There are four people waiting for Tycho when he climbs down from his A-wing. His new squadron.

The first to speak is the Theelin woman who he knows from the information packet he received is Chass na Chadic.

“You are not replacing him,” she spits with far more venom than he expected. Then she’s gone before he can reply.

Tycho tries not to take it personally. He knows being the new pilot in an already-formed squadron is hard. He knows people respond to losing their friends in different ways. He knows she doesn’t really blame him.

At least he thinks she doesn’t really blame him.

Tycho turns to the other three who have come to meet him, a male and female human and one whose species is unidentifiable under her helmet and armor. That has to be Kairos. Tycho is curious about her; the information on her had been surprisingly slim. The burly man with crossed arms and an unimpressed look is Nath Tensent. That makes the slender, pale-haired woman frowning after na Chadic but not objecting to her behavior Tycho's new commanding officer, Lieutenant Yrica Quell.

When neither of them speaks, Tycho raises a hand in an automatic salute. “Flight Officer Tycho Celchu reporting for duty with Alphabet Squadron.”

Tensent snorts. Kairos remains unnaturally still, her reflective visor impenetrable. Quell's eyes flit over her remaining pilots then back to Tycho before she says, “Welcome aboard the Lodestar, Flight Officer. Come with me.”

Tycho nods and follows her out of the docking bay, trying not to let his fingers play nervously against the flight helmet still in his hands. The others haven't moved, and Tycho glances back at them before they disappear from sight.

He wishes he hadn't. Tycho doesn't think he's ever been so instantly and openly disliked by a group of complete strangers before. It makes ice water trickle down his back the more he thinks about it. Is this just about their lost squadmate, or is there something more? That part of his record is supposed to be sealed, but...

He forces himself not to think about it, focusing instead on the positives. He can start again here. He can get back to the fight. He can make a difference.

“Wyl Lark was the heart of this squadron,” Quell says as soon as they’re in her office. Her gray eyes fix squarely on Tycho. “You’re here to provide the A-wing expertise we need to fill the gap in our battle plans, but you’ll never be him.”

Tycho manages to not flinch. “I don’t want to be him. I just want to fly.” If only she knew how much he meant it. He doesn’t think there’s enough left of him to be the heart of anything.

Quell makes a thoughtful sound and taps a few keys on her terminal. “Part of your record is sealed. Is this something I need to worry about?”

Tycho wants to tell her she's not allowed to ask that, but an onslaught of memories washes away the words. His fighter being shot down. A burst of pain followed by blackness. Waking up aching like he'd slept for years. A ship’s hatch opening, sunlight on his skin after so long. A welcome home. Questions. Relief. Then, suddenly, a blaster in his hand in a public square, someone in the sights who never should have been. Pulling the trigger, powerless to stop himself–

“Celchu?”

He shakes himself. “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.” He swallows and licks dry lips. “But no. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Quell watches him, a thoughtful look on her face, for long tense moments. Finally, she speaks. “Everyone has secrets. If yours aren’t going to interfere with our missions, I’m not going to pry.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but thankfully he doesn’t have to. Quell hits another button and hands him the datachip the terminal ejects. “Berth assignment, docking information, and orientation information. Contact me or one of the others if you have any questions.”

Before he can ask, she answers, “Yes, you’re in Lark’s former quarters. Do you believe in ghosts, Flight Officer?”

Tycho can’t tell her he sometimes feels like one, a shadow of who he was before Ashmead’s Lock and everything that followed.

“Dismissed,” she says, seeming to know he won’t answer. “The memorial is at 1100. Attend if you wish; you’re part of this squadron now, whether any of us like it or not.”

Tycho closes the office door behind him and allows himself to breathe for a moment in the empty hall, the datachip clenched in his fist. He never wanted to replace anyone. He’s just another body in a starfighter shooting the enemy. All he wants is normality.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if being Wyl Lark would be easier than being Tycho Celchu.