Sub-Lieutenant Stolle's eyes sparkled and he rubbed his hands together as he made his way out of the briefing room. "You think we'll get to vape some Rebels now?"

          Sub-Lieutenant Zwibble fell in step with him as he emerged into the corridor. "It certainly looks that way. But from the sound of things in there, we might not be so pleased about it before long."

          Stolle shrugged. "I'm just happy we might finally be getting off this diet of patrol duty and the occasional smuggler we've been on for what seems like forever." He paused at the turbolift. "I'm going to hit the sims and see if I can beat Ensign Bae's new high score for the Sluis Van run. He knocked me out of first place by only one and a half kills, the lucky little hotshot. Want to join me and try your hand against the master?"

          "I'll pass, thanks."

          "Can't handle the thought of losing?" asked Stolle as he pressed the turbolift button.

          "More like I couldn't handle you moping around for days after I shredded your ego and your score."

          Stolle grinned. "You're welcome to try, any time you get up the courage." The turbolift chimed and he stepped into the empty car.

          "Offer accepted." Zwibble grinned back at him. "I'll come down after I finish talking to Dan. Be sure to have your luck handy; you'll need it."

          "Yeah, we'll see," called Stolle through the closing doors.

          Zwibble's grin quickly faded as she walked back up the corridor towards the briefing room, and by the time she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to the sealed door, the expression on her face was a pensive one.

          She didn't wait long before the door opened and Lieutenant Dan stepped into the corridor, frowning at a datapad. She detached herself from the wall and Dan looked up. "Zwibble. Why're you still here?"

          "I was waiting for you."

          "Why?" His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side.

          "You look like you owe me money or something. I just wanted to talk about this Akutmif thing, because it's not boding well with me."

          He nodded and motioned for her to start walking. "So you want to find out what Calcyon and Palantas wanted to talk to me about."

          "Where are you getting that idea from?"

          "You always like to know what's going on." He shrugged. "I could tell from your face when Palantas said he wanted me and Lieutenant Nanöme to stay behind that your curiosity was piqued."

          "Well, I could tell from Calcyon's face that this was serious. I've never seen him look so tense. I just want to get your position on this so that I can either ease my sense of foreboding or start spending all of my free time in the simulators."

          "Fair enough." Dan stepped into the waiting turbolift and Zwibble followed. After pressing in his destination, he turned back to her. "I didn't find out much more than you already know. Calcyon mostly told us that Akutmif is not to be taken lightly. It seems that we're not sure why the commodore's been stationed out here. There's the possibility that she might try for the Sii system."

          Zwibble blinked. "Sii's been a Rebel target for years, but they've never managed to take it. The closest they got was right after Hoth, and they haven't been back since, probably because it isn't worth it. Why would Akutmif bother?" The doors slid open with the faintest of hisses and Dan stepped out and resumed walking. He shrugged.

          "I'm not sure, but evidently the Grand Admiral thinks that she might be smart enough to pull it off."

          "Does he want any offensives against her?" Zwibble frowned. "She hasn't got much of a fleet; I'm sure we could handle it."

          "We're supposed to avoid a confrontation for the time being. In fact, we may end up being not much more than backup for the Artemis, who's doing a covert recon of Akutmif's forces."

          "A covert recon? Carrack cruisers aren't exactly inconspicuous."

          "They're masquerading as pirates."

          "Ah." She nodded. "I bet Ace is having fun playing pirate. I wonder if he's managed to talk Captain Agony into making some real strikes; just to reinforce their image, of course."

          "Actually, they're working for a pirate/smuggler/freelancer warlord, and he expects results. So I wouldn't be surprised if they do get to see some action." He keyed in a command at the door they had stopped in front of, and it opened to reveal his small, somewhat messy office.

          "Yeah, I've heard that Rausch is a demanding fellow." She sat herself in the chair facing the desk Dan now sat behind. He stopped shuffling piles of datadisks and flimsy and looked at her.

          "You're not supposed to know that. How did you know it was Rausch?"

          Zwibble shrugged. "I read between the lines. I know Rausch operates from Yetoom, near the edge of the sector Akutmif's in, and I know he's been debating forming an alliance with some military power. It would make sense that he'd contact Akutmif."

          "And how do you know so much about a criminal warlord?"

          Zwibble grinned. "I keep my eyes and ears open. Besides, I have some contacts who," she coughed, "aren't exactly on the right side of the law all of the time."

          Dan rolled his eyes and went back to pushing around the stacks on his desk. "Why am I not surprised?"

          "Anyway," Zwibble leaned forward, "I want to know what you've got on Akutmif."

          Dan raised his eyebrows. "You think you'll be able to get something from what little I have?"

          "Hey, it's worth a shot. Maybe I'll find something."

          "Daemon didn't find anything, and you think you will?"

          She shrugged. "Daemon has a history of knowing more than he lets on, and who knows; maybe it's too fragmentary and chaotic to be put together by anyone with normal brain patterns."

          "Which makes you a perfect candidate to find it."

          "Exactly."

          They locked eyes calmly for a few seconds, and then Dan shrugged. "All right, I'll give you what I have. Some of it's classified, but most of it you can see. I'll make up copies for you within the hour."

          "Excellent." Zwibble stood. "And I want everything, too. Don't leave something out just because it happens to make no sense."

          "You must be an expert on nonsensical things."

          "But of course. Oh, and thank you; you're my favorite commanding officer --"

          "-- and the best lieutenant in the whole fleet," Dan finished with her, his eyes cast heavenward. "Get out, you shameless rapscallion."

          She saluted, still grinning mercilessly, and strolled out of the room.

          Stolle whooped with delight and took his TIE Interceptor in a dizzying spin through the rapidly cooling remains of two X-wings. "How do you like your lead now? Oh, look, you don't have one anymore!"

          "Thank you so much for reminding me," Zwibble's voice came over the com. "And here I had plain forgotten."

          "Any time," Stolle told her. "If you want some piloting tips as well, I'd be more than --" he broke off as his ship shuddered and his shields, already struggling to get back up to one hundred percent, collapsed. A quick pull on the steering column and his ship whipped around in time to see a nimble A-wing dart out from his sights. He pulled up to give chase, but the A-wing was now behind him. "No you don't --" he started, but his cockpit flashed brightly and then went dark.

          Scores started scrolling across the screen, but Stolle didn't bother to look at them. He tore off his helmet, jumped out of the simulator, and stomped across the floor to another sim. The hatch, located where the engines would be if it were a real ship, opened and out stepped a somewhat sweaty, beaming Sub-Lieutenant Zwibble. She didn't say anything, just ran her hand through her bright blue hair and widened her smile.

          Stolle glared at her. "I hate you."

          "Why, thank you. You weren't so bad yourself."

          "A-wings aren't supposed to go that fast."

          "They are if you put lasers and shields to engines." She shifted her helmet to her other arm and planted her right hand on her hip.

          "But you took down my shields with lasers. Well-aimed ones, too," he conceded.

          "I know. But I immediately switched to concussion missiles, figuring that with my added speed I could slip in behind you and pop one off without even waiting for a lock."

          Stolle shook his head. "There is no way you got there that fast. I was getting your signal from a klick off."

          She shrugged. "I relayed the signal through one of my friends and hid behind what was left of my cruiser that your nasty Scimitars knocked out. Then I had the X-wings lead you right by it."

          "But they got vaped."

          "Hey, it was worth it. Besides, they were only Rebels."

          "But so were you."

          "Only because I lost the coin toss." She waggled her finger at him. "Which is why I went through all of that trouble to cook you -- you know I hate those Rebel cockpits."

          "Technically you were still in an Interceptor; the computer just made it look like an A-wing. Besides, you lost the toss fair and square. What did you want me to do, throw it in your favor?"

          "Then I would have gotten you for letting me win. I hate being patronized."

          Stolle sighed. "So no matter what I do, I lose?"

          "That's about right." Zwibble nodded. "But it's only fair considering you won the last two times."

          "Two and a half."

          "The half doesn't count -- we got called out before we were finished."

          "But I was winning." Now it was Stolle's turn to grin. "Which means that I'm ahead of you by one and a half runs and four kills. So I'm still at the top of the charts."

          "Not for long," Zwibble warned him. "I'll let you keep your half, and we'll have another go tomorrow. May the best pilot win."

          "As you wish. Now, would you be so good as to escort me to the bar? I think a round of drinks is in order."

          "I'd love to, but I'm going to go over the data on Akutmif that Dan promised me."

          "I don't see why -- it won't mean anything."

          "It will to me."

          "You don't count."

          Zwibble shook her head. "You really know how to make a girl feel wanted. It's a wonder you don't have to beat the women off."

          "You haven't been on leave with me yet." He sighed dramatically. "I do have to beat them off. But I don't feel the need to advertise it as Mr. Ladies' Man Pavz does; I let the facts speak for themselves."

          "Right, right. Johan 'The Dud' Stolle. I'd forgotten."

          "It's 'The Stud.'"

          "Same difference. Well, I'm off to go study up on our mysterious Rebel commodore."

          Stolle shrugged. "I'll join you. Two brains are better than one."

          "Perhaps I'd better call someone else, then, if we're looking for brains."

          "I knew you were going to say that."

          "And yet you set yourself up anyway." She stood on tiptoe and put her arm around his shoulders. "But that's what friends are for."

          Stolle impatiently scrolled down on his datapad. "Military academy on Raithal, blah blah blah; valedictorian summa cum laude, blah blah blah... Ooh, here's something new: possible liaison with her mentor Jorge Madine, grandfather to the famed Rebel general Crix Madine. Full-color holos from their 'training camp' a.k.a. 'love nest' included."

          Zwibble looked up from her computer, which was balanced on her knees as she sat cross-legged on the floor. "Where are you getting this from?"

          "I did a search for news involving Akutmif, and I'm going through the results."

          "And what news agency are you getting this from?"

          Stolle looked back at his datapad. "The Galactic Star. This article's a good sixty years old, which would have made her about twenty at the time." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Shame shame, Madine, seducing an innocent young protégé. Although," he cocked his head, "I don't see what's so attractive about thick white fur, four eyes and big paws. And that mouth… not exactly very kissable." He shrugged philosophically. "I guess one man's four-eyed teddy bear is another man's paramour."

          "I think you can skip the sludgenews exposés, Stolle. I'm not particularly interested in her dirty laundry."

          "But it says, right here at the top, that all news is 'guaranteed accurate, up-to-date, and thoroughly researched.' You have the Galactic Star's word. Besides, it's the most interesting thing we've found so far."

          "I can't argue with you there." She sighed. The information from Dan had turned out to be a few disks of various inventories, none of them particularly informative or interesting. She hadn't expected much, but there was always the hope that there might be something worthwhile.

          Stolle yawned. "It's past my bedtime. I think I'll turn in now." He stood, as did Zwibble. She stretched.

          "I think I will too. We're still on for tomorrow, right?"

          "Wouldn't miss it. 12:00 sharp."

          "You betcha. Sleep tight."

          Zwibble jumped up, smacked her shin on the bed, and awoke as she caught her foot in her sheets and was sent sprawling. An alarm was blaring discordantly at an inhuman decibel, accompanied by a monotonous voice. "All hands, general quarters. Pilots report to your ships."

          Zwibble simultaneously scrambled up, pulled on her flightsuit and started cursing. If this was a drill, she was going to have to kill someone. It didn't much matter who at the moment.

          Zwibble grabbed her boots and ran into the already busy corridor, sliding to the turbolift on stockinged feet. She had put on one of her boots by the time the turbolift slid down the few levels to the docking bay. The other boot got crammed on and hastily tied as she hopped her way to her gleaming ship. Along the way, she snatched her helmet from its hook on the wall and crammed it on her head.

          After scrambling up the ladder, she slid into the cool, spotless cockpit of her TIE Interceptor, and began punching buttons rapidly while she connected her suit to the life-support panel on her chest.

          Almost immediately Dan's voice came over the com. "You get the prize: first one here."

          Zwibble shook her head. "You beat me again? Do you have psychic abilities, or do you just sleep in the hangar? Unless of course this is a drill, in which case I have a nice bruise thanks to you."

          "No drill. Akutmif's decided to pay us a visit. She --" He was interrupted by a breathless Sub-Lieutenant Stolle.

          "Two-one ready to go. What do I rank?"

          "Not so good, Stolle. You're seventh, with Zwibble, Armageddon, Bae, Hugo, Tynae, and Beler before you."

          "Seventh?" Zwibble scolded. "Frankly I expected better."

          "If I --" started Stolle.

          "Zip it," Dan cut in. "We're set to go, attack pattern Gamma-Upsilon. ETA to bogies is two minutes; you'll be briefed on the way. On my mark, launch. Mark!"

          The belly of the resolute Victory Star Destroyer emitted twelve rapidly-moving points of light that immediately formed themselves into three diamond groups of four, and then arranged themselves into a sleek taper. Sunlight from the nearby dying red giant glinted off of them as they sped towards the enemy bombers.

          "Our job is to take out the wave of bombers that's headed towards the Vigilant. There're four B-wing/E2s and three Y-wings; nothing we can't handle. Heads up," he added as alarms went off in several cockpits. "The crosses have concussion missiles."

          It was a matter of moments until Epsilon squadron was within range of the enemy ships. Although the locks remained, no warheads had been fired.

          "What are they waiting for?" mused Ensign Armageddon.

          "I'm not sure, but something's not right. I think they're trying to jam us; I'm getting a double image on some of the ships. One flight form up on me and we'll take the wishbones. Flights two and three, take the crosses."

          "You got it," called Stolle.

          "Roger that," replied Zwibble. She swung her ship to port, and the ensigns in her flight group followed suit in one smooth movement. "Two, tighten it up a bit," she advised over her flight's channel. "We'll take B-wing number three. Two lead, you can have Gold one," she added on the squadron channel. "Enjoy."

          "Thanks."

          The solid tone in Zwibble's cockpit still whined, and she got ready to fire. Now she was within laser range, and still nothing had been launched. She squeezed the trigger and a few rounds of emerald laser fire flew towards the targeted B-wing, accompanied by volleys from her wingmen. The sturdy ship took the hits without flinching and she slowed to keep it in her sights longer. At that moment the tone broke as a concussion missile was launched in her direction.

          Almost without thinking, she sent a few bursts in the direction of the B-wing, catching the concussion missile and detonating it in a small burst of light. Before the explosion had time to clear, her shields were hammered by a burst of laser fire. "What the --"

          "I --" Ensign Carlson's voice cut off in a squawk and the port side of Zwibble's cockpit flared.

          "Report," she ordered as she took her ship into a wild spin.

          "Carlson's... gone," said Ensign Mike.

          "I'm okay, it looks like there was a nest of Hornets snuggled behind those B-wings," reported Beler. "I get eight of them."

          "Same here." Zwibble swore. "A-wing slash, with an interesting twist. Watch yourselves; those Hornet Interceptors are nasty."

          The stars nearby contorted themselves briefly and violently, and a Carrack cruiser emerged nearly on top of the Vigilant. Sheets of iridescent coalescence passed between the ships.

          "Things are heating up," warned Dan.

          Zwibble's ship shuddered once again, as a Hornet settled in on her six. She whipped her ship around in some impossibly tight loops, but the agile fighter stayed glued to her tail. "I could use some help here," she told her flight, who was harrying one of the B-wings.

          "I'm on my way." Mike slipped neatly in behind the Hornet, and the larger ship immediately looped away. He tried to follow, but it kept looping, snapped off a few shots as it turned a neat circle around him, and then came after Zwibble again. Zwibble had turned herself around, however, and the Hornet was met by her lasers. She scored a moderate hit and the Hornet peeled away yet again, right into Mike's sights. He fired and the Hornet spun out, spitting fire, and exploded.

          "Chalk up one for three flight," said Mike. "That was for Carlson," he added in a growl.

          "Make that two," informed Beler.

          "One-two here," said Ensign Hugo. "I'm hit hard; I have to go back."

          "I copy," sighed Dan. "Watch yourself."

          Stolle came on the channel swearing bitterly. "Evil Wrath's EV and I'm going to have to withdraw too. I managed to take one out, though."       

          "Have fun sitting back on the Vigilant," Zwibble said without much humor.

          "You save it for our sim time. We're still on, hotshot."

          "Cut it out, you two," Dan scolded. "We've got work to do."

          For the next few minutes, TIE and Hornet Interceptors darted around crazily. One of the Y-wings got hit in the engines and stopped dead in space, and another hypered out after taking a few hits from Dan's skilled hand. The robust B-wings pressed on, with only one of their number gone.

          "We can't get those B-wings," Zwibble told Dan. "Every time we try, one of those Hornets drops by and glues itself to us. They're literally flying circles around us." The Hornet Interceptors had gone from attacking to darting around and protecting the bombers. They were agile enough to worry the Imperial ships without falling into much danger themselves, but fortunately the faster TIEs were able to outdistance them when necessary. "They're not falling for the old 'Lookit me! Over here!' trick. They're sticking with the bombers."

          "The Hornets don't have much in the way of shields, and those hulls are pretty weak," said Dan. "Flights two and three, cover us while we go for Gold two. We'll gang up on them."

          The B-wing broke off under One flight's heavy fire. The Hornets buzzed around angrily, but flights two and three kept up a steady stream of fire that kept the insectile ships at bay.

          "How do you like our bug spray?" Zwibble snarled. Gold two exploded, and One flight turned and headed towards Gold three.

          "The B-wings got off some torps," Dan warned. "Let's make sure they don't get another chance."

          Space warped itself yet again, and a Corellian Corvette emerged from hyperspace near the Vigilant. "Even more company," observed Dan. But the Corvette identified itself as the Loryn, a freighter for SubPro Corporation. It turned and started frantically fleeing from the combat, cutting away from the fighters.

          The Hornets turned and swarmed on flights two and three, attacking aggressively. They paid for it with a fighter, but the TIEs were forced to break off, with the Hornets pursuing. Zwibble outran the ship that was harrying her and turned to face it when the Loryn opened up some rocket launchers concealed near her engines, and let a barrage fly towards the unsuspecting Vigilant.

          The Vigilant was taken by surprise, and her shields buckled. The Loryn continued her flight, but the Carrack hammered on the shield-less ship. "All fighters return to the ship," Lieutenant Commander Palantas said grimly. "We're pulling out."

          "Epsilon, on me," Dan ordered. "Full speed."

          Zwibble flattened out her turn and passed in front of the remaining B-wings as she left off her attack on the Hornets and rejoined Dan. As she did so, alarms went off.

          "Dodge!" Dan warned. Zwibble complied and the concussion missile that was streaking towards her fighter overshot and exploded, damaging her shields. They failed, just as two Hornet Interceptors set themselves up for a pass on her ship. One of them scored a glancing hit on her bare hull, and the TIE bucked.

          "Stay put, Zwib," called Dan. "We're on our way." But it was too late. The Hornets converged their fire and Zwibble's Interceptor lost both of its wings and exploded. "Zwibble, come in!" There was no response, but Dan could see her beacon transmitting, which meant she had ejected. Maybe her com's just out, thought Dan. Please let it be that.

          "Dan, get yourself back here now," warned Palantas. "We're running out of time."

         "Re-deploy the recovery craft to pick up Zwibble," Dan replied. "She's gone EV and she may be injured."

          "We don't have time." Dan could hear the frown in Palantas's voice. "She's not responding; we have to assume she's dead."

          Dan ignored the last statement and growled into his com. "We need to pick her up."

          "We can't."

          Epsilon squadron was closing on the Vigilant, leaving the Hornets and Zwibble far behind. Dan smashed his fist on his dashboard. "I will not leave one of my pilots out there."

          "You have no choice. I'm sorry."

          Dan angrily clicked off his com and watched the beacon's signal fading on his sensorboard. He knew that the window of time for recovery was small, but he wasn't going to give up yet. We'll be back, he promised.

          Bright lights stabbed painfully into Zwibble's eyes and she blinked, turning her head away. The movement sent slivers of pain shooting into her already sore skull, and she winced. "Concussion," an unfamiliar voice intoned. "Nothing exceptionally debilitating. You can take her away now." She opened her eyes as decidedly unfriendly hands grabbed her arms, pulled her up, and forced two cold rings of metal that she knew all too well onto her wrists. Magnacuffs.

          "What's this?" She got her mouth working as the same hands pulled her into a standing position. She got no answer, so she followed the hand to an arm, which led to the torso of a blank-expressioned, helmeted and armed man. The stony-faced guard on her other side mirrored the first and gripped her upper arm, and then they marched her out of the medbay and into a decidedly military corridor.

          Officers wearing New Republic uniforms walked the smooth length of the floor, and the implications of that punched through Zwibble's confused haze with cold menace. Before she could get a good look at anything or anyone, the guards commandeered a turbolift and pushed her inside.

          Two turbolifts later, they emerged into a short, suspiciously empty hall, with a pair of reinforced blastdoors at the end. Zwibble's eyes flickered from the door to the guard on her left, and she lashed out with her foot, smashing into the side of his knee. She spun in an attempt to get the falling guard between her and the one on her right, but that sent her head whirling crazily, and before she had gotten more than a few centimeters a blaster whined and a stun bolt slammed into her. She fell to the floor heavily, her nerves screaming and her vision wavering.

          "Are you all right?" the second guard asked the first as he got up.

          "I'm fine. Nasty little punk, it'll bruise, but I'll live."

          Through the mist that clouded her vision she could see the first guard limping, and she smiled inwardly. It was a hollow victory, but right now she would take all of the consolation she could get. Then the second guard picked up Zwibble's loose form and slung her over his shoulder, and she had other things to think about as the movement sent her head reeling again, this time accompanied by a churning in her stomach.

          They paused at the door, offered some sort of identification, and then proceeded when it opened. Zwibble couldn't do anything but watch the floor as it passed beneath her nose. It was a short walk past some boots that must have been more guards to a small grey room. She was deposited unceremoniously onto the narrow bed, where she was forced to stare at the wall while her cuffs were removed and the footsteps of her escorts receded.

          In a few minutes the effects of the stun shot had worn off enough that she could move, though it sent fresh waves of nauseating pain shooting through her. She gritted her teeth and forced herself into a sitting position, leaning her throbbing head against the cool wall, and surveyed her new chamber.

          It was quite roomy, as cells go, with a 'fresher complete with a shower in one corner and several camera pinholes on the walls. The bunk she was propped on was the only furnishing, and the bare walls, ceiling, and floor were the seamless dull grey of durasteel. The door was the only break in the monotony of the wall, and it too was grey.

          "Real cheerful place you have here," she remarked to no one in particular, and settled down to wait. It looked like she'd be doing a lot of that in the days to come.

          "She's not here." Stolle looked over at Dan, who was sitting in the pilot's seat of the small recovery craft.

          "No, she isn't. The Rebels must have gotten her." His face was expressionless and he stared straight ahead.

          Stolle chewed his lip. "They wouldn't bother to pick up a dead enemy pilot, right? So that means she's alive. Captured, but alive. Right?"

          Dan sighed. "I'm not sure." He tapped his hand against his lip, then shrugged. "We might as well head back to the Copernicus." The Vigilant had hypered to where the Copernicus and the Kepler had waited, and while the Victory Star Destroyer underwent some light repairs, Rear Admiral Calorn had agreed to send the Copernicus back to look for Zwibble. Dan and Stolle had insisted on coming along, and once onboard they had seized the recovery craft. However, there had been no ships left, and no Zwibble either.

          The ride back to the Lancer frigate was a silent one, with both Dan and Stolle wrapped up in their own thoughts. They mechanically maneuvered the transport into the docking bay and shuffled into the Copernicus, where everyone avoided their gazes as they trudged towards the bridge. The captain, a gruff looking, grizzled Etti, coughed awkwardly. "We'll, uh, head back to the Vigilant then, shall we?"

          Dan nodded and the captain quietly gave the order. The subtle colors of hyperspace bathed the bridge in a calm glow for only a few moments before the Copernicus dropped back into realspace. As they approached the Vigilant, two Assault Transports appeared near the Kepler and took up escort positions.

          "Looks like the Scopelet and the Consigli are here," the captain said, too causally.

          "Mmm." Dan didn't shift his gaze from the viewport. The captain coughed again, and then became fascinated with the readout on a nearby console. When Stolle and Dan left the bridge as the docking tube extended from the Vigilant, he breathed a sigh of relief.

          Dan and Stolle, emerging from the docking tube, were met by seven of the remaining members of Epsilon Squadron. "Where's Evil Wrath?" asked Stolle, as he returned their salutes.

          "He's still in the bacta tank; just as a precaution," said Bae. Ensigns Mike and Beler stood a bit apart from the other pilots. Mike's eyes were red and swollen, and he stared blankly ahead.

          "I'm sorry about Carlson," Dan offered. "He'll be sorely missed. I know you two were close."

          Mike nodded stiffly. "I'd like to give the eulogy," he said softly.

          "Of course. It's what he would have wanted. Mike, you're in charge of three flight until..." his voice faltered. "Well, for the moment. I'm giving you the rank of acting Sub-Lieutenant until further notice."

          "Yes sir."

          Beler looked uncomfortable. "Will we be having a memorial service for Zwibble?"

          "No." Dan's voice was harsher than he had intended, and he quickly adjusted it. "We think she's been captured, so we'll consider her MIA. Is there anything else? You're dismissed," he added brusquely, after there was no response. The ensigns filed out, but Stolle remained with Dan.

          "What do we do now?" he asked.

          "I'm going to have a talk with Captain Calcyon," Dan replied. He shook his head. "I only hope there is something we can do."

          Zwibble looked up from calculating a margin of error for estimating the number of pieces of lint on her cot's thin blanket as the door to her cell slid open. In stepped a tall guard holding a tray of food, and suddenly the room seemed much smaller. Zwibble did a double take at his strong, handsome features, and her eyes widened. "Are you related to a Lu Brasforté?" she asked.

          The guard stiffened and narrowed his eyes. "What if I am?" he drawled in a deep, thickly accented voice.

          Zwibble's mouth fell open, and a slow smile started on her face. "Beau? You must be Little Beau! Big Luie described you often enough that I should have recognized you right off."

          The guard nearly dropped his tray. "You know Papa?"

          "Yeah. He brought me to Nar Shadda for the first time, where he took me to the Jolly Hutt and pointed out the booth where you beat up that Barabel. I didn't believe him, but I certainly do now." She took in his over two-meter frame and prominent muscles and whistled. "You're even bigger than he is."

          Beau remembered the tray, which he slowly placed on the floor. He stared at Zwibble for a few moments, and tentative recognition dawned on his face. "Brenna Eloc?"

          Zwibble laughed. "He mentioned me?"

          "But we have you listed as Z-something."

          "I was under an assumed name when I met him." She shook her head, gingerly, as it was still acting up. "Of all the coincidences... how's Big Lu doing these days, anyway?"

          Beau's wrist chrono beeped to signal the half-hour and the sharp noise seemed to shake him from his shocked immobility. "I have to go." He turned, but stopped at the door. "I'll come back later," he mumbled, and then stepped out.

          Zwibble walked over and picked up her tray, still shaking her head. Seeing Beau brought back memories, and for a second she had almost thought it was Lu standing in the doorway. They shared the same face, although they didn't really look all that alike.

          The smell of the food made Zwibble's stomach growl, but when she removed the wrappers it turned out to be the same disappointing fare she'd been getting for the past week: protein mash, something that used to be fruit drenched in a thick, sugary sauce, and some sort of flat, hard, starch bar. She sighed and started eating.

          It wasn't long before the meal was gone, and Zwibble again had nothing to do. The lack of contact with people hadn't been so bad; Zwibble by nature was not a very sociable person. But the dearth of absolutely anything to do was starting to get to her.

          She took the wrapper that had covered the dish of mash and licked it clean, and then began carefully folding the foil-backed paper. A few wrong starts and a papercut later, a lopsided flower emerged. She placed it in the middle of the remains of her lunch and admired her handiwork. The sight of the flower hadn't much time to get old before another guard stepped in to collect her tray. He raised his eyebrows at the folded paper that sat in the middle.

          "It's supposed to be a saggery blossom," Zwibble told him. "I couldn't get the sides quite even. Still, it's better than yesterday's dewback attempt. I think I've remembered how to do a mynock, so I'll try that tomorrow, but I'm not sure how the double back-crease will work on foil." The guard stared at her blankly.

          "I don't suppose you could bring me something to read?" Zwibble asked as he started to walk out. "Or maybe some flimsy and a stylus?" The door closed behind him and she sighed. "Ah well, back to work. Now, if there are an average of seven lint pieces in a area of twenty-five square centimeters, but an average of twenty-nine in an area of a hundred square centimeters, then that means I'd have to..."

          Zwibble came awake with her heart pounding. Someone was in the room. The blanket scratched at her eyes, and she cursed the thing for doing what she had intended it to: block the light. There was a hiss as the door closed, and then heavy footsteps. She tightened her muscles in readiness as they neared, trying to work the sleep out of them. The footsteps paused near her head, and she spun sideways, flinging her full weight at where she judged the ankles to be. Whoever it was caught the attack off guard and stumbled, and she flung the blanket in their general direction, kicking at the same time. She connected with something, but a huge black fist shot out and glanced off her jaw with enough force to snap her head around and send her sprawling. When the stars had cleared and the room stopped spinning, she looked up to see Beau, holding his stomach.

          "Do y'treat all your visitors this well?"

          "Oh, uh, sorry. I wasn't expecting you."

          "I'd hate to be the person you were expectin', then. You've got a mean kick."

          "Not nearly as mean as your punch." She rubbed her jaw gingerly. "I'm glad that didn't connect full force, or I'd be looking for my head somewhere in the corner, I think." She blinked away the dizzyness and scrambled up. "What brings you here at this time of night?"

          "It was the only time I could get to talk with ya. We're not supposed to pay you visits, you know."

          "There are cameras." She gestured at the walls. "Don't you think this is going to look suspicious when the footage gets reviewed?"

          "I've set them to play old tape of you sleeping, and I'm gettin' one of my friends to overlay the audio of your snorin' and make sure it goes smoothly."

          "I do not snore!"

          "Yes y'do." He smiled. "Not terrible, but you still do it."

          "That's beside the point. How well do you trust this friend? Why not just do it yourself; the less people that know the better."

          "Computers aren't my area. I'd botch it and blow the cover."

          "From what Luie told me, joining the military wasn't your area either. What are you doing here, and with the Rebels?"

          "We'd better sit."

          "I sit all day. I think I'll stand, thanks."

          He shrugged and settled onto her cot, which protested under his weight. "As I'm sure Lu told ya, I've never been what you'd call a law-abidin' citizen. But I got into an especially bad stretch a few years back, and they'd finally had enough. I knew the judge, and he said I was a good kid, just gettin' into bad ways. So he gives me a choice: seein' as most of the time I was in for fightin', I could either shape up and join the military, or do some serious time. I figure free is better than jail, almost any way you look at it, so I signed up.

          "Been in the service of the New Republic for almost three years now, and my time's about up. But, I'm going to sign on for a few more years, 'cause it seems to suit me. Besides, this new commodore I have, she's really somethin'. Gives me somethin' to stay here for, other than the pay."

          "Akutmif." Zwibble shook her head. "What has she got that could convince you to stay?"

          He shrugged. "I was never too fond of the New Republic, but then again I was never too fond of the Empire either. You know Luie's philosophy: 'Governments come and go, but people is people and business is business.' I mostly agreed with him, until Commodore Akutmif started me seein' the bigger picture. I mean, Lu's business is his life, but it won't outlast him more'n a few generations. I finally have the chance to work for somethin' that'll last for thousands of years."

          "Not if I can help it. How could you throw in with a bunch of trumped-up terrorists? If I know --"

          "Look," he cut in, "I didn't come here to argue politics with you. Maybe there'll be time for discussion later, but right now that's not important." She met his gaze fiercely, but his eyes maintained their calm brown strength. "Can't you just let that go?"

          "All right." She relaxed her scowl.

          "Good. Now that you've heard my story, what's yours? I didn't get th' impression you were exactly the military type either."

          She shrugged. "I got drafted."

          "That's it?" He studied her face. "I think there's more to it than that."

          "I thought you didn't want to get into politics."

          He raised his hands. "Sorry. Forget I said anythin'."

          The uncomfortable silence hung between them for a few seconds before Zwibble's expression softened. "Did you and Luie ever patch it up?"

          "Course we did. You know he can't hold a grudge, and I realized th' error of my ways." Beau seemed all too grateful for the change of subject.

          "He always knew you would. So, how is Lu?"

          Beau's face was brightened by a smile. "Still goin' strong." He shook his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if he outlives us all."

          "Marie hasn't stolen all of his business yet?"

          "Far from it. They've merged, in fact, and now run the bigger 'n better Forte-Bravo Inc. as husband 'n wife."

          "Marie and Lu, married?" She shook her head. "We always said they'd either get hitched or end up killing one another. It must be an interesting arrangement."

          He grinned. "Oh, that it is. They're happy though, and the fourth child's due in a few months."

          "Four already? That brings his total to, what, twenty-something?"

          "Thirty-three. Not countin' the ten-odd he's adopted, or the drifters he has under his wing."

          Zwibble barely managed to keep her jaw shut. "Sweet burning stars, thirty-three?"

          "He's been pesterin' me to get 'im some grandchildren. I tell him he's already got fifteen, but he just keeps remindin' me that he'd had seven kids himself by th' time he was my age, and those were only th' ones he knew about."

          "He used to brag that he'd fathered half of the children on Cajia. It wouldn't surprise me if he had. And the ones he didn't father he fed -- kids from all around used to sneak in for meals. I never saw him turn anyone away." She smiled. "I miss those suppers; the chaos, the noise, and most of all the food. I've been dreaming about his Bhillen gumbo for years."

          "So why didn't you visit?"

          "Things happened." She shrugged. "I got drafted, Cajia was behind enemy lines, and there was always one thing or another."

          "You know you're always welcome." He peered at her face. "What is it?"

          "Nothing, it's just -- nothing. Too complicated." She looked away.

          Beau paused. "Alright, then. I've got to go now, but I'll see if I c'n sneak in another visit tomorrow or th' next day. Don't go anywhere." He stood and the cot sighed in relief.

          She smiled slightly. "I'll try to keep myself here."

          Lieutenant Ace coughed and shuffled his feet. "Uh, Agony," he mumbled, "they're making me nervous." Two guards, an Abyssin and a stocky Wookie, were flanking the ancient hangar bay doors, glaring fiercely at the three Imperial officers before them.

          "Just ignore them and stop making faces. You're grimacing."

          "It's the beard. It's scratchy. Couldn't I have gotten the eyepatch?"

          "Everyone knows the captain gets the eyepatch," Agony told him. "Besides, I look silly in a beard."

          "You look silly in an eyepatch, too."

          "At least you didn't get the head-shaving treatment," Lieutenant Faeroth interjected before Agony could retaliate. "And these tattoos..."

          "I like the tattoos." Ace grinned. "They give you a rakish look."

          "'Death is my way of life' and 'Blood, guts, and glory but mostly blood'?" Faeroth rolled his eyes. "Couldn't they have been creative tattoos?"

          "They wouldn't look authentic if you didn't regret them later," Agony offered. "Now shush and try to look fierce. Ace, stop scratching."

          "Pirates aren't known for their personal hygiene." Ace sniffed. "I was just trying to help give --" The door opened and they turned forward. Ace had to remind himself not to do it militarily. Casual, casual...

          "Welcome." Ace recognized the Duros who had spoken. He was tall, even for a Duros, and his skin was greying and faded with age. But his eyes were keen, his back straight, and the hand he offered to Agony was sure. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting; I had a pressing matter to attend to."

          "That's fine." Agony's voice was a curt growl.

          "Follow me." Ace couldn't tell whether Rausch had been offended by Agony's brusqueness, or if he just wanted to get the ball rolling. Whatever it was, he disposed with the formalities and strode from the room, not bothering to see if the disguised Imperials were following. Agony trailed him briskly and Ace followed suit, while Faeroth slunk behind looking sullen. The Human who had entered with Rausch hung back until they were all into the dim hallway, and then brought up the rear. Ace hadn't gotten a good look at him, but he got an impression of quick dark eyes and a sharp nose.

          It was a short walk to a small conference room with delightfully cool, dry air. It was approaching summer, and the atmosphere of Yetoom was uncomfortably muggy.

           Rausch took a seat, and Ace had to stop himself from doing likewise. Faeroth, however, plopped himself right down. Rausch ignored him, and after a moment he inclined his head and motioned Agony to a seat. Ace waited until his captain was seated before he did the same. The man with the dark eyes took a seat behind Ace, just out of his range of vision.

          "I suppose you are wondering why you are here." Rausch steepled his long fingers and leaned forward expectantly. Agony just nodded. "I'll get straight to the point, then. Originally I arranged this meeting as a congratulatory one. I was impressed with your quota, and your unusually high efficiency. You were to be commended and given command of a section of my fleet. That may still happen. However," he paused, "you seem to have an abnormally high percentage of New Republic quarry." He stopped and looked at Agony, who returned his gaze coolly.

          "We-" started Ace, but quickly covered it with a cough. He was supposed to be a follower; he wasn't supposed to initiate anything. But Agony, playing the role of the silent Captain Qual, was certainly taking his time. Blast Intel and their confounded profiles.

          When Agony finally spoke, it was with a voice rough with disuse. "We were operating in New Republic space."

          "Yes, but you ignored the entire neutral Billobb convoy in favor of the slim pickings of the Fleetfoot; and you didn't even approach the decidedly under-defended shuttle of a noted Imperial diplomat."

          Ace tried not to twiddle his thumbs as Agony formulated his reply. The Fleetfoot incident could probably be explained easily enough, but the Mak Voorin one could not. They had come out of hyperspace practically on top of the diplomat, but Agony hadn't been about to attack one of the best negotiators they had. Faeroth had thought that they should, in order not to compromise the mission that Grand Admiral Daemon himself had notified them of. Agony had remained firm in his decision to ignore Voorin, not even attempting to make a botched job of it, as the diplomat's phobia of capture would mean he'd commit suicide if it appeared imminent. It looked as if they might pay for the decision now.

          "The Fleetfoot was a mistake. We thought it was carrying something valuable. As for Voorin, he is known for his distaste and refusal to cooperate with hostage-takers. We would have gained nothing by capturing him."

          Rausch nodded. "That may be, but at the very least you could have killed the man."

          "I didn't see what that would accomplish."

          Rausch digested this for a moment. "Perhaps the bias I detected was due to your location and circumstances. It doesn't matter much now anyway, but from this point forward I want you to ignore New Republic targets."

          "All of them?"

          "Yes, no matter how good the pickings. And, I want you to take a greater than average risk when dealing with Imperials. If you can't capture them, kill them."

          Agony nodded slowly. Ace wondered if he would ask why, but he wasn't sure if that would be in character. Faeroth solved the problem.

          "Why?"

          Rausch didn't seem the slightest bit fazed by his demanding tone. "Because," he said patiently, "we have to present a good image for the New Republic envoy who will be paying us a visit within the week."

          Faeroth shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

          Agony shot him a cool, reprimanding glance, and turned his impassive gaze back to Rausch. "Forgive the interruption."

          "No matter." He regarded Agony for a moment. "I am appointing you as overseer of the sixth quadrant. There may be some... dissatisfaction among the other operatives due to the rapidness of your promotion. I trust you will be able to deal with them?" There was an obvious emphasis on the word 'deal'.

          "Of course."

          "Excellent." He stood. "There will be no problem if you start immediately?"

          "That will be fine." Agony, also standing, took his outstretched hand.

          "Fargednim P'taan will escort you back to your ship. I unfortunately can not see you off, as business calls." Rausch disappeared into an inner office and P'taan appeared by the door. Ace hadn't heard him get up from his chair, but there he was, bathed in shadow. Ace couldn't tell whether that was by accident or design, but it didn't prevent him from getting a better look at Rausch's second-hand man.

          He was just under average height, and he looked surprisingly young. His lean body seemed to be devoid of fat, and his muscles were small and sinewy. The dominating feature of his face was his large, almond, nearly black eyes framed with amazing lashes. His thin lips and sharp nose were entirely overwhelmed by them, and the effect of their almost hypnotic depths was disconcerting.

          The walk back to the hangar bay was a silent one, and by the time they got to the shuttle, Ace was perspiring, due to both the humidity and the sensation of P'taan's eyes boring into his shoulderblades. P'taan silently saw them off, taking Agony's hand with a nod and with what Ace thought to be mild distaste, although he couldn't be sure. The shuttle rapidly cleared the cloudtops and headed towards the cool reaches of space, where the Artemis and further planning waited.

          Palantas sighed. "As you can see, the situation is not good." He gestured toward the roughly spherical schematic behind him. The predominant features were planetary systems represented by blue ovals, with a few yellow patches and one small, glaring red one. Palantas pressed a button and the red started snaking out tendrils, talking over several of the blue spots. "We're going to have to mount an offensive. This trend simply cannot continue." The display froze.

          "The weakest part of Akutmif's territory is the systems themselves. She's enforcing rule, and her resources are spread thin. They're most vulnerable at Ewmmc." One of the red ellipsoids enlarged to fill the screen and a six-planet system orbiting a binary star sprang into focus, with a popup displaying a defense of half a squadron of Y-wings. "However, we will be attacking the Tersta system instead." This system was more extensive, and it boasted a Lancer-class frigate, a few Corvettes, and at least a full squadron of X-wings. "As you can see, this shouldn't prove very difficult." Stolle, sitting in the back of the briefing room, raised his hand. "Yes, Sub-Lieutenant?"

          "Excuse me, but why aren't we going for the system with only half a squad of wishbones?'

          "Because that's where Akutmif expects us to go. She's no doubt got a trap set up for us there. Tersta, on the other hand, has got enough of a defense that it's not an outright invitation, but it's nothing we can't handle."

          "That's what you said about the Raymahotis engagement," replied Dan flatly. "Remember how well that went?"

          "Well, it's your job to make sure that doesn't happen again." Palantas seemed slightly annoyed. "Any more questions? Good. It'll be a standard capture operation, no reason not to do it by the book. You'll launch at 10:00 tomorrow, and be back in time for lunch, no problem."

          "All fighters, back to the ship." Palantas's voice was clipped, holding back anger. "She's done it again."

          Akutmif had been ready for them, and within minutes of the launch of the fighters, the rest of her fleet had dropped out of hyperspace on top of them. The Copernicus had barely managed to limp off, but the Scopelet had not been so fortunate.

          Dan, miraculously the only member of Epsilon squadron to be shot down, had been picked up by the Ptol, one of the Corvettes, as it withdrew. The florid-faced captain was apoplectic, and she somehow seemed to think the retreat was Dan's fault. He got a lecture on the recklessness of fighter pilots, but he didn't take it too personally after several junior officers were sent running with the observation by the captain at the top of her formidable lungs that, "The kaffe machine isn't working again! Is it too much to ask to have a bleeding cup of kaffe? Where is that Fitzarnold? I'll skin him alive! You there, stop standing like that; it's a disgrace. This is an Imperial warship, not a rec lounge!" And so it had gone until Dan had fled to the relative silence of the Vigilant, where a stony-faced Palantas debriefed them, his eyes stormy.

          Everyone had just shuffled off after Palantas had finished, and Dan made his way down to the hangar, feeling dejected. He just seemed to be in the way of the techs, who were going over the fighters after the battle. After a few not-so-subtle hints, Dan left to wander the strangely deserted corridors. Over the past month, ever since Zwibble had gone missing, things had just been going downhill. His com beeped, and he debated answering it. It kept beeping until he sighed and clicked it on. "Dan here."

          It was Captain Calcyon. "I want to see you in my office now." Evidently he wasn't in the best of moods, but that seemed understandable given the circumstances.

          "I'll be there in a few minutes." Calcyon had already clicked off. Dan sighed again and headed towards the nearest turbolift.

          "Forty-six... forty-seven... forty-eight... forty... nine... fifty! Whew!" Zwibble took deep breaths and flexed her tired arms. They ached with the satisfying feeling of a job well done. It was amazing how appealing pushups became when your only other option was to stare at the wall. Before she had finished the fourth of her sit-ups, which came next in her lineup, the door opened and two guards stepped in.

"You're coming with us."

          "Well, normally I'd have to refuse, but since you put it so nicely, how can I resist?" She got to her feet. One of the guards stepped forward with binders while the other covered him with an unholstered DH-17 pointed at her torso. She recognized him as the guard who she'd kicked. "How's your knee?" She held out her wrists docilely as he put the magnacuffs on them.

          "Fine, thanks."

          "Oh, good." She flexed her hands. "Don't you think these are a bit loose? After all, if you're trying to make my hands fall off, slicing through my wrists is a lot faster than cutting of the circulation and waiting for the gangrene to set in."

          "Shut up and start walking."

          Zwibble's attempts at striking up a conversation didn't succeed, but she kept trying until the other guard shoved his blaster into her kidney and wondered what a stunbolt at that range would feel like. She wasn't anxious to find out.

She noticed the guard who she'd kicked kept his distance, even while in the small turbolift. She grinned at him. "Kick you once, shame on me; kick you twice, shame on you?" He neglected to answer.

          The room that they came to was octagonal, almost barren, and paneled in a dark close-grained wood. They took off her magnacuffs and stepped out again, closing the door behind them. There was a soft, bluesy jizz tune coming from expertly positioned speakers, and one entire wall was taken up in the most elaborate sound system Zwibble had ever seen. The other walls boasted a few odd-looking contraptions that might have been musical instruments, and a magnificent animated holo of a storm-tossed plain. The single, large desk seemed out of place in the dimly lit room.

          The song finished in a smooth, drowsy chord, and some barely post-pubescent Human boy and his friends came on, whining about their girls. Zwibble rolled her eyes and tried to figure out what the buttons on the sound system did. She had just managed to change the song to something decent when the door slid open and in stepped a Talz with a rank insignia pinned to her breast.

          "M'lar'Nkai'kambric," she said in oddly accented Basic. "Interesting choice."

          It took Zwibble a second to realize what she was talking about.

          "I hadn't thought you'd be a post-neo-modernist/retro-classical fan."

          Zwibble was lost again. She tried to remain as casual as Akutmif. "I have no idea what you're talking about. It was just better than that teenybopper excrement that was playing. Teenage mush."

          "I think the Outer-rim Boys are older than you are." Her mouth twitched in what Zwibble thought was a smile, although she wasn't sure.

          "I wouldn't know."

          Akutmif sat behind the desk, motioning Zwibble to the chair in front of it. Zwibble sat, warily, never taking her eyes off of the commodore. Her hands were clammy, and it was only through the chilled nervous sweat on her palms that she realized how cold the room was. Her breath left faint plumes in the air. It was actually quite refreshing, except for the fact that the sweat from her workout was starting to cool, turning her clothes damp.

          "May I offer you a drink?" Akutmif opened a drawer and pulled out a thick bottle filled with an amber liquid. She poured a jigger into two small tumblers and handed Zwibble one. The smell told her that it was something expensive, but she couldn't quite place it. There was no reason not to drink it -- if Akutmif had wanted her dead or drugged there had been and would be any number of opportunities -- so she took an exploratory sip.

          Flavor exploded across her tongue and rolled down her throat, the alcohol exploding tiny bombs of liquid fire on each of her tastebuds. Her eyes widened involuntarily.  "Merenzane Gold. And good." Usually the pricey drink was too sweet for her tastes, but this, while on the sweet side as beverages went, was subtle, rich, and far from overpowering. She savored a few more thrilling sips until reality caught back up with her. It seemed as if Akutmif, cool and nonchalant, was content to sit trading pleasantries all day. Zwibble, although relieved to be somewhere other than her cell, wasn't in the mood. "Why am I here? What do you want?"

          Akutmif set her glass down. "I have a proposition for you."

          "Oh, really?" Zwibble crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

          "Will you hear me out?"

          Zwibble shrugged. What have I got to lose? "Fine."

          "Alright, then. I'm willing to make you an offer: your freedom for a complete disclosure on what you know about the Galactic Empire."

          "No thanks."

          "You're sure? This is your only chance at getting out."

          "I'm sure. I don't turn on my friends to save myself." Unlike some people, she didn't add. No need to get Akutmif riled up until she could figure where she was coming from.

          Akutmif sighed. "I can respect that, but we're going beyond friends here. This is political. You didn't even want to be in the Imperial military, did you?" She added after a moment. "You got drafted, and your acceptance into the Navy was a mistake."

          "I can see you've done your homework." She smiled thinly. "But not well enough. I got into the Navy via a word of recommendation from the well-known Brigadier General Ematt." She didn't mention that he had all but forced her transfer from the Army.

          "And do you know why you got accepted so quickly?'

          The question was obviously rhetorical, but it sent Zwibble's mind whirling. Just what is she driving at? The music didn't help her sense of unease; it had chosen this moment to switch to a dark, unsettling selection full of minor chords.

          Akutmif's tone slipped from the matter-of-fact to almost gentle, as if she were reporting the death of a loved one. "You were accepted only because of Ematt. The applications department thought you were his mistress, and they waived you through. You wouldn't have passed the exams otherwise."

          "Oh, really?" She tried to keep her voice steady. It wasn't true; it couldn't be true. She wasn't that bad of a pilot, although she certainly had picked up many of her skills in heat-of-the-moment situations under the guidance of Lieutenants Kreed and Dan.

          "Why would I lie?"

          Zwibble snorted. "Why wouldn't you?" It came out weaker than she had intended, and she knew it wasn't a strong defense. Akutmif was known for her honesty, indeed, it had probably been her candor that had gotten her assigned to the fringes of the New Republic's territory. Still, it couldn't be true. She had worked hard to pass those exams, and there were several she was sure she had. But it had seemed as if she'd had a lighter workload than the other applicants she had talked to, and all it would have taken would have been one failure. Her formation flying had been atrocious... "You're just trying to manipulate me so I'll play the way you want." It came out petulant, and Zwibble knew Akutmif was getting to her.

          The Talz shrugged lightly. "I can let you see the records."

          That would have meant putting her in Akutmif's debt, even a small one, and it was something she wouldn't do. "That won't be necessary." So what if it were true? Yes, it bothered her, but there was no one who was going to say that she hadn't earned her way since then. She pushed aside the doubts for now. Akutmif wasn't going to get her that easily.

          Zwibble uncrossed her arms, leaned back, and took another sip of the amazing Merenzane Gold. "Let me ask you a question, commodore. What information do you think a Sub-Lieutenant is going to be able to provide you with? I'm not exactly privy to the inner workings of the Empire, or even the Navy."

          Akutmif was obviously aware of the change of the course of the conversation, but she didn't press it. Zwibble couldn't tell if that was out of courtesy or practicality. "I wouldn't expect you to be. However, you're inquisitive. You tend to poke around, and I'm willing to bet you know more than you let on, and maybe even more than you yourself are aware of."

          There had to be more to it than that, but Zwibble decided to play along for now. She wasn't sure whether Akutmif's statement had been flattery, a guess, or a conclusion Akutmif had come to. It sounded suspiciously like the latter, although she was at a loss as to how Akutmif would have come to that determination. She decided to try a little flattery herself.

          "You have done your homework. But, if I don't know that I know it, how can I help you?" There was no reason why she shouldn't milk this encounter for all it was worth. And, the longer she talked, the longer she'd get to enjoy the Merenzane Gold. If she played it right, she might even manage to convince Akutmif that she would accept the offer, and then feed her a line of poppycock and get free. Somehow, though, she didn't think Akutmif would let that happen.

          "We would do a cranial dump. That way, we can sift through all of the information, without the chance that you might accidentally leave something out." There was the slightest emphasis on 'accidentally'. So much for her escape plan.

          "Of course, you could always do a dump without my consent."

          "We could. But if the subject isn't willing, the information tends to be incomplete, skewed and not worth the effort it takes to pull it out. And the subject's mind is destroyed."

          "Still, better than nothing." The Merenzane Gold was gone. It had been too good to last.

          "But far from the optimal. We'll use it as a last resort, should it come to that." So Akutmif knew that Zwibble was gathering information, and she was letting Zwibble know that she knew. She was also laying out the consequences of not cooperating -- not threatening, not bullying, but just stating a fact in a casual sort of way. There was no need to threaten. It decreased Zwibble's hope that she'd be able to break out, but she wasn't going to give up just yet.

          "Would you like more?" Akutmif had noticed the empty glass.

          "Please." So here they were, back playing tea party. Akutmif must still be trying to butter her up. Zwibble could live with that. She caught a glimpse of the bottle's label as Akutmif refilled her glass. That can't be right... "Does that say Veron?"

"It certainly does." Veron was renowned for it alcoholic concoctions, which were prized the galaxy over for their rarity. The Senex lords jealously guarded the planet's exports, and most of the liquor that could be found outside of the Senex system had been smuggled out at great expense. The little that did escape was almost always of inferior quality.

"Where did you get this?"

"A friend." Akutmif's mouth twitched again in an enigmatic smile and Zwibble felt her heart jump. This was good enough to have come directly from the table of Lord Drost Elegin himself, and if Akutmif had those kind of connections, stopping her was going to be that much harder. She covered up her unease with a generous sip of the liquor.

          Akutmif stopped smiling and leaned forward, all business once again. "I'm sure you want time to think this over. It's not an easy decision, and I don't expect you to make it immediately. Does a week sound like enough time?"

          "If that's what you're giving me, I'll take it." Considering I'm not going to change my mind anyway... "You didn't finish your drink." Akutmif's glass sat on the table, still holding almost a fourth of its original contents.

          "I find this vintage a bit strong. But you certainly seem to have enjoyed it." Zwibble's second glass was drained, and she resisted the urge to lick the drops from the bottom. "Here." Akutmif picked up the bottle and put the stopper in. "Take it as a gift. Please understand that you're to keep it no matter what your decision is."

          "Why, thank you." Zwibble tried to restrain from drooling. Evidently Akutmif really didn't like the liquor, she had more, or she was making quite a bribe. There was no way she would give up something of this rarity as a simple payoff, and so Zwibble was forced to consider the second option. Maybe she did have more of the stuff, which would definitely mean the commodore had some sort of connections. No one was that lucky.

          "And now, it's time for you to return. Please excuse the magnacuffs, but I'm afraid I don't trust you not to make an escape attempt."

          "You're smarter than you look."

          Akutmif stood, and she must have pressed a button because the door opened and the two guards stepped in. Zwibble was cuffed, still holding her precious bottle, and nodded a civil farewell to her captor.

          "Until later, then."

          Akutmif nodded in return. And then the door closed and Zwibble was headed back to the maddening bleakness of her cell. But now she had a touch of gold to liven the place up.

          Beau dropped in that night, waking Zwibble just as she had managed to drop off to sleep. She hadn't seen him in almost two weeks.

          "Well, hello. I was beginning to wonder if you'd been transferred." She lay on the floor, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

          "Sorry. Stevv and I haven't been on th' same shift."

          "Stevv?"

          He's the guy who does th' editin' work for me on the cameras. You kicked 'im."

          "Oh, er, tell him I'm sorry about that." She sat up and stretched. "So how did you convince him to help you?"

"I told him we knew each other from a while back. I think he thinks you're an old flame, and that I'm tryin' some cha cha on you." He grinned and winked.

          She rolled her eyes. "As long as he doesn't suspect anything." She crossed her legs and Beau took up his usual perch on the unused bed.

          "Question for ya: why d'you sleep on th' floor?"

          "You try sleeping on that thing." She nodded towards the cot. "Besides, I've always liked the floor better. I think it's more comfortable. Now, cold metal isn't my first choice for the type of floor I'm sleeping on, but I'm used to it from my quarters back home on the Vigilant."

          "That's a Star Destroyer, Victory-class, isn't it?"

          "Yeah." She smiled and sighed, thinking of the vessel that had been her home for almost half a year now. "She's the best ship in the whole fleet."

          "Well, o'course, if you were on it." He met her grin with one of his own, his teeth gleaming in sharp contrast to his face.

          "I like the way you think." She was still thinking about the Vigilant, and everyone she'd left behind. She wondered how Dan and Stolle were doing. Stars, she missed them.

          Beau must have noticed her melancholy, because he deftly fielded the conversation.          He pointed to the bottle of liquor next to the bed. "Where'd you get that from?"

          "Akutmif. I got to meet her today."

          "I know."

          "Stevv told you?" He nodded. "She's not bad, as Rebels go."

          "Told you you'd like 'er."

          "I'd like her much better if she wasn't keeping me locked up here."

          "That's th' way it goes. She's not treated y'badly, though."

          "Well, no." She had been surprised at the level of care she got. "But I am still a prisoner."

          "That y'are. But," and he grinned again, "you've got me t' keep ya company."

          "You're right!" She smacked her forehead. "How could I have forgotten? That just makes the whole thing worthwhile." She picked up the bottle. "Actually, this makes it worthwhile. Want to try some?"

          "What is it?"

          "Merenzane Gold," she replied, unsealing it. "Insanely expensive vintage, but definitely worth it." She poured the small glass half full. "Here."

          "So much? I wouldn't wanna deplete your resources."

          "It's strong, wiseguy."

          He sniffed it. "Whew, I guess it is. Wow!" His eyes flew open on the first taste.

          Zwibble smiled at him. "How is it?'

          "It's a little strong --"

          If you don't want it, I'll take it."

          "-- but I like it," he finished, and took another sip.

          He looked so much like Lu, delicately holding the glass in his thick fingers and peering at the contents, that Zwibble decided to make her move now. What have I got to lose? Well, her only friend in a nest of enemies, but it was a risk she'd have to take. "Beau?"

          "Yeah?"

          "Could you..." She wasn't sure how to put this without offending him. But she had to ask him before she lost her nerve. "Would you help me break out?"

          He put the glass down slowly, not meeting her eyes. "I can't."

          "Please?"

          He shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry. Wish I could, but..." He sighed. "I've thought about it. Th' logistics of it 're do-able, but, you're th' enemy." He hunched his shoulders. "As much as I like you, you're on th' other side."

          "I understand." She hadn't really expected him to agree, but she was hoping there'd be enough of Luie's fierce family ties in him that he'd be willing to do it. But if he had been more like Lu, he never would have joined the military in the first place, she reminded herself. Still, it was disappointing.

          Time for Plan B...

          "You New Republic types have better security than I would have given you credit for." She offered the best smile she could muster, and kept her tone light. "You don't even take me out of the cell for showers; everything's done in here."

          He nodded, his eyes thanking her for a new topic. "Minimizes th' chances o' breaks."

          "But sometimes you open the door for food, instead of using the chute." she gestured towards the small rectangular opening on the wall that spit out her meals at regular intervals. "Isn't that a security risk?"

          "Yeah." He frowned. "But Akutmif gave us orders that for some meals we're supposed to send somebody in. I don't know why." He shrugged. "Besides, even if you could get past one of us, you wouldn't get out."

          Zwibble remembered the door to the hall, guarded by at least four troopers and with an unimpeded view of the cell bay corridor. There was nothing to hide behind from her room until the monitoring consoles, a good 15 meters away. She'd never make it. "So what do you do with the other guards while you make your visits? Are they in on it too?"

          "We wait until you're asleep, and then Stevv lures 'em into one of the closets for some sabacc or somethin', leavin' me to watch the cameras. Then I pop down here while they're busy playin'. That's why I c'n only stay for 'n hour at the most."

          "And why you always have to wake me up." He nodded. "So how does Stevv know when it's safe to end the game?"

          "I come in and join 'em for a few hands or just to watch or somethin', and Stevv goes out and does whatever it is he does to the recordings while I keep 'em occupied."

          "Do you turn the cameras back on, or does he?"

          His eyebrows drew together slightly. "Why?"

          "Oh, just wondering." She hoped she hadn't seemed too eager. She didn't want him to suspect anything.

          It didn't look like Beau was going to answer her question; he was looking at her oddly and pulling on his lip. Zwibble reached for the bottle again. "Want another drink?"

          "Naw, thanks anyway. I don't want t' get smashed while on duty."

          "Good idea." She yawned. "Excuse me."

          "It's late, and I'd probably better be gettin' back. Val seemed kinda restless, and if he gets bored with the game and decides to come back out, there could be trouble."

          "Okay. Let me show you to the door." She did, pointless as it was, and peered at the edges as they met in the middle. She nodded, seemingly satisfied with something, and went back to bed to sleep a confident sleep.

          "This is getting serious." Calcyon stared across at Lieutenant Dan, Lieutenant Nanöme and Lieutenant Commander Palantas. "Morale is the lowest I've seen in a long time, and we're not going have even a chance at beating Akutmif unless we find some way to raise it."

          "So what do you suggest?" Dan eyed Nanöme worriedly. He looked terrible, his skin pale and his eyes haunted. He was slouching down in his chair, staring at something on the floor.

          "I don't have any suggestions," said Calcyon, sounding annoyed. "That's why you're all here."

          "Oh." Dan noticed a small crack on the table. He followed it around with his eyes for a while, marveling at how long it was, until he realized it was circular.

          "Ahem." Calcyon coughed, and Dan looked up to find everyone watching him.

          "What?"

          "We were hoping you could come up with something."

          "We?" Dan looked around at their tired faces. "It's a conspiracy. Why me?'

          "Your squadron always seems to have something going on." Even Nanöme's voice was tired, washed out. He had lost half of Eta in the last to engagements with Akutmif.

          "It's usually behind my back. You'd have to talk to Stolle --" and Zwibble, he'd been about to add. They usually had been together in whatever mischief they were cooking up.

          "Call him up, then."

          Stolle wasn't answering his com, and Dan had to spend a few irritating minutes calling around. Stolle had been working out, and when he finally appeared, he was dressed in some old shorts and a faded, sweat-stained tunic that was too small. He didn't seem terribly self-conscious about it, however.

          "We need your help," Dan told him. "We've got to do something to boost morale."

          "So how can I help?"

          "By coming up with that something."

          Stolle rested his chin on his hand for a few moments. "A break in routine, something with entertainment." He smiled. "A party. A giant, ship-wide party with drinks, food, dancing, and mandatory attendance."

          "Mandatory?" asked Dan.

          "Yes, so antisocial sourpusses like you can't mope around in their quarters," he replied sarcastically.

          Dan was feeling too listless to formulate a comeback.

          "We'll turn the main hangar bay into a dance floor, because it's cold enough that it should bleed off some of the excess heat created by all of the bodies, and if we clear it off it's nice and big for dancing. Oh, I'll need a list of all the women onboard."

          They all raised their eyebrows and Calcyon snorted.

          "You don't expect anyone to dance if there isn't anyone to dance with, do you? There has to be someone to break the ice."

          "I don't know if I should give you a list," said Calcyon. "They haven't done anything to deserve such punishment."

          "So are you volunteering to start things off? I didn't think so. Actually," he tapped his lip, "that's a good idea... I want you and Calorn, as the highest ranking officers, to dance first."

          "What?"

          "Not together. I'll force one of the women to dance with you... Lieutenant Cambris down in Maintenance is the perfect height."

          Calcyon ignored the 'force' part. "And who put you in charge?"

          "I thought you wanted my help. I can't work my magic if you don't give me free reign."

          "Okay." Calcyon sighed. "Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

          Stolle shot him a dazzling smile. "Don't worry, captain, you're in good hands."

          Calcyon just groaned.

          Despite Calcyon's inhibitions, the party was a roaring success. The dance partner Stolle had chosen for the captain was quite good, good enough that no one noticed that Calcyon seemed less than eager to be on the dance floor. Calorn surprised everyone by being an excellent dancer, and he pulled several women onto the floor, which paved the way for everyone else. By the third song, the place was packed.

          Stolle had managed to bully Supplies into providing them with all manner of snacks, and the mess hall was offering a surprisingly edible selection of more substantial fare, which Stolle had personally guaranteed only included artery-clogging foods, rib-stickers, and sweets. There wasn't anything green and leafy for parsecs.

          Both the bar and the dance hangar had live bands, although the dancers were also treated to an extensive collection of recordings. Lieutenant Nanöme and his Fizzz were a hot commodity, and he spent most of his time bouncing between the two gigs.

          Dan was hiding in the bar nursing a drink and listening to Nanöme's somewhat rusty rendition of "Mad about Me" when Stolle found him.

          "Wouldn't you rather be dancing?" he shouted over the din.

          "No, not really." Dan turned back to his drink, but Stolle wasn't leaving.

          "Yes you would."

          "No, I wouldn't."

          "Too bad." Stolle dragged him to the hangar bay, despite his protests. "Meet Deb Trinty," he'd said when they'd gotten there, and shoved Dan into the arms of a curvy deck officer. Evidently Stolle had given her strict instructions, because she didn't let Dan out of her sight. Finally he managed to escape to the punch table, where he got into a conversation with a shy, dark-haired gunner. He ignored the thumbs-up sign Stolle shot him on one of his many breeze-throughs.

          Stolle spent the entire night hopping from hotspot to hotspot, flashing his infectious smile and coordinating everything. No one was forgotten, and he made it his personal mission to see that everyone was there and having a good time. He even found time to drop by the bar for a few drinks, and he sampled some of everything as he brought food to the few officers that were on duty until their shifts ended.

          When everything had quieted down in the wee hours of the morning, he finally stopped long enough to point the cleanup crews in the general direction of the biggest messes before he stumbled back to his quarters to sleep like the dead for a solid twelve hours. The ship was quiet all morning as nearly everyone slept off the effects of the wild night, but into the afternoon it came more alive than it had been in weeks. Everyone's faces, although still a bit tired-looking, were cleared, and the cloud of melancholy that had been hanging over the ship was lifted.

          Even Nanöme, although not exactly cheerful, was walking with a spring in his step, humming riffs under his breath.

          When Stolle finally awoke, he was greeted by a refreshed-looking Palantas. "Stolle, my congratulations. You did a good job."

          "Of course." He grinned at the ship's First Officer. "So did you get her name?"

          "What?" Palantas looked confused.

          "The saucy little number with the nice moves you were boogying with last night. Or was it this morning..."

          Palantas smiled. "I'm not telling. I've got to get back to work." He turned and headed towards the bridge.

          "That means yes," called Stolle to his retreating back. He rubbed his hands together and cackled. Now he just had to hook Dan up with that gunner. He headed off towards the port batteries, smiling to himself. When they met Akutmif again, she had better be ready.

          The second time Zwibble was escorted to Akutmif's office, the commodore was far less accommodating. She still treated the captured pilot with a cool civility, but there were few pleasantries, no offers of drinks, and the music was some supersonic piece that gave Zwibble a headache.

          It was also, after Zwibble expressed her intent to decline Akutmif's offer in no uncertain terms, decidedly short. Evidently the commodore was either running out of patience, clemency, or both. Zwibble barely managed to get a question in.

          "Tell me one thing, would you?" she asked as Akutmif stood at the close of the session.

          "And what would that be?"

          "Why did you want me to give in? What would you have gotten from it?"

          It was immediately apparent she wasn't going to get an answer. She was having a hard time reading the Talz's body language, but Akutmif's stiffened shoulders and spine told Zwibble she must have hit a nerve. Akutmif silently regarded her for a moment and then reached for the button that would summon the guards.

          "Different question, then."

          Akutmif paused.

          "Why have the guards send my food in in person?"

          "Interaction," Akutmif said in a tone that clearly implied she was doing Zwibble a favor by even listening to her. "I wanted to see what makes you tick."

          Zwibble had time to feel vaguely disconcerted before Akutmif summoned the guards and ended the session.

          After Zwibble was back in her cell, less than ten minutes after she had left it, she poured herself a small glass of the still substantial supply of Merenzane Gold, and sipping it, pondered her future.

          Now that Akutmif was through with asking nicely, she would no doubt use more invasive methods. The men with the truth serums, needles, and pain machines would be along any day now. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

          Zwibble had undergone 'questioning' before, although it wasn't terribly intense, and she had a reasonably high tolerance to it. Most chemicals reacted unpredictably with her unique metabolism, so she didn't have much to fear from the truth serums. Not that the truth serums were the frightening part. Her threshold for pain was high, but she didn't fool herself into thinking that she'd last very long under anything severe or prolonged.

          She got off of that train of thought by pondering why Akutmif hadn't used those methods in the first place. The only thing she could think of was that there must be some sort of personal reason Akutmif had wanted her to give in. There was a subtle difference in breaking someone by force and getting them to acquiesce of their own free will, but the end result was nearly the same. And time was evidently not a factor, because Zwibble had been here for over a month already, twiddling her metaphorical thumbs.

          Well, not just twiddling her thumbs. She put aside her half-finished glass and picked up one of the boots from beside the bed. Examining the sole, she sighed. It looked thick, but that couldn't be helped. She started chewing on the hard rubber. "Bon appétit."

          "Don't like that, now do you?" Stolle settled in on the X-wing's tail, but the Rebel pilot juked frantically. "Now, that's just rude. Here I am, trying to blow you up, and you won't let me. I can't let that happen." He scored another hit and sparks erupted from the engines of the enemy fighter. "Whoops." He giggled. "Say bye-bye." The X-wing made a spectacular explosion, which Stolle just barely managed to avoid.

          "Uh, Stolle, you do realize your com is still on, don't you?"

          "Of course, Dan. I've giving my flight a lesson in fun things to say to the enemy while you vape them."

          "Okay, then." Dan was actually relieved by Stolle's behaviour, although he certainly wasn't going to admit it. It was a testament to the good spirits the squadron was in, and a marked difference over Stolle's gloomy silence on the last few runs. Dan's shields took a hit, and startled, he glanced at his sensors. "Looks like the Y-wings have taken notice of us."

          "No! Not Y-wings! Somebody help us!" Within seconds, Stolle had his flight on the wishbone that was taking potshots at Dan. "Alright everybody, watch it. These things have ion cannon, and sitting around in a dead ship isn't much fun. Of course, if you let any of these sluggards disable you, sitting around waiting is going to be a lot more fun than what I'll do to you."

          "Stolle, just blow them up, will you?"

          "You're not enjoying my commentary? Fine then, it's too good for you anyway."

          The squadron of Y-wings realized their mistake as three of the ancient craft were destroyed within seconds. They broke off their run on the Stalwart and headed back towards the Nebulon-B they had launched from.

          "Aw, running back to Mommy?" Evil Wrath sneered.

          "Perfect!" cried Stolle. "I present to you a prime example of verbal assault. Evil Wrath, you get an A-plus. Bae, Wonnard, listen to him. You could learn something."

          The Nebulon-B, shuddering under the combined fire of the Vigilant, the Consigli, and a few warheads from Eta, turned to flee to hyperspace. That seemed to be the cue for the rest of the ships to start jumping out as well.

          "Victory is ours!" Stolle chased the Y-wings until the bitter end, taking out a few more. "We have regained control of the whatever-system!"

          "Durgin system," said Palantas, coming on to the com. "Great work, everyone. You were in excellent form today."

          "As always," said Stolle.

          "Yes, yes. Now come on back home. We're going to celebrate and plan our next attack."

          Palantas greeted Epsilon and Eta after they had returned to the Vigilant's hangar. "Congratulations. The past three engagements have been wonderful, with not a single pilot lost, and only one EV."

          "Wonder who that was." They all looked at Bae, who scratched his neck and whistled nonchalantly.

          "We are definitely turning the tide against Akutmif. Keep this up and we'll send her running back to wherever rock she crawled out from under in no time."

          Zwibble was working on her boot when the door opened and in stepped Beau. "What're you doing here? I'm not sleeping."

          He shrugged. "Rayne's found some new sabacc rules they just couldn't wait t' try out." He stopped and stared at her. "Why're you chewin' on your boot? Don't we feed you enough?"

          "I'm making a game." She pointed to a grid made from the threads of her prisoner's garb, held together with dried syrup from one of her meals. "I need pieces, so I'm chewing off bits of rubber."

          "Must taste wonderful."

          "It's better than the slop you serve me, actually."

          He sat on the cot, and clasped his hands together. "Well, I've got some news for ya."

          "Doesn't sound like it's good news." Her voice was muffled by the sole as she gnawed away.

          "I have a feeling you'll like it." He shrugged. "Your ship's been creaming us in th' past few battles. They've got one mean squadron o' squints."

          She shook her head, smiling. "I knew it had to happen sooner or later. Now you'll see the effects of angering the Imperial Navy. Akutmif may be a brilliant strategist, but she's certainly no match for Daemon."

          He didn't seem terribly offended. "Th' only reason we've been losin' is that your people called for backup. No superior tactics involved."

          "My point still stands. I'd bet on Daemon over your commodore any day of the week. Although," she conceded, "she certainly has been doing well."

          "That's because she's th' best there is." His voice was filled with pride.

          "If she's the best there is, why has she been stuck out here on the edges of New Republic space?" It was an odd kind of banter; they kept their voices light but Zwibble could tell it went deeper than that.

          "Politics." He grimaced.

           "Care to elaborate?"

          He sighed. "I'm not sure I understand th' whole thing. Th' New Republic's been growin' steadily since Endor, but now the Chief of State's decided it's time to do some consolidation and tone down the military ventures. Akutmif's been pretty verbal against it."

          "Yeah. I read her speech at New Bakstre. Pretty strong stuff."

          "Too strong, I guess. After that they stopped lettin' her speak, but she was still winnin' battles, and new systems, mostly by force. Now, that ain't exactly bad, so they weren't about t' start punishin' her for it. And Chief of State Mothma is interested in expandin' th' New Republic, just not by military means. So they transferred her out here, hushed it up, and hoped she'd cool off. But, she's still claimin' worlds in th' name of th' New Republic. I guess they're happy with it, 'cause she hasn't gotten any reprimands yet."

          "As long as she's killing Imperials, I don't think Chief of State Mothma will have any problem with it." Zwibble smiled bitterly.

          "I don't think Akutmif's worried about what th' Chief of State thinks. They've never gotten along very well, from what I hear." 

          "Yet another reason why Akutmif was stuck out here."

          "Probably."

          Zwibble put down her shoe and yawned. "I'm sorry, I'm awfully tired."

          "Busy schedule?"

          "Oh, terribly. My day is just so filled with things to do I completely run out of time to rest."

          "I'll let you get your beauty sleep, then. Y' certainly need it."

          "Thanks." She waited until he had stepped out to pick up her boot again, quickly sliding the piece of metal that reinforced the sole from the hole her gnawing had created. She had just enough time to stick it sideways between the door halves as they closed. Wincing, she tensed for an alarm, and smiled as none went off. It had worked! The sensors on the inside of the door, designed to make sure it was shut, were simple electric ones that sent out a pulse to prevent the sort of thing she'd just done. But the metal conducted the electricity beautifully.

          She was hoping the sabacc game would last a while longer, but she still had to move quickly. She peered down to the end of the hall, where Beau was just going into a small room. Laughter spilled out, and she used the sound as a cover to reach through the narrow opening with her right arm. She managed to ease her leg out without much problem and just barely squeeze through. I guess big feet are good for something.

          She emerged into the hall, holding the Merenzane Gold and her boots, and pulled the flat piece of metal out of the door. As it finished closing behind her, she dashed down the hall to the console and crouched there for a few moments. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she sprinted over to the door that separated her and freedom. Blast! It had keycard access only.

          The door to the game room opened again, and she dove for the console. Somebody headed over to it and stood on the other side, pressing buttons. She risked a peek around the corner and recognized Stevv. Her eyes caught on the notched keycard attached to his belt. It was risky, but her only shot before he activated the camera again and noticed her gone. She crawled behind him, stood, and hoped she had remembered her Human anatomy lessons correctly.

          Evidently she had, because the clumsy whack she gave with the heavy bottle of Merenzane Gold to the back of his skull sent him pitching forward over the console. She eased him to the floor, wincing at all the noise she was making. Zwibble liberated his keycard and blaster, and shoved him behind the console where she hoped it would take a few seconds to see him, should anyone come out. Then, she headed towards the door.

          It gave her no problem, and after it had closed behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Phase 1: complete. On to phase 2.

          The turbolift also had keycard access, and Stevv's worked fine. From what she had seen of the ship on her travels to Akutmif, the cell bay was somewhere near the bottom. If this were a standard Drednaught, which she had no reason to believe it wasn't, the hangar bay would be up and forward. She was hoping there was something there she could grab and make a run with. It was a weak plan, but she wasn't about to go back to her cell and formulate a new one.

          Zwibble went up a few levels and peered out of the turbolift, blaster at the ready. No one was in the small stretch of corridor she could see, so she darted down the few meters to a general access turbolift. This one had a rudimentary diagram of the levels of the ship that it provided passage to. There was a maintenance lift that was probably relatively unused a few levels up that would drop her off in what looked like a maintenance corridor. She could probably use that to make her way forward to the hangar bay.

          At some point she had to encounter someone, so she stepped out of her prison coverall and turned it inside out before putting it back on. Now it looked like any other shabby grey coverall, or so she hoped. The blaster was more of a problem, but by tying it tightly around her middle with one of her bootlaces and hunching over slightly, the baggy coverall hid it almost completely. If she had to draw it suddenly, there might be a problem, but there was nothing she could do about that. The Merenzane Gold might to look odd, but she wasn't going to leave that behind unless she had to.

          Zwibble caught a glimpse of herself in the highly polished metal of the panel with the level buttons on it. Her hair, which had been given free reign for over a month now, had grown almost four centimeters, and made a wild blue halo around her head. The coverall didn't fit right, and the blaster lump made her figure look decidedly odd. One of her boots, missing its lace, was threatening to fall off. It wasn't much of a disguise, but she had to get moving. As soon as they found Stevv or he came around, the alarm would be sounded, and getting out would be that much harder. Zwibble took a deep breath and pressed the turbolift button.

          The few seconds it took to rise the few floors was agonizingly slow, and when it did arrive she stepped out to bump right into a harried-looking petty officer.

          "Watch it!"

          "Sorry, sir," she mumbled, trying to hide the Merenzane Gold behind her back. He snorted and brushed past her into the turbolift, not sparing her a second glance. She kept her head down and followed the wall for the agonizingly long fifty meters to the maintenance lift, trying to stop her laceless boot from flapping. She jumped the first time one of the coms of the officers walking the corridor beeped, but she managed to keep her pace steady. Once at the lift, she slid inside with a sigh of relief, looking out apprehensively at the now empty corridor. So far, so good...

          There was no one in the maintenance hallway either. Zwibble sprinted down to the first bend, slowing to a casual stroll as she neared the corner. The next section was also devoid of life, so she started running again. She hoped this was the right way -- there was a worrying dearth of people about. Just then, a door on the left side of the corridor ten meters in front of her hissed open and she skidded to a walk. Out stepped six Rebel troopers with their blasters pointed at her.

          "Halt!"

          "Kriff!" She fumbled for her blaster and ducked, running back the way she had came. A few bolts whizzed over her head, and one came frighteningly close to her face, blistering her cheek from the heat as it passed. But she made it around the corner safely, just as she got her blaster out and snapped out a few horribly-aimed shots behind her. There was movement in front of her, and she whipped her head around in time to see six more troopers as they lifted their weapons, pointed them at her torso, and fired.

          Faeroth's face was starting to hurt from all the scowling, but he certainly didn't feel like smiling. He was glad Intel had given him a surly character profile so he didn't have to be especially civil. But even near civility was turning out to be a problem with P'taan.

          "You haven't given me an update yet." P'taan's hologram scowled up at him.

          "There hasn't been anything to update on."

          "Then you should have sent me an update telling me that."

          Faeroth closed his eyes for a moment, repressing murderous thoughts. For the past week, P'taan had been calling a minimum of three times a day and Faeroth, as the encryptions and communications officer onboard the Spearhead -- formerly the Artemis -- had the pleasure of talking to Rausch's second hand man. The topic was always the same: the blasted Rebel envoy. If and when they ever did show up, Faeroth was debating shooting them out of the sky, just to spite P'taan. "And what would that accomplish, besides wasting my time?"

          "This is more important than whatever you could possibly be doing," P'taan hissed. "But evidently you can't see that. I want those reports, on the hour, every other hour." His hologram snapped off decisively. There had definitely been an implied 'or else' after the last statement.

          Or else what? thought Faeroth. But he was sure that P'taan could come up with something singularly horrible, and he wasn't about to test his theory. If P'taan wanted detailed reports, then that's what he would get. He set up the computer to file a by-the-minute report with a status of 'nothing new', refrained from adding 'you pushy son-of-a-drab', and stood up from the communications console, stretching.

          "How's everyone's favorite drug dealer this afternoon?" asked Ace, coming up behind Fae.

          "Drug dealer?"

          "Yeah, P'taan handles Rausch's small narcotics operation. He's pushing for it to be bigger, though Rausch won't hear of it."

          "I think P'taan should sample some of his products. It might help him to calm down a bit."

          "Oh, he'd never do that. That stuff can kill you, you know."

          "Right. He just sells it."

          "So, what did he want?"

          "The usual." Faeroth grimaced. "He's got some sort of stake in this meeting, or he wouldn't be so blasted anxious. But he doesn't seem exactly happy about the prospect."

          "Maybe he doesn't want Rausch to make the alliance."

          "I was thinking the same thing, but I don't see why. I mean, Rausch and Akutmif are already practically allied anyway. They've been trading ships and services back and forth ever since she got here."

          "But it's not official. And that could make all the difference in the New Republic -- they have to know Akutmif's dealing with Rausch, but as long as it's in their favor they'll look the other way."

          Faeroth nodded. "Until the alliance is formalized, in which case they'll start sending ships and inspections officers and messing up P'taan's neat little illegal operation. Do you think he'll try and sabotage the meeting?"

          "It's possible." Ace shrugged. "I really don't know."

          "I doubt he will." Fae looked thoughtful. "I'm willing to bet that Rausch isn't about to let his profitable under-the-table dealings slip away just because he's buying his way into the New Republic. He's managed to keep most of them from Akutmif, and the envoy shouldn't be much harder. P'taan should realize that."

          "I wouldn't be so sure. It's amazing how stupid some people can be."

          "And P'taan's not exactly the most intelligent fellow I've met."

          "I wouldn't underestimate him," Agony said, rising from the captain's chair. "He may be a bit overbearing at times --"

          Faeroth snorted. "A bit."

          "-- but he's got good perception."

          "He creeps me out," said Ace. "I don't like him."

          "You don't like him?" Faeroth crossed his arms. "Try talking to him every few hours. I'm losing my cool. If he calls again I think I'm going to scream." The holoreceiver chose at that moment to sound.

          Ace grinned. "Duty calls."

          Faeroth stalked over to the console and snapped it on violently. "What!"

          The Human on the other side looked startled. "Um, this is the Pho Ph'eah's Pride. We were told to contact you..."

          P'taan's precious envoy was finally here. "Of course. We'll escort you in."

          "Thank you, Spearhead."

          "Oh, believe me, the pleasure's all mine."

          Zwibble gasped her way awake and smashed her head on the underside of the cot as her body tried to jerk itself upright. Whatever they had been injecting her with was giving her nightmares, and whenever she had nightmares she moved about the floor more than usual. It seemed that a disproportionate number of times she ended up near something she could hurt herself on.

          She blinked away the grainy sleep from her eyes and grimaced. Her mouth tasted like a dewback had relieved itself in it.

          They had let her keep the Merenzane Gold, although it looked slightly lower than she had remembered. Maybe the troopers who had stunned her had helped themselves to a few sips, or maybe she wasn't remembering right. She had gone down like a rock and had been unconscious before she hit the floor, so for all she knew they had drunk the entire bottle and replaced it with cheap lum. Her senses were trying to function normally, but were doing a terrible job of it. When she had tried a sip of the several days ago, it had reminded her of stale Renilli liquor. And the alcohol had reacted with whatever had been at her system at the time to produce a truly spectacular hangover thirty minutes later.

          Zwibble wasn't eager to repeat the experience. It still felt as if she were suffering the effects of those few sips, even though that couldn't be possible because that had happened a good five days ago. Or was it ten? She had lost all track of time since a day after her aborted escape attempt, when they had started the interrogation.

Zwibble crawled out from under the bed and stood, cautiously.  The room stayed mostly still, which was a marked improvement over last time she'd awoken.  She stretched, cautiously, enjoying the unmistakable feel of tight muscles relaxing. 

No sooner had she settled into her stretching routine than the door opened.  Its hiss sounded ominous to her now, but instead of the interrogator she had been expecting, in stepped an unfamiliar Mon Calamari and two Grans, their blasters unholstered and their faces impassive.

          She blinked dumbly at him for a few moments from her half-lotus position on the bed, her addled brain trying to make some sort of sense of it.  He looked vaguely familiar...

          "You will stand in my presence," he said shortly.

          "That's funny," Zwibble retorted.  "It looks to me as if I am sitting."  She held his gaze for a few moments, then unfolded her legs and stood rather more quickly than she would have liked. There was something in his eyes that made her think he was not the type of person to cross. And the Grans looked sufficiently trigger-happy to leave her no doubt that he wouldn't hesitate to use them. She ignored her feelings of unease and pasted on an obviously fake smile. "I don't believe we've met."

          "I don't believe we have."  He paused, long enough for Zwibble to be certain he wasn't going to tell her anything unless he wanted to, and there was nothing she could do about it. He glided languidly over to the bed, looking distasteful, and settled himself on the edge. "I am Senator Ukaarb."

          His tone implied that of course she would know who he was, and he seemed slightly annoyed that she hadn't identified him right off. But now she did recognize the prestigious senator for Mon Calamari, member of both the Inner and Grand Councils, and personal friend of Mon Mothma.  He had allegedly been involved in some sort of property scandal a few months ago, but his name had been cleared.  His face was familiar from the trial, and she remembered his somewhat overbearing protests of innocence she had heard in what little she saw of the affair.

          "I have need of your services."

          She was taken off guard by the bluntness of it.  Senator Ukaarb, in need of something?  She had thought it would be beneath his dignity to admit that, and was almost impressed with his unusual candor. But that didn't mean she was going to make it easier for him. "Do elaborate." He looked at her coldly for a few moments, until she squeezed out a clipped, "Sir."

          "I need to know what Akutmif's been doing."

          "I don't exactly get filled in on that sort of thing."

          "But you can draw conclusions."

          This was starting to be suspiciously like the interview with Akutmif.  "What information do you think I'll be able to provide you with? And how? And why?"

          "I am to be the one asking the questions here, prisoner. Understand?" There was enough scorn injected in the sentence to make Zwibble's hackles rise. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she gave a quick nod. But Ukaarb wouldn't have it.

          "Yes sir," she added, and he smiled thinly.

          "Good." He breathed a wet, fishy sigh.  "I don't trust Akutmif."

          I bet you wouldn't trust your own mother, you slimy worm, Zwibble thought.

          "I don't see what she hopes to accomplish with her petty conquests. She must have an agenda we're not aware of."

          "That's all very nice, but I still don't see where I come in."

          "Don't act so innocent.  I know about your trysts with Brasfortè."

          "Oh really?  And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" He was starting to annoy her, with his magnanimous sweeps of the fin, as if he were doing her a favor.  She crossed her arms.

          "He spends quite a bit of his time here. Surely you're not going to let the opportunity to milk the executive officer's closest friend pass you by." He paused slightly, and his tone took on a mocking air. "Even if you are trapped in the throes of young love."

          Zwibble narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice.  "Are you implying," she hissed, "that I am selling myse--"

          "I am implying nothing." His voice was infuriatingly soothing, his manner conciliatory. "Forgive me if I... gave the wrong impression." Zwibble could swear his barabels twitched slightly as he repressed a smile.

          She kept her tone icy and her eyes locked with his. "What's the deal?"

          He sighed convincingly, as if he were desperate, down to his last option.  Zwibble wasn't convinced. "I need to know everything you know about Akutmif's activities. Her security is nearly impeccable and her troops are entirely too loyal.  Almost fanatically loyal, in some cases. They won't accept bribes of any sort. Anything you could have picked up from your… your friend could prove vital."

          "Vital to what? The New Republic?" She snorted. "Oh yes, I'd just be heartbroken if you failed, really inconsolable."

          "I'm willing to pay."  He pulled out an account management datapad from First Galactic Bank and turned it so she could see. The screen displayed Ukaarb's account, no doubt registered under an assumed identity. She didn't think the New Republic smiled upon the practice of senator's having Imperial bank accounts.

          Zwibble crossed her arms again, looking unimpressed. Something was not right here. Why would he be bribing her?

          "And by pay, I mean well. Seven hundred fifty thousand."

          Zwibble's heart skipped a beat. He was desperate. Time to find out to what degree. "A million."

          "Done," he said without hesitating for a moment.

          Blast, I should have asked for two. "And my freedom. Money's no good to me while I'm locked up here."

          He paused. "Well that won't be easy. There are only so many times I can squirt the ink into Akutmif's eyes."

          Well, it had been worth a shot. "There's the door. I wouldn't want to keep you."

          "A million and a half." There was something in his voice that indicated that was his final offer.

          She paused for a moment. That was a lot of money. There were quite a few things you could get for a million and a half credits... "Fine then."

          "I knew you were a smart one." He smiled thinly and then spent a few moments at the tamper-proof datapad before handing it to her. The keys, designed for a Mon Calimari's flippers, offered her a bit of trouble, but she managed to call up her account. There, in vibrant green digits, was her balance, displaying a pulse-quickening 1,500,056.47 credits.

          Ukaarb was looking impatient, and Zwibble was all too aware of his bully-boys bulking behind her. She hoped that the senator was as desperate as he seemed, and took a deep mental breath.

          "Akutmif has finally had it with Chief of State Mothma and her passive ways. She was going to secede, taking her ships with her, but then she got stationed out here and came up with a better plan.

          "A plan for what?" She couldn't tell if Ukaarb was buying it. But it was too late to go back now, so she plunged ahead.

          "Succession from the New Republic, of course, but with a new spin. Out here in the hinterlands of your jurisdiction, rubbing shoulders with the Empire, she's going to start her own government."

          The effect of this pronouncement on the Mon Calimari was evidently slight. He nodded almost casually, which led Zwibble to believe that he had either been expecting something of the sort, or he was lending new meaning to the phrase 'playing it cool'.

          "How does she plan to do that?" So he had bitten, or at least he was giving that impression. Zwibble couldn't be sure.

          "Evidently she's going to ally with Rausch, a nearby outlaw who is in the possession of quite a large number of warships. With his firepower, she can easily control a sector."

          Ukaarb wasn't looking terribly impressed. Zwibble refrained from chewing her lip, and shot her eyes around the room, looking for inspiration. Her eyes caught on the bottle of Merenzane Gold by the foot of the bed, and the inspiration struck. It was far-fetched, but that barely gave her a moment's pause. She was in now, and slowing down or backing out was not going to have good consequences, to put it mildly. If only he'll buy it...

          "Rausch has extensive contacts with the Senex lords, and they allow him to operate from their sector, albeit on the edge. From what Beau tells me, they're the ones Akutmif is really interested in allying with."

          That, at least, got a reaction from the stony-faced senator. His gills flared and nictitating membranes slid themselves over his eyes for a split second. "Ah," he said simply. "That is interesting."

          He paused in thought a moment, and then stood abruptly and took the datapad from Zwibble's hands. "This interview has proved most profitable for us both. But," he smiled in a way that chilled Zwibble's blood, "I want to make it clear that you have been bought, and therefore belong to me. Should you happen to mention this meeting to any of Akutmif's staff, you will be dealt with. Believe me when I say I have no qualms about disposing of purchases that prove unsatisfactory."

          Without giving her a chance to respond, he swept into the hall. One of the Grans fingered his blaster and eyed her hungrily, and she knew that Ukaarb would keep his word. Then the bodyguard fell in step behind the prestigious senator and the door closed behind them, leaving nothing but a fishy taste to the air.

          Zwibble's head was pounding, but she felt like celebrating. Things were looking up. It wouldn't be long before the senator placed a call to Mothma and the New Republic, and he'd be sure to tell his benefactor of the treason like any good little pet. Then Akutmif would be dealt with, and out of their way forever. Things were looking up indeed.

          The Vigilant closed on her prey, engines purring threateningly. Flanking her were the menacing shapes of the Victory Star Destroyer Stormwind, the Kepler, the Copernicus and the Consigli. They were all bearing down on a trio of Corellian Corvettes, who were frantically vying for distance. The Corvette's escort, a squadron of X-wings, had abandoned the slower craft and were running on ahead, straining to be free of the pull of gravity from the gas giant that hung heavy in the background.

          One of the X-wings exploded spectacularly and Stolle sighed. "They aren't even trying anymore. I almost feel sorry for them." Another X-wing drifted directly into his sights and lost its engines in a smoky fireball that consumed the ship. "Almost."

          The remaining X-wings redoubled their efforts to escape the Imperial ships, as nearby space violently rearranged itself and spat out a dreadnaught and a few more Corvettes. They were joined seconds later by a motley-looking Xiytiar-class transport and a sleek luxury yacht whose graceful lines were marred by several wicked-looking weapons emplacements. In the violet light of the gas giant, they looked like some sort of elaborate confectionery array.

          "One thing I'll say for these Rebs, they sure are persistent," said Ensign Hugo.

          "Yes, but that's not going to help them." Stole spun his Interceptor through a showy loop that put him head-to-head with a panicky X-wing. "We still outnumber them, and even if we didn't, we certainly outclass them." The X-wings's port wing, chewed by laser fire, flew off and slammed into Stolle's ship.

          He spun wildly for a few seconds and cursed as his sensorboard flickered unsteadily. He fought with the control yoke and managed to straighten out his spin, then glanced at the board which was pinging frantically. "Blast, my instruments are on the blink. They're trying to convince me there's a Mon Cal Cruiser on my tail." He laughed. No one joined him.

          "There is," said Dan in a shocked matter-of-fact deadpan. "And she's brought some of her friends..."

          Arrayed like a deadly string of pearls with the MC-85 as the centerpiece was a lineup that made Stolle's heart skip a beat. Two Assault Frigates flanked her, guns bristling, and a modified Nebulon-B was turning lazily to face the oncoming Imperial fleet. As he watched, a modified Quasar Fire-class Bulk Cruiser started spitting out an amazing number of fighters. His sensorboard pinged again, and he tore his gaze from the viewport to see that the CC-7700 was powering up her gravity wells.

          The Vigilant was outlined against the violent purple of the gas giant in a spectacular silhouette, but Stolle wasn't thinking about the view. They were trapped by the gravity wells -- one artificial, the other natural, but both just as deadly. There was no way out.

          "Oh, sh--" started Stolle, and then the Mon Cal opened fire.

          "No! Bad little piece!" Zwibble glared at the one remaining fragment of rubber on the grid in front of her. "Why couldn't you be two to the left? I was close to beating my record, and you had to go and pull this. What have I ever done to you to deserve such treatment?"

          She was still waiting for an answer when the door opened. She looked up, not being able to help the flutter of apprehension that came whenever someone entered her cell now, and met the tired face of Beau.

          "Hello."

          He blinked at her and collapsed onto the objecting bed, sighing.

          "Tired?" This was unlike Beau, who usually erred on the side of garrulousness.

          He sighed. "It's been a long week."

          She nodded sympathetically. "Ukaarb still pushing his nose into everything?"

          "You've no idea. And now, he's gone and gotten himself assigned second in command. I'm sure its just so he c'n go and push his fishy little nose deeper."

          "What's he looking for?" Her tone was studiedly casual as she started resetting the board for another go.

          "Oh, nothin', far as I c'n tell. I still don't like him. Antony says I should be grateful for what he's doin' for the commodore, but I can't shake th' feelin' he's bad news."

          "What is he doing for the commodore?"

          "Oh, promisin' her this 'n that, with those sweeps of his fins and that tilt to his chin that he gets. And his men're swarmin' all over the ship, pokin' around just like he is. But we're to help them and show 'em the courtesy we would any guests." He sneered. "It's just all bad news."

          Zwibble nodded again, hiding her relieved smile. It had worked! "So, he's parading around, being Mr. Second in Command and making all of these grandiose promises that he doesn't deliver on, while all he's really doing is getting in the way?" She shrugged. "Typical politician."

          "It's his attitude I really can't stand. Like his offer of backup." Beau rolled his eyes. "You would've thought he was handin' us the key to Byss."

          "And then of course he doesn't deliver, after giving you the impression you should all be kissing his boots."

          "Oh, no, he delivered all right. We got our ships, I'm just not sure it was worth it. Which is why Antony..."

          Zwibble had stopped listening. "You got what?"

          Beau shrugged. "If there's one thing I c'n say for 'im, it's that he knows how to pull the right strings. We got everythin' he promised: the assault frigates, the CC-7700, even the MC-85, which Akutmif's tryin' to convince him to take as his personal ship. I don't think she likes 'im any better than I do."

          He peered at Zwibble, who had gone grey. She was blinking rapidly and clutching her hands so tightly the knuckles showed white. Beau frowned, puzzled. "Are you alright?"

          "Fine," she said shortly, trying to remember to breathe. This is not happening!

          Beau shrugged. "So, like I was saying, Antony's sure that..." his voice faded away again.

          I guess the line I fed Ukaarb was good. The irony wasn't entirely lost on her, although it caused a gnawing in her stomach. Good enough that he's decided to throw in with the commodore... and I've as good as signed the death warrant of the Vigilant's system force.

          Her stomach churned again. And there's nothing I can do about it.

To be continued...