Wraith Squadron (43 page)

Grinder grimaced. “A case of being too perfect. What about the scratching noise?”

Face tapped the pocket where he’d put away the speaker. “Kell worked the little gadgets up. He was tired of the pranks, too. He put some in your room. He also got up into the ductwork and lowered a couple with comlink controls down into the gaps between bulkheads. We could have made it sound like the creature was crawling all around outside or inside your room if we’d wanted. Kell also built the sensor that told us when you switched your lights on and the little mechanism that swung down into your face when you came out of your room, and he killed the power to your quarters. Which he restored right after you screamed, by the way.

“The encyclopedia entry was something I did, just entering it with my comm center access. If you’d sliced into the entry records, you’d have seen those items were recent additions to the encyclopedia. I got the real data off the datapad that came with Phanan’s creature. Phanan did a medical scan on his insect for the graphic. We made up all the text on the Crystal Deceiver; there is no such thing.”

Grinder sighed. “Well, maybe that does make us even.” He glared at Phanan. “But that doesn’t mean you can drug me, knock me out. That goes over the line.”

The doctor smiled. It was a sinister expression. “I didn’t.”

“Who did?”

“No one. Or, in a sense, you did. Grinder—you fainted.”

“No.”

Phanan nodded. “Brave Wraith Squadron pilot fainted dead away. Now, can we consider your career as a prankster at an end … or shall we tell everyone how you faint when bugs come at you? That’ll be an interesting topic of discussion among Bothan females in the New Republic armed forces, I bet.”

“You—you—”

“You bet? You have a deal? Just what are you trying to say?”

Grinder slumped, defeated. “You have a deal.”

“Well, then. I imagine that when you wake up in the morning I’ll be able to certify you fit to fly.” The doctor rose and stretched. “In the meantime, I’m going to get some sleep in the hours we have remaining.”

“Mynock.”

“Stop muttering, Grinder. It’s bad for your mental health.” Grinning in a fashion Grinder found completely irritating, Phanan led Face from the sick bay and switched out the lights.

Scritch, scritch, scritch
.

“Face! Come back here and pick up your little toy!”

It was the most elaborate deception they’d attempted to date.

Captain Hrakness was in the command seat of
Night Caller’
s bridge, but he was dressed in one of Darillian’s uniforms, his hair dyed to match Darillian’s. This was so that if one of the other ships in Admiral Trigit’s fleet pointed a visual sensor at
Night Caller’
s bridge, it would see something matching Darillian’s description—something matching the hologram the ship broadcast whenever in communication with the others.

Face was on station in the comm center, acting out Darillian’s part whenever communication was necessary. His broadcast was replayed on the bridge’s main monitor, and the increasingly irritable Captain Hrakness tried, whenever possible, to ape Face’s motions.

At ten minutes until departure from hyperspace, the pilots were in their cockpits, going through start-up checklists. Wedge, Falynn, Janson, and Atril were in the TIE fighters, with the rest in the X-wings.

They emerged from hyperspace a hundred light-years from the Morobe system, into a system with a white dwarf for a sun.

Night Caller
was the last ship on station. Already in formation were the Imperial Star Destroyer
Implacable
, the Imperial
escort frigate
Provocateur
, and the Corellian corvette
Constrictor. Provocateur
was stationed well ahead of the Star Destroyer;
Constrictor
was some distance to the port of and slightly behind
Provocateur
. Without waiting for confirmation from Admiral Trigit, Captain Hrakness headed to the mirroring position starboard and behind
Provocateur
.

Admiral Trigit’s hologram sprang into life before Face a minute later. “Captain Darillian! Your profile has changed since the last time we met face-to-face, so to speak.”

Face turned his head to display his profile. “I think it’s the same. Regal, yet unbearably handsome. Or perhaps you mean
Night Caller’
s profile?”

“That
is
what I meant. You’ve picked up a shuttle and made some other modifications, I see.”

Face turned forward again and gave the admiral a conspiratorial smile. “The shuttle we took from a pirate. And the outer escape pods on either side are actually my TIE fighters, Admiral. A notion of mine. Instead of taking a minute to deploy all four, it now takes me one
second
. If you like, I’ll have my mechanics dig up the modification specifications. I can transmit them to you and
Constrictor.
”

“Please do.”

“Speaking of modifications, have there been any made to our mission profile?”

“No. We can jump as soon as you’re in position.”

“Which will be in one and a half minutes. We’ll be awaiting your signal.”

Trigit disappeared.

The New Republic forces could have attacked Trigit’s fleet here, in this unnamed system … but since, in theory, only the ship’s captains knew where they were making rendezvous, that would have been a giveaway that one of them was a traitor. This would not matter if Trigit’s fleet were entirely wiped out or captured, but would have cost the Wraiths their false identity if one or more of the ships got away. By attacking in the Morobe system, they could blame all “treachery” on the “Rebels” should they need to.

Face’s comlink cracked. “Coming on station.” It was Hrakness.

He sighed. He wanted desperately to be in the cockpit of his X-wing, but he had to play out his role if Trigit communicated again. For once he regretted his theatrical skill.

Face saw elements of the comm board light up as
Night Caller
received a data transmission from
Implacable
. Moments later the corvette’s engine pitch changed. All four ships would be matching speeds and courses.

A minute later they were in hyperspace.

Five minutes from
Implacable’
s arrival in the Morobe system, Lieutenant Gara Petothel presented herself to the admiral—unusual, since protocol called for her to speak to him from her console in the crew pit below or to use the intercom. “We have a problem, sir.”

“Something we need to deal with before this assault?”

“If I’m right, this assault will destroy us.”

He blinked. “Make it fast.”

“I’ve been running the data from the Morrt Project. The data that told us that Talasea, in the Morobe system, was the probable site of the Folor relocation.”

“And?”

“Nobody had correlated the data of systems being profiled with the parasite units providing the data. Sir, eighty percent of the statistical hits pointing to Talasea come from the same twenty-two units. For this to happen, those units would have to be attached to ships that jumped back and forth between Talasea and neighboring systems. And when the units changed ships, they would have to have changed to ships doing exactly the same thing.”

Trigit kept his features still but felt cold run through him. “The Morrt Project has reached the end of its useful life span,” he said.

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

The admiral turned to
Implacable’
s commander. “Captain! Drop us out of hyperspace immediately.”

The captain, a dull-looking fellow from Coruscant whose appearance belied his reliability and intelligence, didn’t ask
any stupid questions. He looked up, gauged the seriousness of the admiral’s expression, and nodded to his chief pilot.

A moment later the view in the forward window of hyperspace turned into the end-of-jump vista of stars stretching to infinity. Those stars snapped from lines into sharp, unblinking points, with
Implacable
still light-years from the Morobe system.

The captain cleared his throat. “What about our fleet, sir?”

“Have Communications prepare an alert. It should tell them that Talasea is a trap; their orders are to exit the system immediately and signal us when they’re sure they have eluded pursuit. Begin broadcasting that over the HoloNet now and continue for twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trigit settled back into his seat. “Good work, Petothel. You’ve probably saved us a considerable pounding.”

The lieutenant gave him a cool smile and returned to her station.

He followed her with his gaze. He’d decided that she was very nearly the perfect woman. Intelligent, talented, and beautiful … and somewhat distant, the way he preferred things. Perhaps she’d be amenable to a liaison. If she was, he doubted she’d be the sort to become too attached, too intertwined in his life. An ideal package.

He’d think about it.

The other three ships of the fleet arrived from hyperspace within a second of one another. The planet of Talasea was close before them; they’d used its mass shadow, rather than a timer, to drag them out of hyperspace. Instantly, all three vessels launched their TIE fighters:
Night Caller’
s four from her former escape pod ports,
Constrictor’
s four from her bow hold, and
Provocateur’
s two dozen from her hangar bays.

Implacable
failed to appear behind them.

Face saw the HoloNet indicator light up, but allowed the ship’s communications officer to handle initial reception; Face might foul up the process. A moment later Captain
Hrakness’s voice came across the ship’s intercom. “Attention, all crew.
Implacable
has figured out the trap and held back. The other ships are turning to escape Talasea’s mass shadow. We’ll fire on them as we maneuver. All bow guns, prepare to fire on
Provocateur’
s engines and communications gear. Turret cannons, prepare to fire on
Constrictor’
s engines. We’ve got to hold them here for the Alliance forces. Do not, repeat,
do not
target until I give the command; we can’t have them bringing their shields up.” Face could feel the faintest lateral movement as the captain spoke.

He turned on the chamber’s main monitor and split it between a forward visual view and sensor view.

In the starfield before the corvette, he saw the enemy frigate begin to come into range of the arc of
Night Caller’
s bow guns. The sensor showed that all three ships were turning to port, preparing to come around in a 180-degree maneuver that would end with the corvettes still flanking the frigate.

Face swore. The corvette’s turret guns might cripple the
Constrictor
even at this range, but her forward paired turbolaser cannons couldn’t be counted on to crack the engines of an Imperial frigate. He hit the intercom button for the bridge. “Captain, this is Face. Recommend you emergency vent atmosphere from the bow hold and open the hold door as you bear. That’ll give you fourteen, maybe sixteen proton torps to fire at
Provocateur
on your first pass.”

“Thanks, Loran. Good thinking.”

Face headed out of the comm center at a full run, risking broken legs as he charged down the stairs. If he was fast enough, he could get into the hold, get into his cockpit before they vented the atmosphere …

But when he slapped the door control to the bow hold access hatch, it failed to open. The light above the door glowed red. The captain had already vented the hold atmosphere. Frustrated, Face slammed his hand into the door.

In the darkness, Kell waited. Before him, blackness turned into a thin vertical strip of stars; as he watched, it widened,
and the frigate
Provocateur
drifted into position from the left, its stern toward them. That meant
Night Caller
was taking a hard maneuver to port. Beyond
Provocateur
was the other corvette, executing the same turn at the same rate.

“Stand by,” Kell said. Captain Hrakness had said all bow guns would go on his command, and he had to wait until all seven pilots in the bow hold had a clear field of fire.

Despite his best efforts, his breathing quickened, became harsh. It sounded like gasping in his ears.

The other day, the assault on Todirium hadn’t affected him like this. Of course, Todirium’s defenders were underpowered. Underprepared.
These enemies, on the other hand, can shoot back
.

Kell shook his head, trying to send that invidious mental voice away.

You’re about to stare down the cannons of an Imperial frigate. You’re going to be vaped. That’s the end of Kell Tainer
.

“Shut up.”

“What’s that, Five?”

“Nothing, Nine.”

The frigate was almost centered in the exit from the hold. Kell grabbed his control yoke, gripped it hard to quell the shaking of his hand. “Get ready … get ready … Target and fire!” Kell activated his targeting computer, swung the brackets over the frigate’s stern, and saw them immediately go red; the computer whined with the tone of a good lock. He fired both torpedoes and saw them streak off toward the
Provocateur
.

A dozen torpedoes joined them in the near-instantaneous crossing to the frigate. The stern end of the capital ship lit up in a ball-shaped, glowing explosion.

Kell said, “Five away,” and shot out of
Night Caller’
s bow. Even as he emerged he saw
Night Caller’
s forward lasers lance in on the frigate’s engines, adding their formidable damage to that done by the torpedoes.

“Four away!”

The sensors showed
Night Caller
turning away from the frigate. As on the Blood Nest moon, for the X-wings to
launch, the corvette had to keep its bow shields down … and to maneuver so neither enemy ship could get a clear shot at its bow.

“Six away!”

The center column of X-wings was clear. Kell switched over to lasers, linked them for quad firing, and brought up his visual sensors.
Provocateur
, until a moment ago in the process of gathering up its TIE fighters, was deploying them again, a fire drill of confusion. He fired as he raced in toward the frigate’s screen of starfighters, shooting as fast as his shaking hands would let him.