Capitol Punishment
A CRS Liberty Adventure

Copyright (c) 1997 by Rebecca Bryan, Adam Burns, Jeff Young, and Vince Rambo.  All rights reserved. This is a fictional story taking place a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Any resemblance you think you see to people living or dead, or actual events, is purely a coincidence and you should kneel down and pray for a life.  

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 1


"You know, if I didn't know any better, sonny, I'd say you've been sitting at that table for the past three days now," remarked Rooster, the Liberty's mixologist, as she set him up with another cup of tea. "Barring bathroom breaks, at least. "

The addressed pilot, Jeff 'Kallysto' Young, the CRS Liberty's Corsair 11, looked up. His eyes were dull, almost glassy, and his expression looked sullen to even the casual observer. "Oh, I've been sleeping enough." 

Rooster pulled up a chair, ignoring the frown. "Wassamatter, eh? You got shellshock or something? I don't remember seeing you fly ever since you came back from that First Flight." 

Kallysto looked up, and bit back a snarl. "I haven't. And I'm fine, okay?" He dragged the cup of tea she'd brought up to his mouth and took a big slug out of it. "Gyah!" he exclaimed, spitting out the hot tea. "Burned m'tongue." He covered his mouth with his hand, looking down, more than his mouth burning. Rooster snapped her fingers. "Mixer! Rocks and nothing for Kally-boy here, who won't tell his mama what's got him so down." A moment later, the Lumi pressed a glass of ice water into the chagrined pilot's hands. 

Kallysto sighed, and looked guiltily back up at the Lumi bartender, noting the color of her receptors. "Yeah. All right. I'm not fine." 

Roo nodded. "So. What is it?" she asked.

"I think I've been grounded," he began.

 #

Chris "Electro" Schock, Corsair Leader, didn't look up as Kallysto walked into his office. "Sit."

Young did so, perfectly straight, keeping silent. A long, uncomfortable minute passed. Chris finished making an entry into his datapad, then tossed it on the table, face down. He fixed the pilot with a unblinking gaze. 

"Young, what did I tell you and the other Corsairs at the briefing?" Schock asked. "Or rather, what did I tell you?"

"Don't try to impress you," Kallysto answered quietly. 

"Exactly. Now, I believe I also reprimanded you during the mission for excessive chatter. And don't think I didn't notice the boom buzzing run you made on that freighter." Chris's voice was colder than the space outside the hull. 

"Sir, I..." Kallysto began, but Electro slapped a hand down hard on the duralloy desk. 

"No. You do what I tell you. I am your commanding officer, and you accepted that when you signed on with the Alliance. You may be some hotshot holoactor back home, but there is no room in the Alliance for stunt pilots who don't follow orders."

The Corsair CO leaned forward, locking gazes with the thirty-something 'fresh' pilot, daring him to speak again. Kallysto twitched his upper lip, causing his long, thin moustache to jerk, but he remained silent. 

"Now, I'm going to ask you a question, and I'd like an honest answer. I called a retreat, when the Bantha fodder hit the fan. But you didn't bail." Chris narrowed his eyes, frowning hard. "You turned and tried to take on the Fridge all by your lonesome. With a damaged stabilizer, I might add." He tilted his chin up a fraction of an inch. "Why?"

Kallysto cocked his head to one side. "Because it was there, sir. Because I intended to buy us some time, and maybe I might've gotten lucky and fragged it."

Electro stifled a smirk. "If it wasn't such a breach of command protocol, I'd find that funny," he thought. He hid his amusement by turning his head away and shaking it, building up a head of steam again. 

"Young, you may be able to blow up the big ship in the movies, but in case you hadn't noticed, you didn't even come CLOSE to scrapping the L-fridge. And if it wasn't for Green showing up, you might still be out there now!" He leaned even further over the desk, half- standing out of the chair. "A corpsicle," he finished quietly. 

"Second question, Pilot," Electro snapped. "What is the purpose of being a wingman?" 

Kallysto shrank back in his chair guiltily. "To watch the wing leader's six and make sure he doesn't get turned into spacedust."

"And?" Chris prompted.

"To follow his lead in the absence of commands from the CO or XO," Young responded. 

Electro smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. In fact, it looked eerily like Rory's smile, right before the Banshee started a meal. "You were Backlash's wingman. You LEFT him to go play tag with a Fridge. He almost got his chair shot out from under him, because he thought YOU were still behind him." 

Kallysto opened his mouth, but Electro bulled on. 

"Further: Guardian didn't say much about it, but we bagged his flight recorder telemetry. He gave you an order to come back, and you ignored it. Blatantly ignored an order from the chain of command. That order was from me," Electro emphasized, jamming a thumb into his own chest. 

"If you were an ace pilot, I might understand. But you aren't. Flying a combat mission isn't like staging a holo-stunt. Ships don't shoot around you. Their guns are live. And if you make a mistake, you can end up dead. Or worse, someone else could end up dead. Like Guardian almost did."

Kallysto sighed quietly and shut his eyes. 

"Don't you look away, soldier. I am talking to you," Electro snapped. Kallysto looked up. 

"I ought to drum you out of the Alliance right now. But I know what you've contributed to the cause, and the Alliance is short on manpower, as always," Electro grumbled softly, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "And you did manage to push the Adamant out of position long enough for Hyl and Guardian to get out and notify the cavalry. That's the only other thing saving your sorry butt." 

"I'll figure out what to do with you soon. For now, you're off active duty. I've already reworked the schedules. You're also to be suspended without pay until I meet with Dundee to assess the appropriate fine for losing that fighter, as well." Schock paused to watch Young's expression. It was a study of blankness, but his upper lip had developed a tic, accented by the moustache. 

"Anything to say in your defense?"

Kallysto's voice was vacuum-silent. "No, sir." 

"Dismissed."

 # 

Roo sighed softly as Kallysto fell silent. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Jeff shrugged in response. "I was wrong. I had something to prove, and I just got it in my head to prove it then." 

The Lumi chuckled softly. "I think I understand. Your tea should be cool enough now, by the way."

Kallysto essayed the ghost of a smile. "Thanks." 

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 2

"Flight Officer Vince "Stryker" Rambo reporting for duty, sir!"

It seemed not long ago he had said those words. And it hadn't been. His Lieutenant's bars were still new, as well as the position of Corsair Squadron's Executive Officer that came with them.

So was all the paperwork.

"Worst thing is, these have to be filled out in triplicate. No wonder Electro signs himself up for patrol so much," Stryker thought. 

At least a dozen datapads lay scattered and stacked on the Lounge table. He'd had over twice that number, until Tuttle Dundee had gotten on his case for 'monopolizing ship resources', and he had to give some up. He'd also learned that trying to use his 'office' for the grueling, awful task meant he couldn't get a drink when he wanted, for fear of losing his place. "If I knew I'd have this many hours of paperwork, I might have thought twice about accepting the promotion. I'd rather be flying!" It did have the hazard of making him privy to all the curious eyes of the crew and pilots of the Liberty, but he kept handing them 'fuel consumption reports' and 'A-wing redetailing schedules' until they started avoiding his table like the plague. Especially when he purposefully scattered the datapads all over the place. 

But the position also made him privy to some of the conversations in the Lounge.

The Corsair XO picked up one of the pads and quietly tapped in the access code for the flight roster. Sure enough, Kallysto wasn't listed on it, nor had he been listed on it for nearly a week. Rambo frowned and called up Electro's notes file. Under Kallysto's name was the single entry:

"Removed from active flight roster pending craft availability, and assessment of punative fines."

"Now that's cryptic," he thought. "Well, a good XO gets a second opinion if one is needed." Vince put down the pad and approached the 'grounded' pilot. 

"Well, it's true we don't have any spare A-wings available. We lost a lot of craft last week. And it's not fair to the new guys if we ship them and their A-wings over, only to take their wings away," he reassured Jeff. He jerked a thumb at the table full of pads. "Besides, I'm not flying much these days either, and I got out of there with my craft intact." He grinned. "How 'bout a friendly sim run?"

Kallysto looked up semi-depressedly, and shrugged. "What, you versus me? You'd wipe the cosmos with my tailfins." It was well known that the Corsair XO was a hot pilot in almost any craft; he'd recently shattered the record in mineracing, attracting enough notice to earn him the coveted XO spot left vacant once Jim 'Raven' Lee had taken over Buccaneer squadron. 

"Actually, nah, I was thinking of testing out one of the new Ops missions I've been designing in the trainer, in my 'copious' spare time. You'd be flying my wing. A-wings, of course. The AI's not great, though." He looked at Rooster. "Could use a couple of live pilots flying the other side."

Rooster's receptors turned green in surprise. "I'd love to. What're we flying?" 

"Y-wings. You and," He paused, looking around the nearly-empty Lounge. He spotted a couple of deck officers, and "Parody!" he called out as Michael 'Parody' Miller, Corsair 7, strolled through the door of the Lounge. "Just in time. Meet us in the sim room in five minutes."

"What? I just got off sprint duty," he said tiredly. Behind Kallysto, Stryker pointed at the Corsair pilot and made a silent lifting motion, which Parody translated to mean: 'He needs a pick-me-up. Help?' 

"No worries. You'll be flying an Y-wing, one of those beefed up pirate models," Stryker told him. 

Parody grinned. "That, I could deal with." Miller made no secret of his aspirations to join Buccaneer and fly a Y-wing some day. "Right. I'll go set up the sim programming and meet you in there," Vince told them, and motioned for the door. "Oh, and watch where you step in there. The techs have been refitting some of the pods for the new Tau version simtech software from Alliance Technology. It's supposed to upgrade the graphics engines, as well as having the new data on the Imp fighter upgrades. They're having trouble adapting the chaff patch software, though. And the beam weapons they gave the TIEs are absolutely nasty."

#

Stryker's voice cut over the electronically simulated whine of the A-wing's engines. "Appreciate you taking point, Kallysto, but you're getting a little bit far out in front. Travelling at top speed also hampers your ability to take evasive action."

Young sighed and scratched the side of his cheek under the rim of his helmet as he cut back on the throttle. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. "Sorry. Just getting a good lead out in front of the freighter," he radioed back. "The best defense..."

Stryker's voice crackled back at him. "...is a good offense. Yes, I know. But nothing has shown up on the screens yet."

"They will," Young warned, eyes traversing between the forward sensors and the IFF display for the first hint of an incoming blip.

A staticky laugh. "Sure. But you only know that because this is a sim. For all you know, I could have something drop in behind the freighter we're protecting," Stryker responded. "Turn to heading two-one-zero, on my mark." Kallysto paused, waiting. "Mark."

#

Pixilated streak lines lit up Rooster's screen as her simulator cut in. Her receptors shifted reflexively under her helmet as she grabbed the controls. 

"Roo, I mark two A-wings covering our objective. Cut speed to 50 MGLT and arm torpedoes," Parody's voice came over her comm. "They're on the far side of the freighter. You should be able to get a torp lock on the lead A-wing well before they get into firing range." 

"You know, that was pretty sneaky," Kallysto lamented at Stryker as the two blue blips showed up on his front radar screen. If Stryker hadn't gotten him to turn when he did, he would have been another full klick and a half out from the frieghter. "I would have preferred not to have known they were going to come in on our six."

He could imagine Stryker's grin. "I'm your wingleader; I just called the end of a sweep turn, that's all. If some other winglead doesn't call it, that's their problem, not mine. These pirates have a tracer on the nav buoy, you see," he reasoned back. "And by the way, while we've been talking, those Y-wings have been getting a torpedo lock on you."

Kallysto looked down, seeing the rapidly flashing indicator, and jammed his stick down and to the left. "Evasive," he radioed. While the A-wings weren't great at taking missile hits, they were best at avoiding them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stryker's A-wing continuing on course. "What's he doing?"

Rooster smiled as her targeting scope went red. "I have lock. Firing," Twin blue comets streaked out from the nose of her Y-wing, promising death for the inbound A-wing, even as its partner turned away from Parody's attempt at a torpedo lock. 

Surprisingly, the A-wing kept on coming. Was Stryker asleep at the stick?

She was even more surprised when her proton torpedoes exploded a hundred meters in front of the nose of her ship. Several of her controls went dark, and the line on the bottom of her screen informed her that her flight controls and guns were out. The A-wing banked right and sped by.

"Kallysto, your Y-wing changed his mind and is concentrating on the freighter. Take 'im. I've got this one," Stryker ordered. Young broke out of his evasive pattern and throttled up, heading for Parody's Y-wing. "Copy that."

Stryker dropped into the kill spot behind Rooster's Y-wing. His voice came over the inter-sim comm. "Bang. Yer dead. But that was a bit of a dirty trick I pulled, so stay in your chair. I'll have you come right back with the second wing."

Roosted frowned at her comm. "What did you do, anyway? Was that a cheat or something?" She didn't recall Stryker being much of a slicer type.

"Nope. If you stay on course when someone's trying to get a lock on you with torpedoes, then fire when they do, the torpedoes will collide and explode in front of the firer, when you're in a faster ship." "Oh. Well, I'll have to remember that trick," she responded as her screens went black. 

"Only really works in the sims. Evasive is by far the better choice," he replied with a crackle, then the channel went silent. 

Meanwhile, Parody was having a tough time keeping Kallysto off his six; the A-wing pilot was flying far too close for his own good. His guns were dry from recharging his shields, and even with all aft shields, he wasn't going to take much more of a pounding. To make matters worse, Roo had gone off the scopes, and that meant Stryker would be here any second. The freighter was well on its way ahead of him, too. All in all, this wasn't one of the harder sims.

Parody switched to intra-sim. "Stryker, this isn't going to challenge anyone but a green pilot," he growled, as he put his Y-wing into another tight turn. Kallysto stayed with him, a lucky blaster bolt taking another little bit off his shields. 

"Patience," Roo's voice came back at him. "I'm coming with the cavalry."

With a blur of pseudomotion, a Corvette bearing the markings of the Jordellian pirates dropped out of hyperspace, directly in the path of the freighter. 

Kallysto looked at the reading on Parody's Y-wing, noting hull damage, then eyed the Corvette starting a slow, ponderous turn to come about at the freighter. "Breaking off. We've got to slow that CRV down." "Negative, Corsair 11. Stay with your mark," Stryker advised, but Kallysto's A-wing was already going by. Stryker shook his head, calmly dropping into the spot behind Parody's limping Y-wing that Kallysto had vacated. 

"Stryker to Parody. Ready for some lessons on missile lock avoidance?" 

Parody groaned.

# 

Kallysto took his A-wing on a wide arc, keeping his stick angled up and to the left as he took the scenic route past the Corvette. The gunners couldn't quite keep up, but they didn't make it a cruise, either. Checking behind his shoulder, he cut the engines as he passed behind the port rear quadrant of the ship, jamming his stick to the right and up. His shields took a few hits in the process, but when he fired up his engines again and made an altitude correction, he was neatly in the engine wash of the CRV, in the dead spot between the guns' arc of fire. With engines at one third, he could hang out and paste the CRV all day. An unpublished starfighter's trick. 

"Kallysto, what's your status?" Stryker's voice asked over the radio, the interference from the engine wash making him hard to make out. "The freighter has changed course, and is heading for the alternate hyperspace point, but I don't see you."

Kallysto grinned, keeping one hand on the firing trigger while fiddling with the radio gain controls. "I'm on the CRV's six, collecting engine metal samples." 

"Break off and cover the freighter. It's getting a bit too far out, and I'm teaching our Y-wing pilot a thing or two about missile avoidance."

Kallysto nodded. "Will do. The CRV's almost history, though." Leastways he -thought- he'd plugged at least a hundred shots into it, for his guns were at minimum charge at this point from the sustained firing. Surely the shields would drop soon? #

Rooster's screen came alive suddenly, and after a brief moment of disorientation, she realized that her controls were now configured for a Tiderium class shuttle, armed with ion cannons, no less. Even better, the freighter was right in front of her. The mission readout read:

"You have 40 marines in your cargo bay. Disable the FRT and dock with it. The marines will do the rest.' -S."

Roo grinned as she checked her scopes; the two A-wings were quite a ways off, one dancing with Parody's Y-wing, and the other busy concentrating on the CRV. As the Y-wing exploded in a flash of pixilated orange, another pair of Y-wings hypered in behind the shuttle. 

"All right. Easy pickins," Parody's much-cheerier voice came over her comm. 

# 

Kallysto sighed as

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 3

Rooster's trademark receptors stood on end, a mix of brilliant colors. "Ya know," she began, "I still think I have an awful lot to learn about flying. I'm not all that skillful. I really want to join Corsair, but I'm afraid I'll be a really awful pilot and wind up hindering missions. I've been practicing in the sims for a long time now. I just can't seem to get the knack of it," she sighed heavily as she walked behind the long counter of the Lounge. 

Jeff 'Kallysto' Young sat on one of the bar stools, and rested his chin in his hand. Rooster instinctively set him up for a good drink, and slid it over to him. Her receptors slowly turned a warm shade of red, the Lumi color for affection. "So, tell me some more about your life as a movie star! I think it's facinating!" she exclaimed. She sat down and beamed at him.

Kallysto raised a skeptical eyebrow at his Lumi friend. He took a long drink from his glass and set the glass down. 

"There is a reason for the impeccable sense of style and humor I have, and a reason why I joined the Alliance at such a late age. For a long time, I had my day in the sun. I used to grace the holovid scene, you see," he began. 

"Adarlon, in the Minos sector, is a sleepy little backwater galaxy out on the Rim. The Empire and the Alliance don't have much of a presence out there, which is probably why the Alliance sometimes uses the jumpspace area between as a hiding place. There's nothing out there. There's no strategic value, and the industry is pretty lousy."

"However, where there are bored people, there is entertainment. My father founded and ran a holographic studio. I learned to act almost as quick as I learned how to walk, and after awhile I went from dramas and comedy to action films." He grinned. "Ever heard of 'Janno Swyfte, Stellar Adventurer?' Well, that's me."

He shrugged. "In the movies, the hero always wins in the end. Sometimes it's touch-and-go. I've done some pretty death defying stunts." He clenched his fingers; he heard the faint whine of servos in his left arm. "Most were generally with lots of explosions, enemy troops being flung willy-nilly about, with edge-of-your seat thrills every minute." He demonstrated the explosions with an outflinging of his hands. "Up against impossible odds, alone."

"Sometimes the hero ends up going out in a blaze of glory; but as always, the evil overlord's ship gets blown to smithereens. If the hero is lucky, he walks away from it. The formula's pretty straightforward. But the fans loved it." Jeff's eyes shone as he remembered days long gone.

"Media is an important part of the culture. People look up to the charismatic ones. I used to be one of them, you know."

Roo knew a cue when she heard one. "What happened?"

Jeff shook his head. "We got a little bit anti-Empire. Started featuring baddies that looked awfully similar to them. Stole shots of real Imp cruisers and ships, and used some clever CG to make it look like we were blasting them to smithereens. Of course, everyone in Minos sector knew there was only one Imp ISD up there. But you show them the truth about the Empire, thinly disguised as fiction, and they believe it."

He grinned faintly. "It was all Drun Cairnwick's idea. He was the Alliance liason in the sector; one of those stodgy Senator types. 'If you can't beat them with weapons, beat them from within,' was what he charged us. And by the Maker, we made the people start thinking of the Empire as something less than benevolent dictators."

"Until the day they shut us down." He looked away. "We were also one of the beta test sites for Dodonna's A-wings; a little paint, a few modifications, and they're disguised as movie craft. I got to fly quite a few in my day."

Young shook his head. "But, the Empire caught Cairnwick, then disbanded the studio crew, and the Alliance barely got most of our operation out of there in one piece. And that's what brings me here to you. A pilot more than a fighter. With something to prove, something to show everyone; because once you get that taste of glory, it's something you can't live without. You know?"

Rooster listened intently to everything Kallysto told her. One of the remarkable things about Lumis is their ability to recall every single word someone tells them. And she didn't want to forget a word of what Kallysto said to her. Her response was a nod. 

Kallysto stopped talking long enough to take another long drink from his glass. While Rooster seemed to be interested in his story, to him she had that look on her face of someone who had never heard of him before. "Well, sorry to bore ya to death," he remarked lamely. "I need to hit the shower and clean up. Thanks for listening. See ya later." He was off before she could reply.

Rooster took his empty glass and dunked it in the tub. "Mixer," she said to her astromech buddy, "Did you notice how many times Kallysto said, 'blaze of glory'?" A long, low whistle was his only reply.

"Yeah I know. I'm worried too. It almost seems like he *wants* to go out in a 'blaze of glory'. I'm afraid he just might do it soon." 

Mixer whistled and beeped at the Lumi goodnaturedly. "I am *not* dunking the glass too much." She looked down and found she was still washing Kallysto's glass. "Well what if I am dunking it too mnay times? At least it'll be clean!" she replied. Mixer winked at her and glided into the galley as Guardian entered the Lounge.

"Hey, Roo! What's up?" he asked, taking a seat in front of her. Rooster smiled at her very close friend, and finally set the glass down on a drying rack.

She set a hot cup of Ithorian Green Tea in front of Guardian. "Here."

Roo took a long sip from her iced Full Throttle and leaned closer to Guardian. The changing color of her receptors was not lost on him. "What's the matter, Roo? Your receptors are going pale and flat." 

"Adam, I'm really, really worried about Kallysto," she began. "He was just in here, and we talked for a long time. He was telling me about his career before he came here, and you would not believe how many times he said, 'and the hero goes out in a blaze of glory'. I mean, he said it so often that I'm beginning to think that is what he expects to happen!" As the highly caffinated drink flowed into her system, she picked up speed as she talked. 

"He was telling how he would fly his holovid ships, and 'the evil overlord would get blown to smithereens, while the charasmatic hero would go out in a blaze of glory'! Do you think he would actually *try* to go out in a blaze of glory? Do you think he would try to become the hero and end up getting killed on a mission? Adam, we have to do something! He's been grounded already and he hasn't been here that long! He ignored Electro's orders and now he can't fly for awhile. I can't stand to think of him getting hurt or killed or worse, getting kicked out of the Alliance! He is my friend just like you are and I don't want to lose any more friends!" she said, almost without stopping to take a breath. 

Guardian took advantage of the pause in Roo's dramatic explanation. "Whoa! Slow down there! First of all, I doubt he will get kicked out. Secondly, he did ignore orders from his CO and that is cause to get grounded. But I really don't think he has any intention of 'going out in a blaze of glory.'" Burns said.

Rooster looked into Guardian's eyes and replied, "You didn't see his face when he said it."

Guardian looked intently into the Lumi's soul. He sensed worry there, feeling perhaps he should take her more seriously. "You want me to go talk to him?" he asked, knowing the answer already. 

"Yes! Here! Take him this drink! I think he went to his quarters. I'll be on duty here the rest of the night," she said as she shoved a covered mug at him. "Karideph Honey Tea. His favorite."

Guardian smiled warmly at Rooster's insistence. "Just like her to be so concerned about a fellow Libertine," he thought. "I'm going, I'm going!" he replied, and left. 

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 4

Mon Calamari Cruisers were originally designed as pleasure craft. The odd-shaped vessels bulged with ovid blisters of transparasteel, giving an awe-inspiring view of the passing cosmos to those fortunate enough to be onboard. 

Once the Calamari had declared an open alliance with the Rebellion (a courageous and foolhardy move, but one desperately treasured by the Rebels), the Cruisers were refitted to be the backbone of the Rebel Fleet. The huge viewports were most often replaced or retrofitted with armor plating or weapons emplacements, turning the touring boats into battleships.

Some of the viewports had been left, however. For whatever reason, be it skippers' choice, or lack of anything to place in it, one of the larger bubbles dotting the Liberty's surface just portside of the bridge had been kept intact. During battle, it was sealed off from the rest of the ship to be used as a communications relay point, but when the Liberty wasn't in the thick of it, the crew was able to move freely through the chamber to watch the stars pass, forgetting for a brief time the immense conflict they were embroiled in.

It was precisely where Guardian suspected he'd find Kallysto. And, as always, Young didn't disappoint.

The younger man strode up softly behind the Corsair pilot. Kallysto leaned on a handrail, looking out into the starscape. Guardian stopped over his friend's shoulder and waited, not wishing to interrupt Kallysto's reverie.

After a moment Jeff turned, shooting an icy glare at Guardian. "Can I help you?"

Adam shrugged and stepped up to the handrail, holding out the drink Roo had given him. "Nah. The question should be, can I help you?"

Young snorted. "I doubt it, Guardian." He turned back to the observation window, ignoring the offered cup. "However, I do need to congratulate you. Raven chose well."

Guardian grinned. "We'll see. His choice was based more on the fact that I've got more combat time in a Y-wing than any other craft. Here take this, would you? Or Roo will have my head."

"Fine. On Roosters' insistence," he growled, taking the covered mug, but not bothering with the contents. 

"She's worried. Something about your love for the phrase "blaze of glory" has got her all wound up," Burns informed him gently. 

"Oh, come on. She doesn't really think I'm going to kamikaze myself into the nearest Destroyer, does she?" he asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice. 

"You tell me," Adam replied, matter-of-factly.

Kallysto turned to face Guardian. "Okay. She's worried. Nothing's going to happen to me, Adam," he said.

"Maybe not. But she doesn't know that," Adam replied.

"So what do you want me to do?" Kallysto asked, holding both hands up.

"I think you need a little break. Maybe a side flight to clear your head. Get in your flight suit and meet me on the deck in seven minutes. That's an order, Jeff," Burns told him, without hesitation.

 #

"So, you mind telling me what this is all about? I've been grounded, remember?" Kallysto asked, looking worriedly about the flight deck, trying not to be seen. 

Guardian shook his head again, pulling on his flight helmet. The charcoal-grey helm was decorated with the Buccaneer sigil on one side: a yellow Alliance cross with crossed cutlasses in front of it. On the opposite half he wore a gold shield emblazoned with a blue Alliance cross. It had been Defender Squadron's emblem, Jeff knew, before the group had been torn apart.

"Don't ask. Follow," Guardian said, striding past his friend. "We're going for a ride." He gestured at the white helmet, Corsair's skull and crossbones, opposite a blue chess unicorn, in Young's hands. "And put that on."

"In what?" Kallysto implored, reluctantly tugging his own helmet on. "I can't fly!"

"Who said you're going to do any flying?" Guardian retorted, grinning. He lead the Corsair pilot towards one of Buccaneer Squadron's reserve Y-wing fighters. "I need a back-seater for this one."

"Backseater? What?"

"Easy." Guardian reached the cockpit ladder for the Y as flight techs scrambled to run a final prep on the fighter, lowering the R2 unit into its socket. "We do a lot of long-range recon on the Liberty, and for that, most of the Y's we have are the one-seater "Longprobe" models. It's got a more dedicated sensor package and communications filter, most of which is stationed behind the pilot's seat. However, the run-of-the-mill Y-wings have two posts--a pilot and a weapons officer, who controls the turret ion cannon above the cockpit. I'm surprised you haven't been told about it."

Kallysto shook his head. "Never needed to know. Speed's my thing."

"Yeah. Get in," Guardian cajoled, stepping aside and sweeping his arm. Kallysto paused, running his tongue over suddenly dry lips.

"Get in," Guardian reiterated. "I cleared it with Flight Control. We're good to go. You're just hitchhiking, so you're not going to violate Electro's mandate." After a moment, Kallysto hopped up the ladder. #

Stryker entered the Lounge frowning. Not usually a good sign. Without so much as a wave to his Corsair pilots on break, he beelined to the bar. 

Rooster grinned as she saw him approach, but the grin faded and her receptors turned pale as he drew close enough for her to read his expression. "What's up?" she asked softly.

"I can't find Kallysto." Stryker collapsed into a seat. "Anywhere. I checked his quarters, the Look Deck, the Theater, everywhere. Nobody's seen him, either."

"Oh, he's probably off with Adam," Roo responded. "I sent Guardian to check up on him. He left about half hour ago. Kally was here and acting really weird, so I asked Big Brother to see if he could find out what's what."

Stryker grinned in spite of himself at the use of Guardian's "unofficial" nickname. "Adam's looking after him, huh?" 

"Yeah. He should be okay. Can I get you an Ion Sucker, boss?" Roo queried, her receptors brightening.

"Sure, Roo. Wait a minute, I was just on the flight deck! I checked the schedule--Adam took a Y-wing out on a LLRP flight to the Rim fifteen minutes ago."


"A lurp?" Roo asked, confused.

"Acronym--Long Range Recon Patrol. Hold on." Stryker pulled his comlink from his belt and keyed it active. "Corsair XO to Flight Ops."

"Ops here," came the static-ridden reply.

"Can I get a check on a flight plan?" Vince asked.

"Sure, Stryker. Who are you checking in on?" Flight replied.

"Guardian. Lt. Burns," he said.

"Give me a minute...yes, here it is. Lt. Burns took a standard Y-wing out on a long range survey patrol. It wasn't scheduled, but it is within acceptable standards for current patrol parameters," the Flight officer told him.

"Did he take anyone with him?" Vince asked.

"It's not noted here, but he did take a two-seater," came the response.

"Thanks. Corsair XO out." As Stryker flipped off the com, the frown returned.

"What's up now?" Roo asked, biting her lip.

"Adam went out on recon, but didn't take a Longprobe. Jeff has got to be with him. Adam knows he's supposed to use the better sensors for those look-see flights." 

"What are you going to do?" she asked. 

"A few more fighters can't hurt. Knowing Adam, he's going to try to cheer Jeff up, and we're close enough to Adarlon --Jeff's homeworld-- to make that an option." Stryker turned in his seat, straining to look around the Lounge. "Mynock! Parody!" he called, spotting his pilots. "How'd you like to have a little overtime?"

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 5


"Okay, okay, I'm impressed. These things aren't as boatlike as they seem," Jeff 'Kallysto' Young informed the back of Guardian's head. "But an A-wing can still leave this thing in the dust."

Adam 'Guardian' Burns' laugh floated over the back of the seat. "Ever heard of the 'In-your-face defense?'"

"Not exactly," Kallysto replied, "But I do assume that's the tactic of having your wingman practically pull a fly-through on whatever's on your six." 

Guardian's helmet shook. "Nope. Completely wrong. Reach under your seat and pull the lever. Don't pull the ring, that'll trigger the ejection sequence. Pull the lever."

Kallysto shook his head, but felt under the seat, pulling at the lever. With a whine of servos, a targeting scope unfolded itself from the seatback, and a panel on his right opened out to reveal a firing grip. 

"The turret has got an independent sensor array on top. It is utterly useless when it's pointing forward, but when the gunner controls are active, it'll give you an idea of what you're shooting at. Standard targeting grid, designed for anti-fighter fire," Burns lectured. 

"Ion cannons are slower than blasters, though. Why not put the blasters up in the turret and fix the ion cannons front?" Young asked. 

"Probably for strafing runs on things you want to disable," Burns replied after thinking about it a moment. "Dunno for sure, I normally don't fly with a gunner."

Kallysto idly worked the controls, noting the responsiveness. "You have to forget that you're moving forward, though, or you could get motion sickness pretty easily."

"Sure. But then, they test for tolerance for that in the basic pilot screening," Guardian said. 
"Hah. A-wings pull more Gs than that spinny thing they put you in." He looked out the back window, over the top of the R2 unit's dully shining dome. "Not like we have anything to shoot at. Ion bolts don't do much against asteroids." 

Guardian smiled, and sent a command via the link to the droid. It whistled and activated its holoprojector, and a ghostly TIE fighter appeared off the stern of the Y-wing about a hundred meters behind. 

"Now, if you'll notice, the Y-wing is a flattened box; the vital points from the rear are, like on all fightercraft, the engines. Which, as you no doubt have noticed, are mounted out on spars to port and starboard," Guardian lectured.

"Sure. And in the case of a water landing," Kallysto jibed. 

"Ha ha. Anyway, the placement of the chin mounted guns on the TIE-class ships means that they have to try just that much harder to hit anything vital on a Y-wing. That's where you come in. If we cut speed, like so..." The whine of the engines turned to a lower-pitched hum, and the holographic TIE closed to within thirty meters from their tail. 

"If he doesn't want to breathe our exhaust, he'll have to cut his speed to match. Do it fast enough, and he'll fly right over or under us. Either way, you negate the speed advantage," Adam pointed out. 

"Mmm," Kallysto mused. "Even playing field." 

"A lot of Y-wing solo pilots have their turrets locked to point backwards for just such an occasion. However, on a single-seater, once locked, it can't be changed except from outside. So it kinda lessens their effectiveness as an interceptor craft. That is why most pilots keep it forward."

Guardian turned, looking at Kallysto over the seat. "I hope that bit of trivia enlightened your day. Let's have some fun shagging TIEs, shall we?"

Twenty minutes later, the TIE flickered out of existence. Kallysto pushed his visor up, rubbing his burning eyes. "What?"

"Take a break. Most engagements don't last this long, and your eyes must be looking like a Twi'lek who's stayed up all night by now," Adam said. 

"Probably," Jeff replied. 

Guardian hmmed as the R2 unit whistled and beeped at him. "Not bad. We only got hit 22 times back there. According to the droid, we'd have, oh, about twelve percent armor left."

Kallysto laughed. "That much, eh?" 

Guardian nodded, looking back over his shoulder. "Not bad for the first time in the back seat." 
"Thanks." 

"No problemo, buddy. Got you to laugh, anyhow." He smiled, and Kallysto had to smile as well. "Feel free to play with the computer terminal. You can try your hand at holochess against the R2 unit. It'll be about half an hour before we make it back to the nav buoy."

Guardian turned back to the front and pulled on the stick, leaving Kallysto in silence. 
A few minutes later, the R2 unit bleeped at Guardian urgently. 

"What's up back there? The R2 unit says that you're mucking with the navicomp," Guardian asked, with a knowing tone to his voice. 

Kallysto looked up, startled. "Ah, I'm, er, brushing up on my astrogation skills. I was trying to submit a course change, but that droid keeps blocking me out. Mind you, I only wanted to get as far as plotting out a course and getting to a confirmation screen."

Guardian smiled, though Kallysto couldn't see it. "Let me guess. Adarlon, right?" 

"Er, yeah," Kallysto replied. 

"That's why the navicomp didn't bother asking you if you wanted to confirm the change. It's already got those coordinates locked in," Burns said jovially. 

"Hmm?" Young asked intelligently. 

"Oh, I didn't tell you. I signed us out for a four day survey out on the Rim. I figured you might like going home for a day or two, to visit your old stomping grounds," he said.
Silence emitted from the back seat. "Don't thank me all at once, friend."

Young sighed. "Adam, you shouldn't be doing this. I was grounded, after all. Off active flight status, and no leave allowed."

Burns smiled. "You're on duty. And last time I checked, there wasn't a flight stick back there between your legs." He paused. "It's okay. Rank has its privelidges, after all." 

Kallysto laughed, an easier laugh this time. "Yeah. All right. Actually, though, I have to admit, as long as we're going in that direction, there's some things I'd like to pick up while we're there."

 # 
The white lines streaked past and faded to pinpoints as the Y-wing dropped out of hyperspace. Before them, the blue-green world of Adarlon hung in space like a Day of Life gift ornament. "Welcome home," Adam called over the seat to wake Jeff up. 

"Mmm?" Kallysto replied sleepily. 

"We're here. I expect you know a good place to hide a Y-wing?" Guardian asked.

"Sure. Set the following coordinates," Jeff began. 

The radio crackled to life. "Unidentified Y-wing, heave to and prepare to be boarded. This is Customs vehicle 'Star Envoy'. In the name of the Emperor, you are ordered to stand down," the radio blared.

Adam growled. "He was hiding behind the moon back there. You know those ships better than I do. Can we outrun it?"

Kallysto spun his chair around to look out the back window. "Yeah, I think so. Head into Adarlon Primes' gravity well. You can slingshot off the atmosphere and hide in the debris field on the other side. We actually lost a moon about eight years ago, and the displacement field is highly ionized."

Adam chuckled, and then shoved the stick over. "Bet that was a sight to see." The customs ship opened fire, green energy bolts sizzling overhead. 

"Sure was. Did you ever see Starrunners III? Well, the moon that I 'blew up' in the movie, housing the base of the evil Doctor Fangor, was a real moon exploding," Kallysto said tightly. 
"Serious? Wow," Adam commented, distractedly.

Young sucked in his breath as Burns put the fighter through a wide G-turn. "Yeah. It was cooler-looking in person."

After the inertial dampers kicked in, Kallysto managed to find his tongue again. "You want to charge up the ion cannon? I'll take some potshots at the thing, and maybe we'll get lucky." 
Guardian's response was a strangled gasp. "Not today we won't."

Kallysto spun his chair around even as the radio staticed to life again. "This is the Star Destroyer 'Chariot'. You are ordered to stand down your fighter or be destroyed. You have thirty seconds to comply." The ponderous wedge-shaped warship hovered into view from where it had been on the far side of the planet even as they sped toward it. A shot from the Customs cruiser splattered on their shields from behind. 

"Welcome home, Kallysto," Guardian hissed

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 6


"I'm not going to say it, if you won't," Jeff 'Kallysto' Young more yelped than growled, as the Y-wing shook from another blaster hit. 

"What? 'I have a bad feeling about this?'" Adam 'Guardian' Burns yelled over his shoulder, mindful of the yellow indicators that displayed their rapidly depleting shields. 

"No. The other one," Young replied, as he let another few ion bolts fly at the escort frigate chasing them. Guardian could keep turning the Y-wing to buy Kallysto time to plug away at the nearer escort, avoiding the worst of its gunfire. But they weren't going anywhere, and the VSD Chariot was slowly closing in. 

"Mmm. Well, straighten me then. It might be amusing while we get our engines blown out from under us." Guardian paused and heeled the Y-wing over as the frigate let loose another barrage. While there was neither 'up' nor 'down' in space, having the stars and planets wheel madly before your eyes was still somewhat disorienting. 

"Okay, you asked for it. 'It could be worse,'" Young lamented.

Guardian groaned. "Oh. -That-." In the next second, the R2 unit squealed as four new blips appeared on Burns' radar screen. "Four more bogies. I make them to be TIE fighters, heading on intercept vector." He giggled nervously. "Just don't say that again, okay?"

Kallysto nodded, and blasted away at the pursuing Corvette. "I don't suppose you can up the power? The charge is almost dry."

"Not unless you want that thing to catch up to us. I think we're going to need all the maneuvering room we can get once we get into tractor range of that ISD," Guardian snapped. 

"Fine, fine. I'll cope." Jeff chanced to look to his left. "Break right!" he shouted. 

Adam reflexively jammed the stick over to the right. Structural supports complained as the craft pushed into a snap roll. Green lances of energy sailed past the tail of the fighter as the TIEs joined the fray. A lucky bolt hit one of the support struts, sending sparks flying. "How bad is it, R2?" The droid bleeped back a terse reply. "Wonderful," Burns replied sarcastically. "Structural integrity is down by half. No more fancy turns for this crate. And we're still heading straight for the ISD," he finished. 

Kallysto didn't respond at first, studying the ISD. "Pass it to port," he said calmly.

"Right. We'll be spacedust in thirty seconds," Burns retorted sarcastically.

"Trust me. The guns are out on that side. I've been watching the pattern, and the last time we tangled with the Chariot, the guns were out on the port side," Young said.

Guardian chuckled, but complied. "Right. I'll be sure to make 'Pass it to Port' the epitaph on your gravestone." 

As the Y-wing sped by the capital ship, the guns trying to bracket the fighter from the side fell silent. "Not bad intelligence. Here. Knock yourself out," he added, notching some of the engine power back to the ion cannon. 

Kallysto nodded, looking back into his sights and neatly pasted an unsuspecting fighter that was following too close. "In your face time?"

"You betcha."

Suddenly, the entire world went yellow-green as several turbolaser shots smashed into the Y-wing from the starboard side. Several instrument panels protested, and finally one to his left blew apart. 

Kallysto licked back dry lips. "Yeah, well...I guess they fixed them."

Burns nodded. "Hyperdrive is out. Guns are down. Engines are damaged and we can't maneuver worth a crud. Ejection is out too, by the way. We're dead, m'friend."

"Sorry," Jeff offered lamely, watching the TIE fighters close in for the kill. 

The one on the left exploded. "If it's fixed, make sure it's broken first," a cheerful voice crackled over the radio. "So, ya need some help?" Eloy "Mynock" Cintron, Corsair 4, called out. "Since Parody and I are getting paid for this, we thought we'd crash the party." 

"Yes!" Guardian answered and cheered both pilots. "The R2 unit says we'll have maneuvering thrusters in thirty seconds, if you can buy us that much time. Maybe we can still make a run for it."

"Copy that. Parody, you take the one on the right, and cover me." Mike 'Parody' Miller, Corsair 7, swung his A-wing out to the left, bracketing the TIEs with orange lasers, while Mynock made an attack run on the oncoming Customs Corvette. 

A dozen concussion missiles later, the corvette limped off, turning to starboard as it fired its turbolaser cannons vainly at the nimble fighter.

"Yo, Mynock. Iif you're done over there, I could use a hand," Parody hissed, looking over his shoulder as he dodged and weaved in front of the last TIE.

"Coming. Hang on," he reassured Miller, but fretted at the distance between him and the two fighters. 

The TIE disintergrated in a sizziling ball of blue electrical fire. "Tag," Kallysto called over the radio. "You know, I could get to like these gunnery turrets."

Mynock pulled up on the left of the limping Y-wing. "What's your situation? Stryker sent us, figuring you might want a little company."

"We're up and running, literally, thanks to you. But I mark another flight of TIEs launching, and our hyperdrive's damaged," Guardian said. 

"What are our options?" Parody asked. 

"Set the following coordinates," Kallysto responded.

 #

Adarlon II was a tiny bead in the distance as the three fightercraft dropped out of hyperspace. "Hard left and head for the asteroid field," Kallysto barked, as soon as the others had checked in. "There's a mining colony on the largest asteroid near the periphery. If we can get into the asteroid field, we'll miss their sensor sweep, hopefully."

Guardian nodded, half-listening, as he read the report from the astromech. "The R2 unit says the hyperdrive is completely burned out. We'll have to replace the collimator coils. I hope this place you're taking us has some." 

Kallysto nodded. "It may be a bit more pricey than Adarlon proper, but I have a few favors I can call in. "

Parodys' voice crackled over the radio. "How long before the ISD comes after us?"

"It won't. My sources told me that the hyperdrive has been glitchy on that thing for over a year, and they don't make hyperdrives for the older Victory class models anymore. However, they did ship in a Nebulon B recently, but I hope to be down and out of scanner range before they realize we didn't leave the system," Kallysto said.

"Sometimes I think we take hyperdrive for granted, but it's a real lifesaver," Mynock added. "The faster you are fixed and we're on our way, the better." 

"Hope you brought your civvies. Nothing stands out more than these day-glo orange suits!" Kallysto replied.

 ----------------------

The air was musty, smelling of having been recycled through filtration systems a hundred thousand times over the years. The group had split up. Guardian and Mynock took the R2 unit to scrounge up some power cells to replace the blown ones, leaving Parody and Kallysto to find some old friends.

A quick side-trip to a clothing shop had given them some modicum of disguises. Young now sported a denim jacket and a broad-brimmed blue fedora, while Parody wore an olive green techs outfit with a grey canvas trench coat. "Who are we looking for?"

"His name is Maximillian Duncan. He used to be our fight and stunt coordinator. Taught me everything I knew about swordfighting, up 'til the day I could teach myself. And he has an understanding of droids and machinery, to boot." 

"Think he'll be happy to see you?" Parody asked.

"Uncle Max? Sure," Kallysto replied jovially. 

 #

"You should never have come back," the old man growled, staring into his glass. 

"What, why? You know how important the cause was to me," Kallysto replied, a hint of stress in his voice. 

"Sure. You left the family to go running off for your cause. Well, you shouldn't have left us behind like you did, 'cause the enemy you went off to fight showed up on our doorstep," Maximilian griped. 

Jeff looked up at Michael. "This is not going so well," he commented drily. "Don't you talk over my head, boy," Max growled, looking up for the first time. "Just because I'm too old to fight in the Clone Wars doesn't mean I'm deaf."

Parody silently mouthed "Clone Wars?" to Kallysto, who just waved his hand. 

"Master Maxil, you have a lot of fight in you yet. I wouldn't have come back to see you if I didn't think so," Jeff said respectfully.

"Pah! You're probably here to steal my daughter away to your precious starcruiser. That is what you're after," the old man spat.

Kallysto grinned. "Well, if that is so, why didn't I go see her instead?" He paused, looking innocent. "But now that you mention it, how is Amber, anyhow?"

The old man stood up, slamming both hands down on the table. "I -KNEW- it!"
We lost everything in the war, Swyfte, and all I got left is my daughter. And you stole her heart, then gallivanted off on your wild adventure without her. So, now, after all these years, you remember? Whassamatter, your bioclock alarm go off? Some new enemy stronghold to raid, and you need my daughter to distract some guards long enough for you to waylay them?"

Kallysto took a step back, raising both hands. "Whoa, whoa, Uncle Max."

"And quit calling me that. I'm not your uncle, and never have been."

Young sighed. "All right. Sorry, Maxil. Tell ya what. I'm here for the silverfish, primarily. And I would like to see Amber again, hopefully."

In a flash of steel, a knife appeared in the old man's hand. With a thunk, it was embedded a centimeter into the tabletop. "You'll have them, over my dead body," the old man growled, drawing a second knife from his belt.

Parody tapped Kallysto on the shoulder. "Let's just go, hey?"

Kallysto shook his head. "Can't now, Mike. This is between him and me, and if I walk away now, I'll never be able to show my face in these parts again." He snatched up the knife.

Max nodded. "Outside." He turned, looking at the bartender, and tossing a coin his way. "For the drink and the damage to the table. I'll be back in five minutes." The 'tender caught the coin and returned a dirty look. 

"C'mon 'son', let's see if you still got it," Max said, leading the way out the side door.

 #

Parody sat anxiously on an oil barrel, watching the two combatants circle each other, fingers twitching at the holster for his blaster. "A light shot at stun setting," he thought, but didn't pull his weapon out. 

Kallysto and Max had been at it for at least two minutes, their slow circling punctuated by quick knife exchanges, slashes, cuts, metallic sounding blocks, and an occasional charge attack. The old man was conserving his movements, moving slowly, never giving ground. Young himself was moving a little stiffly, and sported a nasty-looking gash across the front of his shirt.

"C'mon, kid. You're too slow. I've only been playing with you, and I've tagged you once already. If you ask me, I think you should have stayed here, instead of going off on your own. It's made ya old, and tired, and--" The old man lunged, slicing Kallysto high on the left shoulder. "--rusty," he grinned, dancing back. 

Kallysto frowned. "Fine. I was trying to be nice to you, old man, but since you put it that way," Young stepped in, aiming a flurry of stabs at the old man's face, forcing his guard up repeatedly with the sound of steel on steel. "I want you to know," he hissed, "that this isn't personal." Another volley of slashes, the last of which left a bit of white hair drifting down in its wake. "But you leave me no choice!"

Dropping his guard suddenly, Kallysto reached up with his left arm. Max's counter-riposte stab buried the old man's knife into the younger pilot's forearm a good two inches. 

Kallysto's own knife found its mark in the old man's chest. 

Almost in slow motion, Kallysto stepped back, fingers of his left hand jerking spasmodically. Max looked down at the knife embedded to the hilt in his chest, and coughed. "Rusty, but even...*cough*..a rusty knife... *kaff*...can be..," He collapsed in a heap, rolling over on his face, with a final gurgle.

"...deadly." Kallysto finished softly. 


Capital Punishment -- Chapter 7


Kallysto sat down heavily in the lone rickety chair outside the cantina, casually pulling the knife out of his arm. A few electrical sparks chased the blade. He flexed his fingers. "Not too terribly damaged," he remarked.

"Guess he's not going to help us now," Parody commented drily. "Shh. I'm thinking," Young snapped. "Ah!" He grinned suddenly. "Got it."

"What have you now, defeated friend?" he spoke in a aristocratic fashion. "Did in your triumph, meet my end? Speak ye now, oh, venr'able ghost? I beseech ye now, help me, your host?"

Parody raised an eyebrow. "Uh...okay." 

"Why should I help you?" the old man's corpse spoke, remaining otherwise still. "Thy blade is embedded in mine chest!"

Kallysto stood over the body. "Because if you don't, you now-dead reprobate, 'tis your corpse, I will incinerate. And to Ringiss' moons I commit thy corpse, until on 'rival there, it...it...," he paused in mid-gesture. "..blast."

The corpse sat up. Parody took a step or three back, but the dead man only had eyes for Kallysto. "It's okay. It's been a few years, and I imagine you're far too busy fighting the hordes of the Empire, Jeff."

Parody gaped. "But..."

Max grinned at Parody, and made a show of pulling the knife out of his chest, revealing an empty hilt. With a -snick-, the blade came out. "Tax and Forbearance, Act three, Scene four. A good tragedy. An interesting choice of post-mortem scenery, however."

Kallysto bowed over his damaged cyberarm. "The modern version, of course." He held out his hand, to help the old man up.

Max accepted the hand, and dusted himself off once he'd stood up. "Uff. I'm getting too old for this." 

"Nah, just more seasoned, Max."

Parody reached out and took the knife from Max. "This was all an act?"

Max chuckled. "My salt-and-pepper hair days are over, now I've just got copious amounts of the sugar and salt," he replied, and nodded. "Yeah an act. Didn't 'Janno' here tell you of his once-stellar career in the movie business?"

Parody jumped as he found the catch that released the trick blade. "Not really. Though he does do a good holographic training vid."

Max put an arm around Mike's shoulder, and nodded at Jeff. "That boy there, was once such a crowd pleaser. He set the Adarlon box-office record for first day tickets. Sold out the entire system, even the backwater theatres."

The oldster nodded at Kallysto. "So. What can I do for you, now that I've scared your friend out of his wits?"

Kallysto wasn't paying attention; he was looking at the group of stormtroopers that had materialized at the doorway. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," the officer at the front of the squad said. "Neighborhood watch reported in a knife fight."

Max muttered drily, "Must have raised the pay rates for good tips. We had a shooting last week and nobody said a word."

"Sir," one of the troopers called out, "That man with the moustache and denim jacket. He looks familiar," the armored soldier said, bringing his gun up to the ready position.

"Really," the Imperial officer said. "Let's see some ID," he asked, holding out his hand. 

Kallysto bit his lip, looking at Parody out of the corner of his eye. Michael had a blaster, he knew, but there simply wasn't enough cover close enough. "Two blasters against a whole squad of stormtroopers," he thought. "I don't like those odds." He made a show of digging into the pockets of his trench coat. "Let me look. Hang on one moment." Max started leaning towards cover. 

"Hey! What's the idea? You KNOW you aren't supposed to be improvising the script. We don't have TIME for this!" an angry voice called out from the left. 

Eloy 'Mynock' Cintron, Corsair 4, strode angrily into the courtyard, brandishing a datapad like a weapon. He drew himself up to his full height as he got in Kallysto's face, completely ignoring the Imperials. "I don't care how big of a holoactor you are back on the Core worlds. When you signed up for this picture, you agreed to play by my rules." He shoved the datapad hard into Kallysto's hands. "Follow the script."

Young blinked, but looked down at the datapad. "All right, Mister Director Cytros," he said, "But I think we need to take care of these good gentlemen first." He indicated the officer. 

Mynock seemed to notice the officer for the first time. "Hm? Nice costume. Looks a bit too much like Imperial wear, though. The critics won't approve of that." He paused. "Hey! You aren't the extra I hired."

The officer nodded, smiling thinly. "Lieutenant Vossth, Imperial Army Officer Second Class." He indicated Kallysto with a nod of his chin. "I was just asking your associate here for identification. Trooper Dahn thinks he's a Rebel."

Cintron paused, and then threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, that's rich. Him?" He stood next to Vossth and framed Kallysto's head with his hands. "That, my fine Imperial friend, is none other than Rex Iie Fyllis, winner of three Hondoro awards at last year's Holofilm Festival. You don't -need- to see his identification, everyone knows who he is. Isn't that right, Trooper Dahn?" He looked around at the identical troopers.

"It's possible, sir," Dahn said, his embarassment audible even through the synthesized audio speakers of the stormtrooper helmet. "I watch lots of movies in my spare time, and I think that's where I recognize him from."

Eloy smiled winningly at Vossth. "He doesn't carry it on him, anyways. Costuming complains when people leave things in their pockets. Now, if you ask him nicely, I'm sure he'd be willing to sign a few autographs." 

Vossth looked suspiciously at Kallysto. "Hey, where's the camera?"

Parody idly reached behind his back for his gun. 

"Right here," Adam 'Guardian' Burns replied from the darkness to the left, appearing with his astromech droid preceding him. "Got everything on tape." He thumped the little R2 unit on the head lightly. The 'droid bleeped, and projected a tiny image of Mynock: "Now, if you ask him nicely, I'm sure he'd be willing to sign a few autographs," the image replayed. The image panned to the left to show Vossth. "Hey, where's the camera?" the tiny image said.

Mynock studied the image, and looked appraisingly at Vossth. "Do me a favor, Vossth, was it? Say, 'Spread out and search the area. I want them found!', in your best command voice." He stepped back. "Rex, Marty, give the Imperial some room."

Vossth chuckled, and adopted a stern look. "Spread out and search the area. I want those Rebels found!" he ordered sternly, sweeping his arm out to the side. 

Cintron paused. "Cut." He looked at the others. "Other than the improv, what do you think?"

Guardian hmmed. "Pretty good. Needs to stand a bit to his left to have the troopers in the picture."

Kallysto smiled. "I love it. MUCH better than those Guild extras you hired on. Whom, might I add, haven't shown up for their casting call."

Mynock let his lower lip jut out as he nodded approvingly. "Done, then. Officer Vossth, how would you and your men like to be extras in Fyllis' next film?"

The troopers looked at each other, then at Vossth for confirmation. "So, you're filming a movie, then? What about the knife fight?" Vossth asked uncertainly. 

"All part of the film," Max said as he walked over, taking the trick knife from Parody. "Here, Officer Vossth. Here's the 'knife' I was using." He demonstrated the blade, and handed it over. 

Vossth looked at it, testing the springloaded blade, and handed it back. "All right. I think the men could use the morale boost. What do we do?"

 #

Parody and Kallysto rounded the corner, panting and out of breath. Blocks behind them, they could hear Vossth faintly shouting after them. "Spread out and search! They must be around here somewhere," Vossth yelled, followed by sounds of blaster fire.

Some ten minutes later, Guardian, Mynock and Max caught up to them. Eloy was grinning from ear to ear. "Officer Vossth and his men look forward to seeing the production when it comes out later this winter," he said smugly. "I trust you'll be at the opening, Mister Fyllis?"

Kallysto snickered. "Sure. Let's get the film tanker back to the development shop, shall we?" 

Max had already hailed a robohack, and was holding the door open. "The driver is a friend of mine. He knows where to go," he told them quietly. "Let's go."

The old man burst out laughing as soon as the cab was underway. "Janno, m'boy, where did this one come from?" he gestured at Mynock. "He's a natural. The poor greenie never knew what hit him."

Cintron reached out and extended his hand to Max. "Doctor Eloy 'Mynock' Cintron, of the Alliance. You must be Maximillian, Jeff's FX and fight coordinator. Glad to meet you at last." Mynock jerked a thumb at Kallysto. "I've been a fan of the Janno Swyfte movies for years. Just never got around to buttonholing Jeff here for an autograph, since they've had me doing double-duty for awhile. Always wanted to be an actor," he said. "Speaking of which," he held out the datapad to Max. "Care to sign my datapad?" He nodded at Kallysto. "You too."

Young grinned. "Sure. I'll sign it Rex Iie Fyllis for ya." He took the pad from Max as soon as the old man had finished with it. "You got talent, 'Nock. Ever thought of recording a training holo?"


Capital Punishment -- Chapter 8


Michael 'Parody' Miller coughed loudly as he inhaled the thick yellow dust that gusted out from the opening doors.  "Whoa.  How long has it been since you opened up this place?"

"Oh, a bit." Maximillian said, pulling his card key out of the lock.  "Didn't have a reason to come by, and the Imps had the place watched for awhile."  He stepped inside the warehouse door, picking up a dusty hand-held electrolantern from a nearby table. "Well, c'mon, don't just stand there outside like a bunch of tourists." 

Eloy 'Mynock' Cintron entered, and sniffed the air experimentally, having wisely covered his mouth with his sleeve when the doors opened. "This smells just like I'd expect an old holomovie warehouse to smell like.  Preservatives, pyrotechnics, and electronics." 

"Ayep.  Years and years of production.  The lost legacy of the Varan Holographic Studios," Max said proudly.  "So, Janno, why don't you take your friends on a tour?  I can get the birds ready."  He paused.  "Unless you're in a hurry."  

Adam 'Guardian' Burns still stood at the door. 'Actually, I've got a sick Y-wing parked over in what Kallysto here calls 'C-Lot.'  It's damaged, and we'd really like to get it out of here, along with our A-wings, as soon as possible.   We've found the parts, but we'll need tools and a place to repair the ship." 

Max smiled grandfatherly at Adam.  "Aaah.  You must be the CO, then.  Sure.  You can take the hoverlift parked inside the fenced-off area, and tow the Y-wing into Soundstage 2."  He tossed his security card to the Buccaneer pilot.   "It's where the other A-wings are anyway."   

"Other A-wings?" Guardian said, confused.

Max grinned at Guardians' bemused expression.  "Oh, you brought your OWN A-wings.  I see, now.  So Janno's been holdin' out on you, eh?"

Burns eyed a smirking Young.  "I -did- say I wanted to pick up a few things, while I was here.  I just didn't say what."  Jeff drew a finger along the side of his nose. "There are slightly under a dozen A-wing prototypes we had left over when the Imps shut us down.  They're listed under 'stunt craft' and we've been hiding them right under the Imps noses."

Max shook his head.  "Afraid only six of them are spaceworthy, Swyfte.  And they also confiscated all the gas supplies, like oxygen.   Anything that could be a storage hazard." He stroked his beard.  "I figure we can scrounge up enough oxygen to run one fighter, and slave the rest to some R1 units I've got kicking around."

Young's face fell.  "Well, I'll take what you got.  If you don't mind, that is." 

Max shrugged noncommittally.  "Not like I can pilot the things. Go ahead, take 'em, they'll rust and fall apart otherwise.  I figured you'd come back for them eventually."

"R1 droid units?", Parody cut in.  "You actually have some of those baitbuckets?"  

Max nodded.  "Indeed I do.  Bought nearly two score of them at surplus prices back at the end of the Clone Wars, and been using them as stunt pilots ever since.   Just takes a bit of reprogramming.  Are you a droid person?"

Miller chuckled.  "I suppose you could say that.  Got my license from the Imperial Academy two years early." 

Max clapped Parody on the shoulder.  "Well then, come on, you can help me out."  He looked at Mynock.  "How 'bout you?  You droid savvy?"

Eloy waggled a hand.  "So-so.  I'm more familiar with medical droids, not R-series astromechs.   I'd probably get in the way," he said, looking around the cluttered studio again. 

"Uh huh.  And I bet you'd rather be snooping around the studio, anyway. Since I know Swyfte doesn't do much tech, why don't you and he go sightseeing, then?" Max said. "Lieutenant Burns can go and pick up the other fighters.   There's only one hoverlift anyway."

"Done," Kallysto replied.  "C'mon, we'll start back at the front of the studio.   The larger stuff is kept up there." 

                              #

Max slid open another of the ubiquitous warehouse doors, revealing a line of blocky-looking astrodroids, all painted grey, standing silent and inactive.  Parody peered past him into the room. "That doesn't look like two score.   More like ten," he remarked.

"Well, yes.  We've gotten quite a few blown up over the years.  And the maintenance on the things was horrible to begin with."  He opened a metal box on the inside wall and pulled out a short control rod, and tapped six of the droids.   "Contact charge, depolarized the factory deactivation shunt."  

"Hello, droids," Max spoke slowly.  "My name is Max, and this is," he paused to look over his shoulder.  "What was your name again?"

"Michael Miller." 

"This is Mikey.  You're to follow us, and do what we say.  Okay?"

The droids whistled and bleeped assent.   Max turned and led the way out of the room.                                  #

The doors to Soundstage 2 were open as Max, Parody and their droid tagalongs crossed the studio lot.   A dim light radiated out from inside.   With a humming of electric motors,  Guardian drove the hoverlift out into the lot again, waving as he went by.  "Nice fighters you got there," he commented. 

The 'fighters' in question were A-wings, all right, but almost all had  completely different paint jobs, modified tailfins, and antennae and  spines sticking out of various parts of the fuselage.   The result was positively garish, and Parody told Max as much. 

"Oh, sure," Max said.  "They're ugly beasties, but that's because -these- are the bad guy ships.   Not much more than rocket engines strapped to a cockpit, with sensor and radio receivers.  But in a lot of ways, that's exactly what an A-wing is.  We just dressed ours up a bit more."

"And this one?" Michael asked, noticing a steel-grey ship in the bunch, painted with red chevrons and fitted with longer streaker fins, with no spines.  "This is a 'good guy' ship if I ever saw one."

Max smiled.  "Yep.   You got it.  That's Jeff's old hero ship.  We'll rig that one up for life support.  I imagine unless he's got his own bird, he'll want to fly it home." 

"Nope, he rode shotgun in with Adam.  He's not supposed to be flying," Parody replied, without thinking.   "Er..."

Max chuckled.  "Don't worry about it.  He won't be flying.  The autopilot will be."  He tapped the nearest droid on the head. "Once we rig these droids with their new programming, they'll fly the birds in formation, more like Argellian swamp ducks than anything else, but they'll go home with you when you jump." 

"New programming?"  Parody raised an eyebrow. 

"Sure.  Yank out the behavorial protocol chip, crosswire the fuse on the logic matrix, and rig in a pulse transverse override, and you completely burn out the droids' higher self-preservation functions.  They'll do whatever you want, like crash into a star cruiser or whatever."  The old man giggled.  "Don't tell the droid lovers, eh?"

Parody snorted.  "That's lobotomizing a perfectly good droid.  I mean, it'll even override the programming to protect sentinent life."

"How do you think the first hunter/killer droids were created?" he joked. Max patted the R1 unit again.  "These baitbuckets were slated to be scrapped anyways.  We're doing them a service by giving them a good sendoff.  We used just have them doing additional flyby work for huge space battles.  Better than stop-motion models and huge amounts of CG crunching.   And best of all, you don't have to pay Guild dues for a droid." 

"If you want, the droids are yours once they get you back home. You can tinker with them, swap in new memory chips, whatever.  It's all the same to me," Max said.  "Now let's get cracking, shall we?"

                                #

Kallysto smiled as he held up a speed draw holster, complete with gun.  "This one is from 'Aschansas' Last Action'." he said. 

Mynock grinned.  "The Starslayer Who Laughs At Death!" Cintron said.  "Saw every one of the Starslayer films."   He fingered the belt. "I always liked your Starslayer stuff better than the Starrunners series.  Myles Aschansas didn't need to prove he was the best; he just -was-."  

"Starrunners was about the Alliance, Eloy," Jeff replied.  "It was the bigger picture, with more than just one hero against an evil warlord, it was a group of freedom fighters against an oppressive dominion." 

"Well, true.  Moral messages generally ruin storylines, more often than not, though," Cintron replied.  "I must admit, I loved the space battles." 

"Those are around the next corner," Jeff said, deftly changing the subject, and walking ahead.   Mynock followed, his slight disgruntlement easily dispersed by the numerous scale models of starships, space stations, and props housed in the next area.    Cintrons' voice slowly took a backseat in his mind as he ran his hand along the side of the mockup hull.  "I recognize this one. It's from 'Eight Comets Under The Sun'." Eloy said, somewhere in his consciousness.   

                                  #

 The attack cruiser exploded as he snap-rolled away from it.  He jammed the stick down to avoid the incoming fire.  Three more Wing Warrior fighters sped past him on their failed attack run.  One of them was clobbered by a large chunk of the cruiser's fragmenting hull, exploding in a flash of green light.  

'Janno Swyfte' looked over his shoulder, cutting the engine power to one-third, while wheeling his fighter-bomber and priming the warheads.

"Nice blobbies.  Have a missile casserole!" he shouted as he pressed the firing stud, grinning ferally for the camera closeup.  

With unnatural speed, the alien vessels dodged away from the cloud of zigzagging missiles, returning fire.  Swyfte's ship was hit, sending spark and smoke throughout the cockpit.

"...and, cut!" Max's voice spoke over his headphones.  "Nice shot. We might be able to get out of this one without using CG touchup."

"Hey, boss, we have a problem," the tech's voice came over the commlink, faintly.

Young cut thrust to minimum.  "Max, what's going on?  Don't tell me we didn't get the shot."

"Worse, Jeff.  The missiles aren't detonating," Max told him grimly. "And they're live today."

"What do you mean?" he asked, craning his neck to look for the errant pyrotechnics. 

Max's voice was stressed. "The missiles didn't detonate. I think we've got runaway ordnance."

"Ringiss! What's it heading for?"

"The Imperial Customs Corvette about 5 parsecs out. They were watching the  show"

"Oh boy."  He jammed the thrusters on full, trying vainly to give the missiles chase.   In a flash of genius, he reached under the console with his free hand and pulled a wire loose even as he centered the Corvette in his sights.    

"This is Janno Swyfte to the Imperial Customs Vessel Vigilant.  You have runaway concussion missiles incoming on your craft.  Can you read me?"

He smiled to himself.  "Of course they can't.  I disabled my transmitter."

Too late, the Corvette's crew saw the danger. Once a missile is locked on you, there's nothing you can do to stop it, save outrunning it. The first of the missiles struck home even as the small capital ship turned, and her attempts to shoot down the incoming missiles met with failiure.   Explosions rocked the Vigilant as her shields went down.

"My gods," Jeff said, for sake of the recorder in the cockpit.

He watched as the mortally wounded Imperial ship rolled over, nodding as he pushed his stick over to turn away.  "What a horrible accident," he said, attempting sincerity.

The fighter kept going forward.  Kallysto pushed the stick harder. Nothing.  A red warning light came on. 'Maneuvering system damaged.' He looked up in horror at the dying Valiant, far too close, even as he cut the engines, he knew it was far, far, too late.

"Such a horrible accident," he murmured.

"What?", Mynock asked, jarring him back to the present. "You say something about an accent?"

"Hm?  No, no, but there's always room for a good one in acting."

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 9


The dull hum of the Y-wing's engines left vibration ripples in Max's coffee cup. The old man took a few steps back, giving the rebel pilot a thumbs up sign. "Looks good!" he called out. "Shut it down!"

Burns nodded approvingly, and settled the Y-wing back to the soundstage floor. "Checks out okay on the telltales, too." He stood up in the cockpit. "Hey, Jeff! Time to finish off this vacation and go home!" he yelled.

From across the hangar bay, an arm waved from over one of the A-wings. Kallysto poked his head up briefly. "Hey Parody. How's the last one going over there?"

At a similar A-wing, Parody stood and turned around. "Just finished. I don't understand why an R1 unit needs a seatbelt, though." The little droid looked up at him and whistle-beeped. "Yes, I know, but you're not flying stunt. You're flying straight back home, just like the rest of us."

"Wonderful. Come help me with this one. I'll admit freely I know next to nothing about droid repair," he said.

 ----------------

Scant minutes later, Kallysto sat on the hull of his old A-wing, wiping the grease off his hands. "Well, old man, looks like this is goodbye again," he said softly. 

Max nodded, a bit lost in thought. "Yeah. I imagine we won't be seeing you for awhile after this."

Young chuckled. "Well, hopefully the Alliance will forgive and forget when I bring them these. It's a pity I couldn't see Amber while I was here, though. Tell 'er I said hi, and give her a hug for me."

Max didn't say anything for a moment. "Sure. Next time I see her, I'll do just that." He looked away, and then pulled a datapad out of his coveralls. "One other thing. This is for you."

Kallysto took the pad, and looked at it. "How up to date is this?"

"Oh, this morning," Max replied with a grin. "There should be no problem getting past the Imp patrols with that."

Kallysto grinned, shaking his head. "Sure we can't convince you to come with us? The Alliance could use another fine tech like you, Uncle Max."

Max shook his head. "My home is here. I'd be lost anywhere else."

Kallysto rolled his eyes. "Your home is Adarlon Prime, but the Imps are still looking for you over there. Still, if you like this mining colony, it's not my place to convince you to go." He stood, giving the old man a hug. 

"Oof! Okay, okay, I'll miss ya too. Be careful with that cyberarm, yea?" Max said. 

"Sorry," Young admitted sheepishly. "All right." He turned, and handed the pad over to the others, who had come up behind him. "Slot this pad into your navicomp. It's a charting of the Imp patrols for the month, and we should be able to avoid them like they weren't there." 

Parody took the pad, and studied it. "Not bad, even if there're only two corvettes and a squad of TIEs between us and the jump point. How do you get this data, anyway, Maximillian?"

Max drew a finger alongside his nose. "Let's just say we have a friend in space traffic control." -----------------------

The planet dropped away behind them as the set of fightercraft left the atmosphere. Mynock looked behind him, chuckling as he keyed his radio. "Hey, Kallysto, looks like we're leading an attack on something."

Young's staticky reply came back almost immediately. "I hope not. None of these things are armed. It's what kept the Imps off our backs so long--we used to paint in the blasters with CG, so whenever they pulled one of their surprise inpsections, we didn't have loaded craft, just pretty mockups. But the power servos are in, and it doesn't take but an hour modification to turn one of these babies into a real A-wing, given the right parts. That's the other nice thing about them. You can practically build an A-wing out of salvage."

"Guess the Alliance doesn't get much salvage, then," Guardian's voice broke in over the radio. "Five minutes to nav point. Transmitting jump coordinates now."

"Copy that, got 'em," Parody's voice answered. "Hey, 'Nock, want to buzz the navpoint just in case there are any surprises?"

Eloy looked out past the last of the debris field and beyond, at the faroff planet. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose." 

The two Libertine A-wings sped out ahead of Guardian's Y-wing and Kallysto's modified prop A-wings, quickly dwindling in the distance. 

From the Y-wing's cockpit, Guardian snorted. "Probably didn't like babysitting the flock, most likely," he thought. 

"Hey Adam?" Young's voice hailed over the comm. 

"Yeah?"

"Thanks again. For everything."

Guardian grinned. "Just listen, sometimes. That's payback enough."

"I'll do that. I owe ya," he said, clearing the radio channel.

"Nav point's clear," Mynock's voice came faintly over the comm. "Just waiting for you, now."

In no time at all, the Y-wing caught up to the circling A-wings. "Righty-o. Time to go home, gentlemen.", Guardian said, throwing the hyperspace lever over.

 -----------

As the Y-wing and two A-wings zipped off in a blur of pseudomotion, Kallysto grinned, throttling his fightercraft to full for the first time. "Yeah, right. If they're going to still ground me when I return, I'm at least going to take you for a last spin, old girl."

With a high-pitched whine, the fighter took off, pressing Jeff firmly into the seat. He grinned toothily, watching the speed indicator climb towards the red.

At 210 MGLT, he slowly eased the stick up and to the right, putting the craft into a wide turn. He could feel the pressure of the turn against the harness, until he rolled the fighter on its side. "Yessss," he hissed through clenched teeth. 

With a reluctant sigh, he brought the craft back around, righting it as he sped back towards other waiting craft. By the instrument clock, they'd jumped out about a minute and a half ago. 

"Time to go home, indeed," he commented morosely. "All right, ya droids. Light 'em and jump!"

He pushed over the hyperspace lever, and heard the familiar whine of the hyperdrive behind his back. He felt the usual motion as the craft turned on its axis, auto-homing on its jump heading. Kallysto had half a second to realize that the ship was pointing in absolutely the wrong direction before it kicked into hyperspace.

 -------------------------

All too soon, the stars blurred back into points. Dead ahead, the VSD Chariot sat, a triangular roadblock in space. Behind him, the other five A-wings flickered into reality, and a cold voice spoke officiously over his comm. 

"Rebel pilots, you are commanded to stop your engines and prepare to be tractored in. There's nowhere to run."

The lefthand identscreen flickered, and was replaced by a recorded vidmessage. Maximillian's face looked sadly out at him. 

"If you're seein' this message, Kally m'boy, that means the R1 units have subverted the autopilot controls of yers and yer friend's fightercraft, thanks to the sleeper program I gave you all in the avoidance coordinates. I really hope your friend in the Y-wing got away, at least. He seemed like a nice enough chap, and someone should tell 'em what happened to you."

"I want you to know that if there was any other way to do this, I would have. But they've got Amber, you see. That's the real reason why you couldn't see her." He sighed. "I'm sorry. The R1 units were programmed to bring you right to the Imps. It seemed like a fair trade: a few Rebel pilots, in exchange for my daughter. You understand, I hope." The recorded message gave way to static.

The comm crackled with laughter. "This is Captain Babel Torrsh of the Chariot. If I understand correctly, you're going nowhere fast, Rebels. So sit and enjoy the ride. We'll have accomodations ready when you arrive."

Kallysto shook his head ruefully, and tried the stick with no luck. He looked solemnly at the Star Destroyer growing in his windscreen He shook his head, unbuckling his chin strap.

"Well, at least the others got away."

Capital Punishment -- Chapter 10


The mood was a good one on the bridge of the Chariot. After months and months of dealing with petty smugglers, the crew of the VSD Chariot was finally going to give real Rebels some payback. 

"Do you think these are the same ones from before, Captain?" the first officer asked his superior.

"Could be. Could be," Captain Babel Torshh replied. "We damaged that Y-wing fairly efficiently in our last encounter." The green-clad officer nodded approvingly at his XO. "How soon until we have them in our hold?"

"Approximately five minutes, sir. Unless you want to drag them in with the--uh, never mind." It wasn't an official fact that the tractor beam wasn't functional, and hadn't been functional for over a year, but everyone on the bridge crew knew it. Still, it was a sore point with the Captain.

Torshh ignored the comment. "Five minutes is plenty of time for me to walk to the cargo hold, as well as make sure we have good accomodations for our incoming guests." He walked over to the sensor pit, looking down. "How many are we expecting, by the way?"

The sensortech looked up from his screen, craning his neck to see around Torshh's boots. "I mark six fightercraft, sir. A-wing class, I think, but I can't be sure until I get a better visual scan."

Torshh nodded. "How many pilots?"

"I'm not sure, sir. The lateral sensor array is malfunctioning again, I think. Sometimes it tells me 1, other times 1.07, sometimes it tells me .96," he said tapping the screen in thinly disguised disgust. 

"Not to worry, Technician Rand. I'm sure after we turn in our catch of the week, COMPNOR will refit the Chariot in gratitude." The Imperial supply board had sent them third rate parts to repair the damage caused by the Rebels nearly a year ago, and while the Destroyer was functional, the hyperdrive took ten minutes to warm up, the tractor beam burned out on anything larger than a landspeeder, and half the turbolifts didn't work.

"Well," he said cheerily. "I'm off to greet our visitors. Mister Pikol, you have the bridge."

 --------------

In the cockpit of the tailing A-wing, Jeff 'Kallysto' Young fingered the ejection lever idly, shifting his knees and causing the helmet in his lap to knock against the joystick.

"Pull the lever and you pull a miss on the Imp torture droids," he thought to himself, looking up at the Chariot taking up most of his view, then back down to the lever again. Decompression was a horrible way to go. "Not the way I care to go out of the universe."

He shook the stick again, finding it instantly sliding back into position as the R1 unit in the lead A-wing countermanded the course change.

He checked his blaster. Fully charged. 

"Not bad. Me, all alone, against a shipful of the Empire's finest troopers," he spoke aloud. "Reminds me of the end of 'Ashcansas Last Action'." He put his helmet back on. The strap still itched. "Let's hope I take out at least as many as I did in that movie." 

"Before they get me first."



Up ahead, the square frame of the Chariot's main cargo bay lit briefly with a bright ball of orange destruction. At the same time, the joystick abruptly dropped to the left, slamming his unhelmeted head into the side of the cockpit glass. "Unf!" He grabbed the stick and shoved the A-wing into a wide turn, parallel to the Chariot.

The recorder again flickered to life. "The first two are set to explode. I figure that'll give 'em something to think about," Max's visage told him. "The remaining four are slaved to your stick now, and Starburst Three and Four are armed with working laser cannons. And by the way, I modified the flare launchers to fire some bonafide K-7 magnablast packs, but you only get one shot." ---------------

Captain Torshh smiled as the lift signalled the stop for the cargo bay. "Hmm. Shall I say, 'Greetings, Rebel scum?' Or, 'Welcome to the Chariot. Shall we take you for a ride?'"

The doors opened, and he was himself greeted by a wall of flame. Troopers were everywhere, trying to put out the fire. 

"What in the Emperor's name is -cough- going ON?"

A deck officer stopped, shielding his face against the heat, clustering inside the elevator. "Rebels set us a trap, sir. That A-wing exploded soon as it touched down. The others are trying to run for it."

Torshh looked around the man at the conflagaration in the cargo bay. His cargo bay. "Order the gunnery crews to destroy those Rebels. Now." he yelled, face turning red from more than just the heat.

"Yessir!", the officer replied, moving away from the Captain as fast as possible.

 ----------------

 "Why?" Max's image continued, "Because as long as they have Amber, they have a bargaining chip to hold over my head. I doubt they'll ever let her go, as long as I'm useful to them. I don't even know if she's still alive. But in you, m'boy, and the rest of the Alliance, we have a shot at getting her free someday. Or at least giving the Imps a lot of black eyes while doing it."

"I'm going to go into hiding after this, I think. I'll try to get a hold of your Alliance friends as soon as I can, but I want to be long gone by the time you get this message." 

"Good luck, Janno, m'boy. And like I always tell you, never forget to light'em, then jump." The screen went dark.

Kallysto grinned, looking up at the Chariot, noting almost distractedly the incoming fire. "Four underarmed A-wings against a Star Destroyer. No hyper coordinates to work with, either.", he noted grimly. One thing the old man forgot to include. But then, in the movie business, one never had to really go to hyperspace.

"Well, I always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory," he snarled, teeth gritted. 


Capital Punishment -- Chapter 11

Space careened crazily about the viewscreen, and the R2 unit complained mightily as Guardian fought to get the Y-wing under control. Apparently the repairs weren't as good as he thought they were.

"Parody to Guardian. What the hell was that? My navicomp's program is corrupted and my autopilot is shot. Is your R2 unit daft?!"

The faint hiss of static accompanying Mynock's voice didn't mask his own frustration. "Happened to me too. Trying not to be sick."

Burns bit his tongue. "Wait a minute. I'm busy." He felt nauseous as he jammed the stick one way, then the other. "R2, quit fighting me," he told it, then finally reached for the manual controls and triggered them.

He found it easier to right the ship after that. It was only then that he was able to look down at the translation display.

The log read: "Virus program active! Tracing... autopilot, navicomp. Isolating...Attempting to correct course change..aborted. Manual command."

"Burns to Cintron and Miller. Looks like we had a slicer program trying to muck with our coordinates. Betcha it was from the datapad input."

"I think I agree with you, and unfortunately, he did it right under my nose. That's what happens when you get too engrossed in talking shop," Parody said. 

"More bad news, boss," Mynock replied. "Guess who's missing?"

Burns looked around, then checked his sensors. "Maybe he didn't get hit by the problem."

"Hah. Wishful thinking," Mynock replied. "He jumped after you, right?"

"'Fraid so," Guardian answered.

"I think I know where he is, too. Max said something about the droids autopiloting the A-wings instead of him flying, but I didn't realize exactly what he was saying," Parody said.

"Which means Kallysto is probably heading right into the hands of the Imperials," Mynock griped. 

"We have to go back," Parody said. "My navicomp's down. Uplink?"

"Not me. Like I said, it's history," Mynock said.

"Well, fortunately we happen to have an R2 unit with all the coordinates we need in its metal innards, but it's going to be a bit," Guardian said.

"How soon before we can go back?" Parody asked as he pulled his fighter to a halt next to Guardian's.

"My droid says it's putting the last of the virus to the garbage routine, but it'll be at least three minutes more 'til it can download the protected coordinates back to the navicomp."

"Let's hope it's fast enough," Mynock commented.

 --------------------

Red-faced and reeking of smoke, Captain Torshh stumbled back onto the bridge. A technician came up to him waving a datapad, but Torshh shoved him aside. "I -know- about the fire, idiot! I don't care what it takes, I want those Rebels destroyed! Why aren't we shooting at them?"

He got a bunch of blank looks. The technician approached him again. "Communication's out from decks 7 on down. What happened down there?"

Torshh shoved past the technician and stormed over to the gunnery console. "Don't just sit there, idiot, blast them!!" The gunnery officer nodded frantically and started transmitting orders to any gunnery crews that could receive him. "And launch some Interceptors after them!"

The technician dogged his heels. "Sir, we can't launch fighters; the fire's out of control. And those A-wings can easily outrun us."

His first officer came up from the other side. "I've taken the liberty of calling in the Tempest; she'll be here in minutes, and stands a good chance of cutting them off, if only we can slow them down a little."

"Turn to port and fire everything we've got! And call in the patrols!" Torshh shouted. "Now!"

 ------------------

Kallysto dared a look out his rear window. The destroyer had given up pursuit, but the guns on the capital ship were still trying to find his range. One of the A-wings was struck from behind, and it careened off to the left. A sensor check showed it to be damaged, but still functional. A quartet of red blips showed on his scope, brightening from dull red to solid red. He turned to look out the canopy, straining to see through the visor and the safety glass. Nothing but the faint twinkle of stars, at first. Then he caught the dull glint of light off of tiny metal specks. 

"Fighters, closing fast," he spoke aloud, not that the R2 units really cared. He smiled challengingly as the distance meter spun down towards zero on the leader. "So it's not going out in a blaze of glory, but let's see how you dance."

 -----------------

"Feeding coordinates now," Guardian informed Mynock and Parody. "Hey, these are coordinates for the Liberty!" Parody protested.

"Correct. I'm pulling rank on you two. Parody, your ship is still damaged. I'm sending you home," Guardian said. 

"If I remember correctly, -sir-, your ship wasn't spaceworthy before this trip started," Mynock added.

"Don't argue with me. If I get skragged, you two can't get home. I'm going back long enough to see if he made it. I'll give him the coordinates, and I'll be coming right back here. Cintron, you stay here-- you're to relay back in case I get caught in the trap. I may be coming back in hot."

"Roger that." Eloy notched up the shield charge a bit higher, and put his ship into a circling holding pattern. 

"I'm outta here. Coming back with the sprint team as soon as I can though," Parody said, then his ship became a streak of pseudomotion as he jumped for the Liberty.

Guardian turned his ship, and punched up the hyperdrive coordinates. "Roo'd never forgive me if I left him to die without trying," he mused.

The stars streaked into motion. 

 ------------- 

Armor plating gave way with a sickening crunch as Silverfish 2 took a direct hit, then exploded a moment later. The R1 units were taking a pounding. Droids were no match for even poorly trained Imperial pilots.

With almost careless grace, the familiar shape of an Imperial Nebulon B Frigate slid out of hyperspace in his path even as the Chariot ceased firing. 

Kallysto fought back despair as the capital ship blocked his escape. "Blast. And here I thought I was home free...not that there was anywhere to go."

He checked his rag-tag fleet of ships. Three left. Not enough to even make a dent if he managed to fly them into the engines. Nowhere to run. 

One gunship, two explosive charges. Three Tie Interceptors. One Nebulon B frigate. 

"What was Captain Solo rumored to have said? 'Never tell me the odds?'" he whispered, setting an attack pattern into his computer.

A distant crackle was the reply. "Hey, Kallysto. Want to go home? Red channel."

He blinked. A single pale green dot marked his scopes, beyond the frigate. "Adam?"

The voice over the comm was both relieved and urgent. "You got it. Now, switch to red channel, get the coordinates and let's scram!"

 ------------------

Epilogue

 The Lounge was almost deserted during the Liberty's off-shift. While in space, there was no designation between day and night, for the ship activities were roughly planned for when the command staff was all awake.

The door closed behind Burns and Miller, leaving Vince 'Stryker' Rambo in the Lounge alone with Kallysto. Corsair's Acting CO nodded at the weary looking pilot across the table from him. 

"Now. I've got everyone's report but yours. Assuming you understood the intent behind the ruling Captain Schock left, why is it I find you flying a craft home, hmm?" he asked.

Jeff shrugged. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he replied.

"Granted." Vince hid his smile behind the coffee cup.

"Sir, I hired on to fly. I've never had to fly in formation before now, and I was my own commander when I was back home. It was all smoke and mirrors of what we do here, but it's still flying. You risk your head every time you go out there, though maybe not the same way. I've lost some good people in my crew."

"I've brought you some more fighters. They're old, but they're fast- probably won't make much difference once you put some serious armor on them, and load them with ordnance, but there is now no excuse to hold me pending craft availability. Guardian told me," he added to explain.

Stryker yawned. "Mhmm. Well, I'm not Electro, and it's not my place to go against his wishes. But, I imagine your next statement is, '..I came here to fly for the Alliance. If you aren't going to let me fly, then let me go.'" He lifted his cup. "To the dream of flight."

Kallysto shook his head and chuckled. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Stryker nodded. "Sure. Nice thing about being in the Bantha hut with the CO, is that you don't have to drive a desk, like his favored XO."

"I haven't had time to look over the black boxes, if there are any, but as far as I'm concerned, the ban on you flying is lifted, at least until Electro returns. Orders from Alliance Command came in, and we're going to be adding a new Corsair to the ranks next week. She'll need a wingperson, and we're odd-off without you."

Young raised an eyebrow. "You don't say?"

"You're on probation. You follow orders, and you watch your wingperson, clock a few shifts. Don't hotdog things, and you prove to me that you've got what it takes to be a team player. I'm willing to give you one last shot."

"Why?" Kallysto asked. "I thought the sim run was that shot."

"Gave you more than enough room to hang yourself, and you did. But I mark that you had your shot at going out in style, and you didn't, out there. So maybe, just maybe, you're learning, finally."

Young raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Vince smiled. "Show me I can trust you, by not spilling the beans to Rooster before next staff meeting, and I'll put in a good word with the boss when he returns. 'Til then, I expect you'll want the fighter with your name already emblazoned on the side?"

Kallysto's expression was all the payback Vince could ask for. "You bet." Jeff started to rise, and then sat back down again.

"Dismissed, Young. Get some sleep. You're on sprint duty in six hours," he warned the pilot with a smile.

"Yessir. Thank you, sir." Kallysto had a huge grin on his face, the first one in a long time.

"Light 'em and jump, Jeff," Vince bade him softly.

"I will."


Capital Punishment -- Finale


 The Lounge was almost deserted during the Liberty's off-shift. While in space, there was no designation between day and night, for the ship activities were roughly planned for when the command staff was all awake.

The door closed behind Burns and Miller, leaving Vince 'Stryker' Rambo in the Lounge alone with Kallysto. Corsair's Acting CO nodded at the weary looking pilot across the table from him. 

"Now. I've got everyone's report but yours. Assuming you understood the intent behind the ruling Captain Schock left, why is it I find you flying a craft home, hmm?" he asked.

Jeff shrugged. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he replied.

"Granted." Vince hid his smile behind the coffee cup.

"Sir, I hired on to fly. I've never had to fly in formation before now, and I was my own commander when I was back home. It was all smoke and mirrors of what we do here, but it's still flying. You risk your head every time you go out there, though maybe not the same way. I've lost some good people in my crew."

"I've brought you some more fighters. They're old, but they're fast- probably won't make much difference once you put some serious armor on them, and load them with ordnance, but there is now no excuse to hold me pending craft availability. Guardian told me," he added to explain.

Stryker yawned. "Mhmm. Well, I'm not Electro, and it's not my place to go against his wishes. But, I imagine your next statement is, '..I came here to fly for the Alliance. If you aren't going to let me fly, then let me go.'" He lifted his cup. "To the dream of flight."

Kallysto shook his head and chuckled. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Stryker nodded. "Sure. Nice thing about being in the Bantha hut with the CO, is that you don't have to drive a desk, like his favored XO."

"I haven't had time to look over the black boxes, if there are any, but as far as I'm concerned, the ban on you flying is lifted, at least until Electro returns. Orders from Alliance Command came in, and we're going to be adding a new Corsair to the ranks next week. She'll need a wingperson, and we're odd-off without you."

Young raised an eyebrow. "You don't say?"

"You're on probation. You follow orders, and you watch your wingperson, clock a few shifts. Don't hotdog things, and you prove to me that you've got what it takes to be a team player. I'm willing to give you one last shot."

"Why?" Kallysto asked. "I thought the sim run was that shot."

"Gave you more than enough room to hang yourself, and you did. But I mark that you had your shot at going out in style, and you didn't, out there. So maybe, just maybe, you're learning, finally."

Young raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Vince smiled. "Show me I can trust you, by not spilling the beans to Rooster before next staff meeting, and I'll put in a good word with the boss when he returns. 'Til then, I expect you'll want the fighter with your name already emblazoned on the side?"

Kallysto's expression was all the payback Vince could ask for. "You bet." Jeff started to rise, and then sat back down again.

"Dismissed, Young. Get some sleep. You're on sprint duty in six hours," he warned the pilot with a smile.

"Yessir. Thank you, sir." Kallysto had a huge grin on his face, the first one in a long time.

"Light 'em and jump, Jeff," Vince bade him softly.

"I will."

