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Thoughts of Yavin 4 streamed through Erik Carrigan’s mind as he looked out upon the sterile chasm of space. Sure, lazing about on a carrier ship for a few weeks wasn’t totally tortuous. Resources were adequate enough for engineers to uphold the sturdy status of New Republic spacecraft, and the crew weren’t without a sufficient food supply that could easily last them a disastrous breakdown. Yet, Erik felt confined by the desolate atmosphere and dense lack of warmth aroused from overstimulating vents wafting isolating drafts into the air. With these factors combined, Erik soon found himself wishing for the wistful, tranquil solitude that had been marked by Yavin 4’s balmy rains and finely-tuned dry nights.
Earlier in the day (if you could really call it one in the middle of space), Erik and Wedge Antilles had made considerable strides in refining their freshly acquired fleet of Rogue Squadron pilots. Yes, they were admittedly adept in their skill, but the whole fleet desperately needed some sort of regulation—particularly in attitude and temper. But, Erik couldn’t really blame them. They were still fairly young and hadn’t been nearly as hardened by the war as he and Wedge had been.
Even now, Erik could recall his juvenile passions, especially that eager shyness and yearning which permeated within him. Though at first he found exhilaration in his fledgling flights alongside the Rebellion, he soon had to face the Empire’s gut wrenching vigor too—a strength almost supremely invincible before Luke Skywalker came along.
Nevertheless, even seven years after the first Death Star’s destruction, Erik suffered agonizing nightmares encompassing his closest friends disintegrating under the force of vigorous TIE fighters striking them without pity. He shuddered at the knowledge that those losses had intrinsically built the New Republic. But, he reminded himself that they would have been proud to see the Empire left in dispersed ruins.
Suddenly, Erik jolted from this suffocating contemplation as a warm touch cascaded over his shoulder. Looking up, Erik detected a snug smile caressing Wedge’s lips, his hand leaving a comfortable trace on Erik’s shoulder before he swiftly veered toward the opposite side of the window-seat.
“May I sit?” Wedge asked politely.
“Sure,” Erik replied, shrugging casually.
His friend hummed softly in response, settling down onto the seat.
The lengthy hall surrounding them had allotted 8 windows arranged within single metal enclosures beside seats notched with red cushions, all which were very comfortable to those who found solace in them.
Erik resumed looking out the window, now only slightly distracted by Wedge’s presence, something he ineffectively hid. Conversely, Wedge gazed at his friend, unraveling Erik’s aloof expression.
“Deep in thought?” Wedge began.
“Hm?”
“You looked deep in thought,” Wedge repeated. “Something on your mind?”
“I don’t know,” Erik shrugged his shoulders. Though, simply, he immediately resigned himself, exhaling. “Just…Yavin.”
“Ah.” Wedge nodded, nonchalant, instantly understanding. “Yavin…” Wistfully he spoke, his gaze falling upon the shimmering ravine laid before them. The stars, burning intensely, were practically blinding, bestowing anyone who would stare too long, the plague of vexing phosphenes.
Wedge returned his attention to Erik, who’d been eyeing him. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about Yavin, too.” He chuckled tenderly, “I guess it’s this ship—three days feels like three weeks.” Wedge gestured to the metal enclosure.
“You hate it too?” Erik straightened himself, relieved that Wedge shared his sentiment. “I was scared I was the only one. Its so, so–”
“Stuffy?”
“Exactly!” He assented.
“And cold,” Wedge added.
“Yeah.”
“Man, I can’t believe I ever complained about Yavin!” Equipped with a conspicuous grin, Wedge scratched the hairs forming at the tip of his chin. “Hey, remember Hoth?”
“Hoth! Oh force, how could I forget?” Erik chuckled, running his fingers through tufts of auburn hair. “Y’know, at least we always had something to do on Hoth. I mean, all we do right now is eat, sleep, train, rinse and repeat.”
“Yeah, but I mean, didn’t we kinda do the same thing on Hoth?”
“True, but that was a whole planet—a really, really, cold lonely one at that—but this is an old carrier ship.” He slumped back in his seat, “And somehow that’s worse.”
“Yeah,” Wedge conceded, nodding with the deflation of his smile. His attention wavered, fleeing to the calm reserve of stars speckling beyond thick safety glass.
Strangely, a hazy veil of silence flickered over the pair. Never ones for hushed voices, they were usually lively in conversation, interrupting one another with rapid fire quips backed by a vast array of quarrels that would both delight and sometimes annoy anyone unfortunate enough to be graced by their presence. For Erik and Wedge, silence was formidable, so they rarely indulged in it, lest they be secluded for too long.
Maybe, Erik pondered amidst the sweltering calm, that was what had restored his mind of those ceaseless days spent on Yavin 4.
Among the peace that momentarily settled over scattered fragments of the galaxy since the Empire’s prominent disillusion, silent prose had become recurrent for the old friends. During their younger years, a soothing calm swept through Yavin, arriving as the drum of wind or rain. Thrumming heartbeats had been welcome too—when no one was looking—but the Empire’s impending doom suffocated any underlying desires left to imagine. Silence unraveled, no longer a breath of fresh air. Restful notions became moments to assess whether or not a TIE fighter was above or below you. Stillness transformed into concerns of wary sleep and winding plans spoken of in briefing rooms. Delusory peace no longer granted satisfaction.
Thus, with all this time to stop and recollect before initiating action, a resilient tranquility returned.
Bathing in each other’s presence, the window reflected an image of a far younger Erik and Wedge. One that hadn’t been tattered by the epoch of war, friends lost to petrifying massacres, or numerous other instances that fluttered through their unconsolable minds at the dead of night. Nestled finely among the lush cushions, they hadn’t the mind to denote those awful things. Here, they could only find solitude in their fondest memories together.
The time they had met, when scrawny Wedge welcomed a malnourished Erik to the rebel fleet on Yavin. The stars in Erik’s eyes illuminating with festering awe as he watched battered X-Wing’s delve into the air, thrusting towards space. Something swelling in his bloated heart when Wedge offered Erik the kindest smile just before he opened an X-Wing cockpit, coaxing them into their first flight while everyone else on the base was asleep. Even the tender kiss that stung Erik’s cheek as Wedge hugged him tight after hurtling down from his X-Wing.
Each of these memories encapsulated the stirring passion which Erik’s soul desired even more now than when he had joined the Rebellion. Despite the suffering he’d endured, a part of him believed he’d do it all again if the chance were offered. The years laid behind by the Rebellion were filled with vile, soul-crushing experiences; yet, through it all, Erik always had a snug shoulder to lean on, a friend to utter sweet nothings to on the loneliest evenings, and someone he could count on in the air when it counted the most.
And, that friend was—after all this time—still here, settled across from him, his eyes entranced by the twinkling void of space.
Unable to withstand a nanosecond more of indomitable quiet, Erik spoke.
“Wedge?”
His friend hummed in response, eye’s drawn away from the glass.
“Yeah?”
“Are the X-Wing’s still on the deck?” A salient smirk flickered on his lips.
“Oh, yeah, they’re where we left them.” He answered before pausing, withdrawing as his own grin formed. “Erik, I know that face—what’re you thinking?”
Erik’s smile widened, “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m thinking.”
Before either of them could process it, they rushed through the corridors, their shoes clattering against glossed vinyl, while emitting snickering echoes as boyishly as when they’d first borrowed those Rebel ships on Yavin 4, unremorsefully ready to fly out into the open air.
Although they’d fought a treacherous war, inside them they cradled a childhood glee ringing in their step when it could, even if a bit adolescent trouble followed when it did.