Isard's Revenge (45 page)

His comm unit beeped and words appeared on the text screen—acknowledgment by
Allegiance
that they had recognized him, authorization for landing, and a small schematic indicating the small landing bay, suited for dignitaries, where they were supposed to put down.

“Red Flight,” he said, “we are cleared to land. Main starfighter bay. Follow me in.”

He heard acknowledgments from his three pilots, then began a long, slow loop around toward the Star Destroyer’s underside.

Almost immediately his comm unit crackled. “X-wing group, this is
Allegiance
. You, uh, seem to be off your approach vector for Bay Alpha Two.”

“
Allegiance
, this is Red Leader,” Wedge said. “We’re inbound for the main bay. By orders of the expedition commander.” He let the comm officer stew over that one for a moment. He, Wedge,
was
the expedition commander.

There was a moment of delay—just long enough, Wedge estimated, for the comm officer to make one short broadcast to the ship commander and get one short reply. “Acknowledged, Red Leader.
Allegiance
out.”

Wedge and his companions took up position beneath the gigantic vessel and rose within the spacious confines of the ship’s main bay. Wedge hovered, ignoring the flight line worker beckoning to him with glowing batons, and took a look around.

Starfighters stood ready to launch into battle—A-wings, B-wings, X-wings, Y-wings, and even TIE fighters that had once fought the New Republic. Retrofitted with shields, the TIEs were now a common sight in friendly hangars. Mechanics worked briskly on fighters in need of repair or maintenance. The metal floors and bulkheads wore a dull sheen, showing age and wear but also cleanliness, rather than a shine suggesting that the captain was too concerned with appearance. These were good signs.

The smaller bay they’d originally been directed to could have been put in tiptop shape for their arrival with comparative ease, but the state of affairs in the main bay was a better indicator of how the ship was being run, and things here looked good.

Wedge finally allowed the worker to direct Red Flight to a landing spot, near the vessel’s single squadron of X-wings. The unit patch on those snubfighters, showing a single X-wing soaring high above a mountain peak, identified them as High Flight Squadron. Wedge nodded. They weren’t the best X-wing unit in the fleet, but they were a veteran squadron with plenty of battle experience.

As he and his fellows set down, Wedge saw the main doorway into the bay open upward and a crowd of people enter at a run. Some of them skidded as they spotted Red Flight and turned in the direction of the recently arrived snubfighters. Among them were a man in a Fleet Command captain’s uniform, the usual complement of junior officers and guards, and, most odd of all, what looked like a woman with two heads, one of them shining silver.

Wedge descended his access ladder and turned to face the delegation. He felt and heard his own pilots fall into line behind him. He extended his hand toward the highest-ranking officer. “Captain Salaban. I was glad to hear you’d been promoted off
Battle Dog
.”

The captain, a lean, bearded man with skin the color of tanned leather, still breathing hard, hesitated. Obviously confused for a moment as to whether he should salute properly or follow Wedge’s informal fashion of greeting, he chose the latter and shook Wedge’s hand. “Thank you, sir. And welcome aboard. Allow me to introduce you to my senior officers …”

It was a ritual Wedge knew from countless repetitions in the past. He committed each officer’s name and face to memory, hoping his retention would last until the end of the mission; it usually did.

Then the captain gestured to the two-headed woman. “And the mission documentarian, Hallis Saper.”

Wedge could finally give her his full attention. She was a tall woman, taller than he by two or three centimeters, with long brown hair worn in a braid and wide-open features; she looked as though she’d recently arrived from a one-shuttle agrarian world. He could not read her eyes, as they were concealed behind goggles darkened almost to opacity. She wore a brown jumpsuit festooned with belts, pouches, and pockets.

And on her right shoulder, held on a bracket affixed to her clothing, was the silver head of a 3PO protocol droid. Its eyes were lit.

“I’m so happy to meet the most famous pilot of Starfighter Command,” she said; her voice was pleasant but loud, unrestrained.

“Thank you,” he said. “Um, I couldn’t help noticing that you have two heads.”

She smiled. “This is Whitecap, my holo-recording unit. I put him together from a ruined protocol droid and a standard holocam. I added memory and some basic conversational circuitry and programming. He looks wherever I look—the goggles have sensors that track my eye movement—and records whatever I see.”

“I see,” Wedge said. He didn’t, but the words served as building tones useful for plugging up holes where conversation should be. “Why?”

“I record a lot of interviews with children. Studies suggest that they find 3PO units nonthreatening.”

“Ah. And have you had much luck with this approach?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer to this one.

“Well, not yet. I’m still working out the kinks in the system.”

It would help if you started with the fact that you’re a two-headed lady with eyes that children can’t see
, Wedge thought, but kept it to himself. “And now you’re taking a temporary break from children to record starfighter pilots.”

She nodded. The 3PO head remained stationary on her shoulder, unaffected by her motion. “It’s a wonderful opportunity. Thank you.”

“Well, you’re welcome. But I’m afraid that Whitecap is going to have to suffer some additional coding. I need to be able to issue a verbal command and shut him off. Circumstances sometimes demand privacy.”

Hallis fidgeted. “That was never part of the arrangement. I’ll have to refuse.”

“Very well. You’ll be getting some very good footage of the inside of your cabin.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I accept. I’ll do the coding myself.”

“And then hand Whitecap over to the
Allegiance’
s code-slicers briefly for, oh, code optimization.”

Hallis’s smile flickered for a moment and Wedge knew he’d guessed correctly. Hallis must have intended to arrange things so that a second code issued by her would secretly override Wedge’s shutoff command. “Of course,” she said, but there was now just a trace of brittleness to her voice.

Wedge returned his attention to Captain Salaban. “Allow me in turn to introduce you to my pilots. I present Colonel Tycho Celchu, leader of Rogue Squadron.”

Tycho offered the ship captain a salute. “Sir.” He was a lean man, blond, graying in dignified fashion at the temples, with handsome features and an aristocrat’s bearing. The perfection of his looks might have made him appear severe, even cruel, in earlier years, but the beatings life had handed him—the loss of his family on Alderaan at the hands of Grand Moff Tarkin and the first Death Star, capture and attempted brainwashing by Imperial Intelligence head Ysanne Isard, and suspicion on the part of New Republic Military Intelligence forces that despite his escape he had succumbed to that brainwashing and was an enemy in their midst—all had weathered him in spirit if not in form. Now, he still looked in every way the cold aristocrat … until one looked in his eyes and saw the humanity and the signs of distant pain there.

“This is Major Wes Janson, and if you’re not aware of his exploits, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to give you the whole story.”

Janson shot Wedge a cool look as he shook the ship captain’s hand. “Good to be here.” He turned to the documentarian. “Oh, and, Hallis, I’m better known for my breathtaking looks than my fighting skills, so don’t forget that this is my good side.” He turned his head so Hallis’s recorder would get a straight-on look at his left profile.

Wedge suppressed a snort. Janson’s self-promotion came out of a desire to entertain rather than from any serious case of narcissism, but he was as good-looking as he suggested. Like Wedge and a majority of other successful fighter pilots, he was a few centimeters short of average height, but Janson was unusually broad in the shoulders, and endowed with a body that showed muscle definition after only light exercise and was not inclined to fat. His hair was a rich brown, and his merry features were not just handsome but preternaturally youthful; he was now in his thirties but could pass for ten years younger. A most unfair combination, Wedge thought.

“And Major Derek Klivian,” Wedge concluded.

The fourth pilot leaned in for a handshake. He was lean, with dark hair and a face best suited to wearing mournful expressions. “Captain,” he said. Then he, too, turned to the documentarian. “Everyone calls me Hobbie,” he said. “And I’ll get back with you on my last name. Lots of people misspell it.”

Wedge resisted the urge to look into the eyes of the recording unit. He knew that second head would attract his attention during upcoming events; it was best to train himself now to ignore it. But he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of scene would emerge from this recording, what part it would play in the documentary Hallis would be assembling. Or how he’d look beside his more colorful subordinate pilots. Wedge was, like Janson, below average height, and he thought of himself as one of the most ordinary-looking men alive. But admirers had told him that his features bespoke intelligence and determination. Qwi had said there was a mesmerizing depth to his brown eyes. Other ladies had been charmed by his hair—it was worn short, but as long as military regulations allowed, and was the sort of fine hair that stirred in any breeze and invited ladies’ hands to run through it.

He gave an internal shrug. Perhaps he didn’t suffer as much as he feared in comparison with extroverts like Janson. He just wished that when he was shaving he could see some of these traits his admirers noted.

“I’d appreciate it,” he said, “if we could get a temporary paint job on the X-wings. Red Flight One, Two, Three, Four.” He pointed to himself, Tycho, Janson, and Hobbie in turn. “A white base, but Rogue Squadron reds for the striping, no unit patch.”

Salaban nodded. “Easily done.”

“So,” Wedge said, “what’s first on our agenda—settling in to quarters or a mission briefing?”

Salaban’s expression suggested that the question was not a welcome one. “Settling in, I’m afraid, sir. There won’t be a briefing until you land on-planet. Intelligence decided not to provide a liaison at this time.”

Wedge bit back a response that would not have sounded appropriate in the mission documentary. “We’re going in cold?”

Captain Salaban nodded.

Wedge forced a smile for the holocam. “Well, just another challenge, then. Let’s see those quarters.”

THE OLD REPUBLIC
(5,000–33 YEARS BEFORE
STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE
)

Long—
long
—ago in a galaxy far, far away … some twenty-five thousand years before Luke Skywalker destroyed the first Death Star at the Battle of Yavin in
Star Wars: A New Hope
 … a large number of star systems and species in the center of the galaxy came together to form the Galactic Republic, governed by a Chancellor and a Senate from the capital city-world of Coruscant. As the Republic expanded via the hyperspace lanes, it absorbed new member worlds from newly discovered star systems; it also expanded its military to deal with the hostile civilizations, slavers, pirates, and gangster-species such as the slug-like Hutts that were encountered in the outward exploration. But the most vital defenders of the Republic were the Jedi Knights. Originally a reclusive order dedicated to studying the mysteries of the life energy known as the Force, the Jedi became the Republic’s guardians, charged by the Senate with keeping the peace—with wise words if possible; with lightsabers if not.

But the Jedi weren’t the only Force-users in the galaxy. An ancient civil war had pitted those Jedi who used the Force selflessly against those who allowed themselves to be ruled by their ambitions—which the Jedi warned led to the dark side of the Force. Defeated in that long-ago war, the dark siders fled beyond the galactic frontier, where they built a civilization of their own: the Sith Empire.

The first great conflict between the Republic and the Sith Empire occurred when two hyperspace explorers stumbled on the Sith worlds, giving the Sith Lord Naga Sadow and his dark side warriors a direct invasion route into the Republic’s central worlds. This war resulted in the first destruction of the Sith Empire—but it was hardly the last. For the next four thousand years, skirmishes between the Republic and Sith grew into wars, with the scales always tilting toward one or the other, and peace never lasting. The galaxy was a place of almost constant strife: Sith armies against Republic armies; Force-using Sith Lords against Jedi Masters and Jedi Knights; and the dreaded nomadic mercenaries called Mandalorians bringing muscle and firepower wherever they stood to gain.

Then, a thousand years before
A New Hope
and the Battle of Yavin, the Jedi defeated the Sith at the Battle of Ruusan, decimating the so-called Brotherhood of Darkness that was the heart of the Sith Empire—and most of its power.

One Sith Lord survived—Darth Bane—and his vision for the Sith differed from that of his predecessors. He instituted a new doctrine: No longer would the followers of the dark side build empires or amass great armies of Force-users. There would be only two Sith at a time: a Master and an apprentice. From that time on, the Sith remained in hiding, biding their time and plotting their revenge, while the rest of the galaxy enjoyed an unprecedented era of peace, so long and strong that the Republic eventually dismantled its standing armies.

But while the Republic seemed strong, its institutions had begun to rot. Greedy corporations sought profits above all else and a corrupt Senate did nothing to stop them, until the corporations reduced many planets to raw materials for factories and entire species became subjects for exploitation. Individual Jedi continued to defend the Republic’s citizens and obey the will of the Force, but the Jedi Order to which they answered grew increasingly out of touch. And a new Sith mastermind, Darth Sidious, at last saw a way to restore Sith domination over the galaxy and its inhabitants, and quietly worked to set in motion the revenge of the Sith …