Tycho cleared his throat. “These gifts are but insufficient tokens of the love for you all that still burns within me.” He hesitated for a second, then deviated from the formula he was supposed to speak to do his Return correctly. “This fighter is another. It bears the colors of the Alderaanian Guard and transmits their code. It is my pledge to you—not of vengeance but of vigilance. I hope you rest well knowing you will rest alone, because it is my life’s work to see to it that no one else suffers as you have. I won’t rest until this quest is complete.”
He hit another button, closing the cargo compartment. The capsule continued drifting away, and he was tempted for a moment to blast it to bits with his lasers. He had no doubt that amid the debris, ships waited and searched for things to recover. The individuals who had located and brought in the Another Chance had been on a salvage mission of sorts, and countless were the stories of treasures rescued from the ruin of Alderaan.
Many of those treasures were shown to be forgeries, created and planted by confidence tricksters to prey on the Alderaanian community. Even nastier than they were the people claimed to have been from Alderaan—all rescued by miracle or coincidence—and who subsequently sought to insinuate themselves with families who had survived but had lost relatives. Because of the nature of the Imperial economy, a considerable portion of the wealth of Alderaan had survived the planet’s destruction, making the survivors quite prosperous and, therefore, targets of opportunity for criminals.
He watched the capsule until it vanished into the swirl of debris. “Rest easy. I miss you all.” He punched up the power on his IFF beacon and pulsed its transmission out in one grand confirmation of his vow, then shut it down, turned the X-wing around, and started the long trek back to Yag’Dhul and the war against Ysanne Isard.
Chapter Twelve
Fliry Vorru fought the sense of nakedness that his abbreviated clothing inspired in him and braced himself for Ysanne Isard’s tirade. “Yes, the diversion of the convoy has been confirmed by a number of sources. It is not the utter disaster you have made it out to be since Antilles is not holding on to our tankers, but is returning them.”
“Returning them so we can refill them and he can take them again.” Her diaphanous red gown swirled around her like a tornado. “You should have anticipated this sort of strike and taken steps to prevent it.”
Vorru waved her suggestion away. “I did anticipate it and chose to ignore it. The amount of bacta taken was insignificant in comparison to both our supply and the demand for it. In fact, the loss of that bacta has provided me an excuse for hiking prices yet again, increasing our profits. I calculate our losses at between seventeen and thirty billion credits—an amount I will recoup by the end of the month.”
“Bah! We lost more than just money when Antilles hit our convoy. We lost prestige and respect.” She pointed a hand toward the sky. “We have people out there laughing at us because a dozen aging snubfighters were able to pirate bacta from us.”
Vorru let his voice sink into a bass growl as he began to pace through her roomy office. “What we lost was insignificant and provides us an opportunity to cut Antilles off from his base of support. He stole the bacta and made a present of it to many of the worlds it was meant for anyway.”
“My point exactly. He has earned their goodwill.”
“But that will fade to bitterness when he cannot repeat his gesture.” Vorru’s splayed out fingers closed into a fist. “First, we will cut allotments to worlds to cover our losses. Second, we will delay shipments to worlds that accepted bacta from Antilles; and third, we will demand payment from those worlds as if the delivery had been made by Antilles on our behalf. Delinquent accounts will receive no more service from us.”
Molten fury flowed through Isard’s left eye. “You’re giving me bookkeeping. I want blood.”
Of course you do. Vorru’s features sharpened. While Isard had been on Imperial Center—even hidden away after the Rebel conquest—her connection to that center of power had anchored her. She had been patient and prepared to be subtle. Here, on Thyferra, where the omnipresence of plant life and the languid lifestyle of the human masters of the planet made it the antithesis of Imperial Center, Isard seemed prepared to indulge her more primal urges.
“Please, Madam Director, reflect for a moment on how our current position mirrors that of the Empire prior to the death of our beloved Emperor. The Rebel attacks are tiny and really insignificant in every way, except as strikes against our prestige and image. You yourself have often said that destroying the Rebellion must come before the rebuilding of the Empire, and in this you have correctly focused on the core of the problem. This problem we face still because Antilles opposes us and must be destroyed.”
Vorru opened his hands and spread them. “Our problems in dealing with him are significant at this point. We do not know where he is, so mounting a strike against him is impossible.”
Isard folded her arms over her chest. “We will begin operations to locate him.”
“Of course. I have already begun to spread word through the various smuggling networks and criminal organizations offering a substantial reward for reports on his operations. They will bear fruit soon, I am certain.” Vorru allowed himself a smile. “Until then, by manipulating the price and supply of bacta to punish those who deal with him, we can vilify him and cut him off from his bases of support. To wage his little war against us, he needs supplies and allies. If Antilles were not who he is, we would consider him of no more importance than a pirate.”
Isard raised a clenched fist. “I would still take steps to crush him. I will have my ships fly cover missions for our convoys.”
Vorru hissed as if he’d been stung. “Be careful, Madam Director.”
“You caution me? Don’t overstep your bounds, Vorru, or you will be dealt with.”
“I recall the fate of Kirtan Loor, Madam Director, and I have no desire to be trapped in the belly of the Lusankya.” Vorru raised his open hands. “I merely wish to point out that if we accept full responsibility for the protection of our convoys, then Antilles will be our problem alone. This means our resources will be spread too far and will be too diluted to deal with him and his people.”
Isard’s chin came up. “You have an alternate proposal?”
“Certainly. We require the customers to protect our deliveries to their worlds, otherwise we deem their worlds too dangerous for shipments. We bring our convoys to certain destinations and demand our customers meet us and complete their journeys by themselves. If Antilles and his people hit them after the tankers leave our protection, they will anger a neutral party to their dispute. The Rogues will fight people other than our pilots, saving us personnel and equipment, both of which we no longer have in an unlimited supply.”
Isard’s right eyebrow arched. “This would also save us on shipping costs, increasing our profits yet again.”
“True. It also allows us to prepare an ambush for the Rogues at a time and place of our choosing. Mind you, this will be later as opposed to sooner because we need time to let Antilles’s actions utterly destroy his reputation. We want him to be cut off, with nowhere to hide, when we move to eliminate him.”
Isard pursed her lips as she considered what he said, giving him more of a visual indicator of her mood than he had ever seen before. “The steps you are taking have merit, though the delay they necessitate annoys me. Finding myself impatient is also annoying. Antilles has managed to survive and even prosper during the time I should have dealt with him. Horn escaped from the Lusankya. Both of them, and their companions, have chosen to oppose me directly and openly, which has robbed me of the detachment I had when dealing with the Rebel opposition to the Emperor.”
Vorru inclined his head slightly, impressed by her self-analysis. She is loath to entertain fantasies about herself or her situation, no matter how inviting they might, in fact, seem. She has not lost her mind yet. Whether or not she will is another thing.
Isard stared off over Vorru’s he
ad. “The flaw Rogue Squadron has, a flaw the Rebellion has, is the fact that they have been able to overcome all the challenges thrown at them. Not since the days of Derra IV and Hoth have they known defeat. They are accustomed to winning, and this self-pride can be used against them.” She nodded once, then focused on him. “Carry on, Vorru, continue your scheming. I will let them become accustomed to dealing with you and your methods, so when I strike, the surprise alone will be enough to kill them.”
Wedge stood up behind his desk as Booster Terrik’s bulky form filled the doorway to the station manager’s office. “I appreciate your coming here so quickly, Booster. I know you wanted to spend some time with Mirax before she heads out.”
The older man shrugged. “She’s helping prep this Horn for his part in the mission. There’s only so much of him I can take.” Booster plopped himself down in a steel-frame canvas chair. “I think she took up with him to annoy me.”
Wedge laughed and sat back down. “I’m sure it does seem like that, but I think there’s a lot more there.”
“CorSec has always wanted to steal our women.”
Wedge arched an eyebrow in Booster’s direction. “You can impart whatever motives you want to Corran, but you know your daughter better than that, my friend.”
Booster frowned. “He’s using those Jedi sorceries to addle her mind.”
“The only person confused about his Jedi heritage is Corran.” Wedge shook his head. “Luke Skywalker has been transmitting material about the Jedi to him to keep alive the possibility that Corran will train to become a Jedi, but Corran’s a bit focused right now on getting at Isard and freeing her prisoners. He’s almost obsessive about it—a trait you know something about.”
Booster planted his massive hands on the arms of the chair. “If you want to scold me about disapproving of the man my daughter is seeing, the message is received. Anything else?”
“That wasn’t my intention—that would be like teaching a rancor to dance. It probably won’t work, you will get your head bitten off, and even if you do succeed, the result won’t be very pretty.” Wedge shivered. “Actually, I wanted to offer you the chance to pilot the Mimban Cloudrider on the run to Thyferra.”
Booster sat back and brushed the fingertips of his left hand over his chin. The Mimban Cloudrider was one of the Thyferran tankers. Wedge had pulled the crew from it and, with Booster’s help, had gotten identification files sliced together that listed Mirax, Corran, Elscol, Sixtus, and Iella Wessiri as the crew under various pseudonyms. Once in orbit at Thyferra, they could make planetfall in a shuttle and hook up with the Ashern. Wedge still needed someone to command the mission and thought Booster would be invaluable in that position because of his experience and instincts.
Booster lowered his left hand to the arm of the chair. “No.”
“No? You’ll be able to chaperone your daughter.”
“She can take care of herself.”
“You’ll get to pilot a ship again.”
Booster smiled and his body convulsed with silent laughter. “Closer, but still off the mark. The Cloudrider is too small. Too little to do.”
Wedge frowned. “Wait a minute. When I got my freighter and started hauling cargo, weren’t you the one who told me that being the master of my own ship and fate was the greatest thing to which I could aspire?”
Booster nodded and sat forward. “I did, but that was before Kessel. Five years in the spice mines changed me.”
“Five years spicing would change anyone.” Wedge frowned. “Don’t tell me Kessel broke your spirit, because I flat refuse to believe it.”
Booster’s booming laughter filled the office. “Broke me? It would take more than no air and lots of work to break Booster Terrik. The mines could be a brain cracker for a lot of folks, especially the pols the Empire tossed in there. Others of us were content to wait our time out. Fliry Vorru, for example, is very patient, which makes him very dangerous. We knew the Empire would never let him out, but he was confident he’d be out someday. I knew I would get out, but the time there still ground on me.”
The flesh around his eyes tightened, leaving the red light in his left eye burning like a laser in the darkness. “The time I spent in Kessel was unbelievably boring, Wedge. Monotony. Day after day the same things would happen with the same people. There was no night, no day, just shift after shift after shift. Prisoners might come and go, but that was it. Pain I could handle and fight against, but boredom? It was the enemy, and it had me mashed flat.”
Wedge winced. “I can’t imagine” There certainly were times when Wedge would have welcomed less excitement in his life, but not year after year of it. I’d have gone out of my mind.
“When I got out, I made one trip on the Pulsar Skate, but the solitude of hyperspace reminded me too much of Kessel. That’s why I retired and gave Mirax the ship. Now I travel and do deals for friends because it means I’m constantly meeting folks and getting to know them and learn about them. I’m trying to fill the void that Kessel left in me, and piloting Cloudrider isn’t going to do that for me.”
Wedge nodded. “I understand, though I wish it were otherwise. You’ve got skills I need.” He sat back in his chair. “Having someone I can rely on doing a job that badly needs to be done would be a big help.”
A smile slowly grew on Booster’s face. “I have an idea for you that might serve both of us and cover up some loose ends.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Let me run this station.”
“What?”
“Look, you have this station that’s been a trade staple in this region for a very long time. You’ve got the Republic thinking it’s been destroyed, which means your enemies think that, too, but ships that come in-system to make navigational adjustments can still see it here. You’re fooling no one, and the fact that you’ve shut the station down to folks who have been here a lot means you’re making them angry. That, in turn, means that someone is going to sell you out to Iceheart.”
“We figured that.”
“Well, you should also figure this: Pretty soon no one is going to want to be trading with Thyferra. You’re giving away what Vorru wants to charge for. His only recourse is to cut off the bacta supply going to folks who deal with you. Once he does that, you’re dead.” Booster pressed his hands together. “On the other hand, if we open this station to trade, we start generating capital for this operation and we have people bringing us information and equipment. We develop suppliers who are in our debt because of this station—which means they won’t want to betray you—and who bring the material here to us instead of having us go out and get it.”
“And running the station would mean you’d be anything but bored.”
“There’s that, too.”
Wedge closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He’d known all along that the location of his base would get out, but Booster’s idea of making the secret’s preservation valuable to smugglers and traders did suggest it might last longer. All the years the Empire searched for Rebel bases, it wasn’t our trade partners who sold us out. And the prediction of Vorru’s action was pretty much what Wedge had figured Vorru’s response would be. Wedge had been gambling that gratitude for the free bacta would keep trade channels open, but he agreed that supplying a profit motive would go much further in that regard.
He opened his eyes. “Okay, that works for me. What do we use as a cover story for why part of the station is restricted?”
Booster shrugged. “Does it matter? We can start all manner of rumors, from your desire to emulate Warlord Zsinj and carve out your own empire to your desire to build a force to wrest Corellia away from the Diktat or even that you and Isard are working a racket to spike the price of bacta. The greater the number of rumors the better, quite frankly, since they will armor the truth and result in folks bringing us information to further our plans—whatever they might be. As long as there is some mystery here, and folks smell profits in trying to figure it out, we’ll be covered.”
“And that won’t be boring at all.” Booster’s smile broadened to the edges of his face. “This will be grand.”
“I hope you’re correct.” Wedge stood and stepped away from the station manager’s chair. “Booster Terrik, this station is all yours. May the Force be with you.”
Chapter Thirteen
The shuttle ride down to Thyferra from the Mimban Cloudrider left Corran a bit uneasy. A rising storm made the air turbulent and being strapped into a seat in the back made Corran want to scream. He glanced over at Mirax and saw she was having as much trouble as he was sitting still. Either one of us could pilot this Lambda-class cargo shuttle through this storm front without this much bumping around.
Mirax placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll get down.”
“I figure. Crashing and dying wouldn’t be nearly as interesting as the rest of this run.” Corran closed his eyes and concentrated on regulating his breathing. He tried to convince himself he was doing that just to settle his stomach—and that he’d done such things countless times before for exactly the same reason. It was true, but he also knew his choosing to do it now was a result of reviewing the datacards Luke Skywalker had sent to him.
Corran admired Skywalker’s ability to read him. Very little of the material sent had been dry, boring, procedural stuff—examples of the breathing exercises were pretty much the only things that fell into that class. By and large Luke had provided him with stories of Jedi Knights that pointed to their long tradition of law enforcement and their dedication to virtue and justice and not a little to the bold, heroic tales that had made the Jedi legendary throughout the galaxy.
The Bacta War Page 10
