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Wedge shook his head. “One hopeless battle at a time. Got any caf out there?”

Tycho nodded. “Brewed hot and strong enough to dissolve transparisteel.”

“Great.” Wedge rolled out of bed and slipped into the thick robe Emtrey held out for him. Knotting the belt around his middle, he followed Tycho into the small parlor attached to his bedroom. The furnishings were a mixture of styles and colors, but all of them were fashioned from hollow metal tubes and light but strong cloth. Less mass means less cost in transport and energy to maintain the gravity generation for the station.

Wedge dropped into a chair across a low table from Tycho and wrapped both hands around the barrel of a steaming mug of caf. The steam caressed his face and could have been melting his eyebrows for all he cared because the caf tasted wonderful. He felt the warmth spread out from his belly and a layer of fog in his brain began to dissipate.

“So, Tycho, how is Emtrey here?”

Tycho’s smile broadened considerably. “Politics.”

Wedge sipped more caf. “Okay, give me the exploded view because I’m not seeing it.”

“It gets weird, but I’m not complaining.” Tycho leaned forward. “Before his capture at Yavin 4, Jan Dodonna designed the A-wing fighter. The Alliance got it into production and introduced the A-wing late on in the Rebellion. Most of them were made in locations that weren’t so much factories as they were private shops. They all worked from the same design, but were constructed on an individual basis. The one I flew at Endor, for example, had Fijisi wood panels in it—I’m guessing it was built on Cardooine.”

“I recall how reinforcements of those ships used to dribble in.”

“Right, well Incom and Koensayer are afraid their X-wing and Y-wing fighter designs are going to be supplanted by the A-wing and B-wing designs, so they’ve been trying to get the Provisional Council and the Armed Forces to open bidding on new contracts. Incom thinks it has an edge on winning a contract for new X-wings, when all of us up and resign. Koensayer starts the rumor that part of our disaffection is because we don’t trust the X-wing anymore.

“Incom turns around and says that it’s working on some new designs and would be happy to bring Rogue Squadron’s ships up to the state of the art. What they offer are A-wings manufactured by them that have been modified so the laser cannons can swivel and cover the rear arc.”

Wedge nodded. “Nice adaptation, but it doesn’t explain how we ended up with Emtrey.”

“I’m getting there, and you’ll appreciate the flight, trust me.” Tycho pressed his hands together. “Someone in the military—probably General Cracken, but maybe even Admiral Ackbar—decided accepting Incom’s gift was appropriate, so all the equipment in Rogue Squadron was inspected, listed as missing parts, and surplussed out. Winter found out about it before anyone else, and we scooped up the lot, including Emtrey and our astromech droids.”

Wedge blinked. “Surplussed out? Our stuff was sold as surplus?”

“Broken surplus. It was missing parts.”

“Such as?”

“PL-1s”

Wedge frowned. “PL-1s? I’ve never heard of them.”

Tycho shook his head. “That’s the designation for pilot.”

Wedge immediately began laughing. Someone back on Coruscant favors what we’re doing or perhaps just wants to give us the tools to destroy ourselves. I’m trusting it’s the former. “Emtrey was just thrown in on the deal?”

“He cost a little bit extra, but I thought he was worth it.” Tycho coughed lightly into his hand. “Zraii and his technical staff resigned and followed our ships over. We’ve got a full squadron, and the parts you brought in should keep them operational for a long time.”

“Good. How does the base look?”

“Not bad.” Tycho pointed back toward the bedroom. “I’ll give you a half an hour to get cleaned up, then I’ll give you a tour of the place. It’s not exactly a Death Star, but I think it will work fine for our purposes.”

Clad in a tan jumpsuit, Wedge followed Tycho through the space station. The small suite