9
Wedge wondered if he weren’t really still trapped in a dream as the turbolift door opened and he stepped into the squadron hangar. A dozen X-wings occupied the deck, and techs swarmed over them. That wasn’t what had struck him as unrealistic, however, since the hustle and bustle of a hangar was something he’d witnessed countless times before.
He glanced over at Tycho. “What’s going on here?”
Tycho gave him a grin. “Well, since we’re no longer part of the New Republic’s Armed Forces, we can’t have ships bearing its insignia or colors, can we? Now, Corran’s ship has always been green with that black and white trim, like his droid, so I thought we might just go ahead and repaint our X-wings to look like whatever we want them to be.”
He pointed very specifically at an X-wing that was bloodred except for where white had been splashed at a diagonal down across the nose and the tips of the S-foils. A broad black stripe parted the white from the red. “That one’s mine. I did some checking, and before Alderaan disarmed, that was the color scheme the Alderaan Guard unit near my home used to sport. I’ve also had Zraii switch my Identify Friend/Foe beacon over to an old Alderaanian code—the one from the Another Chance, in fact. Individualizing the paint and switching our IFF codes to those of our home planets provides further evidence that we’re not a New Republic unit.”
Wedge chewed his lower lip for a moment. Makes sense, all of it. And the fighters do look a bit more, ah, ferocious with the new paint jobs. “I like it, Tycho, but I don’t know what to do with mine. Corran’s got the CorSec green, but he’s earned it.”
“How about a dark blue, with red stripes up the sides?”
“Corellian Bloodstripes?” Wedge chuckled. “I never was in the Corellian Military, so I never earned Bloodstripes. Han Solo wears them on his trousers because he went to the Imperial Academy and won them through his bravery.”
“Oh, and you’ve not been equally brave?”
“That’s open to debate, but the fact is I’ve never been sufficiently military to earn them.” He smiled slowly. “Make everything from the cockpit back black, including the S-foils, and give me a green-and-gold check pattern on the front fuselage.”
Tycho’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recognize the color scheme.”
“No reason you should.” Wedge hesitated for a second. “Back when my parents operated a fueling station at Gus Treta, my father was saving up to buy the station and start his own chain. The green, gold, and black were going to be the colors he used for the logo and the uniforms. Your colors tie you back to your home, Corran’s do the same thing for him, and I imagine the same is true for everyone else. Mine will tie me to the home I should have had.”
“I’ll put the order in immediately.” Tycho started walking over toward where the Pulsar Skate had come through the hangar’s magnetic containment bubble and was setting down. Following it in came a boxy station shuttle, but it landed further back. “Your ship and Gavin’s will be the last ones finished.”
Wedge glanced at Ooryl’s white fighter. “You need to include Ooryl’s ship on that list.”
“No, it’s done.”
“But, it’s so … plain.”
“Apparently not, if you can see in the ultraviolet range.” Tycho shrugged. “Zraii says it’s a masterpiece.”
“That explains why I’m a warrior, not an artist.” Wedge waved as he saw Corran, Mirax, and Gavin walk down the gangway from the Pulsar Skate. Wait a minute, who’s that? The fourth individual proved taller than Gavin and much bulkier, yet wasn’t slovenly or Huttlike. Then, when his head cleared the interior of the ship and Wedge saw the bristle of white hair, he recognized him.
“So that’s why Corran is looking a bit subdued.”
“What?” Tycho frowned at Wedge. “Who’s the last guy?”
“Mirax’s father.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Wedge trotted the remaining distance and thrust his hand at Booster Terrik. “It’s been far too long, Booster.”
The larger man’s hand engulfed Wedge’s. “You grew up quite a bit during my five years on Kessel. After I got out, well, about that time you were freezing on Hoth, then you were on the go. I assumed I’d run into you sometime, and now seems as good as any.”
“Indeed it is.” Wedge glanced over at Mirax. “Your daughter’s been a lifesaver, you know, and for more than just me.”
“So I gather from what I heard during the trip.” Booster Terrik threw an arm over Wedge’s shoulders, then tightened it against his neck. “I would have hoped, though, you would have found a way to protect her from the likes of Horn there.”
Wedge gently dug an elbow in the man’s ribs. “First, if you can’t control your daughter, how can I be expected to control her? Second, just as I told her, Corran isn’t his father. He’s one of the best men I know.”
“You need to get out more, Wedge.” Booster opened his arms and released Wedge. “Interesting place you have here. Not enough to stop a Super Star Destroyer, but you know that. Still, if you have to die in a box in space, this looks as good as any in which to do it.”
“Tycho’s taking me on a tour. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I’d be happy to.”
Wedge nodded, then looked over at Gavin. “How was Tatooine?”
“Good, sir. We got a fair amount of personal armor and weapons, as well as some TIE parts and assorted other things Mirax thinks we can trade. Uncle Huff said that was all that was left from the Eidolon material.”
“It all looked pretty good, Wedge.” Corran leaned against a pilot-mover. “We’ve got enough in the way of small arms to supply a decent insurgent force. The armor is stormtrooper grade.”
Corran’s voice trailed off as the sound of footsteps drew closer. Wedge turned and saw a pair of individuals coming around Pulsar Skate’s stern. The hulking brute of a man, with a shaved head and a big bushy beard, dwarfed his petite female companion. Wedge hitched for a moment, then started to laugh. “How is it possible that you’re here so soon?”
The auburn-haired woman smiled sweetly. “And I’m happy to see you, too, Wedge. You’ve not changed much, Tycho, or you, Mirax.” She nodded to the others in the group, then offered her hand to Corran. “Elscol Loro and Sixtus Quin.”
“Elscol joined the squadron just after Bakura and flew a few missions with us.” Wedge jerked a thumb toward her taciturn, dark-skinned companion. “Sixtus Quin was a Special Intelligence Operative who was betrayed by his Imperial commander, so he helped us out in a mission on Tatooine.”
Corran nodded. “We can always use more pilots.”
“But that’s not why we’re here, kid.” She shot Wedge a sidelong glance. “The reason we got here so soon was because we were inbound before your summons reached us. We’d heard of the coup on Thyferra and figured we’d ply our trade there.”
Corran stiffened. “And what would that trade be?”
A lopsided grin contorted the left side of her face. “I do what I was doing at the time Wedge recruited me—I find worlds with Imperial tyrants, and I liberate them. Sixtus, what’s left of his squad, and a group of other ne’er-do-wells come with me. We organize local resistance movements; provide them with expertise, weapons, and support; and help them get rid of their local Imperial officials.”
Wedge smiled. “I think you’ll recall that no one at our first meeting had any good idea about how to go about overthrowing a planetary government. Elscol has had more practice at it than anyone I know. She’s never been much of a joiner, so she’s been working outside the New Republic.”
She shrugged. “Haven’t formed an opinion about the New Republic yet, though during Tycho’s trial my thoughts were none-too-positive. The Empire, on the other hand, left me without my family, so I’m doing what I can to strip them of theirs.”
“Have you had a chance to review the material I sent you?”
Elscol nodded. “If the ratio of loyal humans to Vratix is at all accurate, the actual conquest of the world should be simple. The big problem there is the presence of those Imp ships. Anything we do can be undone by a planetary bombardment. If those ships can be scattered or neutralized—preferably both—we can stage an uprising that should topple Ysanne Isard. I’m confident we can do it, but I’ll have a better idea of exactly what we’re going to do after I get in there and take a look.”
Mirax raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking about going to Thyferra?”
“Yes, the sooner the better.” Elscol held up a hand and started ticking points off on her fingers. “We have to liaise with the Ashern, or we’ll fight them as much as we’ll fight the Imps and their Xucphra allies. We have to determine the nature of the targets we’ll hit, so we can be properly supplied for the strikes. We need to gauge the reaction of the populace to a countercoup, and we have to find a local leader who can handle being put in charge. If this were just some backwater world that no one cared about, we could be a bit more hasty. Thyferra, however, is of vital importance, so we have to be careful and surgical in what we’re doing.”
“Agreed.” Wedge folded his arms across his chest. “We don’t have enough in the way of personnel or equipment to allow us to be sloppy.”
Sixtus rested his fists on his narrow hips. “How long do you anticipate being able to keep the location of this station a secret from Isard?”
Wedge shrugged. “I have no way of judging that. We’ll take all precautions possible, but we’re as vulnerable here as the Alliance was on Hoth or Yavin 4. If Isard finds us, we’re in for a difficult time.”
“Then the sooner we’re on Thyferra, the sooner she’ll have to think about leaving at least part of her fleet at home.”
Gavin frowned. “But I thought the fleet needed to be scattered.”
“True enough, but scattered in a way that you can nibble it to death. I know you Rogues are hot hands on a stick, but a dozen snubfighters can’t take four capital ships all by themselves. Isard has to be induced to send the ships out so you can eliminate them, but she also needs a reason to leave some of them at home so you don’t get overwhelmed.”
Corran raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re suggesting the only way we win this thing is if Iceheart starts getting stupid.”
“Not at all, flyboy. What we need to do is to give Isard too many things to think about. She likes to be in control—that’s clear—and she’ll do outrageous things to remain in control.” Sixtus smiled in a way that made it seem as if smiling were an effort for him. “We have to present her with enough problems that she’s reacting to what we do, not acting by herself. We set the pace and determine what she does.”
Tycho’s eyes narrowed. “And if she doesn’t dance to the tune we call?”
Elscol opened her hands. “Then we dance around her. Make no mistake about it, defeating her is going to be neither pretty nor swift, but it can be done. People are going to die, but if she remains in charge of the bacta supply in the galaxy, that’s a given anyway.”
Wedge nodded and felt his shoulders begin to ache as if someone had settled a lead-lined cloak across them. While none of the Rogues had ever attempted to minimize the difficulty of what they had set out to do, neither had they taken a close look at the realities of it. It is almost as if we began to believe in the legend of Rogue Squadron—that impossible missions are for us just run of the mill. We know death and dying are part of any operation, but since we’re the ones putting our lives on the line, we’re accepting responsibility for our own lives. Elscol’s pointing out, quite correctly, that a lot of other people can and will be hurt in all this.
He nodded slowly. “Okay, we’ve got to start planning this all in earnest. We’re gathering weapons and the ships we need already, but now we’re going to have to designate mission goals, outline parameters, set rules of engagement, and establish just how far we’re willing to go to accomplish the end we desire: the liberation of Thyferra. I take it that the fact that you’re here means you’re willing to help us do this, Elscol?”
She winked at Wedge. “Actually I was coming here to give you folks the joy of flying cover for me while my people handled the problem, but I think throwing in with you is the only way to get this done. We’re in.”
“Great.” Wedge clapped her on the shoulders. “So, where do you suggest we begin?”
Elscol’s smile blossomed. “I think the first thing we want to do is to make Isard very mad.”