Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [62]
“Probably.”
“But we both have a mutual enemy. It would profit us both to be rid of him. I am, in a sense, the counterpart of your General Solo.”
“You lead a task force whose goal is to get rid of Zsinj.”
Rogriss nodded. “Once we’re done with him, we can go back to our very personal ideological differences, without having to invite anyone else to play.”
Face snorted. “You’re not like most of the Imperial officers I’ve talked to.”
“True. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a grand idea. But I can’t speak, even unofficially, for the New Republic. Or even for this fleet. All I’m authorized to do is listen, and to report what I hear to my commanders.”
The admiral smiled. From a pocket, he produced a datacard and slid it to Face. “Once we’re out of system, you can reach me via HoloNet on the frequency and at the times this file indicates. If I receive a transmission from General Solo, directed personally to me, conveying any message whatsoever, then I will take it that you agree.”
“And then what?”
“And then I transmit to you every piece of recorded data we have on Zsinj’s campaigns. His strategic and tactical moves against worlds, what we understand of his overall strategy, what we know about his forces. And I’d expect a similar transmission from you. Each of us may know something about our mutual enemy that the other can exploit.”
Face nodded. “An interesting notion. And if it became officially known, you’d be executed for collaboration with the enemy.”
Rogriss nodded. He seemed so cheerful that Face might have been suggesting that his crew visit Coruscant for a bombardment raid. “As might your General Solo. But that’s a worst-case possibility. Best-case is that Zsinj dies.”
“True.” Face pocketed the datacard. “One last question before I leave. Why are Baron Fel and the One Eighty-first working with Zsinj?”
The admiral’s face lost most of its good cheer. “I can’t guess about Fel’s motives. He defected to your side, then was gone for some years. Now he’s defected from the Rebels to someone new. He’s a compulsive traitor, I’d say. But I’ll tell you this: He’s not in charge of the One Eighty-first.”
“How is that?”
“The real One Eighty-first is still serving the Empire with loyalty and skill, under Turr Phennir. Fel has assembled new pilots, called them the One Eighty-first, and slapped some red stripes on their starfighters to duplicate the fighter group’s colors. Perhaps he thinks that he is the One Eighty-first, so wherever he goes, the group follows; that would be in keeping with the sort of colossal ego you see in fighter-group commanders. But it’s not the truth.”
“Interesting. Thank you for your candor.” Face stood.
Rogriss nodded. He gestured at the tabletop. “Would you care to pack a lunch before you go?”
Face laughed.
• • •
In the hours of what would have been night on Coruscant—the timing by which Mon Remonda’s activities were scheduled—Solo and Wedge met in the general’s office.
Solo looked as tired and dispirited as Wedge felt. And, Wedge noted, not for the first time, when Solo decided to drop his mask of roguish irresponsibility—as he had now—he could look angrier than any man Wedge had ever met. That’s how it was now; while they’d been reviewing the attacks by the two Twi’leks, the general’s face had set in lines that would strike fear in the heart of a subordinate or an enemy.
“Are you going to accept Rogriss’s offer?” Wedge asked.
Solo’s features softened. He nodded.
“Pending confirmation by Fleet Command?”
“No. I have very broad powers regarding the search for Zsinj. I can do this without anyone’s say-so.” Solo quirked a self-deprecating smile. “Until they decide that I’ve completely failed, I’m still a very important man.
“Which reminds me. Since I still seem to be important to Zsinj, I’m going to go forward with this plan by your pilots to mock up a Millennium Falcon and see if we can lure Zsinj to us with it.”
“I’m glad to hear it. It has a chance.”
Solo’s smile faded. “Whatever this Twi’lek madness is, it’s spreading,” Solo said.