Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [152]
Trigit nodded throughout his tirade. “I know. I don’t contest your right to complaint. Tell me, though, what would you have done if you were in command of Implacable?”
“Follow my fleet in and try to lead them back out again as fast as possible.”
“You’re certain? You’re sure you’d have no other agendas from the warlord that might limit your choices?”
Face glared at him. “No, of course I’m not privy to any special instructions you received from him.”
“You may not trust me that I have such orders, but I can perhaps do something to convince you. Stand by for a new transmission.”
Face glanced down at the comm board, waiting for the telltale indicators that Trigit was sending data … but, instead, a second hologram materialized before him.
Warlord Zsinj.
Kell froze. If this was a separate transmission—and the fact that it resolved itself separately from Trigit’s, rather than the warlord’s image stepping out of blank space next to Trigit’s, suggested this was the case—then Night Caller’s computer was suddenly having to do almost double the work it was before. Two HoloNet links with different points of view meant two sets of Captain Darillian images being generated and transmitted. Neither the ship computer’s graphical processors nor Grinder’s hastily compiled code was set up for such a drain.
If the Captain Darillian image suddenly broke down, lost resolution …
Face gulped and leaned back very slowly. “My lord.”
Zsinj gave him a close look. “Zurel. It seems you’re upset with the admiral.”
Face kept his body absolutely rigid. Perhaps, if the system only had to update his face, it might keep pace with the demands being put on it. “I think any commander would be, if he’d just gone through what I did.”
The warlord smiled. “I think you’re correct. But you have much to be pleased about. I read your report. You did a fine job of getting your ship out of danger.”
“The Rebels probably did not appreciate my use of their own Ackbar Slash against them.” The desperation maneuver, developed first in modern times by Admiral Ackbar, involved sending one’s fleet between lines of opposing ships, causing them to fire upon one another if they missed their primary target. It made up a large part of the fiction of Night Caller’s escape from Talasea.
“Yes, but I appreciated it. Further—think about this. With Captain Joshi dead and Provocateur destroyed, whom do you suppose is next in line for command of Implacable?”
One of the comm boards went completely dark. System failure, or a shutdown by the comm officer in the auxiliary bridge? Face sweated and tried not to think about it.
Especially in light of the question Zsinj had just asked. Why was Trigit smiling instead of protesting the loss of his ship?
Zsinj must have promised him something better. Command of the Iron Fist, perhaps, as Zsinj’s personal captain? Face said, thoughtfully, “I actually hadn’t considered that before.”
“You’ve been busy. And you’re too busy now. Because I want you to join the admiral for one last mission. Then finish up your circuit and I’ll send you rendezvous instructions to rejoin me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We have analyzed the data from the spy satellites you left behind,” Trigit said. “Do you know who’s been following you?”
“No.”
“Rogue Squadron.”
“Really.” Face smiled. “I take it this mission the warlord mentioned involves them?”
Trigit nodded. “We’re going to destroy them, Darillian. Annihilate them even more thoroughly than I destroyed Talon Squadron.”
Face heard a noise, a muffled grunt, from the hallway outside the comm center. Sithspit, was Donos out there? He didn’t dare look to find out. “I will gladly join you for such an operation.”
Trigit didn’t appear to have heard the noise from the hallway. “Good. I’ll rush to a position a few light-years from Obinipor. You just conclude your duties there … whatever