X-Wing: Forged Rogue

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Author's Note/Disclaimer: May contain some spoilers for the X-Wing series. Also, I've taken a few creative liberties with the Battle of Endor. But, hey, worse things happen in many Star Wars novels. This story takes place before X-Wing: Iron Fist.

The characters and trademarks referred to in the course of the story are the properties of George Lucas and LucasFilm Ltd.

He sat staring at the holo. A series of images, people long dead, but still, to him, alive. He knew they were why he was here, but it didn't make it any the less painful. His job was to make sure that people like this were avenged. That no one like their killers were ever allowed to draw breath again.

In the room he was sitting opposite, a senior officer sat waiting to explain to him why his approach to the job was unsuitable. He sat waiting for yet anther warning that his life as a pilot was almost over.

"Commander Antilles, Red Flight, this is Admiral Ackran. You have multiple squadrons inbound on your position. Profile suggests a mixed group of Rebel scum starfighters, A-, Y-, B-, and X-Wings."

"Admiral Ackbar, " said Wedge Antilles over his microphone, "you’re supposed to be warning them about us, not the other way around. Remember your role, Phanan. Hasn’t Face taught you that much about acting?"

"Well, he did mention something about that, but I’ve always been more of a one for improvisation, Sir, and I fancied being on the winning side," Ton Phanan’s distorted voice, sounding like that of the Mon Calamari admiral, still contained a trace of his continual amusement.

"Stick to your role, Phanan, especially once the simulation actually starts," Wedge warned.

"Yub yub, Commander," this time a second Mon Cal voice came over the speakers. Wedge knew it belonged to Phanan’s wingman and partner-in-comedy, Garik ‘Face’ Loran, one time child actor and newly promoted Lieutenant. The two friends were acting as Rebel forces control for this simulation of the battle of Endor.

Brevet-Lieutenant Inyri Forge was leading the 'Rebel' forces in this simulation. She was a long time Rogue, and duty officer on this rotation. Wedge had known Inyri for more than a year, but she had never shown any interest in command, and he wondered how she would hold up under the strain of controlling an entire battlefield.

Brevet-Lieutenant Inyri Forge wiped the sweat from her forehead one more time. She hated leading forces into battle, even simulated battle. More than anything she wanted to fly with the Rogues, and she knew a poor report could see her bombed out faster than a spicer gets paranoid. While she knew Wedge Antilles was not as much a stickler for traditional means of assessing his staff as some, she was still scared by the prospect of a poor performance here.

She took a deep breath, and attempted to calm herself. Most of the Rogues were old hands, long time members of the squadron. She trusted pilots like Corran Horn, Ooryl Qrygg and Gavin Darklighter implicitly. Among the Wraiths, she’d met and grown to like several of the pilots in their fortnight together at Sladden 4, their current base on Coruscant. It was the same with members of the other squadrons she was in command of. She trusted them to be good at what they did, leaving her as little as possible to do. Still, however, Inyri knew something was missing from the mission she was about to fly.

I wish you were here, sister, she thought. You were always so much better with people than me.

Today’s simulation, in fact, was more to judge the new recruits to Rogue Squadron, three cadets set to replace the on-leave Hobbie Klivian and Tycho Celchu and the departed Aril Nunb. Today would be the first time the pilots had flown with the full squadron, and it was up to Inyri to make sure they fitted in well.

Tycho Celchu, the squadron’s commander had shuffled the roster to place one of the cadets in each of the three flights of the Rogues. With Tycho and Hobbie Klivian flying for the opposition, two of the Wraiths, Kell Tainer and Hohass 'Runt' Ekwesh had been drafted into the squadron to make up the numbers. Wraith Squadron, already down several pilots anyway, was effectively at half strength, and the computer would simulate many of its members.

Inyri, as Rogue Seven, had drawn one of the new pilots as her temporary wingman. He tested out well in training sims, and had exceptional scores in many of his classes. Normally this would have marked him out as a strong prospect, ready for assignment to any squadron.

Phanan cycled through the data feeds from the fighters as they sat on the hangar floor. Special sensors would convince the pilots they were flying in battle – the Battle of Endor, in this case – and the pilots would get as full an experience of space combat as was possible.

"You’re looking for Rogue Eight, aren’t you," asked Face. "He’s right there, Rogue Squadron, ship eight. Where you’d expect Rogue Eight to be."

"So? I’m interested. His file says he’s an exceptional pilot. What if he's as good as Kell, or Captain Celchu."

"What if he is? He may even be as good as you claim to be after a shot of churban brandy. Twenty says he lives through it."

"Twenty, eh? It’s a shame to take your money, but OK. I heard the Commander talking with Tycho about how to take him down."

Inyri felt the familiar thrumm as her engines powered up. It was convincing enough to almost make her forget it was just a sim. Her cockpit darkened, ready to display the data from Loran and Phanan’s computer.

The familiar New Republic crest faded into view. In the middle of it was a very unfamiliar sight. An Ewok’s head floated over the crest and Inyri grinned as a squeaky voice issued good luck calls to the various squadrons.

Squadrons she was in command of, she remembered with a start, as the Ewok, and it’s resulting laughter faded. The New Republic crest faded as well, to be replaced by the white streak’s of a ship in hyperspce. A counter flashed up a minute to realspace reversion. She took a deep breath, and steeled herself to the task ahead.

"Leader to squadrons, prepare for reversion, 50 seconds and counting. You know the drill, the Battle of Endor. We don’t have to worry about the Death Star, just the ships. However, we do have to worry about the ships. As well as the Star Destroyers of every class, Commander Antilles and the rest of Red Flight are out there, leading a squadron of TIE Defenders. You all know how good those four are, and how good their ships are. Stay sharp people, and call for help when you need it."

Inwardly, Inyri cursed herself. Not the most inspiring briefing ever. She’d managed to talk up their opponents, and talk down her squadrons. She hated command. Sighing, she flicked her comm unit over to her wingmate’s private channel.

"Seven, Eight, reading you loud and clear. Orders?" This was Deysha Johats or ‘Majick’ as he’s come to be known.

"Acknowledged, Lead." The young man’s voice was clear and crisp. Forge allowed herself to think that joining up with the Rogues may have shaken his personal issues down a few notches.

She hoped so. Johats had severe issues with command. A brilliant pilot in sims, he’d ignored orders from day one, dragging his otherwise excellent score down. While he’d passed comfortably, his pursuit of his own beliefs in battle simulations frequently disrupted the plans of the mission commanders. While the missions were still completed, and often with better than average scores, Johats' arrogance in assuming superiority was unequivocal. He assumed he was better than anyone else.

Forge knew that what had so galled so many of his trainers was that he was. She suspected that if the guy had been less arrogant about his ability he'd have been better liked. Inyri remembered hearing stories of the contest between Rogues Corran Horn and Bror Jace when both had been new to the squadron from her friend Rhysati Ynr, a former Rogue herself. Bror had been similarly brilliant, similarly arrogant, and had alienated many members of he squadron. Having Corran compete against him had helped bring Bror into the unit. Inyri hoped having the pilots of Red Flight, each with hundreds of hours in a cockpit to every one of Johats, beat up on him would bring the young man down a peg or two.

With that thought, the X-Wing reverted to realspace, and she blinked as the Endor moon appeared in front of her. As always, whenever she saw an image of the moon, she gasped at its beauty. Having grown up on the arid mine world of Kessel, Inyri had taken the first chance to travel somewhere more exotic. It had been one of the worst and best decisions of her life.

"I heard you gasp is all. Thought you might have banged yourself on reversion." There was little concern in his voice, although Inyri did detect a note of something else. Enthusiasm? At the thought of her being injured? She shook off the feeling. She was probably doing him a disservice. He was just eager to fight.

As am I, if I'm honest, she thought. It's been a long time since I flew against the Commander and the others. I'm interested as to whether I've closed the gap.

"Tote," she said to her R5 unit, "identify oncoming starfighters by number and type. Lock onto the lead Defender." She then switched to the all squadron channel.

"All ships, begin assault. B- and Y-Wings, go after the Executor. X-Wings, A-Wings, TIE's, you are free to engage the starfighters. The lead Defenders are Eight's, and mine though. Remember; call for help if you need it. May the Force be with you all."

Forge and Johats sped towards their opponents, a formidable pair of TIE Defenders. The triple winged craft looked like mutated Interceptors, but Inyri knew they were the Empire's most deadly ship. Shielded, and carrying quad lasers and a duel ion cannon, they were more than a match for any starfighter in the New Republic's possession. Their production plants were a mystery, and the Republic simply couldn't reproduce the performance offered by the Defender, nicknamed 'trips'.

The R5 completed its calculations. The seven Rebel squadrons were overmatched by nearly fifty percent. While performance differences leveled out that statistic somewhat, Inyri knew her forces were severely outmatched. She hoped it would be a good learning experience.

The lead Defenders were nearing firing range. Inyri thumbed her fire selector switch to quad lasers, and eased back on her throttle. Settling into its maximum maneuverability speed, the X-Wing had plenty of power for Inyri to re-channel some to her shields and lasers. She knew she's need it.

"Tote," she called, "display shield, weapon and engine statistics for Rogue Eight alongside mine, please."

Tote complied, and Inyri noted that Eight had his engine throttled back as well. However, all the spare power was channeled to his lasers. Inyri noted this, and resolved to keep an eye on her confident wingmate.

In the first pass, Inyri's craft shuddered as the lead trip sprayed lasers into her fore shield. She grimaced, and reinforced the shields with laser power. She checked Johats. Shields at 80%, but his R2 unit reported a string of hits on his opponent, who was already damaged slightly. Inyri marvelled at her wingmates skill.

The tactic was successful, with Inyri's lasers chewing through her target's shields, and slicing into the support strut of the uppermost wing. It wheeled off, severely damaged, and Inyri swung her X-Wing to help out Johats.

He didn't need it. He was locked in behind the lead Defender, mimicking its every twitch, curl and loop, all the while firing dual laser blasts into its rear shields. Eventually, the shields collapsed, and a final blast detonated the twin ion engines, vapourising the cockpit.

"Eight, he is finished. He was venting air last I saw, and had about as much time left as a blind hyper. I don't need to kill him, you understand?"

Inyri wondered briefly what all the fuss about Johats was. She glowed in the knowledge that, for once, she'd gotten the better of the Commander and Captain Celchu.

The two Rogues entered into the middle of the furball. They fired constantly, sometimes hitting, sometimes not. As Inyri left the fight, and prepared to turn, she noticed that Eight was out of formation.

Inyri queried Eight's R2 and found that he was on a direct course for the Victory-class Star Destroyer, Deathknell. She swore, and shunted power to her engines in an effort to keep up. As she watched, he entered into firing range, and triggered a pair of proton torpedoes, which lanced in on the Vic's shield, halfway up it's command column.

Inyri saw the shields bloom and fail, and another pair of Eight's torpedoes lanced into the column. Eight's voice crackled over the comm.

"The Deathknell is blind. Everyone fire if you can get a shot. We can punch a hole in the Imp defence."

Targeting data spilled across Inyri's HUD, and her finger instinctively tightened on her missile trigger. A pair of torpedoes sprung from her crafts' launcher, and joined a dozen others in tearing into the Deathknell's unprotected hold.

Unpowered, out of control, the Vic continued lazily on its course, which, Inyri noted, would result in it slamming into a second Star Destroyer, unless changes were made to its flight path.

"Eight," she called. "How did you know about that? Is that a weak spot in the VSD's make up?"

"Only in five of them, produced at Bilbringi about twenty years before Endor," came the reply. "One died at Hoth, two here, and the other two in various skirmishes."

"Eight, in future, clear any such action with me beforehand, okay? No more running against authority."

Inyri hoped that would be enough. She turned her attention to a battle between three simulated craft, where a Rebel Y-Wing was being mercilessly attacked by a TIE fighter wing pair. She accelerated to full throttle, issuing orders to the sim craft as she closed in on the mugging.

Eight's best lasted for thirty minutes. He claimed another four kills, and was helping to protect a damaged frigate when a pair of Defenders began their assault. The TIE's decimated the defending forces, destroying the frigate, an A-Wing and the X-Wings belonging to Wraith Squadron's Hohass 'Runt' Ekwesh and Tyria Sarkin. She called 'control' on her comm.

"Not sure we can tell you that, Rogue Seven. You think we can tell her, Admiral?"

"Ask her what it's worth to her, and if it's a good worth, we may be able to negotiate something."

"Actually, that would be really nice," 'Ackbar' said. "I've got this really bad blocked nose, and I just can't seem to clear it…"

Inyri pounded the comm in frustration. She looked up to see a lone X-Wing tangling with the Defenders, while the other ships fled to their group, and comparative safety.

"Eight, do not dare disobey orders. Get out of there. You’re not earning anything!"

"I’ll earn a hell of a lot if I take out the Captain or the Commander. It’ll make our chances a lot better, I think."

That was who was in those Defenders! They must have tangled with Hobbie and Janson earlier. Inyri cursed herself for being taken in by such simple bait-and-switch tactics. She looked at Eight and his opponents, watching as he twisted his ship in fluid rings, barely avoiding the attacks of the two best pilots that she knew. But, she realised, he was avoiding them. She made a decision, one she didn’t like.

"Eight, if you think you’re up to taking on those two, it’s your funeral. Don’t think you’re getting away with this, though. We’ll be having words later on."

"For the good of the mission, Lead." The arrogance in Eight’s voice made Inyri’s fist tighten, and a quad laser blast sprayed from her laser cannons, missing one of the Defenders by only a few centimetres. The pilot instinctively jerked away from the blast, momentarily spitting himself on Eight’s crosshairs. Eight fired, his own lasers puncturing the Defenders weakened shielding, and blasting through the cockpit. The ship soared onwards, a lifeless husk.

"Rebels, this is Ackbar. Red Flight Two, Three and Four have all now been eliminated. Only the Commander is left, kiddies."

"With the odds against him as they are," came the second Mon Cal voice, "even Ton would have a chance to shoot him down."

"Sadly, Ton is out there on the Medical frigate, people," said ‘Ackbar’. "Although I am pleased to note that this time it’s managed to avoid being blown up. There may be hope for him yet."

Inyri accelerated away from Eight and the Commander. She headed back towards the main dogfight, calling up a list of the remaining ships. Almost all of the starfighters had been destroyed, only three B-Wings and a pair of X-Wings were left. On the imperial side, one Defender, and a pair of Interceptors were outnumbered, but fighting gallantly. As Inyri watched, an ion bolt from the Defender shocked one of the X-Wings into an electronic coma. The light denoting Rogue Six blinked off. Inyri began to issue orders, hoping that something she might say would giver her side a better chance against the Imperial forces.

She fired off a stream of single shots as soon as she was in range. The remaining TIE’s failed to cope adequately with the new threat, and one of the Interceptors was hit at close range by a missile.

The trip, meanwhile, spiraled in and out of the Rebel craft, firing constantly at the five ships. One of the B-Wings had its shield taken down by the Defender’s ion cannon, and the Interceptor swooped to finish it off. The resulting explosion masked Inyri’s X-Wing temporarily, and she fired off a proton torpedo as soon as her crosshairs went red.

Inyri watched dispassionately as the Interceptor turned tail and ran. It failed to turn at all, and the torp had little trouble in tearing explosively into its engines.

A rookie mistake, Inyri thought. Once I’d have been the same. I wonder how many pilots died out here because they weren’t trained well enough?

The thought awakened in Forge a new determination to see her new charges become the excellent pilots she knew they could. She also resolved to come down hard on Johats, regardless of the result of her wingman’s duel with the Commander.

As Inyri banked around to face the final Defender she saw its light blink out on her HUD. She glimpsed an X-Wing in Rogue red soaring through the fireball before her canopy faded to black.

Inyri took a deep breath as the seals cracked open on her cockpit. "Tote," she asked. "What happened in the final 30 seconds of battle? Transfer the view from Rogue Eight's camera mount to my datapad."

She let her eyes roam over the report as she climbed down the ladder. Eight had blown out the Commanders engines, before flying full tilt, and unshielded into the midst of her furball. He had fired clinically, each quad burst lancing into the Defender, which had detonated a scant 5 metres from Eights bow.

He'd have hit the Defender full on if it hadn't blown, she thought. That's seriously gutsy flying. Or something else…

With that thought hanging in her head, she glanced around, trying to locate her wingman. She recognised him quickly. He stood more than six foot in height, unusual in a fighter pilot, and a mop of unruly brown hair topped his head. Mentally, she reviewed what she knew about him.

Originally a native of Alderaan, she remembered, himself and his parents had been off world when he Death Star made it's first impressions on the galaxy. They moved to Zenesca II on the edge of the galaxy, but fell victim to Warlord Zsinj's planetary bombardments when that son-of-a-spice-cutter took the governments rejection of him personally. Only Deysha had survived from his family on that occasion.

Inyri wondered how it felt to lose everything and everyone you knew, not once, but twice. She knew something of that pain, having lost her sister, Lujayne, in one of the Rogue's earlier missions. Later, she'd been forced to kill her lover rather than watch him kill Corran Horn.

Even so, the guy must feel that sense of loss so keenly. That could be the root of his rebellious streak. He really has nothing to lose, and anything he can do before he dies is all for the good. That could be why he's so arrogant. What does anyone else matter to him when everyone he's ever cared for has been killed?

It was a sentiment she recognised. She had felt as though she'd been shot when she'd heard of Lujayne's death. They'd been closer than sisters, really. Almost one with one another, Inyri had felt a terrible sense of forboding in the time between Lujayne's death and the letter arriving from Commander Antilles. She knew a part of her own rebellious actions at the time, taking up with Zekka Thyne, leaving her parents, had been down to the vacuum in her life created by Lujayne's absence.

As was I, so is Johats. Not that that's gonna spare him the dressing down I've got to give him.

She heard a voice calling her name. She looked around to see Hobbie Klivian sprinting towards her.

"Wedge wants to know," he began, "whether you want any help with Deysha Johats?"

"Thank the Commander for me," she replied. "Tell him I'll contact him or the captain if I need the help, but for now I think I'll be okay in dealing with him."

"Okay. Leave some of him alive, though, okay? Wes wants a rematch to prove he didn't get outflown by someone fresh out of the Academy."

"I got shot down without getting hurt," he replied. A hint of a smile tugged at his normally inexpressive features. "I'm up on my usual combat luck."

They walked over to a deserted section of the hangar. Inyri steeled herself for the confrontation to come.

"Johats," she began. "I know during training you made a habit of disobeying orders, in order to better pursue tactics you thought superior. Not here. Rogue Squadron is a collection of the finest, most experienced pilots in the New Republic. What this group doesn’t know about warfare isn’t worth knowing. If we give you an order, we expect it to be followed. That includes telling you not to get into a fight with Commander Antilles. Do I make myself clear?"

"I’ll say this for you, Lieutenant," he said. "You give much shorter lectures than my instructors did. I’ll say the same thing to you that I did to them. I have no trouble following orders, but I’m a lot less fond of authority than most new recruits. It is something I hope to change about myself. For the time being, I beg forbearance, and hope that you will allow me the chance to improve.

Without waiting for an answer, Johats walked off. Inyri stared after him, speechless.

The door slid open to reveal a very tired looking Inyri Forge. Tycho returned her salute, and invited her in.

Inyri sat facing Tycho, and he studied her across the desk. He had a shrewd idea of what she wanted to say.

"Johats, sir," she replied. "I couldn’t get through to him after the exercise. He’s so arrogant. He just brushed off my anger at his disobeying orders."

"He shot down eight ships out there, one of them a Star Destroyer. That was, ah, somewhat better than anyone else. He may feel he has a right to be arrogant."

"Not at the expense of team orders, sir," Inyri said. Tycho could see this was getting to her. He wondered whether allowing Inyri to command the mission had been the best move.

"I know. It's unacceptable. I was wondering how you tried to get through to him?"

"That's not always the best way, Inyri. Perhaps you should go talk to him now? I believe he's in the bar with the other pilots," Tycho commented.

"I think Johats is hiding a lot of emotions, and I don't think the formal way is the way to break down the walls he's built up around them. I requested his transfer to the Rogues because I thought that in the right environment, he might come good. I still think that's true. So go and be a friend to him, Inyri. I don't think he has that many."

Inyri paused at the door to the bar. She wondered what was inside. Will Johats be inside, in the midst of everyone? Or will he be sitting off separately, aloof and alone with his thoughts. She pushed open the swing door, and was met by a cacophony of noise, led by the distinctive bellows of Wes Janson in the midst of a session.

Inyri watched bemused as the Wraith, along with Face, Phanan and A-Wing pilot Pedna Scotian staggered drunkenly along the bar, each dancing to a tune only they could hear. The remaining squadron members were scattered among the tables of the bar, with Hobbie and Wedge sitting in the centre, a sign marked "Captured TIE pilots" around their necks and the stuffed Ewok doll strapped to their wrists, joining them together.

Inyri shook her head ruefully, and looked for Johats. She eventually saw him, part of the group but sitting alone. A single glass, half full, sat in front of him on the table, and while he was looking towards the quartet of bar dancers, she could tell he wasn't seeing them.

She walked towards him, and drew a chair up to his table, sitting down before he realised she was there.

He looked at her blankly. "Not my place to say no to an officer, is it Lieutenant?"

"None of that, Johats," Inyri said. "Once we step through that door, it's no décor in here. Remember? How else could a lowly flight officer like Phanan join the three lieutenants up there?"

That, at least, elicited a response from the young man. He smiled, slightly, and took a sip from his brandy. Inyri recognised the smell as that of an Alderaanian brand, probably synthesised. She focused on the link to Johats' original home.

"Have you ever managed to make your Return?" She gestured at the glass, to clarify. Returning was becoming a minor religion among Alderaanians. To return to the site of their home, and say their final good-byes was, for many a key point in their life.

"I…" he began. "I tried," he looked up at her, through her, back to a time nearly a decade before, when Alderaan had been a place to live. "I went there shortly before graduation, but I didn't know what to say. Some of the ex-pats have made it into something of a ritualised experience, with set things to say. That's wrong. It should be personal, not some mass marketed thing. Even though I couldn't say anything, I felt better about being there. I hate that people feel wrong because they couldn't say what someone else thinks they should say."

He looked back at his glass. Inyri thought back to a time when she'd made her own version of a Return.

"My sister," she began, "was in Rogue Squadron before me. She was killed, not in a dogfight, not in a spacecraft even. She had her throat cut by an Imperial stormtrooper while she slept. That's not how we're supposed to die. She'd have hated it. She always wanted to make her life mean something, and to die like that would have seemed such a waste to her.

"She's the reason I'm with the Rogues. To make sure her death wasn't in vain. First time I climbed into an X-Wing cockpit, first time I fired on an enemy, I knew that that was what Lujayne would have wanted of me. What about you? Why are you here, Deysha?"

He looked up again at the mention of his first name. He looked into Inyri's eyes, for a long second, before looking away.

"When we escaped," he began. "We were on a transport with a small holocomm unit. I watched the broadcast of the Death Star being blown up. Even though Imperial forces broke through the Rebel slicing a minute later, I already knew I wanted to do that. I wanted to fly against the Empire, strike the blows that defeated the machines that meant only death to millions of people. I wanted to set the galaxy right. When we got to Zenesca, the first thing I did was track down a place with a flight simulator. It was an old Headhunter sim, and I sat there for hours, spending all the money I had.

"Word spread about me, and people started challenging me, paying me to fly against them. I flew every sim going, against anyone who challenged. I got so good they started handicapping me, putting me in a Headhunter, or a Y-Wing. Eventually, I put my name down for the academy, and got accepted.

"It was during my first semester that Zsinj showed up, and turned Iron Fist against my home. There was nothing left. The surface was crystallised, no buildings, no plants. Nothing to mark that the planet had ever been alive.

"Everyone I know is dead, Lieutenant. My parents, my brothers, my sister, my friends, my…" His voice cracked, and Inyri saw him gulp down a lump in his throat. He dragged his sleeve over his eyes. "My fianceé. They all died. I'm the only one left alive, from everyone I've ever known."

His voice hardened suddenly. "So forgive me if, at times, I don't play by the rules. Lets face it, who's gonna care if I get thrown out of the squadron?"

"You don't make it easy to care, Johats," Inyri shot back. "Just because you've lost everyone, you think that gives you a right to be an uptight little spicehead? For Kessel's sake, Johats, look around you!" Inyri began to point at their fellow pilots.

"Ton Phanan. He nearly died at Endor, and has to live life as a cyborg. Tycho Celchu, another Alderaanian, who was speaking to his family when the Death Star blew up the world. Corran Horn, who watched his father die and caught the killer, only for the son of the Sith Imp officer to let him go. Piggy, born and raised in an Imp laboratory, tortured and treated like a piece of crap for nearly his entire life.

"Don't try and tell us about suffering, Johats, because we've seen it all. Don't try and make excuses for yourself. You don't have to be here." She was shouting now, and part of her knew she'd lost control of the situation. "Every person in this room is prepared to help you deal with your problems. Don't insult us by pretending we don't know what you're going through."

Sobbing now, Inyri turned and ran. She slammed through the door and into the Coruscant night air.

Back inside the bar, Tycho disengaged himself from Hobbie and wandered over to where Johats sat. He leaned on the table, enough to be at eye level with the flight officer.

"She's right," the captain said. "We are prepared to help you. But first you have to want to help yourself. You want to fly with the New Republic, you'll have to learn to trust us. Just a word to the wise, Johats."

Johats stood abruptly, slopping the remainder of his drink onto the table. He turned on his heel and walked stiffly out the bar door.

"I'm not a gambling man, Hobbie. But, if I were, I wouldn't want to put money on Johats being in this squadron by the time we leave for our next mission. I hope I'm wrong. Saying that, I think Inyri put a few cracks in his defenses."

Inyri sobbed quietly into her pillow. Why am I letting him get to me, she thought. Why does this arrogant little swine upset me so much. Deep down, she knew the answer. I feel like he's mocking all I've achieved. He reminds me so much of myself after Lujayne… After she died. But I came back, and he hasn't. Why does that upset me so much? Does seeing him so casually dismiss all I've managed in the Rogues, all that all of us have achieved, does that really hurt me so much?

There was a chirping from her doorbell. She ignored it, knowing she didn't want to talk in the least. There was a faint beeping as the person outside punched a code into the door's keypad. A loud bleep signaled the door's acceptance of the code, and the door slid open.

Inyri grasped for her blaster, swearing mentally as she realised it sat, with her coat, by the door. The intruder flicked the light switch, and Inyri gasped to see Deysha Johats standing in the doorway.

"Do you not understand what a locked door means," Inyri asked irritably. "Let me give you a quick pointer. It means leave. Not 'get out a lock pick and break in'. Take the hint, Johats, I'm not in the mood to be insulted by you anymore. Go away."

"I'm not here to insult you, Lieutenant. I'm here to apologise for insulting you. It was never my intention, and I don't want to do I again. I want to explain something. If I may?"

He gestured at a chair by the door. When Inyri failed to say anything, he pulled it up to the bed, and sat down opposite her.

"For the last several years, I've been alone. I was only able to count on myself, ever since Alderaan. My family were great, really, but so torn up by grief for their own families, that I was often just left alone. My brothers were a lot older than me, and were always at work. My sister was younger, and took up most of what little time my parents had for us kids.

"I sailed through school, and I already told you about the sims. I met my one true friend there, though: my fianceé, Carday Brysi.

"She was so beautiful, and so kind. She was really the only person I ever talked to, and I fell in love, hopelessly. Miracle of miracles, she loved me in return, and we planned to marry as soon as I graduated.

"When I learned about Zenesca, I made a vow to put a stop to that kind of thing. Whereas before I was flying for myself, now I was flying for everyone. My family, Carday, every child orphaned because Zsinj and his kind didn't think their planet's ruler kneeled quickly enough.

"I learned to rely on myself, and that's a hard habit to break. I was written off quickly by my instructors as another hotshot. They said I wouldn't last the course. But I did, and I got to join the Rogues. But here I've found I'm stuck in my ways. I really tried to change, but I can't bring myself to place my trust in my teammates. Something that comes so naturally to everyone else is completely alien to me."

Inyri watched the man slump back into his chair. Clearly he was sharing things about himself that he'd never told anyone else. Even though his issues are fairly clear to anyone with a smattering of psychological know how, he wouldn't know that. He's opening up, to me at least. That's good.

He blinked, as though he hadn't been expecting to be asked that. He looked away for a second, staring into his past. "Something from my time on board the training frigate Tedevium. It was right after Zsinj… Anyway, I wanted to become someone else, and my squadron came up with that. Apparently a Majickishi is a flock of Rodian birds of prey. You never see one bird alone, they fly in groups, killing off much bigger enemies by teamwork. It seemed," he smiled, "appropriate."

"So you've trusted your team mates at least once then, Johats," Inyri pointed out. "You let them rename you. You're not completely lost, but it will be a hard journey back to the level of skill necessary to fly with us permanently. Are you up to the challenge?"

"I've never backed down from one yet, Lieutenant," he replied. "What will it involve?"

"Learning to trust us. All of us. You'll fly missions with every Rogue, from Captain Celchu down to your fellow cadets. Not just flying, either. Simple tasks, like being guided by one of us around. Learning to trust us will keep you alive when your skill won't, Johats.

"More importantly, knowing we can trust you will make the entire squadron fly better. We're only as strong as the weakest member of the team. It's something the Commander drills into all of us. Right now, Johats, that’s you" - she watched as he flinched from the rebuke - "but, I think, with a little work, it could be someone else. Now get out of here and get some sleep, Majick, because we're going to be up nice and early tomorrow."

Johats' datapad the next morning contained a single message 'Canteen, 0700 CST, IF' and he had presumed he would be training alone with Inyri. Instead, he'd walked in on the massed ranks of pilots from all the squadrons. All the Rogues were in the canteen, as well as many of the Wraiths. Various other pilots represented the remaining squadrons. Many, Johats realised were nursing hangovers, the worst being the unusually subdued pair of Face and Phanan. Johats looked around for Inyri Forge, and saw her in conversation with Captain Celchu and the Commander. She beckoned him over, and he noticed that she held a thick strip of black cloth in one hand.

As he walked up to the group, Inyri stood to greet him. He sat with the three pilots, and awaited instruction.

"Cadet Johats," Wedge began. "You claim to want to know how to function as part of a team, to learn trust. We've come to the conclusion that you should learn the hard way." The Commander, Johats noticed, was struggling to suppress a smile. Johats began to suspect what was going to happen.

"The test we've chosen for you is normally only used by Jedi initiates. It's called 'Force Sight' or, as Janson over there would have it, 'Remote Control Comedy.' "

"Basically," Tycho added, "we're going to blindfold you, and let the pilots loose on you. Most of them are hungover, so you shouldn't have too much trouble. We'll move the furniture around to make it a test for you. You'll have to let your squadron mates guide you to the far wall, while the rest of the pilots set traps for you to be guided around. You'll need to trust your team mates completely, Johats."

"Can you do it?" This was Inyri, looking at him like a concerned parent with her wayward child.

I guess that's not a bad description, Johats thought. I've been acting like a spoilt child for too long, and now it's time for me to make amends. If I have to pass this test to keep flying, I will.

As he wondered where that thought had suddenly come from, Johats felt the cloth drop over his eyes. It was tied snugly around his face, and he was instantly deprived of all sight. He heard a few muted laughs from the pilots around him.

"At least now we don't see his face. Is he gagged too?" That was unmistakably Phanan. Johats wondered how much of the irritation in his voice was hangover fuelled, and how much he actually deserved.

Maybe winning over the squadrons is going to be harder than I first thought, Johats mused.

He heard the tables and chairs being scraped around on the floor. Eventually, the pilots seemed to reach a common consent that the challenge was as ready as it would ever be.

"Head straight ahead for six paces, Johats, then turn one quarter to the right."

Johats did as he was told. All he while, he fought the urge to remove the blindfold.

How am I going to cope when I have trouble with the simplest of orders? How can I learn to trust anyone when I can't even trust the Captain?

"Now take six steps to your right, and three steps forward." A different voice this time, with a pleasant tenor note to it. Johats suspected it belonged to Gavin Darklighter.

"There is a chair in front of you. Step right, three steps forward, then step left." This voice was unmistakably that of the Twi'lek, Tal'Dira.

A Correllian ordered him through a pair of pilots forming an arch, while Asyr Sei'lar, the Bothan, controlled his clamber over a messy and unstable collection of tables and chairs. Still more voices guided him over further obstacles, living or otherwise.

"I've been doing this forever," he shouted. "How much longer do I have to go on?"

He did so, and looked around. What he saw was the entirety of the furniture piled at his end of the room, some thirty feet from the far end of the room. He looked at his chrono. More than thirty minutes had been spent on the makeshift assault course.

He seethed inwardly. What have I been doing? Making a fool of myself for their amusement? This is so unfair!

"What was that about?" He furiously continued, "I never had a chance of completing that challenge!"

"No. You didn't," replied Wedge. "On the other hand, you followed orders, unquestioningly, for more than 30 minutes. That's a good sign. There is hope for you. To borrow another Jedi term, you've taken your first steps in the ways of the Rogues."

Johats training was intensive in nature. Over the next several weeks, he underwent exercises that required full co-operation with his teammates, again taken from every squadron Wedge and Inyri could muster. Johats faired well when on the ground, and even in simple fighter missions. When the fighter missions grew in complexity, however, so did Johats divergence from his orders. Inyri began to wonder whether he would ever learn to conform.

Deysha is a wild card, she thought. She'd just seen the pilot sacrifice his wing mate, against direct orders, in order to destroy a shield generator in a Sullustan volcano. He truly believes he knows better than Commander Antilles, or Captain Celchu, or even me. I don't want to lose him, I…

She snapped to. Where had that thought come from? Johats was a fine pilot, maybe even a friend, but her interest in him was strictly professional. Wasn't it?

Deysha climbed out of the B-Wing simulator cockpit a few days later. He'd flown on the wing of Corsair Squadron's leader, Lieutenant Koth, and had flown a tough mission, following orders to the letter. He looked up to see Inyri Forge and Wedge Antilles watching him from the control room. Inyri smiled at him, and Deysha looked away. He felt strange around Inyri, as though something was wrong. As he took the Lieutenant's 'job-well-done', he analysed what was wrong.

She's my superior officer, contributing to my appraisal, he thought. It's only natural to fell uncomfortable around her. He dismissed that thought, and headed for the showers, pondering what the feeling could mean along the way.

Face and Phanan watched as Inyri walked into the canteen. She took a table on her own, and picked listlessly at her food. She looked up quickly every time the door opened. Face arched an eyebrow at his friend.

Face grimaced. "You made a bet without coming to me first? I'd have at least given you good odds, better than that babyfaced farmboy."

"It's a public service," Phanan said with a wicked grin. "The kid needs to learn not to bet against a sure thing, something I recall you already know."

"Thank you for reminding me, Dr. Phanan," Face replied with a sigh. He'd bet on Johats going rogue in the B-Wing mission, and as a result had had to act as Kell Tainer's assistant in an unarmed combat display. Phanan had maliciously left his friend to be treated last of all the injuries suffered as a result of the class. Face wondered sometimes why he let himself put up with the man.

Then he remembered. No-one else was prepared to put up with Face on as regular basis as Phanan was. Face returned to his own meal with a small smile.

Johats slid into the seat opposite Inyri and nodded in the direction of the Wraith pair.

Inyri smiled. "Probably their latest scheme to rob Gavin or Runt of their pay. I don't know how they live with themselves, sometimes."

"Here's me, alone in the universe, not caring about myself. I'm a dead man walking, about to be drummed out of the fleet. I can't bring myself to trust anyone enough to put my life in their hands, but that's part and parcel of being a starfighter pilot, especially in one of Commander Antilles squadrons. I'm a mess, not honouring the loss of my loved ones, but betraying them, every time I betray my squadron, every time I climb into a cockpit."

What surprised Forge was how quietly he was speaking. He was resigned to his fate, it seemed. Is all my effort going to be for nothing? Have I lost Deysha? This can't be fair!

"But amid all of this," Johats continued, "I've seen someone in at least as big a mess as me. Someone ignoring her own, living family. Someone choosing only to live through the memory of her dead sister, never her own, alive self. So many times now you've told me that Lujayne is your reason for being here. But Lujayne is gone, and from what I've heard of her, she wouldn't have wanted you to try and live her life. She would have wanted you to live yours.

"I'm almost gone because I made the same choices you did, Inyri. Don't end up going down the same route I have."

Inyri locked the door behind her, and fell on her bed. She buried her face in her pillow, and thought about the preceding few minutes. She'd stormed out of the canteen, feeling betrayed by Johats. What right does he have to talk to me like that, she thought fiercely. I live only for me. Not Lujayne. I'm not trying to be her. I loved her. I wouldn't do that to her.

Inside, though, she knew how close Johats' words had come to the truth. How often had she tried to do what she thought Lujayne would have done? Was she really trying to be like her elder sister? Or was she trying to be her elder sister?

It was make or break time for Flight Officer Deysha Johats. Success, obedient success, would result in his permanent placement in the Rogue's. Failure, disobedient failure, would see him fall faster than a Death Star with Wedge Antilles around.

Johats smiled grimly as he buckled his helmet strap. He was even thinking like a Rogue now. Surely he hadn't come this far only to fail. He knew the final mission he would face. He was flying the Requiem scenario, piloting one of the X-Wing's assigned to protecting the corvette Korolev. He knew that fellow Rogue Corran Horn was flying the hot-dog role, one he'd made his own. Meanwhile, Rogues would also fly the other X-Wings, but Johats did not yet know which of his squadron he'd drawn.

The door to the sim hangar opened, and Corran walked in, accompanied by Asyr Sei'lar and Gavin Darklighter. Deysha waved to his three team mates, and watched as they climbed into the cockpits of the sims. They waved back, and Deysha watched Gavin blow Asyr a kiss before pulling on his helmet. Again, he felt the twist in his chest, and he now knew what it was. He was attracted to Inyri Forge, he knew, but he also knew he was no good for her. He'd wanted to save her from going down the same road as him, so he'd confronted her about her sister.

He wondered if it had done any good, or if he'd instead hurt the woman he cared for.

The simulator screens came alive, sowing an empty starfield. Johats, in the tail position could also see the three X-Wings that made up the rest of Red Flight. His R2 droid, Flare, beeped once, confirming sensor lock on the Korolev. Johats banked his X-Wing towards the corvette, alongside those of Gavin and Asyr. Corran, meanwhile, stayed away from the Korolev, awaiting the arrival of the Imperial frigate Warspite. When it appeared, he would assault the bombers it would drop off, while the rest of the Flight guarded the corvette against the frigate's TIE fighters.

The plan had been proven as workable, giving a high rate of success against one of the most difficult scenarios a trainee pilot would encounter. All Johats had to do was follow orders, which should be simple enough, he hoped.

The Warspite dropped out of hyperspace seven klicks from the Korolev. It immediately deployed three bombers and two TIE fighters as escort. That leaves five ships in reserve, Johats thought. Enough to keep us mindful, but if we take out this wave quickly, maybe the frigate's captain will give up. Even as he thought it, Johats knew it was a vain hope. The scenario featured Imperial tactics at their most aggressive, and he knew that he would tangle with all the TIE's the Warspite had.

He throttled back on his thrusters, staying over the Korolev while he faced the first wave of attacking ships. He watched Corran speed towards the attackers, tearing through the middle of the formation, scattering the ships, and disorienting the pilots. Each of the TIE's was being flown by one of the Rogues or Wraith's, Johats knew, and he was surprised that they'd allowed themselves to be thrown by such a basic maneuver.

He brought his crosshairs over a Bomber that had flow into range, and waited for a lock to be acquired. As soon as the HUD went red, he fired a single missile, and watched it streak away from his stationary position. He devoutly wished to be following it. But that's not in the book, today, he thought If I leave the Korolev, I leave the squadron.

Corran, meanwhile, was wearing down the TIE's, killing off two of the Bomber's and a Fighter in rapid succession. Deysha suspected that novice TIE pilots had been flying those ships. That meant more experienced pilots were left, which meant more dangerous pilots.

He swore to himself as he watched Corran fly into a stream of fire from one of the TIE's. Calling up the Corellian's data, he watched as the rear shields dropped to zero. That leaves him as naked as a Hutt at bath time. If Hutt's even take baths…

Seconds later, he heard Gavin bellow a warning at Corran to dodge. Deysha quickly realised why. With his slightly different viewpoint, Darklighter had seen a TIE Bomber launch a missile at the rear of Corran's ship, and Corran had not yet reinforced his aft shields.

Deysha tried frantically to lock onto the pursuing missile, but he was too far away. He watched as the explosive detonated just behind the X-Wing, tearing the ship into fragments, and eliminating Corran from the scenario. The Warspite celebrated by releasing two more TIE's.

Damn, Johats thought. They're making this difficult. His orders were explicit: Stick by the Korolev. But my teammates seem set to lose this one for me. They're testing my resolve. Can I sit by and let them die, in order to follow orders?

Thank the Force this is only a sim. What if I had to do this for real? What would I do then?

Johats watched Gavin fly towards the incoming TIE's, and smiled. The Tattooinian quickly downed a TIE fighter, and a bomber only for a turbolaser blast from the Warspite to knock his ship off course and drain his shields. A pair of Bomber's converged on the wounded ship, and their missiles reduced he X-Wing to atoms.

A short curse erupted over the comm, which Johats knew to be from Asyr. He wondered whether she knew about the test, or whether her feelings were genuine.

The Warspite launched the last of it's ships, meaning six TIE's now assaulted the defenceless Korolev. Deysha knew the scenario was going from bad to worse. With the two senior pilots gone, the mission was almost lost.

"Three, this is Four," came Asyr's voice over the comm. "Your choice of new orders."

"Acknowledged Four," he replied. "Target the dupes exclusively, and go do the hot dog thing. I'll keep the home fires burning."

"Don't question orders, Four. Just do it," he replied, a twisted grin on his face.

He watched Asyr's X-Wing tear at the nearest TIE Bombers. A pair of the dupes died in her first pass, victim of each others bomb magazines, which Asyr had triggered with a set of surgical strikes. The slow moving craft were like nerfs to a Krayt dragon - Gavin's influence there, I think - as the skillful Bothan weaved between them.

Johats, meanwhile, kept himself busy by trying to shoot the missiles that the dupes managed to launch at the Korolev. He swore as one sneaked through, taking down the weak shields of the corvette.

Johats checked, to see the message had come in over his private channel to his R2 unit. A query revealed that Inyri had recorded the message the previous night, to be played if Johats was left alone in the mission.

Johats scanned the starscape, only seeing a single bomber. "Flare, where is Three?"

Flare replayed a short excerpt from the flight recorder, showing Asyr's X-Wing colliding with a TIE fighter, vaporising both of them.

Deysha triggered his last missile at the Bomber, and watched the projectile home in on the lumbering craft. At the last second, the craft managed to turn and fire on the Korolev, a single torpedo springing from the ship's launchers even as the ship itself was destroyed by Deysha's missile.

Deysha flipped his weapon selector to lasers, and opened fire on the missile, only for the lasers to pass harmlessly by it. He fired frantically, unable to track in on the tiny projectile, and out of missiles. It seemed as though he'd lost the Requiem scenario.

That's not fair, he thought, frustrated. I should have at least one other pilot to shoot this thing down…

But life isn't fair, is it? If life was fair, you wouldn't be sitting in this cockpit. You would never have met Carday if life was fair.

The thought of Carday made his gut twist. It also made him think of Inyri, who'd come to mean a lot to him. He'd begun to value her opinion as much as he had Carday's.

What had Inyri's message meant? 'What it means to be part of a squadron…' What did THAT mean? To work as a team? But the others are all gone. To follow orders? I've DONE that. Haven't I?

"Remember," Commander Antilles had concluded. "The Korolev is vital to the war effort. It must survive this mission."

Deysha relaxed. He knew what he had to do. He threw his throttles forward, accelerating towards the torpedo. He transferred all power from lasers and shields to engines, getting as much speed as he could.

He measured the distance as well as he could, visually. He had to intercept the missile as far from the Korolev as he could, and hope the damaged ship would survive the explosion. He guessed he had twenty metres or so, and prayed it would be enough.

He watched the torpedo speeding towards the Korolev. And was thankful the dupe had been so far from the corvette when it had fired. He felt his pulse racing as he grew nearer and nearer to the torp. He prayed his decision was the right one, as he grew nearer, and nearer, and nearer….

The party was in full swing, and every off duty member of staff on the base was taking part. In order to best celebrate Johats initiation into the Rogues, the wildest, most extravagant party was being held. Too, the party commemorated the end of the shore leave for the pilot's of the various New Republic squadrons. The next day, they were scheduled to leave for Warthia Prime, an Old Republic transfer base, where the squadrons would meet up with Han Solo's anti-Zsinj task force.

I can't wait to join the hunt for that pieces of Sithspawn, thought Johats. Then another thought occurred to him. Well, maybe I can wait a little while..,

He looked around the room for Inyri Forge, hoping to see her, but failing. Instead he saw Tyria, Face, Corran and Gavin racing around the bar on top of their astromech droids. As well as that, he could see Wedge struggling to cope with Kell Tainer's Ewok trap, which had left him manacled ridiculously by each limb to the Ewok doll, after losing an arm wrestling contest to the big man.

Phanan, meanwhile, was using part of his cyborg circuitry to shiver his skin around his arm, a characteristic that both revolted and fascinated a pretty Bothan female who'd been in the bar when they arrived.

But nowhere in the room could Johats find Inyri Forge. He looked around, and realised Tycho and Wes Janson were approaching. He came to attention, only to be waved down by the Captain. It was Wes who spoke first.

"You have to teach these kids to lighten up, Tycho. They take all this way too seriously," Wes said.

"I like the squadron the way it is," replied Tycho, deadpan. "I can't tell you how relieved I was to hear I was getting Hobbie and not you. I like dour."

"You may like dour," Wes replied. "But five says that sweet young Twi'lek Hobbie is chatting up will like the dashing, handsome, charming type."

"You know, I liked you much better when you were in Lusankya," Wes said, with a resigned smile. "I'm glad I'm with Wedge. He only tries to crush my ego on alternate days."

Deysha took a deep breath, before knocking on Inyri's door. Receiving no reply, he considered using the decrypter he'd won off an intelligence officer, but decided to wait. He shouldered the bag he had with him, and stepped back into the shadows of the poorly lit hall. He had a shrewd guess that it wouldn't take long.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened a crack, and a shape pressed up against the opening. Deysha waited for it to pull back from the door before stepping out of the shadows. He was rewarded with a gasp.

"Surely you don't need inviting, Johats. You could just hack through the lock," came the reply. Deysha twisted inside as he heard the bitterness in Inyri's words.

"I could have, but I didn't. In fact, I came bearing gifts. To thank you. And to apologise."

She watched him, through the crack between door and frame. Eventually she stepped back, and keyed the door to open fully.

He entered, and she gestured for him to take a seat. She pulled a chair up and sat down, the chair back between her and Johats.

Deysha at and looked at Inyri for a short time. He took in every detail. The stiff posture, the hard set of her face, the blazing defiance in her eyes.

The thought caused a brief spasm of guilt, as he knew it always would, as he thought of Carday. What would she think of me? Sitting here? It's been eighteen months since she died. Is that enough time?

And what about Zekka Thyne? It's been barely a year since he died at Inyri's own hands. Just because she killed him, doesn't mean she didn't love him. Is she over that?

Deysha made an elaborate gesture of reaching into the standard issue duffel bag. First, he pulled out the door decrypter, and held it out in front of Inyri.

"I want you to have it. No more breaking and entering. From now on, I'm following your orders. And those of any other officer," he added with a lopsided grin.

She took the small device, and studied it intently. Deysha noticed the softening of her features as she looked at the decrypter. The defiance only partly returned when she looked up again.

"That was the first of four things I have to give to you. You seemed to not object to it too much. Here's the second."

With that, he drew from his bag a small holocube, and activated it. It displayed an image of Lujayne Forge, standing with her arms around Corran Horn and Rhysati Ynr, shortly after the three joined the Rogues. Subsequent images showed Lujayne at various points in her life, including a number of pictures featuring Inyri and Lujayne together.

"I had to contact your parents to get some of the images. I hope you don't mind."

Inyri shook her head mutely, staring at the images, and biting her lip. A single tear rolled down her cheek as an image of Lujayne leaving Kessel to join the New Republic military flashed up.

"They also said you might like this," he added. He drew a pair of plush dolls out of the sack.

"Oh…" was all Inyri could say as she took them. "It's me and Lujayne. We had them made by a weaver when we were ten or eleven…"

"So your parent's said. The also said to tell you that they are proud of you. They're proud of what you're doing. They said to tell you that they think Lujayne would have been proud of you too. No matter what path you had chosen."

Inyri looked up at Deysha from the dolls. All the hardness had gone from her face, and Deysha was forced to make a correction to his earlier thought. This is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, he thought.

"So, is that the four gifts? The decrypter, the holocube, the dolls, and the message from my folks?"

"Not quite, Inyri. The message was just that. My final gift to you, and one I really hope you like, is this." He leant forward in his chair, and took her head in his hands. Bending slightly, he tilted her head so that he could gently place a kiss on her lips.

How can I possibly be fit to fly? There must have been some spice trapped in the package Inyri's folks sent her. I must have breathed some of it in. Yeah, that's it!

Johats grinned goofily as the squadrons prepared for departure. The kiss had lasted a long time, and the conversation himself and Inyri had had lasted a long time as well. He'd not gotten to sleep until the sun was in the sky, and part of him was glad for the long journey to the transfer point

Maybe I'll get some sleep, he thought. Probably not. I'm too excited to do much of anything at all. He looked around the hangar, and wondered how many of the group were as happy as he were. Maybe Gavin and Asyr. He hoped they were. He hoped, really, that they all were.

In the cockpit of her snubfighter, Inyri sat, and stared out through the transparisteel canopy. Looking, but not seeing, she felt her insides churn, every part of her body in violent disagreement with every other part. What had happened the previous night, she couldn't explain. She'd allowed herself to be surprised by Deysha's kiss, and then even more so by how he hadn't pressed for more.

It was like the first step on a long road. Would I make that journey? Do I want to?

It wasn't about Zekka Thyne, she knew. She'd never loved the criminal, even though she'd devoted herself to him. Instead, he'd been her way of escaping the mundanity of Kessel life, especially after the death of Lujayne. He'd represented the life of excitement she'd always dreamed of.

I have that life here. I don't want to risk that. I'm not going to let this thing with Deysha go any further. I'm not prepared to risk being hurt again.

Inside the cockpit of his much traveled X-Wing, Commander Antilles looked at Rogues Seven and Eight, and hoped that whatever happened would be good for them and the squadron.

Then, he tried to work out how the Wraiths had bypassed his cockpit security to put one of Phanan's glass prowlers in with him.

Wes Janson watched from his position next to Wedge's ship. He saw Wedge squirm frantically in his cockpit, and flashed a thumbs up at Phanan as the two mounted the ladders to climb into their own ships.

Inside, however, he was forced to stifle a curse as he realised someone had customised the interior of his ship with fake Ewok skin everywhere. Even through his flightsuit and gloves, Wes could feel the prickly, ticklish hair irritating his skin. As the cockpit canopy automatically sealed him in, Wes resigned himself to a very long flight.

The squadrons came out of hyperspace seven hours later, and as the neared Warthia Prime, the bases landing beacons lit up. The base shone brightly on the sensors of each of the ships, and they were guided into land by skilled computers.

Deysha reviewed the information on the base. 1.75 G, breathable oxygen atmosphere, heavy iron core and crust deposits, allowing the base to hide for a long time from Imperial sensors. Not much records for a planet that's been settled for hundred s of years.

The imminent landing cleared the line of thought from Deysha's mind. As soon as the seal on his cockpit cracked open, he pulled himself free. I'm a true Rogue now! I've even flown a mission with them, he thought. Even if it was just a base transfer, they all count. I feel like a kid again. Of course, he added to himself, That's not just the influence of the Rogues. Not all of them, anyway…

He hopped off the edge of the snubfighter's wing, and landed in a crouch. Standing up straight, he looked around for Inyri's ship, and saw it coming through the magcon field. Waiting for it to land, and power down, he again cast his mind back to the previous night, and basked in the renewed emotions he was experiencing.

He walked over to her as she climbed slowly down the ladder from her cockpit. He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump, and spin round in a defensive stance.

She smiled slightly, but the expression disappeared quickly, and her face resumed a stony blankness.

Later that night -Or whatever time it is. I should be asleep, not lying here thinking about her- Johats lay in his quarters, tossing and turning while Ooryl Qyrgg meditated in his bunk.

Eventually, after accepting that sleep would escape him that night, Johats headed for the hangar. Feeling spurned and rejected by Inyri's abrupt breakup, he returned to his ship, gratified to see the Rogue's Twileki chief mechanic, Koyi Komad, still working hard.

Remembering that his upper port engine had been running hot that day, he walked over to ask if the problem had been fixed. He dived deep into a technical conversation with Komad, and briefly forgot his troubles with Inyri. However, he soon remembered when it transpired that Komad had been working on Inyri's X-Wing when Deysha had arrived. Catching sight of Inyri's name stencilled on the side of her fighter made Deysha's gut twist, again.

I care way too much about a woman who gives me gut ache whenever I think about her, he thought bitterly.

After an hour watching Koyi fix his X-Wing, Deysha began to feel weary enough that sleep was a possibility. Koyi chased him out of the hangar, and he headed towards his quarters. Slumping down on the bed, he drifted into a fitful sleep, punctuated by dreams of Inyri, reliving the moment that she dumped him.

Finally, the dreams shifted, and Inyri took on the form of a screaming harpy, her voice mocking him, before changing into a wild echoing voice, sounding a lot like a…

Deysha snapped into bleary wakefulness, his dreams half remembered, enough for him to expect Inyri to be standing over him. Instead, the alert lamp was flashing, bathing the room in a blood red light.

Deysha swung off his bunk, and pulled on his boots before sprinting out the door, hurriedly zipping his flight suit closed. There was only one thing that could have brought this base to full red alert, and that was a large scale orbital attack. That meant he, and the other pilots, had to be up and airborne as soon as they possibly could.

And that meant a disorganised defence, unlikely to be effective against the co-ordinated enemy.

Deysha swore as he swung himself into his cockpit, and began emergency prestart.

The starfighters blasted through the magcon field, searching desperately for targets. Tal'Dira was the first to acquire the enemys, a swarm of TIE bomber's, dropping missiles on the Rebel base. He and his temporary wingman, Cadet Ansa Heelo, flew full tilt into the furball, spraying missile blasts at their enemys.

"Damn hothead," Tycho snarled, over the comm. "Alright, fly by departure, shoot straight, don't be afraid to call for help. We'll try and find time somewhere for more detailed instructions"

At that, Commander Antilles came through the magcon field, and assumed control of the battle.

"Corsair and Defender squadrons: Head into orbit and see if you can find the transports these dupes used. They can't have gotten here alone. Everyone else, concentrate on the fighter's."

Deysha hurtled headlong into the midst of the furball, firing a strea of dual linked blasts. Not seeing whether he scoed any hits, he blasted out the other side and prepared to turn back. A bleep from Flare caught his attention, and he noticed an unusual reading on his sensors.

"This is Rogue Eight. I have a flukey reading on my sensors, bearing 291.2. anyone else getting it?"

"Eight, this is Warden Three. I have the reading. Commander, suggest outbound flight to investigate further."

"Agreed, Three. We don't need surprises. Let's see… Polearm three flight, go check it out. Don't get too close, but see what it is, OK?"

Four "Aye, Sir's" came over the comm, and the A-Wing flight accelerated clear of the engagement, bringing their engines to full throttle and speeding away towards their target.

Meanwhile, the combined efforts of the remaining pilot's were rapidly wearing down the two TIE bomber squadrons. Only two were left now, to a loss of just one of Defender Squadron's Y-Wing's. Without a report from the two recconaisance units, the battle couldn't be deemed over, but Deysha began to suspect that the battle had been like the Requiem scenario. If the TIE transport has hypered away, the battle is ov-

"New contacts, bearing 291.2! Speed suggests TIE Interceptor's or better. Profile suggest's…" Inside his cockpit, Warden Three, a Correlian by the name of Zeynep Durandir went pale. "Profile suggests mixed squads of eyeball's, squints, and trips, sir."

It was Wedge's turn to swear. He did so. Vaping the last of the Bombers, he oriented himself to face the new threat.

"Form up by wing pairs, and get ready to fight. Three, any number's on the incoming?"

"Not clear, sir, but likely to be at least eight squadron's worth," replied the young man.

Eight, plus the two here, and Imperial doctrine says to keep at least one close to home… That means that up in orbit we have at least two Imperial Star Destroyers. And two squadrons sent to check? That's not good.

All this flashed through Johats mind as he automatically bought his ship alongside Rogue Seven's. He keyed his comm to broadcast to Wedge and Tycho.

"Thank you Eight, I know what we're up against. We can't worry about the Destroyer's now, we have to worry about what we can see."

Deysha acknowledged, unhappily. It was a feeling only intensified when he realised who was on his wing.

In her cockpit, Inyri steeled herself for further battle. She knew Eight was her wingman, and wasn't entirely happy with that, but it wasn't something she could do a lot about. She oriented her sensors forward, and squinted through her canopy, desperate to see anything of the onmcoming enemy.

Two minutes passed, in which time cmmuncations with Corsair and Defender squadrons were reestablished. Badly beaten, they'd happened across two Victory and one Imperial class Star Destroyer. The capital ships had come into the atmosphere of the planet, and had been hiding in a huge canyon formation. It was a new tactic for the Impeials, and the recon craft had been badly surprised. The four guard squadrons had attacked the Republic craft viciously, and a half dozen pilots had died covering their team mates escape. The returning craft, many badly damaged, were ordered to stay on the outskirts of the fight, lest they be massacred by their fresh opponents.

Outnumbered, outclassed, and outthought. This is flying! Johats thought. This is where I can show how good I can be. I've already got two kills, let's see if I can't make it to ace in my first engagement.

Entering maximum weapons range, the Republic and Imperial ships launched their first wave of missiles. The Republic forces deliberately targeted the TIE Defenders, as these shielded craft were the strongest of their foes. Imperial missiles were indiscriminating, and Polearm Six and Warden Ten fell in the first volley. Then, before any of the craft had a chance to reload, the battle lines were joined.

"Eight, I don't intend to leave you anything, but you're welcome to watch. You may learn something." Inyri's voice was tight, but strong.

Deysha tucked in behind Inyri, and weaved around behind her, spraying quad bursts of laser fire at any target he could see. An Interceptor fell to a combined volley from the pair, and then they were through, and banking instinctively to return to the fight.

Most at risk on the Republic side were the Wraith's. Attrition had replaced several of their X-Wing's with TIE's fighters. Commander Antilles, in one of the eyeballs, blasted continuously as he weaved the maneuverable craft in tight loops through the centre of the battle. Inevitably, though, he took minor hits. Also inevitably, he took a severe hit, a single laser bolt catching the solar panel just aft of the support strut. Wedge's power flickered briefly, before resorting to emergency bypasses.

Wing pair Face and Phanan were less lucky. They both took minor hits, slowing their craft noticeably, and making them targets for opportunistic Imperial pilot's.

"You think?" Phanan replied. "Cubber hates servicing TIE's, so why would he mind if we wreck these ones?"

Forge and Johats completed their second circuit of the fight, collecting a pair of eyeballs and moving well enough that the Imperial pilots were avoiding them already. They looped around for another pass.

This isn't too bad, Johats considered. She's Rogue Seven, not anything else.

The process of attrition continued to wear down the forces. The Imperial Defender's were making the difference, as they were picking up kills no other ship could. Especially heavily punished were the Y-Wings, far slower, weaker and less maneuverable than the trips.

With the eradication of a squadron's worth of Y-Wings came the beginning of the end for the Republic forces. Severely depleted, and with a vastly superior force to contend with, Wedge gave the evacuation signal.

"All squadrons. Omega, omega, omega. Base reports last transport is clear. Omega, omega, omega."

Those ships that could, broke free of the furball, and fled into hyperspace. With the numbers even further reduced, several more fell to the imperial attack. Carletti Coghlan, one of Deysha's fellow inductee's into the Rogues, was among those who fell. In all, nearly thirty of the Republic pilots had died, to less than fifteen of the Imperials.

Wedge, waiting for the last departure before he too fled, considered the numbers. His scanner showed only a few ships left. The Wraith's TIE's, unsure of what to do, and Rogue's Seven and Eight. What are they doing? They have hyperdrives. They have to go!

"Lead, Rogue Eight, we thought you'd like someone to cover your back while you omega'd the heck out of here."

"Eight, this is Lead, go. That's an order. You too, Seven. We don't have hyperdrives, you do."

The only reply from the Rogues was a staticky hissing. Wedge recognised it for what it was, the sound of gloved hands rasping over the comm mikes. He grimaced, and wondered who they'd learnt that trick from.

The five Republic ships fought gallantly, and managed to account for several of the Imperial ships. Eventually, Wedge managed to lock onto a ship he felt sure was the that of the Imperial commander.

The Defender had every advantage over the TIE fighter. However, the pilot, good though he was, was constrained by the number of Imperial craft in the area. Forced to avoid hitting his own ships, his performance edge was reduced enough for Wedge to slowly eat away at his shields.

Flare recorded an incoming transmission, heavily encrypted. He copied it to Deysha's computer, which sliced quickly through the Republic encryption, and squirted the data onto Johat's HUD.

Deysha understood, and broke off his attack on an Interceptor to comply with orders. Seconds later, a proton torpedo sprang from its launcher. It trailed a jet of blue-white flame as it powered towards the lead Defender, eventually crashing into the ships shields, demolishing them, and allowing Wedge's dual linked laser blast to hull the ship.

Deysha hooked up with Wedge to form an unlikely looking pair. The X-Wing dived into the furball again, with the TIE trailing. Wedge used the eyeball's greater maneuverability to skitter around the leading ship, adding his dual lasers to Deysha's quad linked blasts.

The resulting firepower laid waste to several of the unshielded craft, and the tide seemed to be turning in favour of the Rogues and the Wraiths.

However, incoming data feeds showed the three Star Destroyers emerging from their hiding place. This time, the Republic forces obeyed Wedge's omega signal without question, and the five ships scattered, leaving the remaining Imperial pilots to what would doubtless be an uncomfortable briefing.

Inyri had been happy to escape alive from the fight. Her craft had taken its share of knocks, including losing aft shields, and one of her engines. Nonetheless, she was still flying, and glad of the fact. She knew that she could have been worse off. Slowly, she eased power from her forward shields to reinforce the gradually strengthening rear shields. It took her several seconds too long to realise that she'd also lost aft sensors.

The Imperial Defender pilot had only meant it as a parting shot before returning to the Star Destroyer, his squadron and their fellows disgraced by a handful of Rebels. Some of them even in TIEs!

Phanan had watched the missile launch, seen it swing lazily past him, not recognising the twin ion engines of the ex-Imperial craft as a valid target. Too late he realised what the projectile had locked onto. Before he could activate his comm unit, There was a flash, and half of the X-Wing vanished.

Face was the closest to Inyri, and tried to warn her, only to realise his own comm unit had been damaged in the fight. He'd wondered at the time what had caused Phanan to clam up, suddenly. Now he knew.

Wedge had been too far away to do anything but watch the incident unfold on his rear sensor screens. He knew the death of Inyri would have to be reported as pilot error. He knew that an Imperial pilot had gotten lucky with his last shot. He knew that there was nothing he could have done.

Inside Deysha, a switch was thrown, and part of his mind shut down. He banked his ship to match Inyri's trajectory, and wordlessly followed his wingman down.

The three pilots of Wraith Squadron watched the sensor feed, and knew that nothing they could do would make Deysha change course, new attitude or not.

They turned their attention to finding a hiding place that might obscure their TIE fighters from Imperial scrutiny.

As Inyri's ship spiraled towards the moon's surface, many thoughts crossed her mind.

…home…Lujayne…mom and dad…Nawara and Rhysati…Corran and Mirax…that bitch Erisi…Patches…Aril…Gavin and Asyr…the Commander…DEYSHA!

Using the last of her control, she wrestled the X-Wing into a position upright relative to the planet's surface. The control yoke went dead in her hands, and she tried to go limp, to lessen the effects of the impact…

Deysha watched the X-Wing plough into the moon's surface, the nose snapping off instantly, the remains tumbling end over end until the shattered midsection came to rest on its side, engineless, wingless, defenceless. He banked his ship and zeroed in on the crash site.

What am I going to see in there? Will she even be in there? What if I can't take what I see? I've never seen a dead person. What if she's dead?

Leaving his ship, he sprinted over to what had once been the midsection of a mighty snubfighter. Looking inside, he discovered his worst fears could be laid to rest.

She was alive, he thought. Barely alive. But she was alive. He looked down on her, and tried to smile.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, you know," he tried. "Really had me worried. Of course, I should have known you're made of stronger stuff."

"Sh't 'p," she managed. "L's'n. 'm h't. H'v' t' s' th's. W's wr'n'. W's r'dy t' l'v'. N'd'd t' die," she gasped the last word, "b'f' I c'd live…"

She passed out from the pain. Deysha panicked, briefly, before his training kicked in. He leaned over, and determined seat diagnostics were still online, just. He punched a query into the pilot information display, and was informed that Inyri was, indeed, close to death, and getting closer. Suggested treatments included laying her flat on her back, and not moving her.

With the homing beacon active, he returned to the crash with his medkit. Having basic corpsman training to call on, he queried the seat diagnostics again. He learned the worst injuries were to Inyri's chest and abdomen, where the crash had thrown her forward. He hurriedly cut her life support gear free - the planet had a breathable atmosphere - and pulled her flightsuit open, exposing the damaged areas. Cursing his lack of knowledge, he set to work as best he could.

Dawn came. Deysha slowly woke, surprised that sleep had come at all. He experienced the traditional where am I? common to every morning, then remembered.

He leapt to his feet, and turned to look inside the ex-cockpit. Inside, Inyri was sleeping, fitfully. She was still alive, and the diagnostics in her seat suggested things were improving slightly. She had gone from dying to critical. Deysha was prepared to take anything he could get.

"L's'n t' m'. Know 'm h't b'd. G'tta say…" she gasped for breath, and shook as her chest moved, grating the injuries she'd received. "I do ca' fo' y', De'a. Wh'n I'm be'r. Wh'n I'm…" She tailed off, passing back into unconsciousness.

He sat back down, resting against what was left of the cockpit. He hoped the homing beacon had attracted the right kind of attention.

The Corellian Corvette Noble Hope sped through hyperspace. Accompanying the fast ship were a selection of Rogues and Wraith's, who had convinced Han Solo to lend the group the ship. They each prayed to whatever aspect of the Force they believed in that their mission this time would be a success.

In a tiny cave, Wedge, Phanan and Face worked on repairing their TIEs with the field mechanic's kit each carried. It wasn't much, but it kept them from thinking about the Star Destroyers. Short of taking a flight in their wounded craft, they had no way of knowing if the ships still haunted the planet.

Unable to risk the wrath of the three Imperial ships, the Corvette dropped out of hyperspace on the very edge of the Warthia system. Passive scans for a short period of time revealed no overt Imperial presence, and the captain gave the order for the ship to undertake a macro jump through hyperspace to bring them into orbit around Warthia Prime. once there, the Noble Hope began scanning the surface.

The TIEs newly repaired sensors picked up the scans, and identified them as probable friendlies. The three Wraiths climbed into their battered ships and slowly, cautiously, began their ascent towards the Corvette.

On the other side of the planet, Deysha was experiencing another sunset. Inyri was still experiencing unconsciousness.

"I hope they're nice dreams you're having, Inyri. You deserve something nice in your life right now."

Aboard the Noble Hope, Wedge and Tycho co-ordinated the search mission with the Corvette's captain, Bastable Grosskreutz. Meanwhile, Rogues, Wraiths and the Corvette's shuttle all expanded the search radius, along the supposed trajectory that the two missing Rogues had last been seen on.

Inyri's horrendous crash had altered that course substantially, and the simple fact was that the sensor's of the ships were being horribly mangled by the heavy iron content of the planets crust. Misreadings and sensor ghosts were common, and the search was fruitless as the sensor teams were quietly driven crazy.

At the crash site, Inyri was back and conscious, Desyha mopped her brow with a cloth, and settled down against the cockpit side. She opened her eyes slowly, the medicine dulling her actions. It's good I'm not flying for a while, she giggled. Deysha's head snapped up at the sound.

"It's been a rough time for both of us. I didn't sleep too well last night, or the night before come to that."

"And I suppose," she said with a faint smile, "you're going to say that's my fault?"

"Well, you dump me and then you crash your ship, and I have to cope with them both on my own?" He smiled, "That's a hell of an initation."

"Asyr had it worse," she replied. "She had to fall in love with Gavin before she got to fly," she added deadpan.

"I can't imagine their first date… 'Gee, Asyr'" he continued in a fair imitation of Gavin's rustic accent. "'Do you think we use forks to eat the soup? We never had water on Tatooine, so I never had it before…"

"You're cruel!" she laughed, and winced as the pain washed over her from her ribs. Before Deysha could do anything, she composed herself, and shot a look at him. I'm okay. Don't fuss. I'm coping, the look said.

"Actually, their first date got crashed by a stormy raiding party. It was a little while before they risked a second.

"And as for us… Do you want to risk a second date, Majick? After all, our first one didn't end so great, either…"

"When you're better, Lieutenant, I'm taking you for the best night out you've ever had. I asked Wes and Hobbie for suggestions, and I think if we ignore what they told me, then we'll do pretty good."

"Good. I'm glad we sorted that out," she said. "I hate going in a bacta tank with nothing to look forward to."

"I hope," she glared at him, "that next time it's you who gets the dunking. Maybe they can finally find a way to cure whatever disease has cripple your tact node."

"Me in a bacta tank?" he asked, with an arrogant grin "Never happen. I'm too superior a pilot for that."

"Right, so why is it I noticed that Corellian Corvette before you did, Mr. Superior Pilot?"

He turned and stared at the familiar hammerhead shape for several seconds before turning back. A rueful smile tugged at his lips.

He sat staring at the holo. A series of images, people long dead, but still, to him, alive. He knew they were why he was here, and that knowledge made it less painful. His job was to make sure that people like this were protected. That no one like their killers were ever allowed the chance to commit such atrocities again.

In the room he was sitting opposite, Inyri Forge was in the midst of labour. He waited for another confirmation that his life had only just begun.