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“Please.”

Corran leaned back on the S-foil. “I appreciate this help.”

She smiled slyly. “I hope you think that after you hear what my favor is.”

“Name it.”

“After we fix up your X-wing, you come with me to DownTime and get to know some of the others who are likely to make it into the squadron. We’ve all got the thing pretty well figured out—Gavin’s a wild card, but Bror Jace thinks he will probably knock him from the running. A few of us are at the lower edge of what we assume will be acceptable scores, but we hope to make it. Anyway, we congregate down there, swap stories, and get to know each other. Since you’ll undoubtedly be in, you should join us.”

Corran nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that, but that’s not the favor I owe you.”

“If that’s the way you want it.”

“Definitely.” Corran smiled at her. “I owe you for more than just helping with the engine. Asking me to become friends with folks I should already be getting to know isn’t a favor I’d be doing you, but one I’ll be doing myself. One thing though, I’m not going to have to get along with Bror Jace, am I?”

“Why should you be the first?”

“Good.” As Ooryl returned with the part and the tool, Corran winked at Lujayne. “Well, let’s get this engine working, then we can see if there’s a way to fix up my relations with the rest of Rogue Squadron.”

5

Corran Horn tried to kill his smile as he entered the white briefing amphitheater, then he saw all the other pilots who could smile were absolutely beaming. Not a one of the nervous expressions we were all wearing the other night in DownTime. The first message in the queue on his datapad had informed him that after breakfast he was to report for Rogue Squadron’s first briefing. The message itself had been neutral and routine in wording—even though it was the first official notification that he’d made it into the squadron.

He’d had a pretty good idea that he’d make it, but despite assurances from the other candidates, he’d never allowed himself to assume he would make it. In the past he’d been burned by making unwarranted assumptions. Granted those assumptions had eventually led him to join the Rebellion, which was not a wholly bad thing, but it took him well away from where he had imagined he’d be at this time in his life.

Even though he’d not allowed himself the luxury of believing he’d make the cut before he actually made it, he was proud of his being selected for the squadron. Corran had never been one to hold back. He’d gone into the Corellian Security Force Academy straight out of secondary school and continued the Horn family tradition by establishing new records in the training there. One of the last marks he surpassed had been set by his father, Hal, twenty years earlier, and Hal had beaten the record set by Hal’s own father.

And now I’m a Rebel, an outlaw. What would my father and grandfather have thought? A cold sensation raised goose bumps on his skin. Whatever, they would have thought much worse things if I’d become an Imp.

Rhysati Ynr waved Corran over to the bench where she sat. “We made it, we actually made it.”

“It was nice of Commander Antilles to agree with our group consensus.” He mounted the steps up to Rhysati’s row and slid in next to her. “It hasn’t sunk in yet in some ways.”

The Gand, sitting behind them, leaned forward. “Ooryl learned your Redemption run had the highest score of our training cycle.”

Corran flashed the Gand a big smile—he’d found exaggerating his expression did indeed help Ooryl catch its import. “Who came in second? Bror Jace, I bet.”

The Gand shook his head. “Gavin Darklighter beat the Thyferran.”

“The kid beat Jace?” Corran glanced over at where the tall, brown-haired pilot from Tatooine sat talking with the black-furred Shistavanen wolfman, Shiel. Corran, with years of experience in the spaceports and stations on Corellia, had spotted Gavin as being young despite his size. It’s in the eyes—the years just aren’t there but apparently the piloting skill is!

The