by James Luceno
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I sincerely doubt that, General. I have read your file. You studied at the Imperial Naval Academy, but concentrated on biological and botanical subjects. While you are fully qualified to oversee a military installation such as this, you are uniquely suited to making the Biotics site operational again.” Kirtan smiled. “And profitable?”
Derricote’s face became ashen, but his smile did not fully erode. “This has not been unanticipated, Agent Loor. I do have resources.”
Kirtan raised himself to his full height, then looked back down at Derricote. “This does not surprise me, General. The Alderaan Biotics hydroponic facility was barely more than a tax loss for the parent corporation before the tax laws changed. It was abandoned to the care of maintenance droids and forgotten. Then Alderaan was disciplined and the market for goods from Alderaan blossomed. My conservative estimate, based on data about twelve months old, is that if you’ve been operational for two years you should have cleared two million credits.”
“We have been at our fullest production capacity for only fifteen months, but our overhead is low, so we have actually made 2.75 million credits—though much of this is tied up in inventory maintained off-world.”
“Your overhead is low because the Empire is subsidizing your operation.”
The General steepled his fingers. “Think of it as our operation.”
“I could think of it as my operation, General.” Kirtan folded his arms across his chest. “I do not think I could hold it for long, however. In going back over your security system I noticed evidence of what could have been Alliance tampering with holonet messages.”
Derricote’s eyes grew hard and he sat up straighter at his desk. “Bothans. They make runs at all holonet communications. I feed them data and it keeps them happy.”
The edge in the man’s voice surprised Kirtan, as did the physical transformation. Just by sitting up and raising his chin, Derricote had shifted from being a noodle-spined sycophantic failure to the sort of man who could engineer the deception that made his covert agricultural enterprise possible. He showed me what I wanted to see so I would underestimate him.
Derricote touched the screen on his datapad. “Frequency of hits and length of contact is up. Should I correlate that to your visit, Agent Loor, or shall I just assume the Alliance and Empire taking an interest in my little home is a coincidence?”
Kirtan’s eyes narrowed. “The Pyria system is one of a number that fits a profile for being a conduit into the Core for the Alliance.”
“It fits because they don’t know about my defenses.”
“Two more squadrons of TIE fighters will mean little to them.”
“Ah, so there are some things you don’t know about Borleias. Imagine that.” Derricote smiled. “I tell you what, son: You leave the defenses here to me. You’re an Intelligence officer, not a military genius.”
Kirtan pointed to the General’s private datapad. “I saw nothing in there to indicate you’re a military genius, sir.”
Derricote tapped the side of his head with a thick finger. “That’s because I’m smart enough to know that the only data that is safe is the data stored up here. I’ve anticipated a move against Borleias ever since I found the Biotics station in working order, and I’ve planned accordingly.”
The Intelligence officer heard the confidence in the man’s voice and isolated another component in the tone he used. Eagerness. “You’re looking forward to this.”
“I may have my business on the side here, Agent Loor, but I am a loyal son of the Empire.” The large man shrugged. “Besides, I was at Derra IV. I learned to enjoy killing Rebels there, and have formed my plans here to make Borleias just as deadly to the Alliance.”
“A convoy died at Derra IV, General. A laudable event, but it was not a military force.” Kirtan shook his head. “You’ll get their best here, including Rogue Squadron, I do not doubt.”
“Their best or their worst, it does not matter.” General Derricote smiled easily. “They’re expecting to snuff a candle here at Borleias, but when they come, they’ll get burned by a nova.”
26
Corran’s X-wing came out of hyperspace in the shadow of the Emancipator. The Imperial Star Destroyer’s daggerlike profile stabbed deeply into the image of the world he knew only as Blackmoon. Beyond the Emancipator he saw the Eridain and two modified bulk cruisers. The Mon Valle was home to Salm’s Defender Wing while the Corulag was the launching platform for the eight assault shuttles that would ferry down the Rebel ground troops.
The Emancipator remained in position to safeguard the fleet’s exit vector from the system. While none of the briefings had supplied Corran the name of the system and world, he did know jumping out would be difficult. General Kre’fey, in giving them a final briefing, had emphasized the need for security concerning the operation and had promised that while they did not know the name of the world at which they were going to fight, future generations would, and would laud them for having been there.
At the time Corran had thought Kre’fey had enough confidence to take the world by himself, but that failed to banish the bad feelings he had about the mission. The briefings had all been longer on morale building than they had on facts. While the simulator runs had let everyone get comfortable with their roles in the assault, something just felt wrong as far as Corran was concerned.
Keep your eyes open and fly your best—that’s all you can do right now. Whistler brought up Corran’s tactical screen. “Rogue Leader, I have no enemy ships on scan, but the base does have a shield up.”
“Thanks, Nine. Rogues, form up to escort Defender Wing.” Wedge’s voice came cleanly through the speakers in Corran’s helmet. “Fly high side on the Emancipator.”
Corran pulled back on his stick and kicked the X-wing over in a lazy roll that brought him up above the Star Destroyer. All at once the capital ship started pulsing out salvo after salvo of turbolaser and ion cannon shots. Red bolts would merge into sheets of energy burning down through the atmosphere to slam into the Imperial base’s shielding. The bloody-red color would soak down into the shield, obscuring the installation beneath it.
As it faded to pink, a cerulean blanket of ion cannon energy would drop over it. The blue fire fragmented and sizzled over the energy dome with hundreds of lightninglike tendrils. Some of them bled off the dome and buildings outside its sanctuary exploded and melted. The surrounding jungle began to burn, ringing the base with fire. Makes for a perfect target, though the fire will make flying tough down there.
“Whistler, get me a general track on air currents groundside. Also monitor the size of the shield. When it shrinks, it’s coming down.”
Wave after wave of energy poured down through the rising column of smoke. The energy slammed into the shields with a thunder crack that sent vibrations deep enough to shake the command bunker where Kirtan stood. The relentless pounding had made him flinch at first and fear for his life, but now the sounds merged into one unending rumble. The few working monitors in the command center showed satellite views of the attacking fleet and the fiery circle on the planet’s surface.
Derricote turned toward Kirtan. “Hard to believe anyone could survive down there, isn’t it?”
The Intelligence officer nodded. “It does tax credulity, General.”
“And the Rebels are so ready to be credulous.” The military man looked over at one of the technicians at the shield controls. “Status, Mr. Harm.”
“Still at one hundred percent, sir.”
“Good. Begin a step-back in random percentages of power—randomize from seven. When you hit seventy-five percent, cut to fifty. When their salvos slacken, go down to twenty, then five, then zero.”
Kirtan felt fear trickle through his guts. “You are confident they won’t level this place? They took Vladet down to the foundations.”
“Which is why we are below the foundations, Agent Loor.”
Kirtan cringed as a partic
ularly powerful blast shook the ground. “I trust you know what you are doing.”
“As you have no choice, I appreciate your confidence.” Derricote rubbed his hands together. “The Rebels want this place to use for future operations, that’s the only reason they’re attacking. If they want it, they’re going to pay my price to get it.”
Whistler’s squawk made Corran focus on the tactical screen. The shields over the base had begun to contract. As they began to come down, the Emancipator slackened off with turbolaser fire and concentrated on using the ion cannons. While they did slightly less damage than the lasers, if the shields came down unexpectedly quickly, an ion salvo wouldn’t destroy what General Kre’fey intended to capture.
Corran brought his X-wing in beside Warden Squadron and killed his thrust. “Three Flight on station.”
“I copy, Nine. Stand by.” Tycho’s voice clipped off abruptly as the flight controller switched channels.
Corran flipped his comm unit over to the tactical frequency he shared with his flight. They still had not gotten a pilot to replace Lujayne so Three Flight remained one pilot light. That was just one element of the operation that Corran didn’t like. He knew pilots were not easy to come by, but he knew Tycho could have easily flown Lujayne’s X-wing, and he thought the man would be a lot more valuable in a fighter than inside the Eridain directing traffic.
“Ten, Twelve, we hold here.” Corran glanced at his tactical screen. “Their shields are failing fast. We’ll be going in next.”
Whistler’s triumphant bleat heralded the collapse of Blackmoon’s shields. Corran started to smile, but something nagged at the back of his brain. He couldn’t identify it, but it nibbled away at his smile and started bile burning in the back of his throat. He keyed his comm. “Control, Nine still shows the enemy to be blind.”
“Got it, Nine. Rogues, stand by.” An uncharacteristic hesitancy echoed through Tycho’s words. “Rogues, this is direct from General Kre’fey. You will escort the assault shuttles down to the planet.”
“Say again, Control?” The disbelief in Wedge’s voice resonated through Corran. “Defender Wing is ready for its sweep.”
“Rogue Leader, Kre’fey sees that as an unnecessary delay. The Y-wings have been ordered home. You are to escort his shuttles in. Resistance on the planet is ended.”
“Control, what about the ion cannons?”
“If they could have shot, they would have done so by now.” General Kre’fey’s voice growled through the comm channels. “Resistance is ended. It is time to claim our prize.”
Static punctuated the silence that followed Kre’fey’s declaration, then Wedge came back on the frequency. “Rogue Leader to Rogue Squadron, form up to screen the escorts.”
Corran’s stomach flip-flopped. “I don’t like this.”
“Nine, this channel is for military use, not opinions. Let’s save commentary for the debriefing.” Wedge’s voice lost some of its edge as he continued to speak. “And let’s fly well enough that there is a debriefing.”
“That’s my intention, Rogue Leader.” Corran eased his throttle forward and hit a switch. “S-foils in attack position.”
The Emancipator rose away from the planet, taking up a position so it could screen the force from any interloping Imperials. Corran felt even more naked as it withdrew. While the Star Destroyer was not built to deal with starfighters, its overwhelming firepower could interdict TIEs and perhaps even destroy their launching facilities on the ground.
Of course, Kre’fey would forbid them from doing that, since he wants the real estate intact. Corran’s sense of unease grew as he closed with the boxy assault shuttles dropping away from the Corulag. The eight shuttles each carried forty commandos and would make three round-trips between planet and the Corulag to bring the whole force down. Though they were slow, the shuttles were sufficiently armed to hold TIEs at bay long enough so the Rogues could pick them off.
His tactical screen still showed nothing in terms of fighter opposition. The base’s shields were down. The operation seemed to be going better than expected and that realization started a cold chill working up Corran’s spine. He knew it was silly for him to feel fear when everything seemed normal, but part of him couldn’t accept the good fortune.
His left hand pressed unconsciously to the medallion he wore. Things were going this perfectly when my father died. We anticipated trouble, found none, and I relaxed. He died because I relaxed—I watched it happen and I did nothing. I didn’t see it coming, but it did, just like it will here. What is wrong here?
The answer to the question came to him a nanosecond before the first azure ion bolt lanced up from the ground and hit the first assault shuttle. The blue energy snared the Modaran and enmeshed it in a web of electrical discharges. Flashes of silvery light marked explosions in the weapons system and engines. With smoke pouring from a dozen hatches, the shuttle began a slow rolling tumble through the atmosphere and the ground below.
It never hit the planet. A full kilometer above the ground it crashed into a renewed energy shield. The shuttle exploded. Bits of debris struck sparks from the shield as they skipped across its surface.
Whistler wailed out a warning. The tactical screen showed multiple fighter contacts heading up out of launch tunnels around the shield dome perimeter. It also reported that while the shield had grown no larger in diameter, its power level was two hundred percent higher than before, easily half again more powerful than possible, given the power generation estimates in the briefings. All that and ion cannons, too.
“Control,” Wedge ordered, “pull the transports out, now!”
“Rogue Leader, you have multiple fighters. Two squadrons, eyeballs and squints.”
“Got them, Control. Rogue Squadron, keep the Imps off the shuttles.”
Corran shook his head. “Seven shuttles, two dozen Imps, and eleven X-wings. Piece of ryshcate.”
Whistler’s mournful keen matched Corran’s feelings more than his words. He keyed his comm. “Three Flight, hang together. Squints are coming our way.”
“Ooryl has them, Nine.”
Andoorni likewise reported in. “Twelve has acquired targets.”
Corran punched up a graph and had it overlaid on the track of the incoming Interceptors. Coming at us rather obliquely. Their funeral. “Three Flight, switch to proton torpedoes and lock a target in. If they want to play …”
A trio of ion blasts shot up from the planet’s surface. One sliced in at Three Flight, cutting through the vector the squints should have been using to engage the X-wings. The second hit the Emancipator and played out over it like a thunderstorm on a prairie. The third lanced up at one of the shuttles, but never reached its target. Corran saw the blast diffuse ever so slightly, as if it had hit a shield, but its dissipating ball left no debris behind.
“Two, report.”
Dead air answered Wedge’s call.
“Rogue Leader, we have no contact with Rogue Two.”
Damn, Peshk caught that one. He’s gone.
“Full evasive, Rogues. Control, get the shuttles dancing.”
“Stay alert, Three Flight.” Corran’s aiming reticle went red and a target-lock tone filled his ears. He tightened on the trigger and launched a torpedo at an approaching Interceptor. Switching to lasers, he linked all four, then picked another target. As his torpedo hit the first, he flashed into range on the second and let it have a full burst of laser fire.
The glare of lasers against his shields hid the results of his shooting, but Whistler reported one Interceptor destroyed and another damaged. In seconds he shot past the line of Interceptors, then hauled back on his stick, rolled, and dove back in at them. The squints, reduced from eight to six, split up into flight elements and moved to engage single X-wings. As two started to circle around toward him, Corran inverted, dove, and came back up and around to go head-to-head with them.
He boosted power to his forward shields, then pulled a snap-roll that stood the X-wing on its port S-foil. That narr
owed his profile and allowed the first volley of laser fire from the squints to pass on either side of himself. At the last second he selected a proton torpedo and let it fly at point-blank range. Even though it never got a solid target lock, it nailed the lead TIE dead on and tore it apart.
Corran nudged the stick and shot through the center of the fiery explosion. Clear on the other side he lost the Interceptor’s wingman, but a more immediate problem captured his attention. “Twelve, break to port, now!”
Andoorni’s X-wing juked left, but the squint riding her exhaust stayed with her.
“Break harder, Twelve. Climb.”
“Not do. Lateral stabilizer gone.”
“Weave, Twelve.”
The Rodian started her X-wing in the corkscrew maneuver and the Interceptor’s first shots went wide of their mark. Then the aft end of the ship came back around and the squint’s fire ripped up through the engines. Fire blossomed on the right side of the ship, shredding the S-foils. A second later the whole fighter shook and its skin split from the inside out. Argent flames burst free, converting the ship into a miniature sun, then the roiling ball of gas collapsed into its own black hole.
Bloodlessly Corran vaped Andoorni’s killer. Part of him wanted to cheer at having exacted revenge for her, but he overrode those emotions. He could no more allow himself to luxuriate in the death of an Imp than he could afford to mourn his comrade. There would be time for that later—if there is a later. Anything that distracted him from the job at hand would kill him, so he pushed it all away and concentrated on the battle around him.
