Lost Destiny, Part One


Starts 21 BBY (Aritoc is 99 year old, about equivalent 19 years of age in human lifetime)

Light without the dark has no substance, for what is light without the dark to tell you? The galaxy is filled with stories of both light and darkness.  It is strange how time works, how sentients perceive it and know it. They are at a stage of development when they believe they understand all things. That they can know all things, yet the more they discover the more we have to learn.

Stranger still is memory, the things most would like to remember forever are quickly forgotten, and the things they would rather forget never can.

However, Aristoc's earliest remembrances were happy ones. The rolling green hills, and the cold, crisp air of Ksei I, a rural world, his birth world. This was the home of his species and his home, but now, that seems so long ago.

His family, his father, mother and brother, and Aristoc lived on a small farm adjacent to the then Governor's estate.

Aristo's brother, Paliout Pere, was trained as a soldier like his father before him. Aristoc however was not to be trained in other ways than farming methods. He could feel the thrill of battle's pull even then, but his father feared to teach him more, he did not want to risk losing his sons in the growing war between the Republic and the Separatists. Aristoc remembered the fields, he was too young to really help with most of the chores but still did do a lot.

Things were not always work though, and despite the turmoil that gripped the galaxy, they were happy. The political trouble had seemed so far away then. Aristoc remember playing with his friends near Naroa River. Tasha, a Ksei girl from a neighboring farmstead, and Aristoc were the best of friends. Tasha was a lovely girl, and even for a Ksei her beauty was exquisite. When Aristoc remembers her shining green eyes, he longs for the past. They would play tag and hide and seek, typical games for children, Aristoc smiles now as he think about the unfair advantage he had over the others. He learned early to let the others win. Tansha would always tease him about his perceptiveness, and quick reflexes.

Aritoc's father had told him to be careful, he forbade Aristoc to venture near the Ve'an Canyon to the north. There were times Aristoc disobeyed, mostly just to spite him, but sometimes he felt had too. One time stands out all too well. Aristoc, Tasha and some of their local friends were playing at Ve'an forests. The air was crisp and clear, birds sang from the trees. Their laughter echoed throughout the canyon. They were not supposed to play there, there were tales of people that died there.  However, the beauty of the area was irresistible.

Aristoc had just received a new blue cloak, and why he wore this to play in escapes him, perhaps he just wanted to show off. Tasha, the feisty one and not missing an opportunity to humble Aristoc, splashed him with mud. Aristoc stood there, shocked and filthy. His mind filled with rage, and he yelled out. She laughed as he chased her. She jumped over logs and ran behind boulders, Aristoc was losing interest in my soiled shirt, but he would not let her know that. She tried to fake a turn but he perceived it, and Aristoc was soon on her heels, chasing her toward the edge. He had her now! Suddenly, she turned around and pushed him. Aristoc fell down, hard, and stayed down. The wind was knocked out of his lungs and he was desperately trying to get it back. As he lay in a heap on the ground, Tasha laughed at him, her giggly, high laugh. She was beside herself, tears steaming down her face. Aristoc was quite upset, but could say nothing yet. Suddenly the ground opened beneath her and she fell from view. Aristoc screamed in shock, and crawled to the edge. She was holding on to a root that was jutting from the side. Her tears of laughter were now tears of panic. She was crying profusely. She screamed "Don't let me fall! Don't let me fall!" over and over again. The cries shook though Aristoc's entire being, and he was filled with incredible despair. He yelled to the others, who were standing around," Get some help!" Then attempted to reach for her hand but she was too far away. I could see the forests below, so far below. The image of Tasha speeding down to her death invaded his mind. "No!" a voice screamed in his head, "I will not let her fall!" Aristoc closed his eyes and started to get a good grip on the ledge, he then proceeded to lower himself slightly and gripped the root  as I strained to lift her. Tears were flowing down his face as well; he could feel their salty sting in his eyes. As Aristoc felt Tasha rise, the root snapped, she screamed and Aristoc almost lost his grip in the horror of the moment.  Her screams echoed against the canyon walls.

It is a strange thing to look back at the moment of self-discovery. Though Aristoc did not realize it then, he was starting down a different path than his father and brother, he felt he could have saved her only if he could fly.  Of course that was ridiculous, but the mind of a child does not see things the same way as the eyes of an adult, clouded by prejudice and ways of thinking.

Aristoc saw Tasha fall, his mind was screaming with her. He felt a tug above him and saw his brother trying to pull Aristoc up, he had followed them up to Ve'an Glenn to scold them and arrived in time to stop Aristoc from falling himself. Paliout was silently pulling Aristoc up, who then grabbed at the ground to  heave himself up. His face was sticky with tears, his eyes were red.

Paliout woke Aristoc early the next morning, " Aristoc, plij, ho vat eman a nozvezh"
(Aristoc, wake up, we are going for a hike)

"Ouzon ganeoc'h eo beure?" Aristoc grumbled.
(What time is it?)

"Ganeoc'h ar plij."
(Time to get up)

They walked all day; Aristoc carried the equipment, all the equipment. For roughly a year he trained in this way to be a soldier, building his physical body, as he was lectured by his brother, Aristoc alienated himself from his friends. In total his brother taught him for three years, and Aristoc learned much.
Eventually, Aristoc's brother began to teach him how to use a blaster. Artistoc have never really seen a blaster in action against another sentient lifeform until one day they were in the city to pick up a few things for their mother. A couple of rough looking individuals that reeked of alcohol approached them, jeering. Paliout ignored them, but Aristoc was furious, he wanted to turn and punch them, but instead, they walked on. The group finally got brazen enough and grabbed Aristoc from behind.

"Kalvez! On tigarezo ar aotrou!" one of them screamed.
(Hey! I'm talking to you!)

Paliout was stoic. "Goude vaouez porzh-bered kit c'htoashent mat ur er kit fell."
(Come now let's put aside our differences and be on our way)

"Kement-se ur er aotrou-diri fell ar c'hallfen eman gemper mae eost" he slurred as his companion pulled out his blaster
(You can be on your way to the grave for all I care)

In an instant Aristoc's brother and shot the thug's hand. Aristoc dropped to the ground as the other one pulled his gun. Another flash and he was gripping his wrist on the ground.

As the two Peres returned home Aristoc asked Paliout, "Pradimp netra you d'an diarsav bilhed?"
(Why did you not kill them?)

"Korn troit ti-bank d'an merenn ar, zisklerian hanternoz ti-bank d'an diarsav. Nemet, erru emaomp ar diarsav pegoulz ar d'an."
(If he does not need to, an honorable soldier does not kill. Plus, it is easier to kill than to not)

That night Aristoc's brother told him to go to bed early,  "Boa qwin servijor e-barzh aozan."
(We have much to do tomorrow)

You mean I have much to do, Aristoc thought.
.         
Regardless, Aristoc decided to sneak out that night. It was not hard, for him. He made not a sound as he crept through the rooms and out the door. The moons of Ksei brightened the night sky above him. Aristoc could smell the sweet, cold air. It was refreshing. He walked on to a special spot he love. A spot far enough on the hillside that he can see around for miles. He usually went there to think. He had been doing it for the past couple of nights and his brother did not even know that Aristoc was disobeying his orders. That filled the young Ksei with not a little bit of pride.

Aristoc dwelled upon this for a time while he stared at the stars. Something caught his attention though, for he remember getting up and spying the silvery sheen of the coat of a Dengret. Aristoc moved quickly and quietly to get closer to the large animal. The beast entranced him. Dengrets, which were rare on Ksei, were brought to this area near his home as a measure to preserve them. Aristoc remember the large powerful frame of the animal and the look of intelligence in its eyes as it scanned the small heard of thranerds that were grazing in the valley below. He wanted to get closer; there was something magnetic about the wolf, something that was drawing Aristoc closer. He inched along on the ground using everything he knew to be silent, to be unheard. As he ventured near Aristoc immediately discovered something was wrong. The wolf could surly know I was here he thought, unless, he's waiting for me!

As Aristoc thought this and before he could react, the wolf turned to look at the young Ksei. Aristoc stared deep into its large intelligent golden eyes, and it stared back. It seemed like forever. Before Aristoc could run, he sensed another presence behind me. He glanced back and there were more wolves slowly coming upon him. He was beginning to panic. He had not brought anything to protect himself, and no one knew he had gone out. As the wolves approached, Aristoc closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. 

...  ...  ...

Sometimes, the youngsters need to push their ambitions to prove themselves. Things do not come easily in the galaxy. The fledgling soft qualities must be shed so that one may not only survive, but also flourish. Hard lessons are painful lessons but necessary.
 
A few days after Aristoc's encounter with the Dengrets, he was out practicing in the forest not far from home. His brother thought he was resting, but Aristoc wanted more than he would teach. So Aristoc decided that he would find on his own. His rebelliousness, it might have saved him, or caused the deaths of his family& He was not sure which. The air was fresh and clear, as usual. The sun shone brightly; there was a customary chill to the air as is the case for Ksei I. Aristoc ran through the various paths in the woods. It was a most enjoyable time. The bright green somids sang, the wind blew through the trees; it is one of Aristoc's best memories of home. Like most, however, it turned bitter.

The soft wind gave hint of a coming presence. Like a dullard Aristoc ignored it. He continued on, past a large tree that spoke of ages past. The young Ksei liked to come here often, the large living thing gave him a sense of humility. His stomach ached, and he clutched his gut, the air turned sour and he heard a distant rumbling. At the distant mountains a speck, like a shooting star, quickly moved towards him. Aristoc felt dread terror well up inside him and he hid. The large shuttlecraft reached him and sped away, the sound deafening. The image of power and hate crept into his mind, it nearly overwhelmed the Ksei
.
Aristoc's stomach cringed again, something bad was going to happen, and he knew it. He took off down the paths running as fast as he could.  Aristoc remembers less of what he saw on that run, but the memory of the feelings will always be with him.  I did remember the dust fly up around him as he ran. He remember tripping. Most of all, Aristoc remember when he neared the house& he heard the sounds of fire.


The crackling of wood and the smell of smoke pervaded his senses as Aristoc neared what was once his home; the field was already aflame.

He then saw the shuttle across those fields, then heard the sound that chilled me. It was the sound of armies clashing against the other. Aristoc scrambled on all fours like an insect to get nearer to the sound. He timidly looked over an embankment as the flashes illuminated all that was not near the fire. The Republic's clone garrison of Ksei I fought well, but not well enough against a cold droid army, their sheer numbers easily plowing over the genetically equivalent soldiers. Riqimo stood staring at the nightmare, then saw his brother swinging a vibrosword and wielding a blaster pistol.  He was pinned behind a small sheet of durasteel.  The battle all thrilled Aristoc despite everything. His brother needed help, but Aristoc knew even the two of them where no match for the seven battle droids closing on his position. So, like a coward, Aristoc let my brother die. In a heroic maneuver Paliout Pere, threw his body over his cover and charged at the droids. Paliout began to turn towards one of the larger B-2 models, but was too late. With a flick of the wrist, the droid smacked Paliout to the ground and open fired. At least he died a true hero.
Aristoc knew that he was doomed should he stay where he was, and grabbed a dead clone's pistol out the holster and crawled off to the woods. He lost every thing right there for my inactions. True, he is alive now because of it, but living isn't everything.

Finally the battle ceased, after the clones had fallen and the droids began formations to march onto another farm, but not until some droids landed as replacements.

Aristoc couldn't image what happened. How did the Republic's Grand Army fall to the Separatists?  When they left finally, he slowly crept up to the charred home.  He dragged the bodies of his mother, father, and my brother together. The young Ksei built them the best pyre he could, but still there bodies did not burn properly. Aristoc had to leave them to the animals.

He knew he couldn't stay there.  Quickly rummaging through what was not scorched Aristoc gathered some food and some supplies.  He remembered the instructions the clone soldier that came to their house gave in case of emergency.  The evacuation zone was not far off, and the speeder in the barn was miraculously intact, Aristoc took one last glance at his home and speed off.

(2546 wordos)
 
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Aristoc = Doc = Riqimo

Dagger Point (Part 1 of 3)
6 ABY

"Of course," Aristoc answered, gesturing for one of his pilots to follow. "My office is this way."

Dulin grinned conspiratorially as they walked away, nudging Hendal with his elbow and winking at him.  The Ksei merely rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Inside his stark office, Aristoc shut the door behind them and sat down behind the plain desk and asked, "What's on your mind, Civa?"

Civa placed her helmet on the desktop and looked into Aristoc's icy blue eyes. "Sir, I want you to know that I understand the difficulties posed by having a woman in a male-dominated unit. I don't want you to go to any trouble on my account or treat me specially."

Aristoc snorted. "How so?"

"I don't want to be a burden to the unit."

"Oh don't worry about that. In fact, I'm glad you were assigned here."

For a moment the only sound came from the ancient fan suspended from the ceiling, creaking as it rotated. "Really?" she asked, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

"Of course. You're one of the best atmospheric pilots in the fleet and an experienced pilot in general. You could help teach some of these new lads how to survive and Fusilier Squadron needs a new pilot." He held her gaze with his. "In other words, you're going to be a real asset to the Squadron."

She absorbed this, taking in a deep breath and smiling appreciatively. "Thank you, sir. I'd like to get settled into my quarters now, if I don't have any further duties to attend to."

Aristoc nodded and showed her to the door. "No, no, of course. If there's ever anything else, my office is always open. I look forward to flying with you again." With that, she left and Aristoc sat back down behind his desk, heaving a sigh, suddenly feeling significantly older than he was.

...  ...  ...


As night fell over Men Tuek, a keening whine rang out across the city. The sound started out low, almost imperceptible at first, but grew louder as its source approached, until it became recognizable as the sound of several dozen starfighter engines roaring through the air. Recalling the Imperial attack of just a week prior, civilians in the streets ran for shelter, screaming in terror. Their fear abated, however, when the first A-wing broke through the cloud layer.

More followed the leader, arranged into diamond-shaped formations, until forty-seven of the sleek craft soared overhead. The people of Men Tuek left their hiding places, crowding into the streets and rooftops to catch a glimpse of them as, in perfect synchronization, they performed a victory roll while passing low over the buildings. A cheer erupted from the crowd as people waved sparkling banners and blew kisses to the pilots zooming overhead, welcoming their saviors with open arms.

At the top of the half-demolished spaceport's control tower, Commando N'Tomeryg observed the incoming fighters through a pair of macrobinoculars. Each of the approaching A-wings bore a cream-colored base and a unique pattern of black stripes over their hulls, as well as random scorch marks, patch jobs, and kill decals. What the motley band all held in common, however, was the signature paint scheme on their broad, flat noses: a quartet of shiny black eyes near their canopies and a wide, snarling mouth full of needle-sharp fangs on their ventral surfaces.

N'Tomeryg lowered the macrobinoculars and snorted in derision. They called themselves the Wild Nexu Volunteer Group but really they were little more than mercenaries. Their leader, Wing Commander Trendo Kenes, had been one of the Empire's best pilots until his failed coup de tat against the Emperor. Evading Imperial capture, Kenes and his men eventually abandoned their TIEs in favor of A-wings and began flying for whoever would pay them, earning a reputation as ruthless, courageous, and skilled pilots. The Rebels loathed requesting their services but the obliteration of most of their starfighter forces had left him with little choice.

As the Wild Nexu settled their fighters onto the landing strip, N'Tomeryg watched with a smile, relaying the information he had back to command.

...  ...  ...

Three hours before dawn, the Hand of Domini's Imperial Army attachment stood prepared to mobilize on the surface of the planet. The frigid air felt charged as troopers loaded onto the Juggernaut transports and tank commanders anxiously awaited the order to roll out. The vehicles of the army's armored divisions lined the sandy canyon as High Colonel Fsens sped toward the head of the procession in an open-top landspeeder. As the vehicle hovered through the ranks, kicking up dust in its wake, the troops greeted it with cheers, applause, and salutes for the two commanders inside. "The men are in high spirits," Fsens commented to himself, dressed in his sand-colored battle uniform. Nodding to himself, he added, "Good. They're certain of victory."

At the landspeeder's controls, the escort glanced at his companion and said, "They have good reason to be; they know you won't let them down. This is our first step toward a bright future." He could sense Fsens' tension.  He had nothing but confidence in him and knew the man would come through for the Empire.

Donning a pair of infrared goggles, Fsens keyed his comlink and announced, "Task Force Womp Rat, move out. I repeat, move out." At once the still night air came to life as a thousand engines roared to life and poured from the canyon into the open desert on the way to Man Tuek. In the lead Juggernaut's observation tower, Fsens stood tall and steely-eyed, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome him.

...  ...  ...

The ready room buzzed with conversations, the pilots of the Fusilier Squadron trading comments and jokes to lighten the pre-mission mood. They sat in several rows of rickety, plastic chairs facing the head of the room where a lectern stood beside a holo projector, and a primitive blackboard covered the far wall. The remaining walls and floor were bare, save the ever-present dust piled up in the corners from several valiant but altogether futile attempts to sweep it out. In the corner at the rear of the room sat an aging cold storage unit containing bottles of fresh water, which many of the pilots partook of as they waited in their small groups for their commanders to arrive. Many of the men had not yet grown accustomed to Civa's presence and either glanced furtively at her out of the corners of their eyes or ignored her entirely, as the woman sat by herself, wearing a sour expression on her attractive features.

Aristoc entered the room, flanked by the leader of Raven Squadron who kept his hands clasped behind his back, and stepped up to the lectern as the assembled pilots came to attention. "As you were," Aristoc said, activating the holo projector. They seated themselves as the transparent blue image of a city sprang to life next to him, rotating slowly. Many of the buildings were of adobe construction with domed roofs and elaborate arches reaching across the streets and plazas. The structures became more ramshackle at the outskirts and a monolithic bell tower with a natural oasis ringed by a small stone wall at its base dominated the skyline at the city's center plaza.

"This, gentlemen... and lady," Aristoc began awkwardly, "is Man Tuek." Clearing his throat, he pressed on, face burning slightly. "This is how the city appeared before the war reached this planet; thanks to Lieutenant Kyle Patterson making a flyby in one of our new crafts, we know how it looks now..."

At the flick of a switch on the lectern, the holograph dissolved, replaced with an image of the same cityscape, this time bristling with turbolaser batteries, defensive walls, sensor dishes, and hardened pillboxes. The Rebel scum had certainly done their best to turn the quaint desert community into an impregnable fortress.

"You'd think they didn't want us taking it," Fusilier Ten chuckled, eliciting laughs from some of the others.

"Well unfortunately for you, Alan Sengal, we do," Aristoc replied, injecting mock disdain for the diminutive man into his voice. "Fsens and the Force designated Womp Rat will be arriving at the edges of Man Tuek in six hours, which means we'll be taking off in five and three quarters." With a laser pointer, he indicated the batteries arrayed around the city perimeter, saying, "Our primary targets will be their defenses, particularly up the oasis road here, in order to clear a path for the ground pounders. They're sure to have flak waiting for us too, most likely in the bell tower. Its high vantage over the whole area makes it the ideal location for triple-ay."

"In addition to the turbolasers, we're to engage targets of opportunity," Aristoc continued  "Because of our persisting problem with reflected rads scrambling our sensors, the ground troops will mark targets with a purple smoke rather than placing the standard beacons." Groans issued from the pilots. "Primitive, I know, but we'll have to make due with the circumstances. Any questions?"

Ivrin, Fusilier Seven, raised his hand and asked, "How do we deal with refugees that flee during the battle?"

"Short answer: we don't, we let the Army handle them," Aristoc answered. "Long answer: if they surrender to our forces, they'll be moved to the rear area and kept out of harm's way until the battle is over. If they go over to the Rebels, then it's their problem to deal with, not ours. Up until now, the local populace had been maintaining neutrality in regards to the war but our presence here has caused numerous independent militias to spring up in league with the Rebellion."

"What if one of us goes down in the city?" Gendros, Fusilier Three asked.

"Obviously we've all been trained in evading capture," Aristoc pointed out. "If you see someone punch out, give the Stormies their relative position and hopefully they'll be recovered by friendly forces." After a pause, he added, "If at any point you think you can't continue call abort three times over the comm and your wingman will escort you back to Bellonada. Anything else?" The pilots shifted uneasily, some coughing into the silence. "Then report back here in five hours. Dismissed."

With that, the pilots of the Raven and Fusilier Squadrons stood and filed out of the ready room.

...  ...  ...


Sealing the top hatch, Aristoc strapped himself in and started running through the TIE Avenger's startup sequence. Over the comlink, he called, "Fusilier One to One Flight, report."

"Fusilier Two, two lit and ready," Dulin Alfrin answered. Similar replies came from Fusilier Three and Fusilier Four.

"Fusiliers Five and Nine, report," Aristoc ordered.

"Fusilier Five here; Two Flight is ready," Dann'l replied.

"Fusilier Nine; Three Flight is ready," Balan Losgar said.

Switching the comm frequency, Aristoc reported, "Hand of Domini, this is Fusilier One; Fusilier Squadron is ready."

"Copy that, Fusilier One," one of the ship's many supporting personnel acknowledged. "Disengage from your landing racks and follow Raven Squadron out. Form up one klick out from Preemptory and await further instructions."

"Understood sir," Aristoc replied. Then, activating his fighter's repulserlifts, he disengaged from his landing bracket and relayed the coordinating tech's orders to his squadron. Easing the throttle forward, he and One Flight followed Raven Squadron out of the hangar and into the cold darkness of space orbiting Kahilia. The desert world appeared even bleaker in reality than it had in holographic form.

"Fusilier Squadron, this is Hand of Domini," the tech officer called. "Set course for Tuek and proceed with your mission. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," Aristoc answered as he pushed the control yoke forward and throttled up for the descent through the atmosphere. To the rest of the Fusiliers he called, "Gook luck mates, let's give the ground pounders the best start we can." A chorus of affirmatives came back in his ears as the others followed him in, ready to meet the enemy head on.

(2000+ words)
 
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Aristoc = Doc = Riqimo

Dagger Point (Part 3 of 3)
6 ABY

Suddenly the Juggernaut came skidding to a halt, the egress hatches snapping open, and the Stormtroopers flooded out, finding cover at building corners and behind the low stone wall surrounding the oasis as civilians ran for cover within nearby buildings. Crete's platoon fanned out across the central square, dodging random fire from windows and rooftops, taking up positions to the east.

Their objective was the power station ten blocks away; its capture would disable the defenses for the entire east quadrant of the city. Between them and the power station stood an unknown number of Saharan irregulars armed with all manner of weaponry. While the Rebel Alliance had its forces arrayed at the city's perimeter, Man Tuek itself was crawling with indigenous militia, humans and aliens, males and females, anyone who could pick up and fire a blaster. It was a daunting thought to have an entire city's population taking up arms and trying to kill you.

Overwhelming numbers, however, were nothing in the face of superior training. Crete's men advanced on either side of the road, sticking close to the buildings for cover, expertly leapfrogging up the avenue fire team by fire team. One group provided suppression fire with light repeating blasters to allow the next group to reach cover, huddling behind pillars and the militia's own hastily erected barricades. The militiamen displayed little organization or discipline as several of them made lone, suicidal charges at the steadily advancing Stormtroopers, firing wildly and screaming in multiple languages, being cut down by precision fire before they even came within ten meters.

Suddenly someone shouted, "Plex rocket!" and an explosion less than a meter to his right as he was jogging after his men threw the platoon leader off his feet, spinning him through the air like a top.
He landed on his back several meters away, dirt and debris raining down on him, head swimming. A helmeted face appeared above him, backlit by the blazing sun overhead. Reaching out one hand, the trooper shook his shoulder violently, and finally Crete registered his comlink screaming in his ear. "Lieutenant, are you all right?" Shard shouted at him. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Yeah," Crete answered shakily, still half dazed; the sounds of intermittent blaster fire ricocheting off of nearby surfaces seemed kilometers away and his head felt like it was filled with white noise. "I can hear bells ringing," he reported.

"You're doing fine, sir, come on," the sergeant assured him, chuckling as he helped him to his feet.
Continuing up the street, resistance intensified, slowing their advance considerably. The militia members fired on them from windows and doorways; more PLX rockets were fired from the rooftops, some striking the ground, kicking up walls of dirt, others zooming by bare centimeters from the troopers as they returned fire. None of them were organized enough to present a significant threat to any one squad, however.

"Covering fire!" Shard ordered, reaching behind his back and grabbing his thermal detonator. Several troopers opened fire at one of the windows, forcing the gunman there to keep his head down while the platoon sergeant cocked his arm back and hurled the explosive through the portal. "Down!" Everyone dropped at once as a split second later an explosion rocked the building and smoke belched from the window.

"Technical!" one of the fire team leaders announced from across the street. "Incoming technical!" Crete peered around a column and immediately drew back as a blaster bolt sizzled past his head, having spotted an open-air repulsor truck barrel into the intersection, an E-web heavy repeating blaster mounted on a tripod in its bed, turning it into an improvised mobile gun platform. As he was turning back to his men, two more joined it, similarly outfitted.

Without conscious thought, Crete ordered, "Hit the rest of those Plex rockets with concussion grenades; I'll send the flyboys a smoke signal." While the E-webs kept them pinned, two troopers shouldered their blaster carbines, a grenade launcher attached below the short barrels, and squeezed off a round each. The hollow whump of the grenades being fired was followed by smoke and flame erupting from a pair of second story windows on either side of the street.

With the threat of the rockets taking down their air support neutralized, Lieutenant Crete low-crawled closer to the line of technicals and lobbed the smoke canister at them. The nonlethal grenade skipped across the ground and immediately began billowing out a cloud of thick, lavender smoke.

A high-pitched shriek rose above the thunder of blaster fire as a pair of TIE Interceptors flew into view over the rooftops. As they shot by faster than Crete's eyes could follow, they unleashed a deadly barrage of energy from their laser cannons, strafing the three vehicles. The repulsor trucks exploded as their fuel cells ruptured, consuming their drivers and gunners in gouts of deadly flame as the TIEs' lasers chewed massive furrows through the street, kicking up even more debris.

"Advance!" Crete ordered, and his platoon leapfrogged the last block to the power station, surrounding it and storming the building room by room, eliminating all resistance. Almost like flicking a switch, the defensive turrets in Man Tuek's Eastern Quadrant went silent. With that, Crete's men went about fortifying their position to prevent the militia from recapturing the power station.

Crete was starting to laugh at his previous nervousness, but he swallowed that down, this was not the best time to get overconfident.

...  ...  ...

Ten thousand meters above Man Tuek, Fusilier Squadron kept a sharp eye for incoming hostiles. Even at that altitude, the reflected sunlight played havoc with Aristoc's sensors, cutting their range nearly by a third, forcing him to rely on his own two eyes. As he searched the sky for enemy fighters, he felt a strange tingling sensation nagging at the back of his mind. I've got a bad feeling about this... he thought, staring intensely into the clouds to the northwest. Such feelings had begun shortly after he joined the Imperial Navy and had persisted with increasing intensity during his time with the group, saving his life on several occasions. He couldn't explain it but it sometimes felt as if he saw things and reacted to them before they even took place.

Such as now; the words were out of his mouth almost before the first A-wing broke through the cloud layer. "Flight One, and Fusilier Five; I have bandits incoming, twenty-three degrees," Aristoc reported swiftly. "Contacts are slims, approximately twenty, coming in low."

"I copy, Lead," M'Pala's voice replied through the comlink.

"Fusilier Squadron, break by flights and engage; let's keep them off the ground pounders."

"Three Flight copies; we're on the right-hand group," one of the flight leaders acknowledged, inverting his Interceptor and pulling the yoke back to his chest to dive on the approaching Rebels, targeting the lead fighter. Known as slims in pilot slang, the A-wings were wedge-shaped with bubbled cockpits and two massive engines, making them faster than the Imperial fighters and more maneuverable in atmosphere; the odds, as always, were definitely against them. If Aristoc had been Corellian, like his friend, Dann'l would have made some quip affecting unconcern with odds.

As the distance between him and his target shrank, he began to take in the details of the enemy fighters. Their hulls had been painted bone-white with black stripes and wicked-looking faces on their broad noses, giving them the appearance of predatory animals. He could see several TIE silhouettes painted alongside their canopies and the myriad patches and scorch marks that added to their battle-worn look. He doubted these would be easy kills, despite his experience and level of proficiency.

Aristoc's targeting bracket flashed green, indicating a solid lock, and he squeezed the dual triggers on his control yoke, unleashing a deadly stream of green energy on his foe. The Rebel's shields absorbed much of his laser fire, surrounding the ship with a haze and weakening considerably as he sped past. Banking to starboard, he rolled out of his dive and ordered, "One Flight, break by pairs." A series of double clicks returned over the comlink, affirmation from his pilots.  Aristoc snap rolled his fighter onto its left solar wing array just as a pair of scarlet laser bolts flashed across his field of vision. That was too close.

Applying a little right rudder, he pulled back on the controls and corkscrewed his ship to starboard, turning on his attacker. The A-wing spun and dove, its wingman firing a short burst before following suit. Aristoc inverted and pursued, checking his aft sensors and seeing that his own wingman was still with him, tucked into his port rear quarter.

Lining up his target, Aristoc fired a series of dual-linked laser bolts that cut through the A-wing's shields and caught the fighter dead-center between the engines. The turbines disintegrated as the ship's fuel cells vaporized, enveloping the craft in a brilliant orange fireball. Pieces of shrapnel rained down on the city as the Ksei rolled out to port.

"Good shot, Lead, you vaped him!" Dulin called out enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Two." Then, glancing at his sensors, he noted, "They don't seem to be going after the ground forces."

"Which means they're after us, Lead!" Dann'l responded, his voice strained over the comm. "Think you could wipe this guy off my tail for old time's sake? I gave my wingman a lunch break."

Aristoc grinned beneath his helmet. "I've nothing else planned for today." Vectoring his Interceptor toward Dann'l's fighter, he said, "Five, loosen it up a bit; we'll come at him on his starboard side, I'll run a scissors pattern on him and put him right where you need him to finish the job."

"Got it, Lead," the flight leader answered, dropping his fighter back several more meters behind Aristoc's.
As the two approached their stricken squadron leader, Aristoc opened fire on the pursuing A-wing, artfully missing it to the right. The slim jockey, predictably, broke to port, abandoning his run on Dann'l's TIE. Sticking with the target, Aristoc rotated his control yoke left, tightening up on the triggers, this time herding it to the right where it flew directly into the path of M'Pala's laser fire, collapsing its shields and shattering the hull. The doomed A-wing spun out of control, trailing thick oily smoke, and crashed into an adobe building, a flaming wreck.

"Good job, Six," Aristoc congratulated.

"Lead, you've got two incoming, two o'clock high," his wingman reported.

Looking up and to the right, Aristoc responded, "I see them; gain some altitude and when they dive on me I'll lead them back up to you."

"Roger, as ordered."

Just as Aristoc predicted, the leading A-wing dove after him; however, the trailing fighter broke off after Dulin. "Sithspit!" he cursed under his breath, jerking his Avenger to the right and stomping down on the right rudder pedal. Cutting back on the throttle, he tightened his turn but too late; Dulin's fighter disappeared in a flash of incandescent light. "Two, report!" he called desperately, hoping the young pilot had had time to bail out. "Two, can you hear me?" Only empty static answered.

The tingle returned and without thinking, Aristoc cut off his engines and reversed his thrusters. The reverse throttle hop placed him squarely on the A-wing's tail and he opened fire, bringing down its shields before it could even begin to evade. Before he could finish it off, it broke right and ran, abandoning the fight entirely.

"They're running," Aristoc observed. "Fusilier Squadron, regroup and watch for a second wave."

"Roger One, Two Flight inbound," Dann'l answered,

It took the remainder of the day and two more waves of the animalistic Rebel fighters, but as the setting sun cast a rosy glow across the desert, the Battle of Man Tuek drew to a close and the Pilots headed for the Hand of Domini three pilots short. On the ground, the Stormtroopers mopped up the last elements of the resisting militia and the Rebel tanks that could still move retreated into the wasteland. For now, the Empire was victorious.

)sdroW +0002(

 
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Aristoc = Doc = Riqimo

Aristoc's Last Night (Intro)


(Art - This single post here does NOT count as part of a story, please don't give credit for it.  Also it is too short anyways )

Now, the reason for this intro post is because of the complex nature of this story.

That little stuff aside, a slight background of Aristoc is needed.  Well, not "background" since this story occurs at the end of Aristoc's life at 216 ABY, over  200 years after the current VE era.  The reason for such a long life is his species, Ksei, which appear human in almost every way externally, but take approx 5.14 standard years to age what a human would age in a year.  So at this time one could consider Aristoc to be about 65 years of age.

"Foreground" to Aristoc Present, "Background" for this story is very simple and revolves around two facts:
>15 ABY ~ Aristoc retires from the Imperial Navy for the last time and turns to develop his music
>98 ABY ~ Aristoc becomes completely deaf but continues his music

I feel I have to explain this deafness thingy... in RL I was born deaf and currently wear hearing-aids.  Where the music ties in is Beethoven, who is my personal hero.  For those challenged in musical history. Beethoven became deaf and continued his music to create, despite deafness, music that can easily be argued to be even better than the music he composed when he could hear.

Back to the story, I love how it turned out, it leaves plenty of room for interpretation and doesn't kill Aristoc, but gives a whole life.  I will leave it to you the interpretations, such as if the story actions actually happen or if it all occurs in Aristoc's mind...

Also, I have looped Beethoven songs over and over while writing this, so don't be surprised if there is a musical tone to conversations. In fact the whole story is an entire musical in my mind.  I hope to show that


Dramatis Personae

Aristoc Ludwig Pere
Yours truly, the former Imperial pilot, and great musician upon his last night.
The source of the middle name is an obvious nod to Ludwig von Beethoven.

Fate
The spirit of Fate.  A young beautiful woman.
Name is self explanatory.

Twist
Fate's hunchback dwarf son.  Mischievous but not malicious.  Name chosen as a pun because he is Fate's son and thus the "Twist of Fate"

Mephistopheles
The devil himself.  Evil with a seductive charm and flair.
Name chosen for a devil figure in mythology.

Young Aristocs
Aristoc as a young child and as an young adult.

Amadeus Wolfe
A musical role model and tutor of Aristoc, one of the best composers of the Galaxy.
Name chosen as a nod to Mozart-Wolfgang Amadeus, one of Beethoven's tutors.

Theresa Rendro
A princess of the planet Viessa, and Aristoc's first, greatest, and only love.  His "Immortal Beloved."
Name chosen as a Princess Theresa was actually Beethoven's first and greatest love.

The Muses
Nothing wrong with borrowing the Muses from Greek Mythology
Just as a change they are all male.

Spirits and Ghosts
Numerous spirits and ghosts from Aristoc's past.
No names



All that aside, let's begin the epic!
 
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Aristoc = Doc = Riqimo

Aristoc's Last Night (Part 2 of x)

Aristoc sensed the presence that caused all the other spirits to shrink silently away to the corners of the room as it entered.  A handsome, but malevolent appearing, man was at the door frame.  This unknown man was richly clad in black with a deep scarlet trim, and his cape seemed to darken the midnight blackness beyond description.  His wry smile was malevolent and he oozed an iniquitous, seductive charm and finesse from every pore as he gazed imperturbably at Aristoc Pere.

Once this mysterious, dark figure had the musician's full attention, he ambled casually with a relaxed and powerful gait towards the mature Ksei, singing slowly and leisurely with his portentous voice, "All your life you have denied there would be time that you would ever die.  Still it has been rumored that this thing must be..."

Once past the initial shock of this sinister stature intruding into his room, Aristoc swallowed his apprehension long enough to inquired the ruthlessly charismatic, sinful figure before him, "What are you here for?"

"I am Mephistopheles, the Lord of Darkness and first fallen from the grace of God, and I am here to claim your paltry soul," he gave a broad, fiendish grin that bared his perfect white, incisicous teeth at the frightened expression on the Ksei's face, "So why is then that you act surprised when I appear now to be your guide?  Why do you hesitate to follow me?"

Faced with eternal damnation, Aristoc frighteningly replied, stuttering every syllable, "It cannot possibly be my time, I have yet to finish my One Hundredth Symphony."

Mephistopheles smirked mercilessly, "Now you claim you are not prepared, so much to do you cannot be spared.  Still your entreaties death will not hear."  He gestured out the window, "The grave is filled with important men who could not be spared, but were still spared in the end."

The cold, red eyes of Mephistopheles gazed upon the flimsi manuscript on the piano that contained Aristoc Ludwig Pere's flawlessly and meticulously composed One Hundredth Symphony.  After a precisely calculated thought, Mephistopheles made a seemingly unusually generous offer for his character, "I will give you as much time as you need to finish this One Hundredth Symphony of yours.  On the solitary condition that you must point out to me now the exact parts that you plan to add or change."

Mephistopheles knew he had won when Aristoc bowed his head in defeat, forced to admit, "It is my masterpiece and I cannot possibly change a single note."

His bluff was called, and Aristoc Pere could not believe that this was how his life would end.  Mephistopheles grinned impishly and assured Aristoc,  "Not only is so, but your reaction is the nearly universal response from every sentient who is about to be condemned to hell."  His grin grew wider as he continued, "See it rising, stare and wonder, hear it beckon you to dance.  Feel it hold you, take you under, I am your god of second chance."

Aristoc's head rose slowly at the mention of a second chance and he started into the intense, distant red eyes of Mephistopheles, "Aristoc, you are a very fortunate individual.  I have decided to make an offer that very few condemned mortals receive at the end of their time.  You can have a second chance, a way out of your adverse dilemma.  It is a very simple offer, if you give me all your music, I, Mephistopheles will return your soul to you."

Aristoc was extremely bewildered, "What would you do with my music?"

Mephistopheles shrugged nonchalantly and responded with his depraved grin, "I, Mephistopheles, will wipe it from the mind of every sentient in the Galaxy past, present, and future for all eternity.  It is very simple, you give me all of your music, and I grant your austere soul back to you."

Facing an eternity of damnation and torment, Aristoc was understandably desperate to reclaim his soul.  But the loss of my music...my life's work... Aristoc's entire life involved his music, even when in the cockpit of the many fighters he had piloted in his Imperial Navy career he had bits and pieces of music within his mind, especially in his service with the Vast Empire Navy.  In addition, after a large battle that he had almost departed from this life, the music that he composed not only helped himself through those troubled moments but his fellow pilots... 

...  ...  ...

"Aristoc, I never was one much for music, but that song you just played... it seems to touch me somehow..." Than Sion sat upon one of the government issue couches in the Kaph Squadron's recreation room, "What is the song called?"

"I think I will call it 'Song of Mrlsoo' since the inspiration for it came while we were in battle." Aristoc said as he carefully placed the holodisk that contained the just recorded song into a case before inserting it in his knapsack.

Krius laughed merrily, "You compose songs in your head while you dogfight with enemy fighers?  I thought I heard you humming something over the comms, you sounded bored."

Aristoc gave a broad grin, "Yeah, you guys are so slow I have to find other uses for my cockpit time to stay awake." 

"Touche.  Et tu Aristoc?  Then fall Krius."

The whole Kaph Squadron rec room filled with laughter at the friendly jokes tossed back and forth.  Now that the battle was finally over and no enemies were trying to shoot them, they could relax and let the piano ease their tensions.

...  ...  ...

Moreover, after he had ultimately and truly retired, music became his entire life, not just a hobby.  Once his deafness had settled into total effect, Aristoc turned even harder to his music, trying to grasp what was taken from him... Although he could not hear his works in veracity, his heart played purely and without distortion every note that his fingers stroke upon the piano.

The aged Ksei was noticeably hesitating, and Mephistopheles seeing Aristoc's confusion in his eyes, states, "I will leave you for only one hour before returning to hear your choice."  He pointed his hand and made a slight spiral gesture at the clock as he left, "Be sure to watch the time."

Aristoc glanced at the antique, anachronistic grandfather clock against the far wall and gasped in surprise, "The time!  The hands of the clock are turning faster than normal.  Mephistopheles, explain!"

Mephistopheles smiled once again at the musician and replied offhandedly, "You should consider this a final favor, because where you are going, they will never turn at all."

Once Mephistopheles had finally departed, the numerous spirits began to cautiously re-emerge from their hiding places while Aristoc Ludwig Pere agonized over his decision, staring at the flimsi manuscripts that contained his life's compositions, and the holodisks that held his greatest recordings.

And there Aristoc sat in the night as he felt the inferno.  He stared into the dark, trying to determine what was eternal, The man?  The moment?  The act?  The reason?

A myriad of thoughts flooded Pere's frantic, pacing mind as he contemplated treason against the dreams he has had come true in his life and the dreams he had pondered when late in the night.  Aristoc's mind wanders to the things he had done and then quickly regretted, while denying vices his life had selected.

And the Ksei thought of what he had done, of what he had yet to begin, and of the man he had become and the man he had been.

Now caught up in a waltz with the eternal dancer... I am courted by death, but death is not the answer I say!  And with all that I was meant to be, could I suddenly decide not a thought would survive?  Could it be that my life's worth ended there with my birth?

Aristoc walked to his window and stared out at the flashes of lightning and the storm rivaling the one in his heart, If I could see someone who had been there before me, and traded his soul for a moment of glory.  His penance or mercy by spirits debated, judged on a scale that has been heavily weighted.  What is it that I could have done?  Could there be such a sin in this man I have become, in this man I have been?

Dropping to his knees, Aristoc looked up to the clouded heavens and shouted out, "Now calling to God from the pit's very bottom, I pray You forgive every sin I have forgotten this day!"  The shadows swirled around the room, cloaks churning memories within Aristoc's mind.  And who would have thought that my fate, it would conjure this twist in the road on which I have wandered.

With each vision, hope and dream now completely dismembered, Aristoc clenched his fists at the possibility of having given his whole life and find nothing would be remembered.  Turning to the shadowy spirits, he bellowed, "What good is a life that leaves nothing behind?  Not a single thought or a mere dream that might echo throughout time?  Why do I find the years and the hours, the seconds and minutes, and every thing that I have put in them betrayed?  Betrayed!"

The shadows merely drifted back from the composer and did not respond.  Now even further crushed by his dilemma, Aristoc turned to Fate and her deformed dwarf son, Twist, and begged for an answer, "The things I have done, the places I have been, the cost of my dreams, the weight of my sins, and everything I have gathered in life... Could it be lost?  Could it be lost in this night?"

Still not receiving a response, Aristoc Pere tore anxiously at his mind, trying to recall the particular actions in his life that have led to this damnation.  As he recollected situation after situation, he grew more irritated and in his anger, Aristoc confronted Fate with ferocity in his voice that caused the shadows to shirk even farther from him, "You have dealt me such a cruel hand in life!  It is your fault, my damnation this night!"

Taken aback by the accusation, Fate finally addressed the Ksei artiste, "I will make you an offer then.  I will review your entire life with you and shall change anything that you wish to change."

Tremendously delighted by this unexpected proposition, Aristoc accepted the offer without a moment's hesitation.

Fate smiled kindly upon Aristoc's graying head and asked, "Where is that you wish to start in your life?"

After a moment of assiduous assessment, Aristoc answered, "My childhood.  The first thing I wish to change is my childhood..."

As he finished the last word, all of the shadows span around the room in a blinding swirl of obscure darkness in which Fate was the only glowing light, and then Aristoc's mind was filled with absolute blackness.  Suddenly the darkness ended with a flash of light and Aristoc stood with only Fate, watching a young boy playing a piano while a tall, willowy blonde tutor watched over the boy's shoulder with an expression of frustration and dissatisfaction upon his face.  Although playing quite excellently for his age with a dedicated passion, he was playing below the tutor's expectations.  The tutor was trying to create a maestro of the piano and the young boy was far from that title.

"Could it be..." Aristoc softly mumbled while staring, "Could it actually be...?"

"Yes, Aristoc Ludwig Pere, that is you as a child.  Here at the young age of thirty one standard years, it is nearly eighty nine years before that fateful battle you lost your arm and then entered into the service of Oniari Iseth..."

Still staring at the boy, it was indeed  himself at such a young age, the landscape outside the window showed Ksei I, his home world, his dead home world.

Aristoc Pere was witnessing the start of his musical passions blossoming before his eyes once again...

(2000+ words)

 
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Aristoc = Doc = Riqimo

Wow....

Well done mate.

TALLY!
 
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SCAP, WADJ/1LT Corran "Arturus" Hargraves/STCR Doashim/1Flt/VE/VEN/(=A=)(=SA=)(=*MA*=)(=JCPA=)(=SCPA=)[MC:1](x2)[SV][BRC][VC:B][CBV][LSM][LoR][BWC][SWC][GWC][LoC-DD][CM-PL]