Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [70]
She answered with a shudder. She was surprised to find that her dread was real. “You’re right.”
“If you like, I’ll put together a mission proposal and run it past Commander Antilles. Just you and a small team going to Aldivy to clear this up.”
“Would you? I’d appreciate that.” The way her head was filling up with whirling emotions and irrelevant remnants of roles and personalities she’d abandoned, she didn’t think she could think clearly enough to plan a shopping trip.
“I’ll do that.” He rose and took up his rifle case.
“What’s that for?”
“Down about two hundred meters, this tunnel takes a turn to the right and opens up into a long, wide gallery, straight as a laser beam, about a kilometer long. I have targets set up at the far end for practice.”
“That’s past the artificial gravity, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Doing it in zero gravity adds a little to the difficulty, but this is one of the skills Antilles brought me in for. I’m supposed to stay sharp. And it really does focus and clear the mind.”
“Maybe I should take it up. I could stand some focusing and clearing.”
He smiled. “Try getting some rest. We’re going to need you alert and ready.”
“I know. Mission tomorrow.”
He gave her a little wave good-bye and left her alone with her thoughts.
She should never have agreed for him to plan and propose this Aldivy mission. She had to be in charge of it, every part of it, or something would come up to ruin her, expose her.
But she was oddly unworried. It was because she, she …
Trusted Myn Donos.
Trusted him.
Trusted someone.
She shook her head. That was wrong, she couldn’t trust. It went against all mission parameters.
But she did, and once again she found herself crying without entirely understanding why.
Wedge ascended the ladder to the interceptor and peered down into the cockpit to make sure Lieutenant Kettch, Ewok pilot, was not waiting for him once more. But his cockpit was clear. He glanced up and saw Face, lowering himself into the cockpit of his own interceptor, smirking at him, obviously having figured out what he was looking for. Wedge gave him a mock glower and clambered down.
A moment later, he heard Face’s exclamation of “Son of the Sith!” and Lieutenant Kettch came flying up out of the open hatch of Face’s interceptor. Phanan, walking toward his TIE fighter, neatly fielded the stuffed toy and handed him off to Squeaky.
Wedge shook his head. At least morale was high. He began his power up and systems check.
Kell, Runt, Donos, Tyria, Piggy, and Castin were already off in the Narra. Their mission was to conclude at about the same time as that of the other Hawk-bats, but required more time in its initial stages. In some ways it was even more dangerous, and Wedge wondered briefly about the advisability of putting Kell Tainer in charge. But the man had not demonstrated any recurrence of the problem that had plagued him during his first few weeks with Wraith Squadron.
Wedge suspected, though he had never voiced his thought to Janson or any other member of his command, that Kell’s problem had not been cowardice. Kell’s father had died—at Janson’s hands, in fact—when fleeing from a fight in the early days of the Rebel Alliance, but Kell’s own problem with freezing up in the face of adversity had always seemed more like a very strong case of performance anxiety. But he’d gotten past it during the final battle with the Implacable. Wedge and Janson would keep a close, if surreptitious eye on him, but for now all seemed well.
All systems were go, and diagnostics showed the interceptor performing at something like 98 percent overall efficiency. Not bad for a crew of mechanics whose training with Imperial starfighters had begun so recently.
“Hawk-bat Leader to squadron, give me your status.” Face’s voice was now low, growling. Wedge wondered whether Face was performing already, or whether Castin’s modifications to the individual starfighters’ comm