Star Wars - [X-Wing 08] - Isard's Revenge (by Michael A Stackpole)

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Star Wars - X-Wing 8 - Isard's Revenge
by Michael A. Stackpole
1
Sithspawn! When his X-wing reverted to realspace before the countdown timer had reached zero,
Corran Horn knew Thrawn had somehow managed to outguess the New Republic yet one more time.
The Rogues had helped create the deception that the New Republic would be going after the Tangrene
Ubiqtorate Base, but Thrawn clearly hadn't taken the bait.
The man's incredible. I'd like to meet him, shake his hand. Corran smiled. And then kill him, of course.
Two seconds into realspace and the depth of Thrawn's brilliance became undeniable. The New
Republic's forces had been brought out of hyperspace by two Interdictor cruisers, which even now
started to fade back toward the Imperial lines. This left the New Republic's ships well shy of the Bilbringi
shipyards and facing an Imperial fleet arrayed for battle. The two Interdictors that had dragged them from
hyperspace were a small part of a larger force scattered around to make sure the New Republic's ships
were not going to be able to retreat.
"Battle alert!" Captain Tycho Celchu's voice crackled over the comm unit. "TIE Interceptors coming
in-bearing two-nine-three, mark twenty."
Corran keyed his comm unit. "Three Flight, on me. Hold it together and nail some squints."
The cant-winged Interceptors rolled in and down on the Rogues. Corran kicked his X-wing up on its
port S-foil and flicked his lasers over to quad-fire mode. While that would slow his rate of fire, each
burst had a better chance of killing a squint outright. And there are plenty that need killing here.
Corran nudged his stick right and dropped the crosshairs onto an Interceptor making a run at Admiral
Ackbar's flagship. He hit the firing switch, sending four red laser bolts burning out at the target. They hit
on the starboard side, with two of them piercing the cockpit and the other two vaporizing the strut
supporting the right wing. The bent hexagonal wing sheered off in a shower of sparks, while the rest of
the craft started a long, lazy spiral toward the outer edges of the system.
"Break port, Nine."
As the Gand's high-pitched voice poured through the comm unit, Corran snaprolled his X-wing to the
left, and then chopped his throttle back and hauled hard on the stick to take him into a loop. An
Interceptor flashed through where he had been, and Ooryl Qyrgg's X-wing came fast on its tail. Qoryl's
lasers blazed in sequence, stippling the Interceptor with red energy darts. One hit each wing, melting
great furrows through them, while the other two lanced through the cockpit right above the twin ion
engines. The engines themselves tore free of their support structure and blew out through the front of the
squint, and then exploded in a silver fireball that consumed the rest of the Imperial fighter.
"Thanks, Ten."
"My pleasure, Nine."
Whistler, the green and white R2 unit slotted in behind Corran, hooted, and data started pouring up over
the fighter's main monitor. It told him in exact detail what he was seeing unfold in space around him. The
New Republic's forces had come into the system in the standard conical formation that allowed them to
maximize firepower.
Thrawn had arrayed his forces in more of a bowl shape, with Interdictor cruisers ringing the outer edge,
preventing retreat and promoting containment. The Imperial forces also appeared to have very specific
fire missions and were working over the smaller support ships in Ackbar's fleet.
Corran shivered. And even if we were to punch through the Imp formation, we'd still have to deal with
the Golan Space Defense Stations protecting the Imperial shipyards. Thrawn, genius that he had proved
himself to be, had set a perfect ambush for the New Republic. The Bilbringi shipyards were crucial to the
Imperial war effort since they were a major supplier of ships, and their loss would strike a major blow
against Thrawn's effort to destroy the New Republic.
Of course, Thrawn figured that out himself and knew we'd be here. Until Thrawn slithered in from the
Unknown Regions and began his drive to reestablish the Empire, Corran had allowed himself to believe
the tough battles had already been won, and all the New Republic had left to do was to mop up the last
of the Imperials. Now it seems the hard battles are here and waiting to be lost.
With a flick of his thumb, Corran evened his shields out fore and aft, and then throttled back up and
slashed in at a pair of Interceptors making a run on a New Republic Assault Frigate. He slid his
crosshairs over on the trailing Interceptor as it began its shallow glide along the Frigate's hull. His quad
burst caught most of the port wing, liquefying it in an instant. The molten metal froze in a long black tangle
of ribbonlike shards trailing after the damaged fighter. The pilot juked his ship to the right to escape
Corran, but that flew him straight into a burst from one of the Frigate's turbo-lasers, vaporizing the squint
in an eyeblink.
The lead Interceptor rolled to port and cut down past the curve of the Frigate's hull. Corran caught a
flash of red on one of the Interceptor's wings and nodded. "Looks like he was once part of the One
Eighty-first Imperial Fighter Group. They used to be feared. Maybe I ought to see why."
Whistler sounded a mournful tone.
"Yes, I know what I'm doing."
The droid blatted harshly at him.
"Yes, I'll be careful. Neither one of us wants to know what Mirax will do to the survivor if we die."
Corran winked at the holograph of his wife fixed to a side panel in his cockpit, and then rolled his X-wing
and cruised down after the squint. He threaded a path through the turbolaser blasts the Frigate was
pumping out, and then swept past the ship out near its engines
Even before Whistler could hoot a warning, the hiss of lasers splashing themselves over his aft shields
caught Corran's full attention. His secondary monitor showed the Interceptor dropping in on his tail. Must
have throttled back and hovered near the engines, waiting. This guy is good.
Pumping more energy into his shields, Corran rolled the X-wing right, up onto the S-foil. He pulled back
on the stick to start a loop and held it for three seconds, and then cut his throttle back and inverted.
Pulling back harder on the stick, he completed a fast loop, and then throttled up through the end of it and
rolled out right.
As his fighter's nose came to point at the Interceptor, the Imp pilot rolled his craft and dove away from
Corran. The Corellian pilot started down after him, but cut back to 75 percent of his speed. As he
anticipated, the Imp cut his speed as well, hoping Corran would race past him. Instead Corran triggered
one quick burst of fire that hit high on the Imp's port wing, burning a black hole through the red stripe. He
then stood on his right rudder pedal, keeping his guns on the squint, and poured another quad burst of
laserfire into the Interceptor.
All four ruby darts drilled through the port wing, and then stabbed deep into the cockpit. A bright light
flashed through the hole the lasers had opened, and Corran expected the ship to explode, but it didn't.
Instead it began to come apart, with bits and pieces of it whirling away as if the bright flash had
disintegrated all the rivets and welds used in its manufacture.
Corran looped his X-wing away from the dying squint, but before he could vector in on another
Interceptor,
he heard Commander Wedge Antilles coming through on the squadron's tactical channel. "All Rogues,
come about on a heading of one-two-five, mark one-seven. That Golan Space Defense Station is
designated Green One. It's ours."
"Ours, Commander?" The same surprise Corran felt in his chest came flooding through Gavin
Darklighter's voice. "That's a pretty tough target."
"We'll just have to be tougher than it is, won't we, Six?" Wedge's reply came loaded with grim irony. "If
we can get into the shipyard, the Imps will have to think about more than just pounding our fleet. Besides,
we have friends coming out. One Flight is on me. Five, you have Two Flight. Nine, you have Three."
"As ordered, Lead." Corran brought his fighter around on the appropriate heading and locked the target
into his computer. "Estimated time of arrival at missile range is forty seconds. Let's move, Three Flight."
Ooryl pulled his X-wing up on Corran's starboard wing. Inyri Forge brought Rogue Twelve up on
Corran's port wing and Asyr Sei'lar, in Rogue Eleven, hung back off Inyri's port wing. Corran goosed his
ship a bit forward and shifted his attention toward their target, trusting the others to keep him informed if
Imps were vectoring in on them from behind.
Not likely, though, since they've got plenty to keep them busy. Throughout the bowl into which the New
Republic's fleet moved, massive salvos of energy shot up and down and side to side, filling the area with
a dazzling light show. Corran would have been more than content to watch the turbolaser bursts flow
back and forth, but the fact that they were lethal was more than enough to keep him from finding much
beauty in them. Behind the squadron, Y-wings, A-wings, and B-wings mixed it up with Interceptors, TIE
fighters, and Bombers, punctuating the light show with brilliant explosions.
The larger ships, when hit hard, didn't explode as quickly. Instead their fire-blackened bulks drifted
through the battlefield, atmosphere burning off as it leaked out of
broken hulls. Some turbolaser blasts were enough to peel back armor plates and reduce them to floating
metal globules that hardened in the vacuum of space. In other places the shots holed the ships through
and through or vaporized things that should have been there, like superstructures or a bow.
The Golan Space Defense Station loomed larger. Lights blinked placidly at the various corners, almost
inviting inspection. Over two kilometers long, about half as wide and tall, it bristled with turbolaser
batteries, proton torpedo launchers, and tractor beam stations. It massed more than an Imperial Star
Destroyer and, while it wasn't as heavily armed, the proton torpedo launchers gave it the ability to inflict
serious damage in a hurry. It could easily put down any of the New Republic ships that made it through
the Imperial formation.
Corran flicked his weapons-control over to proton torpedoes and linked fire so two would go with a
single pull of his trigger. Whistler brought up the heads-up targeting display and the HUD fixed a green
box around the space platform. The droid began to beep insistently as it tried to get a target lock; then
the HUD went red and Whistler's tone became constant.
"Nine has a firing solution, transmitting now. On my mark, Three Flight. Three, two, one, mark!"
All four of the X-wings fired their proton torpedoes at one time, using Whistler's targeting solution to
guide them. A battle station like the Golan sported very powerful shields and individually fired proton
torpedoes would have been 'unable to pierce it. Eight torpedoes coming in at the same time, aiming for
the same point, would overstress the shields, draining them of energy. This would create a critical time
window in which the shields would be weakened, or would totally fail, and have to be regenerated.
Whistler sounded another long, strong tone. "Three Flight, second salvo. On my mark. Three, two, one,
mark."
Eight more proton torpedoes streaked out from the incoming fighters before the first set had hit. The first
eight
torpedoes detonated against the station's top-port shield. The shield itself went opaque, taking on a
milky-white hue as it attempted to dissipate the torpedoes' energy. But sparks shot from the shield
projectors rimming the station's middle and a roiling ball of plasma bounced across the hull, scorching
gray paint as it went.
The next eight missiles hit in a ragged sequence and exploded brilliantly along the station's middle. Flames
vomited into space as a blast opened a hole three decks deep and vented atmosphere. Armor plates
whirled into space, half melted and twisted. Turbolaser batteries split apart, leaving blackened holes and
warped metal where they had once been grafted to the station.
Corran juked his fighter up and away from the station, and then inverted and watched turbolaser fire
shoot beneath his canopy. For a half second he thought the Golan's gunners were terribly shaken by the
squadron's attack, hence their misses, and then he glanced at his rear sensor display. He smiled and
keyed his comm unit. "We softened them up for you..."
"Appreciated, Rogues, now let us do our jobs."
Two New Republic Assault Frigates, the Tyrant's Bane and Liberty Star, cruised in toward the Golan
station. Though each ship was less than a third as long as the station, they bristled with fifty laser cannons
and poured tera-joules of coherent light into the Golan. Scarlet bolts lanced through the station's
collapsed shields and bubbled up chunks of the metal hull. Stanchions wavered and wilted beneath the
blistering assault. As they collapsed, turbolaser batteries sagged and dipped, and then melted into slag.
The troops aboard the Golan fought back valiantly, but found themselves at a gross disadvantage. Proton
torpedoes exploded, shaking the station. The troops fired in vain at the fighters, and then concentrated
their fire on the Frigates. While the larger ships made for better targets, their intact shields provided them
with protection the station lacked. With each salvo fewer and fewer of the Golan's weapons fired back.
A brilliant flare flashed on the station's port side, and then it went black.
Power couplings must be down. That half of the station is dead. Corran keyed his comlink. "Three Flight,
with me, we're past the station and in on the shipyard. Now the Imps have to move to catch us."
Corran tried to force confidence into his voice. Racing a starfighter through a shipyard, shooting up
targets of opportunity, would be fairly easy, but he didn't want to kid himself about the chances that such
an assault would force the Empire to break off its attack on the Rebel fleet. Thrawn might not like what
the Rogues are doing, but he can deal with us later, wh'en he's killed all the other ships.
Tycho's voice poured through the comm unit. "Lead, Two here. I show the Imperial formation breaking
up."
"What?" Corran stabbed a button and shifted the display on his primary monitor over to a system-wide
scan. The Imperial bowl, which had been contracting around the Rebel cone, was beginning to come
apart. The Stormhawk and the Nemesis were moving to secure an outbound vector for the fleet, while
Thrawn's flagship, the Chimaera, swung about to discourage pursuit of the fleet's smaller ships.
Disbelief threaded through Wedge's voice. "Be careful, Rogues. Thrawn's got something up his sleeve."
Janson laughed lightly. "Looks like a full-fledged retreat, Lead. They're recovering their fighters."
Corran studied his readout. The Rebel cone began to blossom from the widest end, coming forward to
the tip. The New Republic's ships kept a respectful distance from the Imperial ships and moved to begin
recovery operations. The Imp pull-back left a couple of their own stricken ships still hanging in space.
And it leaves the Bilbringi shipyards to us, which Thrawn never would have wanted.
A shiver ran up Corran's spine. "What happened here, Lead?"
"I don't know, Nine." Wedge's voice came through solemn and with a hint of hesitation. "Just got a recall
order from Admiral Ackbar. We're to rendezvous with Home One."
"And then he'll tell us what happened?"
"Could be, Corran, but I doubt it." Wedge's X-wing looped out in front of the other Rogues and began
the trip back toward the fleet. "For now, let's just be glad that, for whatever reason, Thrawn discovered
he had better things to do, and let's be ready for when he decides to come back at us again."
2
As tired as he was, Wedge Antilles found it a major effort to open his eyes when Admiral Ackbar
cleared his voice. The pilot had been seated in the waiting area outside the Admiral's office and hadn't
heard the hatch open. He started to spring to his feet, but tight muscles slowedjiim, only allowing him to
unfurl his body like a heavy flag in a weak breeze.
"Forgive me, Admiral." Wedge sheepishly looked back at where he'd been sitting. "I didn't mean to..."
Ackbar's barabels quivered as his mouth opened in an approximation of a human grin. "No need for
forgiveness. I kept you waiting too long. Reviewing Thrawn's tactics is fascinating, and other information
also demanded attention. The tide of data washed away the time."
"Understandable, Admiral." Wedge followed the Mon Calamari into his office. As with any cabin on a
starship, space was limited but the large viewports helped alleviate any sense of closeness. A globe of
water hung suspended in the corner in a gravity-nullifying field and flashed with a rainbow of fish
swimming through it. The water also contributed to the elevated humidity in the room, but Wedge didn't
mind it too much. After all these years of dealing with the Admiral, it doesn't feel that oppressive.
Ackbar waved a flipper-fingered hand at a chair before his desk, and then sat with his back to the black
expanse of space. "I want to commend you and your people on the run at the Golan station. While the
Assault Frigates finished it off, your people put the first cracks in its shell and otherwise hurt it. You
should have your techs get ready to paint a Golan on your fighters."
Wedge smiled and ran his fingers back through his brown hair. "I'm sure that'll make the Rogues happy.
I'm just pleased you gave us the release to make that run."
"It was a gamble we needed to make at the time."
"And it seemed to work." Wedge's brown eyes narrowed. "I can't believe, though, that our assault was
what frightened Thrawn off."
The Mon Calamari sat back and swiveled his chair around to face toward the fish-globe. "It
wasn't-which is not meant to diminish what you and your people did. Part of the delay here was dealing
with coded messages from Wayland."
"Wayland?"
"Apparently it is a world where the Emperor had hidden a cloning facility. Thrawn was using it to
produce troops. He was also using a clone of a Jedi Master to help coordinate his military efforts, and
this clone was based on Wayland. Luke and Leia were there to deal with him. Leia also has managed to
establish a rapport with the Noghri. They are an alien species the Empire had tricked into serving as
agents and assassins. The Noghri worked for Thrawn, but when they discovered the Imperial deception,
they used one of the Noghri close to Thrawn to kill him."
Wedge sat forward, the last vestiges of fatigue burned away. "Thrawn, dead? Are you sure?"
Ackbar shrugged uneasily. "There is no way of knowing for certain, since the Noghri assassin has not
reported back to his superiors. In fact, they assume he was killed trying to escape from the Chimaera.
While it is possible that Thrawn was just injured and a subordinate officer issued orders in his stead,
causing the retreat, the fact is that the Noghri have been spectacularly successful assassins. This
Ruhk had the same sort of access to Thrawn that Chewbacca has to Han Solo, and if the Wookiee were
of a mind to kill Han, I do not doubt he would succeed."
The Corellian pilot exhaled slowly as he sank back into the chair. "Thrawn, dead. That pretty much
breaks the back of the Empire's remnants, doesn't it?"
"It certainly hurts them, yes. There are still warlords out there-Teradoc, Harssk, Krennel-and some
ex-Imperials who have gone feral and are leading pirate bands. There are also clusters of loyal Imperial
systems that are fairly self-sufficient, but they don't seem to be much of a threat to the New Republic. We
will have to continue battling the warlords, and I have no doubt there are more Imperial weapons of mass
destruction lurking out there to catch us like a riptide, but we have gotten past a stretch of rough water."
Wedge blinked, and then shook his head. "It's been eight or nine years now that I've been fighting against
the Empire. There were times I didn't think I was going to live another moment. I don't think I ever let
myself dream I might survive this long, to see this sort of victory. This was always a goal, but now that it's
here..."
He fell silent as a host of emotions exploded in his chest. An incredible sensation of relief washed over
him. I'm alive, actually alive. Pleasure at the number of his comrades who had also survived followed
quickly on its heels, chased by the melancholy of remembering those who had died. Biggs, Dack,
Ibtisam, Riv, the Admiral's niece Jesmin, Grinder, Castin Donn, Peshk, Jek Parkins-too many, far too
many.
Yet even as memories of the dead tried to weigh him down, his spirits soared. The Rebellion had actually
done it, had actually defeated the Empire and liberated trillions of subjugated people. Oppression had
been exchanged for hope, misery for freedom. It had been an act of sheer will by so many that allowed
for the Rebellion's success, and Wedge took great joy in his contribution to that effort.
He looked up at Ackbar. "I never really dared let myself look beyond the next battle, and now, it seems,
there might truly be an end to the warfare. I don't know what I'll do with myself."
Ackbar's lip-fringes twitched. "Said like a man contemplating retirement."
"Retirement? I'm not even thirty."
"Warfare is an occupation from which one can never retire too young, Commander."
"Good point, Admiral." Wedge smiled. "Maybe I could retire-not immediately, mind you. I literally don't
know what I would do with myself if I did. Maybe write my memoirs or get some education. I always
wanted to be an architect, and peace could mean a lot of building."
Ackbar nodded. "Find yourself a mate, raise a small school of children?"
Wedge wrinkled his nose. "I don't know about a school of children, but a couple, sure. However, that's
further down the line, I think."
"True." Ackbar turned to face him and rested his forearms on his desk. "There is a more immediate
problem I need you to deal with."
"Yes?"
"I want you to accept immediate promotion to the rank of General."
Wedge shook his head. "Hey, I won that Wraith Squadron bet."
"Yes, you did, and very adroitly." Ackbar pressed his hands together. "Commander, we have played this
shell game, you and I, for years. You don't want a promotion because you don't want to move out of an
X-wing cockpit. I certainly can appreciate your desires. I can sympathize with them, but I also know you
are capable of handling greater responsibilities than you have been. This promotion would address those
responsibilities."
"Address how? I'm at my best planning small-unit tactical operations."
"Ah, so the conquest of Thyferra was a small-unit tactical operation?"
Wedge hesitated. "Well, yes, sort of."
Ackbar shook his head. "I allowed you to deflect me with the whole Wraith Squadron concept, and I
value you enough to seriously consider letting you remain in command of a fighter unit."
"Rogue Squadron? Or am I going to have to command a full wing the way General Salm does?"
"Rogue Squadron will be sufficient for now."
The Corellian arched an eyebrow at his superior. "If you're willing to leave me in charge of Rogue
Squadron, 1 guess I don't need a promotion, and then."
The Mon~Calamari leaned forward, his eyes half shut. "But you do, Commander, you need a promotion
and you need one very quickly."
"Why?"
Ackbar sighed. "Because your people in the squadron are refusing their own promotions. They're
following in your wake, which is a grand testament to your leadership and their feelings for you, but not
really fair to them at all. Captain Celchu should be at least a Colonel-that was the job he was performing
in leading the Rogues while you were with the Wraiths. Hobbie and Janson should be Majors, Horn
should be a Captain at the very least, Dark-lighter as well, and the rest of your Rogues should be
something other than Flight Officers."
Wedge sat there, his mouth open ever so slightly. "I never really gave it that much thought, I guess."
"There wasn't that much time for thinking, given all you and the Rogues have been through." Ackbar
spread his hands. "The liberation of Thyferra made it difficult for us to insist on promotions lest it look as
though we were rewarding you for toppling a government. That sort of thing could have encouraged
other units to try similar actions on other worlds. Your involvement with the Wraiths further insulated you
because of the bet we had. Then Thrawn arrived and promotions became less important than otherwise.
Now, with his threat ended, we have old injustices to take care of."
"Right. I'm sure the Bothans would like to see Asyr made at least a Captain."
"And they would like her back flying for them."
"Not hard to believe." Wedge shook his head. How could I have been so blind? My people have all
been great, and certainly more deserving of rank and honors than a lot of folks who've been promoted
beyond them. I've been so worried about not letting the Rebellion down that I've let them down. "I guess
I need to prepare reports so they can be considered for promotion, yes?"
Ackbar punched a button on the holoprojector pad built into his desk. Above it little holographic images
of each of the squadron's pilots burned to life. The Admiral reached up and touched Tycho's image and it
blossomed into a full datafile. "Emtrey managed to take care of filing routine reports for you, including
performance evaluations and the like. Appending your comments to each file would not hurt, especially if
the reporting officer is General Antilles."
Wedge nodded slowly, and then smiled. "How long ago did you figure out that using my people against
me would work? I mean, none of them complained, did they?"
"No, none of them did." Ackbar's mouth opened in a smile. "In fact, I think they took perverse delight in
their situation. As for when I knew how to get you to accept this change, it occurred to me during your
time at Thyferra. You're as loyal to your people as they are to you."
"Fair enough." Wedge's eyes narrowed. "Now that you've gotten me to agree to the promotion, it's time
you let me in on what else is happening."
Ackbar hesitated for a moment, and then bowed his head. "Very good, General. How did you know the
tide was still rising?"
"I know you well enough, Admiral, to know you wouldn't have pushed me to accept a rank unless it was
important for me to do so. If getting my people to accept rank was the problem, you'd just have me talk
to them. You want me to be a General, and I guess I figure that if I have rank, it's because I'm going to
need to pull it."
"Excellent reasoning, which confirms your suitability to what I need you for." The Mon Calamari pressed
his hands flat against the desk. "Thrawn's assault really was
the last effort by a united Empire to destroy the Rebellion. There are, however, many warlords who hold
sway over collections of star systems. We're going to need to liberate those systems and worlds. Right
now, Rogue Squadron pretty much the only unit in the New Republic with any sort of experience with
that kind of operation."
"Because of what we learned at Thyferra."
"Exactly."
Wedge nodded. "System liberation will be a (delicate operation. If we go in with too much materiel we'll
appear to be as nasty "a force as the Empire. If we make a halfhearted effort and are defeated, it will
cost us lives and undermine our credibility with the New Republic's member states. If we do it just right,
we give other warlords something to think about, which might make them more open to peaceful
negotiations."
"You've distilled four hours of Provisional Council discussions down to the key points. We're going to
have to go after the warlords, and the first one has to fall in relatively short order."
"Haste never makes for good warfare." Wedge frowned. "Just picking a target will be tough. The criteria
for that choice alone will take hours of debate."
"Already done." Ackbar hit another button on the holoprojector and a new image replaced Tycho's. The
man had close-cropped white hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to project a cold cruelty. Below
the image of the man's head and shoulders hung a smaller computer window display showing a prosthetic
right hand. A list of specifications for the hand scrolled out below. "You've dealt with this man before."
"Admiral Delak Krennel." Wedge felt the flesh on his arms pucker. "He ordered TIE fighter attacks on
the civilians on Axxila and opposed our rescue of Sate Pestage from Ciutric."
"Yes. He murdered Sate Pestage and took over his holdings-the Ciutric Hegemony. It made him the
leader of a dozen worlds and gave him a fair amount of material resources. He didn't join Thrawn per se,
but seems to have
given him monetary support. He rules from Ciutric and has a fleet of a dozen or so capital ships, including
his Reckoning." Wedge smiled. "Got it all repaired, did he?" "So it seems."
"He's been rather quiet-not at all like Teradoc. How can you justify going after him?" Wedge frowned for
a moment, and then barked a little laugh. "We're going to bring him to justice for Pestage's murder?"
"That, and the murder of Pestage's family. When Krennel took over, he killed every one of them he could
find. Over a hundred people perished in that purge alone, and there have been other purges to keep him
in power. His murder sprees give us all the excuse we need to target him."
"And the fact that he took the holdings of an Imperial officer and converted them to himself means that by
going after him, we're suggesting to anyone else who might be adventurous out there that what once
belonged to the Empire is ours. Interfere with us and you'll lose everything."
Ackbar turned his head and stared at Wedge with one big amber eye. "Political analysis, Wedge? Had I
known you'd take to being a General so easily, I'd have demanded the promotion sooner."
"Being aware of politics, Admiral, is light-years away from liking it or being good at it. Still, the lessons
concerning Thyferra and how ticklish that all was haven't been lost upon me. Do things right, and we
might avoid prolonged battles in the future." Wedge stood and saluted the Admiral. "I guess a General
has to keep the big picture in mind. I get that right and I keep my people alive. No matter what my rank,
that's the duty I hold most dear."
3
Corran Horn hit the canopy release on his X-wing and freed himself of the restraining harness even
before Whistler completed the fighter's shutdown procedure. The pilot pulled off his helmet and set it on
the spacefighter's nose, and then clambered out of the cockpit and jumped down to the hangar deck. He
came up from his crouch quickly and turned toward Whistler. The droid was piping shrilly.
"I know you want down. I'll find a tech to do that."
He turned toward the flight operations center and raised a hand to signal for a tech, but a woman slipped
her fingers through his, and then bumped him bodily back a step beneath the X-wing. She covered his
mouth with hers and Corran enfolded her in a fierce hug. He clung tightly to her, drinking in the spicy
scent of her hair and perfume as they kissed.
Eventually, reluctantly, he freed his mouth from hers and looked up into her smoldering brown eyes.
"Damn, I have missed you so much, Mirax. I..."
She kissed him again. "You're here, I'm here. The missing part is over, my love."
Corran reached a hand up and stroked her cheek, brushing away a single tear. "Of happiness, I hope."
"Very much so." She pulled her face back a couple of centimeters and arched a black eyebrow at him.
"No tears of joy from you?"
He shrugged. "YouM have a flood, but it's bad for the pilot image thing, you know?"
Whistler's harsh blatting from above them stole any need for Mirax to reply.
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StarWars-X-Wing8-Isard'sRevengebyMichaelA.Stackpole1Sithspawn!WhenhisX-wingrevertedtorealspacebeforethecountdowntimerhadreachedzero,CorranHornknewThrawnhadsomehowmanagedtooutguesstheNewRepublicyetonemoretime.TheRogueshadhelpedcreatethedeceptionthattheNewRepublicwouldbegoingaftertheTangreneUbiqtorate...

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