• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

• • •

The world shown on the briefing room’s holoprojector was not a promising one. A medium-sized chunk of reddish-brown rock with a few dark seas thrown in for contrast, it circled around a yellow star notable only for its averageness.

Wedge, on the dais, gestured to a tiny bright spot on the world’s surface. “This is the world Lavisar, and this point is its chief port city, Syward. According to Lavisar’s central library, the planet was once part of a much larger very-high-gravity world, one that was destroyed in a series of asteroid collisions; Lavisar was ejected. It’s a world where heavy metals are abundant, with mining and refining industries to match, plus a strong economic base in shipbuilding.”

“Just the sort of world Zsinj loves,” said Face. At a questioning look from Rogue Squadron pilot Corran Horn, he explained, “We stumbled across the edges of a financial empire belonging to Zsinj, one no one knew about previously. He likes fairly innocuous worlds that have strong economies, and he usually owns at least one business there under an assumed name—a different name with each world. It might be that he wants to have a fallback position in case these worlds decide to side with the New Republic—his business would still be able to help fund his military activities.”

Wedge continued, “And recent data supports the idea that Lavisar is one of these worlds. Although the world is just outside what we think of as Zsinj-occupied space, a recently captured transmission, which our Intelligence people have decrypted, indicates that there is a Raptor unit in Syward, set up in the main construction plant of Skyrung Manufacturing, a licensee builder of Lambda-class shuttles.”

The Raptors were Zsinj’s elite enforcement units. Better trained and better equipped than Imperial stormtroopers, they were the most commonly seen and recognized symbol of Zsinj’s power, much as the ubiquitous TIE fighter was the universal symbol of Imperial domination.

“So what is the plan?” asked Tal’dira, one of Rogue Squadron’s Twi’lek pilots. “Aerial strike, commando strike, or a combination of the two?”

“Maybe neither. Shalla, let’s have your report.”

Shalla stood, apparently a little nervous under the scrutiny of the Rogues. “I did an analysis of the way Mon Remonda and her task force have been responding to various outside stimuli—captured transmissions, confessions of captured Zsinj personnel, that sort of thing—not including official orders from the New Republic. This was against the possibility that Zsinj has been leaking information to gauge our responses. And although there is some variation in response time, this task force shows a pretty consistent set of responses. Each stimulus is graded as high priority, medium, low, and of possible interest—those are my terms, not those of the task force’s officer corps—and a response is assigned according to grade. High priority, for example a response to a distress call from a New Republic ship that is nearby and under attack, will yield, without variation, an assault force of a size calculated to be marginally superior to the enemy force, sent in a straight-line path from Mon Remonda’s current location to the site of the trouble. A stimulus like this one, the Lavisar signal, will inevitably call for a ground team to confirm the signal source is a target, followed by an aerial strike.” She shrugged as if in apology. “These responses have been predictable.” She sat down and began fidgeting.

“And predictability,” said Corran Horn, “gets you killed.”

“Then what should we do?” That was Gavin Darklighter, the Rogues’ pilot from Tatooine, a brown-haired young man whose innocent features and country-boy demeanor belied his combat experience. “Instead of an aerial strike, send flowers and sweets?”

“It’s better than going in as usual,” Shalla said. “It would confuse them.”

Asyr, the Bothan flier, who sat beside Gavin with her arm upon his, shook her head, rippling her fur. “But at the