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It was a straightforward mission, all things considered. Sneak in on public transport. Find the contact. Get the data card. Sneak back to the extraction point. Then back to base at lightspeed.
Never mind that Wedge and Luke were pilots, not spies. Wedge foresaw a lot more of this sort of work in his future, work he had absolutely not been trained for but was getting dragged into anyway because High Command was convinced Luke’s Force abilities meant he was the most versatile soldier in the entire Alliance—and Luke always insisted he wanted Wedge as his partner.
Luke, like always, shook his head and claimed it was just that the Alliance was short on manpower. He was settling into his role as Rogue Leader, but still wasn’t ready to accept how everyone looked at him differently because of a power he kept saying he couldn’t control yet.
Wedge was just glad he was here to keep an eye on his friend, because Luke might be the best pilot he’d ever seen and he might be the closet thing the Alliance had to a Jedi and he might have shot through the ranks faster than anyone in military history, but you could still never tell when he might do something completely unpredictable.
But this time, wonder of wonders, the mission was actually going according to plan. Luke had secured the datacard in a pouch hidden under the oversized civilian poncho he wore to combat the cold and was setting a quick pace to the extraction point. He proved the benefit of his Force sensitivity when he had a “bad feeling” at one point and they hid in an alleyway while stormtroopers passed. Moments later, they’d left the city behind and were quickly making up the lost time. They soon entered the sparse, leafless forest, where the dirt was too frozen to allow any footprints. Soon the extraction point was in sight: a hill that rose above the treeline where the Rebel ship could touch down.
Then Luke stopped again, so suddenly Wedge almost walked into him.
“What?” Wedge asked, glancing around automatically for stormtroopers.
“Nothing, I just…” Luke cocked his head. “There’s something…”
“We can take cover under that—”
“It’s not danger, I think. It’s…”
Not bothering to even finish what he was saying, Luke veered off their path, leaving Wedge with nothing to do but follow him.
It was probably important, right? Something like the stormtroopers he had sensed earlier?
Then Wedge heard it: tiny, high-pitched cries of the feline variety.
Wedge blinked. No. Definitely not. There was no way Luke Skywalker, Rogue Leader, was interrupting a stealth mission to—
Luke abruptly crouched down. “Hey,” he said softly into the thin undergrowth. Without leaves, it was mostly a tangle of sticks.
Wedge stopped behind him. “Excuse me?”
There was the cry again: a small, desperate mew.
“It’s all right,” Luke was saying. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Excuse me?” Wedge repeated. “Extraction’s in seven minutes.”
Luke ignored him. All his attention was fixed on the bush.
Wedge shot a glance over his shoulder. No sign of pursuit. He looked ahead and craned his neck. No sign of the Rebel ship yet. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and debated the propriety of grabbing Luke’s poncho and dragging his commanding officer to the extraction point by his collar.
Then the lowest part of the bush trembled and a creature stepped cautiously out into the open.
It was a tooka kitten. Its fur was solidly gray and it was so small it was about the size of Wedge’s palm, even with its fur fluffed out against the cold. Except for its massive ears, of course, which were flattened backwards. Its giant eyes stared unblinkingly up at Luke.
“Hi,” Luke breathed, slowly extending a hand.
The kitten touched its nose to Luke’s fingers.
“Luke,” Wedge hissed.
The kitten hissed back at him and retreated into the bush again.
Luke glared. “Come on! I almost had her.”
“Had her?” Wedge repeated, stunned.
“We can’t just leave her here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’ll freeze,” Luke said, completely serious. “She’s so little.”
Wedge opened his mouth to argue, then recognized the stubborn glint in Luke’s eyes. Okay. He took a deep breath, gathering his patience. Okay. He glanced at his chrono and just said, “Extraction’s in five minutes.”
Luke had already turned his attention back to the bush. “You go. I’ll catch up.”
“You have the datacard.”
Wordlessly, Luke fished the datacard out from under the poncho and handed it up to Wedge without looking.
Wedge resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “Luke. I’m not taking the datacard.”
Shrugging, Luke returned the datacard to wherever he’d hidden it. “She’ll come out. Just wait a second.”
“I—we—” Wedge cut himself off. Arguing was pointless. He glanced over his shoulders again, bouncing restlessly on the balls of his feet.
“Hello,” Luke murmured.
The kitten was once again bravely creeping out of the bush. This time, she approached Luke directly and let out a plaintive mew.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I got you.”
And Wedge watched in utter disbelief as Luke gently picked up the kitten and tucked it under his poncho.
Then Luke stood up. “Ready?”
“Are you…?” Wedge blinked. “You’re not…?”
“She doesn’t have anyone.”
“You don’t know that! It’s a cat!”
“I can tell,” Luke said simply. “C’mon.”
And with that, he headed back up the hill toward extraction. After a bewildered moment, Wedge gave up trying to understand and set off after him.
They made it to the extraction point with one minute and twenty-five seconds to spare, and Luke didn’t say anything about the tooka to the pilot who picked them up, so Wedge didn’t either. They strapped themselves in and the pilot didn’t seem to notice the odd lump on Luke’s lap.
Now that they were no longer in danger of being hunted by stormtroopers, nor of missing the extraction, Wedge started to relax a little.
Really, this might as well happen.
As soon as they landed back at the base, Wedge and Luke were unstrapping themselves. They disembarked to find the rest of the Rogues loitering in the hangar.
Wedge exited first. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be in a briefing?”
“Finished twenty minutes ago,” Hobbie reported.
“So,” Wes said, eyes suspiciously bright with amusement. “How’s ground work? Better than flying? ’Cause I was thinking—”
“No,” Luke said, his hands hidden under his poncho again, no doubt holding his stowaway as he headed for the hangar exit.
Wes fell into step beside him. “I was just thinking, if you’re serious about this ground work thing or the espionage thing or whatever, doesn’t that clear up your spot in the roster? If you’re looking for a replacement—”
“It was just one mission,” Wedge interrupted. “And if briefing’s over, you should be in the sims.”
“I’m just saying, the Rogue Leader position is for a pilot, not a spy. And what if something happens to you? We should figure this out before you get captured.”
“What makes you think I’ll get captured?” Luke asked while Wedge and Hobbie shared an exasperated look.
Wes widened his eyes innocently. “With a bounty as high as yours, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Listen—” Luke started to say.
Then: mrrrow.
They all froze in the hallway just outside the hangar.
“What was that?” Wes asked.
“Classified,” Luke blurted out.
This time, Wedge gave into the impulse to hide his face in his hands.
“Classified?” Hobbie repeated incredulously.
The fabric of Luke’s poncho started moving.
Wes jumped backwards. “Do you have a parasite?”
“Do I—what?”
“If a parasite bursts out of your stomach, can I be Rogue Leader?”
Luke was too busy fighting with the creature under his poncho to respond, so it fell on Wedge to remind Wes that no, if Luke died a sudden and disgusting death, Wedge would become Rogue Leader. Obviously.
Wes was hotly disputing this fact when the tooka’s face suddenly popped out of the collar of the poncho.
Wes shut up.
Hobbie stared.
Wedge wondered vaguely if he was dreaming.
“She was lost,” Luke said defensively.
Mrrow, the tooka contributed.
“What,” Hobbie said, “is that?”
Luke stuffed the tooka back under the poncho. “It’s classified,” he said, already striding purposefully down the hall.
Wes turned slowly to look at Wedge.
“This,” Wedge said, “is not my fault.”
Back in their quarters, Wedge found Luke sitting cross-legged on his bunk with his poncho bundled in his lap. The tooka was nestled in the fabric and licking at a tube of protein paste.
Wedge stopped in the doorway and took in the scene. “You’re keeping it?”
“No,” Luke said immediately.
“Then…?”
“She’s hungry.”
“That paste will probably kill it.”
Luke looked up, horror flashing across his face.
“Kidding,” Wedge said quickly. “Sorry. But I mean, that paste’s basically poisonous for humans, so…”
Luke stroked one long ear. “She likes it. What happened to Wes and Hobbie?”
“Ordered them into the sims, told them not to tell anyone.” Wedge stepped fully into their quarters and shut the door firmly behind him. “What are you planning on doing with it?”
“I don’t know.” Luke dropped his gaze to the tooka. “I know I can’t keep her.”
Wedge leaned back against the doorframe and said nothing. Because no shavit, they couldn’t keep it.
But then the kitten stopped licking the protein paste and yawned, and curled up in the poncho. It started purring, loud enough to fill their small quarters.
Something in Wedge softened. Though he couldn’t exactly say if it was because of the tooka…or because of Luke.
Luke, whose family was dead. Whose home was torched. Who’d shown up on Yavin IV with the clothes on his back and a lightsaber and nothing else.
Luke, who’d stopped in the middle of a mission because he’d found a tiny creature that was lost and alone.
With a sigh, Wedge sat down on his own bunk and started unlacing his boots. “Whatever’s going to happen, we can figure it out tomorrow.”
Luke visibly relaxed. Setting the tube of protein paste aside, he started petting the tooka in time with its purrs.
Wedge had to admit, it was a soothing sound. He changed into sleep clothes, used the fresher, and came back to see Luke now lying on his side on his bunk with the tooka sleeping in a ball of fur against his chest. Luke’s eyes were half-closed.
Wedge settled into bed opposite him. “Luke?” he whispered.
“Yeah?” Luke whispered back.
“Good mission today.”
Luke smiled. “Thanks.”
The next morning, Wedge woke before his alarm to someone banging on the door.
“Ow,” Luke muttered, already sitting upright in his bunk. He was trying to detach the tooka from his arm, but its fur was bristling and its tiny claws were digging into his skin. “Wedge…?”
“I got it.” Pushing the blankets back, Wedge stumbled out of bed and jerked open the door. “What—hey, no, get out!”
It was too late. Wes shouldered his way into the room, with Hobbie and Dak on his heels.
“Told you,” Wes said triumphantly.
Dak was squinting at the tooka like it was an Imperial spy. “You weren’t kidding.”
Luke managed to detach the tooka, whose ears were flattened again, and cradled it protectively against his chest. “You’re scaring her!”
Dak turned to Wedge. “You allowed this?”
Wedge shrugged helplessly.
“Does General Rieekan know?” asked Hobbie.
“Does the kitten get a callsign?” asked Wes.
“No one knows,” Wedge admitted, trying not to feel like he was engaged in an unprecedented circumvention of military protocol—which, of course, he was. “It’s…classified.”
Dak blinked. “You’re serious. You’re serious about this.”
“Can I hold her?” Wes asked.
Luke hesitated.
“I won’t drop her,” Wes promised. To prove it, he started climbing onto Luke’s bunk—but the bunk was short and narrow enough that Luke had to draw his legs up, scooting up against the wall, hugging the tooka to his chest.
Wedge exchanged glances with Hobbie and Dak. Hobbie looked bewildered. Dak shrugged and climbed into the bunk next to Wes.
At this rate, it was only a matter of time before half of Rogue Squadron ended up crowded in a single bunk, all fighting over the chance to hold a tooka kitten.
“I’m getting caf,” Wedge announced.
Wedge was just leaving the mess, holding a steaming cup of bitter caf, when he ran into General Rieekan.
“Lieutenant,” the general greeted him. “How did yesterday go?”
Wedge froze. “Uh.”
Rieekan raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“We got the data, sir.”
“And the contact wasn’t compromised?”
“No, sir. Not as far as we know, sir.”
Rieekan narrowed his eyes. “And?” he asked pointedly.
“No issues, sir,” Wedge said, trying his best to sound completely normal and well aware that he was failing miserably.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something?”
Wedge felt the insane urge to say, It’s classified.
He just wasn’t good at lying, was the thing. “You should ask Commander Skywalker, sir.”
Rieekan raised both eyebrows now. “I’m asking you.”
Kriff. Wedge was not going to lie to a general over a blasted tooka kitten. He took a deep breath. “Commander Skywalker took a brief detour to…rescue a potential asset.”
“What potential asset might that be?” Rieekan asked slowly.
Kriff it all. “A tooka,” Wedge mumbled.
“A what?”
“A tooka, sir,” Wedge said more clearly.
Rieekan opened his mouth, frowned, shut his mouth, blinked, opened his mouth again, then simply sighed and held out his hand.
“Sir?” Wedge asked.
“I haven’t had enough caf for this, so I’m requisitioning yours.”
“Oh.” Wedge relinquished his mug.
Rieekan took a long drink. “Tell Skywalker to see me before his next briefing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him not to bring the kitten.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shaking his head, Rieekan brushed past Wedge into the mess.
Wedge stared after him, wondering what just happened.
Back in their quarters, Wedge found Luke, Wes, Hobbie, and Dak all sitting on the floor, rolling a ball of ration bar wrappers back and forth between them while the kitten chased it and pounced clumsily.
Wedge shut the door behind him.
“Thought you were getting caf,” Luke said without looking up.
“General Rieekan stole it.”
“Wait, what?”
“General Rieekan knows about the tooka.”
Luke’s eyes widened in betrayal. “Wedge!”
“What was I supposed to say?” Wedge demanded.
“That she’s classified,” Wes whispered to Hobbie, smirking.
Luke picked up the kitten like someone was about to take her away from him. The kitten mewed and rubbed her face against his cheek.
Wedge felt a stab of guilt even though absolutely none of this was his fault. “He didn’t say you have to give up the tooka. He just stole my caf. And…he wants to see you before the next briefing.”
“Right. Okay.” Luke brushed his nose against the kitten. He looked devastatingly like he was already saying goodbye.
“I’ll go with you,” Wedge found himself offering.
“Why?”
Wedge searched for words. “…To explain how cold it was down there. If you left it, it could’ve died.”
Luke managed a small smile. “Thank you.”
They left the kitten under Hobbie’s supervision and reported promptly at 0645 to General Rieekan’s office.
“Come on,” the general said.
Wedge squeezed Luke’s shoulder encouragingly. They both walked in.
The general was seated behind his desk and a mountain of datacard and flimsiwork. “Take a seat.”
Luke and Wedge sat. Luke’s right knee was jittering anxiously.
Rieekan looked up from his work and immediately locked eyes with Luke. “What’s this I hear about a tooka?”
Luke didn’t hesitate. “I rescued her, sir.”
“You were undergoing a covert operation.”
“Yes, sir. And the mission was completed successfully.”
“Officially, we can’t keep a tooka on base.”
Luke’s voice tightened. “I understand, sir.” Then he stopped. A crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Officially?” he echoed cautiously.
Rieekan held his gaze and there was something strange in his expression, something that made Wedge think Rieekan was just as aware as he was of everything Luke had already lost. “Unofficially,” he said, “does this tooka have a name?”
Luke’s eyes widened. Then he started to grin. “Well, sir, it’s Classified.”