Wraith Squadron (31 page)

The dialogue between Kell, Jesmin, and Wedge was becoming more desperate. She tried to ignore it, to keep it in the background of her mind. “Myn! Answer me!”

There was a little burst of static that may have been a word.

Tyria pressed her helmet closer to the side of her head, hoping it would help her hear. “What did you say? ‘Gone’?”

It came again, Donos’s voice, still faint but understandable: “Gone.”

She glanced at her sensors. Jesmin wasn’t gone yet, but it didn’t look as though there was much hope for her. Tyria started to correct Donos—then the import of what he was saying hit her.

She dialed her comm system down to minimum transmission power and hoped that her signal wouldn’t carry back to the other Wraiths. “Myn, do you mean Shiner?”

“He’s gone.”

“Myn, damn you, he’s only a droid! Jesmin Ackbar may die and all you’re worried about is a hunk of metal!”

There was no answer.

She accelerated and dropped down in front of Donos. “Wraith Nine, this is Wraith Ten. You’re my wing. Do exactly as I do.”

Again, no answer. She sideslipped a little to starboard but Donos didn’t follow. Exasperated, she moved back in front of him.

Then she saw it, just as, minutes ago, she’d imagined the two flying Uglies leading Kell off to his death. “Talon Leader, this is Talon Two. Do you read?”

There was a delay, then Donos’s voice came back strong and calm. “Two, this is Leader.”

“Leader, you’re damaged. Injured. I’m going to lead you back to base. You’re my wing. Do you copy?”

“I copy, Two, and thanks.”

She slowly rolled up onto her starboard wing and came around in a gradual arc back toward
Night Caller
. Behind her, Donos skillfully duplicated her maneuver.

She wanted to feel relieved, but trying to imagine what must be going on in Donos’s mind made her shudder.

Then the dot designating Wraith Two winked out on the sensor board.

Wedge and Janson finished the tour of the bandit base in silence.

The base was an elderly, damaged Kuat Super Transport VI container ship. With its engines in the shape they were, Wedge doubted the vessel would ever lift, even from the half-standard gravity of this moon. The engines were just barely functional enough to provide power for artificial gravity, life support, and communications. A smaller hauler, an aging Corellian bulk freighter, apparently served to haul half squads of Uglies through hyperspace to whichever areas they chose to patrol. They had enough firepower to intimidate decent-sized cargo vessels, and their supplies of stores suggested the pirates had been doing quite well.

In the base’s filthy mess hall, the surviving pilots, eleven of them, plus about twenty support crewmen waited under guard. Falynn and Grinder, grim-faced, kept them under the cover of blaster rifles; the two Wraiths stood behind upended tables that would give them some quick cover if one of the pirates produced a holdout weapon the searchers had missed.

Wedge stood before the pirate captain, a beefy, black-bearded man who had admitted to the name of Arratan. “Stand,” Wedge said.

Uneasy, the man stood. “We have a right to be here. We have a right to attack intruders.”

“What right?”

“We’re colonists. This is an unclaimed system. There’s no law here.”

Wedge sighed, suddenly made even more weary by the lie. “Very well. You’re free to go.”

The pirate chief blinked. “What?”

“You’re free to go.”

The bearded man looked among his men and nodded. They slowly stood.

“Of course,” Wedge said, “there’s no law here. So my pilots are free to shoot you if they want to.”

The pirates sat again, all but Arratan.

“Furthermore, since there’s no law here, my crew and I are going to help ourselves to whatever supplies we need. Then we’re going to take off and blow a hole in your beloved Blood Nest, venting the atmosphere. Then we’ll inform the New Republic military that there’s a nice hard-vacuum warehouse here full of other stolen goods and a lot of depressurized bodies.”

Arratan’s face twitched. “You can’t do that.”

“Of course we can. There’s no law here. This is unclaimed territory. Would you or any of your men like passage to some other system before we blow this base to pieces?”

“Maybe.”

“Then
maybe
you should spend some time thinking about what you have to offer us for passage. Not goods; we’ll take what we want anyway. Information.” Wedge leaned close to the pirate. “Be advised. You filth killed one of my
pilots to protect your right to have no laws. So I’m going to be very hard to please.”

Rattled, the pirate chief leaned back from Wedge. The backs of his legs encountered the table bench behind him and he sat clumsily.

Wedge spun on his heel and left the mess, Janson following.

19

On the way back to the wobbly, unreliable-looking extruder tube where
Night Caller
was docked, Wedge said, “New orders.”

Janson pulled out his datapad.

“Test all the fuel they have in reserve. Whatever’s up to the standards of our snubfighters, transfer to the corvette. But I want Kell to look at everything first in case it’s wired to blow.”

“Kell’s in sick bay.”

“Was he hurt?” Wedge was aware that trailing power cables from Jesmin’s X-wing had shorted out some of the systems of Kell’s snubfighter. Perhaps he’d taken too much electricity himself.

“Violent nausea.”

Wedge gave him a surprised look. “What does our doctor say about that?”

“He says Kell is a real mess and shouldn’t be given a job frying tubers for the Alliance, much less flying X-wings.”

“That sounds like Phanan. Was that on the record?”

“No. He’s hoping Kell will surprise him. By coming out of it.”

“Me, too. I’ll talk to Kell. Any other injuries?”

“Myn Donos. A concussion from the explosion that did all the damage to Jesmin’s snubfighter. Or so Phanan says. I wasn’t able to talk to Myn; Phanan had already sent him to his quarters for rest.”

“Fine. Oh, and transfer Phanan’s R2 unit—Gadget?”

“Gadget.”

“—to Myn.”

They entered the airlock providing access to the extruder tube. Wedge closed the inner airlock door and opened the outer, then stared dubiously at the shifting length of stained man-height tubing. Somewhere beyond its curve was one of
Night Caller’
s airlocks. “I’d almost rather suit up against the atmosphere.”

“Oh, come on, Wedge. If it’s good enough for those upstanding citizens, it’s good enough for us.”

Wedge managed a faint smile. “Then you go first.”

“Ton, a few minutes privacy?”

Wedge stood just inside the door to sick bay. Phanan gave him a stiff nod and left without a word.

On one of the bay’s beds lay Kell Tainer, somber, pale. He gulped, obviously aware he was in for a dressing-down.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Wedge said. “You do such good work. Then you screw everything up.”

Kell nodded. “It’s my fault Jesmin is dead. I know that.”

“Not that, you
idiot
. It’s that tank driver’s fault she’s dead. It’s the fault of a failed inertial compensator. It’s her body’s fault for failing her, letting her fall unconscious, when she could have used those extra seconds you gave her to reach her ejection control. The maneuver you pulled, trying to rescue her, was crazy and brilliant. Most pilots in Starfighter Command would’ve cracked up performing it.”

Kell drew back from the anger in Wedge’s voice. He looked confused. “Then what—the screwup—”

“It’s this.” Wedge waved at him, at the sick bay. “You think you’ve failed. You go to pieces. Every one of us lost a friend today, and who’s in sick bay? You. Myn Donos has a
concussion and he’s just sleeping it off. You need a doctor’s care.”

Kell started to say something, then clamped down on it.

“Now, get up, get back into uniform. I want you to search the pirate base for explosives. I don’t want any of us losing hands—or our lives—when we’re exploring. We need you.”

Kell started to rise, then pain crossed his face. To Wedge, it looked like a massive cramp.

“That’s part of it, too, isn’t it?” Wedge kept most of the scorn out of his voice—leaving in just enough for Kell to detect. “Someone needs you and you go to pieces. Well, we do need you. We’re relying on you. Our lives depend on you. Right now. What’s it going to be?”

Kell stood up. His face was a curious mixture of fury and pain. That pain doubled him over, but he straightened up almost instantly. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“Every time you make one of these motivational speeches I want to beat you to death.”

“And how do you suppose I feel about
you
whenever some responsibility sends you into vaporlock?” Wedge turned and left.

In the corridor, he realized what his next task had to be. He resisted the urge to turn back. He’d rather argue with Kell for hours than perform his next duty. He’d almost rather let Kell beat him to death than perform it.

He could put it off for a while. He had to dictate the report of the assault on this pirate base. He had to put in a recommendation that the New Republic seize this site, just in case it became useful in the war against the warlords and the Empire. He even had to put in a recommendation for a citation for Kell Tainer—even if the man folded up in a pinch, his efforts today were above and beyond the call of duty.

But then, ultimately, he had to write Admiral Ackbar to tell him that his niece was dead.

Wedge sat under a single light in the captain’s quarters that had once been lavish but were now echoingly empty.

He began writing on his datapad’s touch pad. A terminal keyboard would have been faster, but he knew it was not the interface that would slow him tonight. Slower still would be finding the right words.

He wrote,
Sir, I’m afraid this letter comes to you as a bearer of bad news
.

He looked at his words.
A bearer of bad news
. A trite phrase, and it wasn’t correct. The letter wasn’t the bearer. Whoever brought Ackbar the letter would be the bearer. Perhaps it would just be a wall terminal.

He hit the clear button and the words winked out.

Sir, I wish I could find some way to soften the news—

No. With a preface like that, Ackbar, if his emotional patterns were like those of humans, would merely feel a mounting fear of dread … just before realizing his dread was justified.

He hit the clear button.

Sir, I regret to inform you that your niece, Jesmin Ackbar, is dead
.

Ackbar knew that Jesmin was his niece.

He hit the clear button.

Sir, I regret …

Even that was formal, impersonal. He and Ackbar were not friends; they were fellow officers. But he had great respect for the Mon Calamari naval officer and felt that Ackbar had similar respect for him.

He felt for Ackbar and his loss. He’d known that loss himself, the day a pirate’s escape had destroyed the refueling station where his family worked and lived. He’d lost his home, his family, his past. All that was left to him was his future, one that had then seemed threatening instead of inviting.

But that was just the opposite of what Ackbar would experience, wasn’t it? Jesmin was not his past. If anything, she was a piece of his future. Was that not even worse? Suffering the pain of the loss of a loved one … and of the future she represented?

He took a sip from his drink and tried to settle his thoughts. He’d had to perform this task so many times. He should be good at it by now. But he felt just a little touch of
pride that he wasn’t, that it never came easy to him. That he could never be glib about it.

He hit the clear button.

He wrote,
Sir, it is my sad duty to report to you the death of Jesmin Ackbar
.

Kell had peeled halfway out of his coveralls when the door to his quarters slid open. Tyria stepped in and hit the door-close button.

He looked at her. She didn’t speak; her expression was tight, worried.

Finally he said, “Isn’t one of us supposed to make a joke?”

“Some other day, maybe. What have you been up to?”

“Making sure Blood Nest wasn’t rigged to blow. Which it was. And trying not to throw up. Fortunately, I succeeded at defusing and failed to keep my stomach under control, rather than the other way around.” He turned his back to her, shoved his coveralls down to his ankles, and stepped out of them on the way to his little closet. He felt light-headed; working for hours on a stomach that was empty and violently protested any attempt to fill it made him that way. “How’s Myn?”

“I don’t know. Ton Phanan doesn’t know. Myn just lies there, staring off into nowhere. He’ll eat if you put food in his hand, drink if you put the cup to his lips. But he’s gone somewhere.”

Kell selected a clean jumpsuit in TIE fighter pilot black and began to put it on. “How long do you think you can keep it under cover?”

“I don’t know, Kell. Long enough to shake him out of it, I hope. Ton says that if this, this collapse goes on his record, that’s probably it for his career as a pilot.”

“Maybe it should be. Maybe he’s too close to dissolving to fly again.”

“That’s not for you to say.”

He finished pulling the jumpsuit up and zipped it up. “I know. That’s why I’m going along with this, this scheme. In
spite of the fact that it might kill
all
our careers.” He shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. I failed to save Jesmin. Maybe I can help with Myn.”

“Don’t say that. I heard what you tried with Jesmin. That was … tremendous.”

“It would have been tremendous if it had worked. Since it failed, it was just futile. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“You knew those two Ugly pilots were lures. You probably saved my life by making me take the time to think about it. Was that something you’d run into before?”

She shook her head. Her ponytail swayed slowly. “I just … felt it. I almost saw you being vaped.”

“Could that have been the Force at work?”