Chapter 8

"I can't believe he's dead," Linia muttered morosely as poked at her unappetizing meal. "I mean, Captain Ygra seemed so full of life. Ever since we undertook this mission he was so full of fire and determination. I can't believe he could expire so easily. The doctor even said he should have pulled through."

Across from her Urtis shrugged and popped a morsel of food into his mouth. "Maybe it was just trying to be optimistic—and anyway, the 'doctor' is a droid, you know. Those things aren't always reliable."

Linia glanced around the officer's mess briefly and then sighed. "And now Tilyer is gone too."

Urtis nodded, patting her hand with his, "Yes, I know. He was a fine pilot. His expertise will be sorely missed. Did they ever say how it happened?"

Linia nodded glumly, "Yes. The battle analysis said his engines were destroyed but his built-up velocity took his ship straight into the planet. Sensors lost contact as it entered the atmosphere, but with the ship's power plant destroyed, he couldn't have survived the descent—if he was even alive to at all. It would have hit the ground at over a over six hundred kilometers per hour."

"How's Gabel doing?"

"Gabel?"

"They were room mates weren't they?"

She shrugged. "Well yes, but he didn't know Tilyer that well. To tell you the truth, no one did. I mean, he mostly kept to himself. It's like he was trying to be that cookie-cutter soldier you see in all the holovids—strong, self-sufficient, loyal, austere. It was like he was trying to live up to that kind of stylized ideal, but never quite pulled it off. He didn't seem any of that. He just seemed . . . distant."

"Some people are just like that," Urtis said noncommittally.

"And now he's gone . . . "

"He was a fighter pilot," Dusat countered. "He risked his neck every time he flew. Those guys live for that kind of thing."

"I know, but still . . . Tilyer and then the Captain . . . it kind of makes you wonder who is going to be next."


Their conversation gradually wandered to other less depressing subjects, but another mind still lingered on that issue. At the next table, Lieutenant Del'Goren could think of nothing else. His appetite was gone, replaced by a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Del'Goren had really liked Tilyer, even if the kid was annoyingly reserved all the time. He had real talent in a fighter, but not many pilots could go toe to toe with an X-wing and live to tell about it. He could still hear the terror in the young pilot's voice when he left him to fend for himself. He knew if he hadn't been able to take out that one X-wing the Enforcer would have been totally destroyed, but that knowledge didn't do a damn thing lift the cumbersome weight burdening his heart.

And of course, there was the captain. When he first heard the news, he had his reservations. The captain's death seemed all-too sudden. Of course he had been injured, but he was supposed to be recovering. He first pushed away those thoughts as paranoid delusions wrought by battle stress, but hearing Dusat and Taulin discussing it brought it all back again.

Del'Goren didn't know what it was, but he felt something was just wrong. He couldn't eat any more. He had to get to the bottom of this, or at least put his fears to rest. He stood resolutely, leaving his tray of half-eaten food behind for the cleaning droid as he headed to the infirmary.

He reached his destination soon enough, and he stepped through the doors of the clinic to find himself in an almost blindingly white room. The smell of antiseptics assaulted his senses, causing his nostrils to tingle as he surveyed the small infirmary. Four empty cots dominated most of the room while a variety of medical implements were arrayed in various shelves and cupboards. At the far end of the room sat the resident 2-1B droid, its skeletal head bowed as it overlooked the controls to the empty bacta tank before it.

Upon Del'Goren's entry it turned toward him. Its hollow eye sockets lit up with a golden light as it canted its head curiously, "Welcome to the infirmary, sir. How may I be of assistance?"

Del'Goren mustered a smile, "Oh, it's nothing of a medical nature. I just wanted to ask you some questions. Can you spare the time?"

The droid nodded obediently. "Of course I can, sir."

The Lieutenant strolled closer, "I was hoping you could tell me about what happened to Captain Ygra."

"Oh, didn't you hear sir? He passed away just yesterday from the injuries he sustained during our encounter with rebel forces."

"No, I mean how did he die?"

"His injuries were simply to grievous to be healed by bacta treatments. I apologize sir, but there was nothing that could have been done."

"He was being treated. You said he would pull through."

The droid attempted to intimate a shrug, "I cannot recall making such a comment sir, but if I ever did, I apologize for my error."

He scowled, "What kind of injuries had he sustained?"

The droid shook its head, "I'm afraid I am not privy to that information."

Del'Goren frowned, "What do you mean you're not privy? You're the one who treated him."

"I'm aware of that sir, but earlier this morning I underwent my scheduled memory wipe. I have no recollection of the previous events beyond second hand information."

A feeling of unease seized upon Del'Goren. "What about medical records?"

"Those have been sealed to all but family and investigating personnel."

"I am conducting an investigation of the matter," Del'Goren said.

Again the droid shook its head, "Only official inquiries directed by military headquarters would be granted such status, and such an undertaking would only be possible once we return to Imperial Center. I'm afraid I can't help you, sir."

"So you're saying all information on Captain Ygra's death is sealed to everyone on the ship?"

"Not everyone. As the ranking officer, Commander Venka would have access to the information."

Del'Goren swore.