Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [73]
“Good flying, Gray Two. Now, let’s buzz their administrative buildings.”
“Sounds like fun, One.”
· · ·
Jesmin leaned back from the comm station. “Lieutenant, we’re receiving a communication from Velery House. That’s their capitol building. They’re asking for a specific encryption that’s in our computer. Obviously they’ve talked before.”
Janson, lounging in the captain’s seat, looked confused. “There’s no provision in the mission profile for this. They weren’t supposed to call. They were supposed to batten down hatches and ride out the TIE fighters’ overflight.”
Jesmin gave him a very human shrug. “I know.”
“Well, take the call. Tell them the captain is taking a bath or something.”
“Sir, Night Caller followed Imperial protocols under Captain Darillian.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning it wouldn’t have a Mon Calamari communications officer.”
Janson uttered an irritable hiss. “Well, I can’t take the call. My face is fairly well known.”
They both looked at Face, seated at the navigational console. He straightened up. “Uh, even with my scar, they might recognize me. Some of the Wraiths did.”
Janson didn’t bother to conceal his frustration. “Face, you’re an actor. Do something.”
Face stood, looked frantically around the bridge. There wasn’t much on hand: items dropped by the bridge crew behind consoles, plus Cubber’s toolkit over where the mechanic had been cutting the sharp edges away from the hole in the floor, preparatory to putting down a metal sheet.
He ran to the toolbox, pulled out Cubber’s welding goggles. Then a cylinder of orange paint used to mark spots on a ship’s exterior where repairs were necessary. He sprayed the interior of the goggles until they were opaque.
Containers of grease, hydrospanners, cables, sensors, tubing … He took a tube half the length of his forearm, inserted one end in his nose, the other in his right ear. Then he put the goggles on, resting them on his forehead, and hunted up one of the bridge crewmen’s hats. “Give me the chair.”
Janson vacated it. Face settled in, pulled the goggles over his eyes, pulled the hat down low on his brow. “How’s that look?”
He couldn’t see their faces, but Jesmin responded with gales of laughter. He could barely hear Janson’s reply: “It’s disgusting.”
“But they won’t recognize my features. All right, put him up on the screen.” He turned toward the bridge’s main viewscreen.
He could dimly see the light intensity in the room change, then he heard a voice: “Captain D—Oh, my.”
Face took a deep breath and ran his voice down into the bass range where it could vibrate rocks and desktops. “Captain Darillian is having his bath. I am Lieutenant Narol. Who are you? What do you want?” He injected both boredom and contempt into his voice.
“Um, I am Governor Watesk. I would very much like to speak with Captain Darillian.” The man’s voice was a plea.
Face angled his head down so he could peer between the top of the goggles and the bottom of his officer’s hat. The face on the viewscreen was of a graying, bearded man, dressed in rustic brown tunic but with expensive wood paneling behind him. “Was Basic your first language? Do you not understand? The captain is in his bath.”
“You could give me voice-only access.”
“He’s dictating his memoirs and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“In the bath?”
“Of course, in the bath!” Face’s tone was an explosion of anger. “Where else? The captain is a very busy man! He’s not some deskbound colony governor with enough time to pick his nose with one hand and skim the cream off taxes with the other! If you have anything to say, you can say it to me. Or perhaps we’ll just jump on to our next destination and I’ll give the captain a report of your bad manners. And the manners of your pilots, who for some unknown reason decided to play tag with ours.”
“No! Lieutenant, please forgive me.” The governor looked appropriately contrite. “Our