Solo Command Read online

  by Aaron Allston

  TOO MANY TARGETS

  Just as the air thinned to the point that the stars shone with brilliant, unblinking clarity, the first laser blast sizzled past the Corellian freighter's port side. "A long-distance shot," Wedge said.

  Tycho's voice came back, "Easy to hit a flying bath­ tub like the one you're driving even with a long-distance shot. Permission to engage?"

  "Not yet. Wait until it gets complicated." Wedge spared a moment to look at his sensors. The squadron of TIEs was only a kilometer back. Kell's Drakes were only half a klick behind them and closing fast. And a new sig­ nal was on the board—a second full squad of TIEs from the ground base. It was going to get complicated soon. .

  Moments later, a shot hit the rear shields. On the sen­ sors, Wedge saw two wingpairs of TIE fighters peel off and curve around toward Kell's group. "That's it," Wedge said. "Rogue Two, you are free to engage. Chewie, you have the controls." He unbelted and moved aft.

  Wedge clambered into the upper gunport turret and powered up. His targeting grid immediately lit up with glows, most of them red—enemies.

  Acknowledgments Thanks go to:

  Bruce Harlick, Kevin Jennings, Beth Loubet, Matt Pinson­neault, Susan Pinsonneault, Bob Quinlan, Roxanne Quinlan, Luray Richmond, and Sean Summers, my "Eagle-Eyes," whose efforts to intercept my errors of thought and deed keep me from looking quite as foolish as I otherwise might; All the Star Wars fiction authors from whose work I have been able to draw details, most especially Michael A. Stackpole and Timothy Zahn; Drew Campbell, Troy Denning, Shane Johnson, Paul Murphy, Stephen J. Sansweet, Peter Schweighofer, Jen Seiden, Bill Slav­icsek , Bill Smith, Curtis Smith, Eric S. Trautmann, and Dan Wallace, for the invaluable resources they have written;David Pipgras, for the Wraith Squadron unit patch; The netizens of alt.fan.wedge, for their support and commentary; Sue Rostoni and Lucy Autrey Wilson of Lucas Licensing, for their help; and Denis Loubet, Mark and Luray Richmond, my roommates, for occasionally reminding me to eat, sleep, and breathe.

  Dramatis Persona

  Commander Wedge Antilles (Rogue Leader, Rogue One, Wraith Leader) (human male from Corellia)

  The Wraiths

  Lieutenant (Brevet Captain) Garik "Face" Loran (Wraith One) (human male from Pantolomin)

  Flight Officer Lara Notsil (Wraith Two) (human female from Aldivy)

  Lieutenant Myn Donos (Wraith Three) (human male from Corellia)

  Flight Officer Tyria Sarkin (Wraith Four) (human female from Toprawa)

  Lieutenant Kell Tainer (Wraith Five) (human male from Sluis Van)

  Flight Officer Hohass "Runt" Ekwesh (Wraith Six) (Thakwaash male from Thakwaa)

  Flight Officer Dia Passik (Wraith Seven) (Twi'lek female from Ryloth)

  Flight Officer Voort "Piggy" saBinring (Wraith Eight) (Gamorrean male from Gamorr)

  Lieutenant Shalla Nelprin (Wraith Nine) (human female from Ingo)

  Lieutenant Wes Janson (Wraith Ten, XO) (human male from Taanab)

  Flight Officer Elassar Targon (Wraith Eleven) (Devaronian male from Devaron)

  The Rogues

  Captain Tycho Celchu (Rogue Two) (human male fromAlderaan)

  Lieutenant Pedna Scotian (Rogue Three) (Chev female from Vinsoth)

  Lieutenant Derek "Hobbie" Klivian (Rogue Four) (human male from Ralltiir)

  Lieutenant Tal'dira (Rogue Five) (Twi'lek male from Ryloth)

  Lieutenant Gavin Darklighter (Rogue Six) (human male from Tatooine)

  Flight Officer Ran Kether (Rogue Seven) (human male from Chandrila)

  Flight Officer Koobis "Target" Nu (Rogue Eight) (Rodian male from Rodia)

  Lieutenant Corran Horn (Rogue Nine) (human male from Corellia)

  Lieutenant Ooryl Qyrgg (Rogue Ten) (Gand male from Gand)

  Lieutenant Asyr Sei'lar (Rogue Eleven) (Bothan female from Bothawui)

  Flight Officer Inyri Forge (Rogue Twelve) (human female from Kessel)

  Lieutenant Nawara Ven (XO) (Twi'lek male from Ryloth)

  Support Personnel

  Clink (Donos's R2 unit)

  Cubber Daine (human male from Corellia, Wraith mechanic)

  Gate (Wedge's R5 unit)

  Koyi Komad (Twi'lek female from Ryloth, Rogue mechanic)

  Squeaky (3PO unit, squadron quartermaster)

  Tonin (Lara's R2 unit)

  Vape (Face's R2 unit)

  New Republic Military

  General Han Solo (human male from Corellia)

  Captain Onoma (Mon Calamari male from Mon Calamari)

  Captain Todra Mayn (Polearm One) (human female from Commenor)

  Flight Officer Nuro Tualin (Polearm Two) (Twi'lek male from Ryloth)

  Flight Officer Dorset Konnair (Polearm Seven) (human female from Coruscant)

  Flight Officer Tetengo Noor (Polearm Nine) (human male from Churba)

  Zsinj's Forces

  Warlord Zsinj (human male from Fondor)

  General Melvar (human male from Kuat)

  Dr. Edda Gast (human female from Saffalore)

  Captain Radaf Netbers (human male from Broest)

  Captain Vellar (human male from Coruscant)

  I

  Naval Lieutenant Jart Eyan looked rested and cheerful. The tact that he had only twelve minutes to live would have changed his disposition, but he did not possess that knowledge.

  He descended the shuttle ramp to stand in the bay of the cruiser Home One and look around for a moment. When last he'd seen this part of the ship, many of the shuttles and utility vehicles within had borne the grime and combat scoring that were inevitable in any lengthy campaign. Now they were largely restored to shipshape state. The time Home One had spent in the repair yards of Coruscant had obviously been valuable.

  Eyan was a Twi'lek, member of a humanoid species best known for the two fleshy appendages, called lekku, that hung from their heads where a human would have hair. Many hu­mans forgot that lekku, more commonly referred to as brain tails, were sensory bundles, and often gave Twi'leks an edge in assessing their circumstances and possible threats being posed.

  Eyan shivered. Ryloth, the Twi'lek home, was a hot world. On Home One, a ship engineered for a bridge crew of Mon Calamari, an aquatic species, the ambient temperature tended to be low enough to inconvenience him. The New Republic officer's uniform he wore was never quite sufficient to over­come this discomfort.

  Still, he smiled, revealing a broad stretch of carnivore's teeth. It was good to be back.

  An aide, a human female, approached him and saluted. "Welcome back, sir. I hope you enjoyed your leave."

  "Oh, certainly." Eyan frowned for a moment, trying to re­member just what he'd been up to on his leave, but the moment passed. His gesture took in the vehicle bay and indicated the vessel as a whole. "What sort of shape is she in?"

  "One hundred percent, sir. All the admiral has to do is point, and we'll be on our way."

  "Excellent."

  "I wanted to let you know, you had a communication from your wife come in a few minutes ago. It was flagged as urgent."

  "Is the captain on duty?"

  "Not now, sir."

  'Good. I can see to this message before I'm officially on duty again." Eyan nodded thanks to the aide and headed for his quarters.

  What could be the trouble? He'd barely left her—as with many New Republic officers, he'd moved his family to Corus­cant after being assigned to the former Imperial throneworld.

  Barely left her after spending his entire leave with her, too. But he frowned, trying to recall just how they'd spent their) time together. The memory wasn't coming in too clearly. He had the nagging feeling that something important was slipping by him.

  At his quarters, he brought up his personal terminal and opened his mail. In addition to numerous messages
related to his duties, there was the priority-flagged message from his wife. He brought it up.

  There she sat, in the tacky red high-backed chair that sat before their terminal at home, and she looked distinctly un­ happy, her greenish skin a little more pallid than it should have been. She glanced over to the side as though consulting with someone outside recording range. "Jart," she said, "those Wook­iees are dancing in the parlor again."

  Eyan switched off the message, not bothering to hear it in its entirety, and erased it. His fingers typed commands into the terminal keyboard. He watched the process, momentarily in­ terested in how he could be so swift, so sure, and yet have no idea what he was doing. Of course, he thought. How unpleas­ant. Those blasted Wookiees are dancing in the parlor again. He retrieved his personal sidearm, a small but powerful blaster pistol, and checked it to make sure it was fully charged. He tucked it away in his pocket and departed, certain in what he needed to do to get rid of those dancing Wookiees.

  "In terms of pure strategy, there was nothing of particular in­terest between the capital ships in the Mon Remonda/Iron Fist fight." The speaker was a Gamorrean, one of the pig-snouted humanoids known for their warlike dispositions, but almost nothing but his appearance characterized him as a member of that species.

  He was speaking Basic, which was beyond the capabilities of other Gamorreans. And his voice was not a natural one; his words emerged twice, once in a throaty babble that sounded like gibberish to most people, and once in a mechanical tone from an implant in his throat. Too, he was the only Gamorrean known to wear a New Republic Fleet Command uniform.

  On the shoulder of his orange pilot's uniform he wore a unit patch that was much cleaner, much newer than the rest of the uniform. The main element of the design was a white circle, over which, in light gray, appeared the central symbol of the New Republic, a design like a stylized bird with upswept wings. Over that were twelve X-wing silhouettes, as if viewed from above, in black; one, in the lower left portion of the cir­cle, was large, and the eleven arrayed around it were a third its size. All were oriented the same direction, from lower left to upper right, as though flying in tight, precise formation. Around the white circle was a broad blue ring bordered by two narrow gold rings. It was a brand-new unit patch for a nearly brand-new force, Wraith Squadron.

  The being the Gamorrean addressed across the holotable was also unusual, though his kind was certainly well represented in the ranks of the New Republic military. Admiral Ackbar was a member of the Mon Calamari species, humanoids with fish-like features and rubbery skin. Though there were many Mon Calamari serving the New Republic, few had naval combat maneuvers named for him or had designed fighter craft as Ack­bar had.

  "Essentially," the Gamorrean continued, "we gave Zsinj only one course of action to take if he were to preserve the Ra­ zor's Kiss." He gestured at the replay of the deep-space naval battle being projected above the holotable. "You see his ma­neuvers to keep Iron Fist between us and Razor's Kiss. You see him slow his escape pace to stay with the crippled ship. All by the numbers, numbers our force dictated."

  Admiral Ackbar's voice was low, gravelly, slightly more imposing than the standard for his species. "So you find noth­ing of interest in the engagement."

  "If you will forgive me, I did not say that, sir." The Gamor­ rean manipulated the table controls to zoom the holoprojection view very close to the second of the two Super Star Destroyers. At this near distance, he and Ackbar could see that the mighty vessel was burning at innumerable points on the hull. They could also see swarms of starfighters, New Republic and Impe­rial, fighting above its surface.

  "Mathematically speaking," the Gamorrean continued, "there is much of interest in the behavior of the One Eighty-first. In addition to the fact that a demonstrably loyal Imperial elite squadron should not be working hand in hand with a rogue warlord like Zsinj, there is something odd in the way they fight."

  Ackbar's face suggested curiosity. "We detected no oddity in our analysis of the recordings. But, of course, you were there."

  "If I may correct you, I actually was not. I was trapped on the hull of the Iron Fist for most of that fight, trying to per­suade my starfighter to start up. No, it was after you showed me these recordings that I noticed it. Individual fighter pairs tend to respond with an interesting sameness to specific attack patterns. See here—" The Gamorrean pointed to a pair of TIE interceptors characterized by horizontal red stripes on their so-

  lar wing arrays. As a pair of X-wings approached from their rear, the TIEs broke off in a tight sweep to port and relative down, moving at an angle the X-wings couldn't match.

  The Gamorrean stopped the holoprojection, scrolled the viewpoint over to the Iron Fist, and settled it on another pair of 181st interceptors. He advanced the recording as the intercep­tors cruised toward a pocket of combat, then set it to play at a normal rate. "Here, two A-wings from Polearm Squadron ap­proach from the rear on the same vector. You see the intercep­tors break exactly the same way, the lead interceptor taking the higher position and the slightly shallower angle, the wingman going lower and taking a harder turn."

  "A coincidence."

  "No. The angle of attack dictates the way they break. Only with the One Eighty-first, however. I'm not sure what it means."

  Ackbar leaned forward, his posture suggesting sudden in­terest. "Show me more."

  Lieutenant Eyan marched into the admiral's outer office with his broad, meat-eating smile fixed on his face.

  The admiral's aide, seated at a desk outside the door to Ackbar's office, returned the smile. He was a human male who looked as though he thrived on naval food and could stand to thrive a little less. He stood and saluted. "Welcome back, sir. You look as though your leave suited you."

  Eyan drew the blaster pistol from his pocket, thrust it into the man's stomach, and pulled the trigger. The blast slammed the man back into his chair but was not as loud as it could have been, muffled by contact with the victim's flesh. "It did," he said.

  Eyan reached past the still-twitching corpse to press a but­ton on the underside of the desk. The door into Ackbar's office opened.

  The admiral looked up as the naval officer entered. "Ah, Lieu­ tenant Eyan. Allow me to present Flight Officer Voort saBinring, also called Piggy. He is a pilot of Wraith Squadron and a mathe­ matical prodigy. SaBinring, this is Lieutenant Jart Eyan, secu­ rity detail."

  Piggy rose to salute the naval officer. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

  Eyan returned the salute. "Likewise." Then he pulled his blaster from behind his back, pressed it into Piggy's stomach, and pressed the trigger.

  It is remarkable, Piggy thought, the suddenness of it. One mo­ment, perfect health. The next moment, perfect agony. He could not see, the pain in his gut was so great, like a bonfire lit upon his stomach and eating its way through him, and he could barely hear. He knew he lay upon his back but couldn't remember getting there.

  I think I have only moments to live. Interesting.

  But the science that had altered him, giving him control over his emotions, giving him the mathematical acuity that had brought him to Admiral Ackbar's attention, had not done away with all of the biological imperatives that came with be­ing Gamorrean. Another voice rose within him, growing louder: Live, die, doesn't matter—kill him! Strike him until his bones arc paste, rest your tusks upon the warm flesh of his throat, and tear it free! KILL HIM!

  Piggy's eyes snapped open. The assassin stood a couple of meters away, his weapon aimed at Ackbar, words forming in his mouth, words Piggy could not hear.

  They didn't matter. The Twi'lek hadn't fired on Ackbar yet. Piggy reached beneath his left sleeve, and with a trembling hand drew forth a vibroblade like the ones most members of his squadron carried there. He thumbed its power on. Then he roared, a noise he knew humans to find intimidating, and threw the blade.

  His target jerked at the sudden noise and spun to aim at Piggy. The vibroblade, instead of catching him in the chest, hit the blaster instea
d, shearing into the metal where barrel met trigger guard. There was a bright flash from the weapon and the assassin flung it away.

  Piggy tried to stand but found that his shaky limbs were not making it an easy task. He saw Ackbar slam into the assas­sin from the side, the webbed hands of the Mon Calamari clos­ ing around the Twi'lek's throat . . . but Lieutenant Eyan effortlessly wrenched Ackbar's hands free and threw the admi­ ral against the wall. Then, as deliberately as a diner sitting down to a meal, Eyan straddled Ackbar and closed his own hands over the admiral's throat.