Star Wars - X-Wing - Rogue Squadron

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Whistler, don't compound the problem."

  The droid's mournful tones played out in time with a funeral march as Corran

  closed with Wedge's X-wing. He ducked beneath the nose and snapped to attention

  as Wedge descended the ladder. His throat thick with anger, Corran saluted and

  held his quivering hand in place until Wedge returned the salute.

  I

  "Do you want to speak to me about something, Mr. Horn?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Wedge tugged his gloves off. "Well?"

  "Permission to speak frankly, sir?"

  "Knock yourself out, Mr. Horn."

  Corran's hands convulsed into fists. "You gave everyone else my targeting data.

  I flew my heart out and flew that course as good as anyone possibly could on his

  first time through. You turned that data over to the others, so they were making

  a run based on the things I had done. You gave them my score as a base and they

  built on it."

  Wedge's brown-eyed gaze did not waver as he met Corran's stare. "And?"

  "And? It's not fair, sir. I'm one of the best pilots in this squadron, but it

  looks like I'm the worst. The others appear better but they're not. I've been

  robbed."

  "I see. Are you finished?"

  "No."

  "Well, you should be, or you can be. Do you understand me?"

  The icy tone in Wedge's voice filled Corran's guts with frozen needles. "Yes,

  sir."

  Wedge nodded past him toward the exterior of the base. "You need to examine why

  you're here, Mr. Horn. You're part of a team and have to act like it. If I need

  you to shoot a trench like that and feed your data back to a Y-wing squadron

  coming through, I'll have you do it. How good you are means nothing if the rest

  of the people in the squadron get killed. You might be the best pilot in the

  squadron, but the squadron is only as good as the worst pilot in it.

  "Today the others learned to use data from a reconnaissance flight to help them

  through deadly ter-

  ritory. You learned that you're not more important than anyone else in this

  squadron just because you're a gifted pilot. I'm pleased with those lessons

  having been learned by my people. If you're not, I'm certain there are other

  squadrons who would love to have Rogue's washouts."

  Corran's cheeks burned and his stomach turned itself inside out. He's righthe

  saw the same thing Lujayne did and found a way to point out how serious a

  problem it can be. I've been an idiot. He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

  "Yes, what, Mr. Horn?"

  "I'm happy learning what I learned, sir. I want to stay with the squadron."

  Wedge nodded slowly. "Good, I don't want to lose you. You've got the makings of

  a superior pilot, but you aren't there yet. You have the skills you need, but

  there is more to being part of this squadron than flying well. The training you

  get will be a bit different from the others, but your need to learn is just as

  great. Do you understand?"

  Corran nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

  Wedge handed his helmet and gloves to an astrotech. "And just so you know,

  you're right to be angry. Remember this, though, giving in to that kind of anger

  in battle will get you killed. I don't think you want that any more than I do."

  The leader of the squadron tossed him a sharp salute. "You're dismissed, Mr.

  Horn."

  Corran returned the salute, spun on his heel, and marched stiffly away, deeper

  into the hangar. He threaded his way through the fighters, stepping over power

  cables and around tool carts. He purposely steered himself away from where

  Whistler was rechargingthe little R2 unit had perfected an "I told you so"

  whistle that Corran realized he'd heard far too often since his father's death.

  "Mr. Horn."

  Corran stopped and blinked away the gathering clouds of dark memories. His hand

  rose in a salute. "Captain Celchu."

  The blue-eyed man returned the salute, then crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Still walking and talking?"

  "Sir?"

  "Either Commander Antilles is losing his touch in dressing down recruits

  or"Tycho smiled lop-sidedly"you're made of sterner stuff than I might have

  otherwise imagined."

  9

  Corran's green eyes narrowed. "I don't think the Commander cut me any slack,

  sir."

  Tycho held a hand up. "Forgive me, Mr. Horn, that did not come out the way I

  wanted. From your CorSec record and the way you tend to excel in scenarios

  where you act alone, you have struck me as a loner. Loners don't tend to like it

  when they're made to be a team player."

  But that's not how I am. Is it? Corran frowned. "I can work with others, but I

  know I can only rely on myself when things fall apart. I can't help that

  attitude because it kept me alive in tough times."

  Tycho pointed toward the passage deeper into Folor base and Corran fell into

  step with him. "The problem with that attitude, Corran, is that it keeps others

  away. It makes it more difficult for them to help you when you need it. It keeps

  them uncertain that you will help them when the time comes that they need you."

  "Hey, I'll never leave a buddy in trouble."

  "I don't doubt that, but you define buddies on your terms. Others may not see

  themselves as your

  friends." The taller man pressed his lips together in a grim line. "It's clear

  that being here is not easy for you."

  That's an unwarranted assumption. I've adjusted as well as anyone. Corran

  glanced to the right at Tycho. "Why do you think that, sir?"

  "You were with the Corellian Security Force and spent a good deal of your time

  hunting down people who are now your allies. That transition isn't something

  you can make overnight."

  "It couldn't have been any easier for you, sir. You were an Imperial pilot."

  Tycho did not reply immediately and Corran sensed a window of vulnerability that

  had opened, then slammed shut almost immediately. He knew it with the certainty

  he'd known when he'd hit on lies suspects told him during interrogation. He

  wanted to pounce and push, but the hint of pain he saw flash through Tycho's

  eyes stopped him.

  "Let's just say, Corran, that my situation was quite different from yours."

  Tycho's face slackened into an emotionless mask. "Different time, different

  circumstances."

  Corran heard pure honesty in Tycho's words and decided against pushing. That

  honesty cleared his mind and punched through walls he didn't realize he'd

  erected. "You may be right, sir. Looking around here I see the sort of

  smuggler's hideaway my father and I ached to bust wide open. Just looking at

  this place I know it had to have been used by smugglers before the Alliance

  turned it into a base. If I'd known then what I know now ..."

  "You would have been even more convinced that the Rebellion was wrong."

  "Yeah, I guess I would have." Corran slapped his own belly with his right hand.

  "I remember being in the CorSec Acad emy when the Imperial war-

  rants for Han Solo and Chewbacca were issued. They were charged with the murder

  of Grand Moff Tarkinno word about the Death Star, of course. I remember

  thinking that if I were already in CorSec I'd have gotten Solo. I thought he was

  a
blot on Corellia's honor."

  The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Tycho's mouth. "And you still do."

  Corran winced. "He smuggled spice for a Hutt. I understand that he made some

  choices that made his life fall apart. I can sympathize with his freeing Wookiee

  slavesno one on Corellia liked the idea of slavesbut he sank pretty low after

  that."

  Tycho nodded. "When your life disintegrated, you didn't sink that far, so he

  shouldn't have?"

  "Something like that." Corran stopped just before they entered the corridor out

  of the hangar. "Is that your assessment of my opinion, or your assessment of

  Solo in relationship to your leaving Imperial service as he did?"

  Tycho's smile broadened. "Interesting insight. I think there was a time that

  Solo, who had bound his conception of honor to his service to the Empire, forgot

  that honor could exist outside Imperial service. This seems to be a

  misconception that has been corrected."

  "And correcting it won him fame, glory, and Princess Organa."

  "True, but what's important is that he knows honor exists inside you and can

  only radiate out. What goes on outside can't change it or kill it unless you

  abandon your honor. Too many folks give it up too easily, then do whatever they

  can to fill the void in their hearts." Tycho shook his head. "Forgive me this

  little lecture. I've had an unfortunate amount of time to think about this sort

  of stuff."

  Two Alliance Security officers walked over to

  where Corran and Tycho stood. The female Lieutenant spoke with a calm, even

  voice. "Captain Celchu, are you ready to return to your quarters now?"

  The taller man suddenly looked very fatigued, as if his skeleton had just become

  one size smaller so his flesh hung loosely from it. "Yes, I believe so. Thank

  you for this conversation, Mr. Horn."

  "You're welcome, sir."

  Tycho nodded to the woman. "After you."

  "No, sir," she said, "after you."

  Her tone struck Corran as all wrong. He had assumed she had been offering to

  escort Captain Celchu to his quarters as a courtesy, but the edge in her voice

  transformed her words into an order. Why would they be forcing him to return to

  his quarters? I don't understand. She's treating him like a criminal.

  He stared after them, trying to reconcile the Security officer's action with a

  need to protect Tycho from some threat. He couldn't imagine anyone in the

  Alliance base who would begrudge Tycho actions taken before he joined the Rebel

  cause. Becoming a Rebel was like starting overthe datascreen was wiped and the

  past forgotten. Yet I still have reservations about Han Solo. Even so, I don't

  want to murder him, so he doesn't need protection.

  He realized he was attempting to rationalize why Tycho was being escorted by

  armed guards, and the most simple answer was because Tycho presented a threat

  to the Alliance in some way. The obvious ludicrousness of that idea shone like

  a supernova because if Tycho was a threat of any sort, no one would trust him to

  be teaching pilots how to fly. Then again, he is assigned a Headhunter Trainer.

  "There you are."

  Corran's head came up at the sound of the woman's voice. Just a bit taller than

  he was, but

  slender and walking on very shapely long legs, she entered the hangar from the

  corridor and stared right at him. Corran turned and looked behind himself to

  see who she was addressing, but when he looked back at her, she had stopped

  right in front of him. "I was wondering where you were."

  "Me?" Corran raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you were looking for me, Erisi?"

  She nodded confidently. Sympathy played through her big blue eyes. "I was sent

  to find you. The rest of us are in DownTime, going over what happened out

  there."

  "Not enough laughs, so you wanted me to join you?" He shook his head. "Thanks

  anyway, some other time."

  "No, now." Erisi took firm hold of his left elbow. "We do want you there. So we

  can apologize."

  Corran hesitated, covering his surprise. She sounded sincere, but she was from

  Thyferra and almost always in Bror Jace's company. He tried to figure out if

  she was setting him up, but the gentle way her short black hair lay against the

  nape of her long neck distracted him. "I'm not sure I'd be good company."

  "You must come." She tugged him gently toward the corridor. "Look, we all used

  your data because Commander Antilles told us our exercise involved doing just

  that. It wasn't until we made our runs that he told each of us what had

  happenedwhat he had done to you. He ordered us to say nothing to you except to

  report our scores. None of us felt good about what happened and we want to make

  it up to you."

  He nodded and started walking with her. "So how did you get the job of coming

  after me? You pick the sabacc card with the lowest value?"

  Erisi smiled at him, her eyes dominating a

  cately sculpted face with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. "I volunteered.

  Nawara Ven and Rhysati Ynr are trying to talk some sense into Bror and I had to

  walk away."

  "You'd abandon a fellow Thyferran to a conversation with a Twi'lek lawyer?"

  Her laughter echoed faintly through the dim corridor. Strip illumination ran

  along the edges of the tunnel where the floor met the walls and gave them enough

  light to travel by, but most of the people in front of them were shadowed

  silhouettes.

  "Bror Jace is from a family that owns a significant portion of stock in Zaltin.

  His people are known for being rather haughty and obstreperous."

  "I hadn't noticed."

  "I would have thought you a keener observer than that." She gave his arm a

  squeeze. "Besides, Bror has noticed you. He sees you as his chief rival for

  supremacy in this squadron."

  "He's forgetting the Commander and Captain Celchu."

  She shook her head. "No, he's not, he's just ignoring them. As Commander

  Antilles said, those who have served with Rogue Squadron before are legends, and

  Bror doesn't think it's possible to defeat a legend. Become one, yes, but best

  one, never."

  "Erisi, I appreciate your candor, but I'd hardly expect you to be speaking of a

  friend in such uncomplimentary terms."

  "What gave you the impression we were friends?"

  "Perhaps the fact that you spend a lot of time with him."

  "Oh, that?" Erisi chuckled politely. "Better the Moff you know than the

  Emperor's new Envoy. I could never truly be friends with anyone who grew up in

  the Zaltin corporate culture. My people are

  with Xucphra, the true leader in bacta production and refinement. My uncle was

  the person who discovered the contamination the Ashern introduced into Lot

  ZX1449F."

  "Really?"

  The woman glanced sidelong at him, her face frozen for a millisecond, then she

  smiled and playfully slapped his left shoulder. "You! I know Thyferran

  corporate politics is boring, but it's the lifeblood of my people. Though there

  are thousands of Vratix who actually grow alazhi and refine bacta, the ten

  thousand humans who run the corporations are really the people who make bacta

  available to the galaxy. Since we're such a small commun
ity and, I'll admit, a

  fairly affluent onewe set great store in the accomplishments of our relatives."

  Corran nodded as they stepped onto an escalator that took them down deeper into

  the heart of Folor. "Choosing one of you from each corporate family was meant to

  keep things even?"

  "Were that possible, of course." Erisi winked at him. "More of us would have

  been sent, I suspect, but strong involvement with the Alliance is a thing of

  fierce debate on Thyferra. Benign neutrality seems to be the course our leaders

  are choosing."

  Playing both ends against the middle means big profits for the Bacta Cartel.

  "But you felt strongly enough about the Rebellion to volunteer to join it?"

  "There are times one must place higher ideals over personal safety."

  At the bottom of the escalator they stepped off and walked across a small

  chamber to a dark opening carved in smooth-melted stone. Beyond it lay a noisy

  stone gallery with next to no visible light unless the bright colors of

  strobing neon tracery-were to be considered adequate for lighting. Voices from

  dozens of alien throats croaked below or

  shrieked above the booming din of human conversation. The heavy, moist air

  stank of sweat; acrid, cloying smoke; and fermented nectars from hundreds of

  Alliance worlds and not a few Imperial strongholds.

  Corran paused on the threshold of the makeshift tapcafe the Rebels had named

  DownTime. If I were still in CorSec, I'd be calling for backup before setting

  foot in a place like this.

  Erisi, taking his hand in hers, led him into the room. As if she could see

  things he could not, she guided him between hologame light tables and knots of

  pilots and techs. Back in the corner a holoprojector had been set up. It

  appeared to be projecting a sporting event being broadcast down on Commenor,

  but the exoskeleton padding the players wore and the curiously spiked ball they

  tossed back and forth weren't from any game Corran recognized. Aside from a

  quartet of Ugnaughts sitting right at the edge of the projection ring and

  staring up at the towering figures, no one appeared to care about the game.

  The rest of Rogue Squadron had gathered in a corner of the tapcafe. Corran

  spotted Gavin first both because of his size and his nervousness. The youth

  stared at all the different aliens as if he'd never seen them before. That