The Hand Of Thrawn Duology_ Specter Of The Past Part 32

"That is an invasion fleet?"

Wedge looked at his tactical readout, shaking his head in silent agreement. Two forty-year-old Kruk battle-wagons, five Lancer-cla.s.s frigates probably half that age, and maybe thirty modern Jompers customs pursuit s.h.i.+ps.

"So much for the big bad threat," Rogue Eight commented contemptuously. "We could probably chase them out of here all by ourselves."

"I don't know," Rogue Eleven said. "Someone seems plenty worried about them. Take a look at the far planetary rim-must be twenty freighters scurrying for cover."

"And another hundred who aren't going to make it," Rogue Seven pointed out. "There to portside-the Frezhlix force has got them cut off."

"I get it," Rogue Nine said. "Those clever little sc.u.mrots. That must be the annual pommwomm plant s.h.i.+pment."

"Frezhlix attack force, this is General Bel Iblis of the New Republic," Bel Iblis's voice announced. "Please state your intentions."

"I am Plarx," a thickly accented voice shot back. "I speak for the Frezhlix. Our intentions do not concern the New Republic. This is a private matter between ourselves and the Sif'kries."

"I'm afraid I cannot accept that," Bel Iblis said. "Any aggression against a New Republic member is our concern."

"This is not aggression, General Bel Iblis," the Frezh countered. "We are a delegation come to discuss the Sif'krie vote on the Drashtine Initiative."

There was a pause, Bel Iblis no doubt having someone look up what exactly the Drashtine Initiative was. "Corran, what are these pommwomm plants you mentioned?" Wedge asked.

"They're a type of hot-world shrub that grows on the system's inner planet," Rogue Nine said. "You can get about eight different exotic medicines and twice that number of food flavorings out of them. Problem is, they have to be processed within thirty hours of picking or they're useless."

"So that's what the Frezhlix are doing," Rogue Seven growled. "They don't have to invade anyone or set up a long-term blockade ring. All they have to do is keep those freighters back for a few hours, and the Sif'kries are out a bunch of money."

"Try about twenty percent of their annual gross product," Rogue Nine put in. "We're talking serious economic warfare here. No wonder they sounded panicked when they called."

The main channel crackled to life again. "Speaker Plan, this is General Bel Iblis. I've reviewed the Drashtine Initiative, and I see no justification for this kind of confrontation."

"Then you did not review it closely," the Frezh snarled. "The Sif'krie government cast the deciding vote that prevented our sector's Senator from adding his voice to the growing condemnation of the Bothan government and people."

"The vote was legally taken-"

"The vote was wrong!" Plan snapped. "To allow the Bothans to escape proper punishment will merely encourage further atrocities like Caamas in the future. The Sif'krie government must be made aware of that and given the opportunity to change its vote."

"A convenient enough excuse," Rogue Two muttered.

"He's got a point, though," Rogue Five said. "Heavily wrapped in local politics and blackmail, but a point."

"I understand your feelings on this matter," Bel Iblis said. "But at the same time we cannot stand by and allow you to interfere with interstellar commerce this way."

"Untrue," the Frezh said. "I encourage you to review New Republic regulations on such matters, General Eel Iblis."

There was another pause. "He's right," Rogue Twelve said grimly. "This is intrasystem, not interstellar. We can't move in unless and until we get an official invitation to do so."

"Which means it's all in the government's shockball court now," Rogue Five muttered. What do you think, Corran? Can they move fast enough to save the plants?"

"I don't know," Rogue Nine said. "But I'd be willing to lay odds the Frezhlix picked a time to pull this stunt when some key Sif'krie official is off-planet or otherwise out of touch."

There was a click on the private channel. "Rogue Squadron, this is Bel Iblis. Commander Horn?"

"Yes, sir?" Rogue Nine said.

"I was given to understand that Booster Terrik has some interests in this sector. Is that true?"

There was just the briefest of pauses. "Yes, General, he does."

"Would those interests occasionally include legitimate s.h.i.+pping? Say, when the need and fees are high enough, such as during the annual pommwomm s.h.i.+pment?"

There was a longer pause this time. "I really don't know, sir," Rogue Nine said, sounding puzzled.

"I think it reasonable that they would," Bel Iblis continued. "Given that a.s.sumption, do you suppose one of those stalled freighters out there might belong to him?"

And suddenly, Wedge understood. The legendary General Eel Iblis was going to pull this one off, all right. Maybe. "Do we have IDs on the s.h.i.+ps, General?" he asked.

"I'm sending the data across now," Bel Iblis said. "Commander Horn, take a look, please."

"Understood, sir," Rogue Nine said, his voice no longer puzzled. So he'd caught on, too.

"Yes. That freighter listed as the Sycophant Jolly&mdashover at the far side of the pack?

I believe that could actually be the Hoopster's Prank, one of Booster's s.h.i.+ps."

"I see," Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly heavy with official weight. "I recognize your familial relations.h.i.+p with Captain Terrik, Commander, and I realize that this is going to be personally painful for you. But you're an officer of the New Republic Fleet; and we cannot and will not bend the rules against smuggling for anyone."

"We understand, sir," Wedge said, pitching his tone to the same seriousness level.

"Request permission to check out this suspect s.h.i.+p."

"Permission granted, Rogue Squadron," Bel. Iblis said. "Be careful not to accidentally engage the Frezhlix forces."

"Understood, sir," Wedge said. "Rogue Squadron, form up around me."

Kicking power to the drive, he swung the X-wing away from the Peregrine. "Looks like the most direct route to the Sycophant Jolly is right through the middle of the Frezhlix blockade force," Rogue Eight commented.

"And we certainly don't want to give them time to dump any contraband while we fly around," Rogue Nine agreed.

"I guess we'll have to go through the blockade, then," Rogue Two concluded. "Just everyone be careful not to accidentally engage."

"Very careful," Wedge said. "Let's do it."

They were halfway to the Frezhlix forces before the alien commander suddenly seemed to notice what was happening. "General Bel Iblis, what are your starfighters doing?" he demanded. "You have no legal justification for an attack on my s.h.i.+ps."

"Your s.h.i.+ps are not under attack, Speaker Plarx," Bel Iblis a.s.sured him. "We've identified one of the freighters waiting beyond your delegation as a smuggler flying under a false ID. By New Republic law, we have both the right and the duty to board any such s.h.i.+p and impound its cargo."

It was forever afterward unclear to Wedge just what exactly the Frezhlix commander thought was going to happen next. Whether he thought Bel Iblis was planning to transfer the perishable cargo from all hundred-odd freighters to the Peregrine, or just declare all the freighters suspect and insist they be escorted down to the planet for a proper search. But whichever it was, he leaped to the wrong conclusion-and the bait-with both hands. "No!"

Plarx shouted. "They are not to approach. Do you hear? They will not approach."

"You can't stop us," Wedge put in. "Move out of the way; we're coming through."

"No!" the Frezh shouted. There was a jabber of a hissing, guttural language, and then the comm abruptly shut off. Wedge took a deep breath, preparing himself&mdash And suddenly the Frezhlix battle-wagons opened fire. "Evasive!" Wedge snapped, twisting his X-wing hard to starboard as the laser blasts blazed past, one of the shots nearly taking off his upper portside engines. There was another snarl of hissing gutturals, and another salvo of laser fire shot by. "Rogues, reform," he called. "Return to fleet."

Turning his nose farther around, ducking under one final blast of enemy laser fire, he headed back toward the Peregrine.

But the Dreadnought was no longer there. It and the rest of the New Republic fleet, reconfiguring into the general's favorite combat formation, were moving decisively toward the Frezhlix blockade force.

Something that sounded like a wheezing squawk came over the comm. "New Republic force!"

the Frezhlix commander snarled. "What are you doing? You have no right to move against me."

"On the contrary, Speaker Plarx," Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly blade-sharp. "I have every right. You have just opened fire on New Republic s.p.a.cecraft. Surrender immediately, or prepare to be destroyed."

"I protest!" Plan gasped. "Your s.h.i.+ps provoked us into defending ourselves."

"Last chance, Speaker," Bel Iblis said. "Surrender or face the consequences."

There was a snarl of gutturals; and as the Rogues reached the Peregrine and curved around again into their positions in the battle formation Wedge saw that the Frezhlix s.h.i.+ps had abandoned their blockade and were turning their guns to face the oncoming New Republic force. Fleetingly, Wedge wondered if Bel Iblis would be gracious enough to simply hold position in the standoff now that he'd broken the blockade, or if he'd insist on making the Frezhlix pay for their aggression.

Plarx took the decision on himself. In an awesome blaze of laser fire the two Kruk battle-wagons opened fire as the Jompers pursuit s.h.i.+ps leaped forward to meet the incoming X-wings. "New Republic forces," Bel Iblis said coldly. "Engage at will."

"The Frezhlix government has delivered a sharp protest to me over your actions a few hours ago," Admiral Ackbar's gruff voice came over the Peregrine's comm speaker. "They claim you launched an unprovoked attack on a peaceful delegation."

Standing a respectful distance from the general's chair, Wedge caught Corran Horn's attention and rolled his eyes in a silent gesture of disgust. The other grimaced in agreement. "On the contrary," Bel Iblis told Ackbar. "They were engaged in a clear violation of free economic movement. Besides which, they attacked first."

"That's not the way the Frezhlix tell it," Ackbar rumbled. "They say you clearly overstepped New Republic authority."

"I'm sure they do," Bel Iblis said. "Do you wish me to stand for an inquiry?"

"Don't be absurd, General," Ackbar said; and for the first time since the conversation had started the Mon Cal's voice seemed to Wedge to have relaxed a little. "We need all the good commanders we can get. And I don't doubt the Frezhlix deserved whatever you delivered to them. You said there was a smuggling s.h.i.+p in among the other freighters?"

Bel Iblis glanced up at Corran, who nodded. "Yes, sir, without question," the general confirmed. "One of Booster Terrik's. The Sif'krie authorities have impounded the s.h.i.+p and are checking for contraband."

"I can imagine the conversation that will take place on the Errant Venture sometime in the near future," Ackbar said, his voice going a little odd. Mon Cals had a long hatred for smuggling and smugglers, and the admiral was undoubtedly finding a certain poetic humor in what had happened. "Though the justification of your position will be dulled if there was indeed no contraband aboard."

"The regulations don't care whether the search comes up dry or not," Bel Iblis reminded him. "Or are you suggesting that President Gavrisom might not choose to see it that way?"

"The President is bound by certain diplomatic and political necessities," Ackbar said.

"However, I'm certain that he will read your report on this incident before rendering any judgment. Still, I suggest you cut your patrol circuit short and return to-"

Abruptly the signal squealed and vanished. "Comm station, what's going on?" Eel Iblis demanded.

"The problem's not at our end, General," a new voice reported. "Looks like the HoloNet carrier's been cut off."

Bel Iblis threw a look at Wedge and Corran. "Trouble on Coruscant?" he asked the comm officer.

"I don't know, sir. I'm checking the other relays . . . no, sir, it's not Coruscant. Looks like the relay at Mengjini has gone down."

"Sir, we're picking up a general alert on the secondary net," a new voice put in. "The relay at Mengjini has allegedly come under attack from a small group of, quote, dissident elements,' unquote."

"Acknowledged," Bel Iblis said. "Navigation, plot us a fast course for Mengjini. Comm, relay the alert to all New Republic forces and bases in the area. Tell them we're going in and request backup reinforcements."

He got acknowledgments and turned again to Wedge and Corran. "It looks as if your reports will have to wait," he said. "Get back to your squadron, and get ready to fly."

"Not good," Corran puffed as he and Wedge jogged down the Peregrine's ventral corridor toward their docking bays. "When they start messing with long-range communications, you know they're getting serious."

"We don't have any proof it's this Vengeance group," Wedge pointed out, dodging around a Dresselian crouched over an open access panel.

"Maybe not," the other countered. "But I never mentioned Vengeance. You thought of them on your own."

Wedge grimaced. "Yeah," he agreed. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Corran said. "And you're also thinking that between killing riots, overt interplanetary attacks, and now long-range comm-kicking, this has gone way beyond a few zealots protesting Bothan involvement in Caamas."

"Yeah," Wedge agreed soberly. "I can hardly wait to see what happens next."

CHAPTER 19.

"Read and cry," Lando said, laying his sabacc cards down on the table. "Twenty-three-a Pure Sabacc run."

"Interesting," Senator Miatamia murmured, his leathery Diamalan face unreadable as he studied his own cards. "I presume the reference to crying is not a literal part of the game as you play it. A Pure Sabacc run, you say?"

"Yes," Lando confirmed, an uncomfortable sensation tickling at the back of his neck. The Senator had made this same dramatic pause on the sabacc pot hand in exactly five out of the eight complete games they'd played since the Lady Luck's hurried scramble off Cilpar.

Five games that the Senator had also happened to win.

"Unfortunate," Miatamia said, laying his cards almost daintily on the table. "I have an Idiot's Array. I believe that wins?"

"Yes, it wins," Lando said, shaking his head in disgust. Make that six out of nine. "I can't believe you haven't played this game professionally," he grumbled, starting to gather up the cards.

The Diamal flicked his fingers in the air. "You don't truly believe the Diamala have created our vast financial and business empire from mere common sense and hard work, do you?"

Lando paused, half the cards still on the table, eyeing the Senator suspiciously. Was he actually implying-?

No, of course not. Ridiculous. "That was a joke. Right?"

"Of course," Miatamia said, flicking his fingers again. "Common sense and hard work are all any being or species require to succeed. Luck is merely an illusion, trusted by the ignorant and chased by the foolish."

With an effort, Lando fought down a flicker of annoyance. His professional gambling days were long in the distant past, but the Diamal's obvious contempt still rankled a little.