Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [89]
“Why?”
“Because, I don’t know, he’s so concerned about preserving our lives that he’ll flinch from a tactic that could end this whole campaign in one stroke.”
“No. Castin, he hasn’t hesitated to risk our lives, or his own, not in the time I’ve been with the Wraiths. But in spite of all the jokes about Corellians not caring about the odds, he does. And he knows more about resources and strategy than we do. So if he says your mission isn’t worth the risk—”
“He’s right and I’m wrong.”
“Probably.”
“All right.”
“I want your promise that you won’t try anything on your own.”
“I promise.” Castin stopped suddenly and looked around. He and Face were now beside the kitchen and mess. “I’m hungry.” He headed in that direction.
“A good, brisk walk will do that to you,” Face said. He did not follow the code-slicer—better not to put him on the defensive.
There were two gray blurs, the X-wings of Lara and Donos, shooting up past the magcon field holding in the atmosphere of the Hawk-bats’ hangar. Face, seated in the cockpit of the shuttle Narra, watched them flash by. They were followed a moment later by a stream of five more snubfighters—Wedge, Runt, Shalla, Tyria, and Piggy, off on their routine mission to Coruscant.
He envied them. It wasn’t just that they’d be getting a little rest and recreation, even just a few hours of it; the prospect of facing Warlord Zsinj was making him more than a little tense. He had no abnormal fear of the man—but ever since this mission had been described to him, he’d harbored the fear that somewhere in the middle of a conversation with the warlord, a vision of Phanan would cross before his eyes and he’d be unable to restrain himself from making an assault on Zsinj. Such an attack might hurt or kill Zsinj, but it was certain to be fatal to Face and his comrades. “Power,” he said.
“Ninety-seven percent, reserves one hundred percent.” That was Dia, seated beside him, in the copilot’s seat. But it wasn’t the Dia he was used to. She was now in the guise of Seku, her Hawk-bats identity, and as dramatically different from her usual appearance as Face was when, as now, he wore his General Kargin scar makeup.
Her normally bare brain tails—or lekku, as they were known to the natives of Ryloth—were now decorated with an intricate pattern of black cuneiform marks, temporary tattoos that, in the Twi’lek language, told stories of the character and misdeeds of her fictitious identity. Instead of the gray TIE-style pilot’s uniforms Face and Kell wore, she was dressed in a vest, trousers, and boots of black hide—lined, she had assured him, for comfort—all decorated with shiny metal replicas of animal teeth and claws, accoutrements she’d persuaded Cubber to lathe out during some of his infrequent off-duty hours. Face found her attractive under normal circumstances; this barbaric persona was even more visually appealing.
“Ninety-seven? Why are we not at full?”
She shrugged. “Cubber said something about the manhandling Narra sustained in Iron Fist’s tractor beams causing some system problems. Nothing he can repair until the commander returns from Coruscant with some replacement parts.”
“Wonderful. What else did he say we can expect to go wrong?”
Kell stuck his head up between the two seats. There was more to his head now; he wore a false mustache, beard, and absurdly long wig of fiery red hair. “Hull seals are a little more questionable. We had to repair some slow leaks when we got back. But she’s in good shape. Assuming we don’t have to take on another Star Destroyer, she’ll do just fine.”
“Good. Remember your signature action.”
Kell’s eyes slitted. With a slow and deliberate motion, he drew the hair hanging down his right shoulder to fall behind his back. As he turned to look at Face, he added an insolent little shake of the head that set his hair to swaying. It was an elaboration Face hadn’t taught him, but it was perfect, making his persona even more obviously a victim of arrogance and self-love.
Dia gave the two of them a hard smile. “He’s loathsome.”
Face said, “That’s the idea. All