by Timothy Zahn
Karrde felt his stomach tighten as he dropped back into his desk chair. “Is Faughn still on?”
“Mostly,” Dankin said. “The signal’s a little funny—too many relays in the mix—but it’s mostly clear. Comm 5.”
Karrde keyed to the channel, dimly aware that Skywalker had circled the desk and come up beside him. “This is Karrde. Faughn?”
“Yes, sir,” Faughn’s voice came, wavering slightly with the distortion of multiple hyperspace relays. “We reached the Nirauan system and observed an unidentified spacecraft land on the second planet. Jade took our Defender and went in. We got a pulse transmission from her recorder that indicated she was in trouble. Captured, maybe worse.”
Karrde could hear his heart thudding in his ears. “Dankin, do we have a copy of the recording?”
“Right here,” Dankin’s voice said.
“Play it.”
He listened as it played through: the flight and landing, Mara’s discovery of the cave and fortress, her startled exclamation and that final sickening thud. “Get H’sishi started on a scrub right away,” Karrde ordered. That thud had sounded far too much like the sound of a body hitting the ground.… “1 want everything you can get off that recording.”
“We’re already on it.”
“We did some scrubbing of our own on the way here,” Faughn said. “There’s definitely breathing and a human-tempo heartbeat after she goes silent, so at least at that point she was still alive. There are fifty or more flying creatures in the cave—we can sort out at least that many sets of wings flapping—though that may not have been who she was talking to. Oh, and from the different speeds of the sound through air and bone, it looks like that thud was something hitting the front or side of her head.”
Karrde grimaced. “An attack.”
“Or an accident,” Faughn said. “We know she was moving just before it happened, and that she was inside a cave. She could have run into a wall or something.”
“We can try an echo analysis,” Dankin suggested. “Try to figure out how close she was to the wall when she was hit.”
“Yes.” Karrde looked up at Skywalker, standing in dark silence beside him, troubled eyes seemingly focused on empty space. “You know anything about this?” he asked the Jedi. “Either the planet or whoever she was talking to?”
Skywalker shook his head slowly, his eyes looking even more troubled. “No. But I did see a vision of Mara, the same time I saw myself here. And where she was … it might have been a cave.”
“I hated to leave her there,” Faughn said. “But I also didn’t want to risk all of us disappearing without letting someone know what had happened. Especially given those ships and that fortress.”
“No, you did the right thing,” Karrde assured her. “The question now is how we get her out.” He looked up at Skywalker. “Or rather, who we send to do the job.”
Skywalker must have heard the challenge in his voice. His eyes came back from whatever they were staring at to look down at Karrde. “You’re suggesting I go?”
“Someone there seems to know you,” Karrde pointed out. “At least, Mara thought so. You may be the only one he—or it, or they—will be willing to talk to.”
“I can’t leave,” Skywalker said, the words coming out almost mechanically, his attention clearly elsewhere. “I have duties here.”
“You have a duty to Mara, too,” Karrde countered. “For that matter, you have a duty to the rest of the New Republic. You saw one of those ships—you know we’re dealing with an unknown culture here. If that fortress she saw is made of the same material as the one on Hijarna, they’ll be able to sit in there and shrug off any attack we could throw at them. And—”
“All right,” Skywalker said. “I’ll go.”
Karrde blinked, taken slightly aback by the suddenness of the decision. He’d expected to have to argue at least a few more minutes and probably throw in something concrete before the other agreed.
But he also knew better than to question a decision he was already pushing for. “Good,” he said. “Tell me what you need in the way of equipment or supplies, and we’ll get it for you. You’ll want a bigger ship, of course—Dankin, what do we have available?”
“No time for that,” Skywalker said before Dankin could answer. “My X-wing’s over in Docking Rectangle 16. If you can download a copy of the nav data to Artoo, we’ll get it refueled and be on our way.”
“You can’t carry a passenger in an X-wing,” Faughn objected. “If she’s hurt—”
“Then we take her ship and leave the X-wing behind,” Skywalker cut her off. “We’re wasting time.”
“You won’t get very far in a Defender,” Karrde reminded him, keying his board on a hunch. Yes, the timing and distances would work. “Let me suggest a compromise: you leave here in your X-wing and I’ll have the Dawn Beat bring the Jade’s Fire to meet you off Duroon. Her droid won’t be activated, but you and your R2 should be able to fly it without any trouble.”
Skywalker shook his head. “I don’t want to try to sneak onto Nirauan with a ship that big.”
“Then leave the Fire hidden somewhere in the outer system and ride your starfighter in,” Faughn suggested. “The docking port should handle an X-wing without any problems.”
Skywalker hesitated a heartbeat, then nodded. “All right.”
“Good,” Karrde said. “Dankin, get onto spaceport control and have a fuel order cut for his X-wing. Number one on the priority list, and you can bribe or threaten whoever you have to to get it there. Then put together the most comprehensive survival kit you can that will fit an X-wing’s cargo hold. Two cubic meters and 110 kilograms, as I recall.”
“Got it,” Dankin said. “What kind of backup are we going to send in behind him?”
“As much as we can throw together,” Karrde told him, keying for a list of available resources. His organization’s fleet was impressively large; but scattered around the entire New Republic the way it was, it would take precious time to collect any kind of attack force together …
“I don’t want any backup,” Skywalker cut into his musings. “Bringing in the Jade’s Fire is risky enough; the more ships in the system, the better the chances one of them will be spotted. It’ll be better for me to try to slip in by myself.”
“But you can’t get her out alone,” Faughn said.
“I can,” Skywalker said softly. “I have to.”
“You can’t,” Faughn insisted. “Karrde? Tell him.”
For a long moment Karrde studied the younger man, his mind flicking back to that first meeting between the two of them aboard the Wild Karrde so long ago. Even back then Skywalker had never been what he would have called brash; but looking at him now Karrde was struck by the quiet maturity ten years had added to his face. “It’s his call, Faughn,” he said. “If he says he can do it, then he can.”
Skywalker nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
“I think the thanks are all on the other side,” Karrde pointed out, trying to force a smile. “All right: fuel and supplies, and the Jade’s Fire at Duroon. What else do you need us to do?”
“Just what you’re already doing,” Skywalker said. “Keep looking into these riots, and if you find anything get the information to Leia.”
“Done,” Karrde said. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” Skywalker said, a shadow crossing his face. “Could you get word to Leia on Coruscant and tell her where I’ve gone?”
“I’ll go myself,” Karrde promised, getting to his feet again. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re gone.”
“Thank you,” Skywalker said. He turned and headed for the office door—
“You said you saw Mara in a vision,” Karrde called after him. “What was she doing?”
Skywalker paused in the doorway. “She was in a rocky place, floating in water,” he said, not turning around. “And she looked dead.”
Karrde nodded slowly. “I see.”
He was still standing there, gazing at the open do
or, long after Skywalker had gone.
CHAPTER
18
Quite unfairly, the battle alarm sounded right in the middle of dessert.
For a split second Wedge considered shoveling the last three bites of his citros snow cake into his mouth at once, decided running to the landing bays with a full mouth lacked the proper dignity, and regretfully left the cake orphaned on the mess-room table.
“Starfighter wings, check in,” the Peregrine’s fighter coordinator was calling as Wedge slid on his flight helmet and dropped into the cockpit of his X-wing. “Rogue Squadron, where are you?”
“Right here, Perris,” Wedge said, glancing around to confirm that the rest of the squadron were indeed present in the bay. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know for sure,” Perris growled. “All I know is that we just got a panic call from the Sif’kric system. General Bel Iblis talked to them for maybe five minutes, and suddenly we’re getting ready to fly. Okay, you show green—launch when ready.”
“Copy. Okay, Rogues, let’s go.”
Twenty seconds later they were in space, driving forward along the Peregrine’s flank toward vanguard position. “I don’t suppose this might be a drill,” Rogue Six suggested on their private frequency.
“Well, if it is, the general owes me another dessert,” Rogue Twelve put in. “Anyone been following local politics in this sector?”
“I have, a little,” Rogue Nine said grimly. “My father-in-law’s got some interests here. Ten to one it’s the Frezhlix; they’ve been feuding with the Sif’kries ever since we chased the Empire out of the area.”
“Maybe they’ve finally decided to finish it,” Rogue Two suggested.
“With General Bel Iblis and a New Republic task force right next door?” Rogue Six put in incredulously. “What are they using for brains, groat cheese?”
“All ships, this is General Bel Iblis,” the general’s voice came on the command frequency, cutting off the conversation. “We’ve just been informed that a strong Frezhlix force is moving on the Sif’krie homeworld of Sif’kric. As that system is only a few minutes away, we’ve been asked to go take a look.”
Terrific, Wedge thought sourly as he glanced back over the New Republic task force. One Katana-fleet Dreadnaught, two Nebulon-B escort frigates, and three starfighter squadrons; and they were supposed to take on a force big enough to attack a whole planet?
Bel Iblis might have been reading his mind. “Obviously, we’re not planning to go head-to-head with them,” he continued. “In fact, we’re going to have to be very careful we don’t overstep our legal bounds here. That’s all I can say until we get there and assess the situation. Commander Perris?”
“All ships, check in,” Perris ordered. “Prepare to jump to lightspeed on my mark.”
“What does he mean, legal bounds?” Rogue Six asked as the fleet began its check-in.
“My guess is that whoever called Bel Iblis wasn’t someone who could officially ask for New Republic assistance,” Wedge told him. “Some minor bureaucrat, maybe just a rattled space-traffic controller. If we don’t have an official request—”
“Rogue Squadron: go,” Perris ordered.
“Copy,” Wedge said. He pulled back on the hyperdrive lever, squinted as the starlines flared, and they were off.
It was a twelve-minute flight to the Sif’kric system. Alone in the solitude of hyperspace, he spent those minutes running a final check on the X-wing’s systems and armaments, and wondering how the legendary General Garm Bel Iblis was going to pull this one off.
The timer clicked down toward zero. Settling himself, Wedge pushed the lever back. The starlines flared again—
He blinked. What in space—?
On the Rogues’ private channel, somebody snorted. “You must be joking,” Rogue Two said. “That is an invasion fleet?”
Wedge looked at his tactical readout, shaking his head in silent agreement. Two forty-year-old Kruk battle-wagons, five Lancer-class frigates probably half that age, and maybe thirty modern Jompers customs pursuit ships.
“So much for the big bad threat,” Rogue Eight commented contemptuously. “We could probably chase them out of here all by ourselves.”
“I don’t know,” Rogue Eleven said. “Someone seems plenty worried about them. Take a look at the far planetary rim—must be twenty freighters scurrying for cover.”
“And another hundred who aren’t going to make it,” Rogue Seven pointed out. “There to portside—the Frezhlix force has got them cut off.”
“I get it,” Rogue Nine said. “Those clever little scum-rots. That must be the annual pommwomm plant shipment.”
“Frezhlix attack force, this is General Bel Iblis of the New Republic,” Bel Iblis’s voice announced. “Please state your intentions.”
“I am Plarx,” a thickly accented voice shot back. “I speak for the Frezhlix. Our intentions do not concern the New Republic. This is a private matter between ourselves and the Sif’kries.”
“I’m afraid I cannot accept that,” Bel Iblis said. “Any aggression against a New Republic member is our concern.”
“This is not aggression, General Bel Iblis,” the Frezh countered. “We are a delegation come to discuss the Sif’krie vote on the Drashtine Initiative.”
There was a pause, Bel Iblis no doubt having someone look up what exactly the Drashtine Initiative was. “Corran, what are these pommwomm plants you mentioned?” Wedge asked.
“They’re a type of hot-world shrub that grows on the system’s inner planet,” Rogue Nine said. “You can get about eight different exotic medicines and twice that number of food flavorings out of them. Problem is, they have to be processed within thirty hours of picking or they’re useless.”
“So that’s what the Frezhlix are doing,” Rogue Seven growled. “They don’t have to invade anyone or set up a long-term blockade ring. All they have to do is keep those freighters back for a few hours, and the Sif’kries are out a bunch of money.”
“Try about twenty percent of their annual gross product,” Rogue Nine put in. “We’re talking serious economic warfare here. No wonder they sounded panicked when they called.”
The main channel crackled to life again. “Speaker Plarx, this is General Bel Iblis. I’ve reviewed the Drashtine Initiative, and I see no justification for this kind of confrontation.”
“Then you did not review it closely,” the Frezh snarled. “The Sif’krie government cast the deciding vote that prevented our sector’s Senator from adding his voice to the growing condemnation of the Bothan government and people.”
“The vote was legally taken—”
“The vote was wrong!” Plarx snapped. “To allow the Bothans to escape proper punishment will merely encourage further atrocities like Caamas in the future. The Sif’krie government must be made aware of that and given the opportunity to change its vote.”
“A convenient enough excuse,” Rogue Two muttered.
“He’s got a point, though,” Rogue Five said. “Heavily wrapped in local politics and blackmail, but a point.”
“I understand your feelings on this matter,” Bel Iblis said. “But at the same time we cannot stand by and allow you to interfere with interstellar commerce this way.”
“Untrue,” the Frezh said. “I encourage you to review New Republic regulations on such matters, General Bel Iblis.”
There was another pause. “He’s right,” Rogue Twelve said grimly. “This is intrasystem, not interstellar. We can’t move in unless and until we get an official invitation to do so.”
“Which means it’s all in the government’s shockball court now,” Rogue Five muttered. “What do you think, Corran? Can they move fast enough to save the plants?”
“I don’t know,” Rogue Nine said. “But I’d be willing to lay odds the Frezhlix picked a time to pull this stunt when some key Sif’krie official is off-planet or otherwise out of touch.”
There was a click on the private channel. “Rogue Squadron, this is Bel Ib
lis. Commander Horn?”
“Yes, sir?” Rogue Nine said.
“I was given to understand that Booster Terrik has some interests in this sector. Is that true?”
There was just the briefest of pauses. “Yes, General, he does.”
“Would those interests occasionally include legitimate shipping? Say, when the need and fees are high enough, such as during the annual pommwomm shipment?”
There was a longer pause this time. “I really don’t know, sir,” Rogue Nine said, sounding puzzled.
“I think it reasonable that they would,” Bel Iblis continued. “Given that assumption, do you suppose one of those stalled freighters out there might belong to him?”
And suddenly, Wedge understood. The legendary General Bel Iblis was going to pull this one off, all right. Maybe. “Do we have IDs on the ships, General?” he asked.
“I’m sending the data across now,” Bel Iblis said. “Commander Horn, take a look, please.”
“Understood, sir,” Rogue Nine said, his voice no longer puzzled. So he’d caught on, too. “Yes. That freighter listed as the Sycophant Jolly—over at the far side of the pack? I believe that could actually be the Hoopster’s Prank, one of Booster’s ships.”
“I see,” Bel Iblis said, his voice suddenly heavy with official weight. “I recognize your familial relationship with Captain Terrik, Commander, and I realize that this is going to be personally painful for you. But you’re an officer of the New Republic Fleet; and we cannot and will not bend the rules against smuggling for anyone.”
“We understand, sir,” Wedge said, pitching his tone to the same seriousness level. “Request permission to check out this suspect ship.”
“Permission granted, Rogue Squadron,” Bel Iblis said. “Be careful not to accidentally engage the Frezhlix forces.”
“Understood, sir,” Wedge said. “Rogue Squadron, form up around me.”
Kicking power to the drive, he swung the X-wing away from the Peregrine. “Looks like the most direct route to the Sycophant Jolly is right through the middle of the Frezhlix blockade force,” Rogue Eight commented.
