Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [97]
“Not really.”
Suddenly deflated, Janson sat on his bed again. “Let’s try it a different way. You want to be in control so you don’t foul up some horrible way. But you’re so in control that you’re basically a walking dead man. Since you’re dead, you had nothing to offer Lara. You have nothing to offer Wedge—he’s got plenty of dead pilots, doesn’t need another one. Most of them are smart enough to stay where we plant them, though.”
“So what do you recommend?”
“Get drunk. Get slapped. Do something you always wanted to do as a child, especially if it’s something that would humiliate you today. If you’re going to get kicked out of Starfighter Command, make it for something you can be proud of.” Something beeped in one of Janson’s pockets. He pulled it out, a comlink, and held it up to his ear to listen. He brightened. “Automatic signal. The Rogues and the Millennium Falsehood are back. No losses. Sorry, I have to run, have to figure out what to razz Wedge about.” He darted for the door and was gone.
Donos shook his head. “I’m asking career advice from a nine-year-old.”
The door to the Falsehood’s hangar slid open before Janson reached it. Out came a repulsorlift cargo sled, pushed by a single Mon Remonda technician. On the sled was a crate, two meters long by one wide and high. The crate rocked on the sled and odd noises, like a faint and garbled voice, emerged from it.
Wedge walked out behind the technician and stopped short when he saw Janson. He made a noise of exasperation and slapped the gloves he carried into his open palm. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“See what?” Janson stared after the departing technician and cargo. “What was that?”
“That was Lieutenant Kettch.”
Janson gave Wedge a close look. Wedge certainly didn’t look crazy. “Um, please correct me if I’m wrong, but Lieutenant Kettch is fictitious. An Ewok pilot who doesn’t exist. I should know. I made him up.”
“He’s not fictitious anymore.”
“Now he’s real?”
Wedge stepped out so the hangar door could close behind him. “On planetside, while we were waiting for the Falsehood to be spotted, Tycho found a store where they sold exotic animals to wealthy Zsinj supporters who enjoy that sort of thing. One of the ‘animals’ was a full-grown Ewok male named Chulku. When we were preparing to blast off and do our usual number on the pursuit, Tycho staged a jailbreak and we brought Chulku along. While we were flying back, I had an idea—if Zsinj ever does need to see the Hawk-bats, we could have an actual Lieutenant Kettch for him.” He nodded after the sled. “Chulku is pretty bright, and we think we can teach him which TIE interceptor controls to touch and which not to—I doubt we can teach him to fly without years of education, but we can make him look authentic in a cockpit.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Now we just need to build him those prosthetic hand-and-leg attachments Kettch is supposed to have so he can manipulate a starfighter’s controls.”
“Still crazy.”
Wedge smiled. “And since you had the bad luck to witness his arrival, you get to be part of the crew who takes him food. Welcome to the conspiracy, Wes.”
Janson shook his head. “Now I’m crazy.”
The TIE interceptor hurtling toward Lara in a head-to-head run juked and jinked in what seemed like a random pattern, but the maneuvers did not seem to throw the pilot off. His linked laser fire angled in ever more accurately toward Lara’s interceptor.
She, too, threw her starfighter back and forth, up and down, in an effort to keep the enemy laser fire from hitting her. She was successful—the two fighters passed with no damage to her craft. But she hadn’t gotten off a single accurate shot at her enemy.
The second she flashed past the enemy TIE, she hauled back on the flight stick,