New Blood: Green Lighted

Free Web Hosting Provider - Web Hosting - E-commerce - High Speed Internet - Free Web Page

(As always, my thanks to George Lucas and Lucasfilm for allowing me to play in this universe. I don't get any profit from this story, but I do get enjoyment out of writing it. If you enjoy reading it, let me know. Special thanks to Vickie Boyd for letting me use some of the characters and locations established in her Station Leave series.)

Anders Swali stepped off the shuttle and took his first breath of Coruscant air. He looked around the landing pad, seeing the bustling crew unloading the luggage from the ship. Looking upwards, he could see the soaring spires of the city-planet. Coming from Toprawa, he had to admit that he felt somewhat penned in, but it would probably fade. He joined the queue for first time visitors, and pulled out his travel documents. With them came his reason for being here, an impersonal placement document.

'Dear pilot candidate,' it said. 'We are delighted to inform you that you have been selected for training in the New Republic Starfighter Command. Your training will take place on Coruscant, at Sladden 4 base. We have included details of how you should make your way to your training.

Swali looked up; noting that only one person was now in front of him. Apparently Coruscant immigration wasn't that tight, he thought. He filed the datum away for future reference. The person in front of him -Well, it was a young woman. She was definitely a young woman. There was no way she could be mistaken for a young man- appeared to be holding a datapad similar to his own. She passed through the inspection without trouble, and vanished into the crowd of the spaceport beyond. Swali tried to catch sight of her, and only came back to his senses when the customs officer took his documents from his hand.

Ibra Yoko strode through the crowds. She could see the exit she wanted, even the hover-cab she'd be taking to the base. It all seemed slightly unreal, even now, though. Only last year she'd been competing in the Galactic games, and now she was set for pilot training.

"Excuse me," she heard, at her side. She looked to her right, and saw a young girl looking up at her, hopefully.

"Oh, wow, I mean, uh, I'd know you anywhere. I've been watching you compete since I was only a kid. I want to be an athlete myself, one day."

"Keep wanting it, and it'll happen," Yoko said with a smile. "What's your discipline?"

"Well, you competed in seven events last year," the girl replied, earnestly. "I thought you were so impressive in the disc shot, but all the medals you won in all the other events… You were just awesome throughout."

"Could you sign this for me?" the girl asked, opening a coat to reveal a tunic with Yoko's face on.

Swali pushed through the crowds, having waited to reclaim his luggage. His attention elsewhere, he didn't notice Yoko and her fan until he went flying over the crouching woman.

"Hey," he said. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't see you. I'm sorry." She glared at him, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Did I hurt either of you?" The glare intensified.

"Ok, fine. I'm sorry. I'll just get out of your lives now." He turned, and stalked away, leaving Yoko with her fan.

He pushed further onwards, bouncing from cluster to cluster, eventually making it out to the fairway beyond the huge airport doors. For the first time, he could get a true look at Coruscant, unfettered by the walls that had surrounded the spaceport, or the sleeping fat man on the shuttle, who'd held him in his seat when he had wanted to get to a view-port. He made his way to the edge of the walkway, and leant out over the barrier.

Coruscant had been building itself up for millennia, and was now hopelessly overcrowded. The only solution, when all available landmass had been developed, was to go upwards.

The highest spires in Coruscant now rose more than a kilometre and a half into the air. The lowest levels had their own weather systems, their own life forms. Coruscant was almost several planets stacked on top of one another.

He whistled in amazement, and stepped back from the edge. Tugging on the strap of his pack, he looked around for a hover-cab, and was pleased to find one nearby. He headed over to it, and threw his pack in through the open door.

Yoko had dealt with her fan, and was now headed out the door, towards the hover cab she'd seen earlier. She gasped as the man who'd walked into her earlier slung his bag into the back of the cab, and climbed in after it. For a second she considered shouting at the man, then remembered she had to maintain cover until she got to the training base. Having everyone in the street do to her what the young girl had would at the very least delay her arrival at the base. She resigned herself to finding another cab, remembering from her information packet that they weren't very common, even around spaceports.

Swali sank back into the plush interior of the cab, and looked around. He saw the driver looking at him in his rear view mirror, and thought back to the packet he'd received.

"How come you were the only cab at the spaceport? There should have been dozens of you, shouldn't there?"

"Oh aye, normally, there would be. But most of the cabs are publicly owned, and they've been taken in for servicing, with their repulsorlift drives and engines being mounted on ships for that little extra oomph… Still, I'm not one to complain, especially as it leaves me and my little -privately owned- darlin' here to make the most of incoming young recruits such as yourself."

"I was in the military and the Rebellion for nearly twenty years, laddie. I'm still a reservist. I know what a new recruit looks like."

"Well, good for you, laddie. If there's one thing we need, its pilots. You had better be a good one, though, that's all I'm saying," the cabby said with a chuckle

"Oh, I heard through the grapevine who your instructor is going to be, is all, laddie. Only one of the best pilots ever to fly for the Rebellion, is all."

Swali took this news in confusion. Surely if the pilot was that good, he'd be on active duty. Were they going to be taught by some old relic who hadn't sat in the cockpit since the Clone Wars? No, the old man had said the guy flew in the Rebellion. Why wasn't he still flying, then?

Induction into the training base was swift and somewhat overwhelming. Each of the trainees was issued with a regulation green training jump suit. Swali didn't like green. It clashed with his bright red hair. Looking around the spartan room he was to share with another two candidates, he sighed, and thought of home.

Toprawa had been liberated from Imperial rule shortly after the death of Warlord Zsinj nearly four years earlier. In those four years, Toprawa had re-established itself slowly. The progress from Imperial torture camp to self-sufficiency was hard, but the New Republic's generosity, thanks in no small part to the campaigning of Borsk Fey'lya and Leia Organa Solo, had made it possible.

Now Toprawa was gradually evolving outwards from its agricultural existence, and the recently opened spaceport had allowed Swali to leave the planet for training here on Coruscant. He looked around the room again and grinned.

Standing in the doorway was a tall man, around the same age as Swali, with dark red hair, clashing as horribly with his jump suit as Swali's did.

"Carson Deniel," the new trainee said, stepping into the room and offering Swami his hand. He dragged a huge duffel bag behind him, seemingly overflowing with items. Swami shook his hand.

"Anders Swami," he replied. "Do you think we could put in a request for new clothes?"

"I'm told we have to wait until we've killed at least three other candidates before we can order anything from supplies," Deniel replied, his eyes sparkling.

Just then, the door opened again, and a humanoid figure with two serpentine tails hanging from his skull stepped into the room.

"That's right," said Deniel. "I'm Deniel, my equally fashion impaired companion is Swami. What name is on your wanted poster?"

"I get it. Sorry, it was a long flight from Ryloth, and I was sat next to two, uh, wearying companions."

"I assure you, nothing like that," the Twi'lek said, with a laugh. "One was very excited, very hyper to be joining the training. The other was almost silent, monosyllabic, virtually. I," he said with a shudder, "was stuck in the middle.

"Dael Y'Notens," he added, offering the two others his hand. "I guess we're sharing for the next few months."

In the other rooms, things were little different. Twenty people settled into the three-bunk rooms. As the evening progressed, doors opened, and the occupants of the rooms began to mingle, slowly meeting and greeting their fellow candidates.

For Ibra Yoko, it reminded her of the opening of the Galactic Games, with people from across the galaxy meeting with a common purpose: To be the best. The events of the games, and their immediate aftermath, had led to her abandoning athletics, and eventually to her joining the New Republic.

For Chinchenza, the young Noghri, it was a gloriously chaotic experience. So many unknown sights, sounds, smells, and even touches assaulted his hyper keen senses. Never on Honoghr had he dreamed that his life could be so interesting. And this was only the first night! he marvelled. What would the next day, the first day of training, bring?

For Ta'a Capti it was like being back at home. As the daughter of a minor noble of the Hapes cluster, she had learned from an early age how to cope with meeting large numbers of new people. She moved from person to person, taking in names, details, exchanging pleasantries, forming early assessments of her classmates.

Zanter Berkal heard the controlled chaos from inside the room. He laid back on his bunk, poring over the schematics of the Y-Wing. He was determined to be the best, to get the best posting, to make the most of his life, as his fellow Khomm seemed content to never do.

Cha Pion, the quiet Twi'lek, also took in all she could. Like Ta'a, she learned names, silently recording data about her new companions, watching, learning, deciding.

Eventually, the gathering began to break up. One by one, the trainees returned to their bunks, and soon, the corridor was empty.

Alton Thanas walked into his bunkroom, with his roommate Kirrsk Seyrak right behind him. The two of them caught sight of their other roommate Zanter Berkal still on his bunk. Apparently, he hadn't moved in the last several hours.

"Why would I?" Berkal replied. "I have less time for small talk than I do for studying. I believe my time this evening was better spent than yours was."

"Well, maybe…" Thanas said, with a glance at Seyrak. "Tell you what, next time you want to study, how about you and me work together? I know I could use some help." Berkal fixed him with a hard stare

"Perhaps that is why you are here," Berkal growled. "I am here to be the best in this group. I do not see any way in which educating you would be of assistance to me in my goal."

"Maybe I could help you out in return? There's bound to be some stuff you don't do so well." He was rewarded with another hard stare.

With that, he stood up, and pulled the curtain across, cutting him off from his roommates.

Coruscant's sun shone bright over Sladden 4 training camp, as the trainees hauled themselves upright. An automated wake up call had coursed through their section at 0600, and many of them had cause to regret the late break up of the meeting the night before. They stumbled through the showers, and when they returned to their bunks, found their datapads loaded with the information of their about their first lecture, at 0715. They had no time for food, barely time to pull on their jump suits, then try and find their lecture room.

Captain Deysha Johats sat behind the desk, watching his recruits gradually filter into the lecture hall. With his feet up on the desk, and a datapad on his lap, he took notes as each of them passed through the door.

When the last of them sat down, he took his feet down from the desk, and stood up.

"Zanter Berkal, stand up," he called, looking at the pad. Berkal stood up, his face impassive. "Mr Berkal, your first assignment was completed impressively. You arrived more than five minutes early, after coming to see me yesterday to find out this morning's details. Well done. You are now One in this squadron." Berkal sat down again, looking as impassive as he ever had.

"As for the rest of you, some of you got here before 0715, others didn't. Always be here on time in future. You will be ranked in the squadron in the order in which you arrived this morning.

"Now then, this training squadron has no name. Start thinking of them, and I want submissions before tomorrow's exercise," -An excited buzz ran through the room- "I'll pick the best one, and buy the winner a drink next time any of you have leave.

"Yes, well noticed. I said the 'e' word. Tomorrow, you'll be let loose on the simulators. We'll give you the real things when I decide you're good enough to fly."

"Sir, what will the exercise consist of tomorrow?" Johats looked at Carson Deniel, then down at the pad.

"Right, Deniel. It consists of flying ships through Coruscant's streets. You'll get more details tomorrow."

"Yes, well, anyway… For those of you who don't know me, and that's likely to be many, my name is Deysha Johats. I flew for the New Republic for four years, until last year when my wife gave birth. You may have heard of her. Her name is Inyri Forge."

This news did cause a reaction. Several of the trainees recognised the name of the Rogue Squadron pilot.

"Nowadays I teach, but I flew missions for Rogue Squadron, Gold Squadron, and Blue Squadron. I have hundreds of hours in all four major Republic starfighters. I am," he added, without a hint of arrogance, "one of the best pilots in the glalaxy.

"Now, I look after our child. During the day, I teach kids like you not to die. I'm a good teacher.

"Training accidents happen. Out in the field, they're not accidents. Once you graduate, people will wilfully try and kill you. I cannot impart to you how scary it is first time someone shoots at you." He looked around at his charges.

"Right, enough war stories. Let's see what you know about the Incom T-65B, also known as the X-Wing…"

The trainees filed out of the lecture room, each looking through the datapad on which they'd taken notes. As Johats had said, the end of the lecture had coincided with them receiving their assignations. Berkal looked impassively at his wingman, the Noghri Chinchenza. The near unanimous decision to head to the lounge was made by the squad.

"The way I see it is this. A class of twenty will usually graduate about a squadron's worth of pilots," said Saar Tass, the Gran.

"I've been around the military a while. I've seen the classes go in, and seen the classes who graduate. Not often that more than a dozen or so make it through."

"How have you been in the military?" asked Ta'a Capti, from her perch by the window.

"Yes. It's the third eye… Of course, hands like mine," he gestured with a shovel sized hand- "need a special rifle."

"So did you ever kill people?" asked Enda Sherr, who'd been a medic with the Republic Navy.

"As a sniper? Only once. He was an Imperial Moff who was part of the Toprawa 'aristocracy'. I went in as part of a team…"

"I'm from Toprawa," said Swali, taking the Gran's hand, and shaking it. "Thank you for what you did."

"It certainly wasn't," said Berkal. "My homeworld. That would take some overthrowing. Not just a handful of Imperials. The entire world has to be overthrown. I'll tell you, it won't be a starfighter squadron, or a commando group. It'll require the sort of upheaval that only true political change brings."

With that, he downed the last of his drink, stood up, and stalked out of the lounge.

"Berkal is a generational clone from the world of Khomm. Thousands of years ago, his people began to clone themselves, believing they had reached genetic perfection. No evolution is permitted on their world. Berkal, more properly named Berkal 26, has decided that that is wrong. He wishes to change the way his society operates, and he sees success as a pilot as the first step towards becoming someone who can make a difference."

The others turned to look at the speaker. He was a Rodian, green skinned, with large black eyes, four ears, and a mohawk like spine of hair travelling across his scalp, and down into his jump suit.

"Excuse me?" said Swali. It was unusual for a Rodian to speak well constructed Basic, let alone for one to be so fluent in intergalactic politics.

"Forgive me. For those of you to whom I have as yet not been introduced, I am Barchelli Cotay, of Rodia. I detect a hint of… surprise at my speech. No longer." His lips curled back into a smile. "I am a genius. Problem solved."

"Oh yes. Please, don't think me arrogant when I say that. It is simple fact. My intelligence ranks high up on the scale. I believe it comes in at around 230 on the I.Q. scale." Sherr whistled on hearing that.

"Indeed. I am told that I am one of the most intelligent people alive. I'm not quite sure why me, but there you go. Some people would say that I am making up for the rest of my races general lack of sophistication."

"I prefer to think that I have been given this glorious opportunity to do something right. I've already worked through mathematics, engineering, physics and languages. This is my next challenge."

"Well," Deniel said, looking around. "We're certainly an eclectic bunch, aren't we? Noghri, Twi'leks, Bith, Devaronians, Humans, clones… We're virtually a senate of pilots."

"Let's hope we work a little better than the senate does," growled Kirrsk Seyrak.

"The New Republic Senate are great people. Especially Borsk Fey'lya, who masterminded the whole scheme," Swali said, hotly.

"Fey'la is a Bothan. I doubt very much that he had anything to do with the process. He may have been there to take the credit, however. Such is the Bothan way."

"I won't believe that. Borsk Fey'lya is a great man," Swali said, rising to his feet.

"Well, whatever. I don't see that it's worth getting worked up over," came a new voice. The crowd looked around again, this time at a young human female. She smiled at them.

"For those of you to whom I have not yet been introduced," she said, her voice a mimicry of Cotay's, "my name is Nisha Destrophi. Seriously, guys. It's not worth getting all het up over. Whether Fey'lya is a hero or not, I think we have other things to worry about. I heard Berkal talking to Johats about the sim we're flying tomorrow. It sounds pretty hard. Maybe we should be planning for that?"

"You're right. I'm sorry, Barchelli," Swali said quietly, sitting back in his seat.

"Apology unnecessary, I feel, but I have one for you as well. In future, shall we leave politics out of our discussions?"

"Agreed," Swali said with a grin. "No matter what Berkal may think, the only thing us pilots should be talking about is our next mission. Speaking of which, does anyone know any specifics about our sim tomorrow?"

"Glad you asked," said Alton Thanas, hopping off his chair, and walking to the holo projector in the centre of the lounge. I was able to charm one of the instructor's assistants into giving me a holo-chip that has a preview on it."

"Hey, come on. I've know you only a day, and you already think I can't be charming?"

Deniel felt the X-Wing sim power up around him, the thrum of the four fusial thrust engines mimicked perfectly. The canopy of the sim lit up, and he found himself in Coruscant's streets. He looked around him, and saw the other X-Wing's of his flight frozen in the air around him.

"That is pretty weak," Deniel commented. "Why not just call us Shabby Squadron, or Can't Fly For Two Pins Squadron."

"Can it you two, or you'll be on tuber peeling duty when you get out of this mission. This exercise is an extrapolation of events here on Coruscant a few years back. You have to contain the TIE's you are about to face. You must prevent them blowing up the mirror control tower, or the construction droid, as they hold key personnel.

"Extra points are awarded for safely taking out the E-Web cannons in the area. Now, in the original mission, it was five Z-95's against a squadron of TIE's. To make it interesting, we've made it five squadron against your twenty X-Wing's. Three to one odds, and remember, several of the TIE's have got humans at the helm, including me.

The X-Wings flew into battle from the opposing points of a pentagon. Five flights, each of four ships. TIE fighters appeared from above, below, down side streets, even just appearing in the middle of the street as dictated by the computer.

Ta'a Capti was the first to go, hitting a walkway as she dived after a TIE, Ibra Yoko fell victim to a building collapsing on her ship, while Saar Taas, having lost his wingman when Capti died, fell easy victim to a pair of TIE fighters.

The numbers on both sides were dwindling. Those left alive were the lucky ones, the clever ones, the skilful ones.

Deniel and Thanas, as wingmen, blasted their way through everything they came across.

Berkal and Chinchenza were death incarnate, liberally dissecting the enemy craft spitting them on quad blasts of ruby laser fire.

Tiel Payse, the Sullustan smuggler and Pion's wingman, proved her fighting experience. She became an instant Ace, downing five TIE's in as many minutes, and generally making a nuisance of herself.

Attrition continued to take its toll. Soon, only a handful of the X-Wing's were left, but only two TIE's remained. Berkal and Chinchenza were chasing them through a tight, twisting street, unable to hit them cleanly in the tight confines of the man made canyon. Then Chinchenza made his mistake.

Over compensating for a gust of wind, his ship slammed into a building at full speed. The ship pinwheeled forward, catching Berkal's craft, and which then crashed into an advertising hoarding.

Both ships exploded, leaving only three X-Wings to take down the TIE fighters. After a tight session of cat and mouse, Swali punched a quad laser blast through the viewport of the lead TIE, while Deniel and Thanas caught the last TIE from opposing sides, incinerating the ship. The canopies of the three men faded to black. They'd survived their first sim exercise.

Jubilant, they raised their canopies, and scrambled down from their faux ships. They realised everyone's attention was on a confrontation taking place between the ranks of simulators.

"You idiot! Why in the names of the Sith did you just plough into me? Did I suddenly grow TIE wings?"

"I apologise to you," Chinchenza mewed. "I was mistaken in my attempts to correct for wind sheer, and that led to my crashing."

"'You were mistaken. You were mistaken…' Your mistake cost me the lead! I'm going to make you pay for this!"

Berkal swung his fist at Chinchenza, who calmly side stepped the attack. The clone angrily kicked out at the Noghri, but Chinchenza grabbed Berkal's leg, and pushed him onto his back.

Berkal jumped to his feet, towering over the small Noghri. He stared daggers at the grey skinned being. He made to grab Chinchenza, but the Noghri calmly stepped aside again, and chopped Berkal once on the neck.

Johats pushed through the crowd, his black pilot's jump suit accentuating the dark look in his eyes.

No-one answered. Johats glared at his training group until finally Ibra Yoko spoke up.

"Sir," she said, reluctantly. "There was a disagreement between Berkal and Chinchenza."

"Damn fool to attack a Noghri. I'd sooner go after a Wookie. Deniel, Thanas looks live you've been spared tuber duty today. Berkal has just bought himself a weeks worth of punishment detail."

"Seyrak, Thanas, get him back to his bunk. Chinchenza, how hard did you hit him?"

"Good. Dismissed, the rest of you. I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow morning, with your scores, and the name for all you pilots to be proud of."