This is a work of fan fiction and all canon characters, scenes, and concept are the property of LucasArts. Original characters and plot property of Gerald Tarrant.

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Ten: Second Round

Space was dark, cold, and empty. Harkov stood at the main viewport of the bridge, staring out at the blackness, one hand resting on the humming monitors beneath the window. Nothing, as far as he could see. Nothing but space and stars.

He was beginning to wonder what the Ripoblus and Dimok were up to. He had seen no transports, no civilian craft, no capital ships since that last battle. It was probably farfetched, even absurd, to think that the two groups were banding together to fight the Imperials. Not even they would go that far. Decades old hostilities were not mended in a day, or even a week. But still...

"Sir?"

He recognized that voice. General Daran.

"Yes, General?"

Daran peered at him beneath blond hair that always seemed to be rumpled and uncombed. "Are you all right, sir?"

Harkov sighed. "Ever since we arrived in the Sepan system, this whole crew has begun to take an extreme interest in my health. I have no idea why that should be. Am I looking unwell?"

"Well..." Daran trailed off, combed his hair nervously with his fingers. "You have been looking strained lately. Admiral, your health is very important to this campaign. And you know that your crew loves you."

Harkov almost snorted, caught himself at the last moment. Imperial commanders did not snort. Instead, he gave a disbelieving laugh. "Loves is hardly the word for it, general. Obeys, perhaps. Respects. But certainly not 'loves'."

"Oh, you do not think so, Admiral?"

Something in Daran's tone made Harkov take his mind off the cold stars for a moment and focus on the general. "No, I do not. And you do?"

"I have seen the way they look at you when you talk to them. The way they carry out their orders as if the whole world revolves around your approval. The way they smile after you compliment them or how they work twice as hard after a reprimand from you. It is more than respect, Admiral. They want the best for you. I have never seen any crew on any ship do so much for their commander." He paused. "I have never seen a better commander."

Harkov smiled sardonically. "You are trying to make me feel better. Fine. If they love me, then they love me and I am grateful for it. It makes my work that much easier." It was his turn to pause and look thoughtfully at nothing. "But do you think they love me enough?"

Daran caught his meaning. The general's face became closed and wary. "I would take no chances, Admiral."

Harkov nodded to himself. "As to your first question, I do not know. I am feeling rather...morbid today. Must be the weather."

"Morbid." Daran rolled the word around in his mouth, trying out the feel of it. He said, rather cautiously, "Ah, due to the weather, sir, morbid...is a rather strange feeling."

"I would say it would be. I am also trying to figure out what has become of our good friends the Ripoblus and Dimok. Unpleasant thoughts roll through my mind."

"Morbid thoughts, sir?"

Before Harkov could answer, there was a clatter of boots from the command walkway. A bridge duty officer rushed up, saluted. "Admiral, you are wanted at tactical."

Harkov spun on his heel and headed to the tactical crew pit, followed by Daran. He descended into the pit and walked quickly to the chief sensor officer. "What is it, Major?"

"Admiral, I've picked up an object on our present course. It appears to be stationary. At this rate, we should be able to see it in about fifteen minutes."

Harkov leaned close, saw the small blip on the screen. "How far is it now?"

The officer busied himself a moment at the console. "Fifty-five kilometers, sir."

Harkov looked at Daran. "What do you think, General?"

"Space station?"

"That would be my guess. Whatever they are, they won't be friendly." Harkov addressed the officer. "Keep that on line. I want to be notified immediately if anything happens."

"Anything, sir?"

"Anything. I don't want to be caught by surprise. We know how they fight now, and I am not taking any chances."

"Perhaps the admiral is being overly morbid," Daran put in with a small grin.

"Ah...morbid, sir?" The tactical officer was not sure how to take that comment.

"Never mind. Remember, anything, major."

"Yes, sir."

Followed closely by Daran, Harkov left the chief tactical station and began walking slowly around the crew pit, observing crewers at their work. "What do you think now, Daran?"

"It could be anything. Ripoblus, Dimok, smugglers...though I doubt smugglers would bother with a stationary base in the middle of the system."

"I would stake chances on the Dimok."

Daran cast him a curious glance. "Why is that, sir?"

"The Ripoblus and Dimok are at war, General. In war, both sides turn most of their energy to the manufacture or appropriation of weapons. We already know how the Ripoblus acquire their weapons-illegally, of course. If one transport is found smuggling weapons, the chances are that there are more weapons being smuggled in on the Ripoblus side. Are you with me, general?"

"Yes, sir," said Daran cautiously. "I still do not see what you are getting at."

Harkov slowed his pace as he brushed by two senior officers reprimanding a young ensign at his station. "It is really quite simple. Since the Ripoblus are smuggling their weapons, they cannot be using the space station. Therefore, it must be a Dimok weapons lab."

"Why a weapons lab, sir?" Daran was clearly startled by Harkov's conjecture. "Why not a science station, or-"

"How many people do you know of who spare the time or energy to make great scientific advances of knowledge during war? Especially a civil war of this magnitude?"

Daran thought a moment, chewed his lip. "I see, sir." He shook his head admiringly. "Admiral, how you deduced that from-"

He never got to finish. Another duty officer, this time from the com-scan station, came clicking hurriedly over. "Sir, there are two more blips on screen. We just picked them up. They appear to have just arrived and are attacking the first blip that we picked up. Sensors show large bursts of concentrated energy coming from the other two blips in the area."

Before Harkov could reply, there was a shout from the comm station. "Admiral! We're intercepting a transmission from the first object in our flight path."

Harkov quickened his pace and hurried up to the comm stations to the side of the security foyer. "Yes, lieutenant?" he snapped rather impatiently at the closest comm officer in the vicinity.

The lieutenant quickly adjusted the frequencies until the words could be heard above the static, though not clearly. "-tation Youst requesting assistance. Attention, Imperials-can you help us? Dimok Science Station Youst requesting assistance. Imperials, do you read?"

Harkov threw a significant glance at Daran, who mouthed: Science Station? to him. Harkov held up one finger, then nodded to the comm officer. "Put me in on a clear channel that both Dimok and Ripoblus can hear." The officer looked puzzled, but adjusted frequencies accordingly. Harkov raised his voice slightly. "Attention, Ripoblus forces. Cease your attack at once!"

There was a high-pitched whine that cut off the grateful Dimok reply. "Jamming," said the comm officer grimly, working the controls. Suddenly, the whine stopped and a cold, whispery Ripoblus voice cut in clearly through the same static. "Imperials, this is no science station. It's a weapons lab!"

Daran swung his head around to look at Harkov. "Don't look so surprised, General," said Harkov dispassionately. He was busy calculating his possible options. Probably the only space battle going on in the galaxy right now, and once again he just happened to stop by. "No reply to the Ripoblus," he said finally, raising his voice so that all the communications operators could hear. "Call the Harpax. Activate gravity generators now. I want them fully operational by the time we arrive at the battle scene. None of those Ripoblus or Dimok forces need go anywhere. Yellow alert to all captains. Increase speed to two-thirds and put all turbolaser chiefs on standby."

He waited until the messages started to be relayed, then started back over to tactical. "I told you I felt morbid," he commented to Daran. "That's always how I feel just before a storm."

Bix Harris was in the shower when the yellow alert klaxons began to wail. He grumbled a bit, gave himself a quick splash-over, and jumped out. He could hear the clattering of boots and excited voices as the other pilots in the refresher room hurried outside.

There was a screech of static and then General Daran's voice came over the comm. "All pilots to briefing room now. All pilots to briefing room now."

Bix pulled on his standard pilot's uniform, then hurried out of the refresher into the cooler corridors. Large groups of pilots streamed by, intent on catching the turbolifts. Bix attached himself to the straggling end of one of the groups, silently wondering what this was all about.

"Looking forward to this, Harris?"

Bix looked behind him and saw Harve Tisher striding to catch up with him. Bix slowed his pace, waited until Harve had come up next to him, then noticed that the other pilot looked tired. Harve had dark circles under his eyes and was stifling a yawn.

"You look a little out of commission yourself, Harve."

"Ah, it's nothing. Didn't get to bed until oh five hundred this morning."

"Five hundred!" Bix looked askance at Harve, who suddenly developed an interest in his perfectly clean fingernails. "Doing what?"

Harve shrugged self-conciously, face guarded. "Oh...talking, I guess," he said evasively.

"With Eln?"

Harve looked even more guarded and shot Bix an uncertain glance, but answered, "Actually, no. I haven't talked to Eln in a while, got things to do."

Bix started to open his mouth, then closed it. Harve's doings were his own affair, and he was not going to question him about it. Instead he said: "Don't fall asleep during the battle." Harve looked relieved that Bix had not pursued the subject.

They caught the next lift and rode it down to the briefing room. Daran had already begun the hurried briefing when they filed in quietly and stood at the back.

"-are bound to be Headhunters waiting out there for you once you launch," Daran was saying. He waved a light-probe over the large moving grid map at the front of the room. The image shifted left to a small red image symbolizing the Protector. A TIE Fighter symbol appeared next to the Star Destroyer. "The Dimok Station-" he waved the probe over a green circular symbol- "is protected by Headhunters as well." Two Headhunter symbols appeared, one green, one blue. Dimok and Ripoblus. "Be sure to carefully ID each Headhunter before you engage, because this time we are only fighting the Ripoblus, not the Dimok. Engage Ripoblus craft only. All Dimok craft are to be ignored unless they start firing on you first, in which case you engage them as well. Understood?"

A chorus of "aye's" filled the room.

Daran nodded in satisfaction. "There are also two capital Ripoblus starships, a modified corvette and a modified frigate. Neither are identified yet, but watch out for them." Two new blue symbols appeared on the map as the Headhunter and TIE Fighter symbols moved close to each other. "Also, be on the lookout for Ripoblus Assault Transports. We have spotted two so far making their way to the Dimok Station. These must be stopped at all costs. No Ripoblus assault transports must be allowed to dock with the station. Instead, our own ATR's will be trying to get through. You must identify each transport carefully or else you might end up destroying our own transports instead of the enemy's. That would not be a pleasant ending to the battle." Another symbol for the assault transport appeared next to the modified frigate. "That is all. To your ships, and good luck."

"What do you think?" muttered Harve as they made it out the door and into the pilot ready room. Bix made no answer. Spotless black pilot flight suits hung upon pegs on the wall. Bix walked quickly to his suit and pulled it on, taking special care as he connected the gas transfer hoses to his helmet and sealed it. TIE Fighters had no life-support system-the flight suit was his life-support. He stuffed his feet into his pressure boots and shoved hands into his gloves.

"Come on, Tisher," he said. "We'll be late." They broke into a run-walk as they reached the turbolift, elbowing aside various techs and droids that blocked the entrance.

The launch bay was hot, crowded, and loud, and Bix felt right at home. He and Cam made their way over to the far launching rack where the Gamma squadron TIE Fighters hung. Bix gestured to the launch technician, who acknowledged by unhooking the refueling cable from his fighter, opening the access hatch, and giving the go-ahead signal.

Bix took a deep breath, tasting the slightly stale air that came in through the breathing filters, ran his hands over his suit one final time, and clambered up onto the top of the fighter. He lowered himself down into the small space within, then reached up and closed the hatch. It banged shut with a hiss and cut him off from the outside world. The silence was eerie after the deafening noise of the outer launch bay. It was as if he was trapped inside the belly of a great creature, curled up in a dark world that would never let him go...He reached over, strapped himself in, then powered up his engines to minimum power.

There was a muffled clank, and his fighter began to move, pulled forward from the rack by robotic lifters. He felt the T/F being lowered into the launch shaft in the floor of the bay. Darkness...and then his fighter was being tilted forward. He saw stars. For a second, space whirled before his eyes, and then with a slight whoosh, the robotic lifters released his fighter, propelling it away from the Protector.

A rush of adrenaline numbed him for a second, then he shook himself, rerouted half power to weapons, increased his speed, and fired up stabilizing thrusters to decrease the wobble of the lightweight craft. Behind him, and in front of him, the rest of Gamma squadron spread themselves out in formation. The cool, crisp voice of Gamma Leader cut in on his transmitter. "All wings report in."

Bix identified himself, then set a smooth course towards the distant beleaguered Dimok station. He adjusted his helmet comm transceiver over his ear, shifted in his seat to get himself a little more comfortable, and pulled power to fire-link his lasers. Opening his threat display, he cycled through, identifying at least three groups of Ripoblus Headhunters hovering above the Dimok stations like hungry birds of prey. He cycled quickly to the station and felt his heart sink. Shields were almost gone and hull was only 88 percent. Shaking his head, he closed the threat display and targeted the closest Headhunter. He had hardly targeted it when it suddenly shifted position on his CMD and came charging towards him.

Quickly he rerouted all power to lasers, checked his forward scanner, wished that his fighter had shields, and then the Z-95s were upon him.

Red bolts flashed past him, barely missing his craft. The space around him was a tangle of lasers, ships, and space debris. He could barely maneuver in the chaos. His target slipped behind him and his OTIA lit up red and yellow.

"Watch out, Bix!" yelled someone in his ear, forsaking the use of call signs. "Coming in oh-nine-six!"

"I know, I know!" he yelled back. Frantically, he jerked his fighter into a tight spin, barely avoiding another TIE that came screaming in on his portside, while scrolling through his CMD for the missile. He found it, coming at him from behind. He twisted around and took a second to blow it up with his lasers. It exploded into a spectacular fireball.

"Nice shot, Eleven," said the same voice on his transmitter. Bix frowned, then grinned.

"Thanks, Harve," he said. He spiraled out to portside, caught his target Headhunter in his forward scanner, and blew off its unshielded bottom. "There you go," he muttered to it.

"Another wave," someone said. "Coming in fast six-five-one. Watch it, Three!"

"Don't forget the station," warned Gamma Leader. "In formation; let's go." Bix pulled up his threat display again and saw its shields down to one percent. He cursed softly into the transmitter, earning a reprimand from Gamma Leader, and curved into formation, onto a new course for the Dimok station.

His OTIA lit up again and Bix instinctively pulled to starboard to avoid the blasts coming from the other side. So much for that. The other TIE's flashed past. He tried to keep the station in his forward scanner but somehow he turned so it was behind him. He looped around, trying to find it, and saw Tor Sunflier in the crossfire of four Headhunters.

"Gamma Five!" he yelled into his pickup. "Go evasive! I'll cover you."

Apparently Tor had not heard or couldn't hear, because there was no reply.

"Tor?" said Bix. "Tor?" He targeted Tor's fighter and was relieved to find that Tor was still alive. He zoomed towards the fighter, but another TIE was already there.

Harve Tisher came in behind the backs of two of the Headhunters and took one of them out before the pilot even realized what was going on. Tor's crippled fighter took advantage of the confusion and bailed out of there with three of the Z-95's trailing. Another hit sparked on his panel. Bix looked at his CMD. One more shot would finish Tor.

Bix came in on the portside of one of the Z-95s and scored two direct hits on one wing. Harve was yelling for Bix to cover him. Over Harve's frantic requests, Gamma Leader's voice came in, demanding that the three of them get out of there and concentrate on the station.

Bix ignored the request and finished off his Headhunter, then turned towards the station. The transmitter crackled. "Request to head back to the Protector," said Tor. His voice was shaky. "I can't give any help the way I am."

"Report back," said Gamma Leader resignedly. "The rest of you, Attack Pattern Omega on those assault transports at nine-four-four."

Bix targeted the station once again and realized that he was farther away than he had been before. As he angled towards it, he suddenly remembered Harve, back there with the Headhunters, and who hadn't come out...

He swung around to starboard, expecting to see Harve finishing off the rest of the Ripoblus Z-95's. Instead, he saw the other fighter besieged by four Headhunters. Two of them had come out of nowhere. The right solar panel of the craft was warped and twisted and the TIE itself moved slowly and jerkily, though Harve managed to keep it twisting in some bizarre mimic of the classic Alton roll.

"Harve?" Bix said anxiously. No reply. "Harve? Do you copy?" He listened to the others' jabbering about vectors and coordinates in the background, trying to find that one voice. Nothing.

And then as Bix watched, still frantically trying to bring his fighter around to help, a red laser bolt caught the Harve's small craft squarely on the cockpit. Blue electrical flashes crackled around it for a second, then subsided. A short cry came through the transmitter, an animal cry of pain.

Bix hurtled towards Harve's crippled fighter, targeted the cocky Headhunter who had fired that blast. His HUD lit up green. He squeezed the firing button. Squeezed again. Four bolts of blazing green energy flared as they hit the Headhunter's shielding. The Z-95 burst apart into shards of fiery debris.

Bix slumped in relief, and then sat bolt upright, frozen, unable to move. Harve's fighter was still rolling, almost lazily, right into the middle of the dense cloud of the explosion.

"No!" Bix screamed hoarsely. He stared unbelievingly as the small fighter hurtled towards the brilliant cloud. "Harve! Pull up! PULL UP!"

The voices of the TIE pilots blared from the TIE Operations stations in one of the crew pits. The long line of controllers sat rigidly, watching com-scan screens and adjusting frequencies, giving orders and warnings, listening to the steady stream of conversation.

"Watch your flank, Delta Five."

"Cover me, Dacrin."

"I've got him! I've got him!"

"Cut the chatter, Nine. We're going in. Full throttle. Power it up."

The rightmost controller looked up as Daran passed his station. Daran motioned for him to continue as he bent down, took a look at the screens in front of him.

"Are all our interceptors launched?"

A burst of sudden jamming sent all the controllers down the line into frantic manipulation of switches. The jamming disappeared, and the controller took a quick look to answer Daran's question. "Negative. One squadron is still on standby. We lost six from Sigma in the first battle. Three of those are temporarily out of commission, the other three destroyed."

"I want the group on standby launched immediately. They are to cover our assault transports."

"Assign every Interceptor a transport to cover," said someone. Daran looked up. Harkov. "There are three transports," the admiral said. "I want all of them well-protected. We can't afford to lose this station."

"Yes, sir."

The intercom buzzed. Daran moved to the side, pressed a button. "Yes?"

"Assault transports are boarded, sir. Waiting for escort."

"Escort launching now."

"Sir."

The intercom clicked off. Daran watched the screens for a moment. "Get Delta Five, Eleven, and Four to cover Gamma Group."

The controller spoke into his pickup. Acknowledgement crackled back.

"Rilan! Two of them coming in point six-nine!"

"Request to head back to the Protector. I can't give any help the way I am."

"I see them."

"Report back. The rest of you Attack Pattern Omega on those assault transports at nine-four-four."

"Veer starboard, Epsilon Two. I'll cover you."

"Copy that."

"Gamma Seven, pull up!"

"This is Delta Leader."

"Craer, go evasive! You've picked up three on your tail."

"Negative, I don't see anything."

"Form attack pattern Phi. We're going in, we're going in strong. Stay behind me."

"He's on me!"

"I see them now. Cover me!"

"Thanks, Geoff."

"Coming in on your starboard side at point two-ten."

"This is the VSD Protector calling Delta Squadron," said a controller two seats down. "We've picked up another group of Headhunters at point three-four. They seem to be headed your way."

"Acknowledged, Protector. I see them."

"Geoff, to port! They're on you!"

"Delta Nine to Twelve. There're two coming in on your port flank. I'm your wing."

"I can't make it!"

"Zeta Three, watch it! You've got one right behind you."

"I'm hit!"

"Rendezvous at nine-nine-oh," said a controller at the far end of the station. The com-scan screen showed a sudden change in frequencies. "Imperial transports coming in."

"Nine-nine-oh, Gamma Squadron."

"Gotcha."

"We've lost Geoff."

"Form up! We're pulling a Drishdyne double-hit on that Ripoblus ATR."

"Copy, Zeta Leader."

"Gamma Three, Seven, Eight, Twelve, close it up. You've almost got him."

Daran turned from the station and walked slowly down the narrow aisle, keeping an ear open for trouble from the Imperial transports. They should be on their way by now.

Eln Terra was making a pretty good job of this battle. The Headhunters were a joke. He almost laughed as he finished off one after the other, squeezing his firing trigger slowly and evenly. Where did these people train? On simulators? One thing he would make sure of when the Empire annexed this system: they'd need better pilots. No show of force would deter the Rebels when they saw this lousy flying.

The craft he was chasing exploded and he targeted an assault transport making a run for the station. Two shots, four...

"I'm hit!" Gamma Three. A pause. "I'm all right."

"This is General Daran," came the voice over the transmitter. "Watch out for those Ripoblus assault transports. Squadron Gamma, go after the enemy. Our own transports are launching now. Squadron Delta, cover them and watch your back. Five more fighters coming in from that modified frigate."

"Concentrate all fire on those assault transports!" Gamma Leader's voice was curt. Eln could imagine him strapped into the small cockpit of his fighter, that impassive face under the helmet as cold as ever, firing his lasers with clipped, accurate precision. "None of them must be allowed to get to the station. Reform attack pattern Omega at two-eight-two."

Eln smiled. "Copy, Gamma Leader. Gamma Four en route."

He leaned back, enjoying the view as he flew in close towards the transport. War was a game. All a game. He lived for it, lived for the pounding in his blood every time he scored a hit, gloried in the freedom of space and the heady sensation of feeling the stars.

He adjusted his controls, then turned onto a course on Gamma Nine's starboard flank. The two of them began firing on the clumsy Ripoblus transport from portside. They were soon joined by Gamma Ten and Gamma Seven, coming in under them. The transport turned slightly, preparing to fire on them while still heading towards the station.

There was a shock wave and a screech and the rest of Gamma squadron arrived, letting go all at once with concentrated fire on the transport's underside. The transport wavered, exploded.

Somebody whooped over the speaker, and Eln swung towards another transport, ignoring the stupid Headhunter behind him that was trying to score a direct hit on him. It kept on until someone behind him silenced it with rapid laser fire. Moments later, Gamma Eight came into view, pouring firepower into the transport.

"Good shooting, Axi," he said, keeping his tone light.

"Thank you, Gamma Four," she said icily.

He was about to make a clever retort, tell her she should lighten up. She had always seemed especially wary of him. He didn't understand. Sure, he liked women, but that didn't mean-

Suddenly, he jerked upright in his seat as a hoarse voice came over the intercom. "Cover me! I'm hit! Cover me! Eln? Cam? Bix? Where are you?"

"Harve," Eln whispered. He turned his fighter so hard it wobbled and spun out of balance before he could regain control. He heard Gamma Leader, demanding that Harve get over to help with the transport. Eln's anger flared. How dare Calys treat him like that? Harve was in danger! He could be dying.

Eln rerouted all power to engine, urging his craft on. He could see on his scopes that Harve was about gone. One more shot, perhaps not even that, and they would lose him. "Hang on, Harve," he called into his pickup. "I'm coming." There was no reply.

"Harve?" said a voice that after a moment Eln recognized as Bix Harris's, Gamma Eleven. "Harve, do you copy?" Harve didn't answer, but Eln could see his fighter doing a slow spin to evade pursuit from the other four Z-95's. Something wrong with the engine. Harve's fighter suddenly sparked blue as a blast hit it, and Eln groaned, expecting the worse. But after a minute the electric sparking subsided, although there was no way the TIE could have survived that last shot.

As he came closer, Eln saw Bix's fighter swing around and begin firing on the far Headhunter. The Headhunter swerved, faked to port and then did a double turnaround Traklis maneuver, but Bix's last two lasers caught it square on the nose, turning it into a spectacular fireball. Eln blew out a breath, and then saw Harve's fighter, spiraling, spiraling into the depths of the craft's debris.

"No!" Bix yelled. Eln watched, petrified. "Harve! Pull up! PULL UP!" And as if in slow motion, the TIE made one last slow spin and vanished. There was a smaller explosion deep within the cloud, and then nothing.

"NO!" Eln shrieked, sped closer. All power to lasers. Fire. Fire. Explosions far and distant. The cockpit seemed to pressing in on him. He felt like a powder keg. He wanted the universe to die. No! Not Harve. You can't take Harve! Rage erupted like a molten lava from a volcano, bursting from inside to build up in the stale air of the life-support suit.

Harris! Harris was the one who had caused Harve's death, caused the explosion. Eln's fingers twitched on the fire control. He made a wordless sound in his throat, like a low animal growl. He fired.

He heard Bix's cry of surprise as if from a great distance. He fired again, but somehow the other TIE eluded him. Screaming, his throat raw and sore, Eln kept firing, not knowing, not caring. He saw the blue sparks dance over Harris's fighter.

A screech of metal passing close to metal. A laser blast, close behind. His craft jolted, once, twice, and then went still. No movement. Frustrated, Eln pounded the controls in front of him. Nothing. All dead. He slumped in his seat and let out a cry of rage and grief.

Bix's transmitter crackled, finally, after what seemed like a million years. He had managed to stabilize his craft, and sat waiting, dead in space. His hands were shaking. He glanced at Eln's fighter, the other pilot's cry still echoing through his mind. What could have possessed Eln? He knew about his temper, but-

He heard Gamma Leader's voice, calling on a broad spectrum Imperial channel. Something must have happened to the sub-space connection because the words barely came in through the static. "Gamma Leader to VSD Protector."

"Yes, Gamma Leader. Do you require assistance?"

"I need a tow immediately for TIE Fighter Gamma Four, coordinates two-two-six, and Gamma Eleven, coordinates two-five-three."

A pause. "Tugs should be out shortly, Commander Calys."

"Gamma Four is hereby declared unfit for duty and is to be taken to the detention level immediately."

The controller's shock was evident in his reply. "Sir-?"

"Those are my orders, Lieutenant." Calys' voice was harder than usual, an iceberg, frozen and immovable.

There was second pause, longer than the first, and then a new voice. Bix froze. The Admiral!

"Commander Calys, what is your justification for having a member of your squadron arrested?"

"He turned on another member of my squadron, sir. Gamma Eleven." Calys' voice grew bitter. "I'm sure we can discuss this at a later date, Admiral."

"I see." Harkov's voice gave the indication that he did not see at all. He seemed to have turned and was saying something to somebody on the Protector, because Bix could not make out the words. "Tow is being arranged, Commander. I expect a full report."

"Yes, sir."

The channel clicked shut and Bix was left, hanging there in space, with stars all about him. He thought about Harve and shivered, closed his eyes. All his fault.

Eln had been right to turn on him. He had tried to be a hero, help Harve, and had only caused his death.

Don't fall asleep during the battle.

He smiled bitterly. Sleep was one less problem for Harve now. Slumping down in his seat, he half-heartedly checked to see that his oxygen supply was adequate, and then drifted off. Wondered what the others were doing. The static was loud in his transmitter and he could barely hear. He tried to look for the station, but it was too far away and all his scopes were out.

And then in the static of the background he heard a voice. "This is Delta Leader to VSD Protector. Dimok Station Youst captured. Ripoblus routed." A silence.

"Mission accomplished."