daisysusan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
daisysusan) wrote2010-09-22 10:32 am
daisysusan) wrote2010-09-22 10:32 am
fic: Above the Line of Fire
Title: Above the Line of Fire
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miraxcorran
Fandom: Star Wars
Genre: Drama and angst
Rating: PG for language
Timeframe: Directly after AHN
Characters: Tycho Celchu, Wedge Antilles, Luke Skywalker, Hobbie Klivian, Wes Janson
Summary: The story of how Tycho Celchu became a member of the original Rogue Squadron.
Notes: The title and song lyrics are from the Dr. Dog song "We All Belong," which was tremendously helpful to me as I wrote this. If you feel so inclined, listen to it. Also, this is the longest thing I've ever written by more than a thousand words.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Wars. George Lucas owns Star Wars.
Above the Line of Fire
Sitting here
I am very far away
Looking back, on yesterday
In the silent hall, Tycho Celchu waited.
Unlike his body, which had the stillness that only military training can impart, his mind raced through what felt like a million thoughts every minute.
He knew that in the conference room directly outside of which he waited, Luke Skywalker was discussing the roster of the brand new Rogue Squadron with General Rieekan and Commander Narra.
He knew that, soon, he would be summoned into the room and told whether or not he would be allowed to fly with them.
He knew every perfectly valid reason that he might not be permitted to join the squadron; he had already heard every objection from his compromised mental state to his questionable loyalties and back again.
But he also knew that, first thing this morning, a note scrawled on flimsi had been slipped into his quarters, with the simple message of “Just so you know, we all agreed to submit your name. – W.A.”
The door opened and an aide stepped into the hallway.
Several Days Earlier
The room was huge, sterile, and held only two men. To say that it was intimidating was to understate the matter quite severely.
“Commander Skywalker.”
Luke stood at attention, stiff with nerves. “General Rieekan, sir. Commander Narra, sir.”
“At ease, Commander,” Rieekan responded.
Narra leaned forward slightly, and smiled. “As you know, expanding Rogue Flight into a full squadron has been under discussion for some time. I recently got confirmation from General Rieekan that the request has been approved.”
“That’s wonderful news, sir.”
“The reason we called you in,” Narra continued, “is that you have been named the commander of our brand new Rogue Squadron.”
Torn between stuttering helplessly and passing out dead from shock, Luke heard himself saying “Thank you, sir.”
Rieekan smiled at him in an almost fatherly way (which honestly shocked Luke nearly as much as being given control of a squadron of fighter pilots) and told him to take a seat.
Luke was pretty sure he’d never been more relieved in his life. Including when Darth Vader hadn’t killed him.
“There has already been some discussion of who would be selected as a member of Rogue Squadron,” Rieekan informed him. “Given your position, though, we would like your input, especially about your executive officer and flight leaders.”
He spoke on instinct (the Force?) before Rieekan had even completed his sentence. “I want Wedge.” After a brief pause, he realized clarification might be useful. “As my executive officer.”
“That was going to be my recommendation,” Narra said. “Though I was hoping you wouldn’t think of him at all. He’s a damn good pilot and I’d be happy to keep him for Renegade Squardon.”
“I absolutely agree with Commander Narra,” Rieekan added. “What about flight leaders?”
Luke stared at the table. Picking Wedge as his XO had been easy – he was the best pilot of the group, a natural leader, and (mostly) well-liked and universally trusted. An obvious choice, even to Luke’s admittedly untrained eye. It might even spare Wedge some scathing remarks for not dying above the Death Star. There had already been enough of those.
Not that there was any excuse for – “Commander Skywalker?”
“Oh, um, could I come up with a squadron roster before I pick flight leaders?” Luke babbled quickly. Zoning out during an official meeting was perhaps not the best way to impress command.
“Actually,” Rieekan told him, “We had a tentative roster put together some time ago. It retains everyone from Rogue Flight, and everyone it pulls from other squads is a solid pilot. Unfortunately, the roster was made up before Lieutenant Niachei’s death, so there’s one empty spot to be filled.” As Rieekan spoke, Narra slid a datapad across the table.
As Luke reached for it, he saw glowing the familiar template of a squad roster. Glancing quickly down the list and (thankfully) recognizing most of the names, he smiled and made a snap decision. “This is a good group. And what about Janson and Klivian as flight leaders? They’re both experienced and I trust them.”
“Well picked, Commander,” Rieekan said, “You seem to be getting the hang of leadership even more quickly than we’d hoped.”
“Do you have any thoughts about who could fill the empty spot?” Narra asked.
After some time spent pretending to look busy with the datapad, and an uncomfortable while longer just staring, a name jumped into Luke’s head.
“What about Tycho Celchu, that new Imperial defector?”
The simultaneous expressions on Rieekan’s and Narra’s faces told him he’d broken his string of good suggestions.
****
The mess was filled to overflowing next door, but the minuscule conference room (either for very small conferences or conferences of very small species, Wedge decided) held only the four men.
“Why is the mess so crowded?” Janson asked thoughtfully, or what might have passed for thoughtfully if his mouth weren’t full of the vile, unidentifiable concoction they had all just heaped onto their plates.
“I have no idea, Wessie,” replied Klivian, thankfully having swallowed his food. Wedge was glad to avoid the sight of partially chewed whatever-that-was; seeing Klivian turn violently green after just one bite was worrying. “Maybe it’s all the new guys who just defected and think the food is going to be better here.”
Janson’s jaw dropped several inches, revealing yet again the partially chewed whatever-that-was. “The Imps don’t have good food either? But they’ve got all that money and all those systems …”
“Yeah, but they don’t care,” Klivian retorted with a smile.
Janson opening his still-full mouth again – did he ever swallow? – but Luke spoke before him. “Actually, all the new guys is one of the reasons I asked you all to come in here for dinner.”
“Yeah?” Wedge asked, turning towards Luke. Janson and Klivian did likewise. “What about?” he continued.
Luke took a deep breath. “Rogue Flight is being expanded into a full squadron, and I’ve been picked as the commander. I requested Wedge as my XO, and you two as flight leaders. Narra and Rieekan agreed to both. I hope you are all okay with those positions.”
Wedge and Klivian nodded, but Janson’s perpetually-full mouth opened again. Klivian smacked his arm and said, “No, Wes, you won’t get to be in charge.”
“Fine,” pouted Janson.
“So now we’re Rogue Squadron,” Wedge said slowly. “Is it just the four of us, or is there a complete roster?”
“There was a complete roster,” Luke replied, “But Rixar Niachei was on it, so it’s not really complete any more. I was hoping to get suggestions from you on people who could take his place.” He set out a piece of flimsi. “Here’s the roster as Rieekan and Narra approved it.”
Leaning together, they skimmed it quickly. As always, Klivian’s first question was astute.
“Have you submitted any names for official consideration yet?”
“I mentioned Tycho Celchu, but I haven’t officially submitted a request,” said Luke.
“Oos at?” Janson asked. (The truly horrifying thing about his speaking with his mouth full was not the partially chewed food, but rather the fact that he could stomach that much of the … whatever it was.)
In response, Luke indicated that he’d just taken a bite and would need a moment to chew. Klivian’s grateful expression mirrored Wedge’s thoughts precisely.
He chose that moment to jump in and stave off Janson’s boredom. “Celchu is one of the defectors. He grew up on Alderaan, trained at the Academy under Soontir Fel, was a TIE pilot for a year or so, and switched sides after the Imps blew up his family.”
“He once decked a guy who called all Alderaanians pacifists,” Klivian added.
Luke rounded on him immediately. “You know him?”
“Sure. We were at the Academy at the same time. I defected with Biggs and a bunch of people; he didn’t.”
“What do you think about putting him in Rogue Squadron, then?”
Klivian shrugged. “I think he’d be up to the flying. He was hands down the best pilot of our class – took Fel out in simulators a couple of times. We all said it was dumb luck, but it really wasn’t. I’m just not sure he should be.”
Janson swallowed quickly and leaned forward. “Hobbie’s right, for two reasons. First, he just recently defected, so we can’t be sure he isn’t a mole. Until we are, he should not get access to any information as important as the things Rogue Squadron will be dealing with. Second, even if he is really a defector – which I believe – any pilot that talented who flew with the Imps for a year killed a lot of our guys. There are going to be a lot of people who resent someone with that record getting such an elite spot.”
It was time, Wedge decided, to take the other side in the argument. Celchu was an unknown quantity, but Janson and Klivian were missing an important point. “There’s another side to the issue. If Celchu is as good a pilot as Klivian says he is, then he’s a damn sight better than anyone on this base who isn’t already in the squadron. If we’re meant to be a group of the best pilots, can we afford to pass up someone that talented, especially since that would mean putting a lesser pilot in danger?”
“I don’t want people to die unnecessarily,” Luke said, nodding. “And I’m certain that Tycho isn’t a double agent. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have suggested him in the first place. Rieekan and Narra weren’t happy that I did, though.”
“You’re being naïve,” Klivian said. “We really can’t just assume that he’s on our side because the Imps blew up Alderaan. If he’s loyal enough, he’ll think they had it coming – and it’s the perfect cover for a spy who wants to gain our trust.”
After several moments of deeply uncomfortable silence enveloped the table, Janson burst out laughing. “We’re not really helping with this decision, are we? We just explained in great detail why he can’t pick Celchu and why he has to pick Celchu.”
The expression on Luke’s face became obnoxiously sincere. “Actually, guys, it really did help. I hadn’t even considered a lot of the points you brought up. I guess I’ll think about it a while longer.”
Janson rolled his eyes as he picked up his plate and left the room.
****
Hobbie was rather glad to find the locker room mostly empty. The only noise was that of someone rustling around several rows over. No chance of conversation or spontaneous practical jokes or any of the million other things he’d come to expect from rooming with Wes Janson.
Unless the person several rows over was Wes.
With an audible sigh of relief, he remembered that Wes was deeply involved in an effort to get Commander Skywalker and Captain Antilles very drunk. (Probably not going well.)
He sat down on the bench to better appreciate the few minutes he had to himself, but he’d barely sunk into his thoughts when the rustling turned into swearing, followed quickly by the distinctive sound of things falling to the ground. Reluctantly, Hobbie allowed politeness to get the better of him, and he ventured to the source of the disruption.
Standing there was Tycho Celchu, with what appeared to be the better part of his belongings strewn haphazardly around his feet.
“Hey, do you want some help with that?” he heard himself asking.
“That would be nice. I think I tried to carry too much.” Celchu knelt to begin gathering up his clothes, leaving the more impersonal items for Hobbie. “You’re Hobbie Klivian, right? We were at the Academy togther; I’m Ty–”
“Tycho Celchu. I remember. No one from our class would forget you.” He grabbed an extra bag from his jumpsuit and handed it to the other man. “This may help.”
“Thank you,” Celchu said, shoving his clothes into the bag. “How are you doing?”
Suddenly torn, Hobbie quickly considered his options for answering. He could lie and say that everything was fine, or he could tell the truth and risk revealing more about himself than he usually would.
“I’ve been better. The last few weeks have been rough, since almost no one made it back from the battle at Yavin IV alive.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I heard that Biggs …”
Hobbie nodded curtly, trying to avoid eye contact with the other man. “He got shot down in the trench.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Glaring at the floor, Hobbie felt resentment rise like bile in his throat. “No, you’re not. You were never friends with anyone at the Academy. You were too busy being a perfect teacher’s pet and sucking up to Fel to be the best damn Imperial you could be.”
Celchu flinched visibly. “It’s not like you made an effort. You and Darklighter and your friends were off scheming and everyone else was too much of a kriffing bigot to want to associate with someone from a planet with Rebel leanings.”
“It always comes back to Alderaan for you, doesn’t it? Sithspit, you didn’t even care about the horrible things the Empire has been doing for decades until they hurt you personally! You waited until it was easy and predictable to leave the Empire, but more people than you can imagine died just keeping the Alliance around. Hell, how does anyone even know that you care about our mission at all? You probably just want revenge – hell, I know you do. If you were in this for anything other than just making your kriffing self feel a little better about fighting for the side that murdered a damn planet, you’d have left years ago!”
Celchu punched him. Hobbie, reacting on instinct and military training, punched back, feeling Celchu’s nose give under his fist. A brief brawl bounced them between the lockers and the benches, ending with both men on the floor, with Hobbie pinned by Celchu.
Like a switch flipping, Celchu’s face shifted and he sat back against the lockers. “Do you think I don’t hate myself for not leaving earlier?”
Hobbie sat up and leaned against the lockers facing Celchu. “I know. I was out of line. It just …”
Celchu nodded. “I know.”
****
Every day made defection on the basis of food quality seem like a better option, Wedge decided. Except that Klivian said the Imps’ food was just as bad. Still, ending up in the infirmary after an encounter with a particularly vile batch of tubers was not his idea of fun.
The click of the infirmary door sliding open jolted him from his thoughts. In walked a blonde man, nursing a semi-swollen eye and a nose entirely too close to broken for Wedge’s comfort. The medical droid clearly agreed with his assessment, as it rushed forward and told the man to sit down.
Lying back on his cot, he allowed his mind to wander as the newcomer got fixed up. Luke wanted his opinion on whether or not naming Tycho Celchu as the twelfth member of Rogue Squadron was worth the risk, and Wedge had absolutely no idea of the answer. Having a chance to talk with –
He rounded on the now-resting man. “You’re Tycho Celchu, aren’t you?”
The other man nodded. “It’s nice finally to meet you,” Wedge continued. “I’m Wedge Antilles.”
Celchu smiled wryly. “Yes, I know. Everyone does, really.”
“I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
“You know it will,” Celchu replied with a shrug. “You wouldn’t be a starfighter pilot if it didn’t.”
Wedge laughed. “Well, I can’t deny that.”
Silence fell for a moment before Celchu spoke again. “So how did you end up in the infirmary?”
“Mess hall. Tubers. Bad,” was Wedge’s succinct answer. “You?”
“I … well, I told the droid that I tripped and fell.”
“I’ve heard that excuse before,” Wedge said. “It usually means that there was a fight but no one wants to admit it.”
“That’s more or less what happened. I got into a fight with a guy I knew at the Academy, but we both felt really awful about it. We decided to get patched up separately and hope that no one put the pieces together.” Celchu seemed even more sheepish than Wedge would have expected. “I came in first because I was in worse shape,” he continued, “but I also threw the first punch.”
Another detail clicked. “Were you fighting with Hobbie Klivian?”
Celchu seemed taken aback. “How do you know him?”
“He’s in my squadron,” Wedge said.
“Oh, really? Which squadron?”
Wedge winced internally. This was going to get awkward. “We’re in Rogue Squadron together. We’re still short one pilot, though, so we’re not operational yet.”
“That’s the squadron that Luke Skywalker is going to command, correct?” At Wedge’s nod, Celchu continued. “Do you know who’s going to fill the last spot?”
“Not yet. Everything has been so tense here that we’re not sure whether or not putting one of the guys who defected recently is going to be a problem.” In response, Celchu nodded thoughfully, and Wedge made a snap decision. Luke was going to kill him if this backfired. “Actually, the name we’ve discussed the most is yours.”
Celchu stared at him.
Wedge had no choice but to continue speaking. “Klivian said that you were good enough to take Fel out in the simulators a few times at the Academy.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said hesitantly. To Wedge, he looked like someone who couldn’t quite sort out good and bad in his mind – the feeling was eerily familiar.
“We’re both pilots here; it’s okay to brag,” Wedge said with a laugh. The other man’s wan smile was some comfort. He knew it was probably the most sincere happiness that Celchu could manage.
“In that case,” Celchu said slowly, “And if it’s okay to say so, I would really like to fly with Rogue Squadron.” He didn’t say it, but Wedge could practically hear him think “Because it’ll give me a shot at the bastards who killed my family.”
The door opened once more, and the droid returned. Its mechanical voice told him that he was free to go, and it moved on to patching up the rest of Celchu’s – Tycho’s? – wounds.
Back in his quarters, Wedge realized that Hobbie had sent him and Luke a message.
It said only five words: “My vote is for Tycho.”
The room Tycho entered was neither as large nor as imposing as some he’d visited – frequented, even – both at the Academy and at home.
Nonetheless, he stood uncomfortably in its center after he saluted the officers seated in front of him.
General Rieekan spoke into the emptiness. “Flight Officer Celchu, I would like to congratulate you on being named the twelfth pilot of Rogue Squadron.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tycho replied automatically.
“You also ought to know,” said Commander Narra, “That Skywalker and Antilles spent hours compiling evidence and arguing the case that you were the only acceptable pilot for the spot. They were utterly determined to have you in the squadron. You have some good friends, Flight Officer.”
Tycho smiled more broadly than he had in months.
We don't belong to the earth
We both belong to the sky
Mother me told me don't you cry
Stay at home or learn to fly
We all belong
Author:
miraxcorran Fandom: Star Wars
Genre: Drama and angst
Rating: PG for language
Timeframe: Directly after AHN
Characters: Tycho Celchu, Wedge Antilles, Luke Skywalker, Hobbie Klivian, Wes Janson
Summary: The story of how Tycho Celchu became a member of the original Rogue Squadron.
Notes: The title and song lyrics are from the Dr. Dog song "We All Belong," which was tremendously helpful to me as I wrote this. If you feel so inclined, listen to it. Also, this is the longest thing I've ever written by more than a thousand words.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Wars. George Lucas owns Star Wars.
Above the Line of Fire
Sitting here
I am very far away
Looking back, on yesterday
In the silent hall, Tycho Celchu waited.
Unlike his body, which had the stillness that only military training can impart, his mind raced through what felt like a million thoughts every minute.
He knew that in the conference room directly outside of which he waited, Luke Skywalker was discussing the roster of the brand new Rogue Squadron with General Rieekan and Commander Narra.
He knew that, soon, he would be summoned into the room and told whether or not he would be allowed to fly with them.
He knew every perfectly valid reason that he might not be permitted to join the squadron; he had already heard every objection from his compromised mental state to his questionable loyalties and back again.
But he also knew that, first thing this morning, a note scrawled on flimsi had been slipped into his quarters, with the simple message of “Just so you know, we all agreed to submit your name. – W.A.”
The door opened and an aide stepped into the hallway.
Several Days Earlier
The room was huge, sterile, and held only two men. To say that it was intimidating was to understate the matter quite severely.
“Commander Skywalker.”
Luke stood at attention, stiff with nerves. “General Rieekan, sir. Commander Narra, sir.”
“At ease, Commander,” Rieekan responded.
Narra leaned forward slightly, and smiled. “As you know, expanding Rogue Flight into a full squadron has been under discussion for some time. I recently got confirmation from General Rieekan that the request has been approved.”
“That’s wonderful news, sir.”
“The reason we called you in,” Narra continued, “is that you have been named the commander of our brand new Rogue Squadron.”
Torn between stuttering helplessly and passing out dead from shock, Luke heard himself saying “Thank you, sir.”
Rieekan smiled at him in an almost fatherly way (which honestly shocked Luke nearly as much as being given control of a squadron of fighter pilots) and told him to take a seat.
Luke was pretty sure he’d never been more relieved in his life. Including when Darth Vader hadn’t killed him.
“There has already been some discussion of who would be selected as a member of Rogue Squadron,” Rieekan informed him. “Given your position, though, we would like your input, especially about your executive officer and flight leaders.”
He spoke on instinct (the Force?) before Rieekan had even completed his sentence. “I want Wedge.” After a brief pause, he realized clarification might be useful. “As my executive officer.”
“That was going to be my recommendation,” Narra said. “Though I was hoping you wouldn’t think of him at all. He’s a damn good pilot and I’d be happy to keep him for Renegade Squardon.”
“I absolutely agree with Commander Narra,” Rieekan added. “What about flight leaders?”
Luke stared at the table. Picking Wedge as his XO had been easy – he was the best pilot of the group, a natural leader, and (mostly) well-liked and universally trusted. An obvious choice, even to Luke’s admittedly untrained eye. It might even spare Wedge some scathing remarks for not dying above the Death Star. There had already been enough of those.
Not that there was any excuse for – “Commander Skywalker?”
“Oh, um, could I come up with a squadron roster before I pick flight leaders?” Luke babbled quickly. Zoning out during an official meeting was perhaps not the best way to impress command.
“Actually,” Rieekan told him, “We had a tentative roster put together some time ago. It retains everyone from Rogue Flight, and everyone it pulls from other squads is a solid pilot. Unfortunately, the roster was made up before Lieutenant Niachei’s death, so there’s one empty spot to be filled.” As Rieekan spoke, Narra slid a datapad across the table.
As Luke reached for it, he saw glowing the familiar template of a squad roster. Glancing quickly down the list and (thankfully) recognizing most of the names, he smiled and made a snap decision. “This is a good group. And what about Janson and Klivian as flight leaders? They’re both experienced and I trust them.”
“Well picked, Commander,” Rieekan said, “You seem to be getting the hang of leadership even more quickly than we’d hoped.”
“Do you have any thoughts about who could fill the empty spot?” Narra asked.
After some time spent pretending to look busy with the datapad, and an uncomfortable while longer just staring, a name jumped into Luke’s head.
“What about Tycho Celchu, that new Imperial defector?”
The simultaneous expressions on Rieekan’s and Narra’s faces told him he’d broken his string of good suggestions.
****
The mess was filled to overflowing next door, but the minuscule conference room (either for very small conferences or conferences of very small species, Wedge decided) held only the four men.
“Why is the mess so crowded?” Janson asked thoughtfully, or what might have passed for thoughtfully if his mouth weren’t full of the vile, unidentifiable concoction they had all just heaped onto their plates.
“I have no idea, Wessie,” replied Klivian, thankfully having swallowed his food. Wedge was glad to avoid the sight of partially chewed whatever-that-was; seeing Klivian turn violently green after just one bite was worrying. “Maybe it’s all the new guys who just defected and think the food is going to be better here.”
Janson’s jaw dropped several inches, revealing yet again the partially chewed whatever-that-was. “The Imps don’t have good food either? But they’ve got all that money and all those systems …”
“Yeah, but they don’t care,” Klivian retorted with a smile.
Janson opening his still-full mouth again – did he ever swallow? – but Luke spoke before him. “Actually, all the new guys is one of the reasons I asked you all to come in here for dinner.”
“Yeah?” Wedge asked, turning towards Luke. Janson and Klivian did likewise. “What about?” he continued.
Luke took a deep breath. “Rogue Flight is being expanded into a full squadron, and I’ve been picked as the commander. I requested Wedge as my XO, and you two as flight leaders. Narra and Rieekan agreed to both. I hope you are all okay with those positions.”
Wedge and Klivian nodded, but Janson’s perpetually-full mouth opened again. Klivian smacked his arm and said, “No, Wes, you won’t get to be in charge.”
“Fine,” pouted Janson.
“So now we’re Rogue Squadron,” Wedge said slowly. “Is it just the four of us, or is there a complete roster?”
“There was a complete roster,” Luke replied, “But Rixar Niachei was on it, so it’s not really complete any more. I was hoping to get suggestions from you on people who could take his place.” He set out a piece of flimsi. “Here’s the roster as Rieekan and Narra approved it.”
Leaning together, they skimmed it quickly. As always, Klivian’s first question was astute.
“Have you submitted any names for official consideration yet?”
“I mentioned Tycho Celchu, but I haven’t officially submitted a request,” said Luke.
“Oos at?” Janson asked. (The truly horrifying thing about his speaking with his mouth full was not the partially chewed food, but rather the fact that he could stomach that much of the … whatever it was.)
In response, Luke indicated that he’d just taken a bite and would need a moment to chew. Klivian’s grateful expression mirrored Wedge’s thoughts precisely.
He chose that moment to jump in and stave off Janson’s boredom. “Celchu is one of the defectors. He grew up on Alderaan, trained at the Academy under Soontir Fel, was a TIE pilot for a year or so, and switched sides after the Imps blew up his family.”
“He once decked a guy who called all Alderaanians pacifists,” Klivian added.
Luke rounded on him immediately. “You know him?”
“Sure. We were at the Academy at the same time. I defected with Biggs and a bunch of people; he didn’t.”
“What do you think about putting him in Rogue Squadron, then?”
Klivian shrugged. “I think he’d be up to the flying. He was hands down the best pilot of our class – took Fel out in simulators a couple of times. We all said it was dumb luck, but it really wasn’t. I’m just not sure he should be.”
Janson swallowed quickly and leaned forward. “Hobbie’s right, for two reasons. First, he just recently defected, so we can’t be sure he isn’t a mole. Until we are, he should not get access to any information as important as the things Rogue Squadron will be dealing with. Second, even if he is really a defector – which I believe – any pilot that talented who flew with the Imps for a year killed a lot of our guys. There are going to be a lot of people who resent someone with that record getting such an elite spot.”
It was time, Wedge decided, to take the other side in the argument. Celchu was an unknown quantity, but Janson and Klivian were missing an important point. “There’s another side to the issue. If Celchu is as good a pilot as Klivian says he is, then he’s a damn sight better than anyone on this base who isn’t already in the squadron. If we’re meant to be a group of the best pilots, can we afford to pass up someone that talented, especially since that would mean putting a lesser pilot in danger?”
“I don’t want people to die unnecessarily,” Luke said, nodding. “And I’m certain that Tycho isn’t a double agent. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have suggested him in the first place. Rieekan and Narra weren’t happy that I did, though.”
“You’re being naïve,” Klivian said. “We really can’t just assume that he’s on our side because the Imps blew up Alderaan. If he’s loyal enough, he’ll think they had it coming – and it’s the perfect cover for a spy who wants to gain our trust.”
After several moments of deeply uncomfortable silence enveloped the table, Janson burst out laughing. “We’re not really helping with this decision, are we? We just explained in great detail why he can’t pick Celchu and why he has to pick Celchu.”
The expression on Luke’s face became obnoxiously sincere. “Actually, guys, it really did help. I hadn’t even considered a lot of the points you brought up. I guess I’ll think about it a while longer.”
Janson rolled his eyes as he picked up his plate and left the room.
****
Hobbie was rather glad to find the locker room mostly empty. The only noise was that of someone rustling around several rows over. No chance of conversation or spontaneous practical jokes or any of the million other things he’d come to expect from rooming with Wes Janson.
Unless the person several rows over was Wes.
With an audible sigh of relief, he remembered that Wes was deeply involved in an effort to get Commander Skywalker and Captain Antilles very drunk. (Probably not going well.)
He sat down on the bench to better appreciate the few minutes he had to himself, but he’d barely sunk into his thoughts when the rustling turned into swearing, followed quickly by the distinctive sound of things falling to the ground. Reluctantly, Hobbie allowed politeness to get the better of him, and he ventured to the source of the disruption.
Standing there was Tycho Celchu, with what appeared to be the better part of his belongings strewn haphazardly around his feet.
“Hey, do you want some help with that?” he heard himself asking.
“That would be nice. I think I tried to carry too much.” Celchu knelt to begin gathering up his clothes, leaving the more impersonal items for Hobbie. “You’re Hobbie Klivian, right? We were at the Academy togther; I’m Ty–”
“Tycho Celchu. I remember. No one from our class would forget you.” He grabbed an extra bag from his jumpsuit and handed it to the other man. “This may help.”
“Thank you,” Celchu said, shoving his clothes into the bag. “How are you doing?”
Suddenly torn, Hobbie quickly considered his options for answering. He could lie and say that everything was fine, or he could tell the truth and risk revealing more about himself than he usually would.
“I’ve been better. The last few weeks have been rough, since almost no one made it back from the battle at Yavin IV alive.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I heard that Biggs …”
Hobbie nodded curtly, trying to avoid eye contact with the other man. “He got shot down in the trench.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Glaring at the floor, Hobbie felt resentment rise like bile in his throat. “No, you’re not. You were never friends with anyone at the Academy. You were too busy being a perfect teacher’s pet and sucking up to Fel to be the best damn Imperial you could be.”
Celchu flinched visibly. “It’s not like you made an effort. You and Darklighter and your friends were off scheming and everyone else was too much of a kriffing bigot to want to associate with someone from a planet with Rebel leanings.”
“It always comes back to Alderaan for you, doesn’t it? Sithspit, you didn’t even care about the horrible things the Empire has been doing for decades until they hurt you personally! You waited until it was easy and predictable to leave the Empire, but more people than you can imagine died just keeping the Alliance around. Hell, how does anyone even know that you care about our mission at all? You probably just want revenge – hell, I know you do. If you were in this for anything other than just making your kriffing self feel a little better about fighting for the side that murdered a damn planet, you’d have left years ago!”
Celchu punched him. Hobbie, reacting on instinct and military training, punched back, feeling Celchu’s nose give under his fist. A brief brawl bounced them between the lockers and the benches, ending with both men on the floor, with Hobbie pinned by Celchu.
Like a switch flipping, Celchu’s face shifted and he sat back against the lockers. “Do you think I don’t hate myself for not leaving earlier?”
Hobbie sat up and leaned against the lockers facing Celchu. “I know. I was out of line. It just …”
Celchu nodded. “I know.”
****
Every day made defection on the basis of food quality seem like a better option, Wedge decided. Except that Klivian said the Imps’ food was just as bad. Still, ending up in the infirmary after an encounter with a particularly vile batch of tubers was not his idea of fun.
The click of the infirmary door sliding open jolted him from his thoughts. In walked a blonde man, nursing a semi-swollen eye and a nose entirely too close to broken for Wedge’s comfort. The medical droid clearly agreed with his assessment, as it rushed forward and told the man to sit down.
Lying back on his cot, he allowed his mind to wander as the newcomer got fixed up. Luke wanted his opinion on whether or not naming Tycho Celchu as the twelfth member of Rogue Squadron was worth the risk, and Wedge had absolutely no idea of the answer. Having a chance to talk with –
He rounded on the now-resting man. “You’re Tycho Celchu, aren’t you?”
The other man nodded. “It’s nice finally to meet you,” Wedge continued. “I’m Wedge Antilles.”
Celchu smiled wryly. “Yes, I know. Everyone does, really.”
“I’ll try not to let it go to my head.”
“You know it will,” Celchu replied with a shrug. “You wouldn’t be a starfighter pilot if it didn’t.”
Wedge laughed. “Well, I can’t deny that.”
Silence fell for a moment before Celchu spoke again. “So how did you end up in the infirmary?”
“Mess hall. Tubers. Bad,” was Wedge’s succinct answer. “You?”
“I … well, I told the droid that I tripped and fell.”
“I’ve heard that excuse before,” Wedge said. “It usually means that there was a fight but no one wants to admit it.”
“That’s more or less what happened. I got into a fight with a guy I knew at the Academy, but we both felt really awful about it. We decided to get patched up separately and hope that no one put the pieces together.” Celchu seemed even more sheepish than Wedge would have expected. “I came in first because I was in worse shape,” he continued, “but I also threw the first punch.”
Another detail clicked. “Were you fighting with Hobbie Klivian?”
Celchu seemed taken aback. “How do you know him?”
“He’s in my squadron,” Wedge said.
“Oh, really? Which squadron?”
Wedge winced internally. This was going to get awkward. “We’re in Rogue Squadron together. We’re still short one pilot, though, so we’re not operational yet.”
“That’s the squadron that Luke Skywalker is going to command, correct?” At Wedge’s nod, Celchu continued. “Do you know who’s going to fill the last spot?”
“Not yet. Everything has been so tense here that we’re not sure whether or not putting one of the guys who defected recently is going to be a problem.” In response, Celchu nodded thoughfully, and Wedge made a snap decision. Luke was going to kill him if this backfired. “Actually, the name we’ve discussed the most is yours.”
Celchu stared at him.
Wedge had no choice but to continue speaking. “Klivian said that you were good enough to take Fel out in the simulators a few times at the Academy.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said hesitantly. To Wedge, he looked like someone who couldn’t quite sort out good and bad in his mind – the feeling was eerily familiar.
“We’re both pilots here; it’s okay to brag,” Wedge said with a laugh. The other man’s wan smile was some comfort. He knew it was probably the most sincere happiness that Celchu could manage.
“In that case,” Celchu said slowly, “And if it’s okay to say so, I would really like to fly with Rogue Squadron.” He didn’t say it, but Wedge could practically hear him think “Because it’ll give me a shot at the bastards who killed my family.”
The door opened once more, and the droid returned. Its mechanical voice told him that he was free to go, and it moved on to patching up the rest of Celchu’s – Tycho’s? – wounds.
Back in his quarters, Wedge realized that Hobbie had sent him and Luke a message.
It said only five words: “My vote is for Tycho.”
The room Tycho entered was neither as large nor as imposing as some he’d visited – frequented, even – both at the Academy and at home.
Nonetheless, he stood uncomfortably in its center after he saluted the officers seated in front of him.
General Rieekan spoke into the emptiness. “Flight Officer Celchu, I would like to congratulate you on being named the twelfth pilot of Rogue Squadron.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tycho replied automatically.
“You also ought to know,” said Commander Narra, “That Skywalker and Antilles spent hours compiling evidence and arguing the case that you were the only acceptable pilot for the spot. They were utterly determined to have you in the squadron. You have some good friends, Flight Officer.”
Tycho smiled more broadly than he had in months.
We don't belong to the earth
We both belong to the sky
Mother me told me don't you cry
Stay at home or learn to fly
We all belong