I cranked my throttle down to thirty percent, then reversed it, killing my momentum. I let it hang there for three seconds, then dialed thrust back up. As I did so, my Headhunter friend went streaking by me, and I dropped into his exhaust. My first shot nailed his rear shield. He broke right, so I climbed, inverted and ruddered my way back onto his tail.
Caet raced past and pumped two laser blasts into him. One collapsed the aft shield and the other holed his starboard S-foil. His roll slowed appreciably and became unstable as the vector jets in the damaged S-foil weren’t matching the output from the other side. The pilot just goosed his throttle forward to get away, since he couldn’t fly fancy any more. The Headhunter even had enough speed to outrun my clutch.
Outrunning an ion bolt, on the other hand, is a lot harder. My shot caught his ship dead on in the back. Little blue tendrils of electricity ran over the fighter like nightmare fingers, scratching out sparks and little puffs of vapor. The ship shut down immediately, continuing off on its course.
I saw Caet coming back around for another run on it, but I called her off. “Abort, Ten. He’s done.”
“Not dead.”
“Out of the battle. Leave him.” I triggered an ion blast that passed between her fighter and the stricken ship. “You can have the kill, but there’s no reason to kill a pilot just doing his job.”
“Right to kill is mine.” She snapped her words off as if in pain. “Do not deny me.”
“You owe me. I shucked the one on your butt.” I started my clutch forward, angling in on her. “He’s mine and I want him alive.”
I heard Nive’s voice come through on the tactical frequency. “All targets are neutralized. Stand down Flight Rock Three.”
“I copy,” I reported.
“Copy.” Caet’s snarl did not have me looking forward to talking with her after the mission returned home.
“Nine, go to Tactical Two and scramble.”
“As ordered, sir.” I switched the comm unit over to the secondary tactical frequency and hit the scramble switch. The encryption key, which had been uploaded to each fighter from the Backstab, would keep the conversation private between Nive and me. “Nine here, Captain.”
“Nice shooting, Nine. Why ion? You could have killed the Headhunters in one shot the way you fly, but you used ion and made it tougher.” Nive let a little anger drift into his voice. “Was this a game for you?”
“No, sir.” I paused for a moment, not so much to gather my thoughts as figuring out how to express them. “The Headhunter pilots were just doing their jobs. If we kill them, we’re just butchers and killers and any bodyguards in the future know they should go after us full out because we’re going to vape them. The yacht was gone. Chance can pick these guys up and next time we give them an opportunity to back off and they will.”
“Maybe.” Nive paused. “Makes sense, of course, but few things in warfare ever do.”
“Worth taking a chance if no one dies.”
Nive snorted. “You that squeamish?”
“I’ve got my share of deaders logged in my accounts, Captain. If I can get it without blood, I think it’s better.” I shook my head. “If that’s not thinking that’s welcome here, I can just take my shuttle and leave.”
“No, no need for that.” Some of the tension in Nive’s voice eased. “That kind of thinking is more than welcome here. You’re one of us now, Idanian, one of the Invids. Let’s hope more of you rubs off on us than the other way around.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Caet and I did have words on our return to Khuiumin 4—well, not words exactly, but the scars healed within two weeks and you can’t notice the one on my right cheek unless I get a deep tan. Even before the physical evidence of our fight had gone away, however, Caet voted with four other of Rock Squadron’s survivors to make me the leader of a new three flight. Kech helped me choose three pilots to fill it and Caet moved into first flight to replace Rock Four.
Over the next month I spent a lot of time with my new recruits, drilling them. I’d gone through the same routine countless times before with new pilots coming into Rogue Squadron, but I found Rock Squadron to be the dark side of what I had known with the Rogues. In terms of discipline, Khuiumin 4 made Yavin 4 look like Lusankya. Trying to instruct hungover pilots is about as tough as teaching a rancor to sing and dance—and the rancor’s attitude about the whole process would probably be better. The pilots in my squad clearly thought they could fly, and while they were not bad, they weren’t up to the level I wanted. I was responsible for their lives, and I had no desire to go into a fight with undertrained pilots who would die and leave me alone out there.
The best of the lot was Timmser, a tall woman who wore her hair very short and very blond. Her temper was about as short as her hair, and she initiated a couple of cantina-clearing brawls when she wandered into the Warren, which is where the Red Nova crew and Riistar’s Raiders tended to hang out. There was little love lost between those groups and the Survivors; and Timmser’s status as an ex-Raider didn’t help ease the tension there. In a Tri-fighter she had a good sense of what was going on around her and had a knack for hitting on deflection shots.
Over the first months with the Survivors, I spent most of my time dirtdown in Vlarnya, which is about as thrilling as it sounds. The days got hot enough that most folks spent their time in the semi-sunken cantinas that served as informal squadron homes. The Survivors primarily hung out at the Crash cantina. The decor was rather ghoulish—pilots would bring in bits and pieces of debris from kills or from crashes they’d survived. Chunks of transparisteel or Quadanium alloy hung from the ceiling and, in the dim light, presented navigational obstacles for even folks as small as I am. Timmser actually gashed her forehead in there before she got used to negotiating the debris-maze.
I visited the Crash regularly, but tended to spend a fair amount of my free time wandering through Vlarnya. Aside from the Aviary—the indigs’ name for the district where the pilots tended to reside—Vlarnya looked like pretty much any other marginal town dependent on spaceport trade for its survival. The fields outside of town grew enough fresh vegetables that the prices for them weren’t wholly outrageous. Vlarnya had no native industries—cantinas and gambling establishments don’t really scan that way to me—save for a local brewery that turned out a decent lomin-ale-type product. It was good enough, in fact, that all seven of the pirate crews working out of Vlarnya declared it—and the fields where it grew the things that went into the ale—a no-fly zone to reduce the chances of an aerial accident destroying it.
At night, when things began to cool off and the twin moons came up, I liked walking through the streets. Vlarnya had a small-town feel to it. While the spaceport had been built to Imperial specifications, the city itself had been crafted by local masons and workers using a lot of native material. The streets twisted and turned, snaking through narrow canyons with buildings on both sides, then opening out into small squares that had fountains in the center. The lack of a lot of municipal lighting meant most alleys were sunk in pitch blackness at night, but this was Vlarnya, so alleys weren’t too dangerous, unless you were wandering through the Aviary.
Caet Shrovl occasionally joined me while I wandered. Her condition made her very sensitive to light, so if she came out during the day, she wore a cloak that completely covered her and donned goggles dark enough to turn noon into the void of space. While she was very private, I did learn that she considered her albinism the fault of the Empire, since her mother had once been used in some sort of experiment by Imperial scientists. The Survivors were known to have a strong hatred for the Empire, so she had come to them and endured life on Courkrus for the chance to shoot up Imperials.
Through her I also discovered how Remart Sasyru had been voted out of the unit and into Bolt Squadron. She and I were seated back in one of the Crash’s darker corners, comparing data on our flights’ performances in a series of exercises, when Remart sauntered over toward our table. He came on slow, with a delibera
te gait that allows his hips and shoulders to swivel slowly. It was definitely a strut—he was there to be seen, and seen as stalking prey. He wore his grey uniform trousers, black boots and a sleeveless grey tunic that had to be about four sizes too small because it was tight enough to show off every muscle and rib he possessed.
He gave me a cold smile. “Spending time with her? Watch you don’t get tiqcs.”
I looked up from my ale mug. “Funny, she says she hasn’t been bothered since you bolted. Coincidence? Can’t be.”
Remart looked at me, a bit surprised. He’d intended the jibe to sting Caet, but I’d deflected it. I could feel the anger rising in her, and traces of fear in there, too, but didn’t know why. I did decide real quickly, however, that she didn’t need to be provoked and that I could prevent it.
I slid my chair back noisily. “What’s the matter, Sasyru? You offer a smart remark and can’t handle a riposte? Or did my comment go over your head? Let me explain it, then. See, she hasn’t been bothered by vermin since you went away from Rock Squadron. That means, in my opinion, you’re a carrier of vermin. Does that break it down enough for you?”
Shock widened Remart’s blue eyes, then he recovered himself and posted his gloved hands on his hips. He laughed aloud, filling the sound void in the room. “Trust a Corellian to lead with his mouth and to venture in where he is not wanted.”
I stood. “What, no quick shot about how Corellians have no use for odds, so they don’t know when they’re stacked against them? No joke about the most famous Corellian being named ‘Solo’ because no Corellian will trust another Corellian? What other unoriginal and older-than-the-Empire slur could you have offered? Oh, yes, how about suggesting that Leia Organa took up with a Corellian because, hey, after the destruction of Alderaan, she had nothing else to lose.”
I moved out from behind the table. “How about this one? How many Corellians does it take to change a glowpanel?” I glanced at Timmser sitting at another table, but she shrugged. “None! If the room’s dark, you can’t see Corellians cheating at sabacc!”
That brought some laughter from the surrounding tables and even Caet began to relax. “You know why so many Corellians used to get caught and sent to Kessel?”
Remart’s eyes narrowed. “Because they were stupid?”
“No, they were lonely for the rest of their family!” I snapped my fingers at him. “C’mon, Remart, you gotta be quicker than that. A Corellian bought a nek as a pet, but it was so stupid it kept running into walls. What did he name it?”
The taller man shook his head.
“Remart.” I smiled as I took a step toward him. “He couldn’t think of a stupider name.”
Because of the Force, I knew Remart’s right fist was coming even before he knew he was going to throw it. I twisted slightly to my own right and brought my head around so the punch didn’t land with full impact. I still felt it—it worked my jaw around good—but it didn’t drop me to the floor the way it should have.
I turned my head slowly back toward him and smiled. “By the Emperor’s black bones, you hit like a Chadra-Fan. No report, this time.” I waved him away contemptuously and started back toward my table. “Come back some other time after you learn how to throw a punch.”
I felt him coming at my back, so I turned quickly to the right and stepped laterally toward him, directly along his line of attack. I hit him with a stiffened finger-blow square in the throat. He gurgled and staggered back, more surprised than hurt, and struggled to stay up on his feet. He backed a few more steps, then leaned heavily on a table with two other Bolt pilots seated at it.
I noted, with satisfaction, that they sidled away from him.
I pointed at him. “I gave you one punch for free. Never again. You leave me and the rest of Rock Squadron alone. You aren’t part of it anymore, so what we do is of no concern to you. You say anything to my people—beyond asking permission to get your disgusting form out of their sight—and we’ll have it out, you and I. You understand that?”
Without waiting for an answer, I looked at the other two Bolts at that table: “Get him out of here—I’ve got your tab—and tell Captain Gurtt I’ll speak with her on this matter at her convenience.”
I returned to my chair and pulled it back up to the table. I picked up my ale mug, drank, then kept it in front of my mouth as I glanced at Caet. “Hope you didn’t find that embarrassing. I know you could have taken him.”
The white Shistavanen shook her head and one of her ears rotated in my direction. “Gallant. Grateful.” I noticed the fiberplast table had little curls of material where her claws had gouged parallel furrows down to the edge. “Old foe, never learned ‘no.’ ”
I nodded and drank some more, killing the dryness in my mouth and throat. “I’m surprised you voted him into the Bolts.”
“Couldn’t kill him, so we got him out that way.” Caet regarded me carefully. “He was a bully and animal. Kech was afraid. Remart wanted fame, money, power. He was good pilot so didn’t die. Good enough for Bolts, so we sent him.”
I lowered my mug. “His coming back here to pick on you means the Bolts aren’t putting up with his antics. Why did he come for you?”
She glanced down and a low growl rolled from her throat.
I raised my left hand. “S’okay, I don’t need to know.”
Caet stood and pulled her cloak on. “Walk.”
“As ordered.” I drained my ale, then walked over to Timmser and handed her a stack of mismatched coins. “You get my tab, the Bolts’ tab and one round for the Rocks, right?”
“I copy.” Timmser gave me a quick smile. “Nice work there, Jen.”
“Don’t try to repeat it.” I winked at her. “And three flight will be at the training center at dawn, and you’ll have my change.”
I followed Caet out into the cool night and we began wandering aimlessly, though the growl in my stomach told me I’d want some food soon. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
She nodded and peered off at the dueling crescent moons. “Peace. Nice to know peace some.”
“I’d like to hope, someday, there will be more peace than war in the galaxy.”
“With that dream, you are in wrong place.” Her lips peeled back in a grin, flashing lots of white teeth. “No peace from Remart.”
I shrugged. “He’s sneaky and, deep down, a coward. I’m not worried about him, though.”
“He came for me because he broke me.” Caet fell silent after that admission and I thought she’d used up her quota of words for the day. I let the silence hang between us, not pressing, because I knew she’d say nothing more. It was almost as if she were resting up after the ordeal of making so open a statement, and preparing to be battered by me for it.
A couple of blocks later, down curving hilly streets that took us well away from the Aviary, she spoke again. “Charmed me. He became friend. He sat with me in the dark. He did not draw me out like you. He worked his way in.”
I frowned. “What did he want?”
“Possession. I am apart from everyone. Isolated.”
“Because of your photosensitivity.”
“And raising. My mother was the only Shistavanen I knew young.” She hesitated, groping for words. “When we came to Uvena 3, she was home. I was in new place. My scent was not right, you understand?”
“You were different. It became easy for others to pick on you.” I reached out gently and rested my left hand on her right shoulder. “You let Remart know this, and he turned it against you.”
“False friend. Made demands.” I could feel tension start her body trembling, but she quelled it quickly. “I rejected him. He beat me. Badly. Fear and pain. I was happy to vote him out.”
I gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “Your confidence is safe with me.”
“I know.” She turned toward me and I saw a crescent moon reflected in her eyes. “You hide pain, secrets, too.”
I blinked. “How do you know?”
“I am Shistavanen enough to read sign
.” Her grin returned. “You walk alone. You do not visit, seek companionship. You do not drink more than is needed to make you fit in.”
I gave her a quick smile. “Quite the detective. Of what am I guilty?”
“You have lover away. You look for reunion or redemption.”
That stopped me. “You’re a very good tracker.”
“So, I think, why are you here?” She sniffed twice, quickly. “Your lover is not an Invid.”
I shook my head, wondering how close to the truth I could come without jeopardizing my entire mission. I decided I had to skirt the truth by a wide margin, but quickly built up a story that would suffice. “Her cousin controls the Tinta line, and has decreed that my lover cannot be with me without having her whole branch of the family cut off from the Tinta fortune. I am greasier than Hutt slime in her eyes, and considered to be after my lover’s wealth alone. I want to destroy the Tintas, and I see being an Invid as the way to do it. I want them to know I am the instrument of their destruction, and I want to have their wealth in my pockets when I take my lover away from her poverty-stricken family.”
Caet sniffed once more, then gave out with a sharp yip. “Fools fight for love, the wise for money.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Bold plan. You will need to be True Invid to accomplish it.”
I caught a whiff of something cooking from further down the street and headed toward it. “What do you mean by True Invid?”
“Crew on ship.” She fell into step with me. “Two ways. Merit in combat.”
“That can be done.”
“Not as Rock. We are ignored. Bolts are not.” A playful growl rolled from her throat. “Bolt you can become.”
“I hope so. What’s the other method?”
“Berth duty.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
Caet reached out and caught my chin in her right hand. She turned my face to the left and nodded. “Minimal scar. You might do.”
Star Wars: I, Jedi Page 34
