“What?” Tycho shook his head. “In court you showed that the Imps had planted the information to frame me, and now you’re telling me that they’re saying I’ve been framed? What’s going on?”
“Your trial is divisive. The government is using it to show they, unlike the Empire, can handle things in an open manner. Imperial agents, on the other hand, are making it look like evidence is being trumped up against you. It makes humans think you’re a sacrifice being offered up to keep the Alliance together. The non-human population already thinks you’re guilty and somehow responsible for the Krytos virus—it doesn’t matter that you had nothing to do with it.”
Tycho leaned forward and slapped his hands on the table. “Nawara, you have to let me testify on my own behalf. I can convince them I’m innocent.”
The Twi’lek sat back. “You’ve been talking to Diric again, haven’t you?”
Tycho nodded. “He visited me while you and Wedge were gone. Aside from Winter, he was my only visitor. He says that talking to me has him convinced I’m innocent.”
“That’s great for him, but he was also an Imperial prisoner, so he feels a sense of kinship to you. Most other folks don’t have that bond.”
Tycho raised an eyebrow. “You endured Imperial discrimination against non-humans. Can you really say you weren’t an Imperial prisoner?”
Nawara hesitated for a moment. The greatest thing for him about joining the Rebellion had been having the weight of oppression lifted from him. As a non-human he was treated as inconsequential by the Empire. Imperial magistrates would ignore him and his objections, or they would overrule him and threaten him with contempt for wasting the court’s time by bringing up points of law. He knew that at any moment he could be gathered up in some Intelligence sweep and incarcerated for whatever was left of his life, and no one would know.
Fear was once a constant factor in his life. Then he joined the Alliance, and while he didn’t fully leave fear behind, he was given control over it. Now, with the Empire in retreat, that same control had been extended to others. Even the most despised individuals in the Empire now knew freedom.
And still have a taste for revenge against their oppressors.
“Yes, I could say I, too, was their prisoner, Captain, but that doesn’t matter. The fact is that if you testify, Commander Ettyk will destroy you on cross-examination.”
“How?”
“She’ll go back through your life and make it into a mockery of what it’s been.” Nawara’s eyes narrowed to bloody crescents. “She’ll point out that you volunteered for the Imperial Academy and were a successful TIE fighter pilot. She’ll suggest you were so callous that you were speaking to your family and fiancée via the holonet at the precise moment Alderaan was destroyed—all because you had learned, being as you have always been an Imperial Intelligence agent, when your world’s destruction would take place.”
Tycho’s jaw shot open. “But that’s preposterous.”
“You and I know it’s preposterous, but there are countless people out there who would believe it. You’ve been to the Galactic Museum. You’ve seen how the exhibits about the Emperor twist facts into lies. It’s no surprise that such twisting can take place. The fact is, though, that people believed the Emperor died at Endor destroying a Rebel Death Star. It will be very easy for those same people to believe the worst of you.”
Nawara hooked a taloned hand over Tycho’s binders. “You don’t remember your time at Lusankya, but she will make your amnesia sound like lying. And she’s good, very good. She’ll have you saying things you don’t want to say. Damage will be done and we won’t be able to recover from it.”
Tycho slumped back in his chair, dragging his hands into his lap. “We’ve really got nothing to prove my innocence, do we?”
“We have testimony about all you have done that is positive and good. Whistler and Emtrey came up with an analysis of the Krytos virus infection pattern and I can get experts up to show how your actions actually made it much milder than it could have been. And we’re still looking for Lai Nootka.”
“So you’re telling me that we need a miracle?”
Nawara nodded. “I’d take one if you had one to offer, but then again, I wouldn’t worry too much. Winning this trial is merely impossible, and we’re Rogues. We’ll get it done.”
Tycho sighed. “Or die trying.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Ah, Commander Antilles, welcome.” Admiral Ackbar stood as the man entered his office. “I apologize for the short notice, but time rolls away as the tide.”
“I came as quickly as I could, Admiral.” Wedge gave the Mon Calamari a friendly smile. “It must be important.”
“It is. You’re the first person outside the Provisional Council to hear this.” The Mon Calamari opened his mouth in the closest approximation of a human smile he could muster, hoping to put his visitor at ease. “The Xucphra faction on Thyferra has agreed to send us a substantial shipment of bacta. Your squadron—all of whom were called back to duty and are currently under a communications quarantine—will be sent out to meet the freighter convoy and bring it back here to Coruscant.”
“I see.” Wedge’s face took on a suitably grim expression. “Aren’t we a bit small to be protecting a convoy of, what, thirty ships?”
“Twenty, actually. Most are small ships, like the Skate. We have a few larger ones going, but our hauling resources have never been abundant.” Ackbar’s chin fringes wriggled. “We are having to rely on stealth and secrecy to safeguard the shipment—and not by my choice. The whole matter of negotiations about all this bacta have become very delicate.”
Wedge raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“We never expected your visit to Ryloth would be kept secret, but the news of it traveled more quickly than we expected. Apparently the Thyferrans know we obtained ryll from Ryloth. Some of the Thyferrans wanted to cut us off from bacta completely, pointing to your trip as an attempt to circumvent them. Cooler heads prevailed, so we’re getting this shipment, but it is barely sufficient to keep people alive. If the basic combinations with ryll work, we might double the effective strength of what we have, but that’s still not going to be enough to effect a final cure of the Krytos virus.”
Ackbar sighed as weariness washed over him. “While Xucphra officials are willing to send us the bacta to keep us paying them credits, they are very wary of advertising the fact that they’re working with the New Republic. They only benefit from all this if they are able to sell bacta to all sides in the conflict. They want this convoy to appear to be a private enterprise—it was suggested that Mirax Terrik could take credit for it and profit from it. They will get the ships to our rendezvous point, then we take over. You’ll ostensibly be on a training mission and offer the escort as a courtesy.”
Wedge frowned. “Rogue Squadron is a high-profile outfit. We’re bound to be watched. Why use us?”
“You have a Thyferran.” The Mon Calamari’s lip fringes twitched. “It has been suggested that having Erisi and Rogue Squadron present to guide the ships back here to Coruscant would prove to the Thyferrans that we appreciate the risks they are taking.”
“Do I sense Borsk Fey’lya’s furred hand in this?”
“You do, though he was not alone in it.” The Council meeting where this plan was floated seemed more difficult than any of the battles I’ve fought against the Empire. “The possibility of having our bacta supply cut off is causing people to take whatever steps they can think of to appease the Thyferrans.”
Wedge’s eyes narrowed. “The big problem we have with the Thyferrans is that they could cut us off at any time.”
“They have the monopoly, so they can do that. The fact that ryll kor might make bacta more effective against this virus does not diminish our need for bacta. Before the Empire aided the Xucphra and Zaltin corporations in monopolizing the bacta trade, we might have been able to find other sources of bacta. Now we have no choice but to trade with them. While we could manufacture our ow
n bacta, the startup costs for a facility that could produce what we need would—well, I can’t say it would bankrupt us, because the New Republic may already be over that line. And you didn’t hear that from me.”
“No, sir.”
“So, Commander, you see our dilemma. We are dependent on the bacta cartel, yet our supply is shaky. Steps taken to secure our supply could anger the cartel—if those steps do not include them—or could anger our enemies enough that they strike at the cartel itself. Warlord Zsinj’s Iron Fist could put a chill on convoy traffic and cause us significant trouble.”
“But they would stop shipping him bacta, too.”
“True, but his need for it is not as great or urgent as ours is.”
“Point taken.”
Ackbar shrugged. “As smugglers put it, we have all our spice in one freighter, and other solutions to the problem seem impossible. I know Rogue Squadron prides itself on doing the impossible, but I think this bacta problem is beyond even your capabilities.”
“Perhaps, sir.”
Wedge’s curious reply seemed tinged with deception, but Ackbar found it hard to believe Wedge would be involved in plotting. He has been spending a certain amount of time in General Cracken’s company, and Cracken’s reportage to the Provisional Council has been handled by subordinates of late, but to combine those things into a plot would be leaping to a conclusion of Borskean proportions. Even so, it does seem rather plausible. “Do I take it you disagree with my assessment, Commander?”
Wedge’s shoulders shifted uneasily. “I would have to say I think you’re probably correct, sir, but Rogue Squadron has done many things in the past that were thought impossible.”
Ackbar nodded. “You realize that anything you might do in this regard could have catastrophic results if the Thyferrans disapprove.”
“If I were involved in anything, sir, that would be foremost in my mind.”
“Very good.” Whatever you are doing, I wish you grand success. “General Cracken will be briefing your people. May the Force be with you—in all you do.”
Wedge smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
Ackbar hesitated, then his eyes shrank to demi-lunes. “Be careful, Commander. Billions of lives hang in the balance. If something goes wrong, I doubt if even your status as the Conqueror of Coruscant will save you from becoming more reviled than Tycho Celchu.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kirtan Loor stared at the glowing holographic text hanging in the air in front of him and found himself poised between unbridled terror and unbound elation. The message offered him a way out from beneath Fliry Vorru’s thumb, but only if he took steps that could easily anger Ysanne Isard. Doing that could destroy him. But doing nothing clearly will destroy me.
The text, after it had been decrypted and decoded, carried a simple yet explosive message. Twenty ships—New Republic and privately owned freighters—would be traveling from Thyferra with a shipment of bacta bound for Imperial Center. Rogue Squadron was to meet them in the Alderaan system—as if all the bacta in the galaxy could heal that wound—and guide them in on the return trip to Imperial Center. The message contained the times and coordinates, easily allowing for the interception of the convoy.
If he destroyed the convoy, he would advance the Imperial cause beyond even Ysanne Isard’s wildest dreams. He had the means to do just that at his disposal. His earlier plans to substitute a look-alike group of fighters for Rogue Squadron and have them strafe the squadron’s base required him to put together a full dozen X-wing fighters. They would be hawk-bats among granite slugs if he set them on the freighters. He was more than willing to do that, blasting every single freighter from the Pulsar Skate to the Rebels’ Pride into free-floating atoms.
He had only one problem: he wasn’t supposed to know what the message said.
Imperial spies in service to the Rebellion had been given a variety of ways to make contact with their superiors. Certain public terminals, for example, had special coding that routed messages along secure lines to specific destinations. A datadisk could be recorded and left in any number of blind-drops for pickup by agents. Face-to-face meetings could be and had been arranged, even with the highest profile agents around. Whatever was necessary to move information would be done.
The Rebels were not without countermeasures, and they were effective when they wanted to stop information from getting out. Fortunately Coruscant was still more of an Imperial world than it was a Rebel one. While Rebel computer code experts had gone through the planetary computer system and shut down many of the most obvious stealthways into it, they had not found them all. The Rebels would clearly have preferred to avoid using the Imperial computers at all, but running Coruscant without them was impossible, so compromises were made.
The Imperial agent in Rogue Squadron had resorted to one of the most simple stealthways in the system to get the message out. A coded message was created and saved as usual, then deleted. The command used to delete the message was a batch command, one commonly used to purge a month’s worth of old messages at a time. When the computer asked for a date from which to begin the purge, the agent gave it the date and time, down to the second, the message had been created. The ending date for the purge was the same date and time.
The deletion routine in the system took that information and began special processing. A copy of the message was whisked away to a randomly chosen memory sector and there encrypted. At the original memory location where the message had been stored, zeroes were written to erase all traces of the message, then corrupted copies of other documents were written into its place. A scan of files would show documents and programs in the normal process of being overwritten.
No trace of the coded message was left in its original location. The agent was safe.
The encrypted message was transferred through a series of accounts and finally ended up on a datadisk that was dumped into a blind-drop. One of Loor’s Special Intelligence operatives retrieved it and brought it to him. Loor himself decrypted and decoded it. He told himself he did so because messages from that agent had normally traveled directly to Ysanne Isard. The fact that he had ended up with a copy meant the normal channels of communication were closed and he wanted to make certain delays did not prevent action from being taken to capitalize on the information.
Had I forwarded it to Iceheart blindly I would not be caught in this trap. Because the rendezvous would take place in less than three days, there was an open question as to whether the message would reach Isard in time for her to do anything about it. Loor felt fairly confident she would act to destroy the convoy, and his own squadron had enough firepower to chew up the twenty-ship convoy with little problem. A pair of proton torpedoes would destroy most of the freighters, which meant a full dozen could die in the first pass. Another volley of torpedoes would cripple or kill the others, and the X-wings could follow up with lasers to finish off the survivors.
Probably not flashy enough for her, but if my X-wings were marked up to be Rogue Squadron ships—and the news-nets have been full of examples that making last-minute changes to match the paint jobs will be easy enough—I can sow more discord and distrust between the people and the Rebel government. Iceheart would like that.
The problem with doing just that, however, was that the operation did not help him eliminate Vorru as a threat. If, instead of destroying the convoy, he hijacked it to another system, he would have control of a very large shipment of a vital commodity. While Vorru had a solid lock on the bacta black market on Imperial Center, there were other worlds clamoring for the medicine. If he used his supply correctly he could enrich himself. He would betray Vorru to the Rebels—not to the government on Imperial Center, but to the constituent governments on the various Rebel homeworlds, thereby increasing distrust between them and the rulers on Imperial Center.
Or I can enrich myself, buy a world all my own, and put Boba Fett on retainer to slay my enemies. That thought brought a smile to Loor’s face. The list would not be long, but it woul
d not be an easy one to complete. A fitting challenge for a man with his skills.
Loor closed his eyes and gently massaged them beneath his eyelids. As satisfying as enriching himself would be, he realized he had to be very careful. Killing Vorru and Isard would provide him short-term pleasure, but he had to be looking at his long-term position. His first step was to guarantee his survival, his second to maximize his potential for power. Hijacking the bacta worked just as well to hurt the Rebellion as did destroying it, but it left him vulnerable to accusations by Isard that he wasn’t devoting himself to his duty of destroying the Rebellion. She could easily see the hijacking as a move to make him independent of her, and she would not like that.
I can always argue that I wanted to get out from under Vorru’s influence and nothing more. He doubted that such an argument would insulate him from her anger and retribution when she found out what he had done. And he knew she would find out—it was a question how much time he had until she did. If he could keep her in the dark for a month, either he would have gained enough power that he did not need to fear her, or she will have had me killed.
He realized once again that only by escaping her could he possibly survive. This gives me no choice.
He carefully began to compose a message. He told her of his intent to use the duplicate Rogue Squadron to “eliminate” the convoy. He would later argue that he would have said “destroy” if that’s what he had meant to do. Time being of the essence, I can’t give her the whole plan, I can merely let her know I am dealing with the problem.
He scanned his message, then prepared it for sending. He almost sent it immediately, then hesitated. No, if I send it now, she could possibly countermand my orders. I’ll give her a day’s warning. By the time she considers what will happen, it will all be done.
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