A/N: Amazing! This is my first semi-serious story. Hope you like it. By the way, parts are AU (especially Wedge's history), parts are not. I hate some of the EU stuff (like the Yuzzon Vong—which I can't spell), though most of it is okay.

Disclaimer: Isn't. Wish it were.

All OCs are mine -- no kidding. It's all next generation.

For those who are confused: turbo lifts are elevators, caf is coffee and the refresher is the bathroom.

Chapter 1: Not Sick

There was only one word to describe how Wedge Antilles felt as he lay in bed that morning. Most unfortunately, his insistence to never swear prevented him from using it.

Being late fall on Corescant, it was quite cool, but even thought the window to his apartment was wide open, Wedge felt hot.

And sweaty.

And tired.

But he wasn't sick. Wedge doesn't get sick.

It took him a full ten minutes to drag himself out of bed and into the refresher. He took a hot shower, as was his habit, then wrapped a towel around his waist and proceeded to brush his hair.

Maybe the hot shower hadn't been a good idea because he suddenly felt so dizzy that he had to sit right down on the floor for a minute. Once he had recovered enough to do so, he got up and looked at himself in the mirror.

His face was pale (or paler than usual; he had light skin) and contrasted sharply with his black hair, thick eyebrows, and dark green eyes.

And beard stubble.

Shaving was an unusually monumentous task that morning; it was almost as hard as it had been the first time he'd done it when he was fourteen, and had no idea what he was doing, and was living with his mother who obviously didn't have any idea either, and was too embarrassed to com his dad on Alderaan to ask.

He fared a bit better this time than he had then though: he only cut himself on the jaw and not too badly. Even in Star Wars, Band-aids fix everything that duct tape can't.

But of course he wasn't sick.

He got dressed the best he could, though his shoes kept ending up on the wrong feet, his shirt got caught in his fly, and he almost straggled himself putting his tie on.

His usual quick mug of caf didn't make him feel any better.

Which was strange because caf can fix anything that Band-aids and duct tape can't.

But he wasn't sick.

Someone was standing in the turbo lift when the door dinged open for Wedge. He was a taller man, thin, with short, fine, blond hair and blue eyes. "Hey, Tycho," said Wedge listlessly, which Tycho seemed to notice.

"Hey, Wedge, you look a little pale…you feeling OK? The flu's going around and…"

"I'm fine, Ty, honestly." Wedge hasted to assure him. When he continued to look worried, Wedge joked, "Alderaanians: they love to worry."

"Corellians: too thick headed to notice a problem 'til it bites them in the butt," Tycho countered.

"Wow, harsh," chuckled Wedge. "Not enough caf this morning?"

"You know I don't drink the stuff."

"Winter annoying you?"

"Hmph," Tycho hmph-ed, "Like you know anything about women and being married….No it's just that, well, I don't think some of the stuff you do is good for your health."

"What," asked Wedge, "like playing Sabacc?"

"Well, we know that's not good for your wallet, but what I mean is, like, not enough sleep. You should see yourself on some of those missions: you keep yourself awake by drinking caf and looking at Iella."

"What? No I don't!"

"Well, I'm not being entirely serious, I'm not Hobbie, I don't think you're going to die tomorrow, but with your normal sleep pattern (or lack of one) I'd say you're due for a week in bed with the flu sometime soon."

"Whatever," said Wedge, not listening.

Because he wasn't sick.

The turbo lift doors dinged opened and Tycho got out. "See you Wedge!" he called after him.

Down one floor and the doors opened again. A portly, bald man entered the turbo lift. Wedge got out as soon as he saw him.

Even three minutes in a confined space with General Salm is too much, as far as Wedge was concerned.

The stairs were at the other end of the hall; he would take them.

The air in the stairs area was muggy, warm, and stale.

The stairs were steep.

High.

Metal.

Then everything went black.

A/N: Heh heh, aren't I evil? I love myself. Please review if the muse strikes you, or whatever.

A/N 2: Someone tell me: is it "tie-co' or 'tie-cho'? Is it 'Sell-chew' or 'Kell-chew' or something else? Ah!