Wedge's Gamble (5 page)

The problem was that the only place he could learn the story would be from Tycho who, for better or worse, had to be considered somewhat unreliable as a narrator.
Still, it’s better than unfocused suspicion
.

“Sir, I have trusted you in the past, and I’ll go on trusting you in the future because I’ve not seen you do anything wrong. And I apologize for trying to slice out your file. I guess having worked with CorSec has just honed my sense of paranoia. Not knowing why Salm has you under guard has that sense working overtime.”

“But you’d still like to know what happened to me two years ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine.” Tycho shrugged with resignation, but his voice carried with it some relief. “It’ll be good to share this with someone else, but it goes no further, right?”

Corran held his hand up. “On my honor.”

Tycho fixed him with a crystal-blue stare for a second, then nodded. “I volunteered to fly a TIE starfighter into Coruscant. The Alliance impounded it at Bakura and modified it heavily to fill it with sensor packages. In coming in I made several orbits of the planet and picked up all sorts of interesting data on the Golan space fortresses, the defense shields, the orbital solar collection mirrors, the skyhooks, the dry docks and ship factories, and everything else orbiting the planet. I then took the ship in, landed on Coruscant, and the data was downloaded. It was shipped out by various routes and within two weeks I was asked to fly the eyeball back out, taking readings as I went, then hook up with a freighter and return to the Alliance. I knew getting out would be tough, but we had all the proper codes to get out, so I chanced it.”

“And the Imps got you.”

“They did. Two ion-cannon blasts shorted every system I had in the ship, including the self-destruct. A Star Destroyer pulled me on board and I was captured. They hit me with a Stokhli stun spray and I was out. When I finally awakened again I was on a transport coming out
of hyperspace. We grounded and I found out I’d been taken to Lusankya.”

“Lusankya?!”

“You know it?”

“Only by the most vague and nasty of rumors. It’s supposed to be Iceheart’s own private prison. Weird things happen to people there.”

Tycho nodded. “The guards, when they deign to speak to a prisoner, take great delight in noting that no one leaves unless Ysanne Isard is through with them.”

Corran shook his head. It was easier for him to believe that the
Katana-fleet
existed than it was to accept the existence of Lusankya. Corran had first heard the word mentioned after a rival of Corellia’s Diktat had been murdered by a trusted aide. The aide had been taken away by Imperial authorities about a year before the murder, but had been returned three months later. After he killed his boss he was reported to have repeated the word “Lusankya” over and over again. After that incident Corran had heard of a dozen other, similar situations where a seemingly normal person had turned on friends and family, betraying them or performing some hideous act of terrorism against them. Each of these incidents had a link to Lusankya in some way or other, but that link only became apparent after the crime had been committed.

Corran frowned at Tycho. “People who come out of there are human remote bombs. They do horrible things when the Empire activates them.”

Tycho’s hands convulsed into fists. “I know, I know. What’s worse, no one has ever mentioned Lusankya
before
they have acted. The clues are always found later. But with me, after three months of interrogation and detention, I guess they decided I was useless. I was in bad shape—catatonic for most of my time at Lusankya so I remember almost nothing, then I was let go. They shipped me to Akrit’tar. After three months I managed to escape from the penal colony there and made my way
back to the Alliance. I was debriefed for two months but they couldn’t find anything wrong with me.”

“And they hadn’t found anything wrong with the other people who had been to Lusankya either, right?”

“No. The only difference between me and them was that I remembered having been there. It is the opinion of General Salm and some others that I was allowed to retain my memory, and that my escape was engineered, just so I could return to the Alliance and betray it.”

Without any evidence to prove he was a sleeper agent, the Alliance couldn’t imprison Tycho without seeming as much of a heartless entity as the Empire itself. Even so, Corran reminded himself, lack of evidence was not evidence of lack. Salm’s suspicions about Tycho could be one hundred percent correct, and the utter lack of evidence pointed to the skill of Ysanne Isard and her people.

Corran’s eyes narrowed. “So, you don’t even know, really, if you are an Imperial agent waiting to happen or not?”

“I
know
I’m not.” The Alderaanian’s shoulders slumped. “Being able to prove it is something else again.”

“But being constantly under suspicion, that’s got to wear on you. Why put up with it? How
can
you put up with it?”

Tycho’s expression drained of emotion. “I put up with it because I must. Enduring it is the only way I can be allowed to fight back against the Empire. If I were to walk away from the Rebellion, if I were to sit the war out, I would have surrendered to the fear of what Ysanne Isard might,
might
, have done to me. Without firing a shot she would have made me as dead as Alderaan, and I won’t allow that. There’s nothing in what I have to live with on a daily basis that isn’t a thousand times easier than what I survived at the hands of the Empire. Until the Empire is dead, I can never truly be free because I’ll always be under suspicion. Living with minor restrictions now means someday no one has to fear me.”

Tycho slowly opened his hands and scrubbed them
over his face. “I don’t know if any of that sets your mind at ease, but that’s all there is.”

Corran shook his head. “It helps, a great deal. Whether you are or are not an Imperial agent in a Rebel uniform, the fact is that you’ve saved my life twice. That definitely counts for something—a great big something, in fact.”

“Good.” Tycho pointed at the droid. “What do we do about him?”

“I don’t think he’s much of a security risk, provided he doesn’t trade in futures for commodities that are present on whatever targets we’re heading out to hit. Whistler’s already modified his purchase parameter programming to cover that situation.” Corran smiled. “I don’t think General Salm will think Emtrey any less of a threat than he considers you,
if
we report on his scrounging personality. As long as we don’t activate it, except in very specific cases, we should be safe.”

“So you think we can reactivate him?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” Corran stood and walked over to the droid. “Brace yourself.”

He hit the button on the back of the droid’s neck.

Emtrey’s head snapped back and locked in its proper position. The droid looked around for a moment or two during which his elbows crept out away from his body. “I don’t know what got into me. Please, forgive my rudeness.” The droid’s head tilted to the right and his eyes brightened. “Did I miss anything?”

Corran slapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing you’d find useful, Emtrey. We were just swapping gossip and repeating rumors that had no substance to them at all.”

4

At first the giddiness bubbling up inside him surprised Wedge, then gratified him as he slipped into his chair behind Admiral Ackbar.
They’re actually here, the Provisional Council. I never thought I’d see the day
. He felt the same excitement inside him that he’d known as a child when some alien or famous Corellian had come to his parents’ refueling station. Had he been asked he would have assumed that being in the same room with the leaders of the New Republic would not seem that special, but it
was
and made him think that the war hadn’t burned all of his innocence out of him yet.

Mon Mothma, still looking strong and serene despite the traces of grey creeping into her hair, stood at her place at the circular table. “I call this meeting of the Provisional Council to order. Councilor B’thog of Elom sends regrets at being unable to attend, but we have a quorum, so we will be able to proceed. Councilor Organa, if you would be so kind as to update us on your attempts to open a dialog with Warlord Zsinj.”

The woman at Mon Mothma’s right hand stood. Though she wore a pale green gown gathered loosely at the waist with a silver belt, Wedge couldn’t help but see
Princess Leia ready for battle, the way he had seen her so many times before. It struck him as odd that a martial image could so easily replace the elegant vision before him, but he was reading the fight in her eyes and the fire in her spirit. Those qualities had made her one of the Rebellion’s most respected leaders, and clearly sustained her in her governmental activities.

“I have attempted through numerous channels to make contact with Warlord Zsinj, but have been rebuffed every time. It appears he believes his possession of the Super Star Destroyer
Iron Fist
has made him into a force to be reckoned with in the galaxy. What little of his Imperial career we know about indicates he is a man who embraces the idea that the ends
do
justify the means. He is a survivor, and shows cunning at playing his enemies off against each other. The leadership vacuum in the Imperial Navy post-Endor allowed him to rise further than was previously reasonable, then declare himself a Warlord and begin his drive to take control of the Empire.”

Borsk Fey’lya’s cream-colored fur rippled as he stood. “Councilor Organa, it would seem that this Zsinj, if he is as cunning as you suggest, would be open to negotiations. How have you approached him?”

A trace of weariness tightened the flesh at Leia’s eyes. “We have tried contacts at various levels within his organization. Messages sent via the Imperial HoloNet have gone unanswered, though
your
people have assured me they have been collected by Zsinj. More light escapes from a black hole than information that comes back out from him and his fleet. I suspect he wants to see how truly strong we are before he begins any negotiations with us.”

The Bothan’s violet eyes narrowed. “If there is no information coming out of his organization, how do you know he is seeking data on us?”

Admiral Ackbar nodded to Leia. “If I might answer that, Councilor.”

The hint of a smile on her lips banished the fatigue from her face. “Please, Admiral.”

Ackbar remained seated and waited until the Bothan sat back down before he spoke. Borsk’s fur rippled again, this time quickly, which Wedge took as a mark of irritation. “A little less than a standard week ago a freighter appeared in the Pyria system. It was challenged and responded with the proper passage codes, but a member of Rogue Squadron chose to do a closer check. The freighter launched six TIEs, four starfighters, and two bombers. The freighter fled and all but one of the smaller ships was destroyed. The one that survived was a bomber that had been disabled by two Y-wings. Examination of it and interrogation of the pilot indicates the ship was sent by Warlord Zsinj to confirm our conquest of Pyria and, if the opportunity presented itself, to strike at the base.”

Borsk’s face hardened. “And your people let the freighter escape?”

Ackbar’s lids drifted down for a moment. “Councilor Fey’lya, the freighter was fully armed and deployed six fighter craft. On post we had two Y-wings and one X-wing. Despite being outnumbered, our forces eliminated the six fighters and damaged the freighter, driving it off. The freighter fled before the fighter screen was eliminated, but even if it had not, engaging it would have been suicidal.”

“I thought such missions were Rogue Squadron’s specialty.”

Wedge felt color rising to his face.
The last time that was suggested, it was another Bothan who did the suggesting
.

Admiral Ackbar opened his hands. “I would point out that to so easily dismiss Rogue Squadron’s sacrifices is to denigrate the sacrifices made by all peoples who have died in service to the Rebellion.”

The Bothan councilor sat back and Wedge’s admiration for Ackbar grew. The Admiral’s veiled reference to
sacrifices
echoed the oft-heard Bothan lament about the number of Bothan agents who had died to secure the information about the second Death Star. Because the Bothans did not possess a strong military—as opposed to
the Mon Calamari fleet forming the backbone of the New Republic’s Armed Forces—they used the sacrifices of their people as their justification for sharing power in the New Republic. If Fey’lya devalued Rogue Squadron’s contribution to the Rebellion, he likewise eroded his own basis of power.

Doman Beruss, a flaxen-haired woman who represented the Corellian exiles on the Council, stood. “I believe we are heading toward the focus for this meeting, but I would prefer to cut directly to it instead of watching my colleagues scratch and claw their way there. Zsinj knows, as do we, that whichever force is able to wrest Coruscant from the grip of the Imperial government will be seen as the legitimate, or at least strongest, claimant to governance. The Pyria system was taken to be a stepping stone to Coruscant, and Zsinj now knows we do have it.”

The Wookiee and Sullustan representatives nodded in agreement with Doman. Mon Mothma looked up. “Admiral Ackbar, if you are prepared to give your presentation.”

“I am.” Ackbar stood and General Salm, a small, balding, thickly built man, slipped into the chair the Mon Calamari had vacated. Salm linked his datapad into a jack on the edge of the table. Above the mirrored plate centered on the table the holographic image of a world appeared.

“This is Coruscant. It was the administrative center of the Old Republic and retained that function when the Emperor seized power. Palpatine made an attempt to rename it Imperial Center, but it is known as such only in Imperial decrees. Coruscant is still seen as the heart of the galaxy and many look to it as the center of order and authority, no matter who controls it.

“After the Emperor’s death, a government was formed under the leadership of Sate Pestage. His suzerainty lasted six months until a coup by a coterie of other Imperial advisers forced him into exile. It appears that his ouster was organized by Ysanne Isard—she was definitely behind Pestage’s hounding and death. She deftly undercut
the bureaucrats she had used to vanquish Pestage and took control of the Empire for herself. While she maintains her title of Director of Intelligence, and has suggested she is holding the planet in stewardship, there is no doubt that she is in full control.”