Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [27]
“Freighters?”
“Coming for the bacta.”
“Bacta. So that’s what we were guarding.”
“And you can continue guarding it all the way to Coruscant, where it’s needed. Give me your word you won’t fight against the New Republic in the future, and you’ve got a deal.”
“You have it, Antilles.”
Right on cue, a dozen and a half bulk freighters and specialty haulers started coming out of hyperspace and cruising in toward the space station. Most were blocky, squared-off craft that had seen better days, but a few were more elegant ships whose very designs were tributes to the romanticism of space travel. One, a converted Baudo-class yacht, glided through the void like a metal simulacrum of the Corellian sea creature that gave the ship her name.
“Starfighter, the Baudo-class yacht there is the Pulsar Skate. I’ll have the captain contact you on this frequency. Stand by.”
“I copy.”
Wedge opened a channel to the Skate. “Skate, this is Rogue Leader.”
“Mirax here, Wedge. We’re fourth in line to head in. What can I do for you?”
“We have a flight of four eyeballs orbiting. They’ve left Zsinj’s service and need a ride out of here. Will you?”
“Sure. Not the first time I’ve hauled a ship for you.”
No, the first one was Corran. “Thanks, Mirax. Mynock is sending you their comm unit frequency, so I’ll leave the arrangements to you.”
“It will give me something to do while I’m waiting.”
“I copy.” Wedge glanced at the Chronographie display in the corner of his monitor. “When we get back home, you and I will sit down and talk, yes?”
Weariness washed through Mirax’s voice. “I’ll have to offload the cargo first. Then maybe I can sleep. Haven’t been doing much of that lately. I will call you when I’m functional again.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“And keep that promise, or I talk your father into coming out of retirement by telling him you’re moping over the death of his worst enemy’s son.”
“Oh, Wedge, that’s cruel.” Light static hissed in Wedge’s ears as Mirax’s voice broke. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t mourn for Corran.”
“Agreed, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s a burden we all share, got it?”
“I copy.” Resignation tinged with relief flooded her words. “See you back on Coruscant.”
“I am counting on it.” Wedge looked out at the station and his squadron patrolling around it. And, miracle of miracles, it looks like everyone is going to make it back home again.
8
Corran knew that once again being in the cockpit of a fighter should have made him happy, but it did not. He could find no fault with the fighter nor with being given a patrol mission. He’d done enough of those to expect boredom, and yet even that wasn’t giving him a problem. Just to be flying again was enough to override boredom.
The fact was, he realized, that he was unhappy. Something was gnawing away at him inside. Something was wrong, and there was no way he could ignore it. It created an anxiety in him that was out of all proportion with what he was doing. It felt as if he weren’t involved in a patrol at all, but in some other mission with a hidden agenda he knew nothing about.
“Nemesis One, report.”
“One is clear, Control.”
The voice coming through the comm unit betrayed no hint of deception or urgency, but Corran couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that he was being manipulated. He had a natural aversion to being used, and he could feel unseen hands all over himself, pointing him in a certain direction, for reasons he could not fathom. He was surprised to find himself less resentful of their agenda—whatever it was—than of being manipulated.
I’m reasonable. I don’t shy away from difficult tasks. I do what I am asked to do, within reason. Didn’t I do that …? His thoughts dead-ended as he realized he couldn’t summon up specific memories to back up his argument. He knew he had performed many dangerous missions, but he couldn’t pinpoint them. His inability to do so wouldn’t have concerned him, and in fact almost did not, except