The New Jedi Order: A Vision of Confluence

PART V: THREE IS COMPANY

XV: Celebrity

Like the rest of Ralroost, the turbolifts sparkled. Every surface was buffed and polished, every transparisteel display free of digitprints and general accumulations of wear and tear that every haptic surface accumulated. Even though the form of the warship was utilitarian-strikingly so compared to the gentle curves and off-tone colors he knew best from Mon Calamari designs- the Bothan assault cruiser was proud of its austerity. It was a new generation sort of thing; the more of these assault cruisers came out of Bothawui, the more they became the norm. A shift in the character of the Navy he once knew, perhaps.

Now Rogue Squadron called one home, instead of the MC-series they had almost always operated out of. It was good to see, Wedge Antilles considered, eying a few of the crew as they entered and exited the lift as it descended from command toward the hangar. Everyone was young and fresh and their heads were in it. When he’d retired, it had been because he’d hoped the New Republic was ready to move along with the new generation. It seemed he hadn’t been mistaken.

The doors slid open, as quiet as could be and he’d barely stepped out when a loud gasp rang through the corridor, shortly followed by a breathless

“General Antilles?!”

Briefly closing his eyes, Wedge took a bracing breath and turned in time to see a…middle aged man, well-muscled and with a neatly trimmed goatee and shaved head nearly running down the corridor toward him, dodging past perplexed techs. Unfortunately, even as the thought occurred to him, he saw the turbolift had already departed. It was worth pressing the call button. Pressing it twice.

“I can’t believe it! I heard you were on board - I never imagined that I would get to meet you -” The man skidded to a halt, thrusting out a datapad and blinking rapidly, as if to hold back tears from entirely dry eyes.

“Face.” Wedge acknowledged. The commander of Wraith Squadron, once part of the starfighter corps, now long since an intelligence apparatus, beamed at Wedge even as he sucked in a dramatic gasp.

“You know my name? Oh, my wife won’t believe it, if only she could’ve been here too, you’ll sign this won’t you? Just so I can prove to her I met the legendary-”

It was precisely because Wedge knew the Colonel invading his personal space that he sighed, taking the datapad and quickly scrawling his signature down, because otherwise the other man wouldn’t let up and the stares they were attracting were quite enough.

Garik Loran, former holovid child-star and veteran intelligence operative took the datapad back, pressing it to his chest with an exaggerated wonder across his eponymous face. “I can’t believe it, Wedge Antilles himself, the Hero of the Rebellion, Wedge-”

“Face.”

“Right in front of me-”

“Face.”

Loran’s joy melted off his face and he threw up his hands.

“Can you blame me? You never call-”

“We spoke two weeks ago.”

“-you never write-”

“You want e-mails?”

“-I thought we were friends-”

“You’re definitely pushing that one right now.”

“Why did you go to Gavin first?” This time Loran was quieter, more subdued, oddly vulnerable. Wedge frowned; along with Tycho he’d reactivated his commission and from there had been working closely with Traest and Gavin in trying to counter the invaders. High Command wanted to get Wedge into his own command, but with the chaos of the nonstop offensives as well as Wedge’s own maneuverings, he’d managed to stay attached to Ralroost the whole time. Why Garik Loran would be bothered that he didn’t approach the Wraiths was beyond him, the Wraiths hadn’t been part of the starfighter corps in-

“Because Gavin isn’t you.” He replied and Face laughed, dropping the facade and growing more serious.

“Yeah, his loss. Anyway, speaking of the kid, how’s he been handling things? They’ve been on the front from the start.”

‘Kid’. That kid was married with kids and running the squadron that he’d joined as a fresh faced boy of sixteen. He was closer to forty than thirty now, that ‘kid’, and Wedge felt every parsec of his life.

“The Rogues are better than they’ve been in years. He’s got a good group together.”

“Including little Jaina.” She took to the role with the kind of skill and fixed dedication he’d expected. She flew better than pilots with hundreds if not thousands of hours on her. It was unfair to mix Solo and Skywalker that way, Wedge thought.

“That was…well, it was Gavin’s call to let her on board. She’s proven herself over and over again, just as good as her father.”

“And her uncle,” Face observed, mirroring Wedge’s own thoughts.

“And her uncle.” Wedge agreed. For a moment they were both quiet, making their way down toward the Ralroost’s hangars. Though Ralroost was off the line, as safe as could be imagined now that they’d entered the Coruscant system a few hours previous, the same air of action still permeated the decks.

Face grimaced and shook his head. “You’d think we’d be past signing kids up to fight.”

Wedge shrugged. He’d been through this soul-searching already, him and Tycho and Gavin together, when Jaina Solo had demanded a slot in Rogue Squadron. Tycho was the only one that had any leg to stand on with maybe denying the young Jedi Knight - at least he’d enlisted as an adult. Wedge and Gavin? Both were flying sorties before they’d even been out of puberty. With a record like that, it felt a little hypocritical to deny the young woman what her scores and her talent screamed she deserved. If Wedge wondered why Jaina had chosen Rogue Squadron over her role as a Jedi, well, Luke had taken his own stint in the cockpit and the Rebellion had been the better for it.

“Jaina’s no kid. She’s a Jedi Knight, even if we all remember her still learning to walk.”

“You do, maybe. Even holostars can’t be best friends with the heroes of our generation.”

Wedge cleared his throat, looking askance at the Colonel.

“I thought I was a Hero of the Rebellion? You know, the famous Wedge Antilles-”

“No, you’re just old,” Face assured him. “Besides, the luster wears off when I have to put up with you as my boss.”

“I thought you had begged me to stay in command of Wraith squadron.”

Face waved off the comment, shaking his head as they parted to either side of the hallway, letting two techs carrying a dead astromech squeeze past.

“That was old me. Well. Young me, now I’m old me.”

Bantering, catching up, discussing the war, they finally made it to Ralroost’s main hangar. Wedge paused a moment, taking in the scents and sights of active recovery, letting memories stir like silt in a stream as it washed over him. A flight of snubfighters was returning, each transiting the atmospheric barrier with dull pops, buoyed on repulsorlifts. Everywhere were carts racing about, alert lights flashing as droids dashed back and forth, astromechs whistled and warbled and pilots shouted across the bay to each other as canopies popped and engines steamed. His hands itched, feeling the well-worn molded plastic of an X-Wing’s stick between his fingers, the way it would kick and fight him as he spun maneuvers severe enough to make the snubfighter’s frame creak. He could hear Gate dispassionately beeping at him, synched up with a blaring target lock.

Face smothered a grin at Wedge’s expression, but he didn’t care. Flying was still in his blood, in his bones, even if it had been years since he jockeyed anything but a desk.

“I could still wipe the floor with you, Colonel Loran.”

“Sir, yes sir, of course sir,” Face laughed. “Maybe next time. I’m heading off too.”

“Actually, just what were you doing here on Ralroost? Last I heard, you and the Wraiths were still slamming your heads against the wall along the Perlemian.” Ralroost had been recalled, along with several other elements of the First Fleet, to Coruscant for R&R. Wedge had a sinking feeling he was about to finally get the command he’d been threatened with for the past several months, but he was glad to see that the Navy was seeing to rotations and respite for the men and women aboard. They had all been serving without complaint, but with the attrition rate of fighting the Yuuzhan Vong, everyone had their limits.

Also, it meant that Jaina could see her parents while on leave and Wedge could be a little bit more sure that Han wasn’t going to kill him.

“Oh, just tagging along for the ride. NRI wants me back on Coruscant along with Veers and Drayson. I meant to see Gavin too, but since I ran into you, that solved that problem.”

They wove through the crowd, navigating the orderly chaos with the reflexes and habit that only decades of service could instill. Markings on the returning flight picked them out as White Squadron, commanded by Serance Fviln. A solid officer, average pilot.

“You were looking for Gavin? Need me to pass along a message?”

“No no, like I said, problem solved now.”

Wedge shrugged, craning his neck to look around the packed hangar, picking out where the X-Wing he’d be taking down to the capital was being checked over. Traest had booked him a shuttle, but Wedge found a snubfighter that was due an overhaul of its hyperdrive and bumped the pilot running it down. If his fears were right, and he knew in his gut they were, he’d be in the chair of a task force before the end of the week and at least for the short hop down to the surface, he could pretend he could just boost off into hyperspace and tell High Command where to shove it.

He’d retired for a reason.

Then he ran Face’s words through his head again and frowned.

“What do you mean, problem solved?”

Face shrugged, looking as innocent as could be.

“Well, it usually means that a person fixed whatever issue they had. Basic. I could call over a protocol droid. Hey, have you heard about ‘Imperials’?”

“Imperials? Like a Galactic Empire? No, never heard of something like that,” Wedge paced along the side of the snubfighter, taking his own visual inspection of the craft. Carbon scoring along its flanks, melted durasteel splotches in the engine casings. A big crater where the astromech socket was and it looked like the foils wouldn’t be able to separate. Definite ‘skipper damage and it was obvious why the hyperdrive was out. Probably lost shields too, with where the scars were.

Face leaned against the side of the snubfighter, folding his arms over his chest as Wedge knelt to check underneath. Repulsorlifts looked fine enough, all the damage was to the dorsal surfaces. Iella probably wouldn’t appreciate it if Wedge arrowed into the cityscape at supersonic speeds. He wouldn’t really either, even with the thought of being stuck in the command chair of a Star Destroyer again had the idea looking a bit more rosy.

“No, not Imperials, Imperials. Not the Empire, the Imperium.”

Wedge pulled himself back to his feet, steadfastly ignoring the way his left knee creaked.

“Unless you mean Second or Ssi-ruuvi, I haven’t.” He pointedly stared at the datapad held loose in Face’s hand, powered off. “What did I sign?”

“A gift for my wife,” Face said offhand. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard, then. I can’t say anything else then, if you’re not read-in. I was going to get your opinion, but oh well. NRI, right?”

“You are NRI. And Face, what did you have me sign?”

Face threw up his hands, shoving off from the snubfighter.

“It was a requisition form! A couple of X-wings, that’s all, nothing to worry about.” Faster, and under his breath, as he peered around the hangar and everywhere not toward Wedge, Face continued: “And a transfer order to put most of Wraith Squadron under Gavin’s command that’s all.”

Wedge pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Try not to get yourself killed with whatever you’re about to go do. Wes and I still have dibs on that.”

The Colonel’s smile was as winning and fake as the holovid persona he grew up as.