Trevor was relaxing in his bed aboard the Atrus. Next to him he could feel Toks breathing deeply, her eyes close and shutting out any of the light from his reading lamp that reached her face. He gently brushed a strand of her curly brown hair away from her face before grinning inwardly and picking up the dossier that was resting across his lap. The plain brown folder could have been anything from tax information to a file full of old love letters, but with Trevor’s luck it was the brief for an upcoming mission. He stared blankly down at the pages, trying to will his mind to decipher the words in his exhausted state. He had been unable to sleep due to the pain of his cracked and bruised ribs from a crash landing during his previous mission; one that he had correctly predicted would make Toki furious at him.

”I’m glad you made it through, but do you know how dangerous that was?!” Tokijin said loudly to the man she had cornered in their quarters. Yes, she loved him, but every time he came close to killing himself it upset her. If she hadn’t already felt sorry for ribs he’d broken she probably would have slapped him for worrying her so badly, but she restrained herself.

Trevor nodded and took in everything she had to say to him. He knew just as well as she was just stressed about him leaving to face death every other day while she stayed back on leave. He’d offered her a position back in Nazgul on more then one occasion, but she continually told him that she still needed to be away, regardless of how much it worried her with him gone.

“You should have ejected once you got close enough to the ship, instead of pulling a Shazam and trying to land it in the hanger!” She said, her tone slowly beginning to descend back to normal. Trevor knew right away that she was referring to the time over a year ago when their commander; now wing commander, had attempted a similar maneuver with similar results. Trevor nodded his head to admit defeat.

“I’m sorry Toks, I mean it. You know what the risks are though, and you know that ejecting has just as high of a risk of dying as trying to land it does.” He said, taking both her hands in his own. “How about I make it up to you by cooking a fancy dinner and spending the whole night together. I’ll ignore everything but you tonight.” He told her. She looked at him for a moment before her frown faded and a reluctant grin took its place.

“You’re such a jerk, you’re not supposed to be this hard to stay mad at.” She said with a small laugh as she punched him playfully in the shoulder.

Trevor flipped once more through the pages of the brief before tossing it onto the floor and turning off his reading lamp. The details in the folder were too much for his tired mind, although he did remember reading something about a new transfer or two, and a shakeup to the flight system in Nazgul. Rubbing his eyes and throwing an arm around Tokijin, Trevor allowed the thoughts of any upcoming mission to pass out of his mind, thus letting his mind slip into sleep.

*** The Following Morning ***

Trevor woke to the smell of pancakes burning in the small kitchen of the quarters. Their quarters were set up much like a small apartment, having a single bedroom and a living area combined with a kitchen. Normally all three of these would have been rolled into a single room, but Trevor thanked the fact that he was a Squadron Commander and a larger room was one of the perks. He shrugged off the blankets and twisted out of bed, his feet finding the floor a little too cold for his enjoyment.

He lurched to the kitchen and coughed a few times as he breathed in the smoke that was issuing from the frying pan. He turned the heat off on the stove and slid the pan off the burner. The smoke slowly began to thin out as the ship’s air cleansing system sucked the smoke away from his kitchen. Trevor looked around the room and spotted a note left on the counter. He picked it up and glanced at it, determining from Tok’s strangely untidy scrawl that she had been in a rush when she wrote it.

I’ve got a meeting with a few other techs to discuss some minor situations onboard the Atrus and don’t have time to stick around. I’ll talk to you later, enjoy the pancakes : ). Love Toki

Trevor glanced back at the burnt pancakes and shrugged, grabbing the frying pan by its handle and tipping it upside down. To his dismay none of the pancakes fell out of the pan, meaning he would have to fend for himself. Setting the frying pan in the sink he turned back into the bedroom and gathered a few clean clothes and his data pad. He typed out a quick message to the rest of his squadron detailing when and where the briefing would be, then set it aside and climbed into the ‘fresher.

Trevor’s mind wandered all over the place as he washed himself off. It covered topics of Tokijin and her burnt breakfast, then to the upcoming mission that, judging from the briefing, almost seemed to be something out of a sci-fi holo. He ignored these thoughts and finished his shower. After getting dressed he grabbed a few important items; like the mission folder, his data pad, and his wallet, then left his room for the mess hall.

The confines of the Atrus had become almost as familiar as the back of his hand, although he was not dumb enough to kid himself that he still couldn’t get lost within the kilometers upon kilometers of hallways within the ship. Finding the mess hall closest to his quarters was easy enough though, and the briefing rooms for the navy side of things weren’t hard to come by either. Pushing open one of the swinging doors to the mess hall, Trevor took his place in line to collect a light breakfast. Grabbing a pair of muffins and a water bottle, he looked at the group of mostly empty tables before spotting someone he recognized.

Tomas was seated at one of the tables nearer the door, going over a folder of his own and chewing absentmindedly on a mouthful of eggs. Trevor strode over and sat down across from him, laughing inwardly when Tomas didn’t even look up.

“So how’s the new commander of Viper squadron doing?” Trevor asked, this time laughing aloud when Tomas jumped. He looked up at Trevor and grinned, slowly closing the folder and turning back to his breakfast.

“I’m not doing too bad. Last mission was all right, but it’s all the post-mission paperwork that surprised me. I never remembered having to do that when I was your XO.” Tomas explained. Trevor and Tomas had flown together for quiet a long amount of time, and both pilots respected each other for their piloting skills. Tomas had been moved out of Nazgul when the naval command had decided to close down Kaph squadron and open Viper. Tomas was selected and left the squadron without an XO, but Trevor didn’t worry about it too much. “How about Nazgul?”

“We got back from a mission a little while ago, something to do with some small band of pirates. We’re scheduled to leave on another later today, but the details to this one are pretty crazy. I almost don’t believe half of it, but hey, I just do the flying.” Trevor said with a laugh, pulling the top off one of the muffins and shoving the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment as Tomas asked him another question.

“What exactly are you guys headed off to do?” Tomas asked, glancing at the dossier Trevor had set down on the table next to his tray.

“Nothing major, just some scouting work over some ocean planet. We got to fly some fancy sensor TIEs, but aside from that it’s pretty boring work.” Trevor said with a mouth full of muffin, doing his best not to spray Tomas with crumbs.

“So why’s that so unbelievable?” Tomas continued, pushing his empty tray aside and watching Trevor.

“Well, you can’t let this slip, but the folder contains some info about a weapon causing all the weird things we’re supposed to be surveying. Stuff like giant waves, gigantic whirlpools in the middle of the ocean, incredible waterspouts shooting kilometers into the air. Some pretty crazy stuff, if you ask me.” Trevor explained, showing Tomas a few blurry images of what appeared to be puncture wounds in the ocean’s skin, and something that looked like a giant pillar of water rising from the ocean.

“That’s pretty weird stuff. Hopefully you can at least give the rest of the VE a hand in figuring out what’s going on. Anyhow, I’ve got to get going, we’re having a Viper meeting in a little while and I need to get everything ready.” Tomas explained, excusing himself from the table and gathering his things. He gave Trevor a nod before heading out through the doors. Trevor was left alone to stare down at the odd images on the papers in front of him as he continued to eat the muffins he had in extra large pieces.

*** In the Briefing Room ***

Trevor and Riel stood at the front of the briefing room, quietly discussion a few details of the mission while the rest of Nazgul squadron filed in. When the entire squadron had showed up and taken their seats in the auditorium-like room, Trevor took his spot in front of the microphone and looked out at his audience.

“I’d like to thank all of you for showing up, but I’m not going to waste too much time with pleasantries as our mission schedule has just been moved forward by 4 hours.” Trevor explained, and then glanced back at Riel. “I’m going to now open the floor to Riel, who will be giving the briefing.” With that, Trevor stepped aside and allowed the tactical commander to take his spot in front of the podium.

“Greetings. The planet you see behind me is the planet Yamar, recently taken under VE control. The planet itself is covered entirely with water, but the floating cities that spot it’s surface are a great source of commercial revenue through tourism and trade. We’ve been having some trouble of Yamar as of late, mostly with small rebellions within the cities that float on its surface, as well as some reports of piracy against VE controlled vessels. Nothing that our military contingents on the planet couldn’t handle, but recently we started hearing reports of gigantic ocean disruptions.

“As you can see by the photograph behind me, we’ve received some transmissions of very destructive forces of nature.” Riel paused, glancing over his shoulder at the holographic projection of a wave that towered hundreds of feet into the air, frozen in time before it would have crushed the bow of the ship it was bearing down upon. The picture changed a moment later, this time to an aerial view of the planet’s surface.

“On this photograph, the various puncture marks that you see on the oceans are actually huge whirlpools, the largest of which stretched over two-hundred and fifty kilometers across. The smaller ones tend to stretch only a few kilometers across, but sometimes these monsters appear that caused huge amounts of destruction. The one that measured two-fifty across caused one of the smaller floating cities to settle on the sea floor, before the water came rushing back in and destroyed the entire city. It was a great lose to the planet, with an estimated fourteen million dead.”

Riel paused once more as the picture changed, this time showing a much higher detailed photo of the waterspout that Trevor had in his information dossier. Trevor hadn’t been able to see it in his copy, but the walls of the waterspout seemed to contain at least three ships.

“This disaster picked up three of the VE’s supply ships, raising them more then two kilometers into the air before spitting them out and shattering them like glass against the surface below.” Riel explained, the holo-projecter behind him shutting down automatically. A hand shot into the air from the crowd. Trevor recognized the owner of the hand as Jegora Fal, one of the newest pilots to Nazgul.

“If this is all natural phenomenon, what do you want us to do about it?” He asked, lowering his hand as an after thought. A second later an unsure expression crossed his face, almost as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask questions.

“I was just getting to that, thank you, Mr. Fal. As he said, if this was natural we wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. We have reason to believe that this is caused by sentient beings though. Yamar has had a history of having some of the calmest seas within a large amount of space. For it to suddenly change its attitude and start causing this amount of destruction, it’s just unthinkable. We’ve monitored various areas of the planet’s vital signs, and found that the magnetic field around the planet is being disrupted huge amounts just before each anomaly.” Riel walked over to the projected and inserted a disk. This time a rotating view of the planet showed up, with a detailed 3-dimensional grid expanded outside the planet. From time to time the grid would twist, deform, or bend, and each time it did it was followed by one of the disasters on the surface.

“Many of the VE scientists believe that someone on the planet has created a way to disrupt the flow of the magnetic field around Yamar, and that they are using the to spread destruction across the planet. It is going to be Nazgul’s job, while flying specially outfitted sensor TIEs, to do your best to locate the area of the planet where the disruptions are coming from. This will most likely locate the weapon and whoever is controlling it. At this point, a triplet of army squads will be supplied from your support craft, a dreadnaught by the name of Cyclops.

“This is all for the briefing. You leave in approximately two hours, so I suggest you start gathering your belongings and get them aboard the shuttle that will take you across to the Cyclops. Good luck, men.” Riel finished, turning on his heel and giving a few more words to Trevor before they exchanged salutes and Riel strode out of the room.

“You heard the man, let’s get ready and go see what we can find out.” Trevor said, gesturing towards the door. He grinned to himself. This mission should be a good break from our normal operations. A nice relaxing vacation. . .A Nazgul vacation. . .Crap.

Rogue woke up with a start, bolting upright in bed, blaster coming up to. He almost always slept with a blaster at the ready. Didn't matter where he was. Well there was one place he didn't, and that was on his personal freighter. Don't really need to on the Ranger. Theres more than enough hidden in my quarters. But he wasn't currently on the Ranger. So just in case, he looked around the room. He was in the bare bones quarters he had been assigned to on the Atrus. He had stumbled here last night from one of the ship's bars since it was closer than his freighter located in one of the Atrus' many hangar bays.

Satifised nothing was wrong, he lowered the pistol and laid it aside. He kicked off the blankets and swung his bare feet to the cold metal floor. His quarters were typical for the average Navy pilot. The bunk, lockers, and desk were either built in or attached to the walls. There was a single chair to go with the desk and the standard imperial navy computer interface. He got to his feet, and made his way across the small room, to the attached refresher. It was the size of some closets he had seen, but it was enough for him. He showered and shaved, taking extra care to trim the goatee he had starting going on the return from the last mission. He was almost done when his comlink in the other room went off with an incoming message. He finished his shower and went to check the message.

He checked the message and let out a groan. It was from his squad CO, they had another mission scheduled already. He pulled on another standard issue black flight suit and stuffed his personal items into his pockets. Wish I could strap my blasters on, but can't do that on the command ship. Instead, he retrieved the blaster from the bed, and shoved it into his helmet bag to join its brother hidden there. He yanked on his boots, and he was ready to go.

One of the ship's many mess halls wasn't too far. But close on a ship the size of the Atrus was a statement in itself. He didn't know if it was luck, chance or what else, but for some reason, the quarters he had, were in a different section of the ship from the rest of the squadron. Probably has something to do in relation to my previous stint in the squadron, since i'm in the same quarters I was in then. He filed through the line, picking and choosing several items for breakfest, including a large mug of strong coffee, before heading for a table out of the way.

He ate quickly and quietly. No one bothered him, so it didn't take long to finish his fried potatoes, sausages, and biscuits. He lingered over a glass of juice, then bused his tray and headed for the briefing room. A few minutes later, he stepped into the briefing room. He grabbed another cup of coffee from the standard issue Navy dispenser, and found a seat.

He listened to the briefing, but didn't ask any questions. It just sounded like a really strange mission to him. As soon as they were dismissed, he left the briefing room and headed for his freighter. He hadn't said a word the entire time he had been in the briefing room. He made his way to his personal ship and picked up a duffel bag of gear. By the time had done that, he still had over an hour to wait. And if things went like normal, the hangar where the shuttle would pick them up wasn't far from where the Ranger was hangared. So he left his freighter and went looking for a terminal to find out the specs of these sensor TIEs they were going to fly.

Rogue slowly walked through the catwalks of the Cyclops meagar hangar bay. The squadron had transfered over to the Dreadnaught and been assigned quarters. By the time that was done, the ship was already in hyperspace. He had deposited his bags in his room, but hadn't stayed there long. After strapping on his blasters He had head out exploring the ship, using the time to think. A Dreadnaught like the Cyclops was smaller than the Atrus but it was still a big ship. In a kind of irony, his time aboard the ship had started in her hangar bay and he had come back there. The bay was filled with the squadron's 12 TIE/RC recon fighters.

At least they could have issued us the Mark II Vanguard models. With their bent wings, they would do a lot better in the atmosphere than these Mark I versions. But we have to work with that they issue us.

He left his place observing the techs working on the fighters and started walking again. It wasn't really too far to the nearest of the ship's cargo bays. Typically on ships like the Dreadnaughts that were not orginally designed to carry large numbers of fighters, one or more cargo bays were converted to serve has hangar bays. So he couldn't help himself, to find out if the Cyclops had any spare fighters tucked away. He made his way down from the hangar access level to the main deck. As he approached one of the doors leading into the cargo bay, a member of one of the tech crews just happened to be coming out. As the tech cleared the doorway, Rogue stepped inside.

Looks like I was right.

The familiar shapes of catwalks streched across the room's ceiling. Several fighters hung from the racks and several more craft of what looked like bombers, waited to launch once the doors were opened. Since he had come in from one of the regular deck levels, he had to climb up the ladder to reach the catawalks that allowed the pilots access to the fighter's boarding hatches. He made it up to the catawalks and made his way along them, trying to determine just what types of fighters were in the racks.

Looks like 6 standard Tie fighters.

He leaned over the railing to try and tell if they were bombers on the deck or something else.

They looks like standard bombers, but something is different about two of them.

Once he had made his way around to a different vantage point, he was able to tell just what was different about those two. The shape he hadn't be able to make out was a large disc mounted on a pylon that came out from the port pod. The disc was a large array used to detect and transmit electronic signals, such as those used to jam enemy sensors. The array combined with the other equipment onboard could be used not only jamming and electronic interference, but also to extended communications if the mission required it.

Such birds are rare even on most Star Destroyers, so why does a Dreadnaught have two onboard. The 6 fighters and four bombers make sense, but not these two. Something just doesn't feel right about this mission.

He collected his thoughts and worries, and left the cargo bay, heading back to his quarters.  The trip through hyperspace wasn't supposed to take that long, and if he had his time right, it would soon be time grab his gear and mount up.

Raigen looked at the pictures studiously, examining them for a clue as to their source.  Maybe a machine or device of some type.  He was deep in thought until Trevor mentioned magnetic fields.  It was all the things in the scifi holos Raigen had never watched.  He had always been more interested in what part would squeeze another .25 MGLT out of his drive engines. Raigen scrolled through his briefing file before closing it all together.  Nothing in the file would help him.  What he needed to do was get inside the sensor ties and see how they fly, how they feel.  He had to make the ship a part of him before he could fly it.  Raigen leaned back and listened to Trevor finish the briefing.

Chief Petty Officer Casca Phennir was the opposite.  He studied the briefing twice over, memorized the flight plan, and made a mental not of the sensor tie's modifications and schematics before he was satisfied with himself.  And all this was an hour before the briefing.  Mr. Phennir arrived at the briefing fifteen minutes early to give himself time to look over the file a third time.  Lieutenant Evenson and Rear Admiral Fury arrived five minutes later.  Chief Phennir rose sharply to attention as soon as he caught site of the Admiral.  Admiral Fury gave him the signal to be at ease and commented to the Lieutenant that he must be the Thrawnist he had heard so much about.  Lieutenant Evenson nodded and grinned at Phennir, but he was back to studying and didn't notice.

"Glad to have you back Casca.  You were out with Bantha Flu for longer than expected.  Were there problems in the medical bay?"  Chief Phennir's CO rarely made conversation with him, and their relationship had been strictly business so far.  On top of that, the mentioning of his ailment had made him even more uncomfortable.  Mr. Phennir had felt that sickness was a sign of weakness, and so he stared at the ground for a moment before retaining his military image and apathy.  Bantha Flu was a Tatooine based, airborne virus that lasted anywhere from one week to one month unless treated right.  While not deadly, it came with severe fatigue and a horrible cold.  The flu had grounded the Petty Officer for a whole galactic season(Fall), and until recently he was not allowed to fly.

"Yes sir.  The medical administrator assigned to me was restationed on the Doashim halfway through treatment.  The next doctor couldn't see me for a week.  Then the infidel injected me with sujacilin.  I was in a coma for four weeks."  Mr. Phennir looked around as more pilots filled in the briefing room.  He looked at the new stripes on many of the pilots.  Many of them were new faces but sported the rank of Petty Officer 2nd Class.  Not long ago, Chief Casca was a PO2.  It seemed they were giving away the rank these days.  He would have to work on his studies soon or the whole navy would catch up with him.

Raigen was the last to enter, but he was still a minute early, he took a seat in the back and relaxed as the briefing started.  Raigen was young, but was dangerously close to two years in the Navy.  He was still under the age requirement but his file said he was almost 20.  There were hundreds of VE under the limit, but with modern technology came modern hacking and it was easy to change a person's personal file.  In a few years, Raigen would realter his personel folder to give his actual age.

The message had gone out, and now Rogue as well as the others were strapped into their fighters, helmets on, engines ready, waiting to launch. Trevor and his three wingman making up Flight One went first. Rogue then lead his four of Two Flight out, with Max leading his flight of four out last. They formed up as a squadron and started toward the planet. The Cyclops had let them go early, well before she entered orbit, but this wasn't exactly a combat mission. The extra flight time would give the squadron more time to work on their formation flying. 

They were around halfway to the planet when Trevor's voice came over the com.

"Lead to Squadron. There's been a change of plans." He announced. We're not going to be returning to the Cyclops after this first run. Instead, we will be landing on one of the floating cities, appropriately named Summit. We will be using it for a base for the rest of the mission search."

Rogue could hear someone grumbling from someone in the squadron but the com distorted the voice enough he couldn't recognize it. He could kind of sympathize with the pilot, but he had learned long ago to be prepared for such changes. So in his pilot pack he not only had his weapons, he also had a spare flight suit. Trevor quickly came back on the radio.

"It won't be so bad. Our personal gear will be brought down from the ship. And I was told their might even be a slight chance of leave time if we get the mission done early."

"And hey guys" Rogue broke in to the conversation "You all know how the ladies on planets like this, especially the science types, just LOVE us fighter pilots!"

That brought out a wave of catcalls and celebrating from the squadron. Everyone liked shore leave and the chance for some female compaionship. The 11 Tie/rc's headed for the planet at a steady crusing pace, entering the atmosphere at a fairly shallow angle. Such an angle was neccessary since the recon Ties didn't have shields. So they had to come in just right, not too shallow or not too steep.

The 12 fighters sank down into the atmosphere, heading for the first recon zone. Since they were going to be opertating from one of the cities, it made since to recon the areas that they flew over on the approach to the city. Doing such would give them a jump start on the search for this weapon they were looking for.

"Lead to Squadron. Assume recon formation" Trevor ordered.

Rogue broke to starboard, his flight following, while Three flight went to port, and One flight slowed. Each flight stayed in its finger four formation, but now the squadron was lined up in a shallow V. One flight was the center, with Two and Three flights slight aft to each side forming the arms. Three mini-V's forming one larger V. It almost looked like a staggered line of fighters, which was the point. Each flight had loosed its formation to spread the fighters out until their recon sensors just over lapped. This let them cover the most area the fastest. 

***One Hour later***

The recon was proceeding along, the sensors running, the Ties flying along as if on autopilot. Well most of them probably were. The recon Tie was only the third model Rogue had ever seen with an autopilot feature. The other two were the highly advanced Tie Defender model and the Tie Avenger. Both of those models had multiple weapon mounts and hyperdrives. Now the Tie/rc's didn't mount a hyperdrive, but since it did most of its flying in a straight line, it did mount a basic autopilot.

So Rogue personally was content to let the autopilot handle the fighter. Flying in a straight was very boring. But that didn't mean he didn't have his hands ready to take the controls if something happened. He hadn't lived as long as he had by putting complete faith in the computers. But soon the autopilots would go off and the pilots would take the controls for the approach and landing. The floating city named Summit that was their destination was just now coming in to sight.

"Lead to Squadron. There is our home for the next couple of days." Trevor radioed. "But now for the bad news. Someone has to complete this sweep while the others head for the barn. Two Flight your elected. Rogue, you and your boys complete the sweep around the city, then catch up with us. Have to make sure our home is safe."

"Five to Lead. Roger that." Rogue radioed back. He knew his people didn't want to be the ones to complete the sweep but someone had to do it. And Two Flight was made up of all experienced pilots compared to the mix in the other flights.

"Five to Flight" he called. "Maintain altitude and course when the others break away."

"See you in the city boys." someone called as One and Three Flights broke formation and descended, heading for the city.

Rogue and his flight stayed at altitude and continued on. They reformed to a line abreast and started around the city. It took three full circuits of the city to sweep the designated distance. On each circuit, the fighters had moved further out. Finally the sweep was done and it was time to land.

"Five to Flight. Ok, that's it. Sweep complete. Let's get to the barn." Rogue radioed.

He lead the four fighters back to the city. According to the data he had, their landing pad was at a military base of sorts, near the center of the city. The approach was kind of tricky, since the city was technically moving, rising and falling with the effects of the tide.

It looks like that city I read about in the archives. The city on another water world, Manaan I think it was.

But all four fighters made it into the hangar, and settled to the deck. Rogue shut down his fighter, and unstrapped, then popped the canopy. He pulled off his helmet and shoved it into its bag, which he had dug out of a pocket designed for it behind the seat. Once it was stowed, he pulled himself up through the hatch and sat on the cockpit rim, waiting for a tech to push a ladder over.

A crash, a voice calling his name. Aslond rolled out of bed, his bladed staff rolling into his hand from its normal resting place by his side. Somebody at one point had said that making friends with a man like Aslond was like sleeping with a blade, but his Lyaer'tsa stayed with him at all times that it was possible, and he had never been injured. No, Aslond was a lot more dangerous than any Lyaer'tsa.

There it was again, the voice calling his name. The sound was so close, yet so far away. It called his name from inside of his own head, yet it sounded like it came from the other side of his quarters. The warm feel of leather comforted him as he stalked into his main room, vibroblade humming. There was nothing there, as usual.

You're crazy. There's no voice, why do you always do this to yourself? Aslond thought to himself, seeking sanctity in his own mind.

Aslond! Came the booming sound from inside his own mind, a voice so real and familar that he just could not place.

"What? Show yourself and die." Aslond called out, voice calm and steady as always. His cold blue eyes surveyed the room, steel grips on anything that dared to place itself out of the norm. His quarters, basic for a graduated pilot awaiting orders. He had no personal additions to the room besides his own clothes and his Lyaer'tsa.

Die Aslond... The voice muttered in his head. This was always happening, the voice was always the same and yet always different. He could never place it, so close to understanding yet so far away from his own reality. Sometimes it was quiet, sometimes it was loud. It never made any since other than its simple command to die, something he had longed to do for a long time, but never seen the point. If he died, the voice won and he was weak. That was not an option.

Aslond dressed in his typical dress of flowing robes that clung a little tight around the legs. They were not typical dress for a pilot but he was not assigned to anything or anybody other than the base and had yet to be admonished for it. Part of that lay in his 'strange' nature as it had been classified. He had never really been disturbed or bothered by anybody, strange enough.

He left the sparse quarters with the mess in mind, early dinner being prepared while some of the late lunch was still available. The constant motion of the city had seemed to strange at him first, causing a minor sea-sickness until he had become acustomed to its buck and roll. The seas here were unusually calm but had randomly become a little rough.

Walking through the line he picked up a few foods here and there, some form of lightly cut meat, but mostly heavy cut meats. His species pointed teeth weren't fit for much else, and his lekku twitched at the very thought of surviving on greens and vegetables.

His normal place place at the far corner of the room nearest the door was undisturbed, but as he sit down he got a fanciful look from a young Navy cadet who was standing near his table, recieving encouragement from a friend with strong looks. Aslond raised only an eyebrow in her direction before he said down and gracefully manuvered a peice of steak into his mouth, mutliple incisors tearing the meat.

"Um, good afternoon." Aslond looked up to find the girl standing infront of his table, holding a tray of mostly greens and moving a bit on her feet as if unaware of how to go about. Aslond snorted to himself and turned back to his food.

"Is this seat taken?" She asked, not waiting for an answer, and sat down and proceded to stuff a peice of green in her mouth rather brutishly before she looked up at him.

"My friend, told me your name is Aslond, and that you are a space pilot." She said, looking at him over a glass of water, as if hiding from him while awaiting an answer.

"That's correct." Aslond replied as he brought another peice of steak to his mouth, now watching her as a bird would watch a mouse.

"I'm a tech, just graduated. I used to work for my daddy in his repair shop before the Empire took, I meen before we decided to join the Vast Empire. Now I work on ships like yours. What did you do before you joined?" She asked, as she rambled on in a rather blunt manner.

Aslond finished his steak, leaving only the cold cuts on his plate as he placed his fork down, Lekku twitching in aggitation. He got this a lot, women that is. They just didn't interest him, whether because they couldn't deal with who he is, or if it was because of what that wretched woman had done to him. He was athletic, physically fit, good looking, and something of an exotic. Between being a Twi'lek, he was also a Rutian and had long lekku to boot.

"I was a pirate, wanted for multiple charges of slavery and piracy, along with a murder." He said, cracking his knucles as he watched the expected response of a dropped jaw and wide eyes. She just couldn't find anything to say.

"Look miss, I'm not quite sure what your friend over there has told you, but I am far from your type, and you are far from mine. You're pitching in all the wrong ball parks here." He said to her as he left, her stammering something between him being an 'ass' and a 'jerk' along with a few other insults to the size of his manlyhood. He disposed of his trash and was heading back to his quarters when his datapad beeped with the sound of a recieved message.

--Crewman Aslond Von, you are to report to Squadron Commander Trevor Evenson. You are hereby assigned to Nasgul Squadron. His quarters are found in Building C-17, adjacent to Hangar Two. That is all. --

Adrus sighed and didn't even bother to head back to his room. His items, save his Lyaer'tsa would be moved to his new quarters with his new squadron. He found his Lyaer'tsa sitting in Hangar B in a special durasteel case. Grabbing this, he headed towards Building C-17 and Trevor's quarters, stopping outside the door and knocking.

Trevor was relaxing on his bunk after a short dinner at the mess haul. The ceiling above him had a slight tinge to it that suggested someone had, at one point, decided to throw a cup of coffee at the roof and see what happened. Aside from this stain there was nothing of interest on the ceiling, or elsewhere in the room. He liked it though. He had sent a request to the bases library to have some older-style printed books sent up to his room, which would keep him occupied during his time spent there. Maybe I’ll bring some along for the search runs too…Let the ship do the flying, I’ll read a book. He thought to himself with a lopsided smirk on his face. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp beep coming from his data pad.

Commander Evenson, you have a new recruit being placed in your squadron, as well as a few deletions. Aslond Van is being added and his bio is being uploaded as you read this. Rustichituk, Cyleaf, and Atrick are being deleted from the squadron. They will be picked up later tomorrow to be transferred back to the Cyclops. Aslond should be arriving to meet you shortly. Good luck.

Trevor was about to wonder why the message would tell him good luck when he heard a sharp rapping on his door. He jumped at the sound, then shook his head and chuckled quietly to himself at his nervousness. He quickly got off his bed and strode over to the door, tapping the access with the edge of his data pad and watching the door slide open.

Before him stood a tall, blue Twi’lek. The humanoid was almost as tall as Trevor, stretching to within an inch of his own height. Trevor did something somewhat unexpected for the Twi’lek across from him and stuck out his hand instead of a salute. The Twi’lek almost jumped at the motion, but realized what Trevor was doing and shook his hand.

“No salute?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the commander.

“I’m off duty.” Trevor replied with a grin. He stepped back from the doorway and motioned with an arm for the other man to enter. He did so with a second’s hesitation. After he had entered the room, the door slid shut behind him and he leaned a long durasteel case against the wall. Trevor didn’t question what was in the case, knowing by now that it wasn’t always best to ask questions. “Seeing as I’m off duty, I feel obliged to offer you some sort of drink, and also to request that you don’t bother with calling me sir.” Trevor explained, the final word rolling off his tongue with a sound of disgust.

It was common knowledge of his friends and squadron mates that he disliked being called such, as it made him feel as if he was losing what it was like to be a regular pilot. If he was issuing an order it was different, he still expected the ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’ response, but when it came to questions or basic greetings, he despised it.

“No thank you.” The Twi’lek replied, and Trevor was slightly shocked but also equally pleased. The man didn’t even begin to say the word ‘sir’, like most pilots did when Trevor presented them with similar situations. Trevor nodded and put away the glasses he had already gotten out. He took a seat at the table anyways, the Twi’lek following suit a moment later. Looking across the table, Trevor was unsure if the person opposite of him had any sort of distinct feelings towards him, bothering him slightly. He always liked to be able to read those he was dealing with.

“Tell me about yourself a little bit then, Aslond.” Trevor said, setting his hands in front of him and interlocking his fingers. The Twi’lek stared at him for a moment before speaking. Trevor noted the rows of teeth in the mouth of his new pilot and felt an odd tingle in his spine.

“My name is Aslond Van, I joined the Vast Empire after being given a choice between here or prison. Don’t take me as another criminal prison-system reject though. I’ve wanted to be in the Empire since I was a child, but my dream got. . .sidetracked.” Aslond explained. Trevor didn’t flinch at anything involving the prisoner part. He’d dealt with his fair share of ex-cons and other varieties of weirdoes, and none seemed to make any of the others look any different. This was just another typical recruit for him. Even he had a criminal background, so he wasn’t one to be able to judge.

“Fair enough. Have you been briefed on our mission over the next few weeks?” Trevor asked, watching the Rutian’s blue eyes with his own. The Twi’lek shook his head, the Lekku dancing slightly as his head moved. Trevor slid a thin folder, containing a single sheet of paper, across the table to his new pilot. “This is our mission while we are here. As you can see, it fits on a single sheet of paper, and thus is very simple. We’re doing recon work. Very boring, dull, simple; not the best time to join us if you’re looking for action, but beggars can’t be choosers, correct? You can read the details on your own, it’s a mouthful for me to explain verbally.” Trevor said, glancing at the folder. He wasn’t lying; although the mission was simple, the way the folks who wrote the brief up didn’t bother putting it in the simplest form.

The Twi’lek nodded and opened the folder, withdrew the piece of paper. Glancing at the words for a moment, he folded it in half twice then put it into his pocket. Trevor looked at him almost awaiting some sort of question or statement, but after a few moments when nothing appeared he shrugged internally and decided to dismiss the pilot to his own quarters.

“If you’ve got no further questions. . .” Trevor said, gave the man a few seconds incase he had a question, then continued, “I’ll dismiss you to your quarters now. Enjoy a night of hard work, the real relaxation comes tomorrow.” Trevor grinned, referencing the boringness of a recon flight of this nature. The Twi’lek rose, followed by Trevor. The shook hands once more and Aslond left the room, retrieving his case from the wall before he did so.

“Hmm…He’s a bit different, but I’ve definitely had worse. I think.” Trevor shrugged to himself, glancing at his data pad. Naval command had uploaded the bio and personal information of Aslond while Trevor had been interviewing him. Trevor stared at the pad for a while debating whether or not to read the newest message. He sighed and opened it, but not without realizing that the bio and information sent to him was over 45 pages of data. The biography and mental report of the pilot took up 27 pages alone, causing Trevor to shake his head and rub his eyes. He turned behind him and grabbed a bottle of light alcohol, and without even grabbing a glass, took a sip of it and stared down at the data pad.

“This job is going to drive me to drink. I wish Toks was here. . .At least then I’d have someone to keep me company while I read this. I’m not even thirsty.” He said to himself as he glanced at the bottle and set it down just within arm’s reach. Completing this motion he resigned himself to spending the rest of his next few hours awake reading and re-reading this Twi’lek’s biography.

OOC: Someone can have us lift off the following day, if they so wish to do. I believe Castor has a nice little idea he’s going to use once we get into the air for a second time. Rogue, I’ll try and talk to you and let you know how things will go with the rest of the storyline.

Aslond rolled out of bed and landed on the floor in a crouching stance, hand reaching for his Lyaer'tsa. The long staff, ending with a vibroblade, was his only true friend. Ever since the love of his life had betrayed him he had only had himself, his Lyaer'tsa and flying.

With a quick snap of the wrist, his staff-blade folded down into three parts that he placed in his smaller durasteel case. Barely small enough to fit where his survival pack was supposed to go, it suited him well. He still had his emergency ejection pack attached to the back of his chair, but that weapon was more important to him then anything.

Aslond set the durasteel case down outside the refresher and stepped inside to shower down. Showering had always been something of a personal joy, rigging his refresher to change from hot to cold. The sensations on his lekku were the most wonderfull experience. He had never had any body hair to worry about, and his scarred body had always been his own pride. The well toned muscle, mixed with textured blue skin that signified a status amongst his people was a personal triumph that despite the scars covering his body, he was still a walking perfection. His parents would be proud.

He donned his leather flight suit, his new squadron on the suit. The suit had always fitted him weird, his Lekku wrapped around his neck and down to his chest, making him feel rather constricted. He generally flew without a helmet except when forced to, but he did not know how his new squadron commander would feel about him not wearing a helmet, which was is technically against regulations. Trevor, that was an interesting person if one to watch. He was a little too friendly and Aslond didn't quite trust him.

In the hangar Aslond got to survey the TIEs he would be flying. He had flown quite a few ships before, but as a fighter the TIE Interceptor was the best suited for his type of flying. Fast, hard to hit, and packing quite a punch. The added shields helped a lot compared to the into-the-shredder flying of the old TIEs. He had yet to survey the inside of the ship and the recon equipment he had been told would be there, but he waa sure it wouldn't get in his way of flying.

Half of the squadron mixed between staring at the Twi'lek with his lekku hanging out and holding a durasteel case like it was a weapon, but a few just ignored him. He noted the small size, atleast for a squadron. A squadron was supposed to be 12 men, not 8. As Trevor gave out the flight orders Aslond payed attention, but also watched each of his new squadron members. For pilots they seemed to all be pretty tall, most his height or taller. Not exactly good for such a small space.

When they were dismissed to their birds, Aslond turned to his with a sort of sigh. It had been a while since he had his hands on the controls of a ship that wasn't closely monitored or could be remotely controlled elsewhere. He knew he couldn't leave, the TIE Interceptor didn't have hyperspace capability for him to make any sort of escape, but where would he go? Hunter by both the Empire and the New Republic he would enter his old life of piracy and slavery, but to what avail? Aslond shook his head and climbed the ladder to the top of his TIE.

The latch popped open and he slid inside, graceful as he did everything. He carefully placed his Lyaer'tsa in the compartment attached to the bottom of his seat and began to put his helmet on. He smiled, just a little, as he stretched his hands over the controls, doing his pre-flight warm up. Everything was green across the board as far as he could see, and the recon equipment was working just fine too, feeding him information even as he sat in the hangar.

As the squadron headed out of the hangar and into the air Aslond got back into the groove of things. The feel of the engines, the wings cutting through the air, and the Comm chatter.

"Nazgul seven." He called out over the Comm when his turn came. Just as he flipped his autopilot on a voice came over his Comm.

"This is Rogue, your Flight Leader. Nothidng out of the norm, but wanted to lay some things down. I don't pull punches and won't have questions of my authority. Secondly, as we have recently lost a member of our flight we will be flying a three man wing. That meens that everybody watches everyboy's back. This shouldn't really matter as we're flying recon, but you never know. Keep in formation and watch where you're going and you should be fine. Rogue Out." The voice, Rogue apparently, cut off of the Comm as the channel died back to silence. Aslond nodded to no one in particular and relaxed his hands. As the voice had come unexpectantly he had immediantly reached for fire controls and turned the autopilot on. Relaxing back into his chair he flipped the autopilot back on and relaxed.

Aslond...

The voice in his head, calling again. He tried to ignore it, mental battle resuming.

"Go away! I don't know you, you don't belong here! Get out of my head!" Aslond screamed mentally, the echo of his own mind answering only with silence for a while.

"Nazgul One this is Nazgul Eleven. I've got something weird here on the scanner." The voice over the Comm reported. Aslond switched his scanner to pick up Nazgul Eleven's data stream, something he had learned to do in his piracy days to check if the other ship had picked up on his approach yet.

"What do you see?" Trev responded, asking for classic clarification. His tone was level, if a little interested.

"It seems like some sort of opening in the ocean, wait," He said, his Comm dying off for a minute.

"Yea, it's definately opening, but not like a whirlpool or a water spout. It's like somebody has opened hangar bay doors in the ocean. I'm picking up something coming out of it, not sure what."

Aslond....Die

The voice in his boomed and for an instant he was distracted, but he knew something was wrong. He took another look at his scanner read out and flipped on his Comm franticly.

"Rogue, bank down now." He called, just in time. As Rogue dived down, losing altitude a little slower than should have been safe due to their slow speed, but fast enough. Just as he dived twin laser bolts flashed over him, followed quickly by a Liberty-class Assault Gunship.

"Shit, close." Somebody muttered.