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the Empire’s armed forces. Nasty green nutrient pastes that take forever to go bad. Perfect for stormtroopers.”
    The Gamorrean nodded. “They also engineer animals to adapt to different planetary environments. They have less wholesome experiments as well. I was one of them. For purposes of espionage, the Emperor wanted Gamorreans with humanlike methods of self-control. They made alterations to our biochemistries. My attention span surpasses human norm. My mathematical acumen registers at the genius level. I do not lose control of my anger.”
    “This was an Imperial project?” Wedge thought that through. “How many like you are there?”
    “None. I am the only success.”
    “The other transformations were fatal?”
    “In a sense. All the other subjects committed suicide.”
    “Why?”
    “If I knew, I would be among them. But I am certain it has something to do with isolation. How would you feel if you were the only thinking human in the galaxy, forced to live among Gamorreans, and all the other humans you met were bloodthirsty primitives?”
    “A good point.” Wedge sat back and considered that unhappy prospect for a moment. “How did you come to join the Alliance?”
    “One of my creators, who had watched his other … children … kill themselves one by one arranged to have me put through a variety of different simulator training programs to measure my capacity. Or so he said. In actuality, he was doing it to teach me to pilot many different Imperial and Alliance vehicles. Then he arranged for me to escape the Binring compound. Eventually I reached Obroa-skai.”
    “The library world.”
    “I learned much there, and eventually chose to come to the Alliance.”
    “Your, uh, creator—he didn’t choose to escape?”
    “He was sad because of the projects he had led. He chose to follow his other children.”
    Wedge winced. “All right. To more immediate concerns. Your record states that you have temperament problems. You’re facing a court-martial for striking a superior officer, though that officer is willing to drop charges to get you transferred as far as possible from his command. What do you have to say?”
    The Gamorrean took a few moments to respond. “There are two types of pilots in the New Republic. Those who have been Imperial pilots, and may carry with them an irrational dislike of nonhumans. And those who have had bad encounters with Gamorreans.”
    “I tend to disagree.”
    “Your experiences do not match mine. And in my experience, a Gamorrean flyer tends to receive an undue amount of abuse from his fellows. Not just pranks. Sometimes sabotage. Lies. Challenges.”
    “You didn’t strike your officer?”
    “I have struck several fellow pilots in well-moderated challenge matches. I have never had to strike one more than once. You will notice that charges were filed against me within half an hour of the alleged incident. No one I have ever struck has been able to speak coherently within half an hour of my striking him. Sir, he struck at me; I blocked his blow. He has chosen to remember that as an attack. He is willing to drop charges only because he is not strong enough to accept responsibility for the full measure of his persecution of me.”
    Wedge considered. “Well, that’s about all for now. Candidate training begins tomorrow.” He rose. The others followed suit, and he shook the Gamorrean’s hand. “By the way, what do you like to be called? Voort?”
    “I am content with Voort. But many others call me Piggy. I am content with it, too, for I can ignore the definite derogatory component that goes with it.”
    Wedge and Janson exchanged glances. “The lieutenant and I once knew a very fine human pilot who went by Piggy. There’s no ‘derogatory component’ to it in this squadron. Rather, it’s a badge of honor I hope you can live up to.”
    “I will try to do so.”
    When the Gamorrean was gone, Wedge said, “I wonder what Porkins would have thought of