OOC:

Settling the Score

The blue-and-green orb hung in the void of space. Around it, thousands of tiny stars dashed to and fro in its gravity well. The transport shuddered as its engines engaged, shunting power from the ticking-down hyperdrive to inter-planetary drives. Passengers on the bulk transport groaned as they suffered the slight ill effects of hyperdrive travel, but many more were celebrating being on the last leg of their journey. Most of the passengers were businessmen, returning from hubs like Kuat or Coruscant to their home system; others were Republic soldiers, retired or on leave. Two were Imperials.

One bore a scar that traced from his eyebrows across his eye, and carried a brooding look. The other was jollier, laugh lines beginning to mark his mid-twenties face from use. Garryll Gates gazed at their homeworld, and touched his friend, Conrad Griffin. “Conrad, wake up.”

The other snapped awake. “Hmm?”

“Corellia,” Garryll said, pointing. “You know how the saying goes, ‘The bigger the galaxy, the sweeter the homecoming.’”

“It’s been what, eleven years?” Conrad said, counting off his fingers. “Ever since we went to-”

Garryll shook his head at his friend. Imperials weren’t welcome in the Republic, even to their homeworlds. In the window, a CorSec customs corvette with a couple attendant fighters zipped by, making its rounds to preserve law and order in the system.

”We will be arriving on Corellian soil within the hour,” the intercom of the transport announced, one of the stewardesses speaking into a microphone at the front of the ship. Please return to your seats when we begin our final approach. After all, it is hard to keep your footing during atmospheric re-entry, and Galactic Spacelines has your safety in mind at all times. “

Massive shipyards became visible as the transport slipped closer to the planet, with dozens of Republic capital ships in construction. In smaller lattices, well-known Corellian freighters and personal transports were being assembled in zero-g.

“She is beautiful,” Conrad mumbled, looking over Garryll’s shoulder at the planet. “Makes me miss her all the more.”

“You can’t simply discount your homeworld, no matter the situation,” Garryll muttered back. The two childhood friends sat in silence as their birthplace grew larger in their window. Unlike several prominent worlds, Corellia remained largely unspoiled, and it was a joy to look at, even with the intricate constructions in its orbit.

”We are now beginning our final approach. Please return to your seats.”

The ship’s windows automatically darkened to accommodate for the bright flash of atmospheric re-entry as the ship exploded into the air of Corellia’s thick, oxygen-heavy atmosphere and the air turned to fire. The transport’s shields flashed as they began to absorb the damaging friction, but held easily. The sight of fire burning on nothing was always an interesting sight to Gates, who had spent most of his ship-borne life in massive bulk transports and his re-entries in drop-pods or drop-ships, both of which saw windows as structural weaknesses.

Soon enough, though, they were slowing and approaching a starport. The ship’s main engines died as it switched to massive repulsorlift engines to keep it airborne for its last, delicate adjustments and final landing. Despite the pilot’s careful hand, the ship still rocked heavily on its landing struts.

”Galactic Spacelines thanks you for your patronage. If you need immigration papers, attendants will be around shortly to give them to you.”

Gates stood, as did Conrad. They grabbed their bags - one each, with only a few packs of clothing inside - and stepped into the aisle. Several exits opened as ramps extended from the transport, and its passengers began to file off.

The two men stepped back onto their homeworld after a decade-long hiatus. “Coronet Spaceport,” Gates said, surveying it. “I remember this place, our last view of Corellia back then. It hasn’t changed.”

“Yeah,” Conrad said, and then joked. “It still sucks.”

Ships of every brand and type and color idled in the spaceport; merchants with small, lean freighters jockeyed with commercial pilots and their bulk transports. Military shuttles with serious-looking guards delivered officers, and the extraordinarily wealthy with their exorbitant yachts could be found. Maintenance and re-fueling crews bustled about, repairing or assisting pilots with the hundreds of ships that inhabited the giant hanger. And this was just one of the massive hangers in the spacious Coronet City spaceport.

“That way to off-world entrance,” Gates said, pointing to one of the large exit signs. Again, the pair adjusted their bags and walked briskly in that direction. Dozens of booths passed off-worlders and returning citizens alike, and the two men slotted into line of returning citizens.

After only a few minutes, their turn was up. Gates placed his Corellian ID down and the man behind the glass spoke into his microphone. “It’s been more than a decade, Mr. Gates. Finally found time to return to good ol’ Corellia?”

“Yes sir,” Garryll replied. “I’m surprised at how much it’s changed since. I haven’t been here since the Empire was in control.”

“You’ll find no Imperials here!” laughed the man. Gates smiled too, at the fact that he was totally wrong. “To business; what’s your purpose of visit?”

“I have to settle my family estate,” Gates replied; it was true. He hadn’t had the chance since becoming a legal adult to return to Corellia and formally sell off his parents’ properties and take their stored belongings back into VE space.

“Very good, Mr. Gates,” the man said, and with a few keystrokes, input the data of Garryll’s latest visit to Corellia. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Gates moved out of the spaceport, but dragged his feet as he waited for the man to pass Conrad, as well. They’d be staying at Conrad’s uncle’s home, and Garryll did not remember the way. Conrad emerged a minute later, bag in hands. He smiled as the first rays of true Corellian sunshine hit his face. “It’s good to be home.”

*** *** *** *** ***

Conrad’s uncle lived in the suburbs, on a good-sized estate, and had sent a driver to pick them up. The airspeeder made good time in the lazy Corellian afternoon, and they were soon deposited at the steps of the home of Carsten Griffin, Conrad’s uncle.

Several seconds after Gates’ knock on the front door, a male in his late teens opened the door. “Conrad!” said the boy in greeting, a tall, athletically-built kid.

Conrad smiled and hugged his cousin, saying, “Markus! You’ve grown into the very semblance of your father. When I last saw you, you came up to my stomach; now you can look at me eye-to-eye!”

Gates smiled. Markus was the only son of three children, and Conrad’s only male cousin. “Garryll; I haven’t seen you in a decade either. Doing well, I hope? Watching out for this knucklehead?”

“When he’s not watching out for me,” Garryll joked in return, shaking hands with the young man.

“Come in, come in, dad and mum’ll love to see you two,” Markus said, ushering them inside. He waved to the driver,  “Jager, you can head home for the day, we’ve no further need of your services today, my good man!”

“Very well, but don’t hesitate if to call me if your father does have a fancy to go out, Markus!”

The airspeeder took off as Gates and Conrad were let into the house, the front door closing behind them. The strong smell of Corellian cooking permeated the house, and Gates looked around himself, remembering this house, despite only visiting twice for celebrations in the Griffin family. The foyer had not changed in the years; two sweeping, curving staircases led up to the second floor, and the walls of the stairs were lined with pictures of Griffin family in various uniforms. Directly in front of the door, a large Corellian flag dominated the banister, hanging from the second floor lounge.

Several short hallways led to various rooms, but Markus led them to the dining room this time. A large table was centered in the room, and a pair of small chandeliers illuminated the room. A clean, but simply embroidered tablecloth covered the table and a dozen chairs were parked around it. The table was in the process of being set, with a few native Corellian dishes and some more exotic foods being laid out. The master of the house, Carsten Griffin, was already sitting down, entertaining his youngest daughter. At their entrance, both looked up and smiled at their visitors.

“Conrad!” boomed Carsten, standing. He had been a Colonel in the Clone Wars, continuing the family trend of boys serving in some branch of service. Despite being twenty years retired on a fat pension and good investments, he retained a disciplined lifestyle of exercise and manners. It didn’t stop him from being one of the personable people Garryll knew. “And Garryll! I’m glad to see you both arrived safely, boys.”

The girl was only fifteen, and had been too young to have remembered Garryll. Carsten gestured for her to come over and she half-waved shyly. “How do you do? My name is Kirsten.”

“Garryll Gates,” said he, smiling and extending his hand to shake. “I’m a good friend of your cousin’s.”

“Kirsten, you’ve grown, too. Not quite as much as Markus, though!” Conrad said in greeting, hugging his younger cousin.

Three women came in, carrying plates and more food. Two were Griffins, while the last was one of their staff. They set the dishes down and as the staff member left, the last two of the family approached.

“Ma’am,” Garryll said in greeting to Mrs. Griffin, who had been a starfighter pilot in the Clone Wars herself, and also maintained a vigorous lifestyle with her husband.

“It’s wonderful to see you both,” she replied. “But please, Garryll. Call me Joan.”

The last member of the family was Markus’ older sister, Andrea, who was in her mid-twenties, and was only a few weeks younger than Conrad. She also embraced Conrad and shook with Garryll, as seemed to be the norm with the family. “It’s been a while, Conrad, Garryll. Found what you were looking for?”

Gates exchanged a look with Conrad. “No, Andrea. We’re still looking.”

They stood around awkwardly for a few seconds, until Kirsten clapped her hands. “Dinner?”

They bustled to the table, seating themselves, adjusting their silverware to the appropriate hands, and began to serve themselves. Joan spoke up; “I’ll have you all know this was almost entirely by Andrea. She’s a far superior chef now than I ever was!”

“Oh, mother,” the eldest daughter said, poking her in the ribs. “You taught me everything I had known before I went to the University!”

“What did you study?” Garryll asked, before taking the first bite of some sort of steak and being pleasantly surprised at the taste.

“Political Science, and it’s studying,” Andrea said, making a face.

Markus nodded. “I’m attending the CorSec Academy, currently.”

“Continuing the family service, eh?” Conrad smiled.

“Yeah. You guys are enlisted?” Markus asked.

“Not on this side of the war,” Garryll replied. “I’m sure you’re aware we serve the Vast Empire.”

“Not Thrawn?” Joan asked. “I thought he was the Empire now.”

“Only the Emperor was the Empire,” Conrad replied. “Thrawn’s just the latest too-big-for-his-britches warlord. The VE’s seen him off more than once. We won’t be assimilated.”

“So you serve as ground forces, then?” Carsten asked. “Following in your father’s footsteps, Con?”

“Aye, both of us. Stormtroopers both,” Conrad said, a touch of pride in his voice. “Gare a little more than I, though.”

“Do tell,” Carsten said, turning his attention to Garryll.

Garryll speared another bite and used it to gesticulate. “We both enlisted in the Stormtrooper Corps, a decade ago. Either luck or fate placed me in Phoenix Company when time rolled ‘round.”

“Phoenix? I’ve heard that name before...” replied Carsten.

“If you receive the VE Holonet reports, which I guess you do,” Garryll said, smile broadening his face. “Then you’ve definitely heard of us. We’ve become the Empire’s go-to company for every messy job. I rose through the ranks and I’ve become squad leader of Blackjack squad, the Elite of the Elite, the cream of the crop; I recently got my officer’s bars, too.”

“Gare, you have to tell me these things...” Conrad said, laughing. “Still only a non-comm, and here you are, officer material!”

“I don’t like to brag,” Gates smiled.

“Well, the most exciting thing that’s happened to me is this time when the Commander got a call from a florist...”

*** *** *** *** ***

The housekeeping staff had been dismissed for the night, so the chores of cleaning up would have to be carried out by themselves. Andrea volunteered, but Conrad and Garryll wouldn’t let her do it all by herself.

Garryll set down a pile of plates and silverware next to the massive, stainless-steel sink in the spacious kitchen, and started running water and soap over the first dish. Conrad started wiping the largest chunks of food off to make the job easier, and Andrea loaded the dishes into the washing machine.

“You two didn’t come to Corellia just to settle some legal issues, did you?” Andrea said quietly.

The two men exchanged a glance. Garryll answered. “No. And yes. This is about the family business. It’s just that the family, in this case, is deceased.”

“You want to go after those guys in the Corellian Liberation Front?” she asked, slotting another plate into the tines of the machine. “The leader doesn’t hide anymore.”

“Oh? We weren’t after the foot soldiers, anyway,” Conrad said, flicking a think chunk of fat down the drain.

“I’ll send you the relevant data. The victory of the rebellion has made him an important man,” Andrea promised.

“Rather than the terrorist he actually is. Does he even try to hide what he was?” Garryll spat.

“No. Because his group only really attacked Imperial targets, he came out with little backlash. This world will soon accept the Republic as its government, if I don’t miss my guess,” Andrea said wryly. “And it is my field of study.”

“Thanks. It means a lot,” Garryll said.

“So you two see a bunch of combat?” Andrea asked, changing the subject. “Do you plan on killing the men who were responsible...?”

Garryll exchanged another look with Conrad. “I’m a frontline combat trooper. Yes. I settle things quite violently. Conrad, you’re more of a tech expert now, aren’t you?”

“Aye. I’m a specialist, but I still fight when I’m deployed on missions.”

Gates handed her the last dish. “I think Phoenix will be shipping out soon. Captain says something has come up that we’re uniquely suited to finish.”

“Thyveck? Last I heard was the start of a full-out guerrilla campaign by Republic forces there,” Conrad said. “Would not want to fight there.”

“We go where command sends us,” Gates replied dryly. “Doesn’t matter if it makes sense.”

*** *** *** *** ***

“Mr. Gates!” said the lawyer the next day, when Garryll and Conrad walked in mid-morning. “Mr. Griffin!”

“Smitty, how’s the last decade treated you?” Conrad said, gripping the man by the hand.

“Well enough. Another ten years older, but nothing much else. You’re here about the estates, then? Terrible business, that.”

“Yeah. I assume you kept us both in order?” Garryll asked.

Smitty nodded, adjusted his glasses. “Of course. It was the least I could do for you and your family, Garryll.”

“So let’s get this over with. Much as I have loved seeing Corellia, we both have duties halfway across the galaxy to return to,” Garryll sighed.

“So you’ll be taking all of your family’s belongings?”
Both men nodded. The lawyer continued. “I will arrange for their packaging; do you have a ship to take it all or shall I arrange for that, as well?”

“Organize it for us please, Smitty,” Conrad said. “Sooner would be better. And someone who can keep their mouth shut about where they’re taking it. We’d like to be able to come back to Corellia in the future.”

“I understand.”

“We’ll leave you to it, then.”

*** *** *** *** ***

Their boots sank in the soft dirt as they walked down the path. Headstones poked from the ground to their left and their right, but they held no meaning to the two men. When they reached their destination, they stopped. Garryll shoved his hands in his pockets.

Three graves, side by side by side, bearing the names of the deceased. A couple and a father lay beneath the soil, all in mahogany caskets, ten years dead and buried. The pain of loss was bitter and remained in their minds, though.

Garryll sat on his haunches and stared at the two headstones, tracing the names of his parents. His datapad pinged quietly, and he stood back up, withdrawing the device from his pocket. Words and documents scrolled across the screen.

“Andrea, you were as good as your word,” Gates mumbled, flicking his way to the heart of the matter. At last, the man that had orchestrated the bombing of the Imperial Governor’s building and was proclaimed as a Freedom fighter by the press only three years ago when he emerged from hiding. Many of his followers now worked for him directly in his headquarters of his company; Gates didn’t care now for the name of the company, but he found the name.

“Finally, you bastard,” he murmured, and turned the screen so Conrad could see, “Finally, we have you.”

OOC:

2913 words, all told

OOC:

The Land of False Heroes: Invitation

Arkanis

The world was mostly the same the last time the man had been there. It was the same dust covered ball of war wreckage. Arkanis was still a hive of all sorts of illegal activity. Despite being home to one of the largest weapons manufacturers in the sector, the planet still suffered from gun running. The spice trade was abundant in many of the spaceports. Assassins and bounty hunters rested in cantinas all across the world. Smugglers hid in city ruins from people they owed money to. Pirates came to Arkanis for the cheap alcohol and the favors of a woman. It was one of the most desperate places in the entire galaxy. And still, galactic governments fought for control of the independent world.

Over the years, Arkanis had been stubborn. Its first act of defiance had been in the early years after Arkanis had been settled by the Old Republic. Many of the settlers who had been on Arkanis originally wanted the planet to themselves, an independent system. The original inhabitants revolted and kicked the Old Republic off planet. In the years to come, the Republic did not retaliate. Not until the Clone Wars. Once the Clone Wars kicked off, the Separatists enlisted Arkanis into the war. That was when the Republic made its return. War swept the planet, engulfing every city in a fight between the Old Republic and the Separatists. The war did not go well and it resulted in both the Republic and CIS leaving Republic and Separatist sympathizers behind.

Arkanis was split in a civil war with both sides squabbling over which side was right. The cities became war-torn wastes and the once lush forests and grasslands became a land of desolate dust. War machines traveled the land, killing all enemy forces they encountered. It ripped Arkanis apart, almost to a state of actual collapse. By the time of the Galactic Civil War, the fight on Arkanis was nearing a close. With no Republic or Separatists to support, both sides lost the will to go on. The war machines were left as they were. The wreckage of cities remained. Neither the Empire nor the Rebellion would touch the planet and it soon became a hive for scum.

But in the more recent years, honest settlers had come to Arkanis, trying to rebuild and heal the world. They had their fair share of setbacks; the normal inhabitants were proud of the war scars and didn’t want Arkanis rebuilt. Bandits, mercenaries, and murderers liked Arkanis because it was a haven for their kind. If the new settlers were to succeed, the lawlessness of Arkanis would cease to be. The settlers intended to rebuild and then rejoin the galaxy as a renewed world. Rumor had it that the settlers wanted to join the Vast Empire, for the Vast Empire would only let them join once they had something to offer. Even Gamber Munitions was not enough incentive for the VE to accept Arkanis into their ranks.

Sergeant First Class Norith Skarr wanted to be completely sure he knew everything about this planet. The government, what little government there actually was, had asked Skarr to come to the planet. Skarr accepted the invitation; he was on leave and had not known what he was going to do with the time. Arkanis, dangerous as it was, seemed like the perfect place to get away. And so, Skarr had boarded the Steel Wings, his personal ship, and taken off for Arkanis. His squad had gone off on their own separate ways until their leave time was over. Skarr only hoped they did not get into trouble. He cared deeply for his squad and if they got hurt, Skarr would have to go on his own personal mission.

Skarr sat back in silence in the pilot’s chair. He had come far since he had joined the Vast Empire. It had been a year since he had joined the ranks as a mere trooper. Now he was a squad leader. His job was important. Protect his squad and get them through whatever trouble was thrown at the squad. He had taken the job seriously and he still did. So going on leave was not easy. It was especially difficult because Skarr had never been on leave, he did not know what to do. He was a soldier that was his life. But High Command had insisted that Skarr go on leave and find some time away from everything.

For almost a full day, Skarr had sat in his room on the Orbital Station above Tadath. He had spent the time surfing HoloNet channels, cleaning every bit of military equipment in his room, checked his bank account five times, and browsed history books. Nothing felt right. Quite frankly, he was completely bored. Skarr had sat on his desk chair, various things he had tried strewn about the room.

His comm beeped with the message inviting him to Arkanis. Skarr had been there about three times already, which was more than anyone else in the Vast Empire. Any time the Arkanis government wanted to make contact with the Vast Empire, the VE sent Skarr. Arkanis knew to make a personal request for the Squad Leader now. Skarr did question the timing. He was on leave and Arkanis just happened to request his presence? He pushed the matter out of his mind, he would find out soon enough.

Skarr began taking his ship through the landing processes, breaking through the atmosphere. His ship sailed through the air, flying towards Haven City. This city was the center of the reformation. The Arkanis government had moved to the city and the renovations of the city began. It was once the largest city on Arkanis, spanning almost the entire area of one of Arkanis’s five continents. Now Haven City lay in ruins, most of the city torn apart by Arkanis’s wars.

But as Skarr began landing in the city, he seen a large area of the city was completely renovated. It was a weird contrast. The center of the city was full of shiny chrome, vehicle lanes, and various tram networks. The rest of the city was the way it had always looked, broken ruinous buildings on the verge of collapse. Skarr was now interested to take a tour of the city. It was far different from the way he had seen it the first time. The ship touched down in one of the government sector’s hangar bays.

Outside the ship, there stood the welcoming committee. Skarr was almost taken aback. It had seemed like the planetary government had changed too. Gone were the slimy, greasy looking politicians he had met before. The people who stood before him were different. The true symbol for what politicians should look like. Tall, straight backs, well-groomed suits, and a positive glowing demeanor. Skarr realized he was staring and slowly closed his mouth. He was even more surprised to see that the welcoming party in front of him consisted of more than just humans. A Rodian here, Twi’lek there. A Bith standing behind the lead human. It was different to say the least.

The human preceding the column stepped forward and gripped Skarr’s hand in between both of his own. Skarr slowly let the man shake his hand, wondering exactly why he was called to Arkanis.

“Greetings Norith Skarr,” the man said enthusiastically. “I am Jomuund Mars. I hear that you are quite the soldier in the Vast Empire.” Skarr merely shrugged. He was not used to being addressed by any one of higher status who was not giving orders. Jomuund looked concerned at Skarr’s lack of response. The concern looked right on the man. He looked like an older uncle, someone who actually cared for others. His face was wrinkled with laugh lines and his body denoted a good workout regimen. And the tailored suit was perfect on him. Skarr could see why everyone behind him gave him looks of respect. “Well, come on, say something.”

Skarr smiled slightly to himself, “I’m sure what you hear is exaggeration. I was just waiting to hear what business has brought me here.” Jomuund clapped his hands together and turned to the rest of his council, waving them off. The group scattered with polite haste, going back to whatever had been interrupted by the meeting.

“I would be glad to explain that to you Norith. But may we do so in my office, please?” asked the politician.

“Sure,” Skarr replied. He guessed the office was not far from the landing pad. It was close enough to ensure that whatever security Jomuund had did not have to be at the landing pad, Skarr reasoned. The man was already almost to the doors, calling back for Skarr to follow him. The soldier sped up to walk beside Jomuund.

The man looked at Skarr again, “Many things have changed since you were last here, Norith. We are…excited to be restoring Arkanis to its former glory. For too long has this world stood in ruin, for too long…”

“Look, you don’t have to sell this speech to me,” Skarr interrupted. “I think it’s nice that Arkanis is seeing some changes.” Jomuund’s face was cracked by a large smile. He had caught himself going into one of his speeches it seemed. “I just really want to know why I am here.”

Jomuund sighed, “My office is not far. I do not like to speak business outside of my office. That’s what my office is for, business. But for now, I am not a politician and you are not a soldier. We are both just walking and talking about good old Arkanis.” Skarr was not the least bit astonished. This was definitely a man that could get things done. No wonder the Reformation had taken hold so strongly. This was a strong politician.

“Alright, well. You can start by telling me the history of this Reformation,” Skarr replied. It was a logical starting point. The young man had not even known about the Reformation until last night when he began studying the history of Arkanis. History intrigued Skarr nowadays. It was a new hobby of his. While studying the history of Arkanis, Skarr had run across the fact that Arkanis was finally trying to rebuild. It made him happy. Each time Skarr had been to this planet it had almost hurt his eyes to look at the ruins.

Jomuund looked thoughtfully into the distance. “If my files are correct your last visit was about four months ago. The Reformation did not really catch on until a few weeks afterward. Some will argue that it began years ago when honest people actually began settling the place. But I think it began when Haven City started rebuilding. And I guess it started once the old government was thrown out.

“In a way, I think I give myself too much credit. I feel as if I am taking all the credit sometimes. It is not true; I owe much to my colleagues. But I am a driving force in this. You wanted the history, alright. Almost three years ago, honest settlers landed on the planet and began their lives in Haven City, Blackfyre, Silver Coast, and Kemp City. With what resources they had, they began rebuilding parts of those cities. It was not much and most of it came out a bit ramshackle. The repairs were only temporary. The settlers did not have the ability or resources to make things more permanent.”

Jomuund paused as he keyed for an elevator. They stood in silence waiting for their transportation. Outside, vehicles zoomed past the window, lighting up their faces. The elevator doors opened and we found it empty. The politician hit a button and the elevator began to rise. He looked back at Skarr.

“A year later, the settlers petitioned the government for an official reform. You have seen the old government we had. The slime balls disapproved of it. They were all criminals anyway. Old advisors to the Republic and Empire. And so, the settlers had to make do with what resources they could gather in the broken cities. By this time, more settlers had come and more cities were populated. Two years passed. The cities had taken on a ramshackle look wherever the settlers lived. The rest stayed in ruins. Arkanis became attractive to many people who did not like the New Republic or Imperial Remnant. And indeed, the Vast Empire. Arkanis is a free planet.

“Finally, the settlers were sick of the government, who were only keeping them behind in their work. Revolt happened. There are not enough criminals on this planet who would stick their necks out for the government. Sure, they take action themselves against us. But they would never side with authority. They were able to throw those slimy bastards out of the government buildings. A vote was taken and some of the most popular settlers won office. I being one of them. We have finally been able to convince most of the planet to begin reforming. But as always, there are problems.”

The elevator doors opened into the government offices. Jomuund set off down the hallway. Skarr stood outside the elevator, taking in what he was seeing. It was unlike anything he had seen. The offices were uniform more than plush, something Skarr was not used to seeing in government offices. These people shun comfort? Skarr asked himself. Perhaps living on Arkanis was more difficult than he had thought. It seemed to have stripped the people of their necessity for comfort. Either that or the government wanted to concentrate money on rebuilding first.

The Sergeant shook himself and continued down the hall towards Jomuund. “And these problems are why I’m here?” Jomuund looked back critically. Skarr rolled his eyes, Right, in his office. It did not bother Skarr that Jomuund only discussed business in his office. It was a smart move. No one to listen in. No bugs to record the conversation. But it did hinder things and Skarr was becoming impatient.

After what seemed like an hour of walking through the labyrinth of halls, they reached Jomuund’s office. The man keyed his password into the door and it slid open smoothly. Skarr got his first look at the office. It looked much like the halls did, uniform and a bit dull. The only thing that was different was the space had some more personal touches than the hallways. A rug adorned the floor around the desk, there were portraits of the Mars family hanging on the walls, and behind the desk was a large row of windows. The windows gave an absolutely beautiful view of the city. The only thing that marred the view from the new plexiglass windows was the ruins that were just visible behind the renewed city.

Skarr walked over to the wall of windows. The city looked great from this view. Haven City had done well with the rebuild. The streets were no longer cluttered with debris, the catwalks had been repaired, and the buildings shined brightly. Speeders flew by the window, showing that life was resuming its normality from before the war.

“It was said back before the war that Arkanis was the Coruscant of the Outer Rim. Most of our five continents had large cities on them, ones that would soon converge and become one giant city. And then the trouble with the Old Republic came.” Jomuund commented, joining Skarr at the window. Skarr glanced over to see a sad smile on the man’s face. The soldier was not all that good at comforting people; it was something he had never really had to do before. So, he went to business to get Jomuund’s mind off of whatever he was thinking.

“Well, we’re here now. You wanna tell me about why I’m here?” Skarr asked. The sad smile left Jomuund’s face and he nodded.

“Yes yes, of course. Please, sit down,” Jomuund waved a hand to the chairs opposite his desk. The politician walked over to his refreshment station. “Want anything to drink?” Skarr shook his head, and waited for the man to grab his own drink. He seemed to be great at stalling. The politician returned to his desk chair and pulled up under it.

“Alright. The reason you are here is simple. The problems I mentioned are the criminals who do not wish Arkanis to change. These scum liked the war torn Arkanis, it was a great place to hide. And it seems in order to stop it, they have banded together. We have experienced certain setbacks over the past few months.” Jomuund slid a folder over to Skarr. Inside were various photos and documents about the issues and setbacks the government had experienced; lost supplies, bombings, raids, assassinations, and kidnappings. It was all varied throughout the last few months.

“And what does this have to do with me?” Skarr asked slowly.

Jomuund shrugged, “An assassination threat has been made on me. In a few days I will be giving a speech. It has been announced that during that speech, I will be killed. And I know they will succeed because they have made good on all their threats. I wish to hire you as a security consultant.”

Skarr grimaced; he had thought that this was where the conversation was going. “No can do. It is a specific rule in the Vast Empire that I am not allowed to accept any government contracts. I’m simply not allowed to.”

A wide smile broke Jomuund’s face. “I expected as much. This is why the invite was sent while you were on leave. You see, there were two messages sent out. One to you, which was the invite, and one to a Captain Ayme Katash. Her message contained a question as to whether or not we could use you as a security consultant. She approved.” That made Skarr think. He had been given express permission by Havock.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Skarr said. There would be no harm in Skarr running security for Jomuund. If he succeeded, the Reformation would continue with no delay. Skarr wanted to help Arkanis in its efforts. Jomuund smiled widely and shook Skarr’s hand.

“Thank you so much! I will be sure to get you accommodated and ready for the day. My secretary will show you to your room,” Jomuund explained. Skarr stood and left the room. Jomuund’s secretary was already there.

Four Days Later

The speech was to be made that day. The last four days had been spent in preparation. Skarr had been given documents on the security that day. He analyzed routes, coordinated sniper teams, arranged security personnel, and worked through how he would assassinate Jomuund. He had it figured out pretty good how one could kill Jomuund and he blocked each way. He would not allow anyone to kill this politician; it was his job not to.

Skarr found himself on the street, gazing at the speech platform that had been erected that morning. He was sure that the assassination attempt would be easily stopped, but he wanted to be there himself. And from what he had heard, Jomuund’s head of security was supposed to be there as well. Skarr had wanted to meet her when he found out that she had coordinated much of it. The existing security before Skarr had strengthened it was strong in its own right. Whoever she was, she was good at her job.

A gust of wind alerted Skarr to an approaching vehicle. He looked up. A speeder with government markings blew past him and settled at the end of the street. Perhaps this is her, he thought. Out of the vehicle stepped a few armed security guards and the head of security herself. Her skin was a pleasant blue which complimented the dark blue uniform she wore. Her head tails hung over her shoulders in an almost luxurious fashion. If not for the uniform and her serious attitude, Skarr would have mistaken the female Twi’lek for a queen.

The Twi’lek approached Skarr with an outstretched hand, “You must be Norith Skarr.”

Skarr smiled and nodded, “And you are Arylle…?”

“No last name, Sergeant. The records were correct. I was a slave once.” She said the last bit nonchalantly as if she had already settled the score with her demons. Arylle guided Skarr over to the speech platform, eyes scanning for threats even now. “I want to commend you on your work Sergeant. I did not think about quite a few of the measures you have taken. You should have gone into security yourself.”

Skarr shook his head, “Security is not for me. And besides, I set this place up like a warzone. I just thought of how I’d kill the target and then blocked those avenues. Your security was pretty top notch though; I only made a few improvements.” Arylle’s head tails twitched with the compliment, but she otherwise ignored it. The two of them walked together, making sure that everything was prepared. Only a few adjustments were made. Soon, Jomuund Mars would take the podium.

Two Hours Later

Jomuund was well into his speech. Skarr observed from the sidelines as people looked on expectantly. The speech had been going on for half an hour now and there was no sign of any assassination attempt. The security checkpoints had not reported any anomalies. He thought that there should have been an attempt by now. But perhaps the criminals had given up. Skarr’s security was not airtight, but it was as close to appearing that way as he could get. Arylle was set up near Jomuund. Every few minutes an update would come through her comm.

She looked up alert after the last one came in. She thumbed on her comm to Skarr’s channel, “Sniper Team Bantha did not report in, sir.” The Sergeant scowled, already a hole in his defenses. He was just about to go check, when the comms lit up with warning screams. Several teams were reporting in all at once, only to be cut off by gunfire and screams.

“Shit!” Skarr exclaimed. Arylle was already ushering Jomuund to his escape route, leaving him to his bodyguards. She sprinted to where Skarr was standing.

“What the hell is going on, Skarr?” the Twi’lek asked eyes wide. The young man could do nothing but shrug. More teams began to voice their discontent only to be cutoff. The security guards still in the street were issuing orders for the civilians to clear the road. So many teams were encountering enemies that Skarr could do nothing but wait for them to come to him. He shouldered the SMG he wore strapped around his shoulder. He had not brought many weapons with him to Arkanis and this one had been supplied by Jomuund’s security forces.

Off in the distance, an echoing sound that shook the ground sounded. Skarr had heard those sounds before. During Arkanis’s civil war, both sides created automated vehicles that roamed the land destroyed every enemy structure or personnel it encountered. The last time Skarr was here, it was to take care of a bandit problem Arkanis had. The bandits had taken control of the war machines and it seemed as if they had now entered the fight to keep the old Arkanis.

Arylle had recognized the noise too, because her head tails convulsed in fear. She stood and began issuing orders for the security guards to bring missile launchers. The war machines did not bode well for Haven City. It would tear all the renovations apart; destroy most of the city again. But it seemed like Arylle had a different plan. The security guards she had sent to fetch the launchers were back with wide and long cases. She opened them up deftly, passing out launchers to several guards and tossed one to Skarr.

The Sergeant caught the launcher in his hands. It would take a lot to take down the war machine. He had experienced it before. The war machine could now be seen at the far end of the street. It was large and four legged. Much like an AT-AT, but far more fearsome and a lot more balanced. Arkanians made some fairly inventive things, Skarr had to admit. The machine was bristling with anti-infantry and demolition weaponry. The anti-infantry weapons were slug throwers, designed to make as much carnage as possible, tearing up any life form that had not ran from it in fear. Luckily, the weapons did not shoot very far. But the demolition weaponry was another story. They were only intended for destroying buildings and were laser based, hot enough to vaporize rubble. Skarr had seen it trained on people before instead of buildings. It was not pretty.

Skarr shook himself out of his reverie as the far reaching demolition laser cut loose and disintegrated a portion of the building to his right. Arylle pushed him to the left as the security forces let loose their rockets. The anti-infantry weapons began tracking the rockets, shooting them out of the sky. That’s a new trick, Skarr thought. People scrambled in the streets as the machine grew closer, lasers destroying the buildings around it. Arylle slid under a wrecked speeder and depressed the trigger on her launcher; the rocket sailed right through a blind spot on the war machine and exploded in a shower of flame. It had only dented the side of it.

The machine was close enough now to begin opening fire with the anti-infantry. Civilians that had not yet evacuated were shred into pieces, shedding blood and gore upon the street. Skarr ran with Arylle and the remaining security further down the street. From side alleys came the bandits. Skarr skidded to a halt, putting bullets into the first few; Arkanis was still a big fan of slug-throwers. The guards took cover as did Skarr. His Twi’lek companion had hit the ground, training her sights on the war machine that loomed ever closer. The rocket shot once again, slipped past the anti-infantry fire and just barely missed the exhaust vents. She began cursing over the comm in Huttese as she reloaded another rocket.

The Sergeant diverted his attention back to the bandits that were now pouring onto the street. Was the assassination just a ruse? Or was this entirely different? Skarr decided it did not matter right now. More bullets flew from his SMG. Another blast from the war machine, this time cutting a tall spire in half. The spire flew to the ground, crushing a few security guards. Skarr cursed, these people were not trained for war. And to think, he thought he would have some back-up for this mission. Another missile flew from Arylle’s launcher and was shot down by slugs.

The war machine fired its anti-infantry guns and the ground next to Skarr was tore up, concrete flying up into his face. Skarr ran to cover as best as he could, dodging what fire came his way. Arylle had disappeared. He looked around wildly. The war machine was still close. Skarr hoped its sensors had not caught his escape. The machine was decades old. Hopefully, some systems would be faulty. The young man began to ready his launcher. He looked around. All the bandits had retreated as the war machine drew near. None of them wanted to be caught in the machine’s fire. The ground shook even more as the machine grew closer. The thing was massive, sky-scraper sized. It would have no trouble rattling the earth. The laser fired again and the buildings above Skarr were bisected. The parts that were not disintegrated in the blast fell like dominoes.

Skarr began to breathe more heavily, it was growing nearer. And he had nowhere to go. Skarr gripped the launcher a bit more tightly. Another ear-shattering sound, and then an explosion. A creaking sound began and the war machine began groaning. Skarr recognized the sounds. The machine had been hit in its exhaust vents. Skarr took a chance and peaked from behind the building doorway he had hidden himself in. The war machine was toppling even now and as it hit the ground, a shockwave blew Skarr back. The monster was destroyed, but at the cost of quite a few city blocks. This was yet another setback for Haven City and Arkanis as a whole.

Arylle appeared across the street, launcher still smoking. She threw the weapon down. “Thanks for distracting it.” Skarr frowned. He did not like being bait. But her smile threw him off and he could not help but grin himself.

“Sure. But was it worth it?” Skarr asked.

“Word came in before I destroyed this thing. They encountered trouble, but Jomuund is safe,” Arylle answered. Skarr let out a sigh of relief. He turned back to the war machine. Arkanis was not safe. Not while things like these roamed the planet still. But this destroyed hulk was one less machine that the bandits had in their grasps.

The Next Day

It was found that the assassination attempt had been foiled. But not by Skarr’s security. The bandits had taken care of it. It turned out that the bandits were working independently of the group that was giving Haven City so much trouble. The war machine had a holo message contained inside if it failed. The message promised that Haven City would fall again. Jomuund had laughed at the message. It was his belief that Haven City was not the center of the Reformation. The center of the Reformation was the people.

Arylle was rewarded for her bravery. She was given a medal and a promotion to one of Jomuund’s personal body guards. Skarr still did not know much about the woman. She was a former slave, yet she fought like a soldier. He had pondered over this and even looked through many galactic databases, but there were many instances of different Arylles. In the end, he decided it was not worth it.

Jomuund tried to insist paying Skarr, but Skarr could not take it. His oath to the Vast Empire prevented him from taking money from another government body. The politician brought up the leave argument again, only to be cut off in the middle of it.

“Then how can we thank you, Skarr?” Jomuund asked.

Skarr shrugged, “You don’t. I did something for you. Something I believed in. I worked toward making a better Arkanis, to me that seems payment enough.” Jomuund sat back in his chair and pondered the matter. Skarr let him sit there thinking. He could tell that the older man still wanted to pay him; it was not going to work. But the man was full of surprises.

“Skarr. Consider Arkanis a new home for you. If you ever need a place to go, you will find it here. I can offer you free housing and practically anything you want. Just please, take the offer. It’s not payment; it is quarters for an Imperial consultant.” Jomuund gestured eagerly to the city scape behind him.

The Sergeant sighed. The man just could not stop. It almost made Skarr smile, how eager the politician was to reward him. “I’ll take the offer, but I can’t be your ambassador to the Vast Empire.” Jomuund nodded enthusiastically. A broad grin spread across his face. He was happy that the reward was accepted. But slightly disturbed that he could not count Skarr as his ambassador. He let the matter slide rather than mention it to Skarr.

“Yes, yes.” The politician said, “You know you will be viewed as a hero to the good people of Arkanis.” Skarr stood to leave, his business done. He had collected a reluctant reward and his work was done on Arkanis.

As he reached the door, Skarr turned back. “There are no such things as heroes.”

OOC:

My apologies for having you read this in advance.
5,311 words.

OOC:

Testing The Blood

Six months. Thengil had an entire six months off duty. But he had nowhere else to be. He had just gotten out of basic, he didn’t know anyone. He couldn’t take a vacation back to his homeworld, he was banished. So he went to train. Train hard, fight hard, die hard. That’s what the words above the training center said as he entered it. He had already scheduled a training session with a Lance Corporal there. He would see how things went.

He stalked up to the Lance Corporal's desk. The scent of sweat came off the men performing drills in the drill square with a reek that made Thengil's nose scrunch up. His ears flicked back and forth. Trying to attune to this new level of noise. Among his own people he had been of a royal bloodline. But here he was simply another soldier. Albeit a very large one, with teeth and claws. A hum emanated from Thengil. The only pleasure he had found here was that he easily intimidated the humans of this Empire. In basic training he hadn't been one of those chosen weekly to be the butt of some joke. Thengil uttered a throaty laugh that sounded like some twisted form of laughter, taken to its deepest and most primal level. That had been fun. But the white warriors had still spoke of him behind his back. The gray coated leaders could be seen grimacing at him. One had dared to call him a bestial cat. Those furless, pink, things had called him bestial.

The Cathar’s light steps barely made a sound. Even though they were now covered by black polished rubber. His yellow eyes looked into those of the human's. The fragility of their race astounded Thengil. With a single claw he could kill one of them in a hundred different ways. The physical part of what they called basic training had been easy for him. What was hard was studying their ways. How their prides hunted. How to shoot properly.

The Lance Corporal questioned Thengil. Asking him his name and rank. And why he had joined the stormtroopers. Thengil's brows met in befuddlement as he tried to work out the words needed for the human's language. He was not as familiar with Basic as he should be. When Thengil spoke, his voice came as a low rumble like the falling of rocks from a distant peak. "I am Thengil Ri'shajirr, private." When he spoke the word private it was long and drawn out. The Lance Corporal raised an eyebrow. Thengil continued on, despite his lack of knowledge on the grammar structure of the human's language. He growled. "I was in prison. Either join or stay in prison."

The Lance Corporal nodded sagely. “I am Lance Corporal Winters. Are you aware, of the proper use of rifles? I don't mean the basic training crap they threw into your head. Most of that stuff will get you killed on the battlefield. But with a little polishing those basic movements drilled into you can help keep you alive. And I'll make myself clear now. I'd rather have living soldiers next to me then ones that will make others around them dead. In this Federation. You need to earn your place amongst a unit. Much like one would have to do amongst a pride, as you called it before."

Thengil's race was one of the hunter and the warrior. Most of Cathar was now populated with the more human looking subspecies of his people. But there were many of the old blood still living. They were a wilder species. Stronger and larger than their fellows. All he was here was a common warrior. No more respected than the meanest of the prides.

That was why he was so troubled by being here. He did not know his purpose here. On the savanna he did, where the wind rippled his fur and the tall grass whispered. But among the white and black slabs of cold durasteel he was not. A strange and foreign land loomed before him. And yet, he did understand the Lcpl's statement. Protecting the members of your pride and making sure that they did not come to harm was something that he could grasp amidst the tangled web of this Empire. He was grateful to the Lance Corporal for understanding his confusion and giving him a vine to hold onto so that he did not slip and fall. The vine of familiarity. Thengil supposed that he must earn his place amongst the 'unit', as the Lance Corporal had stated, in much the same way that one earned honor among the pride in the blood hunt. Proving that the light within him was stronger than the dark. The dark which he would never succumb to. Light was pure, as was he.

But as for the question of the blasters. Indeed the Purest had had some. He had practiced with it much. Although they did not use them as much as slugthrowers. Thengil answered the question as best he could. The words came from his mouth in an accent that sounded as if he had chewed upon each word before spitting it out. "I understand your.....image of the pride and a unit. My place in the unit, will try to earn. I have hunted much with what your race calls a 'slug thrower'. Not with the...blasters though. In Basic Training we learned much more. A T-21 repeater, A280, Missile Launcher, and pistol training.” Thengil listed them from memory.

The Lance Corporal nodded. "That is better, you need to practice those skills.”

Thengil blinked again. Then he jerked his head in a nod. "I... understand."

Once more the Lcpl moved on to a different subject. "What knowledge do you have of hand-to-hand combat?"

The Cathar answered in his chewed up vocabulary. "I was taught some in the Basic Training. Already I knew more than was taught there."

Again the Lcpl nodded. "Typical of basic, but that is good. Moving on, what do you know of Escape and Evasion skills?"

Thengil's ears flicked back and forth. "I have learned more from my race than I have from yours in that area, Lance Corporal Winters. Although much of the training was involved combat in buildings and drills, they said my natural abilities would make me an excellent Scout Trooper."

The human tapped a stylus on the table in a rythm. "Indeed....
Slug throwers, have their place, private. They're a mean weapon in the hands of the trained. Heavier weapons too. But in the stormtrooper corps, the purpose of someone is to be adaptive yet able to move in swiftly, get the job done, and get away fast. Hopefully, you can adapt to the smaller carbine size of the A280 Blaster Rifle you received in training. The larger varieties are horribly bulky when entering close quarters, but first before I see you do that, as well as showing you some of the lighter rifles first. I have some bad news.”

"Your officers in basic have presented... mixed reviews. I do not doubt that since you are an alien many have discriminated against you. Know that I hold no such thing against you. I believe everyone warrants attention based on who they are, not on what they are." The Lance Corporal stared him down, disregarding the yellow eyes that so few could look into for long.

"But I have some bad news for you. You've proven yourself so far. But now you have to do something far more onerous in your tasks than you have ever done before. You have to prove yourself to me.”

Too many thoughts and questions posed in Thengil's mind. The problem was it was so hard for him to speak this language. Perhaps he would be able to communicate what he meant, how he felt, what needed to be done, that he wasn't trying to intimidate people. It was just how humans viewed him. They were a narrow minded race, weak, fragile. Much Thengil had learned from the Purest about this race. But he found that there was much he still did not understand.

What the Lcpl had said confused Thengil. The words used suggested that Thengil had in some way intimidated the officers. To his knowledge he had not, in any way, purposefully intimidated any of the officers. Perhaps he had done something that had frightened them and he knew it not. Then there was the bit about destroying the unit with dissension. Thengil would never, in any way, cause harm to befall whatever pride, unit, he had to think of it as unit now, as long as it was in his power. The Lcpl sayed that he would not discriminate. That was pleasing to Thengil as all too many had discriminated against him because of his alien nature. Most curious was this race.

Winters tossed a blaster to Thengil, who caught the E-11/C in his claws. He must prove himself to this human. Earn his place amongst the unit. There was steel in this human's words. A steel tempered in fires and put through winds and ice. To forge a weapon of war. A weapon of war indeed. Far more steel was in this one's voice than most humans had. But why the training again? Although he had covered somewhat of the training of this E-11 that he held in his hands, Thengil supposed that the human did not trust those in the Basic Training. Thengil didn't either. In hand to hand combat he had destroyed, crushed, defeated all those against him in sparring. The training he received there was pathetic compared to what he had learned on Cathar. Weaklings.

“Time to hit the range, Private. Range 51C. It's 300 m of deck corridor to your left as you leave this room. Move out Double time. When you get to the range area, I will provide you with ammo packs, after you complete twenty pushups and situps. There's just an added bit of difficulty, There's a hidden time limit. So start now."

Thengil grunted an affirmative and raced as fast as he could. Winters had just given him an order. He was going to follow it, and accomplish it as fast as he could. There was a time limit after all. And he had stood there like a motionless tree in the still wind. Now he would be as fast as the wind. Fleeting, and yet powerful. That was what embodied most lifeforms. They had the abilities to shape the worlds and events around them and yet most lived less than the trees of the forests. So fleeting, yet there was life in that fleeting moment. The young Cathar ran as fast as he could. Running near the side of the wall, so that there would be few in his way, Thengil raced in the direction indicated by the Lcpl's words. He arrived in twenty-five seconds.

The Cathar had waited until the human had arrived. If the man wanted him to prove, then he would prove it. But with the man watching him. The quality of the Purest would show itself to this human. Thengil would show it. So few things did these humans understand about his race. The human had said prove himself to HIM. That meant that Thengil would show him everything he could do, while he was watching.

Thengil burst into pushups and then into speed crunches. His muscles rippled beneath his golden fur as his lithe body contorted itself in the necessary motions. Within seconds he was done again. He picked up the E-11/C from where he had placed it. Now what else did the human want? What else indeed.

Winters simply motioned for the private to throw him the rifle. Which he caught out of the air before loading a single power pack into it. "Follow." was all he said. He ran past the the Cathar into the private range he had requested setup before hand. In front of him was a duracrete pole with a platform that stood several feet high in the air. With a quick turning motion he set his himself up against the solid pillar while he braced his legs and his back as sturdily as possible against the mooring pole. He held his hands out, palms side up, with his fingers locked together at about knee high. A stepping stool of sorts. "Up." was all he said.

Thengil looked from the human to the pole. With a rush and a bound he leapt from the ground, to the Lance Corporal Winters' hands, and finally onto the platform. Of course, he could have made it from the ground to the platform in a single leap, but he didn't want to make the human irritated with him. Oh how strange it was to him. Humans could not move as fast or as quick as he could, without......" What do they call it?....implants, cybernetic implants." Thought Thengil as his mind tried to sort through his vocabulary. The problem was that he hadn't practiced the language much, since barely anyone at Basic Training had wanted to talk to him. And the only thing required from him was the occasional " Yes, sir." So of course his mastery of the language had grown lax. He understood it near perfectly, but there were occasionally hidden meanings behind their words that he did not understand. That would have to be worked on.

But what was he thinking of before? Their fragility. He could leap twice, thrice as far as any normal human. And yet there were so many of them leading armies and in armies. Thengil would have to think long and hard on how the humans came to be so powerful. Hopefully, the answer to his question would reveal something that could help him better understand them.

With the Cathar up on top of the platform and the rifle slung behind his back Jerich simply called up . "Assist". Winters then did a running leap as he wall climbed up the 17 foot pole. Just barely grabbing the edge. Using his upper body strength he began to pull himself up when a hairy paw came down towards him. Grasping the mitt he felt the Cathar's strength help pull him up the rest of the way. Once both of them were on the platform, Winters motioned to the next hazard. A longe rope tied about as high as the Cathar's shoulder made of high tensile steel that made its way across a two hundred foot span at an ever increasing incline. The Cathar would have to constantly shift his balance and weight as he pulled himself up the rope.

With a brief nod to Winters the Cathar began to climb. That's where things got a little interesting. Winters's foot depressed a hidden trigger that began to launch several airborne training droids that were programmed to converge upon the being climbing. With unerring accuracy Winters began sending training level powered bolts past the Cathar's climbing form as the drones began to drop one by one. The Cathar still had about a hundred and fifty feet to go. His reactions and trust in others was what was being tested here. His ability to put his own safety in the hands of others. If the training droids reached him their fire would surely stun him and knock him off. They would only do so if the Cathar panicked. It was simply a matter of trust.

Thengil growled as he began to climb the steel rope. What was this man making him do? Suddenly whirring began to sound from behind him, several bolts zinged past his head. The Cathar began to climb faster. More and more blaster bolts went by him. Out of his peripheral vision he glimpsed several droids that were humming ever closer to him. The speed and dexterity with which he hauled himself along the rope was born of years climbing trees and vines. The training droids were getting closer, what was the human waiting for?! A deep growl eminated from Thengil as he continued to climb. The air was fresh, but hummed with deadliness. To Thengil, the smell of ozone and ionized tibanna gas filled the air.

Suddenly, a bolt flashed past him far closer than the others. Thengil resisted the urge to stop. If the human couldn't shoot them down fast enough, then he would just have to climb faster. Finally, he reached the end of the rope and dropped onto the platform. The droids began to circle him, but did not fire. The Cathar growled at them. Then he growled to the Lcpl " Are you coming, Lance Corporal Winters?" Thengil didn't know why exactly the human had put him through this trial. As always there was something more hidden beneath the outside meaning of this task. Thengil pondered this. His automatic response to the droids had been simply to climb faster. It was hard, but not impossible to fight from a rope. However, Thengil did not have a blaster to fight back against the droids, therefore he did not want to put himself at a risk. Had he passed this trial?

Winters cinched the rifle to the rope with a secondary mechanical winch attached on top. When the rifle had reached the Cathar in the distance , he radioed a simple phrase, "Cover."

Thengil fired at the droids, while Winters went across the rope. Using everything he had ever learned, he focused on destroying the droids that appeared. Foot by foot, the human went along the rope.  Very slow. Even agonizingly slow. Thengil tried not to think about it. The seconds ticked away while the Lcpl climbed. Eventually, the human got to the other side.

The Cathar had learned that the man wanted him to wait for each and every order. So he waited, for Lance Corporal Winters's next order.

Winters radioed, "Please, send the weapon up."

Thengil sent the blaster across. Then he began to climb. He had the arduous task of getting to the other side without getting stunned by a droid and falling to the netting below. His muscles rippled in his arms as he made his way across.

The covering fire from the human provided him with enough support, until he reached the middle. The blaster clicked. Thengil grunted, with exertion. Quickly, the Lance Corporal jammed another pack into the blaster and again began to cover him with fire. The Cathar growled as he leaped to land beside the Lance Corporal.

"Congratulations, It's time to move on a little to the next phase, But first." Winters looked down at his chronometer and paused the running time, making sure the Cathar couldn't see the watch. "I'd like to explain the next part of the course. Above you you'll notice what we call a 'zipline. You'll notice in the distance two platforms under its path that are connected to a series of walkways and doors. Each of those platforms you can land on, and I'll take the other. Along the way you'll find switches that are only able to open doors on the other track. In order to complete this successfully the two people on the separate tracks must be able to work together. There's just one more catch. Their are five random targets set up on each track that can't be targeted by the person their aiming at. It will be up to you to defend the other person and vice versa until all five doors are opened and both people reach the gateway to the next phase. The gateway itself can only be opened by both parties having their hand on the separate panels."


Winters pulled one of the pistols at his side, and handed it to the Cathar. "Careful, there's no room for error here. You have five shots, five switches, five doors, and five targets. Take it in steps keep an eye on your surroundings and you'll be fine."


Winters pulled the zipline close to the Cathar. Watching as the feline took it in his hands and prepared for his run down the line. Before he could go, Winters handed himself something outside of the program. A frag grenade... The Cathar just looked at him quizically. Winters let out a low laugh , "For any surprises I feel I might have forgotten to mention I had set up in there, Private." The Lance Corporal hit the button on his chrono's stopwatch one more time. "Time in. "

"So this is what it's all about. The human wants to know if I can be trusted to trust." Thengil made a growling chuckling noise in his throat. Trust was not what this was about. Thengil would have trusted almost anyone with his life, because he was not afraid of injury or death. Perhaps it worked differently in the human's society. Maybe they did not trust each other wholeheartedly as a pride did. "I am not afraid of injury or harm, so I do not fear to trust men, however feeble they be. But the people of this species seem to fear putting their life in the hands of others." Thengil wondered why that was. Didn't they know that if you died as a warrior you would be placed in the eternal fields?

The Wind gave the warriors of the forest strength to fight. It granted them victory in their battles. To die in battle was one of the five ways to gain entrance to the Eternal Fields. It was another thought that made Thengil long for the savannas of his homeworld. But he had been thinking too long.

He grunted and leaped onto the zipline. His fur rippled as his body parted what air there was in the training center. The platform was approaching furiously, quickly, fast. His paws grew warm from the friction created by the zipline. Following his instincts, Thengil jumped down from the zipline and somersaulted on the platform. He came up from the forward roll, pistol in hand. The cathar glanced around. The Lance Corporal had arrived on the opposite platform. Now it was time to move.

The Cathar's slanted eyes scanned the obstacle course. The paths contained no handrails and were only wide enough for two men. A short fall lead to safety nets ringing the paths. Along each path were doorways. And where were the switches? Thengil's eyes alighted upon what must have been one of the switches. Stalking over to it, he hit the switch. The first door on the Lance Corporal's side slid open. Thengil rushed to his own door. He scanned the Lance Corporal's side for any of the random targets and waited for the human to open his door.

Lance Corporal Winters began his run upon the catwalks he knew that this first set of switches and doors were just the warmup. In front of him the planking made two sharp ninety degree turns. First to his left, then to his right. After that it was a short sprint to the next switch. As he started he noticed the Cathar's attention solely on him. Above Thengils head a drone was dispatched almost directly above him. Raising his sidearm he fired once detonating the targets sensors so it unleashed a rain of sparks down upon the Cathar's field of vision. At the same time two things occured, several puffs of smoke came up from the space between them, unleashed by smoke grenades that went off after his 'kill'. The second was that a series of firecracker noises sounded from a hidden speaker behind the private. All to simulate the distractions to ones senses that might occur later...

Winters skidded into the corner of the catwalk's first turn... He could see the switch after this expanse of decking, ahead and to his right now as his orientation was presently facing directly away from Thengil, A target popped up between them. Aiming for the Lance Corporal's back... He knew it was up to the large man to kill this one. But would he be able to see the drone through the hazy smoke and noise that Winters had set up to simulate the fog of war?

Smoke clouded Thengil's vision. Loud cracking noises sounded all around him. The sound clouded his hearing as the smoke clouded his vision. Sparks winked in and out of existence. The Lance Corporal had shot something over his head. Most likely another droid. Thengil couldn't see the other thin walkway through the hazy, black clouds. How in the High Grass was he supposed protect the human from these 'targets' when this smoke was in the way?

Thengil ran over to the still closed door. Hoping that he would be able to see something. Farther away from the 'kill' the smoke grew a little less. Suddenly, a gap appeared in the smoke. The Cathar caught a glimpse of the Lance Corporal, running. Then the smoke closed over him again. Something else moved through the smoke. Thengil couldn't keep track of it. Was it-?

A red flash sped through the smoke. Taking aim, Thengil waited for what he supposed was the target to fire again. This time the flash came from higher up directed at the walkway below. Aiming at where the flash had originated, Thengil fired off several shots. Something exploded and pieces of droid came flying out of the smoke. Then the door he was standing next to slid open.

Quickly, Thengil rushed through the door and onto the next part of the walkway. He had to find that switch. Once more, the Cathar scanned the area around him. His fur stood on end and his ears flicked back and forth, attuning to the position around him and listening for anything and everything. Having a sudden sense of urgency, Thengil swiveled his head around to the other walkway and saw that the Lance Corporal had emerged from the blackness of the dark smoke and was now racing towards the other doorway. Another drone was behind him.

The Cathar took aim and sighted down the pistol. Two quick bursts left the pistol. The first one missed the drone by a millimeter, the second took it in the center of its carapace. Another burst of flames and smoke came billowing into the room. Another target down.

Thengil bunched up his sinewy legs and leaped over to the next switch. His paw came down on it and there was a hiss as the human's door slid open. The Cathar wondered what surprises awaited him as he jumped to the door.

The next part of the course was a little different, both paths converged at a sloping slant that would require a slide underneath a razor wire net towards a landing less than five feet from the floor. That's where the simulation got harder. A series of ten foot poles, lay spaced out above a strewn 'minefield' of stun charges that were hidden by smoke. A single mistep would me one's "Death" in the training course. And it was pretty much guaranteed a person would fall at least once, if they weren't completely attentive to their surroundings. To make the course even nastier Winters had instructed the techs to install some strategic traps at random amongst the poles, not even he knew where the traps were really going to be. The real trick to all this would be being able to recover quickly. He knew what he had asked for: a few weakened pillars, a grenade trip line trap , a net thrower. Heck he even gave Carte Blanche' to the range master to add anything suitable into the mix he felt like.

Thengil followed the Lance Corporal who was just a few seconds ahead of him and began his descent down the steep, razor above, earth beneath, sloping path. He sucked in his body and made himself as flat as possible as he skidded down the path. The speed he was traveling at was so fast, that Thengil thought he would raise off the ground and be cut to pieces by the wires. The thought was more of a recognition of a possibility, than one of fear. Finally, he shot out onto a flat surface, where he brought himself to a stop and stood up.

His eyes scanned the room. All along it were tall poles, thinner and not as tall as trees. A layer of smoke covered the floor of the arena, his eyes could not penetrate it. At the other end, above the poles, lay the ending platform. Thengil looked at his current position as well. An ammo pack lay on the floor next to him. The Cathar stooped and tucked it into his boot, stuffing the blaster in it as well.

Thengil's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the closest pole. His feline mind calculated the distance and he took a running bound and leaped onto the pole. Years of climbing the Great Trees on his homeworld made scaling the pole comparatively easy. Thenil's fingers clawed at the top of the pole. Using his shear upper body strength, the Cathar hauled himself upon the pole. Once more, the feline humanoid scanned the surrounding area from his new vantage point. The poles spread out before him, reminding him of the view of deciduous trees from above. The Lance Corporal was already well ahead on the course, but Thengil lost him again as smoke passed over the human. The floor below him was still covered in that same smoke. Thengil decided that it would be better not to fall; he didn't really want to find out what these humans had in store for him.

With a short bound, Thengil hopped to the nearest pole, and then the next nearest, always continuing forward though his path winded through the course. He continued to bound from pole to pole, his footing sure and his confidence high. A foam block darted past his head. Thengil glanced around and saw the turrets. A growl of annoyance issued from his throat and his golden fur rippled. He moved on, more cautious now. Something buzzed and whirred above his head. Once again, Thengil glanced around and saw a pair of droids coming towards him; tripwire was spread out between them. The Cathar waited until they were almost upon him, then he leapt upwards. The droids whirred past where he had been. Thengil came down and wobbled atop the pole, but he quickly regained his feline sense of balance. Withdrawing the pistol from its holster, Thengil sent three bolts at one of the droids. One hit it squarely in the middle and the droids whisked away.

The golden furred feline continued to bound from pole to pole. The poles were now much thinner and also much closer. Thengil's feet barely touched them as he sprang along and that was what saved him. He heard a crack from underneath the pole he was on and he felt it crumble as he was leaping off it and onto another unstable one. Suddenly, there was a rumbling and through the smoke Thengil went tense. He sprang towards his door. His body hit the platform with a painful crunch. Thengil's claws came out and he scrabbled his way onto the platform. A jumble of foam blocks cascaded down on the poles where he had been standing. The smoke cleared for an instant and Thengil saw Winters standing on the other platform, waiting for his door to open. The Cathar took action and hit the switch next to his own door, then he waited.

Winters, saw that the Cathar had made it, barely. But that was the point of all this training, one might fail in training, one might fail in the field due to circumstances beyond their control. The idea was to judge how they would recover. A person dealing with multiple stimuli from all angles would have to make an effort to determine which was a threat and where they should move to deal with it. Taking air into his lungs for a moment Winters walked through the doorway to the next area. It was a wide open area, with an eweb gunnery emplacement and a blaster cannon set up in the center impression. A dugout bunker of sorts with two of each type of emplacement within them.

It was here that the platforms merged into one path , one time and one place. By his side of course was a switch to open the private's door. He hit it, only to see the larger creature walk in, staring around at what lay in front of them both. As soon as Winters triggered the switch drones began popping out of the area beyond the circular platform as they fired shockbolts that coursed down to the decking nearby...

"Move it , private. Move, Move, move..." Winters yelled on the run as he fired at one of the droids between them and the open air bunker. It was quite clear this part of the course's objective and the first wave of droids was coming after them like an upset coven of displaced mynocks.

And Thengil did move. It was somewhat of an annoyance that this human was giving him orders. On his own world, Thengil would have been giving most of the orders. Things were so different here. It helped to think of the Lance Corporal as an elder, or warchief. He guessed that he would have to be getting used to that, if basic training was anything to judge by. Thengil's pride was still unbent, but he did have a certain respect for this Lance Corporal, who was thoroughly beating him in the obstacle course, if someone were to count it as a competition, which (now that he thought about it) was probably exactly the opposite of what the human wanted him to be thinking of it as. What the Lance Corporal kept hammering on was teamwork. Thengil may not have been as capable in the use of firearms, or tactics, as other soldiers, but he could throw his heart into whatever he did, as he did now.

The Cathar fired off shots at the drones in front of him as he ran. He hit one directly in his path, deactivating it. The others drifted in behind him as he ran like the wind through a grass field. Running made him feel alive, as did battle. Thengil launched himself into the open bunker and rolled to his feet. He grasped an E-web repeater, the other he did not know how to use. Basic training had taught him how to fire it and he had practiced with it more than once. He grasped the weapon and flicked the safety off. Thengil poured plasma into the drones, careful not to shoot the Lance Corporal, who came leaping into the bunker.

Thengil roared over the sound of the heavy repeater, "Sir! Do you have a plan?" His arms shook as the repeater roared. The air began to smell of tibanna gas. The cathar ducked as a stun bolt whizzed past his head, then the bolts began to whiz in earnest and ducking couldn't save anyone. So Thengil stood there, firing bolts of red plasma from the E-web, waiting for the Lance Corporal's response.

"Keep Firing, Private. Keep firing!"

As soon as the Cathar had dealt with his part of the wave two switches in the center part of the dugout popped out of the floor. The lance corporal merely motioned to the Cathar that they should push the buttons, Winters did his first. Quickly followed by the Cathar's button being pressed. For a few moments there was no apparent effect from the door locks being pressed, the next set of doors did not open. . .

Instead another wave of droids and drones popped into existence. The range master was certainly quite devious here. If they were to pass, Winters surmised they would only pass together. Which meant another layer to this game had been added. The requirement to act together. "Keep it up. Private. You're doing fine! We'll deal with this switch puzzle after the next wave is dead."

Thengil's ears twitched in annoyance as what he had expected to be a simple task suddenly became much more difficult. Apparently, the only way to open the doors and get through, without having a swarm of droids come whizzing towards himself and the human, was to hit the switch at the same time. Perhaps it was different? The large feline pondered his next actions carefully as he mowed down the incoming drones, with the E-Web emplacement. What if they were supposed to hit the switches in some sort of order, first Winters, then Thengil, order? That couldn't be right. He was overcomplicating. The best solutions to a problem are almost always the simplest, that was something one of the Purest had taught him long ago. He had forgotten it in the heat of the battle. Thengil grew angry with himself. How could he let the wisdom of the Purest float away? He must retain their knowledge. It was all he had of home.

The wave of droids was quickly destroyed in a hail of plasma. Thengil did not get through without injuries. Two stun bolts had hit him, one in the leg, another in his shoulder, but the effects were wearing off quickly. Perhaps it was because of his species, or maybe just his bulk. No, not bulk. Thengil was not to his people what the humans would bulky. His people certainly called him strong, but brute strength did not make the kill. Among the Purest he was known more for his agility and dexterity, but he was not the biggest. Thengil's thoughts changed course as the last of the drones fell.

"I suspect that the device must be hit at the same time...sir." Said Thengil in his deep and guttural butchery of basic as he ran towards the switches in the floor.

They reached it at break neck pace, the Lance Corporal skidded as he brought himself to a halt. Thengil's last bound left him directly in front of his switch. Winters counted to three and then they both hit their respective devices. The feline's ears flicked again as the switches went down at the same time.

Consequently the single door about 100 m away opened. Then something strange occurred. Something out of the program. A series of thin small plastic blocks, hurdles really came up between the two of them and the door. To make matters worse, a series of B-1 battledroids appeared behind them, their rifles spanging stun bolt fire.

"Come on Private! Get to cover,” yelled Winters.

Winters took the walls at a hurdling leap, only coming to rest behind the last one before the door to the next area. This was a good chance of trying to gauge the Cathar's determination to survive... and if he could keep his wits about him as he did so. At the very least, he'd see whether or not this Cathar remembered what was given to him for any 'special' emergencies that Winters had not decided to mention to him.

Thengil had not forgotten what the human had given him. It was not in his nature to forget something so important so easily. The item had been tugging at the back of his mind ever since he had started this...trial. Now he understood what the Lance Corporal meant and he knew now that this was the moment to use it. How did he know? Instinct. It's what kept him alive. He had to use it...now!

The golden furred feline raced towards the hurdles. As he ran he thumbed the activator switch on the frag grenade Winters had given him. Each wall he covered with a leap of such proportions that any human athlete would have had to pick their jaws off of the floor in sheer amazement. Running and leaping were in the nature of every cathar. So it was all to easy for Thengil to twist in midair and hurl the activated frag grenade at the cluster of tan, skinny non-sentients behind him. He hit the ground, rolled, and leaped over the second wall.

Within five second he was at the door. Together, he and the human rushed through the door into the next arena. Thengil didn't know what new surprises awaited him there. He was becoming irked. Truly, it did vex him to have the surprises being sprung on himself, rather than him doing the surprising. Any Cathar would have been bothered by that. His reflexes might have been able to keep him 'alive' for this part of the course, but he didn't know how much harder this course would get. He was already wondering whether or not it was going to end. All Cathars had patience, but that was when they were waiting in silence to kill a prey; this was completely different.

Winters lead the way into the next area. It was a short space, only about thirty meters and there was a weighted foam rectangle next to the entrance, a replica of a weighted ammunition crate. Beside that one were two holographic images of more ammo crates and best of all, No droids that he could see. Yet.

Across the center was a gravitically sealed bit of water. Above, in the center running parallel to both shores was a long timber nailed ontop of two mooring posts about five meters from each. This here water filled ditch was about 20 meters wide and would come up to an averate troopers head. A ten meter expanse was from the shore to the center post on each side.

Several holograms came into view, all of them of soldiers and stormtroopers. They saluted and one of them spoke, "Due to a regrettable miscalculation from the supply stores when we crash landed here we have brought footbridges, which are only 9.5 meters long. We have come too far to abandon our campaign and return empty-handed.
How can we resolve the following predicament:

Our ammo store boxes were breached. Any amount of water entering them will cause us to lose our ability to have adequate power pack for the ensuing battle. And only the six of us privates remain in our squad, The sarge and the Lieutenant and all the senior non-com's are dead. You're the senior of us left alive in length of duty. Our mission must go on and to do that we need to safely manuever these ammo crates across this twenty meter gap without getting them wet. We ourselves are allowed in the water, but we are unsure if it will stay safe for very long."

The holograms turned to the private. This Thengil Risha'jirr. Expecting their orders from him.

Thengil turned to the human lance corporal, only to receive silence as a response. It was up to him then. The Cathar flashed Winters a smile that barely covered his long, sharp fangs. This was obviously a test of his ingenuity. The human wanted to see whether or not he was capable of making decisions on his own. Also, to see if he could take command and get things done. Thengil snorted at the irony. That's exactly what he had been. One of the old blood, destined to be great. Now he was destined to be a part of this...Empire. Oh, he had been in command before. Every word he uttered, every syllable, had been listened to with the utmost attention. He supposed he should be glad that the Empire was not more like the old Empire, look at what they did to the furry tree people....wookiees. Enslavement and desecration of their planet. The history of Cathar and Kashyyk were very similiar. But right now Thengil had a problem to solve. And he would solve it, whether he solved it correctly or not...that was the question.

His yellow eyes flashed across the landscape. What did he see? There were the posts and footbridges of course. How would they get across? Perhaps they could link the footbridges together? Thengil's gaze fell upon a coil of fibra-rope lying on the ground next to some tools. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Soldier, how much of that rope is there? Enough to cross twenty meters?"

"Yes, sir. We have thirty meters worth of the fibra-rope, and forty of monofilament cable."

The Cathar's ears twitched and his jaw clenched and unclenched. Perfect. That was exactly what he needed.

"Good." Thengil promptly walked over and grabbed two grav clamp and two posts. He dragged the assortment of objects close to the waters edge. First, he grav clamped a post into the ground close to the shore and tied a rope around it, then he tied the other end around his waist. He swam across with the long post and grav clamp. Once he was across he grav clamped the other post and untied the rope around his waist, retying it to the post. He called to the human, "Send me a grappling hook line, sir." An affirmative came from the human, who then sent a line flying over to him. Thengil caught the line, locked the grappling hook to the post and told the Lance Corporal to lock the other end on the other post. Thengil was sure it could hold the weight of the ammunition box now. He swam back across.

Once on the other side, he and Winters heaved the ammunition box over to the line, where Thengil secured it to line with more monofilament cable. It would act like a zipline now, save for the fact that it wouldn't zoom from one side to the other. In fact, it would be much harder. Thengil once again tied a line around his waist, but this time the line was connected to the ammunition box. Thengil swam across, pulling the box along the line. He arrived on the other side, panting.

The holograms tried to follow suit, and Winters almost visibly winced as the other two ammunition crates were dropped into the water. The 'makeshift'' squad would then be put in a position of weakness for the coming assault. Unlike Thengil, they were limited to only the items they said they had in the first place as all thier 'tools' were holographic as well. He watched as they reformed on the far side, their objective ending in failure.

When the corporal finally climbed out to the other troopers side he was merely silent as the hologram spoke again.

"Sir, our ammunition supplies have been depleted to 33%. In front of us and the enemy position is a series of minefields. We've also just got commed a bunch of survivors from another assault team are presently engaged with the enemy with the Surface Marshal falling wounded. We're out of explosive experts, we could turn back and go around, try to disarm them, or simply run through the fields and take the casualties necessary to get to the Surface Marshal's side as quickly as possible. What do we do?"

Thengil's golden fur rippled with agitation. Why was he the one being asked? Wasn't the human Winters the most senior? Then again, wasn't this what he had been raised for? To lead? Yes, he would lead. That decided, he moved on to the next issue. What would happen if the Surface Marshal died? Was it all that important to rescue the officer? Yes, without the officer, no one can lead. So what course of action should he take? Should he go through the minefield? No, too much risk. Should he have the men try to disarm them? It would take too long. There was an important officer at risk and Thengil only had six men under his command, not including Winters, for Thengil didn't count that human as being 'under' his command. There was only one option left, go around.

"We go around." Quoth Thengil.

"Yes, sir."

Unease settled in the Cathar's mind like some sort of pestilence. That once caught, will not leave. A dark plague that clouded the mind and made the heart weight as a sack of rocks. It wrapped around Thengil. Gathering about him, rising around him, descending upon him. Had he made the right choice? Little did Thengil know that it was a question that plagued every leader; if they were at all capable of feeling; if they were a good commander. He was newly initiated into the stormtrooper corps. Why him? Why did the human want to test him for leadership? Had he made the right choice? Again the question bit at him, nagging, incessant in its pleas to be answered. In Thengil's pleas. Oh, for the wild grasslands and small forests of his homeworld! Everything was so much simpler there. But no....this was his duty to his clan. To learn. To serve. To lead. Had he made the right choice?

The 'squad' came up to the edge of field, strewn with fallen debris. In the center was a ceramacrete, bunker with a heavy weapons fortification up top. The guns were still firing at the 'enemy'. To their left in the far distance was a mobile Rebel Command vehicle with another turret mounted up top. Both of the turrets sprayed the converging ground with bolts of hot plasma as the Rebel troops began another advance. The squad was equidistant from both hq's and even closer to the main charging force the enemy was sending towards the Surface Marshal.

"All right, Sir. It looks like the Marshal’s forces are still alive but under heavy fire almost ready to fall, We might be able to link up with them directly or take out the enemy's lines of communications with an attack on their command vehicle. An alternative to all that is to try to disrup the enemy's main assault which is going on now. What should we do?"

A roaring squall of questions and thoughts swept through Thengil's mind. He tried to surpress them all. Too many questions made him lose focus. That's what he had been learning. What was needed here was focus. He concentrated hard. There were three options. He could attack the mobile HQ of the Rebel forces. That was an enticing option. And it was the one he would take if they had what he needed. He was a shocktrooper after all. It was what he had been trained to do. Albeit, apparently the human didn't approve of the standards there. The enemy forces were using a PX-4 mobile command base. It was originally used in the Clone Wars, but with those now being over it was used by many militaries. So naturally, Thengil had been taught how to blow it up. Or at the very least disable it. So, that was what he was going to do. They didn't have enough men to stop the wave of enemy forces charging towards the Marshal's HQ. Neither would it be smart to join the Marshal. If they were already being overwhelmed joining them would just add the number of death totals. No doubt they would make a valiant last stand. It tugged at Thengil's heart. To die so nobly. A death in battle... But no. That was not his purpose here. He was here to learn and survive.

Wrenching his thoughts away from further questions, Thengil turned to one of the holographic squad members. "We wouldn't happen to have a missile launcher would we?"

The squad member turned back for a moment. Suddenly, a HH-15 Projectile Launcher appeared in Thengil's hands...holographic. Thengil recalled the specifications of the mobile command base. The best option was to take out the treads. The armor was much too thick to be pierced by a simple proton torpedo. But maybe multiple blasts could-

"You only have one round, we are low on ammunition."

Thengil's eyes narrowed and his fur rippled beneath his armor as he remembered that it was his fault that they were low on ammunition.

"Very well. We are going to take out the Mobile head quarters. I will distract them by firing upon the tracks. The rest of you blow open the entrance hatch with your thermal detonators and kill or capture the Rebel leaders inside."

Thengil and the squad got to their feet and began to race along the edge of the field, circling around the main forces, and heading towards the command base. The reason Thengil had taken this course of action was simple. It was what he had been trained to do. If he had been a heavy weapons soldier he would have undoubtedly attacked the main force. Neither could he die in a command post, accomplishing nothing. This way, the main assault force would be distracted by the explosions coming from their command vehicle and if the Marshal fell, then Thengil would at least capture the leaders inside the HQ.

When Thengil had a chance to look back on his decision to distract the MCB by shooting at it with a rocket launcher, he decided that ultimately it was the simplest solution, but not one that had the best chances for his own survival, not that he really cared about that when he made the decision. A one-point-eight meter tall alien stormtrooper, with a missile-launcher, against a turreted cannon. Not the best odds for survival.

Nevertheless, the plan went somewhat as expected. Thengil fired at the MBC and blew up a portion of its treads. Then it returned fire. The simulated laser bolts hammered around the cathar as he ran full speed for the nearest cover. His heart was pounding and his was fur on end. He Leaped behind the simulated bit of cover and discovered two rebel snipers.

Now, it's hard not to stare in open amazement when you come, unexpectedly, face-to-face with your enemy on the battlefield. Then again, it was a simulation. The pause was near instantaneous. The spotter recovered first, his hand diving for the pistol on his belt. Thengil swung the missile-launcher, landing it on the rebel's head. The simulated body hit the ground. Now the sniper had had a chance to recover and was trying to bring his long-barreled rifle around. One leap was all it took to reach the sniper. Thengil grasped the man by the throat, dropped the missile launcher, and grabbed the pistol at the rebel's belt. One shot to the head and the rebel collapsed beside her fallen comrade.

The large Cathar paused for breath and sat down behind the covering shelter of a large rock. The turret fire continued for ten more seconds and then, inexplicably, it stopped. Thengil picked up a rock and threw it. No fire. The human must have infiltrated the MCB. Thengil gave the cathar equivalent of a sigh, a low thrumming growl, and began to stand up. When he saw the squad of rebels rushing back towards the mobile command base. They couldn't see him, but he could see them. There were seven of them, probably due to battlefield losses. Most likely the Federation squad inside would be taken unawares. Thengil's fur rippled in agitation as he realized he would've had another shot with the missile launcher had it not been for his incompetence at the river. Another shot could take out two or more of the rebels.

He then remembered the sniper rifle. Now he was no sniper, but that didn't mean he couldn't hit the enemy troops at this range. It was only a couple hundred meters, with a scope it was almost too easy. The cathar picked up the rifle and settled himself down. It took him a couple seconds to configure the rifle to his helmet's interface system, then he was suddenly staring at a magnified image of a rebel's feet. When hunting game he had oftentimes used a blaster, or slugthrower. He decided it would be best to use the same tactic as when shooting at a flock of birds in formation. Setting the sights on the last enemy contact in the line, Thengil aimed for the chest and pulled away. A thumping noise resounded from his position and the soldier dropped; just like a bird from the sky. The enemy personnel reacted slower than if the lead man had been hit. It took them a couple seconds to turn around and assess what had happened. Then another two seconds passed as they frantically began to scramble. In those precious seconds, Thengil redirected his rifle to the formerly lead man, as they were all now facing the direction of the fallen soldier. Another shot, another resounding thwump. That soldier dropped to the ground, clutching at his side and screaming.

Two were down, five more to go. Now they were all behind cover. But Thengil had served his purpose to temporarily hold the enemy down. They were all cowering and looking around for the unseen sniper. Now was his chance. Thengil leaped up and with the agility of a Cathar ran in a bob and weave pattern through the field and towards the MCB. Fire began to kick around his feet midway. He dived into a portion of long-grass, hidden from view. From then on he stalked his way towards the MCB, still moving quickly, but unseen beneath the grass. Then he was at the blasted out entrance to the inside of the hulking machine. Turning back to see if he was being pursued, Thengil caught the glimpse of the five soldiers rushing towards the command base with all hast.

The comparative darkness of the MCB washed over him as he ran inside.

"Private if your alive get aboard fast and help finish clearing the aft portion of this wreck that has the enemy officers. We're about to head right into the thick of things." said Winters’ voice across the com.

Thengil complied with the order. Heading into the aft section of the vehicle, he proceeded to clear out the rooms on the behemoth. Fortunately, it seemed as if all the higher ups were gathered in the central planning room. All his prey would be together. Stealth had seemingly gone to the wind. With the entire hulking machine now moving, any doubt that something was wrong would be gone with the wind.

The room was large and flashing with various lights and displays. A giant hologram of the field was projected into the center. The rebel leaders were gathered around the hologram. Thengil didn't pause when he raised the blaster, he didn't stop when the first bolt spewed the holographic brains of the first rebel through the hologram. But his thoughts were racing. That rebel had been a Bothan. One very close to his own species. These were practically the elders of the rebels. It would be like killing his own elders. No, it was different. They were enemies. They had to die. Unrelenting, trying not to think too hard about it, Thengil turned the blaster on the second officer. A plasma chewed through his traitorous heart. All the officers were now diving for cover. But Thengil was now the hunter, and they were his prey.

Ten seconds later and he was standing in the wreckage of the strategic planning room. He moved out and checked the surrounding rooms for any possible survivors. Thengil supposed it was now his duty to eradicate these rebels, just as it was once his duty to eradicate those bugs on his planet. He popped into a nearby room. It appeared to be some sort of officer's quarters. Two of those officers were conversing with each other, when they saw him they frantically scrabbled for their weapons. One already had her's out, she shot a bolt straight at his chest. Thengil dived out of the room. He looked at his armor. A sear mark scored its way across his chestplate. He fired two shots around the opening of the room. Suddenly, a hail of blasterfire came raining out of the officer's quarters. Thengil ducked around the corner.

This was a hard spot. What were his options? He could dive in there and start firing, hoping he didn't take a direct hit. He could wait it out. Alternatively, he could leave and find a grenade and come back, or just leave them. It would be foolish to leave. But he couldn't leave and get a grenade either. And if he waited it out it gave a chance for anyone else who was on the vehicle to escape, or kill the rest of the small Federation squad. So Thengil dived in. Blasterfire pinged around him. The impact of two bolts the chest almost threw him backwards. He steadied his arm and double-tapped the female officer in the head. By the time he turned to the second officer, he had been hit in the thigh and shoulder. Hopefully, they would only leave large bruises. He shot the officer.

A minute later the aft section was cleared. Thengil used his helmet's tongue-toggled com, "[TO: Wintersirect:Voice]: Lance Corporal Winters, this is Private Ri'shajirr. Aft Section cleared. [End]"

As the MCV rode toward the NR forces in the distance a strange soothing tone of voice echoed throughout the environment.

"Warning... the Surface Marshall has expired... warning... the simulation is ending. Warning... warning..."

"What? No!" growled Thengil

The Surface Marshal had died. His mission was failed. Everything for nothing. Thengil felt a little numb. If it had been a real mission, the Surface Marshal would really be dead, and he would be at fault. The implications of this weighed in his mind. He didn't say anything as he felt the mobile command center dissipate beneath him and he landed with a thud on the ground, his feet beneath him, in a crouch.

All around them the simulated environment began to disappear in a haze of photons as the holograms shut down. Where a few the NR forces had been felled the pale bodies of training droids pick themselves up and begin to proceed back towards their holding cells... probably going to a recharging station and then to the techs for maintainence and repairs. The other bodies, moving or otherwise, had just disappeared into thin air as a hazy light had spread throughout his vision.

As the rest of the area shut down there were only the littered gangplanks and scaffolding of the obstacle course that could be seen in the distance... the places they had previously traversed, now silent and unused. The smokey haze which had clouded much of the area had dispersed and now lay still in the environmentally controlled air.

Winters just looked around for the Cathar, and finally saw him picking himself off the ground... Winters motioned to the door at the edge of the holographic arena, one which was about twenty yards away. It lead back towards the normal average corridors of the range . "All right Private, back to the original room you first were in for discussion of results, Double time it and Move out."

Thengil just shook his fur out once then proceeded to follow Winter's instructions, it would be interesting to see the recorded data once they got back to the original greeting area...

Thengil shook his head sadly and turned to Winters. The human said something about moving back to the original room. Thengil nodded and they proceeded onward. He didn't pay particular attention as they walked. His thoughts were full of self doubt and guilt. If it had been real....if it had been real....

What Thengil was experiencing was a minor suffrage of battle trauma. Nerves were raked raw by constant exposure to death. And when someone realized they had failed in their mission, or that their best buddy had died, those nerves snapped. And in the resulting wash of self pity and misery, it was often hard to recover. But that was in a real battle situation. Thengil was in a training situation, not a life and death, flesh and blood battlefield.

This was exactly why he was doing the training run. So that if he ever experienced something like this in the future, he would have the knowledge of how to deal with it. It was better to learn how to cope with things in the training center, then to be dealing with new threats and feelings on the battlefield, in addition to all the other problems and objectives that were at stake.

But all of this would be minor to what Thengil he faced in real battle. And that brought things back to going to see the recorded data at the original greeting area. Thengil shook his fur and they double-timed it back.

When they arrived back at Winters’ office, the Lance Corporal had Thengil sit down and watch the footage of the training run. All of it. The mistakes, the successes. The grueling battles of will and the difficult obstacles of the mind as well as those of the physical. Thengil stared at it. He had come here wanting to train himself. He had thought it would simply be a physical exercise, never dreaming it would hold so many questions and answers about his own spirit.

Winters seemed to notice the trail of his thoughts and smiled at him. “Thengil, when we train we do not do it just to train our body - although some do - I believe that the hardships we faced in the training center were more than just a physical challenge. It challenges who you are. And you proved yourself to me Thengil, oh, you had your mistakes. Quite a few of them. But you showed me that you have what it takes. These results,” Winters waved a hand at the footage, “Are only the results of someone who grades them. Only you can know how much you gained from this, got it?”

Nodding slowly, Thengil looked up into the human’s eyes. One of the only pairs of eyes that could steadily meet his primal gaze. “I think.... I understand.” Thengil stood. “This has given me much to think about, Lance Corporal Winters. It has been a pleasure training with you... but, I think I need to find myself again.”

Winters’ eyes narrowed slightly as he looked Thengil up and down. Light trauma? Possibly. “You do that, Thengil. And anytime you feel like training come down and I’ll have the men set something up.”

Thengil nodded and smiled slightly. “Thank you, farewell, Lance Corporal Winters.”

“Goodbye, Thengil. And remember what I said... only you can know how much you gain.”
~~~

Several rises of the sun later found Thengil kneeling in the middle of a field, thinking. His errors in the training center had disturbed him. He was Cathar, of the Purest. A leader from birth. But he had led badly. Much he still needed to learn, something he had learned. More than that.... he needed to find out who he was. That was why he was here, to listen to the Wind.

The tall grass blew around him, their touch comforting. His golden fur rippled in the Wind. He felt at peace and free of pain, even the burn on his face gave him no trouble this day. He bowed his head and drank in a breath of the clean air.

“Who am I?” he whispered.

A sudden gust of Wind whipped the tall grass and blew over him, whispering as it came. “Ti’Shar” Pure Blood. Ancient Blood.

OOC:

Thus ends my story for Thengil. 11,254 words.

OOC:

Obtaining the past.
Sometimes you have to go back, to go forward.

The land was vacant of other humanoid life forms for miles in all directions. Sweeping  hills and valleys as far as the eye could see. A place where you could actually completely  lose yourself in the serenity and peaceful tranquility of the land. It was quiet here, far  away from civilization. Far enough away you could almost forget you were at war with most  of the Galaxy. There existed a freedom out here, it was one of the rare places on this  planet you could truly relax. It is why he had chosen it at his home, to be away from  everyone if only for a short time. When you came right down to it he really did not like  people much, most of the Galaxy's population angered him. They had the annoying habit of  getting themselves killed when he decided he liked them.

On a small hill, at just off center of a clearing sat a multi-story villa. It was elegant  in its simplicity, a design from decades ago that had gone out of style. It was a close  recreation of his childhood home, part of his subconscious seeking a long lost childhood gone.  The land was cultivated, bushes, trees, simple flower beds surrounded the property. Off to  one side stood a large building. Outside parked in orderly rows sat various vehicles,  inside was the equipment and tools required to keep the vehicles running. The war machines  were an odd contrast to the nature loving feel of the property.

The inside was airy, open and very inviting. Tall windows were spread out on most of the  walls, during the day very few shadows actually found their way inside the home. It was his  training kicking in, he disliked anywhere someone could hide and surprise him. Even though  he rarely invited anymore here. Being alone was his only solitude in this life, it was his  way to escape fully the hardships he had overcome  in his career. 

Tasteful furniture sat in their proper places, it was like the house had been born and  grew up to a semblance of perfection. It was in an odd contrast to its owner. On missions  he was reckless, dangerous, and downright messy. He felt it important to have one part of  his life orderly. People said it fit him perfectly, at different times he became a  different side of the coin. Perfectionist on one side, slob on the other.

The rooms were lightly furnished, everything in neat orderly locations. A large vault door  sat open which contained his armory. Being who he was he had amassed a large collection  over the years. The living room was bright, open, and warm. He sat on the couch wearing  simple black pants and a black shirt. He was staring out a window as his Strill  Lurk slept beside him. He ignored the uniform laying on a table in front of him, it scarred  him. Worse then at any other time in his life.

He did not spend much time here like he used to, his job as assistant squad leader took up  most of the hours of the day. So staying at the barracks was a better option. He was on  leave now though, for one month. This worried him, never in his long career had he been  given such a long leave before a campaign. Being second in command only made things more  difficult.

The sun beams coming in through the floor to ceiling glass windows illuminated a new patch  to his uniform. The words encircling the outer edge seemed to mock him even as he ignored  it. The words Wildcard and RAIDERS took up the top half, in front of the squads emblem was  their motto, Faithful to the end.. On the bottom, the words written they were his real problem. 

For years he was used to simple Trooper, or even for a short time Fire Team  Captain. Now though, now the words Assistant Squad Leader seemed to laugh at  him. He was now responsible for the lives of his squad mates, responsible for giving orders,  coming up with tactics, and bringing them all home. He doubted he could do even one of  those, let alone all of them.

He had only just returned from a two years long absence when Havock promoted him a week  later. He accepted it, because that is what a good trooper does. You accepted everything that  comes at you, then you do your best, or you are replaced. In quiet times though, that is  when the true problems begin. It eats at you slowly, the doubt worming its way deep to your  core. It festers there, till you either kill it. Or it destroys you.

This was his problem now, at the barracks he could lose himself in his work. Or on a  mission he would not mind it so much. Havock was in charge, he just followed her orders  like normal. When he was alone his mind began thinking though, if Havock fell the squad  would look to him for the right path. It worried him he would not choose the right one and  get someone killed. Someone who died while he was in command would be his fault. 

He sat back and closed his eyes. Feelings his worn out body beginning to relax slowly, bit  by bit. After a long time he felt himself somewhere else, somewhere in a memory.


Six ABY, unknown planet, unnamed mission.

  His armor was unadorned, for this mission he had no rank, no insignia. If he was captured  no one would be coming for him. For the time it took to complete this assignment he did not  exist. He was truly a Ghost here, it would be months yet before he even considered joining  the Empire. 

He was not a mercenary, more like a scout. He did not have the true elegance of a real  scout, but he had enough to get the job done. The quality of the information depended on  the amount of money offered. People learned quickly not to try to short change him, he had  no qualms about giving some no named individual the wrong information if the money was not  right.

He was laying on a hill overlooking a compound. A modified DC-15 rifle sat in front of him  as he kept watch through the scope. His job was to provide intelligence, and backup if  needed. Only under dire risk to the small group operating in the compound was he to open  fire and give away his position. He was their eyes and ears out here, they relied on him to  keep them safe. It was a job done many times, all ending in success. Accidents did  occasionally happen but never to him. No one knew he was up here, he arrived days before  everyone else alone and unknown.

A three man team had been sent here. He was not sure on the details of the mission, his  only job was to provide assistance if needed. The two moving between the shadows below him  knew the real reason they were here. They did the leg work, while he sat up here and  provided intelligence about guard patrols and possible ambush locations. It was an easy  enough job, one he had done many times before. It paid well, for a few days work. 

This was his life, job to job. Client to client. Go out to a certain location, give a  report on the location and get paid. He was good at it too, twenty four missions in two  years. Zero fatalities, this was the first one he had any operational control over though.  It was the first one they relied fully on his intel only to get the job done, usually a  four man scouting team was sent one at a time. This time only he went, he was a bit cocky  in thinking this would go off without a hitch. The money was the highest offered to date,  and he did not want to split it with three other individuals. 

He should have known better, you never break your own rules. His rules were simple, always  send in multiple scouts. This time he had broken it, the feeling in the pit of his stomach  was growing. He knew something bad was going to happen, but he was too late to stop it.

He watched through the scope as suddenly one of his team was down. The form seemed to  materialize out of the shadows in an instant. He clicked on his comlink but found only  static answered him. Lines of communication had been blocked, he knew someone had ratted  him out somehow. Moving the rifle over he quickly found the second member of his team, or  what was left of him. A group of men was holding the severed head, and looking in his  direction. His position was compromised, he should of run but a need for revenge gripped  him. Gritting his teeth he angled for a shot, just as his hill was suddenly engulfed in  mortar fire.

 
Jerking upright he looked around, the room was empty save for Lurk. He looked out the  window, from the sunlight he guessed it was midday. He could feel his heart pounding in his  chest as he breathed rapidly in and out. Just a dream He thought, Four months  before I joined the Empire. I had forgotten about it till now, till I was in command again.  I do not even remember their names.

He knew why he could forget such an event took place. His first operational command, and  it went horribly wrong. A month spent in interrogation before he made his escape. His two  friends dead, their bodies burned and the ashes spread to the wind. Their families never  knew what really happened, only waited for their loved ones to return home. They never  would though, so many would never come home.

A month later he had tracked down the man who had set up the job. After two very long days  for the man he admitted he played a part in getting the team ambushed. The men who had set  up in the village was found dead a day after the attack. All loose ends were tied up quickly  and quietly. Joamer had finished the last loose end himself, a slow slide of a knife across  the jugular. A few wet chokes later and it was done.

He let the newly remembered memories float through his head for a minute before he stood  up and stretched slowly. He had come a long way since then, he did not want to go further  really. He was happy as a trooper, no responsibility only duty. Duty is to the Empire,  to truly fulfill it you need to take the job offered and embrace it. A familiar voice  said to him. It was Havock's voice when she was informing him of his promotion. 

At that moment he wanted to run away screaming honestly. He did not know then why he had  such a deep seeded fear of being in command again. It took remembering the last mission to  figure it out. Two men were dead because of his intelligence. Two men with families, that  would never see them again. He felt a powerful shame come over him, how could he let  himself forget for nearly four years. Never even once crossed his mind the two men's lives  he had a hand in ending.

When Havock had given him his papers, and told him to sort out his office in the barracks  he considering retiring fully this time. Doing something that would ensure he would never  be able to return to the Empire. He had been in command before, and it always ended badly.  If anyone ever could see his record from his old life they would shoot him in the head in  an instant. He had gotten people killed, blatantly killed others for disobeying his orders,  even had a few tortured because they had endangered the group. Of course, this was all  before he joined the Empire. You do not do things like that, least not where anyone with a  holocam can watch.

He wanted out, his duty was not to the squad. His old squad members had moved on to other  things, he was the old man now. Only Havock had more time in the squad then he did. He  should of never come back, he was not sure why he did even now. Some deep seeded want to  prove himself perhaps, or maybe wanting to feel the rush of a deep cover mission. Or  maybe, just maybe you want to prove to yourself you can lead. He let that thought die,  he was a follower. Never a leader, not again. Havock would not fall, his job was to protect  her it was that simple.

He was good at the job, even with someone like Havock. She needed a full time medic just  for her injuries. He thought the number of times he had to leave a mission to come to her  rescue sat at six now, but he was not sure. It might of been closer to ten by now. She was  someone you followed because you wanted to, he could never be what she was. He was not the  right type of person for that job.




  It was two days later when he decided he would leave Tadath. He did not even need to  pack. Just grab his pack he kept always loaded, whistle to Lurk, and walk out the door. A  long ride on his KC-2019 motorcycle to the starport followed. He was not really sure why  he chose the destination he did, but as he paid and boarded the shuttle he felt a weight  lift off him. He was doing something he should of done many years ago, he was going  home. The trip was quick, and less than boring. Specially since he was not actually doing  the flying, he wondered as the shuttle took off did the pilot really know what he was  doing.

A day or two later he stepped off the shuttle into the gentle rain. Slipping his pack on  he stepped into the space port wearing a floor length leather coat, with Lurk riding on his  shoulder. He felt the weight of his MG-1 Particle Magnum on his right leg, its constant  presence bringing a calm to his body.

He paused at the edge of one of the multitude of landing ports in Stokoryce City. He  looked around slowly, memories of a past life beginning to slow come back to him. It had  been many years since he had been here. Well before he joined the Empire, the placed looked  the same in some regards. Though, he still felt like a stranger.

The place looked old, a miniature Coruscant almost. Its buildings tall and elegant, the  lower levels lost in the rain and fog. It looked old, and the signs of age were beginning  to show. Not much progress had been accomplished in the last few years, the city was  beginning to suffer for it. He felt the atmosphere around him, everyone seemed afraid to  talk too loud. Almost as if the very thought of speaking would destroy them.

"welcome to Stokoryce city, Capital of the beautiful Leria Kersil." An automated voice  said as visitors began filling into spaceport control. "Please watch your step, and remain  patient as our well trained staff help in processing your stay here." The computerized voice seemed an odd contrast to the overall feel of the place. He filled it away for later  analyses.

Strange, never needed custom control before. Wonder what has happened since I've been  gone. He thought to himself as the followed the crowd. The building was new, the guards  were not though. The youngest he saw was in his thirties, and all of them had an officer  rank or higher. The way they stood and held their weapons they had proven themselves in a  fight or two over the years. You do not get that many ribbons and accommodations by sitting  at a desk all day.

He stepped into the large building, his eyes following the movement of the guards as they  watched everyone closely. Ignoring the longer visitor line he stepped up to the nearly  empty citizen line and waited quietly. He could feel eyes on him, luckily he kept his coat  closed. Seeing his Particle Magnum strapped to his leg would be bad, the military issue  jack-boots on his feet were bad enough. He noticed two of the guards paying attention only  to him. Luckily Lurk was not growling any anyone right now, she just sat in self-imposed  importance and seemed to look down at everyone. The guards ignored her, their mistake if it  came to a fight her claws hurt.

Stepping foreword as the person in front was moved through the line, he waited till the  worker looked up at him and gave the fake smile all government workers had. "Papers, name,  and identification number please."

He felt the rain running down his bald head as he sighed slowly. After a moment he said  "Name is Tremaine Joamer Reistlin, I do not have papers, or an identification number. I've  not been here in over twenty years."

"Then you are a visitor, sir. You need to go stand in the other line." The worker said as  he motioned to the man behind Joamer. The worker was visibly tired from people trying to  cut through the shorter citizen line.

"No, I am not." Joamer said slowly, keeping his anger in check. "I was born here, well  before you were born young man. Back then we did not need papers or identification numbers to  come and go to our homes."

The man looked up at Joamer and considered calling security, but after a moment he began  typing into a terminal. "Parents names." He could feel the man's self imposed importance  radiating out all around him. This was the moment the man was truly in charge, his one  moment in the day he controlled everything. Joamer hated people like that, but he kept his  calm.

"Yernin Tremaine, mother. Hyuir Restlin, Father." Joamer said, an instant later the room  went dead silent. He heard safeties being clicked off on weapons all around him. The worker  looked up at him, fear seemed to pour out of every pore of his body. The self importance  vanishing in an instant.
 
Lurk crouched down and went still. Out of training Joamer put one foot behind him so he  could watch his back as best he could. He did not move to uncover his magnum though, the  odds against him were not good in the slightest.

"Hyuir Reistlin is a traitor to the people. He killed Senator Rodarien in cold blood four  nights ago." A man said as he stepped foreword. By his uniform Joamer guessed he captain of  the guard. He looked around, taking note of the positions of the guards and any available  cover. His chances were not good, the room was set up in a way where there was  no  cover, escape human shields aplenty.

"I've not seen, or heard from either of my parents in over two decades." Joamer replied,  keeping his eyes scanning the room. He beat down the sudden welling of anger that cropped  up at the thought of his father could be a murderer. "I don't know what has become of them  in that time, but part of me feels you are wrong." Joamer said slowly, his right hand  resting lightly on his belt mere inches from his magnum. The casual movement seemed  subconscious, but it served to push the coat back revealing his pistol.

The man saw the movement and smiled, slowly drawing a near identical particle magnum of  his own. Joamer watched him fully now, his eyes on the near twin magnum to his own. After a  long minute the man said "You know, these weapons are interesting. DNA encoding allows only  certain individuals to use them. Only guard captains and above are issued one. To my  knowledge they are not made anywhere else in the Galaxy, at least not to this  craftsmanship."

"That was a very long time ago, well before you were born." Joamer said as he looked at  the guards around him. He felt Lurk shift slightly, a guard had moved within striking range  for her. His training was kicking in, he knew his chances were not good. He still had luck  on his side. He would have to move quickly and fast, the captain was merely a distraction.  The room was emptying of civilians, guards had taken up positions all around him. He  thought he saw a way but it would need to happen fast before they saw the mistake.

"Come to think of it I remember a Tremaine serving as Guard Captain back when my dad was a  green cadet out of the training corps." The man said as he slowly tapped a finger on his  Magnum, his eyes never leaving Joamer's.

"Like I said, that was a long time ago." He shifted his weight to one foot as he glanced  at the spot to his left. He knew Lurk was going to jump to the right, the split from them  both would buy the time they needed. He looked back at the captain for a moment about to  make his move but froze. Squinting at the man Joamer said with a shake of his head. "Is  that youngpup still alive? We used to take bets on what Miurt would screw up next."

The man chuckled suddenly, after a moment he holstered his magnum and gave a signal to the  guards. "Alright, you've gained yourself an audience. Let's see what truth we can dig out  of this whole mess." Nodding to the terrified worker he turned around and motioned Joamer  to follow. "Yes, for your information he is still alive. Probably in a shoot out in another  guard station somewhere."



Three hours later the Guard Captain and Joamer were sitting in his office. Lurk was  surrounded by a pool of milk and snoring contentedly. The man who later identified himself  as the son of Miurt Gyio sat behind his desk and watched Lurk warily. 

"Don't try to pet her next time and she won't chew on one of your fingers." Joamer said  softly, so as not to wake the strill. The man did not really believe him as he kept a close  eye on Lurk. He waited a long few moments before saying "Alright, we've beaten around the  bush long enough. Tell me what happened, Miute."

The man leaned back in his chair, which squeaked as he did. After a long minute he began  talking. "All week I've been getting reports, call ins, random notes dropped in our box.  Everything pointed to a possible assassination attempt on a Senator sometime this week."

"So you saw him do it, caught it on tape or witnessed him in the act?" Joamer said slowly.  His mind was going fifty miles a second, if the man said they had undeniable proof he  wondered what lengths he would go to for a man he had not seen in two decades. He knew the  answer, above all he was his father.

"No, no one saw anything. It happened at night in his apartment, security did not even  notice anything was wrong till the next morning. No camera caught anything, we have  surveillance everywhere due to the upcoming elections. No camera for ten miles in every  direction even saw your father." Miute angrily said, his frustration finally boiling to the  surface. "Those blasted letters the next day began pointing fingers at him. Then the news  broke on us having evidence about it." 

Miute's voice shook at the last bit, his angry coming to the surface fully. "Blast it, I  trust your father with my life. I know he would not do anything like this, but I can't do  anything more then protect him in a safe house. The whole blasted city is about to come  down around us, we've had four riots in the past twelve hours."

"So you arrested him without evidence?" Joamer said, his right hand resting near his  particle magnum. The man looked up, and noticed right away. Luckily he shook his head  slowly, his eyes meeting Joamer's.

"No, he's in no way under arrest right now. He is at a house safe, for his protection. The  media and the masses want his head. They are convinced he did it. None of them will listen  to reason." 

Leaning back in his own chair Joamer tapped the fingers of his right hand on his chest as  he thought. "It does not make any sense why frame my father he has nothing to do with  politics as you told me earlie... woo, wait a minute..." The pieces of the puzzle finally  clicking into place. "Oh, frak me." 

The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. He knew without a doubt if he  accessed his home network he would find a message from his father. "Let me see the last  letter." The bad feeling you got when you had just sprung a trap was suddenly on full alert  for him, he knew the real reason why the senator was killed. Right then his tattoo felt  like it was burning. His past life was coming back once again to haunt him.

Hesitating for a moment, but remembering Joamer used to be a Guard Captain himself, Miute  reached into his desk and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Shrugging over the primitive  technology used he handed it over. The paper was thin, dirty, low grade trash. The type you  found in a side street market for the poor. The hand writing quality was carefully  concealed though, but you could tell in one or two places it was written but someone of  higher stature.

Joamer sat for several long minutes as he studied the paper. Right away he picked up a  possible code written into the message. It was one he had used many years ago, and still  used part of it today. The cypher was the tricky part though, it was nearly randomly  generated in the words. It took him more time to fully translate it, and once he did he had  his proof. He had screwed up again, and pretty much walked into another trap.

"I repeat, frak me." He said softly, almost to himself. He noticed Miute going on alert,  as Lurk sat up and began looking around. She could pick up Joamer's emotions, and right now  they were going on high alert. He thought he had the element of surprise, maybe he even  jump started their plans with his arrival.

"You mind telling me what you have suddenly found out?" Miute said after a few seconds.  The impatience in his voice was becoming increasingly more pronounced.

"It's a bloody trap, that is what I found out. imbedded in this letter, and I figure all  the others is a message to me. From a rather annoying ex-associate of mine from another  life." Joamer scanned the paper again, looking for one more clue. After a long minute of  silence he gave up, the ally he wanted here was not part of this plan. "He set this whole  thing up, to lure me here. Luckily I don't think he noticed my arrival, or even prepared  for me to get here so soon." Joamer said as he slid the paper across the desk.

"So your father is in on the whole assassination. He must hate you, if he would deceive  his own son, and then try to lure him into a trap." Miute said as he carefully put the  paper back inside his desk. 

Joamer looked up at him, he studied the man for many long seconds before saying "No, he's  not part of it. He's a pawn in their plans, I figure a three man team. They killed  Rodarien, I'm certain of it."

"So a senator dies, a father framed, all to get at the son?" Miute muttered, not believing  a word of it. "Sounds far fetched, why not just go at you directly?"

"They don't operate like that, they come at you from the side. They are good, some of the  best I've ever trained in my long life." Joamer said slowly, he avoided looking at the mark  on his right wrist. It was part of his life that kept causing him problems.

Miute glanced at the mark for an instant, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I see." His voice  was no longer friendly in the slightest. Joamer heard the room ambiance change, since it  used to be his office he figured the security systems had been activated. At a single  command or eye movement gun emplacements along the walls would open fire right where he was  sitting. He should of realized what the creak from the chair was, failsafe trigger had been  activated. A simple foot movement completed the circuit to bring the security systems  online in the room. 

"Yes, it has to do with that. That was a long time ago though, I'm more reformed now."  Joamer said as he leaned back. 

"Not completely though, I take it." Miute said, his eyes not leaving Joamer's.

"Old habits die hard, it's useful to have contacts in the more interesting places in the  Galaxy in my line of work." Sighing deeply Joamer said after a short pause. "Look, take it  on my word for a retired Guard Captain that what I'm telling you is the truth. My father  and I had nothing to do with the senator. I'll help you bring these men to justice. I  trained them, or at least one of them. I know where they will be hiding, waiting for me."

Miute studied Joamer for several long minutes. The rooms security system waiting patiently  for a signal. Joamer knew making a move would be the end of him, his life was not in his  hands right now. He heard the room change, the air currents seemed to shift ever so  slightly.

"I can keep your father safe for three more days, we have till then to prove he is  innocent." Miute said, as he pulled out two datapads. "Now, let me show you a layout of the  city."

 

The next day and a half went by slowly. After staying in the office long into the night,  they picked out three possible locations the men could be staying at in the middle class  quarter of the city. Joamer, however, knew he could not venture out without risking the men  spotting him and fleeing. The quarters he was put in were small, they were designed for new  recruits. Miute swore the men he sent were his best, and most trusted. Joamer wished he  could go himself, the men were well trained but he had more experience in matters like  this. He knew this was one of the times he had to sit on the sidelines though.

He had to laugh at his current circumstances, over thirty years had passed since he had  slept in a room much like this. Yet, he was back in the same building. Sleeping on the a  bed just as hard as he remembered. An extremely powerful man hiding like a rabbit, from a  few men he trained years ago. He hated the old saying the student becomes the teacher, but  right now it was true. He was playing by their game, with luck he could change the rules  around on them.

Well, it's a good thing you are hiding. You may have trained them a bit too well.  The nagging voice in his head said for about the tenth time today. 

He was pacing the room, while the soft sounds of Lurk's snoring came from the small bed a  few feet away. Over the past day and a half two of the locations had been scouted. Their  scouts best guesses were that neither location was the one the men were stationed at. No  unusual activity was seen, and no new faces either. He could not venture out himself due to  the fact he was a new face in the middle class sector of the city. The place was a complete  slum, no one ventured there unless they lived there. So he had to sit here and wait.

A knock on the door brought his hand to his Particle Magnum, as he turned slowly towards  the sound. He doubted anyone who wanted him dead would knock first, but you could never be  too careful these days.

"Tremaine, black forest before red dawn." The voice of the Guard Captain said a few  moments later.

Not lowering his guard Joamer replied "Only after the tides." 

The door opened as the man slowly walked in. Careful not to move too quickly otherwise an  accident may happen. The room was booby trapped, as was much of this wing of the building.  Nodding to Joamer, Miute glanced over at Lurk who had begun staring at him patiently. She  still did not like the man much for some reason, though this was pretty normal. Lurk did  not like many people at all.

"I think we found them. Saw a short man come out of the west quarter. Silver hair, down to  his back. Walked with a limp, and has a scar running up one side of his face." Miute said  as he read from a datapad.

"Hugy Imae. I gave him that limp, and the scar. Bastard tried to garrote me years ago."  Joamer said calmly. Moving over to a weapons case Joamer opened it and began preparing. As  he slipped on his harness he said "Where are your men stationed?"

"All around the building, but we used locals who I can trust." Miute said as he watched  Joamer brought out his rifle. "My god, you really did find one of them."

"Aye, M41A Pulse Rifle. She gets the job done, and if the bullets fail the grenade  launcher will prevail." Joamer said as he clipped the rifle to the harness and put on his  floor length leather jacket. "Listen, I need you to keep your men out of this. You can take  all the credit for the bust, but I need to be the one to deal with them myself. They are  too well trained."
 
Miute looked at him for a long moment, he knew Joamer was not lying. Their best estimates  of the death toll was five or six of his men, and maybe two of the three men dead. It would  be a war zone if they went in, he knew that. "Listen, Tremaine."

"This is what I do, before I became what I am now, this was it. A one man team for the  most part, I went in captured someone, and got out." Joamer said as he turned to face the  man, Lurk took this opportunity to jump up to his shoulder and situate herself.

"You were a Bounty Hunter then?"

Joamer considered saying yes, but it would be a lie. This man deserved to not be lied too,  since he was going to great pains to keep this whole operation a secret. "No, though I have  played that role before. A lifetime ago I worked for a criminal organization, well before  the start of the clone wars. I was a slave trader, a pretty good one too. I have to do this  alone, Miute. It will help me atone for some of the things I did."

The man sat down in the one empty chair in the room and sighed. "I knew it was something  like that, I saw your tattoo. I may be a bit back water, but I know that symbol. I'm sure  there is a sizable bounty on your head somewhere. Enough to have myself and my family live  comfortably for the rest of our lives." 

Joamer began running through plans to escape if need be. He knew this building, helped  design it. He could get away, but getting to his father would be the tricky part. Miute  looked up at him, his face saying he had come to a conclusion. "I'm all about second  chances though, when you enter the building we will give you ten minutes. Then we come in  full force."



  He stood silently in a shadow of an ally as the rain began falling gently down around  him. He watched the building across the street, noted the windows, the doors, the way  people seemed to ignore it. It was waiting for him, he could feel it. A piece of absolution  that he would receive finally, maybe it would help put to rest some of the decades worth of  guilt he carried with him.

Those men died because I screwed up, I will never lead anyone into battle ever again. I  can follow, but never lead. No more blood of friends on my hands. The voice in his head  said to him quietly. He felt Lurk shift gently on his shoulder. She was perched upright,  watching everything around them. 

His breathing was slow, even. He knew what was coming, a few moments of excitement  followed by a slow realization. The calm before the storm was happening all around him. He  was the center of that storm. Relaxed, fully in his element. This was easy, he had been  trained many times. First how to survive, then how to kill. 

Slipping the Pulse Rifle behind him he locked it into place so it would not swing around.  Unholstering his Particle Magnum he stepped out of the shadows. Quickly transitioning into  a run he raised the Magnum and fired at a window. He felt Lurk jump off his shoulder and  glide into the darkened room a moment before he jumped in himself.

Rolling into a corner he stopped facing the door, he could hear activity throughout the  building. Or at least what sounded like activity, the tone was off. The motions more  repetitive then real. Frak me, it's another decoy. He thought as he heard shuffling  on the other side of the door.

"It's no decoy Tremaine, it's a bloody trap. One you walked right into." A voice from the  other side said as the door was kicked in. He did not have time to admire the men knew what  he would be thinking right at this moment, a distant part of him felt pride his teachings  were still being employed. He heard a canister being thrown in a second later, but was too  late to take cover from the flash bang that went off.

Shutting his eyes and beginning to count he waited for the effects to wear off. His body  feeling lethargic and weak as the combination of blindness and concussive force racked his  muscles. He heard the man step up in front of him, after a moment the Magnum was kicked out  of his hand. "Pitiful, coming in here all alone."

"No, not really." Joamer said as he heard the soft gliding Strill a moment later. 

He could not see, but knew the man was too late to stop the attack. Lurk had taken cover  behind a crate, she was not effected by the flash grenade in the slightest. Leaping up she  glided over to the more vulnerable spot of the individual and went straight in.

"OH GOD! GET IT OFF, IT'S EATING MY FACE!" The man started screaming as Lurk tore into the  soft flesh with her teeth and claws.

Standing up Joamer shook off the effects and grabbed his Magnum just as another man peaked  his head into the room. Moving forward quickly Joamer grabbed the mans head and smashed it  into the door frame. The sounds of wet choking came from behind him as Lurk finished the  man off. He did not bother to turn around, he knew she would be licking herself clean for  awhile.

He did not bother to check the other rooms, he knew only these two men would be here.  Kneeling down he slapped the one left alive. After a moment the man looked up at him, his  nose was dripping blood. From the quickly growing flow he figured it was broken.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you will answer. Or I let her have her way with  you." Joamer said as he turned the man's head to face Lurk. Her once tan fur was coated in  red, she looked over at them and growled softly as she perched on top of the corpse.

"It won't do you any good, Tremaine. Hugy Imae is gone, left days ago. Even I don't know  where he is now. You've failed, he will return stronger. You won't stop us again, that I  promise." He said as he spat blood at Joamer.

"Pity." Joamer said as he slammed the man's head into the floor. He did not bother to  check the rest of the building, he knew it was empty. One corpse, and one unconscious man  to stand trial for the murder of a senator. Luckier then you usually get. He thought  as he stood up and sat down in a chair nearby.

He looked at the floor as Lurk finished cleaning herself off. A few moments later Miute  and a few of his men made entry. He looked up as the man entered, his face contorting as he  took in the scene.

"If it makes you feel any better I did not kill him, she did." Joamer said. Lurk looked up  at Miute and preened, quite happy with herself for doing a good job. "You get him to  question though. His name is Cepti Olium, probably needs medical attention. Couple  concussions and a broke nose I think."

"What about the third guy you said was here?" Miute said as he motioned to his men to  check the building. "This Hugy Imae, I thought he was here."

"He's gone, left days ago. Apparently they knew I was here the whole time, so he ran. I  trained him a bit too well I think. The tricked all of us into believing he was still  here." Joamer said. "Make sure they know to check for booby traps."

"I've already informed them, and you trained them to run away? Not very sporting if you  ask me." Miute said as he holstered his own Magnum. After a moment he stepped forward and  handed Joamer a sealed note. "It's from your dad, he was released this morning. Said he was  taking your mom and sister somewhere safe."

"Tactical retreat then if you want to get technical." Joamer muttered half to himself. He  looked down at the note, and sighed. It was the first thing his father had given him in a  very very long time. 

"What are you going to do about your friend?" Miute asked as he stepped forward. He  watched as his men drug the unconscious body away. Joamer sat looking at the particle  magnum, and the note his father had left for him. "I'll deal with him in time, but first.  First I need to go see my parents." He knew he would have to face Hugy Imae one day. Just  not this day.

OOC:

WC- 7854

OOC:

Closure

For the longest Jo’ron had that feeling in him, that feeling of loneliness that consumes you when you’re no longer allowed access to those that you love, and the place where you’re from. His father had not tried to contact him, even after the dozens of attempts to reach him by his son. Jo’ron had lost all contact with those in his previous life, and as of recently, his squad was his life. But the squad who he would grow to respect and fight with was stationed on some backwater planet that the Empire wanted to control.

Before shipping out, a month of leave was bestowed upon him. But where could he go? Hutt Space was out of the question along with many planets around the Core. He missed his old life and everything it stood for. The freedom of not living a conformed lifestyle and the thrill of smuggling was what he lived for. He could never go back to that life again, atleast if he wanted to live.

This left him in an awkward position, choosing the life as an Imperial Stormtrooper. After several months of intense training it was time for him to finally put his rifle to use against real targets. It was on the planet of Tadath that he chose to begin his period of leave, posted inside of the local cantinas having a drink. Nobody bothered to reach out to him, and neither did he want them to. Instead he chose to loathe in his own misery, ignoring the upbeat tempo of the patrons that surrounded him. The air was filled with languages of all species and the loud atmosphere wasn’t doing any good for Jo’ron. The alcohol coursing through his bloodstream had already caused him to feel intoxicated and anymore would intoxicate him even more.

He stood up from where he’d been sitting and slowly walked towards the exit. Even with his senses slightly impaired he couldn’t help but shake the feeling of someone staring at him. He looked up to see a man sitting in the back of the Cantina, motionless, not even bothering to touch the glass of liquor on his table. Odd… Was the only word that he would say in his conscious. Maybe he was loathing too, but he did manage to stand out from the rest of the patrons. He wasn’t playing Pazaak or Sabacc, and out of everything his eyes could’ve been watching it had to be him. There was also the possibility that he was overanalyzing the entire situation. Tadath was a big planet; he couldn’t have been the only person with demons to confront.

But you could never be too certain when your life is in danger. Whoever wanted him dead had contracted dozens of individuals to get the job done. What’s to say they won’t find out his location? Credits went a long way when somebody wanted some information. So he walked under the cover of darkness until finally he reached the small room he rented. Jo’ron began to smile; nobody was around from what he could see. The chance that he slightly began to overreact was beginning to look high.

With the swipe of the card for his room his body began to loosen up. The liquor had its effect, but no longer did he have to walk. Since his childhood, he’d always appreciate having a bed to sleep on. There was always something about it that provided him with a sense of protection. The tenseness in his muscles would ease away with time until he was stuck floating in dreamland.

He twitched constantly in his sleep, always switching positions and moving until he was left in an awkward position. It wasn’t a surprise when he woke up abruptly, hands grasping tightly at his pillow as the dreams faded into reality. His abrupt awakening was accompanied with a high-pitched chirp that followed. It was a sound that he recognized immediately, a sound that he dreaded. His worst fears were now coming to light; His location was compromised.Damn it…Det-packs!

And then it began. The explosion that followed shook the complex like it was being bombarded by artillery. Jo’ron soared across the room, crashing into the wall from the initial shockwave. His room lit up a bright orange, the flames expanding until it reached its peak where it collapsed into a litter of rubble. Armored men entered the room en masse, weapons at the ready. Jo’ron creped along the floor, using the dust-filled air for cover until one of the intruders yelped in excitement.

“He’s right here!”

And then the confusion began.

Jo’ron lifted his bed off the ground and flipped it in the direction of his assailants. He fired his pistol several through the mattress only to have a hail of lasers singe past him in return. He continued firing nonstop, his finger only letting the trigger go once the blaster fire ceased. Jo’ron couldn’t help but approach one of them who showed signs of life. He panted, coughing blood onto his armor. The look in his eyes reminded him of his deceased crew. He knew his life was over with and now fate was making him suffer for his sins.

But Jo’ron wouldn’t give the pleasure of dying in relative peace. He wanted answers, and answers he would get. He kneeled next to the dying man and stared at him with a devious smirk. “Who sent you.” He asked, fully aware that the man was barely clinging onto life. But even on the eve of dying he followed his immoral code of honor, staying silent. Jo’ron jammed the barrel of his pistol into one of his wounds, twisting it, turning it and digging deeper and deeper into his flesh. Blood sprayed along his face as the man continued to cough up blood, still not giving Jo’ron the information. “I said…” He began before digging the pistol deeper into his flesh. “Who sent you?!” The man coughed out more blood, his lips moving as if he was trying to speak. Jo’ron leaned in closer, repeating the question. He could barely hear what he was saying, but there was one word that he could distinguish.

“Borca.”

The Hutt that brought him into Nal Hutta’s smuggling circle was the one who caused all this chaos. The reason that his family had basically cut ties with him, for all of his friend’s deaths and his self-exile from the majority of the galaxy was all due to the betrayal that plagued him?  Jo’ron couldn’t let the thoughts of revenge dwindle now that he knew the person that wanted him dead.

“Where is he?!” Jo’ron questioned the man who was now slipping in and out of consciousness. He slapped the man on the cheek and shook him, repeating the question over and over until he spat out his last words.

“Ta-ta-.” He paused; fading out of consciousness after another coughing fit caused him to spit up more blood. “Tell me now!” Jo’ron demanded.  “Tatooine.” Was the last thing the dying man would say. The sporadic breathing would come to an end and silence once again engulfed the room. There was a lot of preparation needed for a trip to Tatooine.

–    A week later  –

“Hey kid, ETA till we land on the surface is five minutes.” Said one of the men in the room.

Jo’ron reached over and grabbed his bag off the floor, rising off the couch with a smile. It wasn’t hard for him to find a ship to take him there under the table, especially with the large amount of smugglers in the galaxy. The right amount of credits could buy you a way to anywhere you desired. In his case he needed to get to Tatooine unnoticed by any of his former associates. Having a military buzz cut helped a lot, especially since he was never seen before without having hair. The last thing he wanted was for Borca to find out he was on the planet and have him hide in his little lair. The flight to the surface was very turbulent and it wasn’t until they’d landed that Jo’ron would say anything. “Thanks.” He handed the captain of the ship the credits he owed him and with that he left the ship. 

The heat shined down on Tatooine’s sands, sweat forming on his forehead from the moment he stepped off the ship. He was use to the heat on Nal Hutta but this was different. It was a dry heat devoid of any humidity. Even though he had frequented Tatooine several times before he would never get use to the heat. Luckily he’d prepared for the heat beforehand, donning a khaki-colored cloak in the back of the spaceport.

Jo’ron set out from the spaceport, blending in with the citizens of the city perfectly. The streets were bustling with life; shops selling all types of goods and the occasional group of Jawa peddling their wares. It always amazed him how full of life Tatooine was when the planet was a giant desert. Hutts probably enjoyed the heat, but humans didn’t. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t appealing to the young Stormtrooper. It didn’t take long for Jo’ron to find the local Cantina. He paused at the door, preparing himself for the upcoming confrontation. If anybody noticed him prematurely he was most certainly dead.

He dropped his bag on the ground several feet from the door and entered the Cantina, his hood keeping his face from full-view. He could see several individuals turning around to see who entered but for the most part they were uninterested. For all they knew he was just another traveler stopping by for a drink. Jo’ron took a seat at the end of the bar as he looked towards the back of the Cantina where the obnoxious voice of Borca rang through his ears. He was a flamboyant Hutt, indulging himself in food and drink constantly with his closest associates. They were all crooks in their own right; corrupt henchmen and officials who were hell-bent on making as much profit off the people as possible.

Jo’ron approached Borca’s private section with his head tilted down. At first they attempted to figure out who was approaching them and eventually they found out. Jo’ron raised his head, removing is hood with his left hand and pulling a thermal detonator out of his pocket with his opposite hand. “Everybody but Borca leaves this section right now or we’re all going to die!” He commanded. He left them speechless and only the bodyguards chose to react. Blasters were pointed at him and soon his finger moved to activate it.

Borca shook hands his hands at Jo’ron, panicking at the thought of the detonator going off. “[Everybody get away from here right now!]” He ordered. It was a slow process; Jo’ron kept the grenade tightly in his grasp as his bodyguards backed off with their weapons pointed at him.

“Order them into the general area, Borca. If any of them shoot at me we’re both turning into ash this evening.” Jo’ron smirked. He would activate it if anything went wrong. They took heed to his warning and soon they all were out of his sight. He was sure that they were waiting for the right moment to move in and kill him. There was no way that he’d give them that chance.

Jo’ron sat adjacent to the Hutt and smirked. “Why did you hire those men to come after me?”

“[Don’t take it personal, Jo’ron. It’s all business…]”He began. “[You knew what you got yourself into!]”

“What did I get myself into? I was getting paid for smuggling weapons and cargo, that’s all. If there was an unwritten rule that when you quit smuggling you get killed I should’ve been informed.” Jo’ron replied, the anger building up inside of him.

Borca responded, but unlike the man he interrogated he was unusually cooperative. “[You were chosen to be expendable…]” The Hutt chuckled “[All those weapons you smuggled; the unmarked cargo, what did you think it was?]”

“Enlighten me, sleemo.” He replied, silence awkwardly occurring for several seconds before the Hutt spoke again.

“[The unmarked cargo is special in many ways, Jo’ron. There are plenty of factions that are willing to pay a lot of credits for an edge against their enemy. I can’t tell you what it is, but everybody involved in the smuggling of it is to be terminated. You are no exception…hehehe.]”

This operation is bigger than just one Hutt…hmm. This will take more probing than a month… The silence built between them once again as Jo’ron began thinking heavily on the situation at hand. Apparently his crew wasn’t the only one targeted by the Hutts. How many other ships did they hire to smuggle that cargo? And more important, who were they transporting it to?

“But why? Why did you have to choose my crew for this task?” He asked, standing up from the table.

“[It’s simple, Jo’ron. Everything revolves around your father’s past. That’s where you’ll find what you want to know. It’s just a shame…you won’t live to find that out, you will be killed soon enough.]"

“Echuta…cha skrunee da pat, sleemo!” Jo’ron angrily spat out in Huttese. He slowly backed away from the table, pulling his pistol from underneath his cloak. Borca’s bodyguards approached him at first but the sight of the thermal detonator caused them to back off.  Borca joined his retinue of characters in staring down Jo’ron, waiting for him to let his guard down. Approaching the door he never turned his back towards the cantina’s patrons.

Jo'ron wouldn't let Borca leave the Cantina alive, he'd make sure of that. He activated the thermal detonator and smirked, rolling it in front of the Hutt. Everyone’s eyes turned directly to the explosive rolling in their direction, giving Jo’ron the opportunity the opportunity to raise his pistol in the direction of the Hutt and fire off several rounds.

Pow, Pow, Pow!

The sound of his pistol echoed inside the silenced Cantina and the Hutt fell over from the impact of the slugs. Several of his guards scrambled to get rid of the Thermal Detonator but by then it was too late. An explosion rocked the building, burning everything it encountered to ash.  Jo’ron watched from outside the Cantina as smoke poured from the front door. He donned his hood and picked his bag up from the ground. He needed to contact his father as soon as possible. If his father was tied to all of this, what role did he play? Whatever it was, it had cost his son his previous life.

His business on Tatooine had finally concluded with a lot of information gained, even if it did include his father. The fire was beginning to grow and the authorities would converge on the location soon. He disappeared back into the shadows, heading for the Starport. The hangar was his destination and his trip was coming to a close. If he survived his first deployment he'd try and figure out what was his father's role in the whole situation. For now, he'd return to Tadath and finish off his leave in peace.

OOC:

2559 words.

OOC:

Meeting the extended family

Fenris, the largest landmass on the planet Rhyza, was home to well over five hundred million people and countless native wildlife.  It was here that the original inhabitants braved a three hundred year old ice age and built the foundations of today’s Rhyzan society.  With over seventy-five percent covered in forest, it is no surprise that the main source, outside of the shipyards, is soft wood, a rare commodity in the heavily mechanized sector. Due to the pirate attacks that have plagued most of Rhyza and neighboring planets in recent years, a joint security force was created under the banner of the Kasrkin Home Guard; the first company to join the KHG became the widely feared Armored Fists known for their savagery in combat.  A force of just over sev-

“Are we there yet?”

“What?”

“Are we at the station yet?  I’m going stir crazy just sitting in this transport for days on end.  Also why are we doing this again, going to her family’s place?”

“You tell me, you’re her fellow Fenrisian, not me.”

“Do I have ears pointing out of my head? Not to mention a tail?”

Letting out a loud sigh Katyusha Tikhonov, aptly known as Tanner, turned off the holo-vid; her interest in Rhyza’s history diminished in comparison to those sitting next to her.  Surrounding her were John ‘Kilroy’ Varl, Cipher Manos, and Victor ‘Voodoo’ Danilov, all natives of Rhyza.  In contrast, Tanner’s home world was Sanguinius, a planet well rumored for the vampiric tendencies amongst the human population.  How did I let Kilroy convince me into coming again? She thought, putting one of her hands over her eyes to hide the fact that she was getting a nasty migraine.  This sucks.

---

Under normal circumstances, John Varl would have made a joke or two at someone’s expense before pulling them in for a hug and hoped they knew that they were in good company.  However, Katyusha didn’t fall under any of those situations as she, for all extensive purposes, was like a sister to him; an evil, blonde, red-eyed, and crazy sister going by what everyone else said.  Mulling over this, he couldn’t help but feel that despite only knowing her for a little over a year, something enabled the two to read each others thoughts like they were family.  “Hey, you alright over there?”

“I’m tired, need to drink some blood.  Ya know, being a vampire and all.”

Chuckling at her attempt to distract him, it always amazed him at just how different everyone was outside of their armor.  If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that they were entirely different people than the ones he trained and fought with over the last year.  Hell, that might just be it, we’re all axe crazy and should be locked up. He thought, shaking his head at the countless times that they took refuge in audacity in combat.  Reaching over, Varl began to ruffle the top of Tanner’s hair, grinning at the fact that a warm smile crept onto her face.  “Heretic.”

“Xeno-Lover.”

---

High above the mountain valley, surrounded by thick nalwood trees, was a small shrine dedicated to an ancient god of harvest.  It was here where Reiko Nagase spent her time relaxing; the brisk wind that flowed through the valley created what was quite often a pleasant smell that usually calmed her down.  It’s so peaceful here, why can’t the rest of the galaxy be like this, she wondered, her thoughts shifting as the winds changed direction.  Letting out a rather loud yawn, Nagase took one last moment to take in the scenery; the next time she would get to look at her home like this wouldn’t be for another year when another tour was finished.

“Reiko, your friends are here!  Better get down before your father gets a hold of them!”

“I’m coming Oka-san!  I’ll be there in a minute.”

Racing down the steps that lead to the shrine itself, she began to hear the ever familiar sound of raucous laughter that came from her childhood friend Victor.  Alongside it was the light giggle of Tanner, the maniacal cackle from Cipher, and the dark chuckling that came from Kilroy.  It wasn’t odd to her that she could differentiate who made what type of laughter and whether it was genuine or not; having ears similar to the wolves that lived on Fenris probably helped in that aspect.  Taking a leap to finish off the final few steps, Nagase gasped as she saw her friends enter the family dojo. No don’t go in there now!  My father is in the midst of meditation!

---

Shiro Nagase, tenth successor and current master of Kyokushin, was currently in the middle of a breathing ritual.  Taking deep breathes to clear his mind, Shiro was nonetheless perturbed at the fact that his daughters childhood friend had brought three strangers into the family’s studio.  “Victor-kun, why do you bring such miscreants into my household?”  He asked, calmly sizing the new guests to see how they would react.  “You know the rules, and yet again, you have broken them.  Now one of you will have to pay the penalty for such insolence.”

Using the staff that he had on hand to send a strike in the four’s general direction, Shiro was nonetheless impressed when one foolhardily grabbed the end and used to close the distance. This is going to be quite an interesting fight. He thought, seizing the opportunity to bring his opponent into the sparring ring for a more easily controllable fight.  “It appears you wish to receive some punishment in the form of a match.  I am in a sporting mood, so I will let you decide the victory terms.”

“Cadian rules for a duel, to the first blood.”

“Alright then, so shall it be.”

---

The first few seconds of the fight were a blur to him.  As everything began to slow down due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, John knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy fight.  While he had a few years of experience in actual hand to hand combat before joining the Vast Empire, his current opponent however held magnitudes of skill compared to the average pirate and large predator.  Counter, counter, counter!  Get the feth out!  He thought, hoping to gain the upper hand by getting out of the older man’s range of attacks.  Kicking off the martial arts master’s knee, John retreated and began to reconsider his hastily made decision.  Well, this was a great idea of mine.  Hey I got another one. Let’s get my brother Jack, put him in a box, and have him pop out at the right time….Brilliant!

“You fight well for one your age.  Tell me, where did you learn how to fight like that?”

“Former Armored Fist, 4th platoon; former commander was a guy that went by the name of….What, why are you laughing?”

“I should have recognized that style from the start.  Without needing to be told I now know who taught you.  How was Mr. Royce when you last saw him?”

“Heh, still kicking ass and taking names…”

“First blood to Cadia?”
 
“First blood to Cadia.”

---

Nagase’s tail was whipping furiously when she heard the tall tell sound of fist cracking against a person’s jaw.  Frightened that one of her friends ended up being turned into a bloody pulp, she nearly ended up ripping the door to the dojo only to find the grins across everyone’s faces.  But, but…I could have sworn I heard bone’s crunching.  Nagase thought, staring into the middle of the dojo where he father was laughing and hugging Varl like he was a long lost son.  “Oto-san!  What’s going on here?”  She asked, curious as to the fact that she could smell someone’s blood in a recently cleaned building. 

“Just a little match dear, nothing to be worried about.  Also your friend here sucks at fighting…I think I might give him a little training before you guys go.”

“I…do not…suck…using your tail…like that….was a cheap…trick!”

“Ah-ah! Vindication! VINDICAAAAATIOOOON!”

Not even bothering to pay attention to the little spout coming from her father, Nagase quietly went to grab her friend out the bear that he was in.  It was then that she noticed a small trail of blood that ended at Kilroy’s mouth.  Glaring at her father with killing intent, Nagase paid no heed to the innocent smile that he gave her.  “Oto-san! Why did you feel it was necessary to do such a thing?  How will my friend eat now when he can barely talk?”  Jeez, just look at your face! Why’d you let him ring you in like that?

---

Tanner’s mouth was wide in both amusement and surprise over just how protective Nagase appeared to be over her combat buddy.  Already having a hard time laughing at how Nagase was able to bring John Varl down to her height and smother him, Katyusha didn’t have the time to react when Voodoo grabbed her and Cipher and lead them out of Nagase’s family dojo.  Awww man and it was just getting to the fun part.  She thought, punching Voodoo in his shoulder so he would know about her displeasure with him.  “Hey man why’d you take us out like that?  It was just about to get good!”

“Ah well….If I was reading the situation correctly, I think the old man thinks he found Reiko’s future husband.”

“….”

“Hey the only time I’ve ever seen him hug a person like that was when Reiko’s older sister brought her fiancé with her for the first time to the house.  Yeah don’t ask, I haven’t a clue either.”

Staring at the two men with her, Tanner began to giggle as she could not contain herself any longer.  For all she cared, being a member of an eccentric family seemed like one of the greatest things to happen to her.  Hey, maybe now I too can let loose as well, what happened in basic was just the beginning of great things to come.   

OOC:

1,678 words in total, and over three days of writing too