Omega Sqadron Black Knights
Chapter 9

Lieutenant Masrya Wolvdaater cursed and surged to his feet in an uncharacteristic display of vehemence that startled his companion from a doze, sending him springing to his feet, ready to defend himself against whatever was going on. Then he frowned as Wolvdaater reached the cell door and began to hammer on it. "Hey! You out there! Open this damned door! Hey!"

"What the hells do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant?"

Wolvdaater turned, "Damn it, Commander, we’ve been stuck in here for over a week! I’ve had it!" He turned back, resuming his pounding on the door, "Hey! Out there! Hey!"

Commander Jon Alpelor said nothing, understanding the Lieutenant’s frustration. The days had weighed heavily on both of them, the initial fear for their safety as prisoners of the Rebel Alliance slowly fading into bored, enforced inactivity. They had searched the cell, finally accepting there was no way for them to escape, perversely offended as the hours wore into days and none of the Rebel hierarchy made an appearance.

The Commander sank back onto the cot, waiting to see what would happen. It had never actually occurred to him that he would end up in this position. When that damned T-65 had taken the final shot that parted his starboard wing-strut from the mainframe of the cockpit section, he had braced himself for the sudden decompression as escaping oxygen ruptured the cockpit into fragments. Or the brief, agonising burst of flame as his TIE disintegrated around him. But all that had happened was a sickening, lurching spin that had lasted until the massive explosion had smashed wreckage against the remaining wing, stopping the spin and giving him an unparalleled view of the remains of what had been a Star Destroyer.

Anger had locked into the pit of his stomach. Cold, hard hatred that clouded his reasoning leaving him dangerously belligerent as the Rebels had plucked him to safety and escorted him through the corridors of the huge Mon Calamari vessel to the cell. The Lieutenant had already been there, a medical droid tending to the scorched skin across his collarbone and upper arm.

Since then - apart from the polite questions he had refused to answer on the second day and the small, blond woman with a ready smile who occasionally checked on Wolvdaater’s burns - they had been left to their own devices. He wasn’t sure about what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t this courteous disinterest and in the face of that his anger had slowly dissolved.

He had struck up an amiable companionship with Wolvdaater, surprised to find that the Lieutenant seemed resigned to never rejoining the ranks of the Imperial Fleet. More than that, Jon had an uneasy feeling that given the opportunity, Wolvdaater would happily cross over - defect to the Rebels. It was nothing the Lieutenant had said, it was more what he hadn’t said. And, astoundingly, Jon had found himself beginning to wonder about his own motivation.

The Alpelor family had always been actively political. His father had been behind Palpatine for as long as he could remember. He had been scathing about the whining of Mon Mothma and her harpies, citing Palpatine as a visionary who could lead the Worlds into a bright, new future. And Jon had shared that view, celebrating alongside his father when Palpatine had declared himself Emperor.

But now that he had the time to question his motivation, he realised that things had changed subtly since Alderaan – starting with the sudden and unexplained disappearance of a gifted young pilot in his squadron. His questioning of Merkali’s whereabouts had been rebuffed with a curt statement that the boy had been a Rebel sympathiser and an order to mind his own business. The accusation was plausible, Merkali’s home world was Alderaan. But somehow it hadn’t sat quite right with Jon, although his uneasiness had been pushed aside as events had unfolded.

But there were other things now, little things that he had seen or heard and forgotten that were coming back to him, making him realise that for some time now he had doubted his father’s faith in the Emperor. Even more alarming was the realisation that he was beginning to doubt his belief in the oath he had taken as an Officer in the Imperial Navy…

He had a disquieting suspicion that, were the Rebel Alliance to supply the answers the Empire couldn’t or wouldn’t give him, Wolvdaater would not be alone in defecting.

Finally, the door slid back revealing two beige uniformed Rebels. "You wanting something?" one of them asked.

"No!" Wolvdaater retorted, "I’m just banging on the door for the good of my health!"

"Oh," the Rebel replied, smiling in infuriating sweetness, "That’s okay then." He stepped back and the door began to close.

Jon sprang back to his feet. "What the Lieutenant meant to say," he called, walking across to the door, "is that we’d like to see whoever’s in charge." The Rebel had stopped, turning back, the door sliding open again. The Commander continued, "We’ve been rotting here for the last week. We need to know what’s happening."

The Rebel’s smile widened, "Why, you wanting to join up?"

Wolvdaater turned to look at the Commander in wide-eyed astonishment as Jon found himself replying, "That’s very damned likely."

~ * ~

Antilles took a deep breath as the shimmer of hyperspace shattered into the star dappled darkness of normal space, already checking his sensors for anything abnormal. But so far they were alone. Hawkspar’s voice crackled in his earpiece, "All wings report in!"

"Alpha two, standing by."

Kaz listened to the check, making sure that everyone had made it through then ordered, "Roger, Alpha escort. Lock S-foils into attack position. Break point and secure the area."

Eight fighters split into four pairs, their double wing separating to form the familiar X shape that had given the T-65 snub nosed fighter its nickname. Taking up their positions, the pilots searched their assigned area for anything that could potentially turn into an Imperial ship. Kaz checked her chronometer. Two more minutes and the Troubadour and Valiant would be dropping out of hyperspace. The other two ships should arrive not long after that. She keyed her mike, asking, "Anything, Lainy?"

"Nothing, Revered Leader, clear and empty."

"We’re secured here," Antilles told her. "Nothing moving except us fighter aces."

"Complete with over-inflated egos..." Kaz derided.

Wedge grinned, pressing the transmit button, "You didn’t complain last night!"

Lainy’s mouth dropped open and she glared across at the fighter riding on her port side. Xen’s head snapped up as she heard the comment, jerking her attention away from the data screen… Had she just heard what she thought she heard? Then her suspicions were confirmed as the Boss retorted, "Last night was last night, Antilles!"

Suppressing a snigger of devilment, knowing that she was going to get the third degree from Lainy and Xen when they got back, Hawkspar demanded, "Xen, everything clear in your sector?"

Wedge’s grin widened as he heard his one-time Commanding Officer skilfully switch topic. Well, Kaz, he thought, if that doesn’t get them all thinking, nothing will!

Edraa didn’t immediately reply. Hawkspar’s light-hearted mood evaporated abruptly into tension. "Xen?"

"Oh... sorry, Boss. We’re secure here."

The tension faded, but the earlier frivolity seemed somehow inappropriate now, "Paco?"

"Clear and empty, Commander."

"Roger that, Alpha. Keep your eyes open, ninety seconds ‘til the freighters come through."

Her Artoo unit burbled, dumping data onto the screen as Antilles warned, "We’ve got something… Point four six two…"

"I see it!" she confirmed, checking the data. "Keep your cool people, it’s probably one of the freighters." The jump point was forming closest to Paco and Alissha. Kaz thumbed the transmit switch, "Paco, you take point. We’re behind on your six!"

"Roger, Commander!"

Shei watched, fingers hovering over the laser cannon firing buttons, as the two X-wings pirouetted in unison, turning to face the possible danger. Light flashed and a familiar, beetle-shaped vessel shot into normal space, slowing abruptly and gliding in towards them. A voice crackled in her ear, "Alpha escort, Alpha escort, this is the Austen Marke, do you copy?"

Kaz grinned, "Austen Marke, this is Alpha escort, reading you loud and clear."

"Roger that, Alpha. When does the party start?"

Almost on cue the Artoo unit mewled at her again, dropping more data onto the screen, "This should be them now, Austen. Stand by."

~ * ~

As Zeta Flight landed back at the secret location where their missions were to be launched from, Templ thought to himself, Maybe this will work out after all. This plan has a real chance of hurting the Rebellion so hard that it won’t recover. He had to admit grudging admiration for the architect of these manoeuvres. Fleet Commander Martellon really did seem to have it all worked out.

Landing the Interceptor with his usual grace, Templ’s reverie was disrupted as he saw the Deck Officer approach with a purposeful stride, aiming straight at his ship. The Deck Officer waited impatiently for Templ to disengage the hatch, and step out.

"The Commander wants to see you in debrief right away, Flight Leader," he said distractedly. His tone warned Templ that something was up.

"What’s wrong Radan?" he asked with resignation in his voice. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing really, it’s just that the Commander’s in a bit of a mood today that’s all," replied Radan. "Maybe he was playing with his candles again." The talk among the Imperial ranks about Martellon’s Jedi exercises varied from open derision to justifiable awe.

"You really shouldn’t talk like that you know," warned Templ. "You know he can usually manage to get right up behind you without you even knowing." With that, he couldn’t resist a meaningful glance over Radan’s left shoulder. "Greetings Commander," he said to the imaginary person behind the rapidly paling Radan. With a visible gulp, Radan turned round.

"You miserable son of a…" he began, launching into a long tirade of swearwords, generally revolving about the chuckling Templ’s obviously questionable parentage.

Templ cut him off mid flow, "Stop, stop," he said holding up one hand. "You can continue swearing at me later, I’ve got to get to debrief." With that he sauntered away, still chuckling to himself over the look on Radan’s face.

A short while later, Templ found himself in front of Martellon’s huge desk in his official office. The Commander rarely used his office, generally preferring to supervise and give orders in person. Templ returned his attention to his superior officer.

"An excellent mission Flight Leader," Martellon was saying, "things went exactly as planned?" His eyes seemed to gleam with anticipation.

"Yes, Sir."

"And there were no problems with the upgrades?"

"None reported, Sir." Martellon’s eyes flashed dangerously. He quite obviously wanted more from Templ. The trouble was, there really wasn’t much to tell. They arrived, they destroyed, they left again.

"Any comments Flight Leader?"

"I think we might benefit more if the firing rate of the Proton Torpedoes was to be increased, Sir," ventured Templ. The question had caught him off-guard. Martellon never asked questions like that. Maybe Radan was right, he is in a funny mood today.

"That will be taken into consideration Flight Leader. There will be no more debrief sessions after missions, unless something goes wrong. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"That will be all. Good hunting Flight Leader."

~ * ~

The door opened and Elhen Anders looked up as General Rieekan limped through the door into the waiting room. The last time she had seen him he had been lying on a cot in a transport fleeing from the Imperial attack on Hoth, his skin ashen, his legs a bloodied mess. She smiled, standing up as he grinned, shaking her hand, "Hello, Major. How are you?"

"Fine, Sir. Glad to see you up and about."

"Me too," he admitted. "Me too. Well, you’d better come in…" He led her back through the door into a large office where Mon Mothma and another man and woman were waiting. They all smiled in greeting. Rieekan walked towards a chair, sitting at the table as Mon Mothma said, "Thank you for coming, Major. Please, take a seat."

"Thank you, Ma’am," Elhen replied, walking across the soft carpet, sitting in the chair next to Rieekan.

Preoccupied with the details of the plan they had just discussed, Mothma waited until she was settled, then introduced, "Major Elhen Anders, Admiral Larsa Dere and my advisor Darrik Hawkspar." The pleasantries dispensed with, Mothma looked down at the data pads in front of her then back up at Elhen. Her face was the calm, serenity she always wore, but her eyes showed her distress as she asked, "How sure can you be of your information, Major?"

"Until we bring him out and get him through debrief, Ma’am, there’s no way of knowing," Elhen admitted. "But considering what he’s implying, I strongly submit that bringing him out is of paramount importance. The information is too sensitive for any other course of action."

"You’re suggesting, Major Anders, that we send someone into the Imperial capital," Hawkspar said, his voice mirroring his uneasiness at what she outlined.

Elhen turned her dark eyes on him, "Yes, Sir. There’s no other way. Due to the sensitive nature of his work, his disappearance won’t remain unnoticed for long. And it may not give him the time he needs to make it off Coruscant by more ordinary methods without being stopped. We can not take that chance. He has to be assured of a clean escape – someone to go in and bring him out before his absence is noted and they start looking for him."

She looked back at Mon Mothma, "If we lose this information, Ma’am, we’ll be forced to infiltrate the Imperial dockyards on the Bothan home world. That is the only other place, outside of Coruscant, where the information about this new threat is held. And to do that successfully will take months…"

Mothma looked at her, finishing her train of thought, "Months that the Alliance may not have…"

There was an uneasy silence as Mon Mothma studied the data pad again, "I take it that you already have someone in mind for this assignment, Major?"

"Yes, Ma’am…"

~ * ~

Baz had tried going back to take Hobbie to the canteen but there had been no answer to the door chime and guessing that the pilot might have fallen asleep he’d not pressed the issue. So now, at a loss for something to do, he found himself wandering into the hanger. The ground crews had settled in to wait out the mission. Some had left for the rec area but most had stayed in the hanger, huddled into scattered groups where they had broken out the sabacc cards or the dice.

Aryes Drayke’s gaze flicked in deliberately calculated nervousness from the cards in his hand to Andi Sedalby, sitting on the crate opposite. The other players had already folded and Ary was hoping that he had convinced Xen Edraa’s Chief that he was only bluffing. The stakes were high – Andi had just taken delivery of four bottles of Sullustan Glid wine and Ary knew a certain pilot who would give them a good home… Well, three of them anyway…

Andi looked back at him, his eyes revealing nothing. Then slowly a grin spread across his lips and he leant forward, fanning the eight cards out on the deck in front of him, "Gemstone run!"

All attention turned to Hawkspar’s Chief. Ary licked his lips and sighed, leaning forward to fan his own cards out on the deck, "Ruling run with quad ten!"

Sedalby’s mouth dropped open as a cheer erupted from Ary’s techs. In the far corner of the hanger, grouped round the Deck Officer’s niche, Flight Enilra and Catterin Poom-Bar glanced across then turned back to the Deck Officer.

"No," Poom-Bar vouched to them, "I saw it with my very own eyes - Wedge Antilles and the Commander leaving her quarters yesterday morning at bird’s tweet past dawn!"

Orise Ymra glanced at the Flight then looked back at Omega’s Supply Officer, narrowing her eyes, "But you’re not on the same deck. How come you saw this?"

Catterin made a small sound of disgust, glancing upwards in exasperation at the Deck Officer’s obvious distrust of what she had witnessed with her own two eyes, "Because the Rookie had arrived in the middle of the night with Antilles’ lot and we had no idea he was arriving. I didn’t want the Commander walking into a situation she knew nothing about."

Orise gave her a flat, level look. The explanation sounded plausible enough… And yet… "So you’re trying to tell me that Antilles arrives in the middle of the night and for no apparent reason goes looking for Hawkspar…"

"That," Lori supplied, with a smirk of intrigue, "is where the plot starts to thicken! Antilles and the Commander go way back to before Alderaan. Apparently she was his C.O. on Dantooine."

The Deck Officer looked at her, "And you know that because…?"

Lori grinned, assuring her, "It comes straight from Kal’Ten!"

"Yeh!" Orise derided, all the story’s credibility evaporating at the mention of Lainy’s name. "And of course you’re going to believe the great Ell Mo!" She shook her head, "It’s so obviously a wind up!"

"So how do you explain what I saw?" Poom-Bar demanded.

Orise opened her mouth to reply, but was saved by the chime of her com console. Shaking her head, she pressed the button, "Deck Officer Ymra."

"Heads up, Deck," the disembodied voice of a bridge officer told her, "Four X-wings inbound to you, just dropped out of hyperspace."

Orise hit another button on the console, glancing at Lori who was already pushing herself out of the seat. The alarm began warbling through the hanger as Ymra asked, "The Knights back so soon?"

"Negative," the bridge officer replied, "Omega’s replacements arriving early…"

"Copied. Deck Officer out." She toggled the switch, ordering, "All ground crew evacuate Section One! All ground crew evacuate Section One! Marshallers to your positions - four inbound T-65!"

~ * ~

Time was dragging on. The Austen Marke had docked with the Troubadour, the personnel-cargo exchange almost finished - and the Coral Brekin had yet to make an appearance. Beginning to get a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach, Kaz Hawkspar checked her chronometer again. Fifty-three minutes. The rendezvous time had been fifty-three minutes ago. Where the hells was the Coral?

"Alpha Leader," a voice called, breaking into her thoughts, "this is the Austen Marke. Our passengers are secured and the last of the cargo has just been transferred. We’re ready to go when you are, Ma’am."

Kaz swore silently, finally forced into making the decision she had hoped not to have to make. But there was nothing else she could do. They couldn’t risk the other ships… "Roger, Austen, standby. Rogue Leader, did you copy?"

"Affirm," Wedge told her.

"Get them out of here, Antilles," she ordered quietly.

Wedge’s thumb hovered for a moment over the mike switch as he considered suggesting that they all stick around and wait for the Coral to arrive. Then he changed his mind, duty tugging at his conscience and reminding him that he was responsible for the safety of the Valiant and the Austen. As hard as it was for him to accept, as difficult as it was for him to give the order, the decision on whether or not to wait for the Coral Brekin was Hawkspar’s, not his. The joint assignment had ended the moment the Austen had reported ready to go. Reluctantly he acknowledged, "Aye, Commander." Then he ordered, "Rogue squadron, form up and set jump co-ordinates."

Kaz hit the transmit switch again as she watched the X-wings break position, gliding in towards the two freighters. "Troubadour, this is Knight Leader. Let me know when you’re ready to jump."

"We’re locked and loaded, Knight Leader," Rishard’s voice told her, "Ready to jump on your orders."

"Rogue Leader to Knight Leader, ready to jump." It had been a while since they had served together, but Kaz hadn’t changed. Wedge had a fair idea of what she would do and knew that he would do exactly the same thing in her position, no matter how crazy it seemed. "Force be with you," he told her.

He didn’t give her time to reply, ordering Rogue and the freighters to jump. From the bridge of the Troubadour, Rishard Bess watched them go. Then Hawkspar’s voice crackled over the speakers, "Troubadour, lock jump co-ordinates and standby. Knights Three and Four will escort you back to the Home Two."

Rishard glanced across at his First Officer, his own surprise mirrored on the other man’s face. Surely she couldn’t mean what she implied? Bess hit the comms switch, querying, "Knight Leader, say again…"

"Lock jump co-ordinates and standby. Knights Three and Four will escort you back to the Home Two."

Bess shook his head, her words confirming what she intended to do. He understood the Commander’s position even if he didn’t like the odds. The Coral was, after all, only an hour late and he knew, better than most, what even a small detour could cost in timing. He’d been late for a few rendezvous in his time, citing caution over speed. It was one of the things that had kept him alive when other Alliance Captains had lost their ships to Imperial attack. And he also understood that if they were to be attacked on the journey back to the Home Two it wouldn’t make much difference whether there were four or only two fighters trying to protect the ship – the outcome would be the same. He had known that, as did the rest of his crew, when he had volunteered the Troubadour for this mission.

He nodded to his First Officer, who turned towards the navigation console as Bess toggled the switch again. "Roger that, Knight Leader," he confirmed. "Standby."

~ * ~

Lieutenant Masrya Wolvdaater and Commander Jon Alpelor were shown through the door into a sparsely appointed, if comfortable, office. The dark-haired man behind the desk rose to his feet, welcoming them with a half smile, walking round the desk towards them. "Gentlemen," he greeted, "I am Vice-Admiral Notrahw, Alliance officer in command of this vessel. I gather that you wished to see me?"

Wolvdaater glanced nervously across at Alpelor who looked straight ahead, gaze fixed on the Vice-Admiral. "We’ve been here for over a week now," the Commander began in his lilting Ishirian accent, "and frankly, it’s getting kind of tedious. We would like to know what arrangements have been made for either our return to the ranks of the Imperial navy, or to some sort of prison?"

The Vice-Admiral regarded him for a long moment, then admitted, "In all honesty…" he trailed off, holding out a hand to invite the dark-haired man to supply his name.

Jon looked back at him, then provided, "Commander Jon Alpelor."

Notrahw smiled, "In all honesty, Commander Alpelor, so much has happened over the past few days that we haven’t really given any consideration to your position." The smile disappeared, replaced by a calculatingly shrewd look, "However, I’m told that you may not be unreceptive to the possibility of joining the ranks of the Alliance."

Jon continued to give him a flat look. Then admitted, "That is one possibility…"

The Vice-Admiral smiled again, turning his dark-brown gaze onto the Lieutenant. "Are you in agreement with your Commander…?"

Masrya frowned, evading, "Maybe…"

"I understand," Notrahw confided, realising that the blond man would not willingly admit his true wishes in front of the Commander. "Perhaps if I were to continue this interview separately…"

"There’s probably no need for that," Jon rejected. "As long as you can answer a few questions?"

Notrahw looked back at him, his voice sincere as he confirmed, "Commander, if it is within my power, I will answer any question that you may have."

"Do you keep records of Imperial personnel who join you?"

The Vice-Admiral looked at him, trying to gauge whether the question was being asked honestly or not. But he could see the turmoil behind the Commander’s passive façade and answered, "We don’t have a comprehensive list, I’m afraid. But if you tell me who you are looking for, I will do my best to find any information we may have on them."

Jon heard and believed the sincerity in the Rebel officer’s voice. So he continued, "Imperial personnel who are taken prisoner, like us… are they returned to the Empire or held in detention somewhere?"

There was a slight pause, then the Vice Admiral answered, "Any Imperial personnel who wish to return to the Empire are escorted to an Empire friendly planet where they can rejoin the ranks."

Jon took a deep breath, knowing that Wolvdaater was looking at him with a mixture of awe and discomfort, knowing that his own future hung on what he was about to ask. "Merkali Sentini," he began finally. "I want to know if you have a Merkali Sentini from Alderaan flying for you. And Dov Pirni from Corellia."

Notrahw nodded, realising that the information must be very important to this man, repeating, "Merkali Sentini of Alderaan and Dov Pirni of Corellia. I can’t promise you anything, but I will do what I can."

~ * ~

"Lainy, take Shei and escort the Troubadour back to the Home Two. Xen, you’re with me. We’ll give the Coral some more time then head back."

Shei blinked, nervous uncertainty reflected in the dark grey colour of her eyes. Surely Commander Hawkspar could not be suggesting that they split up? Had the Commander forgotten that she had only a few hours in the T-65? Hesitantly, she pressed the mike switch, "Commander… I have little experience to draw on."

"I know, Shei," Hawkspar told her, "that’s why I’m sending you with Lainy. If anything happens just do as she tells you."

"Understood, Commander."

"Lainy," Hawkspar asked, "you copy that?"

"Copied, Revered Leader!" Kal’Ten assured her, already turning her fighter and heading towards the Troubadour.

Kaz paused for a second then admitted, "I wouldn’t be splitting us up if I didn’t think you could hold your own, Shei."

Redav smiled, "Understood, Commander."

"Knight Leader, this is the Troubadour. We’re ready to jump."

"Roger, Troubadour. Lainy…?"

"Copied, Knight Leader," Kal’Ten replied. Fingers dancing across the console, she cross-checked the data from her Artoo unit then switched to the tactical display, looking round for Shei, "Knight Four, form up on my starboard side. Lock co-ordinates…"

Shei turned her fighter, pulling up along Lainy’s right side, "Co-ordinates locked in."

"Roger that! Troubadour, jumping in five… four… three…"

Kaz watched the ships accelerate forward into hyperspace then sighed softly. A voice in her earpiece chided gently, "I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with… S."

Kaz laughed, turning to look across at Xen who was riding just off her port wing, "Superbly competent Commanding Officer?"

"That," Xen informed her, "wasn’t exactly what I was thinking."

"Don’t worry," Hawkspar assured her, "we’ll give the Coral thirty, maybe forty minutes. Then we’ll get the hells out of here."

~ * ~

The ground engineers flooded in towards the X-wings as the engines spooled down and the canopies cracked back, hissing open. Catterin watched from the Deck Officer’s niche as the pilot’s stood up pulling off their helmets and tossing greetings to the crew. She did a double take, "Wil…?" Her mouth dropped open, "Wil!" Then all movement in the hanger stopped as she screamed and launched herself through the melee.

The pilot turned as he jumped off the last few steps of the ladder and onto the hanger floor. And then grinned inanely in exhilarated surprise as the small dark-haired Supply Officer launched herself at him, wrapping her arms round his neck and squealing in delight. He hugged her back, twirling her round, sending engineers stumbling backwards. Then he dropped her back onto the ground, kissing her soundly on the mouth, the ground crews breaking into a raucous applause, shouting and whistling around them.

Finally he pulled away, "Well, if I’d known I was going to get a reception like this I’d have come to the Home Two sooner!"

Catterin giggled, wrapping her arms round his neck again, "Oh, Gods, but it’s good to see you."

"To see me?" he laughed, hugging her tightly again. "Hells, woman, I’ve been trying to track you down for the last six months! When did you join up?"

"When the two of you are quite finished," Flight Enilra interrupted, walking up to them and standing with her fists on her hips, "will you kindly get the hells out of the way and let my engineers get on with their work!"

Poom-Bar went a delightful shade of red and Wil let her go, draping his arm round her shoulder, "Sorry, Flight. But what’s a man supposed to do when he hasn’t seen his wife for over a year?"

~ * ~