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Note: All characters, technology, etc., is the property
of George Lucas and Lucasfilm, with exception of the characters Jenna
Sinclair/Shadow, and Jayden Larris, which belong to me, Wraith Squadron
characters (Aaron Allston). No money is being made off this story, I just
wrote it for fun. Enjoy the story, the ending is pretty funny!!!! Jenna's
character is loosely based on Lara Notsil of Wraith Squadron, and her
'relationship' with Myn Donos. Scenes are taken from 'Iron Fist.' Historical note: This story takes place during the X-wing book
'Iron Fist.' Author: Asyr Sei'lar Synopsis: This is just a short story about what it would be like
to date pilots from Rogue Squadron. A silly story, but the ending's kinda
funny. I plan to have sort of a series of these types of stories, including
maybe a date with commando Lieutenant Page. Date With Wes Janson The globe of light shifted color as it bounced up into the air.
It finished its arc, but a sudden swipe of one player's staff sent it
careening back into the air. A sudden tone sounded, indicating the game was
finished. Both players took off their helmets, revealing sweaty faces
underneath. Jenna grinned as she shook her hair out. "Nice game,"
she commented. "You're not too bad yourself," said her opponent and
NRI partner, Jayden Larris. "You play a hard game of shockball."
"So," she asked as they exited the shockball court, "do you
know if General Cracken has given us a new assignment?" Jayden's smile
faded. "He's given you one," he said quietly. Jenna stopped and
turned to stare at him. "What do you mean, he's given me one?" she
demanded. "I mean," he told her calmly, "that's he assigned
you to analyze Zsinj data with Wraith Squadron to figure out what his next
major move is going to be. Cracken thinks you're the best person to liaise
with them from Intelligence." Jenna stared at him, aghast. "But . .
." she sputtered, "they're pilots, not intelligence analysts."
"They did discover the edge of Zsinj's financial empire," he reminded
her, "which not even all of the Intelligence section devoted to him was
able to find. Besides, they do have Wedge Antilles as their leader. He has a
pretty sharp mind." "Still . . ." She hesitated. "To be
relegated to such a mundane assignment, especially with all the missions
we've pulled off . . ." She looked up at him. "What about you? Any
new assignments?" He shook his head. "Just the same old routine.
Analysis of Zsinj data." With a small smile, she asked, "Want to
trade?" He laughed. "No thanks." * * * Jenna skulked at the back of the hangar, knowing full well how
conspicuous she looked in her blue-and-tan NRI uniform. She glanced at the
center, where the Wraiths were assembling for a meeting with their commander.
Jenna glanced at the new Wraith pilots who were joining the squadron. There
was blond, messy-haired man, a dark-skinned woman with a bead braided into
her hair, and a Twi'lek woman with surprisingly attractive features.
"Lots of news today." Jenna's attention turned to Wes Janson, the
squadron's second-in-command. "Most of it good, some bad."
"Bad news: I'm back. Bad for me, because I was enjoying my rest, and bad
for you, because if some of you had been a little quicker, I wouldn't have
been shot. Keep it in mind as I make up assignments over the next few weeks."
Jenna couldn't help herself; she laughed. The sound, though, was covered by
the collective groans erupting from the Wraiths. Hmm, maybe this assignment
isn't going to be too bad after all... "Runt, also, is fit for duty,
which is probably both good and bad, because some of his personalities enjoy
working and some don't." Personalities? Plural? She frowned. Must be
that Thaakwash pilot I heard about. "We have new pilots to fill our
rosters. I present to you Flight Officer Castin Donn, our new computer specialist.
Castin is a native of Coruscant, so the next time we decide to walk into a
trap here, we'll take him along to make sure it's a better grade of
trap." The blond-haired man nodded cheerfully. "Flight Officer Dia
Passik is a native of Ryloth. She has experience with a broad variety of New
Republic and Imperial vehicles, especially larger space vessels, and knows
quite a bit about criminal organization—she's a new resource for us where
things like smuggling and mercenary operations are concerned." The Twi'lek
watched everyone warily, as if trying to decide their threat level. "Our
third pilot is Flight Officer Shalla Nelprin—" "Oh, no," Kell
Tainer said. He banged his head against the fuselage of an X-wing. Jenna
smiled as Wes Janson asked, "You have something to say, Lieutenant
Tainer?" Kell stopped hammering the snubfighter for a moment.
"You're related to Vula Nelprin?" Shalla's smile broadened.
"She's my older sister." "And your father trained you,
too?" "Yes . . . though I think I'm a little better than Vula."
Kell sighed. "I think I've told you all about my hand-to-hand instructor
in the commandos, the one who could throw me around as though I were a dust
rag without even letting me see her sweat— this is her sister." Jenna
fought to keep her laughter down. That's it—I really like this squadron . . .
Janson said, "This should come as no surprise to you then: Nelprin is
going to be our new instructor in unarmed combat. You make her the best pilot
she can be, and she gets to reward you by beating the life out of you. But
she's also well versed in Imperial Intelligence doctrine and tactics, which
is helpful to us, since Zsinj seems to be fond of employing Intelligence
personnel. Wedge?" Jenna looked at Shalla. Intelligence, huh? In that
case, this should my job a lot easier . . . Wedge said, "Make the new
pilots welcome, Wraiths. We're going to put them, and you, immediately to
work on a new mission. I've just transmitted to your datapads the details of
our assignment . . . one which, unfortunately, won't take us off Coruscant
yet." He waved down the chorus of groans that resulted. "Sorry. But
our results on this task may determine where we're assigned next, so pay
attention. "Our efforts in tracking Admiral Trigit and insinuating
ourselves into his confidence have gone over very well with High Command.
We've demonstrated that we have both skill and luck on our side. But now we
have to prove it beyond doubt. "We're going to divide ourselves into
three groups. Each group is to ask the following questions: What is Zsinj up
to? What are his specific plans and strategies? Once you've arrived at a set
of theories, we'll put them to the test: We'll go out into the field and look
for evidence to corroborate the best of the theories. "I'm choosing
three of you to head these groups based on your ability with tactical
thinking and skill in getting into your enemies' heads. Runt, you're
Zsinj-One, Piggy, Zsinj-Two, Face, Zsinj-Three." Wedge nodded at the far
end of the hangar where Jenna was. "For the purposes of this assignment,
Jenna Sinclair, from New Republic Intelligence, has been assigned to us. If
you have any questions regarding information on Zsinj, Jenna's the one to
ask, Wraiths. She knows more about Zsinj than anyone here." Jenna nodded
at the Wraiths as she approached them. Wes Janson found himself studying her
closely. He shook his head and looked away. What's wrong with you, Janson?
Jenna glanced sharply around at the Wraiths. "Nice to meet you,"
she said casually, but there was no friendliness in her voice. On the contrary;
it was all business. The groups began forming. Runt chose Kell, Tyria Sarkin,
and Shalla. Face took Ton Phanan, Wes Janson, Dia, and a fourth team member,
Jenna. Piggy picked up Myn Donos, Squeaky, the unit's 3PO quartermaster, and
Castin. The groups separated, picking meeting places and times. "The
lounge," Face told them. "In two hours."
"Understood," Jenna said curtly, answering for them all. * * *
Jenna returned her quarters, feeling more tired than she had before. She had
about an hour and a half before she had to report to the lounge. She changed
into a more comfortable jumpsuit, then tossed her uniform onto her bed. She
sighed as she slipped into the chair facing her desk. She activated the comm
unit on her desk, slipping a disk into it as it warmed up and asked for her
password. She told it, at the same time telling it to access the disk. The
disk had been given to her three months previously, by Warlord Zsinj, before
she entered New Republic employ. It contained instructions for Zsinj's private,
coded frequency. Almost immediately, the corpulent warlord's face flickered
onto her screen. "Shadow," he greeted, as if they were old friends,
"anything new to report?" "I've been given a new
assignment," she told him. "I'm to liaise with Wraith Squadron as
they try to analyze data on you and predict your next actions. This would be
a good opportunity to see exactly what information they have brought back
with them. I don't exactly have clearance or access to their reports."
Zsinj's eyebrows rose in respect. "Good work, Shadow. You will be
rewarded for this." "Whatever," she growled. "Shadow
out." She sighed as she looked out her window at the crazy traffic.
"Shadow," she snorted. "What a name to choose." She
reflected as her old days in Imperial Intelligence under Ysanne Isard. How
much more efficient II had been, how much more highly placed and secretive
she had been, yet how much more cutthroat the place had been than NRI. Shadow
had been her code name, a name she'd personally chosen. She answered only to
Vader, having been, in ways, even higher in rank than Isard. Then Vader had
been killed, having turned to the light side, a decision she approved of. She
continued playing the role of an unknown double agent, feeding information to
the Rebellion, as she continued her 'information-gathering' duties for the
Empire. The Empire is bad, she reminded herself. Like Zsinj. I made my
decision long ago. I may have been trained as a Sith, but Vader couldn't
erase all the values my parents instilled in me. Besides, all he taught me
were basic Jedi skills, enough to ensure maximum efficiency in my
intelligence activities. The New Republic had provided her with the first
sense of belonging since her biological family. She was seriously considering
staying, but didn't what the exact repercussions would be, if Zsinj would
come after her. She glanced at her chrono. "Yikes!" she yelled,
jumping out of her chair and running into the corridor. "I'm late!"
* * * The false canopy of the X-wing simulator hissed open. Jenna
jumped out and landed in a crouch. She straightened up and bounded over to
the bar in the corner. She ordered a Corellian iced caf and brought it over
to one of the sofas scattered around the room, lending half an ear to the
chatter that was flowing freely among the group. Wes Janson, lying on one of
the adjacent couches with a tumbler of Churban brandy at his head, smiled.
"Nice run, Jenna." "Which?" she asked. "The flight?
Or my dash over to the bar?" "Both," he answered, laughing. He
frowned in mock-fury. "You steal all my best lines," he complained.
She cocked her head. "Isn't that my job?" she asked. He laughed
again. She smiled in return, feeling relaxed for the first time in years. She
took a sip of her drink. "You seem to be a fairly able pilot, at least
in the simulator. Maybe you should apply for Wraith Squadron. If only to get
where most of the action is these days?" She smiled mockingly. "I
don't know if I want my reputation muddied by being associated with a
screw-up squadron," she answered. Her smile grew. "Or with the
bunch of pilots who aren't screw-ups but are still lunatics." "Are
you calling me a lunatic?" he demanded, with a hint of amusement in his
voice. "I never said anything about you specifically, did I?" She
rose and brought her glass back to the bar. The bartender sighed and took the
glass away. She stopped in front of the couch where Janson lay. "Gotta
go," she said casually. "I have a meeting with General Cracken.
Just to report whatever we've come up with already." She sighed sadly.
"Sometimes seems as if this war's never going to end." Wes rose and
hugged her in a brief but consoling embrace. He held her by the shoulders.
"Hey, someday it'll all be over, and you'll be craving the excitement of
the past." Her smile was brief and weary, but genuine, quickly replaced
by one that seemed too bright. "Thanks for the encouragement," she
said wryly. "You really know how to make a girl feel better." She
gave him a short kiss on the forehead. "Thanks for everything," she
said, then slipped away from him. Just at that moment, Hobbie Klivan of Rogue
Squadron and Wedge Antilles came in. "No fair," Hobbie complained.
"Why is it all the beautiful women are attracted to you and Wedge, but
not me?" "Maybe it has something with our roguish charm," Janson
said impishly. Later on in the day, writing her latest report, when the door
chime rang. Startled, she rose too fast, banging her knee against the desk.
"Sithspit," she swore. "Come," she called at last. The
door opened to reveal Wes Janson. He was grinning. "I could hear you
swearing through the doors," he commented. She grimaced in pain. "I
banged my knee on the desk," she explained. She raised an eyebrow at
him. "I assume you came here for a reason." His grin faltered.
"Um, yeah," he stuttered nervously. He looked away from her. Jenna
narrowed her eyes. This isn't like Janson. What's going on? "Okay,
Janson, out with it." A hint of the old Janson sparkled mischievously in
his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently. He put on a hurt
expression. "Nothing's going on." "Yeah, right," she
muttered, "and vornskyrs are tame. Come on, Janson, what are you up
to?" Still with that endearing hurt expression on his face, Janson
looked at her. "This from the woman who kissed me?" "It was
brief," she reminded him. "And more friendly than romantic."
She shivered, so slight that it went unnoticed by Janson. Endearing? That
endearinghurt look? Be careful, you're treading into dangerous territory.
Can't get close to him; might break your cover. What are you going to do
then? "So," she said impatiently, "are you going to tell me
what you came here for or not?" His face softened. "I wanted to
know if you'd like to come to this new restaurant with me that just opened
up? Of course," he added hastily, "I completely understand if you
refuse." To her complete surprise, she said, "Sure, I'd love to
come." His face split into a huge smile. Jenna felt herself blush. She
knew, in a way, she had taken a step toward staying with the Rebels. Who
cares if they find out? I'm staying. She quickly became brusque to hide the
blush. "When and where?" she demanded. "Tomorrow, if you don't
mind," he said, glancing up at her. "I'll pick you up at 1900 hours
and fly you over." "Tomorrow's fine," she said. She smiled.
"That all?" "Yes," he answered dreamily. She noted in
amusement that his mind seemed to be in hyperspace when he drifted out the
door. She's coming, she's actually coming! he thought happily. He
walked back towards his quarters, barely noticing the greetings people gave
him in the corridor. The sight of Wedge Antilles waiting for him by his
quarters finally brought him back to Coruscant. "So?" Wedge asked
casually. "She's coming," he answered briskly, hoping to hide his
blushing, which seemed to happen whenever he thought of Jenna.
"Good." Wedge smiled. "So if anything goes wrong, and she
finds out, we can blame this little joke on you." "Right,"
Janson said absentmindedly. He didn't catch the strange look Wedge gave him.
"You're in love with her, aren't you?" The sound of Wedge's voice
startled Janson out of his reverie. "Come one, are you?"
"Yeah, I guess I am," he said. He smiled bitterly. "She's the
most beautiful woman I've ever seen, the first one I've really been
'attracted' to." "True enough." Wedge glanced at his second-in-command.
"So why are you so bitter?" "Because she never fully relaxes
with anyone. Not even me." Clearly, the thought rankled him.
"Resistant to your jokes, is she," Wedge jested. Wes gave him a
sharp look. "Get serious, Wedge. It's the reason I arranged this
so-called 'joke.' I want her to relax more. And yes," he added before
Wedge could, "because I'm in love with her." He looked off into
space. "Do you think she will?" "Can X-wings fly?" Wedge
asked rhetorically. "There's always a possibility, Wes. Besides, we're
both former Rogues, right? Impossible doesn't exist in our vocabulary." The restaurant was elegant, and the lighting dim and romantic.
She glanced at Wes, who was reading his menu. He caught her glance and smiled
wryly. "See anything you like?" he inquired. "The bruised
brualki sounds good," she told him. "Maybe followed by something
else. I'm not sure yet." He nodded. "I'm not sure myself," he
admitted. "The smoked nerf sounds good, but so do the ribs." She
smiled, and they both returned to their menus. Her emotions were in turmoil.
What's wrong with you? The restaurant's great, the food is supposed to
delicious, and the company is certainly welcome. So why are you nervous? The
waiter stepped up to their table and they ordered drinks and dinner. He took
their menus away, leaving Wes and Jenna alone. "So, how do you like the
restaurant so far?" he asked. "Wonderful," she replied,
"but I can't really judge it until I've eaten." He chuckled.
"True enough," he admitted. They fell silent. Jenna stared off into
space, obviously thinking about something. Wes found he couldn't keep his
eyes off her. He admired everything about her: the long, sun-blond hair swept
up into a chignon, the green, feline eyes as unreadable as a cat's, her long,
lithe form, the blue-green dress she wore that clung to her body, her
perfect, tan skin . . . "Jenna," he asked suddenly, "you
didn't report Face's crazy idea about Isard being alive to General Cracken,
did you?" "No," she said puzzled. "It was too weird, and
not part of the discussion to be reported." "Oh." He went back
to admiring her, which she somehow managed to ignore or not pick up on it. He
wondered how she could manage either trick. Jenna, for her part, thought she
was being paranoid when she caught Wes staring at her. Come on, he can't be .
. . admiring me, can he? No. Not Janson. Her thoughts moved to analysis of
Zsinj's recently accomplished battles, and tried to predict where he would
attack next. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Janson. She wondered how
this dark-haired, prankster man could have been the object of all this
emotional upheaval. True, he was not unattractive; his eyes were a stormy
blue-grey that seemed to smile all the time, he was slender, and he always
had a joke ready, whether you were sad or annoyed. Still . . .
"Jenna," he breathed. Startled out of her thoughts, she stared at
him, "I—" At that moment, their orders arrived with the waiter. A
plate of bruised brualki was placed before Jenna, while Wes got his smoked
nerf. When the waiter left, Jenna turned back to Wes. "You were
saying?" she reminded him. "I—" He looked away. "Maybe I
shouldn't say this." "What?" She frowned, then, with intuition
born of the Force, she turned surprised eyes on him. "You love me, was
that what you were going to say?" Miserably, he nodded. "Wes,"
she said, her face softening, "I love you, too." She pushed aside
their plates. She leaned slightly forward. Wes leaned forward as well,
lightly touching her lips with his. He felt her push harder, felt the passion
with which she cared for him. He felt as happy as he had ever been, as
satisfied with life and relieved. It was as sweet a kiss as ever, and both
felt as if something special was in the air. "Freeze!" Jenna
immediately broke away, and was about to go for her blaster when she saw
Wedge and the Wraiths in silly uniforms. At least, they looked like uniforms.
Coolly, she said, "What is this all about?" "We're the party
police," Wedge said sternly, "and we decided you're breaking Party
Law Number One." "Which is?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"To have fun and not to be serious, of course," Wedge told her in
simulated surprise. "We've been assigned to teach you how to have
fun," added Tyria Sarkin. A brief smile flashed across her face.
"You set me up," she said to Wes. He made a helpless gesture.
"I had nothing to do with this," he said, putting on his best
hurt/innocent expression. She turned back to the Wraiths. "Who exactly
gave you this assignment?" she asked. The Wraiths looked at one another.
"Why, the Commander, of course!" said Kell. "I see." She
turned her back on the Wraiths. "As a matter of fact, I was having fun
until you party poopers in here and ruined my evening. Now, you can report
back to your commander and tell him the mission was a failure." Wedge
sighed. "All right, all right, Jenna, it's us, the Wraiths, okay?"
"I don't know any 'Wraiths,'" she said, with the best 'innocent'
expression Wes had ever seen on anybody's face. "As a matter of fact,
you're trying to disturb my dinner, and that's harassment. I'm calling the
military police. Then we'll see what you have to say about ruining people's
peace and quiet, vagrant." Wedge gestured at Jenna at Jenna as she stood
up and disappeared into the rest of the restaurant. "Come on, Wes, help
us out here." Wes fought to keep the amusement out of his face.
"Sorry, don't know you," he said. "Wes!" Wedge said,
bewildered, as two officers of the New Republic Military Police who had been
dining in the restaurant and had overheard Jenna's conversation with the
manager approached. They quickly pulled their blasters out and aimed them at
the Wraiths. "All right, nice and easy," one of them growled.
"We've called in to Central and there's a hovercar waiting for you
outside. Come on, move it." "Wait, officer, this is a mistake . .
." Wedge's voice faded as the Wraiths were led away. Jenna reappeared at
that moment. "Are they gone?" she asked. "Yes," he
answered, bemused. "Good." She looked at him. "I know you
arranged all that, don't try to deny it. Still, I didn't want anything to
ruin our entire evening. That was the only way I could think of getting rid
of them." Wes stared at her. "Remind me never to make you
angry." She took his hand and kissed it. "You never will, love, at
least not more than once." They ate their dinner with gusto, finishing
off with rich desserts. As Wes flew her back, he said ruefully, "Wedge
is going to be angry tomorrow. You've marked me as a dead man." She
shook her head. "Wedge is an honorable and fair man." He grimaced.
"Then you didn't hear about some of the tricks he pulled on me."
She smiled as he put down the landspeeder in the hangar. "Don't worry;
I'll appease him." She suddenly grabbed his face and pulled it down. She
kissed him passionately. He melted into her arms, marveling at the fact that
he felt so happy with this woman of mysterious past. They finally broke
apart, gasping slightly for breath. Wes's face reddened when he saw the
cheering techs, but Jenna merely smiled nonchalantly, uttered a husky
"goodbye," and was gone before he knew it. "Goodbye,
Jenna," he whispered, haunted by the memory of her kisses and her
beauty. Wedge sighed tiredly as he entered his quarters after a night of
convincing the police that what happened was a joke, and to have Admiral
Ackbar vouch for them after giving them parole for two months. He noticed the
package on his bed. He took it, opened it, and was surprised to find a couple
of Corellian-designed "candles," sculptures that were very valuable
and ethereally beautiful. A datapad tumbled out. "To Commander
Antilles," he read aloud, "apologies for the inconvenience. The
lieutenant shouldn't have pulled this trick on you. For that, as well, I
apologize. Sorry I couldn't be there in person for you to wring my neck. Wes
says you are a vengeful person. You don't strike me as such, but when it
comes to Wes, I understand why." Wedge smiled before continuing.
"Compensation has been sent to all pilots involved in last night's
fiasco. Hope they like their gifts! At any rate, you must know by now that
I'm involved with Wes. Whatever you do, please leave enough of him for me to
help him get back to normal (in other words, please keep him alive). I love
him very much, and I've lost all my friends and family to the Empire. I don't
want to lose anyone I care about anymore. "So now I'll stop rambling and
you can get some sleep. See you around! Jenna" |