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.
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Chapter 26: Perfect – Gone Wrong
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Jesina walked through the Lusankya's corridors, listening to the click of her boot heels on the floor. She felt like breaking something. A Corellian Corvette transporting an intelligence team she'd worked with many times had been recalled to Coruscant because of Hekrig and had been one of the first casualties of the Imperial onslaught. All aboard had been killed.
She didn't look up as Wes fell into step beside her. "You all right?"
Shaking her head she replied shortly, "No."
"We just got some good news," he offered.
"Did they manage to blow up the Torment?" she asked with a scowl. That was the good Admiral's flagship.
"No, but they did get Hekrig to back off."
She stopped short and turned to face him. "How?"
"By faking a transmission that the Nebula task force would be at Coruscant within the next few hours." Nebula was an Imperial-class Star Destroyer and the flagship of a force of four Mon Cal cruisers. It had earned a galaxy-wide reputation as a force to be reckoned with during a six-month period under the direct command of General Bel Iblis himself.
"Too bad it's not true. They'll be back, you know, and stronger than before."
"I know. But it's truer than you'd think. Apparently one of the Mon Deralon's nav officers is an astronav genius. Found a route that cut fifty-two standard hours off their travel time. They get there that much earlier, Hekrig'll need that much stronger a force to bring against Coruscant. By the time he manages to strengthen himself that much, we'll be there."
And at that point, Hekrig would be hard pressed to ever match them. Four Mon Cals, an equal number of Imperial-class destroyers, and a Victory-class, added to the defenses already in place at the capital would form a formidable resistance.
But Jesina shook her head as she stopped outside her door and keyed in the code. "Then he'll hit something el—" Her words died as they were hurled against the opposite wall as an explosion tore through what had, until a moment ago, been her quarters.
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"Distract me," Wedge said to Iella.
His wife looked at him, surprised, and blinked. "What?"
"Distract me," he repeated. "We still have almost nine days of hyperspace travel in which I can do nothing but read, write, and review casualty and status reports. If I don't find another way to occupy my time, I think I'll end up joining Tycho by the time I get back. Distract me," he said a third time.
Iella looked thoughtful. She understood where he was coming from. The whole squadron was still trying to deal with Hobbie's death, and Wedge still hadn't told Tycho, having decided that he wanted to deliver the bad news in person. He'd told her that he refused to reduce his friend's death to just another comm call or letter. And now Jesina was reeling from the news about the Honor of Chandril.
She shook her head, trying to clear if of these morbid thoughts. Then an idea popped into her mind and she smiled mischievously. "Perfect," she purred.
Wedge shifted uneasily. He didn't like it when she got that look on her face. Maybe asking her to distract him hadn't been such a good idea after all. "What?" he asked suspiciously.
"A little payback for Wes," she replied, putting on an innocent air. "For all the times he harassed you about me." She grinned. "Make Wes and Jesina a pet project." After all, the whole squadron could see what direction the two were headed in – except, maybe, them.
Wedge returned her grin. He knew he'd married this woman for a reason. Before he could respond, though, the quiet was shattered by the blare of an alarm. "That's a fire alarm," Wedge muttered, looking over at her as they both ran for the door.
He pulled out his comlink as they left the office, heading for the bridge. As soon as Captain Ackrand answered he asked, "What happened?"
"An explosion in…Sector Eight-Oh-Three," she replied, pausing. "Where your squadron is quartered, sir."
He barely heard Iella swear over the sound of the alarms. "Override the automatic fire doors," he ordered. "Don't let them seal unless the sensors say it's absolutely necessary."
"Yes, sir."
As they approached the turbolift, he saw the light indicating that it had shut down when the alarm activated. Turning sharply toward the nearest stairwell, they took the steps two at a time. "Find out where your people are," he barked at Iella, a little more harshly than he'd intended.
"I am," she answered. "Worry about yours."
He was. "All Rogues, report in," he spoke into his comlink.
Gradually, he heard from Ensa, Myn, Inyri, Ooryl, Corran, and Dia. Nothing from Wes, Jesina, Face, or Gavin. "Meet as close as possible to the starboard block of rooms," he ordered.
By the time they got there, Iella had heard from the handful of non-Wraith intelligence personnel she was supervising, and Wedge had still not heard from the last four Rogues. He saw Corran with his arm around Inyri, the two of them coughing loudly, choking on the dust. Ensa was leaning over Dia, who was sitting on the floor, a hand pressed against her right thigh. A few moments later Myn arrived, followed by Ooryl. From the looks of the last two, they hadn't been anywhere near the blast. "Anyone know anything about Jesina, Wes, Gavin, or Face?" Wedge asked as he approached.
"It looked like it was the Colonel's quarters," Corran answered, pointing down the corridor and coughing again.
Wedge counted the doors that weren't concealed by debris, and then pulled a datapad out of his pocket. The last door he could see was Inyri's, which was right next to Jesina's. Wes was across the corridor from her, and Gavin's was on the far side of Wes' room.
Iella was talking on her comlink, calling for a crew to come help them dig through the debris. Wedge turned back to his pilots. "Ensa, Myn, Ooryl, give me and Iella a hand. Corran, get yourself, Inyri, and Dia to the med center."
Corran opened his mouth to protest but was struck with another bout of coughing that just added to the cacophony from the alarm, and nodded. "Yes, sir," he managed, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees.
Inyri put a hand on her back, having recovered slightly more quickly than her squadron mate. "I'm all right, sir. And I think Gavin was in his quarters."
"Help them get to the med center," Wedge told her. "And if they clear you, come back. We'll probably still be able to use you."
As Inyri helped Dia stand and put an arm around her back, he turned back to the others again. Ooryl was already crawling across the rubble that had been the ceiling and wall, trying to get to Jesina and Wes' doors. Wedge nodded for Myn and Ensa to do the same. "Careful where you step," he warned. "In case any of them was in the corridor, you don't want to shift everything onto them."
Iella tiptoed across, working her feet through to the floor, moving things to the sides in an attempt to avoid hurting herself and also to make a more easier path back out. A moment later she barely heard a shout from Ooryl that he'd found Wes.
Wedge made his way to them as quickly as he dared, picking larger pieces out of the way and tossing them behind him. Wes was face down, pinned under a couple of panels at least two meters long, cracking and warping under the weight of the rest of the debris that rested on top. His clothes were torn and covered with dust, but he was breathing. With several hands working, they were soon able to pull him out, and saw that Jesina had been trapped beneath him, probably as a result of his own attempt to protect her from the blast – or the aftereffects. Both were unconscious.
Inyri returned just as they got him to the clear floor, with Myn carrying Jesina behind them. A medical crew was following her and quickly took over from the Rogues to care for the injured pilots. "A search crew is coming up the other side," she told Wedge.
"Good." He consulted his datapad again. Both Face and Dia had quarters up here, at the far end of the corridor. "Ensa, where was Dia when the explosion happened?" He figured they'd probably been together, considering he'd been helping her when he and Iella had arrived.
"We were leaving my quarters, sir," he answered. The Twi'lek looked distressed, and Wedge guessed that it was due to a resurgence of his guilt over Hobbie's death, brought on by not having kept Dia from getting hurt.
"Had she said anything about Face?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Shavit," Wedge muttered. He looked up and saw Inyri following the path Iella had made toward Gavin's door. "Inyri," he called.
She looked back. "Help me!" she yelled back.
He couldn't hear her over the alarm that was still blaring overhead, though Myn apparently had as he set off after her. "Turn that damn thing off," he hollered into his comlink. A moment later they were rewarded with silence.
He went to yell Inyri's name again but stopped when he saw her brace herself and aim a solid kick at the bent door to Gavin's quarters. Looking inside, she saw Gavin and Face. "They're both here!" she yelled, slipping through the narrow opening she'd created and dropping a half-meter to the floor of her wingman's quarters.
Face was sprawled, leg bent unnaturally underneath his body, a couple of meters from the door. A duffel that had probably been sitting on the bed until it was shaken off by the explosion, was lying on his chest. He was awake, but clearly disoriented. Probably concussed, she figured, looking at the growing bruising on his forehead and the right side of his face.
Gavin was half on the cot, half off. From the look of it, he'd probably been standing when the explosion had happened and had fallen forward, striking his head on the wall. When she moved him slightly, she reconsidered her assessment. Given the gash on his forehead, it looked like he'd hit his head on the corner of the cabinet, and probably rolled onto the bed after losing consciousness.
Electing not to move either of them again, she headed back to the door, moving Gavin's belongings out of the way as she went, to make it easier to move the two men. She pulled on the bowed door, but it wouldn't budge anymore. Looking up at Myn, who was slightly above her because he was standing on about a half-meter of debris that had once been the ceiling, she said, "I can't move them myself."
"You wouldn't be able to get Gavin out even if you could," he answered. "Even I'm too big to fit through that hole. The rescue crew is coming. Just sit tight." He looked away from her for a moment and turned back, reaching through the opening she'd gone through and handing her a medical kit. "Do what you can," he said helplessly. "Iella's coming," he added as he saw the NRI agent heading his way and moved back to allow her entrance.
Inyri was leaning against the wall when Iella climbed through. "You okay?" she asked the younger woman, concerned.
"Tell me he's going to be okay," Inyri pleaded, eyes closed.
Iella walked over to Gavin, pressing the tips of her fingers to the man's wrist. His pulse was weak, but steady. "He'll be all right," she told Inyri, taking the first aid kit from her hands. She fervently hoped she was right. She didn't think Inyri would be able to handle it if anything happened to Gavin, especially so soon after Hobbie.
She knelt next to Gavin, dabbing antiseptic onto the gash on his forehead and covering it with a large bacta patch. "Inyri, could you check out Face?" she asked softly, blocking out the noise of the rescue crew working to weld the door off of the wall.
It took a second but Inyri nodded even though the older woman couldn't see her. She moved to kneel beside Face and copied Iella's movements. "He's breathing funny," she said. "I think he needs oxygen."
Iella glanced over, taking in the duffel bag. "He's probably got some broken or cracked ribs…maybe a collapsed lung, but I hope not."