Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [48]
It came before her, the face of pilot candidate Bickey, in her class under Repness. He’d been transferred to the remedial training unit just days after Lara had. If Repness kept true to form, in just a few days, Bickey would be approached on some similar scheme of theft. He was such a young, eager, boyish pilot, anxious to demonstrate his skill and bravery. He had once said he’d prefer to die young, in battle against his enemies, than old and content on a farm somewhere. No, he’d never thank her for what she was about to do.
Uneasy, Lara attached her own file of scores to the letter she was sending General Cracken, then systematically destroyed the original and backup files implicating other pilots and pilot candidates now serving. Let them die as they choose, she told herself. Let them die as pilots.
She arranged for the package of letter and files to make its way through secret routes to the offices of General Cracken. It would be at his headquarters office and under the eyes of one of his subordinates by day’s end.
Which left her one thing to do today.
• • •
She looked at the sweeper in Repness’s hand and let an expression of contempt cross her face. “Careful as always, aren’t we, Atton?”
The colonel looked around, concealing nervousness, though the classroom was empty of other personnel. “You’ll address me as Colonel Repness and show respect.”
“I’ll address you as Colonel Bantha Sweat and show you whatever I want.”
He looked at her, mouth open, but didn’t respond immediately. Lara pressed on: “I’ve decided not to join your team, Repness. I’m not going to steal an A-wing for you. In fact, I’m going to tell your superiors about what you’re up to.”
He managed to laugh. “That won’t do you much good. There’s no proof. And that’s the end of your flying career. You’ll never sit in a cockpit again. Think about what the rest of your life will be like.”
“I don’t care. I can live without flying. I can’t live without honor.” For a moment, she was troubled as the unwelcome possibility flashed through her mind that the words she’d just spoken had come from her true self, not the role she was playing. She suppressed the thought, shoving it aside. “That’s the end of your career.”
“I don’t think so. When they look over your psychological profile—a new one I’ll be working up over the next few days—and see what a compulsive liar you are, they wouldn’t believe you if you told them that hard vacuum is bad for the lungs.”
She gave him a mocking smile. “And you think I’ll give you those few days to falsify my records?”
“Certainly. You’ll be sleeping.” His blow was so fast that she saw it only as a blur. His fist struck her high on the cheek. She felt her skin part under the force of the blow.
Everything went white, her vision gone, sudden shock depriving her of most of her senses. She drifted a moment, aware that she may have overplayed this hand, and dimly felt her back and head hit the floor. It should have hurt, but it didn’t.
Her vision cleared a little, momentarily, and all she saw was Repness standing over her, his leg drawn back.
Then his booted foot swung forward to connect with her temple and that was the last she knew.
The X-wings of Wraith Squadron—the eight snubfighters remaining in the unit—made one pass before the bridge of the Mon Calamari cruiser, waggling S-foils as a show of respect, then curved around smartly and lined up, by pairs, for their approach to the vessel’s portside landing bay.
Wedge and his temporary wingman, Face, were first through the magcon field separating pressurized