This story is based on the characters and situations created by George Lucas, for his  Star Wars Universe.  It is not intended for sale or duplication, in part or in whole, in any way without the author’s express permission.  It is intended for the enjoyment of its author, and its readers and “as a tribute to the imagination it takes to build such a universe.”    Please note:  I would like to thank and give public recognition to Iris Bailey for allowing me to pirate first the majority of this “legalese”  as well as the words to the Corellian lullaby Stars and Comets and other references from her work “Retribution”.  Thanks, Iris!  I owe ya!  Apologies in advance to all who have memorized Star Wars canon -- I have taken some liberties with it to create this work of fan fiction.  I’ve never believed that the “truth” should stand in the way of a “good story”.

 

STAR WARS and its characters are a trademark of Lucasfilm, Ltd.

 

Star Wars: X-Wing -- AWOL

 

By Katherine Gee     (a/k/a  Roguewraith -- sainte@imcnet.net  )

 

                His heart raced against time and the desperate effort to keep his X-wing under control.  He had to stay with Lead this time, there was no room for error.  He knew it and the rest of the Rebellion knew it.  But, by all the forces that ruled the universe, he couldn’t.  He would fail once again.  Recognizing the futility of it all, he announced, “I’m hit!  I can’t . . . .”

          “Come on, Wedge, give me just another minute and we’ll be there.  I need both you and Biggs to keep those Imps off my tail to make this shot!  Hang in there.”

          Against his better judgment he replied, “Copy, Lead.”  His hand cramped around the joy stick fighting for control and there was none; his stabilizer was gone, well beyond any field repairs his droid could make in this trench.  Behind him one of the Squints misjudged its flight path and crashed into the Death Star in a kaleidoscope of flame and shrapnel.  Instantly, Wedge was flying blind.  He knew Biggs was in front of him somewhere, but where?  All too soon he found out as he felt his starboard s-foils clip something.  His sight line cleared and he saw he had hit Biggs, and that hit was all that was needed to take the accuracy out of Biggs’ shot aimed at protecting Luke.  Instead, the laser bolt hit Luke and took him out in an instant of lethal “friendly fire”.  There was no time for recriminations; the laws of physics won out and the three X-wings crashed in glorious balls of flame in the Death Star.  Wedge had only enough time to think, That’s it. The Empire has won -- all because of a broken stabilizer that I couldn’t control! before he hit and his whole world went black for all eternity.

          Wedge sat bolt upright, waking from this now all-too-familiar nightmare.  His breathing was irregular, he was bathed in sweat and cloaked in the uncertainty of sudden consciousness.  Was it a dream?  How could it be so real?  Was that what had happened in a parallel universe somewhere? Wasn’t this alternate scenario proof  that he wasn’t a coward?  Hadn’t he done enough since then to show his detractors that he wasn’t?  What more could he do?

          His muscles ached with exhaustion but Wedge knew there would be no more sleep this night, just like so many similar nights before now.  He walked over to the sink in his quarters and splashed cold water in his face.  Looking up into the mirror he saw the face of a man well beyond his years and the eyes that had seen too many friends “crash and burn”.  Drying  his face -- were those tears mixed in with the fresh water? -- he thought, when will they give up and accept the rightful order of things?  Then he smiled with the irony of that thought, they’d give up when he made sure they had more to lose by continuing their struggle than the New Republic did.  And it was up to him to make sure it got that far.

          Going over to his desk he slumped down in his chair, a cannibalized pilot’s seat from an old X-wing.  Is this what it all comes down to -- an endless game of I’ll quit when you quit?  It couldn’t be.  All the years and all the losses had to add up to more than such a viscous circle. What he had done, what they all had done, was right.  Tyranny must never be left to prevail; intolerance should never be accepted!  Although he was renewed in his commitment, he wasn’t in spirit.  But, he had grown used to that crushing feeling over the years because he simply had seen too much to fight it anymore.

          Since it was hours before the rest of the squad would be up and around, Wedge decided to finish some long-standing  work.  He quickly eliminated the requisitions and other administrivia requiring only his signature and moved on to communiqués he had back-burnered for too long.  Next he turned to reading the list of holodocs that would have been forgotten, if not for Nawara Ven’s prioritization of his work.  He tagged important items and sent them off to engineering, mechanics, sim-writing and other offices on base as appropriate. 

          Finally, he turned to the smallest stack of chips -- personal matters.  Figuring there were few beings of any species beyond the confines of the base that had any personal business with him, Wedge almost set these aside yet again to go make a walk-through inspection of the base.  But, hidden in among the chip folders was a small piece of paper marked  Captain Wedge Antilles, Personal and Confidential.  Confused by the outdated rank, Wedge took the tiny chip and placed it into his data pad.  Expecting a holorecording, he was surprised when a handwritten message came up on his pad’s screen.  His heart froze when he read the salutation -- “Veggies:” Only four people in his life had dared call him by that name; two had died as he watched helplessly from Booster’s ship, another should be snuggled up next to her husband, Corran Horn, and the last had gone missing before he had understood the basics of sabaac.  He read on:

 

          Word has reached me that you have been looking for me.  I can’t believe all that has happened since I left home so many years ago.  Regrets about Mom and Dad and the pain you must have felt watching them die like that.

          Soontir has found his way back to me and explained that you are a man of honor, integrity and loyalty -- traits I need in a brother right now.  Can you come to Fan’iir?  Urgent matters require it; Soontir unable to handle them alone and unwilling to admit it.  Do not try to contact me, just arrive at Hebden Space Dock before this year’s celebration  of the victory at Endor -- I’m sure you will be able to calculate the date.  Family friends will escort you to our safe haven.  Please do not resist their methods as extreme security measures must be observed.  Remember the name of our private childhood friend to confirm their status.

          Please come soon, your nephew and niece want to meet their uncle, the Hero of the Rebellion, and I just want to reestablish our family as well as protect my husband and children.

                                                                             Love,

                                                                             Syal

          Wedge stared, transfixed by the words scrolling over and over again on his data pad. Syal.  Syal, the name magically brought with it memories of a happy and carefree childhood.  Their private friend, Heggar, was an imaginary spirit he and Syal had created to convince their mother and father that neither of them had been responsible for the pranks and accidents common in a home with two active and imaginative children.  Yes, poor Heggar had taken the blame when Wedge had enthusiastically cut Syal’s long blonde locks so she could play storm trooper/rebel with him.  His Mom had known that Wedge had done it, but the only tears were her own since Syal relished the freedom from long and painful combings.

          Could this be real?  Was Syal really trying to contact him or was it some painful prank being perpetrated by one of the Wraiths?  Or, was it the work of  an enemy who was trying to trap him into an ill-advised move?  That thought brought his heart into his throat and a knot in the pit of his stomach.  If his enemies knew about Heggar, it was only because they had forced the information from Syal and he was already too late.

          Worried beyond all reason, he deleted the holorecording and roared, “Wes!  Get in here!”  Wes came flying through the door, convinced Wedge was being murdered, or at least mutilated, by terrorists.  When he saw Wedge, apparently healthy and sitting at his desk, he exclaimed, “Sithspawn, Wedge, I thought you must be dead or dying!  What is it?”

          “Wes, how many engagements do I have scheduled for Victory at Endor Day?” he asked.

          “Let’s see, you’re the only pilot to have flown through and helped destroy two Death Stars so your presence wouldn’t be too significant.  I think the last count was only 300 requests and eight confirmed appearances.  Why, you afraid the sheen of fame is wearing off already?”  Wes replied with a bemused look on his face.

          Not matching Wes’s light mood, Wedge growled, “Cancel them!”

          Stunned, Wes just stared at Wedge in disbelief.  His lips moved several times before he could actually put sounds to the movements.  He swallowed hard and found his voice,  “Cancel them?  Stang, Wedge, I can’t!  Do you know what an uproar that would cause?  You’re scheduled to speak at the Council meeting and then appear with Admiral Ackbar at the unveiling of the Hero’s Wall.  You’re supposed to read the names of all the Rogues who died during the Rebellion.  I think your absence would be noticed.”

          “You must have mistaken that as a request rather than an order, Major.”  Wedge commanded.

          Suddenly aware of the attitude Imp pilots must have seen in Wedge just before they died, Wes stiffened, flushed with anger and humiliation, and saluted, “Yes, sir, General.  Is there anything else you want me to do?  Maybe I could just  make Tatooine bloom again while I’m at it.”

          “Stow the sarcasm, Mister, and follow your orders,” Wedge insisted.

          “Aye, sir.” Wes replied and, completing his best military about face, left the office.

          Wedge, alone again, turned to his personal matters.  He updated his will, paid off his accounts and paid a year in advance for his “Orphans of the Rebellion” child he had sponsored ever since he had been orphaned himself.  When he finished, he liquidated his bank accounts and took receipt of the credits due him.  They didn’t amount to much, but then he hadn’t joined the Rebellion to get rich.  Next, he sent orders to Cubber Daine to ready his X-wing and repaint it with a Corellian blood stripe down the fuselage.  As he set out to write a list of orders for Tycho to implement during his absence, his “inmail” light started flashing on his data pad.  Even though he lacked any power of the Force, he knew with a certainty the message’s point of origin.  He opened his mail account and found he was right -- Admiral Ackbar.  The memo was terse.  Report immediately to my office.

          Wedge was out of the office in a blur, ignoring greetings and friendly jibes from the rest of the Rogues and Wraiths who were unfortunate enough to encounter him.  Word of his bizarre behavior spread throughout the base like wildfire and people learned quickly to step aside for “The Exalted One”  who was behaving like he believed the moniker.

          He breezed into Ackbar’s office, ignoring the Admiral’s aide who tried desperately to maintain proper protocol.  Ackbar clearly was expecting him;  he ordered Wedge to sit down without even turning from his Aquarium Without Walls.  “Have a seat, General, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

          “I prefer to stand and speak frankly, sir,” Wedge returned.  He had never asked anything personal of the Republic before, and he was not about to be swayed from this quest.  He had come ready to do battle.

          Admiral Ackbar stiffened but quickly showed that he had not attained his position by succumbing to each challenge to his authority that passed his way,  “Very well, stand.  Now, do you care to explain your recent irrational behavior.”

          “I’m afraid I don’t understand, s--,” Wedge started.

          “I was under the impression you wanted to speak frankly, General.  Don’t insult me by trying to be evasive.  Explain your behavior,”  Ackbar ordered.

          “Sir, I regret to inform you that I cannot attend the ceremonies scheduled for just over a month from now due to personal reasons.”  Wedge said.

          “General, is that the best you can do when you’re speaking frankly?”

          “Yes, sir, it is.”

          “Well, then, let me be equally succinct, General.  You will attend the scheduled ceremonies as planned, you will be gracious and we will not speak of it further.”

          “Then, sir, you leave me no choice but to....” Wedge bristled.

          Angry, Ackbar stared down his subordinate -- either he was going to get Wedge to break through the wall of hostility he had erected or he was going to have one very angry General on his hands, “That’s right, General, I am leaving you no choice.”

          Without blinking or hesitating Wedge countered, “Then, sir, I regret to inform you that as of this moment I officially re-.”

          Ackbar’s curt, “Don’t!” stopped Wedge before he uttered the fateful word.  “Don’t even think of resigning your commission without a good reason, General.”  He waited a moment and neither spoke.  That was good, it meant Wedge wasn’t really ready to leave behind everything he had worked for over the last decade.  It gave Ackbar maneuvering space to soften his tone, “Wedge, this isn’t like you.  I’ve never seen you act in foolish haste before, what is driving you to that point now?’

          Ever so slightly Wedge’s shoulders fell and he responded, “Admiral Ackbar, I’m glad you realize that and I hope you will trust me enough to understand that this is not a foolish whim on my part.  There are several deeply personal reasons why I cannot attend, but I’m not at liberty to explain them to you.”  He quickly added as an after thought, “Sir.”

          “General, I think we both need time to consider this more thoroughly.  I’ll give you four hours to reconsider  (and come to your senses, Wedge read in Ackbar’s tone) and report back to me.  Dismissed.”

          It was exactly the step Wedge had hoped Ackbar would take.  It gave him the open window of opportunity he desperately needed to do what he had to do.  He headed into the hangar to meet with Cubber but was stopped at the door by a guard who said,  “Sorry, General, orders just came down from Headquarters you are not to be allowed to your X-wing without medical clearance.  Sorry, to hear you’re ill, sir.”

          To cover, Wedge coughed hoarsely and the flash of anger that reddened his cheeks added reality to his bluff.  “Thank you, Stanfield.  I just wanted to get something from the cockpit; I wasn’t planning to fly until the Em-Dees cleared me.  That OK?”

          Openly nervous now, Stanfield squirmed, “Uh, no, sir, it isn’t.  The word is you’re highly contagious and that should you show up here we were to escort you immediately to sick bay.  So, sir, would you follow me, please.”

          “Of course, Stanfield, but I really need my command book from the cockpit; it has strategy plans for a Victory Day fly-over for Wraith and Rogue Squadrons which will never be finished in time if I don’t take them to sick bay with me.  If I can’t go get them, will you retrieve them for me?”

          “Uh, yes, sir, just a moment, please.  I’ll call Streebert over here to retrieve it for you.”  He called out to his fellow guard at  the other entrance just as Cubber tested an X-wing engine; the sound drowned out Stanfield’s call.  He tried again but Streebert couldn’t hear him.

          Wedge noticed the complication and decided to take advantage of it.  When Stanfield looked back his way, Wedge swayed as if overcome by weakness.  “Can’t you just go get it for me, Stanfield?  I really need to get over to sick bay.”  Personally, Wedge thought, Syal isn’t the only one in the family with a flare for acting.

          Convinced of his General’s impending demise, Stanfield saluted and said, “Yes, sir, I’ll see to it immediately,” and took off across the hangar.

          Wedge ran for his quarters to get his things knowing that his window was closing fast.  Not surprisingly, everyone gave him a wide berth until he reached his office.  Wes stood there, pale and said, “Wedge, why didn’t you tell me?  I would have helped.  Did it have to come from Ackbar’s office that your Bilbringi fever is back?  Look, just sit down and I’ll get your ditty bag together and walk you over to sick bay myself.”

          Wedge thought, Damn, Ackbar would be good at sabaac!  But the Admiral hadn’t grown up on Corellia where sabaac came as naturally as breathing.  He slumped, feigning exhaustion, against the door jamb and said, “Thanks, Wes.  I appreciate it.  Look, can you pack a couple of necessities for me and I’ll start over by myself.”

          “No way, Wedge.  You just stay here, I’ll be right back.”  Wes turned to enter Wedge’s quarters when he felt a vise-like grip clamp over the side of his neck and everything went black.  His last thought was, Wedge?

          Wedge quickly carried Wes into his quarters, gathered up the few credits he had around his office and locked Wes into the locker.  He changed into a flight suit and left as quickly as he could.  Ackbar seemed to be checking his every move, but Wedge had the advantage of knowing the base and his quarters better than anyone else did.  He might be making this up as he went along but he had to; Syal needed him.

          He moved into the mess hall where a stunned silence fell over the room.  He got a cup of hot caf and moved over to sit with Tycho and Corran.  “Hey, Wedge, we got a mission or something?  Why’re you all geared up?” Tycho asked.

          “Naw, just taking the bird out for a test flight.  She was handling a little rough the other day and I’ve had Cubber working on her.  He says she’s all set but wants to make sure she meets my approval so I have to meet him there in another 10 minutes.  Want to fly along and work out some moves for Endor Day?”  Wedge already knew that both Tycho and Corran were scheduled for sim practice in the next few minutes, so he felt safe in asking.

          “Can’t!” Tycho answered.  “We’ve got sim practice in a couple of minutes and Flyboy here is going to show me some smooth Corellian moves you haven’t taught me yet.  Thanks, anyway.”

          “Corran, you’re not going to give away all the homeworld’s little secrets are you?  I mean didn’t you have to take an oath of secrecy about the Canyon Jump?”

          Corran frowned, trying to think what that was but not wanting to show his ignorance.  “Uh, yeah, of course.  I wasn’t going to teach him that.  Just some of the moves we learned back in Grade One that he might be able to handle.”  With that their chrono alarms went off and they left in a hurry.

          Wedge looked around the hall and saw only a couple more people around.  He stared at them harshly, giving them his best General’s “I-know-you’re- supposed-to-be-working-and-not-sitting-around-here-doing-nothing” stare and they quickly finished their drinks and left the mess hall.  He then went over by the window, looked up at the ceiling and found the access port he wanted.  Standing on a table he released the lock and hoisted himself up into the air ducts of the base.

          It only took him ten minutes to get to the hangar by way of the duct work and then he listened carefully for what work was going on down below.  He knew Cubber hated administrative work as much as he did and would not have read Ackbar’s orders yet.  But that would only be a matter of time, time he was quickly using up waiting.  Hearing nothing, he released the lock and lowered himself  next to an X-wing waiting for routine maintenance.  He looked for and found a spare helmet, his was a dead give away with its distinctive carbon scoring on it.  Easing it on, it was a tight fit, he lowered the visor and did a walk around of the X-wing.  Remembering Mirax’s good-natured teasing, he concentrated on taking the Corellian pilot’s swagger out of his walk.  To compensate, he walked with a slight limp, as if the pilot looking at this ship had been injured during his last battle.  It worked, no one challenged him.  He climbed up into the cockpit and accessed Port Control using this ship’s access code and “tag”.  Port Control was busy and quickly approved his request for an X-wing to take a quick test flight around the planet and return within hours.

          Satisfied, Wedge stayed in the shadows, but there was little need.  Cubber was finishing the paint job on his X-wing when his office com link buzzed.  Cubber moved into his office, frowning at the interruption.  Wedge moved fast.  He ran to  his ship and bolted into his seat, fastening in his life support gear and safety harness as he revved up his engines.  He punched in the code and clearance he had received from Port Control and edged his way toward the door.  It opened on command and he taxied out to depart.  A few feet from freedom he caught a quick movement by the door and knew the guards were moving to close it before he could escape.

          He would have court martialled anyone under his command who pulled the maneuver he was about to pull and he took off, from within the hangar, at minimal power.  Situational awareness was second nature to him and he saw a clear path for take off.  He had, maybe, five minutes before pursuit would be initiated, so he quickly locked in the first in a series of hyperspace jumps he would take to reach Fan’iir and his family.  He couldn’t make too many jumps and they all had to be short.  Fan’iir was just within the limits of a single fueling -- there was almost no margin for error.

          After the first two, short jumps, Wedge fed the navicomputer the coordinates for Fan’iir.  It would be a while and he had to conserve energy.  He lowered life support systems to their minimum level and relaxed his breathing to sleep.  It would be hours before he reached Syal and he had to be ready for anything.

*********************************************

          Admiral Ackbar paced back and forth in his study.  He wasn’t really surprised that Wedge had eluded his efforts to keep  him on base.  In fact, he had been pretty sure Wedge would get out if that had been his intention -- he certainly had had enough experience in such matters while commanding Wraith Squadron.  But what worried him was what he had to do next.  An Alliance aircraft was missing and so, too, was one of its pilots.  Pressure had come very quickly from the Council led by Borsk Fey’lya in Mon Mothma’s absence.  They insisted that he sign a general order for apprehending an officer gone AWOL and assumed to have turned allegiances.  The latter Ackbar knew was ludicrous, but his orders stood.  Indeed, he had no choice given the highly sensitive information Wedge was privy to and the strategy sessions he had attended in the Senate.  Now, more than ever before,  he was glad he had released the cover story of Wedge’s suffering from a relapse of Bilbringi fever.  It would buy him time until medical authorities testified that such a relapse was unheard of and unlikely ever to occur.  Wearily he signed the order and prayed that the Force would guide General Wedge Antilles through his actions so that he would return home on his own with a reasonable and justifiable motive for his desertion.

***************************************************

          In a deep sleep, Wedge jumped when the alarm bells rang warning him of the ship’s imminent return to real space.  Wedge tweaked the life support systems again and he was fully alert within minutes.  The fuel gauge showed just above empty, but he should emerge just above Hebden and have some to spare.

          The real space reversion went smoothly and his controls showed him right where he wanted to be.  Not surprisingly a voice filled the speaker over his right ear,  “X-wing, please identify yourself and state your business.”

          Wedge knew he would have only one shot at this and he could ill afford to use his real identity.  “Control, this is New Republic Flight Captain Gavin Darklighter requesting permission to land at your facility.  I’m here to consult with authorities on a “favorite son” candidate for Rogue Squadron.  It is an unscheduled visit as we want to observe the candidate unaware of our presence, so please do not broadcast my arrival to anyone.  We are on a secure channel, are we not Control?”

          Wedge heard a click in his ear and the voice responded, “Of course, sir, S-O-P here in the Outer Core Worlds.  You have clearance for docking bay  17, Level 8.  And, sir, may I ask who the “favorite son” candidate is?”  There was more than a little hint of wishful thinking in Control’s voice.  Wedge chose to take advantage of that.

          “Now, Control, you must understand that I cannot reveal that information at this time.  However, let me say this, I won’t have to stray too far from this area of the planet to observe the candidate.”

          Wedge could read the smile on the man’s face, “Yes, sir, welcome to Fan’iir.  Enjoy your stay.  And, sir, be assured that this conversation never took place and is not on the Official Recordings of Daily Business.”

          “Copy that, Control.  Darklighter out.”  Wedge docked his X-wing and climbed down from the cockpit.  There was no one to greet him.  Knowing that Syal wanted his presence and link to her kept a secret, he made no show of  looking for someone.  At this point he wished he had had the time to pack a duffel before leaving so that he could go about the normal business of a traveler arriving on-planet.  Instead, he stowed his life support gear and helmet in the cockpit and ambled toward the exit door.

          Entering the hallway, he found signs for a food center and walked in that direction.  He took his time to look in shop windows and access the latest holonews and weather reports.  Checking his credits, he confirmed he had too few to spend even on a souvenir shirt and still get by, so he passed on by the stand hawking a “Going out of business”  sale.  The sign looked ancient and Wedge had to assume the proprietor had been “going out of business” for many years now.

          Finally, he reached the food center and the enticing smells caused his stomach to make known its emptiness and need for food.  He approached a sweets vendor and bought a piece of  rhyscate; if Syal remembered anything about his childhood, she should remember how much he loved that treat.  Buying a bottle of  FreshWater and grabbing some napkins, he sat in the common eating area.  He wanted to leave space for contacts to meet him, so he selected a table with empty seats scattered around it.  He had just popped the seal on his bottle when two rowdy young men sat down next to him.  He tried to ignore them, but they made that impossible.

          “So, you’re a pilot who likes rhyscate, are you?  Ain’t that sweet, Joxa?”

          His companion just smiled, reached over and grabbed up a piece of the spicy delicacy.  Without hesitating, he squeezed it into a little lump and let it fall back onto Wedge’s plate.

          The first man continued, “You, know, Joxa, he flew in on a big ole X-wing  which has a whole host of kills and the Corellian bloodstripe painted on it.  He’s dressed in a New Republic flight suit; so, he must have been an enemy of the Empire yet he’s come to Warlord Persil’s base flaunting his status?  I’d say that was a little stupid, wouldn’t you, Joxa?”

          “Yeah, I would, Zinto.  How do you supposed that can be explained?”

          “Well, the way I see it, either this guy is just plain stupid or he’s Wedge Antilles.  Either way, I think that makes him a criminal and we should turn him over to Judge Hacker for judgment.  What do you think?”

          “I think that’s right, Zinto.  The Judge will want to meet him before too long; he doesn’t like rebels on his planet.  What do you say, buddy, ready to go meet the Judge?”

          Wedge recognized the code name Syal had told him about and calmly got up to go with the two young men.  As he rose, Zinto intentionally upset the water bottle and it splashed all over Joxa who whirled around, grabbed Wedge by the collar of his flight suit and said, “What the...?  What did you do that for?”  and swung at Wedge, clipping him on the jaw. 

          Completely taken by surprise, Wedge rolled with the punch over the unoccupied table behind him.  He came up in a combat-ready stance prepared for Joxa’s next move.  He didn’t have to wait long.  Joxa rushed him, but Wedge stepped aside letting him stumble into a knot of onlookers.  They helped Joxa up and pushed him back into the fray.  Wedge remembered Syal saying in her holorecording not to question their methods, but he was getting a bit concerned about the apparent intensity of Joxa’s commitment to fighting him.  He caught Joxa’s lunge at him out of the corner of his eye, sidestepped the charge and tripped Joxa as he went by.  The crowd seemed to be taking bets on the outcome of this little incident, so Wedge knew he was making it look real without causing too much damage.  Zinto helped Joxa up and signaled for them to catch Wedge in a pincer move.  Wedge watched their progress and planned his next move -- it involved running.  However, he never got the chance since something smashed into the side of his head bringing a red haze to his sight, followed by all-consuming blackness.

************************************************

          Corran burst into Wedge’s office even knowing he would not find him there.  Instead, he addressed Wes, “Do you know what’s going on around here?  I just heard a rumor that Admiral Ackbar has signed a General Order for Wedge’s arrest and apprehension for going AWOL.  We all know that’s ridiculous, Wedge would never desert.”

          Still nursing a bruised ego, Wes snarled at Corran, “Yeah, well, I never thought he’d lock me in a locker either, but he did.  I know Admiral Ackbar was circulating the rumor that he had a relapse of Bilbringi fever, but I don’t think that was it.  He wasn’t behaving normally this morning.  He told me to cancel all his appearances for Victory at Endor Day.  Just outta the blue, you know?  It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now.”

          “He was looking forward to the unveiling of the Hero’s Wall, wasn’t he?” Corran asked.  “I caught him one time practicing the names he was supposed to read -- as if he could ever forget their names.”

          “Yeah, I know.  So what was it?’ Wes asked.  “It had to be something that just happened. I got to work early, and Wedge had already gone through a couple hours’ work.  When he called me in to cancel his appearances, his desk was clean except for a small stack of holos at one corner.  Nawara Ven came in and took those away shortly after the Admiral’s order was released.  I’m betting there’s something in there that will explain all of this and Nawara knows what it is by now.  We’d best go find him.”

          “There won’t be any need for that, Wes,” a voice answered from the doorway.  Wes and Corran turned to face Nawara Ven whose brain tails twitched nervously.  Both had flown with the Twilek long enough to read the subtleties of his brain tails’ movements and knew he had big news.

          “What is it, Nawara?” Corran started.  “Do you know something about what has happened to Wedge?”

          “No, not exactly,” Nawara answered.  “But I do know that the holos Wes spoke about were all personal matters and one is missing.  It was marked ‘Personal and Confidential’ and it’s gone.  It must have been the stressor that sent Wedge over the edge, so to speak.  Our only hope is to find it, and I would guess that it’s in his data pad.  So, if the JAG’s office hasn’t come to impound all his personal effects, it might just hold the key.”

          “Ackbar’s men haven’t come over yet, so it should be in here, somewhere,” Wes advised.  All three searched Wedge’s quarters and finally Corran found it in the armrest void of Wedge’s chair.

          “Now, does anyone know his password?” Corran asked as he activated the data pad.

          “Well, it’s gotta be something no one would connect to him.  I mean ‘Death Stars’ would be a little obvious, don’t you think?” Wes ventured.

          Nawara countered, “Yes, but that just might be why he would choose something obvious.  Why not try it Corran?”

          Corran keyed in Death Stars in all its case sensitive variables and each time received the message “Invalid Password” for his efforts.  “Well, the obvious didn’t work.  Got any other ideas?”

          “How about, ‘Yub yub’?” Wes proposed.

          “No, he’s had this data pad longer than he’s been Lieutenant Kettch,” Corran surmised, but tried the phrase anyway.  “Nothing.”

          “We could be at this when Ackbar’s men come for the data pad and then we’ll have lost our only chance at getting to the bottom of this,” Nawara advised.

          “I don’t think we have the time for taking stabs at passwords,” Corran said.  “Why don’t we take it to our resident hacker and see if she can access it?”  The others agreed and they carefully hid it in Wes’s jacket in case someone tried to stop them.

          As they emerged from the office, two military officers entered and announced, “Under Admiral Ackbar’s orders, everything in General Antilles’ office and quarters is to be considered property of the New Republic and surrendered to us.”

          Wes had anticipated what was about to happen when they entered and was quietly moving to the door while they made their announcement.  That way, he figured, the data pad was no longer in the office and did not fall within the limits of items to be surrendered.

          Nawara Ven spoke up first, “I’m the General’s Executive Officer and I have a good idea of what should be in here, if you’d like my assistance.”

          The officers looked at him skeptically. “You’re volunteering to help us in our efforts?” one asked incredulously.  “We thought the Rogues and the Wraiths were filled with that legendary loyalty to each other.  Why are you helping?”

          Without missing a beat, Nawara asserted, “Look, we do have a reputation to uphold and the General has sullied that reputation.  It’s my duty to clear the Squads’ reputation even if it means ruining General Antilles’.  Now shall we get started?”

          Reading the Twilek’s brain tails again, Corran accused, “You poor excuse for Bantha fodder.  I don’t know why Wedge ever thought he could trust an alien, but I guess now you’ve shown your true colors.  I’m just glad he isn’t here to see it.”

          Together, they had clearly diverted the two officers’ attentions away from the departing Wes.  Nawara Ven’s brain tails twitched with affirmation of Corran’s role in the ruse, though his words conveyed a different feeling.  “Typical of some uptight CorSec flunky not to see the importance of what I’m doing.  Sometimes it takes an ‘alien’ to keep you humans from destroying yourselves.  Now, why don’t you just get out of here so these gentlemen and I can go about our work.”  Turning from Corran, he addressed the officers, “Gentlemen, let me show you to the General’s workspace and computer where he processes everything.  His password is RWS for Rogue-Wraith-Squadrons.  Not very original, I’ll grant you, but he is the product of human military training, so what would you expect?”

          The officers turned away from Corran, giving him the chance to leave and find Wes.  He didn’t have a good feeling about this and knew that the data pad was their only key to explaining what had made Wedge do what no one had ever thought he could do -- desert his post.

*************************************************

          Early in their training sessions Wedge had taught the Wraiths never to give anything away to the enemy.  So, even though he had already regained consciousness, he started a mental inventory of his situation which led to his understanding of three things:

          1.  He was lying on something soft, very soft, so he wasn’t likely in a detention cell;

          2.  Neither his wrists nor ankles were bound; and

          3.  His head hurt.

In fact, it hurt so much he could not suppress a groan.  A familiar voice said,  “It’s okay, General Antilles, you’re safe here, for a while.”

          “Control?” Wedge ventured.  “What am I doing here, wherever ‘here’ is?”

          “You’re in my quarters, sir.  I got you out of the trouble you were in the quickest and easiest way I knew how.  I’m sorry about your head.”

          Slowly Wedge opened his eyes, shading them from the inevitable light with his hand.  “How do you know who I am?”

          Control looked chagrined, “Well, when you landed, my shift had just ended, so I went down to look at your X-wing.  Excuse me for saying so, sir, but if your identity is supposed to be a secret, you’re the one who gave it away.  There aren’t many ships in the universe with the kills on them that yours has.  I mean, maybe Baron Fel’s does, but his wouldn’t show Imperial kills, would it?  So, who else could you be but you?  I mean, you  are  General Wedge Antilles, aren’t you?”

          Wedge kept his eyes closed against the glaring light and slowly moved his head from side to side and front to back.  It hurt like a Rancor’s bite.  “What did you hit me with, anyway?”

          Control hesitated before answering, “Your helmet, sir.  I kinda took it as a souvenir, but I was going to return it,”  he rushed to explain.

          His head hurting, Wedge snorted, “I shoulda kept it on.  Ah, look, Control, I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I was supposed to meet with those men.   They were going to take me someplace I wanted to be.  So, can you take me back there?”

          “Ah, no, sir, I can’t.  I mean, I can, but I won’t,” Control stammered.

          Fearing his only opportunity to find Syal was lost, Wedge growled, “I have got to meet up with them.  NOW.  Do you understand?!  They were taking me to meet Judge Heggar.”

          “Yes, sir, I do.  But, begging your pardon, sir, I don’t think you do.  I’m sorry, sir, I don’t mean any insolence by all this, but it’s just that . . . well . . . they’re not very nice men.  I mean, they weren’t going to do anything for you, if you know what I mean.”  Seeing the confused look on Wedge’s face he explained, “What I mean, General Antilles, is that they’re bounty hunters working for Lord Persil.  They’ve never been known to do anything good for anyone else in their lives.  So, you see, I would only be delivering you into the hands of your enemy if I took you back to them.  And, I’m sorry, sir, I just can’t do that.”

          Wedge regarded him wearily.  Control was unwavering in his convictions, so Wedge had to accept what he said at face value.  What, then, had Syal meant in her holorecording?  “Is Fan’iir under Lord Persil’s control?” Wedge ventured.

          “Yes, sir, it is,” Control replied.  “You see, Hebden is the only point of civilization on this whole planet and Lord Persil controls it.  Actually, Lord Persil controls a lot of real estate in this part of the universe.  He’s not exactly a friendly kind of guy, if you know what I mean.”

          “Yeah, I’ve met his type before.  But, you see, I was told to meet contacts whose methods I was not to question.  They were to take me to someone I haven’t seen in a very long time.  It’s really important to me to do that,” Wedge insisted.

          “I’m sorry, sir, but I just can’t believe any one who knows you and wants to see you again would ever intend for you to meet up with those two.  Who were you supposed to meet?”

          Realizing that he was at a critical juncture in his personal mission, Wedge had to decide then and there whether or not he could trust Control with the truth.  He decided he couldn’t, well, at least not all of it.  “I’m supposed to meet with Baron Fel.”

          Control’s mouth hung open for several seconds before he said,  “Stang!  What a meeting that would be -- the two best pilots in the universe meeting each other.  Was it gonna be a battle or were you just gonna sit down and talk.  Oh, yeah, right.  Two warriors acting like diplomats -- I can see it.   Why?  I mean, what do you two have to talk about?  Well, that was stupid, how about your mutual exploits?  But why would you?  What does either one of you have to gain?  Unless one of you is going to defect to the other side.  But, since the Emperor died, there really isn’t a ‘side’ anymore is there?  So that can’t be it.  Unless, he has information you need and this is the only way you can get it.  Yeah, that’s gotta be it.  But, why Fan’iir?  Baron Fel has never been here.  I mean, this is the only space docking facility so he would have had to come here and even if I didn’t handle his landing, I would have heard about it, but I didn’t.  And, I know the other guys well enough to know that they wouldn’t keep that a secret.  So, why here?”

          Wedge felt breathless just listening to Control, but managed to ask, “You mean Baron Fel isn’t here now or never has been here?”

          Convinced he was right, Control responded, “Never has been here, sir.”

          Wedge just slumped back, defeated.

          Reading the defeat in Wedge’s demeanor, Control ventured, “I take it that wasn’t good news, was it?  Sorry.”

          “Isn’t there some way he could have landed here, maybe more than once, without your knowing it, Control?”

          “No, sir, there isn’t.  You see, there’s only one flight vector onto this rock and we man it all the time.  I’d know for sure if anyone as celebrated as Baron Fel had ever come here.”

          “Aren’t there even some facilities out in the rural districts that might be able to handle a personal craft?” Wedge hoped.

          “No, sir.  You see, there aren’t even any settlements beyond Hebden.  We’re a refueling base and that’s it.  I’m afraid you already saw the most that it has to offer when you went to the food center.  This is kinda the forgotten part of the galaxy, if you know what I mean,” Control explained.

          “There’s no chance anyone lives out beyond Hebden?” Wedge hoped.

          “Well, there’s a possibility, but I don’t see why.  There simply is no reason for anyone to live beyond the city’s limits and if they did, they would have to come in for supplies and we’d recognize a stranger when we saw one.  I mean, just look how long it took us to realize you didn’t belong here,” Control reasoned.

          Exhausted by his injury and hopelessness, Wedge closed his eyes against the sting of tears.  This had been his only real chance for finding Syal and it had proved to be nothing.  He realized for the first time just how much he had lost coming here against Admiral Ackbar’s wishes and knew beyond all doubt that it would be very difficult for him to earn Ackbar’s trust ever again, assuming, of course, that he could get back to the base at all.  “Control?” he whispered.  “Is there any chance of my getting out of here now?”  He turned his head to really look at Control for the first time.  The man stood over two meters tall and looked like he could do battle with a Wookie and win.  Yet, there was about him a gentleness that was easy to read in his body language and face.  His dark green eyes were lost in a deeply tanned face surrounded by a great mane of blond hair.  Laugh lines marked the edges of his eyes which held a perpetual twinkle in them.  He seemed to be absolutely without guile and his demeanor won Wedge over immediately.

          “I’m afraid not easily, sir.  You see, if I recognized your X-wing, so did Zinto and Joxa.  By now, they’ve let Lord Persil know about your being here and I’m sure you’ll agree with me that that’s not good.  You see, Lord Persil, has made himself rich in the slave trade.  I have the feeling that he could command a pretty high price for you.”  Control looked down, not wanting to see the disappointment in Wedge’s eyes.

          Wedge remained silent for so long that Control thought he had passed out again.  When he looked up he saw Wedge was awake and evidently lost in thought.  “Sir, I hate to bring this up now, but it really isn’t safe for you to be here so long.  I had to get you out of the food center in a hurry but Zinto and Joxa know who I am and where I live, and, well, it would be wise if we got moving, if you know what I mean.”

          Wedge just nodded his agreement.  He was willing to go along with Control simply because he had no other options.  He roused himself from the cot and immediately fell back down on it again, his head pounding with the effort.  “So much for that thought, Control.  I think you’d better give me a hand; I don’t seem to have recovered from your rescue attempt yet.  If you know what I mean...?”

          Control laughed a deep, heart-felt laugh that was like a distant roll of thunder.  In spite of his pain and circumstances, Wedge laughed, too, and a deep bond was immediately formed between them.  Control clasped Wedge by the forearm and gently lifted him to his feet.  When Wedge stood tall, Control simply placed one great arm around his shoulder and gently guided him along.  “Do you think you can make it now, sir?”

          Wedge smiled and said, “It’s the only way I think I can make it Control; the only way.”

**********************************************

          Lord Persil was a vain man with no reason to be.  His obesity was the result of overindulging himself with food and drink and laziness.  Surrounded by sycophants, no one ever mentioned that if he were paid his weight in credits he would have bankrupted Empire.  Not surprisingly, Persil hated anyone who was slim or even exercised; as a result his “court” was comprised of the overweight and the morbidly obese.  It was curious, therefore, that he readily accepted into his court the lean and rat-faced Zinto and his muscular friend Joxa.  Had anyone investigated their relationship, they would have learned that the pair had provided Persil with several prime “specimens” for his slave trade.  Lord  Persil expected no less from them as they entered his office precisely on schedule.

          Well aware of the Persil’s idiosyncrasies, Zinto and Joxa waited for him to speak first.  After an appropriate length of time making his inferiors wait for his attention, Persil said,  “I trust you come with profitable news for me?  I have come to expect no less from you two.”

          Zinto affirmed, “Your Excellency, we have news of a specimen that would command a very high price in any market you sought to place him.  However, this specimen would be of far greater worth to you politically and personally.

          Lord Persil laughed, “So, you’ve brought me Luke Skywalker, have you?”

          Zinto smiled, enjoying this rare occasion where he had the upper hand over this noxious excuse for a human being,  “No, Honorable One, not Luke Skywalker or even a Jedi.  However, this specimen is nearly as valuable as they would be.”

          Persil’s eyes shrank to mere slits as he sifted through possibilities in his mind.  Unable to read anything from Zinto’s expression or body language, he turned to Joxa, “And I suppose you agree with your friend’s estimation of this specimen’s worth?”

          Joxa feared Lord Persil more than he cared to admit and so he stammered,  “Yes, sir, uh, I mean, Your Excellency.  If anything, Zinto underestimates his value to you.  You stand to gain great power from him.”

          Tired of this little game, Persil commanded, “Well, then, tell me who or what this specimen is and exactly how he could garner me so much power.”

          Zinto smiled, knowing he had Persil not only interested but hooked as well, so he pressed his advantage.  “I’m sure, Your Excellency, that when you learn this man’s identity you will want to double our finder’s fee.”

          Lord Persil nearly exploded with anger,  “Double?  For that price you would have to bring me Han Solo himself.”

          Warming to the bargaining, Zinto countered, “I did not mean to upset you, Excellency, but how can you offer so little without knowing this man’s identity?  Pay us this fee and you could gain power enough to reestablish the empire . . . as the new Emperor.”

          Showing a true talent for bad timing, Joxa added, “And, we could get that amount or more if we placed this specimen up for bidding to other ambitious war lords.”

          With a steely glare, Lord Persil fixed Joxa in his place, “Little man, do not even attempt to go around me on this one.  If I were not in such a good mood at this time and if my office had not just been cleaned, your blood would be staining my carpet as we speak.  Now, allow two men to bargain and go spend your time with the women where you belong.”

          Zinto, fearing they might lose the Lord’s sponsorship yet sneered at Joxa and said, “Go play with the other eunuchs and let real men do their business.”

          Flushed and angry, Joxa left the room silently.

          “Now, Zinto, in the best interests of your own health, stop playing games.  Accept a small bonus if he is worthy and be happy you are still alive to collect it from me.”

          Aware that the bargaining was over, Zinto answered plainly, “General Wedge Antilles of the New Republic’s Rogue and Wraith Squadrons, Your Excellency.”

          Rarely had Lord Persil been at a loss for words, but speech failed him at this point.  Finally, he asked, “You have General Antilles in your possession at this time?”

          And Zinto squirmed, “Ah, no, but he is on Fan’iir.  It won’t take much to find him and bring him to you.”

          The Lord glared and asked, “And just how do you know that this is General Antilles?”

          “I’ve seen the X-wing he flew in and I saw him.  For what little else Joxa is worth, he does have a holographic memory and he matched the man that we sat with in the food center to the old Imperial wanted poster of one Wedge Antilles, enemy of the Empire.  He does not make mistakes of that nature, so it was Wedge Antilles.”

          “Find him and you will receive more than twice your usual finder’s fee and you may take possession of his X-wing.  Have him delivered to me within two days and you will receive another bonus.  Help me extract from him the sensitive knowledge he must have and you will lead my armies.  But for now, leave me.”

          Zinto left feeling better than he had ever felt before.  He knew who had taken Antilles from them and he knew where he lived.  It was only a matter of time and luck.

**************************************************

          Repeatedly Byh’larh, Nawara Ven’s cousin, tried to bypass the security system on Wedge’s data pad.  Repeatedly she failed.  After the most recent attempt’s lasting over six hours she turned to Tycho and Corran and said, “I can’t do it.  Whatever the password Wedge used, it’s beyond anything we know about him.  I’ve combed his personnel records, ours, even Master Skywalker’s and his family’s.  Nothing.  I’ve gotten into planetary security systems more easily than this.  Sorry.”

          “It’s not your fault.  We might be able to get a clue if we could talk to Admiral Ackbar about it, but he ordered everything of Wedge’s impounded and we can’t exactly go to him and ask if he knows the password,” Tycho comforted her.

          “Thanks,” she replied, “I just wish that made me feel better.  Do you believe all this Bantha spit about the General?  No one in the squads does, but elsewhere, a lot of people think it’s true.  Wedge would never sell out, never.  Would he?”

          Tycho shook his head, “Of course not.  But I’ve heard everything you have and it really makes by blood boil.  What are we gonna do?  I mean, he must be in trouble; he’d never just disappear like this if he weren’t.”

          “Just wait it out, Tycho.  That’s all we can do.  When it comes time, he’ll contact us.” Corran confirmed.

********************************************

          As they walked along, Wedge regained his equilibrium and could walk without Control’s help.  Control looked at him and asked, “You feeling better, General?”

          “Yeah, a lot.  Uh, you know, I can’t keep calling you ‘Control’.  What’s your real name?” Wedge asked.

          “It’s Ligel, sir.  I was born and raised on this planet.  I even remember it from the days before the Empire took over.  General, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you come here?”  Ligel asked.

          This time Wedge decided he could trust Ligel with the truth,  “It’s a long story, Ligel.  You see, when I was very young my older sister ran away from home and went on to be very famous in her own right.  The Emperor never knew the truth about her even though she is married to Baron Fel.  I was supposed to meet up with them and their children here on Fan’iir, but it must have been a ruse to get me here.  I just don’t understand how Zinto and, uh . . .”

          “Joxa,” Ligel filled in the blank for Wedge.

          “Right, Joxa, . . . how they would know the name that she sent as the code word for me to recognize the people who would take me to her.  It was from our childhood, the name of an imaginary friend and no one would have known it except her, yet Zinto and Joxa used it in the food center before you arrived.  They said they were taking me to Judge Heggar -- the name of our childhood sprite.  Now, I can only guess that she is no longer safe and I’ve got to help her.  Can you get me to my X-wing and off planet without my being noticed?’

          “General, our Judge’s name is Hacker, not Heggar.  I’m sorry.  And, I’m sorry but until two minutes ago, I would have said yes, I could get you off this planet, but if you’ll look ahead, you’ll see that they’re coming after us right now.  Come on, follow me. Wedge followed Ligel’s sight line and saw Zinto, Joxa and three others setting up a strategy designed to take him in.  Quickly he followed Ligel into an open door, through a shop selling food wares, and out the back door.  They emerged into bright daylight knowing that they had no hope of hiding in the shadows.  Their only hope was to move and move fast.

          Ligel led them towards the outskirts of the city and Wedge followed willingly.  True, he had more questions than answers, but the one thing he did know was that Ligel seemed to be the only one on this planet willing to help him.

“I don’t mean to question your willingness to help me, Ligel, but where are we going?  I thought you said there were no settlements on planet outside of the base.”

          Ligel smiled and answered, “That’s the truth except for the resistance effort.  I’ve been a member since it started up and since you are who you are, I’m trusting you with our location.”  With that, Ligel led Wedge to a storm grate across a pipeline and led him through a maze of pipe corridors.

          Finally, Wedge and Ligel emerged in the wilderness of Fan’iir.  It was clear that Ligel had not exaggerated when he said Hebden was the only point of civilization.  They walked for what seemed like hours through thick, old-growth forest; the calls of exotic birds and animals broadcast a warning as they progressed.  Liegel took it all in stride, but Wedge was consumed by its beauty.  He was equally pleased with the ripe berries Ligel picked for them as they walked.

          Without a warning, Ligel stopped in his tracks and signaled Wedge to take cover in the lush forest growth.  Wedge, too, was acutely aware of the forest’s sudden silence; something had disrupted nature’s balance in a way he and Ligel had not.  He shot Ligel an inquisitive look and Ligel shrugged in return.  Their curiosity was soon satisfied when a hovercraft slowly approached from their right.  Wedge reached for his blaster figuring it was best to be prepared in the event the hovercraft had equipment sophisticated enough to read their thermal signatures.  He held his breath, and his fire, while it hovered right above them. When it moved on, he dared to breathe again.

          “That was close.  Who were they?” Wedge inquired.

          “Your old friends, Joxa and Zinto.  I recognized their craft,” Ligel replied.  “Let’s go, we’re almost there.”

          Twenty minutes later they arrived “there” and it appeared no different from the lands they had already crossed.  Ligel walked over to a row of saplings and easily moved them aside, exposing the mouth of a cave.  Following Ligel’s example, Wedge crawled through the space marveling that Ligel had negotiated the small space so effortlessly.  They took great care to rearrange the saplings before they moved deeper into the cave.  Soon they reached a corridor large enough for them to stand in and walked upright the remaining 100 meters to a large chamber.

          If there hadn’t been food cooking over a small fire, Wedge would have assumed the cave was abandoned.  Instinctively, he pulled out his blaster when he heard the click of another weapon being activated.  Ligel smiled and calmly put his hand over Wedge’s blaster, forcing him to lower it.

          “Shaleel, it is safe; you can come out now,” Ligel assured the hidden dweller.

          “Ligel?  Is that you?  What brings you out here now?  We weren’t scheduled to rendezvous again for another lunar cycle.  Are you all right?” a steady voice asked from the darkness.

          “Yes, Shaleel, I’m fine.  I’ve brought someone you should meet.”

          Shaleel emerged from the shadows and Wedge froze.  He was staring at a woman whose face was both familiar and strange at the same time.  But the eyes were the mirror image of his own and he ventured, “Syal?”

          “Ligel, who is this person who calls out a false name for the holodrama star he obviously lusts for?”  Turning her scathing look on Wedge, the woman said, “How typical of a man!  Your life is in danger and you fantasize over Wynnsa Starflare.  Am I worth it?”

          “Syal?  Don’t you recognize me?  I’m your brother, Wedge.”  He stared at her, but Ligel stepped forward stopping him.

          “Look again, General.  That is not Wynnsa Starflare.  She is my sister Shaleel.  She learned the ways of our planet’s witches and can assume the identity of any woman you think about.  Look again; you’ll see.”

          Wedge looked again and in rapid-fire sequence Shaleel took the successive identities of his mother, Princess Leia, Winter, Mara Jade, Iella Wessiri and several of the women he had known intimately in his lifetime.

          “Shaleel, stop showing off and be yourself,” Ligel admonished.  She complied and emerged as a woman of Wedge’s height with the lithe stature of an athlete.  Her dark hair was secured in a functional, thick braid that danced like a Twilek’s brain tails when she moved her head.  Her dark eyes were no less intense than Wedge’s but her smile and laughter were infectious.  “Oh, come on, Ligel, I’m just having fun.  Who is this enigma you’ve brought to my humble home?”

          “Shaleel, this is General Wedge Antilles of the New Republic’s Rogue Squadron....”

          Shaleel whimpered softly and challenged, “Oh, Ligel, you didn’t!  We’ll never be able to hide him . . . they’ll find us now.  I can’t go through that again, Ligel.  I can’t!”  She turned from them, rejecting their presence.

          Confused, Wedge looked inquiringly at Ligel, entreating him for an explanation.  Ligel gave Wedge a look that conveyed a promise to explain later and turned to Shaleel.  He touched her shoulder softly and she turned to him trying desperately not to cry.  “Ligel, you know what will happen if they find us.  I just can’t do it again.  And if they discover you’re a part of the resistance, they’ll kill you and I’ll be all alone. . . .   Please, Lige, please take him back.  Don’t jeopardize what we have any further.  Please.”

          “Shaleel, you know the oath we took.  We would aid anyone who was an enemy of Pilser.  Certainly General Antilles is such an enemy.  We would have no choice once we chose honor.”

          Gulping down her fear and blinking back her tears, Shaleel nodded her consent.  Squaring her shoulders she turned to Wedge, “General, I apologize for my inhospitality.  You are welcome here.  I hope you can forgive me.”

          Wedge smiled generously, saying, “Were there anything to forgive, I would.  I witnessed only a rebel arguing to preserve the safety of her cell.  I respect such caution; it saves lives.”

          “Thank you.  And now, brother, what is your plan?”

          “We had little time to formulate one.  Zinto and Joxa know who Wedge is and I’m sure they’ve already negotiated with Pilser for his capture.  If we can’t get him off planet, we must, at least, send word to his comrades of his location and safety.  When will conditions for such communications be possible again?”

          “Tomorrow.  Today’s sun bursts should have calmed down by then.  Until then, may I recommend you and the General clean up and prepare to eat.  The Hour of Blessing is almost upon us and our meal must be consumed then.”  Turning to Wedge she added, “I’m sorry I have no dinner clothing for you.  Ligel is too large and mine, uh, . . . would not . . . er . . . fit.  Will you be able to take food in your work clothes and join us, or would you prefer us to leave you so that you may eat unclothed and pure?”

          Bombarded by a myriad of questions, mental images -- both serious and funny -- and possibilities, Wedge stated simply, “Good Shaleel, I am humbled by your offer.  Where I live meals are often consumed in one’s work clothing.  I fear, though, that should I chose to do so now I would offend you and your brother.  I will acquiesce to your decision.  After all, this is your home.”

          Shaleel smiled sweetly and, casting her eyes to the floor, blinked and raised her eyes again to meet Wedge’s.  “You flatter me with such consideration.  The idea of a change of clothing is simply to change the mood of our day for the brief time it takes to eat.  If you can be serene in your flight suit during our meal, you are, indeed, welcome to wear it.  It is an honor to have someone who wears it so well join us.  Ligel, show General Antilles to the stream, he has blood dried over his ear.  I will tend to it when you return.”  She turned from them and quickly tended to the teeming food over the fire.

          Only then did Wedge realize how hungry he was and followed Ligel willingly.  When they were beyond Shaleel’s hearing, Ligel ventured, “She likes you, you know.”

          Astounded, Wedge stared at Ligel in disbelief. “Wh-a-a-t?” he stammered, arching his eyebrows in disbelief.

          “She likes you.  Can you not tell when a woman wants you?”  Ligel asked in all sincerity and innocence.  “Why else would she violate this long-standing custom on Fan’iir?  Don’t be concerned, though, it is an honor to be loved by a Changeling-witch,” he paused, “and an excitement as well.  That is why Pilser’s men kept her as a soldier’s slave until I released her.”

          Wedge’s eyes grew in amazement before he said, “How did we move so quickly from likes to loves?  Did I miss something?  Did I do something to encourage this?  I meant no disrespect or an overture, or . . . .”  He stopped, thought and finally asked, “Uh, Ligel, do you have anything I can change into?  I don’t want to do anything to show disrespect . . . .”

          Ligel nodded, “Yes, the hunters here wear a simple green tunic for the hunt.  I have one from my younger years that should fit you well enough.  You should know, however, that if you wish to wear it, that is all you will wear, except your weapons, of course.  On Fan’iir, that would be a knife, but your blaster will suffice.  Is this how you wish it to be?”

          Wedge grinned and said, “That may depend on how long the tunic is.”

          For the next half hour, Ligel showed Wedge how to prepare for the coming meal and, once clean from head to toe, Wedge donned Ligel’s old tunic.  It was a soft woven material dyed a deep green to provide a hunter camouflage in the forest.  Without belt loops to secure it, his blaster belt rode low on his hips.  Satisfied that they would meet the “dress code” for the meal, Ligel led them back to the open chamber where Shaleel waited for them.

          Alerted by Ligel’s comments, Wedge noticed Shaleel’s swift, but approving, appraisal of his attire.  He wondered just how familiar she was with the hunter’s attire, or, rather, lack thereof, and found himself blushing.

          Shaleel motioned for them to sit on the cushions she had set out as their seats.  Following Ligel’s instructions he sat, carefully, as Ligel had told him it was improper to adjust one’s clothing at a Fan’iirian meal.  Once he and Ligel were seated, Shaleel  took a slim piece of wood from the fire, handed it to Ligel and doused the fire.  Except for the glow from the wood Ligel held, the cave was bathed in darkness.  Ligel placed the light in the center of their intimate triangle and intoned, “Spirits of Bounty, bless this meal we share.  See to it that our food satisfies our spirits as well as our hunger.  Extend Your blessing to this man who has come to us this night; protect him as one of us so that he can again fight the evil in this universe and shoulder the heavy burdens his Fates have weighed down on him.  Let his restless soul find peace with us tonight.”

          Shaleel added, “May our senses be filled by Your blessing.  Let us savor the scent of our food as well as its taste.  Let our silence enhance our communion with You and may our humility please You.”  Turning to Wedge she said, “As our guest during this Hour of Blessing, would you carve the portions to be served?  Such is the honor extended to our home’s great hunters and warriors.”

          She handed him a knife and as she touched him, a bolt of sexual electricity passed between them.  He looked at Shaleel and saw the most beautiful woman in the world staring back at him.  He forced himself to look away and back again.  Shaleel had transformed back to herself again and Wedge finally found his voice, “This is an honor which must go to the real hunter and warrior of this planet.  With my sincerest admiration and humility, I pass this knife to Ligel, asking only that he accept it as my promise to aid your cause to the best of my ability. . . .”

          Wedge handed the knife to Ligel who took it from him smiling, “As one warrior recognizes another, I return this knife to the one among us who has sacrificed the most.  Sister Shaleel, please the Spirit of Bounty and serve those who will serve you.”

          “Brother, General, enjoy your food.  This hour is blessed.  The next may not be.  Find satisfaction in the protection of this blessing and disarm yourselves; no harm will befall you.”

          Reluctantly, but following Ligel’s lead, Wedge unstrapped his blaster and gave it to Shaleel who gave him a plate of food in return.  His anxiety over being disarmed was soon replaced by the sheer pleasure of the meal.

          When they had finished, Shaleel returned their weapons and turned to cleaning up after their meal while the men changed back into their respective uniforms.  Later, Ligel and Wedge moved together to the edge of the cave where they checked their security for the night.  Each understood, without words, that a guard should be posted and Wedge turned to Ligel saying, “I’ll keep guard tonight.  It is the only way I can repay your hospitality.”

          Ligel smiled and said, “My hospitality is not a debt that must be repaid.  But, keeping guard will protect you from your dream demons, won’t it?”  He noticed the quizzical look on Wedge’s face and explained, “When you were recovering at my home you were pursued by dream demons until you awoke. Find peace here, General Antilles; this cave can save you from yourself as well as your enemies.”

          Wedge acknowledged Ligel’s wisdom with a half-smile and a nod.  After Ligel left, Wedge sat just inside the cave and stared at the two full moons in Fan’iir’s sky.  They illuminated the night like a thousand candles and Wedge gave in to the hypnotic beauty of the shadow-dances playing out before him in the forest.  His mind wandered back to the days when he had sat as a child next to the emergency release switch for the fueling pumps at his father’s station on Gus Treta.  It was his childhood duty to sit there for hours and press the big red button in the event a customer carelessly left before releasing his connection to the fueling pumps.  It was his duty to protect everyone on Gus Treta from that deadly scenario and he accepted it without question or hesitation.  His father had taught him his first lessons of honor, duty and responsibility before personal comfort by giving him that job.

          He remembered Syal mocking his serious devotion to his job and her taunts that she would go find somewhere else to play if he would not join her.  Never once over the years did he leave his post and eventually Syal made good her threat and left -- forever.  As a child, Wedge knew in his heart that he was responsible for his parents’ tears over her sudden and unannounced departure.  But he had been only a child and all he could do for them was fulfill the duties they gave him.  His obedience seemed to bring them peace and he found that only when he was with Booster Terrick could he be a child.

          Those fleeting moments of childhood silliness had led to an incident of harmless -- or so he thought -- fun at school which had landed him in the Head Mistress’s office.  Booster, who had come to retrieve him for the semester break, was called into the Head Mistress’s Office to account for Wedge’s impishness.  More frightening than a mother rancor protecting her young, the Head Mistress had even cowered Booster who stammered out a promise to make Wedge reconsider the appropriateness of his frivolous behavior.  It had taken no more than fifteen minutes, but that little “visit” to the Head Mistress had delayed their departure by almost an hour.  Wedge would be late getting to his post at the switch . . . .  And, so, Wedge had had to live ever since with the certain knowledge that he had killed his parents as surely as if he had shot them.  As he matured he knew, intellectually, that wasn’t so, but he never quite shed the guilt of not dying with them. His determination to atone for his misdeeds had led him to slavishly hone his flying skills so other innocents would not have to die.  Each time one did . . . . 

          His reverie was broken by a movement behind him.  Ligel assured him by saying, “My time to watch has come, General.  Go.  Sleep.”

          He handed Wedge the single piece of wood that had illuminated their meal and Wedge returned to the sanctuary of the cave’s depths.  As he walked, he realized just how cold the night had become and shivered.  He looked around and saw that the only resting place was next to the recumbent Shaleel.  Unsure, but seeing no alternative, he slid next to her under the single cover and eventually drifted off to sleep.  In the last seconds of semi-awareness he felt her move next to him, conforming her body to the contours of his.  A sense of unfathomable peace washed over him and he slept.

          Some time in the night the nightmare returned again and, trapped in the false reality of his subconscious mind, Wedge called out, “Luke, I’m hit!” and again, inevitably, crashed into the Death Star.

          Shaleel whispered in his ear, “General, that battle is over; it is only a dream.  Let it go; you are safe with me.”  She gently stroked the length of his arm and he relaxed, never waking.  She lay her head on his chest and for a brief moment she was carried back to the days of her childhood when she had listened to her father’s heartbeat.  Now she listened to the strong steady rhythm of this warrior’s heart as he slept peacefully next to her.  “Sleep, General, sleep.  It would not do having you wake too soon.  It would never do us well.”  And then she, too, slept.

          Even in the depths of his sleep, Wedge knew something was wrong . . . seriously wrong.  He awoke reaching for his blaster and rising at the same time, but he stopped short when a shadowy figure placed a blaster at his temple, saying, “Don’t even try it, Antilles; you’ll die and so will she.”

          Wedge froze, half-standing and waited for further instructions.  He was amazed when Shaleel rose from her position and kicked the back of his left knee, forcing him to collapse unceremoniously on the cave’s floor.  He struggled to rise again, but a hand roughly forced him back to his knees commanding, “Lace your hands behind your head and cross your ankles, Antilles.”

          Doing as he was told, Wedge assessed his situation.  Ligel was most surely incapacitated, if not dead, and Shaleel’s embracing one of the intruders discredited her as an ally.  His blaster had been taken from him and he couldn’t act without telegraphing his move; he decided the best course of action was to wait and see what developed.

          It didn’t take long.  Joxa and Zinto entered the cave dragging Ligel’s lifeless body and dumped it in front of Wedge.  Ligel’s sightless eyes stared at him, a look of shock and pain frozen into his features for all time.  Wedge forced back the sense of guilt and responsibility that washed over him.

          Zinto pinned his blaster under Wedge’s chin and threatened, “You want to join him, just resist; I’d be happy to oblige you.  I had a little sister on the Endor Death Star.”

          Wedge blinked once and met Zinto’s glare; his expression carried neither resistance nor acquiescence.  Evidently that was enough.  Zinto lowered his blaster and signaled Joxa to bind Wedge’s hands behind him.  Wedge felt the grip of thin wet strips of leather binding his wrists and fervently hoped he was released before they dried completely.

          Zinto commanded, “Get up!” and Wedge complied awkwardly, trying to maintain his balance and his dignity.

          “You’re going to fetch us a wealth of credits, Antilles,” Zinto warned him.

          “I live to serve,” Wedge replied sardonically.

          Zinto leveled his blaster at Wedge and said, “Oh, you have no idea how true that is.  You’ll live to regret you ever flew the trenches of those two Death Stars and survived.”

          Zinto firmly pushed Wedge between the shoulders just as Joxa stepped forward.  Unavoidably, Wedge tripped over Joxa’s foot and landed face down on the cave’s dirt floor.  His left shoulder crashed on a rock bruising it badly.  Unwillingly, he cried out in pain; it was all the intruders needed.  They sensed Wedge’s helplessness and rained repeated blows and kicks to his ribs, shoulders, knees, head and between his legs.

          Remembering the honor with which Wedge had treated her, Shaleel stepped up to Joxa, pulling his arm and swinging him around.  “Stop it!  Stop it now; you’re going to kill him and that will earn you nothing.  Stop it!  He’s had enough!”

          Incensed at her interference in his sport, Joxa pushed her away, drew his blaster and yelled, “Leave me alone, camp follower!”  Then he shot her.

          Seeing his love die, the third intruder drew his own blaster, killing Joxa.  Although it took no more than a few heartbeats, Wedge watched the drama unfold through a red haze.

          Zinto, too, turned away from Wedge and unceremoniously killed the third man with a single shot.  In that brief second, Wedge knew beyond a doubt that his situation was more dangerous now than it had been only a minute ago.  He was without allies and alone with a psychotic and greedy captor.  He struggled to his knees and, trying to catch his breath in tortured lungs, asked, “What now?”

          Zinto turned on Wedge saying, “You go meet Lord Pilser.  Get up and start walking.”

          Wedge managed to stand but the effort sent a dozen messages of pain from his battered body.  He carefully tested his weight on what seemed to be a sprained ankle.  It held his weight but only a minimum of it.  He limped toward the cave entrance followed by Zinto.  When they had walked beyond the fire’s dim light,  he stopped and asked, “Aren’t you going to bury them or tend to their bodies somehow?”

          Zinto laughed in response, “I would if they meant something to me.  But . . . they don’t.  Right now, you’re my only concern.  Keep moving, the skimmer is on the other side of the clearing.”

          Wedge looked him squarely in the eye and said, “I don’t know how far you have for us to walk, but if you want to make decent time it would help if you released my hands.  I need the balance.”  Zinto eyed him, surveyed the damage their beating had done, and complied.

          As they emerged from the cave, the first rays of dawn lit the sky.  Wedge limped his way toward the skimmer trying to formulate a course of action as he walked.  Clearly this was going to be his only chance for quite a while.

          Zinto used a remote activator and the skimmer’s engines hummed quietly.  Wedge “faltered” at the door to the skimmer and amazingly, Zinto offered a steadying hand.  Wedge feigned acceptance and swiftly stepped aside, opening the door into Zinto’s stomach.  As Zinto doubled over, Wedge raised a knee into the man’s nose, stunning him. With what little strength he had left, Wedge pushed Zinto to the ground and vaulted into the driver’s seat, quickly evaluated the controls and awkwardly set the skimmer onto an escape route.  He was about six meters in the air and accelerating when the engine suddenly quit all together.  As the skimmer cartwheeled into a landing, Wedge had only enough time to realize that Zinto had used the remote to deactivate the engines.  He was thrown from the skimmer as it hit the ground and lost consciousness when he lost his desperate battle with gravity.

***********************************************

          Tycho sat at Wedge’s desk desperately trying letter and number combinations to discover Wedge’s password.  He knew he had only minutes before Wes lost his argument with Ackbar’s security personnel who had come five minutes earlier with a Certificate of Search and Seizure demanding Wes surrender the very datapad Tycho held.  Days of logical, silly, illogical and purely random entries had led to nothing but “ACCESS DENIED” prompts.  Again those hated words popped us as the security forces broke into Wedge’s office.  Tycho reluctantly offered them the datapad and a young corporal, apparently expecting greater resistance, used considerable force to take it from Tycho.  The datapad flew out of Tycho’s hands and across the room, crashing into the durasteel wall.  It rained dozens of pieces to the floor leaving both Tycho and the corporal speechless.  Only Wes had something to say, “Well, guys, wasn’t THAT clever.  Now we’ll never know where General Antilles is.  You done good!”

********************************************

          Wedge was only dimly aware of the pains wracking his body.  It seemed he was floating with no destination in mind.  Just floating.  There was some kind of mask over his face and he seemed unable to reach it to take it off.  He knew he wasn’t in his flight gear, flying never felt like this.  Yet it seemed familiar somehow; it was a place he had been before, a place he didn’t like.  His right hand throbbed for no reason and suddenly he knew where he was.  The bacta tank.  Tubes and the bacta healing him inside and out were his only reality and he gave in to it.  He was too weak to do anything else.

****************************************

          Admiral Ackbar was livid with rage.  Wes, Corran, and Tycho, opposite him, stood rigidly at attention.

          “Do you realize what you have done?” he roared.

          They knew.  They also knew it was a rhetorical question.

          “Perhaps, Lieutenant Janson you’d care to explain to me EXACTLY what it was you were trying to do?”

          “Exactly, Sir?  I regret, Sir, I cannot.  In general, Sir, I, uh, was doing my duty as the General’s wing, Sir.”

          “Don’t speak in riddles, Janson,” Ackbar ordered.  Wes took note of the absence of his rank and feared it was a hint of what was to come.

          “Sir!  I meant no disrespect, Sir.  As General Antilles’ wingman it is my duty to protect him when he cannot protect himself.  In his absence, Admiral, I was trying to protect him from the General Order of Arrest issued from your office.  It’s my duty, Sir, as his wingman.”

          “Are you trying to tell me that your duty to General Antilles is more important than following my orders?”   Admiral Ackbar drilled Wes with an unwavering glare.

          Knowing now that his future was most surely lost, Wes admitted, “Admiral Ackbar, I prefer not to put it in those terms....”  Noticing Ackbar’s reaction, he quickly added, “...exactly.  What I mean, Sir, is that each of us in Rogue Squadron has and would put his life on the line for Wedge, uh, sorry, Sir, General Antilles.  After that, risking our ranks and our freedom seem an insignificant risk to take to back him up.”

          Ackbar’s focus on Wes never shifted for 30 seconds.  Trying to maintain proper military etiquette, Wes focused on a spot beyond Ackbar and did not blink.       Ackbar then realized the absolute sincerity in Wes’s claim.  “Do you agree with Lieutenant Janson, Celchu?”

          Without hesitation Tycho answered, “Totally and without reservation, Sir.  It was a consensus among us.”

          Ackbar’s demeanor softened slightly.  “Gentlemen, I understand your sentiments, no matter how misguided they are.  And believe me, they are.  What you could not have known is that each member of the Imperial Senate and all officers attaining the rank of General must submit their security code to a permanent file maintained by General Cracken’s office.  We could have done in mere seconds what you have apparently failed to do over several days.

          Ackbar sifted through the damaged ruins of Wedge’s datapad and smiled.  “Fortunately, the master chip is in tact.”  He slid it into the shell of another datapad and the shell whirled to life. 

          Reverting to his CorSec days, Corran gave into his curiosity and reached out with the Force to “watch” Ackbar key in Wedge’s security code.  ‘S-T-A-R- F-LA-R-E.’  Mentally he kicked himself for never thinking of that but gave no outward sign that he had “seen” Admiral Ackbar’s actions.

          Admiral Ackbar’s grin grew and he said,  “General Antilles is an honorable man; he has not changed his security code from the one on file.  Now that we have accessed his databases we can begin the tedious process of filtering through those boxes of infochips Mr. Ven has given us.  Let’s hope, gentlemen, that we discover the catalyst for General Antilles’ bizarre behavior sooner rather than later.  Dismissed.”

          Wes, Tycho and Corran saluted crisply, executed a precise and synchronized about-face and filed out of Admiral Ackbar’s office.  Once clear of the XO’s office door and down the hall a safe distance, Corran stopped, slumped against the wall and slapped his forehead in a gesture of disgust.

          Wes and Tycho looked at him quizzically and asked, “Wh-a-a-a-t?!”

          “I ‘saw’ what Wedge’s security code is.  We should have thought of it.  Any one of us would have chosen it, but Wedge?  I guess we forget he’s only human, too.”

          “What?  What is it?” Tycho stammered.

          Corran answered simply, “Starflare.”

          Wes froze for a second and then a look of total disbelief crossed his features.  “Starflare?!  You mean, like . . . Wynssa Starflare, the holostar?  Naw, I don’t believe it!  Wedge has the hots for Wynssa Starflare?!  No!!!  Not Wedge!!!”

          Tycho grinned, “But Wedge hardly even dates!  When would he have seen one of her movies?  And, and . . . it took him a year just to smile back at Iella!  C’mon, Corran, you sure it wasn’t starflight?”

          “No!  I’m telling you it was Starflare!  Yes, like Wynssa Starflare.  Stang, Tycho, he’s a general; he’s not dead!”  Corran insisted.  Then his expression turned somber, “Wes, Tycho.  I have a bad feeling about this!”

********************************************

          Admiral Ackbar stared at the datapad in his hands and wondered if they could possibly file through the collected data and work Wedge Antilles had brought to the New Republic in time.  He feared an enemy clearly had a chronological and therefore tactical advantage.  If only he knew who the enemy was.

********************************************

          Wedge knew he was healing; it was more and more frustrating to float in the bacta tank.  Each “dunking” stretched into an eternity although each was briefer than the one before it.  Finally, the medroids had pronounced him fit and assigned him one day’s bed rest.  The only problem he faced was having no idea where he was.  He remembered bits and pieces of what had occurred before being sent to the bacta tank:  Syal’s plea, Ligel’s death, the crash but nothing else.  Deprived of human contact he had no way to find out; the MD2s were notoriously rigid about things like that.

 

          From the hall Wedge heard the squeak of wheels which were in desperate need of lubricant.  Shortly after that a team of men came in, a lab tech with a cart, a guard with a portable restraining chair, another lab tech, a man whose girth astonished Wedge and his body guard.

          “I am Lord Persil,” the obese man introduced himself.  “You are General Wedge Antilles of the New Republic Armed Forces, are you not?” he inquired.

          Figuring Persil already knew his identity, Wedge answered, “I am.”

          “I appreciate your candor, General; I hope it’s a sign of the way we will proceed from here on,”  Persil replied.

          Wedge eyed him suspiciously and said nothing.

          “I see you’re unlikely to cooperate.  Too bad.  You won’t be worth much when Chyrsoprase here is finished with you.”

          Silently Chyrsoprase removed a sterile cloth from his cart exposing a set of nasty looking instruments.  In spite of himself, Wedge stole a glance at them and struggled to keep his emotions from showing.  He had a vague idea what each would be used for -- on him.  Wedge had no doubt that Persil was right in what he had said and that he would enjoy watching him suffer.

          Persil smiled and said, “I see you’ve noticed Chyrsoprase’s instruments.  That’s good.  Take a serious look at them, General, and make a decision.  You can avoid the outlandish pain that they cause by simply answering my questions.  Or, you can suffer horribly and still tell me what I want to know.  If you choose to cooperate, you will be richly rewarded.  If you do not cooperate, you will live to regret it.  Understood?”

          Wedge had no doubt that Persil was right.  He also knew he would never betray his friends.  He said nothing but clearly expressed his decision with an icy stare of defiance.

          Persil nodded, “Knowing your reputation, Antilles, I expected no less from you.  I would have preferred having you as a partner, but your choice is clear.  Unlike others who believe that anticipation increases the likelihood of cooperation, I do not.  Chyrsoprase, you may commence.”

          Chyrsoprase nodded to the security men who lifted Wedge from the medcot and into the restraining chair.  The blankets from the medcot slipped away leaving Wedge dressed only in the briefs he’d worn in and out of the bacta tank.  He seriously considered running or resisting but realized he would need every ounce of strength he had over the next few hours.  Would that be all it would last?  He had a really bad feeling about it.

          The straps securing him in place bit into Wedge’s upper arms, ankles and wrists.  Chyrsoprase’s face was impassive in contrast to Pilser’s.  The Lord smile in anticipation and unknowingly licked his lips each time Wedge flinched.

          Wedge watched Chyrsoprase gingerly lift a syringe and load it with a clear fluid from a tiny vial.  ‘Oh, great,’ Wedge thought, ‘I would be in a facility that hasn’t heard of hyposprays!’ 

          Persil asked, “Excitalift?”

          Chyrsoprase answered simply, “Yes.”

          Persil turned to Wedge, “I’m not sure if you are familiar with Excitalift, General.  It is a common drug on this planet to heighten sensations.  Generally it is used to heighten sexual gratification, but I have found it excellent for increasing pain reactions as well.  I’m sure you will find it, uh, interesting....”

          In spite of himself, Wedge grinned at the image of Iella that passed through his mind as Persil explained the use of Excitalift.  He was immediately “rewarded” with a blow to the mouth and a split lip.  He knew that that image of Iella might just be the last one he would ever have of the woman with whom he had hoped to share the rest of his life.  He regretted the pain his death would cause her and he suppressed that thought as quickly as he could -- he knew that his love for Iella would be the only thing that would betray his resolve to deny Persil his pleasure.  That thought hurt more than any torture Persil had in store for him.

          Chyrsoprase’s assistant handed him a slender rod that Wedge recognized as an implement used to prod nerf herds along.  At its lowest  setting it would deliver a mild charge; at its highest, it would deliver a charge that could incapacitate the recipient for hours.  Chyrsoprase offered it to Persil who declined, saying, “Oh, no, Chyrso, I wouldn’t think of denying you this pleasure.  I’ll watch.”  The gleam in Persil’s eyes relayed the message that he would enjoy Wedge’s suffering more than he would any information Wedge surrendered.

          Without emotion Chyrsoprase tuned the rod to a setting and placed it at Wedge’s elbow joint delivering an extended jolt of power which overwhelmed Wedge’s senses.  Wedge clamped his teeth down, biting his tongue.  Blood flooded his mouth and he swallowed it, vowing not to give Persil satisfaction so early in the session.  Finally, Chyrsoprase released the pressure on his elbow and Wedge sagged in the restraint chair, realizing for the first time how his body had fought against the pain of the nerf-rod.

          Persil nodded and Chyrsoprase reset the control button and applied the rod again, this time to Wedge’s temple.  Pain was all he knew for several seconds before Wedge gave in to the darkness claiming him.

          In his unconscious state, Wedge silently sought the little boy with the serious brown eyes who always waited for him.  He knew he could trust him.  He called, ‘Veggies?  Are you there, Veggies?’  The little boy emerged and Wedge continued, ‘Veggies.  You’ve got to take the secrets and hide.  Hide where no one can find you.  Don’t trust anyone until I come for you again.  Can you do that Veggies?  So many people are relying on you, Veggies.  Please don’t let them down.’  And, without anyone knowing it but him, Wedge released all the tactical and strategic secrets he knew to the little boy with the serious brown eyes.  He “watched” him walk away and knew he could face Persil on even ground now.

          Regaining consciousness, Wedge saw Persil smiling, “You have a low threshold for pain, General?”  Wedge refused to answer and Persil added, “Really, now, General, what harm is there in answering a few simple questions?  Afraid it’s a slippery slope to telling me everything I want to know.  By the way, you will end up telling me everything I want to know.  You understand that, don’t you?”

          Wedge finally responded, in spite of his sore and swollen tongue, “No harm.  But you must understand that I will not tell you anything.”

          “Oh, but you will, General.  And to make it sporting, I will not even have Chyrsoprase use any ‘truth serums’ to do so.  I will simply rely on the tried and true process of sheer pain to override your loyalties.  You could spare yourself, you know, by simply telling me what I want to know right now.  What missions -- overt and covert -- does the New Republic have for eliminating the war lords from the old empire and how will it interdict spice mining on Kessel?”

          Wedge refused to answer and waited for Chyrsoprase’s next “move”; he didn’t have to wait long.  Chyrsoprase reached for a vibroscalpel which he placed against Wedge’s chest and slowly moved it down the mid-line over his rib cage leaving a thin strip of blood in its wake.  Wedge tried to cut short a cry of pain but could not.  His vulnerability seemed to ignite a malevolence in Persil who laughed with delight at his pain.  Chyrsoprase stopped just below Wedge’s umbilicus, looking at Persil for directions.  Persil waved him off.

          “General, I will assume that you would some day wish to be a father and I will not allow Chyrsoprase to deny you that pleasure.  I only wish I could be around when you tell your sons and grandchildren how you sold out the New Republic you fought for so proudly.  Now, in the name of fair play, answer my questions.  Believe me it is in your best interests to do so sooner rather than later.”

          “No,” was Wedge’s simple answer.

          “You surprise me, General.  Evidently you enjoy pain as much as I do.  Of course, I enjoy others’ pain while you seem to enjoy your own.  Chyrsoprase, indulge him in my absence.”  Parsil turned and left the room.

          Chyrsoprase turned on Wedge and, without emotion, continued undaunted in his assigned task.  For hours Wedge knew nothing but blinding, overwhelming pain.  There was no escape; each time he lost consciousness, Chyrsoprase’s assistant revived him.  In desperation he searched for “Veggies” and was relieved when he could not find him.  Clearly, the little one had found a hiding place for the secrets Wedge knew.

******************************************

          Admiral Ackbar faced Wes, Thycho and Corran in his office once again.  Although the conditions were more congenial this time each sat in a chair facing the Admiral, waiting to learn what he had learned.

          “Does any one of you know why General Antilles would suddenly go off to the planet Fan’iir?” Ackbar asked without preamble.

          The three Rogues looked at each for confirmation of their individual ignorance.  Their expressions told Ackbar everything he needed to know.

          “As you know, General Antilles has been gone for two weeks now.  General Cracken has secretly used his agents to discover where he might be.  You must understand that this is a politically sensitive issue since it was the Senate which ordered the General Order of Arrest.  Fortunately, one of Crakcken’s agents has unearthed a lead that indicates Wedge might be on the planet Fan’iir.  A Bothan undercover agent working for Lord Persil on that planet has indicated there are rumors that Captain Gavin Darklighter flew there to evaluate a “favorite son” candidate for the Rogue Squadron.”

          Wes spoke first, “But, Admiral, Gavin in back in the medcenter.  He’s recovering from a crash during a test flight.”

          Tycho echoed, “Why would a Bothan agent alert General Cracken rather than President Pro Tempore Fey’lya?”

          Corran affirmed, “Sir.  This is where we should start looking.  Have plans been made to investigate this lead?”

          Ackbar swiveled an eye in Corran’s direction saying, “Surely you  understand that we cannot send in an official extrication team.  However, if there were volunteers who happened to be on leave who wanted to do their best to retrieve a suspected traitor, I’m sure there would be no objection from this office to grant such leave.  Might you know anyone who would be so willing?”

          Corran volunteered, “Admiral Ackbar, Mirax has been, uh, ‘requesting’ that I take leave some time soon.  I would like to officially apply for such leave effective immediately.”

          Tycho added, “Admiral Ackbar, I would like to request leave also.  There has been a great deal of stress in my office lately which I fear has compromised my ability to give my best to the New Republic, Sir.”

          Wes confirmed, “Admiral, Sir, I would like to request emergency family leave, please.”

          Ackbar scowled, “It was my understanding that you were without relatives, Lieutenant Janson.”

          “That is true, sir.  However, Wedge, uh, General Antilles has been like a brother to me since we joined Rogue Squadron 16 years ago.”

          “Understood, Major; leave granted.  I am assuming that the General’s Office will be able to run smoothly in your absences?”

          Wes smiled, “Uh, sir, with General Antilles gone, there is precious little for us to do and no mischief for us to get into.  Bluntly, Sir, we’re bored.  It is my considered opinion that Nawara Ven will be able to handle all matters in our absences.”

          “I am also assuming that this leave has been applied for under the strictest of confidences and I will treat it as such.  Is that correct, gentlemen?”

          Simultaneously they answered, “Yes, sir.”

          “Uh, Admiral, would it be all right if we arranged to use a Republic shuttle to, ah, fulfill our plans for our leave?”

          “I’m afraid that would be most inappropriate, Major Janson.  However, I’m quite sure Cubber Daine has a shuttle in the repair shop that has needed painting from the base coat up.  You might see if you could test IT for flight worthiness.”

          The three Rogues smiled and left the admiral’s office -- on leave.

***********************************************

          Wedge had finally given in to the pain and his throat was sore from crying out.  Again Chyrsoprase touched the rod to his skin, this time to the sole of his left foot.  Wedge arched his back in pain straining against the chest restraint.  He tried to fathom how much time had passed but could not.  The intervals of unconsciousness were broken only by the periods of shattering pain.  He was bleeding from several incision sites as well as his swollen and split lip.  His right eye was closed to a slit and his left eye tried desperately to keep his world in focus.  It was all but useless.  Parsil returned for the first time since he had left . . . how long ago?

          “General?  Are you ready to answer my questions?” he asked.

          Wedge swallowed with great difficulty and whispered a hoarse, “No.”

          “You are persistent, General.  I must say that.  Do you know how long you and Chyrsoprase have been together?  Of course you don’t, you’ve been too removed from reality for too long to discern time.  It has been three days.  Of course, Chyrsoprase didn’t practice his skills on you that whole time, but enough of it to help time pass.  Only one other specimen has lasted longer than you have so far.  Of course, he was a Wookie and his body mass alone would explain his tolerance.  You do know that you will talk eventually, don’t you, General?  It is simply a matter of time.”

          “I won’t,” Wedge confirmed.  He felt as though he were convincing himself as much as Persil.

          Rising to the challenge Persil demanded, “And, what, exactly, makes you so sure of yourself General?”

          “I have nothing to lose,” Wedge replied.

          Persil snorted, “Nothing but your life, you fool.”

          “Exactly,” Wedge agreed.  “You, however, have everything to gain.  And, since you have more to lose if I don’t talk than I have to gain if I do, I simply won’t.  That I might die is nothing new to me.  Sixteen years ago when I joined the Rebellion I resigned myself to the idea that I would most likely die in service to the forces fighting tyranny.  While there is no longer an Empire, you, sir, are a tyrant.  Therefore, it comes as no shock to me that I might die at your hands.  Every minute that passes and I don’t speak, you lose more and more ground.  I assure you I will not tell you what you want to know.”  With a self-satisfying smile Wedge added, “and I assure you that I do know what you want to know.”

          Persil stared at Wedge for seconds and then snapped, “You self-righteous piece of Bantha fodder.  I see, now, that killing you will only give you what you secretly want.  Well, I won’t.  Instead, I will allow you to live, but I will take from you the thing you value most; your ability to fly.  Chyrsoprase, release his right leg.”

          Chyrsoprase complied and in one deft movement Persil grabbed a vibroscalpel from the tray, flexed Wedge’s bare right foot backward and sliced cleanly through his ankle tendon.  Wedge tensed in pain and then collapsed back into the restraints, spent.  He eyed Persil through his left eye and pressed his right leg against his left, hoping to stem the flow of blood.  The warmth of his blood traced its path down his left leg and, for the first time, Wedge considered answering Persil’s questions.  But from somewhere deep in his soul a little voice called out, ‘No, Wedge.  Don’t.  I’ll stay with you.  Your secrets are safe with me.  Don’t take them.’    He answered without speaking, “I won’t, Veggies.  I won’t.”

          Persil probed, “Well, General?  Ready to talk?”

          “No.  I won’t.”

          “A shame, General.  Chyrsoprase has been a technician of great skill.  However, Bangui, here is no Chyrsoprase.  His talent is his strength.  Bangui, I believe you know what to do.”

          Bangui stepped forward and clumsily released Wedge’s left hand from the restraints.  He took the Corellian’s thumb and quickly snapped it, breaking it.  In rapid succession he broke the rest of Wedge’s fingers on his left hand.  After the index finger, Wedge mercifully passed out.

*********************************************

          Because they figured someone might discover the true purpose of their “leaves” and would block their departure, Tycho, Corran and Wes planned their exit from Coruscant as carefully as they had planned their landing at Fan’iir. As planned, they met in the hangar, each appearing at a designated time.  Luckily Cubber had not balked at their request to take the shuttle for a test flight.  Interestingly, there had been no problem getting clearance for their flight plan either; Corran suspected Ackbar’s hidden influence at every turn.

          Their rendezvous was early enough to avoid crowds in the hangar but late enough to look routine.  Corran arrived first and initiated a walk-around inspection of the shuttle.  His stomach turned with fear for Wedge when he remembered watching him do the same thing years ago to teach the new Rogues a lesson about preparedness.  It was an example each Rogue had chosen to emulate.

          Wes entered and they nodded to each other.  Tycho, the last to enter, carried a medkit and an extra bag labeled, “Body Bag” in red letters against the black plasteen surface.  It was a possibility they had tried to ignore but a possibility they had to face.

          Wes challenged, pointing to the body bag, “Who’s that for?”

          Tycho looked at him, shocked that Wes could ask, and stammered,  “Uh, Wedge....” his voice cracked, “I mean, in case, you know, . . . we’re, uh, too late.”

          Wes pushed Tycho, “Well, you can just take it back!  We’re not going to need it.”  He halted, now trying to convince himself as much as Tycho.  “Right, Corran?”

          Corran answered, “Let’s hope not, Wes.  But we don’t know . . . .  Look, you guys got your gear?  Remember what the data said -- ‘Fan’iir is an outer-rim world dominated by Warlord Persil who has made his fortune in the slave trade.’  We’ve got to look our part if this mission is going to succeed.”  Having taken the preparation time to grow stubble and search their closets for scruffy clothes, they already looked the part except for the military bearing they found hard to drop.  Wes looked at the other two and grinned, “I think my Wraiths would have an easier time at this charade than we are!”

          Tycho and Corran grinned at him.  They exchanged quick glances which relayed their commitment to this mission; they were ready.  They hoped it would be a rescue and not a retrieval mission.

***********************************************

          Wedge regained consciousness and found himself in a detention cell.  He tried to move but each attempt sent a different jolt of agony coursing through his body.  Silently he made a “systems check” of his battered body and discovered:  left hand -- useless;  right leg -- useless;  vision -- blurred;   hearing -- undamaged;  level of consciousness -- compromised;  ability to process information -- compromised and untested but apparently functional;  limbs -- severely lacerated;  and, finally, strength -- untested.  He saw his orange flight suit in a heap across the room.  That would be the test of his strength -- could he reach it, put it on and not pass out?

          Sitting up he almost gave in to a wave of pain, dizziness and nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.  Still, he pressed on.  He stood, choking back a cry of dismay and waited.  His right foot hung uselessly.  Using the cot for what little support it gave him, he hopped his way to the wall and leaned against it.  Many of the incisions he had endured split again, bleeding.  He pressed on.  After an eternity he reached his flight suit and hopped back to the cot.  He rested and finally gathered enough strength to put it on.  His condition was bad, even deteriorating.  He was unbelievably thirsty -- probably the sign of dehydration or, worse, shock.  Neither condition held out much promise for his survival, yet he felt better.  With his flight suit on he felt less vulnerable, more in control.  And . . . warm.

          Exhausted, he lay back on the cot and finally faced what he had done.  He was AWOL and if he lived through the experience, he would have to own up to the mistakes he had made.  He would have to resign his commission, hopefully in exchange for avoiding a court martial.  He had disappointed Admiral Ackbar and, worse, proved to be a poor example of a command officer.  He could only imagine how his actions would affect his men and Rogue Squadron’s reputation in general.  He smiled in spite of himself when he realized that the Wraiths would be proud of him as one of them -- a screw-up with no apparent hope of a second chance.  He was so ashamed of what he had done that he was tempted to take off his flight suit -- he had no right to wear it now -- but it was just too warm to surrender it.  He turned his face to the wall to conceal the tears stinging his eyes.  He had lost everything and not found Syal.  As he drifted into unconsciousness again, he saw the two women in the universe who meant the most to him -- his sister, Syal Antilles and his love Iella Wessiri.  Together, they turned their backs on him.

**********************************************

          They had been in hyperspace a while when Corran turned to Wes and said, “You know, it wouldn’t hurt if we brushed up on Persil’s bio.  Did you bring the datapad with you?”

          “Yeah, it’s in my duffel in the cargo hold.  I’ll go get it.”

          Corran nodded and Wes got up to retrieve it.  He was in fairly good spirits finally being able to do something to help Wedge.  There was a hole in his heart put there by the people who didn’t know Wedge like he did and made cutting comments about his absence.  He’d wanted to deck the last tech crewman who had said Wedge was famous for running -- from the trench of the first Death Star and later before Lando Calrisian had cleared the second.  Wes had set his jaw firmly and walked away from it, just as he knew Wedge would have wanted him to.

          Entering the cargo hold, Wes had to duck; the space was for beings smaller and more compact than he was.  He looked forhis duffel and he noticed Tycho’s medkit.  He also noted what it was sitting on, the empty body bag.  He tried to look away, not wanting to imagine using it.  But his eye was constantly drawn back to it and his imagination got the better of him.  He saw it there filled.  Filled with Wedge’s stiff remains -- Wedge -- his General, his mentor, his friend.  His family.  He choked back a short gasp of breath and tried to clear the image from his mind.  He could not.  Sure that what he was seeing was real, he touched the bag and was hit with an almost electric shock.  It wasn’t static, it wasn’t energy, it was the realization that Wedge was very probably dead already and their mission would be a retrieval, not a rescue, mission.  In spite of himself, Wes sank to his knees, weakened by the thought and the honesty of that thought.  Wedge had been a Rogue for so long and the Rogues always did the impossible.  Stang, the Rogues were so accustomed to doing so much with so little that they were qualified to do anything with nothing.  And most of that was due to Wedge’s leadership.  And...and..., he let his tears flow unchecked, and his faith in people no one else trusted.   It hadn’t been an accident that Wes had been Wedge’s second in command of the Wraith Squadron -- Wes had always been a marginal screw-up, too.  Until, of course, Wedge Antilles had taken him under his wing and guided him to making a real contribution to the Rebellion and now the New Republic.  He even thought he had come far enough under Wedge’s tutelage to be a leader in civilian life if he had to.  He’d always feared his marksmanship would never translate itself into gainful employment during peace time but now he could lead a group of men almost as well as Wedge had in his early years.

          Wes held the empty body bag in a vise-like grip; as if the energy he was pouring into it would sustain Wedge, wherever he was.  He looked carefully and saw a puddle forming on the plasteen surface and realized for the first time that he was wracked by great sobs and unchecked tears.

          Evidently Corran had heard and come to investigate.  “Wes?  Wes, are you all right?  What is it?”

          Wes looked up with tears flowing down his cheeks and saying nothing, just held out the body bag for Corran to see.

          Corran knelt next to Wes and took the bag from him.  “Come on, Wes, don’t borrow trouble.  You know Wedge; somehow he dodges the worst of everything, right?  Why would the Force give up on him now?”

          Wes just stared at Corran, numb.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  But, Corran, you are my witness.  If Wedge is dead, so are the men who did this to him.  If Wedge is dead, there is no safe place in this universe where they can hide.  I may not get them right away, but I will dedicate the rest of my life, right to my last breath, to finding and killing them.  I have the skills and no one will know it was me.  I’ll finally be able to thank the service for training me as a sniper.  I would walk away feeling like Wedge’s soul could finally rest.”

          Corran started to say, “Wes, no.  You know Wedge would never want . . . .”

          “That’s just the point isn’t it, Corran.  Wedge wouldn’t be alive to know or care one way or the other.  If he’s dead, my soul is gone anyway; I can’t be turned to the Dark Side.  I would only be fulfilling a destiny that was created for me a long time ago when I picked up my first target blaster and hit the center dead on.  And, the murderers of one of the finest men this universe has ever known would finally be dead -- given the reward they so richly deserved.”

          Suddenly the ship’s intercom came on, “Hey you guys.  You bail on me or what?  We’ll be reverting to normal space shortly.  I sure could use some help when we approach Fan’iir.”

          Wes’s stare bore into Corran and he knew what Wes had said was true.  He simply patted Wes once on the shoulder and nodded his head for them to leave.  Wes followed quietly.

**********************************************

          Lord Persil had grown impatient.  He had expected his prisoner to talk by now, yet, he had not.  He set his mind to forcing Wedge Antilles to talk by doing it himself.  He took up a riot baton he had used before; it had always worked remarkably well.  He called for Bangui and his two most trusted guards to join him in the detention area.

**********************************************

          Wedge flinched, even at the light mental “touch”.  ‘Veggies?’

          ‘Yes, Wedge, I’m here.  You’re hurt pretty bad, aren’t you?’

          ‘Yes.  Are you okay?’

          ‘Uh, huh.  Can I help you at all?’

          ‘Just keep those secrets safe, Veggies.  I can’t have them, understand?  Not here.  They’re probably the last secrets I’ll ever know, so guard them from me, all right?’

          Veggies remained silent for a while but nodded his agreement.  ‘Wedge...?’

          ‘Yes, Veggies?’

          ‘I, uh, saw Mommy a little while ago.  She wants us to join her and Daddy.  Can we go, Wedge?  I miss my Mommy so much.  Nobody sings Stars and Comets to me anymore.’

          Tired beyond belief, Wedge answered, ‘Not yet, Veggies, not yet.  We’ve got to find Syal before we can go.’

          ‘But don’t Mommy and Daddy know where she is?  They  knew  we  were here . . . .’

          ‘Veggies, it’s not just that we have to find her, we have to make sure she is safe and stays safe.  We have to protect her from people who would hurt her to get to us . . . .’

          ‘Oh, okay.  I  understand.  I think I have to go hide again . . . .’

          Wedge nodded and let Veggies go, not even daring to watch.  He didn’t want to know where the little boy with the serious brown eyes went because if he knew he could tell and then the secrets would be found.  He looked around in his darkness and saw no-one.  He was all alone -- possibly for all eternity.  He cried out, ‘Iella!’  but she would not answer him and he knew he deserved it.

******************************************

          “. . . Antilles, stand up!”

          Wedge struggled to consciousness and opened his eyes.  The light was painful but Persil’s corpulent form blocked out most of it.

          “Stand up, Antilles.  Do you hear me?”  Persil jabbed something at his severed ankle and Wedge swallowed back a scream.

          Struggling to sit up, Wedge replied, “Yes.  I hear you.  I can’t if . . . .”

          Persil backhanded Wedge, cuffing his right ear.

          Not surprised by this move, Wedge continued, “. . . if you do any more damage to my ankle.”

          Persil grabbed Wedge by the flight suit’s collar and hauled him to his feet.  “I said, STAND UP, Antilles.  Now do it!”

          Wedge struggled to comply.  He balanced his weight on one leg and stood as Persil circled him.  “You certainly don’t appear very threatening, General Antilles.  Certainly not the monster the Imperial media made you out to be.”

          Unsure whether or not that was an insult, Wedge just replied, “Well, I’m hardly at my best right now . . . .”

          Persil rewarded Wedge’s insolence with a blow to the back of his left knee, cascading him to the floor.  “Now, General Antilles, maybe you’ll understand that the only conversation I want from you is the answers to my questions.  Wedge stared back at Persil with a look of smoldering hatred.  It was now a personal contest of wills.  Veggies could join his Mom; Wedge knew for sure now he would not talk.

          Irate, Persil coldly looked at Wedge and said, “Bangui . . . .   I believe you know what to do.”  Wedge felt Bangui pull his right arm backwards, dislocating his shoulder.  He bit down on his cheek till it bled so he would not cry out.  He remained silent and conscious just to taunt Persil as Bangui methodically broke each finger on his right hand and then “kindly” pulled his arm to reset his shoulder.  Only by focusing on the love he felt for Iella did he not pass out.

**********************************************

          “We don’t care that you’re not expecting us.  We’ve heard that Lord Persil deals in slaves.  It just so happens we have a slave to trade and this shuttle to refuel.  So, forget your Sithspitting code word and clear us for landing,” Tycho bluffed.

          “Shuttle Lamprey, maintain holding pattern.  We are confirming your clearance to land with Lord Persil himself.”

          “Copy that.”  Tycho grinned at his squadmates, “Wes, better put Face’s lessons to work.  You’re our slave, try to look oppressed, will you?”

          Wes walked back to the fresher and started using the mulage kit to create his artificial wounds.  By the time he was done, he looked as though he had played alone against zoneball champions and lost.  He figured even Face would have been fooled.  He just didn’t like the thought of being Tycho’s and Corran’s “slave”.

************************************************

          With thinly disguised frustration, Persil repeated, “What actions will the New Republic Senate take to interdict spice mining on Kessel?  What role will your Rogue Squadron play in controlling the war lords’ activities?  Which war lord will you move against first?

          Each time Wedge failed to answer, Persil either threatened or struck him with the riot baton.  The most recent blow had hammered his upper right arm nearly breaking the bone.  Too exhausted to do anything, Wedge absorbed the blow saying nothing.  Suddenly Persil’s com link sounded.  He answered, “What?!”

          “Flight control, sir.  We have a slaver requesting landing and refueling.  Their signature checks out all right.  What would you like us to do?” 

          Distracted and focusing only on his captive, Persil commanded, “Let them land.  Send them to me.”

************************************************

          Tycho and Corran made a great show of “securing” Wes with chains as they worked on refueling the shuttle.  As surreptitiously as he could, Wes watched, absorbing the station’s activity, routines and protocols.  Anyone passing him would never have guessed that he could see anything through the swollen slit that was his left eye.

          Before leaving, Corran filed a new flight plan for Bothawui.  He smiled at the irony; there was probably no place in the universe that Wedge would rather not visit.  He and Tycho secured several blasters on Wes, figuring that Persil’s guards would definitely search them and hoping they would not search Wes.

          The three Rogues followed the directions given to them to reach Persil’s lair.  It was not a grandiose place but then this was an outer-rim world.  They watched carefully for signs of security forces on the property, but saw none; evidently Persil felt quite secure here.  When they arrived at the door, two burly looking guards answered and, having been told to expect the trio, let them in.  As anticipated, the guards did a thorough check of both Tycho and Corran, but ignored Wes.  His torn clothes and “bleeding” wounds were enough to convince the guards that he was exactly what he was shown to be -- another unfortunate who would soon be sold into slavery to the highest bidder.

          “Lord Persil sent for us,” Corran ventured.

          “Yes, follow us,” the taller of the two guards said.

          Tycho pushed Wes to follow and they followed the guards.  Each of the Rogues committed the route to memory; they might have only one chance to retrace their steps and it might be at a dead run.  They went lower and lower into the building following the guards down a labyrinth of ramps and stairwells.

          Wes moaned, as if in great pain from the effort this journey was costing him.

          “Look, isn’t there a quicker way to where we’re going?” Tycho demanded.

          “Yeah, there’s a turbolift over there,”  he pointed down a short hallway, the match to which they had seen on other levels.  “Why do you care, he’s the one in pain.   Aren’t you, buddy?”  The guard punched Wes hard in the stomach doubling him over.

          Corran moved swiftly and confidently, grabbing the guard’s arm,  “If you don’t mind, that’s our job.  We want to deliver this, uh, specimen, in relatively good condition.  What Lord Persil has you do with him after we get paid is of no concern to us.  But until then, we want him in reasonably good shape.  Understood?”

          The guard looked at him and accepted what Corran had said and led them to the turbolift where he entered a code and the doors slid open.  Each of the Rogues tried to read the sequence of buttons he had pushed, but only Wes was sure of what they were.  Within seconds they were several levels deeper into Persil’s lair.

*********************************************

          Persil asked again, “What role will your Rogue Squadron play in controlling the war lords?”

          Wedge, barely conscious, answered, “I won’t tell you.  And if I did, my being here would make that totally useless information.  Any plans I had been privy to would be changed.  You’ve got to realize the truth in that.”

          “The only thing I realize is that you are a stupid fool.  You should have talked by now, but you’re choosing to die, instead.  Well, General Antilles, let me accommodate you.”  He raised the riot baton and started to swing at Wedge’s head.  Wedge raised his left arm to fend off the blow just as Persil changed the direction of the baton and sent it crashing into Wedge’s ribcage. 

          Wedge felt and heard his ribs crack under the power of Persil’s blow.  His breath was forced from his lungs and he gulped for air.  He knew he couldn’t take much more and live.  He was willing to give in to the blackness that was trying to claim him, but something in him made him fight back.  It wasn’t his time to die.  He had to find Syal before he could rest and he had to let Iella know he understood why she would turn away from him.  He had to hang on a little longer.  Persil would give up.  He knew he would give up...men like Persil were cowards and could not defeat a determined Corellian.

          Persil lifted the baton to swing again, but halted when the turbolift doors opened.  He noted with interest the three fit men standing there with his guards and saw immediately the profit he could make with the sale of the specimen being offered to him.  He lowered his baton and signaled the guards to come behind him and cover the three strangers standing there.  “I see you have a specimen for my trade business, gentlemen.”

          Tycho answered, “Only if the price is right, Lord Persil.”

          Wedge stirred hearing Tycho’s voice.  He didn’t recognize it beyond the fact that it meant something to him.  He just didn’t know what.  He crawled his way over to the wall and sat up against it, cradling his broken ribs as best he could with his broken hands and battered arms.  He looked through swollen eyes and moaned, “Ohh, nooooo.  Wessss....  Not you, too?”  He passed out.

          Persil, displaying a quickness of thought no one would have given him credit for, quickly understood that this specimen was a friend of Antilles’ and suspected the others might be too.  He signaled the guards to fire on all three of them.

          As quickly as Persil had put it together, Corran had also -- only he was a fraction of a second quicker.  He pulled a gun from Wes’s clothing; Tycho mirrored his moves.  Together they fired on the guards, hitting their targets dead on.  While they did that, Persil pulled his own blaster and shot at Wes.  Wes jumped from the shock of a scorching blow from the blaster but did not fall.  Reflexively, Tycho and Corran fired on Persil, two lethal bolts of energy hitting him in two vital spots.  Persil crumpled, dead.  Wes scrambled for Persil’s blaster and shot the slow moving Bangui before he had taken five steps.

          Ignoring his own wound, Wes ran to Wedge who seemed to be breathing but was hurt, badly.  He rolled Wedge over and nearly saw red  when he studied the extent of the punishment Wedge had sustained.  “Wedge?  Wedge, can you hear me?  It’s Wes.”  He wished Persil and his men weren’t dead so he could kill them all over again.

          Wedge opened his eyes and tried to focus on his X.O.  “Wes?  Don’t worry about me, get out of here.  Fast.”

          “Not without you, General.  That’s why we came.  We’re taking you home.”

          “We...?”  Wedge tried to see beyond Wes but could not.  Then Tycho and Corran were kneeling next to him and he smiled, “The Rogues doing the impossible again, eh?”

          “Just like you taught us, Wedge,” Tycho replied, choking on a sob.

          Wedge fixed Corran with a stare, “Corran, if I don’t make it....”

          “Stop, Wedge.  We’re not even going to talk like that.  You’ll make it back, I promise,” Corran assured him.

          “No, Corran, listen.  Tell Admiral Ackbar. . . .”  He swallowed back a crushing pain in his chest from the breath he had just drawn.  “Tell Ackbar I never talked.  I didn’t Corran.  You’ve got to make him believe it.  I . . . didn’t . . . talk.  Promise me you’ll tell him, please.  I didn’t talk . . . .  I didn’t . . . .”

          “We know Wedge.  But let’s just get you out of here so you can tell him yourself.  What d’ya say?”  Tycho soothed the injured man.

          “Tycho?” Wedge looked at his old friend.  “Tycho I didn’t find her.  I’ve lost everything, but I didn’t find her.”

          Puzzled, Wes asked, “Who, Wedge?  Who didn’t you find?”

          “Syal.  I came here to find her but she wasn’t here.  You know, Syal....”

          The three Rogues looked at each other totally puzzled by what Wedge was saying.  “Who’s Syal, Wedge?” Corran asked.

          “. . . si..ter . . . .” Wedge slurred in response.

          Still puzzled the Rogues chose to accept his comment as the pain talking and looked around for a way to carry their General out.  All they found was a blanket.  It would take Tycho’s and Corran’s carrying Wedge out on a makeshift stretcher while the wounded Wes covered them.  It was less than ideal but it was their only choice.

          Gently Tycho and Corran lifted Wedge onto the blanket.  Wedge choked back a cry of agony; he never lost consciousness, but he closed his eyes against the effort.  They moved to the turbolift and found their way to the ground level within minutes.  As quietly as they could they dodged around corners, a move complicated by the need to evacuate the nearly unconscious Wedge without moving him too much.  They exited and paused in the shadows of the building.  No one moved and no one seemed to be on patrol.  Given the ease with which they had entered, they weren’t surprised.  They made it back to their docking bay and onto the shuttle Lamprey.  They put Wedge on a cot, but his breathing was ragged and irregular.  Tycho felt for a pulse and noted its irregularity as well.  Wedge opened his eyes and said,  “Is it just me or was that too easy?”

          The others nodded their agreement but said nothing.  Instead, Tycho tended to Wes’s arm while Corran powered up the shuttle.  Wedge seemed to have passed into a deep sleep and Tycho said, “He’s right, you know.  That was too easy.”

          Wes grimaced at the bacta patch Tycho was applying and said, “Easy for you to say.  Personally, I don’t think it went all that well.”

          Tycho ruffled his hair and joked, “No, I’m sure you don’t.  But at least we got him out.”  He pointed at Wedge whose breathing was no more regular. 

          “Yeah.  Thank the Force we didn’t need the body bag you brought along.”

          “Yeah,” was all Tycho could reply.  “Kinda wish we had brought a stasis pod too.  He needs it badly.  We might be lucky if we get him home in time . . . .”

          Wes had to admit the truth in Tycho’s statement and said, “Look, don’t worry about me.  Do what you can for Wedge.”

          Tycho took out all the supplies he had but was temporarily overwhelmed by the extent of Wedge’s injuries.  Finally, he assessed him as best he could and set out to stabilize Wedge’s ribs.  Just as Tycho was taping a bacta dressing and bandage in place, Corran powered up and lifted off, throwing Tycho off balance.  Wedge shuttered and lay still.  Tycho had to shake him hard to get him to breathe again.  Once he did, Tycho called Corran, “Corran, our package is pretty severely damaged.  Don’t spare the power cells, okay.  He might not make it if you do.”

          Corran double-clicked the comm unit and fed all the energy he could into the shuttle’s power drive.  “Hang on.  Hyperspace in 10....”

          Tycho and Wes secured Wedge and then themselves.  Corran fed the shuttle the navcomputer’s calculations for the most direct route back to Coruscant and hoped for the best.

**********************************************

          In his world of darkness and emptiness Wedge felt  Veggies come out of hiding.  ‘Hi. Wedge.  You made it through, didn’t you?’

          ‘Yeah, I guess I did.  Are you okay?’

          ‘Yes.  Do you want your secrets back now?’

          ‘It doesn’t matter.  You can hang on to them a little bit longer if you want to.’

          ‘Okay.  I saw Mommy again.  She says it’s time for me to go home.  Is it okay if I do?’

          ‘Sure, little Veggies, sure.  I don’t think anybody will ever give me secrets like that again, so go ahead.’

          ‘But she wants you to come too.  Don’t you want to see Mommy again?’

          ‘More than you know.  I’m so, so, tired.  But Syal still needs me.  Maybe after I find her.  Tell Mom I’ll come when I find her, okay?’

          ‘Okay.  Promise?’

          Wedge swallowed hard, ‘Yeah, I promise.  Tell Mommy and Daddy I miss them and love them.  Tell them . . . .   Tell them, I’m sorry they died because I didn’t get there in time.  I don’t play silly games anymore.  I learned my lesson.’

          Veggies smiled broadly, ‘You aren’t seriously going to try to convince Wes that you don’t play silly games any more, are you?  I don’t think he’ll believe you after you had him feeding the Ewok pilot.  But I will tell them. . . .   Is there anything else you want me to do?’

          ‘No. That’s it.’    He let a tear slide down his cheek, ‘Veggies, I won’t ever see you again, will I?’

          ‘No, Wedge, you won’t.  You gotta find Syal because she is the only one of us left to take care of you.  I’ll take these secrets and some of your old hurts with me, too, okay?  You won’t miss them.’

          ‘Okay.’

          ‘Bye, Wedge.  Come join us soon.  We need you too.’

          Wedge looked away, ‘I’ll try Veggies.  I’ll try.’

          Wedge watched Veggies leave and felt an all-encompassing emptiness wash over him.  He was alone.  He had seen to it with his foolish and impulsive actions.  He regretted this more than he could admit even to himself.

*******************************************

          The flight went smoothly and the three rescuers were pleased with themselves.  Wes’s arm responded well to the bacta patch so he exercised it to keep it limber.   Without realizing it, the three rescuers kept a rotating vigil on Wedge’s condition.  Although he was not unconscious -- he would turn his head when they spoke to him -- he was in a very deep sleep.  The bacta patches were woefully inadequate as were the intravenous packs they had been feeding him.  Given the extent of Wedge’s injuries, Tycho was not surprised that they quickly used up their five-pack supply early in the hyperspace jump.

          After his last check on Wedge, Tycho moved up front to join Corran in the cockpit.  “How long till we dock?”

          Corran checked his chrono, “About three standard hours.”

          Tycho looked around quickly and confirmed that Wes wasn’t near.  “That may not be good enough.  Wedge is beginning to retract a little; I’ve seen that in battle injuries before.  It’s not a good sign.  Any way you can speed it up?”

          Corran shook his head, “We’re maxed on speed as it is, any faster and we drain off the fuel cells too quickly.  We won’t make it back at all in that case.”

          Wes entered quietly, “Not good enough, Corran.  We’ve got to get him back fast if what Tycho says is true.  How about a mid-space refueling?”

          “Wes,” Corran started, “you know as well as I do that’ll just waste time.  Better we maintain and get there this way.  As I understand it, Wedge has no more time to spare than we have fuel cells to spare.  We’ll keep it nice and steady.

          “Sithspit!” Wes exclaimed.  “I know you’re right but I don’t like it.”  He pinned Corran with a glare, “We did not come all this way to retrieve him only to lose him on the way home.  Failure is not an option, Corran, understood?”

          There were any number of replies Corran could have shot back.  ‘He cared as much for Wedge as Wes.’   ‘He didn’t consider failure an option either.’   ‘It wasn’t his fault that the laws of time and distance might kill Wedge.’   But, he knew they all felt the same way.  “Understood,” was all he said.

          “C--Corrr--an?” A weak voice came over the internal comm unit.

          Corran was out of his seat even before Wes and Tycho realized that Wedge had called.  Tycho took the helm.  Wes remained silent; he was all too familiar with the way Wedge thought.   Wedge was giving his last orders....

          Corran knelt next to Wedge and gently tugged at his uniform sleeve,  “Yeah, Wedge?  It’s me, Corran.”

          Wedge tried desperately to open both his eyes but neither responded any more than a slit.  He tried to speak but his throat was too dry from dehydration, he swallowed and spoke with a soft, gravely voice.  “Corran, you’ve got to take this information to Ackbar, understand?  It’s just two words; only he and members of the Armed Forces Committee of the Senate will understand.  Hoth escape.  Clear?  Hoth escape.”  Wedge looked at Corran to see that he had understood.  “Say it, Corran, just so I can . . . die . . . in peace.”

          Corran repeated the phrase, “Hoth escape.  Okay, Wedge, now rest.  You can’t give up on us now.  It’s only a little bit longer.  Hold on, okay?”

          Wedge nodded, “. . . ’m trying . . . .    Tycho, next . . . .”

          Corran gave another gentle tug on Wedge’s uniform sleeve and left.  In the cockpit he signaled Tycho to head back.  Tycho nodded and left.  When he reached Wedge he said nothing for a minute and then coughed gently to attract Wedge’s attention.  “Wedge, you wanted me?”

          “Yeah, Tycho.  You’ve got to take this message to Iella.  Tell her I’m sorry that I disgraced the feelings she had for me and I understand why she would turn away from me.  It’s okay.  But tell her that she was all I could think of while Persil did his best to make me talk.  Her face, her body, her smell were what I concentrated on and it was too distracting for me to pay much attention to Warlord Persil . . . .”

          Tycho grinned, “Got it pretty bad for Intel’s finest, eh, Wedge?”

          With the little energy he had, Wedge nodded yes.  “Like you and Winter.  Tell her I wanted our love to be so much more than it ever had a chance to be . . . .  That losing her hurts more than what Persil has done to me, but that if I make it, I won’t saddle her with the disgrace of being seen with . . . with . . . me!”  He fairly spat out the last word showing the contempt he felt for himself which no one else shared.  Before Tycho could even attempt to reassure him, Wedge quietly said,  “Send Wes, please.”

          Tycho stood and walked forward for Wes; he met him halfway.  “I figured I was next . . . .” Wes said.

          Tycho nodded, “Yep.  He’s in pretty bad shape, Wes.  See if you can’t help him find some peace with what he’s done.”  He choked out, “okay?” and hurried past Wes but not before Wes noticed the tears in Tycho’s eyes.

          Wes stood still for a moment, his knees weak, his face flushed and fearing, more than any combat mission he had ever undertaken, the next few minutes with Wedge.  If he was in such desperate condition then Wedge might die right there in front of him.  The thought overwhelmed him, how could he be responsible enough to handle that and all the inevitable consequences of such random timing?  He steeled himself and pulled up a chair next to Wedge.

          “Yeah, Boss?”

          “Wes?”  Wedge licked his lips trying to separate them; they had grown sticky  from dehydration.  “Wes, they’ll probably have a little committee waiting for me when we reach Coruscant.  I don’t care if I eventually live or die, but I want to walk off this bird with your help.”

          “Wedge, we won’t let them know we’re coming in . . . we’ll take you right to the medcenter after we land . . . and nobody . . . .”

          “No, Wes, do it by the book.  I don’t want my last order to be outside the law.  Let flight control know you’re coming in and whom you have on board.  But, help . . . me . . . walk down . . . that ramp with what little  . . . dignity I can muster.  I want to do that for . . . you and the rest of the . . . Rogues and Wraiths . . . and anyone else who never lost faith in me.   You may have to hold me up a lot, but I can do it if you’re next to me, Wes.  Will you do that for me, Wes?”

          Wes tried but could not hold back his tears.  He was gasping for breath through his sobs, overwhelmed by the trust Wedge granted him.  All he could say was,  “Yub, yub, Wedge.”

          Wedge looked at him and smiled,  “I thought I ended that little bit of nonsense back there on Mon Remonda.”  He coughed and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and he sank back, exhausted by his efforts.  Wes double- checked; Wedge still had a weak pulse and was still breathing.  Wes sat there, frozen in place, till Corran called over the internal comm unit, “Reversion to normal space in 30.  Secure yourself, Wes, and our package.”  In a fog, Wes complied.

          Corran gently touched  the Lamprey down on the deck of the landing pad Coruscant flight control had assigned to them.  From his vantage point in the cockpit he could see the “welcoming committee” already forming.  He snorted at the irony of the situation.  Nearly a squadron of heavily armed soldiers took up tactical positions to ensure the peaceful arrest of one AWOL General Wedge Antilles.  If they had any idea of the general’s condition, they would have sent a troop of young Galaxy Scouts to arrest Wedge.  He cut the engines and called over the internal comm unit, “Wes, get Wedge ready for transfer; I’ll order a repulsorcot for him.”

          Wedge replied weakly but firmly, “No, Corran.  I’m walking out of here with Wes’s help.  It ain’t much, but it is the only dignity I can muster at this point.  Humor me.”

          Corran double-clicked the comm unit and looked at Tycho who raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in a “what-else-did-you-expect-of-Wedge?” look.  Corran smiled in agreement and lowered the ramp for departure.  He walked back to the temporary “sick bay” with Tycho right behind him.  Wedge looked up and said, “Corran, you remember what you have to tell Admiral Ackbar?”  Corran nodded.  “Help me stand, then, will you; I need both of them as ‘crutches’.”

          As gently as they could, Wes and Tycho helped Wedge stand on his one good foot.  They placed his arms around their necks, grasping his forearms and supporting him.  Miraculously, Wedge did not pass out.  “Let’s get this over with, Rogues,” Wedge urged.  They exchanged looks and with out benefit of a specific signal, moved out and down the Lamprey’s ramp with military precision.  At the foot of the ramp, a Bothan captain stepped forward, faced Wedge and seemed to take unusual delight in saying, “General Wedge Antilles?”

          Wedge nodded.

          “Sir, it is my duty to place you under arrest for being absent without official leave.  Gentlemen, please step aside . . . .”

          Wes growled at him, “If we step aside, he’s going to collapse; he can’t stand on his own, his injuries are too severe.”

          Tycho topped him, “Where are you taking him?”

          It was at that point that Corran took a closer look at the soldiers present; each was a Bothan with an amused expression on his face.  It seemed unusual at the time but its significance would become clear later.

          The Bothan Captain answered, “This was not a request, gentlemen; it was an order.  Step aside.”  Tycho and Wes simply refused until Wedge solved the matter by ducking from under their arms and hopping a single step forward.  He wavered, but did not fall.  The Bothan stepped forward and roughly pulled Wedge’s arms behind his back and cuffed him with plastisteel restraints.  Unbalanced, Wedge started to fall but Wes stepped in supporting his weight.  “He’s got two broken hands and injuries that’ll prevent any resistance.  Why for the love of Jedi did you do that?”

          “Orders from the Senate, Captain,” the Bothan Captain grinned.  “Sir, if you would, please follow me.”

          Wedge took in a deep breath and immediately grimaced in pain and coughed up blood which, with his head bowed, splattered onto his flight suit’s leg.  Wes was beside himself with rage.  “Look, order a repulsorcot for him, will you?  He can’t go anywhere in his condition.”

          Wedge looked at Wes, “Leave it be, Wes,” and sank his weight into Wes’s arms.  Together they followed the Bothan troops which had surrounded them and exited the docking bay.  As soon as they stepped into the corridor they were assaulted by a swarm of holonews and vid reporters.  Their questions were nothing more than a cacophony of sound to Wedge as he focused his effort on following the Bothan troops.  Finally, they exited and a medivac shuttle evacuated him to the nearest medcenter with a detention ward.  As the medivac shuttle took off, the Bothan troops dispersed and once alone, Wes turned to Corran, “You’re not going to Admiral Ackbar alone.  I want to discuss what just happened here with him.  Got it?”

          Tycho echoed Wes’s sentiment.  “Wes has accomplished what he was supposed to do and my mission can wait a bit.  We’re all going to Admiral Ackbar’s.”

          Corran nodded and said, “I was hoping you’d feel that way.”

************************************************

          Iella Wessiri was in her office when her secretary burst in without knocking.  Such a breach of protocol was uncommon and Iella jumped.  Her nerves had been on edge ever since Wedge’s unexplained disappearance nearly three weeks ago.  “Iella, turn on the vid reports, now.”

          Iella complied and she felt fingers of ice wrap themselves around her heart as she caught a glimpse of Wedge Antilles, her friend and lover.  She gasped and used the remote to bring up the volume.   “. . . moments earlier this squadron of Bothan Reservists placed General Wedge Antilles under arrest for being absent without official leave.  The General’s condition is reported to be critical, but he was able to walk, assisted by his Executive Officer, Major Wes Janson.  He was medivacked to an unknown location.  Speculation abounds as to why the General deserted his command two-and-a-half weeks ago, but given his critical medical condition, it seems likely that he was treated poorly by someone.   Captain, Rys’liar, a moment of your time, please.”

          The Bothan Captain moved forward and seemed to revel in the spotlight of the holocams.  “Yessss?” he fairly purred.

          “Captain Rys’liar, why was it deemed necessary to arrest General Antilles?  Doesn’t his war record and service to the Republic stand on its own merit?  And to have cuffed him in his condition may seem a bit extreme to many of our viewers.”

          Rys’liar nodded, “I can quite understand their concern, but they are probably unaware of the potential threat General Antilles poses to this government and its people.  That threat exists because he intentionally abandoned his command and disappeared.  From his condition, it is reasonable to assume that he was interrogated and that under such, uh, pressure, gave up sensitive information to his captors.  His rank and his service record cannot be allowed to serve as a shield from the law in this society.  No citizen, may I remind you and your viewers, is above the law of the New Republic government.  Therefore, it was my duty to obey my orders and apprehend and detain General Antilles.  I’m sure the people of this Republic will understand.  Now, excuse me please, I have reports to file with the Senate Armed Forces Committee.”   Rys’liar side stepped the reporter and all others who shouted after him.  He was quite content with himself for obeying Senator Fey’lya’s orders and statement.

          “And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, a statement by Captain Rys’liar of the Bothan Reserve Guard explaining the arrest and detention of General Wedge Antilles, former Hero of the Republic, current common criminal . . .”

          Iella turned off the program and in a fit of anger hurled the remote across her office.  It landed in a dozen pieces on the floor.  “Arleef, cancel any and all of my appointments for the next 72 hours.  Make an appointment for me with Admiral Ackbar, and don’t take no as an answer.  Press until you get one.”  She turned from Arleef, and activated her comm unit.  “This is Agent Wessiri.  I want two pieces of information, NOW.  One -- the location of Captain Corran Horn and, Two -- which medcenter they took General Antilles to.  I don’t intend to wait very long for that information, understood?”  She waited for affirmation of her requests and then exploded, “I don’t give a rancor’s ass, what the security clearance is on that information.  Whatever level it is, I have that clearance and higher.  If you don’t consider this request as one coming from General Cracken himself, you will be quite sorry about that mistake tomorrow.  Now move, before I get impatient.”

          Alone and frightened for Wedge, she barely whispered,  “Ohhh, Wedge, Sweetheart, hang on.  I’m coming as soon as I can.”

*********************************************

          The emergency medic on the medivac shuttle looked at Wedge with sympathy.  “General Antilles?” she called.  “Can you hear me?”

          Lying painfully on his side because of the plastisteel cuffs, Wedge simply nodded his head yes.  He had too little strength to do more.

          “General, my father was on Hoth and escaped only because you and the rest of Rogue Squadron flew interference for them.  I’ve always admired you and your commitment to the New Republic.  Here . . . ,”  she took the multipurpose utensil from her tool holster and snipped the cuffs in two.  “Let me help you get more comfortable.”

          Wedge nodded and coughed up blood again.  With her help he rolled to his back leaning against the elevated portion of the stretcher.

          “Is that better, General?”

          With closed eyes, he nodded yes.  “Thanks.  But I don’t want you to get in trouble . . . .”

          “General, don’t worry about it.  On this territory, I’m the authority.  My medical expertise elevates me beyond the authority of the Bothan Reserve Guard.”  She gently felt his forehead and smoothed back the locks of hair that had grown even more unruly over three weeks’ time without trimming.  “You’re running a fever, which isn’t surprising given your injuries.  I’m going to administer another intravenous pack; it’s not much, but it will help some.”  She set about doing as she had promised.

          “What rumors went around while I was gone?” Wedge asked.

          “Oh, nothing much to take seriously.  Some said you had turned traitor, others believed you had been kidnapped by terrorists.  No one knew for sure, but everyone seemed to care.  I’m relieved you’re back and can tell us what happened and clear your name.”

          Almost imperceptibly Wedge shook his head, “No.  No, I can’t.  Too many people would suffer if I did.”

          She again brushed his unruly hair off his forehead shook her head and grinned,  “Still protecting the vulnerable, eh, General?”

          “Mmm, hmmm.  Do you know where they are taking me?”

          “The Alderaan Memorial Medicenter.  They have a detention ward there for... for prisoners.  There are some fine medics there.  The bacta tank is new, you should be well-cared for.  That is, if there isn’t too much Bothan influence there.”

          Wedge grinned at the young woman’s understanding of his political situation as well as his medical condition.  “Long flight . . . .”

          “Yeah, too long,” she replied.  She adjusted her head gear and activated her com link to the pilot.  “Frxys, what’s taking so long?”

          “We’ve been diverted by Admiral Ackbar’s office.  Seems they want the General at Darklighter Memorial.  Fine with me, better landing facilities there and friendlier people.  How’s General Antilles doing?”

          “He’d be better off if we had landed by now.  How much longer?”

          “We’re on final approach now.  You both secure?  Storm’s come up, could be a rough landing.”

          She double-clicked her unit in confirmation.  “General, I’m going to very gently adjust this strap to secure you.  But first, I’m going to place this pillow over your broken ribs; that should minimize you discomfort when I do.  All right?”

          “Yes, thanks,” he murmured.

          She set about her work and within minutes they landed at Darklighter Memorial.  When the shuttle’s motion ceased, she activated the stretcher’s hover mode and waited for the hospital medics to open the hatch.  Once the doors were opened the transfer went smoothly and she waved good bye to a man she had long admired and never hoped to meet.  Silently she said a little prayer to the Force to protect and help him through the next several days.  She was sure he was going to need it.

          Wedge was only dimly aware of the transfer from the shuttle to the emergency department.  His world was getting smaller and smaller, darker and darker.  He felt like he was dying, but didn’t want to give up.  In the distance he saw a very bright light and his mother silhouetted against.  Yet in the darkness he saw the shadowy figure of Iella, the woman he loved.  He knew he must make a choice.

**************************************************

          Dr. Maup Cryn hung up the comm unit and had just enough time to call out to his colleagues in Darklighter Memorial Emergency Department, “Whoever is coming in has the big guys worried.  Let’s look our best,” before the doors burst open and his newest patient presented to him.  He looked at the unconscious man and in spite of the bloody beard and straggly hair, he recognized him immediately.  “Stang, folks!  We’ve got General Antilles here!   Qror, I want all his records and information NOW!”   The Fondorian nodded sharply and scurried to complete his assignment.

          Cryn helped transfer Wedge’s inert body to a treatment bed which immediately registered his weak vital signs.  Each member of the emergency team worked in concert with the others and within seconds Wedge received the critical care he needed.  When Cryn cut away the flight suit he was astonished at the brutality Wedge had survived, the signs of which were evident everywhere.  “Qror!  I need that information.  NOW!!!”

          Qror stood at the foot of the bed shaking his head in disbelief.  “I . . . I, uh,

. . . I can’t.  They’ve been erased . . . or . . . or something.  It’s so weird, the computer has no record of any General Wedge Antilles in it at all.  Nothing . . . .”

          Cryn looked at him, shocked.  “I don’t care what you have to do, find this man’s packet.”

          Qror just shook his head, “It’s all gone.”

          Cryn hesitated a moment and then ordered, “Well, we can still do things the old fashioned way.  I want a blood sample drawn, run and 4 units up here fast.  Qror, call the bacta unit, tell them I have a patient who needs NEW, not recycled, bacta.  Don’t let them argue with you!  Tell them he needs to be ‘washed’ inside and out.”

          Cryn continued his survey of Wedge’s condition and spoke into the voice-activated comm device he wore to record his findings.  He was surprised at how clinical he sounded when he cared so much about the man he was treating.  “Patient is a human male, approximately 33 standard years, 1.9 meters tall and in fit condition.  He is presenting with severe blunt and twisting force trauma to the head, rib cage and fingers of the left and right hands.  Incision wounds appear along the mid-sternal line, left scapula, and lower right leg severing the Jedi tendon.  Abdomen marked by rigidity, internal bleeding likely.  Patient is non-responsive to pain stimuli.  Trauma Scale reading is no greater than 3 of 10.  Aggressive bacta treatment has been ordered and will commence by 1630 hours.  Prognosis poor for survival of said injuries.  Recommend notification of next of kin.  Notice to authorities -- suspected tampering of patient’s medical record; contact General Cracken of Intel.”

          Within moments Wedge was removed to the bacta facility and Cryn moved on to his next patient.  He feared he would never have the chance to tell the General how much he owed him for introducing him to his wife, Koyi Komad.

***********************************************

          Iella paced her office impatiently.  So far none of the information she requested had filtered its way through to her.  Her comm unit sounded and she activated it with a terse, “Wessiri!”

          “Iella?  Mirax.  Word’s out you’re looking for my husband.  I just heard from him.  He’s on his way to Admiral Ackbar’s office.  Hurry and you can meet him there.”

          “Mirax, I owe you.”  Iella cut the com link and fled out of her office.  It was clear to Arleef she might not be back for quite a while.

          Iella took a land speeder to Admiral Ackbar’s office and caught up to Corran, Wes and Tycho.  Corran read the look of worry in her eyes and stepped away from the other two, opening his arms to Iella.  She sank into them and allowed him to envelop her in his strength.

          “Corran?”

          “We don’t know yet.  He’s in really bad shape, Iella.  I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

          “He’s got to.  We’ve . . . we’ve come so far.”  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes held back by the sheer power of her strength.  “I won’t lose another man I love, Corran.  I won’t.”

          Admiral Ackbar’s aide admitted them to the outer office and asked them to wait while he gained permission for them to speak to the Admiral.  Within a few minutes they entered the office where Admiral Ackbar and President Pro Tempore Fey’lya stood, evidently in the middle of a heated discussion.  Both looked at the Rogues and Iella and responded,

          “Is General Antilles expected to recover?” Ackbar asked.

          “I want to know everything he has told you and every detail you can offer.  I’m sure you realize the sensitive information General Antilles is privy to and we must know if any of it has been compromised,” Fey’lya insisted.

          Corran started, “First, Admiral Ackbar, we don’t know.  Second, Wedge had a message for you that he insisted I bring to you.  He said....”

          Fey’lya interrupted, “As long as you are a military officer Horn, you will report the details I have requested first.  This is not negotiable.  Now, where did you find General Antilles?”

          Corran held his tongue, wanting to rail at Fey’lya but realizing he had to obey Senator Fey’lya even before Admiral Ackbar.  “We found him on the planet Fan’iir, the prisoner of a Lord Persil.  He was,” Corran choked and hesitated before he could continue.  “He was tortured for information, the nature of which we don’t know....”

          Corran stopped when Fey’lya held his hand to stop him and opened his com link to his office,  “This is President Fey’lya, proceed with a court martial against General Antilles -- charges treason, giving aid and comfort to the enemy.”  He cut off his com link and waited for Corran to continue.

          “However, Admiral Ackbar, he sent you this message.”  He glared at Senator Fey’lya, daring him to interrupt again.  “He said, ‘Hoth escape’ and that you would know what that meant.”

          Admiral Ackbar sat down heavily.  “He was brutalized, you said?  And yet he remembered ‘Hoth escape’?”

          “Yes, sir, to both your questions,” Tycho added.

          Iella spoke up,  “Admiral Ackbar, sir, what does ‘Hoth escape’ mean?”

          Corran, Tycho and Iella concentrated on Ackbar, but Wes’s attention was diverted by Fey’lya’s reactivating his com link.  “President Fey’lya.  Abort Operation Hax.  Recall all units.  Immediately!”

          Ackbar took a deep breath and answered, “It means that the person who has sent the message resisted all efforts to elicit information from him.  It means General Antilles withstood his torture and never gave up any information he has about the New Republic.  It means he is a man of great courage and fortitude.

It means he may die the way he lived, protecting freedom and this government.”

          Wes looked at Admiral Ackbar, “Excuse me, sir.  Does Senator Fey’lya know what ‘Hoth escape’ means?”

          Ackbar nodded, “Of course.  All members of the Armed Forces Committee do.”

          In the blink of an eye, Wes charged Fey’lya and pinned him to the wall.  “You miserable excuse for a sentient being.  You Son of a Sith!  You knew!  You knew where Wedge was going.  You set him up!!!”

          Corran and Tycho tried to pull Wes off Fey’lya but he shook them off.  Again they attempted to disengage Wes but could not.  Fearing Wes would ruin his career and seeing no alternative, Tycho hit Wes on his wound.  It worked.  Wes broke his grip on Fey’lya’s throat and cradled his injured arm.   “Corran!  Tycho!  He knew.  He had to have!”

          Fey’lya was beside himself with rage.  “I want that man in chains.  He is a menace.  He is as treasonous as Antilles.  I want him to never see the light of day again.”

          Wes countered, “Admiral Ackbar.  Ask him what his last transmission was.  He said to abort Operation Hax.  Please sir, ask him.”

          Fey’lya stopped mid-sentence.  “Perhaps I have over-reacted.  Send these men and this woman on their way.”

          Admiral Ackbar looked at Fey’lya inquisitively,  “Operation Hax, Senator?  Just what exactly is Operation Hax?”

          “Nothing to concern the New Republic’s Armed Forces, I assure you, Admiral,” Fey’lya responded.

          “Let me be the judge of that.  What is Operation Hax?  You know I will find out; wouldn’t you rather I heard it from you?”

          Fey’lya smoothed the ruffled fur around his face and nodded.  “It is a Bothan Reserve exercise.  That is all.”

          Ackbar pierced him with a scowl, “I truly doubt that, sir.  I want all of the truth.  Now.”

          Fey’lya continued, “The Bothan government tired of being held in contempt by the humans of the Senate so they authorized me to commence an exercise that would glorify the members of the Bothan Reserves -- the only all-Bothan cadre in the armed services.  I felt that if we made a preemptive strike on one of the New Republic’s greatest adversaries -- Warlord Persil -- it would reflect well on and gain renewed respect for my government.”

          Tycho and Corran had relaxed their hold on Wes who suddenly lunged at Fey’lya again.  “So you set Wedge up, didn’t you?  You set him up.”

          Fey’lya curled his lip in disdain.  “I acted on intelligence I have held for a long time -- that Wynnsa Starflare is actually General Antilles’ sister Syal Fel, wife of Baron Soontir Fel.  My network of spies has traced her whereabouts for years now and I have waited for an opportune time to act on that intelligence and it played nicely into this operation.  I wanted Warlord Persil to initiate an attack on Republic forces which my Reserve units would intercept and thus neutralize Persil’s attack.  I knew the best way for that to happen would be to maneuver Persil into the attack by his capturing and obtaining from General Antilles the information that he was a prime target for our forces, as the Security Council has discussed more than once in the General’s presence.  I simply concocted an ambiguous letter, supposedly from Syal Fir suggesting she needed her brother’s assistance on Fan’iir.  He clearly fell for the ruse and left to go to her aid.  I had suspected that General Antilles would eventually succumb to Lord Persil’s, uh, methods of persuasion and release the information I wanted Persil to have.  Apparently I underestimated him”

          Ackbar was quick to react; he quickly took in the astonished looks on Corran’s, Iella’s, Tycho’s and Wes’s faces and said, “The first one of you who moves against the Senator will be stunned.  I assure you, I mean it.”

          Wes and the others looked at Ackbar and were well convinced of his sincerity as he had already drawn his gun.   Corran was the first to recover,  “Admiral Ackbar, sir, what are we going to do about this?”

          “I’ll report it to the Council immediately.  Senator, you realize, of course, that as always, what has transpired here has been vid-recorded; you will not be able to deny what you have just said.  I suggest, sir, that you sit and wait while the guards report to escort you home where you will remain under house arrest.”

          Fey’lya barely blinked.  “Have you thought this through, Admiral?  I do not believe you have General Antilles’ best interests at heart if you proceed with this course of action.”

          “I assure you, sir, I have General Antilles’ best interests at heart,” Ackbar spoke smoothly.  “Why do you insinuate I do not?”

          “Because releasing this information will end any attempts to negotiate dropping the charges against General Antilles.  I can see to their being dropped immediately . . . IF it is to my advantage to do so.”

          The silence hung heavily in the room.  “Once people hear the whole story, no one will consider maintaining charges against Wedge,” Tycho proposed.

          “Are you willing to gamble the General’s reputation and future on that, Colonel Celchu?  You five people have it within your power to assure his profitable future.  The choice is yours.”

          Iella spoke calmly, “You are saying that if we forget what we have just heard that no action will be taken against Wedge?  How are we to believe you?”

          “Because, Mistress Wesirri, it is in MY best interests to do so.  I will have the Bothan troops guarding his room leave immediately and release to the media a story that totally exonerates the General.  I simply ask in return that this conversation remain private among us.  It is your choice.”

          Wes, Tycho, Corran and Iella turned to Admiral Ackbar, waiting for him to speak, waiting to see if they could agree with him.

          “It seems, Senator, that you have proposed a fitting solution to this difficulty.  It is a solution that benefits General Antilles more than it does you, but only marginally.  I will accept it.  Iella?  Gentlemen?”

          The men nodded their agreement.  Iella simply said, “No.”

          All eyes turned to her in dismay.  “Iella...” Corran started.

          “No!  The Senator is getting off too easily,” she insisted.

          Admiral Ackbar added, “Iella, I understand your desire to see justice done, but surely you can see that this is to General Antilles’ advantage?”

          “Yes, of course, Admiral.  I wish to see justice done, but I want that justice to be for Wedge.  Quite frankly, I couldn’t care less about the Senator.  He could go before a Senate censure committee or not for all I care.  What I care about is that he now use his, uh, ‘intelligence’ for Wedge’s benefit.  I want him to bring Syal Antilles Fir and her family to Coruscant under the Republic’s sponsorship and protection.  It is unconscionable that he has sat on this information and let Wedge suffer the torment of not knowing about his sister and her family.”  She turned and walked over to Fey’lya.  “Senator, I want you to bring them here now.”

          Fey’lya looked at her and saw that she was indeed his most formidable opponent in the room.  “I shall do so, Mistress Wessiri.”

          Iella did not take her eyes from him.  “And, I want a copy of that letter you fabricated bearing the Bothan embassy’s seal to prove its authenticity.  I give you my word it will never reach the media.  Nothing less will do.

          Fey’lya hesitated.

          “I assure you, Senator, I am not bluffing.  You fail to meet these conditions and I walk out of here and contact the holonews and General Cracken, in that order.  If you thought that the Bothan council suffered from a lack of credibility before, it is nothing compared to what it will suffer shortly without your cooperation.”

          Fey’lya started to speak and Iella pinned him with a stare.  He agreed, “I concede to your demands, Mistress Wessiri.”

          “Fine.  I believe we have all agreed on a solution,” Iella confirmed, never taking her eyes from Fey’lya.

          Fey’lya nodded his head and opened his com link.  “President Fey’lya, here.  Please see to it that the guards at General Antilles door are recalled and release to the media the story on my desk in the folder marked “Hax--damage control.  Also, access the file in my datapad named ‘Solarflare’ and activate the directions therein.”  He looked at the other five in the room and said, “I have now met my side of the bargain.  I will trust you five to keep yours.”  He turned on his heel and left.

          For several heartbeats after Fey’lya’s departure, no one said anything, until Wes asked,  “What just happened here?”

          Everyone broke out into their own version of the events that had just passed but it was Admiral Ackbar who summed it up best.  “I believe Senator Fey’lya’s power move has been checked, General Antilles reputation cleansed, Major Janson’s career saved and an Antilles family reunion planned.

          Tycho spoke up, “Yeah, now let’s just hope Wedge lives to attend.

**************************************

          Iella swept a lose strand of hair out of her eyes and continued her mission.  She lay her hand over Wedge’s inert hand and curled her fingers, making his curl with hers.  She repeated this again and again and then switched to his other hand.  When she had finished his hand she stood and started flexing his forearms.  A gentle tap on the door interrupted her briefly.

          “C’m’in.”

          Corran Horn entered and quickly surveyed the room -- an old CorSec habit that would not die.  Wedge’s condition remained unchanged -- unconscious and unresponsive.  “Wes was right.”

          “  ’bout what?” Iella asked, switching to Wedge’s other arm.

          “You’re spending your free time here, doing everything for Wedge that you can.  I just thought I’d come to see if I could help.”

          Iella drew in a deep breath.  “Got any miracles you can perform?  I’m afraid he’s in pretty desperate need of one.”  Renegade tears slipped from her eyes.

          “No.  But I do have a shoulder for a partner to cry on if she needs it.”

          Iella stopped and looked at him.  “You know, you’re the only one who’s ever seen me cry in my adult years.  Thanks.”  She moved into his outstretched arms and gave in to the waves of despair that claimed her.   “Oh, Corran, I’m not sure he’s going to make it.  The doctor’s are so noncommittal and it’s . . . it’s been a week since you brought him home and there’s no change.  They’re not even optimistic enough to order physical therapy for him, so I’m doing what I can to prevent his muscles from atrophy.  I can’t make any progress.  I talk to him and . . . nothing.”

          Corran held her tightly.  “If it’s any condolence for you, I can still feel him with us.  His presence in the Force is weak, but he’s there.   Looks like the bacta did its job, though.

          Iella nodded, “On the surface, at least.  The bacta ‘scrubbing’ helped, but he still needs that to breathe,” she gestured to the respirator.  “Those cuts are just welts now and the doctors don’t think the scarring with be severe.  Oh, Corran, what if he. . .doesn’t make it?”  Her tears were spent but she remained in Corran’s arms.

          “I don’t know, Babe, our lives will be changed forever, that’s for sure.  But let’s not borrow trouble, okay?  If we give up, he just might too.”  He held her another moment and then took her by the shoulders and held her away from him.  “How long since you’ve eaten?”

          She shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

          “Well, it’s time you ate.  C’mon, I’ll treat you to the cafeteria’s finest.”

          “No, I can’t . . . can’t leave him.”

          “Yes you can, Iella,” a voice reassured her.  “I’ll keep up the physical therapy for you.  I’ve watched you do it enough,” Wes Janson reassured her. 

          Corran turned and looked at Wes; it was obvious he had spent most of his off duty hours at Wedge’s bedside rather than resting at home.  “What do you say, Iella?  Trust this guy?”

          Wes gave Iella his most disarming smile, the smile that had melted the hearts of many women on many worlds and frequently extricated him from  severe retribution for his many practical jokes.

          “Yes.  IF you promise to call me if there is any change.”

          Wes nodded.

          “There, you see,” Corran said, “it’s not so hard to look after yourself too, now is it?”  He ushered Iella out of the room.

          Wes took up his position at Wedge’s side and held his right leg at the ankle.  The doctors had rejoined the Jedi tendon but it was stiff.  Wes alternately flexed and extended Wedge’s foot to keep it useful and started a conversation with him.  “You know, they’re expecting you to appear at the Victory at Endor celebrations next week.  I’d like to see you walking so I’m gonna keep this up so you can.  All right now, count with Uncle Wes,  “One, two, . . . .”

          “We never had an Uncle Wes,” a musical and sensuous voice toned.

          Wes looked up and nearly dropped Wedge’s foot.  “You’re . . . you’re Wynssa Star..., uh, Syal Antilles.  You’re Wedge’s brother.  I mean, he’s your sister.  No, belay that.  You’re his sister.”

          Wynssa Starflare, the famous holodrama star and Wedge’s sister, Syal, nodded.  “Yes, I am.  And you’re Doctor . . . ?”

          “Janson.  But, I’m not a doctor.  I’m Wedge’s Executive Officer.  He and I have been together since Yavin.  You’re beautiful!”

          Syal smiled, “Thank you.  May I come in?”

          Wes nearly tripped over his own feet as he moved away from the bed to let her come in.

          Syal looked at her brother closely and said nothing for several minutes.  “Is he going to live, Wes?”

          “I don’t know, uh, what do you want me to call you?” Wes said.

          “Syal will be fine.”

          “Syal, I don’t know.  The doctors don’t even know for sure.  We all want to believe so, but, but he was in pretty bad shape when we brought him home.”

          “Brought him home from where, Wes?” Syal pressed.

          “Uh, I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about that.  Classified, you know,” Wes responded.

          “I understand.  Tir is like that too,” Syal nodded.

          Wes stiffened at the name.  “That’s right, you’re Mistress Baron  Fel, aren’t you?” Wes spat out the name.

          Syal was taken aback by his vehemence, “Yes.  Is that a problem?  Do you think it makes me love my brother any less?”

          “No, I guess not.  It’s just hard to let old animosities die,” Wes apologized.

          Syal nodded and walked over to touch Wedge’s hand.  “He’s . . . he’s so cold.”  She brushed back the errant lock of hair that fell over his forehead, “some things never change.  I used to do this when he was little . . . a, uh, a lifetime ago.”

She looked up and noticed Corran and Iella at the door.  “Are you his doctors?”

          “No,” Corran replied simply.  “I’m Captain Horn and this is Iella Wessiri.  We’re close friends of Wedge’s.”

          Syal nodded.  “Do you know anything more about his condition than Wes, here does?” she asked.

          Iella summed it up in a few short words.  “He’s in a deep coma.  The doctors aren’t at all sure he will recover from it.  He could remain like this for years, months, days or snap out of it tomorrow.  No one knows for sure.”

          Corran looked at Iella, startled by the edge in her voice.  “We all remain hopeful; but, there’s been little change in the last week.”

          “I couldn’t have said it better,” a doctor appeared at the door.  He stretched out his hand to Syal and said, “So you’re the General’s sister?  He’s a great man and we are doing everything we possibly can to help him.  Right now it seems time is the only factor we cannot control and it’s all up to him how much of that he needs.  Now, I hate to be the Hutt here, but there are two people too many here.  He’s not to have any visitors at all, but Mistress Wessiri you’ve been doing such a good job with his physical therapy we’ve allowed you to stay.  So, who’s going to leave?”

          Wes and Corran nodded to each other and volunteered.  They said their good byes and left within minutes, following the doctor and leaving Iella and Syal together.

          Without a word, Iella stood at Wedge’s left and started exercising his hand again.

          Syal watched wordlessly for a few minutes and asked, “What is that you’re doing?”

          “Exercising his hands and other muscles.  Without this, he’d lose muscle strength and have a harder recuperation when he regains consciousness,” Iella answered.

          “You believe he’ll be all right then?” Syal asked.

          “I have to,” was Iella’s curt reply.

          “Would it be all right if I exercised his other hand?”

          Iella looked up and saw the sincerity in the other woman’s eyes.  “Sure.”  She demonstrated the technique for Syal and they worked together quietly.

          “He has very strong hands, doesn’t he?” Syal observed.

          “Yes.  He’s a very strong man, in general,” Iella confirmed.  “Be careful with that hand, it saved the Rebellion and countless lives.”

          Syal dropped Wedge’s lifeless hand to the bed and fled from the room.  Iella followed her after easing Wedge’s hand to the bed.  She caught up with Syal down the hall near a caf vending machine which Syal banged in frustration, “Sithspit!  Don’t these things ever work?”  She punched the buttons repeatedly and finally sat down in tears.  “Is it really so much to ask for a cup of caf?”

          Iella sat next to her and asked,  “it’s not the caf, what is it really?”

          Syal looked at her, “It’s been so long.  He looks so . . . old.  When I left, he was asleep and I wished him a good bye but, of course, he didn’t wake up.  Now I see him, again, sleeping but he isn’t.  He might be dying and I have no way to tell him how much I loved him, and Mom and Dad.  And then, you said . . . how his hands won the Rebellion.  Well, those same hands might have killed my husband.  Or my husband might have killed my brother and I would have lost either way.  I just don’t know how to reconcile all this.  They’re both so wrapped up in . . . killing.  And they’re both . . .  so . . .  proud of it . . . and it makes me sick.  I want to love him as much as I do Tir, but, the lives lost . . . on both sides.  How can I love each side’s “Ace”?

          Iella paused a moment to think her thoughts through carefully.  “You’re wrong, you know -- about their being wrapped up in killing.  That’s not what it

was -- at least for Wedge.  I can’t speak for your husband, I’ll leave that to you, but for Wedge, it was a matter of surviving and making sure as many of his pilots survived along with him as possible.  He took the death of each one of his pilots as a personal failure.  Even his enemy’s deaths haunted him.  More than once he’s wakened in the middle of a nightmare, shaking, mourning all the deaths.  It takes him a long time to get back to sleep and many times he doesn’t.  I don’t think he’ll ever get over it; but he will learn to live with it . . . .”  she paused, “if he lives.”

          Syal nodded.  “You’re his wife, not his nurse?  I didn’t know he had married.  All the stories that reached us made him such a monster.  I couldn’t believe it but there was no way of disputing it or knowing if it was propaganda or not.  He’s lucky to have you in his life.”

          Iella smiled, “We aren’t married . . .”

          Syal looked at her confused,  “but you said, he’s awakened . . . .  I assumed that meant you’d been intimate, so I just . . . oh, my, I’m sorry.  You’re his . . . lover. . . . 

          Iella grinned, “Does that shock you so much?  Watching your holos one would believe such intimacies were common in your world.”

          Syal blushed, “No, it’s not so much that it’s shocking, it’s just that, well,

he’s . . . he’s my little brother.  It’s kinda like finding out your parents have had

sex . . . you have to know on one level that it’s true, but that doesn’t make it any easier to believe or accept on another level.  And, please, don’t mistake my life for the parts I’ve played in the holos . . . Tir has been the only . . . love . . . of my life.”

          Iella was touched by Syal’s sincerity and apparent innocence.  She smiled and comforted her, “I understand.  But, he’s waited a lifetime to see you again.  In fact, he’s in this condition because you were used as a lure to draw him away from here.  He left everything of his life behind to find you.  It was his deepest wish to bring you and your family here under the protection of the New Republic and start a new life with you in it.”

          “And now, because of me, he’s lying there dying,” Syal whispered.

          “No!  You can’t think like that.  He made his own choices, and he’d be the first to admit it.  You can’t give up hope, you may be the only reason he has for living,” Iella urge her.  “Now, do you want to know the secret to getting a good cup of caf in this place?” she asked Syal pointing to the vending machine.

          “I’d love to know,” Syal smiled.

          Iella stood and motioned Syal to follow, “Then come with me, it’s down in the cafeteria.  I’ve even trained the server droids there how to make a good cup of Corellian caf for us; there are enough of us visiting Wedge to justify it.”

***********************************

          Somewhere in the depths of the blanket warmth and encompassing darkness of his world, Wedge felt Iella’s touch.  He wanted to respond but couldn’t.  He had brought her such shame and disgrace it would be so much easier to just succumb to the final depths of the darkness claiming him.  But he couldn’t.  He had to reach out to her and apologize to her before he did.  It was the last honorable thing he could do.  He was so tired, so weak, in so much pain; he had just enough strength to return to Iella, apologize and ask her to continue the mission he couldn’t -- find Syal and her family and bring them to the sanctuary of the New Republic.  Then he could walk that path to eternity that waited for him.

          In spite of the invasive pains, Wedge struggled against unconsciousness; he must reach Iella.  He felt the brightness of the light in his room before he even opened his eyes.  He fought against the tendrils of death dragging him back and finally he opened his eyes, searching for Iella.  He looked around for her, confident that he would find her.  She wasn’t there.  He raised his left hand for her; no one took it.  He fought against the tubes taped to his mouth and in his nose, summoned what little strength he had left and called, “I - eeel- laa?  ’m so  s-rry  I  ’sgraced you.”  His strength spent, he surrendered to the tendrils pulling him back into the eternal blackness.

*************************************

          Alarm bells in the medcenter summoned a team of doctors, nurses and two-one-bee droids to Wedge’s room.  Their mission was simple -- save the man who seemed to be dying.  They would be satisfied with nothing less.

**************************************

          Iella and Syal returned from the cafeteria carrying their Corellian caf and chatting easily but quietly.  Iella noticed the resuscitation team converging on Wedge’s room and put the details together quickly.  “Oh, Wedge, no!” she cried and grabbed Syal’s hand.  “C’mon, Syal, he needs us.  This is our last chance to reach him.”

          They rushed to his room but were blocked by one of the nurses.  “I’m sorry, Iella . . . .”

          Syal sagged against the door frame,  “You mean . . . .  Is he . . . ?”

          The nurse shook his head, “No.  He’s in cardiac and respiratory arrest, but we haven’t given up yet.  If you want to come in, you may, but you must stand aside.”  He turned and entered the room and the two women followed.

          The doctors and med-droids worked feverishly to reclaim Wedge’s life.  They injected medicine into his I-V, drew blood for analysis and performed external heart message.  Nothing seemed to work.  The machines over Wedge’s head remained obstinately silent and their lines flat.

          The lead member of the resuscitation team took a set of medical paddles and waited for the nurse to set the proper electrical joules.  The machine shrilled when it reached its set mark and the doctor delivered the shock to Wedge’s inert form.  Nothing happened.  He waited for the machine to recharge; the monitors remained silent.

          Without realizing it Syal clung to Iella.  Then softly she started to sing,

                            

                             “Stars and comets up on high,

                             Gently light the midnight sky.

                             Hush, my darling; rest your head,

                             Snuggled safely in your bed.

 

                             Mother loves her little boy,

                             Daddy’s pride and mother’s joy.

                             So I’ll hold my young one near,

                             To keep you safe from hurt and fear.”

          Iella looked at her and the words to the ancient Corellian lullaby came back to her.  She joined Syal in the song; if they couldn’t bring Wedge back to them, then they could make his departure more comforting than the noise and frenzy currently surrounding him.

          The nurse applying the external heart message looked at the doctor inquisitively, “Are you going to call it?”

          “Kest, no!  And neither are you!”  He signaled the technician to increase the joules on the machine and the tech nodded.  The doctor applied the paddles again and delivered the shock.  Nothing happened.

          *****************************************

          Wedge continued his walk away from his life toward his eternal rest.  He felt the frenetic efforts made by the doctors to stop him, but he chose to ignore them.  He was nearly at rest.  Then, he heard something familiar, a song.  A song from long ago.  A song he had sung in the depths of pain he suffered at the hands of Moff Tchlinda.  He heard his mother’s voice but couldn’t find her.  He was sure both Veggies and his parents would come to meet him but they weren’t there.  He listened more carefully.  It wasn’t his mother’s voice, it was Syal’s.  That wasn’t possible, was it?  He remembered nights when he had tested his parents limits beyond tolerance and he had been sent to bed, sure his parents no longer loved him.  And then Syal would knock softly on his door and slide in without their parents knowing.  It was their little conspiracy of childhood, innocent in reality, but the height of danger in their minds.  Syal would sit on his bed and gently stroke the errant locks of hair from his forehead and sing to him.  She sang the lullaby over and over until he felt safe and loved again and could sleep.  She would stay in his room all night and he would awake to find her there, sitting next to him, holding his hand, waiting to tell him about the adventures they faced in this new day.

          Wedge halted his trek toward eternity.  He didn’t have to die, he could just sleep.  He was loved, by someone, but he didn’t know by whom.  He wanted it to be Syal, or Iella, but knew both were impossible.  He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes to find out who it was, so he just slept.

          *************************************

          The resuscitation team stopped their efforts as if choreographed to.  They heard the sounds of the monitors coming back to life and looked, as one, at them to confirm what they fervently wished for -- signs of life in General Antilles.  They were there.  A slow and steady heart rhythm played tag with itself across the monitor screen.  His color returned.  And, to everyone’s joy, he took a breath on his own, against the timing of the respirator which had forced him to breathe.  The medical team’s efforts shifted from resuscitation to increasing Wedge’s comfort.  They removed the tubes and adjusted his I-V.  They watched hopefully.  The team leader spoke everyone’s thoughts, “Come on, Wedge.  Breathe!!!!”   And Wedge did -- over and over again -- on his own.

          The doctor turned to Iella and Syal.  “I think he’ll be all right.”

          The women hugged each other and gratefully accepted the tissue from the nurse who had noticed their tears.  They nodded their thanks to him and he spoke gently to them.  “I can’t say for sure, and no one would believe me if I mentioned it, but I think that lullaby from home turned him around.  You started singing and he started recuperating.  You two may have just saved his life.”

***********************************************

          Wedge slept soundly for several days.  He was not comatose; he was healing.  Iella and Syal spent every free moment they could with him.  Wes visited often and set up a schedule for others to visit.  Visitors came back from the medcenter transformed and Wes argued with himself whether it was because Wedge was alive or because his famous sister greeted each with the smile that had made her famous.

**********************************************

          Finally, Wedge felt strong enough to open his eyes.  The light was blinding but he heard Iella’s voice,  “Hi, there.  Finally decided to join us again, did you?”

          He nodded his head, finding speech difficult.  “Throat . . . .  Thirsty.”

          She took an ice chip from a cup next to his bed and gently rubbed it across his parched lips.  “There, that should help.”

          He nodded and tried to wet his lips with his tongue only to find his tongue was dry too. 

          “Are you with us enough to eat this ice prism, Sweetheart?” Iella asked with concern in her voice.

          He nodded and she let him take it into his mouth.  The chill and the melting liquid refreshed him.  “Thanks.”

          She smiled, “You’re welcome.  Welcome back.”  She leaned over and kissed him, but he turned his head away.  “What’s wrong, Wedge?”

          Everything rushed back to him, all the mistakes he had made, the shame and disgrace he had brought to this woman he loved and tears slipped from his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Iella.  I’ve disgraced you.  I’ve defiled our love.  You . . . you don’t have to stay with me anymore.  I’ll understand.”

          Taken aback, Iella asked, “Do you want me to leave, Wedge?”

          He felt the warmth of her touch on his forehead and he was too tired to think of anything but his own needs.  “No.  I . . . love . . . you.  But you don’t have to stay if . . . the shame is too great.”

          “No, Wedge, Sweetheart, there is no shame.  I love you, too,” she comforted him.

          For the first time in what seemed like years, he smiled, “Thank the Force.”

          “Wedge?  Could you withstand a little surprise?” Iella asked.

          “Not the Wraiths . . .” he murmured.

          She laughed; the sound of its purity invigorated Wedge.

          “No, Sweetheart, not the Wraiths -- but they aren’t far away.  A much better surprise than that.  See?”  She pointed to the other side of the bed where Syal stood waiting for her brother to recognize her.

          Wedge blinked and tried to process what was happening.  Why would a holodrama star be here he thought. And then, in a moment of clarity he realized it was his sister, Syal Antilles.  He had not seen her since he was a child of eight.  She had left unannounced and he had taken responsibility for driving her away.  And now, here she was again.  Had she forgiven him for whatever he had done?

“S--y--al?” he faltered.

          “Yes, Wedge, it’s me.  I’m here.  We’re finally together again.  I’ve missed you so much.  I love you.  I always have,” her words ran together as she leaned over to kiss him.

          “How . . . ?” he struggled to make his world make sense.  “I didn’t . . . find you . . . there.  How . . . why?  Oh, Kest!  It’s good to see you again.”  In spite of his injuries he sat up and reached for his sister.  She sank into his arms and they embraced for a very long time, bridging the eternity of time and events that had separated them.  In that moment, they created the security of their futures as a family reunited and destined to stay together.  “Oh, Syal!  Welcome home!”

          Syal grinned at her brother and ruffled his hair, “Oh, Wedge.  Welcome back to the living!”

          Wedge smiled at her and at Iella who had come around the bed to face them.  He opened his arms to her as well and the three sat there, united in their love for each other, for a moment before he said,  “I guess I cut it pretty close, didn’t I?”

          “Too close, General!  And don’t you ever dare scare us like that again.”

          “I’ll try not to.”  Then he dropped his arms and looked at Iella.  “How soon before the M-P’s come to arrest me?”

          “They won’t be coming at all, Sweetheart,” Iella reassured him.

          Confused, Wedge squinted his eyes, knitting his eyebrows together, and cocked his head in curiosity, “But, I . . . I was AWOL.  The military just doesn’t let something like that go unnoticed, or unpunished.  Especially when it’s a general.”

          “That may be, but they are not, and will not be coming for you,” she insisted, stroking his cheek.

          “Iella, I love you for your optimism, but I know better.  They’ll be coming shortly, won’t they.  I . . . deserted my post.  I left for personal reasons . . . .”

          “Oh!  You mean because of this?” she handed him the letter Fey’lya had promised which carried the Bothan Embassy’s seal to authenticate it.

          Wedge looked at it for a long time trying to figure out the course of events this suggested.  “How did the Bothans get this letter?” he demanded.

          “They didn’t get it, Wedge.  They sent it.  They knew about Syal and had tracked her whereabouts during the whole Rebellion.  Fey’lya used this ruse as a means to magnify Bothan glory.  He used this letter to send you to Fan’iir and to Warlord Persil.  You were supposed to have told Persil the New Republic’s plans to neutralize him, then he’d launch an attack and the Bothans would intercept that attack, looking like heroes.  Only, you . . .,” she choked back tears.  “You . . . didn’t tell him anything and nearly died because of it.”

          The full realization of what had happened struck Wedge like a hammer.  “He set me up?  He set me up!  That son-of-a-Sith!  He set me up.”

          Iella nodded.  “Yes.  But we found out and ‘convinced’ him that it would not be good if the public found out.  He released a story to the media that explains that the whole thing had been a covert mission to destroy Persil and that its success came from your part in the subterfuge.  Once again, Sweetheart, you’re a hero.”

          He closed his eyes to process the information she had given him.  “I’m not sure . . . I understand but if I don’t have to go to the brig or be tried, I’m willing to accept it.”

          “I hope that’s not all you’re willing to accept, Wedge,” Syal beamed at him.  “You’re slated to receive a medal at Victory at Endor Day next week.”

          “Let me get this right,” he mused.  “I deserted my post, went AWOL, and now I’m getting a medal?”

          Both women nodded.  Iella confirmed, “Basically, yes.”

          “Stang!” he exclaimed.  “And all this time I thought you earned one by doing your duty and meeting your responsibilities.  Kest!  Who knew???”

          *********************************************

          Victory at Endor Day involved the usual parades and ceremonies.  But the single most covered event of the day took place on the steps of the Imperial Palace.  President Pro Tempore Borsk Fey’lya spoke a glowing tribute to General Wedge Antilles and called him forward.  When Wedge stepped forward, resplendent in his dress uniform, the media went berserk, taking holostills and vids.

          Fey’lya placed the General Dodonna Star of Honor around Wedge’s neck, stepped back and motioned him to the speaker’s podium.  Reluctantly, Wedge nodded and spoke to the crowds before him.

          Wedge touched the Star of Honor and said, “I’m thankful to the New Republic for this cherished honor.  It means a lot to me and to my family.”  He gestured to where Iella sat with Syal, Baron Fel and their two children.  The crowd cheered with enthusiasm; clearly they had embraced the Fels and accepted his military standing when his working with the Rebellion had been revealed.  “But,” Wedge continued when the cheering quieted down, “we must never forget that I am not the one who earned this medal.  I simply represent the men and women of the Armed Forces who have fought so bravely for our success.  This medal belongs to those who made the ultimate sacrifice -- their lives -- so that tyranny will not prevail.  I know that it will take a long time for the New Republic to coalesce and fulfill its potential.  But it will.  It must.”  He took his medal off and called Iella to the podium.  I’d like you to meet someone.  If she accepts, please meet the future Mistress Antilles.”  He placed the medal over her head and then withdrew a little box from his uniform pocket.  He handed it to her and she opened it.  She smiled sweetly and then returned the box to Wedge.  The crowd gasped in horror until she extended her left hand to him for him to place the ring on her finger.  Nervously, Wedge took the ring from the box and, forgetting where he was, said quietly, “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

          Only when the crowd roared with laughter did he realize that his words had been broadcast everywhere.  He blushed furiously, but with a steady hand placed the ring on Iella’s finger.  She smiled invitingly to him and he took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.  The crowd went wild.

          When Wedge released her, she said, “I hope the wedding will be a little less, uh, public, General Antilles,” and kissed him back.

          “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he reassured her, “just our million closest friends.”  He motioned to the crowd and at that moment, showing a flare for timing, the celebration’s climax came with a stirring display of fireworks.  Wedge watched them and watched his family.  For the first time in a very long time, he felt whole again.