A GOOD KISS
C. B. Lee
Chase Wilsorr tugs on his clothes over his thermal layers, shivering in the cold morning air. Not that he can tell it’s morning aside from the 0400 blinking at him from his datapad. The barracks are dark aside from the soft glow of the screen, and he’s the only one unfortunately awake at this hour.
He claps his hands to his face, trying to slap some life into himself, and jumps up and down in place. It’s a new day. Anything is possible. Today could be his last day on kitchen duty, he knows it.
“I am confident. I am strong. I’m a valuable member of the Rebel Alliance, and any minute now Major Derlin is going to give me a mission of my own.”
Chase swipes through the pages he was reading before he went to bed, mouthing Raysi Anib’s words to himself.
To first make your dreams come true, you must be open to the belief that they can. You must embody it. If you don’t believe it to be true, how can anyone else?
The winning smile of the author grins at him from the cover of Be Your Best Self on his datapad. The Mirialan genius got him this far. Without this book he never would have left Takodana for Yavin 4 in the first place to fulfill his dreams about being a hero for the Rebel Alliance, so he owes it to Anib to keep trying.
“It’s too early for your self-help shenanigans,” mumbles a sleepy voice from the top bunk. “I don’t have to report to the bridge until oh-nine-hundred. Please let me sleep.”
The naysayers will try to get you to doubt yourself.
Chase ignores Joenn’s critical voice and the way the cold seems to seep through his socks as he tugs on his boots and pads to the shared bathroom. “I am a strong, capable person with value,” he intones to himself in the mirror.
“Shut up, kitchen boy. Hurry up and get out of here, I’m gonna want breakfast,” Poras calls from a few bunks down.
His smile falters at the “kitchen boy” comment. The reality of who he is and what he does sinks in with absolute disappointment. Chase looks unacceptably plain, with boring written all over his features, nothing at all like the heroes whom epic spy stories and romances are written about.
Imagine who you want to be. Use that energy to direct your actions.
Chase gives his reflection a roguish wink, trying to project the aura of a confident, dashing hero.
Instead, he just looks like he has something in his eye.
A new notification flashes across the datapad, and Chase opens it eagerly.
To: Chase Wilsorr,
I have reviewed your appeal regarding Major Derlin’s denial of your request for sentry duty at Echo Station 3-T-8. As per Major Monnon’s report of your subpar work in the Alliance Corps of Engineers and his recommendation you be removed from duty, I regret to inform you that you do not meet the qualifications and encourage you to continue with your training before you take on advanced duties. Please report to Lieutenant Harlize Dana in the kitchens as per usual.
Your continued contributions and your commitment to the Rebel Alliance are appreciated.
General Carlist Rieekan
Ugh.
Chase hates Hoth. He hates Echo Base, he hates the freezing cold, how cramped the bunks are, how the gray-white sky melts into the endless ice fields outside, and most of all, he hates how it feels like LOSER has just been stamped across his forehead and there’s no way to get rid of it.
It was so different on Yavin 4. Even though he’d failed basic training six times, Chase still felt hopeful. The days spent with the other young rebels, listening to stories of dashing spywork and bravery, imagining himself fighting back against the Empire. Running through the training fields, lush green fronds swaying in the humid jungle air—Yavin had felt like a wild adventure, and even working in the kitchens had been fun, cooking spicy woolamander stew and learning about different foods from Reynolds’s and Khan’s home planets, laughing about how they’d be heroes.
Kitchen duty on Hoth is always the same; there’s little variation in the menu, nothing but the endless monotony of peeling and dicing in the same four walls. Chase has long since memorized the line of every pipe across the ceiling, the sound of every creak and sizzle from the power lines ahead, even the way the ice is curved under from where he sits everyday, a slight dip from where it melts and refreezes to his trousers.
Chase peels another purple tuber and tosses it into the pile.
X0-R3 beeps affirmatively at him, taking the completed pile and dicing it efficiently.
“You don’t even need me,” he says morosely to the droid. “This could all be automated.”
Harlize ruffles his hair. “You’re important, Chase, we all are.” She sweeps her long blue hair into an efficient bun, tucking it into her hat before joining Chase at the pile of tubers. “C’mon, completely staffing the kitchens with droids is a luxury we can’t afford. You’re quick with a peeler and a kriffing good supply runner. Not all of us are cut out to be pilots. Doesn’t mean we aren’t valuable.”
“Caf. Delivery. Datawork.” Chase groans. “Some hero I am.”
His old friends had both completed training on Yavin with flying colors; Marinna Reynolds just started flying with the Rogue Squadron, and Oriss Khan trains regularly with Alliance Special Forces when he isn’t taking on grueling shifts of sentry duty.
Chase, meanwhile, is still stuck doing kitchen work.
He peels another tuber and starts a new pile.
Chase’s first kitchen duty is over by 0700, and then he’s on call for “essential delivery,” which makes his job sound way more important than it actually is. He delivers caf and food to people who can’t leave their shift, runs whatever boxes or supplies people need, and occasionally relays messages.
Chase knows all of these tunnels by heart—in fact, he helped make a good portion of them, before Major Monnon booted him out of the corps. Chase wasn’t cut out to be an engineer, but he wanted to help, despite Monnon’s claims that he was a danger to himself and others with the heat-tech. He shudders, thinking of that first week on Hoth when they’d carved out and melted tunnel after tunnel. Sure, he kept dropping the tools and he did sprain his ankle, but the ice flooring had been uneven! And using the heat-tech was far slower than Shara Bey’s idea to use the ion cannons of the A-wings. It’s not Chase’s fault he didn’t know what setting to use, but they ended up with a nice big briefing room, which worked out for the best, even though Major Monnon finally snapped at him to go help with the setup of the barracks instead of making the tunnels.
Chase still uses the makeshift tunnels they’d built during construction scattered above and below the main access tunnels. Most people don’t know about them or avoid them, preferring the wider corridors that connect the main areas of the base, but Chase likes his shortcuts, likes how surprised people are when he seems to pop out of nowhere.
He saves his favorite caf run for last, before he has to head back to the kitchens for his second shift.
The bustle of mechanics and pilots and the hum of speeders and X-wings gives way to the soft bleating of the furry beasts as Chase approaches the tauntaun pens. There aren’t enough tauntaun handlers for adequate rotation to allow for both sleep and the mess hall, so the food runs are necessary to keep the handlers going. On today’s early shift, three handlers are on duty, a fact that Chase definitely did not factor into his schedule.
Baesoon and Murell take the caf and food gratefully as Chase makes his way through the ice-formed stables, the floor littered with tauntaun droppings still being swept up for compost.
Jordan Smythe, the newest handler, spots him walking down the aisle between the pens, his face breaking into a wide grin. “You’re the best, Chase.”
“Just doing my job,” Chase says. “Apparently I’m not good enough to do anything else.”
“Oh, come on, you’re the best runner in Echo Base.” Jordan smiles at him, taking the cup of freshly poured caf Chase had specially prepared just a moment before.
Chase blinks, distracted by the brief warmth of Jordan’s fingers brushing against his. “You’re just saying that,” he says, embarrassed. He pulls his hand back, sticking it in his pocket hastily. Was that too fast? Jordan didn’t notice, right?
Jordan takes another sip of caf before setting down the cup on top of the gate of Sunshine’s pen.
A stray curl flops into Jordan’s face as he heaves another stack of ice fungus into the pen from the hoverlift behind him.
Jordan flicks his hair out of his face effortlessly. Chase watches the lock of hair fall back into sideswept ebony curls, captivated by the movement, by Jordan himself, at the way his muscles are straining through his thin long-sleeved shirt.
“It’s true,” Jordan says, tossing another stack of the purple-blue fungus into the pen. “Nobody else would be able to bring me hot caf from the kitchens. That’s on the complete other side of the base. I don’t even know how to get there without getting lost.”
“Oh, come on, that’s easy. You just take tunnel 02-91 east and then 03-31 and then take a shortcut through the easternmost barracks and pop out at tunnel 04-21 and cut through the western mess hall and you’re there. Fourteen minutes tops. Hoth can’t freeze coffee that fast.” Chase doesn’t mention that he pours Jordan’s coffee into his own insulated thermos and keeps it wrapped in his pack when he knows he’s making a run past the tauntaun pens.
“That’s amazing.” Jordan gives Sunshine one last pat before shutting the gate to her pen. The tauntaun noses him affectionately on the shoulder. Chase tentatively reaches out his hand, but she snorts gruffly at him.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.”
“No, I’m saying it because it’s true.” Jordan shakes his head.
Chase sighs. He can barely even feel pleased at the compliment; he knows he makes deliveries quicker than anyone expects, but ultimately saving a few minutes here and there because he’s memorized all the shortcuts doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like being a pilot or a spy or someone who actually matters to the Rebel Alliance.
“I want to do something important. I need more than just kitchen duty every day and delivering supplies, but Major Derlin says I cause too much trouble underfoot and he doesn’t have time to train me.” Chase thumbs through the multiple messages he’s sent Major Derlin today. “I can too handle a blaster,” he retorts.
Jordan laughs at him. “Oh, yeah? Show me.” He unclips his holster and tosses his blaster at Chase.
Chase fumbles, the heavy weapon flipping at an awkward angle as he tries to catch it.
The tauntauns seem to be laughing at him, and Jordan is laughing, too. “Here, hold it like this.” He readjusts Chase’s grip, his callused hands warm against Chase’s own.
Chase’s throat goes dry.
“Jordan, quit flirting on duty!” Baesoon’s annoyed tone breaks Chase out of his reverie. “Commander Skywalker is heading out and I need you to gear him up now.”
Chase can feel his face light up with embarrassment. “I—”
Jordan squeezes his hands and gives him an apologetic smile before reholstering his blaster. “Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” Chase says. He can’t look away from the brightness of Jordan’s smile, or from the sight of Jordan walking back toward the storage pen.
He turns around and bumps right into Sunshine, who just gives him a judgmental look.
“Do not start with me,” Chase says, shaking his head.
Today’s drop is new—the command center. Chase gulps as he pushes open the door. It’s not a usual part of his routine, but it is now—apparently Joenn’s mechanic skills keep her in demand enough in the hangar that she isn’t doing running duties anymore.
“New holoprojector for you,” Chase announces.
Toryn Farr turns as he sets down the heavy package. “Can you set it up? I’m expecting—” She snaps back to her comm station, intently listening through her headset.
Chase waits awkwardly until she relays a short series of commands back, fidgeting with his pack until Toryn finally notices he’s still there.
“Was there something else?”
“Bantha milk, from your sister. She says remember to take breaks.” Chase offers the bottle with a smile.
Toryn’s gaze softens as she takes the bottle. “Wilsorr, right?” The chief communications officer smiles at him. “Thank you.”
Chase beams proudly. Raysi Anib was right. People do value him when he values himself.
Oh. General Rieekan is right there.
If you don’t ask the question, you’ll never have the answer.
“General Rieekan? Would you like some caf? I was doing a run to the hangar and had some—”
“Thank you, that would be great.” Blunt. Short. To the point. The general doesn’t even look away from the plans he’s poring over, but he gestures at his empty mug.
Chase pours caf out of his thermos. Now’s his chance.
“General Rieekan, I hope you know that I—”
The hawk-eyed man turns his scrutinizing gaze toward Chase. “Who are you again?”
“Chase Wilsorr, sir. I requested sentry duty and was denied—”
“Oh, right, Lieutenant Dana’s trainee.” General Rieekan frowns.
“I hope that—”
“Listen, son, I’m very busy. I know you want to help, but the best thing for you right now is what you’re suited for. Major Monnon explicitly said—”
“I know that I’m not good with weapons, sir. Or hand-eye coordination. Or fighting. Or any of that, really. But I could take shifts on sentry duty, I really—”
General Rieekan claps him on the shoulder. “That’s the attitude and determination I like to see. I have a critical mission for you.”
Chase’s heart pounds with excitement. “Yes?”
Chase curses as he hefts another heavy supply crate through tunnel 05-92 to Echo Station 5-4 outside the base. He knocks on the durasteel doors and waits for them to slide open.
Rainn Poras smirks as he sets down the crate. “Hey, thanks for the critical delivery,” he says with a sarcastic smile.
Chase rolls his eyes.
“These blasters need to be recharged—they’re all in this crate here.”
Chase grabs the other crate, his eyes stinging in the cold wind. He can’t even enjoy being out here at the sentry point, being able to see the sky and the sunshine. Ice and snow stretch out into the endless horizon—nothing on the tundra, everything swaths of the same off-white, white and gray and blue unrelenting ice.
“Can you believe he applied three times to sentry duty?”
“Apparently Lieutenant Dana keeps running out of excuses to keep him busy.”
“Is it true Wilsorr tripped over his own feet during weapons training and destroyed three barracks?”
Their voices carry as he makes his way back through the tunnel, and Chase grits his teeth as he shuffles forward. I am important, he reminds himself, even as he doesn’t believe it anymore.
“Don’t listen to them. I mean, I can see how the general was thinking—you didn’t think your duties were critical before, and he’s said they are, so—”
Chase plops down on the crate he’s supposed to be delivering to the hangar, sighing. “Should I just stop trying?”
Jordan shrugs. “I think if you really want sentry duty, you could keep asking for it, but I also think you’re great just the way you are.”
Chase bites his lip, quickly looking away from the way Jordan’s shoulders look in his thermal shirt. “How are you not cold?” Jordan’s jacket is lying discarded next to the hoverlift stacked high with bales of fungus.
“Gets too hot throwing these around. This is nothing.” Jordan grins at him, his warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
Chase likes the way words fit in Jordan’s mouth, like they’re round with delight, his deep accent making ordinary words sparkle with Jordan’s quick-witted amusement. These moments with Jordan are always the best part of his day.
Jordan leans forward, placing his hands on Chase’s shoulders, rubbing them with his palms. “You cold, Yavin baby?”
“N-no. Yes. I told you, I’m from Takodana! I mean. Cold. Uh, not anymore. I—”
Be open to possibility. Others won’t know how you feel unless you tell them. Your most confident self is waiting for you to open the door.
Chase opens his mouth, and then closes it.
“I gotta go,” Chase mutters, stumbling backward and grabbing his crate. He breaks into a quick jog. He’s not running away from his crush. He’s not. He’s just…getting back to work.
Chase’s breath billows in front of him in quick puffs as he leaves the tauntaun pens with the crate. Ugh, why didn’t he stay? Was that flirting? Maybe he should have said something witty or suave. “I’m from Takodana!” Chase mutters to himself. Un-kriffing-believable.
Ugh. Hoth. He hates it so much.
Where was he going again?
Right, main hangar.
Chase makes a quick right into one of the main tunnels; other personnel walk quickly through, and the sounds of the command room echo through the wider corridor. Ahead of him are familiar voices.
“You want me to stay because of the way you feel about me!”
Chase can see Captain Solo striding ahead of Princess Leia Organa as she quickens her pace to match his. “Yes, you’re a great help, a natural leader—”
Oh, not this again. Chase has seen them pretend to argue all over the base; in the mess halls, in corridors, in the hangar. Not that the argument against fickleberries baked on meatpies was without merit—Chase is clearly for combining savory and sweet and loves that Alderaanian custom—but honestly, to drag it out for an hour just to annoy the other person is too much. And now they’re in his way. Can’t they flirt somewhere else? He’s got a job to do.
Captain Solo leans closer, and every centimeter of his handsome face annoys Chase to no end. Some people can’t just sweep into the Rebellion with their own ship and accept actual critical missions from General Rieekan and banter with the princess all over Echo Base. Some people aren’t handsome and don’t have a presence like Han Solo. Some people are just ordinary people, okay?
Chase grips his crate tighter and steps right into the scant space between them and ignores the rising argument behind him.
“You could use a good kiss!” Captain Solo bellows. It echoes throughout the corridor.
The absolute nerve.
Chase bristles, his knuckles turning white as he picks up the pace. He’s so tired of people like Solo. You know who’s never been kissed? Chase Wilsorr, that’s who. He could certainly use a good kiss. It offends him that Captain Solo and Princess Leia are just arguing about it, the way they’ve been dancing around each other since they’ve arrived on Hoth, clearly pretending to hate each other. Don’t attractive people have anything better to do than to taunt everyone else on the base with their unresolved tension?
Chase is startled out of his normal kitchen duty the next day by a booming voice over the base’s central communications system. “This is General Rieekan initiating the evacuation sequence. Imperial forces are approaching. All personnel must report to transport ships in the main hangar. Pilots, report to your X-wings…”
“Evacuation sequence!” Chase mutters. There had been a strange tension in the command center during his caf run yesterday, and then an increase in weapons distributions to the sentries. Chase always knew evacuation was a possibility, but he never thought it would come to this so quickly.
“We were trained to be able to go at a moment’s notice,” Harlize says. “Let’s go—”
Chase follows Harlize out of the kitchens, and grabs her shoulder before she starts down the main corridor. “Come on, this way is faster!”
The main hangar is in chaos. Deck officers are rapidly directing crowds onto transport ships, crates and crates of supplies hastily being shuffled along the line as people hurry back and forth.
Chase tries not to gape; he’s never seen the main blast doors just open like that, ships being deployed—in the distance, he can see the ominous angular shape of a ship he’s only heard about in stories: a Star Destroyer.
“Imperial ground assault to the west! I need pilots with me, now!” Major Derlin shouts.
The ground rumbles. Something moves on the horizon, and another, and another—monstrously large vehicles stalking forward on legs. Explosions dot the landscape, and X-wings are escorting freighters. One freighter jumps to hyperspace and suddenly the evacuation is terrifyingly real. They’re leaving the planet.
“Echo Base is not going to survive this,” Harlize mutters. “Wilsorr, you boarding?”
“Yeah, I’m coming!” Chase scans the people in the loading bay, but he doesn’t see Jordan anywhere. He types out a quick message on his datapad. Come on, Jordan, where are you?
“Has anyone seen Dr. Tristan Melthabi?” Major Derlin looks up from his datapad. The urgent question hangs in the air, concern drawn on the faces of everyone in the hangar.
“Cave-in on the access corridor to the medical facility,” Deck Officer Serenity Meeks says, tapping her comm unit, bristling with anxious energy. “Dr. Melthabi is trapped, along with three other medtechs.”
“I know another way!” Chase jumps off the loading ramp, waving his hands frantically as he runs up to Meeks.
“Quickly, we may not have much time.” She nods at him. “Go!”
Chase nods, dashing off to the tunnels without thinking. He ignores the frantic thrum of his beating heart, the way his blood pounds in his ears, the laserfire in the distance. It’s just another caf delivery. He can do this with his eyes closed and still bring that caf steaming hot to whoever needs it. Chase may not know how to fire a cannon or pilot any sort of ship, and maybe any weapon in his hands is a hazard, but he knows how to run.
Chase spots the opening to his eastern shortcut and ducks into the narrow tunnel, running as quickly as he can. Right, right, left. Cut through the barracks. Right. This should open up to the access corridor outside the medical facility. He pushes against the crushed ice and manages to clear a path wide enough to squeeze through. A quick glance at his datapad says he made it to the medical facility in 7.3 minutes, a personal record that he doesn’t have time to preen about, but his shortcut takes him right behind the cave-in.
“Dr. Melthabi? Hello? The transport ships are all leaving, you have to evacuate!”
“The cave-in—”
Chase grabs the doctor by the sleeve and guides her and the other three medtechs to the hole he squeezed through next to the cave-in. “Down this tunnel, turn left, run right through the barracks—you should know because Poras’s striped bedspread is really obvious—then right and two lefts and you’ll be at the hangar.”
“Thank you,” the panicked doctor says breathlessly.
Wait, if this corridor collapsed, that means everyone behind it is trapped—
“Go ahead, Doctor! I’m going back this way to see if anyone else needs help.”
Chase runs down the corridor, checking storage rooms and then each of the living quarters. He finds three foot soldiers and two communications officers and a whole group of refugees from Habassa II. Jordan still hasn’t messaged him back yet. Where could he be?
Unless he doesn’t have his datapad on him, which Jordan usually forgets if he’s with the tauntauns—
“The Bright Hope is leaving in ten minutes. I repeat, ten minutes. This is the last transport ship for all evacuees.” That’s Toryn Farr’s voice echoing throughout the base now.
“Go!”
Suddenly all the lights in the corridors go out. That’s it. They’ve lost power.
“That’s too many directions, I can’t possibly remember that and in the dark!” Officer Sendak cries out.
“Just follow me,” Chase says. He knows every tunnel here by feel, and even if he can’t see, he knows how many paces it’ll take to get to the next intersection—yes, turn here—another ten paces—another right—he checks to make sure everyone is with him, and they burst into the hangar just as another transport ship takes off.
Officer Meeks is gesturing people toward the Bright Hope, the launch door still open as people rush aboard.
“Good work, Wilsorr,” Meeks says, looking up in relief as Chase approaches with everyone he’s found. “Stormtroopers approaching. We don’t have much time.”
“Just give me a few minutes!” Chase says.
“You’ve got three.”
Chase runs, ignoring the sounds of blasterfire and the base falling apart all around him. He makes it to the tauntaun pens, which are alarmingly silent—they must have all joined the fight.
Sunshine is still in her pen, and she clambers toward Chase when she sees him, snorting in distress.
To Chase’s immense relief, Jordan is with her, trying to calm her down as she rears up.
“What are you still doing here?”
“Major Derlin said to stand by in case anyone else needed to gear up to fight!”
“Echo Base is lost. Come on, we have to evacuate!”
“I’m not leaving Sunshine!”
“I’m not leaving you! There’s one ship left that’s leaving”—Chase doesn’t want to think about how much time they have left—“now! Let’s go! We’ll take her with us!”
“We’ll have to ride.”
Jordan throws a saddle onto Sunshine, who harrumphs but stands still as Chase approaches. He’s always been afraid of the massive creatures, but he takes Jordan’s outstretched hand and climbs up behind him.
“Which way do we go?”
Chase thinks quickly—they can’t take his usual shortcut, it’s too small for the tauntaun—they’ll have to risk the main corridor.
“Take the eastern corridor, and then hang left!”
He shouts out directions as Jordan steers, and Sunshine gallops forward.
As Chase feared, there’s a massive cave-in blocking the way to the hangar.
If there’s one thing Chase can count on, it’s his inexplicable certainty to mess up weapons. He grabs Jordan’s blaster out of his holster, presses all the buttons at once in a slapdash sequence, and hurls it directly at the blockade.
“What are you—”
The blaster malfunctions and explodes, causing the ice to shatter just enough.
“Jump, Sunshine!” Chase shouts.
She clears the ice and they’re free.
The doors to the Bright Hope are closing, and the engines are already lit.
“Wait for us, Meeks!”
“More personnel incoming!” she says, stalling the takeoff. “Come on!”
Sunshine dashes forward and clambers up the ramp just as it shuts. The ship’s loading bay is full of people—many of whom Chase just guided through to safety.
The room explodes into whoops and claps.
“We’ve made it,” Jordan exhales, as if he barely believes it.
They dismount, and Chase pats Sunshine distractedly as Dr. Melthabi claps him on the shoulder and Poras says, “Good work, Chase.”
Chase grins, the words from Be Your Best Self echoing through him and for the first time feeling true. You’ve always had this power in you.
“Hey, Jordan?” Chase taps him on the shoulder.
“Yeah?” Jordan steps closer, close enough for Chase to see the flecks of gold and green in his eyes.
“You look like you could use a good kiss,” he blurts out. For a second, Chase thinks it might be too much, but Jordan laughs and pulls him close.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Their lips meet, and Chase thinks maybe there’s something to this confidence business after all.