” Wedge realized he was becoming more awake all the time, but nothing seemed to be getting much clearer to him, and that caused him some concern.
Someone has to be having fun with this
. “Get Tycho for me.”

Tycho cleared his voice and Wedge turned to see him leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom. “Thought you’d like to wake up to a familiar face, since you’re in unfamiliar surroundings.”

“Right.” Wedge narrowed his eyes. “As I recall, I’ve not gotten you back for the other trick you pulled—that postmortem message from Corran at Borleias. You better watch your step.”

“Or what? You think you can cause me more trouble than a treason trial and a stay in an Imperial prison?” Tycho thrust his chin out defiantly, but softened the gesture with a smile. “You’re welcome to try any time you want, Antilles.”

Wedge shook his head. “One hopeless battle at a time. Got any caf out there?”

Tycho nodded. “Brewed hot and strong enough to dissolve transparisteel.”

“Great.” Wedge rolled out of bed and slipped into the thick robe Emtrey held out for him. Knotting the belt around his middle, he followed Tycho into the small parlor attached to his bedroom. The furnishings were a mixture of styles and colors, but all of them were fashioned from hollow metal tubes and light but strong cloth.
Less mass means less cost in transport and energy to maintain the gravity generation for the station
.

Wedge dropped into a chair across a low table from Tycho and wrapped both hands around the barrel of a steaming mug of caf. The steam caressed his face and could have been melting his eyebrows for all he cared because the caf tasted wonderful. He felt the warmth spread out from his belly and a layer of fog in his brain began to dissipate.

“So, Tycho, how is Emtrey here?”

Tycho’s smile broadened considerably. “Politics.”

Wedge sipped more caf. “Okay, give me the exploded view because I’m not seeing it.”

“It gets weird, but I’m not complaining.” Tycho leaned forward. “Before his capture at Yavin 4, Jan Dodonna designed the A-wing fighter. The Alliance got it into production and introduced the A-wing late on in the Rebellion. Most of them were made in locations that weren’t so much factories as they were private shops. They all worked from the same design, but were constructed on an individual basis. The one I flew at Endor, for example, had Fijisi wood panels in it—I’m guessing it was built on Cardooine.”

“I recall how reinforcements of those ships used to dribble in.”

“Right, well Incom and Koensayer are afraid their X-wing and Y-wing fighter designs are going to be supplanted
by the A-wing and B-wing designs, so they’ve been trying to get the Provisional Council and the Armed Forces to open bidding on new contracts. Incom thinks it has an edge on winning a contract for new X-wings, when all of us up and resign. Koensayer starts the rumor that part of our disaffection is because we don’t trust the X-wing anymore.

“Incom turns around and says that it’s working on some new designs and would be happy to bring Rogue Squadron’s ships up to the state of the art. What they offer are A-wings manufactured by them that have been modified so the laser cannons can swivel and cover the rear arc.”

Wedge nodded. “Nice adaptation, but it doesn’t explain how we ended up with Emtrey.”

“I’m getting there, and you’ll appreciate the flight, trust me.” Tycho pressed his hands together. “Someone in the military—probably General Cracken, but maybe even Admiral Ackbar—decided accepting Incom’s gift was appropriate, so all the equipment in Rogue Squadron was inspected, listed as missing parts, and surplussed out. Winter found out about it before anyone else, and we scooped up the lot, including Emtrey and our astromech droids.”

Wedge blinked. “Surplussed out? Our stuff was sold as surplus?”

“Broken surplus. It was missing parts.”

“Such as?”

“PL-1s”

Wedge frowned. “PL-1s? I’ve never heard of them.”

Tycho shook his head. “That’s the designation for pilot.”

Wedge immediately began laughing.
Someone back on Coruscant favors what we’re doing or perhaps just wants to give us the tools to destroy ourselves. I’m trusting it’s the former
. “Emtrey was just thrown in on the deal?”

“He cost a little bit extra, but I thought he was worth it.” Tycho coughed lightly into his hand. “Zraii and his technical staff resigned and followed our ships over. We’ve got a full squadron, and the parts you brought in should keep them operational for a long time.”

“Good. How does the base look?”

“Not bad.” Tycho pointed back toward the bedroom.
“I’ll give you a half an hour to get cleaned up, then I’ll give you a tour of the place. It’s not exactly a Death Star, but I think it will work fine for our purposes.”

Clad in a tan jumpsuit, Wedge followed Tycho through the space station. The small suite he’d been given turned out to be one of the more luxurious ones on the station. Because of construction costs space was at a premium. Refresher stations were communal, as were dining facilities. While there were private rooms for dinner meetings, all food was prepared in a central galley and delivered to the half-dozen dining facilities on the base. Those same rooms also served as lounges and recreation facilities.

Tycho led him to the core of the station and punched a button on the wall. “Here at the core we have nine turbolifts: six are for personnel and three are for freight.”

Wedge reached up and tapped a knuckle against the gray duraplast ceiling. “Everything seems shrunk down a bit. I feel like a giant.”

“It
is
very compact. I think it was built this way to cause stormtroopers problems if they ever invaded.” As the turbolift door slid open, Tycho passed through the opening. “There are twenty-five living levels above the docking facility and twenty-five below it. We’re starting at sub-twenty-five. I’ve got Emtrey working on the moves that will be necessary to clear the last ten sublevels for our personnel.”