This is a work of fan fiction. Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and LFL. No insult is intended and no profits were made from this story.


My Month with the Gods
Part Three
by Banshee


That night, I could hardly sleep a wink. I was too excited at the prospect of meeting Wedge Antilles. This is ridiculous, I told myself. He's just a man and fellow fighter pilot -- and a Corellian one at that...

Yeah, right. Face it, you're acting like a giddy schoolgirl, I mentally chastised myself. This was unusual for me, as I was not used to being giddy, even when I was a schoolgirl.

Well there was that one really young freighter captain that used to run shipments for my grandfather but I wouldn't exactly consider myself giddy over him; we had a casual friendship based on a mutual love of flying.

What made me think of him? I still don't know. Maybe it was because the teenage captain was also a Corellian. One of the few I had ever actually met.

I never even knew his name, but when your grandfather is in charge of a spaceship manufacturing facility on an Empire-controlled planet, you learn not to ask about the small battered freighters that would come in empty and leave with unreported shipments of parts for old outdated fighters.

They always came in and out of the hanger where the prototypes were located. My grandfather would meet them, usually alone. But again I never asked, not that he would have answered anyway. I think he was trying to protect me by not involving me in what was going on but I knew my grandfather well and, hence, had a pretty good idea those parts were headed to the Rebel Alliance.

He didn't care much for some of the pilots, I could tell. I do remember how much my grandfather did like the scrawny, longhaired Corellian teen with intense eyes that matched the color of his brown hair. It seemed that I was always somewhere near the hanger whenever "Captain Kid" would come in. I think my grandfather had something to do with that but I doubt he would ever have admitted to it.

With a blush, I remembered the one time I had him "cornered". I had just finished a test run in a new prototype when I saw him walking around a stack of crates with my grandfather. I hadn't noticed his ship and was surprised to see him.

I looked around and sure enough there was the old beat-up little freighter sitting in a dark corner of the hanger. It didn't look like much but I knew better. Its captain, though younger than me by a year or so, was fastidious when it came to the upkeep of his pride and joy.

His steps faltered when he saw the sleek little ship I was working on. At least I think it was because of the ship. My grandfather said something to him and he walked over to meet me at the bottom of the ladder. He was studying the prototype with a wistful expression so I asked if he wanted to see the cockpit.

His eyes twinkled as he sat in the pilot's chair and I climbed up to sit on the nose so I could face him. I had pulled my flightsuit down around my waist due to the heat, or so I had convinced myself. We were just good friends and fellow pilots, after all, but I knew that as I leaned forward to show him the controls, he would get a pretty good view down the front of my lightweight undertunic.

For the most part, I think he was oblivious to my flirtations and I quickly lost myself in the conversation. We were intent on the fighter when I heard his breath catch. I looked up and caught him blushing. Great Force, he was adorable when he blushed!

I could feel my own face coloring when I realized what had caused his reaction. I sat back quickly and tried to pretend nothing had happened. Our conversation hesitantly returned to the fighter and I remember wanting to kick myself later for not taking the opportunity to flirt further but there was something so innocent in his expression.

I had no room to be talking as I was probably the oldest living virgin on the planet -- which shouldn’t be a surprise since I spent most of my time with old, blustery test pilots and boring design engineers not to mention the pompous Imperial officers my mother was constantly trying to hook me up with and I was always trying to avoid. The Corellian youth was probably one on the few males even close to my own age with whom I could have what I thought of as an intelligent conversation.

I saw him several times after and we remained good friends for the year or so he would come to pick up parts, which seemed to please my grandfather greatly. Through the years I had found myself occasionally wondering what had happened to him...


Continued in Part Four