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Out of the Ashes
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| Thrawn | Date: Friday, 14 Apr 2017, 7:48 AM | Message # 1 |
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Trainee
Group: Users
Messages: 2
Status: Offline
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0 ABY
Neimoidia
Fortress of the Inner Ruling Council
Sen. Lott Dod was begging for his life on his knees in a pool of his first born son's blood. His robes were worth ten thousand credits--almost enough to buy a ship. He pleaded with a warrior clad in blue armor who stood before him, "Please! Spare me. Spare this world. I'll give you what you want! Take it. Take it and leave!"
The armored warrior said, "Every starfighter, cruiser, warship, and battle droid in your possession."
~*~
Earlier…
Senator Lott Dod, ruler of Neimoidia, stood with his ruling family in the high fortress of the capital city. His family was his four wives: Feya, Feya, Feya and Blure. Also, were his sixteen sons: his first born, second born, third born, and so on. They also had names. Surrounding his family were his appointed officials. Among them was Chief of Planetary Defense Gal Durd. Gal Durd was, well, a durd if there ever was one. Supreme Treasurer Kuut Fin--that slug would sell you out for a nickel. And a there was also a Neimoidian who, in case the Empire was asking, was certainly not the leader of a secretly perpetuated, under the table Trade Federation: Viceroy Ghang Shen.
Don't worry about memorizing all of these names. All of these Neimoidians are about to be slaughtered right before Lott Dod's eyes. For now, however, Senator Dod gazed out of the transparisteel, contemplating his achievements. For the past decade, the Galactic Empire had been oppressing Neimoidia in petty retaliation for its role in supporting the Confederacy of Independant Systems and Trade Federation during the Clone Wars. Imports had been bottlenecked. Its connection to the Holonet had been suppressed and Lott Dod was forced to appear in the Imperial Senate via hologram.
In other words, Neimoidia had been castrated.
Senator Lott Dod, however, had not complacently bent over to receive this brutalization from the Empire. Instead, he had begun to make Neimoidia great again.
Not long after the end of the Clone Wars, a disgruntled Geonosian engineer named Gizor Dellso had begun a small, pitiful, and short lived uprising on Mustafar. He was quickly crushed by the 501st legion but shortly before his death, Lott Dod had secretly purchased 700 Geonosian worker drones as slaves from Dellso. With these slaves, Sen. Dod built factories. In order to hide this operation from the Empire, he hid these factories in the exceedingly dangerous asteroid field Saak Sooin. These factories were spread across hundreds of moon-sized asteroids and had produced an impressive army of Battle Droids over the course of the past decade.
Senator Dod gazed out of the transparisteel, taking in the view of his freshly produced and highly illegal droid flotilla. It comprised of: two Providence-class dreadnoughts; one salvaged from Pammant Docks and the other stolen from Bilbringi. The droid factories he had built in the Saak Sooin field were sufficient to man these dreadnoughts. Gizor Dellso had innovated a technology which would offer himself (and later Lott Dod) complete control over their droidic armed forces--it was a simple implant, of sorts. Lott Dod’s was buried under his skin and attached to his skull.
The rest of his fleet of Tri-droids, Vulture droids, frigates and corvettes had not been as simple to acquire as the Dreadnoughts had. For those, he had needed the help of the Corporate Alliance. This was achievable. First of all, Lott Dod still retained the solidarity and fraternity of those corporate CEO’s in power, having all been on the same side during the Clone Wars. Secondly, Lott Dod risked his life and planet’s freedom by secretly maintaining an unofficial incarnation and successor of the Trade Federation in order to resume business as usual with the Corporate Sector. The Corporate Alliance reciprocated his extremely risky and audacious venture and demonstration of trustworthiness by networking him with the private collectors who had acquired just the ships he needed: droid ships.
After a decade of secret dealings and smuggling, he had gathered himself a sizeable armada.
He had done this all right under the nose of the Empire. Perhaps the Empire was too busy guarding Kuat shipyards to pay any attention to Neimoidia. More likely, though, whichever Navy officer was in charge of security in this sector was simply sleeping on the job.
”Sir!” Shouted a Neimoidian officer. ”Intruders on our security cameras, sir!”
Lott Dod watched the security feed intently, "Who the hell got past our security?!"
"I'm on it right now, sir." Said Chief of Defense Durd.
”Might I remind you all,” said Kuut Fin slyly, ”That the only way anyone could access our fortress is with the proper codes.”
"Exactly! You should have had this problem fixed before this was even a problem!" One of Lott Dod's doomed wives said.
"My men are the most disciplined." Durd said, angrily. "They do not report until there's something to report. And now they have. The real question here, is how did they get those codes? The only people who know those codes are standing in this very--"
"Enough!" Shouted Sen. Lott Dod. "Call the droidekas!"
Chief of Defense Durd punched a few buttons. "They're on their way." Kuut Fin looked immensely worried at this.
The Neimoidian heads of state looked up at the security feed in unison. There were about fifty armor clad soldiers blasting their way through the fortress. They were gunning down nobles, armed or unarmed. The leader was a man in blue mandalorian armor. He was flanked by two soldiers wielding lightsabers. They were approaching the door to the command room.
"Jedi?!" Wailed Feya. "That's impossible! They’re not wearing robes. Besides, all the Jedi are dead."
"It is up to us." Lott Dod said, "To finish what is left of them."
Lightsabers, yellow and white, began cutting through the door.
"Close the blast doors!" Shouted Chief Durd.
Heavier duracrete doors slammed and locked. From the center, they still began to melt.
"Where are those droidekas!?" Demanded Sen. Lott Dod.
But the droidekas never came. The Jedi cut through. The near-molten duracrete slammed loudly onto the ground. The blue-armored warrior walked through, flanked by the Jedi. The warrior began to scan the room.
In an insanely incredible act of bravery, Senator Lott Dod stepped forward. ”Greetings, most accomplished warrior.” He bowed. ”Please, allow me to welcome you to our world and home. I am Senator Lott Dod, ruler of this beautiful planet. And to whom do I owe the extreme pleasure of meeting?”
The Mandalorian mask stared, emotionlessly at the Senator. In an electronic voice, ”Heh.”
He grabbed Lott’s chin and smashed the butt of his gun against the Neimoidian’s slimy eye and nose. The Neimoidian’s tall hat fell off. He collapsed to his knees, screaming.
The armored man said, ”Trim the fat.”
The Jedi got to work. The yellow blade found its way into Ghang Shen’s chest. Gal Durd was decapitated by white. Lott Dod’s wives perished to yellow. The sons, to white. Supreme Treasurer Kuut Fin trembled amidst a pile of corpses. The blood of Lott Dod’s first born son pooled at his robes. His knees became sticky. "Please!” He begged. ”Spare me. Spare this world.” He looked up at the Mandalorian. ”I'll give you what you want! Take it. Take it and leave!"
The Mandalorian looked beyond the Senator and the corpses, out beyond the transparisteel window. His gaze settled on the Senator’s flotilla. "Every starfighter, cruiser, warship, and battle droid in your possession."
”Impossible! They are all under my control.” Lott Dod explained. He then made the mistake of pointing at a scar at his temple. ”There is an implant neurologically connected to--”
The Mandalorian pulled a vibroknife from his belt and began to scalp the Neimoidian, who wailed shrilly. The two Jedi extinguished their sabers and held Senator Dod still.
Supreme Treasurer Kuut Fin could not bear the violence anymore. ”Wrotch!” He yelled. ”What are you doing?! You sick fierfek! You said you would keep them alive if I gave you the access codes to the fortress! This was never a condition of our agreement!”
”Things,” said the blue armored warrior called Wrotch as he pried the implant out of Lott Dod’s skull, ”change.”
Lott Dod hit the ground with a wet sound.
Shaken, Treasurer Fin said, ”So… So, you’ll hold up your end of the bargain? You have the fleet now. And all the battle droids.” Wrotch placed the implant in a pouch in his belt. ”So, that means… Neimoidia is mine, right? I’m in charge, now?”
Wrotch held his hand out. One of the Jedi placed a lightsaber hilt in his hand. ”I’m afraid that for you,” Wrotch ignited the bright white blade and raised it. ”it will be impossible to get ahead in politics.”
Wrotch decapitated him.
~*~
A long time ago in a galaxy far,
far away. . . .
OUT OF THE ASHES
Alderaan is a bloody debris field haunted by billions of innocent lives.
The Rebel Alliance has been empowered by their victory at Yavin. In one fell swoop,
the Death Star has been demolished. The Clone War veteran Yularen is dead. Motti,
Chief of Imperial Navy, is dead. Tagge, Chief of Imperial Army, is dead. The legendary
Governor Tarkin is dead. There is a wave of political upheaval in retaliation to the
Emperor’s bold move to dissolve the Senate.
As the Galactic Empire scrambles to restore order, the desperate Rebel Alliance
relentlessly strikes vital and unguarded facilities and opportunistic criminals
stake new claims without recourse. It is only a matter of time before the Imperial Navy
scurries to organize a reprisal of great wrath…
~*~
Immediately after the destruction of Alderaan, Senator Max Graives of Brentaal had purchased a massive abundance of Alderaanian goods and products. He had purchased several freighters full of Alderaanian spiced wine and the height of fashion from the city of Aldera (as well as other paper bound literatures from the capital city). He had a hauler which he had christened the “ark”, which currently carried a variety of birds and domesticated animals hailing from Alderaan. While most of these were either livestock or pets, the more valuable of this cargo were the rare breed of sleuth-cats hailing from the Juran Mountains. These Juran sleuth-cats produced some of the most beautiful sought-after furs that credits could afford. Most importantly of all of Sen. Graives’ recent purchases were the now exceedingly rare artworks and sculptures from the days of the Royal Renaissance of Belleau-a-Lir--these artefacts were worth tens of millions.
0 ABY
Brentaal
Crystal Citadel
"Master Graives." A shiny RA-7 protocol droid was trying to wake he Senator in his private quarters. ”Master Graives.”
Graives blinked a few times.
”Good morning, Senator Graives.” Said RA-7. ”Your breakfast--”
”It’s Ex-Senator, now, Ra.” Said Graives.
”Very well, Ex-Senator Graives.” RA-7 tilted his head. ”I see you went with green this week.” Ra said, indicating the naked Twi’lek in Graives’ bed. ”Very fine choice, sir. Without waking her up, can you tell me her name?”
”Her name is 100 pounds, five feet tall for 7,000 credits a night.” Graives said, standing up nude before Ra and donning his silkenfrond robe. ”You bring nothing but bad news. So what is it?”
”All of your Alderaanian cargo,” Said Ra, casually. ”is being attacked and stolen by pirates.”
”Blast, how much of it?” Graives demanded.
”I said all of it.” Ra said.
Sitting back into bed, Graives opened a bottle on his night stand. He poured himself a shot, drank, then another shot, then drank again.
”Call Jak Dekar.” Said Graives, pouring a third shot. ”Outbid the Neimoidians.”
”Will do, sir.” Said Ra. ”Also, Dutchess Anita is downstairs in the kitchen waiting for you.”
”Why the hell didn’t you tell me before I started drinking?” Graives drank his third shot, then pushed past the protocol droid, who followed him down to the kitchen.
Dutchess Anita of Commenor and Ex-Senator Graives of Brentaal had a past. They had met when Anita was 16 years old in Kuat space during a meeting between the Senators of Kuat, Commenor, Brentaal, Raithal, and Carida along with an assemblage of other important CEO’s and politicians. It had been a very lavish and memorable party aboard a space yacht. There, Anita had met the older “kids” of ruling families and other politicians. Most of them were Academy or College aged, but none of these youths were going to deny the company of a young and beautiful girl--especially Max Graives. Graives was obnoxious. He was expressedly irresponsible. He bragged about stupid and dangerous stunts he had pulled and fights he had won. Freely, he spoke disrespectfully to the older politicians and treated his parents with a disdain none of the other royal kids would have dared. Anita was 16, so found this very arousing. Graives made her giggle a lot. Soon, the two had snuck off somewhere on the ship to kiss. Graives had seemed to want to bite every part of her exposed skin. Anita spent the entire time kind of but not really fighting him off.
It was the first time she had been with a boy in that way.
Max and Anita were inevitably caught by yacht security, but as a part of protecting politicians, security guards typically acted blind to whatever scandalous behaviors they see. The sympathetic security guard warned them and had a long talk about the kind of disputes that could arise among politicians and ruling families over these sorts of relationships. He told them that they didn’t want to start a civil war, did they?
This had been a great mistake, because it gave Graives the opportunity to say, ”I’d wage war against the whole galaxy for you,” to Anita, a girl he had just met.
Anita melted in his arms regardless.
From then on, the two continued to see each other. Graives would travel parsecs from Brentaal, fly down the Commenor Run, just to see Anita in Commenor space. As much a fool and a brash ass Max Graives was and is, let it be known that he also was and became a marvelous fighter. Graives was frequently boarded by Weequay, Ugnaught, and Rodian pirates during his travels to see Anita. These encounters were nothing next to the battles he’d find himself getting into at Sin Station: which was a space station in Commenor space and the prearranged meeting spot of Max Graives and Dutchess Anita.
Sin Station was where Max Graives introduced the Dutchess to spice and almost cost her her life.
There is a special hybrid strain of giggledust favored by Max Graives which is more of a neurological inhibitor than a typical upper. Though it is a long term depressant, it is a short term upper. It inhibits judgment and and remorse. Short term, a user can seem narcissistic and care free--people often get into fights or steal things or sing and dance when they take giggledust. Long term maintained highs, on the other hand, change a person. Drastically. They can lose their minds.
Without going into that detail right now, Dutchess Atina was out of her mind. She was obsessed with herself and with Graives. They ran amok on Sin Station with a crew of belligerents who were enticed by their money. Between the trips she would endure amount of pain. The withdrawal would be so bad, she would seek Graives out again and again. She lived this way for 18 months until her body literally could not take it anymore. She vomited through her mouth, her nose, she lost control of her legs and crawled into an Alliance freighter.
The Alliance put her through a rehabilitative program that changed her life. Anita has been clean for a year. And now, she’s back at Graives’ home.
Graives hit the stairs and saw her. She looked nervous. She better had. She’d left him without saying anything. She was probably worried he was going to come down hard on her. ”Annie.” said Graives, gently.
She looked up. Upon seeing him, she relaxed some. ”Max”
He made his way downstairs. ”Boy, am I glad to see you.” He stood before her.
She felt like a little girl, again. ”Max…” She smiled. ”You look…”
”Amazing.” He said. She laughed. ”You still the same trouble maker?”
Her smile left her face. ”I’m here on business, Senator Graives.”
”Ex-Senator, now.” Graives winked. ”Ever since the Emperor trimmed the fat.”
”Fine. Ex-Senator, then.” Said the Dutchess. ”The Alliance sent me because they know that you and I go back.”
”Way back. Way, way back.” He said. ”You know, forgive me, did you want a drink?”
”No. I was told you had information you wanted to share with the Alliance to Restore--”
”Yeah,” he cut her off. ”listen.” He turned back toward the stairs. ”What I have to tell you is on a need-to-know basis. Come with me somewhere private.”
Dutchess Anita looked around the room pointedly. It was literally empty except for the protocol droid. "This is private. I'm sure RA-7 can be trusted." She said.
"I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him,” said Graives, making his way toward the stairs. ”Which isn't very far at all considering he's made out of doonium!" He started to make his way upstairs.
Anita laughed. "Wow. I get it. You’re so rich.” She sighed and followed him upstairs.
She made her way upstairs. He led her through the halls and gave her a tour. ”That’s pure gold. That’s a kyber crystal. That’s doonium, again. This painting over here is from Neimoidia as a parting gift.”
”From who?” She asked.
”From myself.” He grinned. ”I stole it. Don’t worry, by the sound of it, they’ve got bigger problems right now.”
She laughed and shook her head. ”You never cease to surprise me.”
He led her into his room. ”It’s the only place RA-7 hasn’t snuck any recording devices, I think.” Anita raised an eyebrow. Max continued, ”Which surprises me because all manner of perversion happens here.”
She laughed, but shook her head. ”Max, quit it.” Said Anita. ”You told the Alliance you know of an undefended Imperial territory.”
”I told the Rebels I know where they’re pulling reinforcements from tomorrow.” He said. ”And they sent you…” Max turned on an old holoplayer. A twi’lek danced to an old timey big band serenade, ”...to coax the information out of me?”
”This is absurd.” She said. ”Quit playing games.”
”I’m not the one playing games.” He said. He took her hand and looked at the the engagement ring on her finger. ”I want to know who’s really asking.”
The Dutchess sighed. His name is Tihm. Tihm Garacen.”
”Garacen. Nobody I ever heard of. Sounds like a nobody, too.”
”Commodore Garacen.”
”Ah, Commodore.” He spun the ring around her finger. ”Really, Annie? A Rebel?"
Who was he to judge Garacen? ”It's a step up from a scummy old pirate.
With mock nobility, Max said, ”I left that life behind.”
"Ugh." She said, rolling her eyes both in disbelief and also as if to say, 'You just don't get it.'
”Or not!” Max said, with his hands on her shoulders. ”Whatever the hell you want.” He moved closer to her. She could smell the scent of familiar spices on his jacket. It was that familiar smell that did it. It reminded her of being 16 again. ”What do you want? How many times do I have to tell you--I’m not a mind reader. Sweet heart, there is nothing I can't give you. What do you want?”
Her eyes fluttered. Oh, that familiar smell. Her heart started beating. She could almost taste the spices. ”All I want... is a good man.” No, that’s not--she meant to say a man that was good for her.
”No,” he said, his voice deep. ”You want a bad man with a heart.”
He could still see right through her. ”And you don’t have a heart.” She said.
She looked up. Their eyes locked. ”Come with me. We can run wild. You were always a troublemaker.”
”I am not,” she said, her cheeks reddening, her breath quickening, ”a trouble maker.”
The familiarity enveloped both of them. They kissed. He squeezed her hips. His hands slid lower. She pushed them back up to her lower-back. He pulled her wrist up above her head and pinned her against the wall. He was so strong. And she was so weak. Their fingers entwined. It was hard to hold her hand with the large rock that was her engagement ring. The fact that the ring was literally in the way of holding hands brought both of them back to reality. She shoved him off her, "The hell!" She backhanded him and he yelled and stumbled backward. He was bleeding profusely from his temple.
She was shocked at the sight of the blood. ”I’m sorry! Max, I--”
"Kuat! They're pulling reinforcements from Kuat! Tomorrow! Show yourself the door." He said, bleeding. She moved toward him, to place a hand on him. But he barked at her. "Just piss off!" Yelled Graives.
She looked at him with pity. She left. He glared at the bloody engagement ring as she walked out.
”Daddy? Is everything okay?” Said the green slavegirl from his bed.
”Shut up!” Yelled Graives.
"Come, come Master Graives." Said RA-7, appearing around the corner. "Let's get you stitched up. It's lucky I haven't put away the bacta kit, yet."
Graives followed Ra into the next room. RA-7 dabbed a bacta oil on the re-opened cut on his left temple. ”You know, the Emperor is giving Regional Governors direct control over their territories, now that the Senate has been abolished.”
”You just love to remind me about the Senate.” Said Graives.
”The point is,” Ra pressed on. ”We’re in a part of Imperial Space that doesn’t exactly have one, and so the local Moff needs to select one. Already, director of regional security Bella Nelia is under consideration. But you and the Moff go way back--why don’t you try to push for youself?”
”I don’t care about that.” Said Max.
”What is it you want out of life, Master?” Asked Ra, tired of Max’s petulance. ”Because I really don’t know. You do nothing but hide away in your room for days at a time with different pleasure girls each week. And when you’re not with them, you get drunk and do hell knows what with those bandits from Sin Station you consider friends. You are wasting your family’s legacy. You are devouring the wealth of Brentaal and turning it into useless feces. So, I ask you, what do you want, so you can get on with growing up and achieving real goals?”
”I just want my little girl. I want to have her. And have her again and again. This way, that way, every way I want to. I want to have her in ways no one’s had her.” Ex-Senator Graives stood up, now with a new resolve. ”And no one else ever will. Get Moff Zarbara on the line.”
~*~
Sin Station
Commenor space
With his helmet at his feet, wearing a yellow flight suit, Andro Zard sat at the bar of the cantina on Sin Station. He ordered his 5th shot of Chianarian firewhiskey.
”You know, son,” The old hunched Koorivar bartender said hesitantly, ”I’m running out of that stuff pretty fast.”
Zard glared at the bartender. ”You think I don’t know that?”
”I’m sorry for your loss, son.” The bartender said, pouring him another drink. ”Whatever it is you’ve lost. You know what the Empire did to my homeworld after the Clone Wars?”
”I don’t want to hear it.” Zard closed his eyes. ”Just charge me.”
The Koorivar looked at him with pity and charged Zard’s credit chip 200 Galactic Credits.
"You're a hard man to find, Andro Zard," spoke a voice in an Outer Rim accent.
Zard turned around. It was his old friend, Tihm Garacen. They had been friends as teenagers, firing slugthrowers at kath hounds on Lothal, getting into fights together and joining the Rebellion together. But now, Garacen was different; a Commodore now, wearing a cape and a crisp Alliance military uniform. Garacen was flanked by two Alliance soldiers wearing blast helmets.
"I'm not so hard to find. You just have to follow the trail of blood." He said, with a distaste in his mouth.
Garacen said, "We’re soldiers. Killin’s what we do. There’s no changing that. And it was the tracking beacon on your Y-Wing, you dope. So, why are you running, Zard?"
"Running." Repeated Zard.
"Hidden.” Said Garacen. ”On some obscure space station full of scumbags."
"Sounds like I belong here. And I'm not running. I just came for the Galaxy's finest Alderaanian alcohol."
Garacen watched regretfully as Zard downed his shot of whiskey. Garacen closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps in a moment of respectful silence for Alderaan. Then in a tone of austerity, "You know, that drink's illegal in some sectors, now."
Suddenly, a few heads turned at the word "illegal" being spoken in a stern voice by a militant officer. The patrons flanking Zard felt the cold tension between the two.
Zard stood from his seat and looked Garacen in the eye. "A lot of things are illegal in a lot of sectors. I heard you can be executed on the eighteenth moon of Arodoni just for being ugly."
Garacen faced off with Zard. "That would explain why your mother's never been there."
Silence.
Zard and the Captain stared at one another. The barkeep, the nearby patrons; all quiet. One of the Captain's men shifted his feet; he was nervous. The other's hand twitched by his blaster.
Zard laughed. So did the Captain. Zard hugged the Commodore for a long while. All the good feelings of being young came back, before the war, before the Empire’s presence on Lothal. Back when things were simple. The two fools had thought a fight against the Empire would be just as fun as fighting the ugly Goatl boys down the street, but how wrong they were.
"Sit down, you old Kath hound." Said Zard. "Come, let me get you something--"
"I won't be drinking today, old buddy.” Said Garacen. I'm here on business."
"Of course you bloody are.” Zard laughed. ”Get the Commodore Garacen a business drink, then."
The bartender slid a drink to Garacen. Garacen didn't take it. Andro took his and downed it.
"Listen... Andro." Garacen said, trying to catch Zard's eye. "I need your help."
"No." Zard shook his head. He tried to find more words but they didn’t come.
"Huh?"
"I won’t do it anymore.” Zard felt tears coming. They’re all dead. I killed thousands of--”
”Goddamnit, Andy. Quit your whining. You think you're special because your little BLT ejaculated a proton torpedo into some small particle ejector vent and now thousands of soldiers are dead? Pick yourself up. You think every being who sets foot onto a war ship doesn't know he sets for the skies into a black void of death? You don't think every Imperial soldier is told they will certainly die for their precious Emperor? You're a kriffing selfish fool if you think you can just quit. Now, I could charge you with desertion and put you on trial. You did not report your leave. You lied to the Watch Commander in my hangar bay. That Y-Wing is property of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, which you stole. You would most certainly be imprisoned for treason, or handed over to Trandoshan Jailers."
"Are you threatening me--?"
Garacen interrupted Andro. "Or. Or you can come home, Andro. Come back to the Liberator II. We need you. The Alliance needs you. You're a hero. Soldiers love you almost as much as they love Skywalker. You inspire them. You give them hope. You have a responsibility to inspire courage. We miss you."
Garacen looked angry for a second and took off his cap. He crumpled the cloth beret in his hand. ”I miss you.” He said quietly, angrily.
Andro felt quite small. A little ashamed, perhaps.
"You're coming with me. Willingly or wearing binders."
Zard buried his head in his hands. "I'm sorry." Said Zard, finally. ”I… Y’know? I just want--”
"Hey man.” Garacen put his arm around Zard’s shoulder. ”It's okay."
Zard patted Garacen on the back and wiped his face. He stood, with confidence. "Where's the Liberator II? I'll fly my Y-Wing back to--"
"Zard, you ain't flying anything tonight. That's why I brought Qyle, here..." Garacen ordered Qyle to obtain the Y-Wing and fly it back to the rendezvous point. Garacen put his arm around Zard and helped him stumble back to the hangar bay. The Alliance soldiers escorted them, keeping the two of them in front of them at all times. ”Listen, Andy… They need you to join a new team of X-Wings called Storm Squadron.”
Zard said, drunkenly, ”But I’m a Y-Wing pilot.”
”Hey, champ, what’s your callsign again?” Garacen asked, pretending to have forgotten.
Zard barked a laugh. ”Shut up! You know what it is.”
”No seriously, c’mon.”
”Wizard.”
”You don’t say?”Garacen said. Zard giggled. ”Why do they call you that?”
”Cause. I can fix anything, shoot anything, and fly…”
Garacen urged, ”Go on?”
”...Anything.” Zard realized.
”Wow, anything. I guess that includes X-Wings, huh?” Garacen shook Zard. See? That’s why they want you on Storm Squadron. They need you to fix and shoot and fly.”
They were in the Hangar Bay. Liberator II stood before them in all its glory. Zard said, ”Krayt spit, you parked it here?”
”How else do you think I got here?” Said Garacen, casually. ”Okay, look, mate… You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow morning you’re meeting Storm Leader and your fellow pilots bright and early.”
When Zard walked up the boarding ramp, he was greeted by the crew of the Liberator II. Some of them clapped, a lot of them pat him on the back. They had all come to make sure Wizard knew he was missed.
”Sir.” Said Qyle. ”Should a man in his state really be flying a combat mission tomorrow?”
”He’ll sober up.” Said Garacen. ”Alderaanian liquor is some clean stuff.”
”I mean his mental state.” Said Qyle. He seems … traumatized. There are people he can talk to. Help he can get.”
Garacen’s face hardened. ”The Alliance has neither the time nor luxury to spare for that sort of thing. I need him in the air bright and early tomorrow. See to it he’s escorted to Storm Squadron. Sober.”
”He’s your friend.” Qyle reminded him.
Garacen said nothing.
The Liberator II and its starfighter escort made its way back to the rendezvous point.
Message edited by Thrawn - Friday, 14 Apr 2017, 8:15 AM |
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| Anubis_Xerxes | Date: Sunday, 16 Apr 2017, 0:59 AM | Message # 2 |
 Trainee
Group: Users
Messages: 9
Status: Offline
| MANDALORE (specific time unknown, most likely no more than acouple years before 0 ABY)
A young Mandalorian in a red-colored Mandalorian ShockTrooper Armor to indicate he was a Imperial Super commando, Mandalorian Protectors that were working to protect the Mandalorian Space for the Empire, would walk down one of the public streets filled with Mandalorian citizens and stormtrooper patrols alike. He looked left and right before looking up at the dome that protected the capital city of Sundari from inhospitable conditions outside. Given the history of his own people, the Imperial super commando did not understand why his own government had allowed the Empire to take over their sovereignty. This Mandalorian have had doubts of his own people’s decision for a long time, despite the fact he was so proud of being a Mandalorian. So far, his doubts have been largely kept to himself. The comlink on his belt would ring, as he let out a light groan inside his helmet. The ring was all too familiar, calling him to duty. Anubis grabbed the comlink and spoke toward it in a native accent. “I know, I know. I’m coming, sir.Private Xerxes out.” The young warrior would shift his footing in the exactopposite direction, turning around and walking for a small military compound at the other side of the city.
Despite the harsh tradition of Mandalorians, he has grown to dislike the Imperial restrictions that had been increasing a bit by bit daily. The more restrictions that were put in place, the more ridiculous they sounded to Anubis. He continued his path when his head turned left toward an alleyway where three stormtroopers would begin to surround a laying-down homeless male, one of them kicking. He thought nothing of it until the homeless guy turned to show his face. It was an elder clone, covered in white beard and hair and in clothing that seemed so worn-out, dirty, and full of holes. “You know the rules.”
Anubis would begin to move into the alleyway, moving closerto hear the conversation. “But I have no home! What am I supposed to do?!” Theclone gave a deep-toned exclamation, but the body language of the stormtroopers indicated they did not seem to care. “Too bad, we’re going to have to arrestyou.” The seemingly leader of the Imperial trio would respond in a harsh tone.That is when the Mandalorian would decide to get involved.“Hey, what in the Force are you doing?!” He gave a sharptone, grabbing the Imperials’ attention before bumping his way to be in the middle between the stormtroopers and the homeless clone. Anubis moved to kneel right in front of the homeless clone, while his head would turn to look at the stormtroopers. “He’s a Clone Wars veteran, show some respect.” Anubis spokewith a stern tone this time, showing his daring to speak against the Imperials. Despite not being a big fan of the Empire’s predecessor, Galactic Republic, he
still felt the clone deserved some respect due to the fact Jango Fett, an infamous Mandalorian, was the template of the clone army. In a way, the clone is also a Mandalorian.
The patrol leader shook his head, “Clone Wars ended yearsago. The Empire is the law now, and the law says we must throw him in the prison for sleeping in public. Move aside, or we will have your superiors throw you in the brig and charge you with armed assault.” Did the stormtroopers justthreaten Anubis? He turned to look at the laying clone, although none of the
sentient beings present could see his face because of his helmet. One of his hands were already concealed from the view of the Imperials, but not the clone. With that very same hand, one of the fingers would point at one of his boots a couple times. If looked closely, the clone would see a concealed combat knife. At this moment, the young Mandalorian had come to realization that the Empire does not respect the past. If they were disrespecting the past, then they would not respect the Mandalorian culture and way of life.
Gently, Anubis rose from the ground and slowly turned toface the stormtroopers. Because he turned around, his boots spun around so it’d be easier for the clone to grab the knife. “So be it.” He subtly warned thepatrol leader, before grabbing ahold of the trigger on the E-11 blaster rifle of the stormtrooper to his left. Simultaneously, the clone would use his left feet to kick right at the same stormtrooper’s knee while grabbing the combat knife and threw it at the leader’s neck. A scream would be heard from the knee-injured Stormtrooper, and the next sound was a blaster fire. The stormtrooper to his right immediately fell onto the ground, and so did the patrol leader. Lastly, the remaining Imperial would be punched by Anubis and sent onto the ground holding on to his knee writhing in pain. The young Mandalorian moved to point the E-11 blaster rifle at the injured Stormtrooper, pulling the trigger.
Suddenly, everything went blank.
PRESENT DAY (0 ABY)
Anubis’s eyes opened up, looking at the plain, gray-coloredceiling. He had let out a light exhale, and groaned slightly before smashing his hand onto the top of the alarm clock. It would stop ringing. The still-young Mandalorian sat up, his feet touching the cold permacrete floor. Both of his hands rubbing his face, and his head shook once. “Damn that dream.” He muttered to himself, indicating this wasn’t the first time he dreamt of the very first time he turned against the Empire. Anubis wasted no time in brushing the dream, putting on every single part of the armor, except for the helmet, on
his body. This time, the color was painted blue instead of red. When gearing himself up was done, he would pull a drawer from a nearby countertop cabinet.
His right hand reaching for something inside the drawer, pulling out a joint of marcan herb. Anubis was not much of a drinker, but he was a hardcoresmoker. He would rather be getting high over getting drunk every single time. As he was about to fire the joint up, he heard a rapid knocking. The leader of the Storm Squadron would let out a loud groan, putting the joint back on the countertop, moving to open the door. The person standing in front of him was a Duro male dressed in an officer’s uniform with the rank of lieutenant.
“They’re waiting for you in the debriefing room, CaptainXerxes.” A Durese accent would be heard.
“Damnit! I’m about to smoke, Zheeg!” The Mandalorian snappedin response, clenching both of his fists as well as his teeth.
“You can wait until after the meeting to get high. You’rethe squad leader, after all.” The lieutenant emphasized, before leaving the scene.
Anubis rolled his eyes, turning back into the room to putthe joint back into the drawer. Then, he put the helmet on his head. “The meeting better be productive.” He grumbled to himself, grabbing the belt and putting them onto his waist. The belt came with two holstered WESTAR-34 blaster pistols, and he decided not to take any additional weapons as it was not a combat situation this time. Finally, he moved out of his personal quarters. He began moving down the hallways of Revival, a modified Hammerhead-class corvette that had a hangar bay equipped to hold the Storm Squadron’s x-wings.
The Mandalorian have had mixed feelings about the approach Commodore Garacen had taken lately. The logical, rational side of Anubis says Commodore Garacen is being too bold about wanting to hit crucial spots of the Empire due to the pyrrhic victory at Battle of Scarif and the destruction of the Death Star at Yavin Four. However, the Mandalorian side of him is overexcited about
the possibility of taking on such a daunting task. It is in Mandalorian’s blood to push as far as one can go in combat. Perhaps that is why Anubis is considered among the best soldiers/pilots in the Alliance. When information reached the rebellion that Imperial reinforcements had been pulled away from Kuat, he had been pondering on this move for a bit. Was it designed to be a deliberate trap?
Or is the information truly reliable? Information had been hard to come by for the rebels, and tends to be sketchy at times. However, Battle of Scarif was only successful because the rebels believed in the words of an Imperial scientist’s daughter and there was no evidence at all. It was a HUGE gamble, and it paid off for BOTH battles. He could understand why some within the rebels felt the need to take advantage of the momentum swing. Due to this very line of thought, he felt more comfortable than not in proceeding to strike the Kuat Shipyards.
The one little detail that bothered him the most, though, was the Commodore assigning ‘Wizard’ to his squadron. While he understood the chain of command structure, there were a few reasons he is skeptical. Firstly, Wizard is a heavy drinker. Secondly, the y-wingpilot have a history of not following orders despite being talented at combat flying. Thirdly, he felt there was secret motive to his superior’s decision. Next, he prefers to handpick his squadron. Lastly, and most importantly, trust is earned and not given. Nonetheless, he would comply with the order for now and hoped Wizard wouldn’t screw up on this specific mission. Anubis moved left, then right, then left before moving into the debriefing room wondering who would be in the room presently.
~Anubis Xerxes
Mandalorian warrior/rebel soldier
Message edited by Anubis_Xerxes - Sunday, 16 Apr 2017, 1:08 AM |
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| muthsera1 | Date: Sunday, 16 Apr 2017, 5:08 AM | Message # 3 |
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Trainee
Group: Users
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| Jak Dekar
“This is your only chance to surrender!” Jak Dekar called as he strode onto the command deck of the disabled pirate ship, a heavily modified ILH-KK Citadel-Class Light Freighter. He walked as if he already owned the ship, although his robe was singed in several places. His blade hung sheathed from his hip, and from the entryway behind him two soldiers scanned the room with their blaster rifles.
He spoke to the last survivor of the crippled ship: a human male, dressed in an engineer’s flight suit, who looked about 16 years old and held an EC-17 hold-out blaster. The boy gave the only reply he had ever known; with grim satisfaction, he watched the blaster bolt leap across the room at Jak, who vainly threw up an arm in defense.
Satisfaction turned to horror as Jak pumped his arm downward and a silver, metallic shield unfolded like a fan, locking into place as it completed a revolution. The pirate’s fear doubled as the shield charged at him, deflecting blaster bolts and clearing the room in a terrifying second.
Their dance was short. The shield slammed the pirate onto his back. The pirate brought his arm up to fire, but a swift kick disarmed him. He opened his mouth - to parlay, or beg, or perhaps simply to buy a precious second more. Jak continued to spin with the kick, and before the pirate had chosen his last word the shield edge crashed straight down through his neck, separating head from body.
Jak remained in his kneeling pose for a long moment, as if shielding the boy’s eyes from his headless body, but stood when he realized the blood washing over his shield arm. He retrieved the hold-out blaster and spoke into his comlink.
”Send the Convoy, and let the engineers know the ship is disabled but mostly undamaged. I want the cargo stripped from their YT in 4 standard hours and this freighter ready to jump by 0930. We have an appointment with the Troll tomorrow. Update our Navcomputer with our route along the Commenor Run.”
On his way out of the bridge, Jak abruptly grabbed one of the two soldiers - a former Rebel commando named Darus who had outlived the rest of his squad, but never linked back up with the Rebellion - and slammed him against the wall.
”The next time a pirate shoots at me, you shoot him, immediately.” Jak breathed through gritted teeth.
”He was...just a boy, sir.” Darus stuttered, surprised by the sudden aggression.
”Was,” Jak emphasized, ”until he pulled the trigger.” Jak let go of the Rebel and left.
***
By 0930, an exhausted Jak had finished glancing over the after action reports. He had lost a Headhunter - which hurt much less than the loss of the pilot, who had been a loyal friend for 2 standard years - but gained a light freighter and a lot of cargo. Most of the cargo was for his client, but they always expect a little skimmed off the top.
To skim the other cargo, he needed an ambitionless bureaucrat with access to Imperial records and little common sense.
”Good morning, Troll.” Jak said to the Imperial Space Ministry official across the desk.
”Huh? Ohhhh. Jak. You’re alive.” Officer Traal spoke slowly and distastefully, despite not noticing the moniker. Traal’s half-closed eyes and oversized forehead (for a human) gave him a permanently bored, dim-witted appearance; in reality, Jak knew him to be a galaxy-class slicer. When Traal left the Bureau of Ships and Services (BoSS), he managed to “keep” his credentials. Between BoSS access, a Space Ministry post, and his data slicing, he was in a unique position to forge cargo manifests and transponder codes.
”I found something of mine last night,” Jak said as he passed over a datapad. Traal let his eyes move slowly towards it, then back up to Jak.
”Funny. Some of this looks like yours, but I think I see a few things of mine here too.”
”Now, Officer, you’re just looking in the wrong place. The part for you comes at the end. After you add the goods to my records.”
Traal smiled. "Are you sure these records are accurate?" he teased. "Perhaps I should call Captain Nelia to verify them."
"What, and wake her up at her desk?" Jak shot back. "I've paid a fair fee for what you call 'service'."
”You can afford a lot more,” Traal said with a knowing grin, but Jak had grown tired of the banter earlier than usual.
”That’s true, you know. For instance, I can afford Bounty Hunters when my things go missing. Which is more than you can afford, despite your…”salary”. I have a fleet of starships protecting me. Who's protecting you while Captain Nelia is asleep on the job?”
Traal kept his stupid, simple smile and never looked away from Jak as he connected the datapad to his terminal and began typing. ”Touchy, touchy," he said, ”but you’ll be pleased to hear our next appointment is rather soon. The Ministry will have a new Imperial Spacefaring Regulations out by this time next month. You can pay your toll when you come back.”
”Great. I do so love our banter.” Jak’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, but he genuinely did miss Traal. Their first meeting had been in the scrapyards of Vulpter almost ten years prior, when Traal and Jak had discussed joining the Imperial Academy together. That felt very long ago to Jak, and Traal’s stupid smile suddenly felt very knowing.
Slowly - teasingly - Traal returned the datapad, and Jak walked away.
”Pleasure doing business with you," Traal said to his back. Finally, Traal put his smile away.
***
Lieutenant O'Ren Ishii
Jak returned to the Pathfinder, his heavily (and illegally) modified GAT-12H Skipray Blastboat, and was immediately greeted by his Lieutenant, O’ren Ishii. She was a little shorter than him, but remarkably fast and an excellent sparring partner.
”The Gravedigger was asking for you,” she said as soon as Jak entered. As much as anyone alive, she reminded Jak of a childhood friend. She knew of the association, and despite their strong friendship had always been careful to keep their interactions focused on a mutually profitable hatred for pirates.
Jak let out a single, curt laugh, and she smiled at it. She realized she hadn’t heard him laugh lately; as he tried to remember her last smile, they both stood silently for a moment. The past few months had been tough on both of them.
To break the silence, she dismissed their protocol droid and gave Jak the details of a job offer from Senator Ceramax Graives, whom they called “The Gravedigger.” Graives found a sudden, perturbing market for Alderaanian artifacts, which inevitably drew the attention of pirates and the ire of surviving Alderaanians - most notably Rebel Princess Leia Organa. His latest convoy had, for reasons yet unknown, detoured out of their expected hyperspace route on Korfo II and were subsequently attacked. O’ren recommended they investigate the convoy’s departure from Korfo II to discover the reason for their reroute. Jak was confident the reward would cover any petty bribes for information, and O’ren was proud to reveal a gift she had won in negotiations.
”The Senator pays well, but I brokered something much more difficult to acquire - he claims the shipment has a sizable chunk of Phrik, and has promised enough to remove the impurities from your shield.”
Jak was pleased she had taken the initiative - of course, she knew he would be - and replied simply, ”He prefers to be called ‘Ex-Senator’.” She smiled again, big enough for her curly bangs to reach her dimples. This time, Jak broke the silence.
”We probably shouldn’t do so many jobs for high profile clients like that. I’d hate to draw the attention of Senator Organa and her fleet of Rebels,” he said, trying to focus on business. He moved to relay coordinates for Korfo II to his team. O’ren enjoyed the sudden levity, though, and pretended to hide her smile as she replied.
”She prefers to be called ‘Princess’.”
***
Message edited by muthsera1 - Sunday, 16 Apr 2017, 6:35 AM |
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| Thrawn | Date: Saturday, 22 Apr 2017, 7:41 AM | Message # 4 |
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Trainee
Group: Users
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| Aboard the Revival
Early Morning of the attack on Kuat
In the hangar bay of the modified Hammerhead-class corvette, Commodore Tihm Garacen awaited the arrival of Duchess Anita, who was returning from yesterday’s meeting with Senator Ceramax Graives on Brentaal.
”Commodore,” The Duros Lieutenant Zheeg approached Garacen. ”The T-65’s have fueled. The final system checks are almost finished. Permission to speak freely, sir?”
”Strategic analysis is not ‘speaking freely’, Zheeg.” Garacen smiled. ”And you know I welcome your input.”
”Fine. Why X-Wing’s?” Lt. Zheeg gazed at the starfighters before them. ”Your hit-and-run on Kuat’s shipyards demands the kind of bombing capabilities X-Wing’s aren’t designed for.”
”So did the Death Star.” Garacen said. Zheeg nodded. Garacen continued, ”But I need Storm Squadron for more than just bombing and strafing runs. X-Wings will be more suitable for the missions to come. They need experience. This is just the beginning. The Rebel Alliance is going to make Commenor the ultimate authority in this sector.”
Zheeg nodded. Opened his mouth to say something, but held his tongue. Garacen noticed and said, ”Ooh. Now that’s the kind of remark where I grant you permission to speak freely. What is it you want to say?”
Zheeg said, ”Only that the Duchess of Commenor must be very happy about that.”
Almost as if on cue, Dss. Anita’s shuttle arrived. Garacen said, ”Go get Storm Leader ready for the debriefing.”
”Yes, sir.” Zheeg left.
Dss. Anita’s shuttle landed slowly. Plumes of white gas fell to the floor as the sealing mechanisms released and the ramp lowered. Duchess Anita, beautiful and fair, descended the ramp, her white cape flowing behind her. She looked pure and dignified. She stopped in front of Cmdre. Garacen and curtseyed. Then, she held out her hand expectantly. He bowed slightly, so as not to seem sycophantic, and kissed the ring on her hand. ”Welcome back.” He said. Still holding her hand, he drew her close to him and embraced her. He attempted to bring her into a full kiss, but she kept it light and short.
”You got my message?” She said, finding his eyes with urgency.
”I've already planned the attack on Kuat.” He said. ”We’ll strike as soon as our probes report the all-clear.”
”Who’s leading the new squadron?” She asked.
He waited three full seconds before answering her. He cleared his throat. ”Captain Anubis Xerxes.
She pulled out of his embrace and her beautiful eyes narrowed disappointedly. ”That drug-addicted Mandalorian?” Couldn’t he do better than that?
”Anubis is an experienced warrior.” Said Garacen, confidently. Anita did not know war like he did. He reminded her, ”Otherwise, I have the rookies General Dodonna gave me.” Anita’s uncle, Gen. Jan Dodonna, also hailed from Commenor. With Anita as a personal reference, Dodonna had approved of Garacen’s operations along the Commenor Run and surrounding hyperlanes. He had also supplied him with sub-optimal soldiers.
”It’s not as if you pick better troops,” Anita said, raising an eyebrow. ”Just look at Zard.”
Garacen’s face tightened. ”Don't,” he said, quietly, ”talk about things you don’t understand.”
”Hm.” Said Anita simply, placing a delicate hand on her hip. Her expression implied, I don’t understand?
”Perhaps you do understand.” Garacen said his voice higher and apologetic, ”Why can't you get him the kind of help you got?
Anita looked around her surroundings urgently and said in a brash hush, ”Alcohol and spice aren't anywhere near the same. That ‘friend’ of your’s needs to pick himself up.”
Garacen nodded, slowly. ”So. How did it go with your old ‘friend’, the Senator?”
”Ex-Senator,” she said. “And Ex-Friend.”
“Ex-Friend.” Garacen repeated.
Anita laughed playfully and shook her head. She slipped back into his embrace. She looked him in the eyes. ”Look at you. A military leader acting like a jealous primary school boy.” She said, affectionately. ”Do I need to promise you there's nothing there anymore?”
Garacen’s heart beat. ”Old loves die hard.” He tried to look serious.
”That life is behind me.” She said. ”I'm not that person anymore.” She kissed him now, fully and deeply.
Garacen forgave her. He said, ”You're sure Graives can be trusted?”
”No!” She smiled. ”But he'd do anything for me.” She winked.
~*~
Raithal
Royal Spire, Moff Zarbara’s Office
Late morning
Only in his thirties, Zarbara’s hair was graying--his face was now lined from politics. He looked stern and unbent. He wore an olive green uniform--a trend that had been started by the now late Governor Tarkin. He stared out his large transparisteel window with his hands clasped behind his back.
”Sir.” A silver protocol droid entered his office, speaking with a graceful female voice. ”Senator Ceramax Graives of Brentaal to see you.”
”Send him in.” Said Moff Zarbara, moving over to take a seat in his intimidating, high-backed chair. He made to seem as if he was busy with a long report.
Graives entered.
”Graives, Graives.” Said Zarbara. He glanced at Max with a polite smile. ”Glad you stopped by.” He looked back down at his datawork. He said, distractedly, ”How have you been.” It was an obligatory statement.
”Busy.” Said Max Graives. He was holding a bottle by its neck, propped on his shoulder like a warrior lazily holding a club. ”I’ve got something for you.”
Zarbara looked up, reluctantly. Then, he spotted the bottle. “What the?” His excitement ruined his casual composure. “By the Emperor’s good graces.” He stood up and moved over to Max. He covered his smile with a hand and shook his head. He looked at the bottle. It was Alderaanian spiced wine. He hadn’t seen one of those in 3 years. He blinked in amazement. Memories started flooding back. He caught himself moving to take it but stopped and asked, “May I?”
”Of course,” Max smiled, ”it’s your’s.”
Moff Zarbara was in disbelief ”Really? For me?”
”Yes, and Kyra.” Said Max. Kyra was the Moff’s wife.
”I… Wow. Hahah.” Memories flooded his mind. Zarbara sighed and smiled. ”I don’t know if I’ll be telling her I have this.” They both laughed. My, oh my.” He rotated the bottle in his hands, reading the back of it. ”I haven’t seen one of these since… Heh.” He looked up at Max and gave him a lopsided grin. ”I guess since the last time I saw you. Back when I was your partner in crime. Before you went to Sin Station. That was years ago.”
”Only three.” Said Max.
”Wow.” Zarbara sighed and shook his head. ”I guess so. But, still. It feels like... a lifetime ago.” He looked back at the bottle. ”This must be worth hundreds…”
”Thousands.” Max laughed and placed a hand on Moff Zarbara’s shoulder.
Moff Zarbara set the bottle of Alderaanian wine down upon his sleek, reflective desk. ”Ah, where are my manners?” He pulled out a chair. ”Sit down. You want a drink?” He indicated the bottle. ”Shall we? Are you staying for lunch? I can have something made.”
”No, no.” Max sat down and threw his feet up on the desk. ”I won’t be staying long - I’ve got to hit the bank later.”
”I understand... well at any rate….” He sat down, turned off his datapad, set his elbows on the table and looked Max in the eye with a smile on his face. ”How have you been?” He asked. He stared at Max with a look of intrigue on his face.
That’s better. Thought Max Graives. ”Well, like I said: busy. But, my friend, I come to you with an urgent report. The Rebel Alliance will be attacking Kuat in only a few hours.”
Zarbara was clearly caught off guard. He glanced at the wine bottle, looked away from it, and blinked rapidly; clearly he was switching back to work mode. ”How… How?”
”They know reinforcements will be pulled from Kuat and so they’re striking.” Said Graives. Zarbara stood up and walked over to the transparisteel, with a hand touching his chin. Graives continued, ”A Rebel Commodore named Garacen is leading a new military campaign against you.”
Finally, Zarbara turned to face Graives. ”How did you find out about this?”
”Duchess Anita is responsible for this information leak--information which is far more valuable than a sentimental bottle of booze.” Graives indicated the bottle of Alderaanian spiced-wine.
”Duchess Anita? Of Commenor? I thought those people were rebel sympathizers.”
”The people,” said Max, standing up, ”perhaps. Not, however, the Duchess. Commenor’s recent reputation for aiding terrorists has certainly helped her spy on the Rebels. Now, she seeks to put that reputation to an end when she thwarts these upcoming strikes.” Max found Zarbara’s eyes and walked over toward the transparisteel to face him. ”This is a demonstration of Commenor’s loyalty to the Empire. Of Anita’s loyalty.” Said Max. He put his hand on Zarbara’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. ”You know as well as I do that the Emperor has eliminated the Senate. He’s looking for regional Governors now--and you’re the Moff of this sector and many others. Appoint Anita, Governor Anita, and you will single-handedly pry Commenor from the clutches of the Rebellion.”
Moff Zarbara took a few steps away, closer to the transparisteel. He said, carefully, ”I had been considering Director of Security Captain Nelia for this position.”
”Director of Security.” Said Max, loudly. ”I remember back when you were Director of Security along the Commenor Run. You went above and beyond for your job. I remember you even chased pirates down long after they’d left your jurisdiction.”
”Only for a few years.” Zarbara said, quietly. ”The pirates were based in Vulpter, though they preyed off the Commenor Run. I had to eliminate them. All of them.”
Graives shook his head, fell back into his chair and threw his feet back up on the desk. ”And just where is Cpt. Nelia? Was she at Neimoidia? Is she at Kuat, now?”
”She is… I mean, that is to say… Neimoidia is unimportant!”
”All the same, you must know--an illicit droid flotilla was wrested from them, their world leader assassinated, and the assassin runs off to who knows where?” A pause, while Moff Zarbara pondered. Max continued, ”Let's be real: Cpt. Nelia has allowed pirates and Rebel insurgents to thrive along the Commenor Run and the nearby parts of the Hydian Way. Granted, she is newly appointed to this position--what’s it been, months? But based on her performance… She must have some powerful friends keeping her in power.
”...Keeping track of this star system…” Said Moff Zarbara, avoiding eye contact with Ex-Sen. Graives, ”...is challenging.”
”But not for Duchess Anita.” Said Graives with finality. ”On one hand, you have a green Navy Line Captain. On the other…”
”On the other hand, I have a Rebel Duchess.” He let that point sink in for a second. ”I want to consider your advice. I really do. But…” He sighed. ”Do you know, I’m not very popular? The other Moffs want me dead. I am young. I am not from any of the Core Worlds. I am not a close friend of the Emperor’s, yet he gave me this job and every other politician in the Galaxy is coming down on me hard because I am not a part of their club of elites. Anita is also an outsider. Bella Nelia, on the other hand, has a history of service in the Imperial Navy.” Moff Zarbara found Max’s eyes, finally. ”I’m sorry, old friend. I’m afraid I cannot consider Duchess Anita of Commenor for the position of Regional Governor at this time.” There was a moment of silence. Zarbara looked at the wine and sighed. ”I know how much you like her. How are things with you two, by the way?”
”We’re going through a rough patch.” Said Graives. ”But! On an entirely unrelated note,” Said Max, standing up. ”I don’t think this Commodore Garacen of our’s will stop terrorizing your territories until he’s breathed his last breath.” Graives began to walk out of the office. ”Good luck, old friend.” And just before the door slid closed behind him, he called, ”And may the Force be with you!”
~*~
Korfo II
Midday
The Financial District of Korfo II was a booming location with many spaceports and traders going to and fro. It was a remarkable trading post, but most importantly it was a center for taxation records and data collection. Ten percent of the Empire’s tax revenue came from this location and its server’s. Furthermore, the Imperial Bank on Korfo II boasted its holonet tranceiver Imperial Credit system--storing hundreds of millions of Imperial citizens’ finances on secure, unhackable servers.
In the orbit above, a Providence-class dreadnought, accompanied by two frigates and an armament of vulture droids shows up. Wearing his Mandalorian helmet, Wrotch Valor paced the deck of his ship.
He called up the Imperial bank via holotransmission. They picked up.
It was a Muun. ”Hello, my name is Torrantz Mahoni. I am the manager here. Welcome to the world of Korfos II. It is my duty to inform you that in accordance with our our policies, we have informed the local Moff’s office of your arrival and ship’s broadcasting identification numbers.”
No response from Wrotch Valor. ”At any rate, welcome to Korfo II. As you likely know, this world is home to this region of the galaxy’s Imperial Financial District. Here, our beautiful Treasury and Finance offices operate 24/7. Are you here to make a transaction?”
Wrotch’s electronic voice spoke: ”Heh.” His ships continued their approach at alarming speeds.
”We, the Imperial Bankers, are more than willing to offer some sort of loan or work out some kind of agreement. But for now, you are bringing military grade ships deep into our territory. We are going to have to meet your ships with our security forces!”
From Wrotch’s frigates, a swarm of Vulture Droids deployed. The droid starfighters organized themselves into formation clouds. Surely enough, the vulture droids began dogfighting with cloud cars and high-altitude gunships. The Muun pleaded, ”Don’t be a fool! We know what happened on Neimoidia. It’s only a matter of time before the Empire catches you!”
Wrotch’s dreadnought was now low over the Financial District. The nearby frigates began demolishing the office spires devoted toward tax records. The Muun’s heart sunk.
”Direct all turbolasers toward that dreadnought! Terrorist, name your terms or make your demands. What is it you want? We can erase your debt or give you land on this planet. Or… Or… What is it? You can take what you want. Is it credits? Is that what you want? Just do it, make your withdrawal!.”
”Actually,” said Wrotch Valor, delicately, ”I won’t be making any kind of withdrawal today.” As the Providence-class dreadnought unleashed its payload of concussion bombs and turbolasers upon the Imperial Bank, the holographic Muun screamed and cowered--the hologram fizzled out, not unlike a hailstorm blowing out a candle.
~*~
”Tihm and Andy versus the Galaxy!”
That’s what they had said.
Their words rang in Andro Zard’s ears as he sat, unhelmeted, in the X-Wing simulator. He had been practising all morning. Based on the simulator’s physics, the X-Wing was much faster than any vehicle he was used to. On his current run, (a troop transport take-down mission), he had vaped two TIE fighters, and was outrunning three others. He did this idle-mindedly. He was instead thinking about Lothal.
Zard and Garacen had attended the Imperial Academy on Lothal before they had switched to Rebellion. There was one thing they loved about the Academy and one thing they hated. They loved the cadets and troops--their brothers, their comrades. They hated the men in charge. Fighting was amazing. But not when people were telling you every day that you were fighting for an Emperor who was a grotesque, estranged and evil madman. And that this madman Emperor employed a murder-hungry Dark Jedi. Certainly, caricatures such as these were hyperbolic political propoganda, but when you were a teen on Lothal, you believed anything.
Tihm and Andy. These two young men from Lothal did not want to bombard outer rim planets (like Lothal) at the whims of core world Imperial Navy Admirals who had never set foot on real soil; the kind of soil they were superheating to glass.
So, they found a band of like-minded Rebel insurgents on Lothal and left the Empire behind to fight the corporate beast in the center of the Galaxy. Once inside the Rebel Alliance armed forces, their hatred for the Empire and the Coruscanti Elite only amplified.
But Zard never fought the Coruscanti Elite. Zard only found himself fighting stormtroopers, who reminded him of men he loved and had left back home on Lothal. Most of these stormtroopers spoke with Mid Rim or Outer Rim accents, not with the pompous cadence of Core Worlders. Most of them were stormtroopers because it was the only way to keep their homeworlds safe.
On one of his earliest missions, Zard had blasted a stormtrooper in the back; the man--no, the boy--was on guard duty. His E-11 still had the safety on when he died.
Another time, Zard and Garacen had snuck up on a small encampment once. Before attacking the troops, Zard had picked up on a conversation. One of the stormtroopers was talking about how he grew up on Lothal. He went to the same youth school that Zard and Garacen had, was only a few levels below. The boy must have been 4 years younger than him. He must have been 19 at the most.
”Let’s talk to them.” Zard had said.
”You know what we have to do.” Tihm shook his head, activating a thermal detonator. ”What we signed up for.”
”They’re Lothal.” Pleaded, quietly. ”Like us.”
”Not anymore.” Garacen said, sternly. ”Quit being a Loth-cat. I thought you wanted to fight.”
”I wanted to follow you.”
”Then follow me.”
They had gunned them all down.
Zard had joined the Rebellion to fight corporate devils alongside rowdy boys. Now, he was beginning to wonder if those devils even existed, and how many brothers he would have to mow down in order to find even one.
Now, in the X-Wing simulator, Zard pulled the trigger and his proton torpedos found the fuel cells of the troop carrier he was chasing. It exploded in virtual flames. Virtual men who happened to be fighting for the wrong virtual side.
Zard let go of the control stick. He aborted the simulator. It cracked open, and the artificial light of the simulator room momentarily blinded him as he heard clapping. There were a few techies, one officer, and Lt. Garacen applauding his performance in the simulator. Garacen said, ”Y-Wing pilot, huh?”
Zard hobbled out and landed on his knees.
”Andy--” Garacen laughed and motioned over to Zard, but before he could lift him up, Zard threw up. The techies mumbled and left Zard and Garacen alone.
”Oh, for hell’s sake, Andy.” Garacen said. Garacen ran a hand through his own hair. ”Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Garacen ordered a droid to clean the mess and guided Andro to the refresher.
”Sorry.” Said Zard. He looked Garacen in the eye and wondered; if Garacen had joined the Rebellion without him… Would Garacen have gunned him down like any other stormtrooper? ”I’m... sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Zard closed his eyes.
”It’s no big deal, man.” Garacen said. ”Let’s go to the war room.”
~*~
Revival
War Room
The hour leading up to the attack
Storm Squadron pilots were talking among themselves. The lights dimmed and Commodore Garacen walked in. The men went silent. Garacen gazed upon the room. ”Take a look at what General Jan Dodonna has sent us, Captain Xerxes… Young, fresh. Inexperienced.” The room became very tense. ”But bright. Quick to learn. Eager to prove themselves. Ready to fight.” Some chuckles. ”Longing for glory.” A hollar. ”And aching, just aching to vape some Imperial scum.” Whooping, a few cheers. ”Don’t worry, boys. You’ll get your chance to play in the stars in only a few hours.” There was another cheer. ”It has been said that TIE pilots are suicidal. Defenders, bloodthirsty. And Interceptors? Well, they’re both.” Garacen paused. ”But to face a squadron of pilots with your spirit? All kinds of Imperial pilots would be suicidal. What man from what planet would charge, headlong into the rain of blaster cannons? What lunatic rushes head on into a storm? You are the storm. You are Storm Squadron. So, Kuat Drive Yards better be ready for hellfire. A storm’s a-comin’.”
There were some more cheers. Cmdre. Garacen proceeded to describe the mission objectives. Star Destroyers at KDY would have been pulled out to reinforce another world, though TIE fighters would be abundant and “sleeping”. Storm Squadron was to drop its payload on as many KDY facilities as possible. Since this would “wake up” the TIEs, they would then need to make a tactical withdrawal out of the system as soon as possible with as few Storm casualties as possible. Since there were no ISDs and since TIEs are short range fighters, nobody would be chasing them beyond the jump to lightspeed. ”You leave in twenty minutes.” said Garacen. ”Good luck. And may the Force be with you.”
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| Bella_Nelia | Date: Monday, 24 Apr 2017, 10:51 PM | Message # 5 |
 Trainee
Group: Users
Messages: 9
Status: Offline
| The Impavid, a Victory II class Star Destroyer, had remained largely the same since the unorthodox departure of Captain Clive Lennox. The bridge crew had changed, at the order of the newly minted Line Captain, B. Nelia, simply because the whisperings regarding their former Captains departure was more than she cared to handle. He had gone insane and was committed to an asylum on Imperial Center. The Emperor himself had called the Captain to stay in service in the deep core. He married his fiancée, Violet Panya, and was on extended honeymoon…that was the rumor that wrenched the heart of Bella Nelia the most. He married the vapid, social climber, Violet. No, none of those things had happened. In truth, she was perhaps the only person in the galaxy who knew what had happened to Clive Lennox, and she would never tell a soul.
There was a letter in the pocket of her uniform coat, a hand written letter, on actual paper and not a plasticine sheet, not typed, not impersonal at all. From Clive. She had always known his feelings, his reservations regarding the Empire, but they rarely voiced how they felt. He had left, partly for his own sanity, and mostly because he could not accommodate the Empires ways any longer. He had seen and knew too much, and his conscience simply could not take it any longer. Bella hardly blamed him, and she kept the letter close to her at all times. She had even gone as far as taking a personal trip to Chandrilla, and visited their former Senator, Ilanah Ilyone.
“He was here”, the politician had told her quietly, in the utmost confidence. “He was here, but we could not offer any assistance. Chandrilla is under too much strain from the Empire as it is. I could not imagine what would happen…” Ilanah knew she was confiding in Captain Nelia, and the Captain would do what she had to do with the information given. Whether that be turn Clive in to the Empire, or keep his secret, she did not know, but she did know that her planet and her people would be safe. Bella thanked her and left Chandrilla with no other stops, there was no point in trying to find him. She was sure that Clive Lennox was long gone and far from her reach now.
That fact did not change her feelings for the man. They had been friends since the beginning of academy, and had flown together every single chance they got. When she had been assigned Captain of the Persephone, he had made arrangements for their ships to be in line together. Having someone you trusted protecting your flank was better than any amount of turbo cannons any day of the week.
But now that had all changed. Bella held the bridge of the Impavid, Line Captain in charge of three other ships: The Persephone, Amaris, and The Volantis. None of their Captains she knew, or had ever even heard of- arrogant men fresh from Academy having been given their positions and ranks because of their fathers “contributions” to the Empire, she had heard. Had they ever worked for anything in their lives? Probably not. Would they respect her position? Definitely not. Would she make them respect her? Yes. Yes, she certainly would.
Her line had been assigned to the Rachuk Sector, by a completely unheard of Moff. To her, anyway, he was of little importance to the Empire. A title was just that, a title, until one proved themselves. In her brief research, she had seen nothing of note about this Moff. He was probably like her Captains…given their positions without any real qualifications.
The Captain leaned against her desk, ankles crossed, and arms folded across her abdomen. The desk was not actually hers, it was Clive’s, and it always would be. The only change she had made in the room was to remove his obligatory holo photo of Violet, which Bella had tossed out the airlock with little ceremony. She gazed
out of the large window at the planet below: Commenor. Such an uninspiring little planet, she was uninterested. At least, Bella thought, their assignment here might not be too trying. Lately, being idle had become increasingly difficult for Bella, and her thoughts were occupied by someone that it still ached to think about on occasion.
The door behind her slid open, and she did not move. “Captain?” The voice of Major Cal Jackson was suddenly clear. “Do you have orders?” She kept her back to him for several moments before she uncrossed her ankles and stood up before she turned to face him. “Nothing definitive yet, Major. Just make sure that the fighters, as well as Persephone, Amaris, and Volantis are prepared. We mustn’t be idle and lax in case something does happen.”
Captain Bella Nelia
Message edited by Bella_Nelia - Monday, 24 Apr 2017, 10:59 PM |
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