Star Wars - I, Jedi

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Ooryl came next and proved tougher than I would have ex-pected. He had always been a good pilot and had gotten much better during his time with the squadron, but I'd always had an edge over him in simulations. I wasn't certain why, but as he splashed laser light over my aft shield, I began to wonder if it wasn't because he had some mental block against shooting me up in exercises. Regardless, he hung with me like a nek with its teeth sunk into a Hutt's tail, and I had serious trouble reading his intent to fire.

  If I can't anticipate what he's doing, I have to make him antici-pate what I'm doing. I juked to starboard, letting the ship drift sideways, then dove and rolled to port. I bounced the clutch up and down a couple of times, then juked to starboard, dove and rolled out to port. I tossed in some more random drift, then repeated the pattern a third time. The impressions I got from Ooryl, while still inscrutable to me, changed and I knew he had the pattern.

  Ten seconds later I drifted right and dove. I snap-rolled ninety degrees to port as if beginning my lazy roll, then hauled back on the stick and popped my throttle off. Ooryl had begun his own roll to left, arrowing in toward where I should have been, exposing his ship's belly to me. I hit him with one solid ion blast, then another pilot's blast nailed him and his ship went dead.

  "Got him for you, Lead!" Timmser announced. "No need to thank me."

  I wasn't going to. Ooryl's dead ship had been pointed at Xa Fel when it got hit, and with no control he'd smash into the atmosphere and be crushed. He had less than a minute until impact and I could do nothing to save him. I rolled and watched his stricken ship continuing a slow spiral to what would be Ooryl's death.

  If only I could use telekinesis to deflect his ship into an orbit/ Then his cockpit canopy exploded and Ooryl's command chair shot out. A second later his R2 unit similarly ejected from the dying X-wing. The ejection rocket carried him off toward the Interdictor, though it would burn out long before it ever got there. Still, he's safe.

  A new presence focused itself on me and I knew I was in serious trouble. Even without using the Force, there are some people who have minds so slow that you can almost hear synapses firing at a torpid pace. Others are so quick-witted you end up marveling at connections they make, but only after the five or ten minutes it takes you to unravel their thought pro-cesses. And then there are people whose minds move in multi-ple dimensions, all at lightspeed, leaving you unable to even begin to guess how their minds work.

  Tycho Celchu had such a mind, but what impressed me about him was not the speed with which he thought, but the cool deliberation that defined the way he thought. When he picked me up as a target I didn't feel the narrowing blade the way I had with Gavin. Instead Tycho had my ship all boxed up and, second by second, shrank that box, eliminating extraneous data, until my ship and a little box he had labeled target were one and the same.

  More impressive than that, however, was the fact that the little target box had multiple appendages, each pointing off in the direction of all the maneuvers I could use to escape him. If I jinked right, he could pull me back into his targeting box. If I combined two moves or three, appendages flowed away from eliminated options and grew up to choke off new avenues of escape. His mind worked like the legendary Mon Calamari demonsquid, lashing me with arm after arm that sought to drag me back into the place where he could kill me.

  The only way to beat him was to make him the hunted. I inverted and dove, then throttled back and came up through a tight loop that should have dropped me on his tail. He'd antici-pated me, so he rolled out to port and I rolled right after him. I throttled back up and closed faster than I should have been able to, so I clipped off a shot that missed wide to port, then snap-rolled up on my port side and hauled the stick back. I held the climb for three seconds, then inverted and continued it around into a loop.

  Tycho's X-wing shot back across the front of my clutch, but I had no chance at a shot on him. From him I gained the impres-sion of his enlarging the boxes in which he tried to trap me. He had to deal with the added problem of being a target as well, which gave him a variety of tactics to use against me. Only a few of them worked toward getting me back into the target box myself, and I did what I could to make those choices less than desirable.

  "Rock Lead, this is Invidious. Rendezvous with the Invidious if you want a ride home."

  "I copy." I relayed the message through to my squadron.

  Caet came back. "Help, Lead?"

  "Nope, I'm fine. Just get out of here."

  "Hurry."

  "As ordered."

  I rolled to starboard, then turned hard left and dialed my throttle down to tighten the turn. I applied thrust as I came out of the turn, eluding a quad laser burst from Tycho, then popped my throttle off, hit enough rudder to push me in his direction, and dropped the throttle back in. I snapped off a quick shot that laced his shields with azure lightning, then applied more rudder, inverted and dove after him. I got another shot off that hit and collapsed his aft shield.

  In his situation I would have panicked, but I sensed no such thing from him. We just moved into a yet bigger box in which he twisted and tumbled his X-wing through a series of maneu-vers I couldn't have followed if I'd programmed them into my computer. Whenever he had a tactical choice he made it in a split-second, presenting himself with another choice. Branches seemed chosen at random, killing any ability to anticipate him, yet all worked back toward the targeting box.

  I knew better than to stick around. I pulled myself into a wide turn that headed me back toward the Invidious. The Star Destroyer started laying down a defensive pattern of fire that swept out in waves to discourage pursuit. In theory our gunners were not shooting at the incoming fighters, but they placed their shots fairly close to discourage anyone coming after us. While the big ship's shots weren't likely to hit any of the fight-ers, the snubbie jocks had to worry about them nonetheless, which didn't give them a free hand in tracking targets. And, if an incoming pilot was good enough, he could nudge his ship into the space turbolaser fire had just passed through, letting the big ship's energy beams shield him from his pursuit.

  Racing back through the main battlefield, I saw broken ships and EV pilots all over the place. The number of bones hanging there made the place look like a rancor lair. I saw a few clutch carcasses out there, too, and a couple of the corvettes from each side. Backstab wasn't among the dead ships, which I took as a positive-relatively speaking. While the Survivors were a nasty bunch of liars, murderers, pirates and thieves; some of them had almost become friends and I didn't want to see them dead.

  Suddenly I got a sense of victory pulsing out from Tycho. I flicked my target selector with my thumb and screened targets for maximum danger. What I got were a pair of proton torpe-does fast closing with my clutch. Despite my running, Tycho had come around and gotten a target lock on me, then sent me two going-away presents. The torpedoes traveled considerably faster than my clutch, which was their great strength and, luck-ily for me, their primary weakness.

  I watched the range indicator on the lead missile scroll down and as it closed to within two hundred meters, I jerked my stick back, then jammed it to the left and rolled into a dive. The first missile raced past while the second rolled and corrected. I jammed my stick forward and dove, letting it slide past too, then I smiled. The way' out of this trap I learned from you, Tycho.

  Using my scanners, I located the first missile and locked it in as a target. I brought my clutch about so I was headed straight for it and waited until it closed within a kilometer. I flicked my weapons over to dual lasers, dropped my crosshairs on the in-coming torch and fired twice. My first pair of bolts missed, but the second hit, ripping the missile to pieces only five hundred meters away. I rolled, dove and located the second torpedo. I nailed it with my first shot, detonating it at a kilometer, then flew through the collapsing gold fireball on my long swoop toward the Invidious.

  I heard Tycho's voice crackle through on a widecast. "Very fancy flying, clutch."

  "Didn't want y
ou to think I was a green pilot, Rogue Lead. Another time." I put my clutch into a quick weave, then darted in under the umbrella of the Invidious' fire and landed the Tri-fighter in the middle of the group area the Survivors had been given. I noticed, as I brought the fighter around so the front was pointed toward the egress hatchway, that the Survivors had only lost six of thirty-six clutches, and I'd only lost two. The Imp clutch group had lost over a dozen of their Tri-fighters, and the front rank of their lead squadron-spaces reserved for the commanding officers-appeared empty.

  After taking a deep breath, I removed my helmet and enviro gear, then I popped the hatch and climbed out of the clutch. Timmser and Caet helped me down to the deck and supported me as my legs gave way. It took a moment for me to realize how weak I felt. Flying against Tycho had probably been the most difficult thing I'd ever done, and I had an edge in the Force. What he did, what Wedge did, without being able to use the Force made them far more special than any Jedi. They flew with heart and brains and their entire being.

  Timmser hauled me to my feet. "Very sharp what you did out there, Jen. Shooting the torps. That showed them."

  A warning klaxon sounded and red lights started flashing in the hangar deck. I reached back and braced myself against the clutch as the Invidious accelerated to lightspeed. The ship's gravity generators canceled the physical effects of speeding up, but watching the stars whiz by through the egress port was enough to disorient me.

  Caet fastened on her hooded cloak and pulled the hood up, then removed her heavy goggles. "We did well. Bolt lost only one. Hawk lost three." "Who did we lose?"

  "Five and Seven." Timmser shrugged. "They decided to tan-gle with some slims, and the A-wings vaped them." I shook my head. "That was a waste."

  "Slims were running against the Backstab. Blook and Yander thought they would win points with Captain Nive." Timmser brushed a hand back and forth through her spiky hair, making it stand up and spraying me with some sweat. "You okay now, Cap?"

  I straightened up. "Better. Easy to forget how draining that can be."

  "Why did you tag pointers?"

  "They came after me, Caet. Timmser nailed the one. Thanks for the assist."

  "Just as soon keep you alive, Cap." The tall woman gave me an easy smile. "Course, the way you fly, not really a problem."

  Another klaxon blatted harshly, then a heavy male voice blared through the hangar via the intercom. "Attention. Admi-ral on deck."

  The click of boots on decking accompanied us as we rushed forward and lined up in front of the squadron assembly area. Across from us the Imperial squadrons similarly lined up. They all looked rather smart in their black uniforms, while we looked like a fairly ragged crew. Some of us had Survivor uniforms, full of golden stitchery with the grey and red, but most of us wore a motley mix of things we'd taken from planets we'd raided, or units we'd deserted from in the past. The squadrons looked the apex and nadir, with our only advantage being that more of us had survived the battle.

  The central turbolift shaft opened and two stormtroopers stepped forth in armor so bright that I almost asked Caet for her goggles. They paused, then split apart, each taking a step to the side, which allowed Admiral Tavira to emerge onto the deck. The stormtroopers, both the ones flanking her and the two who exited the turbolift to stand behind her, all dwarfed her physically; but something in the way she moved made her seem far from diminutive. She wore a grey admiral's uniform and held a quirt clutched at the small of her back. Even as far away as I was, I could feel the electricity in her amethyst gaze.

  She looked at her people, then over at us. She gestured casu-ally with her black-gloved right hand, pointing the quirt at us. The stormtroopers led the way, her casual gait in sharp contrast with their precise and measured steps. As she neared us and began to walk down the line, her hands came out from behind her back, her quirt playing against the palm of her left hand or tapping teasingly and gently against her own chin.

  I kept my face impassive as she walked past me, fighting against any reaction as she flicked a quick glance in my direc-tion. She surrendered a good ten centimeters to me in height and her void-black hair shimmered with silvery highlights. Her pale flesh had been drawn taut over fine bones, with no lines yet begun at the corners of her eyes or mouth. In form and age she almost seemed a child, but the cool confidence of her tread and the way she measured all of us with a momentary peek, betrayed kilobytes of data about her mental age.

  She stopped before Captain Gurtt and flicked the quirt against Tyresi's shoulder. "You were the one who relayed to us the plan of engagement, were you not?"

  "I was, Admiral." Tyresi kept her voice even, but I caught the hint of a tremble in it.

  Tavira studied her face for a moment, letting the silence lin-ger to the point where it became a bit uncomfortable. "You advised a withdrawal while leaving the Reps people to rescue." "I did, Admiral."

  Again the silence dragged, both Tavira and Tyresi remaining stock still. I could feel the pressure building. The strategy for which Tyresi was being blamed was mine and any punishment she got for it should have been mine. I drew in a breath and would have said something, but I caught the barest contraction of flesh around the corner of Tavira's mouth.

  "That was a winning strategy, Captain Gurtt." Tavira pointed almost carelessly toward her own pilots. "Colonel Lamner dis-agreed with it and went directly for the X-wings. You notice he is not here to defend his decision." "No, Admiral, he is not."

  The quirt again tapped Tyresi's shoulder. "Which means I need to replace him. I will have you in his place, Colonel Gurtt."

  Tyresi's dark eyes widened. "Me, moving to the Invidious?"

  `Tm certain Captain Nive will agree to the change."

  "Yes, Admiral." Tyresi frowned. "I would be amiss, Admiral, if I did not tell you that the strategy I relayed to you came from Captain Idanian. He suggested it, I thought it was sound and passed it up to you."

  "Yes," Tavira purred, "Captain Idanian, the one who killed the proton torpedoes aimed at my ship. I was thinking to have him as your replacement in Bolt Squadron."

  Reinart shook his head, and Tavira oriented on him like a hawk-bat on a granite slug. "You have something to offer, pi-lot?"

  "Begging your pardon, Admiral, but that is not how officers are selected among the Survivors." "Oh, and what is the process?"

  Remart smiled charmingly. "First, someone has to be voted into Bolt Squadron because we're an elite squadron."

  Tavira nodded. "He would be elected by his own people to fill this slot?"

  Remart aped her nod. "Yes, Admiral."

  With the quirt pressed thoughtfully against her lips, Tavira rotated and looked at my squadron. "All those in favor of Cap-tain Idanian joining Bolt Squadron, please raise a convenient appendage."

  Nine hands rose down along the line. Mine did not.

  Tavira frowned. "You oppose your election?"

  "I have responsibilities to my people."

  "You have responsibilities to me. I want you in Bolt Squad-ron."

  "As ordered, Admiral."

  She glanced at Remart. "Now you would tell me that he must be elected the leader of Bolt Squadron, yes?"

  "That is the way it is done, Admiral."

  Tavira's smile blossomed full of teeth. "And the position of commander of this squadron is one you covet for yourself, yes'?"

  Remart's whole body stiffened. "I would be your most faith-ful and fierce servant, Admiral."

  Tavira slapped the quirt not so gently against Remart's stom-ach. "And yet you might be, but I don't want you commanding the Bolts. The pressures of command might wrinkle that brow, and I would not like to see that happen to you. All those in Bolt Squadron in favor of Captain Idanian assuming command, please raise an appendage."

  Nine hands went up and, after a quick quirt lash, Remart's hand joined them.

  Tavira smiled graciously. "Though I despise democracy, it is nice to see this quaint custom result in unanimity. Congratula-tions, Captain Idanian. You h
ave a new command. You now can relay your plans directly to the Invidious."

  "It is a privilege I will be careful in exercising, Admiral."

  Her violet eyes narrowed. "Why do I have the feeling that I may just have made a mistake in having you elevated?" I kept my expression open. "I have no idea, Admiral."

  "See to it, Captain Idanian, that you give me no reason to think on it again."

  "As ordered, Admiral." I bowed my head toward her and did not lift it again until she and her entourage had clomped away with Tyresi to introduce her to her new command. I shot a glance at Reinart and saw him tremble with anger. I'd give her no reason to think she'd made a mistake. Remart, on the other hand, most certainly would. Because of that, I knew then that when our inevitable confrontation came, only one of us would walk away.

  Taking over Bolt Squadron for Tyresi Gurtt proved both more and less difficult than I would have thought. Jacob Nive approved of the choice, which cut the resentment of some of the Bolts. Most of them waited to see how well I could fly, and while the sensor data from the flight against Tycho and shooting the torpedoes down certainly con-vinced most, a few holdouts waited until we had a chance to practice against each other.