Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [58]
“And since there’s no trade between the two systems, it had to have been planted by the forces that attacked us. They knew we’d flee, and knew or suspected that some of us would flee by way of Xobome.”
“Right. That makes sense. Thanks, Demolitions. Control out.”
Kell had had a little training in zero-gee, hard-vacuum work. He’d done some exterior repairs on a cruiser over Sluis Van and had gone through the standard demolitions training in planting charges on a vessel in orbit.
That didn’t make him proficient. That didn’t mean he liked it.
In the cumbersome vacuum maintenance suit, which had built-in maneuvering jets, he could move around and stay warm. But he and Cubber didn’t have tools rated to the cold of space, just toolboxes cobbled together from the X-wing hangar back on Folor, and this left them cursing over frozen and vapor-locked hydrospanners while Grinder, safe inside his cockpit, watched them impatiently.
Still … Kell could look up for an unimpeded view of an infinity of stars, the sort of vista he could never see on any world with atmosphere and never had time to appreciate while in the cockpit of a snubfighter. He could look down past his feet to see the world of Xobome 6, rotating with a slow majesty. Somewhere down there, on a high plain blasted by freezing winds, most of the Wraiths were trying to make repairs to their own less-damaged X-wings. They were probably looking up now and envying Kell his comparatively warm environment suit.
Kell floated beside the open hatch to Grinder’s port dorsal engine. Its internal diagnostics said it was on-line and ready to supply power, but it was receiving no data from ship’s controls. Kell brought himself back to his task. “Could all four data relays have been shorted?”
On the other side of the X-wing floated Cubber; even through their respective polarized faceplates Kell could see the mechanic shake his head. “All of them identically? No, it’s got to be an interruption farther up the line.”
“Think you could get into his cargo hatch and splice into the data feeds under the cockpit? I’ll monitor here.”
Cubber shrugged, an exaggerated motion. “I’ll give it a try.” Tiny jets vented at intervals across his back, turning him toward the X-wing’s bow, moving him forward.
“Kell?” The voice was faint, eerie … and emerging from within Kell’s own suit.
Kell’s mouth went dry. He used his tongue to hit the microphone-off switch, then said, “Who’s there?”
“Kell, it’s Myn.”
“How did—” Kell sighed and relaxed. Donos had apparently patched in to Kell’s own private comlink, the one he carried in his breast pocket. Kell tugged his helmet forward so he could angle his chin down past the bottom of his helmet, making it easier for him to make himself heard. “Myn, call me on the main squadron channel.”
“No, no. I need privacy for this. I need your help.”
“Go ahead.”
“Shiner’s still down, Kell. I need for him to be up.”
“We have more important problems right now. Shiner can wait.”
“Please, Kell.”
Kell frowned, troubled. The pain and worry in Donos’s voice were clear enough to carry even over standard comlink distortion. “What’s he doing?”
“Nothing! He won’t respond to verbal commands for a warm start, and the reset switches for a cold start don’t do anything. I think he’s … dead.”
“Probably just in need of repairs. Stop worrying.” The droid’s power converter could be down, or it could be powered up but with its programming locked, unable to begin a restart sequence until power was actually shut off throughout the unit and the system was restarted. “Hey, try this. Do you have a restraining bolt? You or any of the others?”
A long pause. Then, “Yes, you have one.”
“All right. Insert it. In him, I mean.”
Donos didn’t laugh at the joke. “It’s in. But nothing’s happening.”
“Right. Now switch it over to power-down.”
“Done. No change.”
“Now switch it back to power-up.”
“No—Hey! It’s working!”
Kell