Title: A New Path
Summary: Tycho Celchu's journey from the Empire to the Alliance.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
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Chapter 13: A Great Career Path
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They'd been en route to Lamaredd, yet another outer rim world, for a week. This one sat on the edge of Wild Space. It was undeveloped, home only to the non-human Menahuun race. Before leaving Exocron, Commander Narra had found a tracking device in Tycho's Imperial-issue blaster, and they'd then scanned everything else he owned but found nothing more. Tycho had been cleared of almost any suspicion. He'd also, by racking his memory and telling Colonel Waro the locations of the Empire's Outer Rim fleet – the last locations he'd known, at least – helped them figure out approximately how much time they had before they needed to evacuate. But Janson still wanted nothing to do with his wingman, and Tycho clearly felt the same.
"No, Antilles. He tried to kill me, or have you forgotten that?"
"I haven't forgotten. But honestly, can you blame him? The ship you were on – the ship he flew against once before – suddenly appeared in system, about a week after you were released. It looked bad for you."
"First of all, he didn't fly against the Inhibitor. He flew against her squadrons, which is a big difference, considering only seven pilots survived that battle. Second, I didn't do it, and I don't appreciate having someone try to kill me for something I didn't do!"
"Celchu, I know Janson. And he's too blasted hard-headed to apologize first."
"He tried to kill me!" Tycho repeated. If I hadn't tripped him, I wouldn't have been alive for Narra to break us up. I'm NOT apologizing to him!"
Wedge threw up his hands. "Fine. Let Narra figure out a better way to torture you!"
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Jesina ran a hand through her dyed blond hair and blinked tired blue eyes. She looked in the mirror and thought that even Tycho wouldn't recognize her. Smoothing the gray suit she was wearing, she looked at Daxon. "I guess I'm ready."
They were on Rothana, an industrialized planet in the Kuat Sector. Intelligence had gotten her hired as a management executive with Rothana Heavy Engineering, a subsidiary of Kuat Drive Yards. The company had been manufacturing military equipment since the clone wars. It currently served the Empire. And they'd gotten word that someone inside the facility wanted to defect – and bring industrial secrets with him. Her job was to find him. And she knew nothing about him.
She looked over the profile that Intelligence had worked out for her. "Ilina Zivos. Born on Alderaan. Educated at the University of Coruscant. Started out in an entry-level position with the Zaltin Company on Thyferra and worked my way up to the top within six years. Left shortly after because of the increasing factionalism between Zaltin and Xucphra."
"Am I all set?"
"Braid your hair. You'll look more stern, which is what you're going for."
"Thank you, darling." She offered him a small smile in the mirror as she separated her hair to braid it. Daxon was acting as her husband. He was supposed to take on the role of the oft-left alone husband looking for a little female companionship – from the oft-left alone wives of the male executives. It would be interesting, to say the least.
Her hair finished, she took the datapad he held out to her. "I'll see you later, Jast," she told him, using his code name. "Don't have too much fine while I'm gone," she said with a grin. Then she disappeared out the door. Time to begin her first day of work. In other words, time to make the boys on the factory floor sweat a little bit.
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"All right, people, we need to come out of hyperspace for a course adjustment on the back side of the Kuat Sector, just outside of Rothana's space. Rothana's primary employer is Rothana Heavy Engineering, which is technically a part of the Kuat shipyards. So we're not exactly in friendly territory, here, okay?" Narra looked at each pilot in turn. "Everyone – and I mean everyone – is placed on alert as of," he glanced at his chrono, "seventeen hundred hours. You should all be ready to launch within two minutes of any order. Understood?"
After a chorus of "yeses" complement by a few nods, he shook his head. "Get out of here, you hotshots. Except for Celchu and Janson." He looked at them both. "You two, front and center."
He stood in front of them and tucked his datapad under one arm. "I let you both off easy for that little stunt back on Exocron. But I've had enough." He turned to Janson. "He didn't do anything wrong. Yes, he was an Imperial. But there are a great many people now serving the Alliance who served the Empire loyally – to a point. Including one Biggs Darklighter, who died in service to the Alliance, and one Derek Klivian, who is flying in this squadron. Get. Over. It. NOW. That's an order."
He then turned to Tycho. "You impressed me by not stooping to his level. Until that fight on Exocron, anyway. And now you're showing the same attitude problem he is. It's over. Now. Got it."
"Yes, sir," Tycho murmured.
Narra shot a look at Janson, who nodded. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.
"Good. Now I order you both to go to the lounge and buy each other a drink. Antilles and Klivian are waiting outside to escort you, because I'm not certain the two of you could get there without killing each other if you aren't chaperoned."
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They could not have found a better position for what Jesina was on Rothana to do. As a member of management of an Imperial-leaning (more like Imperial-controlled) company, no one would grow suspicious of her nosing around trying to uncover Rebel spies within the organization – which was exactly what she planned to do.
She started down that path right away, by asking her assigned assistant – whose name she had no interest in learning – "Have you heard anything suggesting that any of our employees are, shall we say, Rebel sympathizers?"
He looked at her, startled. "Ma'am?"
"I'm just asking. I take that as a no?"
"Yes, ma'am. I mean, no. I mean, I haven't heard anything like that, ma'am."
She hid a smile. "That's fine. I just…prefer to know what I'm getting into. That's all. If you hear anything, let me know?" It was a thinly veiled warning.
"Yes, ma'am. Is that all?"
"I'm going to want to review personnel records of all, well, of all employees, but I'd like to start with design technicians and engineering staff."
Again, his response was the questioning "ma'am."
"I've seen the efficiency reports, and I think there's marked room for improvement." She kept her eyes deliberately narrow. She was by no means here to make friends, and wasn't planning on making any effort to. "I plan to see to it that we achieve that improvement." She sat back down and looked at her datapad, but looked back up when she realized he was still standing there. "Is that all right with you?"
"Uh, yes, ma'am," he mumbled as he slipped out the door.
Alone at last, after hours of facility tours and introductions and briefings and Force only knew what else they'd seen fit to subject her to, she rested her elbow on the desk and put her chin on the palm of her hand. Her first Intelligence assignment and she had absolutely no direction whatsoever. If this was what intelligence work was all about, Cracken could have it. Smuggling was looking like a great career path.
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Wedge and Hobbie exchanged uneasy glances as they watched Tycho and Janson at a nearby table. Narra had ordered them to essentially baby-sit the two feuding Rogues until they either could speak civilly to each other or had come to blows. Right now, it wasn't looking like either would happen anytime soon.
"Y'know, I tried to get Celchu to apologize to Janson, but he wouldn't. So I told him that it was fine with me and he could just wait and see what Narra came up with to torture them with. I didn't figure that I'd end up being one of the instruments of torture."
Hobbie sipped the glass of water. It was past 1700 hours and he couldn't bring himself to drink the synthehol swill the bar carried in place of actual alcohol, so he'd chosen water. Then he shook his head. "This is why getting involved is a bad idea."
"And you've so carefully stayed out of this," Wedge retorted.
"I've tried. It's not my fault. Janson's one of my best friends, and I'm the only one Tycho knows here. I kind of fell into the middle by default. You, on the other hand, don't need to be involved. So why in the name of the Sith did you put yourself in the middle?"
"Because if they're still like this when Jes meets up with us again, I'm going to end up in the middle between Janson and Jes. And, given the choice, I'd rather be between Janson and Celchu any day."
"Hadn't thought of it like that," Hobbie admitted. Then he paused and gestured to the two men sitting across the table looking like pouting children. "What did we do to Narra to get him to dump this on us?" he muttered.
Wedge swallowed the last of the non-alcoholic imitation Corellian whiskey and made a face. "Wrong place at the wrong time?" he suggested.
"Only thing I can think of," Hobbie agreed. The he shook his head again. "I give up." He pushed back his chair and walked over to the two men, clearing his throat when neither of them looked up to him.
"Okay, listen to me for a second, huh? You two are either going to kill each other or start to like each other. Would you make up your mind? Because until you do, Wedge and I are going to stuck in the middle and we've really got our own problems to worry about. Not to mention, Jesina's going to shoot both of us when she gets back – although if that's before or after she shoots to two of you. Hopefully after, because we'll at least get to enjoy some peace before we die."
He paused, reveling in the fact that they both seemed to be paying him some marginal degree of attention. "And of course, all of this is depending on us not getting into a dogfight and getting ourselves killed before she gets back. Which is not at all a certainty, because the way the two of you are going, you're going to get each other killed and take the rest of us with you. So, would you give it up already?"
He turned and walked away, keenly aware that all of the people in the general vicinity were watching him and not giving a damn. Wedge blinked in surprise at the little speech the other man had just made. It was so out of character for him that it was funny. But it was true, especially the last part – which was, he figured, what had pushed his friend that far. And Wedge knew that that was what had Narra so concerned.
If they didn't get over this nonsense, they would get themselves killed if a real fight came their way. And they were hurting the squadron's cohesion – and driving them to distraction. If something wasn't done, they were going to be in serious trouble.