Deak fell silent, remembering, Camie was sure, the battle they had witnessed earlier just as night fell. It had been low enough in the atmosphere that they had been able to see the flashes of light from the lasers, and the glints of light that were the ships reflecting the last of the sun. The whole gang had turned out to watch. Space battles were not uncommon around Tatooine, seeing as it was controlled by the Hutts and therefore a popular smuggler's base. But they were fairly rare where they could be observed from Anchorshead, and therefore watching a space battle was a welcome, exciting break from the hum drum that was a typical Tatooine youth's life.

But the real excitement, the reason why they were out here in the desert with night closing in around them, was in what Fixer had found. He had been fiddling with an old receiver he had found in Tosche Station's basement for weeks. But suddenly, the rusty old thing- at least pre Clone War era if not older- has started receiving transmissions. The Rebels must have been trying to dodge interception by using an ancient frequency.

Rebels.

Camie felt a small thrill shiver through her as she thought that name. Despite the Imps attempts to stop them, stories of the Rebels still filtered through in a network of underground newspapers and broadcasts. The Death Star and its destruction, tales of the legendary Rogue Squadron, battles fought by fearless Rebels, garrisons destroyed, prisoners rescued. Rumours that the Last Jedi fought for the Rebels, of the Princess of Lost Alderaan, of dashing heroes…

"You're right," Deak said, breaking into her thoughts. Camie blinked, startled, as her mind was pulled back to the present.

"Of course I am," she said airily, tossing her head so her loose hair whipped across Deak face, still poking between the two forward seats. Fixer sniggered next to her as Deak pulled back quickly and she threw him an easy smile, excitement pounding in her breast.

Camie remembered how this had come about, how the day had changed from an ordinary day, the sameness of it to all the others that had gone before mind-numbing, to this.

The gang had gathered on the flat roof of Tosche Station, heads tilted upwards to watch the show, passing a pair of macrobinoculars- and a can of something alcoholic- around. Beneath them, Fixer's voice had drifted up, indistinct grumbles as he shifted through the clutter of his room. Camie remembered how she had taken her eyes of the light show above her for a minute to glance sideways at the two boys sharing the roof with her. It had been Windy's turn with the macrobinoculars and he was staring up at the battle through them. Deak, seated beside him, had been watching him closely, impatient for his turn. She remembered how she had felt a strange pang at the sight of the two of them. There were only four of them left now, the other three gone. Tank- a fighter pilot somewhere in the Empire. Wormie- who knew. Biggs- dead. Again, Camie felt that strange catch in her chest.

Biggs' father, Huff Darklighter, had summoned them one day a few years ago. They had gone to the Darklighter estate and been led through to his study, desert bred eyes widening at the sight of the water sculptures, marvelling at them no matter how often they had visited. When they had been let into the study, Darklighter had been standing in front of his desk, hands gripping the edges tightly enough to leave marks in the wood- real wood- piece. Shudders racked his huge frame every now and then, and his face seemed to have aged years since they last saw him.

In the present, Camie closed her eyes as his grief strained voice drifted into her mind from the past.

"I'm sorry… there's been… [Shuddering sigh.] We've just received a message from the Academy. [Sound of swallowing.] Biggs… Biggs was killed. A training accident they said. [Silence. Then, softly] I'm sorry.

They had left the estate in a daze, though Camie remembered seeing a small, tearstained face, one of Biggs' young cousins, peering at them from around a priceless piece of potted foliage.

In another place, perhaps one of the densely populated core worlds, they wouldn't have become friends. Indeed, it could be argued that the small collection of misfits weren't friends even now. But they had been drawn together by similar ages and similar interests, and by the dearth of other children in the small outpost. And they had known each other for most of their lives in this dusty, dead corner of a dusty, dead planet. Now, three were gone and four remained, and would likely remain for the rest of their lives. Fixer was training to take over the Station, Camie was taking an Accountant course over the Holo-Net, and Deak and Windy were preparing to take over the respective family businesses. Dull, boring, and utterly predictable.

But this… Camie's eyes sparkled with just how unpredictable it was.

She hadn't even bothered to turn around when Fixer came pounding up onto the Station's roof, though Windy and Deak quickly came to attention, respect for Fixer's size and strength deeply ingrained. She had just twitched her low-cut top into a slightly more revealing position and ignored him. Camie remembered Fixer's shouts of excitement, which had become progressively more annoyed as she continued to ignore him, until he grabbed her shoulder and pulled at her. She had rolled her eyes as she turned around with a put upon sigh, to see what had her default boyfriend so worked up.

Fixer had cradled the broken down receiver, held together by the duct tape and spit, as if it was the last cask of water on the whole planet. But she hadn't even thought of teasing him about it. She was instantly fixated on the ancient machine and the sounds it was making. The quality was awful, the transmission filled with the crackly sound of interference. What few sounds that weren't wiped out were tinny sounding, barely recognisable as human. However, they had been able to glean enough from the broken up transmission to understand what was happening. The battle overhead- it wasn't a clash between two rival smuggling factions; it was a battle between the Empire and the Rebellion.

Camie thought of how they had listened greedily for any coherent dialogue, which was miniscule. But what they had heard was enough. Pleas, orders, warnings, advice, threats, all a broken up garble. But more importantly, a single word, again and again- Rogue. The legendary Rogue Squadron, heroes of so many battles, enshrouded in mists of rumours and myths. When they had understood who it was, they had hung onto every bit of clear speech they could even more eagerly, though there was little enough of that. However, the voices they were listening to had become more panicky and urgent, then finally calm voice had cut through, its authority apparent even through they had not been able to distinguish any words.

There were brief flashes of light above and a sudden silence over the receiver as the X Wing squadron went to hyperspace. But the group on the roof of the station had barely paid any attention to these events, too captivated by the small speck in the far distant that was growing closer unbelievable fast. Camie had snatched the macrobinoculars from Windy's lax hand, paying no attention to his protests as she lifted them to her eyes to catch a brief glimpse of the infamous 'X' silhouette, and the smoke trailing behind it before it disappeared from her vision. She had lowered the macrobinoculars to stare out into the desert, plotting in her mind where the X-Wing had crashed.

"I think it came down over there," Windy had said quietly, pointing in a specific direction out into the desert. The four of them exchanged quick glances. There was no need for any discussion. Shortly afterwards, they had piled into the four-seater speeder and roaring out into the desert, towards where they had seen the ship go down.

"There," Windy said quietly, cutting into her thoughts. There was silence as Fixer swung the speeder around and brought it to a stop. The silence continued and a kind of anticipation hung in the air as they piled out of the speeder, eyes fixed on the sight they had come to see. Half buried in the side of a dune, metal dark against the sand, with only the small sounds of cooling metal, lay the sight they had come to see.

*******