Star Wars: X-Wing II: Wedge's Gamble

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The spark of hope burning in Wedge’s mind died very quickly as reality set in. “The purpose of our mission is to take from Kessel and insert into Coruscant the people who will complicate the lives of Ysanne Isard and her people. The guys who are the most vile are also the ones who can cause the most trouble. We’re going to be making the most out of the confusion they create.”

  Pash glanced back at Corran. “If we make Black Sun too weak, the Empire squashes it.”

  “Sure, but if we make it too strong, we lose the trust of the folks Black Sun hurts and we might find ourselves having to compete with them for the ownership of Coruscant.” Corran shook his head. “Xizor would have deposed the Emperor if he could have, and Zekka Thyne will make a run at Isard if he has the chance.”

  Wedge shrugged. “Sounds like he is just the man Councilor Fey’lya wants to have on Coruscant.”

  “And the last person most of us should want there.” Corran’s eyes narrowed. “Can we put him on the list of strategic targets to take out?”

  “I’ll trust your judgment in that matter, Lieutenant Horn. That’s why you’ll be with me down on the planet. If Zekka Thyne is a problem there, we’ll deal with him there.” Wedge looked around. “Anything else? No overall objections? Lieutenant Horn?”

  Corran shrugged, but not fluidly enough to convince Wedge he was without objections. “It’s a mission, sir.”

  “But I would have thought freeing criminals would have caused you to have reservations.”

  Corran smiled. “I’m not saying I like it, sir, but in CorSec we made deals with criminals on a daily basis. The goal then, just as it is now, is to trade a lesser evil for a greater one. I’d just as soon use Zekka Thyne and some of this other scum as rancor bait, but if they’ll help bring Iceheart down, I guess my reservations don’t really mean that much. I’m good to go with this, Wedge. I think I’ll be fine.”

  Wedge nodded slowly. He has a point, though I don’t think he likes this any more than I do. But it’s a mission and we’re Rogue Squadron, so we’ll get it done. “Last-minute questions, anyone?”

  No one had anything to ask, so Wedge killed the projection of Kessel. “We’re mission go in twelve standard hours. You’ll want to get some sleep, but before you do, give Emtrey a list of your belongings. While we’re on the Kessel run, our headquarters will be relocating back to Noquivzor. We’ll be operating from there for the immediate future.”

  Pash looked surprised. “Afraid of reprisals by Warlord Zsinj?”

  Wedge just smiled. “Those are the orders, straight from the Provisional Council, the wisdom of which, I am certain, will make itself clear once we finish the mission to Kessel.”

  10

  Kessel’s weak atmosphere slowly smothered the fires burning amid the ruins of the two concussion missile launchers on the ridge overlooking the landing zone. A little smoke and even more dust rolled in a lazy mist down the escarpment, pouring like a vapor stream across the unpaved roadway carved from its face. The mist dissolved before it hit the flat of the plain, leaving a clear field of fire for Page and his people as they set up a perimeter around the hillock at the center of the plain.

  Whistler hooted in a low tone.

  “Looks pretty clear to me, too.” Corran began a long turn to starboard that took him out over the main mine complex. The only surface features visible were the administration buildings and some storage sheds for surface vehicles. One track led off to the north on a nearly direct line for the nearest atmosphere plant. The other major track led south to the hills and the plain where he would be landing.

  “Nine is clear, Rogue Leader.”

  “I copy, Nine. Come in and land. Don’t forget your breathing mask.”

  “Thanks, Lead.” Corran brought the X-wing about and flew back to the plain. He eased his throttle back and cut in the repulsorlift generators. The X-wing glided down gently and hovered five meters above the ground. Using the rudder pedals, Corran swung the nose around and positioned his fighter so it formed the third point of a triangle with Wedge’s and Nawara’s fighters. His covered the southern defensive arc of the Rogues’ position and left enough space for Tycho to easily bring the Lambda-class shuttle down in their midst.

  Corran extended the landing gear and brought the ship to rest, then killed the repulsorlift generators and engine. “Whistler, remember, shoot first if you have to, then go for an engine start to give you more laser energy. If you have to, hover out of reach until the rest of the squadron comes and covers you.”

  The droid keened mournfully.

  “No, nothing will happen, I promise, but I want you to be careful.” He missed a chunk of Whistler’s reply, but took it that the annoying tone carried the meaning of the missing content. He doffed his helmet, drew the blaster from his shoulder holster, checked it, took it off safe, and reholstered it. Finally he pulled on a breathing mask and a pair of goggles, then popped the release on his cockpit canopy. It slid up and he crawled out.

  Corran jumped down and found Kessel to be just a bit lighter in gravity than Borleias or Noquivzor. He ran over to where Wedge and Nawara stood beside an orange, mushroomlike tent that the commandos had assembled. “How did your conversation with Moruth Doole go?”

  Wedge frowned slightly. “I think I got my points across, but he’s right on the edge of paranoia, and it doesn’t take much to push him over.”

  “Doole’s probably a glit-biter.”

  The Twi’lek twitched a head tail in Corran’s direction. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that term before.”

  “CorSec slang, sorry. Glitterstim is the most potent form of spice—the stuff most people get is cut and diluted so heavily that the most they get from using is a little euphoria. Glit-biters are taking the real thing and it seems, in some folks, to punch up their latent mental abilities. They can read minds, or so they think, and they assume any mind they can’t read is closed because the person is plotting against them. Doole probably forgot he was seeing a hologram of you, Commander. You were hostile, he couldn’t read you, hence he figured you really had it in for him.”

  Lieutenant Page, a dark-haired man of medium height and build, came over and pointed toward the horizon. “Landspeeder coming down the road.”

  Wedge hit his comlink. “Lead to Twelve. How does it look?”

  “One vehicle, Lead.”

  “Thanks, Twelve.” Wedge turned to Page. “It’s coming alone. If you clear it, let it come in.”

  “As ordered, sir.” Page went running off in the direction of the big, boxy landspeeder and a squad of folks fell in behind him. The landspeeder slowed, then stopped, and a door opened. Page spoke through the open door with someone while his people checked in and around the vehicle. Apparently satisfied with the inspection, Page closed the door and jumped back off the vehicle’s running boards. He waved it forward and it headed in.

  Other commandos stopped the landspeeder about a hundred meters beyond the perimeter at a point where it remained under the guns of Wedge’s X-wing. Two people got out and a trooper escorted them forward toward Wedge. The man stood very tall and seemed to Corran to be painfully thin. What little hair he had left on his head was white and wispy enough that Kessel’s weak atmosphere could make it float. The woman came up to the man’s shoulder and had deep brown hair. Corran guessed from the way she moved she was younger than the man, but her face was deeply enough scored with wrinkles that he would have matched them in age were he looking at still holograms.

  The commando moved the two visitors into and through the tent’s simple airlock, then Corran and Nawara followed Wedge through. Once inside they were able to remove their breathing masks, though the acrid stink of hot plastic almost made Corran put his back on. Resolving to breathe as little as possible, Corran joined Nawara in front of some folding camp chairs.

  Squeezing past the table with the holoprojector on it, Wedge extended his hand to the man. “I’m Commander Wedge Antilles, New Republic Armed Forces. I lead Rogue Squadron. I knew your daughter.
”

  The man shook Wedge’s hand firmly and kept a brave expression on his face, but the slight tremor in his lower lip betrayed his true emotions. “I am Kassar Forge. This is my wife, Myda. I want to thank you for the hologram you sent after Lujayne …” He fell silent for a moment and his wife rubbed his back with her hand. “She always said she wanted to be a hero and show something good could come from Kessel.”

  “She succeeded.” Wedge turned back toward his own people. “This is Nawara Ven and Lieutenant Corran Horn.”

  Kassar shook their hands as well.

  Corran didn’t release the man’s hand, forcing himself to smile as he looked up into Kassar’s dark eyes. “Your daughter really was a hero. She kept the unit together. She told me about what you do here, about teaching people so they don’t have to return to crime. She spent a lot of time teaching all of us, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you.” Corran patted the back of the man’s hand. “I owed her a big favor I never got a chance to repay. If there’s anything I can do for you, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Kassar nodded, then freed his hand from Corran’s grip and turned back to Wedge. “I guess I have to ask what it is I can do for you, Commander? I’m sure all this wasn’t just so you could say hello. Your strike on the moon base caused a lot of excitement, and Doole is not happy about losing his missile launchers.”

  “If Doole wants to be happy, today will not be his day.” Wedge ran a hand along his jaw. “We’re here to take some people away from Kessel—some very bad people. We are also going to take as many of the good people from here as we can. On the top of my list is you and your family, if you want to go. And go or stay, I want you here to point out people who should be on the list but aren’t.”

  The tall man clasped his hands together against his stomach and stared at the orange fabric floor for a moment. “I came here by choice a long time ago—well before any of you were born. Back before the Clone Wars even. I don’t know if I have done much good here, but I think I’ve done very little evil. I’ll stay. Myda?”

  Her hand grasped the back of his neck and shook him gently. “I didn’t come here willingly, but I did stay because I wanted to be with you. We will stay, and our family will, too.” My da’s voice took on an edge at the last of her statement and Corran saw her exchange a sharp glance with her husband.

  Kassar nodded slowly. “I am willing to help you, Commander, but I don’t want to make decisions about who goes and who stays. I’ll offer what I know.”

  “If you are afraid of reprisals …”

  “No, no, I’ve long since been judged harmless by everyone here. You’re taking them, the decision is yours to make.”

  “I understand. Lieutenant Ven has my list of the good folks that we want to get out. I’d like you to review it with him.” Wedge twisted around and touched the holoprojector. “I’ve left Moruth Doole with the impression that this is very much a rogue operation. He thinks I’m setting myself up as the middleman in this hostage operation. I’ve told him I am willing to transport prisoners off Kessel—prisoners he’ll be well rid of—in return for getting my people off. That’s an accurate description of what will happen, but not my focus in this project. Still, Doole has to think I’m willing and able to kill his prisoners, blow up his stores of spice, and toss him into the Maw.”

  Myda looked over at Wedge and Corran with a piercing stare. “Are you capable of doing that?”

  “Capable, yes,” Wedge nodded, “and not particularly reluctant to do so.”

  She smiled. “Good. Fear is as much a part of life on Kessel as spice or air. Control it and you’ll do fine.”

  Wedge hit the power switch for the holoprojector. An image of Moruth Doole the size of a pilot’s helmet glowed to life. The batrachian Rybet hopped impatiently from one foot to the other, then stopped and clapped his webbed hands together. He twisted his whole body around to peer closely with his good mechanical eye at the holocam in his dark office. The green of his flesh melded with the similar hue of his jacket, while the tan tracery on his flesh looked as if he’d been drizzled with paint. Because of the way he leaned forward to get near to the holocam, his head swelled out of proportion with his body and nearly made Corran laugh.

  “Is that you, Antilllles?” The Rybets voice jumped sharply between octaves and added more l’s into the center of Wedge’s name than necessary.

  “It’s me, Doole. I’ve got my first exchange to offer you.” Wedge looked over at Nawara Ven and the Twi’lek nodded. Wedge smiled tightly at the holoprojector. “I have a group of ten Sullustans. For them I’ll take Arb Skynxnex.”

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “I am selling them to you, I decide what I am paid. Skynxnex is mine—he does not leave.” Doole hopped up and down angrily, then searched around until the metal and glass mechanical eye again spotted the holocam. “For these Sullustans I will give you Zekka Thyne.”

  The name didn’t surprise Corran, but Kassar’s reaction to it did. The old man shuddered and Myda clung to his arm. They look as afraid of Thyne as Doole sounds. Corran raised a hand and Wedge hit a mute button on the holoprojector. “Commander, he’s too anxious. He wants to be rid of Thyne. We can get more for him.”

  Wedge nodded, then unmuted the communications device. “Thyne isn’t of interest to me. I’d have to be mad to let someone like that leave this rock.”

  “You will take him, or you get nothing else.”

  Wedge pulled a comlink from a pocket in his flight suit and held it up where Doole could see it. “Rogue Leader to Twelve, you’re free to fire on warehouse number one.”

  Doole’s image capered away from the holocam, then hunched itself over, as if the Rybet was looking at a monitor built into an unseen desk. Doole reeled back, then ran to the holocam. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “No?”

  “Twelve here, Lead. I have acquired the target. Commencing run now.”

  “Antilles!”

  “You have something you want to say to me, Doole?”

  “The Sullustans and more …”

  “Twelve, abort the run, but don’t clear your targeting data.”

  “As ordered, Lead.”

  Doole’s thick purple tongue played out over the thin line of his mouth. “The Sullustans you can have. What else?”

  Wedge turned away from the projector as if giving the problem due thought. Nawara held up fingers to indicate which of the target groups he thought should be added to Thyne’s ransom. Wedge nodded, then turned back. “We’re sending you the data on a group of five Bothans, including Esrca Plo’kre.”

  “Plo’kre.” Doole’s mouth snapped shut, then he bowed his head. “Done. And Thyne brings with him another.”

  “Who?”

  “His cutter.”

  Wedge looked back at the Forges, but they gave no sign of even having heard Doole, much less understanding him. “Corran?”

  I know I’ve heard the term before. He thought back, then nodded. “It’s a spicer term, used a lot of years ago when Thyne was still on Corellia. A cutter is someone who prepares spice for use or sale. It came to mean someone close enough to a person that they could be trusted with cutting their spice. He probably means aide.”

  Kassar’s head came up. “He means lover.”

  Corran shrugged. “That, too.”

  Wedge nodded. “Do you know who it is?”

  Kassar hung his head and Myda answered. “We do. Her name is Inyri.”

  Corran checked his datapad. “I’ve got nothing on anyone by that name.”

  “You wouldn’t. She’s done nothing wrong.”

  Something is not right here. Corran frowned. “You don’t get sent to Kessel for nothing. How well do you know this Inyri?”

  “I thought I knew her very well.” Myda swiped at a tear rolling down her cheek. “She’s our daughter.”

  11

  “Is it a deal, Antilles?”

  “Send them out.” Wedge
hit another button that froze the transmission. On the other end Doole would only see a holographic representation of Rogue Squadron’s crest. He turned toward the Forges. “Say the word and we’ll make sure they are separated. We’ll find her a place to stay, away from Thyne.”

  “Do it!” Myda reached out and clutched one of Wedge’s hands in her own. “Please, don’t leave her with him.”

  Kassar’s hands settled on his wife’s shoulders and drew her back. “Myda, we can’t do that. She has made her decision.”

  “But it is a bad one.”

  Inyri’s father slowly shook his head. “And so this means we can deny her freedom? Making bad decisions is not a crime, not even under the Empire.”

  “But I’ve seen plenty of people end up headed for Kessel because of making bad decisions.” Corran saw the pain in Myda’s eyes, and saw no small amount of it reflected in her husband’s expression. “I know Thyne—he is as bad as they come. Your daughter’s choice will land her in trouble.”

  Kassar straightened up. “Only if she acts on it.”

  “But she’s leaving with him.”

  Kassar shrugged helplessly. “She has found something to value in him. Perhaps she can save him from himself.”

  Corran winced. “Thyne’s pretty much a black hole as far as saving is concerned.”

  “My whole life has been spent here training people how to live away from Kessel. That is all I can do, though. I cannot make their choices for them. I cannot live their lives for them.” Kassar looked down and wiped tears from Myda’s face. “We gave our daughter—all of our children—all the love and support we could. We trust them. Just as we trusted Lujayne to go off and join the Rebellion, we must trust Inyri.”

  Corran shook his head. “I’m not liking this at all, Commander.”