Wedge's Gamble (27 page)

More smoothly than Gavin would have thought possible, Corran’s blaster pistol came up and around. He snapped off three quick shots. One missed the second Imp speeder, but the other two hit and boosted the driver up out of the saddle. The armored figure fell ten meters to the ferrocrete street, rolling up in a lifeless heap next to his prey. The speeder bike glided to a hover in midair above him, out of reach and benign.

Nawara pointed up as a half-dozen stormtroopers on speeder bikes dove down through the alley. “Reinforcements, let’s move.”

Asyr pointed to a doorway set flush with a wall off to the right. “This way.”

Corran waved them on, then darted out and ran toward the downed bike driver. Gavin followed him, directing a scattered pattern of covering fire back into the warehouse. He reached the rider a moment after Corran did and realized the rider was a woman. She tugged her helmet off, spilling brown hair over her shoulders. A blue forelock had been pasted to her forehead by sweat.

“Leave me alone!” she snarled at Corran.

“No way, Inyri.” Corran grabbed her by the shoulder of her jacket to pull her along, but just ended up keeping her off the ground when her step faltered.

“My knee,” she gasped, “I can’t.”

Gavin handed Corran his blaster, then swept her up in his arms. “Let’s go.”

Inyri struggled against Gavin for a moment, then hung on as stormtroopers started shooting at them from all directions. The Rogues who had gone over to the doorway Asyr had pointed out returned fire on the stormtroopers emerging from the warehouse, momentarily driving them back. Corran, with a blaster in each
hand, triggered a flurry of shots at the first speeder bike as it came around to make a pass at them. He didn’t hit the pilot, but he made the man shy off and slam his speeder into the alley wall.

The speeder exploded, spilling fire down the wall and into the alley. It sparked a momentary lull in the shooting that Gavin used to complete his run to the doorway. He got inside quickly and stumbled forward, but kept his feet. The backlight of blaster fire from the other Rogues provided him with enough light to find his way a bit deeper into what appeared to be a cluttered stockroom of some sort. Despite the smoke in the air, Gavin detected a heavy chemical scent.

Up ahead Asyr cracked a door open, letting a sliver of dim yellow light slice through the gloom. Janitorial supplies filled the shelves in the room, though dust covered all of them. As he moved out into the corridor with Inyri, he saw enough grime to confirm that the supplies were seldom used in the building.

Asyr cut across the corridor to a stairwell and led them down. Ooryl and Shiel followed with Dmaynel, leaving Nawara, Rhysati, and Corran to form the rear guard. Though no one seemed to be pursuing the group, Corran and the other two gave the wounded folks a good head start before they followed.

Gavin didn’t recognize any of the tunnels or passages they took, nor the buildings they cut through, though they all looked pretty much like those he and Shiel had seen in their survey of Invisec. Finally they moved up a few levels and were admitted to an apartment where an Ithorian led them through a fairly conventional room to a thickly overgrown, junglelike area of heavy humid air, dripping water, rainbow-colored plants, and artificial lighting.

Asyr pointed Ooryl and Shiel toward a bluish-green mossy patch and they deposited Dmaynel there. “Houlilan, take care of Dmaynel. This other one is hurt, too, but not badly.”

Inyri shifted a bit in Gavin’s arms. “You can let me down. I can stand. I just banged my knee up when I fell.”

Gavin eased her onto her feet and supported her as she balanced on her left foot. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded, wincing only slightly as she tried to put weight on her right leg. “I guess you think I should be grateful.”

Asyr looked surprised. “They saved you from death or worse at Imp hands. Thanks are warranted.”

Inyri shrugged. “Thank them? Never. They’re the reason I’m here. If they’d not interfered with my life, I wouldn’t have been in trouble.”

Corran frowned from the doorway. “You had a choice. You didn’t have to leave Kessel.”

Asyr pocketed her small blaster and folded her arms. “There’s definitely something going on here that I don’t know about. Do I want to?”

Gavin shook his head. “Probably not.”

“For your own sake,” Nawara added.

Inyri smiled cruelly. “These are the people who brought Black Sun back to Coruscant.”

The Bothan covered her surprise well, then stared right at Gavin. “True?”

He shrugged. “I’m afraid so.”

Asyr frowned. “Freeing folks from Kessel explains why you’ve got no love for the Imps, but I don’t think the Rebels will think much of your doing that either. Makes the galaxy kind of small for you. That’s a big problem.”

“Not really, not at all.” Corran handed Gavin back his blaster. “As things go, that’s really a minor problem.”

“A
minor
problem?” Asyr’s frown deepened. “Do I even want to know you people?”

“Probably not.” Gavin smiled at her. “We’re Rebels—pilots in Rogue Squadron.”

“And you’re here on Coruscant?” Asyr’s amethyst eyes widened. “I begin to see your perspective on things.”

Corran nodded. “Let me help you get the full hologram. We’re here to figure out how to liberate Coruscant.
In comparison with
our
mission,
any
other problem is a minor problem.”

Aril Nunb had decided to feign unconsciousness when they dragged her from the rubble, but the cracked ribs on the right side of her chest were painful enough to make her squeal when a stormtrooper pulled on her right arm. He hauled her to her feet, then shoved her toward the group of cut and bleeding refugees standing behind the Floating Fortress.

Aril didn’t think she’d blacked out when things started happening, but she couldn’t be certain. She remembered the stormtroopers arriving, then the far door going down. She’d broken for the exit along with the other Rogues, but a blast from the Fortress had exploded part of a hovel to her right. She thought only the shock wave had knocked her down, but the ache in her ribs suggested she’d been hit solidly by flying debris. Then she’d seen a Sullustan toddler begin to scream and thrash in a midden. She’d bent to help him out when the rest of the building came down.

She glanced back at the pile from where they had pulled her, but she saw no child. Aril turned to look forward again, but she saw no child among the hollow-eyed survivors. Those that could cry did, others licked their wounds; many stared off into space.

A Too-Onebee glanced in her direction, then pointed off to the left. Aril mutely followed the directions and found a group of Sullustans huddled together, segregated from the other refugees. A number of children clung to adults, hiding behind legs or burying their faces in a parent’s neck. Aril couldn’t see the child she had gone after. She had a hard time actually recalling the child’s face, which told her she’d probably been concussed.

Instead of letting herself think she’d failed, she arbitrarily picked out one child and decided he had been the one she had tried to help. She nodded in his direction, but he just hid further behind his father’s leg.

Someone grabbed her left arm. Aril looked up into the jowly face of a man who stood a good forty centimeters taller than she did. He was quite heavyset, yet his brown eyes shone with a cunning that removed him from the class of man she would have called bovine. He wore his thinning black hair in a short military style cut, which was in keeping with his General’s uniform.

“You seem healthy. A good specimen.”

Aril lightly tapped the right side of her chest and winced.

The man dropped his thick-fingered hand to her flank and probed her ribs. She squeaked out a protest. His touch, while clinical, was also forceful and hurt. “Cracked ribs maybe, probably just bruised.” He looked down into her eyes and turned her head to the left and right. “You look fine. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He straightened up. “Diric!”

An older, dull-eyed man in a bloodstained orderly’s uniform spun on his heel. “Yes, General Derricote?”

Derricote patted Aril on the shoulder. “This is one we’re taking with us. Put her with the others.”

“She makes a dozen and a half, sir.”

“Good.” Derricote pointed to the orderly. “Go with him. You will have the best of care. In fact, I daresay, you will have the best medical care available for the rest of your life.”

27

Admiral Ackbar closed his eyes for a second, then nodded to his aide. “I suppose the tide is high, so I cannot escape it. Please show Councilor Fey’lya in.”

The human aide departed, giving Ackbar a moment of silence in which he could prepare for the coming confrontation.
No, Ackbar, if you assume bitter water, you’ll not taste the sweet
. The Admiral refused to consider the Bothan a rival for power, primarily because Ackbar himself had no desire for power in any political sense of the word. He had risen to his position at the head of the Alliance military because of his intimate knowledge of Imperial doctrines—learned while he was Grand Moff Tarkin’s slave—and because the Mon Calamari had contributed their considerable fleet to bolster the Rebel Navy for the battle at Endor. Once the Empire was defeated and his services were no longer needed, he would happily retire to Mon Calamari and spend the rest of his days living through tide cycles.

He realized his refusal to see Borsk Fey’lya as a rival probably was shortsighted, but he could not afford the distraction. With the death of General Laryn Kre’fey at Borleias, the Bothans had lost their most celebrated military
leader. The Bothans had no other candidate to offer as viable for running grand operations like the taking of Coruscant.

Which meant any Bothan agenda had to go through Ackbar.

Which is why Fey’lya has come to me now
.

The hatch to Ackbar’s cabin on
Home One
opened and Borsk Fey’lya entered the dimly lit office. Ackbar started to adjust the lighting upward, but the Bothan shook his head. “Be comfortable, Admiral, I can see well enough in this light.”

The subdued tones of Fey’lya’s voice, and the conciliatory nature of his words, immediately put Ackbar on his guard. “You honor me with your visit, Councilor.”

Fey’lya held a gold-furred hand up. “Please, the formality of titles is unnecessary between us. We have not always been on the same side, nor do you probably consider me a friend, but you do acknowledge the bond we share within the Rebellion.”

“Of course.” Ackbar nodded slowly. “You came to speak to me about Noquivzor.”

“Indeed. The reports I have gotten were sketchy.”

Ackbar sat back in his eggshell repulsorlift chair. “You have the basics: one standard day ago Warlord Zsinj showed up in the system with the
Iron Fist
, launched a wing of TIEs, and proceeded with a planetary bombardment. Our base there was hit hard, though since most of it was underground, the damage was not as extensive as Zsinj undoubtedly would like to think.”

Fey’lya’s purple eyes glowed luminescently in the half-light. “We met on Noquivzor approximately seven standard weeks ago. Do you think this was a misguided assassination attempt?”

Ackbar thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Unlikely. If he killed the Rebellion leadership he would make himself a target. I suspect he thought he was attacking Rogue Squadron, to pay them back for hitting his ships. His facility for carrying a grudge is all but legendary. We made no secret of where Rogue Squadron was
staying primarily to keep the Empire looking at Noquivzor instead of closer to home.”

“How badly was Noquivzor hit?”

Ackbar’s eyes half closed. “We had major damage to the barracks complex. Multiple floors collapsed one atop another. We will be a long time digging bodies out. Rogue Squadron lost a significant portion of their support staff. The hangar complex, on the other horizon, escaped damage. When we get them back from Coruscant they will have ships to fly.”

“Even the worst plague will spare some of the virtuous.” The Bothan slowly shook his head. “Warlord Zsinj is becoming more of a problem. If we do not strike back at him and hit him hard, he will be emboldened and hit us again.”

“Agreed, but where do we hit him? He’s as elusive as the
Katana
fleet. The galaxy is a big place and even with back-plotting and reports coming in, pinpointing his location is all but impossible. To find him would demand a full fleet operation, and that would mean we delay the Coruscant operation indefinitely.”

“But if we were to do that and try to hunt Zsinj down, we would suddenly open ourselves to more reprisals by him and might give Ysanne Isard the opening she needs to strike at us.” Fey’lya smoothed the fur around the mouth with his left hand. “Fighting on two fronts is folly.”

“Truly spoken.” Ackbar cocked his head slightly. “You would not be here if you did not have an idea to offer, for this discussion merely verbalizes facts plainly in evidence to anyone who has read the reports.”

A hurt expression stole upon Fey’lya’s face, but the intelligence in his eyes robbed it of its intended effect. “To escape a rancor, one is wise to ignore the bite of a flea.”

“Meaning?”

“We cannot shift our focus from the Empire. What I propose is a bold strike at Coruscant.”

“We’re not ready.”

“We must be.” Fey’lya opened his hands. “We are already
staging for it and nothing in reports from Coruscant give any indication that Isard is increasing her defenses. She must know we are not ready so she thinks she has time to prepare. If we go now, soon, she will be taken unawares.”

“You grossly underestimate Iceheart if you think she is ever unprepared.”

Fey’lya’s head came up and his jaw opened in a predatory grin. “You are not protesting the plan as utter madness. Your thoughts parallel mine, don’t they?”

Ackbar sat forward again, his barbels quivering. “We are at a critical junction. Iceheart’s preparations for the invasion she has to know is coming have been insufficient. Reports from Coruscant are favorable. Because of recent developments it appears it is possible to unite disparate parts of the Coruscant population to give us a partisan force on the planet. They are poorly equipped, but can be disruptive and distracting.”