Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [82]
The man before him, Governor Nojin Koolb of the Outer Rim world of Xartun, smiled in appreciation of Face’s words. “I am delighted to hear it.”
Face brought his voice down, made it a trifle ominous. “One thing disturbs the warlord, however. The fact that Xartun is a recent signatory to the New Republic. Do you not feel a certain conflict between the word you’ve given the Provisional Council and the one you’ve just given the warlord?”
Governor Koolb did not lose his smile or aplomb. “Of course not, Lieutenant. It was my illustrious and so widely mourned predecessor who signed the accord with the New Republic. I did not. My loyalty is with Zsinj … even if practical circumstances prevent me from declaring it publicly at this time.”
Face smiled in return. “We’ll see to it that you can make your true feelings known as soon as possible.” He extended his hand.
The governor shook it. “I look forward to it. By your leave.” He and his subordinates withdrew from Face and the shuttle, standing far enough away on the ferrocrete landing pad that an ill-considered pivot of the shuttle on takeoff would not carry the thruster wash across them.
Face trotted up the shuttle’s boarding ramp, felt it rising to close even before he reached the top. He dropped into the copilot’s seat beside Cubber, who wore the uniform of an Imperial ensign. “Are they on station?”
“They should be, by now. Let’s find out.” Cubber double-tapped a button on the shuttle’s comm.
Face looked out across the ferrocrete. Ahead of him, the first of Xartun’s two suns was just beginning to rise over the innocuous bunker where he had just spent a couple of informative hours; the governor had given him the very detailed grand tour reserved for Captain Darillian. Face had seen the underground levels, the manufacturing equipment that turned out transparisteel products such as blastproof windows and fighter canopies. All of it, the governor explained, now owned by Lord Houghten Ween … another alias of Warlord Zsinj.
Beyond the bunker was the parking area and arrival zone where the plant’s day laborers left their personal vehicles, and beyond that was the land road leading to the nearest community. All around the complex was thick forest … forest where the commando team was now supposed to be waiting. But Face saw no signal, heard nothing over the comm. “No sign of them,” he said.
“Look at your chest.”
Face glanced down. Dancing around on his chest was a bright red spot, the wrong end of the laser targeting sight from Donos’s sniper rifle.
Face half crawled out of the chair before he could bring himself under control. “All right. They’re ready.” He took a couple of deep breaths to bring himself under control. The red light disappeared. “I’m going to get him for that.”
“Sure you are.”
Face took off his lieutenant’s cap, pulled the concealed device from within, and plugged it into the shuttle’s communications console. “Tour data compressing … compressing … Ready to go.” He turned on the comm. “Shuttle Adder’s Bite ready to depart. Requesting communications signal integrity check.”
“Adder’s Bite, this is Tower Six, copy. Go ahead.”
“Prepare for thirty seconds of nasty Verpine music, then report signal strength.” He hit the transmit button.
The file began broadcasting. Coming in over an audio link, it would sound like discordant, jarring shrieks only a very few alien species could love. Acquired as data and then translated by a program written by Grinder, though, it would expand out into a holographic record of Face’s tour through the manufacturing bunker.
The file cut off. “Signal strength nine,” Tower Six reported. “And that’s nasty.”
“Don’t let your children listen to it. They might get a taste for