Prologue – Return of the Exile
30 ABY – Coruscant System

All was quiet in the space surrounding Coruscant. Save for a few supply transports lumbering their way towards the planet's surface, there was little activity to speak of. Only a handful of years earlier, no one would have ever predicted the inactivity in this system. Coruscant was once a bustling hub of business and commerce. Ships from all parts of the Galaxy ventured to Coruscant to engage in business and politics. No longer was this the case.

Coruscant was a shell of its former self. The Yuzhaan Vong had laid waste to the planet, destroying its spanning metropolis in favor of terraforming. The sprawling buildings were destroyed; the vast transportation systems were vaporized. With Coruscant and many of her sister worlds destroyed, the New Republic ceased to exist. In its place the Galactic Alliance was born. It was decided that Coruscant was to be rebuilt to serve as the new government's central hub. However, with the disaster that the Yuzhaan Vong had unleashed on the entire Galaxy, rebuilding Coruscant became a low priority. For now, it sat in its terraformed state; a jungle wasteland built atop a once sprawling metropolis.

When the crew of an aging GR-75 Gallofree transport exited hyperspace into the Coruscant system, it's crew could hardly believe the fate that had occurred to the once prosperous planet. On the bridge of the transport, the captain stood from his seat and slowly walked towards the forward viewport. His two crewmembers could only stare at the image before them, dumbfounded. This was not the Coruscant they remembered. What had happened in the six years they had spent away from the known Galaxy?

"Give me a status report," the Captain barked. "What the hell am I looking at!?"

"Everything checks out!" the man sitting at the astrogations console said. "The coordinates are right, this is Coruscant!"

"Do you see a planet-wide city full of prostitutes and politicians down there?" the Captain demanded. "I sure don't! I'm looking at a jungle that is decidedly devoid of prostitutes and politicians!"

"Stow it, will you?" the woman sitting at the communications console snapped. "We should be trying to get in contact with someone right now."

The captain slumped down into his command chair, "Get me in contact with Yavin IV."

"No response," the woman replied. "Yavin IV doesn't appear to have an active subspace transponder."

"Well fantastic," the Captain groaned. "We've been on a merry little journey outside of the Galaxy for the last six years, we come home and no one wants to say hello."

"What should we do?"

The Captain thought for a moment before responding, "We're out of fuel and provisions, so it's safe to say we're in trouble. Send out a distress signal using communications program DAP-Three-Nine-Alpha."

"What is that going to accomplish?" the man at the astrogations console asked.

"It's an old Rogue Squadron distress frequency," the Captain replied. "That should get someone's attention in a hurry."

The Captain stood up again and walked towards the bridge's exit, "Whoever did this to Coruscant may be good, but there's no chance in hell they brought General Antilles down with it. When you get a response from him come grab me. I'll be in the flight simulator."

***


Tatooine Star System

In the days of the Galactic Civil War, it wasn't an unusual sight to see Imperial Star Destroyers orbiting the planet of Tatooine. Since the Battle of Endor, however, the sightings of the menacing Imperial capital ships were few and far in between. Occasionally the Errant Venture would make an appearance, but other than that the space traffic heading towards Tatooine was limited to smuggler freighters and starfighters belonging to bounty hunters. Things began to change after the Yuzhaan Vong War.

The Galactic Alliance began using Tatooine as a temporary "recovery area" for the fleet. The remnants of the military gathered to assess the damage the war had done. Soldiers and officers took stock of their lives and tried to put the horrors of war behind them. Tatooine became a gathering place for survivors of the war, where families would determine whether their loved ones had lived or had been killed in combat. The tattered remains of the armed forces were reassigned to new squadrons and platoons before they were sent outwards to help rebuild the destroyed worlds within the Galaxy.

By now, most of the fleet had left Tatooine on new assignments. A handful of star ships remained in the system, including one Imperial Class-II Star Destroyer: The Mon Mothma. This particular ship was slightly different than most other star cruisers in the fleet: it had been converted into a hybrid military/civilian transport. The families of crew members who had been displaced by the war had taken residence on board the ship alongside their kin who continued to serve the military. Among the units assigned to the Mon Mothma, one noticeable name stood out. The legendary Rogue Squadron.

Through the years, Rogue Squadron had been known as the greatest fighting unit the Rebel Alliance and the New Republic featured. They were known for accomplishing the impossible. Their pilots had helped to bring down both Death Stars and had toppled the Imperial government in Coruscant. The squadron proved to be instrumental in bringing down Warlord Zsinj, Ysanne Issard, and Grand Admiral Thrawn. A handful of the Rogue's best thwarted the Imperial Remnant's attempt to create an arms contract with Adumar.

Despite the impressive resume, Rogue Squadron was currently classified as a defunct squadron. The Yuzhaan Vong War had gutted the roster, sustaining some of the heaviest loss within the military at the time. Most of the survivors chose to retire rather than face another tour of duty with the squadron. Pilots felt that the squadron had become cursed. Many refused assignment postings with the Rogues for fear of their lives. If you wished to stay among the living, you didn't take an assignment to join Rogue Squadron.

That perception decimated the roster further. As it stood, only three pilots were assigned to the "cursed" squadron. Without a full roster, the three weren't permitted to fly. Despite that, they remained members of the defunct squadron. As punishment for refusing to accept other assignments, they were doomed to a life of paperwork and trivial affairs. It was only fitting that at the moment the distress signal arrived, they were in the squadron's briefing room sorting through military documents.

"Did you find those triplicate copies of the Oh-Nine-Alphas?" a male Duros sitting by the holo projector asked.

"I found them," a male Quarren replied as he hunched over another datapad. "I put them under the stack Eight-Oh-Thetas."

The door to the briefing room slid open as the two pilots fumbled through another stack of datapads. The third pilot still assigned to Rogue Squadron stepped in and assumed her usual seat beside the announcement podium.

"Morning, boss," the Quarren greeted the new pilot.

"Good morning, Nevil," the human female responded with a half-smile.

"You look like hell, Colonel Solo," the Duros said as he looked up at his commanding officer. "Another late-night comm call from Durron?"

"That's none of your business, Lieutenant Lensi," Lieutenant Colonel Jaina Solo replied, a look of annoyance on her face

"I thought she was getting late night comm calls from Fel lately," Nevil replied.

"I don't know," Lensi admitted. "Every time I try to follow her love life I get a headache the size of a Hutt. Figuring out which one of us is going to win the squadron pool is going to be an absolute-"

"Attention: Lieutenant Colonel Jaina Solo, there is an emergency transmission inbound," The PA suddenly went off. "Repeat. Lieutenant Colonel Jaina Solo, there is an emergency transmission inbound. Report to the nearest decrypted communications terminal."

"What's this?" Nevil asked. "Something not paperwork related? I didn't sign up for this. I demand to see my union representative!"

Jaina rolled her eyes, "Shut up, Nevil."

"Why the hell are we getting an emergency transmission?" Lensi asked. "Shouldn't this be directed at one of the active-duty squadrons?"

Jaina stood up and strode towards the holoprojector, entering in a series of commands to patch it through the ship's communications array, "Lets see if we can find out where this communication is coming from."

The holoprojector came to life. A star map came into focus and quickly it began the process of locating the position in which the emergency transmission was issued. Jaine tilted her head to the side as the projector brought up an image of the Coruscant star system. That was restricted space, and it appeared that the transmission was coming from a civilian vessel. What in the world was it doing in a high security sector?

"Colonel you'd better take a look at this," Nevil said.

Jaina peeled her eyes away from the star chart, "What is it Captain?"

"It's the identifier associated with this distress signal," Nevil replied. "This shouldn't be in the hands of a civilian transport."

"What do you mean?" Jaina asked.

"It's a military encryption," Nevil continued, "but get this: whoever is sending the distress signal is identifying themselves as 'Rogue Eleven' of the New Republic Starfighter group Rogue Squadron."

"They're using one of our encryption keys?"

"Not one I've ever seen before," Nevil shook his head.

"I just ran a search on the old Rogue Squadron logs," Lensi said. "This is one of our encryption keys, but we haven't used it in years. Last time it was in active rotation was the Phantom Fighter crisis."

"Someone go find General Antilles," Jaina ordered.

"What good is that going to do?" Lensi asked. "We should probably tell Alliance command to send a scout unit out there."

"Do that too," Jaina said. "For now find General Antilles. I want this message decoded and I don't have the decryption files to do it.

"You think Antilles does?" Nevil asked.

"I'd hope so," Jaina said. "He was Rogue Squadron's commanding officer during the Phantom crisis, after all. If anyone has the decryption key it's him."

***


Wedge Antilles hadn't quite adjusted to civilian life. He would wake up in the morning and reach for his datapad, expecting to see the day's checklist from his superiors. Instead all he found were the news feeds. When he went to the closet to grab his uniform, he realized that it was hanging on his wall in a commemorative frame. Instead of grabbing a ration bar before reporting to debriefing, he could sit down and enjoy breakfast with his family, just like in a holo-sitcom.

Wedge hadn't quite adjusted, but he was certainly enjoying the retired life.

As Wedge enjoyed a breakfast of toast and juice (a rare commodity on a Star Destroyer), he glanced at his family members sitting around the table. Iella was reading through the entertainment sections of the newsfeed. Celebrity gossip seemed to be one of her few guilty pleasures. In Wedge's eyes, the years had been extraordinarily kind to her. Despite the horrors she had seen during her service in both CorSec and the New Republic Intelligence division, she had managed to maintain her appearance, sanity, and health.

Sitting across from him were his two daughters. His youngest, Myri, was staring idly at the plate of eggs in front of her. She had always been a picky eater, but the last few weeks had been especially excruciating. Myri refused to eat anything but Bantha burgers from the ship's mess hall. It had gotten to the point that Wedge had to either threaten to take away her collection of dolls or bribe her with candy while Iella wasn't looking.

Next to Myri was Wedge's eldest daughter, Syal. She had just turned fourteen and was the consummate teenager. Even as they enjoyed breakfast, Syal had her datapad atop the table, sending an electronic message to one of her friends. Was she communicating with one of her friends from class, or was it that damned Tainer boy again? Either way, Wedge would have to speak to Syal about that. As far as he was concerned, breakfast was one of the few times his family had to sit down together.

Just as Wedge was about to take another bite of his toast, the door chime rang.

"Syal, could you go get the door?" Iella asked.

"Just a minute, mom," Syal replied.

"Now, Syal."

Syal frowned and stood, making her way to the door and opening it, "Dad, it's for you."

Wedge set down the mug of caf in his hand and made his way towards the door. He was slightly surprised to see Kral Nevil, Executive Officer of Rogue Squadron, standing there. Wedge began to think about the possibilities that would result in Nevil visiting him. Either this was a military related matter, or Nevil was selling cookies door-to-door. Wedge somewhat doubted the feasibility of the latter option.

"General-" Nevil began.

"Wedge," he corrected. "Or Mr. Antilles if that's too formal."

"Excuse me?"

"Civilians don't have fancy military titles," Wedge explained. "Ergo, you shouldn't use a fancy military title when speaking to me."

"With all due respect, sir," Nevil replied, "not referring to you in proper military title would most likely doom me to the seventh circle of piloting hell."

Wedge could only roll his eyes, "Something I can do for you, Mr. Nevil?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what would that be, Captain?" Wedge raised a brow.

"It's, uh," Nevil stammered, "classified, sir."

"Should I bring my caf?" Wedge asked as his shoulders slumped.

"I would if I were you."

***


Jaina watched as Wedge Antilles poured over the information concerning the distress signal. She had to admit that it was strange knowing that Wedge wasn't a member of the military anymore. He had been a staple of the New Republic armed forces during her entire life. Not a day went by that she didn't hear about the exploits of the Great Wedge Antilles from her parents or Uncle Luke. After becoming a member of Rogue Squadron, she experienced first-hand the legacy of Wedge Antilles. The unit he had built was the de facto combat squadron prior to and through the Vong War. Even after handing daily command of Rogue Squadron over to Gavin Darklighter, Wedge had remained a prominent figure in the New Republic military. Without his leadership, the war could have turned drastically for the worse.

Perhaps that's why Jaina had a hard time coming to grips with the retired Wedge Antilles. Such a legendary figure wasn't supposed to enjoy a normal, civilian life.

"This might take a little while," Wedge said. "One of my pilots developed this particular encryption key during the Phantom Fighter campaign. Pretty good slicer, but a loose cannon if you ever saw one. Looks like he went a little overboard with this particular key…must be a few thousand layers for my decryption code to authorize."

"I never did understand why a commanding officer would want a slicer in the squadron," Jaina admitted. "Especially if it's at the expense of combat ability."

"The minute you run into a situation that calls for a slicer," Wedge explained, "you'll understand why I found them to be so useful... How's the roster reconstruction going?"

Jaina winced, "Not very good, sir. No one in their right mind is accepting an invitation to join Rogue Squadron. After the losses we sustained during the war, fliers are starting to think we're a cursed squadron."

"Have you ever looked at the average life expectancy of a Rogue when you throw out the outliers?" Wedge asked. "Cursed may be an over-exaggeration, but being a Rogue generally isn't good for your health and long-term plans."

Jaina stifled a chuckle. By "outliers," Wedge surely meant himself and a few other rare exceptions that had lasted through most of Rogue Squadron's operational lifetime. Most pilots weren't so lucky, however. Many were killed within the first few months of service within Rogue Squadron, some died within days. The few who lasted longer than six months typically requested transfers or flat-out retired.

"The remaining pilot pool is pretty thin," Jaina explained. "Mostly sub-par fliers and disciplinary castoffs."

"Hang in there, Colonel," Wedge replied with a smile. "Things will turn around. They always do for Rogue Squadron."

"If you say so, sir."

Wedge raised a brow, "I do hope you're not planning on selling yourself short, Solo. Gavin and I selected you to be this squadron's new commanding officer for a reason."

"That's right," Lieutenant Lensi said from behind his stack of datapads, "all the other candidates got vaped."

"Precisely," Wedge replied. "It was either you or Corran Horn. His ego really didn't need that kind of inflation so you were the natural choice."

Jaina could only laugh, "I appreciate your vote of confidence, sir."

"Anytime, Solo," Wedge said. "Looks like the decryption is finished. Lensi, try and send a response back and patch any reply onto the main screen."

"Yes sir," Lensi replied. "Message sent…response incoming. Routing to primary display."

Jaina looked up at the large briefing room screen as an image slowly flickered to life. Appearing before them was a man who looked to be in his early-to-mid thirties with slightly thinning black hair. He had a pilot's physique written all about him: thin and slightly shorter than average. Confusion and exhaustion were clearly evident in the man's face. It looked as if he had been to hell and back.

"Sithspit, it's good to see you General," the man said. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what the hell happened during the last six years?"

Glancing over at Wedge, Jaina was slightly surprised to see a dumbfounded expression on his face. This stranger and the former General seemed to know eachother well enough, considering he had the gall to curse in front of one of the military's most decorated retirees. Whoever this person was, Wedge was clearly shocked to see him.

"Zorvan, is that you?" Wedge asked. "If it is, explain to me this: where the hell have you been the last six years!?"