wraithsquadron ficathon 07
Ok all, this year’s ficathon entry. Once again I was given the task of writing for otahyoni. Hope everyone enjoys this. It kinda took on a life of its own. Probably could be longer, but 13 pages was plenty and you can go read Starfighters of Adumar if you want to see more. It starts just before SoA and stops somewhere in the middle.
I apologize for any errors or inconstancies. I need a beta that reads Star Wars.
This was the Challenge:
Pilots you want: Wedge and Wes are a must
Other characters/pairings you'd like to see: rest of the Fab Four; pairings by canon or at least not anti-canon (in other words, if you wanted to do, say, Wedge/Leia, it'd need to be before Empire, so it wouldn't destroy the world as we know it *wink*); anyone else you want to throw in (Han? Karrde? Take your pick.).
Three prompts: a date, a prank, more than someone bargained for
What you absolutely don't want: slash, Corran Horn
Title: A Life Less Seen
By Tabbi
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Aaron Allston and George Lucas.
Rating: G
Title: A Life Less Seen
By Tabbi
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Aaron Allston and George Lucas.
Rating: G
I
General Wedge Antilles stared at the man sitting before him.
“You want me to…what?” he asked.
“I need use of one of your pilots for an evening.” The man replied with unnerving calm.
“You want me to order one of my pilots to work for you?” Wedge asked, stunned by the audacity of the request.
“General, do not pretend to me that you are above me. We both know that you employ, shall we say, unorthodox methods to accomplish your ends. You can’t mean that you can’t find a pilot among your ranks that would do this small, and entirely honest, task for me?
“Why should I ask one of my pilots to risk their career for you?” Wedge pressed.
The man on the other side of the desk frowned. “There is little risk to them, I assure you General.”
“Then why not ask one of your own crew to do this?”
The man composed his answer carefully. Wedge could see he was rather desperate now and working not to appear so.
“To be perfectly honest, General, it already involves one of my crew and she would rather the rest didn’t know about her predicament.”
Inwardly, Wedge groaned. It seemed he had a weakness, no attracted, females in need of saving.
The captain continued. “One of my crew, J’dai R’ial, is something of a celebrity on her homeworld. It has caught up to her here on Coruscant and she’s been invited to a formal dinner at the ambassador’s home. She needs a suitable escort. One who can fit in with the political machinations and hold his own.”
“I see.” acknowledged Wedge, taking his time to reply. “And you need a pilot for this?”
“Her request; a pilot, or in her words, ‘a fighter jockey’.” He sighed almost paternally. “I’m afraid she’s a bit star-struck by your X-wing pilots.”
“I can’t order any of my pilots to do this, but I’ll see what I can do.” Wedge answered.
The man stood, placing a piece of flimplast on the desk. “You know how to reach me.”
II
Wedge was still considering the problem several standard hours later when Colonel Tycho Celchu appeared.
“Wedge?”
“Sir?”
“General Antilles?!”
Wedge looked startled.
A slight grin flitted across Tycho’s face.
“I certainly hope it’s not a new mission that’s got you so lost in thought.” Tycho said, taking a seat.
“Not exactly.”
“Qwi?”
“No.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about that?”
Wedge shook his head. That was a whole other set of challenges to deal with later.
Tycho could see that his wingmate had more pressing concerns than his ersatz lovelife.
“So what’s got your flightsuit in a bunch?” asked Tycho.
Wedge let out a long sigh. “I think I’m getting too old for this.”
Tycho laughed, a rare sound since his captivity in Lusankya and a murder charge. The torture and trial had aged him more than the fight against the Empire. Despite Wedge’s frustration, the sound lifted his spirits. With a wry smile, Wedge related his predicament to his wingman.
“You could ask for a volunteer.” suggested Tycho. “Maybe offer up an extra day’s leave?”
“It’s a diplomatic function, Tych; I’m not sure a day’s leave is enough to convince any of the Rogues to put on a dress uniform.” Wedge put his head in his head in his hands mournfully. “Maybe I should just do it myself.”
“No!” Tycho looked serious. “You have enough trouble with the females already in your life. You don’t need to add another.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wedge asked, feeling hurt.
Tycho raised an eyebrow at Wedge before answering. “Corrine Rachet?”
Wedge shuddered. “Ok, ok. I surrender. No need to vape me.”
“Besides, don’t you think you should sort things out with Qwi before you go out with another female?” Tycho suggested. “You have better things to do than attend minor diplomatic functions, anyway.”
“Are you volunteering?” asked Wedge.
“Not on your life.” said Tycho quickly.
“Maybe Hobbie would do it.” mused Wedge.
“You would send Hobbie to a diplomatic dinner with a member of the Smugglers’ Alliance on his arm?” Tycho almost laughed aloud at the thought. “Poor Hobbie; he’d be convinced you hated him then.”
“Then who?” lamented Wedge.
A malisicous grin spread across the Colonel’s face. It gave Wedge the eerie feeling of being caught in Tycho’s crosshairs without shields.
“Wes.”
“To a diplomatic function?” asked Wedge incredulously. “His idea of diplomacy is to say something pleasant before he shoots.”
“Who better to escort a smuggler?” Tycho’s grin widened. “A long, dreadfully dull dinner full of speeches and polite, empty conversation; consider it payback for the early retirement party or maybe revenge for filling our cockpits with marshmallows or…”
“Ok, ok. You’ve convinced me.” said Wedge laughing. “Besides, it’ll do him good to suffer through one of those affairs.”
Tycho nodded sagely, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’ll be a growing experience.”
III
Major Wes Janson, master marksman and prankster extraordinaire, ambled down the long corridor towards General Antilles’ office. His first serious contact had been when he was assigned as Wedge’s gunner back on Hoth. Wedge had been a little less serious in those days, but the universe had seemed less serious then, too.
Death and destruction had taken its toll on Wedge, on Wes himself for that matter, on all of them. Wes faltered slightly in his steps as the weight of the last few months and years pressed in on him. For all his pranks, bravado, and flirting, Wes was a melancholy, lonely soul. But no point dwelling on it, time to torment the General.
Wedge was bent over a stack of flimplast and datapads as Wes entered and, quite unceremoniously, propped his feet up on the desk.
“Get your feet off my desk.” Wedge said without looking up. “I have a job for you.”
“Putting together a new squadron? I’d be glad to pick pilots.” Wes grinned. “I promise no Ewoks this time.”
“Nothing so exciting.” replied Wedge, not looking up. “You’re going to a diplomatic dinner.”
“What?!?”
There was a loud, satisfying thump as Janson’s feet hit the floor. Wedge had to work at keeping the smile from his face.
“Why me?” moaned Wes.
“You are a major now, Wes; time to take on some responsibility.” Wedge replied. “Besides, you have to have something on your resume other than pranks and shooting if you want to make Colonel.”
“But I don’t want to go.” wailed Wes.
“Quit whining.” ordered Wedge. “It’s a party, it’ll be fun.”
Wes glared at him. “Will there at least be women there?”
Wedge shrugged. “I suppose, but it doesn’t matter, you have a date.”
“A date?” Wes looked as if he’d been had. “You’ve set me up on a date? For a diplomatic function? Is this some lame Antilles prank?”
“No prank.” replied Wedge. “You, in your dress uniform, escorting a young lady to a formal dinner.”
IV
Wes studied his reflection in the mirror. He did cut a rather dashing figure in his dress uniform, unfamiliar as it was. He needed a cape though. That would complete the ensemble. Janson laughed at himself. He hoped this young woman appreciate it.
He frowned for a moment. He had assumed she was human; that could prove embarrassing. He shook off the thought. There were a multitude of beautiful females in the universe and not all of them human.
The door chimed and Wes was suddenly nervous.
Whatever he expected it wasn’t this. She was easily a head shorter than Wes and clothed in a diaphanous, iridescent material. She seemed to be covered in tattoos, from head to toe. On her head she wore a simple circlet, a thin veil hanging from it, obscuring her features, except her blue-green eyes.
“Major Janson?” Her voice was soft and higher pitched like a child’s voice. It had a kind of lilting purr to it; very similar to the voices of Chief of State Organa-Solo’s Noghri bodyguards.
“Major Janson.” she said, sounding surer of herself and oddly formal. “I am honored by your presence tonight and thank you for the kindness you have shown me.”
As if on autopilot, Wes’ charm took over. “The honor is all mine.” He bowed and flashed his most endearing smile at her.
He offered her his arm as they headed out into the crowded streets of Coruscant. Wes entertained her with his antics and stories of daring dogfights. As they approached the perimeter of the diplomatic residence, Wes noted she became more distant, as though shutting herself off; no, putting up a façade, a feint like he had done so many times during his stint with Wraith Squadron. Wes filed the information away for later.
As they entered the room, it seemed to grow suddenly silent and Wes felt all sight organs upon him.
A tall gaunt man, dressed in black approached them. His voice was gravelly and rather harsh with a slight nasal quality to it. Wes found it exceedingly annoying.
“Oracle of T’aneeth, of the house of J’dai, we are honored by your presence and welcome you with blessings.” he said stiffly.
“Speaker of the free peoples, voice of the Otah’oni, Arum, of the house of Jenii, blessings upon your house and the houses of your children. You honor me and I am grateful.” She bowed low, her hand still resting on Wes’ arm. When she rose again, she placed her other hand on his arm as well.
“May I present my escort and companion, Major Wes Janson of the New Republic Starfighter Command.”
“Major Janson, you honor us.” said the man. “Welcome.”
“I’m honored to be here.” said Wes. “Thank you.”
The man turned away and the party resumed, though it seemed subdued. Wes was introduced to so many creatures he had no hope of remembering names. It seemed they were more interested in staring at the ‘mysterious Oracle’ or her tattoos.
“Tanith?”
The voice that called from behind them, though familiar was most unwelcome. Wes sighed. This would be a long night and he would most certainly get even with Wedge.
Bothan councilor, Borsk Fey’la, approached them trying to affect the Bothan approximation of a smile.
Wes was sure he heard gasps from the onlookers around them and a soft growl from his date, as Councilor Fey’la took her hand in greeting.
“Tanith, so good to see you.” Fey’la smiled and nodded briefly at Wes. “I am pleased to see you accompanied by a less disreputable sort this evening.”
Before replying she deliberately placed both hands on Wes’ arm.
“Councilor, I am sure you know Major Janson.” she said. “He honors the Otah’oni, and the house J’dai, by accompanying me tonight. My people are grateful.
“It would seem that Captain Karrde is not only an astute judge of character, but a keen matchmaker as well.”
Wes concealed his surprise at the mention of the notorious smuggler. He noticed Fey’la’s fur ruffled in a distinct sign of displeasure.
“Yes, it seems what he lacks in personal ethics, allows him to see the flaws in others.” said Fey’la.
“Councilor, we must agree to disagree.” she replied. “You do not approve of my life choices, nor do I of yours.
“And do not feign shock or ignorance of this. It is widely known that the free people of the T’nith distain the practice of garnering power. We give to those in need and take no more than we have need of.”
“The very thing that gave your planet over to the Empire.” Fey’la said, interrupting.
Wes was certain that he heard her growl this time, as she lowered the veil just enough for most of her face to be visible. He noticed that many of the guests turned their backs quickly. The hairs on his neck tingled and Wes glanced around readying himself for action.
“Mark the words of the Oracle,” she said in a strange voice. “Your push for power will be your end, Borsk Fey’la. You will be a sacrifice and lose all you have worked for.”
She shook her head as if to clear it and replaced the veil. Then she turned away; Wes following along. He had the distinct feeling that something very bad had just happened and he was in hostile territory without a wingman to watch his back.
“Wes?”
Wes turned to face the voice that called his name. “Face?”
Wes felt a surge of relief at the sight of the former Wraith Squadron pilot. Even more so to see Dia Passik on his arm. Wes shook hands with both pilots before introducing them.
“This is Garik ‘Face’ Loran, and Dia Passik, both of Wraith Squadron.” Said Wes, wondering how to properly introduce his date.
She, however, saved him any such trouble. “Captain Loran, the pleasure is mine. My sister R’aenet was a fan, she could recite The Black Bantha from memory. I suspect I owe much to both of you as defenders of the New Republic. Thank you.
“Mistress Passik, I must admit to having followed your career, as much as was accessible to me. I hope one day I may fly as well.
“And I am called the Oracle of T’nith, of the house J’dai. I would hope that you will do me the honor of calling me by the name of my family, R’ial.”
Face bowed and gave her a heart melting smile. “The honor is most assuredly mine. Major Janson is indeed a lucky man.”
R’ial giggled. “I am honored and grateful that you are both here.”
“That was quite a confrontation you had with Councilor Fey’la.” said Dia.
“My encounter was quite civil.” replied R’ial. “The T’nith clan is well known for their dislike of Bothan politics. But we are a peaceful people, there was no threat, only prophecy. The future is fluid, so what I saw may not come to pass, however, that has not been my experience.”
A young man, also tattooed from head to foot, approached them. He bent at the waist and waited to be acknowledged.
“Rise, Orri brother; how may I serve you?” asked R’ial.
“Mistress J’dai, the Speaker for the People wishes your blessing upon the food.” he answered, straightening. “I would be honored to show your companion and your contacts to their places.”
“Of course, thank you.” said R’ial, turning to Wes. “Duty calls, if you don’t mind, the Orri of Blaidd Drwg of the house of T’ardes, will show you to the table and I will join you shortly.”
VI
The distant horizon had started to lighten by the time Wes and R’ial headed out into the streets towards the spaceport. They walked in silence until the diplomatic residence fell out of sight.
“Thank you, Major Janson.” said R’ial. “I realize this evening was probably more than you bargained for; I just wanted to express my sincere thanks, minus the pomp and circumstance. I know that you only did this because General Antilles asked, but I’m grateful that you did.”
Wes smiled. “You are welcome. I enjoyed myself and please, call me Wes.”
He wanted to ask about so much that had happened tonight. His curiosity was killing him.
“Go ahead and ask.”
Wes paused in mid-step and stared at R’ial, who giggled.
“Do you really think you are the first to wonder about the tattoos, and the ‘mysterious Oracle’?” she asked. “I’m sure you are curious, especially after my run in with Councilor Fey’la. I’m sure you will be asked about it tomorrow and that the rumors are flying already that Captain Karrde has a bounty out on Fey’la. I’m sure many missed the fact that it was a prophecy not a threat. So ask, Wes, you can’t offend me.”
“I am kind of curious about the tattoos; I noticed there were others. What do they mean?”
“We are the Orri, storytellers, keepers of the oral history of the Otah’oni, and our individual clans. I still belong to the order; however, I am not really an Orri, because I am the Oracle. Much like Luke Skywalker is a Rogue, and a Jedi Master.”
“What exactly is the ‘Oracle’?” asked Wes.
“I foretell the future.”
“Really?” Wes was intrigued.
“Yes, really.”
“Just like the Jedi?”
“No.” R’ial laughed. “A Jedi reaches into the Force and uses it like a tool. An oracle…”
R’ial paused, thinking. “An Oracle… doesn’t use the Force so much as ride it to a specific point in time and space to view that moment. Some have more control than others.”
“That explains why your people hold you in such high esteem.” said Wes.
“It’s not esteem; it’s fear.” said R’ial, sounding sad. “Most people don’t really wish to know the future.”
“Is that why you wear the veil?” asked Wes gently.
“Right now, I am the Oracle.” R’ial explained. “My words are veiled, just as the future is to most. I speak only those rehearsed words that are acceptable for the occasion. If I drop the veil, I speak the words of the Oracle.”
“So… Fey’la?”
“Will be a martyr one day. His race for power will put him in the sights of a great plauge.” R’ial said. “My people looked away, lest there be words for them, too.”
“I’d really like to see you without the veil.”
“Perhaps sometime…”
“No.” Wes interrupted, shaking his head. “Right now. I’m not afraid R’ial. If you see me dying in battle, then, so be it. It’s a risk I take every time I leave the hanger.”
They paused, just outside the spaceport. R’ial reached up and lowered her veil.
“Wow!” Wes said softly.
Without thinking Wes reached up and brushed the cascade of tiny stars that fell down her right cheek. R’ial’s pupils contracted to pinpoints and she inhaled sharply.
“Wes, you need to step in before Wedge can. You will know the moment. Thanaer will try to kill you, so strike quickly…” R’ial stopped, shaking. “I’m sorry, I…”
Wes grinned; he wasn’t sure what else to do. It was such a surreal moment, like a dream. It was clear to him why others feared her.
“It’s ok.” said Wes in a quiet voice. “That is amazing.”
R’ial still looked shaken as Wes took her hand.
“I’m sorry, Wes. I usually have more control.” she said, her voice wavering as she said his name.
“I’m a Rogue and a Wraith. I’ve cheated death enough to know that some day I won’t be able to; telling me I’m gonna die one day is like telling Luke Skywalker he can use the Force.”
“Better not let Mara Jade hear you mention him.” R’ial said.
Wes followed her gaze and spotted the bright red hair and serious countenance he associated with Mara Jade.
“I’d better go.” said R’ial, replacing her veil and distancing herself once more.
VII
When Wes, Wedge, Tycho and Hobbie reached the Allegiance, Wes had a message waiting for him. It was from R’ial.
She looked almost normal. Her brown hair was pulled into a loose bunch away from her narrow face. She wore a faded flight suit and her face was smudged by what appeared to be oil.
“Hey, Wes, just wanted to say bye. We got a run to Tantooine. Have fun groundside with the boys and watch your back. Try to find Wedge an intelligent woman. I’ll see you when we get back to Coruscant. Remember you promised me stories over a cup of caf, flyboy.
“Oh, and watch out for that Ejector.”
Wes was confused by the message, but had little time to puzzle over the strangeness.
VIII
*“Wes, she’s Iella Wessiri.”
Wes was momentarily shocked by Wedge’s statement. He ran through all the implications of Wedge’s words like a tactical assessment.
Wes sauntered up to the table. He felt his heart sink a little and realized he’d hoped it wasn’t Iella.
“Hi there.” Wes said taking a seat. “Have we met before?”
Hobbie, standing within earshot, rolled his eyes.
The beautiful woman at the table looked surprised.
“I don’t believe so.” she replied. “I’m sure I would have remembered.”
“Yes, who could forget someone as enchanting as you?” said Wes. “Major Wes Janson, New Republic Starfighter Command, at your service.”
“I’m flattered.” she replied. “I’m Fiana Novaar.”
“Are you here alone?” Wes asked, turning on the charm.
‘Fiana’ giggled politely. “Oh, no, I’m just a code-slicer, originally of Corellia. I came with Therin se Alstin, the minister of electronic information distribution services.”
“Corellia? Do you know Wedge Antilles?” Wes asked, gauging her reaction.
“Only by reputation. I’ve never had the opportunity to get to know him personally.” ‘Fiana’ answered.
“If things don’t work out with us, maybe I can introduce you.” Wes grinned.
“Oooo, a clandestine meeting in the plaza, under the cover of darkness.” ‘Fiana’ laughed. “Sounds like a bad holodrama.”
“I’m sure he’d be intersted.” said Wes; dropping his voice to a whisper, he added. “He just got dumped.”
“Maybe you should arrange it then.” ‘Fiana’ said softly.
A sudden applause broke out and ‘Fiana’ leaned close to Wes. He could barely hear her above the din.
“Wedge, midnight, plaza, shortest flatscreen.” She hissed. “Good luck, Wes; give Tych and Bugbite my love, too.”
Wes grinned as the noise died down. “Well, if you ever need anything….”
Wes stopped as Hobbie, standing nearby, coughed. Someone was watching. Wes nodded at ‘Fiana’ and walked away to join Hobbie and Tycho and go find Wedge to tell him what he’d found out.
IX
Wes sat in the darkness outside Iella’s apartment. He wished he could get closer to the door so he could eavesdrop. Every once in a while he could hear the sounds of struggle from the surrounding floors. He watched with fascination the duel between Garatty ke Kith and Irasal ke Voltin. The Amudari were a queer people. Wes would be glad to get off this rock and back to the clearly defined world of shooting things. All this diplomacy was for the mynocks.
Wes found himself falling into a bad humor. Here he was crouched in a dark hallway with nothing to do but contemplate the sad state of his life. Meanwhile, Wedge was sorting out his personal life with Iella. Wes wasn’t so naïve to think that they were still discussing holonet access so long.
Maybe he was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time to retire and… do what?
Wes’ stomach growled. He shifted and found a less painful position. The sounds of fighting and the creak of cables died out and Wes was alone with his thoughts. Or so he thought. On the edge of his hearing, he swore he heard someone else breathing. Suddenly, Wes was wide awake. He held his breath, listening, ready for action. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Later, Wes tried to tell Wedge his suspicions, but Wedge was far too taken with infatuation to be serious. Wes himself behaving in such a manner was one thing, but it was downright embarrassing to have Wedge acting like a kid with a crush.
Wes rolled his eyes as Wedge walked along the edge of the curb and suggested that Wes should have introduced himself to the spy. Wes vowed to himself to plot revenge.
*”Wedge, stop acting like a kid. You’re embarrassing me.”
X
Wes ignored whatever terse words Wedge had for Darpen. It was long overdue. Even so, the announcement of Cheriss’ next opponent rather startled Wes. It was the moment he had been waiting for. Even before he asked, Wes knew Wedge had been unsuccessful talking sense into Cheriss; the whole Adumari social structure thrived on a morbid bloodlust. Wes Janson was about to take great liberties with it and hopefully save more than one life.
He only half watched the duel, planning his moves and the inevitable argument with Wedge. Success depended on blocking the first strike. Wedge would be upset, but Wes knew he wouldn’t argue with the reasons Wes had come up with.
Wes took great joy in being just a half second faster than Wedge and even more thrill taunting his ribbon festooned foe. He felt a great calm settle over him, as if he’d just gotten a target lock.
After beating ke Sekae, Wes felt a great weight lift off his shoulders. He hadn’t been completely convinced that it would work and was elated that it had. Now he was starved.
XI
Wes felt a moment of serious panic as he was eveloped in roiling fire and thick black smoke. The Blade shook as a missle impacted against it. It hit hard and Wes’ teeth rattled in his head. This would be bad. He could hear as well as feel shrapnel and debris hit his fighter. Alarms blared in his ears as the cloud cleared and he got a look at the damage. He was missing a wing. Time to punch out. He could hear Wedge saying something but he couldn’t concentrate on that right now.
Wes hung from a flat device. He hoped it would see him safely to the ground; however, he had no more faith in it than in the Force. He was well aware that he was a target of opportunity. All he had was a hand blaster, but it was better than nothing, perhaps if he was lucky.
He felt more than heard the Blade diving on him. If this was his time, he would go out shooting. He aimed the blaster at the oncoming ship and fired. To his surprise, it exploded.
Wes sighed with relief and hoped that this was just one more story to share with a pretty girl one day soon.
*Italics are direct quotes from Starfighters of Adumar by Aaron Allston.