Enemy Lines II_ Rebel Stand - Aaron Allston [111]
The special operations crew had left behind a landspeeder that looked as though it had been slow-roasted for the eating pleasure of some alien giant. Nearby was a half-finished pipefighter, one they’d been assembling in case any of the others failed during their bogus tests. And then Wedge’s heart soared—off to the right, near the still-opening door, where the lights were last to come to full brightness, was an X-wing. There was no astromech waiting beside it or tucked in place behind the cockpit, but otherwise it looked intact, its cockpit raised as if in greeting.
The vehicle’s surface was scratched and burned everywhere, but there were a dozen shiny patches in place on the hull, not yet painted to match the snubfighter’s color scheme, and the canopy was gleaming, unmarred, obviously brand-new.
Wedge raced to it and climbed up into the cockpit, adrenaline letting him move like a man half his age. He’d commenced the emergency power-start procedure before gravity had quite settled him into the pilot’s couch, and brought up the vehicle’s assignment and diagnostics before lowering the canopy and buckling in.
The text board on his control panel swam into letters before it was even at full brightness:
INCOM T65-J “X-WING” IDENTIFIER NUMBER 103430
CURRENT PILOT: FLIGHT OFFICER KORIL BEKAM
CURRENT DESIGNATION: BLACKMOON 11
CURRENT ASTROMECH: R2-Z13 “PLUG”
“Too bad you’re not along for the ride, Plug.” Without an astromech, Wedge would be able to perform only the most basic insystem navigation; he wouldn’t be able to plot any interstellar routes. But if he could get up to his forces in this vehicle, accept a broadcast nav course or land aboard one of the capital ships, he’d be fine.
He triggered a command on his datapad, sending an authorization code to the X-wing.
CODE NOT RECOGNIZED. AUTHORIZATION FAILED.
The diagnostics board was now up. Power, shield, weapon, and thruster systems seemed to be fine, but the board showed unrepaired damage to the snubfighter’s computer and communications systems. Wedge swore. The time pressures that had forced the mechanics to abandon this vehicle before it was quite repaired might have doomed him. That point was accentuated by a new sound—the whumf of some large craft making an awkward landing near the special ops docking bay. No, it was adjacent to the docking bay—Wedge saw the back wall of the building, hardy sheet metal, bow in from the displaced air.
Wedge scrolled down in his datapad to personnel records, called up the details of Flight Officer Koril Bekam, and transmitted his authorization code.
AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED. Power-up of the remainder of vehicle systems commenced.
The docking bay door was now fully open, spilling sunlight across Wedge and the X-wing. Wedge saw a detachment of Yuuzhan Vong warriors, twenty or more of them, pass by the bay, headed toward the biotics building.
The data board indicated that two engines were up, three, four, then thrusters and repulsors reported ready. Lasers came online, and the bar indicating shield readiness struggled to become a solid green.
A Yuuzhan Vong warrior skidded around the corner of the special ops docking bay and halted, facing the X-wing, his posture suggesting surprise. A moment later, nine or ten more raced up behind him and turned toward Wedge.
Wedge gave them a smile—humorless, feral. He flicked his lasers over to stutterfire and sprayed the crowd of enemy warriors, saw some of them dive back the way they’d come, saw others caught in the beams.
Even set on stutterfire, where each beam was fired at the lowest useful intensity available to an X-wing weapon, the lasers were meant for vehicles, not individuals. Striking the Yuuzhan Vong, the beams superheated flesh past the point of cooking, past the point of boiling, straight to the state of gas or even plasma. Warriors hit by the beams simply exploded, torsos reduced to nothingness, limbs hurled in all directions.
Wedge grimaced, then fired up his repulsors and thrusters. In a smooth motion, his X-wing