Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [15]
“Ton says you’re a pretty hot shooter,” Face said.
“It won’t work,” she said.
“Eh?” Face glanced across her at Phanan, who returned his confused expression. “What won’t work?”
“You wouldn’t have said that to a male pilot unless it had been a real run. Which means you only said it to ingratiate yourself with me. You want to provoke an emotional response, gratitude, that a lowly flight officer might find worth under the eyes of the famous Garik Loran. At some point I’m supposed to swoon into your arms, aren’t I?”
Face blinked. “That actually hadn’t occurred to me.”
“I didn’t see your holos, Face. When you were acting your heart out as a child star, I was a slave dancer in training, not permitted choice rewards like seeing entertainment holos. You don’t occupy a place in the adolescent quadrant of my heart the way you do with most females my age. I am immune to your alleged charms.”
Face glanced at Phanan again. The other pilot was turning red with the effort not to laugh. Face modulated his voice to low, resonant, romantic tones. “I am so glad I met you,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life.”
“You have?” Her expression turned to confusion. “Why?”
“The one woman in all the galaxy immune to my charms? Do you know how often I’ve said, ‘Where is she, does she truly exist?’ ”
Phanan got himself under control. “It’s true. I raised Face from the time he was a cub, and since almost the day he could talk, he’s been saying, ‘Find me the one woman who can withstand me. Who can loathe me for who I really am.’ He’s had a long, lonely life until today. Now you can abuse him and give me a rest.”
Face nodded sagely.
Dia’s face twitched into a smile, which she quickly suppressed. “Now you’re making fun of me.”
Face let his expression and voice return to normal. “Oh, we’ve barely gotten started. Anyway, after a casual remark about your skills to open up the conversation, my plan actually was to ask you how you fouled up.”
“Fouled up.” She looked between the two men. “I don’t recall fouling up.”
“Then what brings you to Wraith Squadron?”
“I volunteered. After the story broke on your destruction of the Implacable, I wanted to join a unit as savage as that. Why? Are you supposed to be screwups?”
Phanan whistled. “She doesn’t even know. We didn’t even have time for our true reputation to circulate before another reputation swam up and swallowed it.”
Face gave Dia a stern look. “I’m sorry, you appear to have been transferred here under false pretenses. We’re a hard-luck squadron. If you’re not a real screwup, we’re just going to have to make you an honorary screwup. Keep that in mind.”
“I will,” she said, her voice solemn.
“She’ll do,” Phanan said.
“Even if she doesn’t swoon.”
“How did you get into Starfighter Command?” Face asked.
She looked between them as if evaluating them, then shrugged. “My … owner … was a very rich man of Coruscant, founder of a firm that made communications equipment. Very reliable HoloNet receivers, for example. He and his preferred advisers lived on an enormous yacht called the Violet Hem—a reference to the Emperor’s robes. Anyway, over the years I was able to persuade several of his personal pilots to teach me how to control their vehicles. Few things make a male feel as grand as the opportunity to teach a young, fascinated female.” She opened her eyes wide in an expression of innocence.
Face snorted. “So you stole a vehicle?”
“My owner was visited by a pilot with an armed shuttle. I stole it and turned it over to the New Republic.”
“And the Violet Hem?”
This time her smile was not that of an innocent. “Before I left, I locked her shields down so they could not be brought up. My first combat action of any sort was to blow Violet Hem out of space.”
Face suppressed a shudder and decided to change the subject. “I wonder if the other new pilots are just as unaware of our true nature. Hey, Castin!”
The blond pilot, seated in a stuffed chair nearby, looked up guiltily from the datapad in his lap. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
Face