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 15: A Second Look

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Janson glanced at the HUD, swearing under his breath. He'd picked up a tail and it looked like Celchu had one of his own. Diving steeply and breaking to starboard he shook the enemy fighter off for a second but the other pilot picked him up again almost instantly. He searched for the blip on the HUD that would indicate his wingman and finally found him just as he heard Celchu's frantic plea for assistance.

"You're on your own for now," he muttered, pulling his craft into a steep climb as laser fire played over his shields. If he tried to help his wingman now, he'd get killed trying. And that wouldn't do anyone any good.

Then inspiration struck. He banked to port, bringing his fighter around the core of the fighting and then straightened, putting himself directly on a path to intercept Celchu. Juking and jinking from side to side to keep his tail from locking on, he slowed slightly so he wouldn't actually collide with his wingman. But as soon as he was sure that Celchu would pass by before he crossed his path, he accelerated, going into a dive at the last minute. The TIE following him missed the maneuver and shot forward, slamming into the fighter that had been gunning for Celchu.

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The dark-haired man watched his boss leave with her husband. Either she really was a flake who'd stumbled into this accidentally or she was a damn good actress. He was guessing it was the latter. A few minutes later he looked up as a blond woman approached. "Trae," she greeted him.

"Kala," he nodded at her and returned the greeting.

"Anything?" she asked in a low voice.

"She hasn't come up with a thing," he answered softly. "I wouldn't bet on it being long before she does, though."

"Good," she responded as she turned and disappeared into the dark hallway.

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"Something wrong?" Daxon asked Jesina as he came into the living room of their apartment.

Jesina rested her chin in her hand but looked up to answer. "Nothing's wrong. I was just thinking about what you said about slicing into the base's systems. Could you slice into an Alliance database?"

He nodded. "Why, though?" She hadn't been in intelligence long enough to have developed that much distrust of their superiors. It would take another couple of weeks, he figured. Though she was pretty cynical.

"A personal thing, really."

Frowning, he said, "You need to give me more than that."

She told him about the situation with Tycho and Janson and said, "I get the feeling there's more to the whole thing, something I don't know about. I'd like to see the actual records of the battle at Kien'tol."

After a long moment, he nodded. "I can do it for you. How about tomorrow, while you're at work?" he suggested. "It'll give me something to do other than flirting with the trophy wives around here." He made a face and Jesina laughed.

"You mean that's not the type of woman you want to marry?"

He gave her a look. "Given the choice between you and the Chairman's wife, I'd choose you without a second thought."

"I'm flattered," she laughed. "I think."

He sat down on the sofa next to her and stretched his arms across the back. "Any luck?"

Jesina shook her head. "They have six hundred employees, if you count everyone from management to custodial staff. Six hundred thirteen, to be exact. None are non-human, and the vast majority are from Rothana, Kuat, etcetera.

"Anyone from planets that the Empire took by force, or that are otherwise opposed to it?"

She looked over the datapad. "Tatooine, which doesn't want any interplanetary governmental influence. Tanaab, Chandrila, a couple of Alderaanians, a few formerly of Kessel. Corellians are in abundance." She sighed. "I don't know where to start."

"Well, we got word that they plan on bringing design information with them. So it's probably someone in engineering or design. Run a cross-match diagnostic and see if there are any people in those departments from any of those planets."

Hitting a few keys, she ran the filter of the personnel files. "Ninety-six," she reported a moment later.

Daxon groaned. "I was hoping for about half that number."

"I was hoping for about twenty." She shook her head. "It's all us blasted Corellians."

"I thought you were from Alderaan."

"My mother was. My father was Corellian. I was born on Alderaan, but went to Corellia when I was fifteen. It's a long story."

He nodded. "I think we've all got one of those."

"Oh, I have several." She leaned back and found his arm was behind her.

"Sorry about that," he apologized and went to move.

"No, it doesn't bother me. If you're comfortable, it's fine."

He shrugged and settled back in. "Where are you going to go from here? Not that I expect I can be any assistance. I'm coming up empty too."

"I don't know. I've read the personnel files for everyone in engineering, design, and half of the floor operators. None of them has anything that even hints of rebel sympathies – or even dislike of the Empire. I've been asking around, but no one's reacted at all. Nobody's heard anything or, if they are, they're not talking. To me, at least. No one's running scared or even acting strange. Nobody gives me a second look."

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"You could have told me what you were going to do," Tycho muttered as he walked alongside Janson across the hangar.

The Tanaabian pilot shot his wing mate a look. "There wasn't time," he replied, annoyed, before quickening his pace to catch up with Wedge and Luke.

Tycho watched him go, seeing Antilles slap him on the back and hearing Skywalker's, "Nice move out there." Shaking his head, he tried to identify the feeling that had crept over him and not liking when he realized it was one part jealousy and another part longing. Jealousy that he didn't have the kind of camaraderie with these men that Janson did, and longing for the friendships he'd had on the Intimidator. Shaking his head again, he tried to banish those thoughts and then hurried after his squadron mates.

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Jesina and Daxon walked into the office the next morning, frowning when she saw that her assistant wasn't there. "I really need to learn his name," she muttered.

Daxon laughed at her. "That would probably help. Staff tend to appreciate when their bosses actually know who they are."

"I don't think even knowing his name would help me there," she replied. "He thinks I'm an idiot."

"With reason?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing, dear," he said, trying and failing to conceal a grin.

"That's what I thought," she said, smirking.

"Have a good day, dear," he told her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him.

She tossed her head back, laughing – acting like that was perfectly in character for the persona she was creating – but was startled a moment later when he pressed his lips against hers. It wasn't just a light peck, either. She felt it down to her toes as she returned the kiss. "Have a good day," he said again as he left.

She stared after him, blinking a few times. Her assistant came in then, gave her a strange look, but sighed and headed for his desk.