Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [84]
Phanan craned his neck to look. “Oh, that’s right, you’re still in your Horrible Burn Victim facial makeup. Maybe I have a chance after all.” He winced and half curled up as another wave of pain hit him.
“Oh, forget this. We’ve got to get you medical help immediately. And that means calling in Zsinj’s forces and surrendering.”
Phanan uncurled again, but rocked back and forth a little, obviously unable to hold still. “Come here.”
Face splashed back to him.
When he was alongside, Phanan grabbed him by the neck of his pilot’s suit. His organic eye blazed almost as much as his mechanical one. “Listen to me, Face. We do not surrender. Your face under the makeup and my prosthetic modifications are going to be too easy to identify. If we surrender, the whole Hawk-bat plan just evaporates, and we have to start all over where Zsinj is concerned. I’m not going to have that.”
“Even at the cost of your own life.”
“That’s right.” Exhausted by his exertions, Phanan lay back on the seat. “Starting over means more time. More time for Zsinj to bombard more colonies, to destroy more ships. Another day may mean some bright young doctor gets it the way I did and ends up what I am.”
“What you are is pretty good.”
Phanan shook his head. “Not as good as some kid with a superior intellect whose only aim is to make people better. I’d rather he be out there than me.” He took a long breath. “If I die—”
“You’re not going to die.”
“Shut up and listen, Face. If I die, you can’t let them find my body. They’d identify me. Do whatever it takes you to get back to the unit, but don’t let them find me.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“Promise me you’ll dispose of me.”
Face shuddered. “I promise. But you’re not going to die.”
“Well, I’ll try to hold you to that promise, too.” His organic eye closed. “There’s no traffic, yet we’re stopped. Why is that?”
Face grinned and splashed back to his towing rope. “Your fault for hiring an incompetent driver.”
The sun went down and Halmad’s myriad moons were brightly illuminated. Behind them was a rich carpet of stars—for all its industry, Halmad had clear skies.
At a bend in the river where the trees were thin, Phanan said, “What’s that?”
Face looked back to see where Phanan was staring, then looked straight up.
Just crossing before one of the moons was a brightly illuminated triangle, tiny in the distance.
“That’ll be Iron Fist, I expect.”
“Ah. Nice to have been able to see her before she was all blown up.”
Two hundred meters farther on, Face heard Phanan gasping for breath. He splashed back to him. He couldn’t go as fast as he wanted. It was getting hard to move; his legs were cold and felt like lead.
Phanan was not knotted in pain, as Face had expected. He was stretched out in the pose he’d found most comfortable, but there was distress in his face. “Sorry,” Phanan said. “A bit of panic.” His voice was fainter than before.
“Panic.”
“I was just imagining what a sad galaxy this would be without my superior intellect and general state of wonderfulness.” Phanan gave a minimal shrug.
“That’s not something you have to worry about.”
“Either way, you’re right.” Phanan held out a hand; there was something in it.
Face took the datapad from him. “What’s this?”
“It’s called a da-ta-pad. New Republic and Imperial children learn about them from the time they’re very young.”
“Funny.”
“Take it back with you. It has some last thoughts on it.”
The coldness in Face’s legs crept up to inhabit the rest of him and he shuddered again. “Not last thoughts, Ton. Don’t be so fatalistic. You’re just punishing yourself.”
Phanan managed a hoarse chuckle. “You would know. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I do what I do because I very badly want to hurt the people who hurt me. You do what you do so you can punish a little boy who once made some holodramas for the Empire.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? Face, just how much do you think you owe the New Republic?”
“Well … some.”
“For your acting. For the fact that it furthered Imperial causes.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s not