Rebel Dream: Enemy Lines I Page 25

  “I read you.”

  “For the last half hour or so, we’ve had some odd traffic on the sensor board. Anomalous readings out beyond the kill zone. Becoming more frequent.”

  “Your guess?”

  “I’d say the push is on. They’re coming in from all directions.”

  “About time. Alert Luke’s team to prepare for departure; they’ll leave during the confusion of the attack. I’m coming in.” Wedge put the X-wing back on a course for the biotics building.

  “You’re sure about this.” Luke gave Lando a skeptical look.

  Lando nodded, his manner easy. “I’m sure. Every so often I need to remind the universe that I’m a damned good pilot. With people like you and Han and his daughter around, everyone tends to forget.”

  They stood in the killing field before the Record Time, the troop transport that had been part of the first invasion wave to reach the planet’s surface.

  Seven weeks before, Record Time had been an antiquated cargo vessel working reliably through late middle age. Then it had seen one combat mission, the Borleias landing, and had been shot nearly to pieces. Now, after weeks of as-time-allows repairs by the garrison’s mechanics, the skin of its two main sections was so irregularly patched as to look scabrous, and reinforcing bars welded to the narrow section connecting the two ends merely accentuated the fact that the whole thing looked ready to break in half at any moment.

  “Who are you trying to kid?” Luke gave him a skeptical look. “You’re one of two men who blew up the second Death Star. You don’t have anything to prove.”

  Lando shrugged. He ran a hand down his tunic to smooth it. It was a rust-red, long-sleeved garment, delightful to the touch, and had cost more than he’d made in lean years. It perfectly complemented the cream-colored hip cloak he wore. He wanted to look good for his funeral or his triumphant return to Borleias, whatever would come. “All right, you’ve got me. It’s about the scam, Luke.

  “People hear about me, they see what I do, and they think I’m all about the profit motive. And, sure, I like wealth. I like it enough that sometimes I’ll even do honest work to get it.” He offered Luke a mock shudder. “But that’s secondary. The trick is what makes everything sweet. Take someone who thinks he’s got you, put him through the machinery of your mind and your skills, and bring him out the other end stripped of all his goods, but absolutely convinced that he’s had the better of you—so convinced that he’s even willing to be nice to you, to be generous to you—and you’ve accomplished something great.” He gestured at the ship. As if on cue, a hatch cover near the top of the bridge, beside one of the sensor arrays, popped free; it rolled down the bow’s sloping hull and then dropped to the duracrete with a tired clang. “This is a scam. We’re going to take this heap of junk in and the Yuuzhan Vong are going to think our hopes are pinned on it. They’re going to blow it up and think they’ve wrecked our hopes. They’ll be doing exactly what we want them to—they’ll be our personal servants for those few moments, which would kill them if they knew—and they’ll never realize just how much they’ve helped us. Until we choose to tell them. That’s sweeter than any wine, Luke.”

  “If you say so.” Luke took a hard look at the bow, doubtless cataloging where the hatch came from so a repair crew could fix it in the little time they had left. “Who’s your copilot on this?”

  “No copilot. Just a weapons officer. YVH One-One-A.”

  Luke frowned. “Isn’t that one of your combat droids?”

  “It is.”

  “You’re going to use this mission to field-test a droid.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  Lando shrugged again. “I’m captaining that flying landfill. My choice. Wedge has authorized it.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re as crazy as Han.” Luke checked his chrono. “I’d better get with my team. Some last-minute packing to do.”

  “I’ll be here.” Lando watched Luke leave.

  He had no interest in field-testing his droids on a mission like this. No, he just had no faith in his ability to get out of this operation alive and didn’t want to lead another living thing into death with him.

  That was bad, dark thinking. But he’d scammed Luke about his motives in having a droid weapons officer. He smiled to himself. Luke wasn’t the naive young man he’d been when Lando had met him. Scamming him was tougher these days. And always a pleasure to pull off.

  He walked over to stand near the ramp into the bay he and his droids had occupied so many days ago. He stood well to the side of the sparks drifting out from the bay; he didn’t want anything charring his tunic.

  The bay had now been partitioned off by a temporary bulkhead into two parts. In the front third, suspended in a metal brace hung from the bay ceiling, was a two-seat B-wing fighter, old but—he’d been guaranteed—reliable.

  The rear portion of the bay was filled with boulders. Well, they were not boulders exactly. Hanging from cables were pieces of debris, many of them chunks of downed coralskippers. Dead coralskippers, he reminded himself. They’d been hollowed out by volunteer crews who’d later decided they never wanted to field-dress one of the organic spacecraft again. Now they were shells, each one capable of holding one or two members of Luke’s team. There was other wreckage in the bay, as well—pieces of Yuuzhan Vong and New Republic ships, chunks of permacrete. The press of a button from Lando’s bridge or a comlink carried by Luke would sever all those cables and activate an inertial compensator mounted on the bulkhead opposite the ramp door, shoving the debris and the insertion team out through the door.

  The work crew’s final welding of the bulkhead between the forward and rear portions of the bay was what was generating the sparks. Lando approved. He wanted that bulkhead to be strong. He didn’t need debris to come crashing through to wreck his B-wing.

  He wasn’t as familiar with B-wings as he’d like to be, but the vehicle should be able to get him and his droid back home—if he could reach the docking bay from the bridge. If he had time. If not, he’d be launching in an escape pod. He’d be captured by the Yuuzhan Vong. He’d be enslaved and tortured.

  No, he decided, if he couldn’t reach the B-wing, there would be no escape pod for him. He’d ride the wreckage of the corvette all the way down to Coruscant’s surface. And he’d look good while doing it.

  Lando was on the bridge when Luke’s team came up the temporary ramp into the landing bay. It was Luke and Mara, Tahiri, several of the Wraiths, whom he’d barely met—the bald one, the tall one, the Devaronian, the skinny bearded man, and the severe-looking woman—and a final surprise, Danni Quee.

  He shouldn’t have been startled. He should have known that the persistent scientist would have insisted on being a part of the mission to find out what was going wrong with Coruscant’s planet shaping to learn whatever she could of the Yuuzhan Vong.

  R2-D2 waited at the bottom of the ramp. Lando knew that Luke wasn’t taking him along, and why; the astromech droid wasn’t mobile enough to navigate the difficult terrain the insertion team expected to face, and would certainly be an instant victim of Yuuzhan Vong wrath if captured.

  R2-D2 tilted backward, as if leaning back to stare up at Luke, and Lando could imagine the plaintive noises and musical tones he’d be making. Luke stopped at the top of the ramp, still within range of R2’s holocam view, and turned back to his droid companion. His gesture was conciliatory, reassuring.

  “Pretty sad, huh?” Lando asked.

  His own droid companion, YVH 1-1A, looked up from its sensors. “Sad,” it confirmed, but without inflection.

  “Ready to face the danger?”

  “I am ready,” YVH 1-1A said. “Of course I am ready. I am programmed to be ready. Always ready. Never uncertain about facing danger.”

  Lando gave the droid a little frown. It sounded as though the combat droid had picked up some conversational mannerisms from a protocol droid like C-3PO. But YVH 1-1A still didn’t have the linguistic modules to h
elp him develop idiosyncrasies like that. Oh, well. Something to worry about when they got back. He hit the switch on his comm unit. “Borleias Control, this is Record Time. Ready for takeoff.”

  “We’ll give you the word. The assault is anticipated within the half hour.”

  “Hey, what odds am I getting that I’ll blow up before getting out of the atmosphere?”

  “Um, about one in a hundred, sir.”

  “I’ll put a thousand credits on surviving at least to orbit.”

  “I’ll take that, sir. I could use ten credits.”

  “How do you collect if you win?”

  Silence answered him. Lando grinned at YVH 1-1A, but the droid merely stared back at him, humorless.

  The alarm cut through the biotics building, the temporary docking bays built outside it, the kill zone surrounding it. Pilots scrambled for their starfighters. Mission controllers reached their stations and began coordinating the units they managed.

  Jaina, racing for the special operations docking bay, skidded to a halt as a large man staggered into her path and turned pleading eyes on her. He was young, not unpleasant looking, but awkward of posture, with mussed hair and eyes more bloodshot than she’d ever seen in a human, worse than her father or Lando after the most extravagant night of drinking. “Do you need help?” she asked.

  The big man shook his head. “I’m going to die.” His words were slow, pained.

  “Then you definitely do need help.” She brought out her comlink. All around her, pilots and crew ran into the docking bay and toward vehicles parked in the kill zone.

  “I’m a Yuuzhan Vong spy, and I’m going to die. I’m supposed to capture you now, with the bugs in my pocket, and carry you to the edge of the kill zone. But I’m not going to.”

  “Thank you.” Jaina switched on the comlink. “Twin Suns Leader to Control. I’m in front of the special ops docking bay. I have a civilian male here. He’s, uh, experiencing distress and needs medical help right away.”

  “Acknowledged, Twin Suns.”

  “I’ve won.” The big man offered her a broad, idiotic smile. Blood suddenly began pouring down from his nose, running over his lips, spilling to the ground. “I don’t have to do what they say. All they can do is kill me.”

  “Of course.” She edged around him. Whatever his situation, she had to get to her X-wing.

  “I took the bug off your X-wing,” he called after her. “So don’t worry.”

  “I won’t,” she promised, then turned to race after her pilots.

  Tam watched her go.

  He knew she hadn’t believed him. Everyone had seen shell-shocked refugees here after Coruscant’s fall. He must look just like one of them.

  It took him a long time to work his way through that thought. With every beat of his heart, another spike of agony was pounded through his skull and into the deep portions of his brain. There wasn’t room for brain matter anymore. That had to be why it was so hard to think.

  But it was important that some people believe him, so they could finish undoing what he had done since arriving on Borleias.

  He could see medical personnel running toward him now. He’d never be able to make a full confession to them, not before the pain ate completely through him and he died. But he didn’t need to. He reached into his pockets. His right hand drew out the jellylike container still half full of Yuuzhan Vong bugs. His left drew out the data card, the one on which he’d written “In The Event Of My Death.”

  Suddenly he was looking at the sky. He hadn’t felt the impact of falling. He put the bag and data card on his chest, where they were sure to be found.

  Then the sky was full of faces, men and women saying things he couldn’t understand. He smiled at them, to reassure them. Maybe they could save him. But if they couldn’t, it was important they understand that he didn’t blame them, that he wasn’t mad.

  He was still trying to form the words to tell them this when unconsciousness claimed him.

  Jaina dropped into her X-wing’s cockpit. Still somewhat rattled by the encounter with the madman, she began her power-up checklist. Her astromech, a gray-white R2 unit with burgundy lines and decorations, was already in place. “Hey, you,” Jaina said, “I never asked. What’s your name?”

  Her comm board trilled and she looked to find a line of text appearing on it. I DON’T HAVE A NAME. MY DESIGNATION IS R2-B3.

  “No name? That’s terrible. You can’t become famous without a name. Do you want one?”

  THAT WOULD BE GOOD.

  “How about Cappie? For a friend of mine, a pilot named Capstan.”

  I AM CAPPIE.

  “All right, Cappie, give me the engine readouts …”

  Jaina went through her checklist with her customary speed. This time, though, she didn’t push herself to finish. She knew that Jag would be done before she was; she no longer had to look through his viewport for confirmation. On the other hand, when she was done, she did look. She saw him leaning back in his pilot’s seat, relaxed. She gave him a smile and a thumbs-up.

  He pulled his helmet off and gave her a return smile. It was a half smile, the left side of his mouth, brief but encouraging, for her alone. Then he pulled his helmet on again and was the anonymous pilot once more.

  The expression caused something to flutter in her stomach. Have to remember, she told herself, he may have been raised among the Chiss, but he’s still full-blooded Corellian.

  * * *

  A few meters away, Kyp Durron also saw the exchange of looks. He pulled his gaze away and concentrated on his diagnostics readout instead.

  Since Hapes, Jaina had kept Kyp at arm’s length. She’d kept everybody at arm’s length. Now it was obvious that Jag Fel had gotten past her guard.

  So what’s it going to be? he asked himself. Show him up? Let her interest in him run its course, then be on hand when she needs a friend to console her? He wished he disliked Jag. That would make things easier.

  Another voice, another thought, intruded. Maybe you ought to figure out what she is to you before you make any decisions.

  He grimaced. That required more honesty than he wanted to experience.

  Because he knew he wasn’t in love with Jaina Solo. He just liked being around her.

  She was intelligent, talented, brave, beautiful. Strong in the Force. Important to the New Republic. He could make her happy.

  Why did he want to? He suspected it was because she hadn’t been happy, and her pain, which he’d felt through the Force every time they’d connected, called to him, even when she’d fooled herself into thinking she could make it go away by keeping the whole universe at bay.

  But he’d been interested in her before the loss of Anakin and Jacen. So why?

  Maybe it was because of Han. He owed Han so much, from the time years ago when they’d met, from the help Han had offered in bringing Kyp back from the dark place he’d been in when he’d destroyed whole worlds. He might not be alive if not for Han. Make Jaina happy, make Han happy. It was a simple formula.

  Besides, he had repaid that debt, or some of it. He’d helped Jaina come back from the steps she’d recently taken toward the dark side, and would continue to help as long as she needed him.

  “Twin Suns Two …” That was Jaina’s voice, artificially sweet, and it jolted Kyp out of his reverie.

  “Yes?”

  “Status, please? All the other little Twin Suns are ready to go.”

  “Oh. Uh, I’m—” He did a quick scan of his readouts. He’d finished his checklist automatically, as if on autopilot, and hadn’t even registered the fact. “Ready to go. Sorry, Great One.”

  “Liftoff in ten, nine, eight …”

  Kyp smiled ruefully to himself. So much for acting like a Jedi Master.

  SIXTEEN

  Borleias Occupation, Day 49

  “All special ops squadrons have launched,” Iella called out above the clamor of the command chamber.

  “We have contact,” Tycho said. “Yuuzhan Vong capital ships nearing B
orleias, far side of the planet.”

  Iella said, “Commander Davip is requesting permission to pull Lusankya out of geosync to engage the enemy before they reach our location.”

  Wedge smiled at her. “Of course he is. Tell him no. Transmit to him the details of Operation Emperor’s Hammer.”

  “Done.”

  Yuuzhan Vong Worldship, Pyria Orbit

  “They are not sending forces into orbit,” Czulkang Lah told the villip. “Instead, their orbital capital ships are sending some squadrons of small fighters down into the atmosphere.”

  The villip with his son’s face said, “Meaning that they are aware of the approach of your ground forces.”

  “Correct. We somehow failed to disable all their sensor devices on the ground and they have not been fooled.”

  “I will not offer advice. You are Czulkang Lah. You will crush them despite their state of readiness.”

  Czulkang Lah remained silent. An honest reply, his estimate that the infidels had surprises in store for the Yuuzhan Vong forces, that they might not win today, would only cause embarrassment for the warmaster.

  After moments of awkward silence, Tsavong Lah added, “Good fighting.” His villip inverted.

  Twin Suns Squadron took up position a few kilometers north of the biotics building, high enough that Yuuzhan Vong attacks fired from the ground would have to travel for several obvious seconds before reaching them. Her pilots—twelve again, ever since Pastav Rone had been released from the bacta tanks—waited.

  The Wild Knights were arrayed to the east, Blackmoon Squadron to the west, and the Rogues to the south; other squadrons from the Star Destroyers overhead were arriving to fill in the broad gaps in that defensive circle.

  Jaina the pilot didn’t like waiting. She shook her head and became Jaina the Jedi, to whom patience was a way of life.

  But even as a Jedi she couldn’t quite shake some thought eating at her.

  The fear she’d discussed with Leia was back. It was under control, but always present. With it was worry—for Jag, for Kyp, for her other pilots, for friends, even for Cappie.