Borath slammed his fist into the side of the cockpit, and closed his eyes, anticipating the harsh glare as the simulator opened up. He saw the glow of the strip lighting in the sim room in front of his closed eyelids, and opened his eyes when he was sure they had adjusted. His stomach was an angry, empty pit, and he very badly wanted to smash something expensive. He stood, looked around, and saw that only one simulator was still locked up. He would have smiled if he wasn't so furious at losing right at the end of the sim. The closed simulator contained the small, lithe form of Kaz Holloway; he recognised her R5 unit affixed to the replica X-wing, just behind the cockpit. Just as he was thinking that she must be either almost dead or almost ready to hit hyperspace, the canopy of the simulator hissed and lifted open. Its occupant emerged with sweat dripping from her happy face. Borath finally smiled. She'd won. The only one, by the looks on the faces of the other pilots.

She looked across at Borath and grinned. He grinned back, shaking his head at her boundless enthusiasm. Actually, she'd probably have been grinning even if she'd lost, but the expression of exhilaration on her face told him that she had evaded the frigate.

"Alright pilots, line up!" called Bamarz, their instructor. General Dreyfuss Bamarz had served the Alliance and then the Republic for many years, and could fly every fighter in the fleet, Imperial or Republic, with the same tenacious skill and proficiency. He was also a good, if gruff, instructor on the Cruiser Destiny.

"Congratulations," continued, Bamarz, "to Holloway, the only one of you who completed that sim. As for the rest of you, what in the name of the Emperor's blood do you think you were playing at? Teskan, what happened?" he turned to the Calamarian at the other end of the line. "Your evasive flying was shoddy, you were lucky to survive as long as you did." Bamarz tracked down the line for his next victim. "Rokat, what have I told you about power distribution? Make sure your shields are on double strength before you enter a minefield - you don't need speed in minefield, you need to concentrate on your manoeuvring and shooting!" The general finally rounded on Borath. "Bordan, you are a mind-numbingly incompetent fool! What the hell happened at the beginning? You didn't doge the first salvo!"

"I wanted to get the first shot in, sir!" Borath replied smartly. "Just like I'd like to get in a shot at your big, fat, ugly face, you smug son of an Imp," he didn't add.

"Did I ask you to answer?!" Bamarz yelled, stabbing the air in front of Borath's face with his finger. "What kind of a strategy is that? No wonder you nearly screwed it all up before you'd started. You were lucky to get away with a busted scanner! And never, ever, put your feet up until you're in hyperspace. Got it?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good!" Bamarz moved back to take in the whole group. "That was awful! Even you two," Bamarz pointed at Kaz and Borath, "couldn't take down the mines in time to escape before the frigate arrived. I want a better performance next mission. I expect you all to brush up on your mine-clearing. That sim is now open to you whenever you need it. Now get out!" Bamarz was the first to the door. The pilots skulked out after him.

"Phew! Well, that was fun." The comment came from just to his left. He turned to see Kaz walking next to him. He chuckled.

"Yeah, for you! I, on the other hand, need to go change my trousers," he replied and with a small bow of acknowledgement he headed off to his quarters, leaving his friend laughing delightedly behind him. He smiled. The fleet needed more pilots like Katherine Holloway, pilots to whom the word 'arrogance' was something that was an accusation levelled at other people.

Unfortunately, not even the good humour that had been induced by her presence could detract from the failure that he felt. Bamarz might be an officious toad, but he was right. He should have won that sim. He stopped at a viewing port to gaze out at the stars, thankful that he hadn't really been out there this afternoon. It was then that he sensed someone standing behind him. He turned. Standing behind him were two men, wearing civvies. One was shorter than him, stocky but not fat, with brown hair and piercing brown eyes. The other was taller, slimmer, had an unobtrusive grace and a face that looked like it belonged in the holos. The shorter one stepped forward.

"Borath Bordan?" Borath nodded, and the man smiled, holding out his hand. Borath shook it. "Saw you take the minefield sim just now. That's a tough one." Borath smiled bitterly, and it wasn't lost on the stranger. "You shouldn't feel bad, Bamarz is hard on everyone. Your performance in there today was excellent. That was a sticky situation with the scanner. Just a little quicker, and you'd have been out before that frigate arrived."

"Bamarz was right, though. I did get careless," Borath admitted. The other nodded.

"True enough. My friend here was even more careless on his first run through that sim." The other man looked pained at this.

"Oh, the humiliation! And to think that I offered the frigate commander a collection of signed still holos!" He adopted a dramatic pose, hand clutched to his chest. "Where did I go wrong? I even offered him a private screening of Win or Die." The first man snorted, and turned back to Borath with a sly grin.

"Face here thought that he'd ignore the mines and go straight for the commsats." The tall man bowed. "Unfortunately, he didn't realise quite how vicious the mines could be and spent most of his time weaving around like a drunken Jawa trying to survive until his astromech could jury-rig his weapons systems to a point where they could be used without blowing up the X-wing." The tall man threw back his head, hand against his brow in an expression of mock affliction. Borath was suddenly sure that he recognised both of these two men.

"You called him 'Face', as in Face Loran? Wraith squadron?" Face bowed again, executing a dramatic flourish with his right hand. "Is he always this pretentious?"

The other man nodded, laughing, while Face looked even more pained. "Oh, yes! He thinks it makes him charming, when really it just takes a few seconds for people who've just met him to want to kill him. I'm Corran Horn by the way."

Borath's jaw dropped. "Corran Horn?! Rogue squadron?!!" Corran nodded. "You're a legend!" squeaked Borath, and then snapped his jaw closed. "Did I really say that aloud? Sorry. I sound like a third-rate holoshill." Horn just smiled. Face, on the other hand was oblivious to all this, concentrating on his performance of damaged pride.

"Shot down like a womp-rat! Oh, the shame!" He suddenly stopped, aware that no one was really paying attention, and looked at Borath with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But perhaps not quite as much shame as my friend here," he began, indicating Corran, "felt when he had to run away from a burning Hutt-house without his clothes."

Face moved to lean on Corran's shoulder, but the shorter man deftly sidestepped. Discovering that even he couldn't support himself with only his ego, Loran collapsed with all the grace of a ballet-dancing bantha on the deck plates at Borath's feet. "You're a cruel man, Horn," he mumbled into the floor. He propped himself up on his elbows. "You have a vicious streak in you, you know, the size of the Death Star trench." Corran just looked at him, but Face kept on rambling. "Does Mirax know this? I think she should. An anonymous note should do it." Face flipped over onto his back, hands folded across his chest. "What do you think, Bordan? I think we should go together. She'd listen to an impartial witness. Maybe. What d'you say? Shall we go and single-handedly bring down one of the Republics heroes? I'm in a disillusion-the-galaxy kind of mood today. Think we should?"

Trying to stop himself laughing, Borath took advantage of the situation. He planted his foot firmly on Loran's chest, struck a dramatic pose, face upturned, arms spread wide, and boomed, "I just think it amusing that the mighty Face Loran, supreme botcher of minefield-clearing, prostrates himself before me! Just call me 'Master of the Universe', Loran, and we'll call it quits!"

Face looked genuinely surprised, then started chuckling. Corran's eyes had taken on a faraway look. Face looked at him and also became wistful. The two men smiled faintly at each other, sharing a memory. Borath felt awkward all of a sudden, and quickly removed his foot from Face's chest, who then stood, and joined his friend by the window. Corran turned to Borath, his face softening.

"You remind us of a pilot we once knew, a Devaronian." Corran snapped out of his reverie and grinned. "Nice meeting you, Bordan. We'll probably see you around." He walked past Borath and clapped him on the back.

Face followed after him, leaned in conspiratorially on the way past, and whispered, "You need a little work on that booming voice. Project from the back of the throat, it'll sound a lot more intimidating next time you stand on somebody." Borath just smiled and walked off to get a shower.

"Well?" Corran asked his companion as they headed for the flight deck. Face looked pensive for a moment, then turned his head toward Corran, a slight smile scrawled across his face.

"He's a little wacky, but with enough training I think we can turn him into a proper grade-A nutcase in time for him to join the Wraiths. Or are you trying to steal him for your boring bunch of Rogues, Horn?" He looked satisfied with the prospect of corrupting yet another up-coming pilot, but Corran wasn't impressed. Face sobered up, and took on a serious expression. "I think he's good Corran, I really do. There's a lot of talent there, he'd be a credit to either squadron pilot-wise, but he needs more than good flying for Wraith squadron. We are first and foremost a deep-cover, intrusion squad, remember."

"Agreed," Corran nodded. "We should follow his progress, though. And keep an eye on Holloway. She could be useful as well."

Face nodded. "We still need to address this problem of your violent nature though. That dodge was a callous, and cruelly calculated manoeuvre. Worthy of the Emperor himself, in fact. Mirax should definitely know."

"Face?"

"Mmm?"

"I know the story of the 'personal cloaking device' that went wrong."

"Corran?"

"Yes, Face?"

"That's blackmail."

"Yes, Face."

Face clapped Corran on the back, and put his arm around the Corellian's shoulders. "Corran, my friend, there's hope for you yet."