TIE Fighter: Prime Wing

See Disclaimer/Acknowledgments in Chapter One

Chapter Two

The shuttle Wrysterian jolted slightly as it docked with the Victory-class Star Destroyer Valiant. Rurik shifted uncomfortably in his cramped seat, wishing he could stretch his aching muscles. It would be several more minutes before the formalities were concluded and they could actually debark, which wasn't nearly soon enough for him. A seven-hour shuttle flight was unbearable enough, but with the company here, it was downright intolerable. Through the long trip, he had tried to make conversation with all his new comrades, and had met with little success.

His first attempt was his fellow lieutenant, Giriad Quoris. The young pilot was still insisting when they came aboard that this would be a glorious success. Rurik wondered if Giriad had ever been permitted to fail at anything. His opening was weak, he knew, but he figured it was worth a shot. "So, Giriad," he'd asked, "Where're you from?"

The boy had given him a haughty sneer that Rurik had seen a dozen times before from Core-Worlders. "From Ashthera, of course. Haven't you ever heard of my family?"

Rurik hadn't, but he had heard of Ashthera. A world whose economy centered largely on navicomputer components, it was known throughout the Core regions as a would-be Coruscant run by several families, all who claimed to be direct descendants from the original owners of the giant corporations. Whether they were or not was anyone's guess. "No, I can't say that I have," he said, trying to be polite. The last thing he needed was yet another mark on his record for instigating an argument. He had plenty of those already. But he couldn't resist adding, "I'm sure I've heard of some of your relatives, though. From what I hear, on Ashthera, everyone's related."

Giriad's round boyish features turned livid. "At least I know who my family is. I'm not surprised a backwater Rimworlder like you hasn't heard of my father, Keron Quoris, or his-"

Commander L'Grath had interrupted then, sounding tired and irritated. "Of course he hasn't heard of your father, Lieutenant. How could he, when the name of Keron Quoris has been struck from the Ashtherian registry, and he has been thrown off the Board of Controllers?"

Giriad tried to maintain the air of disdain, but he was crumbling. "They never proved those allegations." He sounded much more like a spoiled child now than snobbish Core aristocracy.

"Proof? There was no need. He practically confessed," L'Grath said, and there was no mistaking a sudden ice in his voice. He was, after all, the commander.

Giriad looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead withdrew into a sulk; a wise decision, Rurik thought. L'Grath, meanwhile, looked as if he would go back to brooding, but Rurik said quickly, "Commander, if you don't mind, I had a question that I wanted ask you."

L'Grath sighed wearily. "I think that I know. You want to hear what the battle of Yavin was like." Rurik nodded a little sheepishly. "Well, I'm sure you've heard all the stories of the Rebel's treacherous tactics, their sabotage of the Death Star, and their overwhelming attack."

"I heard that Kenobi and his saboteurs had already staged a terrorist attack to rescue Princess Organa, and that they stole plans that gave the Rebels a tactical advantage," Rurik said.

L'Grath chuckled grimly. "The plans were already in their hands before they boarded the station," he said bitterly. "In the end, Kenobi's raid made very little difference. What mattered was that when the Rebels attacked, we weren't prepared. Only Lord Vader's squadron offered any real resistance. The Rebel's snub fighters evaded our turbo laser batteries, but Vader's wing would have defeated them, if it hadn't been for that pirate Solo." The dark humor that had shadowed his face faded now, replaced by the tired indifference that had been there before. "But it doesn't matter. I should have stayed with my squadron. I saw one wingman destroyed before me, another crippled, and I did the first thing I thought of. I ran. In the end, it was probably the wisest course of action. But it was also the action of a coward."

"Well, you were scared," Rurik offered lamely, and he heard a derisive snort from Giriad. If the kid makes one more smart remark, I'm going to knock that smug grin off his face, Rurik thought grimly, but Giriad remained silent.

To his surprise, L'Grath laughed coldly. "Scared, boy? I wasn't scared. I've been scared before, of course. Flying in the Clone Wars scared me. No, at Yavin, when I watched Vader's fighter spin away, when I saw that X-wing fire those torpedoes, I wasn't scared. I was terrified!" L'Grath's face twisted in a strange blend of remembered pain and anger. "I knew that I had failed, and that the only thing to do was to go out in a blaze of glory. But what did I do instead? I put all power to engines and ran. I was lucky to keep my head when the fleet finally arrived and found me. That is why I, a combat veteran of forty years, am flying in a unit with a spoiled Core world brat, some Outer Rim hotshot--no offense intended, Lieutenant Caelin, of course," he amended, and Rurik nodded. Of course L'Grath didn't like working with someone from a backwater planet. Few in the Empire did. "And," L'Grath finished, glancing at the far end of the passenger compartment, "an alien."

Rurik risked a look into the shadowy recesses of the shuttle. Thelea had apparently not been paying attention; or if she had, she had chosen to ignore them. All he could see of the unnerving red-gold eyes were narrow slits visible through the shadows in the dimly lit cabin. She was leaning back in her seat, her fingers steepled before her. Rurik wondered if she was asleep. Knowing nothing about whatever species she was, it was entirely possible that they slept with their eyes open.

"No, I'm not asleep." The cool, level voice startled them all. "Unlike you humans," she went on, seemingly oblivious to their surprise, "I don't require sleep per se. A few hours of rest are perfectly sufficient."

L'Grath was the first to recover from his surprise. "Commander Thelea," he said, somewhat pleasantly. "I hadn't realized you were awake."

"Obviously." She rose, stretching as best she could in the cramped cabin. "We should be arriving soon. Have you quite finished your interrogations, Lieutenant Caelin?"

Logically, Rurik knew he should have simply said "yes" and shut up. However, his mouth took over, as it usually did. "No, mi'lady, I haven't. I haven't gotten to you, Commander. Just how did you end up in this unit? How did you get into the Imperial Navy at all?"

Thelea's glowing eyes narrowed. "Skill, Lieutenant Caelin. Some of those in positions of power appreciate ability, even when it comes in an unpleasant package." She looked down at the pale blue skin of her hands, face a mask.

"Some say that after Yavin, the Empire's gotten desperate," Giriad said cooly.

"Certainly, if they were willing to take you," Thelea shot back coldly. Then, as if afraid of the breaking of her facade, she said, "In any case, I was placed on active duty before Yavin."

"Really," Rurik said, trying to keep his genuine curiosity out of his voice. "Where have you served, mi'lady? The Avenger? Devastator? The Emperor's personal guard?"

Thelea met his gaze directly, her red-gold eyes boring into the back of his skull. Rurik cringed. "I was an independent recon pilot. I flew solo missions into Rebel-held sectors to take surveilance holos and return. Twice I've lost fighters, but my pickup always managed to get me before the Rebels did. I have ten fighter kills to my credit, seven of them Xs."

Rurik felt paralyzed by her gaze, though, without pupils or irises, it was impossible to tell if she was really staring straight at him. Her voice had lost a little of its detachment, sounding distant and airy. Then, abruptly, she snapped out of it. "In any case, I am easily the second-most experienced pilot in this squadron. I'll thank you not to question my abilities."

That broke the trance her eyes had held him in. "Oh, certainly not mi'lady," he said, standing slowly. "I wouldn't dream of questioning your abilities. I'd just like to see a demonstration of them." He met her gaze levelly, without flinching.

If Thelea was surprised, she didn't show it. "Surprisingly intelligent, Caelin." Slowly, she sat back down to wait for docking.

***

The pilot's quarters aboard the VSD Valiant were not spacious, though they were better than stormtrooper barracks. Thelea was glad she made it a habit not to carry too many belongings. Carefully, she unfolded her other two shipboard uniforms, and then set about examining her flight suit. She had always hated the bulky, confining helmets provided for TIE pilots, and the minute she had proved that she was better than competent in a TIE, she had set about to trimming down the heavy uniform. She'd taken the heavy, stifling helmet and trimmed the faceplate back, consciously styling it after the Rebel's open-faced helmets. The dark eye shield remained, but now the pilot's mouth was free to breathe and speak without the muffling condensation on the old shield. Her oxygen flow came through a detachable face mask. It had the same disadvantage as the Rebels, that if she ejected, she had to think about closing the helmet seal. A few of her superiors had pointed that out, in rather explicit terms. However, after they'd picked her up twice, still breathing and intact, from the depths of space, they had grudgingly admitted that her design was, if not superior, at least equal to the standard flightsuit.

She sighed as she surveyed her own lack of belongings. She had taken almost nothing with her when she'd escaped--be honest, Thelea tal Kyrn, when you ran away. There had been no time to think of packing, and, as the House that had taken her in never failed to remind her, she hadn't really owned anything, anyway. She'd been lucky that the Kur'ill'ean traders had been willing to bring her as far as the Outer Rim.

Or maybe not so lucky. She had lied to Caelin, sort of. It hadn't been skill that had gotten her into the Empire's elite forces; at least, not entirely. When she'd made her official application to the Naval Academy, she'd been told that someone had expressed an interest in her, and had agreed to act as her sponsor--with the odd condition that his identity remain a secret. The Academy processor, a heavyset man with wide, white-rimed eyes, had stared at her in a strange way, though, as though he found the situation amusing. No doubt he though she was some mid-level padpusher's overambitious chattel, or perhaps an illegitimate half-human, and entrance in the Academy was the price of her silence. For once, she'd been glad that her training in hiding her feelings had been as complete as any Titled one's. If she'd shown her contempt for his suspicions, he would have shown her the brig.

Sighing, she settled into the uncomfortable standard-issue chair. She was fortunate in that, as a Lieutenant Commander, she finally had her own quarters. Sharing had been a nightmare (though since she did not exactly sleep, she wasn't sure what one was like) in that, not only did she have to live with the human chauvinist remarks and pranks, the feeling of someone so close was an unbearable headache.

Thelea had tried to hide the unusual skill at first. On her homeward, the ability to pick up faint traces of a person's sense from an object they'd handled or better yet, that they'd created, was not entirely unheard of. And of course the special link between two people with a bond was a nearly universal trait. But Thelea's gift went far deeper. She had discovered at an early age that she could determine a person's mood simply by concentrating on them. After a while, she no longer had to think about it. It wasn't long before she was even able to manipulate others through mental suggestions. She'd often wondered if she'd inherited this strange ability from one of her parents. In any case it was useful, especially when flying in a dogfight, and as when she'd picked up Caelin's wonderings about her aboard the shuttle.

Caelin. She leaned back in the chair, eyes closed to slits, and concentrated. To her left, she sensed L'Grath, that distinctly morose feel, alone in his cabin. Pushing harder, she strained to reach the barrack shared by the squadron's two lieutenants. Faintly, she detected Giriad's pretentious arrogance, and underneath, that slight uncertainty. She smiled, wondering what he'd say if he knew she quite literally saw though his facade.

There. She focused harder. Caelin, all right. He positively radiated a cocky self-assurance that clashed with her own carefully constructed calm. Briefly she wondered if that was why he was as good a pilot as he seemed to be. Thelea would never admit it, but she'd gotten lucky in the simulator. He had made only one error, and would not be likely to repeat it. Another time, and he just might out-fly her.

Which made him exceptionally dangerous if he turned out to be the traitor.

She relaxed, easing the strain on her mind. The Secret Order had assured her that there would be a traitor in this wing, someone who's loyalty was certainly not to the Emperor. And yet she had neither seen nor sensed any duplicity in any of them. L'Grath? Unthinkable. Giriad? That kid-like eagerness blended with aristocratic arrogance could well be cover, but was he capable of that depth? Caelin?

Thelea smiled. Yes, Caelin was certainly capable of that duplicity, and he had the talent as a pilot to make it look like an accident. But there was something else about him, a basic decency buried under that Outer-Rim attitude that made her think it was unlikely. Or, in a strange way, made her hope it was unlikely. But in any case, there were ways to deal with someone like him. One way or another would work.

Sighing, she took out her datapad and began reexamining the charts for the mission. There would be a briefing in two hours, but as she knew too well, there were aspects of the mission that wouldn't be covered. Absently she rubbed the brand on her left forearm that had been burned in through some dark magic she did not dare question. Her private mission would require more than a typical briefing.

***

In the dimly lit command room, he leaned back in his chair and contemplated the darkness. The room was black except for the soft glow of starlight outside the viewports, silent but for the quiet hum of the engines. There were no pressing matters to demand his attention at the moment, so he was free to do what he most enjoyed--think. But no holographic studies today. He had read the new duty roster for the TIE squadrons, and knew what he had hoped, dreaded, expected, for a long time.

She was here, assigned to this very fleet. He had done his best for her, alone as she was in the galaxy, but he had not realized that she had developed her skills so far. Decorated twice, a member of that Order that thought it was a secret....He sighed, and the faint touch at the back of his mind that he had always suppressed, so well sometimes that he forgot its existence, became more than an impression, more like words.

*She has certainly matured.*

"Yes," he said to the darkness, though speaking aloud was ridiculous. He would be heard only by thinking. And if any of the men heard, they would think him mad. At least, more so than they already did. But it was comforting, in a way. It made it seem more like ordinary conversation. "She had to. Only by showing talent beyond any human average can she hope to succeed."

*She has more than talent. Superior intelligence.*

"She is one of us," he said dismissively. "That goes without saying."

The laugh was like crystal breaking. *Not always.*

"True," he admitted. "But with her, of course."

*And the gift.*

He stiffened in his chair. "Your gift?"

*Of course. It can be inherited, you know.*

"Yes," he mused, more to himself now, "I suppose that I did. But what about. . .the other?"

*She knows. I will see to it that she does not interfere. Yet.*

"How?"

*That is my concern. You must look out for her other interests.*

"And the Empire's."

The laugh again. *Oh, always.* Then a feeling of amusement.

"Not all of us are so personally ambitious," he chastised mildly, though it never did any good. "You should have known better."

*I do, now. But you must beware. The Secret Order cannot always protect her. Only warn. It may be necessary for you to intervene at some point.*

"If so, I will do what I can," he said, then for the first time, softened his tone just a fraction. "You know that."

*Of course. Do not step in unless she needs it, though. She must learn for herself. And she's more capable than you might think.*

"Do not dictate to me," he said. "I can see when she needs help." He paused. "As for the other part--"

*She'll know when she needs to know. Not before.*

"Of course." He felt the connection beginning to fade. "I will look after her here. Do what you can."

*I always do.* The connection dimmed to a faint spark, and then receded. He sighed and turned back to the stars. There were battles to plan and strategies to devise. He would have to consider this matter more carefully at another time.

***

Rurik shifted the heavy helmet from under one arm to the other. The cool, carefully controlled temperature of the Star Destroyer that was normally comfortable for humans and humanoids became unbearably stifling in the bulky flight suits. In the cramped confines of the TIE fighter hangar, it felt almost lethal. Already he could feel the sweat beginning to run down his neck and back.

Beneath him on the gantry the TIE Interceptor hung suspended with dozens of others of its kind and its cousins, the old square-winged standard TIEs and the awkward, squat TIE Bombers. Next to them, the Interceptor was sleek and dart-like, tapering foils giving it the semblance of a raptor ready for flight. Rurik smiled, remembering the lizard-like avians that had cruised the upper air currents of his homeworld. They'd looked ferocious, but were actually gentle giants who preyed only on small reptiles and mammals, not humans. Watching them soar beyond the range of his macrobinoculars had been his introduction to the world of flying. Now he looked down into the snug cockpit of the fighter, and a feeling of anticipation began to slowly edge out the fluttering in his stomach. A real mission at last! Though he didn't have Giriad's overconfidence, he couldn't quite believe the cynical versions of combat L'Grath and Thelea related. Their instructors at Fighter Training wouldn't have given them such easy simulations unless real combat was like that, would they?

His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gantry. Rurik straightened and turned to find Crewman Starbo, the tech in charge of this bay of fighters. Starbo was, while only an enlisted man, a citizen of Coruscant. That gave him the right to lord over Rurik, an officer but a Rimworlder. Or so he thought, anyway. Starbo gave a condescending smile that didn't show in his watery blue eyes. "So, is the freak wing ready for action?"

Rurik gritted his teeth. "May I remind you, Crewman, that our proper designation is Alpha Wing? Please refer to us by our proper title."

"Well, excuse me, Lt. Caelin." Starbo, of course, didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "Has your geriatric commander reported in?" Rurik glared, but he ignored the remark. "And that Ashtherian kid. Who's going to wipe his nose and look after him when he wets his suit the first flight?" Though he privately suspected the tech was right, Rurik kept his own counsel. Starbo, mildly disappointed that he wasn't getting through, said, "And how about that alien female? I'll bet flying with her'll be interesting."

Rurik bristled, beginning to tire of the condescending sarcasm. "Are you quite finished tearing apart this wing, crewman?"

Starbo grinned like a Shistavanian. "She's quite a piece of work. Very exotic, but not too outlandish. Might be a bit of fun. I'll bet that's how she got her appointment."

Grinding his teeth, Rurik said tightly, "If you are finished here, Crewman Starbo, you'd better attend to your other duties before I report you for insulting a superior officer."

Starbo's grin didn't fade. "I see you've noticed." Rurik made as if to raise his comlink, and the tech backed off. "Your ships have been loaded as per orders, Lieutenant Caelin," he said, now the picture of brisk military discipline. "All weapons are charged, and each ship is carrying six proton torpedoes."

"Very good, crewman. Go and report to Commander L'Grath." Rurik turned away, signaling that the discussion was closed.

But as Starbo walked away, Rurik distinctly heard him mutter, "She's interesting, I'll bet." He shot the tech a glare, but the other man didn't turn around to see it. What had made him so defensive of the rest of the wing, Rurik didn't know, especially when their attitude toward him ranged from apathetic to condescension to a strange sort of disinterest. But Starbo's words had burned.

This time he didn't hear the footfall, but a voice said, "Very impressive, Lieutenant. I probably would have shot him."

Rurik nearly fell off the gantry. "Commander Thelea," he gasped, trying to regain his composure. "I didn't hear you coming."

How she'd moved so silently in that flightsuit he had no idea. "Of course not," she said, smiling thinly. "That was very eloquently handled, Lieutenant." The comment sounded sincere.

For some reason, that made Rurik uncomfortable. "He insulted my wing, Commander. He is an enlisted man, and I reprimanded him."

"Even if you agreed with his assessments?"

That brought him up short. He stared at her, jaw dropped, until her smile expanded and he realized he must look like a boy just off the farm. "What makes you think I agreed, Commander?"

"But maybe with some of his assessments of the members?" she asked, always in that neutral tone, although for just a minute he could have sworn the smile touched her eyes. "I'm not sure he's far off in his remarks on Lieutenant Quoris. Someone just may have to look after him after today. And you can't deny that Commander L'Grath is certainly no longer in the prime of his life."

Rurik shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, gloved fingers slipping on his helmet. "Well, honestly, no, Commander, I can't."

Thelea's smile grew narrower, gold-red eyes widening in a strange imitation of innocence. "And I cannot believe you do not find me exotic, Lieutenant." She stepped close enough that she was almost invading his personal space. The glowing eyes became unbearably close. "Most races do. We're very unusual."

Rurik tried to maintain some sort of rigid disassociation. "With all due respect, Commander Thelea, I don't believe exotic is the world. Unusual, perhaps. But you are superior officer and your appearance is irrelevant."

"Even though I am an alien?" The world rolled off her tongue with a mixture of distaste and amusement. "That doesn't disturb you?"

"Again, that is irrelevant, Commander," he said, forcing the words past strangely taut vocal cords. "Whatever I feel about your race, the Imperial Navy has seen fit to promote you, and there is nothing I can do." Whatever superior powers there are in the galaxy, please, let her back off. She was so close he could see the fine lines in her skin. Her eyes, he realized, did not have pupils or irises, but the intensity of their glow seemed to have dimmed a little. Distractedly, he wondered if their self-illumination acted as some kind of compensator for light. "Is that all, Commander?"

As if nothing had happened, she stepped away. "Yes, Lieutenant Caelin. I trust you are ready for our first mission?"

"Of course, Commander. Is that all?" He turned back to look down into the cockpit. "If so, I was about to begin pre-flight."

"Carry on, Lieutenant. Fly well." Without a further word, she turned and headed for the next TIE berth. Rurik watched her go, shaking his head. There had been something else going on there, but he didn't know what.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time right now to ponder the second officer's strange actions. Securing his helmet seals, he braced himself on the gantry and dropped into the fighter's cockpit. Time enough for wondering when the mission was over.

***

Thelea double-checked the seal on her modified helmet, and tugged at the flight gauntlets. Fingers moving with practiced ease, she began bringing the Interceptor's systems on-line. Lasers, engines, navigation, targeting computers, all ready. Not for the first time, she wished she were flying one of the new Advanced or Defenders. Even the gunboats, for all their slowness and their lack of maneuverability, had shields and ion cannons. The new TIEs could also reportedly outrun and outmaneuver anything the Rebels had. Of course, rumor also had it that the rebels were developing an newer, faster craft. But the Defender would be more than a match, and she could hardly wait to have a chance to test it.

Providing, of course, that she lived that long.

She was having doubts about her judgement of Caelin. He hadn't backed down, and his physical response, involuntary though it was, had been obvious. She smiled grimly at the memory of his nervousness. But underneath the confusion her actions had generated, she had not felt any anger or hostility. He had sincerely meant what he'd said about her outranking him. Thelea was more disturbed by the enjoyment she'd derived from their proximity. She usually disliked the fact that she had to be close to read the finest nuances of another person's sense. She calmly, rationally, analyzed her response to him. His features were aesthetically pleasing, even for a human. He had to be younger than her, but accounting for her race's longer lifespan they were at about the same stage of development. But there was that smug, cocky attitude that was enough to get beyond even her careful calm. He could still be the one. But she found herself hoping that he wasn't.

Now was not the time to consider that issue. She now had to focus on both her missions. She hadn't told any of the others, of course. Chances were one of them already knew.

The comm in her helmet crackled. "Alpha Wing, this is the Valiant. This is a communications check. Report in."

"This is Alpha Leader communications check, over," came L'Grath's voice on the comm.

Thelea waited for the Valiant to acknowledge him, then said, "Valiant, this is Alpha Two voice check, over."

There was a slight pause, and then, "Acknowledged, Alpha Two."

Another pause, and then she heard Caelin's voice. "Alpha Three, standing by."

"Why does he get to be Alpha Three?" another voice, whiny as it was familiar, said.

"Cut the skipchatter, Alpha Four," L'Grath said sternly. "He has more seniority than you. Now finish your voice check before I put you on report."

"Alpha Four, standing by," Giriad said, not sounding any happier about it.

That brat is going to get himself killed, Thelea thought grimly, and he just make take a few of us with him. She punched up the flight plan on the navigation map. VSD Valiant would drop out of hyperspace two hundred clicks from the asteroid field around Friedor, and Alpha Wing would launch immediately, diving into the floating ring of rock and destroying the Rebel supply cache. Except, she told herself, for the container with the stolen TIEs.

"Alpha Wing, we are beginning the hyperspace jump," the voice on the comm announced. "You will launch immediately upon arrival. Fly well, for the glory of the Empire!" Outside of the Valiant, the stars turned to starlines.

"Alpha Wing, this is Alpha Leader," L'Grath said. "Be ready. But remember, this may not be as easy as we were told."

Thelea nodded grimly behind her face shield. No, it won't, she thought, especially if one of you knows about something I don't. Flexing her fingers purposefully, she gripped the control stick and waited.

***

Rurik braced for the jolt as the launch tractors grabbed his TIE and flung the tiny craft away from the hull of the Valiant. Punching the engines to full, he swung about and fell in beside Giriad's craft. They formed behind the two TIEs piloted by L'Grath and Thelea. The old man's voice came over the comm. "Alpha Wing, this is Alpha Leader. Alpha Three and Four, hang back and use our designated targets for attack. One proton torpedo should be enough for each container."

"Copy, Alpha Leader," Rurik acknowledged, though he was privately seething. Did they think he was incompetent?

"Alpha Three, this is Alpha Four," said Giriad, sounding dejected. "Did you hear that? Are we going to just sit here and wait for them to tag targets?"

"Yes, Alpha Four, we're going to just sit here," Rurik said through clenched teeth. "For skies' sake, Giriad, be quiet. This is an open channel."

"That's good advice, Alpha Four." Thelea's voice said, level as always. "I suggest you take it."

Rurik winced, and hoped that Giriad did, too. Even while reminding his wingman, he'd forgotten she was listening. "Copy that, Alpha Two," he said ruefully.

The asteroid belt was not made up of huge rocks; for the most part they were no bigger than a Lambda-class shuttle. It was more like an immense debris cloud than an asteroid field. That did not make it safer to navigate, however. Rurik barely had time to think about his flying, instead regarding on instinct and automatic reactions to swerve around asteroids. He heard Giriad gasp and swear under his breath, again forgetting the open channel. There was no reprimand this time, however. The wingleaders were too occupied trying to keep themselves alive to worry excessively about their wingmen. Then, as abruptly as it had come up, the asteroids vanished and they were in the middle of a field of cargo containers. "This is it, Alpha Wing," L'Grath said. "Alpha Two, with me." The two interceptors swung in a tight arc and headed for the containers. Rurik watched his computer.

As the leads swung within two klicks of each container, the contents registered on his targeting display. The first was nutrient concentrate. "Three, take it," Thelea ordered crisply. He swung in a wider path and armed the torpedoes. It looked as though there were twenty containers, and with six apiece, they shouldn't have to resort to lasers. One shot should be enough. Giriad was targeting L'Grath's mark, and Rurik's thumb hovered above the firing button when all their computers screamed a warning.

"Alpha Wing, we have enemy ships in sector two-six!" the Valiant's communications officer relayed.

"We see them," L'Grath said.

"Make that twelve marks at three-ten," Thelea said, her glacial tone never wavering. "Looks like a squadron of Xs, coming in fast."

"Three and Four, turn to intercept," L'Grath said. "Two and I will destroy the remaining containers."

"With all due respect, leader, I will continue our identification before we destroy each target," she said, swerving at the same time to prevent the Rebel fighters from acquiring a lock. "Three may be goods we'll want to confiscate."

"What could the Rebels have that we'd want?" Giriad broke in. "We need help here!"

Rurik glanced at his targeting computer and knew Giriad was right. Two TIEs against an entire squadron were bad odds no matter how you looked at it. "Lead, he's right. We're gonna be in over our heads here."

All L'Grath said was "Stand by." Rurik looked over his shoulder anxiously. The Xs were closing to combat range. There wasn't much "by" to "stand." Throttling the engines back, he locked his lasers to dual fire and slowed to dogfighting speed. Bolts of red energy shot past his cockpit and the Rebels were on top of him.

***

Thelea grimaced as she saw the readout from her targeting computer. Suddenly, the red-lit cargo containers had been joined by an angry swarm of scarlet Xs. Rurik and Giriad would be no match for twelve fighters. She had to go back and help cover them. But the words of her hooded informant rang in her mind. She had to find the stolen TIEs. L'Grath was shooting randomly at containers. He'd already gotten two-they might have been destroyed already. She cursed under her breath. The old man had better not be panicking.

She swung the little craft agilely past two of the cargo containers. One had food, another medical supplies. Then she spotted one that seemed a little apart from the others. Gotcha, she thought, pressing the Interceptor for more speed. L'Grath might see it at any minute, and he would probably not listen to her order to stop.

Suddenly her computer blared a warning. At the same instant a bolt of red energy slapped the little ship hard. She dove automatically, seeing the X-wing shoot by overhead. At the same instant her targeting computer registered the contents of the container as Imperial starfighter parts. "The TIEs," she muttered, too low for the pickup to catch. Then her ship jolted like a shocked Bantha as the X-wing came back around at her. Great. I can't disable the container until I get rid of him, and this looks like it could take a while. Sending her TIE into a spiraling dive, she targeted the X-wing behind her, all the while keeping one eye on the container speeding by beneath her.

The X-wing pilot obviously noticed her divided attention, swinging between her and the cargo vessel. Thelea called down all sorts of curses on the heads of whoever her mysterious supervisors were. She twisted the control stick and fired twice, the green bolts shooting aimlessly away into space. She switched to her proton torpedoes, trying to keep an eye on the container. "Three, Four, can one of you disable the container? Do not destroy it. Repeat, do not destroy it. Just disable it. Do you copy?"

There was a long pause. Then Giriad's trembling voice said, "Three, I can't hold off these two!" If Caelin heard, he didn't reply. Was he even still alive?

Thelea cursed silently again. She wasn't getting any help from that quarter. She'd have to take the X out herself and worry about disabling the cargo later. But the way the Rebels were coming, that could be too late. Even a stray shot could destroy the contraband ship. Another salvo reminded her that survival was her utmost concern right now. She started to come about--

When another Interceptor shot by from above, diving straight at the Rebel fighter. Spinning to avoid a deadly hail of red fire, the TIE pilot fired a torpedo straight into the X's face. The Rebel disintegrated in a sparkling cloud of shattered metal. Thelea had only a second to marvel at this sudden turnaround before she swung about and fired three shots into the container, crippling it.

"Who was that?" she demanded on the comlink, but deep down she already knew.

"Sorry it took so long, Two." Sure enough, it was the just-beneath-insolent voice of Rurik Caelin. "I'll try to improve my time to intercept."

Thelea bit back the sarcastic remark that sprang to mind, the realization hitting her, He just saved my mission. More important, he probably saved my life. "Good shooting, Three," she said aloud. "Where are the rest of the X-wings?"

"I got two," Caelin reported. His voice, she noted, did not waver. A very good sign. "Giriad actually nailed one, but looks like he's running scared. I don't know how Leader did."

"Neither do I, but I know how to get rid of them." She swung her fighter to parallel his path, and then pressed the button of her comm that sent a message for reinforcements.

Rurik noticed the transmission. "What was that? They said no reinforce--"

Even as he spoke, an unfamiliar, metallic voice came over both their headsets. "Transmission acknowledged. Reinforcements are on the way."

"Who in the Empire was that?" Rurik said, sounding completely confused.

Thelea smiled tightly, though of course he couldn't see. "Our reinforcements."

Rurik started to ask just what in the worlds she meant when a transport escorted by two Assault Gunboats dropped out of hyperspace and onto their screens just outside the belt. "Alpha Two, this is Transport Sigma. We copy your position. Transmit the coordinates of the container."

"Acknowledged, Transport," Thelea said, keying her computer. "Good to see you." The gunboats raced past her and Rurik's fighters, heading for the X-wings, who seemed to have discovered the truth in old adage about discretion being the better part of valor.

"All right, Two," Rurik said, jabbing at his comm for the wing's private frequency. "Just who are they?"

Thelea knew the honest response would be to say that she didn't have the faintest idea, but she bit back that reply. She knew Caelin wouldn't believe her. "I will tell you what I can, later," she said, not really meaning it. Hopefully he'd forget about it by the time they were back aboard the Valiant. "Right now, I'm more interested in cleaning up here." And figuring out just who in blazes tipped those Rebels, she thought grimly, bringing her fighter around to join the fight. This attack had been too well-timed and coordinated. The Rebel ships had known exactly when to appear. Someone had tipped them off, and if they didn't discover who, the next time they might not have time for backup.