Isard's Revenge Page 17

  “Other questions?”

  Khe-Jeen raised a hand. “No reports of fighters being stationed on Distna?”

  “None, but intel is weak on that point.” Wedge sighed. “Look, people, we could run into anything out there, and the sims you’ll be running over the next two days will point that out. We’re not expecting heroics, we’re just there to get some data. Clearly, because we’re going in with a full squadron instead of just a flight for cover on the snoop-scoot, we’re prepared for trouble. Regardless, this is a recon mission, not a raid. We’ll fight what we have to fight and roll on out of there.”

  He looked around the room and let the gravity of his words sink in for a moment. “Okay, two days from now we’ll be in the Corvis Minor system at approximately twenty-one hundred hours local time. Within six hours you should be back here, safe and sound.”

  Janson laughed. “And in another forty-eight hours we’ll be back at Corvis Minor finishing the job by splashing that station.”

  “Probably right, Wes, probably right.” Wedge hit a key on his datapad. “Okay, you all have the briefing details in your datapads. Sims commence in an hour. Let’s work hard at this here, people, so we don’t have to work hard over Distna.”

  Corran slumped down outside the simulator cockpit and closed his eyes against the sting of sweat. This last run, the squadron’s third, had been the most grueling. The first recon run at Distna had showed minimal electromagnetic radiation, but occasional spikes above normal background readings demanded a closer look. As Nrin came in on a tighter pass, Interceptors and TIEs boiled out of Distna to tangle with the Rogues. The sim pitted them against a full flight group—half a wing—which left them outnumbered three to one. The faster Interceptors broke runs for exit vectors and herded the Rogues back toward the waiting TIEs.

  He opened his eyes as Gavin grunted and slid to the floor. “Nice work there, Corran. You got, what, five of the eyeballs?”

  “Yeah, but you vaped two squints and let us make a break for it.”

  Asyr dropped down beside Gavin and rested a hand on his thigh. “You shouldn’t have waited around for me, Gavin. You should have just gotten out when you could.”

  The young man shrugged. “The scenario was done, we’d gotten hammered. I had nothing to lose.”

  Asyr’s claws snagged in the orange fabric of Gavin’s flight suit. “Listen to me, Gavin Darklighter, you cannot treat these sims as games. If my ship is disabled out there, I don’t want you disobeying orders and hanging around to protect me against impossible odds. If I have to die, I want to do so knowing that you continue to live. You have to promise me that’s what you’ll do.”

  The Quarren, Nrin Vakil, approached, his boots clicking against the tile. “Do not, Captain Sei’lar, ask of Captain Darklighter such a sacrifice. Do not make him give such an oath.”

  Intense pain rolled off Nrin in waves that sliced through Corran. “Voice of experience, Major Vakil?”

  Nrin nodded slowly, his mouth tentacles knotting and unknotting slowly. “When I was with the squadron we had another pilot, a Mon Calamari, named Ibtisam. She died on Ciutric. Krennel’s pilots killed her. I killed many of them, but she did not make it.” His shoulders slumped forward a bit, and he leaned against Corran’s simulator. “She and I, we had been friends, close friends.”

  Nrin crouched, resting his forearms on his knees, and looked at Asyr. “Had Ibtisam demanded of me such a promise, I would have been destroyed. I could not have left her alone, but I would have hated to violate my promise to her. In your heart, in all of our hearts, we know what the right thing to do is. We have to trust each other that we will do it, keeping faith with each other, and with our mission.”

  Corran nodded slowly. Even more daunting than the idea of dying was the idea of surviving the death of others. The death of a friend slashed the spirit and made it that much harder to continue living and fighting. The Rebellion had united everyone in the pursuit of a future that would be bright for all, but the deaths accumulated along the way dimmed that future.

  “Speaking of the mission, you’re a pretty hot hand with the recon ship.” Corran patted Nrin on the shoulder. “You spend a lot of time driving these things?”

  “Some, but mostly on training exercises.” Nrin looked down at his hands. “After Ciutric I took a leave from the squadron, to think about things. I realized I couldn’t quit the Rebellion since it was too important a cause. I also realized that I had no desire to fly in combat anymore. That doesn’t mean I didn’t, but I did get a transfer into a training squadron. Training pilots and then sending them away to die meant I didn’t have to deal with the pain of their deaths.”

  Gavin settled his hand over Asyr’s. “But you’re back flying missions now.”

  “Indeed, I am. The Thrawn threat caused the New Republic to reshuffle their assets…”

  “Which landed your asset in a cockpit.” Corran rolled his head around to loosen his neck muscles. “Is this your first recent combat mission? Because you sure didn’t fly like it in sim.”

  “I flew in a few battles against Thrawn.” The Quarren shrugged. “I don’t have the desire for bloodletting that I once had. I also know I’m better suited to some missions than others might be. I accept my responsibility.”

  “Do you like being back with the Rogues?”

  Nrin hesitated before he responded to Asyr’s question. “Yes, I think I do. There is a proud tradition here and I enjoyed being part of it. Getting a second chance to be part of it is rare. Now I can view Ibtisam’s death with some perspective, which allows me to deal with the pain more easily.”

  Corran’s eyes narrowed. “And coming back to deal with Krennel, that has to be satisfying as well.”

  The Quarren’s tentacles parted enough to display two needle-sharp fangs. “Yes, that aspect was not lost upon me.” Nrin stood, then offered Corran his hand and pulled him to his feet. “In the old Rogue Squadron we’d often discuss these runs over a mug of lum. Is that behavior still suitable?”

  Corran stretched. “Drinking? Rogues?”

  Nrin blinked. “Have things changed that much?”

  Gavin laughed. “He meant to ask ‘Drinking lum?’ Nope. More lomin-ale these days.” He climbed to his feet and gave Asyr a hand up. “Lead the way, Major, and you’ll see that some Rogue traditions live on very strong.”

  Wedge glanced through the numbers hovering above the holoprojector pad. “I don’t know, Tycho. I don’t like the losses we took in that last run. Five pilots lost.”

  Tycho, who wore his black flight suit unzipped to his navel, scratched at his throat. “They jumped us with thirty-six fighters and we blasted twenty-five of them apart. Nice kill ratio, and Nrin’s snoopscoot got away with its data intact. I don’t like the results of the exercise, but the performance wasn’t bad.”

  Wedge sat back and tapped a stylus against his right cheekbone. “You’re right, we performed better than a computer projection would have had us doing; which means we’re capable of performing the mission within acceptable parameters for a worst-case scenario.”

  “‘Within acceptable parameters for a worst-case scenario’? Feeling a bit feverish there, Wedge?”

  “Would it get this mission scrubbed?”

  “Probably not.” Tycho frowned. “What’s with the phrasing?”

  Wedge tossed the stylus at his datapad. “Missions are being evaluated on a risk basis to determine if we go or don’t go. We’re only allowed casualties within acceptable limits lest folks in the New Republic think too much blood is being shed for too little gain.”

  Tycho’s jaw dropped open, then he snapped it shut again. “Um, for us pilots, the acceptable level of blood being shed is zero, right? Especially if it’s our blood.”

  “That’s my thinking, yes. As nearly as I can tell, losing Rogue Squadron would be a negative for the New Republic, and I’m certainly in favor of them doing everything to preserve our lives. Balancing our lives, though, against the discovery of a superweapon I think is
rather short-sighted of them.” He shook his head. “I mean, you and I have survived Death Star runs before, but we had a bit more help than just the other Rogues.”

  “Right, but this is just a recon run. We’re not being asked to take the thing out, just to see if it’s there.”

  “And if Janson’s prediction is correct, that mission will be next.”

  “And when was Janson ever right with one of his predictions?”

  “Well, I can’t argue with you on that point.” Wedge hit a couple more keys on his datapad and the numbers hovering in the air collapsed in on themselves. “There we go, that’s it, I’ve just sent Command confirmation of our orders and mission specs. Unless we uncover some serious problems in future sims, we’re locked in. We pull a quick swing through Corvis Minor, get out again, and await orders from our masters.”

  Tycho stood and stretched. “Back to the simulators, then?”

  “Yeah. That worst-case scenario, I want to run it again.” Wedge nodded solemnly. “I want to run it until it becomes Krennel’s worst case, not ours.”

  The order confirmation memo that Wedge fed into the Rogues’ computer on Liinade III was shoved through an encryption program and then dropped into the queue for routing through the HoloNet. Once into the HoloNet, the message traveled all but instantaneously to its desired destination, then was decoded and sent on to Admiral Ackbar.

  During that process, as the message entered the queue and as it worked its way through the computer network on Coruscant, copies of it were created and appended to other information transmissions. They shot off through the Holo-Net to a different destination where the masking messages were discarded and the Rogues’ message was decoded, compared to the New Republic’s decoded version, and transmitted to a holoprojector for display.

  Shrouded by the shadows of her sanctum, Ysanne Isard sat back and steepled her fingers as she reread the simple text message glowing green in the air above her holoprojector. “‘Corvis Minor, the moon Distna, 2100 hours local, two days time.’ Splendid, better than I could have hoped. Now I have Rogue Squadron exactly where I want them.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mirax waited at the base of the shuttle’s gangway and gave Baz Korral a warm hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Getting us out of that bind, and finding me that deal on those Alderaanian statuettes. They’re exquisite. If you find more, I have a number of clients who will take them off your hands.”

  “I’ll see what I can do to get more.” Korral smiled broadly, then looked past her. “Booster, you look more fit than ever. Running this ship must agree with you.”

  Mirax’s father, who towered over Korral and out-massed him by being fit rather than fat, boomed a hearty laugh. His left eye, a mechanical replacement, burned red, while his brown eye reflected his joy at welcoming the shuttle to the Errant Venture. “The profit margin agrees with me, though the overhead does not. Good to see you again, Baz; and you, Iella.”

  He held his arms wide open for Mirax, but she poked a finger into his breastbone. “I don’t think I’m talking to you, Father.”

  Booster winced. “That formal, and that tone? What did I do?”

  Mirax narrowed her brown eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “You had Baz watching us, that’s what.”

  Her father looked confused for a moment. “But having the Verpine watch you and report on what was happening saved you from being taken away and killed.”

  Iella shook her head. “Booster, just leave it alone.”

  “No, just wait a minute there, Iella. Mirax is my daughter and I feel some responsibility for her safety.”

  Mirax looked at Iella. “He’s following the script, isn’t he?”

  Booster’s head came up and his eyes slitted. “Script? You two discussed how this chat would go?”

  Iella nodded and tried to pull Booster away, deeper into the Imperial Star Destroyer’s aft docking space. “We did, and you’re following it too closely for my comfort.”

  He slipped his arm from her grip and posted his fists on his hips. “You have a problem with my having Baz watch you, Mirax?”

  She studied her father for a moment, all tall and defiant, and felt years slip away. When she was a child he’d been her hero. He told great stories and lived large, talking to her of places she’d only visited in dreams. After her mother died, Booster used to take Mirax with him in the Pulsar Skate on any runs that he deemed safe. When she couldn’t go with him, he left her with friends—including Wedge Antilles’s family prior to the death of Wedge’s folks. As a child she had worshiped her father and felt safe because he had been there to take care of her and protect her.

  Then Hal Horn caught up with him and Booster was sent to the spice mines of Kessel for five years. Though not yet legally an adult, Mirax took command of the Pulsar Skate and built her own business. Instead of hauling highly illegal cargoes for next-to-no profit margin, she specialized in exotics for which people paid a great deal. Her father’s reputation, and a certain amount of sympathy for his current situation, had given her a legitimacy and entrée into the shadowy side of the Empire’s economy, but she quickly made marks for herself and earned respect in her own right.

  In short, while her father was on Kessel, she grew up from being his daughter into her own person. But he never saw that. I don’t know if any father would, but I know mine didn’t. Even after leaving Kessel he hadn’t gotten in touch with her, and only a chance meeting a couple of years earlier on Tatooine had reunited them.

  She purposely kept her voice soft, but she met his hard stare without flinching. “You’re going to want to think a lot about what I’m going to say, Father, and that means you’re going to want to listen, then walk away to think. If you don’t, you’re going to get into a discussion you won’t like and one you will lose. And you’ll lose more than just the argument.”

  Booster slid his hands around to the small of his back. He glanced serenely around the Errant Venture’s bay, nodding to a few people, waiting for the pace of activity to pick up again. He then nodded to his daughter. “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve never had any complaints about having you as my father. Your getting tossed into the spice mines didn’t bother me. Your gruff bluster about Corran did grate a bit, but I understood. I have been overjoyed that you’ve come back into my life, and I’m very proud that you have the Errant Venture and are making it work. I’m proud to be your daughter, but I’m also more than your daughter.”

  Mirax turned back and patted Baz Korral on the arm. “Yes, having your friend keep an eye out for us did get us out of trouble. By the same token, for all we know, the presence of his Verpines in the building alerted the bad guys to something unusual going on. They might have been thinking Baz here was planning some sort of raid of his own, so they set a trap and we fell into it. While he did pull us out of trouble, it could very well be your meddling that got us into trouble.

  “And, look, I know this isn’t a male-female thing—though I do know you wouldn’t have alerted Baz if Corran were going to Commenor on the same mission we were.”

  “True enough.” Booster’s expression tightened. “I’d have tipped the enemy he was coming.”

  “And break my heart? Thank you, Father.”

  “Mirax, you know I don’t mean anything by that…”

  “No, Father, you don’t see that by making such cracks you show you don’t trust my judgment. You don’t trust my choice of husband, and you didn’t think Iella and I could handle ourselves on Commenor.”

  Booster frowned. “But you came here first, looking for help to get in.”

  “Right, and if we needed any more help, we would have asked.” Mirax took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. “Father, I’ve grown up. I’ll always be your daughter, but I’m not your little girl. I’ll accept your help when I need it, seek your counsel when I need it, and even listen to you when I don’t, but I don’t want you sneaking around behind my back to do things that you think need to be done. What w
ould have happened if Iella and I spotted Baz’s Verpines, decided they were part of the enemy, and killed them? If you have concerns about what I’m doing, let me know, and I’ll decide what to do about them. And if I need you to help me, I’ll ask, no problem. Do you understand?”

  Booster’s face remained a hard mask for a moment and Mirax knew she’d hurt him. Her heart ached and her stomach collapsed in on itself, but another part of her felt buoyed and free. The only problem with growing up in someone’s shadow is that when you grow beyond it, everyone but the person casting the shadow can see how much you have changed. She reached a hand out toward her father and fought to control its trembling.

  Booster cleared his throat, but kept his hands at the small of his back. “I can think a little bit faster than you probably imagine possible, Mirax, and I do know how to listen. I could tell you what billions of parents have told their kids: You’ll always be my child, and I’ll always worry about you. Thing is, you know that. How I deal with it may not always be right, from your point of view. But, in this case, you are right, I could have gotten you and Baz and Iella in trouble by asking him to do what I did. That won’t happen again.”

  He reached out with his right hand and took hers into it. “You have grown up, and I know that. I’m proud of you. You can’t know how it pleases me when people come here and identify me as ‘Mirax Terrik’s father.’ It hurts a little, sure, and too much of it can be irritating, but I’ll get used to it. And it will make me work harder to earn back my infamy.

  “Thing of it is, Mirax, the five years I spent on Kessel were years I can’t get back. You went from being my little girl to the woman you are now, and I never got a chance to get used to that idea. Don’t know if I ever will. Don’t know if I would ever want to. I figured I’d delay trying until I had no choice. Delay’s over.”

  Mirax let Booster draw her into a hug, and she clung to him tightly. She said nothing and took refuge in his warmth and familiar scent, then let the vibrations of his low chuckle run through her. She rubbed her hands along his back, then slipped from his arms and looked up at him. “What’s so funny?”