Chapter Four

Within the swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace, Torrid Squadron traversed the stars faster than the speed of light. The twelve fighters had situated themselves into two columns, angled so that none sat directly in front of another. With each passing second, the vessels put millions of kilometers between them and their home base. Whilst the Den sat patiently amongst the void, the squadron thrust themselves forward into the reaches of the Erical Hyperlane.

"We're approaching our destination," Rem said over the team comm. "We don't have an exact location of the target, and the projected area of where it will be stretches several billion kilometers. We'll be dropping out of hyperspace in pairs, spread out across the projected area, but still within communications range."

"Once we're back in realspace, then what?" Zal asked. "I mean, searching that big an area for what might be one vessel?"

"Anything capable of scanning objects in hyperspace should be putting out enough of a signature that Tessa can scan for it," Rem explained. "Whomever pinpoints its location first will contact the rest of the squadron, and we'll converge shortly thereafter."

"What's to stop this thing from picking up our approach?" Erin asked.

"From the reports, it seems whatever's performing these scans is choosing its targets very carefully," Rem stated. "No military vessels traveling the route reported anything unusual, which is why it's managed to stay in operation this long."

"That just means it doesn't need to do a full scan to know what kind of vessel is traveling the hyperlane," Erin replied. "What's to stop it from fleeing once it's noticed a squadron inbound on its position?"

"The kind of tech behind these scans, no matter their source, aren't tuned for starfighters," Fen took over, offering a slightly more mechanical answer. "And the Navy sunk a lot of credits into making sure the Gallants are capable of maintaining a low profile. These aren't stealth ships, but they're capable of operating under the radar for the most part."

"But, do we have a plan if the target tries to escape?" Jerel asked, softer in his inquiry than the cyborg.

"So long as Tessa completes one of her scans, that should give us enough information to pass on to the Admiral," said Rem. "If the target escapes, he'll have what he needs to mount a secondary operation."

"But if we do find it, we get to take it down, right?" Varah asked, suitably invested in the answer. None of her fellow pilots could see the Cathar's hands tightening around her ship's controls.

"We need to keep as much of it intact as possible," Rem replied. "The more answers we can get out this thing, the better. We can cripple its systems, but we don't want to totally destroy it. Especially if its manned."

"Target weapons and engines, got it," Zal heartily offered.

"So that's a no on missiles?" Varah muttered, a touch of defeat in her voice.

"We don't know how hard of a target we'll be encountering, so we won't rule anything out," Rem replied. "We're after information, but not at our own expense. If any one of us is in danger, we hit it and we hit it hard. Understood?"

A series of confident ayes filled the shared comm. The commander cracked a warm smile. There was something fulfilling in hearing all eleven of her teammates speak in unison. Catching her attention was a ping from the ship's navicomputer. The remaining distance to their destination was shrinking fast.

"We're about to drop into realspace," Rem said over the team channel. "Any last questions?"

"Do we have an estimate on how long it'll take to find our target?" Chanta asked.

"A few hours at the most," Rem plainly answered.

The other pilots released a series of groans and mutterings, but were smart enough not to open the comm as they did do. But even as silence filled the commander's cockpit, she could tell the reactions of her fellows. No matter the type or amount of missions they embarked upon, none were ever enthused about having to sit around with nothing to do in such confined spaces. Luckily, such expensive vessels could afford the extra cost of cushioned seats.

"Alright. Tessa, engage Bifurcation and ready the comm channels," Rem directed her droid. The astromech quickly went to work, dividing itself amongst the twelve vessels and establishing a independent comm link between the pairs that would be searching the stretch of space together.

Rem's eyes sharpened as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed around her. The stars returned to their usual place upon the black canvas that surrounded her in all directions, and suddenly all was still. Outside her viewports was the starry void, unbroken and uninterrupted except for the single vessel floating at her side.

Each pair of starfighters dropped back into realspace mere moments apart, and yet found themselves separated by vast distances. Millions of kilometers worth of empty vacuum rest between the six pairs. And despite their vastly different locations, their surroundings were all the same. A black void upon which splayed countless specks of light. No nearby astral bodies. No debris. Nothing more than the errant piece of floating dust amongst the stretch of space that belonged to the Erical Hyperlane.

"I guess we'd better get started," said Rem, eyeing the various readouts present on her vessel's dashboard. "Tessa?"

"Beginning radial sweep," the calm voice of astromech replied. "Estimated time until completion… unknown."

The commander offered a soft nod. "Haron?"

"Scan in progress," the executive officer dutifully replied. There was a heavy silence as the two looked over their instruments, monitoring the status of an operation they both knew would take some time.

"Kind of strange, isn't it?" Rem spoke up. Away from the majority of the squadron, the commander's tone shifted slightly, becoming somewhat softer as her voice graced only Haron and Tessa. "We spent months sitting around, waiting for our chance to get back in the field. When we finally get the chance, we're still just sitting around."

"To be fair, we can do quite a lot when we're just sitting around," Haron calmly replied as he refused to lift his gaze from the console in front of him. "Plus, sitting kind comes with the territory."

"Fair point," Rem said with an unseen smile. "It's good to be back in the field regardless. I think some of the others were starting to feel like caged birds. Or worse, like they'd have their wings clipped."

"I did get the feeling some of the old guard were feeling unneeded or unwanted," Haron admitted.

"It's just temporary though, right?" Rem asked, a low flutter in her voice. "I mean, I know we've faced setbacks, but we're all still the same pilots… aren't we?"

"Perhaps," Haron answered, noncommittally. "But then again, is that really what we want?"

"How do you mean?"

Finally, the ex-Imperial tore his gaze away from the various readouts that populated the dashboard in front him. Instead, he cast his steady gaze out his side viewport, out into the astral void. "Well, we lost half our squadron. I know it's no use thinking about what we could have done differently, but don't we owe it to ourselves, to our teammates, to at least try and be better? The people we were that day lost, no matter what may have happened to those who attacked us. If we truly are the same pilots now as we were then, what's to stop that from happening again?"

"We aren't defined by our skills, our capabilities, any more than we're defined by our ships," Rem replied, slightly firmer than before. "Who we are as people, that hasn't changed. We can learn from our mistakes, become better, without changing who we are. We were targeted. That man and his fleet intended to break us. If we throw away what we were before the incident, he'll have succeeded."

There was a pause as the comm channel fell silent.

"I have a harder time separating the man from the machine," Haron admitted. "The person from the pilot. The way I see it, we are different. Torrid Squadron is different."

"Maybe," Rem conceded. "But we're whole."

Again, another pause overtook the channel.

"I disagree," Haron bluntly said. Silence followed, as Rem opted to quietly furrow her brow instead of responding. "Again, I do not believe this is a bad thing. We stopped being whole the moment we started operating. Every day you wake up with the intent to fight, you lose a little piece of yourself. Sometimes, it's a piece you voluntarily shed. Sometimes, it's a piece stolen from you. We lost a bit of ourselves when Freemont left. We lost a bit of ourselves when Delgo crashed and spent a month in the medbay. Trying to stay whole is impossible. It's better to hold on to what remains, and do what you can to keep it intact, even if it means you have to change."

Only after a few long seconds of silence did the ex-Imperial turn away from the viewport, quickly blinking his eyes. The quiet persisted, even as the comm channel remained open.

Haron released a brief sigh. "I'm… I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm talking about."

"No, you're right," Rem spoke up. The commander's voice was low, soft, but not resigned. "I guess some part of me associates change with uncertainty. Entropy. But we can change for the better. All of us. It's our duty to change, to learn, to adapt. Isn't that right, Tessa?"

As the commander looked up to no one in particular, all she received in response was silence. The droid's attention was elsewhere, utterly focused on the task of scanning the surrounding space. Rem released a light chuckle as she lowered her face, opting to look out the viewport toward the Gallant fighter floating alongside her.

"Anything on your end yet?" Rem warmly asked.

Haron perked up, returning to the console in front of him. Scanning the electronic readout, it still had yet to yield any results. "Nothing yet."

"Oh well," Rem muttered, sinking in her seat slightly. The quiet returned as the pair relaxed, powerless to act amongst the empty vacuum. They were at the mercy of data, either their own or whatever their squadron mates could manage to turn up. But before even a minute could pass, the silence was broken once more.

"You know… you were right as well," Haron admitted. Rem straightened out in her chair, keeping her mouth closed as she waited for an explanation. "We may have changed since the incident, hell, since joining Torrid Squadron. But underneath it all… underneath all the callouses, all the stress, all the setbacks, we are the same people. Marvus may be a bit more pessimistic, but he's still the same Devaronian we all know and love. Fen may have lost all confidence in the Senate, but then again, she'd never held them in high regard. So long as we're alive, so long as we put in the effort to preserve them, our cores remain the same."

"Well, it's good I know a thing or two about core maintenance," Rem joked.

"Just another reason you were the right choice for commander," Haron warmly offered.

Rem cracked a smile. "You know, I definitely prefer the warm, complimenting Haron."

"As opposed to…?"

"The stern, serious, morose-"

"How am I stern?" Haron asked, an unfamiliar flutter in his voice.

The commander brought a hand to her mouth as she tried to conceal the chuckle slipping past her lips. "I suppose you'd have a slightly different definition of stern, wouldn't you?"

"Let me guess, because I'm an ex-Imperial, right?" Haron played along.

"Pretty much, yeah," Rem teased.

A black and red blur rushed down gray corridor after gray corridor. Within the bowels of the Gage-class transport, Zuren Baz made his way toward the hangar with a supernatural haste, toothy grin stretched across his face. As he passed through each bulkhead door, technicians and security forces stationed aboard the vessel quickly ducked out of the way, but took the time to snap a quick salute as the Sith ran past them.

The halls were a uniform design of angular slabs. There was a rigidity in all facets, the uncompromising zeal of the Empire baked into the ship's architecture. Pipes ran along the walls, exposed only to remind the surrounding denizens of their purpose. Grated flooring stood over the machines of war, granting keen eyes sight into innards amongst innards.

As the Sith ran, his mind focused on one thing: getting to his starfighter. But that didn't prevent the admiral's words from seeping into his mind. The countless speakers and comms spread through the command ship spread the declarations of its current master.

"This is Admiral Fiernan, speaking on all secure Imperial channels." The admiral's words possessed a grandeur wrought only through countless years of experience. His voice stood tall, taller than a man of his physicality had any right to do. "Lord Solatus is dead. But do not be alarmed. His demise came at the hands of his own apprentice. The former Flight Commander intended to sacrifice this fleet, intended to throw away the lives of each and every dedicated Imperial who swore to him their loyalty. But his apprentice, Zuren Baz, a man of strength and character, saw fit to end the traitor's life before he had the chance to jeopardize this operation. Taking over as Flight Commander of this fleet, Zuren Baz has seen fit to place me in command whilst he leads the charge from his own personal vessel. As the attack squadrons prepare to move out, know that the fleet is back in capable hands. No longer are you beholden to a petty Sith who had turned his back on his brothers and sisters. Now, you serve a Sith willing and able to fight alongside you. And as Flight Commander Baz personally takes the fight to these rebel scum, I will continue to offer my guidance and support. Together, we will lead each and every one of you to victory. No unneeded sacrifice. No unnoticed effort. We are the pride of the Imperial Navy. We serve with dedication and confidence. We bring law and order to the lawless. The fight is upon us. And we will fight. As one."

Passing through the final bulkhead door, the rushing Sith stopped dead in his tracks within a large chamber. Lining the hangar floor, a dozen starfighters sat in a neat arrangement. Sharp, compact daggers of gray and black metals. Frail things, but dangerous in abundance and in capable hands. But standing out from its fellows, a single starfighter was receiving renewed service as crewmen rushed to get it prepped for flight.

The vessel resembled the standard mass-produced fighters used by the Imperial Navy. Its core was composed of little more than a compact cockpit, the entire front of which was a viewport. On each side, its wings spread like thin sheets, angled and tipped with blaster cannons. Viewed from the front, the vessel resembled the shape of an 'X'.

But compared to its fellows, the ship was slightly larger, slightly longer, slightly bolder. The matte black and gray materials that composed its chassis possessed the occasional flare in the form of red stripes along its four wings.

As he stood still in the middle of the hangar, casting his sharpened gaze upon his starfighter, Zuren reaffirmed his crooked smirk.