Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [108]
“I’m not sure. Half an hour, twelve hours—I’ll know more when I’ve had time to look over the simulators and this data.”
“Let me know as soon as you can.”
Wedge stretched his legs again while waiting for her initial estimate.
Outside, something odd was going on at the mess and patio. The thermal blanket normally used as an awning over the mess picture viewport had been lowered, indicating that it was closed, and all the patio’s chairs and tables had been drawn aside. A hand-painted sign decorated the main door into the module: MESS CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE PIRATE RUNT.
Runt now stood in the middle of the newly open space, goggles over his eyes as he used one of the maintenance crew’s backpack paint sprayers to put a layer of matte-green paint down on the stone floor.
Wedge wandered over and watched for a while as Runt finished transforming a large oval of gray stone into a green surface. Then Runt removed his goggles and switched off the sprayer.
Wedge asked, “Runt, what are you doing?”
Runt looked at him levelly. “Painting, sir.”
“Ah. Why?”
“For the ritual, sir.”
“You’re going to have a ritual.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Something your people do?”
Runt had to consider that one, blinking a few times before he answered. “Something some of our people do, sir.”
“And you thought you had to close the mess to conduct this ritual?”
“Yes, sir. The food is still being prepared. That is a necessary part of the ritual.”
“And who is going to be part of this ritual?”
“Well, we wanted to talk to you about that, sir. It would be a help to us if you would issue an order for all pilots to be here at eight hundred hours in full dress uniform.”
Wedge resisted the urge to laugh. Runt seemed so earnest, so sincere. “It would, would it?”
“Yes. Also, all civilian crewmen not on duty should be here in formal dress.”
“Why should I do this?”
“Because I ask little and will deliver much.”
“Ah. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“Well, no, sir.”
“I see. Carry on.”
It took Lara only two hours to translate the data, and took her and Wedge less than five minutes to get a close match in their comparison of the new data with sites in Imperial space.
“You’re joking,” Janson said. “Kuat?”
Wedge pointed to the other man’s pocket. Janson retrieved the note and unfolded it. There was a single word scrawled on it: Kuat. He whistled.
“It’s Kuat, all right,” Wedge said. “Zsinj is making a raid on a space platform at Kuat.”
“How did you know?”
“Zsinj is so devious it’s sometimes predictable. He gave us information intended for very limited circulation, and yet he still concealed his real purpose a level or two down. I’m sure others he’s working with are very pleased with themselves that they’ve identified the target as Coruscant. They’re going to be very surprised when they come out of hyperspace in the Core Worlds.”
“So his objective isn’t cargo,” said Lara. “He’s after a Star Destroyer.”
Wedge nodded. “A Super Star Destroyer. Just as Face predicted, weeks ago.”
With deliberate slowness, Janson leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and put his feet up on Wedge’s desk. He smiled. “Zsinj has delivered himself into our hands.”
“Not yet, he hasn’t,” Wedge said. “In what sense do we have him? He shows up with his fleet at Kuat and—what? We drop in out of hyperspace and attack him? It would take a large portion of the fleet of the New Republic to menace him and defend itself against Kuat’s defenses … and the defenses they could bring in on short notice. We’d lose far too much.”
“Maybe we just alert the government of Kuat,” Lara said.
“No … Zsinj has spies in place already. Our intelligence says that the shipyards, especially the orbital ones, are rigged to explode in case of invasion. Zsinj has to have provided for that, and his spies will notice