Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [30]
Inyri Forge had been right. Revenge was a powerful motivator. A desire for revenge, for justice, was always with Donos. It welcomed him to each new day when he awoke, lurked at the back of his mind as he did his work, made soothing promises to him every night when he drifted off to sleep. And sometimes it occupied his dreams. He knew, deep down, that if he were able to find the responsible parties under his snubfighter guns or in the sight of his laser rifle, he’d pull the trigger without hesitation, without qualm … regardless of what it cost him.
Of course, two of the most important conspirators behind the destruction of his squadron were already dead. Admiral Apwar Trigit had planned the ambush. Lieutenant Gara Petothel had provided Trigit with the data he needed for that operation. Petothel had died on Trigit’s Star Destroyer, Implacable, and Trigit had died soon after, trying to escape in a TIE interceptor, brought down by Donos himself.
But others had to have been involved. Imperial Intelligence operatives had gotten Lieutenant Petothel her false identity and her posting with Fleet Command. They’d smuggled her from New Republic-controlled space to Implacable. Elements of the 181st Imperial Fighter Group now inexplicably helping Warlord Zsinj had participated in the ambush. There were plenty more conspirators who needed to die.
But part of him no longer wanted to be the instrument of that death. An ever-growing part of him wanted to live a normal life. And that led to his second choice, the one he’d been toying with ever since he had recovered from his collapse: stay in Starfighter Command and try to rebuild his career, regain his respectability … renew his life.
A woman named Falynn Sandskimmer had loved him. He didn’t know whether he’d loved her in return, whether he’d even been able to at the time. But he’d had affection for her, and what she’d felt for him had reminded him of what it was like to be a normal human. She, too, had died aboard Implacable, before he’d ever had the chance to sort out his feelings for her.
And now … he checked his sensor board for Wraith Two. There she was, toward the head of their formation, tucked in neatly behind Wraith One. Lara Notsil.
He’d exchanged so little with Notsil. Some advice. One ground mission in which he’d saved her from kidnapping at the hands of Zsinj agents. Conversation in pilots’ lounges and during leave time.
But for the little amount of time they’d shared, she did occupy a lot of his thinking. Her intelligence and her beauty drew him. And her secrecy: she seemed to have no affection for the life she’d lost, the life of a farm girl from the world of Aldivy, and yet so much of her was private, locked behind doors that obviously led to her childhood.
And one other thing seemed so familiar to him: the way she seemed adrift, cut off from her past, yet having no apparent idea how to navigate toward her future. He understood that part of her, felt tremendous sympathy for her. They were so alike.
Yet that would mean nothing if neither one of them did anything about it. She might not even be aware of how he felt, of what he was thinking.
She isn’t aware, an inner voice told him. And she’s not going to be. Don’t foul up her life the way you’ve fouled up your own. Do something conclusive with your life. Resign your commission. Hunt down your enemies. Settle the accounts of your pilots.
True. He shouldn’t force his way into her life, only to abandon her when he went off on some justified spree of revenge. Better to leave her alone.
But what if he could offer her as much life, as much of a future, as he thought she could offer him?
Now you’re using that misfiring hunk of erratic machinery you refer to as a brain.
That startled him. The words were in the voice of Ton Phanan, a fellow Wraith; they were