Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [42]
Her voice was grudging. “No, sir.” She followed him through his maneuver.
“What will you say?”
“I won’t say anything. I’ll be dead.”
“So to keep one of these bad boys from cheating until you’re dead, what are you going to do?”
“I guess I’ll have to learn to cheat, sir.”
“Congratulations. You’ve proved you can learn two things in a single day.”
· · ·
At mission briefing that afternoon, Wedge announced, “We have two pieces of good news. Our other four snubfighters are in, and Cubber’s crew has cleared them for use.” He paused as the squadron applauded, then continued. “Also, we now have a unit designation. Courtesy of Tyria Sarkin, we are Wraith Squadron.”
Several of the pilots made appreciative noises. Face merely looked disgusted.
Runt asked, “What is a wraith?”
“Something I heard about in my childhood,” Tyria said. “Dark things that come in the night for you. That’s what I think we are. For the Empire, for the warlords, we’re the phantoms under the bed, the monsters in the storage cubicles.”
Runt smiled, showing big teeth, and narrowed his eyes. The expression made his long face look sinister. “We like that.”
Wedge said, “So Tyria wins the three-day pass … but not today; we still have a run to do. A full squadron run, for the first time. Other news: we now have a squadron supply officer. Please come on in.”
The pilots turned toward the entrance. The supply officer’s arrival was heralded by a set of rhythmic squeaks.
“We are in trouble,” Kell said.
Squeaky, DownTime’s 3PO server, walked in and up to the speakers podium. He turned to the pilots. “Let me begin by saying that I am delighted to bring my years of experience to this novice squadron. I expect that my skill will keep some of you alive.”
Phanan whispered, “Inevitably, some of us will prefer to die.”
Squeaky continued, “I am also pleased once again to be serving a fine officer named Antilles. A pity what happened to the last one. I am sure we will all pitch together to keep fate from repeating itself.”
Wedge looked pained. Most of the pilots knew that a Captain Antilles, no relation to the commander, had been master of the Tantive IV and had died at the hands of Darth Vader.
“In dealing with you,” Squeaky said, “I will match courtesy with courtesy, insult with insult, incompetence with incompetence. I have transmitted requisition forms to your astromechs and to your datapads; please use them, and always check your spelling. Thank you.” He bowed to Wedge and moved to sit by Lieutenant Janson.
Wedge’s mouth twitched as he too obviously restrained a smile. “Thank you, Squeaky. Wes?”
Janson stood and tapped his datapad. The room’s holoprojector glowed into life, and on it appeared a dark field with a few dozen glowing points arranged within it: a small-area starmap.
He pointed into the mass of stars at a bright golden one. “Here’s Commenor. You are here. Here’s Corellia and more Core systems. Farther out, we reach border and then Rim territories. This star is nicknamed Doldrums for its lovely, featureless, uninhabited planets. That’s our destination.
“Each of you is to spend an hour with your astromechs putting together a three-stage course to get us to Doldrums and a two-stage course to bring us back. These navigational paths should follow normal security guidelines for limiting observers’ abilities to follow our course or trace our routes.
“When you’re done, transmit your course to Control. We’ll choose the one we like best, the one that burns the least fuel and appears the most elegant … and then we’ll fly it as a test of your hyperspace skill and accuracy. Questions?”
There were none.
“Good. We’ll see you in the hangar in an hour.”
The pilots rose to head toward their X-wings and astromech droids. Face looked rueful. “I can’t believe you, Tyria. I thought I had that pass locked up.”
“What squad names did you suggest?” she asked.
“Well,