Liquid dripped from his glass as he tipped it back to get the last of the amber fluid inside.  The cup really leaked too much, and it was some local beverage, a horrid one at that, but Scout didn't mind.  Leave was relaxing, and the stuff had alcohol in it.  He sighed.  There was nothing out here to bother him.  He came out here for shore leave for a reason.  The years he had spent piloting had given him a good deal of stress, the countless lives he had taken and invariably ruined, families broken, lovers lost never to send letters home again.  It was good not to have to think about that any more.

Scout heard a slight rustling in some foliage about twenty meters away on his right.  A shot rang out, a short crack, as he squeezed the trigger on the archaic small caliber projectile rifle.  The little fuzzy critters that he shot here made good eating.  They would, every now and then, venture into his range, and he'd catch one in his rifle's sights long enough to place the piece of lead not five grams in weight into the small creature, killing it swiftly.  Their hides were worth a little at the small town nearby, and he traded them for more ammunition and drinks.  The flesh was good, though Scout had forgotten what good food tasted like after eating pilot's rations for so long.  Anything tasted better than those.

There was no family, no sweetheart to return to when away from the Navy.  There was only himself and his old squad, many of whom were now reassigned or retired... or dead.  His time off was spent alone, quietly, and in backwards worlds far both physically and metaphorically from the life of capital ships and advanced technology he led.  He came to this place to live deep and suck the marrow out of life.  To live simply was the greatest luxury to him.

The man stirred from his thoughts as he heard a sizzling sound and cursed as his earthenware pot boiled over into the fire he had built.  He finished cleaning the animal and cut straps of flesh from its body, dropping them into the pot.  He also cut up some herbs and tubers he had foraged, taking a deep whiff of the soup du jour.

The funny thing was that time meant nothing out where he was.  The days went by, and the seasons shifted, but there were no weeks, months, deadlines, or schedules.  It was just he and the land and whatever he chose to do on his own time.  His time may have ran out on leave, or it might not have.  There was no telling.  He stretched himself lazily onto his bedroll and closed his eyes.  Here, he knew he had peace.

---

Something around a couple of hours later, scout awoke, his stomach growling at him.  He fished a a wooden spoon he had carved for himself when he got here from some deadwood gathered for the fire.  The soup had thickened a little from the starch in the tubers, but it satiated the hunger inside for something of substance.  More of the local grog slaked his thirst.  One could grow accustomed to anything, it seemed.

After finishing his meal, scout came and cleared the last of the vegetation around his little hermitage.  He had to ensure that the forest itself was not burned.  With the several liters of fuel oil that he had gotten from the locals, he soaked the tent and all that was in it.  Walking away, he made sure all that had been of this life was gone except for his rifle; that, he always kept.  He set off on the last hike turning back only to fire a shot into one of the poles of his tent, the heat of the lead bullet causing the oil to flame and set the tent ablaze.  The cup he had been drinking out of earlier split from the thermal expansion and shattered.  It had been a cheap cup, after all.

Fifteen minutes down the trail, he came to a place where the growth was all new, burned some time ago and growing back again, green and new.  He unsheathed his knife and slashed some of the creepers that had grown over the steel object before him.  He touched a panel and the whole thing shuddered.  A hatched opened, and he climbed in, checking that all systems were ready.  After the diagnostics were run, and everything seemed alright, Scout ordered the craft to break contact with the land, a simple touch at the controls.  Smiling at the power at his fingertips, Scout punched the throttle, sending himself up and out of the forest, making another black, scorched patch of earth.  Scout belonged in space.  It was his life, and he was returning now.

-----------------------
Hello.
Some guy who plays clarinet.  What a loser.



FL/PO2 scout/Kaph 1-4/PheonixWing/mSSD Atrus/DEF/VEN/VE

"Unidentified craft, you do not have liftoff clearance.  Please land at the nearest spaceport and report to local authorities to recieve an exit permit."

"This is Thiel Sandsen.  What seems to be the problem?"  Scout replied to the traffic controller's voice.  Damn, I forgot to register my craft and jump through their paperwork hoops.  At least I didn't give them a real name or anything to ID me.

"Please report to the nearest spaceport, where Republic officials will sort the whole matter out.  Thank you for your co-operation.  Have a nice day," responded the voice, a soft contralto.

Republic?  You've got to be kidding me.  Scout sighed.  He had few options.  He could just keep going and hope that there wasn't any force behind that voice he had heard.  If there was a squadron or two of fighters stationed here, though, things could be a mess.  He could go over to the Republic authorities, but the hawkbat would immediately stand out as a TIE and cast suspicion on him, pinning him as either a pirate, a smuggler, or an Imperial, none of which the Republic really liked.  I'd rather take my chances in the air, anyway.  Scout steepened his ascent a few degrees and steered clear of any population centers nearby.  Hoping he could get away with this, he powered on his deflector shields and laser cannons, charging each at accelerated rates.

Just as he was getting ready to say goodbye to the world, some red bolts streaked into his view, though wide of his craft.  Well, they seem to have something out there, at least.  Scanning the treetops, Scout found a small clearing.  There.  There the gun was... but what else?  Cautiously taking a circituous path toward the clearing, Scout, well, scouted out the area, doing as his callsign suggested he did often. 

What the hell...  It was more than just a gun emplacement.  He saw a few hangars, some other buildings and...

The hawkbat shook.  "Unidentified craft, land now in the clearing ahead.  This is your last warning."  A trio of snub-nosed fighters had snuck in behind him.  Scout had a minimal payload of warheads, a couple of missiles he had picked up at a shady shop out at a spaceport while refueling.  His shields and lasers, though, were fully charged, and he had enough fuel to at least play around a while and secure an escape.  Looking back again, Scout sighed relief.  The snub-nosed fighters were Z-95's; they meant next to nothing to him.  Z-95's were training material back in the old Tie Interceptors.  He spun around to meet them head-on.

"This is Thiel Sandsen.  Please, do not force me to engage.  This is my final warning."  Scout smiled.  He'd be seeing combat even before returning to the navy.

The headhunters opened fire but were too slow.  Scout had already dove low and near the treetops, evading sensors and taking them from below.  He heard swearing over the comm channels he was listening in on, loosing a barrage of deadly laser bolts on the lead fighter, tearing through its inadequate shielding and hull plating sending it reeling into the trees.  Looping back over the remaining two, he engaged them, sending more green death into them, burning foliage below as some missed their marks and some were deflected off of shields.  They split, planning to flank on one side while engaging from the front.  Fine, they want to play.  Scout met the headhunter's charge, coming at it straight on and flinging lasers into it.  Not expecting the forward assault and not damaging the strange tie's body, it broke off in a barrel roll to port, passing scout.  Scout responded with an immelman, ending up behind the headhunter he had been charging and leaving the one that tried to flank coming straight at him.  Targeting the Z-95 he had already peppered with cannon fire, he finished it off, piercing the antique's shields and smashing its engines.  The other tried to break off and return to base.  Scout at first fired a few shots at it but then reconsidered.  Why not find the nest.  Maybe I can kill more of these things.  This is getting kinda fun.  Scout smiled at the plumes of smoke and flames rising from the trees below.  Releasing the throttle and training his scanners on the snub-nosed fighter, he watched as it disappeared into the treetops, marking the spot with a red box on the radar screens.

Circling around and approaching the marked area from a different angle than where he had seen the headhunter disappear, Scout landed about three hundred meters away, electing to explore on foot whatever there was nearby.  Changing into more suitable clothing for running around, Scout pulled off his flight suit and put on some baggy pants and a short-sleeved shirt, strapping in his two vibroblades and stashing a couple of flashbangs, and putting on his hip holster for his DL-54 blaster.  He also donned a shoulder holster for his backup blaster, also a DL-54 automatic.  Throwing on a light jacket of canvas-like material, he stuffed a few flashbangs in his pockets and hopped from the craft, hitting the panel on the outside to close the hatch and setting off in the direction of whatever it was the Republic had on this backwards world.

About twenty meters from a clearing, scout stopped.  There was a building, a small-ish one, made of durasteel.  The building had three walls; where the fourth would have been was hillside. It had a large door centered on the side of the building away from the hills.    Okay, so it's just a hangar built into the hills.  There was also a small door for personnel, Scout presumed, on the side facing him.  This was really unexpected: hidden Republic hangars on a backwards world this far from the galactic core.  What could it mean?  What was the point?  What else was down there?  Hell, there's only one way to find out...
 
-----------------------
Hello.
Some guy who plays clarinet.  What a loser.


FM/PO2 scout/Kaph 1-4/PheonixWing/mSSD Atrus/DEF/VEN/VE