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“Your experiences do not match mine. And in my experience, a Gamorrean flyer tends to receive an undue amount of abuse from his fellows. Not just pranks. Sometimes sabotage. Lies. Challenges.”

“You didn’t strike your officer?”

“I have struck several fellow pilots in well-moderated challenge matches. I have never had to strike one more than once. You will notice that charges were filed against me within half an hour of the alleged incident. No one I have ever struck has been able to speak coherently within half an hour of my striking him. Sir, he struck at me; I blocked his blow. He has chosen to remember that as an attack. He is willing to drop charges only because he is not strong enough to accept responsibility for the full measure of his persecution of me.”

Wedge considered. “Well, that’s about all for now. Candidate training begins tomorrow.” He rose. The others followed suit, and he shook the Gamorrean’s hand. “By the way, what do you like to be called? Voort?”

“I am content with Voort. But many others call me Piggy. I am content with it, too, for I can ignore the definite derogatory component that goes with it.”

Wedge and Janson exchanged glances. “The lieutenant and I once knew a very fine human pilot who went by Piggy. There’s no ‘derogatory component’ to it in this squadron. Rather, it’s a badge of honor I hope you can live up to.”

“I will try to do so.”

When the Gamorrean was gone, Wedge said, “I wonder what Porkins would have thought of him.”

Janson shrugged. “We’ll know better when we’ve flown with him.”

“Well, who’s next? A mynock? A womp rat?”

“My, you are getting paranoid. No, next, and last, is a human male, Kell Tainer from Sluis Van. I think he’s exactly the leader type you want to replace you when it’s time to return to Rogue Squadron. Assuming Myn Donos doesn’t return to normal.”

“Good. Show him in.”

A moment later Flight Officer Tainer entered. General Crespin is going to love him, Wedge decided.

Kell Tainer stood nearly two meters tall, with a handsome, sculpted face that holorecorders would adore. Dark hair cut short framed light blue eyes—a couple of shades lighter and they’d make him look like a madman, but at this shade they were piercing, mesmerizing. He was built like an athlete, actually a little too broad in the shoulders to be entirely comfortable in an X-wing’s cockpit, but that was a problem for which he would already have learned to compensate.

Kell snapped to a precision salute and held it until Wedge returned it. “Flight Officer Tainer reporting, sir, and a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. Let me introduce you to my second-in-command, Lieutenant Janson.”

Kell had turned toward Janson and was in midsalute as Wedge spoke. Wedge watched as the pilot’s back suddenly locked upright. Tainer’s salute pose and salute became iron-rigid. Kell did not meet Janson’s eyes, but he did ask, “Lieutenant Wes Janson, sir?”

With a bewildered expression, Janson said, “That’s me.” He finally remembered to return the salute.

Kell turned back to Wedge, kept his gaze focused above Wedge’s head. “I apologize, sir. I cannot join this squadron. I withdraw my application. Permission to leave?”

Wedge said, “Why?”

“I’d prefer not to say, sir.”

“Understood. Now answer the question.”

Kell seemed to vibrate for a moment as his muscles strained against one another. Then, his voice low, he said, “This man killed my father, sir. Permission to leave?”

Janson, his expression shocked, came around to Wedge’s side of the desk. His gaze searched Kell’s face, and a shadow of recognition crossed his features. “Tainer—your name wasn’t always Tainer, was it?”

“No, sir.”

“Doran?”

“Yes, sir.”

Janson looked away, his eyes tracing something back through the years.

Kell said, “Permission to leave, sir?”

“Wait in the hall,” Wedge said.

Kell left. Wedge turned to his second-in-command. “What’s this all about?”

4

Janson returned to his chair, finding his way into it by touch; he seemed to look into the past, not seeing anything around him. “My first kill—did I ever tell you that my first kill was