The characters that have appeared in previous Star Wars novels are property of Lucasfilm, Ltd. Captain Amaryl Assay, Admiral Tesh Dorass, First Officer Azzeh, and the name of Tycho's droid belong to the author. Any other characters presented here that have never been seen in a Star Wars novel are property of Iris Bailey. Do not repost anywhere without the permission of the author!
On the bridge of the Star Destroyer Querulous, Admiral Osiel Turpa stared out into the vastness of space. The silhouette of an Interdictor Cruiser, the Arachna, hovered in the distance, the only other manmade object in his field of view. Its four huge antigrav generators were already powered up, waiting for their prey to enter the web that they had worked so hard to spin.
Behind and below him he could make out the sounds of the bridge crew going through their last minute checks of all systems. If the information from Thyferra was correct, Antilles had left there three hours before. His ship had been tracked as it entered hyperspace on the course they had predicted.
A claxon began to sound and Turpa returned to the center of the bridge, walking briskly along the command walkway. "Commander Cright, report."
The tall, dark haired Commander stood in the crew pit next to the sensor officer. "There is a ship coming out of hyperspace directly between Querulous and the Arachna, sir."
"Identify it for me, please."
Commander Cright bent over the sensor technician’s screen. "Sensors make it out to be a T-65B X-wing, Admiral. We are receiving a signal from the homing beacon." There was a pause as he double-checked the sensor board. "Confirmed. It's Antilles, sir."
"Commence communications jamming on all frequencies. I don’t want any messages getting out of this system. Launch our fighters."
"Yes, sir," Cright answered, turning towards the technician manning the communications console.
As his crew scurried about, putting their plan into motion, Turpa remained at the viewport, his hands clasped tightly at the small of his back. They would have to be very careful how they captured Antilles. No clue could be left for anyone to find. He would have to disappear without a trace in order for Moff Tchlinda to be able to get away with her scheme. If the New Republic found out who had captured him, they would send their forces in to rescue him and all would be lost.
A flash of light caught his attention. He looked out into the vastness of space and saw a distant shape that had to be Antilles’ ship. A quartet of TIE fighters were closing on him, green laser fire lancing out into the blackness of space.
He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Soon we will have him. Wedge Antilles, your luck is about to run out.
* * * * * * *
Wedge was trying to catch up on some sleep during his nine hour trip back to Coruscant when a warning alarm sounded, signaling an unexpected reversion to real space. Wedge was awake immediately, looking for whatever trouble he was undoubtedly in.
It didn’t take him long to find it. The bulky arrow shape of a Victory Class Star Destroyer hung directly in front of his X-wing. His Identity Friend/Foe transponder tentatively identified her as the Querulous. In the distance he could see the distinctive outline of the Interdictor Cruiser that had yanked him from hyperspace. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, boiling out of the Star Destroyers main hanger deck came a full squadron of TIE fighters.
"Sithspawn!" He reached over his shoulder and hit the switch to split his S-foils into attack configuration, the last remains of sleep quickly vanishing from his system. He yanked the X-wing’s stick hard to starboard, throwing the fighter into a roll, and headed away from the Destroyer. Four of the TIEs broke off from the main group in pursuit while the rest hung back as cover.
Wedge quickly thought over his options as he dove out of the range of the approaching fighters. "Well...I can’t make a jump out of here because of that Interdictor. But there are only twelve of them." He chuckled lightly as Gate let out a trill of notes indicating what he thought of that comment. Wedge didn’t need to look at the translation to know the droid didn’t like the odds any better than he did.
"Gate, I want you to send a priority high-speed message off to Coruscant. Route it through whereever you need to get it there. Tell them what we’re up against and where we are." He felt pressure in his chest as he thought of Ajene. "And add to it a message for Major Tuvora. Tell her I might not make it for dinner."
Gate beeped a subdued affirmative and got to work on the message without further comment. But a moment later, a red light appeared on his comm unit, and Gate let out a low moan.
Just great! They’re jamming us.
With a communications jam in effect, Gate wouldn’t be able to send the message calling for help. It looked like Wedge was on his own. He took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts to concentrate on what he had to do.
He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the red and white droid. "Alright, make these guys targets one through four. And hang on!" He watched data scroll across his monitor as he prepared to make his move.
"Okay, acquire one!" He stomped the right rudder pedal and the X-wing’s rear end slid around, sending him head to head with the four TIE’s. He adjusted his shields to full forward and Gate beeped a lock signal on the center fighter. His targeting box winked red at the same time as green laser fire washed over the X-wings forward shields as the targeted eyeball got off the first shots. Wedge squeezed the firing button on his stick. The TIE pilot watched his own death coming at him as the proton torpedo vaporized the viewport and hulled the cockpit. A frozen metal mist trailed from the spinning wreckage as it headed out into deep space.
"Gate, gimme two!" The other three TIE’s were slow in reacting and continued on their original course. Wedge switched back to lasers and took out the second eyeball before its pilot had a chance to correct his mistake. Wedge’s lasers slagged the right solar panel, sending the ship into a violent spin. A piece of the hot debris slashed through the ion engines at the rear of the ship, turning it into a brilliant if brief ball of fire.
The demise of the second TIE finally woke the other two pilots, and as he expected, they split in opposite directions. Evening out his shields, Wedge went after the one headed to starboard. Just as he’d gotten a lock on the TIE and squeezed his trigger, Gate gave a screech of warning. There was a loud whump and his X-wing jarred violently. The motion caused his shot to only graze the port solar panel of his target. The TIE that had broken to port had quickly looped around and was on his tail.
Wedge swore under his breath. He had hoped he would be able to get the first TIE before the second could get into position behind him. Adjusting the power to his shields for extra coverage in the rear, he rolled the fighter up onto its starboard S-foil and screamed into a dive. The TIE on his tail followed him. The one in front dove, trying to use its greater speed and maneuverability to make an impossibly tight turn and take him head-on.
They were doing exactly what he wanted them to do. "Good boys. Now pay close attention to me, and I’ll give you a lesson in situational awareness."
He tossed his ship into an erratic weave that made it look like he was out of control, and the pursuing TIE closed in for the kill. He hastily evened out his shields again and, keeping an eye on his sensors, gradually eased his spin and moved his ship into position.
A proximity warning beep sounded from his display, and he immediately dropped the fighter below its previous line of flight and headed out of the way. At that moment, the TIE behind and the TIE in front of him met in the middle. The explosion was a spectacular mix of white and orange and the phototropic shielding of his canopy polarized momentarily to protect him form the glare.
"All right, Gate, give me the next four..." His voice trailed off as he realized that the other fighters were retreating back toward the protection of the Star Destroyer. "What the...?"
The speakers in his helmet crackled to life. A different red light appeared on his comm unit as a transmission came in on an Imperial frequency. "Rebel X-wing, this is Admiral Osiel Turpa of the Querulous. You are outnumbered and cannot win this confrontation. Do you still intend to resist?"
Wedge smiled grimly. If they had stopped the jamming to contact him then maybe Gate could get a message out. Before he could say anything to his droid, he saw another light illuminate on his comm unit as the high-speed transmission began. He had to give Gate all the time he could to get the message out.
"Star Destroyer Queasiness. Of course I intend to resist. You’ve ruined my dinner plans for the evening and that makes me cranky. Besides, I’m Corellian. You figure out the rest." He closed the channel and made sure his shields were even back and front. He reached for the throttle and headed for the retreating TIE’s.
"Very well, Rebel."
There was a blinding blue flash, and Wedge’s ship gave a teeth jarring shudder. The hairs on his arms stood on end as static electricity coursed through the cockpit and blue lightening crawled over the X-wing like a swarm of insects. His engines cut out and sparks showered from his comm unit as every system went suddenly and decisively dark. Weapons, navicomp, life support; everything was offline. Even Gate, who’d given a hurried trilling screech, was rendered silent. If his diagnostics screen was working, it would have told him what he already knew: he had been hit head on by an ion bolt.
Momentum was the only thing that kept his ship moving, and suddenly even that died as the Destroyer locked the X-wing in the grip of a tractor beam. Wedge let go of the stick, and slumped back into his chair. "Well, four out of twelve isn’t too bad, and it’s not over until I’m dead." He reached down and pulled a holdout blaster from under his seat. He wished he had his service blaster, but it was stored in the belly of his ship along with his other personal belongings. He checked the charge of the weapon, then sat back to wait.
He watched with growing dread as the Destroyer's main hanger bay loomed larger and larger in front of him. He could see at least a dozen other ships of various sizes and types already inside. The eight remaining TIE’s danced around his ship, in case he tried to make an escape.
Wedge’s snubfighter passed through the magnetic containment field and settled slowly onto the deck. With no power to lower the landing gear or return the S-foils to cruising configuration, the ship rested rather unsteadily on her nose and the lower S-foils.
Two squads of stormtroopers immediately surrounded the ship. What looked like a Naval Lieutenant stood in the rear while five troopers broke ranks and approached Wedge’s X-wing. Two of them began working to pry the canopy open while the other three stood close by to cover the cockpit.
As they finally pried back the canopy, all five stormtroopers quickly covered Wedge with their blaster carbines. A trooper, larger than the rest, stepped forward and Wedge slowly raised his hands. He had tucked his blaster into the front of his flightsuit. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious.
"Don’t even think about trying anything." The stormtrooper’s voice crackled through the comm unit in his helmet. "Put your hands up where we can see them. Then very carefully and very slowly climb out of the cockpit."
Wedge did as he was told, first easing up out of the seat, then sitting on the lip of the cockpit. As he prepared to swing his legs over the side, his right hand lowered to steady him on the side of the ship. His left hand dropped to where he had concealed the blaster.
He would have to act fast, taking down the stormtroopers covering him. He had seen that Gate had recovered enough from the ion bolt that had hit the ship to be ready for a cold restart of the engines should it look like Wedge would have the chance to escape. Wedge would then have the insurmountable task of getting out of the hanger, making it past the tractor beam, the Querulous’s guns, her remaining fighters, and an Interdictor Cruiser. Sounds impossible, but the odds of survival must be better than staying here. What am I thinking? What use have I for odds!
The truth was that, despite being Corellian, Wedge had a healthy respect for odds. Comes from being responsible for the lives of my pilots. But this is my life alone that we are talking about, and that is different. He thought briefly about Ajene, but dismissed it just as quickly. Thinking of her would not help him in this situation. It may even hinder him.
He glanced over the heads of the stormtroopers to the Lieutenant. He was a tall man with light brown hair that was graying at the temples. He wore the traditional greenish gray of the Imperial Navy. Even at a distance, Wedge could make out a pair of piercing blue eyes.
Their eyes met briefly and the Lieutenant stepped forward. He obviously had dealt with this kind of situation before. He pointed his blaster at Wedge’s head. "Hold it! Get your hands up higher." The officer motioned to the large stormtrooper. "Two Eight Five, take off his helmet and leave it in the ship. Then get him down from there and search him!"
The trooper stepped forward and roughly removed Wedge’s helmet. He was then violently yanked out of his cockpit. As his boots hit the deck, two of the other troopers grabbed him and forced him face down onto the cold durasteel plating. His flightsuit was searched, his blaster found and removed, then his hands bound painfully at the small of his back. He was hauled upright again and half led, half shoved over to the Lieutenant.
"You guys seem to be awfully worried about one fighter jockey," Wedge quipped.
The big stormtrooper backhanded him across the mouth with a heavily armored hand. Wedge felt his lip split with the impact and tasted blood in his mouth. He saw stars and unwillingly dropped to his knees. "Shut up, you piece of Rebel trash. You’ll speak only when you’re told to."
Even from the deck, Wedge could see a trooper come around the side of his ship and stop at attention in front of the Lieutenant. "It’s definitely Antilles, sir. Here’s the homing device. And half this side of his fighter is covered with kill silhouettes, including the two Death Stars. His droid has been deactivated and a restraining bolt placed on it."
Forcing himself to appear indifferent, Wedge looked up at the Lieutenant, but an icy lump formed in his stomach. They were waiting for me. That means somebody sold me out. I hope I live long enough to find out who it was.
The Lieutenant grabbed Wedge by the shoulder of his flightsuit and tugged him up onto his feet. "It’s him alright. I’ve seen his wanted posters. Doesn’t look like much, does he?" There were scattered snickers throughout the group.
Wedge knew what would happen before he opened his mouth, but the Corellian in him couldn’t resist the urge to say it. "I don’t have to look like much. Your vape bait pilots don’t last long enough to see that much of me anyway." He steeled himself for what he knew would come, and the troopers didn’t disappoint him.
The butt of a blaster rifle slammed into his stomach, doubling him over, then another blow caught him over his right eye and he went down on the deck again. With his hands bound behind him, all he could do was pull his knees up in an effort to deflect some of the kicks and blows. But they came form every direction at once. He felt a sharp pop in his side, and each breath became agony.
Wedge heard the Lieutenant order them to stop, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white boot aiming for his head. It was the last thing he saw before everything went mercifully black.
* * * * * * *
Admiral Turpa had appeared through the door to the hanger just as Lieutenant Heblon’s stormtroopers removed the unconscious pilot. They left a small trail of blood as he was dragged across the hanger floor.
Heblon studied the Admiral with discomfort. In the years he’d been with the Empire, he’d seen all manner of savagery, and known all types of commanding officers. But in all that time, he had never seen the equal of Osiel Turpa as far as cruelty. Except possibly the one time he’d seen Darth Vader in person.
Turpa had dark eyes, almost black, an aristocratic face with sharp features framed with jet black hair. Although tall and exceptionally lean, Turpa was in excellent physical condition. He kept himself that way with rigorous training, including regular hand to hand combat with a variety of mechanical, human and non-human opponents. Heblon had seen Turpa best, and kill, a powerfully muscled male Bothan commando during one of his "workouts."
"I trust that your men didn’t kill him, Lieutenant." Admiral Turpa’s dark eyes seemed to bore straight through the Lieutenant's, and he resisted the urge to take a step backwards.
"No, sir. He’s being taken to the detention bay."
"Excellent. It would be most unwise to deprive Moff Tchlinda the pleasure of killing him. It would be a pity if you or one of your men had to serve as a replacement simply because you had been too enthusiastic." A vicious smile formed on the man’s thin lips. "I imagine it will be very entertaining. I’m looking forward to the death of this filth. And I am sure the Moff will make the wait most painful for him."
Turpa’s delight at the prospect of pain and suffering briefly flickered through his eyes. Heblon suppressed a shiver.
"Heblon, in order to ensure the gratitude of Moff Tchlinda, I would like for you to deal with this Antilles. I want you to use your talents to keep him healthy enough that he will survive through to the ceremony, especially when he is taken down to the planet. I know how the Moff can be. She may kill him before the monument can be completed. That would make us most unhappy."
"Yes, sir. I will see that he is taken care of."
"Splendid. Inform me when he’s conscious. Dismissed." Turpa waved his hand toward the door, making it clear that Heblon should leave.
"Yes, sir." Heblon saluted, then hurried out of the hanger. Once the door closed behind him, a shiver went through him at the thought of what Turpa and Moff Tchlinda probably had planned for the Rebel pilot.
Copyright June 13, 2001 by Susan Hill.
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