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.
---------------
Chapter 17: Hints of Revelation
---------------
Wes Janson stood in front of his CO, his body riddled with tension. The man had started yelling at him the moment he walked in and hadn't stopped except to take a breath since. He didn't dare move, speak, or even sigh. He'd had more than his share of dressing downs in his time, but nothing like that.
A lot of what Narra said just went in one ear and out the other. He'd heard most of it before. Irresponsible conduct, reckless behavior, endangerment of fellow pilots… The words played over and over in his mind. Rash and out of control, arrogant and immature. Still, it reminded him of childish name calling and didn't have much of an effect on him.
But then his CO said something that snapped him out of his trance, and he focused on him again. "You could have gotten him killed. And Force knows how many others with him," Narra shouted at him. "One more stunt like that and you'll be lucky to ever get near a cockpit again! And that's if you're not recommend to be charged with dereliction of duty under fire. I don't think I have to tell you what that means." He paused, giving the words a chance to sink in. "Get it together, Janson. Or get out."
He'd heard those words before, too. But this time, he cared a little more.
When Narra turned away without another word, he took it as a dismissal and slipped out the door. Slunk out, more like.
He glanced at his chrono. Seventy-two minutes. Oh boy. That was probably an Alliance record. It was definitely a personal record.
---------------
Tycho stood on the observation deck and looked out, frowning when he saw another craft – a very large craft – in the distance. "What is that?"
Hobbie glanced in the direction he indicated. "Fuel ship. Don't worry about it. We're probably just lower on fuel than they expected us to be."
Just then, his comlink beeped. "Klivian," he answered.
"Lieutenant, please report to briefing room two at 1400 hours." Tycho got the same message, and glanced at his chrono.
"Five minutes," he muttered. "Don't give us any time to get there or anything."
Hobbie laughed at him. "Get used to it. They never give us any notice for anything. They never allocate ship and fighter strength where it's most needed. They have a habit of designating inexperienced units to operations that need experienced units. And you can always count on assignments being changed at the last minute." He frowned. "Sometimes it feels like they're trying to get us killed to get more support."
"Your optimism is underwhelming," Tycho replied dryly. "Let's go before Narra finds anything else to yell at me about."
"He isn't that bad," Hobbie retorted. "It could be worse."
"How?"
"You could be Wes. I heard he spent an hour in Narra's office this morning. His aide took an early lunch because he was yelling too loud for her to concentrate. No one's talked to or seen Wes since."
---------------
Jesina leaned against the front of her desk, datapad in hand, and called to her assistant. "Trae, could you come in here please?" She put on the sweet voice that made her sick every time she used it. He appeared in the doorway. "Close the door, dear," she said, smiling and making herself want to gag.
He rolled his eyes as he hit the button and turned back. And froze when he saw the blaster in her hand. "What can you tell me about a man named Cam Teien?" The sweet demeanor was gone. Her eyes were as cold as ice, and her hand never wavered.
He kept his face carefully blank. "I don't know who you're talking about, ma'am."
"Well, let me refresh my memory. Cam Teien died in a battle near one of the moons of Kien'tol. He fought for a Rebel squadron. And he bears a remarkable resemblance to you. Hair was a little longer and not as dark, and he had a scar running down the side of his face. Sort of like this." With a fingertip, she traced a line from he left eye almost to her mouth. "But all of that can be easily taken care of if someone should have a reason to try to conceal their identity."
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I don't know what you're talking about."
"The hell you don't. Don't play dumb. It's about as becoming on you as it was on me. You know who I am. Of that I have no doubt. Now who are you? And, please, tell me the truth. This isn't set for stun."
---------------
"We've had a change of plans," Narra announced, and every pilot in the room groaned, Tycho included. Hobbie's pessimistic complaint session earlier had been right on.
"Apparently, there are some people in our general vicinity who might be in need of our assistance. We're going to be remaining on board the Spirit and patrol the Cadavine and Arkanis Sectors until the higher-ups decide there's somewhere else that they'd rather we be."
"Who needs our help?" Wedge asked.
"I don't know. My orders said, and I quote, that we are to remain at our current location to provide potentially necessary assistance in an extraction effort of an individual or individuals known to be friendly to the Alliance." He paused. "Remember this when you reach command rank."
Everyone assembled laughed outright and he waited a moment, allowing them a quick break. Once most had quieted of their own accord, he cleared his throat and the stragglers fell silent. "A couple more minutes and I'll set you free. We are still on high alert, because we're in an unfriendly system. We are also going to resume regular patrol duties. Rosters will be posted outside my door. Dismissed."
---------------
"I underestimated you." Trae paused. "I take it this room is clean."
"To a degree. We are being monitored."
He nodded. "Of course. By Daxon, I imagine?"
She wasn't surprised. She'd made the first move and it was his turn to parry – and make his own. She studied him for a moment before responding. Just as she'd dropped her alternate persona, so, apparently, had he. Gone was the haughty Imperial aspirant. He clearly no longer thought of her as the dim-witted blonde she'd built Ilina up as – if he ever had thought that way at all. He was watching her with interest, his intelligent eyes taking in her every move. "Yes, he's listening."
"Good." He leaned against the bookcase, taking care to move slowly and keep his hands in the open. "I must admit, I'm surprised you found out who I was at all, let alone so quickly."
"Pure coincidence," she admitted after a moment. "I accessed the Kien'tol records for something entirely separate. Just dumb luck. Now, who are you?"
"I'm with Alliance Intelligence. My partner and I are the ones that got word to the Alliance about a defector here. We couldn't do anything to get her out ourselves – our positions here are too valuable. We filter a lot of information back to Intel – more than you'd think."
She shook her head. There was no real reason to believe him, but she did just the same. It was purely a gut reaction - but then, her instinct was part of why Cracken had hired her. Besides, this was exactly the type of thing she'd expected. "They couldn't at least tell Daxon and I that someone else was here?"
"If you'd been caught, you'd have been able to give us away. Besides, they wanted us to monitor your progress. Daxon's a seasoned agent, but you're new to the game, and you're the one doing most of the legwork."
"Who wanted? Cracken?"
"You're learning already."
She gave him a weak smile. "Well, since we know you now, will you help us?"