by James Luceno
Kirtan closed his eyes and summoned up all the information he had about troop strengths and locations in the sphere of space that surrounded Coruscant. Corellia and Kuat both were located in the most thickly populated portion of the galaxy and were heavily defended because of their shipyards. Their sectors had limited Rebel activity, largely because of the Imperial presence. The Rebels, while arrogant enough to think they could destroy the Empire, were not stupid. Hitting the Empire where it was strong was not a good way to win the war.
Sectors like Rachuk were weak links in the perimeter, but were not the keys to winning the galactic civil war. Industrialized warfare called for the destruction of a force’s ability to wage war. Conquering primitive worlds that produced very little of what contributed to the war effort was not a way to do that. The ease of delivering forces to strike at Rachuk from other Imperial garrisons meant it would be difficult to hold, therefore he assumed the Rebels would not try to hold it.
By leaving it in our hands we have to devote forces to holding it, further diluting our strength.
The ideal choice for a Rebel strike would be in a sector of space where travel was limited because of black holes, clouds of ionized gases, and other gravitic anomalies that made hyperspace travel unpredictable and dangerous. It would also be outside the most solidly inhabited areas of the galaxy to minimize the amount of support the Empire could devote to it, but it wouldn’t be so far outside that same area that the Alliance, which also drew a lot of support from the Empire’s populous worlds, could not supply and support it.
From his encyclopedic memory Kirtan dredged up the names of a dozen candidate sectors, and he knew there had to be four times that number that he did not know about. He purposely refrained from allowing himself to select a target. Assuming the veracity of a working hypothesis is the sort of mistake that caused Gil Bastra’s death. I cannot afford another such mistake.
The pilot flipped a switch on the shuttle’s command console and the wings retracted. The Lambda-class shuttle settled down on the dorsal hull of the cruiser. Retraction clamps clicked into place. A tremor shook the shuttle as the docking tunnel bumped the ship from below and formed an airtight seal around the shuttle’s exit ramp.
Kirtan freed himself from his restraining straps. “Lieutenant, download all the feeds and probe data onto separate datacards, then wipe this ship’s memory.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kirtan left the cockpit and descended the ramp into the Expeditious. Captain Rojahn greeted him with a curious light in his eyes. “Welcome back aboard, Agent Loor. Your timing was rather precise. We were not waiting long.”
“I don’t imagine the Ravager’s crew has the same perspective on our timing you do.”
The shorter man shook his head, then adjusted his grey cap. “Perhaps not. We might ask them about that if we are allowed to recover escape pods.”
“ ‘Allowed’ to recover them?”
“Most are going toward Vladet, but some are heading out into space. They probably assume the Rebels will take the world.” Rojahn shrugged his shoulders. “I would recover them, but I have strict orders to head out to the Pyria system the moment I have you aboard.”
The Pyria system was one of the candidate systems Kirtan had pinpointed. Borleias was the name of the inhabited world in that system. The Empire maintained a small base there overseen by General Evir Derricote. It was unremarkable, except that it was on his list of target systems for the Rebels.
Kirtan raised an eyebrow. “The orders came from Imperial Center, from Director Isard?”
Rojahn nodded. “There are sealed orders awaiting you in your cabin.”
Kirtan thought for a second, then nodded. “Take us out of this system. If we pick up some escape pods before we jump, I have no problem with that. You will have to plot an evasive course to our destination. If the pods can concentrate themselves in our exit vector, they are all yours.”
The Navy captain smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“No thanks are needed, Captain. We are all in this together.” Kirtan refrained from smiling despite the feeling of power growing in his chest. I trade time for loyalty—something I did not know to do on Corellia. With every lesson I learn I become more deadly to the Rebellion.
Finally he did smile. And the more deadly I am to the Rebellion, the more useful I become within the Empire. That usefulness translates into power, and in the Empire, power is the very stuff of life.
23
Corran pushed himself back on his bunk, leaning against the bulkhead and drawing his knees up. “What brings you guys here?”
Rhysati, sitting down at his feet, frowned. “We just heard you were confined to quarters and could be facing a court-martial. How are you doing?”
The Corellian shrugged. “I’m fine.”
Erisi Dlarit brushed black bangs away from her face as she sat on Ooryl’s bed. “Aren’t you angry? To be treated like this, after what you did.”
He hesitated before answering her. Upon their return to the Reprieve Wedge had pulled him aside and said General Salm intended to bring him up on charges of insubordination, disobeying direct orders, and pirating a squadron of bombers. Wedge had said he thought he could get the charges quashed in light of how things went at Vladet, but until then he wanted Corran to consider himself confined to quarters. In disciplining him in private, he gave Corran the chance to keep the matter private until it was adjudicated.
“I guess I’m not angry.” Corran was surprised to hear himself saying that, but he didn’t feel the throat-constricting rage that had characterized how he felt after his father’s murderer was turned loose without so much as an arraignment. “General Salm has no choice but to prefer charges. What I did was pretty stupid and very risky—and I put one of his squadrons in jeopardy.”
The Twi’lek let one of his brain tails drape itself over Rhysati’s shoulder and lightly stroke her throat. “If the General didn’t report Corran’s actions, military discipline would break down. Any pilot with a crack-brained scheme—not to characterize what you did as crack-brained, mind you—could disobey orders and, most likely, get himself killed.”
Erisi leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. Corran noticed that her flight suit was unzipped far enough to give him a fair view of her cleavage. “But Corran didn’t get himself killed …”
Corran smiled. “But it was a near thing. One of the pig-drivers shot his torps late. They lost my signal, then picked it up again when I was heading away from the Ravager. When I noticed they were coming after me I realized that Whistler hadn’t killed the jiggle program he had running to randomize my flight as I headed into the Lancer’s light. I wanted to break hard, but he had me locked in on a twenty-degree cone, so all I could do was fly straight.”
“Then how did you …?” Even a puzzled frown couldn’t detract too much from Erisi’s beauty.
“I told Whistler to cut it out. I was thinking the jiggle code when I said it. Whistler, being a bit more direct in his problem solving, just cut the homing beacon the torps were using to track me. They lost their target, couldn’t reacquire it, and exploded. The second or so it took them to do all that took me outside their blast radius.”
Rhysati smiled and gently patted Nawara’s brain tail. “Well, we’re happy your R2 unit takes such good care of you. And I, for one, want to thank you for doing what you did out there. That Lancer would have killed a lot of us if we had tried to take it out the normal way.”
The Twi’lek nodded. “The traditional Rogue Squadron way—leaving bits and pieces of X-wings scattered around.”
The blue-eyed woman from Thyferra frowned at Nawara. “We have a new tradition now, and Corran’s action is a glorious part of it. We’ve had three missions and we’ve lost none of our pilots—and this when Commander Antilles told us our first five missions would kill a bunch of us off.”
“Erisi, we have lost a pilot.” Corran scratched at his chest where he’d been shot. “We almost lost three more on Talasea. Don’t
start thinking we’re invulnerable. The missions we’ve had so far have been relatively simple.”
“I know that, Corran. I don’t think of us as leading charmed lives.” Her eyes tightened slightly, but Corran sensed no ire in the changed expression. “In reading about the unit’s history, it has always flown well on simple missions. Even so, our kill rates and repair rates are better than ever before. I don’t doubt we’ll have missions that will push us to the limit, but if statistics have any truth in them, we’ve not been burning up all our luck on our missions.”
“Speak for yourself.” Corran winked at her. “At the Bank of Luck, I’ve hit my credit limit.”
Nawara jerked a thumb at the cabin’s closed doorway. “Well, there’s a wing of bomber jocks willing to make payments on your account. Right now they’re settling for buying the Rogues a couple of rounds down in the recreation center.”
“They’re toasting Bror for picking up two eyeballs over Grand Isle.” Rhysati rolled her eyes. “They’d rather be buying drinks for you.”
“He’s the hot pilot from the run. Two is more than I got.”
Erisi frowned at him. “But you got the frigate.”
Corran shook his head. “No I didn’t.”
“What?”
The Twi’lek explained. “If Corran had so much as shot one laser burst at the frigate, then he would have gotten a piece of the kill, but fractions below a half are not recognized as being worthy of being recorded. Warden Squadron got the frigate—Corran is able to verify it, but he gets nothing for it.”
“That’s not fair.” Erisi looked from Nawara to Corran and back again. “He should get credit for the kill.”
“Erisi,” Rhysati began, “if you’re shooting at some squint and he jukes and your shots illuminate an eyeball, would you want the squint to get credit for your kill?”
“I see your point, but I do not think it is fair.”
“I’ll survive it.” Corran shrugged. “What’s not fair is the three of you spending time here with me when you should be downstairs having fun and billing it to Defender Wing. Go on, have a good time.”
Rhysati stood and slipped an arm around Nawara’s waist. “We’ll be going, then. We’ll let the others know you’re doing fine.”
“Thanks.”
Rhysati looked at Erisi. “Coming?”
“In a minute.”
“All right.”
The two of them left and the hatch slid shut, then Erisi crossed the narrow room and took Rhysati’s place at the foot of the bed. All of a sudden it seemed to Corran that the cabin, which was none too big to begin with, had become much more close and tiny. He would have used the word “intimate” to describe it, but the way Erisi laid a hand on his knee gave him the impression she had that word in mind as well, and for some reason that made him feel a bit uncomfortable.
“Corran, I just wanted to let you know that I felt … feel I owe you a debt it will be very hard to repay. When the report of a Lancer being in our exit vector came through I knew …” Erisi hesitated and pressed her free hand lightly against her throat. “I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I’m not the best pilot in this unit and I was certain I would die fighting against the frigate. And then you did what you did and I felt as if a great crushing weight had been lifted from me.”
She shook her head, bringing dark bangs down to half hide her blue eyes. “I know this is sudden and … well, I just feel very close to you now.” Leaning forward, she rested both her hands on his kneecaps and laid her chin on top of them. “Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, probably better than you think.”
She blinked her eyes, then smiled. “You feel it, too?”
“I’ve felt it.” Corran sighed. “A huge hunk of what you’re feeling comes from the downside of the emotional spike you hit during the run. I know what that’s like. In CorSec I was partnered with a woman, Iella Wessiri. She was pretty—not as pretty as you are, but no Gamorrean either. We raided a glitterstim dealer’s warehouse and a rather nasty lightfight erupted. One guy had me centered in his sights when she took him out. I’d thought I was dead and she saved me.
“In the immediate aftermath of that I thought I was in love with her—or in lust, at least. Before then we’d just been friends, like you and I are. Maybe there were some core sparks of something but nothing we’d noticed or acted on. And that night, well, we both felt it.”
“What happened?”
Corran scowled. “The Imperial liaison officer took the two of us into custody for debriefing. Two days later we saw each other again. The heat of the moment had passed and we laughed about it, but never did anything. That fear, and having been so closely brushed by death, made us want something positive to counteract it.”
“Is that bad?”
“No, it’s not bad, Erisi.” Corran shifted around so he sat beside her and held both of her hands in his. “It’s also not genuine. And, I must admit, I’m not sure about the wisdom of getting involved with someone inside the unit.”
“Rhysati and Nawara don’t seem to have trouble with it.”
“I know, and I think they’re good for each other.”
Erisi raised his right hand to her mouth and kissed his palm. “I think you may be right, Corran, but I need to ask you something. You said you and your partner had sparks at some basic level, and that led to your attraction to her. Do we have those sparks?”
“Perhaps, I don’t know.” Feeling uncomfortably warm, Corran tugged at the collar of his flight suit. “For the past several years, both before and since leaving CorSec, my emotional life has been a bit unstable.”
“Is there someone else? Do you still care for your partner?”
“No, there’s no one else, not Iella, not anyone.”
Erisi pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded. “I accept what you’re saying.” She stood and stretched languorously. “Of course, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
Corran let out a deep breath, then rose from his bunk. “I wish I didn’t. Right now, though, I’m exhausted enough that I’d be no good to either one of us.”
She laughed and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Corran, I really do appreciate your concerns over my feelings.” Erisi backed away from him toward the opening hatchway. “Have sweet dreams.”
She turned in the open hatchway and came face-to-face with Mirax Terrik. The smuggler’s daughter smiled politely. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize I was intruding.”
“Not at all, Miss Terrik.” All the warmth drained from Erisi’s voice. “I was just leaving so Lieutenant Horn could get some rest. He’s confined to quarters and I don’t believe that order allows civilian visitors.”
Mirax tapped the datapad riding in a sheath on her left forearm. “I have permission to visit from his commanding officer. We can check with Emtrey if you wish.”
Erisi looked back at Corran and he would have preferred being under the Ravager’s guns again to her stare. “It’s okay, Erisi. I’m sure Miss Terrik won’t be staying long. Thanks for the talk.”
“You’re most welcome, Lieutenant.” Erisi turned and nodded curtly to Mirax. “Miss Terrik.”
“Later.” Mirax watched Erisi walk away, then added under her breath, “Much later.” Turning back around she caught Corran staring after Erisi. “Flyboys—all you think about is sex.”
“What?”
She shoved the plastic case she was carrying into his stomach none too gently, then walked past him into the cabin. “The smallest smuggling hold on the Skate is bigger than this.”
“The Reprieve wasn’t built for pleasure cruising or smuggling. I’m looking forward to grounding at a new base.” Corran stepped back out of the hatchway and let it close. Hefting the box he asked, “What’s this?”
Mirax flopped down on Ooryl’s bed. “Wedge said you might be down—but then he didn’t realize the bacta queen would be here. I figured you might like some stuff from home so I got this little package together.” She shrugged. “I intended it as
something of a peace offering, I guess.”
Corran sat on the edge of his bed and undid the case’s two latches. He opened the box and smiled. In it he saw a half-dozen datacard issues of magazines from Corellia, as well as two tins of spicy, smoked nerf and a bottle of Whyren’s Reserve whiskey.
“Wow. This is more stuff from Corellia than I’ve seen in the past two years.”
Mirax rolled up on her right side and rested her head on her right hand. “Below the whiskey is a ryshcate. I had to substitute some ingredients but I think it turned out pretty good.”
Corran pulled the whiskey bottle out of the case and set it down beside him. Beneath it, wrapped in clear plastic, sat the dark brown sweetcake that was traditionally reserved for birthdays, anniversaries, or other celebrations of momentous occasions. “Last time I had ryshcate was after my father died, after the funeral. Where’d you find the vweliu nuts to put into it?”
“Around.”
“Around?”
“Yeah, around. There’s a thriving black market in Corellian goods out there. A lot of us are out here and with the Diktat in place the Imps still control our space. This means we have a big demand with a restricted supply, so it pays to move the merchandise.” She scowled at the hatch. “That blasted protocol droid of yours has—er, had—two cases of Corellian whiskey and has been doling it out to me in one and two bottle lots. I could have gotten an old Customs ship to replace the one that got left in that lake in the Hensara system for the whole case, but he’s holding back on me. Getting two bottles out of him cost me a hyperdrive horizontal booster and a case of l’lahsh mixes that came from Alderaan before it died.”
Corran raised an eyebrow. “Emtrey had the whiskey?”
“I got two bottles from him. One’s beside you and one’s in the ryshcate.” She sat up and their knees almost touched. “You going to arrest the droid for smuggling?”
