Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [9]
As the applause died, Wedge said, “That’s it for now. Any questions?”
Face was first with a hand up. “If we’re launching tomorrow, sir, when do we get Piggy back?”
“We never lose him. He has requested that he be transferred to the bacta treatment facility aboard Mon Remonda. General Solo has approved the request. We’ll haul him around until he’s ready to emerge, then put him back to work. Wes?”
The Wraiths’s executive officer lowered his hand. “The usual.”
“The usual answer, too. We were lucky to get Face’s X-wing fully repaired. Wraith Squadron isn’t getting any replacement X-wings anytime soon. The Wraiths will continue flying mixed X-wings and TIE interceptors. Anything else? No? Dismissed.”
Thirty minutes later, Wedge opened the door to leave his quarters. He took an involuntary step back. There, shoulder to shoulder, blocking the door, were Wes Janson and Rogue Squadron pilot Derek “Hobbie” Klivian. Hobbie was struggling to keep his face straight; Janson’s expression was merry. Janson asked, “Going somewhere, Commander?”
Wedge shouldered his way between them. “We have leave, remember? That’s what you two should do. Leave.”
They fell in beside him, one on either side. This corridor, deep in the residential decks of Coruscant’s Sivantlie Base, led toward the turbolifts.
“Would you look at him?” Janson said. “Hair combed, evening clothes immaculate.”
Hobbie, his face as long and mournful as ever, said, “And he smells like a fresh spring morning.”
“I think our commander is going on a date.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Meaning he really needs our help. How long has it been since you’ve been on a date, Wedge? I don’t think some of the Wraiths were born then.”
“We’re your escort,” Hobbie said. “We’ll protect you from yourself.”
“So, who are you seeing?” Janson asked.
“What I’m seeing is kitchen duty in your immediate future,” Wedge said. They reached the bank of turbolifts and waited for the lift to reach them.
Janson continued, “It’s Iella, isn’t it?”
Wedge scowled. “What makes you think that?”
“Oh, nothing. Just the way you look whenever her name is mentioned. Have you noticed that, Hobbie?”
“Oh, I’ve noticed. What do you think?”
“I haven’t decided yet if she’s right for our commander. And the rest of the squad hasn’t voted yet.”
The turbolift doors opened and they entered the shallow car, turning to face the hall. Wedge held his hand against the side of the entryway, preventing the doors from closing. “Roof,” Wedge said.
Janson looked confused. “Roof? Not the personal vehicles hangar?”
“Roof.” Then Wedge took a deep breath and bellowed, “About face! Forward march!”
By reflex, the two pilots spun. Wedge stepped back out into the hall and heard Janson and Hobbie thud into the wall at the rear of the turbolift. Then the turbolift doors closed and the car carried his pilots up and far away.
He smiled and summoned another turbolift.
Two floors down, a quartet of Wraiths approached a door as anonymous as Wedge’s.
Donos said, “He just received a promotion of sorts. We shouldn’t present him with a mutiny first thing.” He kept from his face the discomfort he was feeling.
Dia Passik, the female Twi’lek, said, “He insisted that he wasn’t feeling well.”
Lara Notsil smiled over her shoulder at them. “He lied. He lies all the time, you know.”
“I know. But he seemed so genuine.”
“He does that all the time, too. This is the right thing to do. Myn, Elassar, back me up.”
The two men exchanged glances. “Absolutely,” Donos said.
The Devaronian looked confused. “You change sides pretty fast, don’t you, Lieutenant? I’ve barely met Captain Loran. I shouldn’t have an opinion.”
Lara scowled at him. “Wait a moment. A fellow Wraith says ‘Back me up,’ and you say ‘I don’t know’?”
The Devaronian straightened. His voice deepened. “My apologies. Absolutely. You’re right. In fact, we shouldn’t knock. We should just blast the door lock and kick the door in.”
“We’ll knock,” Lara said. She rapped on the door.
There was