X-wing_ Iron Fist Part 23

It was simple text, the only means Phanan had to take notes at the time.

It read, Face: I'm not going to go into the pathology of this. Suffice to say we're talking about internal injuries, internal bleeding. Maybe a ruptured kidney; I'm having trouble sorting that one out. Either way, I don't think I'm going to last too long.

I flatter myself in thinking that you're going to take it kind of hard.

(If I'm wrong, don't let me know.) While part of me wishes you wouldn't, another part appreciates it.

I also know that you're going to punish yourself for this. I wish you wouldn't. There are two people responsible for me getting injured. I'm one of them, for being not quite the superior flier I needed to be. Some unnamed Zsinj pilot is the other one, and you killed him. (Which I also appreciate, by the way, in case I didn't tell you.) There's no room for a third party to blame, so b.u.t.t out.

I've left you some money. A fair amount, actually; I was the only son of wealthy parents, and I didn't manage to spend it all on good times and prosthetics. By the terms of my will, some of what you receive has to be used for a specific project. If you don't use it for that, the whole amount goes to an already wealthy actor you've mentioned with a certain amount of contempt, and you'll get to watch him become even richer despite his lack of talent or personal worth. So there.

I really don't have much time here, and I'm struggling to find some way to sum up what I need to say. I guess it boils down to this: Thanks for being my friend. I needed one, and you were it.

Ton Phanan Pilot, Wit, and Superior Intellect Oh, yes-don't let roy gla.s.s prowlers starve. They're cute little insects.

Cuteness should be preserved.

Face waited for some sort of blow to hit him, but he was left only with the dull ache that had been his companion all through the night.

He brought up Phanan's will and read it as well.

"Some of us will, as you know, be away on missions with varying levels of consequence," Wedge said. "A couple will remain here at Hawk-bat Base for maintenance and security purposes. The rest-now, contain yourselves-will receive leave."

He waited through the resulting cheers. They were in the conference-room module, packed in around its table, and the Wraiths' expressions were a study in contrasts, ranging from glum to suddenly cheerful. Well, partially cheerful.

Phanan's death was still fresh on their minds.

"Mission One is the meeting with Zsinj," Wedge said. "Face commands, and he has chosen Dia and Kell to accompany him. This is all intelligence gathering, very delicate, which is why the crew is full of deadly killers." That got a chuckle. Wedge saw Tyria give Kell a little irritable punch in the shoulder-doubtless she was unhappy that he'd be on a very dangerous mission, and doubly unhappy that she wouldn't be along to get him out of trouble. "This mission will utilize the shuttle Narra.

"Mission Two is Lara's meeting with her brother. We hope that will turn out to be nothing more than a joyful family reunion, but there's a chance that this is a probe by Zsinj. Lieutenant Donos will accompany her, and they'll be in their X-wings.

"Mission Three consists of me traveling by X-wing back to Coruscant to make a routine report and pick up orders. With our complement of X-wings, up to five more of you can accompany me back and get in a little rest and recreation. Lieutenant Janson will remain here in command of the facility - because he got to go back last time and now it's his turn."

Janson's expression turned glum. "n.o.body is allowed to have any fun on Coruscant. If I find out that anyone has had any fun, he gets kitchen duty for a month."

"We all promise to be miserable, Wes." Wedge noticed one of the pilots'

hand raised.

"Yes, Castin."

"Sir, you remember the special mission I talked to you about? Sneaking a program into Iron Fist's communications system so that it will broadcast its location occasionally?"

"I remember. I remember saying it was a good plan... but not for the initial contact mission."

Castin waved as if to brush away the last part of Wedge's statement.

"Sir, I finished the program."

"You did?" Wedge nodded. "Excellent."

"I finished it in time for this mission, sir. It still needs an experienced code-slicer to cut it into the system in question-otherwise it'd never get through the system's defenses-but it operates flawlessly on my Imperial-computer-system simulators."

"It won't be for this mission, Castin. But we'll try to bring back an upgraded simulator from Coruscant to give you that much more of an edge."

"Dammir, sir, this is the only opportunity we're certain we're going to have. We need to take it. You're being too cautious, and that's going to cost us."

The other pilots looked between Castin and Wedge, all cheer draining from their faces.

Wedge took a deep breath, giving himself a brief moment to calm himself.

"Flight Officer Donn."

"Yes, sir."

"Flight Officer Donn."

Suddenly uneasy, Castin looked around, then rose and stood at attention.

"Sir."

"Your tactical sense and gut feeling tell you that now is the time to implement your plan. Mine tell me that later will be better. All else being equal, whose do you think I am going to rank higher?"

"Well, yours, sir." Castin looked very unhappy under this sudden scrutiny.

"Now, think about this. If we do it my way and I'm right, we've saved lives. If we do it my way and I'm wrong, we'll have missed an opportunity-an opportunity we'll regain if the rest of the mission goes according to plan and the Hawk-bats begin doing work for Zsinj-and I'll have both learned something and suffered a slight blow to my reputation, both of which l can survive.

"On the other hand, if we do it your way and you're right, we conceivably speed up the destruction of Zsinj. But if we do it your way and you're wrong, you get yourself and the whole team captured or killed, which you can't survive. Do you see the difference?"

"Yes, sir, but..."

"Save that thought. Now, imagine that you're a New Republic pilot and you feel a need to criticize a superior officer's performance or thinking.

All else being equal, should you do so in private or in a public forum?"

Castin seemed visibly to sag.

"In private, sir."

"I'll give you some time to think about that. You'll be remaining on Hawk-bat Station while your fellows return to Coruscant. Now, sit."

Castin did, flus.h.i.+ng red, looking miserable.

Wedge looked among the other pilots. "Anything else? No? Prep for your missions, then. Dismissed."

Face caught up with Castin out in the Trench. He asked, "What was that all about?"

Castin shook his head, angry, and didn't slow his pace... though he was just walking up the middle of the stony shaft with no destination evident. "He's wrong, Face. He's just wrong."

"Why?"

"Because, I don't know, he's so concerned about preserving our lives that he'll flinch from a tactic that could end this whole campaign in one stroke."

"No. Castin, he hasn't hesitated to risk our lives, or his own, not in the time I've been with the Wraiths. But in spite of all the jokes about Corellians not caring about the odds, he does. And he knows more about resources and strategy than we do. So if he says your mission isn't worth the risk..."

"He's right and I'm wrong."

"Probably."

"All right."

"I want your promise that you won't try anything on your own."

"I promise." Castin stopped suddenly and looked around. He and Face were now beside the kitchen and mess. "I'm hungry." He headed in that direction.

"A good, brisk walk will do that to you," Face said. He did not follow the code-slicer - better not to put him on the defensive.

There were two gray blurs, the X-wings of Lara and Donos, shooting up past the magcon field holding in the atmosphere of the Hawk-bats' hangar.

Face, seated in the c.o.c.kpit of the shuttle Narra, watched them flash by.

They were followed a moment later by a stream of five more snubfighters - Wedge, Runt, Shalla, Tyria, and Piggy, off on their routine mission to Coruscant.

He envied them. It wasn't just that they'd be getting a little rest and recreation, even just a few hours of it; the prospect of facing Warlord Zsinj was making him more than a little tense. He had no abnormal fear of the man-but ever since this mission had been described to him, he'd harbored the fear that somewhere in the middle of a conversation with the warlord, a vision of Phanan would cross before his eyes and he'd be unable to restrain himself from making an a.s.sault on Zsinj. Such an attack might hurt or kill Zsinj, but it was certain to be fatal to Face and his comrades.

"Power," he said.

"Ninety-seven percent, reserves one hundred percent."

That was Dia, seated beside him, in the copilot's seat. But it wasn't the Dia he was used to. She was now in the guise of Seku, her Hawk-bats ident.i.ty, and as dramatically different from her usual appearance as Face was when, as now, he wore his General Kargin scar makeup.

Her normally bare brain tails-or Iekku, as they were known to the natives of Ryloth - were now decorated with an intricate pattern of black cuneiform marks, temporary tattoos that, in the Twi'lek language, told stories of the character and misdeeds of her fict.i.tious ident.i.ty. Instead of the gray TIE-style pilot's uniforms Face and Kell wore, she was dressed in a vest, trousers, and boots of black hide-lined, she had a.s.sured him, for comfort-all decorated with s.h.i.+ny metal replicas of animal teeth and claws, accoutrements she'd persuaded Cubber to lathe out during some of his infrequent off-duty hours. Face found her attractive under normal circ.u.mstances; this barbaric persona was even more visually appealing.

"Ninety-seven? Why are we not at full?"

She shrugged. "Cubber said something about the manhandling Narra sustained in Iron Fist's tractor beams causing some system problems.

Nothing he can repair until the commander returns from Coruscant with some replacement parts."

"Wonderful. What else did he say we can expect to go wrong?"

Kell stuck his head up between the two seats. There was more to his head now; he wore a false mustache, beard, and absurdly long wig of fiery red hair.

"Hull seals are a little more questionable. We had to repair some slow leaks when we got back. But she's in good shape. a.s.suming we don't have to take on another Star Destroyer, she'll do just fine."

"Good. Remember your signature action."

Kell's eyes slitted. With a slow and deliberate motion, he drew the hair hanging down his right shoulder to fall behind his back. As he turned to look at Face, he added an insolent little shake of the head that set his hair to swaying. It was an elaboration Face hadn't taught him, but it was perfect, making his persona even more obviously a victim of arrogance and self-love.

Dia gave the two of them a hard smile. "He's loathsome."

Face said, "That's the idea. All right, strap in and prep for s.p.a.ce. We have an appointment to keep. No, wait a minute: Kell, drag Castin out of the smuggling compartment and send him packing.

We can't have any stowaways."

Grinning, Kell moved aft, behind the seats, and tapped a complicated rhythm against the starboard bulkhead. A portion of what had looked like seamless wall swung down on hinges and he reached inside. An expression of surprise crossed his face and he ducked down to look.

"Hey, no Castin."

"It's empty?"

"I didn't say that." Kell retrieved something fairly large and furry from the compartment's interior and waved it at the others. It was the Ewok toy.

"Say h.e.l.lo to Lieutenant Kettch."

Face snorted. "You ever wonder how he gets around? I'm not sure he isn't alive."

Kell peered inside the compartment again. "And some generous spirit has loaded this thing up with goodies. A couple of blasters, some preserved food, a couple of bottles of Halmad Prime..."

"Hey, bring that up here."

Kell replaced Kettch within the compartment and sealed it.

"I don't think so."

"It's every general's right to be uproariously drunk on diplomatic missions."

Kell dropped into the seat behind Dia and began practicing his signature move. With every repet.i.tion it became more obnoxious.

"I'm going to keep this up until you shut up about the Prime."

"Ooh. You win, mutineer. Prepare for s.p.a.ce."

14.

Narra emerged from hypers.p.a.ce at the appointed coordinates. This was deep s.p.a.ce, nothing to see within a half-dozen light-years, but there was something awaiting them-a barrage of core messages. They flooded the communications waves, repeating variations on the same message, overlapping one another.

"Greetings Hawk-bats this is greetings Hawk-bats Warlord Zsinj not rebroadcast I welcome this is you prepare to receive them simply Warlord Zsinj a new set of I welcome follow them coordinates do not rebroadcast you prepare them simply soon we follow them to receive soon we will be will be a new dining in comfort and set of dining in coming to terms of coordinates do great mutual comfort and profit..."

The words continued in that way, a ceaseless stream.

Face shook his head. "That's a mess. Let's see if we can lock them down to a single transmission." His hands moved over the communications console.