2

Contact

High above Eastern Halbegardia, a second starship made planetfall, resplendent in the colors of the old Alderaanian Guard. It soared through Halbegardia's twilit skies, little more than a red and white blur as it streaked low over the clouds to its pilot's designated landing spot. As expected, a warning tone rang in his ear as his astromech picked up someone trying to acquire him on targeting computers.

'New targets on sensors,' he muttered. Time to put this X-wing through her paces. 'Alright, then. Incom, don't let me down.'

Niklas Celchu redlined the throttle as a wing pair of Cartann Blade-50s rose up to meet him. Four J-99 Event Horizon engines flared to life, roaring like a triumphant apex predator as they took Niklas' X-wing to speeds that even TIE Predators could only dream of reaching.

'Attention unknown craft!' said one of the Blade pilots. 'This is Lieutenant Helmut ke Alzei of the Adumari Planetary Guard! What force trespasses in this airspace?"

They were already trying to acquire missile locks. No question there, that was hostile intent according to mission parameters. Yanking hard on the stick, Niklas responded by climbing, inverting, and diving, passing close enough to see the enemy pilots' faces. Wing-mounted autothrusters activated as Niklas maneuvered, setting off in quick, controlled burns as he turned back up to engage the two Blades. Target lock.

'Too slow,' Niklas muttered as the enemy craft turned to engage. Blades were sluggish craft and these guys clearly didn't have the reflexes or foresight to compensate. They seemed almost immobile to the X-wing jock as he vaped the lead fighter with a pair of well-placed quad shots. He finished off the second a few moments later, sending the fiery debris down to the earth. Just then, his sensors pinged a larger number of unknown signatures coming towards him. Reinforcements, no doubt. No problem, really. All part of the plan.

As the enemy fighters entered visual range, they attempted to hail him. Time to run. Niklas banked to starboard and flipped an arming switch on his control panel. He felt the need for speed. And speed was one thing this machine had in abundance. He hit an activator key and was wrenched back into his seat, flight harness digging into his shoulders as he engaged his X-wing's SLAM drive. In a split second, he was gone, too fast and too far for the enemy Blades' sensors to track.


The streets of Halbegardia's capital slowly filled up as dusk fell on the city. Residents fresh off work gathered in street-side cafes and restaurants. In days before the Cartann and Imperial takeover, people would have chatted about trivialities like gossip, local news, or the weather. Food and drink would have flowed freely as the bourgeois dipped into their generous earnings, hard-earned at the stock markets and factories. These days, though, talk was quieter. Customers were frugal, penny-pinching where they could. In hushed whispers, men and women talked worriedly about the new order. New taxes, new curfews, new disappearances, new military police patrols by the Cartann occupation. The bright neon-lit cheer of the city's commercial district was little more than a facade these days.

Disguised in Adumari street clothing, Garik nevertheless kept to side streets and back alleys. He was silently grateful for the fact that masks were chic again in Adumar's fashion industry. It made infiltration so much easier in these early stages. As was standard with Alliance special ops, most of his clothing was breakaway or fastened with velcro or zippers to ease disguise switching, too. Well, aside from the hat and scarf.

After a few minutes of trudging through poorly salted streets, Garik eventually arrived at the arranged meeting spot: a run-down tenement in the city's industrial district slums. Off to the side of the rusted chainlink fence, a sign indicated that the building was condemned to demolition within the next few weeks. He knocked on the door.

'How is Adumar these days?' someone on the other side whispered.

'Adumar sleeps,' Garik replied.

'For now,' the other said. The door opened.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, the door shut. He felt something poke him in the back.

'Goodness,' Garik said. 'You haven't even bothered to buy me dinner yet.'

'Eyes forward, hands where I can see them,' the doorman hissed. 'Any funny business and I put a bullet in your spine.'

No doubt, the man's slugger was fitted with a suppressor to keep things quiet. Made sense to stick with slugthrowers instead of blasters for stealth. Blaster suppressors were less effective and wore out far more quickly. They knew what they were doing. That, or their supply situation was worse than he thought. Best to cooperate.

The guard pushed him into a poorly-lit windowless room, where a few other rebel fighters were gathered.

'This the one?' asked one of the partisans.

'He spoke correctly,' said the doorman carefully.

'Good enough for now,' replied another. Judging by his slightly cleaner clothing, he was probably the leader of this cell. 'You, stranger. Who are you?'

'Captain Garik Antilles, Alliance Remnant,' the pilot said.

'Antilles, eh? I've heard of you. Word on the street is you never let your prey get away.' A bit hyperbolic. Garik still hadn't accounted for the red TIE. The leader asked, 'How many more of you are there?'

Garik looked at him and shrugged. 'I know of myself, three pilots, and a Naval Intelligence contact. Could be more, could be less. We weren't told everything, either.'

The door guard scoffed. 'The Alliance sends five people to liberate our world? Is this some sick joke?'

'Like I said, I don't know how many of us there really are,' Garik replied. 'And remember how many it took last time?'

'A New Republic capital ship and its entire starfighter complement, along with a united coalition of Halbegardia, Yedagon, and several other states. Don't be obtuse, Antilles. The feats of your forefathers mean nothing to us.'

'Look,' Garik said, 'I'm here to help. The old Rebel Alliance faced a situation like yours in a whole lot of cases. Worse, sometimes, seeing as all you have right now is Cartann rather than a full Imp government.'

'And in many of those cases, the local Rebel cell ended up exterminated,' the partisan leader. 'We need weapons, space superiority, an army. Not a handful of fighter jocks on a suicide mis-'

Just then, another rebel fighter burst into the room, out of breath and holding a blaster rifle.

'We've got incoming!' he yelled. 'Two walkers and two patrol speeders carrying infantry, ETA five minutes!'

The rebel leader cursed. 'What happened?'

'Raid went south,' the rebel grunt said. 'Half the team's dead. They captured some of the new guys. Must have talked.'

'Dammit, we don't have much anti-armor left. You guys know the drill. Antilles, you know your way around a firefight?'

'A thing or two, yeah,' Garik said. A mild understatement. Red Flight had gone through cross-training with Alliance commandos and marines to prep for this mission.

'Good. You're with the ground floor defense.'

Garik nodded. Nobody offered him a weapon. Alright, then. Just a blaster pistol, a knife, and whatever extra gubbins he'd brought from the X-wing. Time to see if that training was worth anything.


Phennir sat back and sighed, taking another sip from his glass of brandy. On his desk sat a chaotic array of shorthand notes, datapads, and rough sketches. Another X-wing sighting, this one vastly different from the starfighter that had so nearly shot him down. The first one, the green X-wing, had been an agile sniper judging by what little he could gather from his flight recorder. Scanner data also indicated the presence of proton torpedo launchers. A true space-superiority design if he'd ever seen one. In contrast, this new one was built more like an interceptor-maneuverability, acceleration, and speed that bordered on ludicrous, with knife-fight capabilities that could put the Empire's TIEs to shame.

Very little footage had survived the destruction of the Adumari response team. Their flight recorders were practically dust by the time they'd been recovered from the wreckage. Shame, Phennir thought. Less data to work with. ImpInt had decided that these new fighters were of little consequence-too expensive and high-performance to become standard-issue among Alliance fighter pilots. They had a point. SLAM systems and fighter-compatible HLCs tended to be notorious for their maintenance requirements and costs. Then again, the old Rebel Alliance had made do with similar resources and come out with starships that ultimately proved superior to Sienar's common frontline models. Many of the A-wings at the First Battle of Endor were hand-built and fitted with wooden furniture due to a lack of supply. The old K-wing, despite its short range and cost, went down in the history books as a truly terrifying and nigh unkillable flying tank. And due to the strategic importance of Adumar's industry, Phennir knew that the Empire would need an answer to these cutting-edge superfighters.

He poured himself another glass and pulled up his terminal's e-mail window. If ImpInt had its head up its own arse, maybe NavCom would have a bit more sense.


His pistol emptied, Garik ducked into a ruined storage closet to reload. Two cells left. Well, one. He was saving the absolute last to off himself if things went really, really far south. A quick glance at his surroundings showed him nothing of immediate value. A few cans of paint, some tins of industrial adhesive liquid, and some common cleaning supplies, none reactive enough to be converted into proper explosives.

Slotting his penultimate energy cell into place, Garik poked his head out and planted a pair of shots into the chest of another Cartann soldier. Off to his side, the Halbegardians' rocket team took position just outside the side door. The rocket tube's backblast was too much for indoor use.

'Clear!' the gunner yelled.

The loader moved to the side, out of the way of the launcher's rear port, and covered his ears. The first rocket was dead-on, impacting the nearest scout walker in the side. Though its armor tanked most of the damage, the explosion was enough to daze the pilot and knock the machine off-balance.

'Reload!'

The loader slammed another rocket-propelled grenade into the tube's rear port, tapping the gunner's shoulder to signal it was ready.

'Clear!'

They repeated the procedure. This time around, the rocket penetrated, blowing out the walker's cockpit and sending it tumbling in flames. Luckily enough, the force of the blast also knocked the last two Cartann infantrymen off their feet and out of cover, allowing the shooters on the upper floors to finish them off.

'One down! Reload!'

'Last one!' yelled the loader. 'Make it count!'

The rocket bearer shouldered the launch tube. 'Clear!' he shouted. The loader sidestepped to get clear as the gunner fired. Poorly constructed and maintained, the rocket went wide, pulling right and making salsa out of a pair of dead Cartann instead. Before they could get back into cover, the rocket team were perforated by a hail of return fire. Having neutralized the anti-armor threat, the Cartann mech pilot turned his attention to the rest of the building. Another rebel fighter died under the second walker's guns as it riddled the building's thin walls with laser fire. Garik had to do something quickly before the whole cell was wiped out.

He dipped the end of a signal flare in one of the tins of industrial adhesive and took off his right glove, flexing bionic fingers as he prepared to do something incredibly stupid. His flesh-and-bone hand readied his blaster as the enemy walker sidestepped to fire at a second-storey window. While its attention was elsewhere, Garik stepped out the side door. Taking aim, he planted a few shots on the war machine's side, scratching the paint and distracting the pilot. As the Cartann walker turned to fire on the source of the shots, Garik tossed the flare. It was right on the money. Thank goodness for cybernetic strength. Burning bright, the flare stuck to the walker's front viewport, blinding the pilot.

Garik broke cover moments before the walker returned fire, slagging the dumpster he had been using for cover. Using a ruined speeder hulk as a springboard, he jumped up and hauled himself onto the walker.

'The puppet Perator may rule with an iron fist, but I've got these gold fingers!'

Garik's hand glowed with an awesome power. Cooling vents opened, expelling heated air as his bionic arm's integral repulsor field kicked into gear. With a roar of effort, he punched his cyberarm into the walker's top access hatch and tore it clean off, yanking out the screaming pilot and throwing him to the ground. Let the Adumari rebels judge the man's fate. This was as much their fight as it was his. And since now was as good a time for showmanship as any, Garik stood tall, perched atop the empty walker, silhouetted against the city lights with his scarf blowing against the wind. Hey, a little bit of style goes a long way to inspiring the masses.

And surely enough, the surviving rebels let out a ragged cheer. The dead would be mourned later. This was a victory. Hopefully the first of many.

During the mission briefing, the Intel agent said his mission was, for all intents and purposes, to be a hero straight out of the old-time holovids. Cheesy, larger-than-life, and highly visible. Inspire the people, Garik had been told. Stir the fire in their hearts. This was no holovid, Mister Intelligence Spook. Right now, Garik felt like the real deal.