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The blue glow of hyperspace reflected off of the ovular window of the sleeping quarters and gleamed in the cold durasteel of the bunk frames around Yrica Quell. She lay on her bunk silently, her orange pilot jumpsuit still soaked with sweat from the last battle. The brazen cheers and celebrations of another battle well fought carried down the ship from the nearby common areas as the sounds of clanking metal and mechanical buzzes sounded from where the flight mechanics were repairing the damaged fighters in the hangar.
Yrica could join them, she usually did nowadays as General Syndulla’s advice on connecting with her squadmates still rung in her ears even months after the end of Major Keize and Shadow wing, but she was too tired, too drop-dead exhausted to do much more than slump over in her bunk. There was also the small fact that in many of the other squadron’s eyes Yrica was still little better than any other Imperial who had joined after Endor, Yrica was fine with that, agreed with them actually, but that did make spending significant time with them rather difficult.
Alphabet Squadron, the fighter team under Yrica’s command, was currently stationed on the Galactica , a Mon Calamari Star Cruiser stationed in the Mid Rim. They were mainly fighting groups of pirates or smugglers now, though the occasional Imperial force would come out of the woodwork to harass them.
After the Battle of Jakku, in which much of the surviving command structure of the Empire outside of the core worlds and a few warlords here and there had been destroyed, Yrica had been expecting to find herself behind bars. She was near the top of the list of known war criminals that would be able to be taken to trial after all, and she had already made it known to multiple of her superiors that she would gladly turn herself in per their request. To her surprise, however, she had found herself not in a prison cell, but back in fighter command and in the cockpit of an X-wing.
She had been present for a trial sure, sitting alongside other defectors who had admitted to or been incriminated on war crimes. There had been stormtroopers who had taken part in the genocide on Geonosis, pilots like Yrica who had taken part in Operation Cinder, even officers who had been privy to the planning of the Death Star and other projects spearheaded under the empire. Even amongst them Yrica had been an outlier, had freely admitted to what she had been involved in without any attempt at defence.
Most of the defendants in the stands alongside Yrica had received lengthy prison sentences for their crimes, their service for the Alliance doing little to protect them against the magnitude of their sins. Some of the others had only gotten a few years, commuted for long service or remorse or a lower severity to their crimes, of the over three-hundred defendants however, Yrica had been one of only seven defendants who had left the trials without binders around her wrists.
The reactions from the public, which had taken a close interest in the trials of the defectors, had been varied. Representatives of the Nacronis survivors had put out a statement recognising the decision, though stopping at making any condemnation or endorsement while the Holonet had ballooned with every sentient’s own opinion on the verdicts.
Within the New Republic military, it had been taken with a quiet acceptance. Yrica was in no way the most popular member of the five-thousand plus crew onboard the MC80 she was posted to but everyone had enough respect for her that they didn’t voice their opinions unless they were drunk.
Hence why she was in the barracks and not the common area right now.
The real buzz that was going around the crew however was not the last battle itself, but the mysterious X-wing that had joined them midway through. It had been a lone fighter, a singular blip on the radar but it had entered the battle with a vengeance, sending the enemy fighters fleeing from the system with their tails between their legs.
The rumour amongst the pilots was that it was some Rebellion old-timer or other legend from the main fight against the Empire. Wyl Lark, Alphabet Squadron’s resident A-wing master, had speculated that it was Wedge Antilles, but Yrica had shot that down. She had met Antilles, one of many other squadron commanders she had workshopped with or attended briefings alongside and that was just it: he was a squadron commander, for the Rogues no less. He would have very little reason to travel without his squadron to join up with another fleet.
Before Yrica could give herself a chance to speculate on the mysterious visitor, a voice came over the ship’s intercom:
“Squadron Leader Quell to Hangar Seventeen, I repeat, Squadron Leader Quell to Hangar Seventeen.”
Yrica quickly pulled herself off of her bunk and eyed her flight suit disdainfully: it wouldn’t be the first time that a Squadron Leader turned up to a meeting or discussion in a dirty flight suit but the thought still rankled just a bit. She grabbed her headgear, a simple X-wing helmet with two red Starbird ensigns on it, and left the barracks.
She walked briskly through the almost-empty corridors of the cruiser until she reached a lift to take her closer to the Hangar. She couldn’t remember what squadron was housed there, Grim Squadron was in Hangar Sixteen and Monsoon Squadron was in Hangar Eighteen, but to her knowledge, there was nothing assigned between them.
The lift opened again with a quiet woosh and Yrica brushed past a group of Sullustan mechanics who gave her cautious looks as she passed. While Yrica and Shadow Wing had never been involved, Sullust had suffered harshly under the empire’s reign, with the planet’s governor happily utilising slave labour and conscription amongst the local population to build AT-AT walkers for the Imperial army.
No door separated the hallways from the hangars on the launch decks, on some of the smaller Mon Calamari cruisers you would even have rows of hangars on both sides, only a slit along the roof showed where the blast doors would lower down in the event of an emergency. This lack of barriers allowed Yrica to see the contents of the Hangar long before she actually got there.
There was a lone X-wing stationed in the middle of the hangar bay, a small horde of mechanics and pilots gathered around it like groupies at a holoband concert. Yrica tried to scan the crowd to identify the reason why she had been summoned but the crowd was too loud and too large to see. An astromech unit rolled up next to her and twittered curiously.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what all the fuss is about would you?” Yrica asked, “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”
The droid beeped back at her before moving closer to the crowd, it bumped itself into a nearby pilot and chirped at it but was summarily ignored. After a few more tries it seemed to stop for a second as if giving up before one of its hatches opened and a mechanical hand came out.
It jabbed at the pilot closest to it and the hand sparked with electricity, sending the pilot jumping into some of his squadmates in alarm. The crowd parted quickly and the droid let loose a series of whistles and beeps in what appeared to be laughter.
In the centre of the crows, leaning against the X-Wing with an easy smile and apparently unphased by the violent astromech, was a single pilot. He would be unremarkable anywhere else, and even here, surrounded by other people in New Republic jumpsuits he should have blended right in, but something drew her to him instead of anyone else in the room.
The droid had kept its electric hand out and was now using it to shepherd the pilots and mechanics out of the hangar yet the man stayed where he was, after everyone else was safely out of earshot he faced her, reaching out his hand to take her in a warm handshake.
“Commander Quell,” the man said, “my name is Luke Skywalker, pleased to meet you.”
It was only the instinct refined by years inside the Empire that stopped Yrica from gawking and instead snapped to attention:
“General,” she said sharply, stopping herself from referring to him by ‘Commander’ at the last minute. He had been a commander during the battles of Hoth and Endor, yet she had seen in more recent reports that he was referred to by General now; she had never actually thought that she would need to use that knowledge, however.
General Skywalker chuckled: “no need for that, we’re all rebels here.”
Before Yrica could point out that technically no, she had only defected after the Rebellion had become the New Republic, the general withdrew a holoprojector from one of his pockets. He turned it on and a winged image appeared in the air between himself and Yrica.
“Do you know what this symbol represents?” the General asked and Yrica shook her head.
“It looks a bit like the New Republic crest,” she commented after a second.
“The logo is based on this one,” Skywalker said, “this is the symbol of the Jedi order.”
Yrica nodded, while this was interesting sure, the Jedi were a subject that there was precious little information about, she felt that this was more Wyl’s subject than hers.
“What do you need Alphabet for?” she asked as politely as possible.
The general stopped his little speech on the Jedi to fix Yria with an impressed look.
“Right,” he said, “I was dragging that out a bit, I was wondering whether you guys wanted to transfer to the Jedi Order?”
Yrica blanched at that, “none of us have force powers,” she said, stifling a laugh deep underneath her professionalism as the general seemed to catch himself.
“Why us?” Yrica asked, “most pilots would jump at the chance to serve under you, heck, at least one member of my squadron would probably give it serious thought, why choose a squadron led by a war criminal of all people?”
“You were exposed to Imperial propaganda every day for years,” the General said, “I almost joined the Empire myself before I left Tatooine, and besides, let's just say that I have reason to believe in second chances.”
Yrica regarded him for a second, grasping the scope of this decision, she had worked hard for her position here, risen above her Imperial origins to try and balance some of what she had done with genuine good, was working with the Jedi worth it all?
But then, Yrica’s mother had told her stories of the Jedi of old, the stories that the Empire had purged at the beginning of the new order, they helped people to, and with so few Jedi now maybe they needed the help of some pilots.
“I’ll have to talk to my Squadron,” she eventually said and the General gave her a blinding smile that really brought forth the farmboy image that some of the rebel magazines liked to play up.
“Take all the time you need,” he responded as Yrica snapped a salute and left the hangar.
“And Commander Quell,” he called before she could disappear, “may the Force be with you.”
“Likewise,” she said curtly, maybe that was something she would have to see to believe first.
As Yrica entered the elevator to go talk to her squadron, she had the sudden realisation that her life would likely never be anywhere near normal again.