"... been an honor serving with you all. I only wish I could have been the leader you deserved."

Zoom sat alone in his office, leaning back in his chair, illuminated only by the glow of his desk terminal. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and scrolled back to the beginning of the letter he'd just dictated:

There was quite a bit more in that vein; Zoom tended to ramble a bit, especially when he was depressed. His utter failure as a squadron commander was one thing that got him very depressed. The kind words and assurances of his pilots did little to convince him otherwise, and Starfighter Command inexplicably refused to honor his requests to resign, claiming that he was indispensable to the war effort. That left only one, very final option.

Zoom finished his review of the suicide note and decided that it would serve. Now there was just one last task to perform. He got up and walked around to the other side of his desk, dragging one of the chairs there over to the bulkhead. Two pipes of unequal diameter ran along the ceiling here, passing through the compartment, mounted in sturdy brackets. Sitting on the chair was a length of syntherope he'd filched from a tool locker earlier; now he threw the improvised noose over the pipes, getting it through the narrow space on the second try. He tied the other end off securely on a fitting, then climbed up on the chair and placed the noose over his head.

The door swished open, making him start guiltily at the thought of being interrupted or seen by anyone - Ranger, perhaps - at this moment. But it was only the cleaning droid, a rolling wastebasket less than a meter tall, methodically scrubbing and vacuuming this section of the cruiser on its nightly rounds. Zoom's sigh of relief echoed the hiss of the door as it closed again. The droid began to putter about the office, following its programmed course.

Zoom quirked a smile at the thought that this simple machine would be the only witness to his passing, then looked up and tugged experimentally on the noose to be sure it would bear his weight. Thus, he was caught completely by surprise when the droid (not expecting to find a chair here) bumped into the chair leg. He teetered and wobbled, off balance, as the droid continued to bang against the chair with mechanical single-mindedness. A last desperate lunge to stay upright had the opposite effect, kicking the chair completely out from under him.

Zoom fell a few centimeters and jerked to a stop as the noose tightened sharply around his neck, making his eyes bulge and his face redden. The fall off the chair had added a swing to his motion; spinning out of control, he slammed into the wall and bounced off, then swung back into it again, twirling a little. His boots scraped the deck, then flailed in the air, as he gagged and clawed at the noose that was choking him, all thoughts of self-destruction abandoned by reflex.

The droid, quite unaware of the little drama occurring above its non-existent head, went about its business.

"I'm having trouble sleeping," Zoom said, his haggard appearance giving credence to the statement. "Got any barbitol?"

The droid cocked its head. "Sir, barbitol is a prescription sleep aid, to be taken only..." Zoom waved a hand to shut the droid up and repeated his question. This time, the answer was a simple, "No, sir."

Zoom sighed. "Okay... what do you have?"

The droid rolled almost silently on its stable base over to a cabinet, which opened at its approach to reveal rows and rows of small bottles and jars. Metal fingers plucked one off the shelf. "Tenezine," the droid stated as it returned. "A mild sopoforic, effective on many species. Two of these should help your insomnia." It placed the bottle of pills in the pilot's hand.

"What if I take the whole bottle?" As the droid's yellow photoreceptors stared at him, Zoom explained lamely, "I really need to get some sleep."

"That would be a very bad idea, sir," the droid stated solemnly. "In Mon Calamari, large doses of tenezine can result in dizziness, muscle spasms, loss of swim bladder control, unconsciousness, and death. In humans, ..."

"Thanks, Doc, that's just what I wanted to hear," Zoom said, clapping the droid on its shoulder. His spirits seemed much improved. Humming a cheerful tune, bottle of pills in hand, he turned and left. The med-bay door hissed shut behind him, cutting off the rest of the droid's warning.

"... large doses can result in dizziness, sweating, violent nausea, and incontinence."

Zoom spent most of the next two days camped out in the fresher, wishing even more devoutly that he was dead.

Three days later, Zoom sat alone in the Fishtank, wearing a fresh uniform and drinking lots of water. His plight did not go unnoticed by his fellow pilots, who stopped by his table to pay their respects and try to draw him out.

David "Wild Cat" Fate, the newest member of Red Squadron, slid into an empty chair after his own attempt failed. "What's with the commander tonight?" he asked the other Reds seated around the table: Rob Baden, Chelsey Maxfield and Jeni Courtner, also known as Biggs, Vape, and Angel.

Vape shrugged. "He's just having one of his moods."

"Don't take it personally," Angel added. "What are you having?"

"Huh? Oh, a Flameout, I guess."

"Two Flameouts, an Ion Sucker, and another fizzy for the lady," Angel confirmed. "Be right back." She rose and went to the bar, easily attracting Dargon's attention; it was a slow night in the lounge.

"So how do you like Red so far, Wild Cat?" Vape wanted to know.

"It's okay... kind of quiet, though, for a combat unit. I can't wait to see some action! But until the Imps oblige, I guess I'll have to settle for a good game of sabaac." Wild Cat grinned, producing a deck from somewhere on his person. "Come on, who's in?"

"Ennh, not right now," Chelsey averred. "I'm on duty in an hour." Rob also declined, despite David's cajoling. Frustrated, the new pilot slumped back in his chair and glanced over his shoulder at the squadron leader. What he saw made him sit up in alarm: Kelly had drawn his sidearm, a standard-issue DL-18, and was considering it intently from various angles.

Biggs had also noticed, perking up a little. "Ah, here we go. Must be that time of the month."

"What do you mean?" Wild Cat asked his table- and squad-mates, confused. "Isn't that kind of unusual?"

"Not really." Vape shrugged again and smiled. "Like I said, sometimes Zoom just gets like this. It's nothing to be worried about."

"What's going on?" Angel asked, returning with their drinks. Enlightenment dawned as she looked over at Zoom's table, where Kelly was peering in an abstract, thoughtful way down the barrel. "Ohhh. Think he's gonna try it?"

"Twenty credits says he does," Biggs replied, sounding rather bored by the whole affair. Vape pouted at him.

"This is crazy," Wild Cat said, looking at the other pilots. "Isn't anyone going to do something?" Zoom had now drawn himself up and, with great dignity, had the muzzle of the blaster pressed to his temple. His hand was steady and his finger was on the trigger.

"Kid," Biggs said, not unkindly, "There's a lot you don't know about Red Squadron yet. This is one of those things. Sometimes Zoom gets down in the dumps and tries to off himself. It's no big deal." He reached over to collect his drink from Angel's side of the table and took a sip, watching the drama unfold with interest but no real concern.

Zoom closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a bright blue flash as the stun charge went off; at point-blank range, it was like being kicked in the head by a tauntaun. His head snapped back and then his body slid bonelessly to the floor.

"See?"

When Zoom came to, some twenty minutes later, he was surrounded by a ring of concerned faces: Red pilots, Blue pilots, Morning Star crewers (human, Calamari and others), and Dargon, who looked disappointed that he hadn't gotten the chance to employ any of the methods he used to wake up customers long enough to get them out of the Fishtank. Zoom blinked up at them groggily, putting a hand to the side of his head that hurt the most and encountering a circle of pink-burned skin and charred hair. He frowned and then raised the small blaster to where he could see it, very intently and deliberately flipping the selector switch.

Wild Cat chose this moment to intervene. "No, sir! I can't let you do it!" He grabbed for the DL-18, trying to wrestle it away from his commanding officer, who staunchly refused to let go despite his difficult position (flat on his back on the lounge floor). The others watched with some bemusement; Angel was just stepping forward to try to straighten things out when suddenly there was a red flash, a howl of pain, and Wild Cat toppled to the deck holding his thigh.

Biggs' eyebrows went up. So did a lot of other people's. Zoom lay there blinking in surprise as Wild Cat rolled around on the deck, hissing and cursing fluently. His cursing rose in volume when he lifted his hand and got a look at the new hole in his leg. He angrily kicked out at Zoom with his good leg but missed as the senior pilot shied away, looking utterly dismayed.

Vape said a very bad word in her native tongue and then asked, in Basic, "Uh... someone get a medic?"

Kelly sat in his office with the lights turned down and his head in his hands. Wild Cat was in med-bay, his thigh encased in a pressure cuff and bacta dressing, and was expected to recover fully from the flesh wound. His fellow Reds had "encouraged" him not to press charges. According to Ranger, the whole incident was likely to be written up as an accidental discharge of a weapon.

Which it was... but Zoom knew that wasn't the whole story. Accidentally or not, he'd shot one of his own pilots. Wounded, almost killed, someone under his command. Someone who had been trying to protect him from himself. He drew a deep shuddering breath and let it out in a sob.

Clearly, he did not deserve to live.

He didn't remember getting up and leaving the office. He had a vague sense of moving through the corridors of the great ship as if propelled by an irresistible current. Doors opened for him; people got out of his way. Then he blinked, and found himself standing before one of the Morning Star's boarding airlocks. He watched himself touch the keypad and step inside. The inner door closed behind him.

He was pulling at his clothes, his movements a little clumsy but methodical. First his uniform tunic, then his undershirt; his boots, his socks, his trousers... his shorts were the last to join the pile at his feet. He took several deep breaths of the cool moist air, feeling it flow in and out of his lungs. In, out. In, out. Someone was pounding on the other side of the thick door. He frowned, resenting the intrusion.

He took a final breath of life-giving air, letting it fill his entire being, and then released it as he reached over and pushed the button to cycle the airlock.

It was hard to say who was more surprised when the outer door opened: the naked man, or Princess Leia Organa and her honor guard, whose corvette had just docked with the Morning Star for an inspection tour.

Five hours later, Zoom was still trying to determine how much alcohol was necessary to make him forget the day's events when he achieved the next best thing: passing out. A beefy pair of Navy troopers, supervised by a tut-tutting Ranger, carried the colonel back to his quarters and poured him into bed, not expecting him to rise before noon tomorrow.

It was a still very drunk Zoom who awoke in the middle of the night to answer the call of his bladder and then spent several minutes gazing morosely into the bowl. At last he came to a decision, a plan which he set in motion with the peculiar cunning of the inebriated.

There wasn't much going on in the Morning Star's port-side hangar at 0355 hours. There were no flight operations scheduled for that morning and the Bothan deck boss had long since gone to bed, with promises of dire and possibly career-ending consequences for anyone who disturbed him. Thus, only a handful of deck crew and droids doing routine maintenance on the starfighters were present when Zoom entered the hangar and made his way to the X-wing in the ready-five position, moving with exaggerated stealth. His steps were a little clumsy because his boots were on the wrong feet. He'd also managed to attach his life-support unit to the bib of his flight suit upside down.

Zoom clambered up the ladder and into the cockpit of the sleek starfighter head-first. He paused in confusion and then executed a complicated maneuver that ended with him properly seated. Even in this state, he ran through the pre-flight checklist with practiced care.

The first clue that the techs on duty had that something was amiss was when they heard the sound of the X-wing's engines spooling up. The canopy was already whining down to lock in place. One of them went for the nearest intercom panel while the others approached the fighter, at first cautiously and then at a quick trot. Zoom responded to their hand signals with random gestures of his own, smiling all the while. Presently he tired of this game and engaged the repulsorlifts. The X-wing lifted about a meter off the deck and wobbled drunkenly toward the mag-con field, nearly mowing down one of the techs with the starboard S-foils before she threw herself to the deck to let the double wing pass over her. The starfighter took up position in front of the invisible barrier, drifted backward for a moment as if taking a running start (or a staggering misstep), and then launched itself into the void with its landing gear still extended.

Zoom shut down the comm system, which had begun to squawk disagreeably at him. He fished a printout out of the leg pocket of his flight suit and manually keyed in the first set of numbers, chewing his lower lip in concentration. Jo could have done this much quicker and easier, but he had decided against bringing the little droid along on this sortie. This was his suicide mission, not hers. Besides, she probably would have tried to talk him out of it.

This, Zoom had realized while standing in his fresher, was the solution to both his problems. In one stroke, he could redeem his reputation and put himself out of his misery. In hindsight, it was obvious why his other attempts had failed; this was the only proper way for a starfighter pilot to go. He would make the Final Jump... literally.

He had just finished entering the last string of numbers when another X-wing pulled up alongside him, this one bearing a blue stripe on its fuselage. Leo waved to get Zoom's attention, then pointed emphatically back toward the cruiser. Zoom smiled sadly and shook his head, saluted his friend, and reached for the hyperdrive lever. There was no time to double-check the numbers, and no need. The Force was with him.

The hum of the engines rose to a shriek as the X-wing leapt forward and vanished.

VSD Formidable was a relic of the Clone Wars, older than many of her crew, but she still lived up to her name. Nine hundred meters in length, with two squadrons of TIE fighters and enough armament for a full-scale bombardment and landing, she continued to remind the worlds of the Hebrini system of their obligation to the Empire even in these difficult times.

It was quite surprising, therefore, when a lone Rebel starfighter emerged from hyperspace some twenty kilometers off the Formidable's port bow and challenged the warship to "come and get me, you slime-licking bucketheads." Other insults followed. Captain Edders, offended by the Rebel's impudence, his poor singing, and particularly his assertions about the Captain's mother, ordered the channel closed and Alpha Squadron launched to obliterate him. This took some time, as most of the pilots were having dinner and not expecting a call to action. Meanwhile, the X-wing continued to close on a somewhat erratic course.

Eventually the first trio of TIEs roared out of the Star Destroyer's hangar, followed by a second. They closed up formation and charged lasers, targeting the incoming fighter. If the Rebel had a death wish, they'd be happy to oblige him.

Zoom was likewise preparing for battle, intending to take as many of them with him as possible. A straight-in suicide run would have no poetry, no meaning - no glory. These Imps would have to earn their kill. Now if only his sights would focus and stop dancing around...

His opposite number in the lead T/F was having a similarly frustrating experience: the Rebel fighter wouldn't stay centered in his reticule. It bobbed and jinked seemingly at random. That's either one great pilot, Alpha Leader conceded, or he's drunk off his ass. Suddenly he had a lock: the X-wing jittered between the crosshairs. He fired...

Half an hour later, it was all over. The vapor and debris that had been twenty-four TIEs slowly dispersed, leaving a single X-wing - charred from many glancing hits, shields down, fuel cells almost dry, and missing most of the lower starboard S-foil - tumbling slowly through space. The Formidable had fled shortly after Zoom took down her shields with his last torpedo. (At this moment, light-years away, Captain Edders was making a wide-eyed report to his superiors about a "trick" and a "Rebel ambush.")

Zoom floated in the dark womb of his cockpit, surrounded by the wheeling stars, finally at peace. His attempts to goad the Vicstar into firing on him with turbolasers had failed, but now - with no fuel or power, half his systems down and no R2 unit to repair them, and life-support failing - he was definitely done for. He could just close his eyes and go to sleep, and never wake up...

... unless, of course, the Regis hypered in at that very moment.

Zoom looked up with a weak, disbelieving groan as the familiar grey shape loomed over him. There was a faint jolt as a tractor beam took hold of the battered starfighter and began pulling it into the frigate's hangar.

The cadets gathered round eagerly, cheering, as the tractor operator set the X-wing down on its landing skids. Aaron "Jackal" Wolff was the first up the boarding ladder as the canopy opened, and thus was almost hit when Zoom leaned out over the side and was messily sick. Undaunted, Jackal and the other cadets pulled their heroic squadron leader out of his seat and began to parade his limp form around the Regis' flight deck, to the amusement and applause of the deck crew.

In all the commotion, Zoom's mumbled question to the cruel universe went unheard:

"When? When does the hurting stop?"