Project Boussh: Cabin Fever
by Brad Corletti

Brad looked out at the sea of mostly unfamiliar faces. The crowded New
Hampshire cabin was filled to capacity with Terran natives and New
Republic pilots alike.

Brad kept to himself, mentally preparing and rejecting countless
escape plans. The looks Piggy was occasionally throwing his way were
none too friendly.

All his escape plans seemed to end the same way, which was not
encouraging.

At least they'd decided to let him be awake through this! It was
frustrating at how poorly he was being treated. They were sedating him
- or stunning him - all the damned time. That's gotta be against the
New Republic Code of Justice or something.

Brad was infinitely thankful for the shower and shave he'd had upon
arrival, changing into his own gear - recovered from the ruins of the
Melbourne base.

It seemed that his suspicion had been kept secret from AFW, so Brad
resolved to take advantage of it. He smiled and headed out into the
crowd. If Piggy didn't like it - tough. He'd have to explain to the
assembled crowd why exactly he'd been hiding information from them...

Brad cheerfully answered, when queried about his B-wing: "It
crashed!", as if he were simply trying to cover up the fact that it
never existed.

Several minutes after he had begun working the crowd, a new individual
walked in. Brad observed him carefully over Kristy's shoulder as he
skulked in a shadowy corner. Kristy turned to look, as did many other
AFWers. Several pilots warily pointed blasters at the new arrival.

Kristy, at Wedge's nod, said, "Raise your hands, and keep them where
we
can see them. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"Pointing a loaded weapon at a commanding officer... Who knew the New
Republic lacked such discipline?"

The pilots holstered their blasters. So this was Sci.

As their leader dictated a change in music, Brad smiled. Here they
were, Terran natives enjoying themselves alongside the members of the
military of an interstellar culture, with an undeniable possibility of
truly momentous co-operation and progress, and their leader was
insisting on the music of several generations ago...

Oh well. It was better than hiphop. Wonder who suggested that. Brad
used the moment's distraction to leave the cabin.

He breathed in the cool winter air. Such wonderful weather. It really
made one feel alive. Brad briefly considered stealing a snubfighter
and making a break for it now; the fighters were probably on standby,
ready to scramble if necessary, but Piggy would be expecting that.
And, more importantly, the aces here would probably frown upon it.
With blaster bolts.

Grinding his teeth, he picked up a rock and hurled it into the
distance. He had to get out. He had a mission to complete.

And a life to save.

If only the New Republic would let him.