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Wedge sat listening to his pilots arguing (half seriously, half jokingly) about shower schedules and roommates’ sleep patterns and how it all amounted to them loosing the war games to the Wraiths…it was pure chaos. Same shit, different day. Wedge took a deep breath, preparing to call for the Rogues to relax and eat the surprisingly good food from catering, when a scream pierced the air. Whipping his head around to see what was happening, adrenaline already rushing through his veins to provide calm clarity in a bad situation, Wedge saw… Wes Janson starring horrified at Tal'dira as he bit into a chocolate fruit, like a piece of fruit. As one does.
“NO!” Wes honked! “It has sections! You peel them apart and eat them in slivers!” Looking Wes straight in the eye, Tal'dira took another bite, causing the chocolate fruit to crumble into pieces in his hands. Clearly, Tal'dira was having some fun by annoying Wes, and Wes was happily feeding into it. Everyone laughed and started egging on the two pilots, raising their voices as another playful argument ensued. Shaking his head Wedge stood up and meandered to the hallway. He seemed to need more and more time alone these days. He loved his found family, but damn if they weren't straight chaos some days. Some days? Most days… No. Everyday.
Every single day it was chaos combined with the horrible monotony of paperwork. Everyday he would think he could get caught up, only to realized that after putting out fires all day—mostly in the form of paperwork, meetings, and disciplining junior officers—he was left with a dozen more fires. And the gross amount he still had from previous days. He was, put simply, drowning. Maybe I should take some time off…everyone’s been bugging me to. At that Wedge slowed his walk and then did an about face, heading to his office to put in a formal request for some vacation. All the vacation.
Wedge turned on his computer and clicked on his messages expectantly. Today he should have his final approval for his vacation month. A whole month! Without reading the subject line, Wedge opened the message from Starfleet Command and saw “For Eyes Only!” in bold red letters, and felt the flash of the scanner checking his eyes. Fuck, was his only thought. Reading through the document he realized that yet another war was brewing and the Rogues would be front line…again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck.” He mumbled as read and realized this might take months, or even years, to resolve.
A knock at the door interrupted the string of increasingly foul profanity in various languages as he called “Come in!” and hit the button to temporarily blackout the screen. “Hey, Wedge! You get your approval in today?” asked Tycho cheerfully. He paused and looked closer, “They delay it again?” Nodding, Wedge shrugged and said, “Maybe tomorrow. In the mean time, how about you tell me what happened with the pranksters and the…foaming paint, was it?”—at Tycho's nod he continued—“and the shower stalls.” As Tycho launched into the tale of three “mysterious pranksters” (who would undoubtedly turn out to be Wes, Hobbie, and Tal'dira) Wedge thought had one thought running through his head, Things keep happening. I just want it to stop…please
That night Wedge sat on his thin mattress, exhausted from the day, and thought about the message that said war was brewing. How he and his family would be front line and slowly die from attrition, all their needs being neglected by Command, he would likely give the orders that would kill them, and…something snapped. He calmly stood up and began packing his few belongings in a bag. He was taking his vacation month. It was that or… No. Don’t think that way. You just need a vacation month. Tycho and Hobbie and Wes will hold the fort down for a month. Just pack. Holos? Check. Memento case? Check. Hygiene pack? Check… As he went down the list he took calming breaths and packed like he was moving to a new base. He left a brief note to Tycho saying he needed his vacation, he would be back, he was sorry for leaving unexpectedly. He signed it with a previous agreed upon phrase from years prior to indicate this was freely written. As Wedge turned around and walked out the door to freedom, temporary though it was, he began to feel more relaxed. He needed this. They would understand.
Wedge stood on the dirt road and looked around. It was nice here. Green and lush, though a bit too humid, with the promise of fairly mild winters. He walked to the local store and grabbed supplied for his new kitchen and ‘fresher. A bathroom, he corrected himself. People tended to laugh if he called it a ‘fresher. His new home, rented though it was, was his. Mine, all mine. He had signed the lease yesterday and was moving in today. That meant supplies like soap, towels, food processors, and actual food. He also needed detergent for the washing machine on the screened in porch. As Wedge went through his large list he saw some folks looking at him. He waited for the inevitable questions about how he planned on running the refueling station he had bought from the previous owner 3 days ago. Dooma had said she was giving him 2 weeks to do the “hard bit of earning folks’ trust” and then she was retiring somewhere. Dooma never said where, but Wedge could respect that. After all he had walked away from everything and everyone he knew three months ago. All he had left was a note, at least Dooma was saying her goodbyes in person.
As he shopped, Wedge wondered how his friends were doing in the latest war. And wondered for the 15,475th time how no one had found him yet. He wasn’t exactly hiding. He had used his legal name to purchase the refueling station and rent his house…though small backwater planets like this didn’t necessarily update with the galactic computer systems on a regular basis. Or ever, if I am being honest. Worked during the rebellion, works for me now. Wedge finished shopping and paid.
As he walked to the road, 4 locals meandered up. “Howdy-doo?” asked what appeared to be the leader. “Got a ques’ion for you if you don’ mind ans’win’ it.” Wedge looked at what was clearly a farmer and replied, “Shoot.” He had learned quickly that any other answer was met with confusion, suspicion, or an “Okay, city-boy.” “Well, me an’ them and our par’ners were won’drin’ if you plan on keeping the fuel station open at night during the ‘portant seasons. Ya’know, plantin’ and harvestin’ and the equinoxes. Its ‘portant because we’re using a lotta fuel in those days and if we hafta wait ‘til mornin’, even early mornin’, that could cause us to loose plantin’ and harvestin’ time. And that’ll leave us with empty pantries come end o winter.” The man had let everything out in one breath and seemed genuinely concerned that Wedge was planning to keep regular hours during the important seasons.
Wedge smiled. “I’m Wedge, nice to meet you. I plan on keeping the station open as long and as often as needed. I’m planning on hiring the local kids to help after school and during winters, and a couple extra hands to help for the ‘portant seasons. Anything else you’d like to know?” As he spoke, Wedge began walking slowly to his house. The group of farmers looked relieved and the leader spoke up, “ I’m Stebbiah, and these are my brothers and siblings-in-family: Rozial, Jorgie, and Kaziah.” The men and woman nodded as they were introduced. “We got the farms up by the crick and the wash. Good water, ‘cept in the rainy season, but that’s what wells are for, hey?” As they fell into step by Wedge they each grabbed a bag and started giving advice, history, and local lore.
By the time they reached the house and helped put everything away it seemed that Wedge had four new friends. They left him with the promise to “come back on the rest days to help set up the house, and fix a proppa meal! This ain’ food, damnit!” And somehow their partners, and kids, and their friends and neighbors all showed up too. It immediately turned into affectionate chaos. But this time Wedge didn’t mind it as much. He was confused at first how he wasn’t ready to run away again. And then realized he wasn’t scared they would die on him. He didn’t fear the end of this moment because there would be a thousand more to come before any of them died. Wedge felt his body relax as he smiled, listening to his new friends and neighbors tease him for his lousy cooking. Home. I’m home.
6 months later Wedge sat at his desk in the refueling station’s small office and pretended to not listen to a couple of “local-but-from-the-next-town-to-the-next-town-over” as they put it, teenage girls discuss “the mystery of Antilles.” He smirked slightly as one girl said in a not-at-all-a-whisper “I’m tellin’ you he’s Wedge Antilles’ clone! Otherwise the military would show up an’ drag him back in to a cour’ marshal in binders an’ disgrace! No way they would leave him here if he wasn’t a completely useless an’ illegal clone!" The second girl scoffed. “Ha! That’s not what I heard. I heard he had plas’ic surgery to look like Wedge Antilles to play him in a holo, but had to getta dodge ‘cause of gambling debts to the Hutts!" "Then how come his name is leg’lly Wedge Antilles?" Girl 1 huffed. Girl 2, with some triumph in her voice, declared, “Because he legally changed his name! The real Wedge Antilles only has one ‘L’ in his name! Mmmhmmm, that’s right! Look it up!”
By this point Wedge was almost blue in the face from holding in his laughter, and just about lost it when the girls’ guardian walked over and began scolding them about “gossipin’ ‘bout that poor, lonely man!” To which girl 2 sassily snarked that “Well if you like him so much maybe sleep with him instead of the plumber from down the road, at least this one bathes!” And flounced off. The humiliated guardian then asked girl 1 if the plumber really stank that bad? To which she replied, not unkindly, “Uncle Dove, ya smell like the plumber for three days after you meet up…maybe it’s time to spand your horiz’ns.” Wedge held his breath until the outer shop door closed and then immediately burst into bellyaching laughter. When he had calmed down enough to think the only thought that came to mind was, Oh, yeah, no one is ever finding me out here. I’m a weird enough legend already that no one is gonna believe that it’s really me. My visibility has made me invisible.
Epilogue: Eventually, Wedge did contact his friends and let everyone know he was safe, he was not coming back (though they could and should visit him.) He would even give them a discount on fuel. Tycho, Hobbie, and Wes were all happy to hear from him but didn’t seem at all surprised at his location and new vocation. Which made Wedge smile.
A few weeks later a couple of military men knocked on his door in the morning. Wedge handed them the cease and desist letter on a disc that his lawyer had written. In essence, the letter said that based on the military’s own laws Wedge had every right to leave and that it was not his fault that their computer systems had lost his resignation letter. That he had done his part and it was no longer his responsibility to cover for the ineptitude of his former superiors. The only reply Wedge received from the military was a single line that read “Well played. Enjoy retirement.” Grinning, which was something Wedge did a lot of now, he continued on in his correspondence to Tycho, confirming that he and the Rogues were still on their way there. A visit will be good. It’ll be nice to see family again, even messy and complicated family. I can’t wait to see you all.