The Life of Aarin Smiter:
A Chronological Documentary of a Fascinating Man

Preamble

Name: Aarin Smiter
Callsign: G5
Age: 16
Height: 5' 10"
Weight: 148.3 lbs
Hair Color: Dark Blonde
Eye Color: Blue
Reason for joining the Empire: My life was going nowhere fast, I needed purpose, and it made me feel good about myself
Place of Birth: Lorn IV

Section I

Born in the middle of winter, Aarin Smiter's life began in a bleary way, and continued down the same path for the next thirteen and a half years. He grew up in the Lorn metropolis. His family was middle class, until being killed and scattered. He attended a large, rundown public school, until he dropped out after his parents were killed during 8th grade. At the time taking care of himself and his brother was much more important than school. His life was one of peace, until that fateful morning. He woke up, and his parents weren't home. They had left a message saying that they had gone to pick up groceries. It was nothing special, so he flicked on his datapad and started checking the news from the night. He got kind of worried when his parents weren't home by noon, but it was possible that they had seen someone they knew or their speeder had broken down again.

Within a minute of dismissing his fears he came across an article that interested him. The headline read "5 Dead in Dawn Shooting." He read through the article and got to the part listing the names of the dead. Right at the top of the list were Sherila Smiter and Danaque Smiter. Aarin broke down then. His parents were dead! He wondered how this could happen to him. He knew that he couldn't manage to pay the rent or the utilities on their midsize apartment, so he decided to pawn off all the stuff in the house and move onto the streets with his brother. That started the wandering and depression. He lived with his brother for about 3 months during the summer until his brother left with a band of spacers known as the Red Fist.

Section II

Aarin "G5" Smiter was wandering around Lorn IV after his parents died. Half a week before, his brother Cognack "Snake" Smiter had left with a small band of pirates and smugglers. He had been lonely and depressed the last three days

It was twilight on a Wednesday evening when G5 saw a flash out of the corner of his eye. Over the last few months his perceptions and reflexes had become so good that he could hear the scuff of a ruffians boots at 50 meters. The crooks would never hear his knife spinning through the air.

The glint came off a highly polished officers pistol strapped to the hip of a newly commissioned lieutenant. He was at the lowest point in his life when he got the idea that would shape the rest of his existence.

The next morning he was at the door of the local Vast Empire offices before dawn. He was the first person of the day to join the prestigous pilots of the Vast Empire Navy. He strolled down the hall, happy as a nerf in a pasture, toward the Quartermaster's office. There he was issued his gray tunic and black pants.

He tucked these into his brand new black boots so cleanly that you could hardly find the meeting of the two separate garments if you tried. He pinned his shining Lance Corporal insignia to his left breast and double-checked to make sure it was straight. For the first time in a long time he was actually proud of himself.

The next day he reported to basic, his uniform in perfect shape. The military turn confused him a bit but he prevailed. He passed his fitness test and was given permission to use the sims. He celebrated his success by downing a full bottle of lum in his first 10 minutes in the lounge, and that was only the beginning. By midnight he was totally wasted. The next day he would learn his first real lesson.

He reported to the sims at 0800 hours with the worst headache he had ever had. He couldn't have out flown a pig that morning. He became the free kill to everyone else flying within half an hour of launching. They flew for a couple hours, not realizing that they were late for drills, and then hopped out of the sims. Everybody was talking about their kills. Aarin didn't have much to talk about; he had ended up -57. He knew it was the hangover but his comrades wouldn't listen.

By the end of the week he had been sent up to the Saratoga to begin his flight training. He had learned the basics in terms of TIE capabilities and layout groundside, but up here he would learn advanced controls, tactics, and strategy. He was determined to be at the top of his class. A month of hard physical and mental training later he graduated number 1 in his class and was assigned to Steel Squadron onboard the Devastator.