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The first time you kiss Luke Skywalker, you’re playing Secrets and Servants with the rest of Rogue Squadron.
The Remembrance is on hiatus. The huge ship is tucked away in a quiet pocket of space, light years from any mapped planet, far off the usual hyperspace routes. Repair crews crawl the hull and have taken over the engine room.
Starfighter pilots plus enforced boredom tends to lead to bad decisions.
Wedge Antilles is sprawled on a cushioned bench in the corner of the ship's lowest-level lounge. He’s got one boot up on the upholstery, one on the floor. You have your back against the bottom of the bench, one arm over Wedge’s thigh. Cass Karwey is leaning on your other side. Flash Jannsin’s slouched in the corner of a couch across the room, legs stretched across Luke’s lap, ankles crossed. Luke's got his drink resting on Flash's shin.
The other pilots of Rogue Squadron, half of Blue Squadron, and a couple of Pathfinders are perched around the small, square room, backs against each other's knees, arms over shoulders, balanced on laps.
It’s dark down here. The whole ship is running on low power, energy funneled to the repair droids and macro welders that will get things running properly again. Overhead lights buzz and flicker with a dim yellow glow.
The light makes everybody look awful. With the air scrubbers running at half speed, the place is stuffy and over-warm.
You could have been in the upper deck lounge, where panes of claristeel let the starlight in. But you've all seen enough wide-open space to last you awhile. Sitting in a starfighter cockpit, surrounded by durasteel and tech, is one laser cannon blast away from being out there in pure vacuum.
If you want to find pilots on a capital ship, look in the interior spaces.
You're passing around bottles and filling up duraplast cups, cheap whiskey spilling onto each other’s shoulders and thighs and boots. The rule today is Secrets First: Answer the question or take the stupidest dare a bunch of drunk star jockeys can think of.
Flash refuses to say who shared his bunk last night, which means it was probably someone in this room. He spends the rest of the round in a headstand in the corner. Cass asks Wedge to choose between Princess Leia and Han Solo, and he cheerfully raises a glass before admitting, both.
Then Cass goes silent at the same question, and now she isn't allowed to put her shirt back on until someone says the word “hyperdrive.” (That one’s a Rogue Squadron tradition. Follie Fireseer once spent three days with his orange jumpsuit zipped to the neck while the whole team made it through three briefings and two battles referring to hyperdrive as lightspeed, hyperspace engines, and going-really-fast.)
And then it's your turn again. The first round you answered the question about your dumbest mistake in battle. Everyone already knew, they just like to hear you say it: Nearly taking out Wedge Antilles on your first mission is the reason you have the word “left” tattooed on the back of that hand.
The second round, Follie asked if you had a crush on anyone and you said yes. You thanked the gods of drinking games that everyone stood up for you when you refused to say who.
“Only one question, Folls!”
“You'll have to wait till next time to find out if it's you!”
Now you’re in the third round, and Wedge gets to ask the question. He nudges you with his foot and you scoot away, far enough so you can look up at him from your spot on the floor. He looks you over while he sips at his whisky, and you quickly regret moving: you should have kept your back to him. But if you move again, everyone will know you're trying to hide.
“Have you ever…” he begins, then stops, takes another drink. You stare back and try to keep your face blank, your eyes still. Don’t ask me, please don’t ask me...
“When's the last time you…”
Is he going to let it go? You don't know what your face does when you're feeling hopeful but whatever it is, you're trying not to let it do that.
“OK,” Wedge says, finally, grinning at you over his drink. “Who?”
Maybe you can get away with it! “Who?” could mean anything. But the minute you try it--”You mean who… did I see with you at breakfast?”--you're drowned out by everyone else.
“No cheating!”
“Answer it!”
You're not going to, though. It's too mortifying. You give Wedge your best “I will not succumb to this torture” glare and say, “Servant.” You'll take the dare instead.
He waits out the hoots and laughter and calls of “You lose, Antilles!”
Then he says, calm as anything, “Go kiss Skywalker.”