By Alan B. Pechman
Category: Rebellion
Rated PG
Author's note: I am a Wedgehead, no doubt about it. I own all of the Rogue
Squadron comics and just about anything else there is to own about that
organization. For some reason, I decided to collect and collate as much
information as I could possibly find on the adventures of Wedge Antilles and
company. I still have a ways to go there, but what I have amassed so far is
considerable. Which leads me to writing this story. Perhaps chronicle is more
like it because the bigger picture, as it were, has already been told by our
venerated master elsewhere. But I always wondered about the backstory of Red
Squadron and their leader, Garven "Dave" Dreis. There were, to me, a lot of
unanswered questions about their story prior to where we first see them and
their subsequent trials and tribulations as they become the fabled Rogue
Squadron. Well, the following is my correlation of those events.
I would like to thank authors Michael Stackpole and Aaron Allston for giving us
Wedgeheads something to enjoy. If they hadn't written those X-wing books I
probably wouldn't have wrote this. Last I would like to thank my wife, Betsy,
who, although she doesn't see what the big deal about all this is, still has
patience for me anyway.
Selected sources: Star Wars Encyclopedia by S. Sansweet, Star Wars: Behind the
Magic CD, X-wing novels by M. Stackpole & A. Allston, X-wing: Rogue Squadron
comics—namely the ½ issue with the pre-Yavin backstory, Decipher's CCG website,
and I think that's about it!
GENERAL DISCLAIMER: STAR WARS, THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, RETURN OF THE JEDI, THE
PHANTOM MENACE and all related imagery and characters are the intellectual
property of LucasFilm, Inc. Their use here does not represent a challenge to
those copyrights; no profit is being made by this story. Its use here is for
personal entertainment purposes only.
Chapter One
The silence of space was deafening.
Had the masses of rock and debris been audible in the vacuum it truly would be
loud and cacophonous. As it was, though, silence reigned, and with it, serenity.
Or, at least that's what Fenwarten Perredor thought.
He sat at the controls of his mining/salvage rig taking in the scenery as he
piloted his way clear of The Graza Belt. The yoke, which his beefy hands rested
on, was as well used as the man. His large frame engulfed the acceleration couch
that somehow held under his bulk for many years now. He'd argue that it was not
fat, but good eating. He had a pleasant demeanor etched onto his face; crows
feet accenting his cheerful eyes topping off a few days of red stubble that
seemed to barely offset his fiery red shocks of hair.
A proximity alert sounded and was promptly shut off in perfect rhythm with the
drumming he did on the yoke. He was in time with the Yazziks playing on the
ship's sound system. They were not as good as Max Reebo, he would remind you,
but they passed the time. Fenny, as his friends and creditors knew him as, idly
wondered what could have set the alarm off. He pulled up his
not-quite-regulation scanner and ran it through the various spectrums. He
furrowed his brow at what he found.
He was passing close to a larger mass that probably had died as violently as the
birth of the asteroids. The target was quite big. Fenny reached overhead and
flipped on the worn floodlight switches that were also not-quite-regulation. He
manipulated their beams with a small joystick just in front of him on the
control panel. He whistled softly.
The spectral analysis on his scanner read enormously high metal content that had
to be on the far side of the large asteroid he was approaching. Although he
traveled slow enough to avoid a collision, he still intensified his military
rated shields to compensate just in case. He eased the braking jets in on his
ship, The Ravenous Gundark.
As he began maneuvering his way around the huge rock, Fenny wondered what he
would do if it were a significant find. His week out here in the belt was
already prosperous; his holds were full of precious ore. He knew if it was that
significant, one of his "peers" might beat him to it. Of course he could deploy
his durafiber netting which could hold twice the mass of the Gundark, but that
was a slow go back to anywhere from the nowhere he was at. It also severely
reduced the hyperdrive's capabilities. He would just have to see.
He crested the relative horizon of the big rock and nearly jumped out of skin. A
Blockade Runner or more appropriately, what was left of it, was embedded into
the asteroid. The front quarter of the hull was severely impacted beyond
recognition. Blockade Runners were used by both the Empire and the Rebellion as
well as various smaller independent systems as an ideal system defense cruiser.
He immediately powered up his twin laser cannon even though no readings other
than its mass appeared on his scope. As he realized the importance of his find,
credits danced before his eyes. The salvage alone would make him rich!
He maneuvered the belly of the Gundark parallel with the rock surface and
extended his mining claw from the ship's belly. It's massive magnetically
shielded claws extended, gripping the craggy surface. As the tips of the claw
made contact, micro-plasma tendrils massaged the rock from the claw's tips. The
claw was able to make a stronger purchase and it was often said that these
Parasite-class miners were as hard to remove from rock as their name implied.
"Okay, DeeBee, time to go to work, pal." Fenny's basso voice rang. In response,
a subdued trilling answered. DB-23, DeeBee, was a mole droid designed
exclusively by miners for prospecting where their masters could not go. Fenny
activated DeeBee's hold that was just above the cockpit. When DB-23's returned
from their hunt, their masters could open up the small hatch above their heads
and pull the small one meter long droids into the cockpit to retrieve what they
found. DB-23's were quite expensive due to their versatile capabilities and
their masters guarded them closely. They had many uses and Fenny's DB-23 bailed
him out of many tough spots in the past.
Fenny switched on the remote camera located in DeeBee's nose and followed its
progress towards the ruined Runner.
DeeBee soon flew into a gaping hole in the Blockade Runner's hull. Reaching
over, he switched on the visual feed and his eyes got very wide. "Holy Jedi
Ghosts! Look what we got here!"
Proximity alerts went off and Fenny jumped with a start. Slapping off the alarm,
he checked his scanners. Probably just a stray asteroid getting a little close,
he thought. He eyed the readout and felt his blood go cold.
He strained against his restraints and peered out to starboard. Closing in
slowly was a long blocky looking ship bristling with weaponry. It was an
Imperial Carrack class cruiser and he knew this wasn't some random meeting.
As his ship shuddered in the Carrack's tractor beam, Fenny wished he were
anywhere else in the galaxy but the Graza belt.
--------------------------------------------
Captain Garven Dreis stared down at the datapad. His brown eyes danced over the
screen noting all of the data in its entirety. The crows' feet at the corners of
his eyes tightened as he finished, and with a weary sigh he shut the datapad
down.
Looking up he could barely make out the surrounding jungle through the fog.
While his sense of sight was hampered by this meteorological event, his other
senses were not. He could hear the howls of various beasts as they finished
their nocturnal dances, even now dwindling off as the transition from night to
day had begun.
He tucked the datapad under his arm and raised the steaming mug of caf to his
lips, drinking in the beverage and his surroundings. The deepest hues of night
were giving way to the rich, dark colors of morning; shades of dark green
appeared as the vegetation fought for recognition in his eyes.
He could never get over the rich deep smells of this place, either. Something
about it made him giddy inside. He grunted and shook his head. He'd been more
places since he joined the Alliance then he could remember—from volcanic worlds
to temperate to this. He wondered if it would ever end.
He turned and headed back into the massive temple that was the current home of
the Alliance.
--------------------------------------------
A brief knock at the chamber door stopped Biggs from the little ditty he was
whistling. He put his flight helmet down and walked over to the door controller,
the polishing rag still in his hands. He depressed the wall stud and the door
whisked silently open.
"Hello, Dave. What can I do for you? Won't you come in?" Biggs asked.
"Cute, Darklighter, you boys won't let me forget this one, huh?"
"No sir, Dave, sir." Biggs smiled. "You've got to admit it was a little funny,
sir."
Garven sat down on Biggs' bunk, resting the datapad on one knee. He took another
sip of caf and shook his head. He gulped down the rest of the hot beverage and
eyed the young pilot. "I can't help it if I looked like that old lady's
grandson, you know. It was a simple mistake, is all."
Biggs chuckled. They were on a courier mission in Aldera, the capital city on
Alderaan waiting for the drop-off when an elderly lady mistook Garven for her
grandson. Garven tried querying her with the pass phrases thinking she was their
contact. Instead, she kept asking him what he was talking about: "Dave, what are
you talking about? Why Dave, how come you haven't come by for nerf stew you like
so much, Dave? Dave?"
The other two pilots, Biggs and John Drambinian, or "John D" as he was called,
let their Captain have it. After making the rendezvous with their real courier
they headed back to the Home Base, all the while calling him "Dave" in the mock
voice of the old lady. Since they had to be very careful to hide their entry and
exit vectors, it had required several hyperspace jumps in their beat up shuttle.
For almost one whole day the two junior officers ribbed their leader.
When they finally made it back to the hidden base, Biggs and John D spread the
story of the first botched exchange, complete with references to "Dave." Word
spread quickly among the Rebels.
At first Garven tried to tell his side of the story but after a while he just
smiled and shook his head realizing that it helped ease the stresses of their
everyday lives by all of the good natured banter.
"Laugh it up, Sandman, laugh it up."
Biggs tsked. "You know that'll never stick, Dave. There's only one nickname I
have and I'll never tell anyone here what that is. Only one other guy knows it,
and he's not here, so, give it up." Biggs sat back down and grabbed his flight
helmet. He went back to polishing it, all the while grinning at his Captain.
"Look. Biggs. We've got a mission to do so I want you to get Antilles and Boon
together and meet me in the briefing room in about an hour, okay?"
"Sure, Dave. Anything else?"
Garven got up and grabbed the rag out of Biggs' hand. He rubbed it inside his
empty cup, drying it, and handed it back to the cocky young pilot. "Nope, that's
it. See you in an hour."
Garven hit the door stud and left. Biggs frowned down at the soiled rag. He
looked up to see his Captain smiling at him as the door closed. Garven heard
Biggs laughing all the way down the hall.
--------------------------------------------
"So there I was, inverted and coming in on the eyeball so fast I thought for
sure I wasn't gonna get the shot off, you know?"
"Uh-huh. Really. So, what happened?" Amil Karsk leaned back in his chair while
the younger pilot gesticulated wildly with his hands, weaving his story of his
first kill for the two veterans. Amil glanced over at Trace Galaman,
affectionately known as "Papa," who seemed to be concentrating on the story.
"What do you mean, Amil?" Asked the young pilot. He was barely sixteen years of
age with straight brown hair that was barely kept in check. His eager brown eyes
glanced over at Papa for approval. He got a wink and went on. "I'm here, aren't
I? So you tell me."
Amil shrugged. "Seems to me that maybe you should've gone in with a little less
speed and a little more control and you wouldn't be having to explain to Dave
why your X-wing looks like it flew through a volcano. You know, Wedge, R2 units
are expensive and money ain't exactly growing on gundarks in case you hadn't
noticed."
"Well at least I'm alive, shouldn't that matter?" Wedge puffed his chest out and
stepped closer to Amil. "It's not like you're an Ace with only four kills
yourself!"
Amil stood and got in Wedge's face. He wasn't about to be shown up by this kid!
"Let me put it this way, kid. The Alliance isn't for your-"
Amil stopped when he felt the firm, iron grip on his shoulder. "Easy there,
Amil. Let the youngster preen a little." Papa Galaman pushed Amil down into the
chair in the rec hall. The other pilots and techs went about their business when
they saw Papa intervene, all the fun having been stopped. "We all got excited
when we got our first kill and I seem to remember you spoutin' off at the mouth
for a full week when you got yours."
Amil stood back up. "I've got to get that lock-up converter on my port s-foil
looked at. I don't have time for this." With a venomous look he left. Techs and
support crew beat a hasty retreat away from the angry pilot as he stalked off.
"Papa, thanks, but I can handle him."
Papa grinned. "I know, Wedge, but we're on the same side here and ol' Amil is
just jealous that it took you three missions to get your first kill and it took
him ten or so. He'll get over it. You see that you do too. Come on, sit down and
drink some more Fizz before it goes flat on you. I know how much you like that
stuff."
Wedge sat. He nodded at Papa. Ever since he had gotten cleared to fly X-wings,
Trace Galaman looked after him. To Wedge, he lived up to the name of Papa.
Bitter memories of Loka Hask's brutal negligence that killed his parents came
unbidden to his mind. He grabbed his cup and downed enough Fizz to induce the
tearing effects that rapid drinking of the carbonated beverage did if one drank
a lot too quickly. The sweet Gnera flavor was a little weak but it hit the spot.
He noticed Papa staring at him.
"You know if you want to talk about what's been bothering you, I'm all ears,
Wedge."
"Huh?" Wedge wiped the residual tears out of his eyes. "I'm not crying, Papa.
It's the Fizz."
Papa nodded. Better to agree than do more harm, he thought. "Sure kid. But the
offer still holds." Ever since Papa laid eyes on the young Corellian he knew he
liked him. He reminded him so much of Ennion, his own son, that it was
unnerving. But Ennion died young during the Clone Wars flying on his father's
wing. Those were hard times and these were not too different.
"Wedge. Hey, Wedge, there you are. I've been trying to find you." Biggs strode
over to the pair. "Morning, Papa. Excuse us but Dave needs to see Wedge in an
hour in the briefing room."
Wedge looked worriedly over at Papa. "Did he say what for?"
Biggs' eyebrows furrowed and he cocked his head ever so slightly. His dark hair
and brown eyes made him look regally stern. He compressed his lips together in a
slight frown. He absentmindedly reached up and stroked his well-groomed
mustache. "Come to think of it, yes, he said something about the paint job on
your fighter."
Wedge looked a little panicked and it was all Biggs could do to keep a straight
face. Papa nodded sagely as well. "It'll be alright, Wedge. Go on along with
Biggs and I'm sure they'll be lenient with you. It isn't like you lost it all
together."
"Yeah," said Biggs. "Just a little cooked."
"Did he say anything about the astromech droid, Biggs?" Wedge stood up and began
walking with Biggs. The older pilot threw his arm around Wedge's shoulder in a
comforting fashion.
"Well, let's just say that I'm sure the topic will come up eventually. See ya,
Papa."
Papa Galaman watched the two younger pilots walk away and smiled. It was the
inevitable right of passage among these pilots, he thought, to scare the new
guys out of their minds. Spotting a tech he had been seeing about pod racing
line scores, Papa got up and headed over, already forgetting about Wedge's
plight.
--------------------------------------------
The lights in the briefing room were brought up from their usual gloom. Seated
in the acceleration couches from crashed or unusable fighters were three of Red
squadron's brightest pilots. Seated from the left were Biggs Darklighter in his
self confident, upright posture. For someone from a backwater planet like
Tatooine, Biggs carried himself like a Royal from Alderaan, thought Garven. The
funny thing was that, even with his demeanor, Biggs' ingratiating personality
and dashing smile won him more friends than not.
Next to him on Biggs' left was Kreg Boosian of Commenor. Like a lot of
Commenorians, it seemed to Garven, "Boon" as he was called, shared the bright
red hair and blocky features, complete with toothy grin, that were prevalent on
that world.
Next came Wedge Antilles, the very young, but very talented new pilot with a
chip the size of the outer rim on his shoulders. Garven didn't know his full
story yet and suspected few did. All Garven knew was that his fire for vengeance
towards the Empire burned very bright. Most of the Rebels shared that flame, but
a few allowed themselves to burn brighter. The problem with that was those who
did not hold themselves in check burned out too fast.
"We received word that the Blockade Runner Anoat Pride is missing." Garven said
without preamble. "It left the Ord Mantell system three days ago enroute to
Dantooine. It carried with it cargo vital to the Rebellion."
Garven activated the holodisplay unit and a sector map appeared next to Red
Squadron's Leader. It was of the Outer Rim and quickly zoomed on the systems in
question. Using a laser pointer, Garven traced the route from Ord Mantell to
Dantooine.
"There isn't much between the two systems and the possibility of a hyperdrive
malfunction hasn't been ruled out. That and Imperial entanglement, pirate
activity and a number of other factors mean that almost anything could have
happened to Anoat Pride.
"There is one possibility and I eluded to it already." Garven zoomed in further.
Between Ord Mantell and Dantooine was a label for the Graza asteroid belt.
"Anoat Pride might have had problems and ended up here in the Graza belt. It's
the only place enroute where Operations thinks they might have stopped if they
did have a malfunction. And if they did, then we have to wonder why they haven't
tried to contact us yet."
"Maybe their Comm system is down," suggested Biggs.
"Excuse me, Captain, but aren't we talking about a big 'If' here?" Boon said,
his usually mirthful hazel eyes serious.
Garven nodded. "Yes, of course, Boon." He shut the projector down. "But somebody
needs to find them and that somebody is us."
"That's because if there is something Red Squadron does best it's make the
impossible possible, right Dave?"
"Cut the chatter, Biggs." Garven put his hands on his hips and leaned forward.
"Yes this is a mynock shoot, but someone needs to find Anoat Pride and it had
better be us. Any other questions? Wedge, you seem to be on edge son, what's
up?"
Wedge nearly jumped out of his seat like a prodded bantha. "N-nothing sir. Why?"
"I've got one Captain." Boon interceded sensing the younger pilot's unease.
"What's the Anoat Pride carrying again?"
"I never said exactly what it was hauling. That's need to know, Boon."
"And I don't need to know, right?"
"You've got that right, buddy boy." Garven grinned. "In case we do run into
trouble this information won't be able to be used against you. Now, I've
downloaded the briefing to your datapads for your review. Preflight is in one
hour, so get ready quick. See you all then. Oh, Wedge?"
"Sir?"
"I don't know what Darklighter must've said to you but let me say this: You were
issued a new astromech this morning and your X-wing has been repainted, kill
marker and all. Congratulations, son, you're officially one of us now."
"Thank you sir!" Wedge beamed, all pretense of nervousness evaporating like
water in a Tatooine afternoon. He eyed Biggs with a look of relief. The more
senior pilot grimaced.
"Yes, well, one other thing, Antilles." Garven's voice became harsh. "Next time
don't fly through the eyeball you vaped and I won't have to fill out so many
blasted requisition forms to get your X-wing flight-ready. Am I clear?"
"As ice, sir."
He smiled at the rookie and stepped over. He tousled the kid's hair. "Good, now
get going you bunch of rogues. I'll see ya in an hour."
--------------------------------------------
"Garven, gotta minute?"
Garven stopped and turned towards Theron Nett, his long time wingman. Theron's
face was as passive as it usually was but Garven knew it was a facade.
Underneath that stoic countenance was one of the fieriest warriors he had ever
known. He was glad Theron was on his side. "What is it, Theron?"
"Orders. We've got an escort run and I thought I'd let you know about it."
"What's the profile?"
Theron activated his datapad and quickly scanned the message. "Tantive IV is
coming in hot from Ralltiir and needs an escort to Toprawa and then
Alderaan—high priority. They need four and I was going to send Amil, Glehn,
Aimes, and Papa, who will be lead."
Garven frowned. Something didn't seem right about this and his hunches were
usually correct. "What about you?"
Theron grimaced. "I'm not doing anything but home guard right now. Since we're
the only show on base and I'm the ranking XO with you gone, I have to stay and
play watchnek."
"What about Dutch's outfit? They back from the Outer Rim yet?" Garven had been
friends with Jon "Dutch" Vander since their days flying for the Old Republic
Fighter Corps during the clone wars. He trusted him and his flyers implicitly.
"They're back but not flight ready for anything right now. His Y-wings got
pretty beat up on that last mission," Theron switched his datapad off. The dark
haired pilot looked at his Captain. "I know how much you hate splitting us up,
Garven, but I guess we have to consider the big picture here. There's something
brewing in the Empire and Command is scrambling to play catch up. You know
that's not what we like to do."
"Yeah, I know. We're the ones that are supposed to keep Palpatine jumping,"
Garven drawled in his Agamarian accent. "Well, what else is new, I guess. We'll
hopefully not be gone too long ourselves once we find that missing Blockade
Runner."
"Anoat Pride?"
"Yep." Garven slapped his gloves into his hands. "I've gotta get flyin'. I'll
see ya when I get back, Theron."
Theron's smile reached to his brown eyes. "Sure, Garven. I'll keep the lomin-ale
cold for you."
--------------------------------------------
Eight X-wings blasted out of the atmosphere of the fourth moon of Yavin, clawing
for deep space on their respective missions. Although they left the hidden Rebel
base together, they were two distinct groups.
Their fuselages had seen better days and aesthetically, the battered fighters
were not much to behold. Their sleek lines were marred here and there by scorch
marks from battles as recent as a few days earlier. Looks were deceiving,
however, as the pilots of these starfighters were some of the best the Alliance
offered.
Each fighter's wing had distinct, yet unobtrusive, markings on its topside.
First, near the tip on the top leading edge was a simple red block. The color
noted the squadron's origin and matched the stripes of the fuselage in color for
easy recognition. Towards the trailing edge were the second markings that were
more meaningful to squadron personnel. Each X-wing bore a stripe corresponding
with its numerical call sign. This made it easier to identify each other in the
frenetic pace of a dogfight where seconds of delay could mean a grisly demise.
At the fore of the X-wings that left Yavin, the X-wing with only one stripe on
its trailing edge peeled off on an exit vector away from the others. Three
others followed suit while the remaining four stayed on their original vector.
"Red Two, tighten formation with me a bit more. Red Three and Eleven, space
yourselves out a bit further." Garven craned his head to make sure his orders
were complied with. Although his fighter's scanners could adequately give him
the visual feed, he trusted his own eyes more than a computer. He learned that
lesson from the clone wars where trusting what your computer told you, and not
your eyes and gut, could kill you fast. He turned back after watching the young
pilots in his group comply with his orders.
"Red Leader, this is Twelve. We're all set here, Lead, and are heading out to
the rendezvous with Mother One."
"Okay, Papa." Mother One was the code name for Tantive IV, Princess Leia of
Alderaan's personal Blockade Runner. "Good luck and smooth flying."
"Copy that, Lead and good hunting."
Garven smiled. "Ok boys, prepare to make the jump on my mark with confirmation."
"Red Two, standing by." Wedge said trying not to sound too eager. He felt so
alive in the cockpit of his X-wing. Ever since his last mission that earned him
a kill, he was eagerly waiting his chance to continue the fight with the Empire.
"Red Three, standing by, Lead." Biggs said with his usual professional flair.
Garven was glad he wasn't an Imperial pilot because Biggs had that calm, cool
tenacity that made him a potent adversary.
"Red Eleven standing by, Dave," Garven shook his head as laughter from multiple
X-wings chimed in, those of his and Papa's flight group who were still
in-system.
"Ok, ok you rogues. Stand by." Garven punched the feed to the other three
X-wings and in unison the four starfighters leapt into hyperspace.
--------------------------------------------
DeeBee extended one of its prehensile visual scanners, which looked like an eye
on a stalk, from behind the hole in the fuselage of the dead Blockade Runner. It
stared in confusion as its master's ship was pulled free from the asteroid it
clung to. Slowly, the Gundark was pulled into the range of the larger ship's
docking tube, just aft of the external TIE fighter racks. Although it didn't
possess the processing capacity of a more advanced droid, like anything else
Fenny owned, DeeBee was modified. His advanced logic unit knew that something
was wrong and knew enough that it could not possibly get back to Fenny's ship to
help. So DeeBee did the one thing it could do in this situation.
Nothing.
--------------------------------------------
The comm channel signal indicator flashed on Fenny's control board. He had
already figured he couldn't fight the Imperial cruiser, so he shut down all
non-essential systems and allowed himself to be captured.
He hit the comm button.
"Attention mining vessel Ravenous Gundark, standby for boarding and inspection,"
said the Imperial voice.
Fenny grunted and reached for the data disk that contained his permits and
registrations. He hefted his large frame from the chair and headed aft towards
the main hatch. He knew he did nothing wrong and had every right to be out here
in the Graza belt. If the Imperials wanted that dead hunk of starship embedded
in the asteroid outside his ship, then why didn't they have their own salvage
rig here?
With a clank and shutter, Fenny knew he was inexorably attached to the Carrack's
docking tube. He activated the hatch seal and through its small window saw two
stormtroopers and one officer climbing down the docking tube. Fenny opened the
hatch.
Although he dwarfed both stormtroopers, their presence and temerity intimidated
Fenny. He took a step back as the officer entered. He was as tall as the
stormtroopers with short cropped brown hair and a scowl on his otherwise
handsome face. His brown eyes were glaringly angry. Fenny held out the data
disks.
The officer scowled at the disks and gave a brief nod to the flanking
stormtroopers. One trooper stepped forward, lowering his carbine and took the
disks. The other stepped forward attaching his carbine to his belt and before
Fenny could react, placed binders on the large man's wrists.
"Uh, may I ask what the stars is going on here?" Fenny looked down at his wrists
in disbelief. He looked back up at the officer who still was scowling.
"You are in direct violation of Imperial edict 345A in regards to looting
Imperial property, sir. I suggest you cooperate and we may let you live a while
longer."
"Imperial Edict 345A?" Fenny started in disbelief. "But there were no beacons or
anything else stating this was a restricted area!"
The officer merely nodded. The two stormtroopers ushered Fenny through the hatch
and onto the Imperial Cruiser. The officer stood a while longer in the Gundark's
hatchway. With a disgusted grunt he whirled and headed back to the confines of
the clean Imperial cruiser.