Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [22]
“That last part is true.”
“Well, Intelligence wonders whether this action is part of some fanatical conspiracy designed to strike against humans. There’s even talk of a conspiracy including several humanoid species, not just Twi’leks. And how such a group might want to eliminate Ackbar, who’s known to be friendly to humans.
“Also”—Solo leaned closer and dropped his voice—“Cracken’s people in Intelligence have tracked some interesting behavior among Twi’leks on Coruscant. Specifically, mid-level New Republic officers and advisors who have access to the powerful and the famous. Like the assassin, Jart Eyan. He was on leave just before his attempt to kill Ackbar. But apparently he and his family weren’t on leave where they were supposed to be. They were out of sight for several days leading up to the murder attempt, though they’d set things up so their friends would believe they were at a resort. Where they were, what they were doing, nobody knows.”
“You’re leading up to something.”
“You have several Twi’leks among your pilots.”
“That’s right. Tal’dira with the Rogues, Dia Passik with the Wraiths, Nuro Tualin with Polearm. My executive officer with the Rogues is Twi’lek, as is one of my mechanics, Koyi Komad, for the squadron.”
“How sure are you of them?”
Wedge thought back. Tal’dira was a pride-filled warrior of the world of Ryloth. His word was his bond, and deception seemed like a talent beyond his capabilities. Dia was another matter; brought, like many Twi’lek females, as a slave off Ryloth, trained to be a dancer, she’d escaped and killed her owner. Or so her story went; it was true that elements of her background could not be confirmed. Nuro was a recent graduate of the New Republic’s Fleet Command Academy and had trained with General Crespin in A-wings on Folor Base, as had several of his squadmates; he was largely an unknown factor. Wedge had known Nawara Ven since he re-formed Rogue Squadron, and Koyi Komad for years.
None of these Twi’leks had ever made him edgy when looking at him. None ever gave him the evaluative look that said, “I wonder what it would take to kill him?” His gut told him that they were dedicated pilots and technicians, not ringers for some power seeker. “I’m sure of them.”
Solo’s smile returned and the tiredness disappeared from his features. “Good.” He rose. “I just wanted you to be aware of what was going on. Keep it to yourself, though, will you?”
“Certainly.” As Solo opened the door to leave, Wedge said, “You know something? In spite of the way you seem to hate it, you’re pretty good at this management stuff.”
Solo lost his smile. “Don’t ever, ever say that. Someone important might hear you. And then I’d be stuck with it.” Then he was gone.
• • •
The man with the impossibly bland features appeared before Warlord Zsinj’s desk as though he were a holoprojection turned into flesh. “I have a present for you,” said Melvar.
Zsinj managed to keep himself from jumping. Melvar, he knew, prided himself on his silent comings and goings, and the nervousness this induced in his subordinates—and even superiors—though he claimed that this was not the case. But Zsinj had recently spent considerable effort to train himself not to start. To cover for his momentary lapse, he twirled one of his mustachios in rakish fashion.
“How delightful,” Zsinj said. “Have we instituted a new holiday, for which a gift is appropriate?” He waved his hands around to take in the lavish appointments of his office aboard his flagship, Iron Fist. “And wherever will I display your present?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a place.” Melvar smiled, the innocuous smile of a blameless financial officer, and snapped his fingers. A mere diversion; Zsinj knew that the man must have secretly thumbed the button on his comm unit with his other hand.
The door into Zsinj’s office opened and a pair of guards escorted in two people. One was a man, lean, aging, graying—in fact, the man appeared to be growing older as Zsinj watched him, so great was the fellow’s nervousness. The second was