Stormz woke from his routine slumber. The clock read four am, but his brain was unsure. After a spending any length of time on a starship, every hour of every day looked identical. The Wookiee laid there motionless for a few minutes before grudgingly bringing himself up and out of bed. Although he'd imported his own sleeping apparatus, it was far from comfortable. Come to think of it, nothing aboard an Imperial vessel was comfortable. His mind wandered off to his home planet, Kashyyyk, while he prepared a shower and his uniform.

*****

The heat from his warm shower shown as steam rolled off his moist fur and skin. The smoke seemed to dance as it rose until it was no longer seen by bare eyes. As the Naval Commander dried himself, his fur became puffy and remained damp, requiring Ph'rranix to not wear his uniform. He hated the dreaded thing and could never understand why humans and other sentient beings thought of them as something useful.

A protocol droid entered as he pondered over the subject, forcing Stormz to concentrate. Slowly, but surely, Stormz' mind wandered yet again while the droid was informing him of his daily duties. The same duties he'd done for the last three months. "Sir, approve this document. Sir, I need you to check these out. Sir, this and sir that," He was tired of it, but couldn't allow it to show. As the droid finished, he noticed his primary watch bridge officer pass by his room. Chief Petty Officer Trykon was somewhat new to the Imperial Navy, but by no means inexperienced. The bridge officer excelled at anything requested of him, always surpassing his superior's goals.

[Why don't you go botherr Petty Officerr Trrykon, drroid?] Ph'rranix growled, obviously annoyed.

"Yes, Admiral," replied the protocol droid before scampering off.

OOC:

Anything mentioned in this post is strictly for fictional purposes only and doesn't accurately express the viewpoint of the author. :P

Chief Petty Officer Wyl Trykon walked into the Atrus’s Security Foyer – the small room which served as the hub for the massive star dreadnought’s communications and internal monitoring systems, located directly aft of the main bridge itself – a step behind the silvery metal body of Ether, and nodded absently to the uniformed guard commander on duty, a human male with thoroughly unremarkable features.  “Hello, Ether,” the security man said, “and good morning, Chief Trykon,” he added cheerfully when he recognized the droid’s organic companion.  Wyl realized with a panicked feeling that he couldn’t reciprocate: he’d forgotten the man’s name again, despite their synchronized duty schedules.

“Uh, good morning yourself,” Wyl muttered, resolving to spend even more time with the personnel files.  I really must get better with matching names to faces, he told himself again.

“Yes, yes,” Ether broke in with his prissy voice, “hello to you as well, Lieutenant Mothersen.”  The droid turned his head back to look at Trykon as he spoke, and emphasized the nondescript security man’s name ever so slightly as he said it.  Okay, Ether, Wyl thought, frowning, I get it.  You would never forget someone’s name, and you know that I have.  Again.  Wyl shook his head, and Ether – his point made to his satisfaction – swiveled his head back around to face forward.  Sighing, Trykon followed the silvery droid onto the bridge proper.

From the port crew pit, a decidedly more familiar face glanced up as Wyl and Ether entered the Atrus’s command center, and flashed the human a grin that revealed the sharpened teeth of a carnivore.  The name associated with that face came to Wyl’s mind instantly: Kath Notra, the Twi-lek sensors technician who’d been transferred to the Super Star Destroyer the same day as Trykon.  “Morning, Trick,” Notra said, wrapping one of his brain-tails around his neck.  “You’re up early.”

Trykon returned the being’s smile.  “Well, a little overlap on either end of the shift helps efficiency.”

“Sure,” the Twi’lek said knowingly.  “It doesn’t hurt your reputation with your superiors, either,” he said with a wink.

“I honestly hadn’t thought of that,” Wyl said with as much innocence as he could muster.

Ether harrumphed, and then tottered off to the starboard viewports, as was the idiosyncratic droid’s custom.

Notra’s focus shifted beyond Trykon for a moment, and then he glanced back to the human.  “Well, don’t look now, but one of my superiors is coming our way,” he said, smiling again before returning to his duty station.

Wyl turned away from the pit, and met the steady gaze of Artur Phylas, the duty officer for the Atrus’s graveyard shift.  “Trick, really, if you’re going to insist on being early for every Watch, you could at least refrain from distracting my people when you get here,” the man said in an even tone.

Wyl chuckled.  “Point taken, and Artful as ever.  Status?”

“No change.  We’re on station, and the fighter screen’s still constant.  And everybody’s still waiting for the Admiral to tell us what comes next.”

“Not our job to reason why,” Wyl began their favorite refrain.

“Our job’s just to do or die,” Artur finished the rhyme.

There was a pause.  “Okay, I have the bridge until the Admiral’s arrival.”

“You have the bridge,” Phylas agreed.  “See you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” Trykon murmured.  He looked around the bridge of the Atrus, at the diverse beings hard at work for the glory of the Empire, all within the characteristic grandeur of KDY-designed starship architecture, and another smile came, unbidden, as a fresh wave of pride washed over him.  Until the Admiral’s arrival, Wyl Trykon repeated to himself, I have the bridge.

OOC:

609 words, or thereabouts.

“Wait,” Wyl Trykon said to himself in the empty stateroom, “I thought intellectual property disputes could only be settled in planetary courts.”  His tone wasn’t quite exasperated, but his exhaustion pushed it close.  He slammed the datapad in his hand down on his desk, knocking a stack of several more to the deck.  He flipped through three or four others, impatiently.  “Where’s the dratted Law Review?” he asked, his voice turning sulky.  His glance darted from pad to pad, until he caught sight of the chronometer.

“Oh, hell,” he muttered.  The briefing – his first briefing as a Ship Captain trainee, that he was supposed to give to the members of his trainee crew, formally informing them of their transfer to his command for exercises and evaluation – was scheduled to start in less than a standard hour, in one of the Star Dreadnought Atrus’s tertiary hangars.  And I was so busy studying I didn’t sleep a wink, he thought, looking at the reference materials crowding his desktop.

The Chief Petty Officer placed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and rubbed lightly, letting out a heavy sigh.  He’d never been able to relax before a test, even as a boy, so perhaps his all-night cram session was to be expected, but somehow, after flying into battle at the controls of starfighters and capital ships alike, Wyl couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his juvenile jitters about having his performance judged.  He let his hands slide down his cheeks and his elbows find the desktop, and, cupping either side of his jaw in his hands, he rested his head in his hands.

Remember your training, Wyl thought.  This is just another opportunity to distinguish yourself.  He considered the datapads arrayed around him, covering much of the diverse information relevant to him in his new role as a Ship Captain in the Vast Empire's Navy: there were pads about interstellar customs enforcement; ship-to-ship tactical manuals; psychological profiles of his crew members, each of whom would also be training in his/her own shipboard role even as he was training as a captain; statistical data on various starship models; and the full details of his command, the Warden-class Light Cruiser Duty.

Wyl took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, and deliberately.  He pushed his chair out from the desk, and picked up a pad at random.  He waited a moment while his blood pressure caught up with the sudden movement, and walked to his room’s small refresher.  “Okay,” he murmured.  “Focus on what needs doing.”  He thought for a moment, and typed three words into the datapad, then set it on the sink’s counter, and began preparing for his day.  Half an hour later, showered, changed, and much more relaxed, Wyl Trykon picked up the datapad he’d placed on the ‘fresher counter, and strode confidently out the door.

After winding his way through the antiseptic corridors of the massive Super Star Destroyer, Trykon reached the proper hangar bay right on time, and to his delight he found the ship and her crew waiting for him.  Some of the faces belonged to old friends – he saw Artur Phylas’s grin and Eslara Brin’s shy look – but all of the assembled beings were familiar, for Wyl had spent days pouring over their files.  Some, like the young Zabrak girl, he’d specifically requested, but most were trainees assigned to him by command.  But in both cases, he was proud to be considered to lead them.

His pride swelled even greater when he saw the starship landed on the hangar deck behind the group of fifteen beings who’d train to crew her over the next months.  The Duty was a fairly new, excellently-maintained vessel, and she’d served the old Empire and the VE well.  And she’s a good-looking little ship, the Kuati mused, even if she is a Sienar Fleet Systems design.  He allowed himself a small smile.

Wyl walked in front of the assemblage, and saluted.  Fifteen beings – a Gran, a Trandoshan, a Gand, a Zabrak, two Twi’leks, and nine fellow humans – returned the salute in perfect unison.

“Good morning,” Wyl said.  “Allow me to make some introductions.  This,” he paused, gesturing to the Light Cruiser looming behind him, “is the Light Cruiser Duty.  And I,” he continued, resting a hand lightly on his chest, “am Chief Petty Officer Wyl Trykon, newly assigned as her Captain.”  He let his gaze wander from eye to eye.  “Each of you has been assigned to the Duty as a trainee in your field of expertise.  You’ll be evaluated in the next months, as will I, and if we’re all very, very good,” he smiled again, “then command will let us take this worthy vessel into action against the Vast Empire’s enemies.”  He noted with approval that most of the others now wore smiles which matched his.

“As we work together to become a team – a crew – let’s remember to live by the Navy’s motto: Loyalty, to the Empire, the Navy, this ship, and to each other; Honor in all we do; and Courage to act selflessly for one another, and for the greater good.”  He took a beat, to let the three words of the motto – the same three words he’d taken a moment to type into the datapad earlier in his stateroom – sink in for the ship’s company.  Loyalty.  Honor.  Courage.

“Alright,” he continued.  “I’ll start the formal briefing now, with a more complete set of introductions, followed by an overview of our first mission.  Mr. Phylas, if you’d be so good as to take a step forward…”

OOC:

931 words.  I promise the Atrus will get some of these NPCs back, StOrMz.  After I'm done with 'em.