Title: What We May Be
Author: Jesina Dreis
Summary: A tragedy reveals a destructive side of Tycho that his friends have never seen before.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Violence, mild torture, and very sensitive subject matter.
"We know what we are, but know not what we may be." Hamlet
Part 1
"They know where he is, Wedge!" Tycho exploded. "And they won't do anything!"
"You know how this works, Tycho," Wedge said slowly. "There are other factors involved, other people involved." It wasn't like Tycho to act this way.
Not that Wedge could blame him after the events of the last few months.
"He's got a point, Wedge," Janson interjected. "These guys are dangerous. They killed how many agents already? Four, five?"
"Six," Tycho replied. "What are they waiting for?"
"I don't know; I'm not privileged to that information." Wedge moved the datapad in front of him to the corner of his desk and sat down, resting his arms on the surface. "I wish I knew; I wish I could tell you. But if neither Winter nor Iella will tell us anything, you know there's a good reason."
"Tell Hobbie that. I'm sure he'll understand." Wedge watched with concern as Tycho clenched and unclenched his fists.
"I'm not happy about this either." Wedge ran a hand through his hair. "But there's nothing I can do. It's out of my hands."
"So we just sit here and do nothing?"
Wedge frowned. "We wait, until there's something we can do. He'll be all right."
"Do you really believe that?"
Wedge met his XO's ice-blue eyes. What could he say? That he'd read the reports on Cracken's agents' deaths? That the little that Cracken had told him about the rebels left him with more doubts than assurances?
That Cracken had said that while he would do all he could, he shouldn't expect Hobbie's safe return?
What good would it do?
No, I don't. Not for a second. But it'll kill me to admit that. "I don't have a choice; I have to."
"That sounds like a no, Wedge." Janson was frowning, worry in his eyes. "Wedge?"
Wedge just shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what to think. But I've never given up on anyone; I'm not about to start now." That much was true, at least.
He was saved from further questioning when the comm unit buzzed, though he was less than enthusiastic to learn the reason behind the interruption. "Antilles."
"Commander, if you could come to my office immediately?" There was an edge to General Cracken's voice that unnerved Wedge.
"What's this about, sir?"
"Just get here, Antilles."
"I'm with Captain Celchu and Lieutenant Janson at the moment." He was asking more because he was looking for Cracken to invite them along than because he was trying to get out of meeting with the Intelligence Director.
And the General picked up on the meaning in his words. "Bring them, please." There was a pause, and the words that followed actually frightened Wedge. "They should be here."
Wedge raised his eyes to meet first Janson's then Tycho's. "Yes, sir," he replied softly, standing and taking a deep breath.
"Wedge?" Tycho's voice was low; the angry tone from minutes earlier was gone.
"I don't know." That was a bald-faced lie. He knew exactly what this was about.
He just didn't want to.
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Tycho crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, avoiding looking at either his wife or Cracken. He refused to believe they couldn't do more than they were. He understood the need to act with caution, especially in circumstances like this. They'd worked with intelligence often enough in the past for him to gain at least an understanding of – if not an appreciation for – the need to follow procedure and take things slowly.
But he couldn't respect the decision not to act knowing that their failure to do so would guarantee a man's death.
"What's this about, General?" Wedge asked. Tycho watched his friend's gaze skip from Cracken to Winter to Iella and back again.
All three wore the same carefully blank expression. It had to be something they taught you when you first went to work for intelligence. Tycho wondered why he and the rest of the Rogues had never been taught that fine art. Probably because Cracken kept his tricks close to his chest the way a sabaac player did his cards.
"It's regarding Lieutenant Klivian."
"Have you finally decided to do something?" Tycho bit out, earning himself a glare from Wedge and a sigh from Winter. "Or are you finally ready to admit that you're leaving him to the rancors?"
To his surprise, Cracken didn't snap back or shout him down. The General just sat back down and folded his hands on the desktop. "You're out of line, Captain, but under the circumstances, I'll let it go."
At the Intelligence Director's words, Tycho went cold. "What circumstances?" Cracken didn't answer, so Tycho turned his gaze to his wife. He saw her flinch, most likely at the expression on his face, but didn't care at the moment. "What circumstances?"
A moment later he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sit down." There was no anger in Wedge's voice, just tired resignation. "Sit down, and I'm sure he'll tell us. I doubt General Cracken called us here to play games." As he sat down, Tycho saw his CO shoot Cracken a warning look.
"I certainly have not." Cracken's right hand disappeared below the desk and when it reappeared, he was holding what appeared to be a holovid case. "I received this today; it was on my assistant's desk when she arrived this morning."
"What is it?" Tycho glanced quickly at Wedge, wondering if he'd really heard or just imagined the shaking in his friend's voice.
"I haven't watched it yet, though I'm fairly certain I know its contents." He lay it on the desk, looking at each of them in turn before returning his attention to Wedge. "I'd imagine you do as well, Commander."
Wedge nodded numbly, and Tycho watched him sink into a chair. "What's going on? What is it?"
"It's from the rebels." Winter's voice sent a chill down his spine.
Cracken spoke again. "It's entirely up to you if you wish to view it; I thought I ought to give you the choice."
Just then Janson spoke for the first time; Tycho had almost forgotten he was even in the room. "We can't very well make a decision unless we know what it is."
"The way we learned of the other agents' deaths was by receiving holovids of their executions," Winter said softly.
Tycho froze where he was; the meaning behind her words – and the tears he saw fill her eyes – was readily apparent. He swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak; he wasn't sure what words might come out if he tried to.
Wedge saved him from the need to reply. "I'm staying." A moment later Wes said the same, and Tycho only nodded.
He could see Iella's hands shaking as she placed the disk in the player and saw her finger hesitate over the power button. She stepped backward as the screen came to life, and his breath caught in his throat when his friend appeared on the screen.
Hobbie was sitting upright in a chair that looked ready to give under his weight. He didn't move, just stared straight ahead, never blinking. He gave no sign of seeing the holocamera recording him, no indication that he heard the Trandoshan guard standing beside him.
"Move." Tycho heard the guttural growl just as he was shoved forward, shoulder smashing against the wall. As his step faltered, he felt someone grab his shirt – what was left of it, anyway – before he was literally thrown into the room where the other prisoners were held. "Madame is not pleased."
The lizard-like guard – executioner, Tycho corrected in his mind – backhanded Hobbie. The ex-Rogue fell sideways, hitting the ground without making so much as a whimper, while the chair fell in the other direction, coming apart with a crash.
Tycho's head jerked as the clawed hand connected with his skull. Pain echoed through his mind but he didn't move, didn't blink, didn't cry out. He heard the guard snarl at him to move, heard the whine of the blaster near his head.
As he watched the Trandoshan haul Hobbie to his feet – not that it looked like the man could stand – and pin him to the wall, scaly hand around his throat, Tycho could almost feel his own back pressed against the rocky wall, feel the sharp edges digging into his skin, feel the tips of the guard's claws graze his throat.
Shaking his head against the images that assaulted him, he fixed his eyes on the screen, staring at Hobbie's emotionless expression. There was no hint of pain in his wide-open eyes; only the slight movement of his chest under the torn, bloodstained shirt suggested that he was even still alive.
Still holding the pilot against the wall, the Trandoshan drew a blaster and pressed the muzzle against Hobbie's forehead. Tycho watched the Trandoshan tighten his grip on the blaster, saw a little blood drip down to soak Hobbie's shirt, probably from the alien's claws piercing his skin. But the Ralltiirian didn't flinch, and Tycho uttered a silent prayer that he was too far gone to know what was coming.