Solid Ground 

by Katie Zajdel
thumper [a] coronasquadron.com

All characters are mine, but the universe and all its toys belong to Lucasfilm. Also, many, many thanks go out to all the people who have helped me with this story, my characters and writing in general. That list is longer than normal for this story in particular, and if I were to name everyone individually I’d soon reach my time limit and someone would come and drag me offstage, but you know who you are, and I’m most appreciative of your help.

“Thank you,” Tayer Fohl’zic said before closing the transmission. As his screen went blank he sighed bleakly and looked up at the Imperial officer standing out of sight of the transmitter and flanked by two stormtroopers.

The officer, a major, offered Fohl’zic a cold, ruthless smile. “Excellent performance. I almost believed it myself. Now you’d just better hope that your Rebel friends do.”

A few days later and light-years away aboard the Rebel Alliance’s Mon Calamari cruiser Crescent Star, Commander Quentell Mackin frowned at the computer console as the recorded conversation ended. “And who is this person again?”

“His name is Tayer Fohl’zic,” said Lieutenant Colonel Adaic Trainneer, a tall but scrawny redhead wearing the uniform of Rebellion Special Forces. “He’s the leader of a small industrial colony nearby that has secretly helped the Rebellion in the past by providing us with trilithide. That’s expensive and hard to come by, as you know, and also very useful in several different applications. It’s no wonder that the Imperials are interested in it enough to send in some troops.”

When Mackin and the other officers in the briefing room nodded thoughtfully, taking everything in, Trainneer continued, “We’ve been authorized to go assist, and I’ve already worked out a preliminary plan with Captain Tralkett.” He nodded once toward the blue-skinned Mon Calamari captain. “My Special Forces teams can handle the beginning phases, but we’ll need involvement from both the Army and Starfighter Command, which is why the rest of you are here. What I need from all of you is input on your aspects of the mission so we can make this work. If there are no questions up front, we can get started.”

The room’s walls, bland except for a prominent painting of the emblems of both fighter squadrons stationed on Crescent Star, had seen a lot. They had been witness to the plannings of many missions, both wonderful victories and heartbreaking defeats, not to mention promotions and award ceremonies as well as preparations for the next memorial service. They had heard countless jokes, countless taunts, ringing laughter and somber silence.

The scene the walls beheld now was not a new one: in fact, it happened every day at 1400 hours with some variations and exceptions. The fighter pilots of Corona Squadron were scattered across the room in their usual seating arrangement, having noisy yet private discussions amongst themselves with an occasional shout to get someone else’s attention. Normally the discussions wouldn’t have lasted this long, but for some reason both their commander and executive officer had not yet arrived to brief them, so there was no reason to stop.

Though some of the pilots were getting impatient, the atmosphere was relaxed overall. One large contributor to this was their clothing: most were suited up in their baggy, comfortable general duty uniforms. The remaining handful that had just come back from patrol were still in their bright orange flightsuits, which were just as relaxing to wear but much less easy on the eyes. The pilots didn’t seem particularly perturbed by the hard chairs, either due to their comfortable clothing making up for it or due to how accustomed they were to living with little and simply having to make do with it.

A prime example of that was their roster. The Coronas were not immune to the Rebel pilot shortage in the time following the Battle of Yavin: even now they only had ten pilots and long-standing promises from Starfighter Command to get them two more “as soon as they could.” They had been told that for so long now that the Coronas and the pilots of Quake Squadron, the Y-wing squadron stationed on Crescent Star with the Coronas, had created a pool where the pilots had placed bets on the month (first half or last half) and year that Command would finally fulfill its promise. Everyone had wanted to get in on it, and the amount of money up for grabs would definitely make the eventual winner a very happy person. But even without a full squadron, they had learned to get by.

The Coronas were also adept at making the most of their precious little free time, and that included the extra few minutes unexpectedly being given to them while they waited for their leaders. The eight pilots currently in the room continued waiting and talking, their lack of numbers not causing a lack of noise. Occasional speculations about the reason for their superiors’ tardiness were scattered in between the random discussions, but no one knew the reason why they were late.

Finally, their collective thoughts were voiced by the lone Rodian in the squadron, though he was one of the more impatient ones who only saw the time he was losing, not the time he was gaining. “This is ridiculous,” said Flight Officer Kalre Unatel as he looked at his chrono for the fifth time in as many minutes. “It’s 1415 hours. They’ve never been fifteen minutes late before. I thought this was supposed to be a very important briefing. Are they coming?”

It was asked half-rhetorically, but he was given an answer anyway. On the other side of the small room Flight Officer Chryse Cerac, or CC for short, just shrugged her shoulders, not overly concerned. “Maybe they forgot about it.”

The other female human pilot, Lieutenant Ikoa Fyndcap, shook her head; the action caused her soft brown hair to swat gently across her face. “Both Mack and Snubber? That’s hardly likely. They never forget anything like this.”

“Or the pranks Quiver wishes they’d forget.” CC threw a mischievous smirk in the direction of the man sitting beside her, who feigned complete and utter innocence, then she turned back to the rest of the squadron around her. “So...what? Should we try comming one of them? What if they’re in the middle of something more important?”

Erasing his innocent expression, the tall, lanky man sitting next to CC sighed and rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you guys. Are all of you that desperate for a briefing? Here, I’ll give you a briefing.” True to his word, Flight Officer Hentil “Quiver” Yanilr stood up and walked to the front of the room beside the holoprojector.

The other Coronas quieted and watched curiously from their seats as Quiver turned to face them. Just as Commander Mackin did each time, Quiver quickly counted the pilots, cleared his throat and began. “Okay, Coronas, let’s get started,” he said in a decent imitation of Mackin’s accent. “Mack and Snubber will be required to contribute to the Squadron Pot for being late, at the going rate of two credits for each minute they’re overdue.”

Some of the Coronas snickered at his performance. Quiver mimicked Mackin’s mannerisms again as he loosely crossed his arms and sighed quietly yet pointedly, waiting for them to quiet down. That only made them laugh harder.

Finally Quiver continued in a serious tone, forgetting about the accent, “Our mission is a difficult one and will require us all to be on top of our game.” He quickly called up a   holoprojection of Coruscant on the front table. “Our destination: Coruscant, or Imperial Center. Former capital of the Republic, current capital of the Empire. Defense stations, fighter patrols and planetary shielding will all have to be dealt with or avoided to reach our primary target: The Swordcat’s Lair, home of the best nerf steaks this side of Corellia. Our objective: take-out.”

Now the Coronas could sense where Quiver was going with all this, and they were more than willing to play along and be entertained while waiting for their CO and XO. The mock gasp coming from them was done so perfectly in unison that an outsider would have been convinced the whole thing was scripted beforehand. Before the gasp and associated murmurings had completely died out, Quiver’s wingman, Flight Officer Darin “Thumper” Stanic, opened his eyes wide and said, “But that’s a suicide mission! We’ll never make it!”

“We have to try, though, Thumper. The future of the entire Rebellion is at stake!” Quiver said with conviction.

“I don’t take orders from someone who makes such bad puns!” CC joined in.

“You have no choice. We need everyone, and this mission must succeed.”

“So what’s the plan for getting on-planet then?” Lieutenant Jayke Forsgren, better known as Chopper, asked in a skeptical tone. The solidly-built human with a black crew cut sat back and crossed his arms as if to defy the very notion that this mission could possibly work.

Quiver eagerly accepted the challenge. “Well,” he said reasonably, “the first step is to steal a Star Destroyer. Any class will do, though I’m partial to the Victories myself. Slurry, Chopper and Snubber will be in charge of this. Tell Snubber when he gets here.”

Enjoying the game, the pilots fidgeted and looked dubiously at each other. The exception was Slurry, who nodded and said in a thick accent that showed Basic was not his first language, “Star received reports of those Star Destroyers three a time short ago. Maybe one is nearby still, and we can get it before it moves away far too.” His real name was Lieutenant Tictintco Tnis, but since none of the pilots could easily pronounce that mouthful they always called him Slurry. He was a Bilgana, a short humanoid species with four arms, four eyes, charcoal-colored skin, fingers that more closely resembled talons and knees that bent the “wrong” way. Needless to say, out of all the pilots in the squadron it was Slurry’s flightsuit and ejection seat that had needed the most modifications to accommodate his physiology.

“That’s a really good place to start. You guys can work out all the details, and I want a preliminary report by 1700,” said Quiver before he addressed the whole squadron again. “Once we steal the SD, if it comes with a crew then CC and I will get them to defect and help us.”

CC interrupted with a small laugh. “Oh, that’s easy,” she teased. “All we have to do is introduce you to them and say you’re joining the Imperials. They’ll be so afraid that they might be assigned to the same ship as you that they’ll join the Rebellion in an instant!”

Quiver just smirked back, his enjoyment of the banter all too obvious. “Yes, my mere presence does seem to influence vast numbers of people for the better, doesn’t it? But back to the mission. If there is no crew, we’ll have to figure out a way to fly it on our own.”

Ikoa spoke up. “We can temporarily reprogram our astromechs to help run the ship. Each of them could probably do the jobs of a few hundred crewmen.”

Nodding in approval, Quiver said, “Great idea. You and Kalre start on the program just in case there’s no crew. Darin, get as many droids as possible, astromech and otherwise, to agree to help.”

“What makes you think the droids will listen to me?” Darin asked in confusion.

“Because Botch is near the top of the pecking order, and he listens to you. Usually.”

 “That’s my point. What if he doesn’t?”

“Make it work. Threaten that astromech of yours with a memory-wipe if you have to. Where was I? Oh, yeah. We now have a Star Destroyer to fly to Coruscant and we’ll use that to blend in.” Quiver now turned his attention to Lieutenant Shaun Pellicer, sometimes called Scoop, who was a former Imperial TIE pilot. “Scoop, you’ll pretend to be the captain because you had that whole ‘Imperial thing’ going. Mack and whoever else is available will be the bridge crew. You’ll have to talk us through their defenses using whatever secret language Imperials speak to each other.”

If Pellicer was upset at still being associated with the Imperials even after being a Rebel since the destruction of Alderaan a year ago, he didn’t show it. Years of military training and a lifetime of belonging to a military family gave him a strong internal discipline reflected externally in his dark brown regulation crew cut and self-assured posture. He merely replied, “I’m fluent in over ten million forms of Imperial dialects. I’ll get you through. Lesson one: all Imperial transmissions must contain the phrases ‘Rebel scum’ or ‘for the glory of the Empire.’ See, I’m not rusty at all.”

“Good deal, Scoop. We’ll need that.” Quiver grinned briefly and then became serious again, though his sloppy blond crew cut and mischievous pale blue eyes made it hard for anyone to really take him seriously. “If we get into trouble we’ll have our X-wings in the hangar, and the Quakes can come too if they want. You’ll each have the choice of using your X-wing or the Destroyer’s big guns if we get into a firefight. If you use the SD’s guns, though, please remember to flag Rebel ships as ‘friendly’ beforehand.

“Once Lieutenant Pellicer gets us into orbit, we’ll take a shuttle to Quadrant 38 on-planet. The pilot of the shuttle will be whoever loses the most games of sabacc on the way to Coruscant, whoever is most sober at the time, or both if applicable. The rest of us will disguise ourselves as Vader, the Emperor, and various other well-known, high-ranking Imperial officers whom no one will dare ask for identification upon landing.”

The Coronas looked at each other and nodded like that idea made a lot of sense.

“From there, we go to the restaurant, get our delicious nerf steak take-out, and get out the way we came in. Any questions?”

Several pilots spoke up at once.

“Can I be the Emperor?”

“I’m not playing if we’re using Chopper’s sabacc deck.”

“Who’s bringing the drinks?”

“Wait, wait, wait, one at a time.” Quiver held his hands up, palms out, to stop the outburst of questions. “We will not be using Chopper’s sabacc deck. I know better than that.”

“Aww.” Chopper sounded crestfallen.

“Next,” Quiver continued, “whoever asked about being the Emperor can be the Emperor. I want to be a Grand Admiral, and Darin has to be Vader.”

“What? Why do I have to be Vader?”

“Because you already look like him. And you’re bringing the drinks, like always. Now, are there any other questions relating to planning this mission?”

“Yeah,” Commander Mackin said from the doorway in the back. “What if the restaurant runs out of Savor Sauce before you get there? You’re not planning on going during lunchtime and fighting the crowds, are you? And have you fully explored the option of delivery instead of take-out?”

The surprised pilots all turned around in their seats to see Commander Quentell Mackin, Lieutenant Steen “Snubber” Weas and a Special Forces officer standing in the back, their expressions quite unreadable. Normally Mackin might have found something like Quiver’s impromptu briefing somewhat amusing, but the timing was horrible with another officer there as well.

Quiver grinned sheepishly at them from the front of the room. “Just warming up the holoprojector for you, sir.” He turned off the image of Coruscant and quickly retreated to his seat between Darin and CC, who were having a very hard time stifling their laughter.

As the other pilots likewise tried to keep quiet and while the three officers walked to the front of the room, Quiver hissed to Darin, “Why didn’t you tell me they were there?”

Darin finally got enough control to whisper back, “I didn’t know they were there. My back’s to them–you were the one facing their direction. It’s nice to know my wingman’s blind. Besides, even if I had known, I wouldn’t have said anything because it’s a lot funnier this way.”

Quiver elbowed him in the side as Darin again struggled to gain control of his laughter. The second Darin did, though, he looked sidelong at Quiver and quietly imitated Darth Vader’s mechanized breathing. “Hhhhh hhhhh. Hhhhh hhhhh.”

Quiver reached over and put Darin in a headlock so calmly that no one seemed to notice besides CC, who just shook her head as if to hopelessly say, “Children.” Then she joined in the antics and discreetly elbowed Quiver in the side to get him to release Darin. He did so, throwing a mock hurt expression her way, and then as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch, they all stopped the horseplay and focused on Mackin at the front of the room.

It was just in time, because an instant later Mackin said,  “I apologize for being late. And I regret to inform you all that this mission does not involve coming away with nerf steaks.” The pilots, still getting over Quiver’s performance, moaned a bit and looked disappointed. Woeful comments likely would have followed if the other officer had not been there. Mackin allowed the Coronas to usually dispense with most military formalities within the confines of the squadron and keep things relaxed to some degree, but all that changed the minute someone was in trouble or when they were dealing with a higher-ranking officer who might not understand or appreciate the looser atmosphere.

A holoprojection of a pale green planet appeared a moment later, and the Special Forces officer began. “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Trainneer of Special Forces, and we will be working with you on this mission.” His expression suggested that he was no longer certain he was entirely happy with that idea. “This is the planet Lokinha. Its main feature of note is an industrial colony of the same name. The colony is relatively new, and the only population on the planet resides there. They have secretly supported the Rebellion in the past and are one of our main suppliers of trilithide, which is a scarce and very useful commodity.

“Very recently, the Imperials apparently took an interest in Lokinha. We received a transmission from the colony leader requesting assistance because the Imperials have sent a small force down to the planet to take control. The colony has yet to make enough of a profit to be able to afford adequate defensive equipment, so there is little they can do to resist.”

Chopper raised his hand, then spoke up. “What’s a ‘small force’? Sir.”

“The leader reported a couple of squads, maybe a platoon, of stormtroopers and a handful of TIEs.”

“That’s it?” Pellicer asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yes. Keep in mind that the colony is not yet very large, either in size or population, and has few defenses to speak of. A large amount of Imperial forces would not be needed to take or hold the planet. Proportionately, it’s the amount we’d expect.

“Continuing on, we are the nearest fleet, and so we are going in to help them. Commander?”

The tall redhead yielded the floor to Mackin, who pressed some buttons on the holoprojector. An instant later, the planet’s image was replaced with the image of a star whose surface was coated in an abnormal number of eruptions, with an occasional flare or prominence visible.

“We’re going in and we’re going in quick,” Mackin announced. “The system’s star currently has a large storm erupting on it, and that’s predicted to last for about another day or so. If we go in during that time, the storm will cover our tracks, so to speak, and should allow us to land undetected because it will scramble any sensors they have in orbit. That works both ways, however: we won’t be able to use our comm system or sensors while in the storm’s area of effect, at the very least until we drop below their magnetosphere and are shielded from it. Your X-wings’ windows and hull will be coated with a layer of radiation shielding to protect both it and you from the storm. There will be no performance lost, as this is only a thin, transparent film. The techs are applying it as we speak.

“Normally a scout team would be sent in first, but because of the limited window of opportunity available due to this solar storm we’ll all be going down at once. After we land, Special Forces will send a scout team on ahead to gather intel, and we’ll finalize mission plans once we have that information. Past Alliance missions to this planet have used a canyon to the east of the colony as a landing and hiding spot, and we’ll be using it too.

“So basically, this is what to expect in terms of scheduling: at 1630 hours today we’re leaving to escort the Special Forces teams to Lokinha. Our fighters and their shuttles are faster than the fleet, so we’ll be getting there in time to sneak in during the storm. After we arrive tonight we’ll head down to the canyon with the majority of the Special Forces commandos and wait while a small SF team goes into the colony to scout out the exact situation. They’ll report back in the morning, local time. Meanwhile, the fleet has to make a brief stopover elsewhere to pick up enough army forces to protect the colony afterward and then will be arriving there early tomorrow morning, local time, to join us. Once Star arrives and the team reports in, we’ll provide air support for the rest of the Special Forces members and troops going into the colony.”

Mackin changed the holoprojector’s display to a schematic showing different buildings and structures. “You’ll each get a basic map of the colony to study on the way there so you know what’s what when we’re flying cover. The west side of the colony has aqueducts going into the high hills to the west to provide the needed water pressure for their manufacturing equipment, so you’ll have to watch out for them if we end up over there. There are also several processing plants that use highly explosive materials, and if we get into a scuffle the Imperials may try to blow them up under you. Make sure you study up on the layout and the potential dangers. Are there any questions?”

The pilots were silent. Mackin glanced at Lt. Weas. “Did I forget anything?” When the XO simply shook his head, Mackin looked back at the rest of his pilots. “All right, then. Pack up and get ready to ship out at 1630.”

With scattered acknowledgments, the Coronas started heading out. As Quiver, Darin and CC stood, CC turned to them and said, “Yet another mission where I need a pet-sitter. I’d better go see if Kile can watch Hue until we get back. You guys want to meet at 1530 to get something to eat beforehand?”

“Sounds good,” Quiver said.

“Okay, see you then. Quiver, you’re treating us all to nerf steaks now because you really got me in the mood for one,” CC told him.

“Sure, go kill me a nerf and I’ll cook it right up.”

“Stop talking about nerf steaks! You’re making it worse,” Darin said as he brushed aside his blond bangs. “That sounds so good right now.”

“Hey, for all we know, the mess hall could be serving us nerf,” said Quiver. “They have to get mystery meat from somewhere, don’t they? Maybe we’ve been having nerf all along and don’t even know it.”

“I don’t want to know what part of the nerf they got that from then,” muttered Darin. “I can’t remember the last time I had real food.”

Quiver raised an eyebrow at CC as they walked out. “Does your wingman complain this much?”

She matched his deadpan. “Nope, just yours. And the poor guy’s got a lot to rightfully complain about if he’s stuck with you.”

“Want to trade?”

“No,” she answered. “Damage control. Quarantine. You’ve already messed up Darin, so he has to stay with you so it doesn’t spread. Don’t want you messing up Scoop or any of the others as well. Sorry, Thumper, but it’s up to you to contain the damage.”

“Oh, wonderful. Thanks,” Darin answered. “I feel like such a useful part of the squadron now.”

“Are you kidding? You don’t get much more useful than that,” CC said as she grinned at him with her beige eyes twinkling.

Darin woke up when he heard Quiver’s remark, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Corona Squadron and the two Special Forces shuttles had reached the canyon on Lokinha without incident, and after throwing camouflage netting over the ships as a precaution there was nothing for them to do but wait for the scout party to report back the next morning. Darin lay on his back on his X-wing’s port S-foil on top of the netting, with his feet pointing toward the laser cannon and his hands cushioning his head. When he opened his eyes, he looked up past the top of his head to see Quiver sitting on that S-foil’s engine and grinning in amusement in the darkness. Darin stretched his stiff muscles but made no move to get up. “Sorry, I was stargazing a little. I guess I drifted off.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Quiver replied. “Take all the sleep you can get. Though how you can sleep with no blanket when it’s this chilly out is beyond me.”

Darin smiled. “It’s nice out.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s nice out.”

Quiver shook his head hopelessly at his wingman and pulled his jacket closer around himself before looking up at the sky. “Nice night for stargazing, at least. Hopefully those clouds to the west will hold off.”

“Yeah.” Darin looked at the twinkling stars and then said a little more quietly, “My friends back home and I used to stargaze for hours. We’d single out a distant star and then argue about what system it was, though none of us honestly knew. And whenever a ship would go by overhead at night, we’d try to figure out what kind it was based on the lights alone, or the sound too if we could hear it. We were better at identifying ships than identifying stars.” The smaller pilot paused, and as he gazed up into the limitless universe he seemed to get even smaller. “Doesn’t it ever make you feel–I don’t know, homesick?”

Quiver’s voice betrayed his curiosity. “What do you mean?”

Darin shrugged a bit. “Being on a planet somewhere and looking up at the stars, but not seeing one familiar constellation. Not one. I mean, I–” He cut himself off. No reason to bother his friend with his never-ending homesickness again.

His squadmate looked back at the sky. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it.”

Still on his back, Darin picked up a datapad laying beside him and held it up to show Quiver under the light of the two moons. “I had Botch give me the starmaps as seen from this system.” From his droid socket in the X-wing, Darin’s astromech beeped contentedly at the recognition while Darin pointed to a group of dim stars not far above the northeastern canyon ridge. “You see that group of stars that’s kind of clustered together but spread out at the same time? Well, I guess it’s more of a small band, a little denser than the surrounding area. Just above the ridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the Corporate Sector. My planet’s in there somewhere. Redu–” Darin cut himself off again and absently chewed on his bottom lip. Just as abruptly, he changed the subject a bit. “And you know what? We’re so far away that I wasn’t even born yet when the light we’re seeing now left our sun and reflected off my homeworld to merge with and join the starlight out here, if that makes sense. There’s no reflection of me in it, just as there’s no reflection of the Empire’s occupation in it quite yet. I wish it had stayed that way...the occupation part, not the ‘me’ part. Given the distance, I doubt my parents are even part of that reflected light. Maybe I’m seeing my grandparents or great-grandparents as children right now. Makes you think.”

While Quiver enjoyed philosophical discussions, there were times, such as this one if the look on his face was any indication, when he felt that Darin gave that kind of stuff much more thought than any nineteen-year-old had a right to. Quiver looked at the group of stars Darin had pointed out and squinted, but apparently couldn’t see what Darin was seeing in the pinpoints of light. Darin’s home system, the Craci System, wasn’t even distinguishable from the other Corporate Sector stars at that distance.

Going back to the original topic, Quiver asked, “Where are the Core Worlds?”

The younger pilot pointed straight up at the zenith, where a pale, wavy band cut across the sky. “Up there. I think the area is generally brighter, but the moons are drowning it out.”

Quiver leaned back a bit and craned his head back to look up. “That’s where I’m from. Where specifically is Druzien?”

Darin pointed out the star, and Quiver grinned as he looked at it. “It’s a lot warmer in person. You know how many sunburns I got from that thing?”

“I can imagine. So what do they call someone from Druzien? Are you a Druzienian?” The smirk on Darin’s face was essentially audible in his tone of voice, replacing the contemplativeness from before.

Quiver deadpanned back, “It depends. If you’re bigger than me you can call me whatever you want.”

“And what should someone smaller than you call you?”

“Master.”

The two pilots laughed a bit, and Darin shook his head slightly. “I’ll remember that, master.”

Another voice spoke up nearby. “Quiver, for the last time, stop making your wingmen into your personal slaves. That’s not what they’re there for.”

Quiver snorted as the other pilot approached the X-wing. “Of course that’s what they’re there for, CC. What, do you think I’m going to go risk my life in battle if I haven’t gotten my X-wing spit-polished? Absolutely not!” He glared down at Darin. “Well? What are you lying around here for? I know you’re not done with it yet. Get back to work!”

Darin sat up and slowly spun around to face Quiver, hanging his head. “Yes, master. I’m sorry, master. It won’t happen again, master. I go now.”

“And stop groveling. I hate it when you grovel.”

“Yes, master. I’m sorry, master. It won’t happen again, master.”

By now CC had climbed up on Darin’s X-wing, and she playfully gave Quiver’s shoulder a shove. “You are such a bad influence on him. Poor guy, stuck with you.”

Darin tried to hide a grin at the comment. The third member of what Mackin called “The Trio,” CC was close to Quiver’s age, making them both a few years Darin’s senior, at least physically. Like Quiver, playing pranks was one of CC’s favorite past-times, and in addition to that she adored teasing Quiver, especially when it took the form of expressing sympathy for Darin at being assigned the position of Quiver’s wingman and being “stuck with him.” Not to be outdone, Quiver always fought back and usually fought back exceptionally well, and the nearly constant banter between those two was always amusing to listen to.

CC and Quiver had been good friends before Darin had even joined the squadron a year ago, and when he did, the group of two increased to a group of three, something that seemed to give Mackin more than a few grey hairs despite his relative youth. Darin was always more on the quiet side, which helped, but Quiver and CC considered it their solemn duty to make sure no one in the unit was ever too depressed or taking things more seriously than they should, and if they felt that playing a prank on their usual victim (Darin) or someone else was the best way to lighten the mood, then so be it.

Sitting down on the fighter’s wing between the two other pilots, CC brushed her black hair behind her shoulders and asked, “So what are you guys up to? Is anyone else bored just sitting around here waiting?”

“Darin was stargazing,” Quiver offered.

“Really?” CC turned to Darin, who still had his head bowed. “Find anything interesting?”

Darin didn’t say anything for a moment, then, still not looking up, meekly asked,  “Permission to speak, master?”

“Granted. Just don’t grovel,” Quiver replied.

Darin finally raised his head like nothing was out of the ordinary and said to CC, “I was just trying to find my home system.”

“Did you?”

“I found the Corporate Sector, which is as good as I can hope for at this distance.” He pointed out the stars.

A few seconds later, Quiver spoke up. “Okay, okay, CC has to look at my star now.” Quiver proudly pointed it out in turn.

CC looked at the speck of light high above and said to Quiver, “So you mean to tell me that that beautiful, shining star up there produced something as strange as you? Please say you’re the exception rather than the rule.”

Quiver grinned and replied, “Yup, one in a billion, that’s me.”

“Let’s hope so. Then there can’t be too many more of you running around out here. What’s the population of the galaxy again, in billions?”

Darin snickered at CC’s comment, causing Quiver to lightly kick him in the knee. “Hey!” Darin protested through a laugh.

CC never seemed to notice the interruption. “So that’s your home system,” she continued in wonder, still looking at the star of the Druzien System. “That’s where your family is. Do they have trouble sleeping at night, knowing that you’re out here on the front lines?”

Quiver shook his head. “No, they don’t worry about me. In fact–”

“No,” CC interrupted with a mischievous grin, “I meant, do they have trouble sleeping at night knowing that a crazy guy like you is out here on the front lines, and that’s their protection? That’s not very comforting.”

Darin outright laughed at that while Quiver slapped a hand over his heart and affected an exaggerated look of pain. “Shot down by my own ally! She wins again! Another Quiver kill-marker to go on the side of her fighter!”

Once Darin had some control back, he said, “Quiv, you’re slipping. She’s been winning a lot lately. You losing your touch or something?”

Quiver smirked. “No, just giving her some victories to keep her morale up and the competition sharp,” he answered.

“Oh, you wish,” CC said. She briefly stuck her tongue out at Quiver, who returned the gesture.

Darin laughed a little more and then turned to CC. “At the risk of giving Quiver an equal opportunity for jabs at you, do you want to try to find your home system?”

“Sure.” CC definitely was interested.

“Avalar, right?”

“Right. Hot star. Almost blue.”

CC and Quiver moved closer to read over Darin’s shoulder as he called up the coordinates on his datapad. It wasn’t long before they had found the bluish star and had also drawn the attention of a few other pilots.

The rest of the night was fairly enjoyable. The stargazing activity quickly became popular both with the pilots and with some of the Special Forces personnel who eventually wandered over, and soon all of the participants’ home systems that were visible and had risen had been pinpointed. Other worlds were located and personal stories about them were told, which soon escalated into a friendly storytelling competition between the service branches of Starfighter Command and Special Operations, and then that too proceeded off on a number of different tangents.

It was shortly before local midnight when Lt. Weas came up to the now-large group of Rebels all sitting on the ground beside Darin’s X-wing and said, “Okay, Coronas, wrap it up. I know the time difference between here and the ship is messing with your internal clocks, but it’s time to get some sleep.”

A collective moan greeted his order. “Come on, Snubber,” Ikoa pleaded, “give us a few more minutes. We’re trying to figure out if the constellation of the Corellian Sector looks more like a sleeping gundark or a speeder bike. What do you think?”

“I think you’d all better get some sleep. Now.”

The pilots moaned again and reluctantly broke up, each one heading to his or her snubfighter to get out the bedroll each had brought. The Special Forces soldiers likewise went back to their shuttles. Darin stood, pocketed his datapad, ducked under his S-foils to reach the access of the cargo hold in the belly of his X-wing and got his bedroll out.

Weas waited there until the other pilots were out of earshot, and then he walked softly over behind Darin. “So where’s the Plonian System?” he asked quietly.

Darin looked behind him in surprise, not expecting Weas to still be there. He wordlessly got out his datapad again and called up the coordinates. After studying the map he answered just as quietly, “Sorry, sir, it’s on the day side of the planet right now. It’s not visible.”

The squadron’s Executive Officer nodded in acceptance and walked away toward his own X-wing. Darin just raised an eyebrow before pocketing the datapad once again and getting ready to go to sleep.