Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [114]
The room fell silent as the pilots pondered Wedge’s scenario. The surprised expressions and pale faces reflected the horror Wedge felt in his gut. What amazed him the most was that no one offered a denial of the plot he’d described. We all know, firsthand, that she’s capable of such cruelty.
Corran spoke first. “The nastiest part of your scenario is that it would also kill off the Lusankya prisoners. When she and I spoke, she said she was glad the Lusankya had been destroyed at Thyferra because after I escaped from it, it had been soiled. The prisoners were part of that desecration and I think she would have killed them if she had been in control of them. She doesn’t like keeping reminders of her failure around with her.”
Wedge nodded. “That’s a good point. Tycho?”
“I think we all agree she’s more than capable of doing what you’re suggesting. I also think there are simpler ways of causing us trouble. Perhaps the defenses for the prison are tougher than we imagine, so the guards will have a chance to kill all the prisoners. That would make us all feel horrible, and likely get Two Flight killed in its attempt to neutralize the defenses.”
“Okay, so we run sims in which we toughen up the opposition.” The General looked around the room. “What else?”
Nrin raised a hand. “I think it will be important for us to have a plan to quarantine the prisoners to prevent the disease from spreading. We need to let them know they’re at risk. They’ll need to speak with someone they know and trust, which means Tycho or Corran.”
Corran shook his head. “Ah, um, the last time I was with them, I let them know that Tycho was a traitor. I can roll in and talk to them.”
“Ah, Corran, General Dodonna knows me, too.” Wedge smiled. “We’ll both record messages to him and everyone will carry a datacard with the messages on them. If we go down, the messages still get in.”
A knock at the door ended the discussion. Tycho opened the door and admitted Colonel Vessery. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Just debriefing after a sim run. We want to make some changes—a worst-case scenario thing. We want to see how bad it can get.”
Vessery nodded. “Good idea, but you’ll have to hurry. Negotiations are final. You’ll be going in to Ciutric two days from now. Krennel believes you’ll be hyperspacing for a couple of days to get there, but the trip will only take six hours or so. Once you’re in place, you send the appropriate message and set things in motion.”
“Thank you, Colonel. We’ll be ready.”
“I’m sure you will.” Vessery hesitated. “I’ve enjoyed working with you all. I believe you have a saying for times like this: May the Force be with you. I really do hope it is. If you succeed, if we succeed, we can all go home again.”
Popping out of hyperspace near Ciutric, Wedge tried to match his memory of the system with what he saw now. He got no sense of recognition, of having been there before, but that struck him as just as well. On Ciutric Rogue Squadron had lost one of its most beloved pilots, Ibtisam. Remembering brought a lump to his throat, which he swallowed against.
He keyed his comm unit. “How are you doing, Eight?”
Nrin’s voice came back even, but a bit tight. “I am fine, Colonel Roat.” His words revealed none of the pain he had to be feeling. He had been closer to Ibtisam than anyone else had—a fact made remarkable because of the traditional rivalries between the Quarren and the Mon Calamari. Her death had crushed Nrin emotionally and, after a leave of absence, he had accepted a transfer from Rogue Squadron to a training squadron.
“Good to hear, Eight.” Wedge flipped the comm unit