Soral’s face was flushed when she reached the hangar and she was grateful for the slight chill there, cooling her memory-heated skin. As she quickly checked over her X-Wing, her mind latched on to something from that memory, something she hadn’t noticed there in the storage room. A word.

‘Dor’anja.’ She’d heard it yesterday, Wedge had called her by that word. Was it a curse? an endearment? perhaps another woman’s name? Soral knew that he must have learned ancient Corellian as a child, the schools in that system required it. On Imperial Center, the joke was that Basic wasn’t good enough for Corellians. If ‘Dor’anja’ wasn’t a name--she sincerely hoped it wasn’t--perhaps she could find out what it was.

There. Cubber Daine, one of the mechanics, was Corellian. He was a few meters away, working on a dilapidated Y-Wing bomber. Anyone else would have scrapped it, but Soral had seen Cubber bang sorrier heaps than that back into good flying shape. He didn’t seem nosy, maybe he wouldn’t ask where she’d heard the word or why she wanted to know it.

The sound of metal clanging and loud curses drove her away. He was clearly too busy and too irritable to approach. Perhaps she could just ask Wedge when she got back. A quick check of the duty roster persuaded her to find a new plan. She and Wedge were pulling opposites for the next two days.

The rest of her unit were standing about, waiting for the order to man their fighters and launch. One of them, a young Sullustan she’d never bothered to talk to, had been cornered by a 3PO droid--Emtrey, if she recalled correctly--and looked about ready to climb the walls. He must have asked a question. Stupid of him. Her eyes lit up.

Emtrey was a protocol droid=Emtrey knew languages=Emtrey could answer her question. She could take the ensuing lecture until the unit was called out. She might even earn the gratitude of the droid’s current victim.

The Sullustan’s eyes widened and a look of panic crossed his face as she stalked toward him. "I didn’t do it, honest."

"Didn’t do what?"

"Whatever you’re mad about."

"I’m not mad about anything." Gods, am I really that bad? "I just need to borrow Emtrey. If you don’t mind." Soral added her sweetest smile and was rewarded by the pilot’s shocked, cheebling assent.

"I am happy to be of assistance, Mistress Zurek," Emtrey began primly, "but I have not yet fully answered Master Nunb’s question."

"Oh, you have! Really! More than adequately." The other pilot shot Soral a look of gratitude, then scurried off. She turned to the shiny black droid.

"You know Ancient Corellian, right?"

"Certainly. I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, and can readily converse in-"

"Great. What does ‘Dor’anja’ mean?"

The droid’s clamshell head tilted to one side in a strangely human fashion. "That’s a very interesting question, Mistress Zurek. I’m surprised that you’ve heard of that word, as you are not Corellian. In fact, it is rarely heard outside of-"

"Emtrey, we’re going to be called out soon." Soral tried to avoid a lengthy discourse. "What’s it mean?"

If a droid could look offended, Emtrey did. "It’s easiest to understand if it is broken into its various parts. Each syllable holds a specific significance. May I continue?"

She supressed a sigh. "Sure."

"The third syllable, ‘ja,’ is a feminine diminutive; added to any word, it indicates a small female. For instance, ‘little female sand panther’ would be ‘Ychol-mory’ja,’ in which ‘Chol’ means ‘large feline’, ‘mor’ is ‘sand’, ‘y’ is ‘of’, and, of course, you’re already familiar with ‘ja.’ So the literal translation is ‘small female of the large feline of sand.’"

Soral merely stared at him, hoping he’d get to the point if she didn’t interrupt him.

"the first syllable, ’Dor,’ or the plural ‘Dori,’ as I’m sure you know, was until recently restricted to the ruling class. Before the Diktat, Corellia was a monarchy, and it was then that ‘Dori’ belonged only to the king."

"What is ‘Dori’?"

"I’m coming to that. Now, if a person of lower rank or class had ‘Dori,’ it was assumed that they had stolen it from the king. Therefore, even to use the word was punishable under the Act of-"

"What. Does. It. Mean?"

"That is what I’m telling you. Now, under the Diktat, all laws regarding proper use of..."

She tuned him out and prayed for the launching order. Likely the droid was going to tell her all about how the Diktat came to power and then ramble on about economic structures on Pre-Empire Selonia or something. Idly, she wondered how long he could talk before his power ran down.

"Gold Squadron, prepare to launch." Sithspit!

"Emtrey," she interrupted, patting him on the shoulder. "This is wonderful. I never knew so much about a word before." Nor have I wanted to. "But if someone were to walk up to me, now, and say that word, should I be insulted or pleased?"

"Oh, you should be pleased. Quite so. It’s a very personal endearment."

"Personal how?"

"It is used in Corellian bonding ceremonies. It means ‘my little jewel.’"

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Twelve snubfighters formed up and headed toward the planet below.

It was Corulag, held by the Imps in name only; they had little presence on-planet. Still , the central computer might yield valuable information to the Alliance. Gold Squadron was to slip in through a weak spot on the planet’s sensors and pull a dump of the government’s computers. They’d done it on every planet that their ship had passed by in the last week, every time they left hyperspace.

This was an easy run; Soral could do it in her sleep. The planet’s sensors were a joke. They fluctuated like mad, letting the rebel fighters slip in unnoticed. The two slicers stayed in orbit, receiving transmissions from the ten pilots below, who stuck to terrain-following while they pulled information from the planet’s computers and checked for visible Imperial presence.

Little jewel? His little jewel? Soral tried to banish the growing case of warm fuzzies that threatened to overcome her good sense. Emtrey may have exaggerated its importance. Just because it’s part of a bonding ceremony doesn’t mean that’s the only place you can say it. Wedge probably says that to every woman he beds.

She kept a careful eye on the terrain as she thought. Anyway, he didn’t say he... But it’s close, isn’t it? My jewel, my darling... my love? She couldn’t stop the warmth spreading out from her chest. She could believe he meant it. It was so nice to imagine, and she knew that every time she lay next to him those words were on her lips. And if he felt as strongly as he seemed, she wouldn’t hold back.

I’ll tell him. The next time we’re alone.

She’d tell him everything. All about her nightmares and how they weren’t so bad when he was there, why she’d joined the Rebellion, about her father, about Eighen.

And Eighen would be so proud of her. He’d always worried about her, she was too cold, he said. "Icy water kills all who near it, but a warm sea is the fount of life." She’d been icewater for too long, high time to remember how it felt to be alive.

Ahead, the lead fighter headed for sky, a steep climb that indicated the dump was complete and they were heading out. If there’d been any trouble, Lead would have locked his S-foils into attack position before pulling up. Of course, Soral mused, if they had been discovered, keeping comm silence would do no good.

They shot past the planet’s fluctuating sensors, headed for their ship. As the two slicers joined them and moved into patrol formation, four X-Wings shot out of the docking bay. They flew under the ship, heading coreward, then disappeared into hyperspace.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Wedge Antilles dove under the belly of the ship, forming up with the other three fighters, double checking the coordinates on his nav computer. He felt buoyant, elated beyond belief; General Rieekan had called on him (him!) to follow up on a lead they had on Princess Leia. Major Fadi Emsul flew beside him; Wedge knew the man from before Yavin and was proud to be his wing.

Intelligence heard that Captain Solo had flown into an asteroid field to shake the TIE fighters on his tail. Wedge could believe it; it sounded like something a Corellian would try. If the Falcon managed to land on one of the huge rocks, it might still be there, in need of repairs, perhaps, but operational, with all of the passengers intact. And if they’d fled, maybe they’d gone to some nearby system. One could hope.

The familiar bright whiteness of lightspeed surrounded the cockpit, and Wedge settled back against his seat, closing his eyes. Soral was right. I’ll have to tell her; she’ll love that. A warm, comfortable feeling filled his gut and spread outward, relaxing his limbs. Had it been only a week? Such a short amount of time for her to have such an effect on him.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He’d tried not to, told himself over and over that she was all wrong for him, listed her faults until his head hurt. It was just... she wasn’t what everyone thought of her. Somewhere beneath her cold shell was a warm, funny, affectionate woman. He felt privileged to see that side of her, to be the one who drew her out.

He just had to tell her, and that wouldn’t be easy. She spoke reluctantly of personal matters, when she spoke of them at all, and it was by her will that no one knew of their involvement. A sudden chill filled him. What if she didn’t feel the same? She didn’t act like a woman in love, but he’d chalked that up to the way she armored herself from everyone. If he came to her, and she rejected him...

She wouldn’t. He knew that in his heart, and the only proof he had was in her eyes. The way she looked at him yesterday in the storage room, when he’d called her... her eyes were suddenly soft, as though she understood. He actually hadn’t meant to say it; it just slipped out. He’d never said it to anyone.

His parents, they’d said it sometimes. As a child it was comforting to see his parents open affection. In calm moments, his mother would touch his dad’s face and whisper "Dor’anjuu," and his father’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. As Wedge grew older, though, it became horribly embarrassing. He remembered one incident, about a year before his parents were killed...

They were vacationing in Coronet City (that was bad enough--to be seen in public with his parents), and right there, right there, in the middle of the Plaza, his dad kissed his mother’s hand and called her Dor’anja. And everyone around them heard it. Wedge had flushed red and asked them to please stop, it was embarrassing.

Jagged Antilles had ruffled his son’s hair and answered, "Veggies, when you meet the right girl, you’ll understand. You just can’t hold it back." And Wedge had harumphed that he was too old to be called Veggies, and was surly for the rest of the day.

He’d give his life if he could take that back; if his father would ruffle his hair and call him Veggies just once more.

Sadly, he banished the thought. That was his past; his future was Soral, and he just couldn’t hold it back.

Continued in Part Three