Upon Becoming a Rogue
By: Lorry Hagrid7@mailbolt.com
Summary: A rebel reflects on the events leading up to his acceptance into the Rogue Squadron.
Spans the time from Ep4 to ROTJ
Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only. Not intent on the part of the author to profit from somebody else's licensed characters.
Author's Note: I have a real soft spot in my heart for this story... but a lot of people just don't get it. Imagine yourself in a hoppin' tapcafe, serving drinks to a bunch of rowdy pilots who just successfully completed recruitment requirements for acceptance into Wedge Antillies' Rogue Squadron. One of them, a strapping young Weequay, decides to tell you his story...
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Upon Becoming A Rogue
As I tug off a borrowed orange jumpsuit I am remembering that day, oh, let's say about a million or more years ago, when my father took me up or the first time into the star-pricked realms of space. I was in the middle of my fourth year and growin' like a spit-vine, at least according to my mother. We were a military family, and I'm proud to say that my father, Gunt Ima'kii, retired from Air and Space Defense of Ord Mantel as Captain of the Viper Squadron. They called themselves The Untouchables, and the stories of their exploits was woven into my existence from birth.
It's actually a wonder that it took my father four standard years to talk my mother into letting me go up with him. But I was conceived the night he returned home from an extensive campaign over the seven worlds of the Empress Teta System. My parents had been separated during that one for nearly two-and-a-half years. My mother spent that time in the limbo of not knowing if her husband was dead or alive, and when she got him back in her crosshairs she made it clear that there would be no strafing runs for Captain Ima'kii until she was ready to let him go. But as they say on Ord Mantel, a womp-rat can only stay topside so long before it runs for the cave, and Gunt Ima'kii could only handle a desk job till I was three years old.
The Rebellion was on the updraft by that time, as a lot of different worlds found out the hard way just how viciously Imperial vornskrs could bite. System after system was beginning to figure out that good old Emperor Palpatine had more than just the common good on his agenda as Supreme Ruler of the Galaxy.
My father dove top-knot first into the rebellion, first as a fighter pilot, then as the commander of a little outfit he chose to rename 'The Untouchables'. He liked the name, and he told us he'd never said he'd been endowed by Oron with the gift of an over active imagination.
We left Ord Mantel to dock with the rebellion, me and Captain Ima'kii, in his old Z95 Headhunter. Mom and my little sister followed in a transport that would catch up with us later on Dantooine.
Leaving the familiar atmosphere of Ord Mantel was a little intimidating to a kid my size, I gotta admit, but even at four years, I was already an expert at interpreting pheromones, the hormones that we weequays exude that reveal much about what's going through our data processors -- if ya know what I mean--. Captain Ima'kii's pheromones were screamin' thrill ride, excitement and purpose, so as his dutiful son, I pushed back fear, held on tight and enjoyed the ride. Our hours in hyperspace, scrunched together in a cockpit made for one, could have been uncomfortable, but not for me and the Captain. I got to hear again the stories of the old Untouchables and the Viper Squadron of Ord Mantel Air and Space Defense. The Captain had managed to scare up about 5 of his old ASD cronies to join him, so our comms were alive with outrageous stories for most of the trip.
Yeah, I grew up chasin' the rebellion and Captain Ima'kii. He presented me my first ship, a little Y-wing, complete with R2 unit, when I was 12 years old. I was still too young to go out with him on fire fights, he said, but we spent countless hours together in that cockpit and in ground-side simulation, as he got his son ready for the day I could be called an Untouchable, just like him.
Hangin' out with the "Untouched", as I liked to call them, was where I first met Dako Ferru. He wasn't nearly as broad shouldered as me, but he was my age, and a weequay as well. It was nice to see a familiar species in the sea of human beings the rebellion seemed to be. Most of the non-human species were trapped pretty snug under Emperor Palpatine's sights, anyway, but the weequay race, strong and bold as we are, had been able to hold on to a lot more independence than many of the other non-humanoid species.
As I said, Dako wasn't nearly as broad shouldered as me. The Captain was proud of the muscles that corded and bulged underneath my green hide. Dako, on the other hand, was more the sensitive type. He played a hand-held torak and liked to sing songs into the night. We had a lot of fun together, and somehow he even managed to teach me to harmonize.
Dako needed somebody strong around to make sure nobody took him for a weakling, and I was happy to take on that job.
Fortunately for me, my parents produced two more female and one scrawny little male offspring while we served the Rebellion. My mother's hands were full, so I had lots of time to myself. Time I spent simming with Dako or flying with the Captain. By the time Luke Skywalker and his crew blew up the first Death Star, I figured I was pretty much an ace.
--Of course the Captain informed me that most males of our species, upon reaching their 15th year, tend to feel that way as well.--
All in all, as I look back, I've had a great life. I was inducted into the Untouchables at age 17, on one condition, that Dako Ferru be my wingman. That was the year we heard about the second Death Star. Dak and I spent hours in the belly of a Mon Calamari cruiser, tryin' not to let too much fear be read through our pheromones, and singin' songs to entertain the other pilots. Most of those men and women were older that we were, but I figured I could stack up flight hours beside the best of them.
All of us were excited as we hurtled through space toward the Emperor's second attempt at the Death Star. Dako and I had only faced TIE fighters in the simulators before, but we weren't too scared. Captain Ima'kii had given us both medallions engraved with the Untouchable insignia, and looking back, I guess that's what we truly thought we were. Untouchable. Until that moment when Dako's Y-wing was taken out by the third run of the Emperor's TIE fighters. As we prepared to destroy the Death Star II, I'd already taken out 4 of the TIEs, but they just kept coming, like garnants marching to a picnic dinner. I was the only Untouchable that docked his Y-wing in the Mon-Cal cruiser after that battle.
We'd managed to turn the Emperor's trap into a rebel victory, somehow managing to hold on to our lives out in space while ground troops took out the Death Star's generators on Endor. I fought by instinct after watching my best friend's ship turn into an orange ball of fire, then chill into microns of so much space slag.
In Dako's name I took out 5 more TIEs and did some considerable damage to one of the Victory-Class star destroyers. I got a lot of slaps on the back as the Mon-Cal headed away from space over Endor. The congratulations were something I'd have gladly traded for just one more song with Dako.
Well, the rebellion has become the New Republic, and today I had the honor of flyin' for Wedge Antillies. He's looking for recruits for a squadron he's calling the Rogues. The Emperor's gone, but there are a whole lot of his Imperials still out there, acting as if they'd never been strafed. I'd be happy to be part of a company that'll be taking some more of them out of commission.
I'm in the shower, fingers playin' over my Untouchables medal, when I hear a couple of voices. Rinsing off and pulling on my clothes, I can't help but remember the battle for the second Death Star. Yeah, I grew up in the rebellion, but that was the day the war against the Imps got personal. The day they turned Dako into space dust.
Coming out of the shower, I all but bump into General Wedge Antillies himself. He'd been lookin' for me, and wanted to welcome me into the Rogues. He says he's met the Captain several times and speaks very highly of my piloting skills. I close my eyes and thank the Force, or Orno, or whoever, for another opportunity to vape some Imps.
If there were any other weequay around, they would have been able to read my emotions from kilometers away. Yeah, I'm excited. I get to follow in the Captain's bootprints. I get to tell a whole new set of pilots all the stories about the Untouchables that I can remember.
There's a little bit of sadness too. After all, what space jockey is really comfortable out there in a fire fight with out his favorite wingman?