Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [102]
In the base’s filthy mess hall, the surviving pilots, eleven of them, plus about twenty support crewmen waited under guard. Falynn and Grinder, grim-faced, kept them under the cover of blaster rifles; the two Wraiths stood behind upended tables that would give them some quick cover if one of the pirates produced a holdout weapon the searchers had missed.
Wedge stood before the pirate captain, a beefy, black-bearded man who had admitted to the name of Arratan. “Stand,” Wedge said.
Uneasy, the man stood. “We have a right to be here. We have a right to attack intruders.”
“What right?”
“We’re colonists. This is an unclaimed system. There’s no law here.”
Wedge sighed, suddenly made even more weary by the lie. “Very well. You’re free to go.”
The pirate chief blinked. “What?”
“You’re free to go.”
The bearded man looked among his men and nodded. They slowly stood.
“Of course,” Wedge said, “there’s no law here. So my pilots are free to shoot you if they want to.”
The pirates sat again, all but Arratan.
“Furthermore, since there’s no law here, my crew and I are going to help ourselves to whatever supplies we need. Then we’re going to take off and blow a hole in your beloved Blood Nest, venting the atmosphere. Then we’ll inform the New Republic military that there’s a nice hard-vacuum warehouse here full of other stolen goods and a lot of depressurized bodies.”
Arratan’s face twitched. “You can’t do that.”
“Of course we can. There’s no law here. This is unclaimed territory. Would you or any of your men like passage to some other system before we blow this base to pieces?”
“Maybe.”
“Then maybe you should spend some time thinking about what you have to offer us for passage. Not goods; we’ll take what we want anyway. Information.” Wedge leaned close to the pirate. “Be advised. You filth killed one of my pilots to protect your right to have no laws. So I’m going to be very hard to please.”
Rattled, the pirate chief leaned back from Wedge. The backs of his legs encountered the table bench behind him and he sat clumsily.
Wedge spun on his heel and left the mess, Janson following.
19
On the way back to the wobbly, unreliable-looking extruder tube where Night Caller was docked, Wedge said, “New orders.”
Janson pulled out his datapad.
“Test all the fuel they have in reserve. Whatever’s up to the standards of our snubfighters, transfer to the corvette. But I want Kell to look at everything first in case it’s wired to blow.”
“Kell’s in sick bay.”
“Was he hurt?” Wedge was aware that trailing power cables from Jesmin’s X-wing had shorted out some of the systems of Kell’s snubfighter. Perhaps he’d taken too much electricity himself.
“Violent nausea.”
Wedge gave him a surprised look. “What does our doctor say about that?”
“He says Kell is a real mess and shouldn’t be given a job frying tubers for the Alliance, much less flying X-wings.”
“That sounds like Phanan. Was that on the record?”
“No. He’s hoping Kell will surprise him. By coming out of it.”
“Me, too. I’ll talk to Kell. Any other injuries?”
“Myn Donos. A concussion from the explosion that did all the damage to Jesmin’s snubfighter. Or so Phanan says. I wasn’t able to talk to Myn; Phanan had already sent him to his quarters for rest.”
“Fine. Oh, and transfer Phanan’s R2 unit—Gadget?”
“Gadget.”
“—to Myn.”
They entered the airlock providing access to the extruder tube. Wedge closed the inner airlock door and opened the outer, then stared dubiously at the shifting length of stained man-height tubing. Somewhere