Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [77]
Wedge watched the activity, looking for undue stress or worry on the part of his pilots.
Gavin Darklighter. The young Rogue would be flying without a wingmate. He’d been sobered by Tal’dira’s death, and still looked unusually serious, but showed no sign of distraction.
Corran Horn. It had been only days since he’d killed a squadmate, and the speculation that Tal’dira had been brainwashed, not a traitor, and therefore theoretically possible to save, had to be eating at him. He showed no sign of it, his real emotions safely hidden behind the mask of professional civility that CorSec and other police personnel wore when dealing with strangers.
Tyria Sarkin. She’d also been forced to kill a fellow pilot. She made no secret of her distress, and even now, as she donned her helmet and climbed into her X-wing cockpit, there was a sad look to her eyes. But, unlike Horn, she hadn’t had to kill a squadmate, a friend. And she hadn’t been as isolated as Horn; Kell had been there for her. Kell had even persuaded her to talk to Wes Janson, the man who had been obliged, many years before, to kill Kell’s own father under not dissimilar circumstances. Janson had said it had helped her. Though Tyria wore her emotions very close to the surface, Wedge felt he had little to worry about with her.
Dia Passik. She would not be flying today; the decision handed down by the Provisional Council made it impossible for her to come along. But it didn’t prevent her from participating in other ways; she was present, out of uniform, moving from starfighter to starfighter, offering a recommendation here, a wish for good luck there. And, when she thought no one was looking, a kiss for Face.
Elassar Targon. The Devaronian pilot was busily sticking figurines made of hard-baked bread on various portions of Runt’s X-wing’s hull while the Thakwaash pilot ineffectually tried to shoo him away. More charms. Wedge sighed.
“You can’t just stay here and avoid it,” Janson said.
Wedge lookechat the Wraiths’s XO. “Come again?”
“You can’t just hang around here, Commander. You have to get to the Falsehood and face your mistake.”
“What mistake is that?”
Janson grinned. “Well, of course, you’re taking Han Solo’s place in piloting the Falsehood because he really can’t keep on relinquishing command of the fleet for joyrides.”
“Correct. No mistake I can see so far. I have more experience with Corellian freighters than anyone on Mon Remonda, excepting Han Solo.”
“And you asked him if Chewbacca would be interested in coming along as copilot and mechanic. He has all that experience keeping disintegrating junk together as it flies.”
“Correct so far.”
“And the general said, sure, Chewie would be happy to come along.”
“You’re three for three.”
“Wedge, you don’t speak Wookiee.”
“I—oh, Sithspit.” Wedge felt some color rising into his face. Janson was right: In all the mission planning they’d done, he’d failed to remember that he wouldn’t be able to understand anything his copilot said, though Chewbacca could certainly understand Basic.
Janson just stood there, his expression merry.
Wedge sighed. “Check with Squeaky and Emtrey. I can’t issue orders for them to go, but if either is willing to volunteer, I’d appreciate it. Preferably Squeaky.” Though 3PO units normally had protocol skills as part of their programming, including diplomacy and instantaneous translation of a staggering number of languages, Emtrey’s programming was optimized for military functions; Squeaky’s was better suited to this mission.
“Will do.”
“You haven’t mentioned this to the pilots?”
“Well, yes, I sort of blurted it out when it occurred to me.”
“And what did they say?”
“They put down bets on what you’d do. So then I had to go to all the other pilots so they could get their own bets down.”
“Who won?”
“Tyria Sarkin. She said you’d say