IV

Arachnoid  disengaged the hyperdrive as the counter on his panel reached zero. The A-Wing returned smoothly to normal space, five klicks away from the Wolf's Lair's position. Almost at the same time Iceman's starfighter came out from hyperspace, two hundred meters to starboard. Arachnoid mentally counted to ten while checking his scanner, but no more signals appeared. He started to tap on the scanner.

"Come on, Roo…"

He had repeated his count twice and started to get nervous, when the onboard computer emitted the blip he was longing for. The New Republic pilot could see how a new green dot materialized at last, about three klicks to port, and all that far from the point where it should have been. The Search & Rescue Lambda Class shuttle of the squadron, the Compassion, was out of her route for the second time today.

"Sorry, boys," Rooster's voice came through the intercom. "I almost missed the reversion point this time."

"Are the engines giving you problems again?" Arachnoid asked. He knew that the flight controller on duty on the Wolf's Lair was probably listening, waiting for them to announce their arrival. Although the technical problems on the battered shuttle were not discarded, he rather believed that her pilot was just too exhausted to be flying. He was tired too, and he had not pulled a doubled duty shift like she had done. Ignoring Foxfire’s orders to not do it again, too.

"I can't be sure right now," the answer came after a short delay. "I'll have to check it out with Lieutenant Hanniuska when we board the Lair, but it will probably be something else." Arachnoid smiled. Even as fatigued as she undoubtedly was, Rooster had realized that he was trying to give her an excuse before the mothership's bridge crew, undoubtedly monitoring them by now. Nevertheless, she had avoided blaming the Compassion's engines for her lack of control, and so implicitly suggesting that the maintenance crew were not doing their work. There is always something to learn from that girl.

"All right, Compassion, maintain your present course. We're approaching you now. "

"Roger, Wolfshead Nine, thank you. Wolf's Lair, this is the Compassion and her escorts reporting in."

"This is the Wolf's Lair. Welcome, Compassion and Wolfeyes." The quick reply confirmed Arachnoid that he was right in his assumption that the controller was waiting for them. Arachnoid noticed with satisfaction that the controller was up to date with the new combat designations for the different groups of the squadron. Being a multi-role unit, Wolfshead Squadron was equipped with several starfighter models. Depending on the nature of the mission, the ships of a particular type could operate in a semi-independent way. The pilots themselves had suggested designations for every one of these groups. The names that had finally been chosen were Wolfeye for the A-Wings, Wolfang for the X-Wings, and Wolfclaw for the B-Wings. Arachnoid was the senior officer in the A-Wing group, what unofficially made of him Wolfeye Leader.

"Thank you, Wolf's Lair," Rooster continued. "We've finished our round in the designated sector. This time we’re carrying no passengers." There was almost joy in Rooster’s voice. ‘No passenger’ meant that they had spent five long hours looking at the void and searching between scattered asteroids for nothing. On the other hand it meant that they had not found any more broken down freighters carrying starving and frightened refugees. That was when they were still alive. Some times they were not. There were other times when the New Republic teams would find only some pieces of scarred hull and the vanishing energy readings left by a Seibergian mine. From that point of view, I should be as glad as Rooster.

"Request permission to land," the Lumi pilot said.

"Roger, Compassion. You may head to the main hangar, port bay. Wolfshead Nine, you and your wingman must wait for further instructions. I'm sorry, Wolfeyes." Arachnoid grimaced when he heard the last part.

"Don't worry, Wolf's Lair, we flyboys are happy to be in our cockpits as long as needed, you know." Arachnoid tried not to sound too ironical, but he was only partially successful. It seemed that he and Iceman were going to double-up after all. He sighed. "Compassion, have a nice landing." And have some sleep, too.

"Thank you, Nine, and thank you two for the ride, too."

"Our pleasure always." Arachnoid said.

"Just call us when you want another one." Iceman added.

The two A-Wings kept escorting the Compassion for another two minutes. When the shuttle was reaching the Wolf's Lair's bay,  they started to fly in wide circles around the Strike Carrier.

"How much flying time do you have, Iceman?" Arachnoid asked while checking his own instruments.

"I’d say six hours without refueling. Five, if we had to enter in combat."

"Not a big chance of that, I fear." Arachnoid chuckled. "Nobody has seen a Seibergian TIE almost since this all began."

"I guess that is because those who engaged our Fleet when we entered the system didn’t last too long."

"Yeah, that must be."

"Wolfshead Nine, this is First Officer Wumb." Arachnoid  stiffened in the cockpit. The controller had left his place to Wolf’s Lair’s second in command, the Sullustan Nil Wumb. If their orders were going to come directly from him, that proved things were serious.

"Yes, sir," he hastily answered. Wumb had got all his attention.

"Colonel Gen’yaa has commended me to tighten up our perimeter. The rest of the A-Wing group is already patrolling under the command of Lieutenant Commander McKay. I want you to join them in coordinates ten-eighteen-fourteen from our present position. Once there you will retake the command of your wing and give us as good a fighter screen as you can." Arachnoid grimaced. That didn’t sound as routine.

"Are we to expect any problems, sir?"

"I hope you don’t have to, Wolfshead Nine. Let’s say that the political situation is getting complicated, and we’ve decided to be cautious."

"I understand, sir." Arachnoid was far from being satisfied, and his natural curiosity was urging him to ask for more detail, but he had spent enough time in the Starfighter Command as to know this was not the best moment or situation to interrogate a higher officer. "Should I send my pilots in pairs to have their ships refueled, sir?"

"Not yet, Wolfshead Nine. A tanker craft will be sent to you in four hours. Once we can coordinate our patrols with other New Republic units, you'll be allowed to do that, but don't expect to put your feet on the flight deck before seven or eight hours." Wumb made a short pause before adding "Be careful out there."

"Thank you, sir, we will." Oh, no, my friend. This is not routine in the very least. "Wolfshead Nine out."

The two small starfighters moved away from the Strike Carrier and headed to the indicated coordinates at cruiser speed. Half a minute later, Arachnoid heard Iceman’s voice in his headphones. His communication unit indicated his wingman was sending a short range transmission, intended to be received only by him.

"Would I sound a little unoriginal if I said that I have a bad feeling about this?"

"No, not original at all, mate, but those are exactly my thoughts, too."
 

Flight Officer Hank "Spook" Chiu was waiting on the flight deck for the Compassion’s arrival. He had been ordered to see that the S&R shuttle was refitted for another flight, and stay close to it for the next eight hours, ready to take off at any moment if the Compassion was needed. The rest of the pilots who were not flying were in the briefing room, waiting for news about what was happening inside Colonel Gen'yaa's quarters. He had heard only rumors, but it seemed that someone was in big trouble. It sure had something to do with the B-Wing that was being attended to now by a group of Verpine technicians. Spook easily identified it as the Tactical Officer's. The dome added under the cockpit, containing extra equipment, made it unmistakable. Judging by what he could see with the bare eye, the starfighter had been seriously hit. His thoughts were interrupted when the hangar's speakers warned all the personnel to move away from the magnetically sealed entrance, announcing a ship was making its final approach to the hangar. Spook looked outwards in time to see the landing lights of the Compassion to detach themselves from the starfield, and a moment later the silhouette of the shuttle could be distinguished, its long wings folding upwards to allow the ship to enter the hangar. The ship drifted a bit to starboard before being caught by the tractor beam that would lead it to its parking place. Spook shook his head. Definitely, the Lumi was not a superb pilot. He started to walk towards the Compassion. Lieutenant Hanniuska, the chief technician in charge of the maintenance of Wolfshead Squadron’s ships, joined him in front of the shuttle once the tractor beam made it land smoothly.

"Hi there, Flight Officer."

"Lieutenant," he answered politely. He thought about something else to say, but the cute technician seemed to have forgotten already that he was there. Spook mentally sighed. The shuttle’s ramp was lowered and the Lumi descended slowly.

"Hi, Mar." Rooster saluted when she saw Lieutenant Hanniuska. "The engines are fine. I'm sorry if…"

"I know, I know," Hanniuska interrupted her.  "That's not what worries me in this moment. May I say that you look horrible?"

"Why not, everybody else does." Rooster stirred her blonde hair, what made Spook notice her brain extension receptors. He had been told that these electrically charged organs -the most remarkable characteristic of Lumi race, completely humanoid by everything else- gave the Lumi their improved senses, and they also allowed people to guess their owner's mood by their continuous changes of color. The usual amber and emerald tones made them almost impossible to miss, especially the one in the front, but in this occasion they were a pale brown. Spook wondered what this color meant, but Mar Hanniuska seemed to know.

"I could mention your crumpled flightsuit, or the bags under your eyes, but in your case I'd say the brown of your receptors is definitive."

"Yes, I know. And yes, I'm tired. Very tired. Teeeerribly tired." There was a very slight trace of irritation in Rooster's voice, while the end of her receptors adopted a tone a bit closer to white. Spook watched them change, fascinated. Rooster avoided Hanniuska's look. "What do you want me to do? I can't sleep knowing that another group of refugees can be out there, even now, waiting for help. Her reddened eyes reflected pain when she finally looked at the other woman.

"I know, Roo, that's very much like you," Hanniuska's tone was smoother now, noticing how close to break down the generous Lumi was. "But as I know Foxfire told you, it won't be a big help if you end crashing the Compassion." Spook immediately regretted his recent thoughts about the Lumi's piloting abilities. "Has she not ordered the rest of pilots to help you?" Hanniuska gestured towards Spook.

"Ah, Spook, hi," Rooster gave him a brief smile. "Yes, but this turn was going to be covered by Granite..." The mention to the craziest – and for that same reason, dangerous – pilot of Wolfshead Squadron made the two women burst into laughter.

"Well, I suppose that explains it." Hanniuska said. "Do you think that Spook here is trustworthy enough for your dear Compassion?"

"Yes, of course," she winked at Spook. Amber was gradually returning to her receptors. "Consider her as yours."

"Thanks, Rooster," Spook smiled. "I think I'll start getting accustomed to her."

"Very good." Suddenly, Rooster noticed the battered B-Wing not far from they stood. "Mar, are all the guys OK? What has happened?" Hanniuska didn't need to turn her head to know what the startled Lumi was looking at.

"Don't worry, nobody is harmed. Not here, anyway…" Hanniuska seemed to doubt whether to continue or not.

"Not here?"  Rooster repeated. Her receptors were turning white very quickly now. Spook interpreted Hanniuska's hesitation as she didn't want to talk in his presence. After all, he was the newest pilot in the squadron and Rooster and Hanniuska had only known him for a few weeks. Although he was longing to know more details, he decided it would be better to leave the two women alone. He would learn what was going on sooner or later. Politely, the pilot started to climb the ramp towards the shuttle's cockpit.

"I'll tell you what I know," Spook heard Hanniuska to say, "but you're not going to like it."

Spook  entered the Compassion's cockpit and sat on the pilot's seat. After adjusting the seat itself and the controls to suit him, he ordered the computer to run a status check on several systems. While the results were being displayed on the main screen, he couldn't stop thinking of the conversation that was being held outside. Things were serious, there was no doubt. Perhaps he had misunderstood Lieutenant Hanniuska's attitude and she didn't mind if he listened too. Although he tried, the nose of the shuttle didn't allow him to see the two women. He had not seen either of them leave, so they must be still there. His anxiety grew until he could not resist any more. He abandoned the cockpit and walked towards the ramp. From the top, he heard Rooster exclaiming, "They did WHAT?" When he showed up, Rooster was walking hastily towards the next turbolift. Her receptors were of an intense blue, brightening over her hair. Spook would have sworn that he actually could see the electricity charges jumping from one receptor to another.

"Roo, it had to be an accident…!" Hanniuska started to say, but Rooster had already taken the turbolift. "Oh my, why in the hell did I have to say…" She noticed Spook standing on the Compassion's ramp.  Her look convinced him it would be better to return to the cockpit and run another check.
 

Colonel Gen'yaa dismissed most of the people present around her conference table, but not before ordering everybody to keep silence about what they had seen and heard in that room. Only her Intelligence Officer, discretely standing in the background, Foxfire and Vyper had been asked to stay behind. When the doors closed, she looked at Foxfire gravely for some moments before to talk.

"Lieutenant Colonel Schroeder," she started. Her voice showed no inflexions, her face was a mask. "I must relieve you temporarily from the command of Wolfshead Squadron." If this surprised Foxfire it didn't show. The pilot held Gen'yaa's look without even a blink. "You and Commander Gregory are suspended from flight status, and will be confined to your quarters until further orders. "

"Are we under arrest?" Foxfire limited herself to ask.

"No, but don't force me to do that." After a brief pause, she stared now at Vyper. "Major Stauber. From this very moment, you will be acting as Wolfshead Squadron's commander. If you need an Executive Officer, select one among your people. You are dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am," they replied at once and left the room. Gen'yaa turned towards Lieutenant Commander Mesch Dey'jeaa, who took a step forward to join her besides the conference table. The Captain motioned him to take a seat and began to speak without preamble.

"As you've not even mentioned the issue, Lieutenant Commander, I must suppose that my request to interrogate the pilots of the three disabled ships didn't get any positive result."

"It was too late, I fear. Following the standard procedure, once their cargo of mines was confiscated, they received help to restart their engines and were allowed to return to Seibergia. We are not at war, you know.

Gen'yaa dismissed Dey'jaa's last remark with a wave of her hand. "But they were military, weren't they?" .

"The pilots, yes. The transports were listed as civilian freighters, like every ship they use to try to break our blockade."

"We catch them red-handed, and we're not even allowed to interrogate them properly before sending them back in their ships with our excuses." The Captain allowed her irritation to show through in her tone and in her expression, providing Dey'jaa with a view of her clenched fangs in a very Bothan gesture. She inhaled deeply and returned to her even, businesslike tone and manners. "Your estimation of the present situation, Lieutenant Commander?"

"This is a snowball." Dey'jeaa answered with a sigh. "With or without orders, even now, rumors more or less founded in fact will be spreading throughout the ship."

"I know. That wouldn't happen with an entirely Bothan crew." Gen'yaa didn't show irritation or scorn. She was simply exposing what she considered a proven fact.

"I do agree." Dey'jeaa shrugged, the gesture indicating there was nothing they could do about it. "The real problems, though, will come from outside the Lair. I'm more worried about the pre-conceived opinions that the members of the commission sent by Admiral Ackbar will undoubtedly have."

"We'll deal with that. In the presence of the facts, we'll find a way to convince them that, in a combat situation, our pilots did what they had to do with the information they had available." Dey'jeaa did not answer. He was far from feeling that sure about this point. "Leave that to me,"  the Captain added, noticing the other Bothan's hesitation. "Please, continue."

"We sure are going to lose support in many worlds because this misfortune." He didn't need to remind the Captain of how much harm the lack of response in Vina Vosolia conflict had made to the New Republic. "Nevertheless, the worst part will come from Corellia." The Intelligence Officer consulted some data in his datapad. "I've been revising the indexes. Predictions are that a thirty two percent of the population would support the Diktat if he decided to open hostilities against the New Republic now. The Empire will use this incident to increase that percentage. Ysanne Isard's people are very good at that, and be sure they are very close to the media."

"Our campaign against the Seibergian paramilitary has not been enough to get Corellia involved." Gen'yaa argued, forcing her Intelligence Officer to prove his arguments. "Why the slaughter of a group of Balanish refugees would be so unforgivable for them? Or do you think it will be because the pilot?" Dey'jeaa shook his head.

"It will be both, but the key will be the refugees."

"Explain."

"The Corellian Diktat can be a dictator, but he has not kept his position for so long being stupid. He is not willing to lose a good part of the power at the hands of the Empire, although if the pressure ever gets high enough, he will take the step. So far, he has increased the hostility towards the New Republic in his public locutions, hoping that will be enough to save the face in front of the pro-Imperial side of the population."

"A dangerous game."

"It is, indeed. Nevertheless, if that's not enough and the support to the war grows up beyond, let's say, a fifty percent, he might try something else as a last resort. Under the claim of help for the Balanish, whom the New Republic has proven not to be actually defending, but just using them for its interests, and the innocent Seibergian, whom are so intolerably being attacked, the Diktat could order the Corellian Fleet to take an active role in this conflict. I guess we would be talking of a certain number of freighters carrying food and medicines, and a heavily armed battle group to escort them."

"An exhibition of force." The Captain didn't seem surprised. Dey'jeaa was sure that he was just confirming her own thoughts. "Yes, I've been working with that scenario in my mind since this all started, and I've given instructions to Lieutenant Colonel Wumb."

"That would have been my advice, ma'am."

"Any possibility of a frontal attack without the show part?"

"As you know, that would be the point of no return for the Diktat."

Gen'yaa nodded. "Call me paranoid, but I'd say that, by now, Ysanne Isard has already offered the Diktat all her support if he is tragically forced to a war against the criminal Rebellion." There was no trace of humor in the Captain's expression. She stared at Dey'jeaa and insisted. "Any possibility?"

Dey'jeaa left the datapad on the table. "Yes and no. I don't think they will attack us openly. Nevertheless, with so many pro-Imperial officers among the Corellian military, we can expect more or less serious provocations. Sooner or later, someone could get nervous and press a trigger…  and a minute later Isard and Pestage would be celebrating an historic party." Gen'yaa looked at the ceiling and sighed noisily. Dey'jeaa grimaced. He could use the fingers of one hand to count the times he had seen the Captain to show her thoughts like that, ever since the times when he had served under her command on the spy Corvette Curious Cat. There would be fingers to spare.

"There's another part we are not counting with," the Intelligence Officer suggested. "The response of the Provisional Council."

"If there has ever been a diplomat, that is Mon Mothma." Gen'yaa shrugged. "I must give her that much. But she will need something to refute the Corellian's arguments, and convince the rest of the galaxy of our goodness, by the way. We'll have to give it to her."

"And that will be?"

"For starters, definitive proof that our refugee freighter was being forced by the Seibergians to fly in formation with their convoy. Then something to justify our attack, a lot more solid than a pilot's assumption that if four ships are carrying mines, the fifth one will be carrying mines too. Ah, and simultaneous heart attacks for Ysanne Isard and the Corellian Diktat would be handy." Again, it didn't seem as the Captain was making a joke.

"And if we can't get any of those?" Gen'yaa took some moments before answering, and when she did, Dey'jeaa was taken aback by the hardness in the Captain's voice.

"The heads of two pilots on a golden plate."
 
 

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