In the hanger bay, surrounded by a motley assortment of Rebel fighters, Dak was tinkering with a a fried plasma oscillator, deep in the bowels of his craft. He lay on a mechanic's trolley, which hovered several inches above the ground, while he reached up towards one of the Y-Wing's service hatches. He still wore his orange flightsuit, though the helmet had long since been discarded, revealing a tousled mass of unevenly cut hair, distinctly greyed. It was late and he was alone in the hanger, with only the scurrying servomotors of the mouse droids for company. That and his lingering, unwanted thoughts. Mechanical, menial tasks helped him clear his mind, to distract him from himself, but it wasn't always successful. Sometimes he couldn't drown out his endlessly looping ruminations, no matter what. But even on such nights, keeping himself occupied was still preferable to lying awake in his bunk, or the fitful nightmares of his fractured sleep.
His left arm began to tremble, at first softly, almost imperceptibly, gradually increasing in severity. An old war wound, the kind that can never truly be healed, the kind of injury which marks more than just the physical self. It always flared up during periods of stress, Dak had learned to cope with it, adapt to it and mask the worst of his symptoms, though he was always left with the pain. He willed his appendage to behave, even as waves of resignation ate away at his resolve. As if to spite him, his arm spasmed, fingers stretching open involuntarily. The sound of his hydrospanner colliding with the concrete floor rang through the silent hanger. As the echo faded, Dak thought he could just make out the sound of faint footsteps. With a groan of effort, he pushed himself upright, his old bones creaking slightly under the strain.
"You're not getting any younger." Dak thought to himself. "You can't keep this up forever." He stopped to retrieve his dropped tool, before facing in the direction of the footsteps just in time to see Wedge approaching. The young pilot was dressed in casual clothing, consisting of a beige leather jacket with Rebel insignias embroidered on the shoulders and navy trousers featuring a vertical red marking, a Corellian Bloodstripe. Dak idly spun his hydrospanner through his fingers, seeming casually, to hide his lingering tremor.
"Dak, thought I'd find you here." Wedge announced, his voice clipped and authoritative. "We need to talk."
"Save your breath." replied Dak. He knew why Wedge had sought him out, and was in no mood to be disciplined. "Unless you're here to ground me, can we just assume you've said your piece and move on?"
"A perfect example of your troublesome attitude." Wedge sighed. "Look Dak, I hate to do this, but you're giving me little choice."
"You know as well as I do that I'm one of the best pilots you've got, if not the best. Besides, you can't even fill an entire squadron, you need all the pilots you can get. Including me."
"We also need trust, and discipline. Every mission puts our lives on the line. Each of us needs to be able to rely on the others. Loose cannons and wild cards only create chaos and confusion."
"And a synergized squadron is greater than the sum of its fighters. Any more saccharine platitudes?" Dak bit back, harsher than he intended. Wedge turned away, rubbing his forehead with frustrated contemplation. He spun back towards Dak, pointing a finger at the other pilot.
"Why are you even here, Dak?"
"Excuse me?"
"In the Rebellion. Why do you fight?"
"I told you when I signed up. There's a death mark on my head, I crossed the wrong Hutt when I 'lost' a shipment. My options were either spend the rest of my days fleeing from bounty hunters, or joining the Rebellion and letting the Empire take me out instead. Jabba found it most amusing, this way it saves him on paying out when I'm blown from the skies."
"Is that really your only reason? You joined the Rebellion out of convenience?" Wedge exclaimed, incredulously.
"More or less."
"The rest of us, we're risking everything we hold dear to bring down the Empire, its corrupt systems and its cruelty and malice. We fight to liberate the Galaxy from its terror." Wedge was shouting now. "But you, you treat this struggle like it's just a game, just some hobby to breathe some excitement into your life. If that's the case, you've better off joining a swoop racing circuit on some backwater Outer-Rim world and clearing off. Leave the fighting to those who actually care."
A stony silence sat between the two pilots for a few moments. Dak couldn't fail to see the passion in Wedge's eyes, and felt a pang of remorse deep within himself. He'd promised himself years ago, on the day that all his hopes had died, that he wouldn't care anymore. He'd spent so long keeping himself at arm's length from all those around him, afraid of attachment, of hope, and of the inevitable loss that such bonds must bring. Despite himself, he couldn't help but see a spark of his younger self reflected in Wedge, a man who wanted to fix the Galaxy, a man who would let nothing get in his way. With a sigh, he finally spoke, repressed words tumbling forward like water held behind a dam.
"Okay then, you want to know the full story? I was your age, or a bit older, in the last years of the Republic. It was a fine time to be a smuggler then, so many Coruscanti elite who wanted to import exotic foods and exquisite goods from across the Galaxy, but were less keen on paying taxes and tariffs. The kind of people who have an excess of credits, who you don't feel bad for swindling. Then came the Clone Wars, the fall of democracy, a rise in military expansion, and the beginnings of the Empire. I lost a lot of friends and family in those early days, as did we all. But I was there, powerless, as the Dark Side flourished, as evil was invited to take control. All I could do was watch as decency was strangled and hope withered. So I kept my head down, only looking out for myself, and for Lara. Spent years trying to survive as a smuggler. Suddenly the elites were able to simply take what they desired, so that left me with few options. I refused to traffic slaves or spices, so that ruled out most of the pirates and cartels. The only other jobs available were smaller communities, desperate for food, or medicine. Vital supplies which the Empire hoards for itself. But even only charging for cost felt like fleecing such folk. I couldn't keep going, ignoring the problem, I had to do something."
"So, that's why you really joined. You want to make a difference after all."
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Wedge. I'm not a naive romantic like you. I don't burn with the fire of resistance. In fact, we're unlikely to make even a dent in the Empire's fierce chokehold of the Galaxy. But at least we're doing something."
"I admire your optimism." Wedge said with a smirk. "Honestly though, thanks for sharing. I had a feeling you did care, no matter how deeply you try to bury it. You're a decent pilot, but please try and follow orders, or I will have to drop you."
"No promises." Dak added, with snark. "And what do you mean 'decent'? I'll have you know I'm..."
With a screeching whine, R3 came trundling into the hanger with some urgency, beeping and whistling hurriedly.
"Slow down, buddy." Dak said, soothingly. "What's gotten into you?"
"He was helping me go through the logs I ripped from the transport we boarded." Lara explained, breathing heavily as she followed the droid into the hanger. "He's found references tosomething called Project Indomitable."
"Some sort of Imperial scheme? Were there any other details?" Wedge asked, his jaw stiffened with concern.
"Only a partial copy of some encrypted files. We weren't expecting anything like this so I only pulled a basic transcript from the transport."
"Wonder if it's connected to the mining equipment we liberated?" Wedge wondered aloud.
"When's the next shipment scheduled for Andriss?" Dak queried. "If we can take the next transport, maybe we can access a completed file from the ship's database."
"In about 16 hours, give or take." Lara replied, consulting her datapad.
"Then we'd all best go get some rest. We're scrambling the fighters in the morning." Wedge announced. "Dismissed."
***
The Imperial Star Destroyer Escutcheon drifted through the endless dark void of space, it's motion presided over by Admiral Aegis Malefic. He was a tall, imposing figure, his naval uniform impeccably creased, his rank insignia perfectly polished. His face was aquiline, and set in a permanent scowl, though he would, very occasionally, allow a toothless smile to flash across it. His high, sharp cheekbones were a rival for even Grand Off Tarkin himself. His short dark hair was perfectly groomed, as was his precisely sculpted curling moustache. Given his stature, it constantly appeared as if he was looking down upon those around him, and moat of the time, he was. At this moment, the target of his ire was a grovelling Captain Atticus Wurmly.
"So you see, it wasn't my fault! The Rebels, they were sneaky, they surprised us. Caught us with our guard down. But I assure you, if I ever encounter them again, I'll be ready!"
"Indeed." Aegis said laconically. He was a man of few words, as he prized his time very highly. "See to it that you do. You shall be witness to the first practical demonstration of Project Indomitable."
"Oh, well, this is such an... an honour! Yes, I shall not let you down again." Atticus blathered.
"See to it that you do not. Or I shall consider your usefulness expired." Aegis said, his clipped tone implying a certain finality to his words.
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