“We wouldn’t have gotten off the Death Star if Han and Chewbacca hadn’t been there to help,” Luke said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t do it alone.”
“Han?” Commander Willard looked confused. “Oh—the captain here.”
“Yeah,” Han said. “The captain. A real pleasure to meet you and all, but I’m going to skip ahead in this story to the finale. I was hired by Luke and this General Kenobi to shuttle them to Alderaan and promised a reward for bringing everyone here. I have no interest in your revolution, just in getting what I’m owed. I believe the number was seventeen thousand credits.”
Commander Willard’s skin went a chalky white.
“Han!” Luke could have throttled him for being so rude. He really couldn’t wait a few hours to bring up money?
“We don’t keep that sort of money lying around,” Commander Willard said. “And this is…we need every cent to keep up our operations.”
“I’m willing to accept the amount in precious metals if you don’t have the credits on hand,” Han said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, pal, you don’t want word to get around that the Rebellion can’t honor their debts, do you? No one would be willing to do business with you.”
“We do, but…” Commander Willard looked at Leia again, clearly confused. He’d been expecting an ally, if Luke had to guess, another new recruit. Luke was surprised at how bitter his own disappointment tasted; some part of him had hoped that Han would change his mind when he saw what the Rebels were up against.
But there was still time to try to convince him.
Luke couldn’t understand a word of what Chewbacca said to Han next, but the past day had taught him to read the Wookiee’s moods by his tone and expression. And Luke thought he might actually have an ally in Han’s copilot.
“Give him whatever he wants,” Leia said stiffly. The look she shot Han could have incinerated half the Death Star. “The sooner he gets it, the sooner he’s gone.”
That was exactly what Luke was afraid of.
LUKE HADN’T REALLY expected them just to assign him one of their fighters—X-wings, they were called, because of the way their wings were situated on either side of the cockpit—but he also hadn’t expected a full-fledged test.
“You said you have some piloting experience?” The technician accompanying Luke seemed irritated to have been pulled away from his work. He hadn’t even had a moment to wipe the grease from his face before striding over at Commander Willard’s order.
“Some,” Luke said. His T-16 skyhopper wasn’t nearly as large as an X-wing or half as well equipped. But he could figure it out. He hoped. Maybe.
Yes, he thought, forcing himself to stand up straighter. Yes, you can figure it out. Nothing to it. Just try.
“Eh, well, we’re sending out pilots who barely know to use the joystick to steer, so you can’t be that much of a lost cause.”
That was…not reassuring. Luke mopped at the sweat collecting on the back of his neck. Maybe Han was right and the situation was a lot more desperate than Luke had thought.
“Are you running the test?” Luke asked.
“No, I just set it up. One of the Red Squadron—those would be the X-wing pilots, bunch of hotshots and quick triggers—will come over and oversee your test.”
Luke nodded, his nerves trilling inside his stomach. He needed to get a grip.
The simulator was tucked away in one of the far corners of the hangar. It looked like the interior of an X-wing cockpit had been lifted out of its shell and hooked up to a large monitor. Luke’s heart about jumped out of his chest with excitement at the sight. A chart had been strung up on the wall beside it. A list of names—the pilots, Luke realized—and their scores on the simulator.
A small table and computer had been set up nearby. A dark-haired man wearing a rumpled orange jumpsuit was bent over the table, studying something on the screen.
“Wedge!” the technician called. “Here’s your new recruit.”
When the pilot turned around, Luke stopped in his tracks. He’d been painfully aware of how young he was compared with the middle-aged pilots hanging around the ships, watching him pass. But this pilot looked even younger than he was!
A grin broke across Wedge’s face as he stuck out a hand toward Luke. “Wedge Antilles. Nice to meet you.”
Luke remembered a half second too late that he was supposed to shake the pilot’s hand. “Luke Skywalker.”
“Good luck,” the technician said to Luke, not bothering to offer any words of wisdom before he jetted away, back to his repairs.
“So…what’s the deal here?” Luke asked, running his hand along the back of the simulator’s seat. “How do I pass?”
“Eager to get up into the stars, huh? I know that feeling.” Luke didn’t doubt for a second that Wedge did. He felt himself relax but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the machine.
“The simulator is set to full combat mode. There’s no passing, not exactly,” Wedge said, leaning back against the table. “This computer right here will measure things like your response time, your shooting accuracy, and, you know, how long you manage to stay in the fight before being shot down.”
“I’m not going to get shot down,” Luke told him, crossing his arms over his chest.
Wedge laughed. “All right. I like that spirit. Let’s get you set up.”
Luke practically leapt into the cockpit seat, not caring for a single second about what Wedge thought. He settled back against the old cracked leather, taking a deep breath as he buckled himself in.
“Er…you don’t need to do that,” Wedge said. “You aren’t leaving the ground. It’s all a simulation.”
“I want it to feel as real as possible.” That was the only way to really prove he was ready.
“Whatever you say.” The pilot handed him a large white helmet with a yellow visor and Alliance decals all over it. “This will pipe in sounds. Just a warning, real battle is about a hundred times louder.”
“Got it.” Luke slipped the helmet on, adjusting the chinstrap. His hands were shaking a little now as he fumbled with the clasp. Everything was riding on this test. If he failed…well, Luke refused to be grounded for good. But it wouldn’t help the Rebellion if he had to stay out of this fight and wait to be trained, hoping the Death Star didn’t blow them all into dust in the meantime.
Wedge leaned into the cramped cockpit space. “You steer with the joystick, the proton torpedo switch is the button at the top, lasers are—”
“I got it,” Luke huffed. “Just start the simulation.”
Holding up his hands, Wedge backed away and turned to the computer. Luke took a deep breath, filling his chest with the hot fuel-tinged air. The screen in front of him blinked once, twice, three times…then a battle exploded around him.
There were TIE fighters screaming in his ears, zooming across his screen so quickly Luke couldn’t track them with his eyes. He didn’t realize the simulator was equipped for shock and movement until he took his first hit of enemy fire; the cockpit rattled him so hard he thought it might have knocked his brain loose. The simulated g-forces as he rolled his ship out of the way made his bones feel as if they were stretching under his skin. He drove the joystick down, panic catching him by the throat and squeezing. The simulator made the dive feel real. Luke’s stomach lurched with the suddenness of it, but he couldn’t focus on the feeling for long. A TIE fighter appeared on the screen, and before he could react, he slammed right into it. A fireball overtook the image of space, only to be replaced by blackness and two words:
SIMULATION OVER.
The words burned worse than any sun. Luke sat back again, shocked and sickened at how badly he’d blown his test. Literally.
“At least you took out one Imperial ship when you went!” Wedge said cheerfully. He leaned into the cockpit again.
“I…don’t have this,” Luke said. How stupid could he have been to think it would be anything like the flying he’d done back home? The T-16 seemed li
ke a toy in comparison. He was going to throw up. He really was.
Wedge didn’t laugh. “Hey, Luke, it’s all right—”
“I want this,” Luke interrupted, hating the desperation he heard in his voice. “I want this more than anything. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, and I can’t even make it ten seconds?”
“Hey, you made it thirty seconds,” Wedge pointed out. “That’s nothing to sniff at, believe me. The first time I tried the simulator, I was down in less than ten.”
“Really?” Luke couldn’t believe that. Wedge’s name was at the top of the high scores chart! “Then how…?”
“I practiced and listened to the advice I got from the old vets. You didn’t let me finish before,” Wedge explained. “I was going to walk you through the different controls and systems. You’re eager. I get it. But no one here expects you to have flown something as complex as an X-wing. It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it, but you have to give yourself a few minutes to do it, okay?”
Luke nodded, feeling a fresh wave of embarrassment. “Sorry…about before, I mean. I should have listened.”
He had proven all of Han’s smug put-downs about his flying abilities right. That stung a bit more than he wanted to admit. It was hard not to feel a little foolish.
Wedge waved him off. “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s something we all learn. I think you’re going to be an amazing pilot, really. Half of it is confidence, so don’t lose what you have. Let’s clear out those results and start over, okay?”
This time, Luke swallowed his eagerness and pride and paid attention as Wedge pointed out all the controls, half of which he hadn’t even noticed in all his scrambling to keep the X-wing flying. He asked questions and concentrated when Wedge explained slight variations in the thrusters and the difference between relying on yourself to fly and giving the controls over to the astromech droid at the back of the ship so you could focus on shooting.
“I’ll be honest,” Wedge said. “The droids tend to have a better response time with evasive maneuvers, but sometimes instinct is the only thing that keeps you flying.”
Luke nodded, setting his jaw as he absorbed all the information. Looking at the controls again, he began to make connections to the simpler ones he had used hundreds of times in his T-16. The ships weren’t that different when it came down to it. He was finally feeling energized, not overwhelmed, at the prospect of the additional mobility and firepower of the X-wing.
“See?” Wedge said. “You do know your ships! Can I give you one last piece of advice?”
“Yes!” Luke said. “Please.”
Wedge rested his arms on the edge of the cockpit. “The time you stay in the fight matters less to Commander Willard than the readings and results he gets on how calm and composed you are. The simulator is designed to be impossible to beat. You’re supposed to struggle and get shot down. In a real battle, you have an entire squadron backing you up. But the only way to improve as a pilot is to constantly come up against the impossible and push yourself to the limits. We all use the simulator to do just that. So just concentrate on keeping your cool and trust your instincts, okay?”
Trust your instincts. Luke ran the words over and over in his mind. Ben had told him the same thing as he trained with the lightsaber.
He reached for that settled feeling he’d obtained on the Millennium Falcon as he listened to Ben’s musical voice telling him about the Force, how it wouldn’t abandon him, how he could always rely on it. Using the sword had just clicked from that point on. If he could find that place again, Luke thought he could do more than just hang in the simulator for a few minutes.
“Okay,” he said. “I think I’m ready to try again.”
“Good!” Wedge crossed back over to the computer and typed something in. He gave Luke a thumbs-up. When he was ready, Luke returned it.
He could do this.
He wasn’t going to let his dream crash and burn.
The simulator went through its series of blinks again, counting down to chaos. This time Luke was prepared for what he’d see. The moment the battle came into view, he switched on his targeting screen and went to work.
Use the Force. Ben’s voice whispered in his ear. Reach out for it.
Luke didn’t know if that was what he was doing, but he felt his death grip on the joystick ease, something warm filling him at his center. He was aware that he was aiming, firing, shooting. At some point he must have switched over to manual control of the ship, because he was rotating the joystick faster and faster, zipping in and out of explosions and clusters of Imperial ships. Avoiding them came as easily as avoiding Beggar’s Canyon’s sharp edges and deadly turns. The cockpit rattled around him as he took some fire, but he rolled the ship, a feeling of exhilaration, of total lightness, lifting him higher and higher and higher until he felt almost giddy. It was how he had felt the first time he successfully threaded the spindle of rock, the Stone Needle, back in Beggar’s Canyon. He clicked into the moment.
All too soon, he saw how the simulator had been rigged against the user. For every TIE fighter he shot down, two more appeared. Soon it became just a matter of numbers. Not even the most skilled pilot could have lasted long against forty enemy ships.
SIMULATION OVER.
Adrenaline left his blood thrumming in his veins, even after he removed his helmet and sat back. He was dimly aware of a sound to his left—clapping. Wedge and three other pilots in orange jumpsuits were hooting and cheering for him.
“Incredible!” one of them said, helping Luke down out of the cockpit. “You beat Wedge’s record!”
Luke flushed again. “Sorry about that…?”
“Don’t be sorry!” Wedge said. “Stars, I’m just glad you’re on our side. What did I tell you? You’re a natural!”
His body was trembling a little, late catching up to the strain he’d subjected it to in trying to keep up with the pace of the simulator. The fatigue felt weirdly good; it meant he’d done something right and gone all out in the process. “Only because you helped me,” he replied.
“When you write your autobiography, be sure to include that, okay? ‘I owe everything to Wedge Antilles’!” Wedge and the other pilots laughed. One of them wrote Luke’s name at the top of the score chart, and Luke felt pride wash over him.
But he wouldn’t let himself celebrate yet. He wrung his hands in front of him, looking among their faces. “Do you think I passed?”
One of the older pilots, his hair flecked with gray, looked at Luke, eyes shining. “Commander Willard will review the results, but I think it’s safe to start fitting you for a jumpsuit. That is, if you still want to join our squadron?”
Luke thought his heart might explode in his chest. He kept his arms pressed tightly against his sides to stop himself from throwing them around the other pilot.
“There’s nothing I want more.”
BETWEEN GETTING Commander Willard’s official okay to fly and finding himself a flight suit and helmet, there wasn’t time for Luke to find Leia or Han to tell them the news. The pilots from both squadrons, Red and Gold, were summoned to the large war room for a briefing. Luke figured that they must have already gone through the technical readouts on R2-D2, and he told Wedge as much as they entered the enormous briefing area.
Luke had been schooled at home by his very patient aunt and therefore had never been inside a classroom. But he imagined that the war room was set up the way a lecture hall might be. Rows of seats led down to a large electronic wall display, where Commander Willard stood with another man Luke didn’t recognize. It felt very formal, official in a way that made Luke walk a little taller, push his shoulders back. He only hoped he didn’t stand out as a rookie as much as he thought he did. Every now and then a new pair of eyes would drift over, and he’d feel himself being sized up.
I just have to prove myself to them, too, Luke thought.
“That’s General Dodonna,” Wedge said as he led Luke through a line of feet and legs to get to two e
mpty seats at the center of the row. “He’s a brilliant tactician. He was so good in his service to the Empire they picked him to be one of the first captains of a Star Destroyer.”
“Got it,” Luke said. Another thought occurred to him. “Was most of the Alliance in the Imperial forces at some point?”
Wedge set his mouth in a tight line. “Not everyone. Some of us joined to right the wrongs they inflicted on us and the people we love.”
Luke let the subject drop, knowing that poking at exposed wiring never got you anything but shocked and burned. He scanned the room, his ears picking up on snippets of quiet conversations. His back went straighter as Leia and a small group of older men entered and took seats near the projector screen. Luke tried to catch her attention, but the princess was so focused on her conversation with the older gentleman to her right she didn’t look up.
The murmuring dropped into silence as General Dodonna stepped up to a small podium, and the screen behind him flashed to life. Looming large, sketched out in lines, was the technical blueprint of the Death Star.
“Wow,” Wedge said. “Is that thing as big as I think it is?”
“Bigger,” Luke said quietly. Sometimes he had a hard time wrapping his head around just how enormous the battle station was.
“Welcome, everyone. I’ll get right to the point,” General Dodonna said. “We have analyzed the plans provided by Princess Leia and believe we have developed a strategy for destroying the battle station known as the Death Star.”
Luke leaned forward in his seat, hands clasped. They’d already come up with something? Probably not a second too soon, if Leia’s theory about the battle station tracking them back to the Rebel base was right.
The Princess, the Scoundrel, and the Farm Boy Page 12
