jt_and_leia | X-Wing: Isolation by JT

Isolation (6169 words) by thedarlingone
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Wes Janson, Wes Janson's Astromech (OC)
Additional Tags: uh. shit. is castin a major character?, Canonical Character Death, Missing Scene, Castin Donn (mentioned), Introspection, POV Droid (Star Wars)
Summary: Wes was supposed to be spending three very boring uneventful days nominally in command of Hawk-bat Base while Wedge took most of the squad to Coruscant for leave.

That was before he found out Castin Donn had just stowed away on Face's mission to meet with Warlord Zsinj.

Now he's spending three boring days in his X-wing hoping a Super Star Destroyer doesn't show up.(Missing scenes for the book X-Wing: Iron Fist)

Knob had been spending a lot of time powered down lately.

Not long after leaving Folor Base nearly two months back, Wraith Squadron—short on snubfighters and posing as an Imperial group—had become a mixed TIE and X-wing squadron. Knob's Pilot was, of course, the second most skilled pilot in the squadron (and there was no shame in being second to Wedge Antilles), and Knob was justly proud of him. But because he was so versatile, their X-wing kept getting reassigned to less skilled or less experienced pilots, and neither basic TIE fighters nor the TIE Interceptors the squadron had recently acquired were fitted with astromech slots.

True, they'd been on Mon Remonda just last week and had even gotten to fly in a battle together, a brief skirmish over a world called Lavisar. But since then, Knob had been stuck in the astromech storage closet again.

He wasn't sure why he'd been powered up now. There'd been no mission briefing. In fact, there was no sign of the Commander or the other pilots. His own Pilot had simply pulled him out of the closet, looking grim, and walked him to the hangar with no more than a "c'mon, buddy".

Knob finished running the preflight checklist on the X-wing he'd been placed in, the only one currently in the hangar. X-wings weren't scintillating conversationalists at the best of times, and this one didn't seem to know any more about the mission than Knob did. It knew that it had most recently been assigned to a pilot called Castin Donn, and that was about it.

Knob's own Pilot, Lieutenant Wes Janson, was currently maneuvering a TIE Interceptor backwards into the hold of the only larger craft in the hangar, a creaky old freighter named Sungrass. He'd already moved three other Interceptors into the hold, where mechanics had secured them with netting, readying them to be transported somewhere. Many other humanoids were hurrying around the hangar, in and out of Sungrass, carrying luggage and packages onto the ship.

Janson came out of the ship and climbed up into the cockpit of the X-wing. "Everything set, buddy?" he asked Knob.

Knob tweetled an affirmative and added, on the X-wing's text screen, WHERE ARE WE GOING?

"Not far. Not out of the system." Janson pulled down the canopy of the X-wing and started strapping in. "Sungrass is going a little further, but they're still getting loaded up. I'll explain when we're on station."

Knob responded with a somewhat dubious beep, carrying a general implication of you'd better. He didn't like this at all. Where was everybody? What was wrong with Janson's mood? Why were the crew, to all appearances, preparing to abandon the hidden Hawk-bat Base?

The X-wing rose gently on its repulsorlifts and glided out of the hangar bay into space.

This was Halmad system, with one inhabited planet, and an asteroid belt now secretly home to Wraith Squadron. Janson maneuvered carefully through the asteroid belt for a while, then set down the X-wing on a large pockmarked asteroid and powered down most of its systems, leaving only life support, passive sensors, and Knob's connection to the display screen active. From the distant base, Sungrass emerged and started heading toward the edge of the system.

Now that the tricky flying was apparently done, Knob gave an insistent interrogative whistle. He wanted answers.

"Yeah," Janson said heavily. "So I told you why we're here in Halmad system, right? Playing pirates so Warlord Zsinj will try to hire us? Well, yesterday he sent our pirate crew an invitation to meet with him."

Knob chirped excitedly. That was good news! Wasn't it? He added a hesitant query.

"This is a huge step forward in our mission here," Janson confirmed. "But one of our pilots died on the mission that convinced Zsinj to negotiate with us. You remember Ton Phanan, the cyborg?"

THE GRUMPY ONE. I REMEMBER. knob gave a sympathetic minor-key wheetle, lowering at the end. HOW IS GADGET? That was Phanan's astromech.

"Unhurt—we were in the TIEs. We'll probably keep him around as a backup in case one of you gets vaped, at least as long as we're stationed here." They both knew Gadget would eventually have his memory wiped and be reassigned to a new pilot. That was the life of an astromech droid. "He's on Sungrass with the rest of the astromechs that aren't currently in use."

WHERE IS EVERYONE, ANYWAY?

Janson sighed, slumping in his seat. "I'm... trying to get there," he said with no real acrimony. "Okay, so Face, Kell, and Dia have taken the shuttle, the Narra, to go meet Zsinj. Donos and the new pilot, Lara—you remember Lara? She flew with Wedge and Face at Lavisar, spotted that lunar garrison that was trying to ambush us."

THE VERY SMALL BLOND HUMAN?

"That's the one. She got a letter from her brother, who she'd thought was dead, and she tells us there's reason to believe Zsinj is using him to try to get to her. So she's gone to meet with him and brought Donos along as a skifter. They took their X-wings."

Knob twittered, an I'm listening noise.

"Wedge was going to take all the rest of the pilots to Coruscant for leave, except me because I got to go last time and somebody has to mind the fort. There were just enough X-wings to go around. But our new slicer, Castin—have you even met Castin?"

Knob hadn't. He indicated as much with a beep.

"So Castin thinks he's the best slicer in the galaxy, like most slicers do. He wants to plant a tracking program in Iron Fist's systems so we can eventually track her down and destroy her. Not a bad plan in theory. But he was absolutely insistent that they have to do it on this first visit, and he got up in Wedge's face about it."

YOUR PHRASING SUGGESTS THE COMMANDER DID NOT APPRECIATE THAT.

Janson laughed—a harsh, humorless bark of a laugh, but it was something. "He sure didn't. So Wedge grounded Castin for the duration of the leave. Took everybody else to Coruscant. That's why there's one X-wing left."

I NOTE THAT THIS CASTIN IS NOT IN EVIDENCE.

"Yeah," Janson said almost in a whisper. "Yeah, he stowed away on the Narra. At least, that's the only thing that makes sense. He sliced the duty roster and put a dummy in his bed, trying to keep us from noticing he was gone. He must be trying to plant that software program." He shook his head sadly. "He's going to get them all killed. Or worse."

IN A WORST-CASE SCENARIO, THEY MAY BE TORTURED AND REVEAL INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR MISSION.

"Now you're getting it."

YOU BELIEVE THE BASE IS COMPROMISED.

"I think there's a high likelihood it will be." Janson suddenly slammed his fist against the side of his canopy, angry. "Dammit! They only left a couple hours ago. They're still in transit. If we had a hypercomm on this base, and one on the Narra—we don't, because mini hypercomms small enough for a shuttle are absurdly expensive, and a hypercomm here would be a major security risk; Zsinj's people could track the signal straight to our base."

But if they did... Knob gave a wavering whistle, understanding. THEIR METAPHORICAL TRAJECTORY IS BALLISTIC. YOU CANNOT RECALL THEM OR ALTER IT.

"Yes, that's exactly it. They haven't cratered yet, but they're beyond my reach. All I can do is wait, and try to save whoever else I can."

WHERE IS SUNGRASS HEADED?

"Deep space, for now. A few lightyears out-system. Close enough that I can jump back to join them quickly if I need to, but far enough not to be spotted on sensors if Iron Fist shows up again."

AGAIN?

"Zsinj was here in person during the mission where we lost Phanan. Up in orbit. Donos actually managed to blow up a freighter full of explosives right in Iron Fist's main landing bay." Janson sounded a little more cheerful about that. "I think that's what impressed him enough to negotiate with us."

Knob gave an undulating whistle like a laugh, acknowledging the wry half-joke. HOW LONG DO WE WAIT HERE?

"Until the Narra doesn't come back," Janson said wryly. "Well, more specifically—because Zsinj is so paranoid about security, we don't actually know their projected round-trip time to reach wherever Iron Fist is, nor how long the meeting will take. But Aldivy, where Lara and Donos are headed, is over a day each way, and Wedge's group is planned for a three-day leave not counting travel time." He growled in his throat. "I really kriffing wish we had a hypercomm. I know the risk would outweigh the benefits most of the time, but I can't even warn Wedge that the base might be compromised or get new orders."

WHICH IS WHY WE'RE SITTING HERE ON A ROCK.

"Yup. If Face and his team haven't shown up by the time Wedge gets back, I get to hand over command to Wedge and it's no longer my problem. Until then... we wait."

"Well, I've written as much of my report as I can, I've caught up on the rest of the squadron datawork, I've spent several hours playing datapad games and gazing into the illimitable majesty of the cosmos... I might take a nap."

HUMANOIDS NEED NAPS, Knob agreed. Janson was really very sensible about conserving his energy, almost as smart as a droid. He didn't move around fidgeting all the time like some humanoids did. Still, organic systems simply needed their full power-downs far more often than droids did. Inefficient, but it was what it was.

"Wake me up if any of our people come back, okay, buddy?"

Knob beeped an affirmative. OR IRON FIST.

Janson's laugh was more like a voice-crack of pain. "Or Iron Fist. Yes." He wiggled in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, and seemed to settle down.

Knob couldn't really see into the cockpit—that wasn't a design priority—but he could hear just fine over his hardwired comm connection, and read the monitors of basic pilot vitals that were built into the X-wing's seat. Janson's breathing went even and steady almost immediately, but it wasn't the true relaxation of sleep.

Knob set an internal timer. It wasn't uncommon for stress to catch up with Janson once he stopped distracting himself and tried to sleep. If he hadn't finished powering down within twenty minutes, he'd probably gotten stuck in an emotional processing loop and might need help shaking it loose.

Well before the twenty minutes were up, Knob was aware that something was wrong. Janson's pulse was elevated, his breathing deliberately steady and too-quiet, and he sat perfectly still with none of the little twitches that came from humanoid muscles relaxing toward rest. Knob kept quiet, waiting to see if Janson would work through whatever was bothering him, but then he heard the softest, tiniest sniffle.

Sometimes tears were a healthy expression of human emotion. But Knob knew his Pilot's volatile moods well. This tense, hidden weeping... it was time to 'pull Wes out of his head', as Janson's longtime wingmate Hobbie Klivian occasionally told Knob.

He started with a soft, gentle chirrup, but when Janson didn't respond, he asked in text-scrolling words instead. WHAT IS WRONG?

Janson sniffled again. "I screwed up. And now they're dead. Dying. Probably dying horribly, and it's my fault."

Oh, this was not good at all. EXPLAIN.

"So the duty roster, right? Obviously with just me and Castin on base, out of the pilots, there wasn't much to do. So I put us both on a standard planetside rotation schedule. But everybody left pretty early in the morning local time, before that schedule had breakfast. So by the time—" The beginnings of a wail crept into his voice, and he stopped and blew his nose.

GO BACK. WHAT ABOUT THE DUTY ROSTER? Knob could piece together what was probably going on, but making Janson go back and explain himself more clearly would help him calm down, force him to use his brain rather than getting overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Right, I didn't tell you. That's how I figured out Castin was gone. I was at breakfast and he wasn't there, and I asked Squeaky if he knew why, and of course being a droid he pulled the current version of the duty roster automatically and told me Castin was listed as off duty for the next three days. Which was nothing like the cached version of the roster I have in local memory," Janson tapped the side of his helmet for emphasis, "so I knew something was fishy right away. So I ran and checked in his bunk, and I found this... contraption he left, a dummy with a breathing simulator, which is way too much effort to go to if he just didn't want to talk to people."

SO YOU EVACUATED THE BASE. THAT WAS NOT AN ERROR.

"No, the error was earlier. Because I could have—I should have assigned us both to be on duty doing something together while the Narra was leaving. Polishing our astromechs or something." He gave a dry, humorless little chuckle. "To keep an eye on him, make sure he was really staying on base. I considered it. But I was stupid. I was so kriffing stupid!"

WHY DID YOU DECIDE AGAINST IT?

A sob that was almost a hiccup escaped Janson. "I thought—I thought it'd be... better. For him. You know when—" He swiped angrily at his eyes under his visor. "Well, no, you were never a kid, you probably don't know. But when you get in trouble and somebody, some authority is like well now I don't trust you. And then they keep riding you, and it feels like, I want to show I can be trusted but you won't even give me a chance?"

YOU CHOSE TO GIVE HIM A CHANCE. TO PROVE HIMSELF TRUSTWORTHY.

Janson agreed with a wordless wail and started sobbing, shaking in his seat.

IT WAS A KINDNESS.

"It was a misjudgment! I had no evidence he'd reconsidered, that he was trying to be trustworthy. That he was looking for that chance or would do the right thing with it." Janson hiccupped again. "I'm a trainer. I'm a good trainer. And knowing when to give one of my kids a chance and when to keep riding them until they actually feel sorry and want to do better—that's a skill I usually have. I should have known better."

Knowing when to treat Janson with sympathy and when to shock him out of a bad mood was also a skill. One Knob was usually fairly proficient in. He hoped he wasn't about to make the wrong choice.

SO NOW YOUR MISPLACED KINDNESS HAS KILLED THREE GOOD PILOTS.

It took a moment for the math to sink in. Then Janson started laughing, a somewhat hysterical giggle. "Three good pilots and also Castin, is that it?"

I HAVE REVIEWED HIS SCORES. THEY ARE UNIMPRESSIVE.

Knob was pretty sure Janson was still crying, but now he was laughing as well. "We needed a slicer. He's not even as good a slicer as we hoped he'd be. Nowhere near Grinder's level."

GRINDER EVEN FOOLED US ASTROMECHS.

"Grinder thought of every angle. Castin..." Janson shook his head. "Castin didn't even consider that I might remember the duty schedule I assigned to the only other pilot on base. Or that if he didn't show up at meals for three days I might come and ask if he was sick, not just see that he was breathing and leave him alone."

I THINK HE MIGHT NOT RESPECT YOU VERY MUCH.

"I think he doesn't really respect anybody whose name isn't Castin Donn." Janson seemed to be pulling himself together a bit, which was good. "He's not a good fit for the squadron. I mean, not that it matters much right now—even if he gets out of this alive, we're going to court-martial him so hard his grandparents will feel it—but I need to refine that data so I can apply it when we start looking for our next slicer."

OH, RESPECT IS A WRAITH QUALIFICATION NOW?

Janson snorted. "You know it's not. You remember Falynn Sandskimmer, she didn't respect Wedge for shavit to start out with, but she was willing to learn. Castin... there's something else going on with him. Was going on. Eh, I'll figure out verb tenses later. Once he stays dead or not."

Knob could recognize when Janson wanted a sounding board. It was interesting, hearing him analyze other pilots' behavior. He often had insights that Knob hadn't heard elsewhere. WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH CASTIN?

"I think... the reason he wasn't a good fit specifically, I'm still thinking about it, but I think what it really boils down to is that he lacked curiosity."

THAT SEEMS UNUSUAL FOR A SLICER.

"Well, he was plenty curious about getting into places he shouldn't, I think that's a requirement for slicers and Wraiths both, but I don't think he had any interest in getting inside other people's heads. And that's something a Wraith has to be doing constantly."

RUNT IS THE BEST WRAITH BY THAT STANDARD.

"Yup. Face is probably second best."

EXPLAIN YOUR REASONING, PLEASE. If he kept Janson talking for a while, working through some more of his feelings about Castin and the failed mission, then perhaps he'd be able to sleep later. Humanoids were terribly inefficient at processing their emotions. At least Janson was usually willing to allocate enough buffer space to get it done. Knob was really very proud of his Pilot's varied skills, including how well he kept himself functioning at a high level on extremely unreliable hardware.

"About why I think Castin doesn't care what goes on inside other people's heads? Well, I have a few reasons. For one thing, he doesn't like nonhumans—Wedge warned me to keep an eye on that after Castin asked for a human bunkmate."

I DON'T SEE THE CONNECTION.

"I didn't either at first. I thought Castin was just being Coruscanti—they had that whole tradition of nonhumans as second-class citizens way before the Empire picked it up—but now I'm wondering. Being friends with nonhumans means you have to be willing to adjust your expectations about proper manners and cultural standards, more than with most humans from different cultures. Way more than only being friends with other Coruscanti humans." He snorted. "You have to be willing to ask questions about what they prefer and how your actions come across to them. You have to want to understand."

MUCH LIKE BEING FRIENDS WITH A HUMAN.

Janson was definitely feeling a bit better. He laughed affectionately. "You know it, short-stack. So that kind of clicked into place once I started thinking about why he set up his cover the way he did. Because..." His voice trailed off for a second like he was thinking hard. "Because I did consider, well, what if he does take advantage and run off to join the Iron Fist mission? And I thought he wouldn't, even though he still wanted to, because I didn't think he was that self-destructive. And I still don't. I think he genuinely believes he'll get away with this."

HOW?

"How would he get away with it or how does he believe that? Because I don't have an answer to the first one. But if he doesn't try to get inside my head at all, if he thinks of me as just a generic superior officer running on default procedures—"

AS A DROID, IN FACT.

"...well, I wasn't going to say it. But yes. If he thinks of me like a droid, if he assumes I'm going to work up the duty roster and then immediately do a local memory flush so I have to rely on his sliced version, if he assumes I have no curiosity outside my duties and won't come ask him why he's skipping meals—I don't think the dummy was intended to fool me, you know. I think that's just in case somebody decided to come look for him at takeoff. I really think it never entered his head that I'd go further than looking at the sliced duty roster, seeing that he wasn't on it, and forgetting all about him."

HAS HE EVER HAD A FRIEND? Knob asked rhetorically.

"That's not even friend behavior! That's basic squadmate decency! Sure, I'd usually leave that sort of thing to his wingmate or his bunkmate, but with Wedge and Runt both off on Coruscant, I'm supposed to pick up the slack. I may not like him, but I wasn't going to just neglect him."

SPOKEN LIKE A TRUE EXECUTIVE OFFICER.

"Or a true Rebel. Or just a trainer. It'd be shorter to list all the reasons I wouldn't go around keeping a protective eye on everyone in range." Janson yawned. "Okay, I might actually be getting sleepy now. Thanks for keeping me company, Knob."

Knob whistled an acknowledgement. This time, when the twenty minutes were up, Janson was fast asleep.

"You're cheating."

YOU ARE PLAYING MEMORY GAMES AGAINST A DROID. YOU WILL LOSE.

"You're still cheating."

"...ninety-nine bottles of lum, you take one down, put it back up, ninety-nine bottles of lum on the wall..."

THIS IS POINTLESS.

"Well, it only takes about ten seconds to sing a verse, so if you do the version where you drink the lum and count down the verses, and if you don't get lost somewhere in the mid-seventies, then fifteen minutes later you're out of lum and you've only managed to pass fifteen minutes."

AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE ANY LUM.

"Correct! Irrelevant, but correct."

DON'T YOU KNOW ANY OTHER INTERMINABLE SONGS?

"Well, now that you mention it, I do know one that never ends…"

Somewhere around hour forty, Janson got bored enough to start writing condolence letters for the families of the Wraiths presumed dead on Iron Fist.

"Assuming Wedge gets back safely from Coruscant, which he'd better, because if he manages to get lost between here and Coruscant we have a really big problem," he explained, "he'll want to write his own condolence letters because he's like that, but I don't have anything better to do and it's good practice." He sighed. "I hate that writing condolence letters is just something it's good to get practice in. War is weird."

IF THIS IS ONLY PRACTICE, WHY LIMIT YOURSELF TO THOSE TRULY DEAD?

"Ooh, macabre, I like it. Knob, you're developing a really interesting sense of humor. Whose should I write first, then?"

YOURSELF.

"How ominous. Is that a threat? Should I worry?" Janson sounded much more cheerful than he had the first time they talked about the dead Wraiths.

Knob was pleased. Of course, grief had its place and humanoids needed their processing time, but they handled their griefs much better in the company of other humanoids, not alone in space with only a droid who had no therapy training and couldn't even pat them consolingly through their cockpit canopy. For instance.

"To the attention of Lieutenant Derek Klivian, Rogue Squadron, Mon Remonda…"

"You know what would actually be useful to get written?"

AMONG ALL THE POTENTIAL CORRESPONDENCE YOU HAVE NOT YET WRITTEN, I CANNOT POSSIBLY IMAGINE.

"Lara got a letter from her brother, right? He's possibly being used by Zsinj to get to her. She and Myn should be back before too long, and if he was in cahoots with Zsinj, we wanted to have all the Wraiths with surviving family members warn them to be on the lookout in case they get kidnapped or anything."

That did actually sound halfway sensible. WHICH WRAITHS ARE THOSE?

"Uh, let's see. Not Myn, and obviously Lara's brother is already accounted for, or will be shortly. Out of the group that went to Coruscant, I think only Runt and Shalla have family. Runt's folks live pretty far from Zsinj-controlled space and I pity the man who tries to threaten Shalla's sister, but we'd better warn them anyway. Assuming it turns out Zsinj really is using our pilots' families against them."

WILL THEY ALSO WANT TO WRITE THEIR OWN LETTERS?

"Oh, probably, but what else am I going to do? Besides—Face, Kell, and Castin all have family, and even if they don't make it back, we should probably warn their folks to be on guard as well."

Knob twittered in agreement.

Janson had gone too quiet again. Not the tense, tearful stillness of before; this could have been a normal silence, but Knob knew his Pilot well, and there was a heaviness to the atmosphere in the cockpit that he didn't like.

YOU ARE NOT WRITING.

A sulky little grunt. "I'm stalling."

Ah. Classic Janson. Trying to deflect concern by stating the reason for the concern in a disarmingly blunt fashion. Knob was not to be put off so easily.

ON WHAT?

"I don't want to write to Kell's mother."

WHY?

Janson's voice was barely audible. "I don't want to tell her I've killed her son too."

Oh.

Knob didn't have anything to say. He gave an extremely inadequate minor-key whistle of sympathy.

After a few moments, Janson continued, his voice still low. "What can you say? What can I say, specifically? This isn't one I can let Wedge write."

No. No, it wouldn't be.

"He was a good man," Janson said. "Impressively kriffed up in the head, really skilled at getting directly in his own way. Emotionally dumb as a brick. Who knows how much of all that came from Mama and how much was homebrew."

HOW FLATTERING.

"Shut up." It wasn't sharp or angry or even sad. It was blank, flat. Knob shut up.

Janson spoke slowly, not writing, not recording, just talking. His voice was still flat and empty. "Hello, ma'am. We've never met, but you've cursed my name often enough that your son recognized it instantly. I really hope he told you who his new trainer was, or this letter will be even more of a shock. Sadly, he won't be telling you anything anymore. Better not let your daughters join the New Republic military or I might kill them too." He fell silent.

Knob did not like this at all. Janson's emotional state was deteriorating badly. He needed... well, he needed to be done with this self-imposed vigil and back in the company of friends, but that wasn't going to happen for a while. DID THAT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER?

Janson groaned and stretched his shoulders a bit. "Not especially."

Knob waited.

"I feel bad for her, you know," Janson said. "I kill her husband, and I get a medal. I kill her son, and there's still not a damn thing she can do about it."

Knob considered pointing out that Janson had not by any stretch of the imagination actually killed Kell Tainer, but decided against it. Janson was probably being dramatic for effect. Besides, Knob was curious. WOULD YOU WANT HER TO?

"To do something about it? About me?" Janson sighed softly. "I don't... even think she wants to, really. She fled Alderaan, changed their name—do you know how hard it is to get Alderaanians to leave home? Was. Most of the survivors were Rebels, because nobody else moved away. She likely just wants to be left alone."

YOU DID NOT ANSWER THE QUESTION.

"Oh, what would I want?" Janson folded his arms across his chest, hunching in on himself miserably. "Look, I know it's not logical. It won't happen. Wedge will be all understanding and rational and point out every kriffing thing you've pointed out about the limits of my responsibility."

Humanoids were so confusing sometimes. And Knob knew his Pilot confused even other humanoids. Still, he spelled out his next question almost hesitantly. YOU WISH HER TO HARM YOU?

A deep, rough, ragged breath. "It's called survivor's guilt. Look it up."

Knob looked it up.

OH.

"Yup." Janson went silent again.

Knob wasn't sure how to help with this one. It was clear Janson knew full well he was stuck in a processing loop, knew the name and origin of his malfunction, but could not terminate it. He had no restraining bolt port to flush the stuck programming. And telling him he was poorly designed, while true, seemed counterproductive at the moment; he already knew that too.

Maybe Janson could at least switch the process into the background until he was better equipped to cope with it?

YOU SHOULD PAUSE THIS.

"Huh?"

THIS PROCESSING LOOP IS UNPRODUCTIVE. YOU NEED TO REDIRECT BEFORE YOU BURN IT INTO YOUR EMOTION CIRCUITS.

Janson chuckled, soft and fond and tinged with bitterness. "Might be a little late for that, buddy."

YOUR MENTAL STATE IS DETERIORATING. HUMANOIDS ARE NOT DESIGNED TO SPEND 60+ HOURS IN ISOLATION. they'd been out here for so long. The psychological damage would not be irreversible, but it was accumulating.

"Aw, but I'm not isolated," Janson said, affectionate. "I have you."

Knob knew his own company was better than nothing, but he also knew it was insufficient to keep Janson stable. Death and grief and guilt and pain—what did his logic circuits know of any of these? He could not offer the comfort of a shared feeling.

He didn't have words to defend or apologize for his inadequacy. It wasn't something he could change, either, simply a fact. He settled for pointing out another fact. YOU ARE DISTRESSING YOURSELF OVER A HYPOTHETICAL. TAINER'S DEATH IS NOT CONFIRMED.

"Yeah, I guess," Janson said, sounding a bit sulky. Then a brief chuckle escaped him. "Okay, if anybody was going to fight their way off Iron Fist after getting their cover blown, Tainer could probably do it. And if he does, he can write to his mother about the threat from Zsinj."

Good. Knob was glad to see Janson's sense of humor reasserting itself. TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING CHEERFUL.

"Trying to distract me, huh? Probably a good idea. You got any suggestions?"

REPORT ON THE EWOK TOY WE BROUGHT BACK FROM CORUSCANT?

"Lieutenant Kettch! Okay, that's one thing that's been going great. Better than I even planned. See, because we're disguised as pirates, Castin programmed these voice modification setups into our comms…"

Janson was dozing again when the Narra returned. Knob beeped a hyperspace deceleration alert, and Janson sat up straight. "What? Oh!" He stretched quickly, cracked his neck, and activated his comm, starting the power-up sequence on the X-wing as well. "Hawk-bat Three to Hawk-bat Leader, is that you? Come in, Leader."

Face's General Kargin voice issued from the speaker. "Three, this is Leader. Why are you on station? Did something happen to the base?"

"Not exactly. How's the shuttle security? Any tampering?" Janson was staying in character, trying to ask if there was any chance Zsinj had the shuttle tapped to record their conversation. There was an interface in place to keep enemy slicers from tampering with the systems, but if Castin had given up any information, that could be suspect. Or this could be one of Zsinj's agents impersonating Face over the comms.

"Audio is probably secure, Lieutenant." That was Face using Janson's real rank to communicate that he was really Face; Hawk-bat Three didn't have a created persona yet, no name or rank. "I don't want to take the shuttle in to base until we can do a full sweep for tracking equipment, though. Dissek's checked what he can, but..." His voice trailed off. Dissek was Kell's Hawk-bat name, so Face was still being very cautious. "I'm going to guess you're out here because you noticed we had an extra passenger."

"Yeah." Janson's voice was tight, raw. "He with you?"

Face only sounded marginally better. "No. He's dead. No other casualties."

"And the mission?"

"Secure, to the best we can tell. We think he was killed outright, not interrogated."

"That's a start," Janson said. "Well, I evacuated the base. Not far, just on the transport, out into deep space a few lightyears. I can go get our head mechanic if you need him, but..." He sighed raggedly. "Nobody else is back yet. So there's nobody remotely qualified as a slicer to check on the internal systems. The, uh, the smaller team who left when you did are scheduled to be back in about half an hour if you can wait that long?"

"Good idea," Face said. "We'll find an asteroid and power down. I'll want to, uh, debrief with you as soon as we return to base." General Kargin, of course, wouldn't speak of delivering his report to a subordinate, but Face needed to report to Janson.

"Understood, sir," Janson said. "I'll go let the ship know. See you soon."

After they returned to Hawk-bat Base, instead of putting Knob back in the storage closet, Janson told him to wait in his quarters. Knob did so. It was a bare little space with a single bed. Most of Janson's scanty personal possessions were with Rogue Squadron while he was undercover. Only a brightly colored blanket and a couple of fidget toys showed who the space belonged to.

Eventually, Janson came in and sat down on the floor by the bed. His round face looked pinched and drawn. Knob rolled up to him and bumped his knee inquisitively.

"Yeah, I figured you'd be curious," Janson said, taking out his datapad and a cable. "Here, let me get you hooked up so you can pester me properly."

Knob let Janson plug in the datapad. ARE THE SURVIVORS ALL RIGHT?

Janson slumped against the bed, some of the tension bleeding out of him. "Dia's... pretty messed up psychologically. She had to shoot Castin's corpse to make Zsinj think they weren't associated with him. She had some sort of breakdown. I get the sense it was worse than Face is actually telling me."

WILL SHE RECOVER?

"No idea. And we don't have a unit medic to give a formal opinion, although Phanan was never great at the psychological assessments anyway." Janson's mouth flickered in the smallest hint of a grin. "We'll just have to see. The one I'm actually more worried about is Face. He was really close to Phanan, and in command of this op. He's beating himself up pretty bad."

DID YOU PASS ON SOME OF MY WISDOM?

"Hah. Maybe a little bit. Face's emotional code isn't as optimized as mine, though." He smirked, a mask over his real feelings. "So a lot of it wouldn't help him if I did. Your wisdom is advanced programming, you know, Knob."

I KNOW. WILL YOU HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO GRIEVE SOON? PERHAPS WITH THE COMMANDER?

Janson rested one elbow on Knob's dome, a sort of half-hug. "Not with Wedge, no. If he sees me..." He closed his eyes for a long moment. "He won't grieve if he can distract himself with trying to support me. He needs me to be... his backup. His support. So he can feel his feelings."

BUT YOU NEED SUPPORT AS WELL. YOU ARE CLOSER TO THE TRAGEDY. YOU FEEL MORE GUILT.

Janson snorted. "Nobody feels more guilt than Wedge Antilles when he gets rolling. And I have support. I'll write to Hobbie, okay? If it gets bad, I'll talk to you some more." He frowned. "Can't really talk to the other lieutenants about it, at least not right away. Face and Kell are both pretty kriffed up over failing to save Castin as well, and Myn's useless at feelings. But I still have more options than Wedge. He won't write to Tycho, he won't talk to Gate—it's me or nothing."

THIS IS BAD.

"Yup. No argument there. But it's what we've got." He sighed. "Look, Knob... whenever I really need him, Wedge has me, a hundred percent. But they weren't my people. Not the way they're his. He's going to have a crisis of leadership, just like Face is going through, and the best thing I can do for him is..." He shrugged awkwardly, looking for words. "Be his person. One of his people. Who trusts him. Be the stability he needs."

WHEN WILL THAT BE?

"Uh. They're due back tomorrow. Maybe twenty hours from now?"

THEN YOU SHOULD SLEEP. IN YOUR BED. EAT AND SOCIALIZE AS WELL IF YOU CAN. YOU NEED TO RECOVER YOUR STRENGTH.

Janson kicked off his boots, set the datapad on the bed, and stood up, starting to undress. He moved slowly, like he was very weary all of a sudden. "Can't argue with that. You want to stick around or go hang out with the other droids?"

I WILL KEEP WATCH. IF ANYONE TRIES TO DISTURB YOU, I'LL POKE THEM WITH MY ARC WELDER.

Janson laughed, a real laugh, not as hearty as it should have been, but soft with affection. "You're a good friend, Knob. The best."

I KNOW. BUT THANK YOU.

X-Wing: Isolation by JT

no subject

no subject