[Legacy Of The Force] - 02(87)

“Turn it back, then.”

“What?”

“Orders are to turn back all vessels.”

Zekk’s comlink made a slight pop as if he’d switched it off for a moment. “But it’s just water and catering. It’s not industrial or military.”

Zekk didn’t get it sometimes. Jacen wondered why he saw angles that other Jedi didn’t. “Those orbiters can only recycle and condense so much water a day. The shortfall has to be topped up.”

“You think that’s worth doing

“Rule of three.”

“What?”

“Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. That’s how long a humanoid can last, and they’re mostly Corellians on those orbiters. The first thing every commander should learn about a siege. There are ten thousand workers in that orbital yard alone, and they’re not going home just yet, and they’re not going to be resupplied. That makes people sweat.”

Zekk’s comlink popped again. Maybe he was silencing the audio to swear for a moment.

“Who’s this shapeshifter and what has he done with Jacen?” he said sourly.

“Just turn back the bowser, Zekk. I’m not running a popularity contest.”

“Very good, sir.” Zekk’s tone said otherwise, but Jacen watched him roll his XJ7 into a dive and head straight for the water tanker.

Jaina’s voice was almost a whisper in Jacen’s comlink. “Is this policy?”

“Turn back all vessels means turn back all vessels. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Just a humanitarian one.”

“It’ll bring Corellia to the negotiation table a lot faster without shots being fired.”

“Well, you’re in command,” said Jaina, all acid. “Colonel Solo.”

Jacen wondered if any other squadron was quite as casual in its attitude to orders as Rogue. He doubted it.

It was a long sortie. For the next three hours the squadron harried supply vessels and transports, turning some of them back simply by flying uncomfortably close. Others were more persistent; it took a concussion round detonated close to their bows to make them alter their course and head back down to the surface. For once, the XJ7s’ business was about being visible, conspicuous, and intimidating.

“We only have to keep this up for a few months,” Zekk said wearily. “Piece of cake.”

“Try this for size,” said Jaina. “Check your scanner. Three assault fighters on our six. I think Cousin Thrackan is fed up with us already.”

Jacen looped his XJ7 into a climb, tracing a complete arc almost without thinking about the maneuver, and found himself looking up through his canopy at the approaching Corellian fighters as they crossed beneath him. Even with g forces normalized and no sense of orientation, Jacen still had a clear sense that he was above them, upside down, just like flying combat missions in a planet’s atmosphere. He could see and feel Jaina-and see Zekk-flying wide of him, far below, canopies facing him; they had looped in the same plane to come up on the Corellians from the rear, rather than climbing above them. Did we discuss this move? Or did I just think it? No, it was silent habit reinforced by that twin bond. Jacen feared it was the last thing he would ever truly share with his sister, but it was one more pain he had to face. She couldn’t follow him on the path he was taking any more than his parents could.

He savored the final remnant of true understanding between them and accelerated into the loop to drop down behind the three fighters, right himself, and skim at top speed just meters clear of their canopies. The three fighters broke formation and scattered. Without any verbal commands, the three Jedi pilots latched on to their individual targets, Jaina and Zekk close enough on the tails of theirs to show little eddies of ionized gas on the nose shields of their X-wings. Jacen’s target seemed to be under the impression that he was chasing Jacen.

Corellians were excellent pilots, but they weren’t Jedi. The marginal difference in reaction speed and orientation made for much bigger gulfs in performance at high speeds. Jacen seized that advantage. He let the fighter sit close on his tail for a couple of kilometers and then plummeted away from it, perfectly aware of his own position in space relative both to it and to Jaina and Zekk, who were also locked in their respective games of tag.

It was just sparring. This was a game of brinkmanship; a game of maneuver and countermaneuver to test each other’s nerve. A game to show that if it came to a shooting match, the Alliance would win.

Jacen thought this right up to the time he saw the display on his screen blip red with the warning that the Corellian had a missile lock on him. He sensed anything but a bluff.