Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [13]
Face looked uneasy. “With all due respect, sir, Cracken’s people haven’t noticed this man yet. That means he might have a friend, a fellow officer, in Intelligence, covering for him. If he’s stolen spacecraft before, and we have no reason to suspect he hasn’t—”
“Or any knowledge that he has.”
“True. But if he’s stolen spacecraft before, having a friend in Cracken’s group would account for the failure of any investigation to turn up evidence against him. If we turn this over to Intelligence, we may just be giving him advance warning so he can cover his tracks, play the good little officer for a couple of years … and then go back to stealing things and luring young, struggling officer candidates into his employ.”
Wedge considered that. “If you carry out this little operation, Cracken’s people may decide they don’t care for us very much. For intruding on their territory.”
Phanan nodded. “That’s a possibility. But another possibility is that we can do this without even alerting anyone it is an ‘operation.’ Let’s say Lara Notsil gets into flight school on the recommendation of a dashing, preposterously attractive pilot she met in the hospital on Borleias—”
“One of Blue Squadron’s pilots, I assume.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence, sir. Anyway, she goes through training, Repness starts his shenanigans. Lara calls in her old friend from the hospital, they expose Repness immediately. That’s the story, and it’ll hold up to most scrutiny.”
“To casual scrutiny, maybe.” Scowling, Wedge finally resumed his seat. Phanan and Face looked a little more relieved and sat as well.
Wedge continued, “But the likelihood is that we’ll be on assignment elsewhere when her troubles with Repness begin. Are you planning on resigning from Wraith Squadron to stay here near her?”
“No. But Face here is going to deposit some credits in an account for her to use for HoloNet access. Whenever it happens, she can get in touch with us almost immediately—”
“Assuming we’re not undercover.”
“Assuming that, yes. I’ll leave instructions for her for what to do if she can’t reach us. But if she can, we’ll find out who’s on Coruscant, someone we trust that she can depend on. There’s bound to be somebody. There’s always somebody.” Phanan gave his commander a diffident little shrug. “You might even be able to call on Princess Leia Organa—”
“Absolutely not. She’s a busy, busy woman. Besides, she’s gone on some diplomatic mission nobody will talk about.”
“Just a thought. Anyway, if we’re not here to help Lara through the endgame, we’ll put her in the hands of a friend who is. And that will be the end of it.”
“Except for her career.”
Both of the other pilots nodded.
Wedge leaned back, away from them. “All right, you two. I’ll give you this. If she carries out this operation, I’ll consider her for transfer to one of my squadrons. And I’ll base my acceptance or refusal of her completely on my own evaluation of her skills and her character. Not on her academy records, not on her participation in your operation. She has to be fit to fly as a Rogue or a Wraith … but if she is, the next time I have a slot available I’ll take her. That’s the best I can do.”
They took that as a signal and rose. “That’s the best we could hope for,” Phanan said. “Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
When they’d gone, Wedge said to the empty air, “Wes, they’re doing it to me again.”
3
“I think it’s all wrapped up in the symbolism of the Iron Fist,” Face said.
The Wraiths were in the officers’ lounge of Sivantlie Base, their temporary station on Coruscant. Once a hotel catering to mid-level Imperial bureaucrats from offworld, it now housed units of the armed forces that were in transition: soldiers awaiting transport to their assignments, squadrons in rotation between bases, new units being assembled. Two stories down, where the base’s tower just began to extend above the surrounding buildings, there were hangar accesses large enough for small cargo vessels. The lounge itself had vast viewports that gave the Wraiths and other officers