Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [121]
YES.
“Chance of being detected?”
VERY LOW, IN OUR INITIAL PHASE OF MANIPULATING THE PROGRAMMING. ONCE THE PROGRAM IS ACTIVATED, DETECTION CHANCE IS 99% IN THE FIRST SECOND OF OPERATION, WITH ODDS INCREASING EACH ADDITIONAL SECOND. PROBABLE DURATION OF PROGRAM ONCE IT IS RUNNING IS ABOUT TWELVE SECONDS.
“Not good enough. How about something to lower the ship’s shields?”
PROBABILITY OF SUCH A THING SURVIVING EVEN IN LATENT FORM FOR MORE THAN A FEW MOMENTS IS VERY LOW. THE MAIN COMPUTER’S SECURITY MEASURES LOOK FOR PROBLEMS THAT CATASTROPHIC.
“So most forms of self-destruct are not even worth looking into.”
THAT IS CORRECT.
“Well, then what—” She stopped as a new idea occurred to her. “Ooh.”
• • •
The document on Wedge’s screen was labeled “Routine Examination,” but Wedge knew it to be anything but. It was a fitness report, the accumulated conclusions of Mon Remonda’s most experienced medics and analysts.
About Myn Donos.
The review board had been unable to confirm or deny that the torpedo launch was an accidental discharge. That was a break in his favor.
However, the medics collectively pronounced him borderline. One medic said it was a certainty that he’d lose control again; the trauma from the loss of his squadron and his conflicting feelings concerning Lara Notsil made it inevitable. The others disagreed, but indicated that his stress levels made him a less than ideal candidate for missions.
It was the sort of data-based torpedo that could sink a career. All Wedge had to do was accept their conclusions, scrub Donos permanently from the active flight list, and the problem he represented would go away forever.
But one party hadn’t voted yet, and that was Wedge’s gut instinct.
A knock sounded on his door. “Come,” he said.
Donos entered, saluted. “Reporting as ordered, sir.” His expression was somber, but was not the rigid mask Wedge remembered from most of their earlier interviews.
“Have a seat.”
Donos complied, then quirked a smile. “Shall I take off my boot, sir?”
“Not this time. Lieutenant, I’ve asked you in here to find out what role you’d like to play in the Vahaba mission.”
“If I could do anything I wanted?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d be back in my X-wing. That’s where I feel I belong.”
“And if that were denied you?”
“I’d like to be put in command of the Millennium Falsehood.”
Wedge leaned back. Donos’s comment had taken him momentarily off guard, though he believed he’d kept his surprise from his face. “That has been my role.”
“I expect you’d rather be back in your X-wing, sir.”
“I don’t recall inviting you to attempt mind reading, Donos.”
Donos’s expression became more serious. “No, sir. But we’ve flown in the same squadron. Learning to anticipate the reactions of your squadmates—emotional ones as well as physical reflexes—is a survival trait. Maybe you find it a gross insult for me to make predictions this way, sir, but I’d say you wanted to get back in your X-wing cockpit and were doing these Falsehood runs because of duty. Because you’re most qualified—second, perhaps, to General Solo. If I can’t fly my own snubfighter, I’d be happy to free you up to fly yours.”
“Very generous of you. What if you couldn’t pilot at all?”
“Then I’d volunteer for a gunnery position on the Falsehood.”
“And in any of these three roles, what would you do about Lara Notsil?”
Donos hesitated, and his expression went from somber to melancholy. “I’d follow orders, sir.”
“What orders would you prefer?”
“Let her go.”
“And if you were ordered to fire on her?”
“I’d do it. I’ve sworn an oath to the New Republic. To hold its needs above my own.”
“And if you killed her? What would you do