A female Imperial newscaster appeared on screen shortly after. Her eyes were a deep, piercing green, hiding predatory intent beneath the surface, while her natural beauty was further enhanced by perfect makeup and expert use of lighting. She offered a broad smile to her audience. "Citizens of the majestic Galactic Empire, rejoice! Today, our courageous military forces have struck a decisive blow to the Rebellion with the Death Star, the most advanced battle station in the galaxy." She made a practiced pause for effect, letting her words sink in. "Under Grand Moff Tarkin's exemplary leadership, the Death Star's superlaser was brought to bear on the unsuspecting hive of insurgency and sedition that was planet Alderaan, turning it into space rocks and dust." The newscaster grinned, clearly enjoying herself. "Two billion Rebels have been erased from the face of the galaxy as the Galactic Empire continues to usher forth onto a new age of peace, order, and prosperity. Long live the Emperor."

The mess hall exploded with cheers, but not all soldiers partook in the celebration. Many of them sat in awkward silence, trying to process the magnitude of the situation. Kell stared blankly at the images on screen. If the Empire has the ability to destroy planets on a whim, where does it end? When is it enough? He sighed. Two billion people, gone. They couldn't have all been Rebels, it's statistically impossible.

Kell was pulled out of his thoughts when someone sat down at his table.

"Hey, Kell," said Darek Mortan, his wingman, in a cheerful tone. "What do you think of the latest news, eh? Isn't it heart-warming to finally see a concrete statement of Imperial supremacy? Man, I'm sure those bantha-loving Rebel scum didn't see it coming. Their vaunted Rebellion will be squashed, one planet at a time." Darek laughed. "No need to sacrifice more of our troops, either. We'll simply excise the disease from orbit."

"You've always talked too much, Darek."

"The destruction of the enemy is always good for morale." Darek shrugged. "Why the long face, hm? We should all be basking in the warm glow of victory!"

"Yeah? What about the non-Rebels who lived on Alderaan? What of those who didn't support the Rebellion?" Kell made a pause. "I don't buy that two billion people in Alderaan were Rebels. It's simply not possible."

"So? There were Rebels on Alderaan. That's all that matters."

"I didn't sign up to murder civvies, Darek." Kell's tone became harsh, like a growl. "I'm a soldier, not a murderer. The destruction of Alderaan was both wrong and unnecessary."

"How can you say that?" Darek hissed. "You're an agent of the Secret Order of the Emperor, you should be above spewing such poison! You, of all people, should be happy those blasted Rebels were incinerated along with their cesspit of pointless insurgency. They were nothing but scum, and it serves them right!"

Darek's disrespect towards life, and towards the truth, re-ignited something in Kell, a primal part of him that had laid dormant for years. Kell stood up and punched Darek squarely on the face. His wingman yelped, backpedaling to put some space between himself and his attacker. Kell dashed forward, closing the gap. Darek retaliated with a strong right cross. Without even blinking, Kell caught Darek's fist mid-flight with his left hand, squeezed, and then twisted Darek's arm hard. It didn't break, but Darek let out a sharp cry of pain. Kell pulled his opponent forward, and hit him in the stomach with a vicious knee strike. Darek doubled over, winded. Kell pressed the attack, putting all of his weight and torque into a vicious elbow strike that smashed into Darek's jaw. Darek collapsed in a heap, unconscious.

When the rage subsided, Kell noticed blood dripping from the left sleeve of his uniform. What the kriff? He touched the oozing liquid, it was not quite scalding, but it was hot, unnaturally so. He felt all eyes of the mess hall converging on him. Stormtroopers and pilots goose-necking, or outright staring at him. Some were probably thinking he was nothing but Rebel-loving scum. Others seemed happy he'd put Darek on the ground, but no one said anything.

Kell glared at a group of Stormtroopers whose gazes were fixated on him, and growled. "Which of you karkers is next?"

The Stormtroopers and the crowd at large dispersed, and Kell seized the moment to slip out of the mess hall. He headed back to his quarters. The durasteel door opened with a swish, and he stumbled inside. He felt he was living a strange nightmare, as if the world had suddenly lost substance and had become less real. Kell glanced at the digital picture frame on his desk. It displayed a photograph of his uncle Mone, taken back during his pilot days. Is this the pilot's life, uncle? Murdering civvies, and celebrating the deaths of innocents? Was this the reason you mysteriously disappeared one day and were branded a traitor by the Empire? He slammed his fist on the desk and snarled. Kriff it all!

Growling, Kell took off his jacket and examined his left forearm. It was bloody and sticky, and it hurt a lot. The tattoo of the Secret Order of the Emperor had split open from the inside. Great, let's add dark sorcery to my list of problems, why the kark not? Kell grabbed a bottle of disinfectant spray to clean the wound, and then wrapped a Bacta patch around it. With a sigh he plopped down on his bed and soon fell into troubled sleep.

Thirty-one standard minutes later, Kell woke up to the sound of his door swishing open.

"Ugh, who's there?" Kell said, half asleep.

Four Stormtroopers and an Imperial Intelligence Officer walked in.

"Captain Arcfire, I'm Agent Klaus Strom, Imperial Intelligence. I regret to inform you that you're under arrest on suspected insurgency and sedition charges. Please don't make it harder on yourself than it needs to be."

Kell stood up and, without saying a word, extended his arms, awaiting the inexorable restraints.

"That won't be necessary, Captain. Unless you force our hand, that is." Agent Strom nodded. "Please, follow me."

Kell was escorted into a cell that had a large chair in the middle. It was outfitted with various strange devices, and hooked to several power generators by means of very thick cables. Multiple robotic arms boasting needles and other implements of pain gleamed under the reddish light that filled the room. Kell shot a glance at the Imperial Agent, who seemed to have a tinge of regret on his face.

"Apologies, Captain. We must be excruciatingly thorough whenever insurgency or sedition charges crop up within our ranks, whether presumed or concrete. On the bright side, this procedure should clear your name, and leave no lasting damage. It will, however, be agonizingly painful." Agent Strom keyed a sequence on a control panel, and the chair came to life. "Please have a seat and make yourself as comfortable as you can."

Kark, I'm as good as dead. What was I thinking? I should've put a lid on it. Wasn't I just going on about how there was just so much a single man could do against a behemoth like the Galactic Empire? Each step towards the chair made his fear more palpable, to the degree that he could almost touch it, even taste it. I suppose truth-seeking is not an approved activity for Imperial citizens or soldiers. He sat down on the metal chair; it was unnaturally cold. His stomach twisted and knotted up painfully as his fear threatened to spiral out of control. Kell took a deep breath and grit his teeth. Fear is nothing but a karking liar! You hear me, fear? YOU'RE A KARKING LIAR, JUST LIKE THIS BLASTED EMPIRE!

Agent Strom secured the chair restraints around Kell's limbs and initiated the procedure. The chair's robotic arms began to move, and a soft electrical hum permeated the room.

"For what it's worth, indeed not much from your perspective, I'm sorry, Captain Arcfire."

Kell nodded. Nothing personal, just good business I suppose.

"Why did you attack pilot DX-21-5 in mess hall A?" Agent Strom said.

"We had a disagreement when I pointed out that it was statistically impossible for Alderaan to have had two billion Rebels."

"I see, an unfortunate situation. You should've been ecstatic that the enemies of the Empire had been so thoroughly destroyed." Agent Strom rubbed his clean-shaven chin. "While your thoughts on the matter are indeed logical, and reasonable to a certain extent, you must consider that you are an example to others. After all, you are far more than a simple TIE pilot. You are a member of the highest echelon in the Secret Order of the Emperor. Your loyalty must be nothing if absolute."

I didn't sign up to murder civvies! I'm not a karking murderer! "I've been nothing but faithful to the Empire, and I've always done my duty."

"Over quite an illustrious career, yes." Agent Strom paced around the room; hands clasped behind his back. "Some commanders do question your methods, and you often go out of your way to minimize collateral damage. It is laudable, but you must understand that we are at war, a bitter one at that. We cannot allow weakness to compromise our mission."

Weakness, you say? There's no strength in slaughtering civilians. There's nothing to be gained from it. Those kills are devoid of honor, thrill, or challenge. Soldiers kill soldiers because that's what they signed up for. But blowing up entire planets? "Of course."

"Have you come in contact with Rebels, or Rebel sympathizers?"

Psh, at this point I wish I had. Perhaps they would've allowed me to defect. I wonder how the Rebels treat Imperial prisoners. Something in my gut tells me they don't use chairs like the one I'm sitting on. "No."

Agent Strom sighed. "Regrettably, I cannot take your word for it. We do have proof that you've perused classified documents pertaining to certain Imperial military operations, particularly those involving the use of bioweapons in Rebel space."

Yeah, I needed to see that for myself. In many ways I wish I wouldn't have; it was beyond horrific. "As a member of the Secret Order of the Emperor, I have clearance to access said documents."

"You are indeed correct, but you weren't part of those operations. They took place in sectors where your unit wasn't even operating in." Agent Strom stared straight into Kell's eyes, as if trying to extract information directly from his soul. "Why go out of your way to look at them?"

Do I lie to make it easier on myself, or stick to the truth? Kell stifled a chuckle. Like there's a choice. I'm going to die here . . . "I abhor the use of bioweapons, Agent Strom. There's no honor in them. I just wanted to know the truth."

"Very noble, Captain Arcfire, but as I said earlier, we are at war. The Rebels deserve everything that's coming to them." Agent Strom shook his head. "We got reports that the projected casualties on all planets struck by Imperial bioweapons were much lower than expected, which leads us to believe there was a leak somewhere. Why did you reveal this information to the Rebels?"

What? "I've never done such a thing!"

"Alas, it is not I who needs reassurance. I'm just the messenger." Agent Strom sighed and walked to the chair's control console. "High Command, and the Envoy of the Emperor himself must be fully convinced of your innocence, and there's only one way to do that."

Kell knew exactly what that meant. Oh, this is gonna hurt, a lot. "Very well, Agent. Do your worst."

"As you wish, Captain Arcfire." Agent Strom pushed a few buttons, and then flicked a switch. "There's no dishonor or shame in screaming. This is an excruciatingly painful procedure."

"Noted, Agent Strom."

Six robotic arms fitted with needles punctured Kell's chest. He felt ice course through his veins as the injectors delivered multiple chemical concoctions into his bloodstream. Kell shuddered, and was then jolted violently by a powerful electrical discharge. Every pain receptor in his body flared up, magnified tenfold by the cocktail of substances he'd just been injected with. The room began to spin, and the walls slowly dripped into the floor.

"Captain Arcfire, why did you reveal classified information to the Rebels?"

"The w-walls . . . the walls are dripping," Kell croaked.

"Answer me," Agent Strom demanded.

"I-I revealed n-nothing. Why are the w-walls dripping?"

"Lying will get you nowhere." Agent Strom flicked another switch.

Two additional robotic arms sprang from the chair's armrests. Small laser blades came to life, and the well-worn mechanical limbs slowly began to approach Kell's legs.

"Why did you reveal classified information to the Rebels, Captain?"

Kell saw something move beyond the dripping walls, something big. In the darkness, myriad sets of red eyes began to glow. There was one pair at first, followed by three more, multiplying until he felt he was completely surrounded by glowing red eyes. No, NO! What is this? Where am I? His hands darted to his holsters, but his D-44 blasters weren't there. The roots of a strange tree were now growing through the durasteel ceiling. "I didn't reveal anything!"

The agent pressed another button. Kell felt more ice in his veins, followed by a longer, more powerful shock.

I . . . I w-won't . . . s-scream. In the darkness ahead, past the glowing red eyes, he saw faces of people he didn't know. Very many faces. T-this isn't real. None of this is real. It's just a hallucination . . . right? It has to be, RIGHT? Kell shut his eyes, but the faces were still there. Suddenly, every single face opened its eyes and stared accusingly at Kell. In the background, he saw a green beam of light, and planet Alderaan exploding in a shower of fragments. No! NO! IT WASN'T MY FAULT! I DIDN'T WANT THIS! I DIDN'T DO THIS! I DIDN'T . . .

"Why did you do it?" Agent Strom said.

Kell forced himself to look at the faces straight in the eye as best he could, for there were too many. "I-I didn't do it, I'm innocent!"

"Why did you betray the Empire?"

The roots of the strange tree slithered down like snakes, wrapping themselves tightly around Kell's legs. He felt intense heat followed by excruciating pain. The glowing eyes approached, the faces hovered, piercing Kell with their unyielding gazes, and the darkness slowly snuffed out whatever meager light remained. Kell's face was drenched in sweat, snot, and tears. I DIDN'T CHOOSE THIS LIFE! I WAS BORN IN IT! I DIDN'T KNOW ANY BETTER! The gnarled tree roots tightened their grip around Kell's legs, and a small clawed hand, deformed and scaly, grabbed his boot.

"I DIDN'T BETRAY THE EMPIRE!" Kell roared loud and long. His pain and fear became fuel for the dormant rage within. "DO YOUR KARKING WORST!"

Far away, deep within the void of light itself, Kell saw two gleaming golden eyes with vertical pupils. A powerful roar echoed, followed by a massive stream of flame. Kell grit his teeth and closed his eyes reflexively, expecting a horrible death. Yet it wasn't oblivion, but warmth, that embraced him. When he mustered enough courage to open his eyes again, he found himself enveloped by flames that, strangely, didn't burn him. The floating faces were nowhere to be found, the glowing red eyes were gone, and the gnarled tree roots were nothing but ashes at his feet. The darkness had consumed everything else, except the fire that now surrounded and comforted him. Kell felt very tired, and his heavy eyelids began to close. He fought it at first, but was not able to prevent the inevitable slip into unconsciousness.

Kell woke up inside a Bacta tank, and groaned. When his eyes finally came into focus, he saw Agent Strom's face through the tank's glass.

"Captain Arcfire." Agent Strom saluted.

Kell barely managed to nod as a reply.

"After thoroughly reviewing your case, High Command has arrived to the conclusion that there was no wrongdoing on your part. The interrogation process, while excruciating, did exactly what it was meant to do. You have been reinstated effective immediately, and will be resuming your duties as an Imperial pilot as soon as you're medically cleared."

Words came out of Kell's mouth, but Agent Strom couldn't hear him.

Two weeks later, Kell 'DX-20-5' Arcfire, and Darek 'DX-21-5' Mortan, were finishing their pre-flight check routines. Intelligence reports indicated that the Reckoning, a heavily-armed Nebulon-B2 Rebel Frigate had been spotted deep in their sector of Imperial space. From inside his cockpit, Darek shot Kell a look that brimmed with anger and resentment. You were my hero, Kell. Why did you betray us? Why did you betray ME?

Once cleared for takeoff, two TIE defenders launched from the Imperial Star Destroyer Nemesis Alpha. Hand on the flight stick, Kell's mind drifted. He remembered the golden eyes, and the flames keeping the darkness at bay, and a smile began to form on his lips. You saw them too, didn't you, uncle? You saw the truth about the Empire. Kell closed his eyes for a moment. I don't know what a single man can do against the behemoth that is the Galactic Empire, but I'll find the answer, I promise you, uncle Mone.

[Classified Location, Cadet Barracks]

She had died 17 times already. She would probably die once more before the day was through.

Flight Cadet Gemilan lay on her bunk, wide-eyed and wakeful, staring at the bottom of the bed above. The last simulator run had been bruising in every sense of the word. They had been jumped by some TIEs in atmosphere and the resulting dogfight had seen her slammed from side to side in the tiny X-wing capsule. At least she had survived, that time, but whenever she closed her eyes she re-lived fragments of the battle, her hands twitching with moves she could, should, have made.

Frak, she hoped she'd beaten Toro's record in that sim! The Devaronian had been unbearable since taking the lead. Gemi might not be the most intuitive pilot in the training squadron but what she lacked in natural skills, she tried to make up for with practice. It would be sweet to see her name at the top of the board, even for an hour or two. But it would be sweeter, right now, to be able to sleep ...

Gemi turned on her side, punching the pillow in frustration. Training at Rainworld Academy was intense; the Rebellion seemed intent on turning them into fighter pilots as quickly as possible. Inside the competitive atmosphere of the training facility, sealed away from communication with the outside world, the pressure was relentless - no doubt mirroring the life they'd lead when, or rather if, they graduated to a fighter squadron. Cadets learned to rest whenever they could, snatching sleep at odd moments before being called to yet another surprise drill. Gemi could usually doze off wherever she happened to be but this time, in the relative comfort of her bed, sleep eluded her.

The door to the barracks hissed open, casting a familiar shadow over the wall opposite Gemi's head. She turned round.

"Hey, Gremlin." Sensei, the multi-limbed Xexto, was frequently her wingmate on live training flights and in the sims. They were the oldest and youngest cadets, yet they'd formed a bond between them. Odd; she liked it when he called her Gremlin, yet she'd hated the nickname when the McCauleys had given it to her. She had been furious when they had told her the meaning of the word, taking it as an insult to her engineering skills, but now she saw it in a different light. Jack McCauley - where was he now?

Pushing aside her thoughts, she propped herself on one elbow to smile at Sensei. "Hey yourself. So did you survive, that time?" It had become a grim joke, to keep a tally of the number of times they had 'died' in sims. Death was not unknown to the trainees: two cadets had already been lost in live flying exercises. Virtual death was preferable, despite the embarrassment.

Sensei stretched, four arms making his modified flight suit bulge strangely. "This time. Don't know about next." The Basic words sounded odd in his accent, but Gemi was used to his speech by now. She grinned.

"Ah, don't worry, you've still got a long way to go before you reach my score. I've been trying to get some sleep before the next session so I don't make it 18, but I just can't." Gemi swung her legs over the side of her bed, tossing her long plait of purple hair over one shoulder. She aimed a winsome smile at her wingmate. "I don't suppose you'd fancy some one-on-one time before the next drill? It might even make us sleepy ..."

Sensei hooted with laughter, as he always did when Gemi propositioned him. "Why don't I talk philosophy to you instead? That always puts you to sleep." It was a running joke between them; Gemi shook her head, pantomiming horror at the thought.

The Xexto tilted his elongated head to regard her, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. "I could give you a massage," he suggested, quietly. "Or a hug."

The unexpected offer brought a lump to her throat. Her voice was husky. "A hug, please. If I have a massage, I don't think I'll wake up for days." Gemi stood, hitching the hated flight suit into place, and stepped into Sensei's embrace, not caring that she had to stoop to lay her head against his. They stood together, Zeltron and Xexto, for several minutes until Gemilan sighed and straightened up, managing a smile.

"It's only 17 deaths, after all. How much harder can it get?"

And on Alderaan billions died, foreshadowing events to come.

* * *

[Rebel Base, Yavin 4]

The Rimward Liberty was more than just an ugly ship. It was beautiful, in its ugliness, like many a Class 720, but it was more odd-looking with many panels missing or strange sizes. It looked like it had been assembled from scrap and there was some truth to that. It was as old as the Empire, more dilapidated then a moisture farmer's speeder and about as clean as Jack McCauley's jacket.

That jacket was currently wrapped around the main fuel feed of the Liberty, thoroughly soaked in lubricant. A small puddle of the substance had dripped off the jacket's sleeve and onto the floor, which was currently responsible for the bump on the back of Jack's head. He lay on the floor, cursing silently, as the lubricant dripped from his boot to the floor again, almost guaranteeing that this was a process that would be repeated.

"Wha'cha doing down there, man?"

Jack glanced round to the inquisitive face of Wrench, the Tintinnan mechanic. His little beady eyes were blinking in incomprehension and his rat nose had wrinkled in confusion at the sight of Jack on the floor.

"Oh, just relaxing, Wrench. What's going down?"

"Big bad stuff Jack, big bad stuff." The little rodent shook his head, "It's really horrible."

Jack shrugged, pulled himself to a sitting position and dug a lighter and cigarette out of his pocket before placing the cigarette in his mouth. Wrench shook his head in panic as Jack lit the cigarette. "The fuel line is just there!"

"You worry too much," Jack said, taking a puff. "So, what's a-shaking? I saw a few teary faces around."

"Well.....it's the Empire ..."

"It's always the Empire," Jack scoffed.

"This time it's really, really big. They used this new type of weapon or something."

"And?"

"Alderaan. It's gone."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Gone? Planets don't disappear."

"No, no, not like missing. Like .... destroyed."

Jack took a deeper puff. "Well....."

There was a silence and Wrench let Jack digest the news. He'd noticed a lot of the humans had seemed more affected than most other species, not that surprising really. Eventually Jack spoke again.

"Can you help me fix this fuel line?"

Wrench gave Jack a quizzical look. "I do not understand humans sometimes."

"What? I'm not from Alderaan. It ain't nothing to do with me."

"What do you mean, nothing to do with you? It has everything to do with us! Does it not make you angry? The way the Empire can get away with this?"

Jack shrugged. "They do worse every day, just in places you don't hear about. No point getting all upset about it."

"A whole planet! Gone! Do you not realise what this means they could do to us?"

A puff of smoke accompanied the shake of McCauley's head, "You mean you. There is no 'us'."

Wrench looked really confused now. "So you're not part of the Alliance, now?"

"I've always preferred to think of myself as a private contractor," Jack said, pulling himself up so he was standing.

"But you have a rank."

"Got to have a rank to get paid."

There was more silence as Wrench started to help fix the fuel line. He seemed slightly bothered by Jack's attitude, but Jack was slightly bothered by the little rodent's prodding. Didn't aliens get when it was best to just drop the subject?

After a while the silence was broken by Wrench. "So where are you running to next?"

"Got to take a shed-load of things to Rainworld Academy. Apparently they want more supplies."

"Rainworld? That's a long way away from here..."

"Yep. At least a week of hopping from system to system, trading supplies and picking up people where I need to. Lot of things the Alliance want to be taken to and from Rainworld."

"It's a pilot academy, right?"

"Aye. A lot of cocky flyboys."

"But you fly?"

"Not the same. Dunno if they might want to rope me in for their exercises too - always fun having newbies completely failing to escort me and my shuttle out of hot zones."

"Aren't you worried about patrols? I heard the Imperial presence has gotten heavier recently."

"I ain't worried about me, Wrench. I have my agreements with the local authorities. In fact I know exactly when and where I'll be boarded and I'll comply fully with their demands. Often better than running away. But you ought to be worried."

"Why?"

"I heard that precious princess of yours has disappeared, probably with the rest of Alderaan. If she's been captured, the Imps are probably not far off knowing about this place. With a planet killer on their side, you ain't got much hope."

Wrench went very quiet as he continued to work on the fuel line. After a while Jack spoke up. "That Lucy, she's from Alderaan, right?"

"Yes," Wrench said cautiously.

"Perhaps I should comfort her."

Wrench let out a sigh and continued to work on the pipe as Jack leant against it, puffing away on his cigarette.

* * *

Above Yavin, several wings of fighters carried the hopes of the Rebellion against the greatest weapon ever built. Laser cannons fired retina-searing pulses and TIE fighters harried the brave pilots as they attempted the trench run, seeking the tiny exhaust port which could destroy the advancing Death Star.

Meanwhile, in another part of the galaxy, far far away ...

[Classified Location]

"If I'd wanted to be a ground-pounder, I'd have joined the frakking marines," Gemilan grumbled, crouching behind a log as two flight-suited cadets ran past, their orange coveralls vivid against the greenery. "Wait - who's that ...?"

She ducked down, pressing her face into the earth, the smell of leafmould and damp filling her nostrils. Sensei, who had risked peeking out - his natural colouring blended more easily with the jungle surroundings - scrunched back into a tangle of limbs and breathed, "Alien and Berserker. Looks like they're chasing Hacker and someone else. We must be close."

"Close, yeah?" Gemi's face was liberally daubed with mud to conceal as much of her red skin as possible. "Dunno how much closer we can get without being seen ..." She winced as blasters whined in the direction of the fleeing cadets and a flurry of shouts erupted. "Guess that's them caught, then," she finished with a sigh.

"Indeed." The single, dry word was evocative of a philosophy professor, which had been his peace-time role; in contrast, the Xexto's appearance was that of a fugitive. He and Gemi had shed their distinctive orange flight-suits within seconds of being dumped in the jungle as part of a survival exercise. Sensei hid his second set of arms beneath a dull brown under-robe while Gemi had soaked her white singlet and shorts in a puddle to darken them - on Rainworld, there were plenty of mud-baths to choose from. More mud streaked her smooth skin, breaking up the red expanse.

Gemi frowned, consulting the hand-drawn map which had been their sole source of direction for the duration of the exercise. "I think we're meant to get over there," she pointed east, "but how we do it, I don't know." She had no desire to be 'tagged' by the modified blasters, having been warned that they stung. Knowing that the effects wore off within half an hour was cold comfort.

She turned to the Xexto, who was gazing skywards with a strange look on his narrow face. "Sensei? A little help ...?" but he cut her off with a gesture and pointed up. Up, towards the canopy of trees that stretched overhead, thick branches all but interlocking, like a road-map pointing towards .... Gemi drew in her breath and glanced back at her fellow cadet. Her smile was feral. "Let's do it!"

The climb was harder than they had expected. Sensei's extra limbs came in handy; he could cling onto the tree and still stretch down a couple of hands to help Gemilan. Equally, there were times when her greater height helped them reach the next level, but finally they both sprawled across one of the largest branches, catching their breath before the next stage of the plan.

Their new route was slippery with moss and littered with the nests of some small creatures who scattered dung liberally around their homes. Gemi scrunched up her nose as they picked their way past the first set of nests, clinging to the upper branches to help keep their balance. "That stuff stinks!" she whispered to Sensei, trying to keep her boots away from the mess. By the time they had been in the canopy for an hour, though, she had forgotten about her desire for cleanliness and was ploughing through patch after patch of guano, intent on keeping upright and avoiding discovery by the instructors who had been set to catch them.

"Who needs survival exercises, anyway?" she groused to Sensei as they took a brief rest and a gulp of lukewarm water from the single bottle they'd been allowed. "If I'm shot down I'll just surrender, then escape!"

The Xexto smiled. "Ah, the impetuousness of youth. They're not just teaching us about survival, Gremlin. We're meant to be developing teamwork, lateral thinking, strategy - all skills that will be useful to us in our X-wings, too."

Gemi looked doubtful. "Really? I just think it's a chance for Lock the Cock to show how wonderful he is. 'Ooh, look, I can shoot unarmed cadets for real, not just in the sims!'" She shook her head, sending her wet tail of hair whipping back and forwards. "He wouldn't be so quick to do this if he was up here, facing a blaster up the backside if he's caught!"

"He probably did something like this too, in his training. There's a reason why we're being put through this, Gremlin." Sensei's voice was soothing. "Come on. We can't be far away now. Let's see if we can be the first cadets ever to make it to the end without getting caught!"

The notion fired Gemi's enthusiasm once more and she followed the Xexto with renewed vigour, though her thoughts were focused more upon the indignities she'd like to commit on Lieutenant Lock than the eventual outcome of the exercise.

A short while later, the cadets crouched next to the trunk of one of the largest trees they had negotiated so far. Their eventual destination - a beacon set atop a case of supplies - was lying in the middle of a small clearing, easily visible from above. They were discussing in whispers how best to approach their goal when the sound of footsteps below drew their attention. Gemi and Sensei froze as Lock himself appeared, talking quietly into a portable comm.

"Yes - Sensei and Gremlin are the only two left. Any sign of them where you are?" A brief burble from the commlink. "Right. I'll meet you here, then." The comm clicked off and Lock pulled something from his pocket - a ration pack, by the sound of the covering being ripped off and the chewing that ensued.

Gemi's stomach grumbled; she put both hands over her belly and hugged, hoping Lock couldn't hear the sound. The Lieutenant was standing directly beneath one of the clusters of nests. She wished that one of the little creatures which inhabited the nests would choose that moment to evacuate its rear end over Lock's head. It was a pleasant thought, but not the most important one in her mind.

To Sensei, she pointed in the direction of the clearing and mouthed, "Go for it! I'll watch him." At least if Sensei made it to the beacon, it would hopefully count as a team victory. The Xexto looked like he was going to demur, but he was higher up the tree than Gemi and in a perfect position to clamber across the branches. He gave a brief nod of his flexible neck and slithered off, looking like a demented insect with his spiky limbs.

Gemilan was left watching Lieutenant Lock. Her eyes kept getting drawn to the nests. There was a large pile of guano perched precariously close to the edge of the branch. If only she could nudge it - just ever so slightly - so it plopped over onto him .... oh, what sweet revenge it would be for dumping them all in this rain-sodden, stinking jungle!

Sensei was closing in on the beacon, now. Gemi was torn between watching him and trying, ever so slightly, to shake the branch with the nests on it. She was about to give it another jiggle when two more instructors appeared - Alien and Berserker, both wearing combat fatigues like Lock's, far more suited to the jungle surroundings than the cadets' poisonous orange. Gemilan huddled against the trunk, keeping one eye on Sensei and the other on the meeting taking place below. Berserker, the grey-furred Shistavanen, waved one arm in the direction of the beacon, did a double-take and shouted.

It all happened very quickly after that.

Realising he had been spotted, Sensei scuttled along the branches, seeking to drop to the ground near the beacon and turn it on to signify a successful escape. Berserker raised his blaster; Lock and Alien were split-seconds behind. Gemi yelled and jumped from her hiding-place, heading for the branch with the nests, rather than towards the beacon. The vibrations from her movement made the guano shift, sending a sizable quantity of dung splattering over Lieutenant Lock, who unfortunately happened to be looking up to see where the shout had come from. The noise and movement startled Berserker, whose shot went wide, and Sensei slapped the beacon's top, setting off the klaxon to declare that the exercise had finally been won.

Gemi was laughing even as Alien tagged her.

* * *

"It's a shame he didn't believe that it was an accident," Gemi said later, once they'd showered away the sweat and stench from the jungle.

"Well, you were heading away from the beacon," Sensei pointed out, but the Zeltron shook her head.

"I was trying to divert attention from you. Clearly I wasn't going to head towards the beacon." She gave him an innocent look before dipping the brush appropriated from a cleanbot into a bucket of acrid-smelling disinfectant. "At least you sounded the klaxon. Seledesnoi, first-ever winner of the survival challenge!"

The Xexto chuckled, sounding like a squeaky hinge. "It was a joint effort. We worked together to achieve success - just as wingmates are supposed to do."

"Indeed!" Gemi grinned at her unlikely friend. "Now buzz off, you, and don't do anything to get this bathroom dirtier than it already is. I've got to get it cleaned up by midnight, remember!"

Left alone in the tiled, echoing facility, Gemilan relived the moment when the guano had splattered all over Lieutenant Lock. It had been worth it. It had so been worth it!

And in the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin, with the remains of the Death Star turning to meteorites in the night sky, the same sentiment was being echoed by the leaders of the Rebellion. They had just won their first major fight against the Empire. Despite the losses, the pilots and ships sent to their doom, it had been worth it.

* * *

[Deep Space; four days ABY]

The Rimward Liberty drifted through space limply, its engines shut down. Jack sat at the ship's controls, waiting patiently. In a matter of an hour his Rebel contact would arrive and transfer someone onto his ship, to be taken on to Rainworld. In the meantime, he would wait here for the Imps to show up.

Jack had made an agreement with the local sector commander, the same he made with every Imperial official that was a threat to his business. The sector commander would appear with his personal shuttle, board his ship, take the bribe, then leave after giving Jack the all clear to travel through this area. It was an agreement that benefitted both of them.

At least, that was Jack's thinking till he saw an Imperial Star Destroyer appear. Hastily Jack flicked a big switch covered in a red safety marker; all of his ship's power shut down, bar life support. He was just drifting through space, practically invisible to sensors.

It was tense as the Star Destroyer moved past Jack, several klicks away. Jack could just about make out the shape of the huge ship and could only hope that his much smaller craft was almost impossible to see in the blackness of space. A few minutes later, the Star Destroyer hyperspaced out of the region.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Jack sat back at the controls and continued his waiting. Things were only going to get tougher for the Alliance from here on out.

* * *

[Classified Location; one week ABY]

Perhaps the thing that he disliked the most about this planet was that it was always raining.

When you woke up, it rained. Throughout the day, it rained. When you went to bed, it rained. Most times it was so rainy and dark outside that it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night on the Force-forsaken planet. Then again, it was probably the reason that the Empire ignored its existence and the reason why the Rebel Alliance had made a training base here. At least it wasn't under siege like Yavin was, so new recruits could learn whatever they needed to.

The planet didn't even have a name, at least not a real one. In part it was because up until the Rebels had made it a base it was uninhabited; in part because if it did have a name, then it would exist ... and the last thing that anyone needed was for this place to officially exist. New recruits came here by shuttles piloted only by the most trusted pilots in the Rebellion. The place was nicknamed Rainworld Academy.

Lieutenant Roy "Lock" Callahan stared out the large glass window, sighing before he finally decided to give up. So much rain and condensation had fogged up the window that it was impossible to see anything through it anyway. He held a mug of lukewarm hot chocolate in his right hand and lifted it up to his lips, taking a slight sip of the thick, chocolatey drink before he turned around and closed the ground between the window and his office in no more than three quick steps.

The heels of his black boots sounded against the metallic floor, creating that damned clacking sound that he was so tired of listening to. He wore a blue flight suit with his rank insignia and name tag. On his left shoulder was the insignia of the Rebel Alliance and on his right a patch labeling him one of the instructors on this base. He put down the mug on the desk and sat down in his chair before running his hands through his black hair and sighing. The Corellian glanced momentarily at the stack of datapads on his desk before closing his dark eyes and leaning back into his chair. None of its padding was very comfortable at the moment ... he was at the point of wishing he was back in an ejection seat again.

"Dammit ... I never should've left active duty..." he muttered to himself. His right leg started to bounce impatiently and he set his hand on it in an attempt to stop it. Lock was starting to feel antsy ... he needed to get behind a stick. He wanted out of this hellhole, out of this damned rainy world. There wasn't even alcohol and the few women there he couldn't touch because they were either his trainees or his co-workers. Talk about torture. "Force forsaken rain..."

He was just starting to consider hitting on that female Twi'lek drill sergeant when there was a knock at his door. Lock looked at it, surprised. It was an hour before the daily drills began; the pilot trainees weren't usually even awake at this hour if they could help it -- Lock and the other instructors made sure that they were too exhausted to even consider consciousness at these hours.

"Enter," he replied after a moment. The door slid open and Lock was shocked to see who stood in the opening.

The man was at least a head taller than Lock and, though only thirty at the most, already balding. His whole left arm was a mechanical replacement and he had a beard and goatee which many men would be jealous of. He was broad shouldered and wore an orange flight suit with the rank insignia of Captain, though Lock didn't need that clue to know who this man was. The man grinned and held up a hand in greeting while Lock simply stared at him, unsure of how to react. He hadn't seen Dirr "Jet" Sol since he had left Bantha Squadron over a month ago.

"What's wrong, Lock?" asked the man, his deep voice booming. "You seemed shocked to see me, hahaha!"

"I never expected to see you again, Jet." Lock replied, serious. He looked at the grinning man for a moment more before an answering smile started to grow on his lips, against his own will. After a few moments he gave in, shaking his head. "Damned old bastard, what brings you here?"

Jet's grin widened. "Knew that you couldn't have become a grumpy old instructor by now!" he told Lock and walked into the room, taking the seat in front of the Corellian's desk. "I'm actually the bearer of good and bad news." He suddenly became more serious. "You may not like some of it ..."

"Well, at least it's news. We don't have the holonet -- this place is so secret that there's a communications blackout." He eyed Jet suspiciously before leaning forwards. "Which makes me wonder how you knew I was here?"

"I know my way around the Rebellion," Jet replied with a hint of a smirk.

"Right." Lock sat back in his chair. "So, what's the news, then?"

"Well, let's start with the 'good' news first, shall we?"

Lock looked at the man expectantly. "Yeah?"

"You're being reassigned," Jet told him. "The Rebellion needs all the pilots it can get, especially pilots of your caliber. You're being wasted here ... piloting a desk? Training recruits? It's all good, I suppose, but you and I both know that you belong in a cockpit!"

Lock leaned back into his chair and looked at Jet for a few moments. A few moments earlier he'd been wishing for a ticket off this rock, but now that he had it he wasn't so sure. "Jet... you know why I stopped flying."

"I do, and you also know that everyone agrees that what happened was not your fault. There was nothing you could've done ... the only reason you're alive to feel guilty about it is because of how hot you are behind a stick." Jet leaned forward. "That's why the Rebellion needs you back in a cockpit. That's why I need you."

"You need me?"

"That's right. I'm re-forming Bantha Squadron -- I'll be needing you as my XO." Jet looked directly at Lock. "You're the only one I trust to save my ass in a pinch and still hold the unit together."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm not." Jet's denial was flat. "In any case, you don't have a choice."

"I don't?"

"Nope. High Command has recalled all pilots. We have a serious need of them, especially after what happened... which brings me to the bad news."

Lock arched his left eyebrow.

"I suppose that you haven't heard yet, but..." Jet sighed and shook his head. "One week ago, the Emperor took its new toy for a joyride. The Death Star was built to destroy planets ... and its first test was on Alderaan. It was completely destroyed."

"You don't mean that..."

Jet nodded. "Alderaan is nothing but a field of debris. I saw it myself -- I was in the squadron sent to investigate." He shook his head. "It was... horrible."

"Hawkeye?" Lock's throat was tight as he asked the question.

"Hanging in there. I spoke to her after it happened." Jet replied. "Her family was on the planet ..."

Lock looked down, not sure of what to say.

"She asked about you," Jet added after a moment.

Still, Lock did not reply. After a moment Jet simply continued.

"The Death Star's next target after Alderaan was the Rebel base at Yavin. Luckily, some farmboy from Tatooine -- something Skywalker is his name -- was able to destroy it but it cost us too many pilots. That's why you're being recalled, as well as everyone who's available on this base." Jet leaned back into his chair. "I hope you trained those new recruits well, Lock ..."

"Why?" Lock looked up at Jet.

"Because you're going to select the best pilots out of the batch, and they're going to form the new Bantha Squadron."

* * *

[Classified Location; one week ABY]

Rainworld was distinctly unimpressive to the observer from space. The constant swirling clouds made it look like a grey gas giant, but it was much smaller with no moons of its own. In the berth next to the pilot seat the little R2 unit had chittered away, satisfied that it had completed its mission of guiding the freighter Rimward Liberty safely to the secret destination. The light on the unit's dome had flashed rapidly as it commenced a memory wipe. Jack McCauley had watched with some amusement. How could something be so willing to throw away its existence like that?

In the co-pilot's seat, his passenger - a pilot known only as Jet - had sighed at the sight of the little cloudy pearl. "Looks wet down there."

Jack had liked Jet. Almost as soon as he had stepped aboard Jack's ship it had become clear that they both liked their own personal space. They had quickly established opposite sleep patterns, so one could watch the ship whilst the other slept. If only all passengers were that easy. "Yeah, just a little."

Now that they had arrived at their planetary destination, McCauley fiddled with the comm equipment at his seat, tuning into frequency bands normally discarded as junk due to interference from nearby stars. After a little while, he'd settled on a strong repeating signal. The nav computer came alive and the freighter pressed forward, McCauley guiding the ship through the upper atmosphere of Rainworld and into the constant mist surrounding the planet. Next to him Jet had tensed a little and Jack smirked; like many a pilot, Jet didn't care for being a passenger instead of in control.

The signal grew stronger and stronger until McCauley slowed suddenly, gently lowering the ship. The clouds finally broke at low level and out of the viewport they could see the pilot academy, a small collection of buildings amongst the lashing rain. Jet had stood first, eager to stretch his legs; with a word of thanks he had departed, heading towards the largest building in a crisp walk. McCauley had lingered a while longer, going over his cargo manifest one more time. Fuel, spare parts, rations. Nothing exciting apart from the secret cargo manifest, in the smuggling hold: alcohol for his most regular customer. Wherever he was.

He stepped off the ship, looking through the manifest disinterestedly, and approached the nearest person he saw out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, who's in charge here?"

It had been a quiet day but at least the duty shift, though boring, was a change from getting shot at in sims. Gemi settled her belt around her narrow hips and walked towards the newcomer, running a professional eye across the beaten-up 720 as she went. She was attuned to the rain now; it didn't bother her.

"Well, officially it's Captain Amonos who's in charge but right here and now, in this hanger, that'd be me. Officer Of The Day, Cadet Pilot Gemilan, at your ....." The Zeltron broke off abruptly, staring at the man in front of her.

"Jack? Jack McCauley? Is that you?"

His eyes focused on her, finally taking her in fully. She was shapely, attractive with beautiful flowing purple hair. Upsetting that she already knew his name, he'd probably had a one night stand with her before and now he was going to have to find ...

Wait.

No.

It couldn't be. Could it?

"Well, I'll be damned! Gremlin." His face dropped into a smile and he suddenly wrapped her in a bear hug, as inside his mind was torn. "Look at you, you little Rebel! What are the odds, huh?!"

Initially she hesitated to respond, remembering all too clearly his last words to her: harsh, cutting, hurtful. She'd tried one last time to convince him to stay on the Dropkick Murphy with her, but he'd turned her down, saying he never wanted to see her again. The hug, however, took her by surprise. It had been so long since she'd seen him - and she had always felt a little spark of attraction to him. And she hadn't had a hug since Sensei ....

"What are the odds, yeah ..." she murmured, reaching up with her free hand to touch his cheek. Her other hand, still holding his datapad, had of its own volition crept up to the small of his back. "What've you been doing since - since we ... since we last saw each other?" She hastily censored any mention of Connor.

He flashed her a winning smile, careful to avoid looking her directly in the eyes. "Ah, well, you know. Bits and pieces. Getting up to trouble, meeting cute girls. Then I heard about this whole Rebellion thing, heard there was some good credits."

She stiffened slightly at the mention of cute girls, but linking the Rebellion to a money-making opportunity was ... unexpected. Gemi leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, her brow furrowed. Did he really mean that?

Looking at her directly for a second was too much for him to handle; he moved closer, his lips close to her ears. He had missed her, really had, for the year or more they'd been apart. He'd thrown her away and just days later he'd longed for her to be with him, holding him as he found himself overwhelmed with grief again. McCauley hated to admit this weakness to himself - how dare she do this to him?

Jack put on the smoothest voice he could. "Don't tell anyone, Gremlin, but I'm actually a top spy, on a daring mission for Alliance intelligence. Super spy stuff."

She chuckled quietly, enjoying the sensation of his breath tickling her ear. He was teasing her, as he'd used to do in the days aboard the Dropkick Murphy when they'd all been travelling to Pantolomin together. When she'd pretended to be annoyed by the nickname Gremlin, while secretly enjoying the banter between them.

His free hand brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Listen. You're not still mad at me, are you? I know I was a little grumpy when we left off but.... well .... don't you think it's kind of fate that the galaxy brought me back to you?"

That made her laugh out loud. "Jack! That sounds like a holonovela ... I thought you said you hated them?" But it had been a long time since she'd seen him; people did change - and he had hugged her first. Gemi glanced down, biting her lip, then sighed and looked up again.

"Yes, I was mad. At first, anyway. I missed you. A lot." Her violet gaze was open and trusting. "But ... well, maybe there is a reason why we're here together, whatever it is you're doing for the Rebellion. Maybe ...." she tilted her head back, her lips an invitation, "maybe the galaxy knows what it's doing?" It was a play on the title of her favourite holonovela - What The Galaxy Knows - back when she'd been a teenager on Zeltron, before she left home as a crewmember on the Murphy. Before she'd met the McCauleys.

His eyes finally met hers and the smile grew wider on Jack's lips; he moved his hand from her hair to cover his mouth, suppressing a grin. He refused to allow her to make him break first. "I don't know much about the galaxy, darling, but I know this much. Only Jedi know the future. And right now? Right here? I think I feel the Force."

He swung her, now laughing proudly at his god-awful verbal play. "I'm not gonna shut up if you don't kiss me!"

She was surprised into a squeal that turned to laughter. "I didn't think you'd remember that!" Connor and Jack had teased her so much after discovering her store of holos on board the Murphy. Together, they had watched some of the worst ones, including a truly terrible story about the near-mythical Jedi that skirted into holoporn territory. Regaining her feet, Gremlin pressed her body against his, twining her free hand into his hair. "Maybe I should kiss you, then - just to make you stop talking, of course ...."

Nearby, someone cleared their throat and the two froze. Behind Jack, unnoticed till now, was a blue-uniformed man: Gremlin's training officer. Lock stood, eyebrow raised, tapping his datapad gently on the palm of his hand.

"I think you just remembered there is something very important you need to do," Lock advised Gremlin, looking directly into the red-skinned pilot's purple eyes.

There were several different answers which she wanted to give him, but there was only one which might avoid demerits and disciplinary action. Gremlin sighed and took a step backwards, out of Jack's arms, saying with only a hint of reluctance, "Yes, sir." But as she turned to go, she gave Jack a wink and a secret smile.

"Do you kiss every cadet you run into?" Lock asked the transport pilot when she was finally gone. They'd met once or twice before, but hadn't exchanged much more than credits.

Jack watched her go, sighing as she left. "Only the pretty ones. Especially if I know it'll piss you off." McCauley shook a head at the Lieutenant, a real uptight bastard. "Don't know how you do it, you know? All those pretty cadets hanging on your every word and you just have to keep it professional. Must be hard eh?"

"Was that a dick joke?" Lock asked, amused by the other man's willingness to step into danger. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Actually, I don't care. Just keep your hands off of my cadets -- it's hard enough making sure they keep their hands off of each other." There was a heavy sigh. "Any trouble on your way in?"

A death stick was lit, before Jack offered the packet to Lock. "Nothing major. Had to run dark for a while but don't worry, your precious cargo is safe. Although with what happened, Imperial patrols are stepping up. Prices are going to go up, buddy...."

* * *

[Classified Location; two weeks ABY]

Eight pilots of varying races sat in the circular briefing room at Rainworld Academy. Its amphitheatre form led down towards a holoprojector that repeated the same floating image of the Rebel insignia, rotating slightly. Every few seconds the image would flicker and return to its original starting position.

The mood in the room was sullen. A week ago the cadets had all received the news of what had happened on Alderaan and Yavin. At first there had been outrage at Alderaan's destruction, but that had eventually dwindled; they knew that soon enough they would be on the front lines and most of them probably wouldn't survive the next year. It was a statistical probability that they would die within their first five missions, if they didn't have the bad luck of finding themselves in a major battle right away; then their chances of death grew exponentially. Some cadets had attempted to resign their commissions, others had tried to find different ways out. One thing was clear, though: the war against the Empire was only going to escalate in the near future.

The doors at the back of the room opened and through them stepped two pilots, Diah "Alien" Drugo, a female Sullustan, and Lieutenant Sonn "Berserker" Ryles, an imposing gray-furred Shistavanen. They were already wearing flight suits instead of their more familiar uniforms, though all eight pilots recognized them as two of the flight instructors at the base. After a moment the two made their way down the steps and sat in the front row closest to the holoprojector, waiting silently for the last people to arrive.

One of the pilots there, a Xexto who was probably the oldest sentient in the room, sat in the middle of the pack. Seledesnoi, or 'Sensei' as the others called him, craned his long neck to the left where a young and beautiful red-skinned Zeltron woman sat in her orange flight suit. "What do you think we were called here for?"

Gemilan, now known as Gremlin, simply shrugged and motioned towards the back of the room. "I think we're about to find out."

Right on cue the doors slid open and two men walked through. One, the bald one, they did not recognize but the other was the Corellian instructor, Lock. They walked straight down to the bottom of the amphitheatre, then moved to either side of the holoprojector. Lock punched in a few keys and then turned towards the pilots; the other officer was already looking at them. After a glance, he turned to Lock.

"This is everyone?" asked the bald man; Lock nodded. "Right."

The newcomer turned to the pilots who were watching him expectantly and began to address them.

"I'm sure that all of you have heard of the recent turn of events in the Rebellion," he began. "Alderaan was destroyed and two weeks ago we destroyed the Death Star at the Battle of Yavin. Victory came at a price, though, and now the Rebellion is in dire need of pilots ... pilots just like all of you. I know that some of you feel that your training was not fully completed but Lieutenant Callahan assures me that the ten of you, here in this room, are the best that Rainworld Academy has to offer.

"Let me introduce myself. I am Captain Dirr Sol; you may call me 'Captain,' 'Sir' or 'Leader. ' If you survive the next few missions and earn my trust, you can begin calling me by my callsign, 'Jet'. I am your new Officer Commanding and you are all now part of Bantha Squadron. Bantha is a well-known unit in the Alliance and we take on difficult missions -- we are not babysitters, we are Imp-killers. Lieutenant Callahan is the squadron's XO. You all know him and hopefully respect him, so follow his orders as you would follow mine," he concluded and looked around at the pilots for a moment. "Any questions?"

A Devaronian pilot held up his hand. Jet nodded to him and he asked, "Sir, are we considered operational as of now?"

"Good question..." he glanced at his datapad. "Good question, Toro. The answer is yes, we are now an operational unit. We will be receiving orders shortly, so expect to see combat experience sooner than you'd hoped for." The Devaronian nodded solemnly and Jet continued looking around the room. "Any other questions? No? Good. Lieutenant Callahan has your flight assignments and numbers."

Lock stepped forward and looked at the group. He lifted a datapad and started to read from it. "Flight One will be led by Captain Sol, Bantha Leader. Wire will be Bantha Two, Liz and Rapier will finish off the flight as Banthas Three and Four. I will lead Flight Two as Bantha Five and Toro will be my wingmate, Bantha Six. Rider, you're Bantha Seven and Alien, you'll be Bantha Eight. Finally, Lieutenant Ryles will fly as Bantha Nine with Saber as his wingmate, Bantha Ten. Last of all, Gremlin and Sensei as Banthas Eleven and Twelve."

Once he was done reading off the flight assignments he looked around the room. "All of you have been assigned X-Wing fighters. They're brand new so don't break them or we'll have you swimming through space, understood?" He looked around; no-one seemed to want to argue with him.

Jet took over. "That's all for the moment," he told them. "Report tomorrow at oh-six-hundred at hangar six. We'll be doing live flight practices. You can go."

The pilots got up and started making their way out of the briefing room. Soon enough only Jet and Lock were left. They looked at each other.

"That went well," Lock told Jet.

Jet shrugged. "Let's go get something to drink."

"It's a dry base."

"How do you even survive here?"

Lock smirked. "Who said there isn't any alcohol on the planet?"