Star Wars - X-Wing 8 - Isard's Revenge

by Isard's Revenge (by Michael A Stackpole)

  Corran spoke first. "The nastiest part of your scenario is that it would also kill off the Lusankya prisoners. When she and I spoke, she said she was glad the Lusankya had been destroyed at Thyferra because after I escaped from it, it had been soiled. The prisoners were part of that desecration and I think she would have killed them if she had been in control of them. She doesn't like keeping reminders of her failure around with her."

  Wedge nodded. "That's a good point. Tycho?"

  "I think we all agree she's more than capable of doing what you're suggesting. I also think there are simpler ways of causing us trouble. Perhaps the defenses for the prison are tougher than we imagine, so the guards will have a chance to kill all the prisoners. That would make us all feel horrible, and likely get Two Flight killed in its attempt to neutralize the defenses."

  "Okay, so we run sims in which we toughen up the opposition." The General looked around the room. "What else?"

  Nrin raised a hand. "I think it will be important for us to have a plan to quarantine the prisoners to prevent the disease from spreading. We need to let them know they're at risk. They'll need to speak with someone they know and trust, which means Tycho or Corran."

  Corran shook his head. "Ah, um, the last time I was with them, I let them know that Tycho was a traitor. I can roll in and talk to them."

  "Ah, Corran, General Dodonna knows me, too." Wedge smiled. "We'll both record messages to him and everyone will carry a datacard with the messages on them. If we go down, the messages still get in."

  A knock at the door ended the discussion. Tycho opened the door and admitted Colonel Vessery. "Sorry to disturb you."

  "Just debriefing after a sim run. We want to make some changes-a worst-case scenario thing. We want to see how bad it can get."

  Vessery nodded. "Good idea, but you'll have to hurry. Negotiations are final. You'll be going in to Ciutric two days from now. Krennel believes you'll be hyperspacing for a couple of days to get there, but the trip will only take six hours or so. Once you're in place, you send the appropriate message and set things in motion."

  "Thank you, Colonel. We'll be ready."

  "I'm sure you will." Vessery hesitated. "I've enjoyed working with you all. I believe you have a saying for times like this: May the Force be with you. I really do hope it is. If you succeed, if we succeed, we can all go home again."

  Popping out of hyperspace near Ciutric, Wedge tried to match his memory of the system with what he saw now. He got no sense of recognition, of having been there before, but that struck him as just as well. On Ciutric Rogue Squadron had lost one of its most beloved pilots, Ibtisam. Remem-Jbering brought a lump to his throat, which he swallowed against.

  He keyed his comm unit. "How are you doing, Eight?"

  Nrin's voice came back even, but a bit tight. "I am fine, Colonel Roat." His words revealed none of the pain he had to be feeling. He had been closer to Ibtisam than anyone else had--a fact made remarkable because of the traditional rivalries between the Quarren and the Mon Calamari. Her death had crushed Nrin emotionally and, after a leave of absence, he had accepted a transfer from Rogue Squadron to a training squadron.

  "Good to hear, Eight." Wedge flipped the comm unit over to the Spaceport Authority channel he'd been given. "This is Colonel Antar Roat with Requiem Squadron. We are nine ships in tptal and wish landing clearance."

  "Ciutric Spaceport Authority here. You will be switched to military control. Destination beacon at one-three-nine-three-eight coming on now. Please tune your autolanding function to that frequency and initiate autolanding programs."

  "As ordered, Ciutric. Executing now." Wedge punched a red button with his left thumb and felt the control buck a bit as the Defender's computer controls locked on to the beacon and began to use the data it was sending to plot the entry and landing speed and vectors. Wedge relaxed his grip on the yoke, but didn't let it go entirely. He had a pilot's distrust of mechanical flying systems, and since he was running into a hostile environment, he wanted to take full control of the ship if anything started to go wrong.

  Of course, the disguise he was wearing did make flying a bit more awkward. When he had assumed the Roat identity to get onto Imperial Center, the head prosthetic had been an extensive affair that covered the right side of his face, from forehead to cheek and back over his ear. A piece of it had wrapped down over his jaw and pressed against his voice box. Because Roat had been bound for Imperial Center for reconstructive surgery, the prosthetic had been modified and minimized to be a metal device that built up his right eye socket, with a thin line of metal that led down to the blinking device that pressed against his larynx and altered the sound of his voice. The eye construct unbalanced his face enough that, coupled with the beard, he looked nothing like the various images the Empire had circulated of Wedge Antilles.

  His helmet hid the facial modifications, but his flight suit did not hide the other change. His right hand ended in a blocky construct that featured only two thick fingers and a thumb. It whirred and clicked as Wedge moved the hand around. The device slowed his hand movements somewhat, but it had a cutout switch that he could use in combat to let him have full use of his hand.

  As annoying as all this stuff is, it's much better than flying with an Ewok puppet in my lap. That recollection tightened Wedge's gut. He'd been forced to fly disguised as an Ewok pilot because of one of Wes Janson's practical jokes. Wes will be sorely missed.

  Despite his misgivings about turning control of his fighter over to Krennel's people, the automatic beacon brought the Defenders down without incident. Military control informed the pilots that they would have to land their own fighters and designated landing spots for each of them. Wedge offered his thanks. Letting his pilots land their own craft marked the respect the military controllers had for pilots.

  Wedge was impressed to see Krennel waiting with other staff officers to greet his people. Wedge set his Defender down with a gentle hand, shut down all systems, and popped open the egress hatch. He thanked the tech rolling up a staircase for him, and when on the deck, doffed his helmet and handed it to the tech. He stepped to the front of his fighter, and then looked to his left, down the row of pilots. When they'd all taken their places, he took one step forward and saluted Krennel.

  The Prince-Admiral returned the salute, and then stepped away from his advisors and approached Wedge. "Colonel Roat, I am most pleased you have chosen to bring your squadron of Defenders to me. You will be a great asset to the Hegemony."

  The modulator on Wedge's throat injected a buzz into his voice. "It is our pleasure to find the single man with the courage to keep the spark of the Empire alive."

  "Walk with me, Colonel. Introduce me to your me... people."

  Wedge fell into step with Krennel. He introduced him to Gavin, Hobbie, and Myn as One Flight. Krennel spoke with each, but never offered his right hand to them. Since it was a prosthetic, this did not surprise Wedge at all. Krennel instead patted them on the shoulders with his flesh-and-blood hand, gracing each with a smile and a nod of the head.

  Wedge had to admit Krennel was good. The display suggested Krennel took it as a personal compliment that the pilots had come over to join his Hegemony. He made a personal connection with each of them and Wedge had no doubt Krennel would remember and use the details he learned about them in subsequent conversations, when or if he ever saw them again. He does have a certain charisma, which explains how he has gotten this far.

  Krennel slowed as he reached Two Flight. First in order were Tycho and Inyri. Both had dyed their hair a bright red and they looked enough alike to be brother and sister, which was exactly how Wedge introduced them. "Prince-Admiral, this is Major Teekon Pass and his sister, Inyon. While it is unusual to have a female pilot in a squadron, Requiem's mission required the best pilots we could find. Inyon tested out very highly, so I brought her into the program. It is a decision I have not had cause to regret."

  "Indeed?" Krennel's smile diminished only slightly. "I shall look forward to a demons
tration of her prowess. A pleasure to meet you both."

  They moved on down the line to Ooryl. "This is the Gand Zukvir. He is a Findsman, much like his kinsman Zuckuss, who worked for Lord Vader. The Findsman's skill in a fighter is superior to most men, and his loyalty is absolute."

  "Fascinating." Krennel pointed toward Nrin with his metal hand. "And here we have a Quarren."

  "Captain Notha Dab, yes." Wedge smiled as much as his prosthetic allowed him to. "Dab has been tireless in his training and, while we were considering joining your Hegemony, he was your greatest proponent."

  "Really?" Krennel lifted his chin. "And why was that, Captain Dab?"

  Nrin's facial tentacles curled up to reveal two needle-sharp fangs. "Can't kill Mon Cals in the New Republic, Prince-Admiral. You will give me the best opportunity to do that."

  A cold smile blossomed on Krennel's face. "You'll get that chance, Captain Dab, very soon, I'm certain." The Prince-Admiral turned to Wedge. "I commend your employment of interspecies rivalries to fuel your people's desires to fight."

  "So nice of you to notice, Prince-Admiral." Wedge led him on to where Corran stood. In addition to growing the mustache, Corran had dyed his hair jet black. His pale skin and green eyes made for a sharp contrast that made him a bit difficult for Wedge to recognize. "This is Captain Pyr Hand. He is better known among us as Klick."

  "'Klick,' as in slang for kilometer?"

  Corran nodded.

  "And why is that?"

  Corran blinked his eyes once, slowly. "I'm a dead shot at that range, Prince-Admiral."

  "Excellent." Krennel turned from the line and led Wedge with him toward his knot of advisors. "Well, Colonel Roat, your people impress me, for the most part. I'm pleased to have you with us."

  "Thank you, Prince-Admiral." Wedge gave the man a quick smile. "I think you'll find we add a dimension to your defenses you haven't even realized you lacked until now."

  31

  Iella Wessiri glanced over to where Booster Terrik lay sleeping in the corner of the briefing room, and then smiled at Mirax. "Nice thing about Booster's snoring is that it's likely to knock out any listening devices the scanners have missed."

  "I'd begrudge him the sleep, but he's been really good at thinking like Isard." Mirax rested her chin on both hands. "Of course, realizing my father can simulate a coldblooded mass murderer so well isn't very reassuring. If we have kids, I'm not sure how often we'll let them stay with their grandfather."

  Iella hid a yawn behind a hand. "I know I should press you on this 'kids' thing, but I'm too tired. It's not that I don't care."

  "Good. I've got 'Aunt Iella' first on the list for free baby-sitting services."

  The briefing room doorway opened and Iella caught the scent of caf before General Cracken could make it all the way into the room. He brought with him a tray containing four large, steaming mugs and slid it onto the table. "Thought you could use some caf at this hour of the night."

  "We could use some of what Booster's getting, really."

  "Iella's right, but I'll settle for half my father's caf at this point."

  Cracken seated himself and passed out the beverages. "Please, drink up. I wanted to tell you that I'm very pleased and grateful for your work. Hmmm, just as well Booster's asleep for that part. Admiral Ackbar and I have gone over your various scenarios and agree that several are highly probable. We're focusing in on those that involve the prisoners."

  Mirax lowered her mug and jerked her head toward her father's sleeping form. "Those were largely Booster's work. He concocted what he called Isard's 'Hierarchy of Hatred,' then figured out what she could do to maximize damage to her enemies. Something as simple as denying ground support to liberate the prison would result in the deaths of the prisoners, a rough time for the Rogues and ground-based defenses that would make the New Republic's fight against Krennel much closer. Everyone gets hurt: the prisoners, the Rogues, Krennel, and the New Republic. Just the kind of mischief she'd love."

  "We're taking precautions that should cover all of those eventualities. No guarantees, but we'll be doing our best." Cracken sat back in his chair, wrapping his hands around the caf mug. "The other scenarios, ones based on her repeating the Krytos virus situation, are frightening as well. We're mobilizing assets that can help us detect, isolate, and cure anyone who is infected, but for all we know Ciutric is just going to be one big sick world. It's not at all what we want to deal with, but we can't discount that possibility either."

  Iella shook her head. "It doesn't seem like we've come up with much for two weeks' worth of work, but we've gone over every file that mentions her, all the rumors about her that we've heard over the years, and even had Booster trying to think like her. I know we've worked hard, but I can't help feel that we've missed something."

  Mirax reached across the table to squeeze Iella's hand. "Isard is just one big ocean of evil. No real way to know if we've found all the currents running deep there."

  Iella arched an eyebrow at Mirax. "We really have been speaking a lot with Admiral Ackbar, haven't we?"

  "Yeah, it'll be months before I stop using ocean analogies."

  "Well, you'll get your chance to begin recovering soon. Admiral Ackbar and I leave for the primary staging area in four hours." Cracken fished inside his tunic and withdrew two datacards. He slid one to Mirax and the other to Iella. "Because you won't be able to talk to us, I want you to have these."

  Iella picked "up the datacard and turned it over. It looked entirely normal, save for platinum triangles at each of the corners. She flipped it front again, and then held it up between her left thumb and forefinger. "This contains ultra-clearance codes?"

  Cracken nodded solemnly. "Army, Navy, Intelligence, Governmental from the Republic level on down to major municipal levels, and many corporate levels as well. It also has codes that will allow you to access five million credits- each. Based on the authorization in the card, you can go anywhere and do anything you need to do. If you think of something, no matter how wild, and you need to take steps to stop Isard, this will allow you to take them."

  Booster rolled over onto his back. "Good, we can use it to buy more guns for my ship."

  "That's why you don't have one of the cards, Booster."

  The smuggler stretched. "The New Republic has no sense of gratitude at all."

  "Go back to sleep, Father." Mirax slipped her card into a pocket. "I take it you want us to keep working on this until Isard is found or gives herself up?"

  "That's it. Do whatever you have to do. If you have to break laws, try to be discreet, and if you have to kill anyone, well, try not to raze any planets."

  Mirax blinked. "You're serious about this."

  "Very." Cracken finished his caf and stood. "May the Force be with you."

  Iella watched him leave the room, and then looked again at the card in her hands. "They're putting a lot of trust in us. They're giving us a lot of responsibility. We can't fail."

  "We won't." Mirax got up, walked over to where her father lay, and gently nudged his ribs with her toe. "Wake up, old man, time to start working again. Come up with something brilliant."

  Booster smiled as he sat up. He stretched again, and then walked around and usurped Cracken's place at the table. "Okay, ladies, we've examined Isard's history of atrocities. We've gone through her Hierarchy of Hate. There's only one thing left for us to look at. We have to examine her dream ladder."

  Iella shook her head and bolted another slug of caf. "I must be dreaming myself, because that made no sense. Her 'dream ladder'?"

  Mirax held a hand up. "I think I know where he's going with this. Care to open the help files for us?"

  "It's simplicity itself, ladies." Booster hefted the remaining full mug in a salute. "We look at her sense of greed. If control of the galaxy is her goal, we know where she'll get when she scales that ladder. Starting from the top, and then, we go down; rung by rung, looking at how she'll have to plan her ascent. Eventually we'll work down to the lowest rung she
has access to right now, and that's where we'll have her."

  Iella exhaled slowly. "That will take forever and we have, at best, a week."

  Booster flicked a finger against her card. "Let's order more caf then. If you're right that we missed something before, this is the way we'll find it. And when we do, we'll spill Ysanne Isard and her dreams into a black hole she'll never escape."

  Wedge Antilles kept his gloved right hand on his thigh, beneath the level of the table at Shine Astara, one of the premiere restaurants in Ciutric's capital, Daplona. Wedge realized the place would require his best behavior, since the first word of the name was pronounced "sheen" with an Imperial lilt that required the speaker to press his teeth together as he said it. Given that I've already sent the message that will bring Admiral Ackbar and Isard's people down on this world inside a week, being on my best behavior is the least I can do for my host.

  Keeping teeth clenched together that way did make it easier to sneer, a trait that his host, Colonel Lorrir, had perfected. Lorrir struck Wedge as being an Imperial's Imperial. Tall, slender, angular, and very proper, Lorrir almost seemed to have been put together from a kit. The fact that he only had a white fringe of hair on his head indicated this wasn't true, since a full head of black hair would have made him the perfect image of an officer. Lorrir made up for that defect by being very demanding, which meant working with him had been tough for Wedge.