The interminable corridors aboard the Alderaan were walled with a
glistening, white metal. The array of lights lining the ceiling of the hall
produced an intense reflection that entered old Baaka's pupils harshly. His
haggard, furry visage winced a bit. He kept his eyes squinted, and
continued walking his way down the white hall, with a slight limp. Must
have agitated it on my way to the ship, he thought.
Shortly after the Alderaan had entered space, Terr and Sorcha had landed their fighters within the command ship's small interior hangar. It was there that Baaka followed, landing his cruiser before hurrying off into the labyrinth of shimmering corridors in search of the two young pilots. A rather uncharacteristically surly Mon Calamari attendant had informed him that Sorcha had been admitted to a recovery room for minor injuries, and so the old Bothan made his way to the medical deck.
Sorcha lay upright on a raised cot in a small, shimmering white room. Her left arm had been burned by a fuse malfunction inside the cockpit of her A- wing, and was now being bandaged by a medical droid. With a few rigid, mechanical motions it wrapped the bandage around the length of her slender arm. The droid pivoted its upper body to a small tray to the side of Sorcha's cot and picked up a long, leather white glove. It turned back and extended its skeletal metal arm.
"To cover your bandaging, ma'am," the droid buzzed with a poor emulation of human tone.
"Thank you," Sorcha replied, taking the glove with her right hand and slipping it onto her left. When the base of the glove reached near her elbow, she extended her fingers to confirm the good fit.
The medical droid turned away from the cot and walked with a clunky step and mechanical drone, exiting into the corridor. The only being in the room now besides Sorcha was Terr, who had escorted his wounded friend to the medical deck immediately after landing. He leaned over the side of the cot and put his hand on Sorcha's bare one.
"Still hurting?" he asked.
"Not really. The numbing agent works pretty fast," she replied.
Terr nodded, biting his lips together somewhat. His eyes drifted downward and stared at nothing in particular. Sorcha studied the glimmering, brown spheres with curiosity.
"What is it?" she asked.
Terr lifted his gaze and focused on Sorcha's own dark eyes. "Hm? Oh...nothing."
The thin, glass-paneled doors that marked the entrance into the room from the corridor shifted open, revealing a short creature with gnarled, gray fur. The two young pilots looked at their visitor and smiled.
"Baaka!" Sorcha said joyfully. "We thought we'd lost you."
The old Bothan smirked, partly out of the warmth the two young humans' joy brought him, and partly out of self-satisfaction from the skillful piloting that saved his life, as well as those of Terr and Sorcha, in the battle. He stepped forward into the room, receiving Terr's hand on his back as he stood next to Sorcha's cot. "I thought I'd lost you as well for quite some time, there!" he said with his old smirk. "Thankfully we're all alive and well," he continued, looking up at his foster son.
The very welcome reunion was interrupted by the voice of the communications lieutenant over the Alderaan's speaker system. "The fleet has reached the Hyper Point. We are now preparing to enter hyperspace for our flight to the Sullust system. The entire Rebel command will be present at the rendezvous. Details of our operation are forthcoming." The speaker went silent, but the sound was replaced by rampant speculation amidst pilots and soldiers throughout the ship over the aforementioned 'details.' It had quickly been learned through word of mouth that the Alliance's entire fleet would be present at Sullust; even Baaka was anxious to see such legends as Admiral Ackbar, Commander Skywalker, and Princess Organa.
Shortly after the Alderaan made the jump to lightspeed, another shifting of the doors caused all three in the small recovery room to look to the entrance. In the doorway stood a tall, muscular figure suited in officer's attire. They recognized the man immediately, but were too surprised by his visit to offer immediate greetings.
"General Amyrran," Baaka said eventually, clearing his throat a bit. "How are you?"
"Very good, Baaka, thank you," the general replied, his voice militaristically deep and strong. His attention was not focused on his Bothan comrade, however, but rather on the two human pilots that were still holding hands. They tensed under his commanding gaze, taking note of their minor embrace as a possible reason for the officer's staring, and terminated it. Terr tried to stand up straight.
A small grin spread across Amyrran's face. "I've come to commend you two on your heroic performance out there," he said with controlled sincerity. "For two pilots who had never flown in combat before, I must say...I am impressed! I'm only sorry it had to end in injury," he added, walking to Sorcha's left side and noting her medical-issue white glove.
"Thank you General Amyrran," the young woman replied. "This won't be a hindrance in future battles, I can tell you that," she said, pointing at the wounded arm with a smirk.
"I'm sure," the general responded with a contained smile. He looked over at Terr, who was obviously waiting with some apprehension to be addressed by the veteran officer. "And young Mys! Unfortunately, as I've been told, your own craft is still located on Bothawui..."
Terr let out a half-crooked smile, but simultaneously lowered his head in shame. I shouldn't have been so rash, he reprimanded himself. The awkward smile came automatically, however, and was not indicative of his deep regret at being so foolish, in leaving his A-wing on the ground in favor of jumping into battle right away. It was simply a device that was triggered when he couldn't think of anything to say, or could not come up with a reasonable defense, as it was in this case.
However, the general's motives were not to reprimand Terr, but rather to commend him, as the general had stated when he entered the room. "You flew well in that B-wing, Mys," he began. "Granted, it's not the ship you've trained in, but we can't afford to get you a new A-wing, now can we," he said with a laugh. "I've talked to a few people already, and it seems plausible that you may fly under the command of Gray squadron, at least as a trainee."
Terr's face lit up. "I'd be happy to, general."
"Good!" Amyrran replied with a grin. The tall, regal man took another glance around the recovery room at the three skilled pilots who gave him their full attention. "Well, if you'll excuse me I should be returning to the flight deck now." He turned towards the door, which shifted open automatically before the general stopped, as if he had just remembered something. He turned around to face the shorter, furrier humanoid of the bunch. "Ah, yes, Captain Mal'lar! I'd almost forgotten- would you care to join me? I feel we should review the information you've required before presenting it to Admiral Ackbar."
"Ah, of course," the old Bothan said, limping his way towards the door. Terr and Sorcha watched with youthful amusement as the tall, strong, and generally steady Amyrran exited the recovery room with the short, feeble, weak-footed Baaka at his side. After the door had closed, they looked at each other and chuckled, knowing they had been thinking about the same thing.
"We always do that," Terr said.
"Yes we do, Terry," Sorcha replied with a smile. She sat forward a bit on her cot, and then swung her legs off the side where Terr was standing. Neither of them had had any time to change into anything other than their flight attire. Terr wore his green outer-jacket (a sign that he, at least in the past, flew an A-wing in the fleet), and Sorcha's had been removed in order to clean and bandage her wounds. It would need to be replaced, anyway, since the fabric had burnt up on one sleeve. Now she wore just her drab short-sleeve undershirt, along with the white glove on her left arm.
Terr decided it would be best if he at least unzipped his jacket. He didn't exactly feel comfortable in his flight suit, anyway. He took a seat next to Sorcha on the cot, the two of them staring at their feet hanging off of the raised bed. Terr looked over to his friend's downward glancing face. Sorcha's big, hazel eyes seemed to be looking at him indirectly. He glanced back to the floor.
"I'm sorry I was such a fool. Today, I mean."
Sorcha raised her head slightly to look at her friend, but Terr's gaze remained fixed on the floor. He waited anxiously for her reply, not even looking at her through the corner of his eyes for fear of what she might say; she had a tendency to talk a long time about a single subject, and if that subject were admonition, Terr was afraid of how ashamed he'd feel, sitting next to her on this bed. Sorcha simply looked down again, and let out the slightest of sighs. "It's alright," she said, gently.
Terr lifted his head, keeping his sights on the immaculate white wall in front of him. He hunched forward and clasped his hands between his knees, letting out his frustration with himself and his relief at Sorcha's forgiving nature with a sustained sigh, which he controlled by blowing air through his lips. His hair dangled slightly in the front, blocking his peripheral vision. He didn't realize that Sorcha was now looking directly at him, waiting intently for him to break the silence. Terr, in a semi- meditative state, staring blankly at the empty wall, could sense her will.
"It's strange, you know. I'd never flown a B-wing before in my life. I don't know what came over me; I just saw the ship, figured I wouldn't have enough time to get to my A-wing, and took it. I wasn't thinking about how well I'd be able to fly it, or if I was even ready for combat." He snorted, and rubbed his brow before turning his focus to Sorcha. "I certainly wasn't thinking about how you'd take that kiss," he said, the rising corners of his mouth breaking the melancholy mood.
Sorcha smiled and shook her head slightly. "It was fine. Although, I may have appreciated it more if we weren't surrounded by searing fatal laser blasts and huge explosions," she added with that characteristic grin that made Terr chuckle every time he saw it.
Terr looked back down at the floor of the medical chamber, then straightened his shoulders and sat up. His gaze drifted away, toward the entrance of the room as he began speaking. "I completely forgot about Baaka. I left him alone on the veranda." He sighed. "I'm just glad he made it to the hangar. Otherwise, we'd be space dust right now." Sorcha nodded, looking down at the white glove that covered her painful injury. The two pilots stared in silence.
The young man turned to face his friend. "My whole life... I've never been able to just... let go. I was always so worried about the repercussions of my actions, that I never took any risks. And if you don't take any risks, how will you ever get anywhere in life?" Terr looked down, and held Sorcha's covered hand gingerly, careful not to agitate the wound. He knew deeply that there was something inside of him that had been awoken this day that had brought with it dramatic changes. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what that thing was, or what had stirred it – whether it was the revelations from Baaka, the fight on the veranda, the battle... the kiss... Whatever it was, he knew that some task in the great plan of the universe had been assigned to him, and that the legends of the past were calling him by name.
The brown-haired Rebel smirked, then raised his head and locked eyes with Sorcha. "And I always thought you were the courageous one."
Sorcha smiled. She gripped Terr's hand with her gloved one, and wrapped her other arm around his back. The two friends hugged, the warm embrace coming as a great relief after such a stressful day. Sorcha was too tired from the battle and the numbing agent in her bloodstream to say much, but she had been thinking deeply about what her best friend was telling her. She always thought that Terr needed to lighten up a bit and stop worrying about things, but after today's events she feared what might happen if her friend were to abandon all cautiousness again.
As she rested her head on Terr's shoulder, Sorcha realized how deeply she cared for her comrade. She had always considered him the best friend a person could ask for, although in most respects he was the only person she'd ever been close to, but lately Terr had been giving her more attention than usual. She took this as a sign that her friend was maturing, and so was their relationship. She wasn't exactly sure how things would work out between them, but as she rested on this cot next to him, she knew that in spite of everything that had happened to her to make her wind up on Bothawui, she was a very fortunate human being.
Terr caressed Sorcha's golden hair lightly, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. She lifted her head off his shoulder, and looked at him. At that point, they knew they were about to kiss.
Sorcha leaned in closer, but Terr suddenly jerked his head to the side. "Something's wrong," he said coolly.
Sorcha was taken aback. "I...I'm sorry..."
"No, no. Something's wrong with the ship. I can just...feel..."
The two pilots jumped as the sound of blaster fire emanated from the corridor outside the room.
Shortly after the Alderaan had entered space, Terr and Sorcha had landed their fighters within the command ship's small interior hangar. It was there that Baaka followed, landing his cruiser before hurrying off into the labyrinth of shimmering corridors in search of the two young pilots. A rather uncharacteristically surly Mon Calamari attendant had informed him that Sorcha had been admitted to a recovery room for minor injuries, and so the old Bothan made his way to the medical deck.
Sorcha lay upright on a raised cot in a small, shimmering white room. Her left arm had been burned by a fuse malfunction inside the cockpit of her A- wing, and was now being bandaged by a medical droid. With a few rigid, mechanical motions it wrapped the bandage around the length of her slender arm. The droid pivoted its upper body to a small tray to the side of Sorcha's cot and picked up a long, leather white glove. It turned back and extended its skeletal metal arm.
"To cover your bandaging, ma'am," the droid buzzed with a poor emulation of human tone.
"Thank you," Sorcha replied, taking the glove with her right hand and slipping it onto her left. When the base of the glove reached near her elbow, she extended her fingers to confirm the good fit.
The medical droid turned away from the cot and walked with a clunky step and mechanical drone, exiting into the corridor. The only being in the room now besides Sorcha was Terr, who had escorted his wounded friend to the medical deck immediately after landing. He leaned over the side of the cot and put his hand on Sorcha's bare one.
"Still hurting?" he asked.
"Not really. The numbing agent works pretty fast," she replied.
Terr nodded, biting his lips together somewhat. His eyes drifted downward and stared at nothing in particular. Sorcha studied the glimmering, brown spheres with curiosity.
"What is it?" she asked.
Terr lifted his gaze and focused on Sorcha's own dark eyes. "Hm? Oh...nothing."
The thin, glass-paneled doors that marked the entrance into the room from the corridor shifted open, revealing a short creature with gnarled, gray fur. The two young pilots looked at their visitor and smiled.
"Baaka!" Sorcha said joyfully. "We thought we'd lost you."
The old Bothan smirked, partly out of the warmth the two young humans' joy brought him, and partly out of self-satisfaction from the skillful piloting that saved his life, as well as those of Terr and Sorcha, in the battle. He stepped forward into the room, receiving Terr's hand on his back as he stood next to Sorcha's cot. "I thought I'd lost you as well for quite some time, there!" he said with his old smirk. "Thankfully we're all alive and well," he continued, looking up at his foster son.
The very welcome reunion was interrupted by the voice of the communications lieutenant over the Alderaan's speaker system. "The fleet has reached the Hyper Point. We are now preparing to enter hyperspace for our flight to the Sullust system. The entire Rebel command will be present at the rendezvous. Details of our operation are forthcoming." The speaker went silent, but the sound was replaced by rampant speculation amidst pilots and soldiers throughout the ship over the aforementioned 'details.' It had quickly been learned through word of mouth that the Alliance's entire fleet would be present at Sullust; even Baaka was anxious to see such legends as Admiral Ackbar, Commander Skywalker, and Princess Organa.
Shortly after the Alderaan made the jump to lightspeed, another shifting of the doors caused all three in the small recovery room to look to the entrance. In the doorway stood a tall, muscular figure suited in officer's attire. They recognized the man immediately, but were too surprised by his visit to offer immediate greetings.
"General Amyrran," Baaka said eventually, clearing his throat a bit. "How are you?"
"Very good, Baaka, thank you," the general replied, his voice militaristically deep and strong. His attention was not focused on his Bothan comrade, however, but rather on the two human pilots that were still holding hands. They tensed under his commanding gaze, taking note of their minor embrace as a possible reason for the officer's staring, and terminated it. Terr tried to stand up straight.
A small grin spread across Amyrran's face. "I've come to commend you two on your heroic performance out there," he said with controlled sincerity. "For two pilots who had never flown in combat before, I must say...I am impressed! I'm only sorry it had to end in injury," he added, walking to Sorcha's left side and noting her medical-issue white glove.
"Thank you General Amyrran," the young woman replied. "This won't be a hindrance in future battles, I can tell you that," she said, pointing at the wounded arm with a smirk.
"I'm sure," the general responded with a contained smile. He looked over at Terr, who was obviously waiting with some apprehension to be addressed by the veteran officer. "And young Mys! Unfortunately, as I've been told, your own craft is still located on Bothawui..."
Terr let out a half-crooked smile, but simultaneously lowered his head in shame. I shouldn't have been so rash, he reprimanded himself. The awkward smile came automatically, however, and was not indicative of his deep regret at being so foolish, in leaving his A-wing on the ground in favor of jumping into battle right away. It was simply a device that was triggered when he couldn't think of anything to say, or could not come up with a reasonable defense, as it was in this case.
However, the general's motives were not to reprimand Terr, but rather to commend him, as the general had stated when he entered the room. "You flew well in that B-wing, Mys," he began. "Granted, it's not the ship you've trained in, but we can't afford to get you a new A-wing, now can we," he said with a laugh. "I've talked to a few people already, and it seems plausible that you may fly under the command of Gray squadron, at least as a trainee."
Terr's face lit up. "I'd be happy to, general."
"Good!" Amyrran replied with a grin. The tall, regal man took another glance around the recovery room at the three skilled pilots who gave him their full attention. "Well, if you'll excuse me I should be returning to the flight deck now." He turned towards the door, which shifted open automatically before the general stopped, as if he had just remembered something. He turned around to face the shorter, furrier humanoid of the bunch. "Ah, yes, Captain Mal'lar! I'd almost forgotten- would you care to join me? I feel we should review the information you've required before presenting it to Admiral Ackbar."
"Ah, of course," the old Bothan said, limping his way towards the door. Terr and Sorcha watched with youthful amusement as the tall, strong, and generally steady Amyrran exited the recovery room with the short, feeble, weak-footed Baaka at his side. After the door had closed, they looked at each other and chuckled, knowing they had been thinking about the same thing.
"We always do that," Terr said.
"Yes we do, Terry," Sorcha replied with a smile. She sat forward a bit on her cot, and then swung her legs off the side where Terr was standing. Neither of them had had any time to change into anything other than their flight attire. Terr wore his green outer-jacket (a sign that he, at least in the past, flew an A-wing in the fleet), and Sorcha's had been removed in order to clean and bandage her wounds. It would need to be replaced, anyway, since the fabric had burnt up on one sleeve. Now she wore just her drab short-sleeve undershirt, along with the white glove on her left arm.
Terr decided it would be best if he at least unzipped his jacket. He didn't exactly feel comfortable in his flight suit, anyway. He took a seat next to Sorcha on the cot, the two of them staring at their feet hanging off of the raised bed. Terr looked over to his friend's downward glancing face. Sorcha's big, hazel eyes seemed to be looking at him indirectly. He glanced back to the floor.
"I'm sorry I was such a fool. Today, I mean."
Sorcha raised her head slightly to look at her friend, but Terr's gaze remained fixed on the floor. He waited anxiously for her reply, not even looking at her through the corner of his eyes for fear of what she might say; she had a tendency to talk a long time about a single subject, and if that subject were admonition, Terr was afraid of how ashamed he'd feel, sitting next to her on this bed. Sorcha simply looked down again, and let out the slightest of sighs. "It's alright," she said, gently.
Terr lifted his head, keeping his sights on the immaculate white wall in front of him. He hunched forward and clasped his hands between his knees, letting out his frustration with himself and his relief at Sorcha's forgiving nature with a sustained sigh, which he controlled by blowing air through his lips. His hair dangled slightly in the front, blocking his peripheral vision. He didn't realize that Sorcha was now looking directly at him, waiting intently for him to break the silence. Terr, in a semi- meditative state, staring blankly at the empty wall, could sense her will.
"It's strange, you know. I'd never flown a B-wing before in my life. I don't know what came over me; I just saw the ship, figured I wouldn't have enough time to get to my A-wing, and took it. I wasn't thinking about how well I'd be able to fly it, or if I was even ready for combat." He snorted, and rubbed his brow before turning his focus to Sorcha. "I certainly wasn't thinking about how you'd take that kiss," he said, the rising corners of his mouth breaking the melancholy mood.
Sorcha smiled and shook her head slightly. "It was fine. Although, I may have appreciated it more if we weren't surrounded by searing fatal laser blasts and huge explosions," she added with that characteristic grin that made Terr chuckle every time he saw it.
Terr looked back down at the floor of the medical chamber, then straightened his shoulders and sat up. His gaze drifted away, toward the entrance of the room as he began speaking. "I completely forgot about Baaka. I left him alone on the veranda." He sighed. "I'm just glad he made it to the hangar. Otherwise, we'd be space dust right now." Sorcha nodded, looking down at the white glove that covered her painful injury. The two pilots stared in silence.
The young man turned to face his friend. "My whole life... I've never been able to just... let go. I was always so worried about the repercussions of my actions, that I never took any risks. And if you don't take any risks, how will you ever get anywhere in life?" Terr looked down, and held Sorcha's covered hand gingerly, careful not to agitate the wound. He knew deeply that there was something inside of him that had been awoken this day that had brought with it dramatic changes. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what that thing was, or what had stirred it – whether it was the revelations from Baaka, the fight on the veranda, the battle... the kiss... Whatever it was, he knew that some task in the great plan of the universe had been assigned to him, and that the legends of the past were calling him by name.
The brown-haired Rebel smirked, then raised his head and locked eyes with Sorcha. "And I always thought you were the courageous one."
Sorcha smiled. She gripped Terr's hand with her gloved one, and wrapped her other arm around his back. The two friends hugged, the warm embrace coming as a great relief after such a stressful day. Sorcha was too tired from the battle and the numbing agent in her bloodstream to say much, but she had been thinking deeply about what her best friend was telling her. She always thought that Terr needed to lighten up a bit and stop worrying about things, but after today's events she feared what might happen if her friend were to abandon all cautiousness again.
As she rested her head on Terr's shoulder, Sorcha realized how deeply she cared for her comrade. She had always considered him the best friend a person could ask for, although in most respects he was the only person she'd ever been close to, but lately Terr had been giving her more attention than usual. She took this as a sign that her friend was maturing, and so was their relationship. She wasn't exactly sure how things would work out between them, but as she rested on this cot next to him, she knew that in spite of everything that had happened to her to make her wind up on Bothawui, she was a very fortunate human being.
Terr caressed Sorcha's golden hair lightly, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. She lifted her head off his shoulder, and looked at him. At that point, they knew they were about to kiss.
Sorcha leaned in closer, but Terr suddenly jerked his head to the side. "Something's wrong," he said coolly.
Sorcha was taken aback. "I...I'm sorry..."
"No, no. Something's wrong with the ship. I can just...feel..."
The two pilots jumped as the sound of blaster fire emanated from the corridor outside the room.