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Part 16

Wes sat at his desk and fidgeted, watching the chrono count down. His interminable shift as a security officer was nearly over. Just a couple more minutes, and freedom was his. And considering who was in charge of security in this sector, he didn't doubt that his replacement would arrive precisely on schedule.

0558 ... 0558.30 ... Wes composed himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. 0558.55 ... 0559 ...

Just on time, he heard footsteps approaching down the long corridor. A quick grin tugged at his lips, but he quashed it. Time for the final act to begin.

As expected, the footsteps resolved into the figure of Colonel Heshen, followed by a junior security officer. Wes quickly rose, stood to attention, and saluted sharply.

The colonel returned the salute, scowling lightly, his expression one of puzzlement. After a long night, including at least one overt attack in his sector of responsibility, he looked even crustier than before. "Major Janson. What a surprise to find you here."

"I beg your pardon, sir, I'm afraid I don't understand. This is my post." Wes didn't relax his posture or his vocabulary, forming the very picture of a model Starfighter Command officer.

"I should say, to find you sitting here at leisure, rather than pushing boxes out of my corridor. If I may ask, where are the several transports' worth of cargo that I instructed you to move earlier this morning?"

"In the warehouse, sir. As ordered." Wes didn't quite meet the man's eyes, keeping his own gaze straight ahead, hiding his amused satisfaction over the colonel's growing confusion.

"In the warehouse? All of them?"

"Yessir. Racked on shelving unit RB-15."

Colonel Heshen crossed his arms over his chest. "On 'shelving unit RB-15', you say. How very precise of you. You won't mind, of course, if I verify that for myself?"

"No, sir."

The colonel hesitated, regarding him suspiciously. "If you will pardon my inquiring, who instructed you to put the boxes on 'shelving unit RB-15'?" he asked, quoting Wes with the hint of a sneering tone in his voice.

With an effort, the pilot-turned-security-officer kept his face and posture still, though mentally he cringed. Heshen was still looking for an excuse to land him in trouble, and Wes didn't put it past him to make one up. "Colonel Arpenau, sir. I called Warehouse Control to ask them where to store the crates."

"I see." Colonel Heshen briskly pulled out his comlink and adjusted the frequency. "Colonel Arpenau, this is Colonel Heshen. Please respond."

A now-familiar voice came through from the other end. "Good morning, Colonel, Arpenau here. What can I do for you?"

"My officer over here at door Gamma-8, a Major Janson, says that he contacted you about a matter of some cargo earlier this morning. Can you confirm that he did?"

"Of course. The major called me about 0300, asking where he could rack one of the night's deliveries that had been shifted to his location. I asked him to find an empty spot to stow it over near his post, out of the way of the traffic from the docks."

"Indeed. And did Major Janson, by chance, ask for any additional help in moving the delivery?"

"At that point in time, Colonel, it wouldn't have mattered if he'd asked or not. We had about 40 transports backed up here. I needed every hand available, and then some."

"I see." Colonel Heshen glared at Wes for a long second. "Thank you, Colonel, I won't take up any more of your time."

"No trouble at all, Colonel. If I can ask, for the sake of our scheduling, how much of Qawati's delivery is left to move into the warehouse? We'll send someone over to take care of the rest later today."

The colonel's expression soured as though he had bit into an unripe limelon. "That won't be necessary. The entire delivery has been moved. The corridor is clear." Wes kept his face still, but inwardly cackled over the colonel's forced admission, sending a brief mental acknowledgement and thanks in Arpenau's direction.

"That's very impressive work, then. Please relay my thanks to Major Janson for going out of his way to help, that saves us a lot of trouble. Arpenau out."

Heshen replaced his comlink in its clip, scowling fiercely. "All right, Major, my curiosity is growing out of bounds. How did you do it?"

"Do what, sir?"

"Move six transports' worth of cargo the whole way to row RB, by yourself, in less than three hours!"

Wes knew it might be his final undoing, but he couldn't help himself. He just couldn't. "One box at a time, sir," he answered cheekily.

The colonel glowered menacingly, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by the chime of the door. Wes glanced at the monitor, which showed an officer standing outside beside a staff skimmer, handing his base ID to one of the security guards still on post there.

The colonel stepped around the end of the desk to see the monitor as well. The guard checked the ID, then handed it back and moved out of the way. Heshen gestured impatiently at the control board. "Go ahead and let him in."

Instead of complying, Wes stood away from the desk. "I beg your pardon, sir, but the door is still locked down, under your authorization."

Still glaring at Wes, Colonel Heshen himself moved to the terminal and tapped sharply at the keyboard. An agreeable tone sounded, and the door swept upward.

Eran "Sharps" Rivlantaar, a trimly-built man with black hair and a quick eye, strolled through the door, saluting in the general direction of Wes and the colonel. "Good morning, Colonel Heshen, what a pleasant surprise. Major Janson. Captain Barrlet," he added, nodding to the two junior officers.

The colonel transferred his scowl from Wes to the new arrival. "Major Rivlantaar. Why am I not surprised to find you behind this?"

Sharps' eyebrows flew up, his expression mildly astonished. "Behind what, sir? I'm just here to pick up an old friend, who I believe is coming off duty. Is there a problem, Colonel?"

Heshen looked at Wes for a long moment. The pilot met his gaze evenly, mentally crossing his fingers. This was it...

"No, Major Rivlantaar. Major Janson, you are relieved of duty. Captain Barrlet, take over." With a last disgusted glance at both Wes and Sharps, Colonel Heshen spun around and stalked away down the corridor.

Wes released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Throwing a hasty salute after the colonel, he came out from behind the desk, the impassive junior officer quietly taking his place. Following Sharps out the door, he took a deep breath of the early-morning air, throwing his arms out wide in a monumental stretch, a symbolic gesture of casting off all burdens. He was finally free!

Sharps casually hopped behind the skimmer's controls, waiting for Wes to take the other seat. He put the craft in motion, easing up the narrow lane between the wall and the line of battered hovertrucks still parked where they had been left. "So what'd you do to get the old buzzflak all riled up?" he asked without preamble, eyeing the transports curiously.

"Nothing. I think he just couldn't bear my obvious charm and youthful good looks, since he doesn't have any of either." Wes stretched again, trying to loosen the tension in his back and shoulders.

Sharps snorted. "Right, he found you irresistible. Did you reject his offer to take you out for a night you'd never forget?"

Wes grinned. "Something like that. Oh, and I let his security post get shot up by a pack of swoopies."

"Is that all? Sith, he ought to thank you for that, keeping his people on their toes. Let 'em earn their pay." The skimmer reached the end of the line and Sharps quickly spun it around the first transport, accelerating in the opposite direction. Wes grabbed at the door to keep from being tossed to the side. "Dried-up old piece of borrat dung," Sharps said dismissively. "Anyway, if you got shot at by swoopies, it sounds like you had a much more entertaining evening than I intended you to." He glanced at the trucks again, getting a better look at their blaster-scarred sides.

"Nah, nothing too exciting. Swoopies, obnoxious Quarren, drunken crewers, about a thousand crates' worth of cafeteria supplies, and our good friend Colonel Heshen. Nothing a Rogue can't handle with one hand behind his back." Sharps snorted again and swung onto another heading, this time tossing Wes into the door. "Sheesh, easy on the stick, there."

Sharps smiled toothily at him. "What, a Rogue afraid of some fast flying?"

"Only with nerf-herders or Logistics officers behind the controls."

Sharps laughed heartily, bringing the skimmer up into a higher lane of traffic. Wes looked around them curiously. "By the way, where are we headed? My bed is that way," he asked, pointing in the general direction he guessed the pilots' quarters were located. His words morphed into a jaw-cracking yawn.

"I thought I'd treat you to breakfast, since you were such a good sport about taking over the shift. Watch you fall asleep with your face in a plate of eggs and cheffu bacon."

"Sounds good," Wes mumbled, tucking his hands behind his head and letting his eyes drift closed.

"And after your quick nap, we can hit the targeting ranges and go for best two out of three. I've got a nice little maintenance post all lined up for you. Hope you like 'freshers, cause you'll be cleaning a lot of them." Sharps glanced over at Wes, grinning wickedly.

Wes half-opened his eyes to look at Sharps, then settled more comfortably in his seat, eyelids dropping shut again. "Bring it on," he answered complacently.

The End