Raids, Rogues and Arithmatic

[Jaden Luka]

This thread occurs several months after the events of Ride of the Valkyries (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=18152), following Jaden Luka's promotion to Lieutenant and appointment as a Flight Leader in Valkyrie Squadron.


Astral Queen - Dac (Mon Calamari)

- - -

Jaden blew out a low whistle. He'd seen a lot of things on his travels, but this was definately his first up-close look at shipyards. The massive array of spaceborne constructs encircled the entire planet, the massive hulks of Mon Calamari vessels looming white against the darker metals that cradled them. Consciously, he'd known that the Valiant was only a small example of what the amphibious species could produce, but it wasn't until he found himself in the shadow of some of the mighty MC80-series Star Cruisers that he truely realised the scales in question. Easing herself into a berth behind them, their home for the past several months was a mere child compared to these aquatic behemoths.

"It isn't the size, it's how you use it, right?" Amos observed casually from the co-pilots seat.

Hovering around the back of the cockpit, no doubt feeling awkward about not having anywhere to sit down, Major Vorega let out a grunt. Jaden didn't need to look to percieve the way her eyes rolled. "Men."

Jaden couldn't help cracking a grin, finally managing to drag his eyes away from the spectacle outside and back to his navigation sensors. It felt good to be back here, gripped in the seat that had been worn until it was the epitomy of comfort over the last seven years. Much as he enjoyed zipping around dogfights in his A-Wing, it would never quite compare to the way he felt sitting behind the controls of his own ship. More so than when he'd revisited the planet he'd grown up on a few years back, sitting here in the Queen's cockpit felt like coming home.

For the Valiant herself, this was a homecoming, although not such a plesant one. A few weeks ago the ship had fallen foul of an Imperial vessel that turned out to be slightly more formidable than she looked. The ship had sustained damage, and while Captain Tyree was content to make do with patch-up repairs until they were officially recalled to Alliance space, the Mon Calamari Engineer that insisted the engine room be kept uncomfortably warm had commanded that they head back to dock to have the damage repaired properly. You can imagine how well the Tyrant responded to that 'command', but he had eventually bowed to the Mon Cal's superior knowledge of his own race's technology, and here they were.

On the plus side, having the ship out of action for a little while would guarentee that the crew got some much-needed downtime: Tyree took his job very seriously, and seemed somewhat unfamiliar with the concept of rest.

"Orbital Control," Jaden called, flicking at various switches on the comms console, "This is Astral Queen. Awaiting instructions for final approach."

The voice that responded, already distorted by the natural static of space radio and Alliance communications protocols, had the distinctive nasal tones of a Mon Calamari officer. "Approach instructions are being transmitted, Astral Queen. Welcome to the Daca System."

Lights blinked and flashed, and the cockpit let out a plesant bleet. Navigational data scrolled across Jaden's screen; for no apparent reason, a wince crossed his face. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he repeated the gesture for Leela's benefit. "You might want to go and sit yourself down," he warned.

The Major frowned, worry creeping into her voice. "Something wrong?"

"Not really," Jaden replied, turning back to face forward again, a slight hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. "I've just been doing combat landings for a while. I'm not sure if I can remember how to set down properly anymore."

Another grunt escaped from the Major, and without another word she disappeared aft, off to join the rest of Valkyrie and Dagger Squadrons, who Jaden had kindly agreed to ferry across to the station a couple of minutes early. Jaden cast another quick look over his shoulder, this time aimed at his co-pilot. Amos didn't look nearly so happy though; in fact, he seemed a little pale. "You were kidding, right?"

* * *

Ambling casually down the boarding ramp, Jaden stretched, and forced himself to take a deep breath of the humid air. Of course: Mon Calamari station, Mon Calamari environmental settings. Good job they wouldn't need to tolerate the temperature in uniform. Pulling open the front of his flight suit, and shrugging off the sleeves, Jaden tied the arms around his middle and clapped his hands together, the bare skin exposed already prickling at the wet heat. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly, just in time to notice the crowd of two-dozen pilots slowly begin to dissipate.

"Where are you guys running off to?" Amos asked, having to half shout to reach the group that had already made it half-way to the exit.

"Bar!" Leela answered, spinning on her heel and taking a few backwards paces, jerking a thumb over her shoulder towards the door for emphasis.

For a moment, Amos and Jaden explained a few wordless glances. "Onward!" Jaden announced suddenly, and set off at a jog after the rest.

Still standing on the ramp, Amos let out a sigh and shook his head, dreadlocks hanging loose over his shoulders. A beep behind him made him look back, and sigh again. "Great. I'm stuck with the dog." Trip threw what looked like a droid approximation of a confused look, and whistled something that his vocabulator didn't translate into basic. Amos had learned by now that phrases that the little droid chose not to translate were probably insults, and he'd given up on trying to understand them. "Come on boy," he called instead, and set off after the pilots.

[Kelly Perris]

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Perris... It's just a droid. Stop sulking, man. The kid was put up to it. He's new. Just trying to fit in. I'm sure you had your days when..."

"Shut up, Neel. Just lemme enjoy my drink. The 'kid' is lucky there isn't a boxing ring nearby, or he would be shaking in his suit."

Kelly was usually a very good guy. Squadron commander, a career pilot - you would be hard-pressed to find the man behind a desk, pushing paper beyond what was required for his men. But the discovery that his sister was in fact alive and well and...enjoying...a career with Imperial Intel instead of being part of the debris field that was once Alderaan - as he had finally accepted and come to terms with in the past eighteen months- topped by one of the newest additions to the squadron screwing around with his astromech, HIS droid, on a dare (pilots were sometimes known for their initiation antics), was enough to leave Commander Perris steaming a little. The fact that Yoree Neel was the one the kid was wingman to, and that Neel was defending the kid, wouldn't bode well for him.

Well, it wouldn't have a few years ago. But things had changed. The wellbeing of Rogue Squadron came first. It was Kelly's dedication and skilled training of recruits (and their subsequent impressive survival rate) that had earned him the position he now held. The knowledge of enemy fighters and tactics he brought with him after six years as an Imperial pilot, had helped during the six years more or less, that he had now been with the Rebels, and Rogue Squadron itself. His eventual acceptance of the loss of his entire family (so he had believed) had enabled him to straigten up his life and focus. And he was a better man for it. Still, that didn't mean he had to like it when some other kid messed with his toys. Slice, his astromech droid, was going to be out of service for a bit. The prospect of flying with a droid he wasn't familiar with simply was not a pleasing prospect. There had been a time when something like this wouldn't bother him so much, but with age, most people can get set in their ways.

"Alright, man. Be that way." Yoree raised his one empty hand, a show of defense, and settled in his chiar. "Just don't take it out on the new kid, alright? He joined this squadron because of you. What I would give to be that young again..."

Kelly slouched back in his seat, ran a hand through his humidity-induced greasy hair, and took a gulp of his warm drink. Then let out a drawn-out sigh. He didn't care enough today to ask for anything specific. Just something soothing, not to mention alcoholic.

[Jaden Luka]

Jaden shuffled his way into the bar behind his fellow pilots, fondering how long it had actually been since he'd set foot inside a proper cantina. Not that this was exactly 'proper' mind you - with decor by the Mon Calamari, this place was something else. As a spacer, he'd visited his fair share of establishments on the words he wound up on, but he'd never been in a place like this. The painfully white walls that were common everywhere you looked in their architecture were thankfully muted, tinted by coloured lights that shone out of huge pillars of bubbling water. Inside, bright neon flashes twinkled as examples of Dac's native fauna swam around, their multicoloured reflective scales creating an awesome specacle. And as if the pillars of fish weren't enough, a huge orb of water hung in mid air, the centerpiece to the entire establishment, still more aquatic creatures drifting around seemingly oblivious of their unorthadox situation.

The room was packed, mostly with ground crew and technicians from the shipyards, although the odd SpecForce grunt could be seen trying to win over the unclaimed women with tales of their combat exploits, and from a few booths around the perimeter the tell-tale raucous of partying pilots spilled out into the cantina's ambient noise. A few lone fleet officers sat solo at the bar, casting the odd disapproving noise towards the hellraiser jocks of the Starfighter Corps. Most were probably absent though: a somewhat more civilised Officers club was available a few decks up where most of the Navy Officers ended up, but fighter pilots tended to prefer the slightly more ruff-around-the-edges company of the patrons of this kind of place.

Jaden found himself ushered to the front of the crowd: during the Valiant's last engagement Jaden had vaped his fifth TIE, earning him the coveted status of Ace, and apparently the privilage of buying the first round. He supposed it was only fair: because the Rebellion didn't actually pay the galactic standard wage, naval vessels offered a free bar, but establishments like this still needed to turn a profit. As a relative newcomer to the resistance, Jaden hadn't had the opportunity to squander the earnings from his life as a trader just yet, although from the sound of what his comrades were ordering, he'd be in the same boat before too long.

The double dozen from the Valiant managed to appropriate a booth for themselves, anmd spirits were soaring: both the metaphysical and alcoholic varieties. Amos seemed to have disappeared, and come to think of it Jaden hadn't seen him since the first round, but the Sergeant could take care of himself. He'd probably managed to find someone with a Wookiee fetish, and was off getting a good bunking. He'd have to try and remember to provide advanced warning of his arrival back at the ship - the last time he'd accidentally wandered in on Amos it had left some deep mental scars that had taken copious quantities of alcohol to erase. Drunken singing would probably do the trick, and from the way things were going already, that would be an inevitablility anyhow.

One of Jaden's pilots returned to the table, arms laiden with the next set of drinks. His new status as a Lieutenant and a Flight Leader had come with a few perks, the most useful of which had been the ability to delegate fetching and carrying responsibilities. Apparently 'Lieutenant' beats 'new guy' in the grand scheme of things.

"See those guys over there, two booths over?" the pilot asked, carefully setting out the various bottles and beverages on the table, flicking a brain tail in the relevant direction as he did so. "Caught a glimpse of a flight jacket. Looks like the Rogues?"

Jaden's eyes widened in surprise. "As in, Rogue Squadron? The Rebel elite?"

Leela snorted into her drink, necking another throatful. "They ain't so tough," she countered, voice a little louder than perhaps she realised. "Bunch of useless cross-jocks, if you ask me."

The Leader of Dagger Squadron shuffled a little uncomfortably in his seat. "I think you've had a little too much of that," he muttered, reaching for the bottle, but Leela manoeuvered it away just in time.

Unfortunately, the B-Wing pilot's assessment was accurate, and the Major was far from done. "I'm surprised you guys made it here alright!" she shouted to them directly, voice growing louder still. "Did you have to get nav coordinates from your Astro Droids before you came?"

[Kelly Perris]

Snapping out of the dull state he had been sitting in, Kelly shot up out of his seat, hammering the offending party with a steely look. Major Vorega...THAT figured. All six-foot-nothing of him, bare, muscular arms and a wifebeater, down to the 'suit arms tied around his waist, and continuing down to the legs was tensed. The boots stuck to the floor, and his hand was poised to crush the glass he had been nursing, until the smaller hand of his comrade clapped him on the shoulder, only distracting him in the very slightest.

"Whoa boy. You know that Leela..." Yoree's voice was calm. He wasn't one for fighting much, but had still been involved in his share. "...she gets into it when she's had too much."

Perris' replying words were short, cut, and hard.

"Get. Your. Hands. Offa. Me." He glared back at his companion, his words a low growl. "Or you'll be next."

Those words were enough to have Yoree Neel back off, wiping the now sweat-dampened hand on his own flightsuit. The memory of a broken nose, cheekbone, and subsequent facial restructuring, issued by Perris himself in an otherwise friendly boxing match, was discomforting enough for the pilot to yield. His counter to the scathing words of Leela Vorega was loud enough to be quite well heard.

"That may be, but I could still kick your sorry behind regardless of the fighter I'm strapped into, droid or no droid, Vorega. You and your friends at that table know it. The only skills you got that might out-shine mine have to do with that pretty lil' face of yours and the body attached to it."

Kelly finished off his beverage, and set down his glass with a loud CLANK on the nearby table.

"What surprises ME is how you make it through each day alive and still retain your dignity."

[Jaden Luka]

The grin on Leela's face drained away in the instant it took her to rise to her feet. Casually she snaked her body, flexing the muscles in her shoulders in preparation for a good bout of impact cosmetic surgery. Beneath her toned curves was someone who had learned the hard way how to look after herself.

The smile that graced her features now wasn't the same one that had been there before. Instead of the genuine, fun-loving expression that she usually sported she seemed predatory, eerily threatening. Her face moved closer to the Rogue pilot's, voice teasing as she spoke. "I still have my dignity, Commander," she replied, emphasising the pilot's junior rank, "It's because I know that my squadron earned its reputation, rather than just inheriting it from a bunch of real heroes."

"Lee," Jaden warned gently, trying to insert himself between the duo subtly, but with little success. The last thing he wanted was to spend his downtime nursing a string of injuries. "I think you need to sit back down, boss."

Leela's hand pushed him backwards slowly, extending a warning finger as he took the hint to back off. "Not now, Nine." Her eyes narrowed at Kelly, who's face they'd not left. "How does it feel, knowing that none of your pilots actually deserve all the hype that goes along with their name?"

[Kelly Perris]

He stepped forward, jabbing one finger in her face...

"You...just never quit."

...then pulled his whole left hand down to take a hearty fistful of her top, pulling her nice and close, nose to nose.

"My 'inheritance' is name only, you good-for-nothing hutt lube."

One hand remained poised on his right hip. The left released Leela, then rubbed on his left cheek, scruffed with a little more than a five o'clock shadow, then scratched behind his ear. This woman continually frustrated him, at every turn. Maybe she was jealous? Yeah, that's it. At any rate, he was holding most of it in, resisting the urge to let loose on her.

"My men earn the right to be called Rogues, Major." This last word he almost spat with disgust. "I've trained those pilots myself, not to mention a good number of those on non x-wing squadrons, yours included. Your men may have hard-earned reputations, but mine work just as hard keeping up and filling the shoes our name leaves us to fill. You don't have to deal with the expectations. You're lucky that way."

He then crossed his arms, and stared down on her, quite glaringly.

"You're also lucky that I don't beat up girls." A thoughtful look caught on his face, and he tapped his chin a moment, looking to Yoree, cracking a shortlived half-grin, before turning his head back and re-crossing his arms. He was, for the most part, above taking a fist to his superiors...outside of recreational pursuits, in any case. "Excuses for what might pass as female, on the other hand..."

He looked to her again, deadpanned. "..Nah. You're not even worth that exception."

Kelly didn't want to give her what she was after. That was a torture worse than the healing after any physical damage he could potentially deal.

[Jaden Luka]

Without another thought, Leela popped a fist directly into Kelly's face. The motion was so fast, even Jaden hadn't expected it, and he'd been standing poised ready to react should anything happen.

"How about we make this easy?" she called, as the Commander staggered back a few paces clutching his nose. She balled her fist into her palm and cracked the knuckles audibly. "One: I have nothing against you personally: just your squadron. So lets stick to professional criticisms here, and not make it personal." She flashed him a smile, and lowered her voice. "Two: if you're two scared of having your backside handed to you, then leave like the coward you are instead of hiding behind petty name-calling."

Her eyes narrowed. "Insult me for being a woman again, and I'll take a knife to what makes you different."

Jaden could see the Commander seething; things were going very wrong, very quickly. "Listen," he tried, holding his arms out defensively, trying his best to calm themselves down. The other patrons in the bar had formed a tight circle against the two Squadrons: if they'd attracted this much attention already, Security would be here before long. Much as he didn't want to spend the night in a cell, if he could stall things for long enough he'd at least avoid waking up in the med bay.

Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain. Kelly swung, a hook that would have probably taken Leela's jaw off its sockets had it connected. Leela managed to duck aside just in time, but the swing wasn't entirely wasted. Missing its intended target, Kelly's arm followed through, and connected squarely with the side of Jaden's face.

There was a hushed silence; Jaden shook his head, slightly stunned. His vision was slightly blurred, but he managed to clear it, although everything had taken on a decidedly red hue. He worked his jaw, already becoming sore. That'd ache like hell in the morning. All eyes were on him, waiting to see how he'd react. Grabbing his glass from the table beside him, he drained the remains and set it back down hard. "Sit down, Daggers," he instructed to the B-Wing pilots. "These guys can't even hit the target they're aiming for: no way they'll be able to handle all of us."

[Kelly Perris]

His fist connected, and he'd stumbled forward a few steps after it followed through, then sort-of huddled over, his hands on his knees, his bloodied nose dripping on the floor. Breathing heavy, in and out, feeling a little fuzzy, and starting to think about just what the hell was going on. He reached one hand up, pinching gently at his nose with his thumb and forefinger. It would definitely be sore and sensitive in the morning, but at least it wasn't broken....from what he could tell, anyway. A little blood never hurt anybody. Turning his head slightly from the hunched over position he stood in, he looked at the rest of the pilots. Leela, Jaden...

Aw, hells.

...that boy looked decidedly sore in the face. While Kelly's face had taken on a sheepish look at the realization that he'd missed his target, deeper down he was glad he didn't hit Vorega. And why was he reacting this way, anyhow? Oh, right. Slice, his astromech. And his sister. Damn it. Standing up to his full height, the Commander wiped his nose on his flightsuit sleeve, which had become a little untied from around his waist, and eyed Jaden, then Leela, then the rest of the men, who had been quite ready to participate, but had been called off by Luka. Yoree stood behind his commander, and had one hand on the man's shoulder, speaking in a hushed tone.

"Perris, you might want to consider thinking about what you do or say next before this gets worse."

Kelly nodded, looking back at his friend. Apparently Yoree Neel wasn't taking this as a sign that he was being listened to.

"You're being an jackass, man. You're not even in the right frame of mind to deal with meaningless banter."

"I hear ya, I get it." Kelly breathed, sounding exasperated as he re-tied the flightsuit around his waist.

"And he's right.." The commander admitted, nodding his head to Jaden Luka. "...no way we could take all of them on outside of the cockpit."

Stepping forward, he approached the aforementioned man. The closer he got, the more the other pilots inched in, ready for any fist that might fly. Leela stepped forward too. She probably wasn't done yet.

"Uh..I'm sorry about the..mm...hit." The whole time, his eyes were shifting back and forth between Jaden and Leela, before settling on Leela.

"This isn't the way things normally go around here. I'm really not in the business of roughing women up."

[Jaden Luka]

"Might wanna get your targetting scanners checked," Jaden grunted, hand rubbing across a stubbled cheek. Eyes scanning the table, he grabbed the still-cold glass he'd abandoned earlier, and pressed it gingerly against his jaw. "You got a good swing, though."

Major Vorega didn't seem nearly so impressed, unfortunately. Her hands were twitching into fists as she spoke; Jaden could tell from her eyes that she was spoiling for a fight, and wasn't ready to back down just yet. "Come on, Luke," just because you've got your own Flight now doesn't get you off the hook that easily. Where's my wingman?"

"Calm it down, Lee," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. The muscles were bunched, tense, ready to strike. "Everyone's had a few drinks, emotions are running high; I don't know about you, but personally I'd like to see something other than the inside of a med bay and a detention cell during 'leave."

Leela wasn't hearing anything. Her arm snapped out; out of reflex, Jaden recoiled a few paces, not wanting to get hit in the face again. Vorega advanced, a snarl on her lips. "Come on, Commander," she taunted, hands shoving Kelly hard in the chest. "I thought you Rogues never backed down from a fight." Another shove drove Kelly further towards the edge of the makeshift ring that the crowd had formed; her eyes were bright, her lips curled in an aggressive smile. "Just you and me. Lets go."

Suddenly, Vorega spasmed, blue energy washing across her. Her muscles locked then relaxed within an instant, and her body tumbled to the floor. Jaden shrugged, returning his Scout-issue blaster to the holster on his hip. "She's just stunned," he reassured, interpreting the strange look that Kelly threw at him. "With all the alcohol in her system, she'll be out for hours." He hesitated. "Maybe she'll be less cranky when she wakes up," he mused.

Robbed of their opportunity to watch two ranking pilots beating the Sith out of each other, the crowd slowly dispursed, wandering back towards their drinks. In the distance, the music began to play again, and eventually the cantina returned to normality. "Lets get her to a bunk," Jaden called to the pilots behind him with a sigh. "She's gonna hate me in the morning."

[Kelly Perris]

"She's gonna hate me in the morning."

A bemused smirk crossed Kelly's face. He pulled at the bottom of his nose with his fingers, clearing away some of the crusted remains of blood, and watched the younger pilots as they picked up their leader and began to shuffle out of the cantina.

"She might...If she remembers much." He stifled a chuckle. "See you kids later."

With the establishment returning to normal, the thirtysomething commander lifted his right arm, glancing at the chrono he often forgot he was wearing and not really taking note of just what time it was. He then looked at Yoree, who was looking rather amused.

"What??"

"Nothing." He very nearly snorted, waving Perris off. "It's nothing." He started laughing.

Kelly stared at his comrade, then shook his head. Again, he looked at the chrono and this time he swore, smacking that hand to his head. Yup, he'd definitely have a bit of a hangover in the A.M.

"Ouch. Buddy, I gotta get. Sleep and get the hangover over with. Y'know...probably gonna be dealing with an angry female rancor in the morning, unless she thinks better of it."

"Oh, I KNOW." The idiot was still laughing.

"Can it, Neel. See ya later."

[Leela Vorega]

The Morning After - Dac (Mon Calamari)

- - -

With a grunt, and a mournful groan of reluctance, Major Vorega flailed herself into consciousness, arms batting at the bedsheets that had tangled themselves around her body. Her head was aching, and her mouth was dry. She could feel the veins throbbing at her temples. Her legs felt numb and heavy, as if they weren't entirely there. Her stomach felt a little queezy, but not enough to throw up. The room felt a little unstable too, like someone had snuck in and decreased the strength of the grav plating while she was asleep. Her memory was a little fuzzy, but a quick, bleary-eyed scan of the room revealed that she was in her own quarters, and was alone. Given the people she remembered being in the bar last night, that was probably a good thing.

Her head felt like a thermal detonator had just gone off inside it. She frowned, which was painful. Had she already thought about the headache? She couldn't be sure, so decided to dedicate some of her attention to feeling sorry for herself about it again. She usually didn't allow herself to get like this while aboard-ship, but downtime was another matter. A flash of memory appeared in her mind. Did someone shoot her?

Risking a tentative glance beneath the covers, she allowed herself a brief sigh of relief as she discovered her clothes still in place. One of the privilages of rank was a private room, but if she didn't remember having come back to her quarters last night, she definately wasn't in any kind of condition to undress herself. The fact that one of her squadron mates hadn't taken the liberty of doing it for her was a small mercy, although given the uncomfortable way that they had twisted during the night, a small part of her wished they had.

Fighting with the covers that had wrapped themselves tightly round her body, she discovered herself in the midst of a slight dilemma. Her restless, post-alcohol sleep pattern had coiled the various bedsheets around her, and at some point she had rolled over, trapping them underneath her body. One arm was free to move, but the other was pinned, and her legs were completely immobile. What was required was an unprecedented feet of athleticism given the hour and her condition, to liberate her limbs and free her to go and dunk her head in a large pail of water. Unfortunately, she had just realised what the incessant beeping echoing around the room meant.

Summoning up what little strength her muscles still contained, she threw her body back into the matress, the springs propelling her upwards away from the bed. A few repeats had her gaining an impressive ammount of altitide given the situation: enough to whip her second arm free. Unfortunately, she'd been a little overzealous with the whipping, and threw her body across to one side, tumbling with her legs still knotted in the duvet, and landing with a thud on the floor.

A groan escaped her as she peeled her cheek off the pleasantly cold durasteel floor, and crawled her way across to the computer terminal in the corner of the room. Her eyes struggled to focus as they scanned across the aurebesh text that scrolled across the screen. Her brow furrowed, deeply confused. Mission briefing?

* * *

Looking decidedly less ruffled, Leela stepped out into the slightly chilled corridor. Unfortunately, her appearence belied the way she felt underneath, and her eyes had been protesting violently to the bright lights and white walls. A pair of tinted glasses had been necessary to satiate them. Pilots and technicians wandered past, several of them exchanging muttered words that were annoyingly loud to Leela's sensitive ears. She winced. Now she knew how Tiet felt when things got a little out of hand in the rec room - the Sullustan's sensitive ears were probably assaulted like this all the time. He claimed that you got used to it eventually, but that Leela hoped to be feeling better a long time before that happened.

Rounding a corner in the unmarked maze of tunnels that the Mon Calamari had constructed, she happened upon a few other members of her Squadron. She allowed herself a slight smile of satisfaction as she noticed that Jaden too had been forced to don a pair of tinted glasses.

"Good morning, boss," Jaden greeted, his voice annoyingly pleasant, and lacking in all the tell-tale signs of of hangover. Maybe he was feeling alright after all, and the glasses were just a fashion statement. That was definately a blow to Leela's good mood.

"You shot me," Leela fired back in response, falling into step beside her pilots.

Jaden squirmed a little, which completely restored the Major's good mood from a few moments before. "Sorry," he muttered, sheepishly.

The crowd proceeded in loose formation, gathering the rest of their number as they drew closer to the edge of the Habitat zone. If all was going to plan, they would find themselves in the Operations zone shortly, although given the way Vorega was feeling, they were probably more likely to find themselves in a cargo bay than a briefing room. Still, she didn't really care if she kept the other officers waiting: it would serve them right for waking her up so damned early.

Lieutenant Viego seemed busy trying to wrestle with his conscience; falling into position on her wing, he tried his best to strike up a conversation. "How are you feeling?" he asked, the concern in his voice sounding genuine.

"You shot me," Leela said again, sliding a little more annoyance into her tone this time.

Jaden held his hands up defensively. "I said I was sorry!" he muttered, defensively.

Leela had to concede that point, and her brain reminded her that she wasn't really in the right condition to start holding a grudge just now. "I have a 4-alarm hangover," she explained, peering discreetly at a sign as they passed, "Either from the whiskey, or your laser beam." She hesitated, considering that thought. "Or both."

"How many times..."

Leela held up a hand to stop him. "Downtime is cancelled and we're back on the clock, so you're off the hook for now," she reassured, coming to a stop outside Briefing Room #4. Her eyes narrowed and her tone changed, mock threat creeping into her words. "But rest assured, Lieutenant, you haven't heard the last of this."

Hand thumping at the door control, Leela only just managed to turn away before a smirk broke on her face. She could imagine the expression on Jaden's face, and that made her smile grow broader. He was a smart kid, but sometimes he was just too easy.

[Kelly Perris]

Day had dawned, and with one hand curled up almost into his drooling mouth, he looked every bit the angel - if he were a vegetable. That very hand would, within moments, find itself on the forehead, rubbing the eyes...Yup, his nose sure felt outta place. Not broken, but messed with at least. That feeling, however, didn't override the thunder in the rest of his head or the slight dryness in his mouth. Overall, there was a feeling of slick dirtiness that had crawled under his naked torso, under the pant legs of his flight suit and into the roughly treaded boots on his feet. He'd fallen asleep in his boots. The soaked-in-sweat feeling was one that Kelly least enjoyed on his feet. The relatively hung-over pilot groaned and flopped from side to back, slinging an arm over his eyes and scratching over his chest with the other hand.
<o></o>
All the memory of what had occurred the night that preceded the hangover, including all that was said filtered its way through the fuzz and pound in his skull. Laying there, mulling it over, he didn’t even like some of the things he’d said. He knew Leela had her contorted reasons for picking on him – whatever they were – but the junior officer’s act of taking it out on not only a woman but a superior in rank didn’t jive with his usual sense of morality, which was of better standing than it used to be even just a year previous. The vague guilt only added to the dry, unpleasant taste in his mouth.

That low *bleep* every few seconds didn't seem to help matters much, either.

"For the love of all that is good..." He moaned through wiping the drool from his mouth, then scratching at the drool-stain at the right corner of his mouth, while making an attempt to sit himself up. "...I'm awake, gods, I'm awake..."

The seasoned pilot attempted to stand, and then thought again of it. Staying in bunk all day was a heavenly thought he'd not have the chance of taking to. Furthermore, the pleasure of company in the sheets on such an unlikely occurrence of a morning was the more mythical thought that would probably not come to pass anytime soon. Kelly wasn’t undesirable by most any means; He was just a known workaholic and seemed to prefer to keep to himself most of the time. The sight of him in the cantina was a surprising occurrence to those that were enlightened of his habits.

"...dun wanna be awake. Gotta be awake." He shook his head, then thrust himself to his feet -managing to remain balanced- and held his arms out to both sides in a stretch that was one of the small things this morning that felt nice. Then he ambled over to the terminal in his quarters to kill that which was bleeping, leaning heavily on the desk to see what who wanted, and what it would require.

"<st1>Mission</st1> briefing? Ugh. Need a shower."

* * *

Having cleaned up, shaven and now appearing outwardly refreshed, Perris made his way out from his quarters and then proceeded down the corridor outside his abode, turning into another, and continued through what his brain would have normally considered rather unconfusing and not very maze-like, until he came across Tera Uolmi, a dark haired and fairly decent looking younger woman from Kessel. She was also one of his pilots. The look on her face turned into something of sympathy when she saw her squadron commander.

"Heard about last night, Kel." She shook her head, and shot him a brief and bemused look. "I understand where that all came from, and I know you and Vorega are always nipping at each other's heels, but..."

Kelly rubbed at his eyes with the tips of his fingers, clearing away the sleep-dust that was still present. "I know, Tera. Some of what I said was uncalled for, and..."

She laughed, ribbing him a little, which caused him to grimace. "No, no. I think she likes you."

Seeming somewhere between apalled at the suggestion and curiously amused, Perris grunted a reply. "If that beast had any interest in me, that would be none of your business, Uolmi."

She cut the laughter, but a twinkle of mirth was still present in her eyes.

"Yessir. Sorry." She said quietly.

"I believe you."

It was only a moment or two later, rounding a corner, that they came to join the subject of their discussion and a grouping of those under her command, just as she gave the door control a pound to gain entry to the briefing room. He caught the end of what sounded like a threat to the kid he'd accidentally whomped one on last night.

"Morning, Major. How's the head?" There was a faint smirk to his improving tone and demeanor.

[Henry McDonnaught]

Donut had been awaiting the grand entrance. Seated, or rather, slouching in a chair to the left of the briefing room, and was feeling rather smug with himself. Last night he'd taken what came to about two weeks pay from bunch of Valkyrie upstarts who thought they knew poker. Like candy from the baby. His crooked smile had been pasted on all morning. And then the topper, he'd heard that Perris had been clocked by a girl. And not just any girl, Vorega. Ah, it was priceless. Sometimes, the gods just smiled on a man.

The smile turned a little nervous though when the pugilist parties all came in together like one big happy family. Maybe he'd heard wrong. Well, that couldn't be right. Henry sat up to get a better view and all his fears were allayed - Perris was sporting a bumpy nose, and Donut knew the man well enough to see he was nursing a hangover. Donut slouched back down and the smile returned.

Yep, Donut, beloved of the gods.

[Jaden Luka]

"Head's fine," Leela responded casually, with an annoyingly peasant smile as she drifted past, leading the way through the door. "Hand hurts a little though. How's the nose?"

Jaden fought back a snort as the cluster of Valkyries shuffled their way around the arcs of chairs that part-encircled the briefing room. Not surprisingly, Rogue Squadron had formed an exclusive little clique and had claimed the western half of the seating space as their territory, spreading out to occupy as much space as possible. That squashed Valkyrie and Dagger Squadrons into the eastern half, but that wasn't really a problem: lacking the rectally-inserted Astromech droid that the Rogues seemed to posess, the A-Wing and B-Wing jocks found there eyes much closer to the deck, and thus didn't have the constant problem of looking down on everyone.

Settling down into one of the surprisingly comfortable seats, Jaden patted Oolan Valx'ir on the arm. Oolan flew as Valkyrie Ten: Jaden's default pair. However, the Verpine apparently posessed no distinct genders, and while Oolan had adopted male pronouns to ease interactions with other sentient species, the term "wingman" didn't seem appropriate, somehow. Jaden had settled on "wingthing", which the Verpine seemed to prefer.

"Morning, Oolan," Jaden greeted warmly, remembering to exaggerate the plesant tones in his voice to convey them properly to the Verpine. Oolan had previously explained that most of his species communicated via a form of radio telepathy: they could recieve and transmit radio waves from their antenna, and could convey much more information than other forms of communication would allow. Speech and body language were often difficult for the Verpine to comprehend, although when it came to the subtleties of movement, their incredible eyesight set them in good stead, once they knew how to interpret what they were seeing.

Oolan chittered something in the verbal language that his species had developed to communicate both with outsiders and those whose radio abilities were damaged. A moment later, the vocabulator unit hung around the insectoid's shoulders clicked into life, offering a translation. "It is pleasant to see you this morning, Jaden. Would I be right in the assumption that, given your selection of a second pair of eyes, you are suffering from the after-effects of the overconsuption of alcohol?"

Jaden stared blankly at the Verpine for a moment. The vocabulator device was rather literal in its translation of Oolan's statements, and with their language required much less often there were certain simplified words and phrases common in Galactic Basic that the Verpine language lacked. At times like this, when he was having enough trouble concentrating on the simple things like not falling over, Oolan's word-heavy messages could be a little confusing.

"He wants to know if you have a hang-over," Leela offered helpfully, making sure to position herself at exactly the right distance from Jaden's ear to cause the maximum discomfort when she spoke.

Jaden shot her a brief scowl, carefully rearranging his features before turning back to his wingthing. "Just a little tired," he reassured, although the throbbing sensation at his temples begged to differ. From the slight twitch of the Verpine's head, Jaden assumed he'd spotted the microscopic fluctuations in his expression that belied his statement, but to his credit Oolan said nothing. At least he's finally learned about tact, Jaden thought to himself, remembering how Oolan had managed to offend all the female pilots and half the female deck crew during his first day aboard the Valiant by offering constructive criticisms about their appearence.

Minutes ticked by as the last of the pilots slowly filed in. Conversations pulled the ambient noise up to an uncomfortable level; Jaden adopted a covert massage pose, propping his face up on one hand while his fingers discreetly drew circles around his temples, much to the intregue of Oolan. Eventually however, his brain managed to formulate something loosely resembling a fully-formed thought, and his brows tugged down into a frown.

"The Valiant is in drydock," he observed, turning his attention towards Leela who had stripped off her flight jacket and draped it over her head to shut out the light and noise. "Why are we here?"

Peeling the jacket slowly away, Leela fixed Jaden with a glare that even the dark lenses of her glasses couldn't soften. "I've been right here the whole time," she said softly, a definate edge in her voice. "Why do you think I have more information?"

Jaden's eyebrows twitched, ready to conceed the point, but Oolan's vocabulator chimed in with a helpful comment. "As a Senior Officer, you are often privvy to additional data that is not dispursed to the remainder of the Squadron. It is not illogical to assume that you might thus hold surplus information in this situation."

Leela's expression shifted worldessly to Oolan for a few moments, before her eyelids slumped and she buried her head back beneath her flight jacket. Jaden looped his arm around Oolan's shoulders, and offered him a friendly smile. "Remind me to explain later what a rhetorical question is."

[Kaid Jisari]

The station was a maze. Not to mention insane. How was he ever supposed to find his way to the briefing room when he just got here and had no idea where anything was? Kaid sighs softly and looks around. Spotting someone who, judging by their overalls, was a mechanic, he jogs over to them.

"Excuse me? Sir?" he asks, getting the mechanic's attention. "I'm trying to find Briefing Room 141-A."

The mechanic looks Kaid up and down, taking in the odd appearance. The thing that stood out the most was the ski mask and sunglasses. You literally could not see a bit of his face. Next to be noticed was the flight jacket with the patches of a Corsair Squadron pilot--a local militia unit that had never seen too much action until recently. All this added up to one thing. Pilot. The mechanic barks a laugh. "You're callin me sir? Wow this is a first." Pleased by the politeness, he points to the nearest lift. "Take that down four levels, and across two subsections. The briefing room should be the first left after that son."

Nodding in thanks, he sprints to the lift, hauling his rucksack with him, praying he wouldn't be late. He found the room easy enough, and slapped the door activation panel. As the door slid open, he looked around, noticing what seemed to be two distinct groups of people. Raising an eyebrow--a move made useless by the mask and mirrored sunglasses--he glances between the two groups.

"I'm looking for Rogue Squadron," he says, his voice loud and clear. "Please tell me I found the right room."

[Kelly Perris]

Opposite of many of the heads that turned to see who was standing in the entranceway - along with the various comments directed at the newcomer from the rivaling squadrons in the other half of the room - the commander's head just lurched slowly backward in an attempt to spot the offending invidual. When he discovered that motion alone wasn't quite enough, he arched his back, which in effect lifted his behind out of the seat he was occupying. The upside-down-ness of it all was not favourable to the still present thumping in his skull, but the view told him what he needed to know, without having to resort to actually standing on his own two feet or uncrossing his arms - a portion of his stance that conveyed perfectly his slight grumpiness. Though his mood had lightened a little with the banter around him, the haze he was in still killed it to leave him sour enough. His aside to Donut, who had followed them in and taken up a seat, could not be heard outside of those on either side of him due to the roar of idle insult and what could conceivably pass for conversation in the room.

"He looks ready to ship out with the grunts." and appended to that comment, Perris raised his voice to address the unfamiliar individual. "Who's askin'?"

The individual went to open his mouth and reply, but Perris shot down any further words beyond the first squeak before they escaped. "Shaddup, kid. Get yer green behind in 'ere and take a seat before someone mistakes you for a problem."

He flipped his head back to sort-of look at the newbie again, and spit further grumblings in that direction.

"And take that damned mask off. This isn't Hoth."

[Kaid Jisari]

"Yessir." Kaid says, quickly shuffling over and vaulting over the first row of seats, landing softly in the next row down. He hears the comment about the mask, and shrugs, pulling off the glasses and the mask, revealing reddish-brown hair worn at the maximum regulations would allow, as well as bright green eyes. He smiles and nods to Kelly, unsure what to do exactly. "Sorry, sir." was all the response he could muster. He looks around, noticing, as if for the first time that there seemed to be some tension between the two groups in the room. He sat silently and listened to some of the idle conversation hoping to find out why that was exactly.

[Leela Vorega]

Jaden Luka let out a low growl, dripping the credit chits into Leela's palm. "Skrag it," he muttered, brow furrowed into a frown. "The odds on 'horribly disfigured' were really good." He hesitated for a moment, before allowing the last few coins to drop from his fingers. "You know, he only took off his mask. Maybe the injuries are hidden..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes settled expectantly on Leela.

"No," she cut him off, before he even had a chance to finish his thought. "No kriffing way."

"Just a quick recon..." Luka tried.

Leela's eyes flashed into a glare. "If you wanna find out what scars he's hiding under that jumpsuit, you go sleep with him." The tone in her voice forstalled any follow-up comment from the Lieutenant. Slightly more worrying perhaps was the fact that Jaden's expression didn't immediately shift to one of complete oppostion. Dear gods, she realised, viewing him in a completely new light. Is this guy really that desperate to hang on to his money?

From the seat behind them, the Squadron's XO - Captain Ran Holdem - sniggered. Lee and Luka turned in sync, opposite eyebrows raising in perfect time with each other, prompting a snorted and failed attempt to hold back another laugh. "Something funny?" Leela asked, a slight edge in her voice that erroded the Captain's smile ever so slightly.

"I didn't realise that we were allowed to try and set you up, boss."

Leela unleashed a short, mocking, and extremely faked laugh. "Oh Captain," she muttered, shifting around to face forward in her seat again. "My sides. You slay me." She shook her head, adjusting her tone to one ever so slightly louder than quiet conversation, to make sure Holdem could hear every word. "He should save jokes like that for those ground pounder women he was trying to pick up last night."

Jaden's eyes widened, ever so slightly. "Those were women?"

[Henry McDonnaught]

Henry twisted around and stuck his hand out to Kaid in greeting, "Im Henry McDonnaught, welcome to where all the cool kids play. And dont worry 'bout the boss givin ya static about ya mask there kid, he'll probably ask to borrow it later -- got hit in the nose by a girl last night" He explained a little louder than was necessary, his grin broadening before twisting back round again.

[Kaid Jisari]

Kaid can't help but smile as he offers his hand. "Kaid Jisari. It's good to meet you. So if we're the cool kids, then who are the ones on the other side glaring lasers at us?" he chuckles a bit. "And as for the mask...it's just a habit wearing it. My last C/O didn't like it either. also didn't like it when my reasons for wearing it were just that I was too damn pretty either..."

[Vansen Tyree]

Vansen Tyree didn't want to be here any more than his pilots did. The Officers Lounge had hired in a guest band to perform every night this week, and the pair of Twi'lek dancers that they brought with him had caught his eye. At his age, thoughts of outlandish post-performance exploits were completely out of the question, but that was no reason to deny him the enjoyment of sitting down to watch a really good show. Unfortunately, orders were orders, and with his ship out of commission, his crew had drawn the short straw.

Striding in to the crescent briefing room, he allowed his eyes to pass from pilot to pilot. They had all clustered, he noticed, grouping by flights, wing-pairs, friendship groups and so on. He wasn't surprised to notice that Jaden Luka and Leela Vorega weren't particularly far apart: the two had stopped being wingmen months ago, but the bond they seemed to have forged had lasted long past that. It was nice to see that the Major had found a member of her squadron that she could trust and rely on, to such an extent that - if the rumours were to be believed - he could get away with shooting her and still not damage their relationship. Vansen allowed himself an inperceptable laugh. Jaden's rather unique resolution to the fight that had been brewing was certainly unorthadox. From what Vansen had heard, they'd managed to diffuse the situation amongst themselves, but Leela was still spoiling for a fight. Putting her down and giving her at least a partial good night's sleep seemed to have cooled her head, given the fact that Luka wasn't currently bleeding; he'd have to commend the Lieutenant on his initiative in private later, and bear his solution in mind for the next time the Major tried to push her luck a little too much with him.

Stepping up to the podium controls behind the room's holoprojector, he cleared his throat, the sound of quiet background conversations fading away as each pilot shifted their attention to him. "I'm sorry to drag you all away from your downtime," he said honestly, eyes moving to each cluster in turn, "But it seems that the Empire didn't recieve the memo with your shoreleave dates on it." That recieved a few scattered laughs from the pilots. It had been a long time since Vansen had been allowed to give a mission briefing like this, usually allowing the task to delegate to his Executive Officer, or Major Vorega. He missed it though - the interaction with so many like-minded individuals. No matter how many years he spent with a naval uniform hanging from his shoulders, the man underneath would always be a pilot at heart.

Unfortunately, while the man underneath might still be ready to leap into the cockpit and head off on some wild mission to the far-flung corners of the galaxy, the body that entombed him wasn't quite up to the challenge. That was where the young men and women sitting in front of him came in.

Turning towards the holoprojector at the center of the room, he waved a hand towards the PD-series protocol droid nestled in a corner beside the projector's controls. An image sprung up behind him, the brightly coloured hologram throwing out light into the dim-lit room, snared by the whisps of hair that encircled his bald crown and converted into a rainbow halo, visible to those fortunate enough to be sat in the front few rows. He gestured towards the planet. "Saleucami," he explained simply, reeling in his arms and grasping his hands together tightly behind his back. During the Clone Wars it was a Separatist stronghold, captured by the Republic shortly before the termination of hostilities. Now it is one of the worlds under the influence of the Galactic Empire -" he couldn't help the sarcastic tone from lacing his words as he mentioned Palpatine's perversion of the Republic "- although Alliance Intelligence indicates that there is a noteworthy presence by a number of interstellar crime groups."

He halted, allowing the pilots a few moments to speculate on the possible significance of such an out-of-the-way world. Vansen could appreciate some of the scepticism directed back towards him in some of their eyes: he'd shared some of that when he had been briefed. Saleucami was a backwater world on the inner fringes of the Outer Rim, with very little tactical value to the Rebel Alliance. While it was isolated enough to preclude a significant Imperial presence in the system, its proximity to Hutt Space and the interest in the planet by certain major criminal entities provided enough of a deterrant from a Rebel invasion: after all, the Alliance had too many enemies already. Also, as the Mon Calamari Admiral who's name Vansen couldn't quite pronounce had pointed out, the system was too close to Dac for comfort. If the Rebellion ever did establish a foothold there, the Empire would no doubt mount a swift response. The Alliance Navy was already stretched thin: too thin to successfully repel a a determined assault by the Empire. That would draw a sizable Imperial fleet into the area, and the excuse of liberating a world captured by the Alliance would be enough to keep the Hutts calm, at least initially. An Imperial attack fleet within striking difference of one of the few Rebel safeworlds was not something the Rebels were ready to encourage.

Satisfied that the pilots' imaginations had been given sufficient exercise, he turned his attention back to the briefing. "The planet itself is fairly unremarkable, aside from the presence of a number of species sympathetic to the Rebellion. It is through these sympathisers that Alliance Intelligence has been able to discern the presence of a unit of elite TIE Pilots currently based out of the planet, flying what is rumoured to be a squadron of experimental new fighters." That shred of news prompted a few reactions from the pilots. While the X-Wings, A-Wings and B-Wings of the fighter jocks present were more than a match for TIE Fighters and Interceptors in the hands of experienced pilots like these, many Rebel victories in dogfights relied on the relative inability of Imperial pilots to survive long enough to become elite, and on the design failings of the TIE craft themselves. The TIE Avenger - "brights", as the Rebel pilots called them - had represented a significant closure of that gap, and with similar technologies applied to Interceptors, and entirely new craft like the TIE Defender, the A-9 Vigilance and the I-7 Howlrunner undid yet more of those Alliance advantages. The prospect of yet another advanced design threatening to shake things up further made them understandably uncomfortable.

"From what Alliance Intelligence has uncovered, the elite unit has been garrisoned along with the standing Fighter presence, but the prototype fighters are usually deployed on training operations within the nearby asteroid belt, in amongst a number of commercial mining outposts. The standard garrison in the system consists of three mixed TIE squadrons. However, local Imperial forces could deliver an Impstar to the system within two hours; wait a little longer, and a further three come into the equation." Vansen had commanded an Imperial-class Star Destroyer back during his years as an officer of the Empire in the wake of the Clone Wars - back when the Mark I had been known as the Imperator-class. Though the class had been superceded by a Mark II model with more formidable shields and an anti-starship weapons profile, the fringe systems still favoured the Mark I for its concussion missile launchers, particularly useful against smaller and lightly-armed vessels like the smuggler freighters and pirate raiders the patrol vessels were likely to encounter. With the Valiant in drydock for repairs, and with few ships to spare given the other operations draining Rebel resources, this operation was intended to be completely lacking in starship support: he didn't want to think about what would happen if one of the local Impstars showed up to crash their party.

"As a result, High Command wants a swift, decisive strike. You will deploy aboard the bulk cruiser Rising Star for transit to the system. The objectives are simple: since the performance of these new Imperial fighters is still somewhat of a mystery, we have premiere squardrons operating some of the Alliance's best planes. Rogue Squadron will provide the majority of the Space Superiority cover, with Valkyrie Squadron there to assist should speed become a complication. Dagger Squadron will provide heavy support should these fighters be better-defended than there predecessors; Alliance Intelligence has also requested we attempt to retrieve as many of these fighters as possible for analysis, so Daggers will also be packing Ion Cannons, and the Rising Star will have craft on-hand to retrieve what you put to sleep."

"Primary goals: we're heading out there to find out what Imp R&D has been up to, and to remove the advantage these prototypes represent at all costs. Any other objectives are secondary." He paused, eyes swooping around the room, picking out the Squadron Leaders and their senior pilots. "Any questions?"

[Henry McDonnaught]

The general banter disolved into an expectant quiet amongst the assembled men as Tyree approached the podium.


Donut looked over to Perris, raising inquiring eyebrows and his superior answered him with a shrug - whatever was coming was apparently news to the Captain too. Either that, or he was playing coy with Hank for all the ribbing he'd just been dishing out. McDonnaught admired Perris, though he'd never actually tell him that of course. The man was a dedicated pilot and a damn fine officer, someone that Henry could respect. His record spoke for itself, and Perris had a habit of letting it do just that. Anyone who bought into all the swagger and bravado Perris tossed around out there as irresponsible nonchalance didn't really know the man. The smart guys knew better.

Tyree started with a joke - they always start with a joke. Hey boys, were sending ya in to get blasted by TIE fighters and smashed by asteriod showers and obliterated by SSD's should they be floating around out there, but hey..didya hear the one about the Twi'lek, the Wookie and the Bith? Frelling Brass - did they think we were idiots?

Fortunately, the old man got to the point pretty quickly and Donut, hate to say it, found his imagination piqued. A new Fighter? The information came as a mixture of awe and terror. The Alliance didn't need any new surprises - it wasn't like they themselves were making any giant Design steps forward. This was alarming news, to say the least.

Tyree asked for questions and McDonnaught was happy to oblige. He raised his hand and after an acknowledging nod from Tyree, opened his mouth.

"Sir - do we have Intelligence teams on the ground seeking out where they are actually building these craft, or trying to capture the design plans? The reason I ask is, should we be trying to locate and bomb the worksyards ?

[Vansen Tyree]

"No," Vansen replied simply, a slight slump appearing on his shoulders. That was something he had suggested in fact, during his meeting with the Bothan agent who had presented the information to him and the cluster of Mon Calamari officers yesterday. He appreciated Intel's choice, given the information the Bothan provided in response, but the notion of going in completely blind made him a little uneasy.

"According to our Intelligence," Tyree explained, "The prototype fighters are simply being tested at Saleucami. We only know about their presence because security is somewhat more lax at the Empire's outlier facilities." A sigh escaped from the Captain's lips, and for a moment he exchanged a knowing look with Major Vorega. Apparently, his CAG was as uncomfortable with the situation as he was.

Not that the presense of ground support would actually have made him feel any better, mind. Fighter pilots learned that the only people you could trust were the people flying on your wing, and even that trust was hard-earned and relied on sparingly. Still, it would be nice to have a few extra eyes about the place.

Tyree's attention returned to his audience. "Untimately, we don't know if this is the only prototype Squadron, and we don't know if the Empire posesses the capacity to build more; nor do we know what numbers they might appear in." His jaw flexed, gravely. "We have a responsibility to find out as much as we can about these planes, so that the Alliance can prepare for the new threat they pose."

His eyes sought out the Rogue Squadron pilots; he already knew each and every pilot from his own Squadrons to trust them implicitly. "They tell me that Rogue Squadron has made doing the impossible their stock trade," he stated, settling his gaze upon Commander Perris. The tone of his voice shifted, almost imperceptably. "Lets find out if you can live up to that reputation, and the rest of us can earn it."

[Kelly Perris]

Lost in his own thoughts, partially, Kelly was keeping an ear on the briefing as he should do, but any mention of the Empire since a couple nights ago has his mind going right to the sliver of information that had him in the oft-sour mood lately. At the mention of squadron prestige, he lifted his eyes to be met with the solid gaze of Vansen Tyree. Words took a moment or two to find their place in his mouth.

"I doubt there will be issue with that, sir." Kelly came to himself, and returned the superior officer's look with a steely one of his own. He then rubbed his nose. Still sore, obviously.The thought of flying hung-over wasn't the most appealing one, but it wasn't as if he hadn't done it before. Whether it had been Bette or Jamo or anyone else on his wing, Kelly Perris more often than not came out top of the pack. He just hoped the fresh meat would be able to keep up long enough to become well-acquainted with the rest of the squadron. He glanced sidelong at Henry - a smirk formed only in his thoughts before he returned his attention to Tyree.

"When do we ship out?"

[Vansen Tyree]

I doubt there will be issue with that, sir.

Vansen fought to hold back the furrow of his brow at that. Not the typical, gung-ho reaction that he'd been expecting: he'd braced himself against some kind of smug remark, or even a hastily-snapped retort. Kelly's response seemed far too considered, even for a fighter pilot let alone one of the infamous Rogues. Vansen half-wondered of his assumptions about the Commander were valid, but shook that thought away. The Kelly sitting in front of him seemed ever so slightly "off" somehow - nothing like the psych reports he'd read in his file.

Something on his mind, he decided, but reigned his thoughts in immediately. While the reputation of the Rogues certainly carried pleanty of weight, Major Vorega had the slight edge in rank, and protocol put her in charge of the pilots on this little jaunt. While he was a little concerned about the...'friction' he had observed between the two Squadron Leaders in the past, he had no doubt that Leela - and Kelly too - would get the job done when the time came.

"Your fighters are being transferred to the Rising Star as we speak. You have, -" He checked the chrono display on his datapad. "- four hours to gather together your personal effects before the 'Star heads out."

Stepping down from the podium, he offered one last look around the thirty-six pilots seated before him. "Good luck," he said to them all, and meant it. "May the Force be with you."

[Leela Vorega]

Flight Deck, Rising Star - Hyperspace

- - -

Leela grabbed the rag tucked into the utility belt that hung around her waist, and pulled the last few clinging marks of engine lubricant and fine space dust fron her fingers, retreating from the inards of her port engine. She knew full-well that the technicians that were eyeing her angrily were more than capable of conducting the preflight checks, and were probably itching to get their hands on yet another of the near-unique A-Wing fighters to unwravel all the tiny non-standard features that came from having a hand-built craft. She trusted them to do their jobs as well. However, the technicians were only human - or not, in some cases - and anyone could make a mistake. The more eyes that passed over the essential systems, the less likely it was that a problem could sneak through.

Stepping back, she casually tossed the rag of cloth back onto the trolley of assorted tools nestled beside her fighter's blaster mount, and threw a quick thumbs-up at the lead technician in the cluster watching her. He didn't seem all that relieved or pleased to have recieved her approval; the glare he shot at her made her wonder if it was a good idea letting the plane out of her sight before take-off, lest he try and exact some sort of revenge on her systems.

Forcing herself to focus, she recited the mission briefing she had just given, going over the words in her mind. There was very little that she could tell her pilots other than what Captain Tyree had already done; only a few details on formations, flight groupings, and what she expected of them. The Rogues didn't seem particularly pleased about being consigned to the middle of the pack, and no doubt felt it was professional arrogance that placed the A-Wings in the first wave instead of them, but to Leela it was simple numbers. As soon as Rogue Squadron started flying something that could match her plane in raw speed, she'd happily let them fly alongside. Until then, they'd have to settle with lagging behind, unable to keep up.

Leela reached the corridor that led to the locker room without percieving the journey there. She almost collided with one of the pilots as they stepped out; a smile formed on her face as she recognised the waist-high figure as belonging to her wingman. "Sorry, Ti-Vo," she appologised.

Tiet Voe offered her a smile that stretched from one huge Sullustan ear to the other. "Appology not necessary," he explained, Leela's smile broadening slightly at the familiar, slightly clumsy use of Basic that the Lieutenant commanded. "With big eyes as mine, more attention I should pay."

A wiff of concern tugged at her smile as Leela surveyed her wingman's face. Though the bacta treatments had done wonders with the worst of his injuries, supplies were low for the Rebellion and, with Jaden around to make up the Squadron's numbers, Tiet had been left to endure the painfully slow process of healing naturally. "Are you ready for this?" she asked, showing more - genuine - concern than the Squadron Leader voice in her head would have liked.

"What is it that humans say?" Tiet asked, cocking his broad head to the side slightly. "It is worse looking than feeling?"

Leela's smile returned. "Close enough," she assured.

The Sullustan's expression grew serious for a moment, his head tilted up to look directly into Leela's eyes. "Pleased I am to fly beside you again," he said softly.

"Good to have my wingman back," Leela countered, echoing the sentiment.

Deciding that the conversation had reached an appropriate conclusion, Tiet offered her a half-bow, and gestured up the corridor. "I must attend to my bird," he explained.

Leela nodded. "Skids up in 45," she reminded him.

"I shall be prepared."

Without another word, Tiet disappeared, and Leela found herself alone in the corridor. She bundled up her sympathies for her friend, and shoved them away into a deep corner in the back of her mind. Lieutenant Voe had been cleared for flight status two weeks ago, and simulator flights had shown that he hadn't lost any of his impressive skill. As a pilot, Voe wanted to be back in the air again, and as a Squadron Leader, Vorega was happy to have someone as talanted flying with her today.

She glanced down at the coveralls that she had pulled on to go crawling about inside her A-Wing, and then back at the entrance to the locker room. Ideally she'd strip down and shower after a session of playing techie, but fourty-five minutes didn't really allow for enough time, and there were few things worse than flying with wet hair crammed in under your helmet. She'd have to make do with pulling on her flight suit instead. I can shower once I get back, she decided. Or maybe I'll change back into this jumpsuit so I can paint some Imp kills on my hull first.

[Kelly Perris]

After the meeting, before deploying aboard the Rising Star, Rogue Leader had met with the two new pilots, then checked in with the squadron's mechanics. One - a Kessel boy of twenty with the nickname of Tink - was the droid genius outside of his other duties tending to the X-wings with the other two mechanics. Expectantly, Kelly stood alongside Donut's craft, where the young man was running through the thorough, scrutinizing checklist him and the crew went through just prior to every mission. Tink had come to the Rebellion at the age of 14 a fresh orphan, and it hadn't been long before his proficencies were noticed, and the boy had been eager. As fate would have it, Rogue Squadron had suffered loss of all but one of its maintenance staff, and Tink fit the bill. The kid had been around the squadron nearly as long as Kelly had, and there was some sort of unique bond between the two. Almost like an older brother or adopted father Kelly had been to the boy, and it was that which was one of the things that had helped him cope and recover from the tragedy of Alderaan.

Perris, hands on hips, head looking up towards the cockpit, called out to the younger man. "Tink?"

No answer. Either Tink was really into it, or...

"Damned personal music devices..." The career pilot muttered to himself, just as the boy looked up from his work, presumably nearing completion of his rounds on this starfighter. A corner of Kelly's mouth curled as he made a motion with his hands, indicating that perhaps Tink should take the earphones out of his ears. A full minute passed, a sort of staring contest contained within before Regan Altink complied with the request.

"Yeah?" He leaned over the side of the cockpit, waiting for whatever it was Commander Perris had to say. Sometimes, not all his teenage flippancies had disappeared. The older of the two reigned in the urge to make a comment on tone of voice Tink had used.

"Slice?" Kelly queried.

Tink rubbed one hand through a now lowered head, and let out a long sigh. "They really did a number on him, boss."

Boss. Tink using that term with him made Kelly twitch every time. It didn't seem to matter with the pilots, but with the boy - it just seemed unnecessary. "Regan..." The impatience with any antics was apparent when Kelly went so far as to use the younger man's real name. Tink looked up at his elder again. His hand was resting on the back of his neck, and he laughed.

"Keep your greasy jumper on, Kell. Slice is fine, and will be with you when you deploy." A smirk still painted the boy's face.

Kelly turned to go, waving back at him. "Thanks, Tink. That's all I needed to hear."

Tink settled back into the seat, but yelled out before diving back into his work. "You're getting too soft, Kell. I still say you shoulda whomped the newbie."

The seasoned pilot shook his head, looking to the kid again before making use of the nearest exit. "Later, Tink."

It hadn't clicked with Regan Altink what the commander had fully meant when he said 'Later'. But he would eventually...later.


***


Locker Room (Flight Deck), Rising Star - Hyperspace

---

Forty-five minutes until go time, Kelly had just extracted himself from a lingering shower in the past ten minutes. He was seated on a bench that ran between the rows of lockers, the room empty save for himself, who was wearing only a towel around his waist, and vigorously rubbing his hair dry with yet another towel. In only this much covering, his defined musculature was rather apparent; he took good care of himself. In a flight suit, none of that was to be seen. In any case, finishing up with his hair, Kelly left the towel dangling around his neck and placed his hands on his knees. Lean forward, head down, eyes closed. He was getting his head ready for the game in doing this. Barely a minute later, footsteps intruded the silence. His eyes cracked open, Kelly turned his head to look.

"Leela..." Perris had been seriously meaning to talk to the woman one-on-one for some time now, and especially after the night previous, he'd had enough and wanted to get it over with. He was staring at her, staring back, as if she had been expecting - no, hoping - that he wouldn't be there.

Forty-five minutes was a lot of time, right?

[Kaid Jisari]

Kaid runs his hand over the right wing of his fighter. He was scared stiff. This was his first action as a Rogue Squadron pilot, and he didn't want to mess it up. Perking up, he checks the chrono on his wrist. 45 minutes. He had some time to kill. Grabbing the ladder, he pulls himself up to the second rung, climbing the thing quickly. The mechanic working on his fighter hands up a clipboard with the checklist and the report of any work done on the thing.

"How do we look?" he asks the grease monkey, a smile on his lips. Glancing at the list, it seemed ok, but he'd rather have it straight from the tauntaun's mouth, as it were.

The mechanic returns the smile, her eyes glittering. "You look good, sir. Good luck out there."

with another rogueish grin, he hops into the pilots chair, giving the mechanic a thumbs up. Before starting on his checklist, he fishes around in one of his pockets, pulling out a black, formless bit of cloth. Pulling it on, Kaid sighs inwardly in relief. That mask was his good luck charm. With it, he had never lost a sortie in the militia, or a firefight for that matter. As long as he wore it, he was invincible. Now that he was focused, Kaid begins the task of checking out his fighter's systems...

[Henry McDonnaught]

Four hours.

It was an eternity for some guys. Guys like Donut.

Guys who had no one to say goodbye to, no girl to call and make lame promises to that somehow made her so happy that she'd cry (what a brain-melder that phenomenon was, by the way).

No Ma or Pa to jot a quick "in case I dont make it back, I hope I made you proud" note to. Not that Henry didn't have a Ma or Pa - both in fact were a live and well and living in some 'burb in Coco County. Its just that, well they weren't exactly on speaking terms. They'd both probably be a lot happier to get the infamous holo-gram that read "Dear Mr and Mrs McDonnaught, we are sorry to inform you, blah blah blah". And they'd inevitably prounounce it with the "t". No friends to have one last brew with, as all his friends were all leaving on the same flight, so to speak.

Nope, four hours was a loooong time, and Henry, after running over all the pre-flight checks of his X-wing immediately after the briefing ended and then instructing Tink to go over everything once again, just to be sure, had decided to go for a run.

A long, sweaty, therapeutic, mind-calming run. If anything, it was his ritual. Or so he came to regard it. Mentally checking off items in his mind with organized clarity, even as his feet pounded the ground around the Base compound in regular, rythmic timing. It was a physical and mental prep that he'd come to rely on. And enjoy.

By the time the pilots were due to muster, McDonnaught was fresh showered, shaven and uniformed, eager and ready for the departure.

This is what he did. This is where he was supposed to be. And this was where he was most content.

Still, a crying girlfriend and proud parents wouldn't hurt him neither, he supposed.

[Leela Vorega]

"Kelly."

The moment of hesitation passed, and Leela's eyes dropped away, body propelling her towards the lockers and grabbing at the handle of the one she'd used to stow her gear. A fleeting thought passed through her mind about privacy, but she pushed it aside and tugged at the fastenings down the front of her overalls, shrugging her arms free and letting the onepiece slip down to her waist. Her black t-shirt was twisted strangely from all the wriggling about underneath her fighter; as she shifted it back into place, a few holes and tears lined up with corresponding burns and scars - the remnants of injuries that bacta hadn't quite been able to erase.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, briefly, but didn't recognise the face that stared back. She'd always wanted to be a fighter, but this was a different breed to the life that she'd bought into when she'd enrolled at the Imperial Academy. Back then she'd been oblivious to the truth staring her in the face; now everything had been twisted on its head, and while she didn't doubt that she was fighting the good fight now, she didn't see the Rebel, the pilot, or the hero she'd become. All she saw was the face of the fool that had been so stupid for all those years, blindly subserviant to the people that slaughtered her family.

She glanced over her shoulder, gaze settling on Perris again. His eyes were fixed on her, but there was more going on behind them, she could tell. Her brow creased into a frown. "Something on your mind, Commander?"

[Kelly Perris]

It made him pause when she added rank to it - especially in the locker room of all places. Half naked he was, and she still pinned him as a subordinate. He wasn't the type of man to badmouth his superiors anymore, having come to terms with his past, and become a better man for it. He wouldn't have attained this rank and position and truly garnered the respect of his wingmates and members of other squadrons any other way. They'd always known just how good a pilot Kelly was, but until the past year or so, they didn't quite appreciate the man. Things had changed. In this respect, he was superior to her. But this wasn't a matter of his own pride. Kelly stared a moment longer, then lowered his eyes before standing straight up from his seat and moseying on over to his locker, keeping one hand tucked over the overlap of the towel around his waist as he did. Jiggling the lock, giving the door a bang, the locker opened.

"I'm sorry about last night, Leela, but we both know the fault lies equally between the two of us."

He heard her take in a breath, as if to retort, but quickly he cut her off. The commander removed the towel from around his neck and hung it, then reached for a t-shirt, and proceeded to pull it on.

"However, the difference here is that I admitted my wrong and backed off, and you couldn't." He finished with the shirt and then turned, partially, to look on her again. "I'm not saying I'm better than you, but I seem to be fairing better. With you heading this mission, that has me concerned. I know where we both came from, and why we're both here, but what I can't seem to grasp is why you can't see the good you're doing by being here."

Half-clothed, half-toweled, he crosses his arms and turned the rest of the way.

"You're beating yourself up about it. That's not doing me any good, as a fellow squadron head, and it's certainly not doing anyone else any favours, either. It's not right when your subordinates have to put you in your place, and you know it."

[Leela Vorega]

"Beating myself up about it."

A wince formed on Leela's face, as she echoed the words, leaving them hanging in the air. She let silence fall, tongue running across her teeth. Her hand clenched into a fist; with a great amount of effort she managed to uncurl her fingers, and breathe out enough of her frustration in a heavy sigh to avoid breaking something.

Her gaze turned on Kelly. "You're probably right," she admitted, throwing a shrug and folding her arms across her chest. "Unfortunately, my subordinates don't know when to keep their mouths shut."

More words wanted to come, but she stopped them, faltering for a moment before turning back to her locker and dragging out her flight suit. Taking a few steps back, she slumped down onto the bench and set about untying her boots. "I believe in honesty above all things, and that's something that my pilots - and my superiors - appreciate from me. You can't get anything done when you're dancing around the point: you need to cut the crap and get on with business." She paused, levering the boots off her feet. "Now, that may make me a little confrontational, and a little rough around the edges, but it gets things done."

Standing up, she took a few paces forward to stand directly in front of Kelly, sweat-soaked socks leaving prints on the durasteel floor. "You on the other hand have convinced yourself of a lie. You've managed to make yourself believe that you can make up for the things you've done."

The tiniest laugh escaped her lips. "We worked for the Empire, carried out missions in their name, and ignored the pain and suffering around us, right up until it was our pain and suffering. You may have forgiven yourself for the attrocities we committed in their name, but I can't do that. I don't think I have the right." Her teeth clenched, hands turning to fists again. "The only ones with the right to forgive people like us are the millions of innocent souls turned to vapour by the regime we blindly served."

She shook her head. "We may not have pulled the trigger, but we were accessories to the murder of our people. No matter how much good we do here, we will never be able to wash all that blood off our hands." She squared off against Kelly, face inches away from his. "Pretend that you've forgiven yourself if you want. Fight to chip away at your guilt piece by piece." She shrugged again. "I'd much rather fight for revenge."

[Kelly Perris]

"You're wrong about me."

Kelly looked her square in the eyes, and held it a minute.

"I haven't forgiven myself. I never could."

There was a hint of defeat to his voice. He turned away, having pulled a pair of boxers, and slipped those on under the towel around his waist before dropping the towel to the floor. Then he grabbed for his flight suit, draping it over his arm and picked a dark pair of socks, stuffed them into his boots, and went with them over to the benches that ran between these two rows of lockers, and took a seat. He dropped the boots on the floor next to him, and rested his hands in his lap, the flight suit still folded over his arm. A somewhat awkward silence had formed.

"Nothing I can do will bring back my family or make those I loved change their minds. I was blind, I was young, I lived for the glory, and I couldn't see what was really happening - what I was doing - until it was too late. How do you erase that kind of guilt? I don't know. I just choose not to take it out on others. You can chip away at me all you want, but I will not lay a finger on you. I still have my standards... you're a woman, regardless." He meant this in no derogatory way. Where there was once a drunk and a womanizer, a gentleman had remained.

Kelly scrubbed a hand through his hair, a little distraught. The voice that came from his mouth was quick, hard and bit at every punctuated point.

"I tried drinking it away at first, but it did nothing. It only made me the same careless man I was before. The same careless man that just let his family die. I 'cleaned up', so to speak, and made myself more useful to the starfighter corps, because there is no other place for me. I spend my time outside of flying missions holed up in my office, administrating my squadron with as little physical contact as I can possibly manage. I'm afraid..."

An unsettled laugh came forth from his throat. His fists were clenched tight, fingertips digging into his palms.

"...I, the..." and he brought his fingers up, marking the air with quotations "...valiant, unstoppable force, the face of Rogue Squadron, am afraid of being close to anyone, because it will all just happen again. I still fly because it was my life's dream. I don't know anything else. I head a squadron because they needed a leader and I was the best for the job. Don't you think for one second that I'm at peace. People like you and I don't deserve forgiveness."

[Leela Vorega]

There was an almost imperceptable shift in Leela's expression as she paced a few steps back towards the bench. She retrieved her folded flight suit and unfurled it, dropping her onepiece to the ground before stepping into the legs without a word. As she dragged the green suit to her waist, she sat down on the bench beside Kelly, staring between her knees at the boots resting on the floor.

"Sorry about last night," she said softly, eyes still on the boots, totally unacustomed to this sort of thing. It felt like the right kind of thing to do though, after discovering that the arrogant jerk who'd been getting on your nerves for the past few years wasn't quite what he seemed at first glance. "I guess you didn't seem to be hurting as much; I figured I'd make up the shortfall while pounding on you a while." She glanced up just for an instant, her eyes shimmering slightly before they fell away. "I can't do any more to punish myself, so you were my substitute."

She fell silent, her face completely drained of expression. The minutes ticked by, memories of her family flashing with her mind, punctuated by images of the immoralities that became routine during her service to the Empire. She let them play for a few moments - her own emotional brand of self harm - until finally she closed her eyes and shoved them to the deep, dark recesses of her mind.

Eventually, a small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "Your squadron still sucks, you know."

[Kelly Perris]

Kelly glanced sidelong at her, not entirely believing the words coming out of her mouth as he slipped on the black socks he'd picked out. The Leela Vorega he knew simply wasn't capable of such things and here, he was being proven wrong. Guess you really do learn a new thing or two every day. While she continued to speak, the subordinate man picked up his suit from where it now rested in his lap and held it up high, shaking it out of its folded form and proceeded to pull it over his socked feet and up to his waist, then left it there much like Leela had done.

A smile twitched at the corners of his own mouth at the peace offering she had made. They both knew now where the other stood, but he was certain that not everything had been told. He knew that much for sure on his end. He picked up one boot and began loosening up the laces.

"I suppose that's the real reason why you're heading this thing and I'm not, hmm?..." He turned his head to look on her again, the angle aiding his quizzical gaze. The smile broadened into a grin (he always looked much better when his face wasn't furled in negativity), and the hells of his reality sank back into the deep again.

"...but I wasn't put in this galaxy to impress you, was I?"

[Leela Vorega]

"That's a relief," Leela jabbed back, slipping her feet into her boots and beginning to lace them up tightly. She shot Kelly a sly wink. "I always hate to see someone fail miserably."

Rising to her feet and pulling her flight suit up and onto her arms, Leela paused briefly to pull the grey vest over her head, and to check that the life support systems were mounted properly. Satisfied enough - the ground techs would check everything over before they let her in the cockpit anyway - she stepped over to the lockers and reached up, pulling down her helmet. Tucking it under her arm, she threw a look over her shoulder. "Buck up, flyboy: we've got a mission to run."

[Jaden Luka]

Flight Deck, Rising Star - Saleucami system

- - -

Jaden lowered himself into the cockpit of his A-Wing, and felt his hands flex involuntarily inside his flight gloves. No matter how many missions he flew as a pilot for the Rebel Alliance, he couldn't avoid that initial jolt of excitement and anticipation that predated a mission. Sure, he was concerned that he might not come back: that was a very real danger in situations like this. But how could he let something like that get in the way? He was sat in the cockpit of a brixing Starfighter!

Running through the last few sequences of checks, Jaden spared a moment to peer out of his cockpit and watch Leela stalk her way across to her fighter. Sure, it was probably bad form to be in your cockpit before the Squadron Leader - both, he observed, as Commander Perris emerged into the hanger a few moments behind - but it was something that Jaden had done consistantly since his first flight. There was something about sitting in the confines of his fighter that helped focus his mind, and set him on task better than any briefing ever could.

Checks completed, he tipped his head back against the flight couch and let his eyes close, mind visualising the starfield that would soon be hanging outside of his cockpit canopy. With any luck, this mission would be a quick snap and blast: swoop in, run a few scans for the benefit of Alliance Intel, and then blast their way clear. If all went according to plan, they'd take a squadron of experimental fighters with them - a blow to the Empire by any measure.

Of course, no matter how well the mission went, their success would be overshadowed by Command's choice of their co-squadron: this would go down in the records as a Rogue Squadron victory, regardless of their participation. For a moment, he empathised with Leela's squadron pride, and her outrage at the bar a few nights ago. Irrespective of the quality of its pilots, Rogue Squadron was an important symbol for the Alliance - their reputation for completing the impossible was enough to motivate even the most demoralised of rebels.

"I guess we'll just have to earn a reputation like that ourselves," Jaden said aloud, to no one in particular. For a moment, he felt a stab of envy towards the X-Wing pilots: at least they get someone in their cockpit to talk to.

Sighing, he shook the other thoughts out of his head, and set his focus on the mission at hand. Reaching for his comm systems, he flicked the channel over to the frequency set aside for his squadron. "Valk Nine, standing by," he announced into the microphone. Lets go make space dust.

[Nagal Aursoni]

The round green screen of the rear sensor display now had a small deep red blip on it. It took only a second for the viewer, a young TIE fighter pilot, to realize what was happening. There was no quick knee jerk reaction, only a pull on the control stick to send the ship up and into a half-loop.

The loop was wide due to a lack of maneuverability in the new prototype craft, but to make up for this loss of finesse it was equipped with shield generators. A piece of technology not often found aboard Imperial starfighters. The equipment required to produce a shield was, in this pilot's mind, the reason that would see this line of craft never make it to production. The technology was costly; it also gave pilots a comfort margin in the battlefield that made them forget they were still vulnerable. Imperial TIE pilots knew a battle was life or death the second they entered the cockpit; they had to be thinking steps in advance.

That mentality had made every Ace in the Imperial Starfighter Corp.

Technology was advancing though and a large number of starfighters were being outfitted with shields making them a necessity in combat. If one ever needed a second shot, an occurrence that was becoming extremely frequent, they would get it. This in turn generated the need for greater firepower as well, and as it happened superior blasters were being developed and put into action. These deadly weapons were in place on these prototype craft that, despite having shields, made this pilot quite content in his flight.

----

"X Leader to all flights. Unidentified cruiser entering the system, its transponder code is not listed. Suspect it to be a Rebel carrier. All units battle-ready status. Maintain flight paths just outside the asteroid field."

The orders were followed and a total of twelve craft formed up above the asteroid field. They were all of the same design. Each model resembled an elongated TIE Interceptor with curved solar wings at forty-five degree angels, each tip carrying a state-of-the-art heavy repeating blaster cannon. These ships were deadly in appearance, and had the fierce roar of tri ion engines to go with it. They were predators waiting to drop their prey.

[Henry McDonnaught]

Donut was loitering around the hangar, strolling between the lined up craft giving the victory nod to his fellow pilots, making wise-cracks about TIE fighters and their tendency to drop outta the sky at the sight of Rebel Squadrons - just generally perpetuating the easy swagger that fighting teams the galaxy over seemed to find reassuring. If Donut wasn't worried about strapping himself to a rocket and hurtling himself against an unknown new technology, why should they?

Of course, most the guys were seasoned pilots and were far from needing McDonnaught's rah-rahing, but they appreciated the effort nonetheless.
Henry was one of the newer guys to the Rogues, but was finding himself a niche without much trouble. Easy going and generally likeable, Hank took most things on the chin - the good and the bad. A good man to have your back.

"Hey Donut, you're sister says hi" called a nav-officer from green team with a taunting grin.

"Hey Jonesy, so does your Mom" Henry tossed back.

It was the same old jokes, same old routine.

It made strapping into a rocket and hurling oneself at some crazy new Imperial technology nothin' to worry about.

[Kelly Perris]

Go time was sneaking up on the pilots like a suprise rancor - in other words, not much of a surprise, more of a scathing awareness. The adrenalized anxiety of dropping yourself into the hands of death and hoping the bastard would take good care to hand you back to whichever god you worshipped afterward was the ship that many a pilot rode out on, and if Lady Luck smiled upon you, there was a bucket of pride to wash the grime off with later. Kelly Perris still felt this thrill on many a mission, though sometimes it was also the devil's playground - the want to gun each and every enemy fighter down just because the act alone made him feel better about his past actions as one of those very pilots he was fighting off. The feeling never lasted, of course, because remorse was always heavy, and settled in quite well like a hutt on your face. The air was never clean there, if you managed to come up to breathe at all.

Every eager beaver was either already strapped in, or in the process of doing so. Commander Perris was normally the last one to slip into the cockpit along with his squadron. The last second, the green light, the swoop from hangar to space was the door to his domain, the battlefield of space his house. Tink was there making sure everything was hunky-dory with Slice before the R2 unit was loaded into place. Kelly ascended the ladder to the cockpit, and stopped at the top before climbing in.

"All good, Regan?" he queried.

Regan "Tink" Altink looked at Kelly with mild annoyance. The young man preferred his nickname over the use of his given name. "Yeah, fine. Good to go." He replied.

Kelly nodded, then hopped in. "Thanks a lot, kid."

Tink grinned, then gave a mock salute. "Anytime, sir. Anytime. Go give 'em a run for their creds."

Perris smiled to himself, darkly. That was exactly what he intended to do, and more.

[Leela Vorega]

Leela's gaze skimmed over the last of the preflight checks, and mentally crossed off her pilots in her mind as they tallied in. The last pilot announced his readiness; a full house of Valkyries. Lets hope we have the same number when we land, she thought to herself, reaching for the communications controls.

"Flight, this is Valkyrie Leader," she called into her headset, reaching up underneath the tinted visor of her heavy-jawed and open-faced helmet. "All my birds report ready to fly."

The voice that replied was distorted, tugged at by the standard vocal distortions applied to all Rebel communications. "Roger that, Valk Leader," an approximately female voice replied. "Reversion in three minutes; stand by for launch command."

"Understood," Major Vorega replied.

There was a slight pause; Leela knew to wait for it. The voice over the distortion changed, the woman replaced with gruff, masculine tones that could only belong to Captain Tyree. "Force be with you," their Captain grunted. "Good hunting."

Despite herself, Leela couldn't help smiling. "I'll score one for you, sir."

Something that she guessed was a laugh came from Tyree over the radio. "That's if the Rogues leave anything for you," he countered.

Leela shook her head, despite the lack of visual feed. A mischevious grin formed on her face. "We'll vape the lot of 'em before the Rogues even get there."

She knew the Captain would be smiling. "Roger that," was all he said.

Leela's attention turned back to the view outside her curved cockpit, her comms flipped back to an open channel. The swirling blue of hyperspace tumbled past the magnetic shield that kept the air - but sadly not the heat - within the fighter bay, cascading past her vision like a waterfall. She braced herself as her mind counted down the remainder of the few minutes until reversion. Though the artificial gravity countered for the physical sensation, her mind still registered the sudden drop in velocity as the swirling blue snapped back into bullet point stars in the distance. All around her fighter, technicians sprinted clear.

The familiar voice of Flight crackled in her ear. "Valkyrie Squadron, you are clear to launch."

An expression of steely determination settled over her face. "You heard the lady." Her hands settled into place on the controls. "All fighters, follow me," she instructed, and with a snap of throttle, her A-Wing hurled itself out into the void of space.

[Aros Indigu]

T-65 X-wing starfighter was the symbol of the Rebellion, and Aros loved it. Each time his boots hit the ramp, saw the insignia, and got lost in the discomfort of the cockpit, he was at home. The seat was always out of wack, but he was at home. Only here did his awkward tongue, unique alien language, and tribal looks become usual. Aros was one of the few from his planet to fly, and he flew well. It was the only thing that got him respect, and most certainly the reason he don the flight suit. If it wasn't for the Rebellion he would never get caught dead in orange. Matter fact, he wouldn't get caught dead in orange.

Not this day at least.

He had plans. Big plans. When he got back, he was heading back to his home planet. The time had come for the seasonal returns for Yittan, and celebration. All that fun couldn't be missed for a bunch of experimental Brights. Such fond thoughts kept him warm inside the cold pit, but so did his gloves. After a click here, and there, with a bleep on the screen, he ready himself. Already the Commander he jumped in, and he had gotten all the clearance to follow Valkyrie off into the dark.

With Leela's outburst maybe she deserved to catch the first buckethead. It'd probably cool her engines, at least. Calm all that hostility building up in here. But that wasn't Aros concern, he just wanted to get back. Donut had cracked jokes with the others, and Cupid-Face didn't ever join in. Anytime he had before a flight was a lone, checking his list, in solitude. Sometimes he'd talk, chat, crack a smile, but he wasn't the social type. A bit half-shy, introvert, and for the most part he liked it that way. The less he talk, the more he listen. And the more he listen, the more he knew better than to talk.

So, when he was cleared, he didn't click to voice over to the other Rogues. He was off. Maybe a bit off protocol, but he was in rush; a rush to get back. He slugged though, making sure not to attract too much attention for the others. Hopefully they wouldn't shoot him a complaint, but he'd just apologize like he always did. They'd get off his back. They always did.