Heart of the Second is an ongoing run-on open to all members of the Vast Empire's Navy division.

This thread is designed to allow ongoing, persistent character development and recurring interaction between Navy player-characters, all within an official, primarily non-combat Navy story.  If you’re ever stalled for ideas in whatever story or stories your unit is currently working on, you can always post something here to stay active.

This thread will feature stories (single posts or multi-post plot arcs) set aboard and around the flagship of the Second Fleet, the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Adjudicator,  the home of most of the Navy's player-characters, commanded by the Chief of Naval Training.

The OOC discussion thread associated with this open-ended story thread can be found here.


This concept was originally explored in the Heart of the Fleet thread, which has since been closed.  In a sense, HotSec is HotF 2.0.


INSTRUCTIONS AND GUIDELINES for posting to this thread:


1.)  Posts must conform to the following structure:
First - a brief OOC note indicating the location or locations where the post takes place (Adjudicator exterior, main hangar, crew quarters, a particular bar, etc.) and the starfighter squadron or ship's crew section to which the protagonist(s) belong (Medical Section, Vornskr Squadron, Command Section, etc.),
Second - the body of the post,
Third - a closing OOC note incorporating a word count (of the body of the post, not including the OOC notes) and a summary of the action.

2.)  There are no length requirements for posts to this thread.  It is recommended that members try for no fewer than 500 words, to help ensure each post is a complete story, with a beginning, middle, and end.

3.)  The focus of storylines in this thread should NOT be combat.  Take advantage of the storytelling potential of a single-ship setting that’s a mile long and contains almost 40,000 people and droids.  This is a chance to build relationships between your player-character and other members’ player-characters, even with folks who aren’t in your unit or even your branch of service (Starfighter Corps, Fleet Command, VENI).  Feel free also to develop NPCs here.  Often, official unit missions are action-heavy, with scarce opportunities to role-play deeper interactions.  This thread is designed to redress that imbalance.

4.)  The temptation to god-mode should be weaker with these stories, since they won’t be about combat, but still: make sure to justify your authorial choices.  Answer why and how: why is your character doing what he or she is doing, and how does he or she do it?  If it sounds far-fetched to you – even a little bit – then go back to the drawing board and rethink the scenario: brainstorm ways to write the kind of exciting plot you crave, without violating verisimilitude.  This thread is about writing believable, slice-of-life stories featuring military personnel on active duty deployment; realism is paramount.

5.)  Before using another member’s player-character, as well as any NPCs he or she invented/developed, you must obtain permission from that member.  OOC communication is highly recommended to coordinate cooperatively-written plot arcs.

6.)  Writing collaboratively is HIGHLY encouraged.  Seek out your wingman or crewmate, and whip up some interpersonal conflict or a storyline where the two characters bond.  Better still, find a Navy member or two who aren't in your unit, and write a few tag-team posts with them!

7.)  You can also write self-contained stories, on your own, in single posts or over the course of multiple posts.

8.)  Time should not be specified too much in your stories on this thread.  Try not to nail down EXACTLY when the events of this thread take place, so that everyone can interact as needed with everyone else.  Use vague language to indicate a rough chronology when necessary (as in, "Ever since the disastrous Battle of Belgaroth, Drac had been suspicious of his former friend," or, "It'd been long months since Trykon was promoted to Chief of Naval Training, and longer still since he'd flown a starfighter into combat."), but try to avoid definitive statements here (as in, "Three days after the Battle of Abrae, the members of Tuk'ata squadron gathered in the simulator room," or, "The year was 12 ABY.").  Every individual writer getting too specific with dates and times in every individual post will impede the primary function of this thread, which is to allow drop-in opportunities for interaction and joint storytelling, ongoing and at all times, for all members of the Navy.

9.)  Double-posting is still a faux pas, but will be permitted in this thread if 48 hoursgoes by without any activity.  In other words, if you post, and two days later no one else has posted, you may feel free to post again to the thread.

10.)  As ever, have fun.

OOC:

Adjudicator Conference room Cresh.

Pherik ‘Serpent’ Zail, still Captain of the Brilliant, still XO of the Second Fleet, still the VENI Fleet Liaison, but now a Commander too, stood before the assembled crewmen.  He felt tired, so very weary and tired.  Since the conclusion of the Counterpunch campaign and the collapse of the Imperial Dominion, his life had been a frenzy of activity.  Promotions, medals, ceremonies, meetings, reports, and all capped off with the sad honour of having to conduct the funeral of his First Officer, Vagen Eosel.

And now Serpent was guiding a bunch of officers (Petty, Warrant, and commissioned) through an Intelligence briefing.  The Vast Empire had absorbed the Dominion’s worlds, equipment, and personnel, and though that had been a boon, it had not come without risk.  There were still those among the former ID populace who resented their former enemies turned overlords, and Intelligence was in a new state of alert for sabotage and insurrection.  Nowhere was this risk more prevalent than among the Second Fleet, which had been instrumental in bringing the Dominion down.  Hence the string of security and intel briefings that Zail was holding for the Adjudicator’s crew.

Fully a hundred faces stared back at him from the rows of chairs in Conference room Cresh, listening with varying levels of attention as he rattled off threat analysis statistics.  When finally Serpent came to an end, he was as relieved as they were to say his farewells and make for the door.

As he marched off down the corridor, Zail heard a set of hurried footsteps following him.  He came to a halt and turned around to see a Petty Officer skid to a halt before him and salute.  She was a short, slim little woman, barely in her twenties.  Mousy but oddly cute features stared out at him from beneath thick but short hair, and she had a distinctly nervous look about her.  “Excuse, sir,” She said quickly, “But might I have a word?”

Serpent composed himself, trying to shrug off the tiredness he felt, and said, “Of course, Petty Officer...?”

“Lyson, sir,” She supplied the name.  “Diana Lyson.  Can we... can we talk somewhere private?”

Zail instantly went on guard.  “This way,” He said, and led her into a side room, one of the smaller meeting rooms off the larger conference rooms on the deck.  Once inside, he gestured for her to sit, and as he did so he fingered the blaster pistol in his holster.

Lyson noticed what he was doing, and her eyes narrowed.  “Sir?”

“Just being cautious,” He told her.  “Perhaps I’ve been working Intelligence too long.”

“I see, sir,” She said, and rested her arms on the table between them, out in the open.

Serpent appreciated her willingness to indulge his paranoia, and nodded in thanks.  “Now, what can I do for you, Petty Officer?”

“I... I have an... issue, sir,” Lyson began awkwardly.  “Firstly, let me say that I understand that what I did was against regulations, and I fully accept whatever punishment is coming my way.  However, it is more than that...”

“Very well,” Zail said, wondering what she meant but giving her time to get there.

“I’ve been having a relationship,” Said the Petty Officer at last, “With one of the Stormtrooper marines.  He and I... we’ve been meeting in one of the storage rooms.”

Serpent nodded.  A Petty Officer and a marine would not have their own private quarters, so they could hardly meet in their bunks.  “Go on.”

“This morning... this morning while we were... you know,” Said Lyson slowly, evidently shy about talking about her intimacies with a stranger.  “We were spotted.  By a droid.  It was an astromech, I think.  It slipped away and we were... unable to give chase.”

Again Zail nodded.  “Where is the droid now?”

She shook her head, tears in her eyes.  “I don’t know!  Somewhere on the ship, obviously, but I can’t find it!  Ship’s droids are routinely wiped every few days, but before that their memories are downloaded.  If... if someone sees what that droid saw...”

“Ah, I see,” Said the Commander, understanding.  The reveal of a relationship would just result in a few harsh words from Captain Trykon, but this was more.  All it took was one technician with a joker’s attitude and the video of this young woman naked would be all over the ship.  Even on a Star Destroyer of 37,000 people she would be instantly famous, and no doubt mocked and teased for the rest of her career.  “What can I do for you?”  Zail asked after a pause.

“My lover he... he’s been sent on a training mission today, I’m on my own.  I don’t know how long I have to find that droid - if it’s not already too late.  I need you to help me find it and erase whatever it saw.  You... you’re the VENI liaison, you have clearance right?  You can go where I can’t, and no one will question you, not even Captain Trykon!  You have to help me!”

Serpent looked at her.  She was young, he had noticed that already, but only now did he see just how young.  Lyson was just a kid, a kid who had made a mistake that, truth be told, many young Petty Officers had made.  It just so happened that in this case she got caught.  He could reprimand her for her behaviour with another crewmate, but that would be nothing compared to what she would go through if that droid’s memory recording went viral.

Zail was tired, exhausted, and this was not even his ship or his subordinate.  But frak it, he was just too nice to let this happen.  “Okay, Miss Lyson, I’ll help,” He told her, and he saw her face instantly light up with happiness.

“Oh, thank you Commander!” She beamed.

He held up a finger to restrain her.  “Hold on!  Now, we do this my way.  Even I can’t check a ship this large.  I’ll bring in some help,” And at that Lyson opened her mouth to protest.  “Hold on,” Serpent said before she spoke.  “I’ll pick the people myself, and none of them will know what’s happening.  Officially this will be a... a counter-espionage training exercise.”

“What?”

The Commander smiled as he continued, pleased with his idea.  “I will tell our helpers that VENI is holding a training game.  A droid on board has been selected as an ‘enemy spy’ and they have to find it.  Simple.”

Lyson nodded, going along with it.  “Very well, sir.  So, who will you be asking?”

Zail smiled.  “I have a candidate or few in mind...”

OOC:

1105 words.  And my first post of HotSec is up!  If anyone wants to join in the hunt for the droid, please PM me so we can liaise!  Co-operative writing is what this thread is for!

After Action Report:  Serpent has been approached by Petty Officer Diana Lyson, and she is in a bind.  A droid has accidently spotted her in a compromising position, and she needs the droid found and wiped fast before she is potentially embarrassed before the whole crew of the Adjudicator.  Zail agrees to use his VENI influence to help her find the astromech, but first he needs some help...

OOC:

Location: VSD Brilliant -- yes, HotSec is based on the Adjudicator, but this is more setting the scene than anything else.
Characters: Hades, NPCs.

There was a loud clang as Grey touched down slightly too roughly on the hangar deck of the VSD Brilliant, effectively bringing to an end the journey all the occupants of the storied shuttle Nightdancer had ended up taking. The aforementioned journey had been long and arduous, even resulting in far too many near-death experiences. At one point the VENI plot on Tilsec Prime had balanced on a knife edge, tipping this way and that with each move either side had made. in the end however, VENI had prevailed and Tilsec Prime now had a new government - not that the operatives cared particularly about what it did, as long as it joined the Vast Empire.

The ramp lowered and the motley gathering of agents disembarked, filing out silently into the darkened hangar bay of the Brilliant - either by coincidence or cooperation, Grey had landed in the middle of the Graveyard shift, meaning the vast majority of the crewmembers would be sleeping or otherwise off-duty, not bothering with a single shuttle arriving after a prolonged absence. "Job well done, agents." Grey had paused next to Hades as she said this, before making her way off into the depths of the Brilliant. Hades sighed quietly as he looked around; a single shuttle other than their own occupied the bay, which was otherwise devoid of anything else. He wondered if the Chief of Naval Warfare knew that he had disobeyed direct orders yet? It was rumoured that he had been the Chief of Naval Intelligence, but had given up several months ago, meaning he would be not as well informed on VENI activities as he might like. That also meant that more likely than not, he would not know that Hades had been on the mission at all.

Unbeknownst to him, VENI would be getting him a double promotion to Lieutenant Commander for his actions in the battle and dedication to VENI - with VENI behind him, there was little Trykon would be able to do as punishment, though what little there was made Hades feel unpleasant enough. With or without VENI's support, Tryk could make his life very miserable if he so chose and at the end of the day, he knew that VENI needed a cooperative Chief of Naval Warfare more than they needed him. Valuable he may be, but he was more disposable than VENI's relationship with the Warfare department.. This in mind, Hades looked around once more. Not going back to the Adjudicator was not an option, it was running away from the problem. No, even worse, it was hiding from the problem, something Hades didn't do. Was he scared..? No, no not scared. Scared was too extreme. He was wary of the consequences. He moved to a nearby terminal, entering a security code that was used by VENI agents. A line opened and someone answered, "Yes?"

"Hades here. I need a shuttle to the Adjudicator." Being a Coordinator, he was a step above the normal agents.

"How long?" The unnamed operator queried, unsure as to the man's desired departure time.

"10 minutes. I can wait up to an hour." The reply did not leave much room for negotiation,

"I can get you one in two hours." He replied, "this just in from Ensign Grey. For your dedication on Tilsec Prime, you're promoted to Lieutenant Commander. Happy flying, sir."

"One hour." Hades replied, surprise not entering his tone as he severed the channel and shut the terminal down. No negotiation.

OOC:

Wordcount: 626

AAR: Just a short post to begin Hades' and Trykon's shared plotline. Hades debates the ramifications of disobeying Trykon's orders and receives a surprise promotion, before arranging for a shuttle to head out in exactly an hour, taking him back to the Adjudicator

OOC:

The halls of the Adjudicator and one of its gyms

The halls of the Adjudicator were quiet as Makenna wandered the ship aimlessly. Ever since the battle on the Death asteroid, the chaos had subsided and many of the VE members were taking it easy. Of course, regardless of the respite that they all sought, Makenna had received an unwelcome bit of news. She had been in the VEN for such a short time and already they had found it in themselves to promote her to the position as SC of Jexxel Squadron. She wondered what the hell the true reasoning was for that decision. There were people who had been in for so much longer than her. Why had she been put in a command position?

They were all mad.

Of course it wasn’t just the fact that she had been made SC that kept Makenna up on nights like tonight. During a lull on Gwodd LK Nale, Makenna had come to the conclusion that a man named Thatcher Morrowind was a liar and her best friend. The two thoughts battled in her mind constantly. And to make things worse, he had lost part of his arm during the battle. The whole ordeal had affected her thoughts of him. Did she love him? Did she even like him? Could she forgive him for lying to her even if he had intended to tell her who he was? And why did he lie? What was the purpose behind it? She had always known Tamran to be honest and true. But he had shown a side she was less familiar with, and after trying to put her past away for so long, it was all too much in too little time.

Abruptly Makenna stopped walking, checking to make sure she was alone in the hall. When she saw that she was, she leaned against the wall, as if wishing the metal could take away her burdens. She wished she could go back to being Strill’s XO. In that position she didn’t have people relying on her in quite the same way. She also had Joamer to lean on. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but he had always felt like a stable point during the whole Death asteroid ordeal. It was obvious that he had been through a lot more than her, but it was also obvious that he understood her more than anyone else. Sometimes she wondered if he understood her more than Tamran.

As she stood there, Makenna heard a yell come from further down the hall. Her brows furrowed in thought, wondering what it was about. She strode forward, coming to the doors of one of the gyms. Of course. Where else would I hear random yelling? She thought to herself slightly sarcastically. Then again, working out in the dead of night wasn’t exactly common either. She couldn’t figure out why, but she strode into the gym.

---

Closing his eyes he ignored the broken chair laying in pieces in front of him. It had been a sturdy metal affair. Capable of surviving battles and explosions, but by the end of the night it had met its demise as a stress reliever. Though it had done a rather lousy job.

Slowly bringing his breathing back under control, he slapped his hands together much more forcefully than the exercise needed. Pressing his palms together he pointed his fingers out away from him as he stayed in the opening position. He tried to clear his mind but it would simply not come. After spending years mastering the moves and being able to enter the meditative state required for this, he simply could not bring his body or his mind to peace. He realised he was haunted now by a simple truth. He had given the Naval High Command a squadron that would last for a long time, and one of which the basic idea had never been tried before. For his efforts his reward was to have his center taken away from him. Until now he had not realised how much he had depended upon her to keep him sane. It had only been a few days since her departure to take command of Jexxel. Already he could sense the change in the squadron.

If the Commander was the heart, then the executive officer was the soul. Their job was to keep the balance between the choices he had to make and what was right. Without both working together, things collapsed. Most people got time for adjustments; they had been ripped apart during an announcement. No hints, no clues. Nothing. Now he could not center himself again to try to think of a way out of the mess. He saw no way out of the crucible for his squadron or himself.

“Oh Little Bird. If only you knew,” he said quietly. In his current state he had not been paying attention to the sounds of the ship. Or the sound of the doors opening for a moment. He did not know what he felt for her. Only that he knew they shared a bond. Maybe it was only the bond that occurred between the commander and the XO. He doubted it was only that though. He cared for her more than he would voice aloud in polite company. “You saw things being a pirate. Nothing like that though. Being a pilot is one thing. You don’t see the carnage close at hand usually. I guess I can be thankful you will be spared that. Even though I’ve lost you,” closing his eyes, he pushed his arms away from him into the first movement, “I would give anything to have you back.”

Makenna hesitated a moment at his words, wondering if she should reveal that she was standing there. But what he said bothered her. “Lost me? It’s not like I’ve gone and died.”

Stopping his movement, he dropped his arms to his sides and stood with his back facing where her voice had come from. They had barely seen each other during the last few days. Brief passings in the hallways. Or a glance as she was walking past his office on some errand. Her voice had cut through the fog in his mind for only a moment before it came back, “well with that weird bunch they threw together and called a squadron you never know.”

Turning around he looked over at her and paused. For one brief moment air currents had caught and lifted the feathers she had placed in her hair.

“I wouldn’t call them weird. Just broken,” she sighed, “Jexxel was devastated beyond repair. And somehow High Command thinks I can run it. Though I have no idea why,” she shook her head slightly then approached Joamer, “How is Strill?”

He took his eyes off the feathers and down to her brown eyes. His mind was working slowly and the answer was more robotic than anything, “We got our Hunters, and now carry the Commando title,” he could not put it into words that he believed they had lost their soul.

Makenna nodded, “I was looking forward to flying one of those beauties. It’s too bad...” she trailed off, locking eyes with Joamer. He seemed so... depressed. So lost, “Joamer, what’s wrong? You’re always asking me what’s wrong, but this time I’d rather ask you. How are you holding up?”

Taking one of her hands in his, he walked slowly over to a bench and sat down. He let go of her hand as he looked down for a moment. Staring at the ground he said, “When I lost Raiders, when she was stolen from me, I held onto the anger and pain. Later I was given the chance to have a part of her live on. Strill became, to me, what Raiders should have been,” he sighed slowly before continuing, “then you showed up. I saw in you a fire that would burn bright and hold this idea together. You became her soul. You became my center. Then I had you taken from me.”

Makenna was suddenly at a loss for words. She looked off to the side and her mind chewed on what he said. Why was he so concerned for her? “Joamer you only knew me for a short time. How could I have become the heart and soul of a squadron when I was only there for one battle?”

“A good team is both heart and soul. Two halves of one whole. A bond, even one forged over a short time, can produce true long-lasting impressions,” he said slowly.

Her breath caught in her throat. What he was saying was making her think thoughts that were forbidden. She was suddenly aware of her own feelings for Joamer, “What... are you saying... truly?” she breathed.

He looked up at her. She was not much taller than he was in this position so it was not difficult. Joamer caught her eyes. Opening and closing his mouth several times, he finally found the words would not come out. He cared for her, that much was obvious, but he was not sure to what level. “Little Bird I...”

But suddenly she didn’t need to hear more. Makenna knew what he was about to say. She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, wrapping her arms around him. Joamer returned the kiss, pulling her to him slowly.

---

The sounds of the ship were louder at this hour. The ship never really slept. Though most of the crew members were asleep, a lone pilot could be found wandering through the corridors. He had woken in the middle of the night and decided to check on Makenna, but she was not in her room. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t worry him, but she had been acting strange lately. Angry and depressed even.

He came to the area where Strill squadron was housed. Most of their section was quiet and dark save for the sounds coming from one of the smaller gyms. Approaching the door slowly, he quietly opened it. He blinked as he could clearly make out two figures in the dark. The larger was sitting on the floor and the smaller was straddling him. For a moment, light from the hallway reflected something in the hair of one of the figures. He acted without thinking when he knew who it was.

“Are you frackin’ kiddin’ me?!” Makenna jumped at the sudden voice, using her arms to cover what skin she could. She stared in the direction of the door to the gym, knowing full well who she’d see there. Thatcher’s eyes were burning. Raging, “You know Makenna, I had thought you to be a little smarter than this,” she looked away from him as she began to slowly face reality as well as Thatcher’s anger.

Thatcher’s rage was quickly redirected, “But what surprises me even more is you, Joamer. What the frack is an officer, a MARRIED officer doing with the SC of another squadron? What the hell were you thinking?! You’re lucky that I’m the one who walked through these doors and not someone else!” as Thatcher continued to fume, Makenna had grabbed her shirt and slipped it back on, but she kept her back to him, not wanting to face her sins even though she knew she had to.

He kept his hands around her this time for comfort and not desire. He could feel her whole body trembling and he knew from experience she would crack if left alone. “Listen to me, boy. One I am an Officer so you will show a bit more decorum here. Two, we are both human if you’ve not figured that part out yet. And three, word spreads. You lied. Either turn around and walk away or, when I stand up, you will never walk again.”

“I don’t think anyone who is unfaithful deserves respect from me. Respect is earned and not granted by some position. I had respect for you, but I don’t have any now. You can break any part of me,” he said and held up his right arm as he did so, “to me you will remain a cheat and the man who hurt Makenna. And I will not stand for that.”

Softly pushing Makenna off of him, he stood up and collected his things in the corner of the room. Pulling his shirt over his head he snapped his weapons belt into place and walked slowly towards the door. He saw Thatcher out of the corner of his eye, and he doubted the man expected what he did next. Reaching out with his left hand, he gripped Thatcher’s throat and slammed him into the wall behind him, then locked his right arm to the side with his free hand. “Now, boy. I can snap your neck like a twig. Cybernetics have a few perks built into them. I won’t do that though. You see, your shame at lying to her is more painful than death. That is, if you truly care for her. If not, well, then you’ll wake one night to find me standing over you. Remember that next time you think to do anything with her. If you hurt her, no one will ever find your body.”

Releasing Thatcher, he stepped back and considered looking back at Makenna. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to go to her, but knew it would be the worst idea he had thought in a long time.

And it was just as well he didn’t because Makenna had stood up, now sharing the fury in the room. “Joamer, I don’t need you to fight my battles. Nor do I need you to, Tamran,” she said, letting his real name roll off her tongue, “Neither of you has a right to speak on my behalf. NEITHER of you,” she glared at Tamran first, “Because YOU are a liar,” and then she looked at Joamer, “And he’s right. You are unfaithful. Leading me on this entire fracking time...” her voice caught in her throat as she began to fight back tears. She knew it was just as much her fault as it was his. She hadn’t done him any favors by allowing such thoughts and feelings to continue. And even though she was angry at both of them, there was one man she’d rather run to. One man she wanted to run to. But she couldn’t.

Both men were speechless. And it was Tamran who spoke up first, “What would you have me do, Kenni?” he asked quietly. It was not a side of himself he showed most often, and it was not something Makenna would see in her current state. But he knew she would recognize it later and that was all that mattered to him.

“Just go. Now. Leave me alone,” she hissed, then locked eyes with Joamer, “Especially you. Get the hell away from me.”

He risked having something thrown at him as he looked over at her. “Stay safe, Little Bird.” He said as he walked towards the door.

Tamran took that moment to look as though he was heading through the door, when really he was heading over to the corner. He knew she needed time to herself but he would be damned if he didn’t stay there with her in some form or another. He knew her well. Makenna would come around, and she would want someone there when she did. She would also want someone to apologize for his actions and not act self-righteous. So he waited as Makenna sorted through her feelings and mixed emotions.

As Makenna stood there crying, her mind scolded her. She knew Joamer was married. Knew the whole situation was bad. But she let herself fall into it anyway. And she couldn’t even blame Joamer for starting it because she had been the one ask him the questions. She was the one who kissed him... pulled him to the floor...

It was all her fault. She knew it was. If only she had left Joamer to whatever he had been doing, none of this would have happened. She had been so stupid! All she wanted was to talk to him, get her mind off things. And while she had, it was not the way she had wanted things to happen. Her first kiss had been taken and she could have given up more.

How absolutely stupid can you be, Makenna? How much further will you fall?

Eventually she turned around and saw Tamran sitting in the corner. He was trying not to watch her, but she knew he was. Though she knew he had lied to her, she found it in herself to at least try to forgive him. After all, he meant well. And she recognized from earlier that he was not her enemy, and he never wanted to be. His ability to calm his anger and ask her what she wanted was always something she had admired about him. Sometimes his emotions didn’t matter as much as hers did.

Makenna walked over to him, and before he could stand, she dropped to her knees and hugged him tight. He was surprised at the gesture, not expecting her to have come around in any form yet, but he didn’t question it and instead returned the embrace.

“It’s been a long night and you have work to do. Let’s get some sleep, ok?”

OOC:

WC: 2,901
Summary: Makenna wanders the halls of the Adjudicator and soon finds herself in one of the gyms where Joamer has taken refuge. The two talk a bit awkwardly and it becomes apparent that Joamer and Makenna have feelings for each other. Cut to Tamran who is wandering the halls in search of Makenna to make sure she's all right. He walks in on Joamer and Makenna, and gets into an argument with Joamer which almost turns physical. Makenna tells both of them to leave, but Tamran stays until Makenna comes around.

OOC: Bet you didn't see that coming did you?

Aboard the Adjudicator
Crew Quarters

This was the first chance that the newly promoted Chief Petty Officer had time to reflect on his promotion. He didn’t quite feel he deserved the promotion, but the rest of the medical staff seemed to hold him in a very high regard. No matter. The past is just that. The past. Better to look forward, especially now.

As he let his thoughts trail off, his holopad gave off a few beeps and brought the Mon Calamari back into reality. There were four messages waiting for him. Two were directly from the Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Hortaw Habend himself, and the other two were from Drs. Kaj and Wat. He briefly looked over the subject lines of each message. Three of them seemed to be follow-ups for the meeting that had just occurred regarding the final leg of his training. He would need to peruse those momentarily. The other message, from Dr. Habend, were the initial transcripts of the psychological sessions from the officer that he had encountered near the end of the last campaign. That could come later. After all, he was anxious to begin his final certification.

He decided to read the messages in the order that the doctors had spoken in their meeting. That meant the first message would be about the psychology exam.

OOC:

From: Dr. Yali Wat
Subject: Psychology Exam Specifications

Mr. Aaaiser,

I apologize for the lack of specifications during our meeting. I felt that you were being given enough information as it was. I am sending this for you to peruse at your leisure. For the theoretical exam, focus on major, modern theories.

As for the technical sessions, I will ask that you allow me to sit in on the sessions; that way we do not directly breach any confidentiality of the patients. I have also attached the profiles for each of the patients you will be working with over the course of the next month. I have picked patients with appointments on the same day, so as not to cause any major scheduling issues with Dr. Kaj. It is my understanding that Dr. Habend’s examination will occur after you finish with Dr. Kaj.

Regards,
Yali Wat, M.D.

Indeed there was. I’ll look at these later. I need to figure out scheduling before details. He opened up the next message, from Dr. Kaj.

OOC:

From: Dr. Xad Kaj
Subject: Surgical Examination

Mr. Aaaiser,

I am writing this to you to give you a written account of what can be expected on your examinations. You will have two separate exams of each type. As I had hinted during our meeting, you will be tested over your grasp of humanoids and a species of your choice. Let me know as soon as possible what this species is so I can work it into the examinations. As for the actual content… You will need to show proficiency in knowledge of the anatomical structures of the two species, common afflictions among the two, and general surgical procedures.

Now. For the practicums. I will be placing you as the head of a surgical team over the course of a month. I will monitor your prowess as a team leader, as well as your ability to have the operations run smoothly, as they typically do.

If you recall from the meeting, I had been considering testing you in one additional area. This is new to the examination, but I believe it would be good to test for permanent placement in the examination. You will perform several autopsies on both humanoids and the species of your choice and submit the necessary reports.

That is the examination, in a nutshell. Remember to contact me about your species of choice.

Regards,
Xad Kaj, M.D.

I should reply to him immediately… Let’s see. I am familiar with most insectoid species… He decided to go out on a limb and ask for approval for being tested on generalized insectoid species, of Dr. Kaj’s choosing.

After sending his mentor a quick reply, he decided to observe the requirements of the research portion of his examination.

OOC:

From: Dr. Hortaw Habend
Subject: Research and Development Examination Specifications

I know there was quite a bit of information presented to you in our previous meeting. This is just for documentation purposes alone. This portion of the exam will take place after you finish the other two, due to the fact that you will be aboard the EF76 Nebulon-B-model Hospital Ship Conciliator.

Now for the specifics. As I have previously said, you need to show proficiency as a researcher. This requires you to develop a novel poison. The details will come when are aboard the Conciliator. You will also develop antidotes, antibiotics, and anti-virals. Again, the details will come later.

Respectfully,
Yortaw Habend, M.D.

It was time to take a look at these patient profiles.

Let’s see…

The first was the long-term patient. She seemed to be a victim of severe abuse growing up. It had led to very many substance abuse issues… Resulting in her being placed in hospitals, occasionally. She has not fully overcome the scars that came with her abuse, but has gotten control of her substance issues. This will be quite the touchy case. Especially because I’m a new psychologist to her and I’m male… I need to work up a plan. He decided to work on that after his theoretical examinations.

The second was a short-term patient. He seemed to be in for short-term treatment to come to terms with the carnage of the last campaign. A bridge crew member, he had a very large level of exposure to the actual devastation of the battle. He also had two brothers die during the campaign. Well. These cases are definitely going to push my limits.

The final patient seemed to be an officer from the engineering department. He was a basic case. Insecurity, mostly. Finally, an easier session. The only thing that could be problematic here would be the officer believing I’m being insubordinate…

The Mon Calamari decided to rest. There had been a lot of information delivered to him recently, and he needed time for it to be absorbed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll look at those transcripts… He thought, as he fell asleep.

OOC:

WC: 1,040

AAR: The Mon Calamari receives multiple items on his holopad regarding the various projects and assignments he is currently working on and plans a schedule for achieving his medical examination, while leaving the transcripts from the sessions with the spice victim until the next day.

OOC:

Arthurs quarters aboard the Hammer
Arthur office aboard the Adjudicator
Gym

~~~Arthurs quarters aboard the Hammer~~~

Arthur was sitting in his quarters aboard the Hammer as he was returning to First fleet.  He had just made a cup of his infamous tea when he was contacted by Commodore Trykon.  Arthur opened the link, and the holo-terminal brought life to the Commodores image.  Arthur saluted when the image was fully activated.

“I was just on my way back to the First Fleet sir.  Is there anything else you need before I return Sir?”  Arthur asked.

“Good I caught you in time then.” Trykon answered.

“Caught me in time for what sir?” Arthur asked.

“I have just secured the transfer of you and the Hammer to the Second Fleet.  There is an office aboard the Adjudicator lined up for you while you are docked.” Trykon responded.

Arthur quickly sent the stop order to the bridge, and told them to fall in line with the rest of second fleet.  The CR-90 jerked slightly as they began the sharp turn back towards the fleet.  Arthur called down to the Hanger bay to have his shuttle ready to take him to the Adjudicator.

~~~Hammers Shuttle~~~

Arthur began to look over the large layout of the Adjudicator to find the location of the office set up for him.  The second Arthur located the office he began to look for the gym, and the fastest route between everything that interests him.  Arthur stared at his data-pad and memorized the entire path.  The shuttle landed in the hanger and Arthur made his way to the office.

~~~Arthur office aboard the Adjudicator~~~

Two security guards walked into the before Arthur made it there.  Arthur walked in, and they jumped when Arthur coughed.  The guards saluted and continued to set up the office.  They put everything in the traditional Imperial location.  Arthur began to plan where to relocate everything.  The guards saluted as they left his office.

Arthur set down his bag, and started to reorganize the office, when he heard a group of people out of his door.  They must know that there is a new officer on the ship and want to see who it is.  Arthur finished rearranging the office and grabbed his gym bag and headed towards the gym.

Arthur walked past the large group gathering by his office.  He turned down the corridor and begins to shake his head ever so slightly.  He began to run to the lift to take him to the level the gym was on.  He was able to get on the lift before it closed.

~~~Gym~~~

Arthur was able to get to the gym without any hassle.  He walked into the gym and to the locker room.  Arthur got into his workout gear and started his routine.  He started with running, and moved towards the bench press.  Once he was finished he took a couple of minutes to rest before he began to work on a practice droid.

Arthur set the droid to level out as the fight progressed.  Arthur set the droid to a fifteen minute match.  Now a lot could happen in the next fifteen minutes.  They each went to their corners and began the match.  The droid threw a left hook and was countered easily.  The droids adaptive capabilities kicked in and moved its settings a little higher.

As the fight progressed the droid slowly moved his settings to meet Arthurs’ combat level.  After five minutes the droid was at his combat level, and the fight really got started.  The droid feinted a right hook, with a left cross which landed on Arthur fourth and fifth ribs.  Arthur felt that blow, but he was content on winning the fight.  After that blow the droid seemed to lower its combat skills.  Arthur noticed the change when he was able to land a few blows that at the droid should have blocked at the level it should have been at.

The droid stayed at the lower level for the remainder of the fight.  The fight ended by time out instead of defeat.  After the fight the droid walked over to the droid charging station and shut down.  Arthur went and took a shower in the private stalls set up for officers, and then got dressed when the pain finally hit him.  He quickly made his way to the medical bay hoping that this doctor has never treated him after a fight.

OOC:

718 words
AAR:Arthur was transfered into the 2nd fleet.  He also set up his office, and took on a combat training droid.  His forth and fifth ribs are bruised.

OOC:

Continuing the plot from Stormz' capture. This will probably be a multi-post short as I don't get much time to write anymore.

The massive, almost lifeless form of Ph'rranix body floated seamlessly in one of the bacta tanks aboard the mSSD Atrus. Watching intently, the doctor slowly tinkered with the controls, adjusting as Stormz' body reacted to his changes.

Light footsteps could be heard from just outside the medbay doors. A moment later, the Chief of Naval Warfare, Will Trykon, appeared. He'd made it his duty since the NCC had been returned, to keep up with his state of health and well-being.

"How is he today, doc," Tryk questioned.

The doctor seemed to ignore the Vice Commodore, continuing to adjust things. Just before Tryk asked a second time, the doctor responded, "He's quite well, for his circumstances. I would say that he'll be back to his normal self within a few days."

Tryk nodded, slightly smiling from the news, turned, and walked out after thanking the doctor for his time and efforts.

*****

OOC:

Command Office, Strill Squadron.

The resonance around the room was soothing as the piano piece continued to play softly through the hidden speakers in his office. His long hair was hanging half down his face as he pressed the fingers of his left hand tighter against his head. He was an officer technically. Yet at the same time he was still an non-com. He was in a sort of limbo holding the responsibilities of officer yet not having any of the perks of being one.

For him though just the idea that he was an officer of the Empire dug deeply. It dug for him the wrong way. The rank cylinders sitting on the ground between his feet seemed to glare accusingly at him. He could almost hear the sneering words of traitor and turn-coat.


Unknown planet, Outer Rim, Nineteen BBY. Twenty-Three Years Old.

The shuttle banked to port giving the men and woman in the back a more detailed view of the expansive battlefield below them. Every few moments blaster cannon fire would fly up around them but the pilot knew her craft. For the single figure standing up near the open rear hatch this was the calming point of the day.

Turning around slowly he reached out with one hand and gripped a bulkhead beside him. The black armorweave cape billowing out behind him as the air currents tried to rip it from his armor. The armor itself was light designed to provide some protection but allow quick movements. His squad were shock-troops, but the ones that would be dropped into the thick of things to cause trouble.

“I would rather fight beside you than any army ever assembled. My sisters, my brothers. Let them never forget how menacing we are! We are frigid hand of Death! Do you know what lies waiting beyond those hills? Immortality! It’s yours, take it!” Joamer said to the eleven assembled men and women before him. They stood as one, the same armor and cape that protected him did the same for them.

Taking one step off the back of the still airborne shuttle and felt the air embrace him. He did not look back as the ground rushed up to meet him. He knew his squad would follow him into death. He would die for them without question.

Three hundred feet above the surface his jet-chute activated just enough to bring his free fall to a stop. He heard the fighting around him stop suddenly as his cape encircled his crouched form. Breathing slowly he drew his crysknife before standing up. He saw in front of him two more caped figured doing similar actions. They fought as one. They would simply die as one.


A knock on his office door brought him back. Reaching over he turned the volume down before saying “Enter.” He peered through a lock of his hair as a young male entered. Luckily the young man did not snap to attention but from his shaking knees rumors about the old army pilot was making rounds through the ship again. “Something on your mind?” Joamer said.

“Sss-”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“I..tth the..”

“Snap out of it and speak!” Joamer shouted. He watched the young man jump suddenly and close his eyes.

“Your new Hunters are here. Command finally got done ripping them apart. We took as much information as we could about them down on the asteroid. I can say these are still them but...”

“But they stripped them didn’t they?” He said softly. It was not really a question.

“Yes. Base-grade life-support systems. The hyperdrive is the same but they ripped the more high-tech computer out of all of them. They even took the ion cannons out.” The technician said as he ran through a list in his head.

“They still don’t trust their own pilots. So much for this being the new Empire. Even after Palpatine was killed and all the splinter groups showed up they still don’t trust anyone. Still amazes me people are surprised when someone goes over to the Republic. At least over there you are not treated with suspicion or contempt before you do something.”

“Then why not leave and switch sides? It’s obvious you don’t like it here.” The young man said after a few seconds.

“Last time I was on Coruscant someone tried very hard to kill me. I’ve decided I don’t like that planet anymore.”

“Rumors are we are about to begin our march coreward. If we ever take her back what will you do then?” He said as he watched Joamer stand up and clip on his weapons belt.

“Well, that will be an interesting day. Come on, let me take a look at what those bloody fools have done to my fighters.” Joamer said as he picked Lurk up and placed her on his shoulder.

OOC:

WC-806. Joamer daydreams about a past battle but it interrupted by a young technician. He is informed that finally his Hunters have been brought aboard after being stripped down.

OOC:

Adjudicator, Fishhead's personal quarters

The patient has shown no signs of recovery as of yet.

The Chief Petty Officer stared at the report in disbelief. Every piece was in place save this. Why the kriff has he not recovered? Glitterstim victims typically showed signs of full recovery mere days after being treated for overdosing. This time, it had been nearly two weeks.

With his mind still trying to find some kind of correlation between his former patient and his recovery, he forced himself to return to his studies and contact his mentor Dr. Kaj and psychology Dr. Wat. He set aside the medical reports and turned on his holopad. He began to write a quick message; the less time he spent with this, the more time he could focus on this confounding mystery.

OOC:

To: Xad Kaj, Ph.D.; Yali Wat, Ph.D.

Sirs,
I am responding to the messages I received from the two of you at once to ease and quicken things along. I plan to take the exams on two separate and consecutive days, if at all possible. This will make things easier for me as I progress through the examination as a whole. I would also prefer to take the psychology exam first. I can work with scheduling dates and times with the both of you later today.

Regards,
CPO Aaaiser

Setting the holopad down, the Mon Calamari went over to his personal library of medical texts and pulled out a very thick book entitled Common Psychological Disorders.

Yes… I remember this text from quite a while ago. Good text for entry-level psychologists with multiple “cures” found throughout. Although… Home remedies typically should not be included in texts such as these. Authors fast lose credibility with such actions. He opened the book to its first chapter of relevant illnesses. How ironic… Amnesia is where I begin.

We must first define amnesia in its most basic from. Amnesia is simply memory loss. This can be due to any variety of problems, such as brain, damage, disease, or psychological trauma. Further sections will delve into the realms of anatomy and chemistry to help further define the causes and possible treatments of amnesia. Here, however, we plan to give a basic outline of the different types of amnesia.

Retrograde Amnesia: Perhaps one of the most common forms of amnesia, retrograde amnesia is most often caused by an injury to the head or by brain trauma and damage. The patient is unable to recall events from before the amnesia has taken grip, but functions normally with events that occur after the injury.

Anterograde Amnesia: Caused by the same injuries as retrograde amnesia, anterograde amnesia functions differently than the retrograde form. Instead of losing long-term memory, the victim cannot remember any events from after the injury and completely loses his or her short-term memory. The victim’s long-term memory is perfectly functional, however.

His thoughts began to return to the mystery enshrouding the human. Would have helped to have this psychologist actually include everything in his kriffing report. I’ll have to talk to that spice abuser again soon…

Transient Global Amnesia: An extreme form of anterograde in which the patient loses both new memories and events from before the injury. Transient Global Amnesia is rare and typically found in older beings and also beings who have suffered from chronic vascular problems.

Traumatic Amnesia: A hard blow to the head could bring on this type of amnesia. This can happen during an accident or even by way of a sports injury. This trauma can cause a loss of consciousness or even a coma in some patients. Traumatic amnesia is generally temporary, and is often regarded as a symptom of the concussion. Along with other factors, the severity of the injury typically dictates how long this type of amnesia lasts.

Wernike – Korsakov’s Psychosis: This form of amnesia is caused by the psychosis of its victims. It is typically observed in beings who abuse spice or alcohol, are malnourished, or have a thiamin deficiency. Other symptoms of the psychosis include numbness and complete loss of feeling in their extremities and poor coordination.

Hysterical Amnesia: Also known as Fugue amnesia, this is a rare condition. This amnesia causes the patient to lose his or her memory including knowledge of his or her own identity. This type of amnesia is caused due to an inability to cope with stress and may be triggered by a traumatic event. In most cases, memory will return over time. Studies show that the event initially triggered the amnesia is completely forgotten even after recovery.

Childhood Amnesia: Also known as infantile amnesia, this form is often associated with the development of language skills. Victims of childhood amnesia often have no memory of their childhood; it is attributed to the lack of development of certain parts of the brain during childhood.

The Mon Calamari’s thoughts kept returning to the human. My initial interactions with him show signs of all of these forms… How did he ever gain admittance into the Navy? I would have thought psychological stress and psychosis testing would be required before taking the uniform… Thinking back on his own entry, he realized that it was not so. This was part of the reason he left on leave for so long; he could not, at the time deal with the idea of killing so many, even if they were out to kill him. He closed the textbook and began to form a possible phase of treatment for this man. He could very well be less guilty than I had originally thought… The real culprit seems to be the distributor, whoever it is… “Poor bastard,” he muttered to himself as he stood up. His next stop was the Chief Medical Officer’s office. He needed a word with the Butcher.

At precisely that moment, his holocommunicator began receiving an incoming communication. It was in fact the Chief Medical Officer and another doctor he had not yet met.

“Mr. Aaaiser. We need you in the psychology wing now. I will explain the situation when you arrive. For now, all I will say is that your patient is asking for you.”

“My patient, sir?”

“Yes, Petty Officer. Your… Special case. Regarding the spice.”

“Sir, how is this possible? He barely has had control of his mental faculties. He can barely remember himself, much less me.”

“He has made himself very clear, Mr. Aaaiser. His exact words are ‘bring me the fishman.’ I can only assume it is you. Clearly no offense to your race, but you are the only active duty Mon Calamari in the Second Fleet at this time.”

“No offense taken. I am on my way there as we speak, sir.” Finally. A lead.

OOC:

WC: 1,113

AAR: Fishhead reviews for his upcoming examinations and then receives a transmission from the Butcher and heads to the psychology ward.

OOC:

One of the simulator rooms set before Serpent's briefing

“DAMMIT!” she punched the console made to like the inside of a TIE Interceptor. The screen that had shown the star-spotted space landscape earlier had just gone dark and the words “Mission Failure” were now blinking across the screen. Makenna forced the door of the simulator open and shoved herself out, snapping her helmet off at the same time.

As she stood there, her mind recounted the battle. In a matter of a few minutes, an assured victory had turned into pure chaos, and she had lost her entire squadron. Now, as she thought back on their situation, she realized what had happened. In her stupidity she had cut off Besh from Aurek and Cresh, forcing the four pilots to deal with an entire squadron of X-wings. Meanwhile Aurek and Cresh had been cornered by a squadron of A-wings in an asteroid field that effectively split them from the rest of their group and singled them out one by one. None of the enemy A-wings had been destroyed by the time Besh was defeated and the remainder of the X-wing squadron came after them as well. Their original mission to defend the ships they had been assigned had failed, and each member of Jexxel had been shot down.

I can’t believe I didn’t have the foresight to see that outcome. It was obvious that they were trying to split us apart and drive us into the asteroid field. And I let them!

From the corner of her eye she saw Tamran walking towards her, and she once again remembered that she was Jexxel’s SC. She had to debrief them as much as she didn’t want to.

Thankfully Tamran was the first to approach her. The others seemed to hold back, probably talking amongst themselves about what just happened. As her eyes glanced over the squadron, she caught sight of the four Jexxel veterans all huddled together. They paid her no mind save for the murderous glares she received from a couple of them.

“Ignore them, ‘Kenna,” Tamran cut into her observation.

“You and I know perfectly well that I can’t,” Makenna growled.

“They’re just angry about the loss of their squadron. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me, Tam. Everything. No one can replace their precious Wolfrott. They see me as a failure.”

“No matter what they do or don’t think of you, it doesn’t concern you-”

“Shut up, Tamran. Last I checked, you weren’t my Executive Officer,” The blonde was taken aback by Makenna’s acidic reply. Though he seemed ready to give her a retort, he nodded his head and turned on his heel to join the rest of Jexxel. As he left, an unfamiliar man approached Makenna.

“Ms. Aleshire?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Ma’am, Lieutenant Zail has requested volunteers to be briefed on something Intelligence related. Further details should be on your datapad.”

“Thank you. I will look it over,” the man nodded and saluted Makenna before leaving. She sighed as she grabbed out her datapad, wishing she had more time to herself. Random personnel approached her all the time reminding her about all sorts of things, mostly relating to Jexxel’s roster. Even now, with her squadron full, she knew that the roster was most likely still in flux as training was conducted and broken squadrons were rebuilt. So far though, it appeared that Jexxel had finally been decided on.

As she put her datapad away, she looked back up at her squadron, “Jexxel! On me,” slowly the squadron began to form up on her with her Executive Officer, Maroy, coming up to stand beside her. Her mind began to formulate what she wanted to say as they settled in front of her, some of them still whispering among themselves.

“That training run was a disaster. I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t. Therefore, I am going to assign each flight to do simulator exercises with each other in rotation until I see improvement,” Makenna’s eyes locked onto the four Jexxel veterans as they gave her more untoward looks. Two of them were in Aurek with her, and even as she assigned the exercise, she was already dreading dealing with them, “In other news, Lieutenant Zail is going to be running a training mission with Intelligence and he requests volunteers. Anyone interested needs to report to Conference Room Cresh to be briefed.

“If there are no further questions-”

“I have a question,” spoke a male voice from the crowd of ten in front of her. Her eyes rested on one of the veterans named Dante whose deep brown eyes were burning with anger, “How come the flights are getting more exercises when it is clear that the Squadron Commander has no idea what she is doing?”

The room fell into extreme silence as everyone stared at Dante and then at Makenna. The only sound that penetrated it was the hum of the air conditioning system and the buzz of the lights above them. Finally Makenna spoke.

“No matter what your beliefs are, the ability to work together is essential for a squadron to survive,” Makenna replied, her good hand clenching into a fist.

“And a great Squadron Commander is even more essential. Being led by a green pilot will only bring about our imminent deaths.”

“Again, regardless of your beliefs-”

“It’s not a belief. It’s the truth. You have no experience, and taking over this squadron is blaspheming the legacy of Warrant Officer Wolfrott. If there’s anyone who should be leading it’s Lieutenant Aita. At least he knows what he’s doing,” Makenna’s eyes flickered over to Hades who was glaring coldly at Dante, but he said nothing for or against the statement.

“Lieutenant Aita has his reasons for being in the position he is in. And I have reasons for being in the position I am in.”

“And what reasons are those? Take the glory for yourself? Get the bragging rights of a Squadron Commander? After all, you were a bloody no-good pirate, scum of the universe-”

“Mr. Vangelos,” Hades spoke coldly, “that is no way to talk to your SCO,” but Dante was out for blood now and even the influence of Lieutenant Aita wasn’t going to be enough to curb his tirade.

“As far as I am concerned, she is not my SC. She is an imposter trying to take Jexxel’s good name for herself. That’s all pirates do. Take what isn’t theirs,” Hades glared at the man darkly and it was the first time that Dante seemed to falter even slightly.

But Makenna was reeling now. Dante was finally showing his true colors in front of the entire squadron, and none of them seemed to be doing anything about it. Even if they were waiting for her reaction, she expected them to at least defend her more. Even Tamran was silent.

“Mr. Vangelos...” Makenna growled.

But her words were ignored as he continued, “Markus was a man of honor and integrity! What sort of honor do you have to offer except that you killed for no reason save for greed? How many have you murdered in cold blood just to steal their ships and find the next people to pillage? And then you insert yourself right into the heart of the Vast Empire Navy-”

“MR. VANGELOS!” Makenna shouted, silencing him temporarily, “If you want to make this personal, I will gladly oblige,” Tamran’s eyes widened suddenly, not expecting Makenna to have lost it. Even Hades seemed to think her response was not the wisest of choices, and immediately turned on his heel, leaving the entire situation. Beside her she felt Maroy seem to twitch slightly and Makenna was happy that at least the Jexxel vet had not chosen to personally attack the Twi’lek for being XO after her mental issues.

“Such an obvious response from a bloody pirate,” Dante spat, “Gonna cut me up with a vibroblade?”

“If that’s the fate you choose, I would love to show you how it’s done,” Makenna spoke darkly.

Makenna and Dante started to move towards each other, but a hand grabbed Dante’s shoulder, “What are you doing?” hissed the woman beside Dante, “If you get into a brawl, you’ll be no better than a pirate yourself.”

“Shut it Lindi,” he said as he shook her hand off, but she grabbed his arm as he strode forward.

“Think about what Markus would think if he was here. Fighting a pirate is not worth your time. Leave her be. She’ll get her own soon enough.”

Dante paused for a moment, carefully considering Lindi’s words. Though his eyes still burned with hellish hate, he stopped moving forward, “No. I don’t need to fight you,” he said finally, “You’ll die just fine by pilots more skilled than you,” and with that, without Makenna’s word for dismissal, Dante made his exit.

It was everything Makenna could do not to go after him and take him down, but she knew, as much as she felt the need to shut up the nuisance, going after him would make her look worse. Enough damage had been done by the man’s outburst in the first place. No matter which side the Jexxel pilots would take, Dante had done well in causing division among them.

“As stated before,” Makenna said, all power suddenly drained from her voice, “if you’re interested in volunteering for the Intelligence training, report to the conference room. Otherwise, dismissed,” Reluctantly, the Jexxel pilots began to disperse though a couple of them held back, most likely to talk to Makenna about what had just occurred. Not surprisingly, one of them was Tamran.

“I said dismissed,” Makenna said, too emotionally worn to drive the point much more than that.

“You sure you don’t want company?” Tamran asked despite already knowing her answer, especially after the fiasco that had occurred not long ago between him, Makenna, and Joamer.

“The only company I need right now is one that numbs my mind.”

“‘Kenna...”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t gone that far. I know my drinking limit. I just need to collect my thoughts. By myself,” she forced a small smile on her lips though it vanished quickly. In reality she just needed to get something down in order to keep her from thinking too hard on what Dante had said. Because even if they were hurtful and uncalled for, they had a ring of truth to them, and Makenna was having a hard time getting past it.

“Even so. Don’t do anything that might make Dante look like the hero in this situation. That’s the last thing you need right now.”

“First time in my life I’ve had to tailor my actions to what others might think,” Makenna shook her head and sighed, “Also, you going to that Intelligence thing?”

“Seems like a good idea. You should go too. It’d be a great way-” but Makenna held up her hand.

“I’ve had enough ‘training exercises’ for one day. Let me be,” Makenna said. Tamran nodded then saluted her in an attempt to lighten the situation.

“See you around, princess. I mean, my glorious SC.”

“Oh shut it.”

OOC:

WC: 1,854
Makenna is extremely disappointed in the sim run Jexxel has just failed. She assigns rotation training for the Jexxel flights and relays information about the Intelligence training mission. Before Makenna dismisses Jexxel, one of the remaining Jexxel vets named Dante interjects and starts throwing personal accusations against Makenna. The two exchange some words before Dante finally leaves. Tamran tries to comfort her afterwards but it only partially works and she instead leaves to "clear her head".

Grent left the briefing with the overwhelming feeling that there was something the Lieutenant Commander wasn't telling them. Of course, it could be as plain as it appeared, but from Grent's brief experience working for VENI, he knew that there was always something more. Perhaps this droid had accessed classified information, or witnessed an exchange that was intended to be secret .... Whatever it was, Grent didn't want to know. People who interfered with the Vast Empire Naval Intelligence's business tended to 'disappear'.

As he walked through the door, and back into the corridor, he passed a group of Jexxel pilots. Grent didn't recognise them, but they were having a very heated discussion.

"... completely useless. Doesn't know what she's doing!"
"Maybe she's just settling into the positi-..."

"That's a lie," one of them interrupted, "And you know it!"

"Ok, ok! So what you going to do about it?"

The man sighed, "I don't know. We should just hang her, the bloody pirate ..."

Grent carried on walking out of earshot. He didn't like what he heard. He knew that his old Flight Leader, and SXO, had been promoted to SCO of Jexxel, and that there was scuttlebutt about her being a former pirate. Could that be who they were talking about? Even though she had only been in command of him for a short time, she had still become a mentor figure to the young Mandalorian. She was still ex -Strill, and so was still family. Would it be worth going to see her to repeat what he had heard? Grent sighed. No, he wouldn't. If he bumped into her, he might mention it, but he wouldn't waste her time with simple hearsay. If the powers at be acted on every bit of scuttlebutt, then the Navy would just fall apart. Besides, he didn't even know their names! He heard the heavy footfalls of running from behind him, to see the st of his flight catching up with him.

"So what's the plan, Top?" asked Edge.

His mind still churning over what he had heard, Grent was confused, "Plan?"

"About the droid?"

Of course! The VENI briefing! "Ah, that. Right. Tinker, you're our resident droid expert. What do you think?"

"Yeah, Tink: if you were a droid, where would you hide?" said Lady, cheekily.

"He really hasn't given us much info, has he?"

"VENI are pretty secretive, mate" said Edge.

"Well, if I was a droid, I would do what my programming informed me to do."

"So, down to maintenance?" asked Lady.

"Or," said Grent, an idea forming in his head, and a smile appearing on his face, "Seeing as we've been told not to let anyone know ... who fancies a bit of slicing?"

"Don't suppose we can instigate a mutiny whilst we're at it?"

"Lady!"

"Just saying ....."

The pilots of Cresh flight quickly made their way down to, what was nicknamed by some of the crew, the 'droid shop'. They had rapidly established that data appropriating to the ship's droid complement were held on a server kept separate from the rest of the system. Therefore, direct access was required. To keep anyone from being suspicious, they had brought Grent's slicing droid and personal astromech, R2-G7, who's presence would not be thought odd, as opposed to the group of Hunter pilots, who had no business down in the droid shop.

G7 entered the restricted area through the droid hatch, and made its way to the terminal. One of the technicians challenged it.

"What are you doing down here, little droid? We've got no memory wipes due for at least another day."

The droid quickly said the lie that Tinker had told them would pass as plausible, "Beep-doo-breep beep"

"You're here to download your schedule? Ok. Guess you know where the terminal is."

The lie had worked for the simple reason that the system was automated. If any changes were made to any of the droid's routines, then the system would send a message to the droids affected. Seeing as the system was constantly being updated, droids turning up unexpectedly to download their new schedule was a common sight in the droid shop. This was incredibly fortunate for Cresh flight, as the only other alternative was to wear a disguise. Lady had suggested knocking someone out, but Grent quickly reminded her that they were meant to be 'discrete', and that an unconscious crew member was anything but.

G7 quickly returned, and the flight made their way to a secluded corridor to begin their search.

"Ok, who's got the description of the droid?"

"Here," said Tinker, passing over a datapad.

"Good. Put up the info, gee." The small droid projected a gargantuan list of all the droids on the ship. "Right, so we know it's an astromech, so cross everything else off," about 80% of the list disappeared, "Blimey. Still a lot. Do we know where this droid has been ... yes, here we go. Spotted in storage room 23-38B. What droids have been there today?" The list was whittled down to around 5 identification numbers.

Tinker looked up from deep thought, "Have any deviated from pre-determined duties?"

A solitary beep came from G7: no.

"Darn. Thought that would work."

"Do we even know the colour of this tin can?"

"Breeeeet!"

"He didn't mean it, gee," Grent said, reassuringly, glaring at Edge who had made the offending remark.

The droid made a small noise, as though he didn't believe what his master was telling him.

"No colour specified in the briefing."

"Any other information?"

"Hold on. It says that VENI know that the droid is a repair droid. Any repair droids on that list?" There were two. "And have either been assigned to a job in the storage room?"

"Doot doot." One.

"Bingo. Where was the last known location of this, what's its name?"

"R3-H9. At the time of this data, it was heading for the starboard hanger."

"Let's go then, boys, girl and droid!"

They hurried away, and, as they were going past the Jexxel offices, bumped into Makenna, who was just leaving. She looked depressed about something or another, and Grent suddenly remembered the conversation he had overheard. He stopped, to go back and talk to her.

"You guys go on. I'll be with you in a minute."

"You alright, Top?" asked Edge.

"Yeah, just need to ... check on something ..." replied Grent.

"If you're sure, Tops." said Lady, some concern etched upon her face.

As the flight began to move away, Grent called out after them, "Make sure you tell the LC when you find it! And look after gee-seven!"

Edge gave a half salute, to let Gur know that they had heard him, before the flight rounded the corner. Grent walked up to Makenna.

"Hey, Chief," said Grent, tentatively.

Makenna looked up, wondering who it was that was bothering her yet again, "Oh, hey there, Gur."

"You alright?"

"Not you as well..." She sighed, "You here to tell me that I don't deserve SCO too, or has Joamer been telling you that I-..."

"Joamer?" said Gur, quizzically.

Makenna sighed again, "Why are you here, Gur? I really want to be on my own right now."

"Well, it was only a small something. I overheard some of your pilots complaining quite vocally."

"About me?"

"From what I could gather."

"I'd have thought the entire ship would know about that by now."
Grent felt a twang of sympathy for the young woman in front of him. It was obvious that she'd been crying at some point in the recent past. "Why don't you tell me over a drink. You look like you could use one."

"You sure you want to be seen drinking with someone who has this amount of rumours flying about concerning her?"

"And what exactly would they say, Chief? I'm just a lowly Flight Leader, who's catching up with his old SXO." Grent smiled down at her, and watched as she relaxed, and slowly nodded.

"Alright. I suppose there are somethings I need to talk to you about.

-----------------------------------

The bar was fairly quiet. Quite a number of the crew from this deck, mainly pilots, were taking part in the VENI training exercise, and, as such, there were only a few crew members sitting around. A couple were playing Pazaak, one of them glaring at Makenna when she walked in, and nudged his friend, whispering something in his ear. It was only a small movement, but Grent caught it none-the-less. He had an intimidating physique, especially for a pilot, which had diffused a number of situations where a fight had seemed inevitable. As Makenna found a seat in one of the corner booths, Grent made his way to the bar to order the drinks. As he did so, he passed by the via Pazaak players. From her seat, Makenna saw the imposing Mandalorian lean over the pair, and had a quick discussion with them. It ended with their chairs scraping the ground, and the two men sauntering off, eyes flickering to Makenna. Grent returned with the drinks.

"What was that about?" she asked, knowing Gur long enough to figure out.

"Let's just say that they won't be paying attention to, or spreading, any scuttlebutt about you for a while," he said, as he sat down and handed her the drink.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me, Gur. I'm not even in the same squadron as you."

"No, but you were my boss for a bit, and earned my respect. That means a lot for us Mandalorians."

"It's still not the best idea for you to be defending me," said the young woman, as she took a swig of drink.

"I wasn't defending you," said Gur, and he lifted his glass to his mouth, and took a drink. Makenna raised her eyebrows at him.

"So what was that display for then?"

"I simply reminded them that it wasn't nice to spread rumours, and if I caught them doing it I would personally throw them out of the nearest airlock," he said, winking.

The young SCO smiled, and relaxed a bit more, settling into her seat, "If it gets back to the high-ups that you were threatening crewmen, you could find yourself in the brig."

"And then they would find themselves on a Captain's Mast for the rumours."

"I hate it, Gur. All of it."

"The rumours?"

"Yup. Have you heard what they've been calling me? A 'seashrike'."

"That big bird that everyone who comes from the artificial seas on Coruscant talks about?"

"The very same. Big, fat, and ugly," Makenna gulped down the last of her drink.

"You know, you should wear that as a badge of honour."

"What?!"

"Why not? Rub it in their faces. I'm going to call you 'Shrike' from now on, so you can show those idiots in your squadron that you're not afraid of them, or their rumours."

Makenna was silent for a little bit. She couldn't deny that Grent made some sense, and she did like the sound of the name Shrike, but instead of replying, she changed the subject, "Speaking of rumours, there are a number going around about you taking on the SXO position in Strill."

Gur snorted, "Yeah right. I've only just got Flight Leader. Besides, I don't think Joamer even likes me that much."

Makenna tensed up, and spoke sharply, "I wouldn't give a damn about what he thinks, Gur. You're a damn good pilot, and lots of people like you. You deserve it."

"I take it you and Joamer aren't on the best of terms?"

Makenna let out another sigh. Spending this time with Gur had helped her, but there was a long way to go yet before she would tell him what had happened between Joamer ad herself. She had mixed emotions spending this time with a man she hardly knew. What was she doing to herself?

Grent was also feeling a mix of feelings, though not to the same extent as Makenna. Even so, he could tell that he had struck a nerve, and had the sense to drop the subject, and quickly offered to get Makenna another drink, for which she was visibly grateful. As he collected their glasses, and waited at the bar for a refill, he checked his messages. He had one from Edge:

'Haven't found droid yet, but we're close. Have let LtCmdr know of progress.'

He quickly tapped out a reply:

'Good job.'

His thoughts turned back to Makenna again. He wanted to help her. In all honesty, she looked like she just needed a hug, but this was hardly the time or place, and neither was it appropriate to give a superior officer a hug, especially a female one. The scuttlebutt flying around would be nothing compared to what would happen if anyone saw that. He chuckled to himself.

"Come on, Shrike," he said as he arrived back at the table, purposefully emphasising the new nickname, "I'll give you a game of Pazaak, though I've got no credits, so it's Republic Senate rules."

"Republic Senate rules?" She echoed, having never heard the term before.

"Yeah: that's where you spend a lot of time trading cards and trying to beat each other, but in the end nobody wins, everyone loses, and no-one accomplishes anything."

Makenna laughed, the first for what seemed like a lifetime, as she got up and followed Grent to the Pazaak table.

OOC:

WC: 2241

AAR: Grent overhears a few Jexxel pilots murmuring about Makenna. Then, after slicing into some records, Cresh flight discover what they think is the identity of the droid they have been sent to find. On the way to locate it, Grent bumps into Makenna, an notices that she's not her usual self. He talks with her, and cheers her up by taking her for a drink. Grent then gets a message from his flight saying that they haven't found the droid yet, but have let Serpent know its ID.

OOC:

Weapon’s Locker, Adjudicator. Some time after the droid hunt.

“Petty Officer Notimo! Petty Officer!”

Grent had only just walked into the room that housed the majority of the weaponry aboard the ship. It also handled requisitions for new weapons, as well as any upgrades or repairs that needed doing. The voice of the young Leading Crewman, sitting behind the metal screen, was quite piercing. “Do you think you could speak any higher pitched, Crewman?”

“Sorry, Petty Officer,” said the Crewman, toning down his voice to it’s normal, yet fairly high pitched, state, “But your order’s arrived.”

Grent’s eyes lit up. Finally, it’s here! he thought to himself. He turned to the Crewman, “Thank you, Crewman. Is Chief-..”

“He’s got it in the workshop for you, si-.. I mean, Petty Officer. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, Crewman. We all make mistakes. Buzz me through,” said sympathetically, remembering when he had called everyone else ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’

“Aye aye.”

The Locker’s door made a buzzing sound and then retracted, allowing Grent through. He then had to wait to be let through the inner door to the workshop, where the ancient form of Chief Petty Officer Rondwise was waiting for him. Rondwise was a natural at metal work, and could have any weapon of any age working at optimum in a matter of hours. This was not Grent’s first time down to the Locker, nor would it probably be his last knowing how much he tinkered and calibrated his weapons. Rondwise, known as ‘Wise’ to anyone who knew him, was one of the oldest serving men in the Navy. What little hair he had left on his head had gone white, whilst his dark skin was wrinkled, and his hands coarse. He had a very distinctive accent.

“Ah, Gur. Good to see you,” said Wise, offering his hand.

“Good to see you too, Wise,” replied Grent, shaking the extended hand, “What’ve you got for me?”

“Well, I can safely say that it’s here. And in one piece, though I know you want to change that soon enough. Beaut’ of thing, isn’t it? Blades need some sharpening, but they always ship ‘em blunt.”

Now, as the pair approached the work bench, Grent could see what was lying on top: a double-vibroblade sword. It was his most recent purchase. What he most wanted was a quarterstaff that could extend, like the lightsabers of old. Some of the stories his father told him were of how Mandalorians had seemed to be carrying nothing more than a small bit of wood, then BAM: it would extend into a full sized quarterstaff. But, seeing as how the only one that Grent knew about was carried by his father at all times, and no-one knew how to re-create it, Gur would have to improvise. This had been his solution.

“Here,” said Wise, picking up the double blade and handing it to Grent, “Feel how well balanced it is? This is why I said to go for one of these, rather than two normal swords. Yes, the blades on here are shorter, but in a confined space it gives you more room to use them. Two swords could, in theory, be made to attach to one another, but it would as unbalanced as hell.”

“You’re still sure this will work?”

“You’re not the first one to want something like this, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

Wise took the sword back off of Grent, and placed it on the work bench. He then carefully unwrapped the leather handle bindings, exposing the metal core beneath. Then he picked up two pairs of darkened goggles, and handed one to Grent, before donning his own and using a plasma torch to slice through the metal. The two then worked for several hours, carefully removing the inner core of the, now two, handles, and welding a mechanism in its place, strengthened by the melted down removed cores. Once that was completed, Wise delicately fitted a custom made locking feature to the ends of each handle. After the metal had cooled, Wise refitted, and adjusted the leather grip.

“Is it finished?” asked Grent.

“Should be. Why don’t you give it a go?” Wise handed Grent the two pieces, “The ends slot together like … that. Give it a twirl. You see? Still balanced. Still one piece. That is, until you press the release switches there and … there … that’s right. Like that. Now they’re two swords. The shorter blades fit nicely in shoulder scabbards.”

Grent beamed at Wise, as he practiced with his new toy, “Thanks, Wise. I owe you one.”

“More than one.”

Grent chuckled, “I suppose you’re probably right…”

OOC:

WC: 769

AAR: Grent (with help) adapts a double bladed vibroblade, into a wonderful weapon/s that can be one sword, two swords or a double blade.

The early morning noises of the ship sounded loud while most others slept. Without the army personnel going through their exercises or even the pilots going to and about their business the ship seemed almost deserted. During times like these Joamer wondered if the crew got more or less done. Without the hussle and insanity brought around by the increased activity did their own activity become more relaxed.

He had not bothered to ask due to the crew avoiding his squadron and him like the plague. To them he was even worse than an army dog. He was an army dog who flew fighters. That put him, in their eyes, below even the army troopers stationed on board. When they saw him going through exercises no one had seen before only sparked the rumormill even more.

Grabbing one of the plates that sat on a table in front of him he began strapping it into place on his right leg. The whole ordeal with putting on armor was second nature to him now so he let his mind wander as he operated out of muscle memory alone.

He knew Naval Intel was running some sort of training mission in ship right now. A few of his squadron were participating but he was not. He wanted to see what his men and woman would do without him there. He wanted to know if they could work alone and still pull off the mission without constant guidance.  If they did then it would mean he could take them to the next level of training. If they failed then it meant his squadron may not make it back from where the fleet is heading next.

From the always reliable scuttlebutt he knew the fleet was moving soon, the growing tension was thick all around. Store rooms that had not seen the light of day in weeks were being opened and crammed full of supplies. Whatever was coming was something big, he just hoped it would not end up being another Thyveck. If it did he would lead his squadron somewhere where they would not be used as disposable pawns in some game high command was playing. His squadron was not disposable and anyone who thought otherwise would soon learn to regret their mistake.

Grabbing the moderately sized pack he strapped it into place behind him and then settled the armor into place on his shoulders. He had begun seeing other pilots running the corridors to starve off boredom but it was mostly in very light clothing. His squadron was under orders to run in full armor with packs and weapons. Every pound you could run with was one that may save your life on the ground. The looks they had received when they first started doing this were entertaining.

The first time it actually caused an almost shipwide alert to sound. Having a comm open to the bridge stopped the Adjudicator from scrambling all pilots and go to battle stations, but it still had been a close one. Placing his pulse rifle in front of him he slipped the sling over one shoulder and sat it into place. He would run with it in his arms just like in a combat situation. If you ran with the weight but not holding it in your arms why bother to wear the armor at all. This was all training for the moment when they would be running. Either chasing or being chased.

Walking to the door he opened it just as a soft thud landed on the top of his pack. A tiny churp sounded out as Lurk settled into her place on his right shoulder. A passing crew member stepped to the side as he walked into the corridor and began a slow jog that would increase in pace as the armor settled into place finally. 

OOC:

OOC-644. Joamer begins doing some more weird army pilot hybrid type things to annoy the crew. Also side-note. We need explosions.

OOC:

Adjudicator deck 17, section Cherek.

Serpent felt oddly excited by the prospect of finally putting this unusual assignment to an end.  Indeed, he had taken a strange joy in it from the word go.  Zail was so used to putting his skills to the test in life and death tussles with the lives of thousands of crewmen at risk.  To be battling for the sake of just one person felt like a holiday.

Somehow, though, he did not expect Petty Officer Lyson to feel the same way.  He could see the tension on her face as their turbolift hurtled through the ship.  As he regarded the young non-com, he saw something else in her face.  Hope.  For the first time since he had met her she was daring to believe in a happy ending to this scenario.

The elevator came to a stop and Lyson, abandoning all sense of protocol, pushed past Lieutenant Commander Zail and barrelled onto deck 17.  He rushed to catch up with her, a few strides behind.  Serpent bit back a comment about her behaviour, letting it go.  For the hundredth time he had to remind himself that this was not his ship nor his crew.  Zail was doing a favour here, not acting out of responsibility.

They caught up with Grent ‘Gurlanin’ Notimo lurking at the end of a T-junction and peeking cautiously around the bend.  Serpent had seen the man briefly during his faux mission briefing, but now he studied the young pilot anew.  His broad shoulders and strong build instantly made Zail think of a bomber pilot, but that did not fit the man properly either.  It was hard to place him, but then such was the case with many members of the infamous Strill Squadron.

“Have you got an eye on the target?” Asked Serpent, as he and Lyson drew up to the man’s side.

“Yes, sir,” Replied the Petty Officer.  “He’s just at the end of that corridor.”

“Excellent work!” Congratulated Zail, trying not to sound too enthusiastic about this ‘training mission’.  “I shall note a commendation on your record for outstanding performance in this exercise.  Your are a credit to your ship.”

“Thank you, sir,” Said Gurlanin, recognising a dismissal when he heard one.  However, he threw a curious glance at Lyson.

“Miss Lyson is here in a training capacity,” Lied Serpent smoothly.  “She is here to ‘disarm’ our fake bomb-bot.”

“At least, I hope so,” She chimed in.  “Let’s see if all those explosives classes I’ve been taking pay off.”

“You’ll do fine, Petty Officer,” Said Zail.  “Now, go and deal with the droid.”

Lyson headed off to deal with the machine that had made her life so unbearable over the last few hours, and Gurlanin departed towards the pilot’s rec rooms.  Serpent stood and watched Lyson as she grabbed the astromech, activated a crew over-ride and shut-down, and then proceeded to hook up a portable computer to the droid’s memory core.

Zail gave her some time and space, and when she was done she re-activated the droid and watched it bumble off on its appointed rounds.  Lyson then turned and strode back to the Lieutenant Commander.  “Done, sir,” She said, snapping off a smart salute.  “Thank you again for all your help.”

“Don’t mention it, Petty Officer,” He said dismissively, and then added, “Seriously.  Don’t.  I never helped you, and you will not speak of it to anyone.”

“Commodore Trykon!” She exclaimed suddenly.

“Indeed,” Continued Zail, “Not even to him.”

“No!  I mean... Commodore Trykon, sir!”

Serpent spun around to see his friend and superior standing directly behind him, eyebrows raised and a hard look in eyes.  “Pherik,” Said the Kuati slowly, “What’s been going on?”

-----

OOC:

Commodore Trykon’s office, Adjudicator Command Deck.

“...And that’s the story,” Said Zail at last.  “I was purely acting to help a young officer who had made a mistake.  Honestly, there was nothing else going on.”

Trick stared back at the Alderaanian, his face unreadable.  Serpent had tried to be light about the whole thing, but he got the feeling that his old friend was seriously not amused.  “Well then, the matter is closed,” He said at last.

“It is,” Agreed Zail.  “Now, if you will excuse me, sir, I am long overdue for my return to the Brilliant.”  So saying, he rose and headed towards the door.

He had almost made it when Trick’s voice stopped him.

“You are the VENI Liaison, Pherik,” He said, voice cold, “And Fleet Intelligence operations are under your jurisdiction.  Just try to remember that this is my ship.  Next time you feel the need to get creative with your duties on the Adjudicator, be sure to run them past me first.”

Serpent nodded.  “Of course, sir,” He said, and then departed.

OOC:

784 words.  And so the little subplot comes to an end!  And a cautionary lesson: you can’t fool Commodore Trykon!

After Action Report:  Serpent and Petty Officer Lyson apprehend and wipe the errant droid and whatever incriminating footage it contains.  All seems well, until Commodore Trykon approaches them and demands an explanation.  Serpent gives him one, and while Trick sees his side of it, he warns Zail not to take liberties on his ship again.

It had been mere hours since the conclusion of the Battle of Absit. Mere hours since Strill had returned with one less pilot. Mere hours since that pilot had betrayed them all. It all still weighed heavily on Grent’s mind. When he had flown back to the Adjudicator in the shuttle, with two fighters attached, he didn’t speak to anyone. As soon as he touched down, and shut off the engines, the Mandalorian simply got out of his chair and walked past the prisoner, lowering the ramp to let the two VENI agents on board. Even when the flight crew chief came over to ask what Grent wanted done with the two TIE Hunters, all he got in reply was a blank stare from the T-visor. Sheepishly, the crew chief backed away: Gur was not in the right frame of mind.

It was not the first time the Mandalorian assassin had been betrayed. Many years ago, during the early parts of his training in Aliit Ozunu, one of the older mentors had desecrated the oaths that all Ozunu took, and supplied information about an upcoming assassination to the intended target, resulting in the deaths of three vode. He was named a dar’manda – those who are no longer Mandalorian, and do not have a soul – and unceremoniously executed. It still baffled security services to this day how twelve separate body parts ended up in multiple high ranking officials’ refreshers. It was, however the first time that Grent felt personally responsible for a betrayal. Tinker had been under his command. It had been his call.

Now, Strill’s Flight Lounge (nicknamed the “Nest” by its occupants) was in absolute silence. No-one had changed out of their armour, instead opting to slump down how they came from the fight. News of Tinker’s death had spread fast, but only Grent himself, and Joamer, knew the full details. The other squadrons, who would usually have come bounding in boasting of their kills and victories, had enough respect to keep to themselves. There had been one overzealous Crewman, who had tried to cheer up the sombre squadron, but threats of broken appendages by Lady and Edge soon drove him away. Times like this drew the squadron together, or tore it apart. This occasion was a growing closer together time. Grent was on the floor, leaning back against the bulkhead. On one side of him was Starlight, who just held Gur’s hand in hers discreetly. She was anything but disloyal. On the other side was Edge and Lady. All four of them had their helmets at the end of their outstretched legs.

Suddenly, Joamer’s voice broke the silence, “Mr. Notimo. My office.”
Grent just stood up, letting go of Star’s hand and picking up his bu’cye. The Mandalorian wandered over to the Strill CO officer, quickly glancing at the vacant SXO office that had stood dark and empty since Makenna’s promotion to SCO of Jexxel Squadron.
“Shut the hatch behind you,” said Joamer, as Gur walked in.
“What’s this about, boss?” asked Grent, as he shut the door and sat down in front of Joamer’s desk.
“Tinker,” replied Joamer bluntly.
“Boss, I take full-…” started Grent, before being cut off by Joamer waving his hand.
“No. I’m not here to condemn you.”
“Boss?”
“I wanted to congratulate you on how you dealt with the situation. I’ve briefed command, and they agree. So congratulations, Chief Petty Officer.”
Chief Petty Officer? Had Grent heard that right? A double promotion for getting stabbed in the back? “Look, Boss, I appreciate it, but …”
“And with your new promotion,” continued Joamer, “I’m making you SXO.”
“I … Boss … No, I can’t …”
“You deserve it, Gur.”
“No I don’t,” said Grent, his voice starting to show his anger, “I nearly got those under my command killed! In fact, one did die! I killed him!”
“Gur, listen …”
“No, you listen! I don’t want a new rank! I don’t want a new position! Nothing is going to change the fact that Tinker betrayed us. That he betrayed me. How can you expect me to help you lead when I don’t know who to trust?” Grent slumped back into his seat, and just put his head in his hands.
“Gur, you’re SXO now, whether you like it or not. VENI are going to be all over us after this, double checking everything about us. I need you here, with me, to help keep this squadron together.”
Grent sighed, “Fine. But only if we tell them the truth.”
“No, better they remember him as he-…”
“Better they know what he did from us, rather than from scuttlebutt.”
Joamer mused this opinion from his new XO, “You make a valid point. I take it you want to tell them?”
“Yes.”
“Go on then, Chief. Tell them what they need to hear.”
---------------------------------------------

When Grent stepped out of the office, he came face to face with nine staring faces, all eager to hear news. Quietly, under Grent’s orders, small glasses filled with Corellian brandy courtesy of Joamer: Gur thought it was appropriate.

“Tiberius Dekam. We all knew him as Tinker. Always playing with some sort of electrical doo-dah. But he had a darker side that none of us saw. He was a brave man, and loyal to his family,” Grent slowly shook his head, “We were never his true family. We let him down, just as much as he let all of us down when he decided to point his weapon at me. Yet we must respect his decision. He did not turn on us out of fear of losing the fight. He knew, from the moment that he found out that the Corellians were to be our opponents, that he was going to have to make his choice, and that the choice would likely cost him his life. So remember him when you next fly into a fight. Remember not what he did to harm us, but what he did to protect his family. We are one family. We are united. To hell with the Vast Empire, to hell with the Corellians, and to hell with the Republic: in a fire fight, we can only rely on each other.” Grent looked at the glass in his hand, and the expensive liquid inside of it. Slowly, he raised it, “To family.”
As one, Strill stood, and raised their glasses, “To family!”

They drank in silence.

OOC:

WC: 1,069

AAR: Grent gets promoted officially to SXO. Also says a moving speech.