Project Boussh: The Truth about Pittens and Vornskrs
by Policrat'

Someone coughed.

Brad and Vickie both spun round. Two men stood at the end of the corridor, a
Commander in the black uniform of Special Services, and a stormtrooper
sergeant with a ysalamiri on a nutrient-frame backpack.

"Excuse me, Major," the officer said, almost too politely. his incongruous
Scots accent sounding almost alien. "Can you put your little love-in on hold
for a few minutes and put the prisoner back in the cell. I need to talk to
her. Alone."

Brad frowned. "Vickie," he said. "I don't believe you've met Terra Seven."

"Hello."

***

Vickie shivered slightly as she fell into the Force-nul field projected by
the ysalamiri, but she kept her gaze steady. Even without the Force, a Jedi
still had her discipline to fall back on.

"Aren't you a little Scottish for a Star Warrior?" she heard Wedge ask
behind her, as the cell door slid shut.

"General Antilles," McEwok said. "It's an honour to meet you. I'm Pol
McEwok. I'm here to help you."

"Is that like you helped us in New Hampshire?" Vickie snarled, sitting down
on the bunk in disgust. "You led the Imps right to us!"

"Blame Brad," he shrugged. "He was rather too confident of his ability to
erase his stolen TIE's flightpath records."

"So Brad's a bastard. That doesn't mean you're on our side."

Pol and Wedge both opened their mouths to speak, but the stormtrooper took a
step forward, motioning curtly for silence, and spoke for the first time.

"You'd better trust him," he said, tugging off his helmet. Or rather, Vickie
realised, _her_ helmet. "He's our only way out of here. Unless you'd rather
trust Major Defel."

"Plourr Ilo," Vickie breathed. Wedge just laughed.

"Good to see you again, General," the tall Major agreed, smiling with grim
dignity. "And a pleasure to meet you, Jedi Boyd."

"You could be brainwashed," Vickie challenged her, still wary.

"Easily," McEwok admitted. "But I could run you through the same
conditioning process, and then you'd have no choice except to help us."

Vickie groaned.

"Will you men quit with the Imperial domination fantasies! This is getting
too complicated!"

"Then listen," Pol snapped, his accent thickening. "Let me do the thinking.
I'm with New Republic Intelligence. Alpha Blue."

He pulled an ID slip from the deep pocket beneath his tunic's plastron, and
handed it to Wedge, who studied it, and nodded slowly in approval.

"I've worked very hard to establish this cover," McEwok went on, "and I have
no intention of sacrificing it before I have to. The stakes are too high.
But for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"So how does that help us?"

"When the time is right, I'm getting you all out of here. Even Defel, if I
can. Be ready. And I sincerely hope you all know how to fly TIEs."

Wedge cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

"Tell me more, Commander," he asked.

***

When McEwok and his stormtrooper left the cell ten minutes later, Brad was
still waiting for them, pacing the deck in anger.

"Would you mind telling me what all that was about," he asked. "_Sir_?"

"I'm sorry, Major Defel," McEwok told him, sounding almost apologetic. "I
can't. Not yet, anyway. The Ubiqtorate doesn't operate a policy of openness.
But if you so much as _hint_ that I was here to anyone aboard this ship,
Erisi... the General... will throw Lieutenant Konnair into the
garbage-masher and dump her corpse into orbit with the rest of the trash. Do
you understand."

"You make it very clear," Brad snarled.

"Excellent," McEwok smiled. "You may continue with your interrogation of
Jedi Boyd now."