Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and LFL. No profits were made and no disrespect is intended with this fic.

Mistaken Identity
Part Two
by Nic

Wes sat at the Rogue’s normal table in the mess hall later on that morning, regaling the rest of the squad with the events that happened earlier that morning.

"I’m telling you guys," Wes finished. "Hobbie has seriously lost it."

"It seems that we have a sadistic prankster on the loose here on base," Wedge said.

"Yeah. Someone’s moving in on my territory." Wes said with a frown. "And I don’t like it."

"You mean you don’t like the fact that you have competition." Corran quipped. "And that this person is slicker than you."

"I resent that."

"No, Corran’s right," Tycho said with a grin. "If it were really you that did it, Hobbie would have found you with the vibro-blade at Mooky’s throat."

"I resent that as well. Besides…"

The conversation stopped dead as the Rogues turned as one to look at the door to the mess hall. Standing in the doorway was Hobbie, dressed in green and pink checkered trousers, and a light blue tunic. A black half-length cape was slung around his shoulders and a plaid deerstalker hat sat atop his head. Between his teeth he held a pipe that produced bubbles as he puffed on it and cradled in his left arm was Mooky wearing a matching cape and hat.

The strangely clad Rogue walked purposefully to the table and regarded each of his squad-mates suspiciously. He puffed on his pipe a few times and frowned as the entire table burst out laughing. He pulled the pipe from his mouth and glared at them. "What is so funny?"

"You are," Wes said, holding his stomach. "Where did you find that hideous outfit?"

"You’re just jealous because you don’t have one." Hobbie quipped, his face composed in its usually dour expression. "For your information, I am dressed in the top fashion for detectives in this day and age." He sniffed.

"Oh stars," Wes said, putting a hand to his head. The laughter at the table subsided as Wes shook his head and addressed the group. "I told you he’s lost it…"

"Okay, so lemme get this straight," Wedge said, sitting up in his chair. "Your stuffed bantha was attacked last night and now you’re going to find out who did it?"


"Klivian, you need help…"

"You mean you’ll join me in my search, Wedge?" Hobbie asked, his voice hopeful.

"No." Wedge snorted. "I mean you need to go to Med bay and have your head examined."

Hobbie regarded his CO for a long moment and furrowed his brow. "Where exactly were you around 0300, General?"

Wedge choked on his caf and gave the Major an incredulous look. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Hobbie said, pursing his lips.

"I was in my room, asleep. Like every other sane person on base."

"Ha! You, Mr. Wedge ‘Obsessive-Compulsive-Worker’ Antilles, asleep when you’re supposed to be? I don’t believe it."

"C’mon Hobbs," Wes said soothingly. "Wedge wouldn’t…"

"…And What about you, Mr. Janson?" Hobbie turned on his friend. "How was it that you woke up at the exact time of the attempted murder?"

"Attempted murder?! It’s a stuffed Bantha!" Wes’ cry fell on deaf ears, for Hobbie was on a roll. He turned to each rogue and held each gaze one by one.

"If you would like to save time and effort, I suggest that the perpetrator come forward now. If not, I will be questioning each of you separately." He said calmly before turning on his heel and walking out the door.

To be Continued...

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