Battlefront II, page 5
Iden had trained herself to fall asleep quickly, easily, and soundly almost on command, waking alert and attentive. But tonight, she found sleep elusive. There was a knot in her stomach that was all too familiar; one she’d hitherto managed to chase away with adrenaline rushes and intense duty shifts.
Her father had often ignored her throughout her career. But now his eyes were on her.
And Iden Versio would not—could not—fail.
—
Iden had set the room’s controls to wake her early with gradual natural light, but before the illumination had gotten to level three of ten the smell of caf had teased her fully awake. As much as she longed to immediately grab a cup, she stepped into the shower and then dressed in her uniform before heading to the kitchen.
Meeko was there, sitting at the shiny black table sipping at a cup and thumbing through his datapad. He, too, was already dressed for the meeting that wasn’t for another two hours. He smiled a greeting and nodded toward the pot.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he said. “Please, help yourself.”
“Thanks.” She returned to the table with a cup of caf and a slice of buttered cuanut bread and sat down with her own datapad, reviewing what she’d sent her father. He’d expect her to defend her plan.
“I’m betting on you or Hask,” Meeko said conversationally.
Surprised, Iden turned to him. “What makes you say that? You’ve got several years of experience over both of us.”
He mock-grimaced. “Hey, come on, I’m only ten years older than you.”
“Oh, that’s several,” Iden said, then added more seriously, “And you’ve seen a lot more combat than I have.”
Del sobered at her words. “That’s true, but a leader needs to be more than someone who knows how to fire a blaster.”
Iden turned fully in her seat to regard him, holding the warm mug in her hands. “You received commendations for courage under fire. And you were chief engineer of a Star Destroyer,” she said. “You made a lot of important decisions.”
He shrugged. “I’m good at what I do, but that doesn’t mean I should be leading this squad. I understand that, and it doesn’t bother me.”
Iden wanted to argue with him. She’d listened last night as he’d spoken, and watched his previous reticence evaporate once he began discussing technical approaches to problem solving, compared notes on expanding the limits of what everyone thought droids were capable of doing, and persuasively argued how to minimize casualties. Del Meeko knew his field inside and out, and how to weaponize it. A leader needed to know what Del knew. And had the circumstances been different, she realized, she might have accepted the choice of him as leader. He wasn’t the attention-seizing, sharp-tongued individual that Iden was used to seeing in positions of command. There was something about him that she trusted already.
But she also suspected that he was right. And the circumstances were what they were. Her father was commanding this squad—and Iden could not bear to see anyone else in the position.
“Well,” she said uncomfortably, “we’ll just have to see.”
“No offense, Meeko,” Gideon said as he entered the kitchen, “and I admit droids are damn handy, but they’re no substitute for a living being when life-and-death decisions have to be made. And which of you do I have to thank for having caf ready?”
“That would be Meeko,” Iden said.
Gideon threw the older man a bright grin and raised his steaming cup. “See? Life-and-death decisions.”
“I’ve seen Gideon before caf a time or two, and he’s right,” Iden said. “Life and death.”
Meeko smiled, taking no offense at anything that was being said, and her opinion went up another notch. He appeared to be one of those rare creatures—a calm, high-ranking Imperial officer with a sense of humor and little ego. It was enormously refreshing.
In a few moments, they were joined by Seyn. She would have passed any surprise inspection. Not a single strand of her short black hair was out of place. Her white jacket was spotless, and the crease in her trousers was almost sharp enough to cut. Her boots were polished to nearly a mirror sheen.
“Good morning,” she said politely.
While they were all in their uniforms, there was something about Seyn Marana’s perfection that undid Meeko’s easy banter and the unifying smell of caf. Without even bringing up the subject, Marana had just reminded the other three members of Inferno Squad how very important what happened later that morning would be. Iden’s spine straightened, and, almost like a droid, she felt herself shut down as she gave the NavInt officer a polite greeting and let her eyes focus again on her report.
There was no more chitchat. They broke their fast in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
—
The four stood rigidly at attention in Admiral Versio’s office as he entered precisely at oh nine hundred. “At ease, and take your seats,” he instructed.
They obeyed. Iden folded her hands in front of her and lifted her gaze to her father’s face. Waiting patiently, as she had done for the last two decades.
And, as he had done for the last two decades, Garrick Versio got right down to business. “Your reports confirm my opinion that I chose wisely in selecting each of you. You also confirmed my suspicions as to how each of you would respond.
“Del Meeko.” The engineer regarded his commanding officer steadily. “Your report relied heavily on the usage of droids and innovative technology. Seyn Marana—yours, on your own intelligence-backed knowledge of the situation. Gideon Hask, your straightforwardness is both simple and effective.”
Iden’s heart rate surged with both dread and anticipation. Her plan was sound. It would work. He had to select it. She tightened her fingers, hoping no one would notice.
“Everyone else prepared an excellent main course. You, Iden Versio—you gave us a meal.”
Iden didn’t let her gaze waver as he continued. She didn’t dare make an assumption either way. “You took a bit of this, a dollop of that.”
Relax, Iden, he does this all the time, she reminded herself. Versio was fond of uttering opinions in a certain tone of voice that conveyed irritation and admiration both. She was never sure which side of the line he’d come down on.
“Some would call that good. Some would not. In the end, none of you is offering to set a table. If you burn a roast, you eat something else. But here—you’re performing a complex mission, and if you perform it badly, someone might well die. You all might well die.”
He looked at them each in turn. “There is no single right plan. There is no foolproof recipe for success. There is only the best chance of success. And Lieutenant Versio’s option is, I think, the one that offers that best chance. So for now, for this mission—she will be the leader of the squad.”
He turned to his daughter and indicated the wall to the left. All the screens were currently blank. “Lieutenant…you have the floor.”
Iden could barely believe it. Faint as the praise had been, obvious as he had made his uncertainty, and laced with qualifiers as it was, Versio had named his daughter as leader of Inferno Squad.
Iden Versio rose, straightened her jacket, and strode to the wall screens. She entered a code and turned to her team.
Her team.
“I’ve sent my proposal to each of your datapads. Call it up and follow along with me. This is what we’re going to do.”
“I really dislike dresses,” Seyn grumbled.
She was currently clad in an exquisite one that was—according to Iden’s research—the height of fashion among high-ranking Imperial society. With a high collar and long length, the pale-purple shimmersilk gown was perfect for the joyous but still formal occasion. Seyn’s short hair was styled with a gem-studded band; other jewels adorned her ears. The only thing that didn’t look poised and elegant was the girl’s annoyed expression.
“I think you look better in them than I do,” Iden offered. She didn’t care for dresses, either, much preferring her uniform, and was glad she could pass this task off to Seyn. Admiral Versio’s daughter might be recognized in this type of a gathering, but no one knew Seyn.
“I think,” Gideon said, smoothing his elegant black tunic, “that we both run the risk of drawing too much attention by being so attractive.”
“He always like this?” Seyn asked.
“Usually,” Iden said.
“I still think my plan would have been better,” Gideon said.
“Your plan involved pretending to be a bounty hunter,” Del said.
“Exactly,” Gideon replied.
The task the team had been set that night two weeks ago was fairly straightforward. Moff Jaccun Pereez, like many in power, liked to indulge his pleasures. For him, these were drinking and gambling. Unfortunately, the one didn’t do much to improve the other, and Pereez was finding himself with mounting debts. Intel had reported that one evening, Pereez was bragging about “knowing things” that would soon make those inconvenient debts “go away.”
“Even with a moff,” Iden had said during her initial presentation to her team—her team, she thought, and suppressed a smile—“words are just that. His debts are sizable. He wouldn’t get those kinds of credits just for things he could tell someone when he was in his cups. He’s got to have something concrete—visual blackmail material, data, security secrets, something like that—on someone close to the Empire. Who, we don’t know, and it’s better that way. Our job is to recover whatever it is Pereez is thinking about selling.”
The other members of the squad had offered plans that focused on their own strengths and experiences. Gideon, ever eager for action, had suggested simply adopting the guise of a bounty hunter and strong-arming Pereez for the information. Technology-minded Del had recommended setting up recording devices in the moff’s mansion. Seyn wanted to analyze everything the Empire had on Pereez and confront him with the information that he was not getting away with anything. She’d taken the idea a step further as well: They could easily present the moff with forged documents that implicated him in much worse things, just in case he should change his mind later.
Iden had listened, and done her own research on the man himself. The Empire needed Pereez right where he was. By all accounts he was a cheerful, affable leader, and the people of Arvaka Prime were very fond of him. Any hint of scandal or disgrace could create instability in the sector. A weak heart meant that a dangerous confrontation—say, with a bounty hunter—might cause his death, which was also not the preferred outcome.
They needed to get into his home, where he certainly kept his valuable information close at hand.
And fortunately, the moff himself had extended an invitation to visit. Or at least they could make it look like he had.
Inferno Squad’s first mission would be crashing a wedding.
Now all four stood in the docking bay as the technicians went through the final check on the nondescript, sleek shuttle that would doubtless have several counterparts ferrying guests to the elegant mansion on Arvaka Prime. In contrast with the elaborately dressed “wedding guests,” Del and Iden wore the dark-gray uniforms of private shuttle pilots. Unmarked armor was stashed away in the back.
Iden looked at the members of her team, wanting to say something perfect but having no idea what that might be. So she kept it brief and to the point.
“We all know what we’re doing, and we’ve trained for this. We’ve done test runs on our equipment. We know the schedules. We also know that while plans can be perfect, what happens outside of meeting rooms isn’t. But that’s part of it, too. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it. Because that’s what we do. Anyone have any questions?”
Everyone shook their heads. Iden could feel their eagerness to be under way.
They were all ready.
“Then let’s go.”
—
“ ‘Moff Jaccun Pereez requests your presence at the wedding of his daughter, Famma, to the rising young star of the Empire, Commander Yendiv Bensek,’ ” Gideon recited as the shuttle landed a few hours later.
“Once again, Seyn, your forgeries are astounding,” Iden said. “And Gideon, just remember, the bride pronounces it Fa-MAH, not FAH-ma. Del, how are we looking?”
Del had his eyes glued to the second console in the vessel. “All screens are operating perfectly.” Strings had been pulled to get Del onto the decorating staff the bride-to-be had hired. Yesterday for six hours he had been able to conceal tiny, state-of-the-art recording devices throughout the moff’s mansion. He’d even tinkered with one of the regular droids to give the squad “eyes” they could control while Seyn and Gideon were inside.
“And your earpieces?” Iden inquired, referring to the tiny devices inserted deep into the ear canals of the “wedding guests.”
Gideon tapped his ear and grinned. “We’ll hear every whisper,” he assured her.
Iden took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “Good luck. If all goes well, we’ll rendezvous here in two hours.”
Gideon rose and offered his hand to Seyn. “Shall we, darling?” he said as she picked up the wedding gift.
“Don’t lay it on too thick,” Seyn warned as the ramp extended, but she did take his hand.
The day could not have been more beautiful. The moff’s official residence was large and sprawling, but somehow managed to be quaint at the same time. Iden had said something to the effect that it was built to replicate the architecture of centuries past, but all Gideon needed to know was its layout—which Seyn had been able to acquire.
Flowers of every shade imaginable bloomed, and the warm air was heavy with fragrance. If the house had been designed to look like one from long ago, the massive gate encircling it was distinctly modern. Gideon made note of where the controls were. Casually he angled his body so that the tiny cam embedded in the Imperial symbol on his chest could send the information to Del.
“Perfect, Lieutenant,” came Del’s voice in his ear.
Seyn, who despite her protests appeared to have been born into a life of formal gatherings and gowns, held the wedding invitation in one gloved hand. She handed it to a guard flanked by a stormtrooper.
“Lady Dezara Monay,” she said, introducing herself with a dazzling smile. “This is my guest, Brixx Gavan.”
Lady Dezara Monay was an entirely fictional construct, although one Vezzin Monay was a distant relation to the groom. The connection would stand if they were suspected. Seyn had concocted histories for both Dezara and Brixx, elaborate enough so that they could make small talk if cornered by guests, simple enough to remember. Gideon half expected problems right at the outset, but Seyn’s grace and ease were apparently as convincing as her forgeries. “Oh,” the guard said, her expression changing. “I see you’re one of our VIPs, my lady. The wedding will be held in the grand ballroom, but you and your guest may go upstairs to observe the ceremony from a special viewing area.”
A droid hummed up to them, ready to scan them and the wrapped gift for weapons. Seyn eyed it with annoyance and the guard immediately said, “Cancel scan. Apologies, my lady, our droids are sometimes too efficient. I hope there’s no offense.”
“Not at all,” Seyn said. “Moff Pereez is fortunate to have such diligent guards.”
Serving droids milled about the green lawn area, where some guests, appreciative of the sunny weather, were enjoying drinks and canapés. “One of those serving droids is ours,” came Del’s voice. “Sending it to you now so you’ll know which one.”
Sure enough, one of the GG-class serving droids began rolling toward them, its tray filled with small goblets of rich red wine. Gideon took careful note of the droid, noticing it had a small scratch along its tray, and he and Seyn each snagged a goblet, nursing the drink as they examined their surroundings for a moment before heading inside. Seyn leaned over the droid for a moment and ordered, “Shadow Moff Pereez.”
The droid booped, swiveled, and rolled toward the main entrance. Seyn and Gideon followed a moment, nodding pleasantly to the stormtrooper standing next to the large double doors. Two troopers and a guard so far. They stepped into a vast foyer with a high, arching ceiling and marble floor. The alcoves along the white walls were filled with art; the room itself, with chattering guests. To the left and right were other rooms—a hothouse garden and a study filled with more art and old tomes.
“Don’t let the books fool you,” said Iden. “Or the art. Pereez isn’t an aficionado of any of it, but he likes how it all looks.”
A formally dressed young man awaited them. He looked both excited and tired, but his smile seemed genuine.
“Welcome,” he said, reaching to shake their hands. “I’m Sind Reloran, one of the groomsmen. And you are?”
“Lady Dezara Monay and Brixx Gavan,” said Seyn. Both she and Gideon were wearing gloves. First, because they were in fashion this season, apparently, and second—no fingerprints. “Can I trouble you to take this, please?” She held out the gift to him. “It’s sunfruit liquor. For the bride and groom, of course, but I know that Moff Pereez appreciates the finer things. He might want to make a toast with it today, so let him know, please?”
The groomsman’s eyebrows had risen when she mentioned sunfruit liquor, and he accepted the gift, handling it carefully. “I’ll see that he gets it,” he said. “In the meantime, there’s food and drink being served in the sun parlor, on your right. Don’t miss a chance to look into the library—the moff has a collection of actual old books. Don’t see that every day. Down the hall there’s an area for the guests; there’s a restroom right there. Will you be watching from the upstairs viewing area in the connecting hall?” At Seyn’s nod, he continued, “There are staircases that will take you there. Thank you so much for coming!”
Gideon shook Sind’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve never seen a book collection,” he said to Seyn. “Let’s take a look.”
