Project Boussh: Exit, Stage Left
by Brad Corletti

Brad turned and hurled a rock into the distance. "I sent her somewhere
I thought she would be safe. Somewhere she could get the medical
attention she needed."

Like you care, he thought to himself. If not for you involving Horn in
this mess, she'd have never gotten hurt.

A moment passed. Vickie's voice. "Look, Brad, I am not a heartless
bitch. I have felt from the beginning that there is something you are
destined to do. I also know that it will have a huge impact on our
mission."

My destiny, if I have one left, is to try to rectify the damage I've
caused. Oh, and to roast Piggy on a spit with an apple in his mouth.

"This must be how Qui-Gon felt when the council refused to
train Anakin."

Well, thankyou for that wonderfully complimentary analogy. What she
said next, however, made up for a great many sins.

"These are the codes for Fel's TIE. I lifted them from Kolot. Take it
and get the hell out of here." A sigh. "Piggy'll put me in binders for
this."

Brad spun around and grabbed the datapad from Vickie's outstretched
arm. "Thankyou!" he said as he turned and sprinted towards the TIE.
The chance to finally do something was not to be wasted. Brad felt
better than he had in days.

As he ran, he quickly ran down his options. There was no way a pilot
of Fel's stature would be caught dead in an eyeball, so the fighter
would have to be a squint. Excellent. That meant he should be able to
keep his surprise lead. And with no-one flying CAP, getting a lead
shouldn't be a problem.

He reached the interceptor and didn't bother taking down the camo
netting. He squirmed up through the belly hatch and strapped himself
into the TIE's cockpit. No time for the vacuum suit! Just start the
engines and fly!

He rushed the startup procedure as much as he thought wise. The TIE
was an unfamiliar craft, after all. The reactor started with a
satisfying hum and he engaged the repulsorlifts. The camo netting was
only a momentary obstruction to the powerful craft. It lifted from the
ground gracefully and he spun it with the etheric rudder. He saw
shapes moving in the lodge through a firelit window. He smiled. It
*was* a dramatic escape, wasn't it? Might as well give them a good
show.

He punched in the main ion thrusters and roared away with an
earth-shattering boom, barrel rolling all the while.



Brad set the interceptor down in the warehouse hangar that once housed
his B-wing. He hopped out of the Imperial craft and walked next door.

He was greeted by a vision of purposeful chaos. Droids walked and
conveyor belts spun as Brad's droid factory operated at full capacity.

Robot arms welded pieces into place, as they progressed from one
corner of the factory to the end, finally walking off the assembly
line and forming up into regimented groups, who marched en masse into
yet another warehouse. It was a very smooth operation.

Brad smiled. A severely battered robot was currently undergoing
repairs. He approached the robot.

"Drake, status report," he ordered.

"All functional systems have been restored to operating levels. Armour
is at 75%," the droid replied.

"Excellent. You may resume your primary programming."

The droid stood. The robot arm that had been welding new patches of
armour plate returned to a dormant position.

Brad entered the factory's office and emerged wearing one of his
Imperial Major's uniforms. He then returned to the TIE, Drake
following him. Drake secured itself to the underside of the TIE as
Brad put on a vacuum suit.

Once more he powered up the TIE. This time he angled for space. Space,
and the _Admonitor_.