Corran happily popped the cockpit canopy seals on his X-wing after the yacht killed its maneuvering jets and the thick fog descended over the ships. At Chorax the yacht had come back and picked him up, using landing claws to capture the X-wing’s landing gear. This left his ship clinging to the dorsal hull of the yacht like a dauber-wasp on the back of a bird. He didn’t particularly like the situation, but it was a long walk from Chorax to Talasea in the Morobe sector and he liked the idea of leaving his fighter and Whistler behind even less than being carried into port.
He’d shut down all systems except for life support, so he had no communication with the yacht’s pilot. Corran had been impressed with how smooth the landing was at the primitive spaceport. A dense fog hid almost everything, and what little he could see in the backwash of maneuvering jets seemed overgrown with dark green ivy. He saw dim shapes that resembled buildings, but most of them were covered with sufficient plant life that he wondered if the New Republic hadn’t grown the base instead of building it.
He stood and stretched, then doffed his helmet and gloves and put them on the seat of his command couch. Vaulting from the cockpit, he landed heavily on the yacht’s hull. More gravity here than I expected. Corran looked for a ladder to let himself down, but couldn’t find one. Instead he walked along the curved wing and jumped down to the ground from the lowest point.
His knees buckled with the impact and he went down on all fours. “Either there is more gravity here than I expect, or that fight really wrung it out of me.” As he straightened up and scraped mud from the knees of his red jumpsuit, he knew both of his assumptions were probably correct. I’m lucky to be alive.
A hatch opened with a hiss on the underside of the yacht and a boarding ramp slowly descended. Corran turned toward the ramp, wiping his hands off on his thighs. A Sullustan descended first, followed by an insectoid maintenance droid of Verpine manufacture. Corran nodded a salute at them, but they ignored him as they waited at the base of the ramp.
Corran assumed they were waiting for the captain of the ship—a person he had assumed to be male since very few of the independent smugglers were female. As the captain descended the ramp, Corran had his assumption exploded by his first glimpse of shapely long legs encased in boots and a form-fitting, dark blue jumpsuit. A gunbelt encircled her slender waist and long black hair fell to midback. She grabbed the ramp’s forward support and swung around to face him in a carefree manner, and Corran was very taken with the smile lighting up her beautiful face.
He wiped his hands again on his jumpsuit. “Thanks for the ride back here.”
She returned his smile as she shortened the distance between them. “Thanks for the save back there.”
“My pleasure.” He extended his hand to her. “I’m Corran Horn.”
Something dangerous flashed through her brown eyes. “Are you any relation to Hal Horn?”
“He is … was my father. Why?”
“Because he hounded my father and had him sent to Kessel.” She poked him in the chest, right where the flight stick had bruised him. “If I’d known who you were I’d have left you there.”
Corran recoiled in surprise and for the first time saw the patch on the shoulder of her jumpsuit. It showed a Corellian sea-ray that had a bar where its eyes should have been. Because of the polarized thread used to embroider the black eye-bar, a little vertical white line passed through it, running side to side. I know that crest—I knew this ship was familiar! “This is the Pulsar Skate. If I’d known Booster Terrik was bringing me in, I’d have stayed out there.”
“I can see you two have already met?”
Corran whirled around and quickly saluted Wedge. “Yes, sir.”
The woman planted her fists on her narrow hips. “You didn’t tell me who this pilot was because you knew I’d not have transported him, right?”
Wedge smiled easily. “I suspected there might have been some friction. How have you been, Mirax?”
“Paying for spare parts and fuel, Wedge.” Mirax kissed Wedge on the cheek. “I’ve also been collecting stories about you from all over the galaxy. Your parents would have been proud.”
Wedge nodded solemnly. “I’d like to hope so.”
Corran’s green eyes narrowed. “Sir, you realize the Pulsar Skate is a ship with a well-documented history of smuggling and that Booster Terrik is one of the more notorious smugglers who ever flew out of Corellia.”
Corran’s commander smiled. “I know all about the Skate, Lieutenant Horn. I was about fifteen years old when I helped replace the fusion chamber on that starboard engine. Mirax’s father regularly used my parents’ fueling station for repairs and refueling.”
“But, Booster used to smuggle glit …”
Wedge cut him off with a scowl. “He also helped me track down the pirates who destroyed the fueling station and killed my parents—pirates who destroyed it while fleeing Corellian Security and whom CorSec never caught.”
“And that makes it all right?”
“No, Lieutenant, it just puts things in perspective.” Wedge gave Mirax a hug around her shoulders. “Mirax isn’t her father. Ever since he retired, she’s been running a lot of supplies for the Alliance.” He then turned and gave her a hard stare. “And Corran isn’t his father, either. If he’d not made some last-minute adjustments to the course we were taking, we’d not have ended up in the Chorax system to save you.”
Mirax glanced down at the ground. The anger in her expression eased slightly, aided and abetted by the color rising to her cheeks. “You’re right, Wedge. I’m still bleeding off the stress of being jumped like that. The Black Asp came out of hyperspace right on my exit vector and gravved me in place. Someone sold me out.”
Corran snorted. “No honor among thieves.”
Wedge frowned at him. “More like Imperial credits buying more loyalty than the promise of Alliance credits.”
Mirax shrugged her shoulders. “Some of us find those promises more safe than letting the Empire get their hooks into us.” She extended her hand to Corran. “I want to apologize for my behavior, Lieutenant.”
Corran shook her hand. “Apology accepted, and I apologize as well. I’m still rattled after getting fired upon by a cruiser. My R2 is down and I’m a bit worried …”
She smiled and some of the tension in his chest eased. “I understand. If I can help in any way.”
“I appreciate the offer.” Corran looked over at Wedge. “I should probably see to getting the X-wing unloaded and Whistler’s getting repaired.”
“In a moment, Lieutenant, I want to speak with you first.” He jerked a thumb at the Pulsar Skate. “Mirax, do you know where your shipment was going?”
“I was supposed to rendezvous with a ship for transfer or coordinates.” She shrugged. “According to the manifest it was a lot of basic stuff for setting up a base. You could probably use most of it here.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Wedge fished a cylindrical comlink from a pocket of his flight suit and flicked it on with his thumb. “Antilles to Emtrey.”
“Emtrey here, sir. I’ve been trying to reach you since we landed …”
Wedge rolled his eyes skyward. “I’m sure you have. No time to talk now. I need you to get a salvage crew with a lift crane over here to get Horn’s X-wing and R2 unit. You also need to get the ship’s manifest from the Pulsar Skate. Find out where that shipment of supplies was going and see if you can’t arrange for what we need to remain here.”
“Yes, sir. As I was saying, sir …”
“Antilles out.” Wedge turned the comlink off and shoved it deep into his pocket again. “Tycho said he didn’t have any trouble with the droid on the trip out here, but why not I can’t imagine.”
Mirax arched an eyebrow at Wedge. “So you send him out here to talk with me?”
“Believe me, he’s not the worst protocol droid on our side, not by a long shot.” Wedge winked at her. “Just give him the datacard, retreat to the Skate, and threaten to shoot him if he comes aboard.”
“Make sure you shoot twice.”
“I’ll remember that, Lieutenant.” Mirax sighed. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I just downloaded the manifest to your central computer?”
Wedge winced. “Right now he is our central computer.”
“True, this isn’t exactly Coruscant Rimward. It makes the Outlier worlds look civilized.”
“I’m glad you understand.” Wedge tossed her an abbreviated salute. “We will talk more later, Mirax. Lieutenant, if you’ll follow me.”
Corran fell in step with his commander. “You wanted to say something to me, sir?”
“It’s never again going to be quite like that first time.” Wedge smiled. “Taking on fighters is one thing, but fighting in the shadow of a capital ship, that’s enough to get to anyone.”
Maybe that was the difference between this time and the others. “I appreciate the perspective, sir.”
“I also wanted to congratulate you for the way you recovered yourself out there. You were in a very difficult position and you got yourself out of it rather handily.”
“It was more luck than anything else, sir. If that second blast had caught me square on, I would have been on that Interdictor and Talasea would be under assault.”
“Call it whatever you like, Mr. Horn, you did well.” Wedge shook his head. “Getting those two Interceptors after your systems were down was very impressive.”
“As I told Captain Celchu, he did the hard part, I just pulled the trigger. If they’d broken his lock, I would never have hit them.” The younger man frowned. “That brings me to a question, sir.”
“Yes?”
Corran stopped and grey mist swirled between the two of them. “Captain Celchu was able to get a torpedo lock on those two Interceptors. Why didn’t he shoot them himself?”
Wedge hesitated, instantly putting Corran on his guard. “The Forbidden is being modified for training purposes to simulate the profile of an assault gunboat. While it has the sensor package for concussion missiles, it doesn’t carry any and couldn’t shoot them if it did.”
“Then why didn’t he take them with his lasers? Lambda-class shuttles have lasers.”
Wedge’s reply came tight and laced with frustration. “The Forbidden does not.”
Corran glanced down at the ground. “Commander, I saw Alliance Security escorting Captain Celchu around on Folor. He’s never had fully powered weapons on his Z-95 Headhunter and you’re telling me his shuttle had the lasers removed despite our travel through contested sectors of the Core? What’s going on here?”
Wedge took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Have you told anyone else about the security escorts?”
“No, I …”
“Lieutenant, I want you to understand two things: First, I have the utmost trust and confidence in Captain Celchu. I have no reservations—none—about him, his service, his skills, or his commitment to the Alliance. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Second, the matter to which you allude is a private one, concerning Captain Celchu alone. Because of it he has agreed to have limitations placed upon himself. Discussion of it is up to him, but both he and I believe bringing the issue up will only serve as a distraction to the squadron.”
As if not knowing will not distract me. “Does this mean I can’t ask him about it?”
Wedge folded his arms across his chest. “Corran, you were a law enforcement officer, so suspicion comes easily to you and trust does not. Ask yourself this question—if you could trust him to help shoot those two Interceptors, don’t you think you can trust him all the way around? He didn’t have to save you, but he did, knowing full well he was as dead as you were if the Interceptors turned on him.”
“I see your point, sir.” Corran nodded slowly. “Doesn’t mean I may not ask, unless you order me not to, but I won’t tell anyone else about it. And if the Captain refuses to answer my questions, I’ll have to let it go, I guess. He saved my life. I owe him that much at least.”
“Good.”
“One more thing, sir.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
Corran looked back toward the Pulsar Skate. “Back there you mentioned that Corellian Security never caught the pirates who destroyed the Gus Treta station and killed your parents. My father got that case and worked hard on it. He didn’t give up, he just didn’t have your connections on the other side of the law.” He swallowed hard. “I think, if my father had known about Booster Terrik helping you find them, he’d have cut him some slack and Booster wouldn’t have done time in the spice mines.”
Wedge reached out and slapped Corran lightly on the shoulder. “Booster clearly wasn’t a Jedi, nor was he Sithspawn, and the time on Kessel got him out of the business. In a more candid moment, Mirax will probably admit the five years he spent in the dark was good for her father.”
“I doubt she and I will share many candid moments, sir.”
“Really? I think you two would get along quite well together.”
“Our fathers openly hated each other, sir. Not the best foundation for a lasting friendship.” Corran shook his head. “Besides, she’s your friend …”
“But just a friend. More like a sister, since she stayed with us when her father was on dangerous runs.”
Like a “sister” to the commanding officer, now there’s incentive to get to know her. Corran smiled. “I’ll take that under advisement, sir.”
“Do that, Lieutenant. Having friends never hurts.”
“Sir, sir!”
Both men looked up as Emtrey materialized out of the Talasean fog. His dark color on this dim world—I don’t envy the Commander trying to avoid dealing with the droid here.
Wedge looked over at Corran and in an instant Corran knew they had been thinking the same thing. “Emtrey, good, I’ll leave you to discuss the condition of his X-wing with Lieutenant Horn. Find me after that.” Corran read an “if you can” in Wedge’s smile as the leader of Rogue Squadron turned and walked away.
“As you wish, sir.” The droid aborted a salute, then shuffled his feet around to face Corran. “About your X-wing. Sir, the damage is not that extensive.”
“What about Whistler?”
“Ah, your R2 unit.” The droid canted his clamshell head to the side ever so slightly. “Your Whistler will be fine. He shut himself down before the ion blast could do it—this by virtue of the near miss. I must say, sir, that I thought …”
“Yes, Emtrey, I appreciate that, but he’ll be fine?”
“I should think so, sir, though it was a near thing.”
“Near thing?” Corran asked, instantly regretting his invitation to Emtrey to explain.
“Well, sir, a power coupling was negatively polarized, precluding an auto-restart. Many would consider this a minor problem. The coupling will have to undergo thermo-reconditioning, but we have the facilities for that here since the colonists used to use agrodroids and this world has some fierce thunderstorms in the rainy season.”
“Fascinating, really, Emtrey.” Corran smiled easily. “You should ask Commander Antilles to let you brief the squadron on the climatology of this world.” Use me to escape the droid, will you? “Demand it, really.”
“Demand? Oh, my.”
“Insist absolutely. Fifteen or twenty minutes of reasoning with him should convince him of its necessity.” Corran nodded solemnly. “Now, about my X-wing. I blew a phi-inverted lateral stabilizer.”
“That is correct, sir.” Emtrey handed Corran a datapad. “I have downloaded the requisition forms for the part into this datapad. If you will fill them out, along with an incident report, I’ll get Captain Celchu to review the forms and get Commander Antilles to sign off on them. We’ll relay the information back to General Salm. We should have the part in a month or two at the most.”
Corran’s jaw dropped. “A month or two?”
“Provided they have the part and you don’t get pushed back in the priority list.”
“Priority list?”
“Yes, sir. You brought your X-wing with you and have never formally signed it over to the Alliance. To prevent individuals from using the Alliance as a maintenance depot, regulation 119432, subsection 5, paragraph 3 states ‘Non-Alliance craft that are allied with or working under the command of an Alliance leader will be provided with parts and maintenance at the discretion of the commanding officer and/or the senior officer in charge of parts and supply for said craft. If said craft are damaged in any actions that were not planned or sanctioned in advance (see Sec. 12, para 7 for a list of exceptions), all damage is considered non-Alliance related and to be repaired only after authorized repairs to sanction-action-damaged craft have been completed.’ Now the exceptions …”
“Hold it, Emtrey.” Corran massaged his temples. “Is this the only way to get a new stabilizer?”
“Sir, I am conversant in the regulations of over six million different military and paramilitary organizations and there is nothing that …”
The pilot rapped a knuckle against the droid’s black breastplate and that stopped the litany. “Emtrey, there have to be more phi-inverted lateral stabilizers in existence than we have in all the Alliance ships and stores. Z-95 Headhunters and Incom T-47 Airspeeders both use the part. There’s probably a wrecked T-47 out here somewhere, in fact.”
“There might be, sir.” The droid rotated his head around in a circle to scan the whole area. “I’ll prepare the forms requesting a general survey of the local sector.”
Dropping the datapad, Corran reached out and grabbed the droid’s head in both hands. He pulled Emtrey’s facial opening toward him. “You’re missing my point, Emtrey. Forms and requests will take time. Without that part, I can’t fly. If I can’t fly, I’ll be stuck in this fog and on the ground and that will make life miserable for me and I don’t want that. There are parts to be had …”
“And regulations to be observed.”
“Regulations be damned!”
The droid pulled back a step and the condensation on his head let him slip away. “Sir, of all the members of Rogue Squadron, I would have thought you would appreciate adherence to regulations!”
Corran sighed. “Regulations have their place, but not when they hurt. Can’t you just scrounge the part or something?”
The droid froze in position, the flashing light in his eyes being the only indication he was still working. The pilot luxuriated in the cessation of the droid’s chatter, but it went on far longer than he’d heard before in the droid’s presence. The eye-flashes became asynchronous, and this worried Corran a bit.
“Emtrey?”
The droid’s eyes went dark for a moment, then his limbs and head jerked as if he had been struck by lightning.
“Emtrey?”
The eyes lit up again and Corran would have sworn they were a bit brighter. “Scrounging protocol engaged, sir.” The droid bent down and smoothly retrieved the datapad. He glanced at the datapad, then shook his head. “I’ll shoot a requisition up through channels, but I think I can find you something sooner than anything we get from Command. You’re a pilot, and my job is to keep you flying. Consider it done.”
Even the voice sounded different to Corran. “Emtrey, are you all right? Is the moisture getting to you?”
“I’m fine, sir. The moisture is no problem.” One eye-light flashed on and off. “Touch of a virus, maybe, but nothing to worry about.”
Did that droid just wink at me? “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.” The droid saluted smartly. “If you have nothing further, sir, I’ll get on this right away. And I’ll have your gear sent around to your billet, sir.”
“Thank you, Emtrey.” Corran returned the salute. “Dismissed.”
The droid turned sharply on his heel and walked away. Corran stared after him, then shivered.
“Ooryl did not think it was so cold here.”
Corran spun and saw the grey-green-colored Gand standing behind him. Another who blends in with this fog. “Not cold, Ooryl, just fatigue. It’s been a long day, full of surprises.”
“Qrygg wanted to apologize for abandoning you.” The Gand Findsman clutched his hands together penitently. “Qrygg was too busy dodging Interceptors on Qrygg’s tail to see you were not there.”
“You followed orders, just as I would have.”
“Qrygg would give you a sign of Qrygg’s sorrow.”
Corran threw an arm around the Gand’s exoskeletal shoulders. “I tell you what. Guide me back to my billet and let me get a solid eight hours of sleep, and we’ll call it even. Will that assuage your Gand guilt?”
“Ooryl finds this acceptable.”
“Good.” Corran swept his left hand through the fog. “Lead on, Ooryl, and this time I promise I’ll follow right behind you.”