Ninthmonth 1103

The end, when it came, was abrupt, if not wholly unexpected. One morning I arrived in the command centre to find it full. It was not unusual for all sorts of people with no business there to be hanging about, but this was extreme.

"What's happened?" I asked Bracco, one of the older controllers.

"Skywalker and Solo didn't come off patrol last night," he told me briefly.

"Oh, no..." My hands went to my mouth. I thought instantly of the princess, and I glanced around for her. She was sitting at a console, her whole being focused on the news relayed through her headset. I elbowed my way through the crowd, and laid a cautious hand on her shoulder, but I don't think she even knew I was there. There was no hope of my hearing the pilots' reports first-hand-every headset was in use-but when the room erupted into cheers I knew the two friends were found. Leia didn't stop to join in the celebrations; she wriggled past me, her face as white as if she had received bad news, not good.

Rieekan chased off all the extra bodies, and we started work, rather unsettled because of all the excitement. I missed the actual alarm, which happened later, after I had gone off shift. I learned later that Luke had seen the Imperial probe droid make its landfall before he had been injured. Hoth's indigenous and unfriendly wildlife had cost us a day's warning.

At the time, of course, we knew none of this. I was in our relatively warm lounge with Toryn Farr, who was mending her gloves. Suddenly, a siren note sounded over the intercom, followed by the announcement, "Attention all personnel. Attention all personnel. Hostile activity has been discovered insystem. Evacuation to commence immediately. This is a Code Purple alert, repeat Code Purple. All command staff to report in. Support staff report to evacuation stations at 0400 hours."

Toryn flung down her gloves. "Well, screw this for a game of soldiers," she remarked. "Let's hope they leave the damn tuberroot behind when we're going."

"Aren't we, I mean, don't we need to leave?" I asked.

"It's Code Purple," Toryn explained, "which fits between 'We've been here too long, better leave before the Imps catch up with us', and 'Oh kreth oh kreth that's a Star Destroyer, we're dead!'. Of course, it could always upgrade to Code Red later. Come on, better get to Command-"

As the luck of the draw had it, I was to evacuate on one of the earlier transports. Vega and Toryn were part of the group who were to remain to the last minute. I spent the night working-the pilots and troopers slept, if they could, but the command centre was more active than I had seen it yet. I met Vega on her way in, as the evacuation started. She hugged me, but said nothing. Down in the hangars, the place was even more frenetic. Figures ran in every direction-technicians, pilots, soldiers. Farther along, Solo and the Wookiee were still mechanicking away at the Millennium Falcon. How the man could work on the ship with all the panic going around him, I couldn't fathom, but I knew he would never leave her behind. I missed Swift, abruptly.

The first transport was lifting on its repulsors like some great unwieldy insect taking flight. People were running to their transports, the quartermaster hopping in frustration as they disrupted his loading process. From the snatches of talk I heard the words, 'Imperials', 'Star Destroyers' and 'Sector Four'. So they had found us then. My fingers itched for Swift's controls, for the sure bound of power beneath my hands. I joined the mass of people crowding into my transport, kitbag on my shoulder, pausing to cheer when the intercom announced, "The first transport is away!"

I took my last look at Echo Base over my shoulder. Outside, the sun was glittering on the snowfields. I steadied myself as the transport's sublight drive kicked in. I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life. If I had been at Swift's controls I would have been panicking less, but trapped in the belly of the transport I was blind and helpless. I made to chew at my thumbnail, my old nervous habit, and bit down on the insuflex glove I had forgotten I was wearing.

"Brace-" the intercom crackled urgently. I wedged myself against the wall. A convulsive shudder ran through the transport as its shields deflected the Star Destroyer's blast. My feet slipped, and I banged my hip against the wall hard enough to bruise, even through my many layers of insulating clothing. I struggled to catch my breath, heard the ship creaking in agony around me. Then we levelled out, reaching the safety of hyperspace. I slid to the floor, my legs refusing to hold me up any longer.

-~-~-~-~-

The journey seemed to go on forever, as we reached the interstellar rendezdevous, then made intermediary jumps to avoid being trapped. I sat crouched in the hold, tense and sick, unable to eat or sleep.

The temporary base on Magne Minor was like something seen in a nightmare. When our transport arrived, the place was already frantic. More and more transports and fighters kept limping in, each with its cargo of wounded and dying Rebels. I helped propel dozens of repulsorlift stretchers through the crowded corridors, carried forms for which there were no more stretchers. I was bending to set one down when black spots swam in front of my eyes, and I swayed giddily. One of the orderlies seized my elbows.

"Are you okay? Not hurt? Did you get hit on the head? No? Here, sit down, put your head between your knees."

"I'm all right, just dizzy."

"When did you last have anything to eat?"

"Yesterday, I think."

"Ach, go on with you-go and eat, you're no use to us passing out."

I went up to the hangars, slowly, because I had no idea where to find food. Again and again I had to flatten myself to the wall as people rushed by in the other direction. It reminded me of the Alderaanian Embassy on the terrible night-the same haunted expressions, eyes scanning the crowds with mingled hope and fear, the grateful and joyous reunions. Another transport was in, the grim and bloodied survivors straggling by. Amid the confusion I saw a white-blonde head.

"VEGA!" I shrieked. I heard an answering cry, and my friend came plunging through the group and into my arms.

"Keitin, little Keitin..." She was shaking, grime and sweat streaking her pretty face. "Have you seen Tycho?"

"No, but the X-wings are further down. If he was just in I wouldn't have."

The snubfighters were in even worse shape than the transports, covered in carbon scoring, damaged by direct hits. The only two of the Rogues to be seen were Wedge, sitting on the nose of his X-wing, and Janson, uncharacteristically silent, leaning on a strut.

"I'm pretty sure Tych got off," Wedge called out as soon as he saw Vega. "He's not here yet though."

"We lost Zev and Samoc and Luke and Hobbie took a hit-" Janson said.

"No, Luke got out-I saw him take off. Don't think Dack made it though."

"Temporarily mislaid Luke, then. Five out of a dozen-" He swore in several languages. Vega sat down cross-legged on the rock floor and began to cry. I could almost have done the same.

Tycho arrived not long after that. Vega leapt up and was passionately kissing him the instant he got his helmet off. Wes gave a half-hearted cheer and muttered, "Get a room!"

Tycho, still with Vega's stranglehold around his neck, came over to hug me and slap Wedge and Janson on the back.

"What a mess!" he said finally.

"Tell me about it," Vega whispered. "The roof was falling in and we could hear them coming closer and closer-"

She shuddered, though the hangar was warm. I had forgotten what warm felt like. The hangar was a rock-hewn cave with heat as well as light streaming through the entrance. The sky outside was blue, and somewhere far below I thought I heard surf breaking on rocks. It all felt reassuringly real. I was sweating beneath my padded jumpsuit. Everywhere in this temporary base were badly-landed starcraft, Rebels asleep where they sat. It would have been morning, Hoth time. The five of us set off on a search for food. "There's tragedy now," Wes said when he heard the tuberroot had been abandoned, his natural personality beginning to reassert itself.

The list of dead and missing personnel had been posted, and was constantly updated. Among the 'missing' were L.A. Skywalker (Cmdr), H. Solo, Chewbacca and Princess Leia Organa (Gen). I swiped ineffectually at the tears I was too tired to suppress, pulling off my gloves to rub my knuckles in my eyes. The boys looked as if they would have liked to do the same.

"She turned up once before, don't give up yet," Tycho said huskily.

Vega's touch on my elbow made me start violently. "I've found somewhere to bed down. Come on, dear."

I shook my head, muffling a sob against my hand. I felt brittle, as though I would shatter into fragments at any moment. I was going to break down and cry in the middle of a hangar, and quite possibly scream, and I didn't even care.

"Keiti, listen—listen to me. The Princess got out, Solo pulled her out of the command centre just before we all ran."

"Truly?" I asked.

"Course!" Vega said, giving my arm a squeeze. "Come and sleep."

Toryn Farr was guarding a corner filled with packaging wrap. We dropped into it with groans of exhaustion. Tycho and Vega curled up into a united heap of limbs, whispering inaudibly to each other.

"Keitin," Tycho said suddenly and out loud, "here," and he threw an engine wipe at my head.

"Thanks," I said into it, sniffling. "I'm sorry, but I just can't help it."

"Don't be."

Vega's head popped up over Tycho's arm. "The Princess is okay, just wait. The Force favours her."

I sat up sharply. "Favours her? Have you any idea...!? What she's been through...I'd rather be dead like everyone else! I wish I was dead!"

I dived back into the wipe again. Tycho shifted Vega and reached out with his other hand.

"No you don't. And I do have an idea. C'mere."

I settled back against Tycho, and he patted me on the head.

"What is that in your hair? No, I don't want to know, actually."

"Go to sleep, both of you, and let's hope nobody treads on us," Vega said.

"Murmmrrpphle," Wedge agreed, from somewhere beyond Vega.

-~-~-~-

"No," I mumbled, "Canna be time to get up..."

"Up, you lot! We've got work to do!" a strident voice penetrated my consciousness.

I groaned again in protest as my brain processed what had happened over the past couple of days. I was lying face down with my nose pressed against the floor, very uncomfortably.

"I need a shower," I grumbled reflexively as I sat up. Toryn, who was the source of the strident voice, grinned wearily at me.

"You'll have to build them first, Avram. We've got to get comms set up, some sort of network organised. We need your clever hands."

"My hands," I said, holding them out, "lost all functioning power somewhere back on Hoth."

"Look on the bright side," Toryn said mock-cheerfully. "Here, you can take your gloves off."

-~-~-~-~-

Shifts melded endlessly together, day and night slipping by without being properly marked. I went from my cot to welding together our makeshift command centre and back again. After Hoth, the heat was overwhelming. I took the first opportunity to strip off my snowsuit and into a pair of coveralls, though even they weren't quite cool enough. I think it was some time on the second day since our arrival when I bumped into Wedge, standing in the middle of the corridor turning a piece of flimsiplast over and over in his hands.

"What's the matter, Wedge?"

"My orders as commander of Rogue Squadron." He held out the flimsi, looking absurdly young and lost.

"Oh Wedge." Spontaneously, I flung my arms around him. Thinking of Luke instantly brought thoughts of Leia.

"The Falcon not back yet either?" I said into Wedge's flightsuit.

"No. If I thought Luke was with them—I bet something vital has dropped off and they're stuck in the Outer Rim somewhere."

"I bet it has a beach," Wes said from somewhere behind Wedge. "And lots of nubile young women. Solo's that kind of lucky sod."

"We have a beach too," I pointed out. "Just not a lot else. Is there any hope of any more food today?"

Wedge shoved the official orders in his pocket. Grieve later, keep fighting, don't look back, I thought. I'm so sick of running. But I won't cry for Leia. She's alive. She has to be alive.

Twelfthmonth 1103

Magne Minor base was rather like a very peculiar holiday camp; the sun, the ocean outside, the people bedded down in odd corners-we twice outnumbered the bunk space-the lack of any organised missions, the weird and irregular meals. The days passed, the last of the survivors trickled in. The Falcon didn't turn up, but Tycho, myself and the other Alderaani kept hoping grimly against hope. After a week or so, we stopped talking about it. We spent perhaps two weeks more there before the order came to move, much to the disappointment of Wes, who had been working on a suntan. We ended up, to my surprise, not on a new planetary base, but in Alliance Base Deep Space #1. This was a little fleet of starcraft, stationed somewhere far out in the Rim. The High Command was based here. The advantage of such a system was, of course, that the ships could take to hyperspace at the first threat.

The communications room on the frigate was not Hoth's command centre. We never saw the High Command, and even middle-ranking generals like Rieekan hung around less than on Hoth. Of course that could have been due to the ship's uniform life support. When all the base was well above freezing there was no tendency to congregate in the warmer—well, less cold—spots. Our work was more purely administrative now, routing and decoding messages, keeping the base's IntramessageNet up and running. I didn't stay there that long anyway. One morning a red-haired , youngish man walked into the comm room, and said, "Commander Farr, have you got an Ensign Avram on this shift, Keitin Avram?"

I was propping the doorframe, in my default 'off duty but hanging around' mode, and waved a hand at him. "Here, sir."

He rustled among the pile of flimsiplast he was clutching to his chest. "You have a Technical Diploma in electronics from the University of Aldera, yes?"

I nodded. "Yessir."

"And they're wasting you in a headset! I'm so short of engineers I'm pulling in fifteen-year-old slicers! Honestly, the lack of organisation in this set-up!"

"I was seventeen when I got the diploma," I pointed out. "Barely. And I've been in the Alliance since then. If they'd wanted student engineers, they should have pulled me into the corps last year instead of posting me to Hoth."

I gave a glance at Vega's blonde head at her console; she was sneaking glances at me.

"Will I be posted somewhere else? Again?"

"What? Oh, no, I need you here! Stars! Now, you did two years in school, yes? Then you were in Supply; I suppose you're as rusty as our blasted equipment?"

"I kept my own ship up and running; a Corellian Twelve-Series Omega staryacht. But she didn't need much maintenance. There have to be people better qualified than me. People who did actually graduate. I never even did a proper apprenticeship, you know."

He looked bleak. "We've lost so many. You're a prize compared with most of what I'm struggling with. Give you a year under me, and you'll have the equivalent of a CorTech degree that you'll be able to boast about, if you ever get out of this. It seems ridiculous to offer those sorts of incentives, in the situation, but I suppose we have to keep on believing we can win."

"We are going to win," I protested, but weakly. My companion groaned.

"You're going to be one of those enthusiastic subordinates," he said. "The grad student mentality. I miss that. If you agree of course. You would be working in design, trying to improve our systems, but it'll involve a lot of constructing, as well as maintenance and troubleshooting, too. It'll mean a promotion to sub-lieutenant as well. Oh, I'm Alun Quinn, by the way, ex-CorTech professor of electronics, and they made me a captain so that I can organise everyone, the nerfherders."

"Well, I could see that much," I retorted, glancing pointedly at his rank insignia. With other ranking officers that would have been chancing it, but Alun Quinn merely grinned.

"I'm going to like you, Sub-Lieutenant."

And that was how I became an Alliance engineer. I had already, on Hoth, been the controller whom Toryn ordered, 'fix this so we won't have to wait an hour on the techs'; now I was one of the techs. My social circle expanded to what was, for me, alarming proportions, and I was liable to be hauled out of bed at any hour of day or night, unlike the rigid shifts of the comm controllers. I quickly learned to see my three off-call shifts a week as sacred. I was sure Shama would have approved, though. "Work hard and earn this," she seemed to say in my head, "and though you're doing it for the Alliance, it's to your advantage too."

I missed her dreadfully.