Oh shoot.

The six year old girl ducked inside a tunnel, her brown braids swinging. She turned the corner and doubled back around. There, she waited, holding her breath, waiting for signs that they had noticed her sudden change of direction. There was nothing. Stealing a glance both ways, she hesitated, and then boldly emerged into the passageway. Turning the opposite direction she had been going, she walked quietly a few paces until she reached the dropped data-card. They hadn't seen it! Flinging the ever persistent braid back over her shoulder, she bent down, and reached for it. But just as she began to pick up the data-card, she felt a hand jerk her shoulder. She turned, and came face to face with a blaster. He had found her. He had waited in hiding. He had sprung the trap, and she had fallen for it. And now, he was going to shoot her, just like he shot her parents . . .

Anya Dariss woke with a start. That wasn't how it was supposed to be! She had gotten away! She had! They hadn't been waiting for her when she went back to retrieve the card! She shook her head, trying to make sense of things, and came face to face with Lieutenant Gillins.

"Get up Dariss," he said roughly, jerking her shoulder again, while waving the blaster in her face. "It's red alert and you're needed on the bridge. We don't have time to lie in bed all day. This is the Imperial Starfleet after all," he finished with a sneer, and stalked out of her quarters.

Anya glared after him for a good minute, and then got out of bed. She pulled on her uniform, and gave her short hair a quick brush. After a quick glance in the mirror told her she looked presentable, she headed up to the bridge. She hated the Empire, hated every measly bit of it. But it gave her the chance to fly. To fly! To have a ship at her power, as she wove it among the stars! That was what she loved to do. And if it wasn't for that, she wouldn't be here.

Her parents died when she was six. She didn't remember them, just faces and names. But she did remember when they came after her. Her father had known they were coming, and had given her a data-card.

"Keep this for Dad, An," he had told her. "I'm going to give it to a friend of your mum's on Alderaan, but I want you to hold it for me. Don't give it to anyone else, you hear?"

Then he gave her a kiss and pressed the card into her hands. It was none too soon, for there was a knock on the door.

"Go to the ship," he whispered harshly. Then, a blaster bolt rang out, and Anya saw her mother fall. She didn't wait any longer but ran.

Bringing her mind back to the presence, she hurried on to the bridge and slipped into her seat. All she got was a glare from Admiral Nane. Her fingers flew over her console, pressing buttons, flipping switches, as she guide the Star Destroyer towards the small fleet of smugglers. She knew that they were smugglers, the ship design was unique to the Grayson group. Then, she slowed the ship down, and watched as red and green lasers shot towards each other, creating a brilliant dance among the dark black of space.

But it was not long before this brief pause in her duties ended, and the battle was over almost before it began. Only debris was left from the smuggler's ships, one ship had gotten away. Following orders she took the ship back into hyperspace and set it on its course. Then she waited. Arriving late for duty to the bridge during a red alert was one of the worse things one could do. A dressing down and reprimand and some sort of punishment were expected. The longer she waited, the more nervous she became. Yet nothing was said. She felt glad when her shift ended, and she could leave.

There were only a few other times that had made her as nervous as she was now. Why didn't Nane say anything? What was he planning? Surely it wasn't considered treason to be late . . . on the other hand, she was late during a red alert, a battle situation, and she should have been on the bridge. Brushing a stray hair away from her face with her hand, she continued on down towards the mess, where she got a warm plate of food and sat down to eat. She hadn't gotten very far into her meal before the shadow of Lieutenant Gillins fell over her. She bit her lip, and looked frustrated and angry for a split second before she turned towards him. He'd always been jealous of her, for she got the position he had wanted, flying the ship. He ended up stuck sifting through communiqués more often than not.

Gillins had a smug look on his face as he looked down into the face of his nemesis. He hated her. Oh, how he hated her. He was always waiting for some day, when he could prove her to be the traitor he knew she was. Then, he could take her place, and laugh at her when she was stuck with the communiqué job. Gillins saw her glare at him, and immediately put on his "don't try that with me, little girl" face, that he knew exasperated her. He didn't say anything, but waited for her to speak. The more he could annoy her, the better. After all, she completely ruined his life when she got a better score on the flight test than he.

"Something you want, Gillins?" she asked.

He responded with a smirk. "Admiral wants to see you in his office, Dariss."

"Like I'm gonna fall for that one Gillins."

"Suit yourself. It's not my position at stake, so why should I care."

"Gillins! I swear I'm gonna . . ." With that she shot him her most furious glare, and headed out. This was worse than she had expected. Admiral's office. Oh wonderful. And just what did Gillins mean by her position being at stake?