Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [49]
The tunnel rocked and a section of it, seventy meters and more away, collapsed, sending dust and large chunks of duracrete rolling down the tunnel toward the Wraiths.
“I think,” Face said, “that our ride has arrived.”
The Wraiths rode out of Lurark in the back of Donos’s new stolen flatbed speeder, lurking beneath blankets that smelled of feathers and avian manure. They lay as comfortably as they could—not comfortably at all for most of them, given the placement and severity of their burns. The city around them was alive with noises—distant explosions, occasional siren wails.
Lara, handling the comm unit while Elassar bandaged Runt, relayed information back. “Rogue Six and Rogue Five are riding guard over us, staying below sensor level. The commander and the rest of the Rogues are strafing the military base now. They’re going to lead off pursuit from the next base out. That means we’ll probably be able to climb out of the atmosphere at a fairly easy pace.”
“Good,” Face said. “Is everybody fit to fly?” He shined a glow rod from face to face to get responses.
Dia nodded. Her broken arm was now in a cast made of fast-hardening paste from Elassar’s backpack.
Piggy said, “Ready to go home.”
Shalla and Kell gave him tired nods.
“Fit to fly,” Tyria affirmed. She wasn’t kidding; when Face had gotten a good look at her, he found that the only damage she’d suffered was burns that hadn’t quite penetrated her boot soles and some charring to the butt of her blaster rifle. When he asked how she’d gotten away unmarked, she’d merely shrugged.
Janson said, “Just try to stop me.” He hadn’t cracked a smile since the incinerator, and Face could finally see, in his grim expression and the anger deep in his eyes, the man Janson had to be when flying against an enemy.
Runt was slow to answer. Then he said, “We can fly. But we are groggy from what Eleven has given us.”
“Just tuck in behind me,” Kell said. “I’ll get you there.”
“We are your wing.”
“All right, then,” Face said. He didn’t really believe they could all fly, but their experience and determination made it possible, and he didn’t have much in the way of options. “We have one other problem. Cargo.” He shined his light into the face of their prisoner, Dr. Edda Gast. She lay on her side, her arms bound behind her, expression perfectly serene.
“Put her in with me,” Shalla said. “Beside me in my TIE. She’s not big, I’m not big. We’ll dump everything out of my cargo area to lighten up.”
“And if she gets feisty?” Face waved his glow rod at Shalla’s right side, which was decorated with bandages.
Shalla’s face set. “Then I’ll kill her.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Gast said. “The worst I plan to do to any of you is negotiate with you.”
“Negotiate?” Face said.
“For what I know.”
“I think I’ll let Nine kill you now.”
Gast shook her head, not apparently offended by his suggestion. “No, you won’t. The Rebels—excuse me, the New Republic—doesn’t do things that way. That’s what I’ve always liked about you. And you do want to know where Voort saBinring came from. Why he exists at all. Don’t you, Voort?” She twisted to look at the Gamorrean.
Piggy merely stared back at her, his expression unreadable.
“So start talking,” Face said.
“No. You, personally, can’t give me what I want. Elimination of any charges the New Republic might see fit to press against me. Enough money to start my life over again. Protection from Zsinj. I don’t think I’m asking too much—”
“Gag her,” Face said. He lay back against the side of the speeder’s bed and tried to quell his stomach, which threatened to rise against him.
7
They returned to Mon Remonda’s X-wing bays, twenty-three starfighters. Some of them now showed new battle damage. Others were flown as though their pilots were drunk or worse. Medical crews were on station in the bays to help ease pilots out of cockpits and carry them on repulsorlift stretchers to the medical ward.
Two hours later, against his doctor’s orders, with