Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [116]
“And I think it’s probably against regulations to fly starfighters while performing a puppet show.”
“Wes.”
Janson straightened up from making the last attachment and threw a salute. “Yub, yub, Commander.”
Wedge returned it. “The things I put up with for this outfit.”
Sungrass dropped out of hyperspace at the leading edge of Zsinj’s armada.
In the midst of the swarm of ships was Iron Fist, the deadly blue arrowhead. Around it were numerous other capital and support ships: one Imperial Star Destroyer, an Interdictor-class cruiser, four Carrack-class light cruisers, and a number of cargo vessels and corvettes. Some of the cargo vessels were decorated with piratical designs; others were innocuous-looking. Few TIE fighters were in evidence, but that was no surprise; the TIEs would not be launched until they were within easy flight range of their objective.
“That’s the Ill Wind,” said Captain Valton, Sungrass’s commander. He was pointing to the smaller Star Destroyer. “And that one’s the Emperor’s Net.” He gestured at the Interdictos “Haven’t seen either of them in a while. Not since before the Emperor’s death.”
Face, in the communications officer’s seat, nodded. “Either of them assigned to Zsinj at that time?”
“I’ll Wind. Emperor’s Net must have joined him later.” Valton glanced down at his control board. “Signal from Iron Fist. You might want to pick that up.”
Sungrass was directed to land in Iron Fist’s main bay. As they rose into the bay opening and were directed to a large open area of flooring, Face could see that repairs were well along. The only signs remaining of the explosion the Hawk-bats had caused was one area, toward the bow end of the bay, of crumpled flooring still not replaced, and black charring at places along the wall. But a full complement of TIE fighters, interceptors, and bombers was arrayed for takeoff.
Face and Shalla emerged from their ship’s exit port and shook General Melvar’s hand.
“This is your transport?” Melvar asked, looking the Sungrass over.
“She’s not elegant, I admit,” Face said. “But we get an awful lot of work out of her.”
“You’ll be able to afford better soon, General.”
“General Melvar, allow me to introduce Qatya Nassin, my hand-to-hand combat specialist.”
Melvar shook Shalla’s hand cordially. “Delighted.” He looked her up and down with a somewhat aloof, evaluating expression. “This is Coruscant civilian dress. Middle to low class. Not too far from bedrock level.”
Shalla smiled at him, her dimples showing. “That’s correct.”
“Perfect. Why do you need a datapad?” The general frowned as he looked at the commonplace device in her left hand.
“It’s a weapon, General.” Shalla traced her finger across the hinged edge of the datapad. “A standard scan won’t show that this edge is heavily reinforced. If I decide that someone needs some additional information in his head, I can insert it manually.”
Melvar chuckled.
Face did, too, but wasn’t feeling too merry. They couldn’t afford for Melvar to pay too much attention to the datapad. The technically proficient Wraiths had spent hours refitting smaller, more modern datapad gear into a larger, older case, and had reinforced the hinge end as she’d mentioned, but they’d also fitted in a secret slot and a number of small explosive devices that Kell had put together. A basic scan wouldn’t reveal them—they’d be masked by the technology within the case—but a more thorough one would.
“Well,” Melvar said, “I am delighted to meet you. Less delighted to have to put you to the test this way.” He snapped his fingers.
From the semicircle of stormtroopers and officers who’d met the Sungrass stepped a man in a bridge officer’s uniform. He was larger than Kell and looked as though his face had been used by several graduating classes for hammer practice.
“This is Captain Netbers,” Melvar said. “One of our hand-to-hand instructors. I fear he must evaluate your skills.”
Netbers approached, smiling, his hand extended to shake Shalla’s. She stepped forward as if to take it, then swung her datapad straight into his face, smashing his nose, staggering