Captain Zyrell Nalto sat at his desk, sipping coffee from a large porcelain mug. His computer terminal beeped quietly to indicate that he had received a priority mail, which he promptly opened to find a list of names and attached personnel files for the new recruits which would be arriving later that day. The usual mix of undercity gangers, political activists and backwater farm kids seeking adventure, but a few caught his eye. The Mandalorian piqued his interest, as did the Ithorian whom he had always been led to believe were a race of pacifists. Additionally, he made a mental note to fire whoever thought it would be a good idea to have a Wookiee and a Trandoshan arriving on the same shuttle. He quietly thanked whichever gods might be listening that the Rebel leaders hadn't assigned him to be a shuttle pilot before closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

The last few months had been something of a whirlwind for Zyrell: given command of his own ship, watched his homeworld reduced to rubble, handed over his ship to the Rebel Alliance and finally shipped off to Corellia to begin training the very people who it had previously been his job to root out and destroy. Stranger still, since his arrival on the planet the locals had been nothing but courteous and polite to him, seeming to have no real qualms about his days under the Imperial banner. It was an immense sign of pragmatism on the part of the Rebels. After all, anyone who had grown up on any civilised planet in the Galaxy knew someone who was a gunner on a Star Destroyer, or a file clerk in an Imperial office, or a security guard at an Imperial shipyard. The Empire was everywhere. The Rebels just appreciated anyone who was willing to join the fight against it.

[b][i]"Captain!"[/i][/b] A call came from down the hallway, the voice of one of the desk sergeants. [b][i]"Our man at the spaceport has reported the shuttle broke atmo four minutes ago. Depending on traffic they should be here very soon."[/i][/b]

[b]"Thank you, Sergeant."[/b] Zyrell called back, his Imperial training reminding him to lock and check his terminal before even thinking about leaving the room. He pulled himself up to his full height, checked his uniform in the mirror, then made his way towards the door. Less than half way down the corridor, he turned around and came back. Had there been a speck on his right shoulder? He made sure to check it seven times from various angles before he was satisfied, then spent several more moments adjusting the pips on his collar. Once he was quite sure everything was ready, he made his way down to the landing pad just as the shuttle came sweeping into view from between two buildings, then circled around to land.