12

Face could see the sky brighten through the leaf pad above. As time passed, his cockpit grew warm and humid, and he could hear the distant moan of TIE fighters overhead. He sweated and waited.

Then there was nothing but the sound of wildlife, musical tweets he ascribed to some sort of birdlike creatures, coughing grunts he couldn’t associate with any animal he knew, splashes that seemed consistent with the human-sized amphibians he’d seen earlier.

Blaster in hand, he emerged through his hatch and dogged it closed, all the while keeping the leaf pad in place atop him, and then slid off the dome of his interceptor and into the water. The shore was a few dozen meters away, a challenging swim in his pilot’s suit.

He’d marked the sensor location of Phanan’s crash and compared it with his own landing position. He was certain he could find Phanan’s TIE fighter. He was certain he would cut down anything that tried to keep him from reaching it.

They were a gloomy group, gathered in the conference module at Hawk-bat Base.

No injuries among them, except for something like a sunburn on Donos’s face. Yet they wore the expression of defeated soldiers.

Wedge said, “We’re all concerned about Face and Phanan, and we have to face the possibilities that they didn’t make it. But I want you all to understand this. It’s very important. Today, tactically, was a victory, a tremendous one. We cost them far more than they cost us. We also led them into this situation, and if the Hawk-bat identities remain uncompromised, we can continue with our plan. If we’re going to have any perspective on what this has cost us, we have to remember that.”

Tyria said, “What are we going to do about finding them?”

“We’ll put a team on the ground as soon as it’s feasible. First we have to get as much information as possible. About the movements of our enemies in the region where they went down.” He glanced at Castin Donn. “You were going to get us information from your satellite account.”

Castin nodded. “I couldn’t.”

“Explain.”

“The account had been shut down. When I accessed it, I got nothing but a pointer to two files. One was a brief, anonymous letter saying that the client, that’s me, didn’t have authorization for such a high-level data stream. The other was a big file, full holo, from Warlord Zsinj.”

There were startled noises from the other pilots, but Wedge waved them down. “You’ve viewed the file?”

Castin nodded. “I didn’t know it was Zsinj until I did view it. It’s a letter from him to the Hawk-bats.”

“Put it on.”

Castin leaned forward to tap a command into the controls of the room’s small holoviewer.

Above the table appeared Warlord Zsinj in all his white finery, about a meter high. Castin adjusted the image’s orientation so that it faced directly at Wedge.

“I presume,” said the warlord, “that I’m addressing the so-called General Kargin of the Hawk-bats.” His expression became merry. “As you can see, the rules around Halmad have changed. The planet belongs to my alliance now, and you will not be permitted to stay here and continue causing trouble.

“Now, what you must understand is that a lesser man would be most angry with you. I’m not. To be honest, I’m impressed. The two pincers of your movement annihilated two entire squadrons of my fighters against minimal losses of your own. That’s quite admirable. Oh, certainly, you’ve lost, but my victory was far more costly than it should have been, testimony to your own skill and ferocity.

“So, you now have a choice to make.

“You can stay here and continue to try to prey on Halmad. In between all my other activities, I will eventually hunt you down and kill all of you. My guess is that this will be very costly to me, but it’s what I’ve promised to do. The problem with this choice is that everybody loses, though you lose more.

“You can leave and set up operations in an area of space not yet controlled by Zsinj. This isn’t a costly choice, but nobody gains anything. And I’ll have lost two squadrons with nothing—well, other than alliance with this planet—to show for it.

“Your third option, however, includes potential gain for both of us.

“I’d like to meet you. Attached to this holo is a data stream that includes a hyperspace navigational course. Send a ship with a representative who can speak for you along that course. You will meet a navigational beacon that will direct you further. We will meet, and I will make it worth your while to come to terms with me.

“I will not give you my word that you will not be harmed. Not that I don’t have a word to give; I simply don’t think you would believe it. But this you can trust: Zsinj is a businessman, and it just makes good business sense for us to join forces. Take it under consideration.

“Zsinj out.”

The corpulent warlord’s image faded away.

Wedge leaned back, unaware until then that he’d leaned forward during the warlord’s recitation. “Wraiths,” he said, “it may have cost us dearly … but the Hawk-bat operation has just begun to pay off. We’re going to need a contact team.”

He glanced among the Wraiths present. “I can’t be on the team, nor can Wes. We’re just a little too well known to Imperial forces. Not even a good disguise would necessarily prevent us from being recognized.” He didn’t add that this was especially true with their most proficient artist of disguise, Face, being missing or dead.

“Castin, before the liberation, you were considered a criminal on Coruscant, an insurgent, so information on you is probably in Zsinj’s files.”

The code-slicer nodded. “I tried to wipe out my records wherever I could find them, but they just propagated too fast for me.”

“Kell is a possibility, but you’re pretty distinctive.”

The big man smiled. “I like to think so.”

“Myn, not a chance for you. You’re a casualty of being well known as a decorated member of the Corellian armed forces and then a New Republic squadron commander. Runt, you’re right out, at least until midget Thakwaash number more than one in the ranks of starfighter pilots across the galaxy. Piggy, however—”

The Gamorrean pilot nodded. “I can dress up as a barbarian and simply be appropriate scenery.”

“Correct. Though Zsinj, as a product of the Imperial school of thought, may be unhappy with the presence of a nonhuman in the Hawk-bat party. We’ll have to think that one over. Dia, Shalla, Tyria, Lara, all of you are distinct possibilities. I’ll need a little time to work out the best mix for the greeting party.”

Shalla said, “But it sounds as though it’s a go.”

Wedge nodded. “It is. This is what we’re here for. Such a mission would have to be a volunteer operation, though, so anyone who does not wish to be included, send me a note. Dismissed, everybody.”

Wedge noticed that they filed out with their backs a little straighter, with more energy in their steps, than they’d had when they arrived for the conference. Yes, they’d probably lost friends down on Halmad … but they hadn’t lost their sense of purpose.

Castin Donn was the last in line to leave, but he shut the door before him and turned back to face Wedge. “Sir, I’d like to be part of this operation.”

“Castin, you yourself agreed that you were probably too well known in Imperial records.”

“That’s right, sir. But I want to go in unknown, undetected. I have an idea.”

Wedge gestured for him to sit. “Let’s hear it.”

Castin took a chair again. “I’m familiar with a wide variety of Imperial computer systems.”

“I know.”

“What if I put together a program that induced Iron Fist’s computer to broadcast an occasional signal saying, ‘Here I am, come and get me’?”

“One that Zsinj wouldn’t detect?”

“Correct, sir. This program would piggyback its message to outgoing signals so there would be no extraneous broadcasts for the ship’s crew to detect. Now, given a capital ship’s protocols for scans of its programs, for frequent memory flushes, and so forth, even with maximum stealth characteristics, a program like this couldn’t last too long. Maybe a month, maybe a week or two less or more. But in that time, we could build up a database of the ship’s movements.”

“Like Admiral Trigit tried to do to us with his Morrt Project.”

“Correct. We might even get a break. Find the Iron Fist staying in one place long enough for elements of the fleet to arrive and hit it.”

“What would you need?”

“Well, I already have the programming simulators here. I’d just need a full set of stormtrooper armor for disguise, and a datapad portable terminal with a standard ship’s computer interface. I’d go in Narra’s smuggling compartment—if it can hold Piggy in a pilot’s suit, it can hold me in stormtrooper armor.”

Wedge considered for a long moment. “Castin, I want you to work up this program.”

“Thank you, sir!” Castin saluted and started to rise.

“Wait, now. I’m not going to authorize your mission, not this time.”

“What?” Castin sank back into place, looking as angry as though he’d been slapped.

“Zsinj is no fool. We’re already flying in a crew of pirates he doesn’t know. They are going to be under constant scrutiny. This first encounter is not the time to try such a stunt. Later, when meetings become more routine and security gets lax, that’s when we try your plan.”

“Sir …” Castin’s jaw trembled as he visibly tried to bring himself under control. “Sir, I’m better than any security they can offer. I don’t tell you how to fly—you’re the best at that. Please don’t tell me what sort of security I can and can’t breach.”

“Now you’re being impertinent. Tell me the name of Zsinj’s chief security man.”

“I don’t know that, sir.”

“Then how do you know that you’re better than he is? That he doesn’t have measures in place against the sort of program you’re planning to introduce?”

“Because I’m better than everybody, sir.”

Wedge sighed. “Flight Officer Donn, I’m giving you a direct order. Design your code. But take your time and do a very clean job on it. Because you will not be accompanying this mission to Iron Fist. We will use your program at some later time. Dismissed.”

Castin flushed red and looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but stood, saluted with a military precision that was, for him, obviously an exercise in sarcasm, and retreated.

Phanan’s TIE fighter had apparently hit the ground in a soft glade, bounced like a rock skipping across the surface of a pond, and crashed into a line of young trees. Now it rested, its port solar wing array crumpled, its cockpit canted forward, so its main viewport was half-buried in the dirt, against a trio of trees bent almost to the ground, their roots half up in the air. The twin ion engines at the vehicle’s rear were now encrusted with a foamy substance—probably a fire-extinguishing foam sprayed on by those who had come later.

Now a stormtrooper stood guard on the damaged vehicle, and was engrossed in conversation with two men in the distinctive uniform of Zsinj’s Raptors. Two speeder bikes in Raptor colors hovered beside the starfighter’s intact wing.

Face, a few dozen meters away, in the heavy underbrush characteristic of the light forest of the area, insects crawling across his back and sides, wiped more stinging sweat from his eyes and crawled forward to hear what they were saying.

The stormtrooper’s voice, amplified by the electronic speaker of his helmet, was easiest to make out. “…  see here. Spots of blood. He was crawling here, but we didn’t get any units … ground at this site for half an hour, so he wasn’t crawling for stealth; he was hurt. We have men on speeder bikes … now. They say his trail goes a little less than a kilometer and just disappears on stony ground where things get hilly.”

The two Raptors looked at one another. The first, the taller of the two, said, “Is there any sign of repulsorlift dust-up along the trail?”

“Ehh, no. They would have mentioned it. They’re assuming he’s out there hiding in the hills.”

“I don’t think so. They would have found more blood. Even if he’d bandaged himself, he’d be cutting his flesh to pieces on that hard ground—unless he stopped crawling and started walking. Which isn’t likely. Scanning isn’t doing any good?”

“There are a lot of people, humans, in the region. Professional hunters. And some large game they hunt. We’re ushering them out as fast as we come across them, but they’re playing havoc with our scanners.”

The Raptor sighed, testimony to the stormtroopers’ incompetence, and turned back toward the speeder bikes.

The other one said, “We’ll find him. Then we’ll tell your people how it was done.” He followed his partner.

Face crawled forward as fast as he could manage while remaining fairly quiet. The stormtrooper was watching the Raptors, his body language suggesting that perhaps he’d enjoy beating the two men senseless with the stock of his blaster rifle, and did not turn in Face’s direction.

The Raptors mounted their speeder bikes, talking to one another, their low, amused tones and occasional chuckles making it likely that the stormtrooper and his fellows continued to be an object of derision. They fired up the bikes’ thrusters and headed out.

Face stood up from behind a bush in their path. His first blaster shot took the right-hand Raptor in the chest, sending him tumbling from the back of the vehicle. Face traversed left and fired just as the second Raptor came abreast of him. His shot took the man in the side of the head and the dead or injured man passed so close that Face could feel the wash from his repulsors and smell the char from his helmet.

Ahead, the stormtrooper was raising his blaster rifle’s stock to his shoulder. Face threw himself to the ground, once again partially concealed by the bush, and squeezed off three shots. The first two went wide, with the stormtrooper’s return shot charring soil less than a meter in front of Face, but the third blast took his target in the gut, where sections of white armor were connected by flexible black material. The stormtrooper let out a moan and fell forward.

There was an explosion from behind Face. He rolled over and brought his blaster up, but there were no enemies to confront—the second speeder bike had slammed into a broad-based tree and exploded. Fiery fragments rained down upon the tree and surrounding underbrush.

No time to worry about that. Face hurried to Phanan’s TIE fighter, clambered up one broken wing pylon, and peered into the cockpit. No sign of Phanan, as the conversation he’d overheard had suggested, but it would be good to deny Zsinj’s forces any information they might glean from analysis of the craft. He fired several blaster shots into the cockpit, and when the pilot’s seat and control board were fully ablaze, he dropped again to the ground.

The first speeder bike had fetched up against a tree, but had not detonated. Still, the forward outrigger looked bent, even from this distance, and that wasn’t good; it would seriously restrict the vehicle’s speed and maneuvering capabilities.

Face took the stormtrooper’s blaster rifle and hurried toward the bike. En route, he passed the bodies of both Raptors. Both men were dead. He took their blaster pistols, comlinks, and various cards and datacards.

As he’d feared, the outrigger of the surviving speeder bike was twisted out of alignment. A repair job was out of the question with the tools he had on hand. He swore to himself, mounted the vehicle, and set it into motion.

The thing’s thruster engine rattled and coughed, and the bike showed an immediate tendency to pull down and to the right—the new bend to the forward directional vanes made that inevitable. Still, it would be faster than walking. By brute force, he kept in line with the still-distinct trail Phanan had made and set out along that route.

Distantly, he could hear the roar of other speeder bikes. He snapped on his vehicle’s comlink, and that of one of the Raptors. The airwaves were active with communications: “May have some sign of passage here, looks something like crawling. But there’s no blood.” “Ay Dee Seven Four Two, have Ajaf and Matham reported in to you yet?” “Grid Two-Four secure. No large life-forms here except us.” “Too bad we can’t scan for intelligent life-forms, Dofey, that would let you out right away.” “No personal remarks, Private.”

The damaged speeder bike carried Face along Phanan’s trail of crushed underbrush and scored mud. Phanan had managed to crawl a fair distance, Face decided. He traveled a quarter kilometer through this forest, then a half kilometer, and finally reached a narrow, shallow river that must have been the one mentioned by the stormtrooper.

On the other side of the river, Face could see that the forest thinned, and not much farther it graduated to rocky hills that were thick with underbrush but not much for trees. Face shook his head. It didn’t make sense for Phanan to head for terrain like that, where it would be easier to spot him from above—and as he watched, a TIE fighter swooped by over the nearest ridge of hills, flying slowly enough that it had to be on reconnaissance detail. Still, Phanan’s crawling trail emerged on the other side of the bank, more obvious than ever, and headed toward those hills.

Face paused, sensing some of Phanan’s innate perversity at work. The stormtrooper had said the trail disappeared on stony ground, and the searchers hadn’t had any luck finding Phanan. No luck finding an injured pilot who was limited to crawling.

Phanan knew as well as Face did that a downed pilot who found a river would, under most circumstances, be much better off following it downriver. Human settlements tended to be built along rivers. Rivers tended to join other rivers. Rivers usually meant fresh water.

What if—More obvious than ever. What if Phanan had crawled as far as the first batch of terrain that would no longer carry sign of his passage, then had crawled back to the river? It was a sensible strategy. It might throw off his pursuers. It had thrown off his pursuers.

Face turned rightward, the direction the river flowed, and began cruising slowly above its surface.

This was a much better route. Trees along the riverbanks shielded long stretches of the water from view from above. Long grasses beside the water draped the banks, sending leaves into the river itself—did they drink as roots did? Face shook his head; now was not the time to worry about botanical studies of the planet Halmad.

Then there were the river’s larger inhabitants. Far ahead and sometimes far behind, Face saw large splashes and roilings in the water that suggested the human-sized amphibians he had glimpsed before. Perhaps they were keeping their distance because they were easily frightened. That was much more soothing than the possibility that they might be stalking him.

A kilometer downriver, Face felt a blinding flash of pain to the side of his head. He almost fell off the speeder bike. He came upright fast, blaster in hand, aiming at the elegant drapery of grasses to his left.

Grasses—and one pale hand sticking out beyond them, waving.

He brought the speeder bike around, hopped off into the thigh-high water, and shoved his way through.

It was Phanan, sweating, paler than usual, leaning against the bank in the shade of the leaves. His gray TIE-fighter pilot’s suit lacked its breathing gear, helmet, and gloves, and was torn in the front—a tear Face suspected Phanan had inflicted to help cool himself.

“I’m glad to see you,” Phanan said. His voice was weak, very hoarse.

“So glad you decided to brain me with a rock.”

“I can’t shout.”

“Are you hurt?”

Phanan nodded.

“Badly?”

Another nod. “I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding internally. I don’t think I’m going to get much farther.”

“You’re going to get to Hawk-bat Base. Can you ride on the back of the bike?”

Phanan was long in answering. “I think so.”

“Let’s get you up on it. You’ve thrown off pursuit pretty well. I’m going to get us out of their search area before they decide to range out this far.”

Face helped Phanan up on the back of the bike. It wasn’t easy. Halfway up, Phanan let out a bark of pain and curled up into a knot and stayed that way, shuddering, several long moments while Face held him up. Then, finally, Phanan could uncurl enough to take a normal rider’s position on the back of the bike. Face noted that Phanan began sweating heavily as soon as he left the cooling water of the river, and the sweating did not stop.

Face climbed up in the driver’s seat and goosed the thrusters.

The thruster engine let out a more vigorous cough than ever, shuddered once, and died.

“It take it you bought this used,” Phanan said.

Phanan lay on his back on the bike. In his hand he held the bike’s sensor unit, which Face had pulled from its post, leaving it attached only by wires.

The bike’s repulsorlift was fine. So Face, finding a rope in the vehicle’s small cargo compartment, had tied the rope off to the outrigger and was now a couple of meters ahead, dragging the bike by the rope while Phanan rode.

“This is pretty sweet,” Phanan said. “Why don’t you peel me some sunfruit while you’re at it?” There was still a rasp of pain in his voice.

“Sure. You kill it, I’ll peel it. What does pursuit look like?”

“Sensors don’t show any vehicles within our scanning range. I disabled the transmitter on this one’s comlink so they can’t bounce a signal and find us.”

“Good.”

“Face?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for coming back for me.”

“If you got captured, I’d have to fill out forms.”

“Reasonable. By the way, do you have a plan, or is walking in the river pretty much the extent of it?”

“That’s the biggest part of it, sure,” Face said. “Walking downriver for exercise and to broaden my awareness of the incredible diversity of human culture. But sooner or later we have to reach a community. At that point, I’ll sneak in and kidnap you a doctor.”

“Right,” Phanan said. His eyes were closed. “As though I trusted you to find your own backside without help from a spotter satellite.”

“From there, we can also rig a signal to base. We’ll probably be off this rock by dawn.”

“Right.”

“Maybe I’ll find a congenial female doctor in town and she’ll be taken with you and your little ways.”

“It won’t happen. You know what her first words will be?”

“What?”

“She’ll say, ‘Garik Loran? The Face? Ooh, I’m feeling faint.…’ ”

Face turned around. “Look again.”

Phanan craned his neck to look. “Oh, that’s right, you’re still in your Horrible Burn Victim facial makeup. Maybe I have a chance after all.” He winced and half curled up as another wave of pain hit him.

“Oh, forget this. We’ve got to get you medical help immediately. And that means calling in Zsinj’s forces and surrendering.”

Phanan uncurled again, but rocked back and forth a little, obviously unable to hold still. “Come here.”

Face splashed back to him.

When he was alongside, Phanan grabbed him by the neck of his pilot’s suit. His organic eye blazed almost as much as his mechanical one. “Listen to me, Face. We do not surrender. Your face under the makeup and my prosthetic modifications are going to be too easy to identify. If we surrender, the whole Hawk-bat plan just evaporates, and we have to start all over where Zsinj is concerned. I’m not going to have that.”

“Even at the cost of your own life.”

“That’s right.” Exhausted by his exertions, Phanan lay back on the seat. “Starting over means more time. More time for Zsinj to bombard more colonies, to destroy more ships. Another day may mean some bright young doctor gets it the way I did and ends up what I am.”

“What you are is pretty good.”

Phanan shook his head. “Not as good as some kid with a superior intellect whose only aim is to make people better. I’d rather he be out there than me.” He took a long breath. “If I die—”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Shut up and listen, Face. If I die, you can’t let them find my body. They’d identify me. Do whatever it takes you to get back to the unit, but don’t let them find me.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Promise me you’ll dispose of me.”

Face shuddered. “I promise. But you’re not going to die.”

“Well, I’ll try to hold you to that promise, too.” His organic eye closed. “There’s no traffic, yet we’re stopped. Why is that?”

Face grinned and splashed back to his towing rope. “Your fault for hiring an incompetent driver.”

The sun went down and Halmad’s myriad moons were brightly illuminated. Behind them was a rich carpet of stars—for all its industry, Halmad had clear skies.

At a bend in the river where the trees were thin, Phanan said, “What’s that?”

Face looked back to see where Phanan was staring, then looked straight up.

Just crossing before one of the moons was a brightly illuminated triangle, tiny in the distance.

“That’ll be Iron Fist, I expect.”

“Ah. Nice to have been able to see her before she was all blown up.”

Two hundred meters farther on, Face heard Phanan gasping for breath. He splashed back to him. He couldn’t go as fast as he wanted. It was getting hard to move; his legs were cold and felt like lead.

Phanan was not knotted in pain, as Face had expected. He was stretched out in the pose he’d found most comfortable, but there was distress in his face. “Sorry,” Phanan said. “A bit of panic.” His voice was fainter than before.

“Panic.”

“I was just imagining what a sad galaxy this would be without my superior intellect and general state of wonderfulness.” Phanan gave a minimal shrug.

“That’s not something you have to worry about.”

“Either way, you’re right.” Phanan held out a hand; there was something in it.

Face took the datapad from him. “What’s this?”

“It’s called a da-ta-pad. New Republic and Imperial children learn about them from the time they’re very young.”

“Funny.”

“Take it back with you. It has some last thoughts on it.”

The coldness in Face’s legs crept up to inhabit the rest of him and he shuddered again. “Not last thoughts, Ton. Don’t be so fatalistic. You’re just punishing yourself.”

Phanan managed a hoarse chuckle. “You would know. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I do what I do because I very badly want to hurt the people who hurt me. You do what you do so you can punish a little boy who once made some holodramas for the Empire.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? Face, just how much do you think you owe the New Republic?”

“Well … some.”

“For your acting. For the fact that it furthered Imperial causes.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s not right. You’re putting a tremendous burden on the little boy you used to be.”

“Well, a debt. It’s as though I incurred this tremendous debt account. Now I’m paying it off bit by bit.”

“The account doesn’t need balancing.” There was scorn in Ton’s voice. “You can’t reduce sapient lives to numbers and exchange them like credits. You can’t measure what a boy did in innocence against what a man has to do for the rest of his life.”

“Now you’re raving.”

“Ah. That’s good to know. Hey, we’re stopped again.”

A bit farther, and Phanan said, in a hoarse whisper Face could barely hear over the whine of the repulsorlift, “It’s up there again.”

“Iron Fist?” Face looked up. The Super Star Destroyer was making another orbit.

It was distant, pristine, like the giant spearhead of some supernatural being from the long-forgotten mythologies of a hundred worlds. It drifted by, not caring about the lives and deaths and victories and tragedies of the humans below. And when it descended, it would bring death. That, Face decided, was Iron Fist. And such a thing had no right to exist.

If it took him forever, he would see it destroyed.

He made sure his sudden revulsion did not make it to his voice. “Not too intimidating from this far away, is it?” he asked.

Phanan didn’t answer.

“I said, not too intimidating from here, is it?”

Phanan still did not respond.

Face stood where he was, unwilling to turn and look, to walk back on his cold-numbed legs to confirm what he feared.

But the speeder bike slowly drifted forward until it was beside him.

Phanan’s chest did not rise or fall. But his organic eye was still open, directed upward, and his expression—for once lacking pain, lacking the shields of sarcasm or manufactured self-appreciation—was that of a child wondering at the glittering beauty of the stars.

Face’s vision blurred as his own eyes filled with the first tears he’d shed since he was a boy.