Jegora stood in the hangar of the mSSD Atrus, waiting for his squadron to arrive. It had been only months since Jegora had watched his entire squadron get blown up. Then he had had to endure Vast Empire Naval Intelligence training, something he hoped he never had to relive again. Jegora had thought he was hard and cold before; now he was like durasteel in deep space.

He wasn’t too sure about his new job either. He hade never really been one for command, and now he was in charge of a half-full squadron filled with noobs and pilots just back from medical. It was going to be long, tough, and not entirely enjoyable. Plus, Jegora didn’t really want to see young kids die. He had seen enough death in his short Naval career.

He checked the outside of his TIE. It wasn’t a sleek Interceptor, like he was use to flying, but a ruddy old TIE fighter, albeit with a few upgrades. Light shields, heavier guns, and four concussion missiles were standard. Jegora had put some work into it himself, and he had it flying at 110% capability. While that didn’t seem like much of an increase, that 10% made the difference when someone was expecting your ship to perform a certain way.

Hearing a sound behind him, Jegora looked around. He was greeted by a welcome sight: G’shlecc Atrasin, a.k.a. Driver, walking towards him with a slight smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye.

Jegora turned around and let out a tight smile of his own. “God’s body, good to see you Driver. How ya been?” Jegora asked.

Driver shook his head, giving a small laugh as he did so. “You know, I get older and wiser with each day,” the man said, grinning from ear to ear.

Jegora was about make a reply when Petty Officer Second Class Roth Leber entered the hangar. He looked a little worse for where, but nothing to be concerned about.

Jegora turned his attention back to his TIE Fighter as G’shlecc and Roth caught up on news. Jegora could still remember forcefully disciplining Roth when they had first met. Since then the young man had matured, and was now a Flight Leader in the newly reformed Nazgul Squadron.

Time slowly slipped by as Jegora did busy-work on his TIE. It was nothing important; in fact, it was nearly nothing. All he did was tighten bolts by hand that had been tightened by a high-power pneumatic compression socket. His personal strength would make little difference one way or the other. Still, it gave him something to do while the recruits filed into the hangar.

Eventually everyone was present, and waiting for Jegora. Jegora just didn’t know hit. He was still moving around his TIE, checking struts, junctures, bolts, exposed bits of machinery, etc. It wasn’t until G’shlecc cleared his throat slightly that Jegora realized everyone was hear.

Still, he continued to work, acting nonchalant. Finally, after just swinging himself up on top of his TIE in a rather impressive feat of strength and agility, Jegora spoke to the Squadron. His TIE was his platform, and his audience was deadly quiet.

Jegora didn’t waste time with greetings. Time was short, and the pilots would know each other soon enough anyways. While not the ideal circumstances for a squadron to meet for the first time, it would do. The first casualty of war was convenience, and so Jegora had learned to do without convenience a long time ago.

“Alright. I’m Jegora Fal. Call me whatever you want, except sir. This man here is G’shlecc Atrasin, my XO. He’ll be doing most of the work,” Jegora said. There were a few smiles at this last part, but Jegora’s cold and unwavering gaze quickly made them melt.

“Now, you were all sent briefings over your datapads,” Jegora continued. “I hope you studied, because there’s no time for a formal briefing. In fact, we ship out right now. Find your fighter, strap in, and follow me.”

Several of the pilots nodded. A few looked excited. A few looked apprehensive. G’shlecc looked right at home. He was a good man, Driver. It was good to have an experienced pilot around to help run things.

Without any further ado, Jegora kicked the hatch to his TIE open rather roughly and dropped nimbly inside, quite a feat for someone nearly 6’3” and 212 lbs. Still, the ability to get in and out of a TIE hadn’t come easy. Even today Jegora almost hit his head on his way down. Only a split second adjustment saved him; he had forgotten he wasn’t flying his Interceptor.

With a sigh Jegora ran the initiation software and booted up the TIE’s reactor. Within three minutes the TIE was humming with restrained power, and all lights were green. With no flare what-so-ever, Jegora pushed the throttle dead full and screamed out of the hangar.

The TIE was sluggish. There was no other way to describe it. It accelerated at half the speed of the Interceptor, it’s turns weren’t point-perfect, and on a good day the TIE Fighter might, might be able to keep up with an Interceptor with only one engine.

With a sigh Jegora settled in to the TIE and set his course for their new home, the Venator-class Star Destroyer Visgoth.

OOC:

Ok, new Nazgul story. Nothing special, but hey, I’m working on a schedule here. We’re going to go root out some pesky pirates that have been bothering us. We are in TIE Fighters with shields and four missiles each. Don’t get shot, though, because your shields are a piss-poor imitation of a saftey net. Still, every little bit helps.

The main (and only) capital ship for us (the good guys) is the Imperial Navy Border Patrol ship Visgoth. It’s an old fashioned Venator-class Star Destroyer modified for customs duty. It’s two full-time squadrons are only at half strength, hence why we are here. While it’s modified and updated, it’s still old. Keep that in mind.

Now, enemies:

We’re looking at 1-2 Neb-B’s and an Acclamator. Not very good odds, huh? Expect at least 4-5 squadrons of various uglies and crappy pirate fighters.

Any questions, post em on the thread. Otherwise, you know what to do. I want to see some C/D on board the Visgoth, then G’shlecc or I will move the story along to the actual combat. (I know, C/D isn’t very fun, but we need to get to know each other’s characters)

So…kick ass. Take names. In short, be Nazgul-like.

Driver slid down into his ‘new’ TIE.  It was a standard TIE, no bells, and the only whistle he thought he’d hear from her would be if the hatch didn’t seal right.  He thumbed Jeg’s comm channel to chat a bit.

  “OK, boss, who’d you piss off to get our ships taken away?”

  Driver was only half joking.  He’d heard about Jeg’s attempt to ‘talk’ to the Calamity’s captain during the debacle of Firestorm.  The TIE’s weren’t garbage scows, but compared to the Interceptors, they might as well be.  He’d give a call to Yulia about sending some upgrade parts from KDY after this mission.  He’d also see about a new paint job.  He hated the basic gunmetal grey the craft were shaded.

  “This time, no one.  Denethor thought since we were ‘New’ that the kids should re-earn them.  I did not agree and objected…strenuously.”

  Driver laughed.  He knew Jeg’s temper.  He was amazed that the younger man’s leadership position survived its unleashing on the Wing Commander, let alone, got him a promotion. 

  “So, I hope you don’t expect me to do ALL the heavy lifting around here,” he joked?

  “Oh, I expect you to not only do the lifting, but the stepping, the fetching, the laundry and the feeding of the gurrcat.”

  “Stellar,” came G’s reply, sarcasm dripping from every letter.

  Driver wrestled his fighter into the air and followed Jeg out of the Atrus’s main fighter bay.  The Visigoth lay nearby awaiting the inbound fighters.  G pinged Jeg’s comm again.

  “Did I happen to mention that I was stationed on the Visigoth since Firestorm,’’ he asked?

  A pregnant pause from Jeg was followed by, “No, you did not.”

  “Well, I was stationed on the Visigoth since Firestorm.  Dre Gadin runs Raptor Squadron from her.  Tyrbus Makray runs Typhoon Squadron as well.  They’re both good eggs, but up against it.  They’ve mostly been flying with noobs and less than outstanding pilots.  We’re going in about a factor of ten better than them, even with these antiques we’re now flying.”

  Jeg now replied, “Stellar.”

  “Yeah, that and them at half strength and us at half strength…well, let’s just hope the Republic boys don’t get too chippy.”

  The comm went dead for a bit as the fighters dropped into formation.  G looked out his view and saw his new wing man slide up.

  “Nazgul 2-6 to Nazgul 2-5. In formation and awaiting your instructions, sir.”

  “OK, first instruction: don’t call me sir. It’s either G or Driver.  Second instruction: don’t get me killed.  Third instruction: don’t get yourself killed.  Fourth instruction: don’t get anybody else killed, except the enemy, kill as many of them as you can.  Need any more instruction?”

  “Not at all G,” came the response.

  “Good, and your name is…?”

  “Kane Ahriman, at your service and at your 4”

  Nice, a sense of humor, this kid may be OK

  “Alright Kane, lets see if you can put your little ship on that big ship without scratching either one, and hold on…”

  Driver punched the all-Squadron channel, “Nazgul sound off like you got a pair.”

  Jeg responded first, “Nazgul 1 in the lead.”

  Driver heard sound offs from Rogue, Roth, Kane and the returning Mellanius.

  “Mel! I thought you were dead.” He laughed.

  “Nope, you can’t keep a good man down, “he quipped.

  “I know, that’s why I thought you were dead,” rebutted G.

  Groans and hoots filled the Nazgul channel.  Driver smiled.  It felt like home again.  The Squadron made its way across the void to the waiting Visigoth in more time than G was used to. 

  *There’s gotta be a way to get those TIE/in’s back

  Nazgul slid through the magnetic shield and touched down in the Venator’s hangar bay.  G powered down and popped his hatch.  He was met by the ships hangar chief, Lanke Orin.

  “Howdy Chief, good to see you again.”

  The non-com was slightly taken aback to see a familiar face in the newly arrived craft. 

  “G, what the hell are you doing here,” he asked as Driver dismounted.

  “They’re sending us out to help.  I didn’t know I’d be back.  This is all one big coincidence.”

  “Well, it’s a damn happy one, everyone missed you.  I’m sure Dre’ll be glad you’re back.  He’s in the main briefing room,” chatted Orin.

  “Thanks Chief, we’ll get together later for a drink and catch up,” he shouted as he made for Jeg’s ship, “Jeg, the Raptor SC’s in the main briefing room.  I’ll introduce you and we’ll get situated.”

  “OK,” he said turning to the rest of the Nazguls, “I want you to grab your gear and wait for us in the mess hall.”

  Driver and Jeg crossed the hangar bay and found the main briefing room.  Inside they found the Raptor SC and the Typhoon SC huddled around the latest briefing holo.

  “Knock, knock, is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

  “G, “they exclaimed in unison as they saw the older man!

  “Dre, Tyrbus, this is Lt. Jegora Fal, SC of Nazgul. Jeg this is Lt. Dre Gadin of Raptor and Lt. Tyrbus Makray of Typhoon.”

  “Gentlemen, Driver speaks highly of you.  Nice to meet you,” said Jeg.

  “He spoke highly of us, huh.  You sure this is the same G’shlecc Atrasin,” poked Dre.

  “He probably just wants to try and get us back at the Hold’ em table.  Yah, know he took me for over IC1,000 one night,” laughed Tyrbus.

  G threw up his hands in mock surrender, “What? I didn’t do anything. You GAVE me your money.”

  The pilots all laughed and relaxed.  There would be no tension on this mission between squadrons; G would make sure of that. 

  “Do you have a spot for my folks to bed down,” asked Jeg?

  “Yeah, let me get on that.  ORIN!!  Take Nazgul to their quarter would you. Thanks,” said Tyrbus.

  The Nazgul pilots were collected by the Hangar chief and pointed in the direction of their bunks.  Jeg and G would find theirs later, after they finished with business.

  “OK, what are we looking at, “asked Jeg?

Kane fell into formation next to G’shlecc and radioed his position. When he heard the rebuke about calling him Sir, he simply smirked to himself. He listened to the instructions and nodded after each one. He also chuckled when he was instructed to “put your little ship on that big ship without scratching either one.”

Kane kept his formation with G tight, landing with hardly a sound a few moments after his flight leader did. Kane popped his hatch open and looked down, admiring the work he did before grabbing his flight bag and climbing down. He looked at his TIE, then at G who was striding towards the man who summoned him here, 2nd LT Jegora Fal.

Kane wanted to be a smart-ass about the scratching thing, but he dropped it as he received the order to hang about in the mess hall until they were needed.

Kane followed the escort closely on the way to the mess hall. He couldn’t help but keep an inner smirk as the crewman beside him kept stealing glances at his mis-colored left eye. Kane continued to stare straight ahead, acting as if he couldn’t see the glances turn into a full stare as the crewman gained confidence that Kane was half-blind. There was even a slight mumble from the escort.

“I can’t believe he’s only got one good eye, and he’s a Nazgul.”

Kane immediately turned around and locked both eyes on the crewman with a deadly glare. The left eye seemed to be more intensely focused on the inconsiderate escort.

“I beg your pardon, Crewman?”

The stammer was all the reply Kane needed before looking the man up and down.

“I see you have gotten too comfortable in your role out here on the fringes. Perhaps I need to inform your commanding officer about your disrespect. And for the record, if you remember correctly a trainee cannot become a pilot unless he passes a multitude of tests, one of which is a vision test. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I am a pilot last I looked.”

Kane heard a bit of a chuckle behind him, turning his head just enough so his gray eye fell upon Rogue. A quick wink was given to his squadron mates before turning back to the crewman.

“Now, as you were saying about me being a Nazgul?”

The crewman simply stammered some more before Kane began to walk towards the mess hall, leaving the poor escort to consider what just happened. Kane kept a stoic face but beamed inside, always happy to put someone in their place when it came to his odd appearance. The hair was one thing, but he’d be damned if someone got off light because they thought he was half-blind.

It wasn’t long after they settled in the mess hall before someone named Orin directed to their quarters. Kane set down his bag on a bunk and ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling a bit before grabbing a duty uniform and headed to the shower, letting the water run over him before he arched his back, listening as each vertebrae cracked in protest. He had spent too much time sitting today, he’d have to make up for it by hitting the gym if there was one.

Kane hadn’t noticed the Visigoth too much when he arrived. It wasn’t nearly as big as the Atrus, and it didn’t command the same amout of awe. Kane had seen bigger and better on the Lobo when he was there. A standard starcraft, he was sure the Visigoth could hold it’s own, but he just didn’t feel overwhelmed to be here, unlike when he docked aboard the Atrus. Maybe it was because he had been told the Atrus WAS the Vast Empire Navy, or maybe approaching a ship 19 kilometers long and watching it grow was an extremely impressive sight.

Kane stepped from the shower and put on his clean clothes, sliding his fingers through his hair again, tugging a few loose strands out and examining them. The doctors had said that the melanin would replace itself over time, but the hair in Kane’s hand was the same color it had always been. The gunmetal gray on the TIE he flew over here was more colorful that the strands peeking out between his fingers. He sighed as he let them drop to the floor before picking up his datapad and penning a message for home.

Sorry for the delay. Here’s an update: Passed my AE with distinction. Assigned to Kaph Squadron aboard the Lobo where we encountered a droid fleet of 45 TIEs and three CR90 corvettes. Upon destruction of the TIEs, I received a comm from 2nd LT Jegora Fal to report to the Lobo for reassignment. From the Lobo I was taken to the Atrus and assigned to Nazgul Squadron. Currently aboard the Visigoth, awaiting mission details.

Kane sent the message and looked around the room, shaking his head a bit. He was starting to grow anxious, eager to be back behind the yoke of a TIE, whether on patrol or engaging an enemy. The freedom of being out there, beyond the artificial gravity of a cruiser or frigate or floating city was beckoning him. He could feel the controls beneath his fingers as he flexed them, and he was hoping that whatever they were out here for they’d get to it quick.

Kane reached into his flight bag and pulled out a small bottle of paint and a small brush. He set them aside and looked his helmet over, noticing it was new and shiny while some of the others he had seen, G’s and Jegora’s specifically, had scratches and dents and had lost the luster a long time ago. Kane hoped he’d live long enough to see his helmet get dull as he reached for the brush and dipped it into the paint. He couldn’t think of a proper symbol for a droid, so he simply painted a coil on the back of the helmet, representing a spring. He proceeded to paint ten of them on his helmet, representing the ten droids he had shot down while he was a part of Kaph.

Kane set the brush aside and capped the paint, setting the helmet near an air vent to help set the paint. Hopefully there will be more to add than that he thought as he stood and stared out the tiny window in the room to the stars too multiple to count.

Jegora sat in stony silence as the two squadron commanders sitting across from him filled him in on the details of the mission. New Republic activity had been particularly low, but there had been some major incursions into the area in recent weeks by an unidentified group of pirates. They were decently armed and decently trained, and so Nazgul was called in to provide support. Two Carrack-class cruisers were also being sent in, but they wouldn’t arrive until later that week.

The Visigoth was a remnant of an older time, and Jegora couldn’t help but be entranced by the old ship. It had been the first real Ship-Of-The-Line designed in nearly a thousand years for the Republic, and even now, thirty years later, it was still in service. Jegora was pondering what this ship would have seen when G’shlecc laid a hand on his shoulder.

Immediately Jegora looked up, and realized that one of the other squadron commanders had asked him a question. “Sorry,” Jegora said, which wasn’t at all true. “You were saying?”

The slightly older man looked disgruntled, but Jegora didn’t give a bantha’s ass. “From what we can tell of the raids so far, they involve two Neb-B frigates, and we expect there to be some kind of medium cruiser to provide heavy hitting. No confirmed reports, though,” the Raptor squadron commander said curtly.

Jegora just nodded as he manipulated the holographic display on the table. He already knew most of the facts. What he was interested in was what they planned to do to end the pirate threat.

“I have been briefed on the situation, Lieutenant. I know what we are dealing with. What I want to know is how you plan to deal with it.”

The other commanders looked a little wary of Jegora’s cold demeanor, but again Jegora simply didn’t care. What these men thought of him meant little, for he would be shipped out in a month. It was how Nazgul worked: most squadrons were assigned a ship, but Nazgul was one of the few Roaming Squadrons. They went where needed, and did what was necessary to get the job done.

“Bait,” the Typhoon squadron commander said. “We’re going to set a trap for the pirates, and then we are going to hit them with everything we have.”

Jegora nodded. It seemed like a good plan. “When?” Jegora asked curtly.

“Best let me answer that one, boys,” a deep voice said from the doorway of the conference room. All four of the pilots in the room stood and turned to face the door. Jegora didn’t recognize the man standing before him, but he did recognize the respect that the man wore like a second shirt.

“My name is Hal Tern, Captain of the Visigoth”, the man introduced himself. Jegora and G’shlecc nodded. Both knew that out here in the Fringe military protocol meant very little, and that was fine by both of them.

The Captain sat down. “As for when,” he continued, “in just under a standard week. Ideally I would like to wait for the Alaric and the Yeoman to arrive. Anyways, we just made the jump to hyperspace. There are a couple at-ease lounges on board this ship: I suggest you take it easy and relax for a while.”

Jegora and G’shlecc nodded again. “We will do that, Cap’n” G’shlecc said. Jegora shot his XO a glare. Bars and Nazguls had a long history of not-working. “What,” G’ said, seemingly surprised at Jegora’s glare. “We’re fine. I’ll keep an eye on them. What can go wrong?”

Shaking his head, Jegora followed the Captain out. He planned to dump his stuff, take a long jog around the Visigoth, then he was going to find something to eat.

As he walked, Jegora let out a small smile. This is where I belong, he thought. Right here, with Nazgul.

Having heard the explanation of why one of his eyes was discoloured Girias couldn't help but find it really awesome, that and the way that grey eye looks is just too cool too. Just then the message arrived on his CommLink to go grab a drink Girias couldn't help but smirk.

"In my short time here in Nazgul, I've spent more time in barfights and drunk than in space shooting pirates, God I love our squadron. Lets go and have a few, Kane Ahriman."

After a short walk and a space lift ride the two Nazgul pilots had also passed G on their way to the Bar. Smiling the two walked in with the two of them separating as soon as Girias saw an arcade machine and just had to play a few rounds. He quickled inserted a few Imperial Credits, granting him a few continues and lives to play for a bit. It was a very very old game, a side scrolling shooter without any real story line. It still wastes the time, especially when combined with a few beers. When playing his last guy he was in a very difficult situation when all of a sudden, he hears a sentence that just drips with trouble.

"I said get out of here!"

Turning around, he saw that once again a threat was made against one of his Squad Mates but he knew that any Nazgul can easily hold his own in a barfight. When looking back he notices a very very big and red "YOU LOSE" in the middle of his screen. Cursing, because he had lost the game, he walked to the bar slightly agitated and ordered a beer. After grabbing a hold of the beer he turned around on his chair and watched the situation. When Kane made his move it made Girias laugh to see the man fall down. Girias sees that the odds just aren't fair with three to one. Setting his beer down he decides to have a little fun, and to fight off the tension for losing the video game.

Getting up, he walks behind one of the two hostile pilots and gently taps him on the shoulder and begs him pardon with a smile on his face. The man turned around to see a fist hitting him in the nose, causing the man to fall back, almost hitting one of the barstools. When Girias' knuckles made contact with the pilots nose, most of the bar heared a pretty gross cracking noise while Girias was now swaying his hand from left to right.

"Damnit ... That guy's got a hard face ..."

Mel looked at his datapad as Kane walked off. Quickly reading the message, he smiled and let out a scoff.

Like I really need a headache in the morning.

Mel continued his walk through a grey corridor until he reached a small indent in the wall. A small screen was facing him at about a 40 degree angle. Above the screen was a speaker and a sign stating "Information Booth."

A detector sensitive to his movements had picked him up, and the machine which spoke to him before boarding the Atrus spoke, "Please insert hand onto the screen for information."

Mel followed the order, and the machine spoke again. "Welcome," then in Mel's voice, "Mel Krasznius. Please request information."

Mel then said in his scratchy yet soft voice, "Room number, please."

The machine then stated, "BN-24001."

Let's see, Mel thought as he ran his finger across the code, BN is Bunk Number, floor 24, ugh!Surely, it is 2401, not 24001. He read the code again. Fecks! Why must they pair me up with someone?

He then went farther down the corridor and found an elevator platform. The buttons were ordered in a square from H to 27, the only floors available for the majority of the Atrus's pilots. Mel punched the key labelled "24."

The platform vibrated as it raised itself to Floor 24. As he stepped out, a little off balance at first from the speed of the platform, the mechanical voice whirred, "Welcome to Floor 24, C-Deck."

You've got to be kidding me.

Right in front of him was the bar where he was invited to go. Nobody noticed him, luckily. As he was about to pass it, a man waddled towards him with a red face, a trembling hand, and a spilling drink.

"Hey, you got some credits I can borrow?" The drunk man asked.

Mel refused to turn around and kept walking.

"Hey! I'm talkin' ta youse!" The man then put his hand on Mel's clean, pressed uniform and had a fist made with his other, dropping his drink in the air.

Mel's eyes were now like a tiger's. Two veins protruded from below his scar and on his forehead. Anger didn't even come close to describing his feeling, and rage would barely be skimming the surface.

Besides the two veins and the red eyes, Mel seemed calm. He twisted the man's hand off of him and lunged at his neck with his claw, all before the drink had reached the ground. In a matter of two seconds, he already had the drunkard against the wall, floating around 6 inches off the ground, choking. The liquor glass the pilot carried now reached the deck, shattering.

"Listen here, young one. I came here to fight worthy opponents. If you, little boy," he said, stressing the last two words, "wish to fight someone of your caliber, perhaps you should visit a pet shop."

By this time, the drunk pilot's red face was blue and lacking oxygen. The pilot was scared, his heart beating faster than a pod racer. It was not the fact that his 59 year-old man had him above the ground, but that he was so calm as he spoke and gave away so much pain.

Mel looked into the pilot's eyes. A few more seconds, and he'll be dead. Mel planned on showing him mercy at the last second when the man fainted, but G had already noticed what he was doing and was about to get out of his seat.

"Enjoy your nice little headache in the morning, you kretting drunkie." As Mel's hands dropped to his side before continuing the walk to BN-24001, the pilot crashed onto the floor; he already had fainted from shock, but was alive nonetheless.

By the time G had reached the pilot to help him up, Mel had disappeared into another hallway.

Let's see...24009, 007, 005, 003, then he stopped. 001. He opened the door by plugging his datapad into a small outlet near the door. This was for security measures, since assassin droids could mimic voices and other human qualities that biometrics used. But datapads, updated everyday, in a cryptic format which changed each morning, was a little harder to keep up with.

I wonder who I'm sharing this room with. Better not be that pilot, or he'll be swept up by a janitor by 3 this morning.

OOC:

706 words

A few rounds later, most of the people in the bar were happier and not in the mood to lynch him. He sat down again, with a big exhale to show that he's very glad to not have to fight an entire bar ... again. He motioned for another beer which was shoved over the metally surface of the actual bar to him. Before he could catch it though, a man had taken a hold of it and smiled at Girias. He took it and with a single motion, the entire alcoholic fluid ended up inside his stomach. Smacking it down, he belched pretty loudly ending up with a gigantic smile on his face, from one ear to the other.

"Sorry mate, I didn't get my free beer from you so I just had to take one. Lemme buy you one for compensation. By the way, the name's Jake, I'm one of the Ship Gunners on this 'ere thing. I can proudly say that I've shot down more pirates than most of the entire ship combined. Put 'ere there."

He motioned for two more beers with one hand and stuck out the other, inviting the young pilot for a handshake. Laughing, almost bellowing, he took a hold of the mans hand and shook it. He then tried to crush it in a matter of a strength competition but the man barely notices it. Making fun of him, Jake pattet Girias on the shoulder and let his hand go.

"I'd ask ye to do some heavy drinkin', mate, but I know that ye as a pilot need ta always be standbye. I know I should, but the funny part is: When I'm having a hangover and the enemy attacks, I shoot even better to make them stop moving, they make me spacesick... Stop laughing, it hurts when an X-Wing dodges fire and moves so weirdly."

Barely able to finish his beer, Girias listened to the many stories the slightly older man had to tell him. Jake has been on the Visigoth ever since his birth, he was the son of two officers on board and they took their boy along. He grew up amongst men and women cursing like crazy when they got hurt or when they missed an enemy. He has been manning a turret ever since his twelfth year and also made his first kill in that year, which could impress a lot of people.

"So, mate, I doubt it but as a Pilot. Do you have any scars or such?"

He nodded and pulled his shoulder out of the uniform, showing a rather big and nasty scar he has gotten from the huge explosion on the last mission. He also showed the treated burn wounds on his chest which still hadn't completely rejuvenated. Then it was the mans turn, it took him 5 minutes just to show them all, let alone explain the origin of every one.

The two men had a blast, drank some more beers but when it was time for Jakes shift Girias decided to get some shut eye as well. He dropped the Imperial Credits for his tab on the bar, walked out of it, waving at the other pilots still there, and wandered to his "suite", to his very own personal bedroom.

Arriving at the umpteenth floor the lift brought him for where his residency aboard the Visigoth is, he enters without caring much about locking. He basically just falls asleep, almost hitting his head on the metally walsl.

Kane was completely absorbed in watching the events unfold before him. The turrets on the Acclamator were pinpoint accurate, and the Neb-Bs were more durable than he believed. Constant barrages by the TIEs were not breaking the deck apart like he thought would happen.

Hours passed by like minutes as he watched both the pirate and Imperial forces lose heavy numbers. There was only one squadron of the TIEs, instead of the three that were aboard the Visigoth.

Kane scribbled as many notes as he could in his datapad, wanting to review the strengths and weaknesses of these frigates before they were actually called into service. Kane pulled up the controls on the simulator, hoping to pull up mechanical specs for the frigates and the pirate fighters. The information he was looking for wasn’t available at the time, so Kane dismissed that to return to watching what was becoming an extremely valuable training simulation.

Kane made a few notes in his datapad to review the mechanical specifications with engineers when he noticed the time on his pad. He had been viewing this fight for more than 13 hours. There were no messages waiting for him on his pad, and after noticing the time he was extremely tired. Shutting down the sim Kane climbed out of the pod and stretched, his back cracking again.

He walked down the halls of the Visigoth, turning back into his room. Lousy was already there, crashed out on his bunk. Kane smirked a bit and stripped out of his clothes, leaving himself in just his boxers with the Empire logo on an ass-cheek. He slipped into his bunk and drifted off, his mind still working over what he saw.

Kane’s dreams were disturbing ones, filled with images of the heavy turrets pointed at the cockpit of Kane’s TIE, regardless of which way Kane was flying. A dive, a barrel roll, a break turn, it didn’t matter. It seemed like no matter which direction he went, there was a heavy turret pointed right at him. There was a bright red flash and then Kane woke with a start.

Sitting up in his bunk, Kane shook his head a bit trying to clear the disturbing images from his mind. Grabbing his clothes, Kane made his way to the hangars and looked for a few engineers. Finding one who looked particularly bored he approached the engineer, asking questions about finding mechanical information regarding what they were up against.

Grabbing the holos from the engineer, Kane returned to his room and simply sat in his bunk, pouring over the data. He’d be damned if his dream came true. For the next few hours he poured over those holos, even after Lousy had roused himself and stumbled into the refresher. Lousy went to the mess hall and left Kane alone, seeming to be zoned in on the information in front of him.

Kane kept his datapad nearby in case he was summoned for a briefing or for the actual deployment for the mission, but so far all was still quiet. He set aside the current holo, grabbing the next and loading it into the viewer, trying to figure out weaknesses or reinforcements.

Kane noticed the regular things, the shield generators and the communications arrays, but there had to be something that he was missing, some Achilles’ Heel to the frigates he wasn’t seeing. He would have to return to the engineers and steal one away to pour over these things with him, pointing out possible flaws.

In the Academy he was trained to know the different ships that were out there, and how they stacked up against what the Empire had. One-on-one, there wasn’t much that could best a Dreadnought-class destroyer, but there rarely was an even match-up, especially if what G told the Nazgul about the Fringes turned out to be true. Luck had as much weight as skill did out here.

OOC:

Short, I know... But there wasn't much to play off.

Jegora sat in his room reading a holobook. It had been two days since Nazgul Squadron had boarded the Venator-class Star Destroyer Visigoth. All in all, it had been a fairly relaxing trip to the border regions. Jegora was taking the opportunity to read, sleep, relax, and not do any work. He knew that once they hit the border regions, all hell would break lose.

Setting the holobook down on his nightstand, Jegora swung his legs over the side of his bunk and ran his fingers through his hair. With a sigh he pushed himself off the bed and made his way over to the ‘fresher. He barely made it half way across the room before his comlink beeped. With a mumbled curse Jegora altered his course and grabbed the comlink off the dresser. Pressing a button, he played the pre-recorded message.

“Lieutenant Fal, this message is to inform you that we have reverted from Hyperspace and your squadron is due in briefing room seven-besh at 1600 hours” an electronic voice rang out. Jegora suppressed another sigh, picked up his datapad, and relayed a quick message to the squadron informing them of their arrival. Checking the chrono on his wrist, Jegora saw that is was just after 1500 hours, Galactic Standard Time. He would have time to become presentable before the briefing.

Twenty minutes later Jegora was showered, shaved, and dressed in his ship-duty uniform, which consisted of gray slacks tucked into black boots, a white tee-shirt, and a black flight jacket. He grabbed his comlink and datapad off his deck, sliding his comlink into a pocket in his vest and his datapad into his back pants pocket. Taking one last look around, Jegora left the room, making sure the door locked behind him.

Since there was still forty minutes or so until the briefing began, Jegora decided to check in with Gshlecc. He hadn’t seen the older man at all in the two days they had been aboard the Visigoth and he wanted a chance to catch up on old times.  Pulling out his datapad, Jegora checked the room listings to find out which one G’ was in. Luckily, his XO was only stationed a few doors down. Making quick work of the distance with his long strides, Jegora arrived at the door and rapped his knuckles lightly on the hard metal.

There was a slight pause, and then the door opened, revealing Gshlecc, dressed in the standard TIE flight suit. When he saw Jegora he grinned an opened the door wider.

“Come on in,” the older man said. Jegora obliged and stepped through, pulling a chair from the corner and taking a seat. Gshlecc sat on the edge of his bunk. “What brings you here?” G’ asked.

Jegora shrugged. “Just wanted to know what you’d been up to since the…incident,” the younger man said hesitantly. Gshlecc nodded, keeping his face smooth. Jegora could see the pain shining behind the older man’s eyes though, a pain that mimicked his own.

“Well, I got shipped out here, spent multiple months trying to keep people alive, then got shipped back to Nazgul. That’s about it for me. What about you?” he asked somewhat hesitantly.

Jegora cringed. He should have expected this, but he hadn’t, and now he was going to have to try and explain things he wasn’t allowed to explain. “Well, er, ya see-” he began, but was cut off by another knock at the door. Gshlecc grinned.

“Looks like I’m popular today,” the XO said, rising and making his way once again to the door. He opened it, and a young pilot with off-color eyes and white hair stepped through. Jegora recognized him as a member of Nazgul, but couldn’t come up with his name.

“Hey, G’, just thought I would…” the new guest began, but then trailed off as he saw Jegora sitting in the room. He glanced from Gshlecc to Jegora, then back again. “I’ll leave you alone,” he finished, his voice carefully neutral.

“Not at all,” Jegora said, glad for the reprieve from explaining his situation. “We were just having a friendly chat.”

Kane nodded, and then spoke to Gshlecc again. “Well, I was just stopping in to see if you were busy and wanted to have a…er…” he trailed off again, glancing at Jegora.

“Drink?” Jegora said, a light grin on his face. “What’s your name, pilot?” he asked.

“Kane, sir,” the pilot answered. Jegora nodded. Now he remembered the pilot.

Pulling a letter from a pocket in his jacket, Jegora handed it to Kane. “Congratulations,” he said, his slight smile not reaching his cold eyes and hard voice.

Kane took the letter, opened it up, and began to read. As he did so, his eyes got steadily wider and wider. Gshlecc was grinning. He knew exactly what was in the letter. When Kane was done reading, he looked from Jegora to Gshlecc and back to Jegora. “This can’t be right,” he said.

***Earlier that day***


To: LCRW Paradox
From: 2nd Lt. Jegora Fal

    Congratulations on passing your Aviators exam. Along with that you are now being assigned to Nazgul 2-2. Welcome to the Navy pilot.


Paradox read the message over and over again as he walked through the halls of the mSSD Atrus to the hangers. Seconds later he received a new message.

Report to the briefing room upon the Visigoth

Paradox frowned at the message, realizing what it meant he slid his datapad into his pocket and sprinted for the hanger, his boots thudding loudly as he ran through the halls, pushing several other pilots out of the way as he ran. Within minutes he reached the hanger. Locating his TIE Fighter, he climbed aboard and dropped in through the hatch on the aft face of the craft. Paradox threw his pack behind his seat and reached up, pulling the hatch closed.

Paradoxs’ fingers moved with lightning speed as he started up the TIE and went through a basic systems check, the movements feeling like clockwork as he had preformed many systems checks having been a mechanic and working on TIE’s in the past. Once everything was green he strapped himself in and took off, heading out of the Atrus hanger bay and towards the Visigoth.


***Visigoth hanger***

Paradox was quite surprised at how the craft flew, he would definitely have to get used to it, and get a bit more practice in. Paradox hoped out of his TIE and made his way to the nearest group of pilots. Once he was set on course for the briefing room, he quickly took off as he did not want to be late for the briefing. Thankfully he was not the last to arrive. Moving into the room he took a seat and waited for the briefing to start. Paradox took note of 2nd Lt. Jegora Fal making his way into the room.

The briefing seemed quick for Paradox. He took note of everything that was said, and had taken down several notes on his datapad. Once the meeting was over, Paradox stood and made his way out of the room, waiting for Jeg and Senior Chief Petty Officer G’shlecc Atrasin, who was his Flight Leader.

Paraodx waited patiently for his commanding officers to exit the room. When they did, both stopped and looked at him. Paradox stood at attention and saluted.

“Leading Crewmen Paradox reporting for duty with Nazgul Squadron.”

OOC:

Intriduced myself into the stroy, 410 words

Kane watched as Trevor and Jeg walked away to share stories about the distant past as well as close the gap regarding the recent past. Kane thought of him as a little cocky, not even introducing himself to Kane, but simply let Jeg confront him before cutting off the squadron commander.

Kane glanced back at G’shlecc who simply shrugged at the happenings and stood to join the departing duo. Kane gathered his things and went to his room, packing his flight bag as necessary and pulling his flight suit on. If the pirates could appear at any minute, he really didn’t want to get caught with his pants around his ankles.

Kane grabbed his packed bag and made his way to the hangar, checking with the engineers to ensure everything was as it needed to be. All missiles were loaded, all systems checked out, and even the interior was given a detailed cleaning. It seemed that the crew aboard the Visigoth were awaiting some action as well. Kane was impressed with the detailing of the TIE, even though it was unnecessary.

Stashing his bag behind the seat Kane made his way towards the simulators. This time he wasn’t going to load up as an observer, he was going to kill some things. He selected the crop of pirate ships he gave information on in the briefing, and selected a standard TIE for his own craft. Once the sim was finished loading, Kane strapped himself in.

He turned his datapad to only alert him to messages from Jegora or G’shlecc, and soon he found his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the environment. The simulator jerked hard to let the pilot know he was free for maneuvers, and Kane wasted no time in dashing out into open space. His radar showed two flights of Y-Wings circling a disabled spacecraft. Kane came at them, blasting away at anything he could, definitely alerting the four fighters to his presence. He wanted a dogfight, not a sniping contest.

The two flights broke off in a rough formation. Kane had heard rumors that some of the pirates out here were former Naval pilots, and even officers, who defected and joined the pirates. The formation would lend credibility to that claim. Kane juked hard and rolled away from the disabled craft, considering it the center of the battlefield.

Warnings sounding in the cockpit as Kane pulled out of his roll. It was a sound he missed out here, the sound of danger, the sound that got his heart beating. A quick pitch and roll killed the alarm as soon as it began, allowing Kane a moment to access the situation. The Y-Wings were good, but not that good, so Kane decided to play cat and mouse.

Looking on his radar he found the first flight chasing him, and the second flight returning to the craft to try and loot some more. Kane smirked at the mentality of what he faced. Four against one, the odds were in their favor. But Kane was an Imperial Pilot, trained to be one of the best, and he would be damned if he let a bunch of smugglers and pirates bring him down.

Kane locked onto one of the pirate ships and loosed a missile, roaring out into the simulator as the explosion rocked the machine. Kane was feeling a bit like himself again, a bit like the free man he was when he had nothing but the dark matter and the stars surrounding him. The walls of the Visigoth were beginning to suffocate him, so here was his bit of sweet release.

“Crystal.”

Trevor almost hadn’t said it. He did though, for reasons he couldn’t quite put together in his head. For all it mattered, he could have said nothing and likely gotten away with it. The verbal assault had been mostly unprovoked, depending on where someone would draw the line on provocation. Not only that, but when it came to rank and position, things became confusing. Trevor had always remembered having to treat higher ranking officers with respect regardless of whether they were in command of him or not, but he wasn’t sure how the situation worked when it came to a lower ranking pilot having a higher position than a higher ranking pilot, or in this case, a commissioned officer. Better safe then sorry.

As G stalked away, Trevor turned to look at Jeg. “Is that how it is then, for everyone else too?” He asked, preparing for the worst. Jeg looked at him and shrugged, sticking one hand in his pocket.

“I can’t speak for the people who haven’t met you yet, but to be honest, the way you showed up was definitely not a way to get back in the good graces with those you left behind.” Jeg explained, and then put a hand on Trevor’s shoulder. It seemed to bear more weight with it than it should have. “Put it this way. If your wings don’t work the way they used to, you’re gone.” The tone of the words was dripping with rudeness, but disguised just enough to keep it civil. With those stinging words, Jeg lifted his hand and walked away. Trevor felt that if Jeg had been free to open up on him he would have, but knew the new commander had more control then that.

As Jeg walked away Trevor began to really feel the bite of what had he been told. Without thinking he blindly wound up and side-armed his data pad into the opposing wall, the screen shattering and most of the plastic casing exploding around it. Jeg’s head twitched as if he was going to look over his shoulder but at the last minute stopped the neck rotation and kept walking in the direction he had been going. Trevor, fuming, headed in the opposite direction down the hall, looking for a map or guide that would tell him where the sims were. He needed something to help him calm down.

A little practice wouldn’t hurt either. I won the LMS competition with him as my wingman and flew with him for a good amount of time. That’s how I’m treated when I return? Well, G wants proof that I can hang with the big boys, he’ll definitely get it. Trevor thought angrily as he scanned one of the guide-boards he found and carefully selected the hallway he was supposed to go down. The door to the sim room wasn’t very far down the hallway and Trevor found it easily, the automatic closing mechanism of the door disabled to help clear the room of some of the heat created by the machines housed within. Most of the machines were unoccupied, with the exception of two, one in a far corner being used by a few pilots to have a small competition, and another that was located in the middle of the far wall, being used by a lone occupant.

Trevor got in the nearest available sim and booted it up. It took him a few minutes to decide on what settings he would use, but he finally came up with a set that pleased him. A squadron of TIE Fighters, minimal shielding and no missiles, and a squadron of X-wings. All in all, an unfair fight; there would be three more X-wings then TIEs, and they would have shields and missiles. It was the type of fight that every pilot got the biggest adrenaline rush from but also knew the odds would be against him. Not the worst I’ve had to deal with though. Trevor thought, remembering once again to the Last Man Standing competition. This fired him up even more, and as the simulator began to dim around him he quickly cracked his knuckles, neck and wrists. An old habit that Shazam had probably left upon him, he was constantly berated by medics not to do it anymore. He simply felt it made his joints more limber.

A few moments later a tone went off signifying the start of the simulation, and Trevor did a quick battlefield assessment. The X-wings were starting in a standard NR five-by-three formation, that is, five flights of three pilots. His own squadron was in a simple ‘V’ formation, and the other AI pilots didn’t seem to be very actively getting out of the way. “AI pilots disperse and attack, fire at will.”

With the command issued the AI pilots sprung to life. A few backed off on their throttles planning to stay back and catch the X-wings from behind. Others began climbing or falling through space to try and get a better angle on the X-wings, while Trevor remained on his straight-line course. He wasn’t dumb enough to take on a trio of X-wings headfirst alone, but felt that he’d wait until he was closer to get an idea of what the AI enemies and friendlies were capable of.

He didn’t have to wait long; it only took a matter of moments for him to come within missile range of the X-wings. Immediately a radar lock was acquired on him, followed by a second and a third. Crap, all three are going to go right for me? Could be wor-.. Trevor thought, his thoughts interrupted as he saw three small bursts of light come from the bellies of the X-wings. It took another few seconds for the radar tones to turn into wailing sirens. Normally evasion is the key to escaping such a thing, but Trevor had been known to have unorthodox methods. His thumbs flew across the targeting system controls, lining his cannons up with the missile that was closing directly ahead of him.

When he confirmed he was leading it by enough, he released a short volley into its path, scoring a hit that he would admit was mostly luck. The missile exploded, but its blast radius wasn’t enough to take out either of the other missiles. Before Trevor could line up another shot though, he had to brake and throw the craft into a portside, downward roll. The X-wings had come within firing range and opened up on him from their most inaccurate distance. A quick glance at the radar with a confirmation check out the rear view port confirmed his suspicions. The two remaining missiles were stuck to him like glue, and the X-wings had performed Immelmans in order to keep behind him.

The TIE only had a slight speed advantage over the X-wings, but not enough to necessarily be useful in a situation like this. Trevor’s years of experience from flying fighter craft had told him that more often than not it would be the turning radius of a craft that decided who would live and die, not the speed the craft could attain. Logically pilot skill was key regardless of the situation, and it was a firm belief that superior piloting skill would be more important than equipment, although the same pilots who believed this would also admit they preferred good equipment.

What I’d give for an Interceptor again. Trevor thought. He hadn’t flown a TIE in a long time, and practically being thrown back into one was a bit to get used to. Compared to the Interceptor, he felt the TIE was the sluggish, unresponsive, half-wit cousin. A fine craft for those beginning, but it was impossible to fly an Interceptor and easily return to flying a regular TIE. Thank God I never got to fly a Defender. I don’t think I’d ever be able to fly one of these again. Trevor thought, laughing aloud. The sim was working at cheering him up again.

A quick twist to starboard with a sharp jerking roll back to port managed to throw off two of the X-wings enough to convince them to loop back and provide cover for their leader. The remaining X-wing was taking pot shots at Trevor, but none made contact. The wailing from the missiles had diminished somewhat, meaning that one of the death-tubes had been thrown off by his tricky to follow movement, but the other had managed to track him. It was inching closer still, the lessened fuel supply increasing the missile’s power-to-weight ratio and allowing it to travel faster. The missile would have to run out of fuel eventually, but the longer its prey tried to run the faster and more maneuverable it became.

“Hell, wouldn’t mind an Aggressor right now, with its rear firing cannon. But no. We’ve been given regular TIEs and that’s what I need to practice in.” Trevor grumbled to himself as he swung his fighter in a tight vertical loop. The missile was still on his tail, but the X-wing ahead of him couldn’t react fast enough and ended up trading spots with Evenson. To Trevor’s own surprise, the missile that had been tailing him had followed him through the loop and as he leveled off, it plowed into the canopy of one of the two X-wings that had been running cover for their Flight Leader. Damn it, flukes like that make stuff like this easier. Although it’s plausible, I’ve seen it happen before out there..

The second X-wing jerked to the right to avoid the blast radius but didn’t escape quickly enough. The blast hit the fighter at an odd angle, putting undue pressure against the wings and knocking it temporarily out of control. Nothing that would be fatal to the pilot or damaging to the craft, but enough to give Trevor time to make a shot at the FL. The AI pilot seemed to realize his predicament and took evasive action, barreling high and to the right, combining the move with a simple brake-turn in an attempt to dodge the green lances that spewed from the cannons on Trevor’s fighter.

It was simple, predictable moves like that that made Trevor dislike the sims. After a while of using them, you’d see everything that the AI pilots could come up with. He had to admit that they were improving as more and more real life pilots gave their input on ways to randomize the maneuvers and improve on-the-fly moves, but they were yet to program a droid pilot or a simulator that could properly emulate the ingenuity of a live pilot under pressure. The only pilot Trevor could think of was C3, although he had never actually flown with the ‘bot.

As Trevor was contemplating the usefulness of the sims as a tool to prepare new and experienced pilots to take on those who lived, the fighter ahead of him effectively shattered all his ideas of the simulators being unable to be unpredictable. In a move that Trevor could remember doing when he used to fly Y-wings, the fighter pilot rolled the craft over as if to start a barrel roll, but complimented this with a sharp pull of the control yoke downwards and a hard stomp on the right rudder pedal, essentially sliding a ‘vertical’ craft in a diagonal motion, as well as performing a one-hundred and eighty degree direction change. It truly was a move that worked better in an atmosphere where gravity would help you out, but apparently the AI pilots were skilled enough to pull it off in space with no major implications.

Trevor didn’t even have a chance to copy the move; he was more engrossed at what the simulators could do. He quickly swung his craft around, trying to get on a level playing field with the fleeing X-wing, but found that it had taken his momentary lapse of concentration as an opportunity to escape. It wasn’t in visual sight, but he had better things to worry about. His simple move had given the formerly out-of-control X-wing a chance to catch up, and was once again on his tail. Damn, here we go again.

OOC:

WC:2048. If I need to make edits, say so.

Mel's routine, which he went through each time he was called to battle, was about to begin. Still in his brown uniform, he grabbed every notebook he had and stuffed them into the footlocker below the bed. He then proceeded to grab the pencil and stow it away as well. Locking the box, he pushed it under his bed.

Can't have people finding those, can we?

Then, his routine became a bit strange. From his knapsack, he picked out a small bag with a white powder inside it. He dug inside the bag and poured the flour-like substance into his other palm. He then blew it in the direction of the footlocker.

Careful to not disturb the blown powder, he thought, Now I'll know if one of these liabilities dares touch my things.

What Mel did not notice, until it was too late, was that Kane had been standing behind him, inspecting his secretive doings.

"Can I help you, Sir?" Mel asked, not turning around.

"Uh, Mel? What are you doing?"

"Making sure unwanted people do not touch my things." Mel insisted.

"What is in that footlocker that must be kept so hidden?"

"Notebooks."

"A bit ancient, don't you think?"

"Aged to perfection, really. Try hacking a notebook with a computer; it'll never happen because there are no electronics involved. Its the safest system."

"What is in them that must be so hidden?" Kane asked innocently.

The vein on Mel's neck started to pulsate out of annoyance.

"My log. Each belief and philosophical doing that I have committed are in those books."

Kane put his hand around his chin out of curiousity, then switched the subject when Mel stood from the bed and looked at him.

Kane thought, What now?

Strangely, Mel responded, "I am to proceed to the-" He grabbed his mouth.

Kane, stunned, widened his eyes. "H-How did you know what I w-was thinking?!"

Mel, knowing he couldn't get out of this one, replied, "Cybernetics have been good to me, my friend. I have a revolutionary chip inside my brain. They call it the Maxpolarum."

Kane's eyes lowered. "How did you obtain it?"

"You're forgetting that before I joined you guys, I was a wealthy Eriaduan. The implant had it's risks,  but-" Mel ended the sentence with a shrug.

"Didn't you say your father worked in a vehicle repair shop or something?"

Mel's eyes were now beady and black. The vein on his neck had a larger, mountainous pulse, and the scar on his cheek was visible again. "Yes. Yes he did."

"Then how are you so rich to afford such things?"

"A friend of mine was an Eriaduan Count. He left me a large sum of money shortly before my joining with the Vast Imperial Navy. I bought larger amounts of the machinery that sustained me. I suppose it went from sustaining me to empowering me."

Kane's datapad chirped, and it had brought Mel out of his dark appearance as he shook his head.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get going."

"I suppose."

OOC:

Yes, I know, a bit short. 459 words. Will do more tomorrow, if possible

Rogue sat playing yet another hand of sabacc, while sipping on a rot gut excuse for Correlian Whiskey.  Course, the grade of the whiskey went along with the establishment he was in. He was sitting in some a lousy excuse for a space station, run by some of the worst and dumbest excuse for pirates he had come across yet. But this was where the buyer wanted to meet, so this was where he had ended up. And it was a place to get lost for a while.

And getting lost for a while was something he was after. Since he had been wounded in the screw up that had been the assault to retake the system labeled Firestorm, it gave him a good opportunity. Most of his wounds had been mental, rather than physical, which actually made them harder to get over. So he had decided to load up one of the freighters he had managed to acquire during his career and set out on personal time.

An Action VI freighter wasn't exactly designed to be run by just one person, but he had spent quite a few credits on modifications so that he could run it with just his R2 and R7 astromechs. Course, those modifications had included more than just the operating controls. He had two turbolasers and a dual torpedo/missile launcher forward, as well as two turrets of light ion cannons taken off old Y-wing fighters, one fore and one aft. Twin laser cannons covered the rest of the aft end. And just to be safe, he had stashed a hyper capable fighter on board just in case.

So after leaving the VEN, his first stop had been a couple of old contacts from his smuggling days. From them, he had gotten a list of cargoes worth the most value. Some manipulating of official VE request forms, and he had a cargo full of guns and other weapons, as well as spare parts. Next stop had been the verge. Pirate country.  So he spent the next several weeks working the verge, buying and selling cargo. Finally he had gotten a line on a big score. Thats what had lead him here to this floating hunk of junk.

Once he had dropped out of hyperspace, he had expected a station that was barely hanging on. But what he hadn't expected was what was protecting the meeting place. Two full flights of uglies had swarmed him as if they were waiting for him. Now he could have taken them, especially with the extra mods he had put in using the profit from those other runs. But he couldn't take a Nebulon-B frigate. Even high velocity slug throwers would barely hurt one of those babies. Plus his scanners had showed a lot more fighters and possibly another frigate on the far side of the station.

It had cost him ten percent of what they thought was his profit to even get permission to dock and board the station, but he had paid it. He had a better way to deal with bandits like these.

Once I'm on my way out of here, I'll call their location in to the VEN. The Navy can send a task force buy and wipe'em out.

Or that had been his plan 3 days ago. He hadn't planned on being in the system more than 6 hours. If this "guy" didn't show up in the next few hours, he was going to head out.

And make that call.

(Three days later)

Rogue sat in the same bar, again playing sabacc and drinking cheap imitation whiskey. He was still on the station. His initial buyer had never shown up and never contacted him, so he had gone looking for another. That had lead him to dealing with a representative of the pirates that ran the station. Now he really didn't want to sell his stuff to someone this close to VE space, but he didn't have much choice. He was committed. All he could do was wait and hope the message he sent out, got to the right people. If it did, a Navy task force should be dropping out of hyper in less than a day. Once they were here, he could slip out in the confusion. Or that was the plan.

OOC:

WC: 722

Atrick felt at peace for the first time in several months in his TIE fighter. He had been constantly on edge and now was a golden opportunity to relax. He was going home to what he did best. Enemies stood no chance against his knives on the ground and in a fighter...

I hope there's still some friends left. I sure don't remember anybody... he thought with a sigh. He had been doing a lot of that the past several months. Thinking about old times with his friends Trevor, Jack, Tokijin, and Tomas on missions with Nazgul. They had formed some tight relationships and he had abandoned them when they needed him most.

After their mission on Misoo, Atrick had run off, for reasons unknown even to him. He had wandered the galaxy, eventually finding himself turning to a life of crime to pull in much needed credits. He would spend nights in shoddy bars and hotels, selling contraband to even seedier people.

Eventually, however, his crimes caught up with him and he was sent to an Imperial prison. There he spent several mind-numbing months with the worst of the galaxy. There were nights he would stay wide awake, hearing the screams of the inmates in cells next to him being beaten by bigger, fiercer inmates. It was survival of the fittest and Atrick was near the bottom.

One day, salvation arrived in the form of a hologram. It was someone who identified themselves as "Jegora Fal", Squadron Commander of Nazgul. He had heard of Atrick's plight through some unknown sources and had offered him a spot back in Nazgul. Atrick, almost immediately, agreed and was released.

Soon, he was back in an Imperial uniform with a trim haircut. He was back into the rigorous daily life of an Imperial pilot and he loved it. It sure beats the streets he had once thought to himself. He realized he was born to be a Navy pilot.

Eventually, he was ready to fly again to Nazgul's new home for their newest mission, onboard the Border Patrol ship Visgoth.
Flying was second nature to him, as it was to most pilots, and he was soon on his way in a TIE fighter.

As Atrick eventually found himself within sight of the Visgoth, he heard a voice come over the intercom.

"TIE fighter 147523, identify yourself with rank, callsign and orders, over." It was the ships automated identification system. Atrick felt at home again.

"Senior Crewman Atrick25, on orders to meet up with Nazgul squadron, over." The computer took a while as it searched through the pages of orders and callsigns. He wasn't surprised it was taking a while. He had been gone for seven months.

"Orders confirmed, dock in hanger 13, over." The computer finally said.

"Roger that, over and out." Atrick turned his TIE slightly as he approached the hanger. He landed smoothly and exited, feeling a little euphoric as he looked around.

He was back and he was home.