"No reason, I guess. It made me happy, though. You can do with that information as you like." She stood and headed for the curtain separating them from the rest of the room. "You’d better lay back and get some rest." With a swing of the curtain, she was gone.

Wedge gingerly lowered himself until he lay stretched on the settee. He didn’t think the woman would turn him in, but it was still best not to implicate her in anything. So, one of us made it out. I wonder if he’s told the others yet?

- - - - - - - - -

Her first thought was flight, but as she stood, Wes saw her and crossed the floor. He reached out and she didn’t resist, stepping into the hug and letting him hold her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

Soral finally pulled away and someone else stepped up to pat her on the shoulder and take Wes’ hand. Turning about, she saw a sea of people, all with identical grief-stricken faces, making gestures of comfort and reassurance to each other. Ducking between the bodies, the girl retreated from the mass into the relative quiet of the corridor.

Leaning against the bulkhead, Soral was surprised to note that she was breathing heavily and her stomach hurt as though she’d been punched. A man turned into the hallway, an officer, and she straightened immediately and threw him a brief salute. He returned it and continued down the hall, but Soral remained locked upright, fearing that if she allowed her body to relax, her emotions would as well.

Her heels clacked against the metal floor, the staccato noise keeping time with her heart as she fled to her bunk. Voices rattled around inside her head, Wedge’s, Janson’s, her own raised in anger and betrayal.

How could you leave me, Wedge? I was ready, finally ready to be with someone, be with you and you’re gone and all that’s left is my heart... gods, my heart is sick without you. I wanted to love you...

Tears threatened to overwhelm her and Soral bit down on her hand, practically running through the halls, praying that she wouldn’t meet anyone along the way. Her mind began to organize itself into familiar lines again, detachment eclipsing her momentary madness. The pressure behind her eyes gave way as cold reasoning pushed itself forward.

What on Imperial Center was she doing? Running from bad news... not all that bad, really, just another pilot dead. A good pilot, to be sure, and one who’d be missed, but it was really nothing to her.

So we had a fling, it happens to everyone and it would have burned out soon anyway. At least now there’s no messy good-byes, no blame, no tears...

Wedge is dead. Janson will be soon, and Nien, and Hobbie. Don’t you ever forget that, Soral. They are nothing to you but animated corpses.

- - - - - - - - - -

Slight pressure on his ribs, and Wedge yelped and struggled to sit up, reaching for the blaster that wasn’t on his belt. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t wearing a belt. What the...?

"Relax, kid. Make another noise like that and the boss’ll hear you." A huge human male, black hair cut very short, sat beside him, prodding his ribs. He held a length of plastfabric, the semi-stiff product used to wrap broken limbs until the injured party could reach a bacta tank.

Wedge held his breath as another stubby finger poked him, prompting a fresh wave of pain. The man put a muscular arm around Wedge’s shoulder and leaned him forward.

"You gotta take that shirt off. I know it hurts to move, but I have to get this plastfab on your ribs."

Grimacing, Wedge obediently raised his arms and let the man pull his shirt off. As he watched the white binding encompass his chest, he risked a quiet question.

"Who are you?"

"Name’s Mesle. Ilese brought me here." Wedge saw the stripper with whom he’d spoken standing off to the side. "She said you’re a Rebel."

The last of the plastfabric was tightly tucked in, and Mesle handed Wedge a metal flask before the smaller man could speak. "Drink this."

The liquid had a slight medicinal flavor to it, and Wedge wrinkled his nose.

"It’s some of our local brew mixed in with bacta," the man explained, grinning at Wedge’s expression. "You can’t go to a medcenter, so it’s the best we can do."

The Corellian nodded and began to speak, but Mesle interrupted him again. "You want to deny that you’re a Rebel?" Wedge stared at him, unsure of what to say. "’Cause you sure look like the holo-warrants for Wedge Antilles."

"Sithspit." Wedge couldn’t hold back the curse. They were healing him so they could turn him over to the authorities.

Mesle chuckled, and Ilese stepped forward. "We’re looking for a fast transport," she murmured, and Wedge stiffened. "We’ll pay good for it."

"I don’t haul strangers," Wedge croaked, disbelieving.

"The Force demands it," she replied.

"So we do have a cell here." Wedge took another sip of the bacta mixture and shook his head. "And I fell right into it."

"The Force works in mysterious ways, my friend." Mesle slapped him on the shoulder and Wedge winced.

"Now that you’ve had a good rest, maybe you’ll be up to planning your escape." Ilese held out her hand, and Wedge stood cautiously.

"I’d really be up for some dinner."

"Breakfast, you mean," the large man opened the door that Wedge had fallen into. Bright sunlight streamed into the room. "It’s a new day."

- - - - - - - -

The X-Wing canopy opened and Soral jumped down, hitting the floor with a force that shot needles up her legs. She wanted to head straight for her bunk, but she knew she’d have to face the music sooner or later.

Sure enough, Commander Rossi Tedeschi was stalking toward her like a sand panther with its prey in sight. She stood at attention and held her salute until he returned it.

"What the Sith-hell was that, Zurek?" He wasted no time getting right to the point.

"To which maneuver do you refer, exactly, sir?"

"To that maneuver that left your wingmate unprotected and put you in the way of three TIEs."

Soral resisted the urge to shrug. "My wingmate was unable to keep up with me, sir. I simply took on both our burdens."

The commander rocked back on his heels, his face drawn into tight, angry lines. "My office, Flight Officer Zurek. Now."

"Yes, sir."

Tedeschi didn’t look back as she followed him through the corridor and into his tiny office. Soral stood at ease in front of the desk as he sat, drumming his fingers on a datapad.

"At ease, Zurek."

Soral raised an eyebrow and didn’t move. Tedeschi’s face grew red, and when he spoke, his voice was dangerously low.

"We need good pilots. That’s the only reason you’re not pulling kitchen duty for the next three months."

"Yes sir."

"Shut up." His eyes locked with hers. "Just when we expected to go into hyperspace, you decide to go back for more blood? You put yourself, your wingmate, and your squadron at risk by breaking formation. If you ever, ever disobey orders again, the TIEs won’t have a chance to get you. I’ll vape you myself."

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"I’ve already transmitted the astromech data of the battle to General Madine, and requested his advice as to disciplinary measures." The Commander reached into his desk. "He suggested that I admonish you severely, then continue with the plans we made before this fiasco..."

"Fiasco!" Soral burst out. "Sir, we vaped every last TIE. Whether you agree with my..."

"Attention."

Breathing heavily, Soral slowly pulled her body upright, focusing on the wall behind her superior officer.

"I want you to look at the people in your squadron, Zurek, and know that you almost got them killed. I don’t think you deserve this," he tossed a plastifilm package at her, "but the General thinks that your earlier performances outweigh this one."

He stood and gestured to the door. "You’re being transferred to Commander Ario’s squadron. I don’t want to hear from you for a good long time. If you see me in the hangar, you’d better turn the other way. You will not be flying with me again until I can stand the sight of you. Dismissed."

She fled, not even looking down at the package in her hand until she reached her bunk. Ayran looked up as Soral barged in, startled by her bunkmate’s white face and clenched hands.

"What’s going on?" Soral shook her head and sat down on her bed, opening her hand to see the Lieutenant’s insignia resting on her palm.

- - - - - - - - - -

"We’re a small resistance movement, but we’re growing." Ilese informed Wedge as she led him through the hangar. Fed, washed, and bandaged, he now walked steadily enough to avoid attention. Breathing was still a chore, but he managed not to wince every time his lungs expanded.

Several commercial craft were docked in the hangar, as well as two Lambda-class shuttles. There were no guards, though, indicating that this was a professional’s hangar, rather than a military one. Mesle stood near one of the smaller ships, carefully checking the hull for tracking devices.

"I’ve done the interior already," he said as they got within earshot.

Wedge nodded and took the datacard that Mesle held out to him. "This must go directly to General Cracken," the large man told him. "It contains intercepted transmissions that we believe may have come from the Millenium Falcon. I hope it will help you locate Princess Leia."

The Corellian looked down at the datapad and swallowed hard, then extended his hand first to Ilese, then to Mesle. "I can’t thank you enough. If I didn’t believe in the Force before, I certainly do now." His ribs complained a bit as he ascended the boarding ramp, but it was a far cry from the excruciating pain he’d felt earlier. He might get by with just a short off-duty rest, rather than a complete bacta bath.

Wedge went through a brief pre-flight check and reviewed the specifics of the ship. Registered under a false name, to a non-existent captain, and Mesle had assured him that it was frequently used for legitimate shipping purposes. The local government was used to seeing it out and about and wouldn’t question him to closely.

Easing himself into the captain’s chair, Wedge fired up the engines and programmed his first jump.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Well, look at you!" Janson whistled as he ducked underneath her X-Wing.

"Hello, Janson." Soral kept her voice neutral.

"I heard that Tedeschi was pretty steamed at you after that last battle. I guess not, though, huh?"

Soral turned to her friend, no-- her fellow pilot-- and gave him a cold smile. "If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Janson, I really have to look over the repairs to my fighter."

His eyes narrowed. "Why are you turning weird all of a sudden?"

"I’m not being weird; I’m trying to do my job. Goodbye."

"Yes ma’am, Lieutenant." He threw her a stiff salute and turned away, shaking his head.

The hangar was mostly about half-full, a patrol had just gone out and the old one had mostly dispersed. Some of the pilots stood about with the mechanics, complaining of sluggish responses or other problems. Soral had taken the earliest patrol and was now checking the minor repairs that Cubber made to her X-Wing after she’d returned.

Not that she doubted Cubber’s ability, and not that she’d recognize a mistake if she saw one. She just needed something to do. A dull spot on the fuselage got a vigorous rubbing, then she rummaged about in her cargo hold to see if she’d left anything in it. Nothing.

A group of officers entered the hangar, their expressions a curious combination of delight and concern. Soral recognized General Madine, General Cracken, Commander Tedeschi... she scooted behind her fighter as he walked by, then peered out to see what they were doing.

One of the hangar personnel had a glow rod and was waving a small cargo ship inside. The little craft bumped to an ungraceful stop, and the officers converged around it. Soral watched curiously, wondering who in the galaxy was important enough to be allowed to land right in the middle of the hangar. The boarding ramp extended down, and a pair of legs started unsteadily down. The pilot ducked under the low doorway, and Soral caught a glimpse of silky brown hair and a pale, handsome face.

General Madine stepped forward to catch the pilot as he stumbled, and an ear-splitting, joyous shout rocked the hangar.

"Wedge!" Wes Janson ran toward the ship, followed closely by Hobbie and Tycho. The short, merry-faced pilot slid his arm around the injured Corellian’s waist, holding him steady.

Then a swarm of people descended on the group, and a medtech helped Wedge onto a gurney. Her mind reeling, wanting to follow and wanting to flee, Soral chose the latter.

The girl sat alone in her quarters, staring at data from the last patrol. She knew all the words, but she couldn’t make them form intelligible statements. The last few days had been a blur to her. Soral wandered robotically through her regular routine, trying to twist her mind around the shock of Wedge’s return. He was still in the medcenter, she supposed; that’s where he’d gone at first and no one had told her that he’d been released.

At times her heart would leap with joy, and she had to force herself not to go running down the halls to see him. Other times, her renewed devotion to solitude reminded her that getting close to Wedge could only hurt in the end.

Soral buried her face in her hands, exhausted from running the arguments over and over in her head. She jumped when her door chime sounded and turned on the intercom.

"Who is it?"

"It’s Wedge." He paused as she sat in shocked silence. "Can I come in?"

Flustered, Soral opened the door and stood blocking the entrance, ignoring the jolt that wracked her heart. He looked so handsome. "My roommate..."

Wedge frowned slightly. "She’s on duty for another three hours. I checked the roster." He glanced back down the hall, then reached forward to cup her cheek in his hand.

Soral took a step back. "Captain, I don’t..."

He moved forward and silenced her with a kiss. His lips moved against hers gently but insistently, demanding surrender. Soral tried not to respond, but she couldn’t ignore the flames licking at the pit of her stomach.

Wedge pushed her farther into the room, then turned back and shut the door. His eyes were dark and his voice was throaty. "I missed you."

"I... I’m glad you’re well."

"Yeah," he ran his hand across his stomach. "Good as new. Hey, what’s this?"

His fingers brushed the new rank insignia and a proud smile covered his face. "Good job, Lieutenant. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Wedge." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he lifted her chin. "You’re not getting formal on me again, are you?" His mouth was softer this time, sweeter, but Soral was prepared for it and pulled away.

"What’s wrong?" He sounded just a tad irritated and Soral gathered her courage.

"Captain," his eyes narrowed, "I’ve decided that it’s very bad taste for us to... for us to see each other. The way we do. Did."

"Oh." He looked surprised, too confused to be hurt yet. "Because of the rank thing?"

"No." Soral struggled to find her core of hatefulness. "When I slept with you the first time, it was only because I was upset. There was no more to it."

Wedge looked away. "And after that?"

She sighed. Better to hurt him and make him leave quickly than have a long, drawn-out discussion. "You were good. And I needed... something. Something to take my mind off all this."

His voice was tight. "I think you’re lying."

"Think what you like, Captain." Soral swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. "I enjoyed you very much, but you really ought to go now."

He showed no signs of moving, so she walked back to the door and opened it. "I simply don’t need you anymore," she shrugged helplessly.

That broke his paralysis. Wedge straightened his shoulders and glared at her. As he walked out the door, he turned to look her in the eye.

"You really are a cold bitch."

Finis