Title: Inner Demons, Outer Evils
Summary: A tragic event sets Rogue Squadron on the path to the truth...and sends one of the Rogues on a collision course with himself.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
A Note: I know a lot of people will take issue with what I do with the main character, but it is entirely plausible. Wedge, Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie have all, at this point, spent fifteen years fighting to survive – and taking lives in the process. They've all lost friends and/or family, and all just push their pain (and guilt) aside. Sooner or later, that would be bound to catch up with at least one of them.
* * * * *
Chapter 1: Boiling Point
* * * * *
"All right, people, what do you think?" Wedge Antilles asked over Rogue Squadron's frequency. The squadron had just completed the first leg of a test flight with a new model of x-wing, the T-65D-x.
"Shimmies when you break hard in any direction," Wes Janson, Rogue Five, replied. "Probably a minor mechanical problem. Minor to fix, that is. I wouldn't want to have to account for it in a dogfight, though."
"Noted. What else?"
"The extra speed is nice," Jesina Dreis, seven, cut in. "But other than that, there aren't a lot of pluses."
"That extra speed could save a few lives," Gavin Darklighter replied.
"She's dismissing the speed, twelve," Tycho Celchu interrupted, "because the speed advantage is outweighed by the cost. The extra money these will cost the New Republic could save more lives if used in other ways." There was a murmur of agreement over the comm.
"All right," Wedge said again, "Let's run some of those maneuvers again. Look specifically for faults. That's what they want from us anyway."
"As ordered," Tycho replied. His acknowledgment was followed by a series of clicks.
Wedge started to pull up and then felt the fighter shudder as it was hit by lasers. "What the—" he exclaimed, breaking hard to port. "Damage, Gate?" he demanded of his astromech.
His starboard engine was gone, and the S-foils on the same side had suffered major damage as well. He glanced at the HUD for an indicator of who his attacker was, but in a moment Tycho's voice told him all he needed to know.
"Three, four, stay with Lead," the Colonel's crisp order came over the comm unit. Briefly Wedge wondered why – Tycho was his wingman, and normally the Alderaanian would stay with him. Again, he needn't have wondered. As Tycho banked away from his CO's ailing fighter, the Rogue XO's voice came across again. "Nine, come about to heading two-one-four and power down or I will fire."
Wedge felt cold and the knot that had formed in his stomach when he'd been hit tightened. Nine was Corran Horn, a Corellian who'd been with the squadron for over a decade. Why in the galaxy had Corran fired on him?
"You won't do it, two."
"Don't push me, Horn." The Alderaani pilot's voice was as cold and hard as Wedge had ever heard it.
"Go ahead, Tycho. Make me a target. I love a challenge."
That was, likely, the stupidest thing he'd ever heard Corran say. Oh, Corran was good, that much was certain. But Tycho was better, hands down. That was why he'd broken off and ordered the rest of one flight to stay with Wedge – Tycho was the only one who was almost guaranteed to be able to outfly Corran.
Wedge keyed his comm. He'd leave Corran to Tycho – better not to interfere. But he had to do something about the rest of the squadron. "Seven, take the squadron. Three, four, break off and form up on seven." A series of clicks was his only response – that and the motion of Ensa'dura and Duryll Seco complying with his last order.
"Giving up, Lead?" Corran's mocking voice came to him over the comm. Wedge did not reply. His attention was focused instead on maintaining control of his damaged fighter.
Then the alarm warning of a torpedo lock blared. Wedge banked as hard as the protesting craft would allow and, by what he could define only as a miracle, broke the lock. A moment later, he saw an explosion as Tycho's torpedo slammed into Corran's fighter.
Wedge stared out of the cockpit at where his good friend's fighter had been only moments before. Had this actually just happened? How had it happened?
"You all right, Lead?" Jesina asked.
A quick glance at the HUD told him she was where she was supposed to be, leading the rest of the squadron back to their hangar. "I'll be okay. Take them in, Jes. And stay in the HQ."
"Copy that. Seven out."
Wedge switched his comm unit over to the private frequency he shared with Tycho. "You okay there?"
There was a pregnant pause as Tycho weighed his words. Then he replied, "I'm all right." He laughed, but Wedge knew it was beyond forced. "I'm not the one driving a ship that a scrap yard wouldn't take. You gonna make it in?"
"I've flown worse pieces of junk than this. I'll make it. See you on the ground." He knew that this was far from the end of their conversation. It was just a delay that they both needed to be able to process all that had just happened.
But before he reached Coruscant, Wedge made one last communication – requesting that someone on Coruscant arrange to have Corran's wife meet him at his office. Mirax Terrik-Horn was an old friend of Wedge's, and he wanted to give her this news himself, painful as it would be. He needed to talk to her himself.
Too short a time later Wedge and Tycho were sitting in the former's office, waiting for Mirax to arrive. They didn't wait long.
When Mirax entered, she was direct and to the point. Wasting no time on customary greetings, she asked simply, "What's wrong, Wedge?"
He motioned to a chair. "Have a seat, Mirax. I need to ask you a few questions about Corran."
She didn't argue, just did as he said, knowing that cooperating with him meant she'd get her answers sooner. "Okay, shoot."
Wedge winced slightly at her choice of words but asked, "Has Corran been acting strangely recently?"
She frowned. "He's been a bit agitated, but he keeps blaming it on the force – which I don't understand, so I generally don't ask."
Wedge nodded thoughtfully. "I know this is a stupid question that I already know the answer to, but has Corran been drinking excessively lately? Or maybe using spice?"
Mirax made no effort to hide her shock – or her indignation. "You're right, that is a stupid question. And you DO already know the answer. Why are you asking this, Wedge?"
"Because Corran just tried to kill me. And came very close to succeeding."
Mirax stared at him, unblinking. "What kind of sick joke is this?"
"No joke," Tycho told her softly. He recounted what had happened on the test run.
She sat in silence as he finished his account, eyes closed tightly, willing herself to keep her emotions under control. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked straight at Tycho. "You did what you had to do. I won't hold it against you. Now, if you both will excuse me, I'm going to contact Yavin." Yavin was home to the Academy at which Luke Skywalker trained Jedi, among them Mirax and Corran's two children.
Wedge caught her arm as she rose. "Mirax—" he began, but she pulled away and cut him off.
"No, Wedge. Not now. Just—" She shook her head. "Not now." Then she was gone.
Tycho stood as well. "I think I'm going to head home too."
Wedge nodded, concerned for his good friends. "You know how to reach me if you need anything. Call whenever. I'll be there." Tycho returned the nod and, hugging Wedge briefly, left the office.
Outside in the corridor, Tycho sagged against the wall. He was grateful to Booster Terrik for teaching his daughter to control her emotions – and to Mirax for demanding that kind of control of herself. The fact that she'd kept her emotions in check had made it easier for him to do the same. For now anyway.
He took a few deep breaths and straightened. Next stop: his apartment (his wife being gone on assignment, as was Wedge's) and the Whyren's Reserve he always kept fully stocked.
Summary: A tragic event sets Rogue Squadron on the path to the truth...and sends one of the Rogues on a collision course with himself.
Disclaimer: Star Wars is, quite clearly, not mine, and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is not written for profit.
A Note: I know a lot of people will take issue with what I do with the main character, but it is entirely plausible. Wedge, Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie have all, at this point, spent fifteen years fighting to survive – and taking lives in the process. They've all lost friends and/or family, and all just push their pain (and guilt) aside. Sooner or later, that would be bound to catch up with at least one of them.
* * * * *
Chapter 1: Boiling Point
* * * * *
"All right, people, what do you think?" Wedge Antilles asked over Rogue Squadron's frequency. The squadron had just completed the first leg of a test flight with a new model of x-wing, the T-65D-x.
"Shimmies when you break hard in any direction," Wes Janson, Rogue Five, replied. "Probably a minor mechanical problem. Minor to fix, that is. I wouldn't want to have to account for it in a dogfight, though."
"Noted. What else?"
"The extra speed is nice," Jesina Dreis, seven, cut in. "But other than that, there aren't a lot of pluses."
"That extra speed could save a few lives," Gavin Darklighter replied.
"She's dismissing the speed, twelve," Tycho Celchu interrupted, "because the speed advantage is outweighed by the cost. The extra money these will cost the New Republic could save more lives if used in other ways." There was a murmur of agreement over the comm.
"All right," Wedge said again, "Let's run some of those maneuvers again. Look specifically for faults. That's what they want from us anyway."
"As ordered," Tycho replied. His acknowledgment was followed by a series of clicks.
Wedge started to pull up and then felt the fighter shudder as it was hit by lasers. "What the—" he exclaimed, breaking hard to port. "Damage, Gate?" he demanded of his astromech.
His starboard engine was gone, and the S-foils on the same side had suffered major damage as well. He glanced at the HUD for an indicator of who his attacker was, but in a moment Tycho's voice told him all he needed to know.
"Three, four, stay with Lead," the Colonel's crisp order came over the comm unit. Briefly Wedge wondered why – Tycho was his wingman, and normally the Alderaanian would stay with him. Again, he needn't have wondered. As Tycho banked away from his CO's ailing fighter, the Rogue XO's voice came across again. "Nine, come about to heading two-one-four and power down or I will fire."
Wedge felt cold and the knot that had formed in his stomach when he'd been hit tightened. Nine was Corran Horn, a Corellian who'd been with the squadron for over a decade. Why in the galaxy had Corran fired on him?
"You won't do it, two."
"Don't push me, Horn." The Alderaani pilot's voice was as cold and hard as Wedge had ever heard it.
"Go ahead, Tycho. Make me a target. I love a challenge."
That was, likely, the stupidest thing he'd ever heard Corran say. Oh, Corran was good, that much was certain. But Tycho was better, hands down. That was why he'd broken off and ordered the rest of one flight to stay with Wedge – Tycho was the only one who was almost guaranteed to be able to outfly Corran.
Wedge keyed his comm. He'd leave Corran to Tycho – better not to interfere. But he had to do something about the rest of the squadron. "Seven, take the squadron. Three, four, break off and form up on seven." A series of clicks was his only response – that and the motion of Ensa'dura and Duryll Seco complying with his last order.
"Giving up, Lead?" Corran's mocking voice came to him over the comm. Wedge did not reply. His attention was focused instead on maintaining control of his damaged fighter.
Then the alarm warning of a torpedo lock blared. Wedge banked as hard as the protesting craft would allow and, by what he could define only as a miracle, broke the lock. A moment later, he saw an explosion as Tycho's torpedo slammed into Corran's fighter.
Wedge stared out of the cockpit at where his good friend's fighter had been only moments before. Had this actually just happened? How had it happened?
"You all right, Lead?" Jesina asked.
A quick glance at the HUD told him she was where she was supposed to be, leading the rest of the squadron back to their hangar. "I'll be okay. Take them in, Jes. And stay in the HQ."
"Copy that. Seven out."
Wedge switched his comm unit over to the private frequency he shared with Tycho. "You okay there?"
There was a pregnant pause as Tycho weighed his words. Then he replied, "I'm all right." He laughed, but Wedge knew it was beyond forced. "I'm not the one driving a ship that a scrap yard wouldn't take. You gonna make it in?"
"I've flown worse pieces of junk than this. I'll make it. See you on the ground." He knew that this was far from the end of their conversation. It was just a delay that they both needed to be able to process all that had just happened.
But before he reached Coruscant, Wedge made one last communication – requesting that someone on Coruscant arrange to have Corran's wife meet him at his office. Mirax Terrik-Horn was an old friend of Wedge's, and he wanted to give her this news himself, painful as it would be. He needed to talk to her himself.
Too short a time later Wedge and Tycho were sitting in the former's office, waiting for Mirax to arrive. They didn't wait long.
When Mirax entered, she was direct and to the point. Wasting no time on customary greetings, she asked simply, "What's wrong, Wedge?"
He motioned to a chair. "Have a seat, Mirax. I need to ask you a few questions about Corran."
She didn't argue, just did as he said, knowing that cooperating with him meant she'd get her answers sooner. "Okay, shoot."
Wedge winced slightly at her choice of words but asked, "Has Corran been acting strangely recently?"
She frowned. "He's been a bit agitated, but he keeps blaming it on the force – which I don't understand, so I generally don't ask."
Wedge nodded thoughtfully. "I know this is a stupid question that I already know the answer to, but has Corran been drinking excessively lately? Or maybe using spice?"
Mirax made no effort to hide her shock – or her indignation. "You're right, that is a stupid question. And you DO already know the answer. Why are you asking this, Wedge?"
"Because Corran just tried to kill me. And came very close to succeeding."
Mirax stared at him, unblinking. "What kind of sick joke is this?"
"No joke," Tycho told her softly. He recounted what had happened on the test run.
She sat in silence as he finished his account, eyes closed tightly, willing herself to keep her emotions under control. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked straight at Tycho. "You did what you had to do. I won't hold it against you. Now, if you both will excuse me, I'm going to contact Yavin." Yavin was home to the Academy at which Luke Skywalker trained Jedi, among them Mirax and Corran's two children.
Wedge caught her arm as she rose. "Mirax—" he began, but she pulled away and cut him off.
"No, Wedge. Not now. Just—" She shook her head. "Not now." Then she was gone.
Tycho stood as well. "I think I'm going to head home too."
Wedge nodded, concerned for his good friends. "You know how to reach me if you need anything. Call whenever. I'll be there." Tycho returned the nod and, hugging Wedge briefly, left the office.
Outside in the corridor, Tycho sagged against the wall. He was grateful to Booster Terrik for teaching his daughter to control her emotions – and to Mirax for demanding that kind of control of herself. The fact that she'd kept her emotions in check had made it easier for him to do the same. For now anyway.
He took a few deep breaths and straightened. Next stop: his apartment (his wife being gone on assignment, as was Wedge's) and the Whyren's Reserve he always kept fully stocked.