Star Wars_ Rebel Force 01_ Target - Alex Wheeler [13]
And he was given what he'd asked for.
Dead men felt no pain.
The Rebel perused the datapad carefully. X-7 knew what he would find. Impeccable credentials proving he was S'ree Bonard, a man who'd never existed. Falsified blueprints for a battleship that would never be built. A certifying thumbprint and Alliance codes from Lieutenant Planchet, whose rebellion had ended with a whimper and a bolt of blasterfire.
Out-of-date codes, yes—but what more could one expect from a man who'd been undercover for nearly a year?
"This all appears in order," the guard said, the suspicion fading from his voice. "I better get this info to General Dodonna."
"Lieutenant Planchet specifically requested that I deliver the blueprints personally," X-7 said.
The Rebel shook his head. "Not gonna happen. We've got some new security protocols—can't have you leaving the hangar until everything's been checked out."
X-7 feigned disappointment. No need to reveal that the hangar was exactly where he wanted to be. "I've been in that ship for a long time," he complained. "I was really looking forward to a good meal, a hot shower—"
"Trust me, I've been there, pal," the guard cut in. "But we all got to do our part for the Rebellion. And right now, your part is to stay right here until I get you clearance.
Understood?"
X-7 nodded. "Understood."
The guard left, promising to return with official clearance within the hour. And X-7
was left to his own devices. Forbidden from leaving the hangar.
Which, of course, was the last thing he wanted to do.
He sauntered up to a scarred, rusted Corellian cruiser that matched the specs of a ship Leia Organa had been known to use. A team of maintenance droids was working on the starboard dorsal engine while a slim, brown-haired man in a deck officer's uniform struggled with the dorsal rectenna dish.
When he paused, looking around for one of his tools, X-7 tossed him a fusioncutter.
"Trouble with the sensor array?" he asked.
"Trouble with everything," the deck officer grumbled. "Can't believe the piece of junk even flies."
"Maybe it doesn't," X-7 said agreeably. "Ever think about grounding her?"
"Ground the Falcon?" The deck officer spliced together a set of wires on the electro photo receptor. "Don't let Solo hear you say that."
"Oh?" Solo. X-7 filed the name away, and waited. He preferred not to ask questions. It was more effective to stay quiet and let your target fill the silence.
"I shouldn't even be working on her," the deck officer grumbled. "Solo never lets anyone near her but that Wookiee. Fine with me, I say. But they're off in some briefing, just talking, talking, talking, while I'm the one who has to actually do something, is all I'm saying. So I'm stuck mucking about in the grease. Like I don't have better things to do than more repairs on a ship that belongs on the junk heap."
"Think you'll get it done by the time they have to leave?" X-7 kept his voice casual.
Unconcerned.
"I got a few more hours, and only a couple more repairs to make. Shouldn't be a problem."
"In that case, maybe you've got time to take a look at something for me?" X-7 said, a new plan beginning to coalesce. "Shouldn't take more than a second—I could really use an expert opinion."
The deck officer grinned. "That's all I got, buddy. Besides, be nice to work with someone who actually appreciated me, is all I'm saying. That Wookiee's always grunting and growling every time I get my wrench near his deflector shield. And last time I was dumb enough try to touch the hyperdrive? Well, lucky I still have both my arms, is all I'm saying."
"It's right over here," X-7 said, leading the deck officer into a secluded corner of the spaceport. A large pile of damaged generators shielded them from view. "I've been having quite a problem."
The deck officer looked confused when X-7 stopped. Except for a few crates of spare parts, the area was empty. "There's