Chapter: 2

Farvebacca's triumphant crow was cut off abruptly as the A-Wing simulator cracked open and the headset died with the rest of the power. Lights blinked on to illuminate the interior of the lifelike cockpit – command couch, LED screens, surrounding control panels.

For a moment, Seth remained seated, blinking in the sudden light, and then reached up to hoist himself out of the simulator's belly. He sat on the lip of the pseudo–fighter's cockpit for a moment to remove his headset, relishing the cool air in the training bay.

Below, a smattering of peer applause clattered weakly beneath the thrum of the Mon Calamari cruiser's powerful engines. The Kiss of Life was their home: she was a gigantic planetoid for all intents and purposes, possessing a crew of well over four thousand and housing for time and again, not to mention a hangar with the capacity for three full squadrons. The Green Squad cadets had only rendezvoused with the Fleet a week prior, and it had not been easy to navigate the spreading network of Vong–conquered space in order to reach their comrades unscathed. There had been more than several close calls, but luckily there had been no engagements and no casualties as a result.

Seth swung his legs over the edge of the sim and found the top rungs of the ladder with his feet. He climbed down quickly as the other four simulators cracked opened and the other pilots of Green Squadron emerged.

Two people met him at the base of the ladder.

The first was Lieutenant Cane Roulvecksch, a Shistavanen. He was barely 5 feet tall, but his stature lost a good six inches to the reverse–knee joints in his canine legs. The wolfman was a brilliant mathematician, Seth knew, and he was maintaining the training stats of the squadron's pilots. His lupine jaw hung open in a smile, not easily distinguished from a snarl, as Seth stepped off the last rung and offered a casual salute.

The Shistavanen was accompanied by Led Sketz, a thickly–set man from Courascant, clad in a green flightsuit. He was a skilled pilot, a natural leader, and possessed an intimate knowledge of snubfighter tactics. From what Seth had learned of the man, Led had spent the majority of his young adulthood working on the Empire's defense grids, some of which still hung above Courascant despite lack of use. As the Galactic Civil War had unfolded, Led had defected to the Alliance for reasons as yet unknown.

"Nice one," the Courascanti congratulated by way of greeting, grinning widely. Scraggly bangs danced over his forehead whenever he moved. "Can't say I've ever flown Loose Hand without losing comrades."

Cane's flightsuit was casually unzipped, almost to his belly. He raked talons over the exposed pelt of his chest as he spoke. "Speaking of which, I don't think I thanked you for abandoning me above Mos Eisley the last time we flew it together."

Led shrugged. "Seemed to me like you were in command of the situation, Lieutenant."

Cane snorted a laugh. His voice was a guttural rasp of canine snarl mixed with a snake's hiss; it sent a shiver of Seth's spine every time they spoke. "With four squints all over me like drool on a Hutt?"

The rest of the pilots were exiting their simulators and converging on the spot where the three of them stood. The Wookiee, Farvebacca, ignored the access ladder entirely and instead leapt the ten feet to the deck, landing in a predatory crouch. He stood easily two heads taller than Seth when he rose to his full height, and was covered head–to–toe in a silver–brown tangle of matted fur. How he managed to squeeze his long, fluid body into the simulator was a miracle in and of itself.

Vick Fleen, the Wookiee's wingmate, was short and scrawny – especially in comparison to the massive behemoth, who considered himself the boy's brother. Fleen brushed sandy locks of hair out of his youthful eyes and grinned around lopsidedly at his fellow squadmates. His thin face had not yet lost the naïve look of adolescence.

Forever smiling at some jest, Captain Dano Ven scratched at the thin scar below his left eye and nodded his approval at Seth as he approached. The captain was tall and extremely thin. His unusually pale countenance would have suggested illness, but his strong personality and flying abilities left no one questioning his fitness for duty.

Nice one, the XO mouthed in Seth's direction, and the younger pilot offered a return nod of thanks.

Commander Leroy Corsurge was shorter than both Dano and Seth, but his physical stature was not what made him intimidating. Piercing eyes, broad shoulders, and a confident gait accomplished that. His face was tight and perpetually grim, wrinkled at the eyes and creased at the forehead. His graying hair stood on end from the simulator's headset, but instead of having a comical affect, it seemed somehow distinguishing.

Removing his pilot gloves, he stepped into the circle of pilots and paused to pop a piece of synthetic gum into his mouth before looking to Cane for the assessment of the mission. "Give us the numbers, Lieutenant," he said, smiling slightly.

Every squadron had different methods of scoring, but the point system Cane and the commander had established was nothing more than a basic grading rubric. Each pilot started the sim run with fifty points. For each kill, two hundred points were awarded. For precision flying, anywhere from fifty to five hundred points were awarded. If a pilot was vaped, he lost all of his standing points, save for those awarded by kills. Scores carried over from previous sim flights for an averaged total, and the general consensus amongst the growing squadron was that the winner that day always bought the drinks.

Cane unplugged a datapad from an outlet in the wall and briefly studied the screen before speaking. "Excellent hunting, Lead," he began.

"Seemed like we were the ones being hunted," Vick Fleen muttered under his breath.

"No loss of life and all eight targets neutralized," Cane continued, oblivious. "Due to lack of friendly casualties, a bonus of one hundred points will be added to each kill and accredited to the pilot who claims them. For this run, Seth has three kills; Farve has one; Vick, one; Captain Ven, one; and Commander Corsurge, one."

Growling something incoherent, Farvebacca extended a tree–trunk arm and cuffed Seth on the back of the head.

"Come again?" Seth asked, massaging the back of his head and blinking to clear his vision.

"Good job and watch out next time," Fleen replied for the Wookiee, leaning casually against the simulator he had used.

"Hang on," Dano interrupted before Seth could reply. "That leaves one kill unaccounted for – the one Seth took down with his unnecessary acrobatics. How does that affect the point spread?"

Cane grinned at the captain, then at Seth. "There are two ways this could go, gentlemen. First, it can be accredited as a kill to Seth, but attached with it will come the Novice's Shame because he didn't actually fire a shot at that particular squint."

Led Sketz released an exaggerated moan, and the rest of the pilots shook their heads in sympathy. Seth felt his face heating up, and he quickly avoided Dano's patronizing look as the captain fought to keep a straight face.

"Second," Cane continued, "We can discount it as a simulator self–kill, but that would negate the survival bonus for everyone because that means that not all targets were actively neutralized."

There was a moment of silence as all eyes turned to rest on Seth. The decision would be his ultimately, although it was obvious which route he would be expected to take.

"C'mon, Seth," Led said in a simpering tone. "Take one for the team, buddy."

The others murmured their support, and – left with no alternative – Seth nodded jerkily. The Novice would take at least five more sim runs to counteract, but this way he wouldn't throw off anyone's scoring out of pride over his own record. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Commander Corsurge's silent, approving gaze.

"So be it." Cane consulted his datapad once again. "Then here are the total scores for this mission. Out of a possible maximum of 3000 points, Seth has been awarded 2896 points; Vick, 2797; Commander Corsurge, 2000; Captain Ven, 1999; and Farve, 1954. These will be tallied along with your standing scores from previous sim runs." He punched several buttons on his datapad, then looked up again, his teeth bared in a ferocious smile. "Looks like this puts you in the lead anyway, Seth."

Seth smiled, still embarrassed but relieved that no lasting damage had been done. "What can I say?" he asked casually, offering a mild shrug.

"Finally someone's beating Captain Ven," Vick Fleen said with a grin, clapping a hand on Seth's shoulder.

"Only by sixty–eight points," Cane interjected, tapping a button on his datapad to verify.

"Plus, Seth's got some exercising to do now," Led added smugly.

Dano formed a blaster with his thumb and forefinger. "Ahhh, I say we kill him now anyway. Just to be safe."

"No, sir – we should wait until he buys us expensive drinks tonight," Vick suggested, and Farvebacca chuffed a wolfish laugh.

Led nodded agreeably. "Something Hutts wouldn't drink this time, if you please."

Seth held up his hands. "Hang on there, Led. You know the rules – no fly, no buy. Sorry."

Captain Ven had been the first to put it that way: since there were only five A-Wing simulators available on the Kiss of Life, several someones were always left out. Therefore, the winner of the day wasn't obligated to buy drinks for any non–participants.

Corsurge cleared his throat pointedly, and the Greens immediately fell silent. "Great job Seth, everyone," the commander said as they all turned to face him, standing at ease. He gave Seth a firm nod of approval, then clapped his hands together. "We'll break for dinner, so go freshen up and get something to eat. We'll decide who sits out the next run based on scoring. Dismissed."

The pilots began filing out of the training bay with Dano in the lead, but Seth made no move to follow them. Vick Fleen stopped to wait for him, but Seth waved the smaller man on without looking at him. He inhaled deeply through his nose, clasping his hands tightly behind his back and preparing what he wanted to say.

In the back of his mind, he found a nettling worry that maybe he was being unfair. But in the forefront, he knew Commander Corsurge was being unfair as well. By refusing to recognize his skill as a pilot, Corsurge was slowing him down, keeping him from getting better. Seth knew the value of training as much as the next pilot, not to mention the importance of constant practice to learn and correct weaknesses. But this was not training. This was babysitting.

He set his jaw.

Commander Corsurge, who had been conversing with Cane about the scores, finally noticed that Seth had not moved. There was something in the veteran's dark eyes, a knowing look that Seth couldn't fully decipher as the commander met and held his gaze.

"You need to speak with me, Mr. Joust?" he asked briskly.

Seth swallowed hard, sweating beneath his flightsuit as he snapped a smart salute, but he refused to let unease keep him from speaking his mind. "If you wouldn't mind, sir."

Corsurge nodded at Cane. "We'll finish this discussion presently, Lieutenant. Meet me in my office in twenty minutes. That will be all."

The Shistavanen saluted the commander, grinned at Seth in passing, and then exited the training bay after the rest of the Greens. Once the wolfman had gone, Corsurge turned back to Seth. His face was not as severe as it usually seemed – perhaps due to the successful sim run.

"At ease, Mr. Joust. What's on your mind?"

Seth folded his hands at his waist and relaxed his shoulders. Here goes nothing. He said: "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Corsurge folded his arms over his chest, like he was bracing himself, and nodded. "Granted."

Seth swallowed again, nervously. "Sir, I don't think you're giving me a fair chance."

The commander arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression that I was treating everyone equally. What's troubling you?"

Seth floundered for the right words, hating his lack of spine. It sounded so good when I was thinking it. "Well, I saw how you and Captain Ven were flying during the run, sir, and I… You weren't really giving the mission your all. I could tell you were holding back, sir."

"And this bothers you why, Mr. Joust?" the commander asked, knitting his brow. "Dano and I have been flying snubfighters practically all of our lives. Competitive though we may be, neither of us really needs to rack up extra kills in the sims. The point of these training exercises is to give you younger pilots the opportunity to prove yourselves as well as to learn from your mistakes. I'm not sure I see your point, Mr. Joust."

"Well that's just it, sir – I think that I've proven myself already." Seth began speaking faster, warming to the material. "Back there in the canyon, you could have easily killed that squint, but you chose to let it alert the rest of his Flight, thus complicating the situation."

Corsurge lifted his chin, rocking back on his heels. "Guilty as charged, Mr. Joust – I did do that deliberately to see how you would handle the situation. Contrary to what you – or we – may like think, Captain Ven and I aren't flawless. We do make mistakes. I tested you, sure – to see how you would react. What if that happens for real and you have to take command for me? Granted, there was room for improvement, but I thought you reacted reasonably well. Forgive me, but I still don't see your problem with this."

Actually, I'm not seeing it either at the moment. Seth bit his lower lip, frustrated for more reasons than one. "Sir, I just think that you don't need to test me that way anymore. I think I'm ready for more –"

"Mr. Joust, need I remind you that just because your name is on the roster doesn't mean you're a permanent member of this squadron yet." The way Corsurge said it released a trickle of ice water into Seth's guts. "And you will forgive me for setting you right, but it is my ongoing job as commander of this squadron to test all of my pilots at whatever level I so choose. I don't care if you can vape a Star Destroyer or a Vong worldship by yourself, Seth. I will still continue to test your abilities."

There was painful silence for a long moment, and then commander sighed. Looking the younger pilot in the eye, he pressed a hand against his breastbone and continued. "I understand your frustration, I really do. Being subordinate to someone is never easy, no matter their ability as a leader. If you feel that I am testing you too much, then I'll let up a little and let you manage things on your own. However, understand that the moment you slip up, I will hold you responsible for your actions and you will suffer the consequences. Do I make myself clear?"

Seth swallowed, harder this time. "Yes, sir."

"Just remember: in warfare there are no second chances." Corsurge's eyes had an unusual light to them all of a sudden, wistful nostalgia – or maybe sadness inspired by the years and the setting in which they found themselves. "One slip and you could be space dust. My job is to train you to fend for yourself so that you stay living and breathing, ready to fight another day."

He held Seth's gaze for a moment longer. "Is there anything else, Mr. Joust?"

He was sure there was, but Seth shook his head in the negative. "No, sir."

The commander smiled as he came to attention to salute the younger pilot. "I understand you have some drinks to purchase, Mr. Joust. Dismissed."

The office door slid open, admitting Leroy Corsurge and Dano Ven.

Corsurge's living quarters aboard Kiss of Life were a simple affair. Room 112 consisted of a moderately sized office space blended with a sitting room, a tiny bedroom, and a small refresher. While rather cramped, the suite was good enough for Leroy, who had never been one for extensive finery or an overabundance of space. In a way, he almost craved the claustrophobic cockpit of his snubfighter even when he was without.

The commander seated himself behind his desk and set his datapad onto its naked surface. Dano put his back against the bulkhead wearily and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Leroy to speak.

It was a moment before the commander did. There had been something he wanted to say, something he'd intended to discuss with the XO, but it had slipped his mind. He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, covering his senior moment by pulling up files on the datapad.

I'm too young to be losing my mind, but too old to be flying snubfighters.

Finally, he looked up at Dano. "Good sim run," he said, blowing out the words with a sigh. "Been a while since I've seen that particular scenario handled well. We nabbed the squints in record time – before the Interdictor was even scheduled to reach Mos Eisely."

"Debriefing always makes it sound like we only have five minutes to dispatch the TIEs," Dano said with a chuckle. "I think it's just to make the kids panic and teach the parents patience."

Leroy blew a bubble, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then ventured: "What do you think of Seth?"

The Executive Officer arched an eyebrow. "Do you want my professional or personal opinion?" It was a serious question, asked in a humorous manner.

"Both," Leroy replied with equal earnest. "I trust your judgment."

"That'll be the end of you some day, trust me." Dano sighed, then pushed off the wall and crossed to the middle of the room. "He's good," he admitted finally, searching for words. "Undeniably. His record speaks for itself – 18 kills in 8 sim runs. That's a handsome average in anyone's playbook."

Leroy nodded slowly. "He's setting the bar high for the rest of the squad. They all look up to him – despite the age differences."

"Ability is a trait that crosses generations," Dano said with a shrug, putting his hands in the pockets of his flightsuit. "Seth's problem is his tunnel vision. He just wants to achieve. You saw how hard it was for him to accept the Novice. His pride is his guide, his guts are his god, and he doesn't bend easily."

"He's a Corellian," Leroy said, in sum, smiling up at the captain. "He thinks he's above the norm."

"Cousin of yours?"

Leroy snorted a laugh. "Maybe. My relatives usually just send holocards on the holidays, though. They don't actually participate in my life."

"We need to talk about all this bitterness you're storing up, Lead." Dano sighed, raking fingers back through his hair. It had thinned a lot over the last few years, Leroy realized suddenly, but it was still naturally jet–black. "Overall, Seth's not head–and–shoulders above the others – not yet. Bottom line, he's exceptional, but certainly not the best. He's ambitious, but he's impetuous, and gets distracted far, far too easily as a result."

"Ego's the larger issue to deal with," Leroy said, folding his arms over his chest. "If he loses the attitude, he might actually become a great pilot."

Dano spitted him with a knowing look. "He complained to you about the way you're running things, no?"

Leroy nodded without speaking, amazed as usual by Dano's uncanny perception. Sometimes he was certain his friend had a distant connection to the Force itself. The commander punched a couple of buttons on the datapad and brought up the chart of Seth's simulator records. As Dano had said, the young Corellian's average stood out above the others'. He was currently neck–and–neck with the XO for the number one spot, although Leroy already knew Dano would pull out a few stops during the next sim run in order to keep Seth in check.

"We've got to break him of his self–confidence," he said matter–of–factly, studying the figures as they scrolled across the datapad. "Teach him to be part of the team."

"The Vong will see to that," Dano said grimly. He stopped pacing and came to stand before Leroy's desk, hands folded at the small of his back. "What exactly were his demands?"

Leroy thought back to the conversation he and Seth had held in the training bay mere minutes prior. "He wants me to lay off. Give him some breathing room and more responsibility."

Dano studied his fingernails innocently. "And a promotion?"

"That'll come presently," Leroy admitted, only partly joking. "Once we've got a full roster. He'll want his own Flight. Maybe I should give him one – then he'd really see things from our perspective."

"He sounds like us, Leroy," Dano said, grinning nostalgically. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how we were when we were raw recruits in the days of youth and foolishness?"

Leroy twisted his lips wistfully. "Now we're old and foolish."

"Speak for yourself."

Letting the shot go without rebuttal, Leroy bent over his datapad again. "I don't know a whole lot about him, to tell you the truth. Biologs are relatively sparse, but he apparently doesn't have any history to live down. No arrests or warrants or major debts, although in a time like this, I'd take in criminals if they knew how to slag Vong…"

"I know he didn't graduate from the Academy," Dano put in offhandedly. "Chances are it had already been shut down by the time he was of age. Went out after the Rogues took Courascant, remember? So where'd he learn to fly?"

Leroy sank back in the padded chair as far as it would allow. "You said it yourself. He's a Corellian: flying is a rule of thumb. Just comes naturally to us, I guess." Grunting, the commander scraped fingers over his eyes. "I'll admit that he knows his way around a snubfighter, and he's flown in minor engagements before so he does have some experience to offer, but I don't want to lose him to his impatience. That's the thing that kills them, after all – the arrogance."

Dano fixed him with a calculating gaze. "Maybe you should scare him with the Vek Runkish story."

The tidal wave of painful nostalgia swept through his heart, and for the first time in years, Leroy saw the scene playing out in his mind again – like it had happened yesterday.

Vek Runkish had been one of Leroy and Dano's fellow cadets at the Imperial Academy. Hailing from Bakura, the man had been an Imperial zealot first and an exceptional pilot after that. He'd spent the majority of his time at the academy brown–nosing their superiors and composing anti–Rebellion propaganda.

During an assigned training run in real space, a group of Mugaari pirates had dropped out of hyperspace and attacked the outpost at which their class had been stationed. Caught in the crossfire, the trainees had been scrambled along with the two on–site veteran squadrons to defend the training base. Vek had been Leroy's wingmate while Dano had been paired with a Corellian, Weston Gorje.

The Mugaari had been relentless in their assault, despite being outnumbered and the fact that their fighters were severely outdated. Their own civil war, which had been raging for several years, had stripped them of resources, so the attack had been a grab for supplies. They had come in hot and hard, most flying outdated Y-Wings and Z-95 Headhunters. The main force was backed by a Corellian Corvette and a Carrack–light Cruiser, the latter of which was only performing at 63 percent operating strength. But the pirates were desperate and had nothing to lose, which made them all the more formidable.

Weston, Dano's wingmate, went down in the first wave of fighters, but Dano managed to dance through the Mugaari formation alone and unscathed. He survived the encounter with four kills to his name, one of them gained by saving the life of the class's staff lieutenant.

Leroy and Vek stayed close together, following their flight leader through the dogfight. Vek got a kill, Leroy two, and then their flight officer – the only commissioned pilot in their trainee flight group – was caught in crossfire. Leroy remembered vividly the panic, being temporarily blinded by the explosion, and then the hollow, sinking sensation in his stomach as he realized that they were on their own. Vek immediately took command of the flight group, and out of blind panic, no one protested. The remaining four cadets in their wing managed to hold off the Mugaari along with the survivors of the other Imperial squadrons for nearly an hour.

Finally, the pirates began to withdraw. Vek ordered a chase, but the others in his flight group protested. Their fuel tanks were nearly drained, and one of the cadets – the son of a Courascanti senator – reported serious hull damage. Leroy too tried to convince Vek just to let the pirates run, but the other man insisted vehemently, having tasted victory and wanting more. He was their impromptu leader, and when he began the pursuit alone, the rest of the Flight simply could not abandon him.

The pursuit took them even further from the outpost. They took down an assault shuttle and one of its Y-Wing escorts, and things actually seemed to be going favorably.

– until the additional Corvette dropped out of hyperspace directly on top of them.

The freighter had no intention of continuing the attack; it had only come back in–system to retrieve the surviving pirates. However, upon finding its retreating fighters under assault, it opened fire. Once more, the cadets pleaded with their acting–leader to pull back, but again Vek refused. He insisted vehemently that they could handle it, that it was all for the glory of the Empire.

In the next instant, his fighter had been hollowed by fire from the corvette. The TIE erupted before he could eject.

A second trainee in the flight group went down in flames before Leroy assumed command of the battered group and gave the order to retreat. The survivors limped back to the outpost, and the pirates fled the system, leaving space behind them full of wreckage.

Leroy gained nothing from the encounter but handshakes and praise for his courage. Dano, on the other hand, whose TIE had been severely damaged during the course of the dogfight, was awarded a medal for bravery and extensive praise for his four kills. Initially, Leroy had been jealous of his friend, but he had come to realize that it was smarting pride – the same idiotic sentiment that had driven Vek Runkish to call the suicidal attack on the Corvette, a decision that had cost the young man his life.

And it's the same thing that will cost Seth his. He has to learn his limitations.

The commander shook his head, putting away the memories. "You were there, Dano. You know why I don't tolerate arrogance."

Dano said nothing. His eyes were unfocused; he too was seeing into the past.

Sighing heavily, Leroy looked down at his datapad and studied Seth's statistics again. "How do you feel about simming him against some skips?"

Dano raised his eyebrows, still not looking at Leroy. "I did overhear him complaining that we were still pitting everyone against 'Baby Imp shit and not the real deal' – quote, unquote – but he hasn't mentioned it since the third sim run. Or was it the fourth? Maybe the seventh? No, I distinctly heard him mumbling something during the twelfth, but I can't be certain –"

Leroy felt a passive sort of smile spreading across his face. "Let's schedule him to fly Ambush. And remind me to have Cane modify the program so that he can run it without stutter–fire."

A tactic developed by Rogue Squadron during the first encounter with the Far Outsiders, stutter–fire involved zeroing fighters' cannon embankments at slightly different vectors and lowering the output of firepower to a substandard level. The Yuzzhan Vong coralskippers were equipped with gravity wells, generated by living creatures called dovin basals, which resided in the noses of their ships. It was one of those creatures that had brought Sernpidal's moon down upon the planet's surface. Weak–powered lasers were harder for these miniature black holes to snag, and since the cannons were calibrated unevenly, the pilot was guaranteed to get at least one shot in at the target skip with each pull of the trigger.

"You might just scare him into never flying again," Dano said bluntly, shaking his head. "I thought we weren't going into skip training until we had a full wing."

Leroy raked fingers back through his silver hair. "I'll do what I have to. If it means throwing Seth into advanced training before he's ready, so be it. He's too good to lose, but he won't benefit us if he can't work with the rest of us mortals. And we won't find a suitable replacement, I'll tell you that right now."

The indirect reference to the shortness of hands since the war with the Yuzzhan Vong started a second silent reverie between the two officers. The war had been long, cold, and brutal. Many had lost family, friends, and loved ones. Even more horrible, many of those counted lost were not truly dead; they had become slaves to the Yuuzhan Vong, eventually to become additions to their armies of thousands.

Leroy had been caught entirely off–guard when the new Chief of State, the Alderaanian Cal Omas, and Senator Leia Organa Solo had approached him directly with the task of forming a new squadron to battle the far outsiders. After all, he was no Wedge Antilles with a history of heroics and a chest full of medals. He was just an average pilot, merely another survivor fighting along with the rest of the New Republic out of utter necessity.

Having graduated the Imperial Academy a year before the outbreak of the Galactic Civil War between the Empire and the Rebellion, Leroy had received a commission in the Imperial Navy by default. In fact, he'd been offered a place on the roster of one of the most esteemed starfighter squadrons, the famed 181st. A severe illness had initially kept him from reporting for duty, but the destruction of Alderaan not long into the conflict had permanently hardened Leroy's resolve against the black heart of the Emperor. He'd been possessed of plenty of doubts concerning the "just" nature of the Empire's territorial disputes throughout his time at the Academy. Both their unspoken policy on handling prisoners and an affinity bordering on obsession for ancient Sith culture, not to mention the severe racism and rumors of slave labor had collectively sapped his confidence in the powers that be. But the Empire's conduct during the war had been the final straw prompting his defection, placing him in the cockpit of an X-Wing at the Battle of Endor – flying against the 181st instead of with them.

During the current war with the Far Outsiders, Leroy had spent the months flying with various professional squadrons and being transferred between flights as the fleet danced from sector to sector to counter the relentless Vong advance across the galaxy.

It really didn't make sense that they came to me, he thought, narrowing his eyes. I'm no hero of the Rebellion or anything like that. Dano, on the other hand, has been through this thing thick and thin – and he was on both sides during the Civil War. He probably would have been a better candidate for commander. I'm not even sure how they came upon my name in the first place.

Regardless, his stammered protests hadn't stopped the New Republic from promoting him to the rank of commander and filling his New Republic account with the necessary funds to begin filling the squadron roster. It was purely propaganda, intended to inspire confidence amongst the battered Alliance, the way the reformation of Rogue Squadron had in the late days of the Civil War. What success this new stunt would garner was left to be seen.

Left with no alternative, Leroy had accepted his promotion and the assignment – albeit reluctantly – and naturally brought Dano along for the ride. Theirs was not an easy task. Suitable pilots were becoming harder and harder to come by, and the Alliance was already stuffing cockpits with any free–thinking individual they could find. The problem remained that these inexperienced pilots had no formal training, much less any good chance of surviving.

But Leroy had visions for this squadron, his brainchild – the one in which he had invested the past seven months of his life. The first few months had seen little but financial matters – trying to get his hands on snubfighters, simulators, droids, and tech crews. Getting in touch with Dano (from halfway across the galaxy) and convincing him to be his XO had taken several weeks as well, and then there had been the process of sending out recruitment information over the holonets throughout surviving, Alliance–affiliated planets.

It had only been in the last few months that things had become interesting. Together, Leroy and Dano had gone through what seemed like hundreds of applicants, but few had been made up of the stern stuff they were looking for. Slowly but surely, their selectiveness paid off. Cane Roulvecksch had been the first official addition, and he'd been closely followed by Led Sketz. Vick Fleen and Farvebacca had come as a package deal, and Mr. Seth Joust had only been on the roster for four weeks. The squad was still five pilots short of a full wing, and there was so much left to do. After all, according to Academy standards, the training time required for a serviceable unit was six months, a time period they would stretch or skewer as need be. After all, the Vong pursuit of the fleet was close and heated. It was only a matter of time before they engaged the Alliance again full–scale.

They still had so much work ahead of them.

Leroy sighed and looked up at Dano. His friend was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. The commander sat forward in his chair, clearing his throat and redirecting his thoughts. "Let's give them another twenty minutes to finish eating, and then I want Seth, Led, Cane, and Farvebacca in the TIE sims. Pit them against applicants 89 – 93. Feel free to suit up and help them out a bit, Number One."

"Flight Instructor Ven, that's me."

"You know you enjoy it," Leroy returned, smiling.

Dano snorted a laugh. "It's a regular delight. You should eat something too, Lead."

"As ordered." Leroy stood and stretched, fighting a yawn. "I'll meet you back down in the training bay shortly."

The XO saluted sharply and then exited the room, leaving the commander alone with his thoughts.

As the door slid shut behind Dano, Leroy put his fists down on the durasteel desktop and let his knuckles crack beneath the weight of his upper body. He traced his own shadowy reflection with his eyes, wondering when he and the rest of the galaxy would finally be able to return to their homes for the rest they so deserved.

The office door hissed open and Leroy looked up from his datapad.

A Bothan with rust–colored fur stepped into the cramped office, followed immediately by the squadron's executive officer. Orange eyes gleamed intelligently from beneath furry brows, sunk behind high cheekbones. He was shorter than Dano, which wasn't much of a surprise: not many people, alien or human, were taller than Dano was. The Wookiee, Farvebacca, was a rare exception.

The pair stopped in front of Leroy's desk. Both saluted Leroy smartly, then the Bothan clasped his taloned hands at the small of his back. The deep green of the flightsuit he wore contrasted severely with the red–brown of his pelt.

Dano stood to the right of the desk, facing the Bothan, and read information aloud off of the datapad he held. "This is Croutz Yuvahak, Commander – "

The Bothan offered a nervous smile full of fangs. "I prefer 'Rusty', Sir."

Leroy nodded once and waved a hand at Dano to continue.

"He survived the Half Again scenario and obtained three kills – one of which was Farvebacca. He actually got a piece of Lt. Roulvecksch too, but not enough of him to take him out. His standing score is 1983."

In order for an applicant to even be considered as a potential candidate for the squad, they had to score a 1650 or higher. Croutz Yuvahak, descendant of a people noted more for their expertise in computers than in snubfighters, was either exceptionally good or exceptionally lucky.

Dano continued the interview. "Uh, Rusty has been in three combat missions before. He flew with General Salm at Brentaal IV against a division of Fel's 181st and later rooted out Imp renegades over Courascant. He also was involved with one ground assault, assisting Rogue Squadron again at Borleias.

"As you can guess, Mr. Yuvahak was born on Bothuwai and is actually related to the late Borsk Fey'lya by several removed generations. He is forty–seven standard years of age, excels as a computer hacker/slicer, and likes cheese."

Leroy, who had been studying the Bothan's scores on his datapad screen, took a moment to comprehend the last thing Dano had said. He looked up with an incredulous expression on his face. "What?"

Dano shrugged as he walked back around the desk and stood behind the Bothan pilot. "He likes cheese – mainly imported from Thyferra. Just thought you should know."

Leroy barked a short laugh, abandoning protocol, and sank back in the chair. "You know, I think I really just brought you along for the comic relief, Captain."

Dano aped a salute, a grin on his handsome face. "Laughter's good for the health, sir."

Leroy rested his elbows on the desk and turned his gaze back onto Rusty, who had been watching the brief exchange uncertainly. The commander cleared his throat and forced humor away.

"You're a little old to be a pilot, Mr. Yuvahak," he said bluntly, studying the Bothan's reaction, and ignoring Dano as he mouthed "hypocrite". "However, you are clearly skilled, and I won't deny that a pilot of your experience would be invaluable to us. May I ask what exactly made up your mind to enlist as part of this squadron?"

The fur on the Bothan's face rippled as he considered his response. "Well, it's like this, sir. My parents and I were both with the Alliance back when we were still fighting the Empire. They were killed in the mission to steal the Death Star plans – the first time around. I know they'd want me to carry on what they started, even if it is against the Yuuzhan Vong rather than Stormtroopers." Yuvahak smiled thinly, pressing his black lips together. "This way I'll make them proud by doing what I'm good at."

Leroy glanced at Dano, who nodded his approval, then looked back at the Bothan. "I wish to see you in the training bay promptly at oh–eight hundred hours tomorrow morning for another screening session. Take the night easy, Mr. Yuvahak. Dismissed."

The Bothan saluted again, then turned smartly and exited the room.

Dano watched him leave, then turned to look at his friend. "He's got character."

Leroy consulted his datapad. "Bring in number 90. Junius Ithel – the Rodian. Let me see him."

Dano saluted and exited the room.

While he waited, Leroy kneaded his forehead with his knuckles, trying to fight a persistent smile. It felt so good to laugh again, even at something so trivial. The sentient beings of the galaxy had laughed over precious little in the grim months past, had struggled to see the light flickering at the end of the tunnel. It was a tall order, but it was a personal creed of Leroy Corsurge's to return to them once more the ability to enjoy life in all of its fullness.