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TCS MIDWAY; AIR GROUP REC ROOM
THE LUYTEN SYSTEM, VEARRIER QUADRANT, SOL SECTOR
HOLDING POSITION, ESCORTING NRS DEFIANCE
NOV 27 2680/2680.331; 2030 HOURS (CST)

The beige color motif of the Pilot Country Mess Hall darkened in color as the lights dimmed. It was late, and most of the Day Staff had turned in. The Night Staff, only two thirds in number of the Day Staff, did not tread around Pilot Country at this hour of night. Major Dirk "Stingray" Wright rubbed the coming slumber out of his eyes in order to pay more attention to this fellow veteran pilot in front of him.

All of them sat at the round table in the corner of the lounge. Not much light was in this area, and Dirk could barely make out the faces of his comrades. Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley, wing commander of one of the Midway’s three flight wings, was eating avidly some sort of Oriental delicacy, and the young vixen 2nd Lt. Jean "Stiletto" Talvert was mesmerized by the words of the foreign pilot off the NRS Defiance.

He whispered fast, but audibly. It seemed as if he was reliving every moment of action inside his mind. Dirk sucked down the last of his liquor and listened to the rest of the man’s yarn. "... so I heard over the comm, ‘Red Five, I’m going in.’ Although I didn’t give a damn in the Force what that rookie was doing, I had my own problem to deal with. Gun towers packing turbolasers were all around my position and it was my job to render them inoperable for Gold Squadron to get into the trench safely. Green bolts of dangerous energy had replaced the visions of the starry blackness and I was starting to think this one was it. I thought we were, as you say, hosed. After I saw a few of Red Squadron pilots take out a couple gun towers, I began to think we had a good fighting chance..."

At least this guy is modest, Dirk thought. No other pilot of General Antilles’ merits would admit that they had at one time been afraid for their life or failure of the mission. Stingray had talked to the other pilots of Rogue Squadron, under Wedge’s command. They had spoken highly of the General, actually calling him the best fighter pilot in the galaxy. Theirs, that is.

Dirk, however, had his own merits. He was survivor of the Concordia’s Demise, Hero of Mak’Rahn and the Dagger of Operation: Catapult.

But also, from the Kilrathi’s point of view, he was the Bak ti Juikarr.

He was the Murderer of Innocents. Coming from the Cats’, that was a particularly harsh title.

Dirk forced the account out of his mind, telling himself as his superiors and he had told himself many times before that it wasn’t his fault. Their IFF recognition signals were off... they invited their own massacre.

Wedge had been going on and on for the last half-hour. "So this time it isn’t Luke, it’s me and Lando with the Millennium Falcon. I sent my flight in with me along with the freighter, but by the time I reached the core just Lando and I were alive. That hit me pretty hard... and it took quite a while for me to rebuild my squadron."

"But this second Death Star... did you destroy it?" Stiletto asked, wide-eyed.

"Yep, one of the greatest moments in history, other than when we took Coruscant—Imperial Center in those days. The battle turned after that. The Imperials were suddenly Tauntauns at a Wampa convention. We got a good piece of their entire fleet that day at Endor. Hours later the New Republic was organized. The rest was history."

The four were silent for a moment, except for Hawk chewing on his meal. Jean looked over at Hawk, who was the only one not giving a good word to the new guy. "Colonel, do you have any comment on General Antilles’ feats?" Stiletto asked with over-the-top protocol.

Hawk stopped chewing dead in his tracks, sat straight up, and cleaned off his mouth with his napkin. His face was straight, and showed little if no emotion. "I have seen dozens of pilots from around the galaxy all saying they are better than him, or me. You’re no different except for the fact that you are a long way from where they call you a legend, friend."

The General spoke harshly in defense, "Look, I’m not trying to say I’m better than this Blair person. I’m just telling—"

Hawk interrupted, "Doesn’t matter, the truth is the truth." Hawk was angry now, and Stiletto knew it. The Colonel whipped out his long, wicked looking knife and stuck it into the table with a shocked look on Wedge’s face. With a harsh whisper, he spoke, "No one, and I mean no one, beats Blair. He saved all of our asses more than five times over."

With that, Hawk got up and took his knife and tray with him. Soon after, he left. The group of three was now silent.

Stiletto sighed. Since when had Hawk turned into a Blair Fan? She wasn’t close friends with Blair, and hadn’t gotten a chance to work with him much yet. His exploits were the stuff of legends, though. Vids had been made of him and his life and he had been featured on talk shows and in magazines. ISNBC and TCN had spent weeks after the Treaty of Torgo signing simply discussing Blair. Political critics applauded him and his bravery along with many other military officials. Interviews were shown along with in-depth reports on his persona. It was enough to make anyone sick, but also thankful.

The Academy was something else entirely. Classes on Blair’s exploits and flying techniques in Flight School were now mandatory. Every cadet had to study him and his moves. It was almost as if the Confederation wanted to pump out every pilot to be a Heart of the Tiger.

That was impossible, though. No one could be Blair. He had a certain fire; an edge that nobody else possessed. The ability to face certain and almost absolute death in order to save countless others, and maybe even the ability to kill without remorse. To kill without considering your own actions, but just knowing that for each one you killed a hundred others would be safe from death. Other things, nameless things, made Blair what he was in the past and the present.

After a mild chat about Hawk’s quiet fire of an outburst, Stingray and Stiletto left. Wedge sat alone now, the only sounds were the humming of the Midway’s powerful engines and himself munching on this meal Stingray had called a "Tossed Salad."

The double doors leading into Pilot Country whooshed open. A figure, which Wedge had wanted to talk to ever since Hawk’s speech, stepped in and sat down across from him.

"Late evening, Commodore." The General paused as the Commodore eased himself into his seat. "Everyone sane around here is asleep. Any special reason why you’re up this night?" Antilles greeted, entering into a conversation.

Blair sucked in a long breath, and let out an equally long and equally pain-filled sigh. "I just went up and down all day about the Galactic Empire. I had to learn their ship specs, fighter specs, technology, government, history... all that stuff in the packet that’s being broadcast all the way to the Border Worlds... you name it and I had to learn it over and over." He rubbed his temples. "What I’ve heard makes me sick." He sighed again. "I... also have to learn that I’m a staff officer... and not on the flight roster anymore. I know I belong there, but the Brass thinks otherwise."

Wedge smiled. "The ‘Studying the Enemy’ part sounds familiar. Before I came here, you see, I crammed my head full of information on the Kilrathi. From what I’ve been told, they sound like a pretty desperate people."

Blair’s face sagged to a degree of sorrow. "They are. We made them that way."

Chris sat up, eyeing Antilles, like he was telling him one of the most important things he had ever told anyone. "Near the end of the war, humanity was down to its last rope. We were losing carriers everyday, and the Kilrathi turned their overall objective from enslaving the human race to pure genocide. In another six months, we would have lost the entire generation-long war. We were the desperate ones...

"Covert Ops was looking for anything that could help us, anything that could be our ace in the hole. We built one, it was called the Behemoth, and like the Imperials’ lost Death Stars, it had the capability to destroy entire planets. Basically it was a space-borne cannon."

Wedge looked surprised. "So you took this cannon and pointed it at the Kilrathi? They surrendered and are just now trying to figure out how to evade the nozzle?"

Blair smiled, but disagreed. "No, but that sounds logical. Unfortunately they destroyed it before anything entirely productive could be done with it. Although it did make the Cats’ hair stand on end for awhile, I imagine."

"So what happened in the end?"

"In the end, our Special Operations division produced the Temblor Bomb. Literally, it was a bomb that when used could actually seismically tear planets themselves apart. We decided to drop it on Kilrah itself, splitting the capital-based government equally apart and bringing the Kilrathi into disarray. After hacking through impossible odds, my friends and comrades dying at my side... I dropped that damn bomb; I brought an entire race to its knees." Blair stood up, facing the stars through the viewport. "Worse yet, I am a hero for it."

Wedge commented, "You sound sad, and you have a right to be. It’s a hard decision to kill billions of people, even if it is in order to save your entire race." He finished the last of his salad, and stood up from his chair and pushed it in. He walked behind Blair, standing to his right and looking along with him to the stars. "The real question is... why are they doing this to you? You said it yourself that they see you as a hero. If anything your Armed Forces should let their heroes have any position they want."

Blair eyed the stars. "It was that way for awhile, in the beginning of the war. The veterans were allowed near the front lines, leading forces and winning battles. Not for long, though, because the veterans would die eventually from the hard defeats that came. Even heroes couldn’t win them all. Soon enough, the Confederation was left with newbies and cadets who knew nothing of real battle. From then on, veterans were kept in the home sectors to teach cadets what they knew of battle—real battle."

General Antilles turned and walked away from Blair, and spoke while pacing around, "Where I come from it is very different. They put what we are good at to good use. I am on the edge of retirement, but the Brass is not pushing me off that edge. In fact, they are trying to keep me on. I have always wanted to settle down, raise a family and open a business... Somehow, though, I’m always running after another threat. That threat always seems something that could break apart the still-fragile New Republic. I have been in tons of wide-scale battles: Yavin, Hoth, Gall, Endor, Bakura, and most importantly Coruscant. The Brass knows that they can’t afford me to be anywhere else. That’s why I’m here."

Blair turned around from the window, acknowledging Wedge, "Seems you and I are on two opposite sides. You want to retire but are pushed to fly, and I want to fly but I am slowly being pushed to retire."

"Whatever it’s worth, I for one hope that never happens to you, Commodore. They need you out there... they just don’t realize it yet."

Chris and Wedge shook hands in pride, courage, and understanding.

MON CALAMARI STAR CRUISER NRS DEFIANCE; GALLEY
2110 HOURS (CST)

"Kid, if I said this was like old times I’d be lying. Let’s just be real sure we watch our butts out here."

Luke Skywalker put on a grin for his friend, Han Solo, who was ready to leave. "Tell Leia I said hi."

"Yeah, sure, but I’d be lucky to fit into her schedule. Those bluesuits in this Confederation are questioning her for all she’s worth." Han sighed, then started for the door. "Take care, Luke." With Han’s exit, Luke was left alone to the darkness of the galley. All the sensible people aboard were catching a good night’s sleep while they could.

Were it not for his Jedi awareness, his next visitor would have caught him by surprise. "Mind if I sit here?"

Luke turned a glance at Christopher Blair. "Not at all."

"Thanks," Blair said, sitting where Han had a minute ago. "Just checking in personally with your Admiral Ackbar... already spoke to Wedge. Figured I’d stop by."

"I feel like you and I have a lot in common, Chris," Luke said. "Uncanny appearances aside."

Blair ignored that comment, wanting to distance himself from the "Force" business he’d been hearing about since the New Republic flagship’s arrival. He was open-minded enough to not dismiss it as "hokey," but it was still a lot to readily subscribe to. "You left a lot behind, didn’t you?" he asked.

"My Jedi Academy will make do without me and the New Republic itself doesn’t need me as anything other than some kind of figurehead of the new era."

"Really?" Blair’s face lit up. "It could be said I have something of the same problem."

"I took out a superweapon that was seconds away from destroying the Rebel Alliance’s planetary headquarters. I later became responsible for forging a new order of Jedi Knights even as it was thought I was the last to escape the Emperor and my..." he stopped, choosing his words more carefully, "... and Darth Vader’s Jedi Purge."

"I blew up the homeworld of our enemies, the Kilrathi, and ended a three-decade war," Blair spoke in turn. "Then six years ago I stopped a civil war in the Border Worlds. In that last conflict I had to choose sides... I didn’t like it one bit. For a while I was considered a traitor."

"My past has a dark side as well... quite literally, in fact. In order to stop the continuing devastation of worlds by the Empire’s World Devastator superweapons, I felt I had to join the resurrected Emperor and become as... Darth Vader had to him in the past. In my arrogance I thought I could play the role of Vader to the Emperor and later betray him to the New Republic without succumbing to the Dark Side. I was wrong, but those that cared for me showed me back to the light."

Blair leaned back. "You hesitate every time you mention this Darth Vader guy."

"He was my father."

"Oh." Blair went quiet. Well, he wasn’t expecting that. "That must have been... something."

Luke let the silence play out for a few passing moments before saying what he had known since he had first seen his mirror image. "You’re not like the others, you know."

"How do you mean?"

Luke shook his head, squinting his eyes slightly as if in deep concentration. "Every one of the others in this galaxy... when I feel their presence in the Force I can sense right away they are not Force-sensitive."

"And with me?" Christ, Blair thought, here comes the part where he tells me I’m some kind of "Jedi."

"You’re different." The Jedi Master sighed. "There is no other way to put it. The Force is with you."

If there was even a molecule of truth to that, he had some reason as to why that might be. "My... my mother was a Pilgrim." Blair paused, knowing Luke wouldn’t know what a Pilgrim was. "The Pilgrims... our history records them as a group of colonists with visions of grandeur who provoked the Pilgrim Wars of this century, but they were more than that. They were said to have evolved in space somehow on the early centrifugal space stations... developed some kind of clairvoyance, particularly with navigation. They saw themselves at one with the stars... and some would say they truly were. Charting space... mapping jump points... navigating quasars and pulsars... they did all of this without the aid of a computer." Blair noticeably winced. "As one of their last descendants, I have that in me. Some of it, at least."

"So you do." Luke decided to change the subject, not wanting to press the matter that must be so alien to Blair on him so soon. He’d bide his time, taking things one step at a time as any knowledgeable Jedi Master would. "What was your childhood like?"

"My childhood?" Blair harrumphed. "Well, I was born on Earth then moved to Peron until I was four... and my parents died. I can say I grew up a farmboy, because from age four on until my Academy days I was raised by my uncle and aunt on their farm on Nephele II."

"A farmboy, too, eh? I was born on Tatooine... or at least I think I was. But that was where I grew up... also with my uncle and aunt, both moisture farmers." Luke paused. "You have a wife, Chris?"

"No. Never. Wanted to, once. She was killed." Blair winced away the bad memories. "Do you?"

"Yeah." Luke couldn’t stop himself for smiling at the thought of his relationship with the now-Mara Jade Skywalker. At present—which was a relative term, as, if Threepio’s theory was to be trusted, they were some five million years in their future—she had taken the Jade Sabre shuttle he had built for her and was on a diplomatic mission on Rhommamool. "To a woman who once swore she would kill me."

"Heh. Quite the life you live, isn’t it?"

Luke shrugged. "Yeah, well... sometimes I wonder how I can deal with it all."

"Oh, you don’t fool me." It was all over the guy’s face. "You live for it, Luke. All these adventures you’ve had... pretty much having to save this New Republic of yours at least once a year... you can’t live without that kind of excitement." On many levels, Blair could relate.

Luke couldn’t hold back his smile. "Might be some truth to that..."

"You’re all right, Luke." Blair grinned back, standing. "I’d best be heading back now... check with your Chief of State before I turn in, maybe. Talk later? Have a couple beers, share some war stories, teach me a few Jedi tricks...?"

"Sure. You just leave my sister alone now, you hear?" Luke said, jokingly.

Blair recoiled, acting hurt that he would suggest such a thing. "Hey, relax, Skywalker. I know she’s married already!"

Luke chuckled, bidding Blair goodnight with a wave as the Commodore disappeared into the galley turbolift.

F-108A PANTHER 201
2680.332; 0915 HOURS (CST)

Colonel Jacob "Hawk" Manley switched to his wing’s channel. "Ready, guys?"

"Black Widow Three on your port wing, reporting in," Manley heard the young voice of Stiletto inside his helmet. "Ready for practice run. Weapon energy levels at a minimum."

Hawk checked his HUD and noticed another blue blip come up on his starboard side. "This is Black Widow Two, situation green, weapon energy levels: check." It was Stingray. "Let’s taste some blood."

"Black Widow Leader to Midway. We are ready for practice strike, repeat we are ready for practice. Tell those boys on the Defiance that we’re ready to clip their wings." Hawk confirmed his channel was being sent, and he waited for a reply.

A few moments passed. Too many moments, Hawk thought. The three Panther fighters that made up his entire wing for this practice run cruised lazily in space, thirty thousand clicks off the Midway’s stern. A massive blue cloud-like nebula was right on top of their position, emitting a blue luminescence that filled Hawk’s cramped cockpit, nearly blinding him. He recalibrated his light intensity gauge, and waited a long while. The Midway’s communications signal must be trying to make its way through that mighty blue bastard. "I hate practice runs!" Hawk proclaimed, "Why couldn’t we just do this in the simulator?"

Stingray’s voice punched into the Colonel’s helmet, "Black Widow Leader, I checked out this nebula before now. It shouldn’t be doing a thing to our communications. Likely, we are being jammed on the Midway’s channel."

Hawk’s eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Jammed? What the fuck could be jamming us?"

Black Widow Leader had spoken all to soon, for three X-wings with opening S-foils punched out of the cloudy nebula with full guns blazing. Four low-powered lasers lanced out, cutting into Hawk’s shields all before he had time to react.

"The freaking bastards pulled a blind man on us! Break and attack!" Hawk commanded. He kicked his Panther into full thrust, keying in his afterburners. He swung himself around by autosliding, trying to line himself up on the nearest X-wing. He targeted a rediped one that appeared to be the leader due to its maneuvers and flight formation. That’s probably Wedge...

T-65C A2 INCOM X-WING AA-301
0924 HOURS (CST)

General Wedge Antilles checked his rear HUD, estimating that he was lined up in Hawk’s sights. With his assumption, he yawed up on his starboard side, narrowly missing a full salvo of tachyon and ion fire.

The General checked his fore and aft HUDs again, noticing that Commander Horn and Lieutenant Darklighter were on his six. Corran took a few bad hits from Stingray, and it showed by his lack of port shields and armor.

Gavin Darklighter was on Stiletto’s tail. Her Panther had taken a massive beating by the blitzkrieg off the nebula, indicated by the harmless scorch marks on her underbelly.

Good work, kid, Wedge thought. It was a shame though that Gavin wasn’t a kid anymore, but rather a thirty-five year old veteran fighter jock. Quite different, Wedge realized, from the sixteen year-old he had first seen less than two decades before bent on upholding the Darklighter Fighter Jock name. How times change, and people along with them.

Wedge had to smile. This was kind of fun.

F-108A PANTHER 201
0929 HOURS (CST)

Hawk watched Stingray pull off from his battle with Corran sharply and form on his wing. The two double-teamed Wedge, and his fate was sealed. Letting out curses left and right, Antilles tried to evade the two pursuing fighters’ fire. The simulated damage to Antilles’ starfighter was simply too much, though. He pitched and yawed with futility. In the end his engines lost their red glow, shutting off. Hawk swung down upon his target, pelting it with fire for good measure.

In a way, he’s gloating.

Rogue Three and Rogue Two took their leader’s revenge by striking across the starboard sides of Stingray and Hawk.

"Wingman to Wing Leader: Gavin made Stiletto suck vacuum. She’s heading back to base."

"Remind me to buy Wedge a drink," Hawk groaned. "That nebula maneuver was so damn old I never expected they would use it. I also hadn’t realized they could jam us." Hawk swung his fighter lazily around to line up on the two remaining X-wings. He switched his channel so he could taunt them. "Can anyone say... target practice?" He looked up from his communications panel, and was surprised to see no enemy in front of him. All that was remaining beside Stingray and him was the ominous cloud-like nebula.

F-108A PANTHER 202
0935 HOURS (CST)

"Don’t tell me they’re using it again!" Stingray moaned. Following Hawk, he pushed into the cloudy nebula. Belts of mist and empty vacuum floated all around them. Soon they were deep enough in the mist of particles that they lost eighty percent of their sensor data. Stingray could barely read Hawk on his HUD, his IFF blinking on and off.

"What the f... so... shooting at...!" Black Widow Leader’s signal was almost static in his headset. "Shie... ds down t... noth..., thi... looks like...!" Hawk’s IFF blinked off completely.

"I freaking hate practice runs!" Stingray yelled to himself. Something was out there, definitely. Whether this was all part of the Midway’s plan or not, he could barely tell. Expect the unexpected, they always say.

He powered down his engines to cruising speed, afterburning through the cloudy expanse. Stingray kept one eye on his HUD, and one out in the murky depths of the nebula. Either it was paranoia or his quick eye, because he noticed brief shadows moving around him. The ever-silent nebula surrounded him, the only sounds being the hum of his engines and his own heavy breathing.

With shock, he listened as a voice, Blair’s voice, shouted over the enemy’s open channel, "Target practice!" He barely had time to react, for what must have been three full salvos of laser fire rained down upon the lone Confederation fighter. All systems showing red, Stingray was out of the game.

Speak of the devil. A nearing IFF signal showed up on his MFD scopes, showing it to be an E-wing piloted by none other than...

Than Maverick himself.

Blair swarmed around the beaten Stingray, proud of his stealthy "kill." "Maverick to Stingray: surprised?"

"Definitely not what I expected," a disgruntled voice answered. "I thought Confed clipped your wings when you transferred to Fleet. But that’s beside the point! You’re in a Republic fighter!"

Blair smiled, looking at his cockpit interface. Every system on the E-wing appeared modular, a great feature when upgrading and repairing entire wings of starfighters. The computer system and controls appeared simple also: shield modulation, throttle, a 3-D HUD... even weapons control was simple. "Admiral Ackbar recommended we learn to use these fighters as well as them using to learn ours, so I elected myself to take one around the block.

"A few upgrades have been issued to all the Republic fighters on the Defiance as well. Afterburners, some of our weaponry and missiles... If we adopt some of each other’s technology, I figure it’ll bring up us to a technological level a couple hundred years ahead."

Stingray, always the pessimist, answered, "Just remember, Maverick, we got us an Empire we need to beat out there. A Galactic Empire. With all due respect, sir, anything else is second fucking fiddle."

"Can’t argue with you there," Blair agreed. "The longer they stand without due justice, the more wide-scale their New Order becomes." He contemplated his own words for a moment. Afterwards, the Commodore pulled out of the nebula, two X-wings and a Panther in formation. "And it’s only a matter of time before they make their move."

SUPER STAR DESTROYER VACILLATOR; BRIDGE
THE KILRAH SYSTEM, KUR’U’KHAG QUADRANT, KILRAH SECTOR
1035 HOURS (CST)

In his chair to the left of the command chair, Admiral Güthrig watched Grand Moff Jhediah handle the Kilrathi prince on the comm with carefully measured contempt.

"That’ll be quite enough, Chancellor Melek," Jhediah said. He clearly thought little of the Kilrathi noble. "You may have signed your Treaty of Torgo and Ko-bar Yagar, but the fact of the matter is that when the chips were down, your Assembly of Clans came apart at the seams. You know this. I know this. Your Murragh knows this."

Melek nar Kiranka’s holographic image threw his arms forward in desperation. "Nothing good will come of this, Grand Moff Jhediah. My people have lost enough already—you will be destroying the peace we have managed to establ—"

A slashing motion by Jhediah to the comm officer ended the transmission.

The youth, though concededly bright and ambitious, had little respect for diplomacy. Güthrig had heard of Jhediah’s boasts... how he claimed to have learned from the mistakes of the Imperial warlords of yore, that he was the best of all worlds... Güthrig saw him as he was: an arrogant, impatient child. What was worse, he was an arrogant, impatient child in command of the entire remainder of the Imperial Fleet.

Güthrig was too old a man to ever challenge Jhediah’s authority, least of all try to wrest him from his place of power. In spite of it all, he was willing to give Jhediah a chance.

"Admiral Güthrig," Jhediah addressed him as he took his command chair, turning it to face him. "There has been word from our General Stele. Best estimates from the Kilrathi shipyards place the completion of the necessary upgrades and new starfighter complements at just a little under one month. What do you think about that?"

"These Kilrathi are dedicated," Güthrig noted. "They just need direction."

Jhediah nodded in agreement. "Direction I am only too happy to give to them."

"Am I to understand that we will be beginning our campaign at the soonest opportunity...?"

"Oh, yes." An hauntingly empty smile played across Jhediah’s lips. "The soonest opportunity."

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