“Nobody, really,” said Beviin. “But there’s this guy called Kad’ika that we’re all hearing about. Thinks it’s time we looked after ourselves-really looked after ourselves. Not just gather in the clans and unite when we’re threatened, but build Mandalore itself into something new.”
I never heard that. And I never miss intelligence. “So he wants to be Mandalore?”
“No, they say he wants you to be Mandalore.”
“Then he can come and tell me himself. Whoever he is.”
The name Kad’ika told Fett something. The Mando’a suffix -ika made it a child’s name, a diminutive of the name Kad. Fett suspected that a Mandalorian who still had a childhood nickname and seemed confident to wear it almost as a badge would be anything but little. In the past he’d hunted several big, dangerous targets with trivial names that belied their muscle and firepower. They’d seemed to bask in the irony.
He’d killed them anyway, but they’d been a challenge.
A professional took no chances and never underestimated the task at hand. Fett added Kad’ika to the list of potential quarry that was big and dangerous until proven otherwise.
“It means ‘little saber,’ ” Beviin said helpfully.
“Cute,” said Fett. One more complication, one more mystery. Stick to your priorities, Fett. “I’m heading for Corellia now.”
“You’ll have to beat the blockade, then.”
“I will. You still flying Gladiators?”
“We are.”
“Form up and follow Slave One, then. Let’s see if the Alliance remembers that we fought against the Vong for them.”
Fett decided to stay busy. He needed to find his cure, he needed to see Ailyn, and he needed not to dwell on the unhappy past.
Corellia’s ills would do the job for now.
CORELLIAN BLOCKADE, INNER EXCLUSION ZONE.
Rogue Squadron maintained formation behind Jacen’s XJ7 as the fighters patrolled the exclusion zone around Corellia. It took five standard hours to circle the planet at maximum speed.
The squadron was flying a cube pattern around a cluster of orbital units that made up a shipyard, probably a less glamorous target than Centerpoint but a significant one nonetheless.
And somewhere aft of his port wing, mistrustful and angry, was Jaina. Maybe it was his instant elevation to colonel. She’d worked for her rank. He could feel her, a bright fire of resentment and anger. Zekk was on his starboardside. For a few moments the squadron touched minds in a battle-meld, but it didn’t feel as united as it once had.
I’ve lost you, Jaina. In the end, I might lose everyone’s love, maybe even Tenel Ka, but it has to be done.
Jacen shook himself out of regret and the squadron broke into six paired patrols, fanning out into the orbits of the industrial space stations and shipyards-and Centerpoint Station.
How close could his squadron get before the Corellians opened fire? Would they fire at all?
If the orbital stations didn’t have fighter craft embarked-and that was always a possibility-then all they had was their close-in defense systems, the ones they never expected to have to use. Jacen switched to the main ops comlink to hear the voice traffic between other squadrons’ pilots and Forward Air Control.
“Unarmed maintenance transport inbound for Centerpoint. Moving to intercept.”
“Copy that.”
“Visual on the transport. Confirmed unarmed.”
“Intercepting now. Range five kilometers.”
“He’s holding course. Let’s see who blinks first.”
“He’s slowing.”
“And now you’ve got company. Corellian fighter range ten kilometers moving to transport’s position … fast …”
“Got him on scanner … now visual, too.”
It was the first test of wills.
“Back off, pal-“
“Whoa, that was close.”
“He’s locked on to me.”
“Cleared to engage.”
“He’s breaking off-transport is altering course.”
Zekk cut into Jacen’s comlink circuit. It seemed Jacen wasn’t the only one listening to the chatter. “Shouldn’t we be there?”
“Centerpoint isn’t the only game in town. Patience, Zekk.”
Centerpoint might have been the political focus, but Jacen knew the leverage would be in the factories and power stations orbiting Corellia. There was a total of a million workers in those orbiters, people with families down on the surface who cared about them.
“Contact, bearing twenty-five by forty from datum.” Zekk’s XJ7 blipped on Jacen’s onboard scanner as it peeled off to investigate. He watched as Zekk pinged the vessel with his sensors; the shared display outlined a big, ungainly ship that appeared to be one large tank. “Okay, profile looks like a replenishment ship-water bowser and food. Panic over.”