• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

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