40

“…  on Borleias’s moon,” Corran’s image continued. “I know the decision to leave me behind wasn’t easy.”

Wedge’s eyes narrowed. “…  on Borleias’s moon?” How could he have known? Wait a minute!

“I want you to know I harbor no ill will concerning my abandonment. To prove this to you, I pried some Whyren’s Reserve away from Emtrey and a ryshcate should have finished baking by the time you land.”

“Wahoo!” Gavin’s voice echoed through the comm.

Wedge keyed his comm. “Horn, if you aren’t dead, you will be.”

Corran’s image broke into laughter. “I’m happy to see you, too, Commander. Welcome home.”

Wedge sat back in his chair and held the half-full tumbler up so the light from the center of the recreation room made the amber liquid in it glow. Its chemical warmth, aided and abetted by seeing Corran alive and unhurt, had chased the chilly dread from his belly and melted the stress in his shoulders and neck. Putting his feet up on the table, he actually began to relax for the first time in conscious memory.

In retrospect Corran’s message was rather funny. He watched his green-eyed lieutenant cut the warm ryshcate and hand it out to the other pilots in the squadron. They were all giddy with their success and his survival. Wedge knew they all had been as horrified as he had when the message began to play in their cockpits, but no one was more relieved than he had been when the truth of it was revealed to them.

As jokes go, Corran, it was good. You’ll pay for it, of course, but it was good.

Wedge glanced sidelong at Tycho. “I can’t believe you let him send that message.”

The Alderaanian shrugged. “The shocked expression on your face was even better than I imagined it would be.”

“I won’t forget that, Captain Celchu.”

“Besides, I can’t wait to see how you’re going to get back at Corran.” Tycho took a swallow of his lum. “I trust you’ll make it good.”

“You can be assured of that.” Wedge sipped a little more whiskey and let it sit on his tongue for a moment. Sucking air in through slightly parted lips let the crisp, woody aroma fill his head, then he swallowed and smiled. “Corran comes back from the dead and I understand you were resurrected, too. Three squints?”

Tycho nodded solemnly. “Two were at point-blank range—Emtrey could have shot them. The third was at range—decent shot.”

“Of course, the Alliance Security team is a bit upset at having been detained in your quarters.”

“No, they weren’t very happy when we took them prisoner.” His Executive Officer winced. “The problem was we had a possible security leak, but explaining everything we would have had to explain would have made it impossible for us to get to Borleias in time to warn you, if that’s what we needed to do.”

“Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.” Wedge chuckled. “I was planning the same sort of thing for the return trip to Borleias. You’ve got the security problem under control?”

“I think so. Locking this thing down will mean a lot of time being spent with Emtrey.”

“Put Corran on it.”

Tycho shook his head. “Eew, that’s nastier than even I assumed you’d be.”

“Well, leading a unit isn’t a young man’s game, after all.” Wedge swung his feet to the floor and set his tumbler on the table as Corran approached with two pieces of ryshcate. “Smells good.”

“Mirax made it.” Corran handed the other piece to Tycho. “Corellians use it for celebrations.”

Wedge hefted his piece of the sweetcake. “Getting you back from Borleias is worthy of celebration, as is having the Alliance’s hottest new pilot being a member of the squadron.”

Corran looked surprised. “Me?”

“No.” Wedge smiled past him at the man arriving late to the celebration. “Congratulations, Bror Jace. The trio of kills you got on the Interceptors following us out of the Pyria system puts you at twenty-two kills. You beat Lieutenant Horn by one.”

The Thyferran beamed, his blue eyes alive with pride. “Thank you, Commander.” He glanced down for a second, then accepted a piece of the cake from Mirax. “This is good news and helps offset what I have just heard.”

Wedge set his cake down next to the glass of whiskey. “And that is?”

“The message waiting for me was from Thyferra. My great uncle, our patriarch, is dying. The Emdees give him two weeks at best. Even bacta cannot cure old age.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Jace, Bror.” Wedge glanced at his XO. “Tycho, can you …?”

“No problem, Wedge.” Tycho stood up. “Compassion leave won’t work, but if we send our pilot home on a recruiting run, I think the diplomatic corps will back us up. You’ll be on your way as soon as you can pack your X-wing, Mr. Jace.”

“Thank you.”

Corran offered Bror his hand. “I’m sorry to know your uncle is ill. I’m also sorry to lose to you, but I’m not sorry about how well you did.”

“Nor I about your performance.” Bror pumped Corran’s hand. “I would give you another chance at such a contest, but I do not want even the slightest hint of division within this squadron.”

“I concur.” Corran nabbed a small piece of cake from the serving tray on the table and popped it into his mouth.

Everyone followed Corran’s lead and as he chewed, just for a second, Wedge felt himself back on Yavin 4, catching a hasty last meal before he and his friends went off to attack the Death Star. He knew it wasn’t the taste of the ryshcate that brought the memory back—on Yavin 4 there had been no time and no ingredients to create something so indulgent. No, it’s the sense of unity that takes me back. The core spirit, it was there before Rogue Squadron was ever formed. It was the squadron’s soul and it’s still here. This is Rogue Squadron, not reborn, just continuing as it should.

“I’d like to offer a toast, my friends, if I may.” Wedge raised his glass and the others joined him. “To Rogue Squadron, to the friends we’ve lost, the battles we’ve fought, and the utter fear our return will bring to our enemies.”