X-wing_ Iron Fist Part 12

It was a lie, a big one. Castin Donn had downloaded a number of the cargo s.h.i.+p's records the last time they were aboard, and covered his tracks.

The records didn't say how Barderia's master would adjust his schedule to account for the act of piracy committed upon him... but they did show how he'd reacted in the past to such situations. And now the Hawk-bats had taken him a second time, on his return leg home.

If the a.n.a.lysts of the trade guild didn't believe the lie, that was all right; nothing would change. But if they did, they might inst.i.tute a sweeping change in the guild's standards for secure transmissions and information flow. Eventually that would be an impediment to the Hawkbats' piracy, but in the short term, possibly as long as the Hawk-bats were to exist as a pirate band, it would cause disruption and confusion in the guild, changes that New Republic Intelligence had a couple of agents ready to examine and take advantage of. It was a good time to be a pirate.

Face said, "Rhanken, have your cargo handlers deposit lots forty-three through seventy-nine at your cargo door. Then we'll be on our way. Good doing business with you again."

When Lara Notsil examined the file containing the recording of Colonel Repness's offer to her, it seemed much larger than their conversation should have accounted for. Perhaps, she thought, he's been using his transmission-detecting sweeper in conversations with others.

He had. In the file were her conversation with Repness, plus the colonel's subsequent discussions with one of his "team" subordinates, an instructor captain named Teprimal; in their talk, they noted details of their plan for the hiding and subsequent sale of the A-wing.

And there was more. Lara discovered, with glee mixed with a measure of professional horror, that Repness tended to turn on his sweeper whenever doing his most private work at his computer terminal. His paranoia about unseen listeners was his undoing, because he tended to mumble to himself, verbalizing his pa.s.swords and secret computer account names when working this way.

Within minutes of listening to the recording, Lara could access all of the man's recordings that concerned his lucrative side business. It was a black-market business, well entrenched on Coruscant but just getting under way on the training frigate Tedevium, in which cargo was diverted from its intended destination-not even making it onto incoming-supplies manifests - and sold, profits making their way into the pockets of Repness and his team.

She found records of her own scores as a pilot trainee, plus those of a dozen other pilots Repness had subverted or tried to subvert this way.

Some, like Wraith Squadron's Tyria Sarkin, had refused to steal for him... but had been blackmailed into keeping silent. Others had joined his team.

The records didn't indicate whether they had been willing or reluctant.

Still others, pilot trainees Lara knew, were going through the ensnaring process even now.

There was no sign that Repness had any allies in the Intelligence division of the armed forces, or in the Inspector-General's office. She wrote a letter to both General Cracken of Intelligence and to the latter military division.

It read, i am the unseen, the unknowable, the unstoppable. no computer can stand before me. gates open for me. back doors are revealed to me.

knowledge willingly spools itself out for my inspection. I am the jedi of the electronic world. i have found evil aboard tedevium. i have found corruption. like the jedi, i shall cut it down. examine these files. test them for integrity. you will find they are the truth. go where these files lead you. do what you must do, as i do what i must do.

????? signed, white lancer She went back in and inserted some random misspellings and some painful grammatical errors. When it was done, it was, she decided, a note typical of code-slicers who performed anonymous sabotage on computer systems. The true extent of her computer skills were not known on Tedevium, and those of many other crewmen and pilot candidates were; many of them would be suspected of this act, and in order to boost their reputations, some would probably allow the investigators to believe that they were, in fact, the secretive White Lancer.

To the letter, she attached Repness's recordings and all the pa.s.swords and account names she had so far uncovered.

Then there were the files demonstrating how Repness had ensnared other pilots. She paused over those.

Best to expose all those pilots, she decided. Their careers would be ruined, at tremendous training cost to the New Republic-that is, the Rebels-and this would help deplete the Empire's enemy of skilled pilots.

Besides, if they became pilots, most of them would eventually die in action against Imperial pilots. They were better off having their careers torpedoed. If they knew she'd done it to them, someday they'd thank her for it.

Still her hands paused over the keyboard. As a child, she'd hoped to be a starfighter pilot. When she'd followed her parents career path instead, going into Imperial Intelligence, she'd demonstrated skills necessary to become a pilot and had undergone basic pilot training, which her controllers had decided would be a valuable side skill... and there she'd discovered a genuine love for flying. But her request for permanent transfer to the pilot corps was denied. Her intelligence-related skills were better and rarer than her pilot's skills, so against her wishes she'd been obliged to stay in Intelligence. Believe us, it's better this way, her instructors had told her. Someday, you'll thank us for this.

It came before her, the face of pilot candidate Bickey, in her cla.s.s under Repness. He'd been transferred to the remedial training unit just days after Lara had. If Repness kept true to form, in just a few days, Bickey would be approached on some similar scheme of theft. He was such a young, eager, boyish pilot, anxious to demonstrate his skill and bravery.

He had once said he'd prefer to die young, in battle against his enemies, than old and content on a farm somewhere. No, he'd never thank her for what she was about to do.

Uneasy, Lara attached her own file of scores to the letter she was sending General Cracken, then systematically destroyed the original and backup files implicating other pilots and pilot candidates now serving.

Let them die as they choose, she told herself. Let them die as pilots.

She arranged for the package of letter and files to make its way through secret routes to the offices of General Cracken. It would be at his headquarters office and under the eyes of one of his subordinates by day's end.

Which left her one thing to do today.

She looked at the sweeper in Repness's hand and let an expression of contempt cross her face. "Careful as always, aren't we, Atton?"

The colonel looked around, concealing nervousness, though the cla.s.sroom was empty of other personnel. "You'll address me as Colonel Repness and show respect."

"I'll address you as Colonel Bantha Sweat and show you whatever I want."

He looked at her, mouth open, but didn't respond immediately.

Lara pressed on: "I've decided not to join your team, Repness. I'm not going to steal an A-wing for you. In fact, I'm going to tell your superiors about what you're up to."

He managed to laugh. "That won't do you much good. There's no proof. And that's the end of your flying career. You'll never sit in a c.o.c.kpit again. Think about what the rest of your life will be like."

"I don't care. I can live without flying. I can't live without honor."

For a moment, she was troubled as the unwelcome possibility flashed through her mind that the words she'd just spoken had come from her true self, not the role she was playing. She suppressed the thought, shoving it aside. "That's the end of your career."

"I don't think so. When they look over your psychological profile - a new one I'll be working up over the next few days - and see what a compulsive liar you are, they wouldn't believe you if you told them that hard vacuum is bad for the lungs."

She gave him a mocking smile. "And you think I'll give you those few days to falsify my records?"

"Certainly. You'll be sleeping." His blow was so fast that she saw it only as a blur. His fist struck her high on the cheek. She felt her skin part under the force of the blow.

Everything went white, her vision gone, sudden shock de-priving her of most of her senses. She drifted a moment, aware that she may have overplayed this hand, and dimly felt her back and head hit the floor. It should have hurt, but it didn't.

Her vision cleared a little, momentarily, and all she saw was Repness standing over her, his leg drawn back.

Then his booted foot swung forward to connect with her temple and that was the last she knew.

The X-wings of Wraith Squadron-the eight snubfighters remaining in the unit-made one pa.s.s before the bridge of the Mon Calamari cruiser, waggling S-foils as a show of respect, then curved around smartly and lined up, by pairs, for their approach to the vessel's portside landing bay.

Wedge and his temporary wingman, Face, were first through the magcon field separating pressurized hangar from depressurized s.p.a.ce, first to see the reception party that awaited them in the one clear area tucked in among a sea of X-wings and shuttles. Wedge cut in his repulsors and reduced power to his main engines, settling into a slow glide forward, and was pleased to see Face mimicking his maneuver precisely. They settled onto the first pair of landing zones, facing the crowd that had gathered there, and brought their canopies up in unison.

Rogue Squadron stood before them, arrayed as precisely as a firing squad.

In front of the line of pilots was General Han Solo, uncomfortable-looking in his New Republic uniform, his expression a c.o.c.ked smile that had to be from relief at seeing Wedge.

Wedge climbed down from his c.o.c.kpit and removed his helmet. He could feel as well as hear the repulsorlift whine of the other Wraiths' arriving, plus the distant metallic chatter of powered tools being used on repairs.

That, and the smell of fuel and lubricants, of ozone coming off the magcon s.h.i.+eld, made this hangar more comfortable and homey than any set of quarters Wedge had occupied.

He approached Solo and threw a precise salute. "Commander Wedge Antilles and Wraith Squadron reporting for duty, sir."

Solo's return salute was far less military. "Welcome aboard Mon Remonda.

Let's get the rest of your pilots in... so I can get out of this torture suit,"

Wedge affected surprise. "But, sir, I was just going to say how smart you looked in your uniform. I think we ought to stay here, in uniform, a couple of hours so the holographers can capture the image. You know, for the historians."

Solo's grin didn't waver, but his expression was suddenly somehow different. Something like an animal backed into a corner. He kept his tone cheery. "Wedge, I think I'm going to have you killed."

"Yes, sir. I trust you'll wear your dress uniform for an event like that."

Han slumped in mock surrender. "You know, with my history, I'd be the laughingstock of the New Republic if I ever brought one of my officers up on charges of insubordination."

"Yes, sir, I was sort of counting on that."

Once the other pilots had landed and their X-wings were shut down, it was handshakes all around. Wedge introduced Rogues to Wraiths, and met Captain Onoma, Mon Calamari master of the Mon Remonda.

On the walk down from the hangar to the officers' quarters, through hallways that seemed more organic than constructed with their smooth curves and eye-pleasing rather than industrial colors, Solo filled Wedge in on some pertinent facts.

"Mon Remonda officially has four fighter squadrons a.s.signed to her. The fighter squadrons are: Rogue; Wraith; Polearm; an A-wing unit; and Nova, a B-wing squadron. Of course, you Wraiths are usually out on long patrols. In practice, of course, Rogue, Nova, and Polearm have been doing all the work while you Wraiths play pirate."

"Is that irritation or envy in your voice?"

"Envy. Want to trade?"

"NO.".

"You could boss this whole anti-Zsinj task force. I could arrange for a generals.h.i.+p for you."

"No."

Solo sighed tolerantly. "Anyway, we've been cruising at the theoretical borders of so-called Zsinj-controlled s.p.a.ce. When our scouting missions or Intelligence auxiliaries report a good target, we go in and blow it up. We also a.s.semble data on probable movements of Iron Fist, hoping to determine her home port or predict her next destination. So far we're not having much luck on that front, though we're pursuing data and leads as aggressively as we can."

"You might actually want to pursue leads a little less aggressively than that, if you get my drift."

Solo led the parade of pilots into a large personnel turbolift, which carried them downward into the vessel's interior.

"What do you mean?"

"Zsinj uses a lot of intelligence-oriented techniques. If he's planting any of the leads you're following, he may be building up a profile of how Mon Remonda responds to leaked information. Once he has a reliable profile in place, he can drop the exact type and quant.i.ty of information to lead you into the kind of trap not even a cruiser like this comes out of."

Solo whistled. "Good point. The data we've been getting has been so fragmentary, so difficult to piece together, that we haven't had any reason to believe any of it was fabricated. But if we a.s.sume that Zsinj demands a pretty high level of performance even of enemy a.n.a.lysts..."

"He does. If you'd like, I can have my intelligence specialist-Shalla Nelprin, you met her in the hangar..."

"Yes."

"I can have her a.n.a.lyze the data you've been getting and your responses to it to see if you're exhibiting any sort of pattern."

"I'll have it sent to the terminal in her quarters." Solo now no longer looked uncomfortable. He looked serious and intent, and finally seemed the officer his uniform said he was.

Face came out of the turbolift behind Dia and one of the Rogues, a Twi'!ek who had been introduced as Nawara Ven, and overheard the Rogue try to start up a conversation. Face didn't understand the words, a.s.sumed they were in Twi'leki, the language of Ryloth, homeworld of the Twi'leks.

But Dia's response was not in the same tongue. Her voice was emotionless.

"Speak Basic, please."

Nawara Ven took a second to compose himself. "I'm sorry. I said, we must get together sometime at your convenience to talk."

"About what?"

"About home. About our experiences as Twi'leks in the armed forces."

"Rylotb was where I was born, but then it spat me out, made me property of an Imperial crime-syndicate leader. Ryloth is not my home. I don't have a home. And I doubt our experiences have been similar. Unless you've been a slave."

"Well, no, but..."

"Then we've probably exhausted available topics of conversation." She picked up the pace and moved up away from the Rogue.

Nawara turned to the other Rogue Twi'lek pilot, a larger man with the upright, aggressive posture of a warrior. Face remembered that he had been introduced as Tal'dira.

Tal'dira shrugged and gave Nawara a little smile. "I think you lost that case, Counselor."

"I don't think I was ever even in the courtroom."

Face was just getting settled into the quarters he'd be sharing with Myn Donos when his comlink blipped. It was Wedge's voice: "Lieutenant Loran, report to Commander Antilles."

"Yes, sir."

When he arrived in Wedge's quarters, his commander was seated behind a fold-down desk and scowling over a datapad. Face saluted. Wedge returned it absently and gestured for him to sit, all without looking up.

Wedge said, "The Lara Notsil situation seems to be... resolved."

Face felt a little coldness settle in his stomach. "That sounds pretty ominous, sir."

Wedge finally met his eyes. "Well, not as ominous as all that. She appears to have dropped the heavy end of the hammer on Colonel Repness...

without involving you or Phanan. Or indicating in any way that this was a setup."

"Sir?"

"I've just received her record, because she has put in applications for transfer to Rogue Squadron or Wraith Squadron. According to this doc.u.ment, Repness attempted to recruit her to his unit of black-market thieves, she refused, he a.s.saulted her and had her drugged out of commission, a prisoner in the infirmary... but a mystery code-slicer aboard Tedevium caught Repness's activities in recordings and forwarded them to Intelligence. They moved in and seized Repness before any further harm could come to her."

Face thought that over. "But if she otherwise kept to the plan, then her scores would probably not let her graduate."

"Right. According to this, when she was recuperating from Repness's attack on her, she told Tedevium's commanding officer that deciding to oppose Repness had settled some problems she'd had, some issues remaining from the destruction of the colony where she'd grown up. She insisted on a chance to demonstrate those changes, and the training officers decided to give it to her. She went through an accelerated training regimen and vaped it. Even averaging those results with her earlier scores let her graduate-and her efficiency profile puts her within the range suitable for inclusion in my units."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Both Rogue Squadron and Wraith Squadron are at full pilot strength, so neither unit needs her. However, she has been a.s.signed-and this is fitting-Colonel Repness's personal X-wing."

Face snorted. "An act of revenge on the part of Tedevium's commander?"

"Probably. Tedevium's new commander is General Crespin, from Folor Base, and that sounds just like his sense of humor. It's also possible that Repness's snubfighter was considered bad luck-you know how superst.i.tious some pilots are. So, anyway, I'll be bringing her into Wraith Squadron to help boost our complement of snubfighters."