"Right."
"So you're sending Corran."
"Right again." Wedge slapped Tycho on the back. "There's no pilot I know of for certain who can outfly lightning, but I'd sooner bet on Corran than against him."
Corran brought his fighter around on the heading Winter gave him. "You want me to fly into that?" Six kilometers distant, the lightning strikes came in sheets, not individual bolts. "It's very ugly over there."
"I copy, Corran, but it's got to be done. Take heart, the target is twice the size of the conduit on Borleias."
"Oh, you should have said that from the start." Corran nudged the throttle forward. "On an inbound vector."
"You have four minutes."
"I'll keep that in mind." Corran took the fighter into a dive and tried to sink as low as he could in the duracrete chasms. The storms had already begun to kick up high winds, but the buildings tended to break them up. He did hit some nasty sheers when he flew through intersections, but the worse of them occurred at the largest intersections, giving him plenty of time to recover.
He started to come up and out of the urban maze two kilometers away from his target. Rain immediately lashed his fighter. It beat so heavily on the cockpit canopy and shook the ship enough that it wasn't until he saw his shield indicator go from green to yellow that he realized someone was shooting at him. A glance at his aft monitor showed two Interceptors coming up on his tail.
Corran rolled and started a dive that he aborted almost immediately. Rolling again violently, he righted his craft and kicked in power to the repulsorlift drives. The drives cut in on cue and bounced his fighter up over a crumbling skywalk between buildings. With power going down, they don't have their little lights on.
Behind him something exploded and his aft sensor indicated he only had one squint on his tail. A pair of near misses, with green bolts shooting past his starboard S-foil, told him that the Imp pilot behind him was good. Coming up on his left wing, he pulled a hard turn around the corner of a building, then rolled 180 degrees and cut back around another. The figure-eight maneuver got rid of his pursuit for the moment, so he came back around and set up to make his run on the target.
The Headhunter sliced through the air amid a cacophony of thunder and a forest of lightning bolts. Corran knew there was no way to dodge a bolt—one second it would not be there and the next it would. The lightning strikes silhouetted darkened towers, helping him steer around trouble. In that way they proved more helpful than harmful, but he knew one solid strike and his controls would fry. They will fry, fighter won't fly, and I will die.
Turbulence in the air began to bounce him around. The stick tried to pull itself out of his grasp, but he hung on firmly. Flying through rough air he had to strike a balance between becoming rigid, which would lock things up and crash him, and being too flexible, which meant he'd lose control of the stick and the fighter would crash. He trimmed his speed and did his best to keep the fighter on
target.
More green laser blasts shot past. At least the turbulence is making me tough to hit. He shoved the stick hard to the left, then rolled right and pulled back. After two seconds he rolled left again and hauled back on the stick. Leveling out right, he hit rudder and brought his nose in line with the aft of the Interceptor. His quick turns amounted to taking a long time to cover the distance the squint covered swiftly in its swoop. He ended up behind it and fired.
The blaster bolts clipped the starboard wing on the Imperial fighter. It rolled right and got out of his line of fire. Corran could have followed it and killed it, but he'd closed on his target, so he switched over to concussion missiles. He set them on single fire, rolled, and dove in on the target. He dropped the targeting box on what appeared to be the base of a massive obelisk honoring trie Emperor and let fly.
The concussion missile streaked out and hit the base of the statue. It exploded, casting rock in all directions. The obelisk cast a massive shadow up over the face of the Imperial Palace, then it tottered and fell. Hitting the ground, it shattered into a thousand pieces, but Corran saw no secondary explosions. Ruined a monument, but nothing else. One more run better do the trick.
Wedge stared at the map. He'd seen Corran's attack run and had a track of the missile going into the target, but the lights didn't go out and the image didn't die. "What happened? He hit it, didn't he?"
Winter nodded. "Right on target, but not enough power. He's cracked the outer case. Another shot or two should do it."
Tycho shook his head. "It better just be one more shot because that's all he's got."
Wedge pointed to a green Interceptor icon coming in and around toward Corran's red Headhunter icon. "Provided he gets one more shot. Can't you do something about that squint, Winter?"
She looked up at him. "That squint was the source of the data on the missile hit. You really want us to be blind out there?"
"No, of course not." Wedge looked down for a moment, then clapped his hands. "You're getting datafeeds from him? You have his identification number and internal identification, right?"
"Can't get this data any other way. We're inside the Imperial system, so getting that data is easy."
"Good. I've got an idea. Tap into Coruscant Traffic Control and get the Taxi, Hangar, and Maintenance programs set up with his numbers." Wedge keyed his comlink. "Corran, listen to me. Your first hit was good, but you need to pack more into the next one. Here's the plan ..."
Corran closed his mouth. "I copy, Wedge." He punched a couple of buttons on his console. "Telemetry coming your way. You know, you're always stealing my data for runs. Can I start getting Pathfinder pay?"
"Sure, I'll add it to your back-pay file. Squint's coming up on your tail. Get ready."
"As ordered, sir." Corran let a smile spread across his face. According to the boss I want you with me as tight as possible, but still loose enough that you aren't going to burn me down. Corran unconsciously pressed his hand to his throat, but the medallion he normally wore wasn't there. It's with Whistler. That'll have to count for luck for now.
Coming around on another attack vector against the target, Corran let the squint drift onto his tail. Loosening his grip on the stick ever so slightly, he let the air bounce him around a bit. Green laser bolts played out all around him. With a flick of his thumb he shunted all forward shield energy to the rear shields, then he tightened his grip and rolled ninety degrees to the left. He remained diving in at the target, but was ready to pull out at the last minute.
He spitted the hole the earlier missile had made with his targeting reticle. "Control, three, two, one!" He hit the trigger, then pulled back on the stick for all he was worth. "Missile away."
Winter punched a button on her datapad. "Link established and flowing."
Captain Iillor looked at Jhemiti. "Thirty seconds and counting. Bring the gravity well projectors to full power on my mark."
Corran's concussion missile sailed in at the target. Throughout the short flight the targeting computer built into the missile took sensor readings, compared the coor-
dinates they supplied with those of the target, determined if it should explode or not yet, and reported the whole process back to Corran's Headhunter. A million times a second it went through that same process, constantly updating its position relative to the target and relaying the data to the Headhunter.
Corran's Headhunter, in turn, sent that information on to Winter's datapad. There it remained for a nanosecond, then flowed into the Imperial computer network. It routed itself through several key systems and finally poured into Coruscant Traffic Control. The data then fed into the Taxi, Hangar, and Maintenance programming that, because of the override and emergency data flags Winter had provided, sent it back out to the Imperial Interceptor closing on the Headhunter.
The chief benefit of computers is that they can automate boring and routine jobs that need not concern a human. If an X-wing fighter needed to be moved from a landing pad to a hangar position, or on int
o maintenance, the R2 unit assigned to that X-wing could perform that simple task without the need to trouble the pilot. Since TIE fighters do not use R2 units, other programs had been created to supply travel routes, coordinates, and speeds to a TIE fighter so it could be moved about without a pilot.
In this case, the course supplied to the Interceptor on Corran's tail was the course the missile was traveling. The destination was the missile's target coordinates and the speed was as close as the fighter could manage to approximating the missile's speed. The implementation of such programming required an override code, which had been supplied. Because of the potential problems caused if such codes were to fall into enemy hands, the pilots could override the automatic programming, provided they hit the correct console buttons in the appropriate order.
Doing that required approximately 2.5 seconds of the pilot's undivided attention.
The Interceptor pilot's attention was anything but undivided.
The concussion missile caromed off the edge of the breach its predecessor had opened and exploded. It blasted a hole in the shielding of the energy conduit. Shards from the conduit and its shielding sprayed the interior of the conduit, severing some cables, merely nicking others. Sparks flew and several circuits shorted out. Power died in several buildings for a second, but other lines accepted more power and the shields remained intact.
Then the Interceptor hit. While it was not traveling as fast as the concussion missile, it did mass significantly more than the projectile. It was able to build up a considerable amount of kinetic energy that it transferred to the target upon impact. In addition, the crash compacted the Interceptor's fuel cells, compressing the fuel that subsequently detonated. The Interceptor's crushed hull sheered through the power conduit, severing the thick bundle of cables running through it, and the explosion that followed tangled and fused lines that had never been meant to touch.
Outside Corran's cockpit, Coruscant went black.
"Ten, nine, eight," Captain Iillor counted down.
"Look!"
Her eye came up off the chronometer. The last shield sphere flickered.
"Seven, six, five ..."
The shield sphere died.
"Kill the projectors, Lieutenant Jhemiti." Captain Iillor looked out toward the planet sparkling like a star in the distance. "Now the battle for Coruscant begins."
44
Still basking in the glory of his redemption, Lieutenant Virar Needa stared out the viewport at Imperial Center. He saw lights on the world flicker and die, but even that unusual a thing happening did not penetrate the aura of well-being in which he cocooned himself. Clearly, it seemed to him, those responsible for the power problems on Imperial Center would be banished to oblivion and he would be free to ascend into the positions they vacated.
As he stared out into space he saw the stars ripple along a wide front. Ships began to revert from hyperspace and his heart rate picked up as this happened. He always enjoyed ships entering and leaving Imperial Center space. He took great delight in cataloging them by type and later correlating a sighting with news from the war against the Rebels.
A smile spread across his face as two large ships materialized. He recognized them instantly as Imperial Star Destroyers. As they reverted they executed a turn to starboard, putting them into a geostationary orbit. That's standard procedure, as the Captains of the Accuser and Adjucator know quite well.
His ability to recognize the two ships pleased him,
which is why he wondered about the underlying sense of unease slowly seeping into his heart. About the time one of the long, gently curved Mon Calamari battle cruisers reverted and swung into the line, he recalled the Accuser and Adjucator had both been captured at Endor by the Rebels. The fact that a number of Mon Cal ships were pulling into line with them meant. . . Needa paled. At the moment of my greatest glory, the Rebels have come to ruin me!
More and more Rebel ships poured from hyperspace. Big ships, small ships, snubfighters, freighters, frigates, and corvettes, each of them pulled into line with the heavier ships. The battle cruisers and destroyers formed a central layer, with ships diminishing in size and strength as they stretched out from equator to pole in the northern hemisphere.
Instantly the black void of space came alive with turbolaser and ion-cannon fire. Toward the bottom of the viewport Needa saw a Golan Space Defense station. The lozenge-shaped platform launched spread after spread of proton torpedoes while its turbolaser batteries sprayed green energy projectiles at the invaders. The return fire it took splashed harmlessly against its shields, or so it seemed at first, though Needa noticed the shield sphere slowly shrinking.
This cannot be! He turned from the viewport, raking fingers back through brown hair. "To your battle stations, men! The enemy is upon us!"
Pedetsen looked up from the sabacc game. "Begging your pardon, sir, but a mirror doesn't have battle stations."
Needa's jaw worked up and down a couple of times as he mulled over the cadet's comment. True, but we must do something. "Arm yourselves. We won't go down without a fight."
The darkness in the computer center only lasted for a couple of seconds, but it seemed like eons to Wedge. It
was time enough for remnants of childhood fears of darkness to meld with adult fears of failure. The darkness left him blind and opened the doorway to any number of possible and horrible futures. For all he knew the power to the subsidiary computer center had been severed by Imperial stormtroopers who were even now preparing to enter the room and resume control of the facility.
The lights came back up again. The holographic map wavered and popped, then stabilized. Elation filled him for a moment, then he realized that having power available meant failure. Or does it? "Why do we have power?"
Winter hit two keys on the datapad. "Reserve generators came on-line here after the external power was cut."
"And power is down? And the shields?"
She hit more keys and the map expanded up from the tactical one showing the Palace district to the orbital one showing the planet as a whole. There was no indication of shields anywhere. "They're down."
Wedge keyed his comlink. "Corran, you did it."
"I just aimed, Wedge, you sliced the victory together."
"We can argue who gets stuck with credit later. Be careful, you still have TIEs flying around you."
"They're all vectoring up, Wedge."
"What?"
"We have company."
Wedge pointed to Winter. "Slice me into Traffic Control. I want to see what's orbiting out there."
"Will do." Winter's fingers flew over the keys and the sphere that was Coruscant suddenly became surrounded by a shell of orbiting stations, satellites, and ships. The Rebel fleet formed a concave cap over part of the northern hemisphere. Within its range floated a number of Golan stations as well as several Star Destroyers racing to oppose the Rebels.
"Can you get me better visuals? Is there a feed from that mirror you can pull?"
She shook her head. "No visual feed from it and all
of the military ships have gone independent of the ground, so I can't get their visuals either. We know where they are, but we don't know what they're doing."
A few holes opened in the Rebel formation. Wedge knew that the ships lost were small—most likely converted freighters with weapons grafted on—but their losses disturbed him. Just looking at the situation, the size of the Rebel fleet and the paucity of defenders, there was no way Imperial forces could defeat the Rebels. Slow us down and hurt us, yes, but keep us off Coruscant? No. That's clear, which means everyone who dies up there today doesn't need to.
Tycho pointed to one of the space platforms. "I'd bet that's a Golan III. Our heavy ships can't concentrate on it until they eliminate the destroyers. It's not quite as heavily armed as the Victory-class destroyers, but it's got to be the source of most of the damage to the fringes of the fleet."
"You can't slice into any ground-based miss
ile batteries to use against that thing?"
Winter shook her head. "Aside from Corran and the other Headhunters, we have no weapons here. It would be nice if the Golan station would shoot streamers down into the atmosphere and into our thunderstorm, but I wouldn't count on that happening anytime soon."
Tycho shrugged. "Look on the bright side, Wedge ..."
"Is there a bright side?"
"Sure, if it had targeted us, we'd be slag."
"That's not what I'd call particularly bright, Tycho." Wedge brought his head up. "But it could be. It could be very bright indeed."
"Go down without a fight, Lieutenant Needa?" Pedetsen frowned in Needa's direction. "One proton torpedo and we go down without even a whimper. I'll take two."
Needa blinked in confusion. "You want us hit with two?"
"No, I want two more cards." The cadet glanced at his cards, then up at Needa. "Of proton torpedoes I want zero."
"The Rebels have come!" Needa pointed at the viewport. "We must do something!"
Pedetsen shook his head and laid his sabacc cards on the table. "Sir, if we do anything, we'll die. Now either side might have a use for dead heroes, but I don't think the heroes will get much out of it. On the other hand, whoever takes Imperial Center—or maybe we should call it Coruscant—will have use for an undamaged mirror and a live crew."
Needa glanced back at the fleet. "But those are the Rebels."
"You think they can find us worst duty than this?" Pedetsen smiled. "They'll probably hail you as a hero."
"What?"
"Hey, it was your cousin who was martyred by Darth Vader after he let Han Solo escape Hoth. After all, your cousin had Rebel sympathies that he only confided in you, which is why he let Solo escape. Your having been punished with this duty proves the Empire suspected him, but could prove nothing."
That is one way to interpret the facts of the case, I suppose. Needa frowned. "Do you think the Rebels would believe that?"
Star Wars - X-Wing 02 - Wedge's Gamble Page 31
