CHAPTER FOUR
Akiva
Wedge took a sip of his ale and immediately puckered his lips at the bitter taste. The selection of drinks at the Alcazar was already limited as it was and the prospect that he had just picked the worst one did not make him feel any better.
He set down the glass and pushed it away from him, not intending on ever touching it again. Across from him, Tycho drank from his glass of grog, which based on the Alderaanian’s expression did not appear to be any better than the ale. At a table a few feet away from theirs, Wes and Hobbie seemed to be having a better time, although that was probably more due to the women they were chatting up rather than the drinks themselves.
Wedge’s eyes scanned the rest of the cantina, peering through the hazy atmosphere and cluster of humans and non-humans that made up the Alcazar’s clientele. Despite the Imperial presence on the planet, there did not appear to be any off-duty officers indulging themselves; if there were, then they were not in uniform. While it made the mission slightly easier, it still didn’t assuage Wedge’s growing sense of unease. From what he had overheard from the locals, there had been a recent sighting of Star Destroyers in the skies above Myrra, something that from their tone wasn’t exactly usual.
Exhaling deeply, Wedge turned his head back to face Tycho, who was still grimacing from his drink of choice. “Is the grog any better than the ale here?”
“Nope.” Tycho set his glass down, a sour look on his face. “So, how do you want to approach this? I don’t see any off-duty Imperials around here.”
“Me neither.” Wedge nodded towards where Wes and Hobbie were sitting. “Those two seem to be getting somewhere.”
Tycho eyed his fellow Rogues, who were both beaming at the giggling women. “Maybe in their love-lives,” he muttered.
Wedge sighed. “Well, preliminary intelligence indicates that this place is run by someone named Surat Nuat. If we can get in contact with him, maybe we can get an idea on what the Imperials are up to here.”
Tycho looked around before his eyes landed on the bartender running the counter nearby. “Don’t suppose it would hurt to ask?”
Wedge followed his gaze and frowned. The expression on the wrinkled gray face of the Pau’an barkeep looked anything but approachable. Still, it wasn’t as if he had many options. “It always could,” he remarked as he got up from his seat and walked over to the bar.
The Pau’an did not so much as lift his eyes from the glass he was cleaning as Wedge approached him. “What can I get you?” the bartender grunted.
“I wanted to see Surat Nuat,” Wedge said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“He’s in the back,” the Pau’an replied. “I wouldn’t bother him right now though. Hear he’s pretty busy right now.”
“Right. Well, thank you.” Wedge tried not to look surprise as he walked back to his and Tycho’s table. Surely it couldn’t be that easy?
As he sat back down, Tycho looked at him expectantly. “Well?”
“He’s in the back.” Wedge looked around. “Wherever ‘the back’ is.”
“Guess it’s time to go exploring.” Tycho got up from his seat. “Want me to tell Wes and Hobbie?”
Wedge glanced back over at the two. “Let’s not ruin their fun just yet,” he murmured, fighting a smile. “Just in case things get crazy from here.”
* * *
As Tooms and the rest of Surat’s goons pushed him down into the lower levels of the Alcazar, Temmin could hear the unmistakable wailing of a female voice. He felt his stomach twist into knots as he pinpointed the voice to be Syal’s.
“Oh, great,” Tooms muttered behind him. “Probably that woman. Makarial, go check on her, will ya?”
“Why can’t you send Herf to do it?” the Koorivar snapped back.
“In case I need help to wrangle this kid if he pulls something on us.”
Temmin heard Makarial grumble under her breath before stomping away. He couldn’t see anything due to the sack over his head, but he could hear the shuffling of feet. He then felt a rough hand push him in the back.
“Keep moving, kid,” Tooms growled.
Temmin complied and continued walking. As he did, he heard the crying grow louder and louder, and he figured that they were getting close to where Syal was. He was proven correct when he heard her and Makarial's voices clear as day, coming from the right of him.
“What’s wrong with you?” he heard the Koorivar demand.
“My baby,” Syal cried back. “I’m about to have my baby!”
“Oh, for kriff’s sake. I don’t know anything about handling a baby. Tooms, do you—”
“Don’t look at me, Gravin,” Tooms snapped. Herf followed up with something in Ithorese.
“Great. Just great. What am I supposed to do with— wait. That Mando girl. Wasn’t she supposed to—”
Makarial was cut off by the sound of a blaster bolt going off, following by a pained cry and the shuffling of feet. Through the cloth sack, Temmin felt the heat of plasma bolts whizzing past his head. He could hear Tooms and the other two goons letting loose a stream of curses and returning fire, all of which were cut abruptly short with the sound of bodies falling to the floor. Silence surrounded him as Temmin simply stood there, unsure of what to do now. He then tensed up as he felt a hand grab the sack over his head and pull it off.
“Please don’t—” he started to say.
“Relax,” said the armored woman in front of him. “I’m rescuing you.”
Temmin blinked as he registered the visage of the Mandalorian-esque mask in front of him. “Rescuing…? But weren’t you with…?”
“I can explain later.” The woman walked over and unlocked the door to Syal’s cell, letting it swing open so the blonde woman could step out. “Right now, we need to get out of here.”
Temmin stared at her before looking over at Syal. “Wait, what about your baby?”
Syal smiled at him. “That, my dear, is what we call acting. I pretty much built my whole career on it.”
“I can see why,” Temmin muttered.
Holding up a pair of WESTAR pistols, the Mandalorian woman motioned for them to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go.”
* * *
Wedge had descended a flight of steps when he heard the sound of blaster fire go off somewhere in the distance. He ducked behind a corner and pressed his back against the wall as a nearby pair of Weequay guards got up from where they had been sitting and opened the door they were guarding.
“Boss?” one of the Weequays called into the room. “Is everything—”
“It came from the cells!” a gruff voice responded. “It’s probably the boy! Get down there and put him in his place!”
Wedge heard the door close as the Weequays ran off in the other direction. He peeked back around the corner just as the door opened again and a one-eyed Sullustan came storming out, a haggard expression on his drooping face. Wedge ducked back behind the wall before the Sullustan could see him and held his breath as the alien’s footsteps came his way. Drawing his blaster pistol, Wedge waited until the Sullustan had walked past him before emerging from his hiding spot and pressing the barrel of his pistol against the back of his head.
“Surat Nuat, I presume?”
The Sullustan slowly raised his hands but did not turn around. “This really isn’t the best time.”
“I think now is a great time,” Wedge said, smiling.
“I have the credits, but I need more time to get my affairs in order. Just tell Durga that—”
“Oh, I’m not with the Hutts. I’m here on different business.”
At this, Surat turned around, keeping his hands up as he regarded Wedge with his one good eye. “What do you want?” the Sullustan whispered.
“I’m just looking information on the Imperials operating here in Myrra. I hear that they made a big show here recently.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Surat said. “The Empire’s always had a presence here on Akiva. It’s not anything new. So long as they let me run my business, it’s of no concern to me.”
Wedge shrugged. “That’s too bad. I hear the New Republic pays well for that kind of information.”
Surat sneered. “I don’t want anything to do with the New Republic. It will ruin the good-standing I have with the Empire.”
“You mean the Empire that’s currently losing?”
“I’m not going to discuss politics with you. I suggest you lower the blaster before my guards come back.”
“You mean the guards that I just killed?”
Wedge turned at the sound of the familiar voice and froze. Standing there with smoking blaster pistols drawn was a woman clad in Mandalorian armor. While Mandalorian armor came in all sorts of color schemes, the vibrant color scheme of this particular set was unmistakable to him.
“Sabine?” he murmured.
The armored woman lowered her weapons and tilted her head. “Wedge? By the Force, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? What are the odds of running into you here?”
Wedge smiled. “As my buddy Luke would say, the Force works in mysterious ways.”
“I’ll say,” Sabine chuckled. She then inclined her head forward. “I would stun him now before he gets any ideas.”
Wedge looked back over to Surat and sure enough the Sullustan looked as if he was about to make a run for it. A quick squeeze of his blaster’s trigger sent a stun bolt straight into Surat’s chest and knocked the crime lord unconscious.
“There’s that Corellian trigger-finger,” Sabine said wryly. “Anyway, we should get out of here; Surat’s got other thugs around here that will swarm us once they realize what’s going on. I’ve got two ex-prisoners of his that need transport if that’s all right with you.”
Wedge nodded. “There should be room on the U-wing.”
“Great.” Sabine motioned with her right hand and two humans came from around the corner behind her. One was a teenage boy with dark brown hair, looking wide-eyed at Sabine and then Wedge. Following him was a tall woman with bright blue eyes, long golden hair and—
By the stars.
It couldn’t be.
Wedge’s mouth dropped open, his tongue suddenly feeling dry. The woman met his gaze and her expression mirrored his.
“Wedge?”
“Syal?”
Sabine looked between the two of them. “Huh. The Force really does work in mysterious ways.”
* * *
“Rogue Flight One, anything to report?”
Sitting in the cockpit of his X-wing, Fel responded to Commander Quell’s transmission. “Rogue Ten here. All clear on our end, Alphabet Leader.”
“Copy that, Rogue Ten.”
The comlink clicked off and Fel leaned back in his seat, staring at the vast canvas of stars in front of him. The united ships of Rogue and Alphabet Squadrons were situated at the edge of the Akiva system, just out of range of Imperial sensors. They were just waiting for the call from Wedge’s team so they could move in to recover them and, if need be, strike at the Imperials stationed in Myrra. They were also keeping an eye out for any unwanted Imperials attention, but so far no one had taken notice of their presence.
Fel took in a deep breath, an unexplainable tightness in his chest. Ever since his defection, he had always felt uneasy each time he set out with Rogue Squadron. But this time felt different, for reasons he could not explain. Perhaps it was his never-ending concern for Syal. Perhaps it was the unexpected meeting with Yrica Quell. Perhaps it was even the sheer oddness of a concept such as putting together a squadron made up of starfighters of each wing type. It very well could have been a combination of all of those factors… but still, he could not put his finger on it.
Then, another voice crackled through on the comm. Wedge’s voice. “Ground team to Alphabet Leader. Do you copy?”
Fel tensed up as Quell responded. “Copy, Ground Team. Ready for extraction?”
“Not quite.” There was something about Wedge’s voice that Fel could not quite pinpoint. It sounded shaky, although it could have been due to interference. “We have an… unexpected complication. A welcome one, but an unexpected one.”
Fel could hear the confusion in Quell’s tone. “Elaborate, Rogue Leader.”
“We’ve rescued two civilians from the Alcazar that need to be brought onto the Lodestar as soon as possible.”
“What’s so important about these civilians that they need to be brought to the Lodestar?”
“Is Rogue Ten listening in, Alphabet Leader?”
Fel’s brow furrowed in confusion as he responded. “I copy, Rogue Leader.”
“I’ve found her, Rogue Ten. I’ve found Syal.”
A decade’s worth of military training and decorum was all that kept Fel from outright crying from within the confines of his cockpit. After a moment’s silence that perhaps stretched on for far too long—long enough that both Wedge and Quell were no doubt wondering if he had heard it or not—he managed the only response he could muster.
“Copy, Rogue Leader.”
Those three words carried with them all of the emotion he had bottled up within him for the past year, and he had no doubt his brother-in-law heard them. He then muted his comms before pushing a gloved hand up beneath the visor of his helmet and wiping away the single tear that had managed to break through his defenses.
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