| Author |
Topic:
Mixed Signals
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/4 12:54am
Subject:
Mixed Signals
|
"Mixed Signals"
by Lures 
Time: Long before PTM
Genre: AU ( I think )
Characters: LOTS of OCs, but Tahl makes a cameo 
Disclaimer: I <3 GL, and this is another tribute to his genius.
Synopsis: Lots of plot twists and unexpected circumstances entwine the lives of three people from very different walks of life, including a high-ranking planetary officer, a street-rat, and an ex-Padawan. Their journey together takes them to planets on the Outer Rim, with several causulties, some romance, and the feeling that between the three of them there are A LOT of mixed signals.
Hey. This is my second completed story about to be posted on TFN, and I'd like to thank everyone for reading this since my confidence in my writing abilities has dwindled these past few years.
I am responding to Twich's Sentence Challenge in a somewhat unique way - I have taken all the sentences posted from 2005 and 2006 and put them somewhere in my story. These sentences are in bold.
It will consist of 15 parts, a prolouge, and an epilouge. All of them are least a page long, and will be very time consuming and the first three parts will probably come off very boring, but as writers we all know how hard it is to make exposition ineresting, so bear with me.
Without further ado, allow me to introduce you to my story: "Mixed Signals"
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army.  Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/4 12:56am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
- Date Edited:
6/4 1:16am (1 edits total)
Edited By:
ShadowofLures
|
PROLOUGE
The Commander was standing in front of the window in his decorated office. The lights were out, and the breeze from the ocean-view he was privileged to brought a chill to the room, making him shiver and the hair on his arms stand up. Little moments like this let him know he was alive. So much had happened over the past year that it was sometimes hard to remember that there was still much of his life to live out . . . he was still a young man, after all. A knock on his door jerked him sharply back to reality and he remembered why the knock was there in the first place: he still had a job to do.
His new lieutenant opened the door and stepped in, saluted him, and laid a brown package on his desk, then walked out. The lieutenant was a good man, a good soldier, but not as good as—
A pang of sadness made a direct hit on his heart. He clutched the spread of skin that covered the essential organ, and the gesture eased the pain. Finally turning away from the window, he stepped towards his final duty for the current mission. After he did this, it would all be over . . . but making his final report meant he had to relive it all over again. Sitting down in his chair, he locked the door from his seat with the consol on his desk, and opened the package. Inside, were pictures of the people on the mission, those he had seen and those who only had slight influences on its outcome. They all had to be in his report, but the story in his mind was so different from what he was required to put in writing. He started to write, knowing that the first sentence would always be the hardest.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way -- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."
Knowing this made no sense, he continued. Suddenly, he stopped. His mind had gone wild.
I'll make my report as if I told a story, for I was taught as a child on my homeworld that Truth is a matter of the imagination.
But if I make it different than from what I remember, it would no longer be the same.
Try not to ease your pain by letting others be burdened with it. It doesn’t ease it or make it go away; you just inflict that pain on others that don’t deserve pain at all.
There are some events of which each circumstance and surrounding detail seem to be graven on the memory in such a fashion that we cannot forget them.
He rubbed his temples, as if the memories had been written in stone and if he applied enough excessive rubbing and wine on them, they would be rubbed out forever. He knew it was not to be.
What was the story again?
I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.
He had started with providing background for all the characters associated with the mission . . . but became stuck on one in particular. A familiar wave of affection swept over him and he realized that even in death, he still loved her.
He had interviewed many people after her death, trying to piece the puzzle of her mind so he understood her better. He wanted to know why she had done the things she had done, why she acted the way she had . . . the only similar tangent in all these stories was her face. They had all agreed she had the most lovely eyes, no dimples or washed-out skin, just a slight tan. Other than that they couldn’t make up their minds whether she liked to wear her hair up or down, let alone who she spent time with or who she was close to.
So he had to make up most of the story, but he was supposed to make this one woman in question look extremely villainous; this assignment was also against his will.
He had tried to decline it, but his one noted blackmailer had made it clear of the consequences if he didn’t do as they asked. He had to file a false report on an innocent person, and make them the scapegoat of a crime he knew very well was not hers.
The irony of this well-known and heavily populated planet being the one to hide such a deep secret had not escaped him.
"From the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent."
He remembered himself saying this to her when they had first confessed their true feelings for one another . . . but now it was used to describe the horror of her death with the irony of the crime she was assigned to.
It’s been said that the moment you are born you also begin to die, as the tick tock of death’s chrono is activated, counting down to the moment one will return to wherever their beliefs teach, the how, when, where and why to be determined somewhere along life’s path.
Wherever she was now, he hoped she was finally at ease, and most importantly, happy. His lips twitched, forming the smile she had loved to make him surrender.
Reminding himself of his assignment, his smile faded and once again, he tried to remember.
"You can't open the holo of my life and jump in the middle. Like woman, I'm a mystery."
He touched his jaw, his smile returning as he remembered her reply the first time he asked her for information about herself.
I tried so hard to free you . . . I tried so hard . . .
And even in the end, it didn’t matter.
He still had to frame the woman he loved with a crime she was completely innocent of.
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army. Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/4 12:57am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
- Date Edited:
6/12 9:36am (6 edits total)
Edited By:
ShadowofLures
|
Part 1 - Halstead Conway
Chapter 1
“You may now stand, Commander Conway.”
The vibro-pike that had been resting on his left shoulder lifted, and he looked up at the Queen, a smile of thanks on his lips. He retired from the one-knee-bent position he was holding on the floor in front of her, and regained his balance on both feet.
The audience applauded, and the newly presented commander nodded to his family, aware of the medal around his neck, the presence of another badge on his uniform, and the eyes watching him all over the room.
The altar he was standing on in the public throne room was rather small, so he cleared the eight small stairs that had led to it before turning and bowing to the Queen. The Queen nodded, giving him permission to go into the adjoining room. However, he saluted the other three Commanders before facing the audience.
His family took up the first few rows on the left side of the room. He didn’t look at them as he walked right past them down the aisle that separated the two masses of seats, and kept a straight face until he had acquitted the room.
Entering a smaller chamber in the palace, he looked out of a window.
The sun was setting, and as it closed in on the horizon, its reflection, shown on the lake that surrounded the peninsula the palace was located on, appeared to have live wrinkles on its face. The water was rippling, unusual for the lake because it was habitually so placid, and gently caressing the beach, smoothing out the sand so that it shone like burnished metal.
Then he heard the door open behind him, and he turned accordingly, receiving his mother’s kisses and hugs, his father’s pats on the back, his younger sisters squeals of excitement and pride, and his grandfather’s smiles. Next came his friends, who all shook hands with him, and beseeched him to lead the way to the party. Conway complied, smiling all the way.
Upon entering the room that had been dressed accordingly into a cantina, the smell of food assaulted them, and the talk became animated as each man took a plate.
Shortly, Conway was the object of many admirers. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. However, even though the Conway house was wealthy, and Commander Conway himself was single, he was not too keen on marrying. Or so he thought.
Like a homing beacon, she caught his attention. The girl walked through the doors, behind his current assailants, with a sly look on her face, and caught his eye. With a wink and a nod the signal passed between the lovers, letting each of them know that when the eyes of the planet were not upon them, they would meet at their special place. Her name was Abey, and was the girl he knew best.
Reminiscing, he thought back to his younger love-life. He was telling his mother how he had doted on a girl he had liked when he was fourteen years old.
“I watched with glee from the refuge of my hiding place as the object of my affection came across the mystery present, tore off the wrapping and gasped in surprise that I had finally managed to give her the perfect gift.”
His mother laughed. “I’m sure she would like to know who it was that gave it to her,” she said gently.
But Conway shook his head seriously. “It would betray the title of ‘secret admirer’.
His mother laughed again, then Conway had abandoned her company to play outside. That day was the day their planet celebrated their Independence Day.
When the Republic realized that there were other systems outside the Core Worlds, they made each system a different nation. What they didn’t realize is that within each system there were different planets who wanted to be recognized as separate nations within the system. After years of sorting out the mess they had made, the Republic finally came to Conway’s planet, and the ambassador of the planet for the Republic, who was also a member of the Conway family, returned after a year on Coruscant to proudly proclaim that in the eyes of the Universe, they were an independent nation.
Every year this proclamation was celebrated with a light show at the darkest time of the night, during which everyone either crowded onto stretches of dry green grass or some other place where they could see the sky. Also, every year, Conway hadn’t been allowed to go because he wasn’t old enough. But this year, that was going to change; his parents were going out with friends to see the show, and Conway was left at home with his sisters.
As the sky darkened the children all took to their windows to watch the great light extravaganza that commemorated the day their world had fought and many had died to cast out their oppressors and once again become an independent nation.
Conway had always thought that the light shows were beautiful; visually and mechanically. The organizations that did the light shows actually put mini-bombs in each projectile and launched them thousands of meters into the air. When the projectile was high enough in the sky, the operators would detonate the ‘bomb’, and it would explode in fiery chaos.
Another occasion when he thought he was alone was his seventeenth birthday. His family had gone to town, and wasn’t expected to return until three days later.
Although they assured him they didn’t want to miss his birthday, they had left to see what the damages were to the family’s beach house; the authorities had let them know the day before that there had been a robbery.
He had just dined with a close friend of his — she wasn’t his novia but he had wanted her. So when she had kissed him on the cheek at his door, he smothered the feeling of surprise in his chest, and moved closer to her. When her back was firmly against the door, he once again met the surprising, yet pleasant feeling when she didn’t protest . . . instead, he heard her hand groping in the darkness for the door’s keypad!
He was delighted to find his body suddenly entangled with the woman he secretly desired and as his hands closed the gap, his lips acquired a target lock and soared in her general direction only to veer off at the last second when the lights flicked on and a chorus of voices yelled "Surprise!"
Then she had broken away and faced the crowd with a huge grin on her reddened face, laughing loudly as her friends swooped down on her and took her away. Conway was just left standing there, everyone cheering for him, his friends calling for him, like he hadn’t just walked through the door with a girl attached to him. Later he found out that she had been bait, and that his parents really had gone to the beach house, but there wasn’t a robbery. It was one of the most frightening things that had happened to him, but he confessed afterwards that it was a good idea. At his next birthday, his friends had recalled this memory. Looking back he admitted, “Well, that was fun.”
Chapter 2
Several hours later, the sun had vanished from the sky, and the drinks had also disappeared at an increasing rate. Conway’s grandfather, a retired militia man, had captured the room’s interest. Inspired by the magnanimous feeling suffusing the cantina, he stood atop his table and after the quiet rippled through the customers, he told the tale of his journey into the Unknown Regions where he had happened upon a celestial rainbow and followed it to a world of magical little people and mountains filled with wealth beyond imagination. The many younglings that had come to the festivities were crowding around the table the old man had occupied. His grandfather was swaying slightly from his intake of drinks, his skinny frame shivering with anticipation, but this effect only added to the children’s excitement and the adults’ reason to keep a watchful eye on him. After he finished this story, he put down his drink with a thud, and his face wore the expression of confused solemnity.
“Quiet down, ev’ryone!” said the old man. “This story is about Love, the woman I Loved is dead."
Conway saw his parents look at each other, and he smiled, knowing what they were thinking: the old man was going to sing about Conway’s grandmother.
Soon, the chatter had died down, and everyone in the room was listening to grandfather Conway’s tales. The food had served its purpose, putting many an elder into a stupor, but most of the young parents sat with their children, listening, or sat at tables with their younglings on their laps.
"There was a boy
A very strange enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he
And then one day
A magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to Love and be Loved in return."
The whole room applauded; some looked relieved that he had terminated his ballad, others were laughing at his antics, while the younglings squealed in delight. Sitting down on the table, grandfather Conway took another huge swig from his cup, swallowed, then started telling the story about a famous, legendary Conway.
“One day,” the old man started, “the day came when ships could fly through space at amazing speeds, and cover unthinkable distances! When that day came, the idea was projected that the people should use this fantastic technology to observe the universe, and find other intelligent life! Because those smart people knew that they weren’t the only ones in the galaxy with a noggin!”
Grandfather Conway gave his head a thump with his cup, spilling the contents and showering the younglings, who screeched and giggled.
“So they were off; and faster than you can say ‘Coruscant’, they were back, with their entire system’s inventory. They, of course, went back to certain planets to make sure the scans weren’t berserk, but in the end they decided they’d like to colonize one planet that had no life on it at all—or so they thought.
“Since their original scan had reported no life signs, the landing party was shocked to discover that there wasn't just life, but entire decks of races that were unknown in the galaxy. And guess who led that landing party in the first place?”
“Conway!” the younglings said loudly, smiling and laughing.
“Yes sir-ee! And that’s how the Conway family was known to the entire planet from that day forward!”
The younglings applauded as the grandfather stood atop his table and bowed for them.
Soon afterwards, the younglings were scooped up, laid on their parents’ shoulders, and taken home. Commander Conway’s friends all piled into one landspeeder and started belching and laughing hysterically at themselves. Conway rolled his eyes and laughed along with his friends as he dropped each of them off to their own residences. When Conway came back to the cantina, the kitchen-hands had appeared and were cleaning up. Conway’s parents took his little sisters and grandfather home, leaving Conway standing outside the cantina, admiring the night and breathing the ocean air.
Remembering Abey, he slowly turned from the ocean, and drove to his own place.
Chapter 3
Opening the door, Abey greeted him, wearing short pants and a halter-top. Noticing her hair was down, he barely registered where they were going as she led him into the bedroom. Taking off his militia-cap, she threw it on the chest of drawers. Hearing it slide off, she rolled her eyes, annoyed; she didn’t know that whenever she looked frustrated like she did at that moment, it added fire in her eyes that Conway loved to watch. Acquiring a target-lock, Conway thought it best not to move. Smoothly landing a kiss on his lips, Abey shut the door behind him with her foot as he closed the distance between their bodies.
He was in a clearing of forest, alert, waiting, cautious. Something had to happen, something needed to move so he could get better bearings on where his enemy was. A twig snapped behind him, then he heard a rustling of leaves. Whirling around, he saw Abey hanging in mid-air, enveloped in thick vines, covering every inch of her body except for her head and below her shins, making her look like she was in a badly-formed cocoon. Her feet were dangling about a meter about the forest floor. A look of pure terror was on her face, and she was shaking her head furiously, trying to tell him to leave; her mouth was gagged by a vine, and one was enclosing around her throat as well . . .
The tears rolling down her face told him to execute the opposite of what she asking of him. Seeing a man with a vibro-blade step out from behind the huge tree Abey was hanging from, Conway started to take a step forward. But as the man put the blade under her jaw, Conway faltered. Not taking his eyes off Conway, then grabbed her head and took a deep sniff of her hair, making Abey cry harder, but intoxicating the man. Conway’s enemy was his age, with short, bristly hair, dark, cold eyes, and a murderous-looking mouth that was curling into a sneer.
Lunging at him, the man produced a live vibro-pike from thin air, and rushed towards Conway. Conway felt sluggish, and was knocked to the ground. Landing a fist on the side of the stranger’s face, Conway ducked a swing of the pike. As he rolled over and reached out for something to defend himself, his hand found her soft form and made him aware that it had all been a dream and this time, she was the reality.
He slowed his breathing, and held her close to his chest, forcing himself to accept that it was a dream . . . nothing more.
Chapter 4
It was approximately his third week being commander, and he was loving it. The excitement that cut through the air like lightning was adrenaline he had been born ready to receive.
He allowed himself a glance out of his window, enjoying a two-minute break. He thought it was perfect timing that Abey commed during this ‘break’ as she came up on the view screen, and he received her with ease.
“Hey, baby,” she said softly with her velvety, blonde hair falling onto her shoulders. She ran a hand through it, from her forehead to the base of her skull, momentarily suspending it, then it fell, creating the effect of a blonde waterfall crashing onto her shoulders. She was clad in professional wear, ready to go to work, but there was something in the way she couldn’t look him in the eyes that let him know she was struggling to find the words to say . . . it was also possible that she was hiding something.
“Hey,” he replied with a gentle smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just . . .” she sighed through the corner of her mouth, and ran another hand through her hair.
Conway let her gather her thoughts.
“I’m worried about you,” she said finally.
“Me?” he said, a frown slowly appearing on his face as his eyes revealed confusion.
“Yeah,” she said, hanging her head.
“I’ll be fine,” he said pompously, making the corners of her mouth twitch.
“I’m just getting nervous; I don’t want to lose you.”
“It’s okay; I’ll come home early tonight, okay? Everything will be fine.”
He wished he could just reach out and touch her; somehow let her know everything would be okay. Instead, he gave her an encouraging smile, giving his eyes light that he knew she would find comforting. She just nodded, and he could tell she was trying to return the smile. Then she ended the transmission.
He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. The window of his office was open, and he gratefully breathed the ocean air.
Sighing, he resumed his assignment, and started combing through the squad routines and procedures.
When he got home, he found Abey sitting at her desk; she probably never went to work. That was a bad sign; Abey sometimes worked at home when she felt she wouldn’t be able to handle other human interaction. He walked over to her, setting his things on the chair next to her desk, and kissed her temple. She leaned into his kiss, closing her eyes. Something was wrong; she wouldn’t face him.
He knelt beside her and cradled her other cheek in his hand, and slowly turned her to face him. Her eyes seemed to be attracted to the floor as though pulled by a tractor beam. Finally, she looked at him.
As he held her chin in his hands and looked into those beautiful tear filled eyes, he felt a tremor run through his entire body and knew what he had to do.
She’s worried about us . . .
Since he was already on one knee, he simply took both her hands in his, and placed them in her lap, but he didn’t loosen his grip on them. As she continued to look at him, she smiled at his own sly smile that let her know he was going to say something clever.
“Will you marry me?”
Abey finally let the tears fall, and laughed as she looked into his kind blue eyes.
“Yes,” she said weakly, then threw her arms around his neck, and he caught her as she fell in his lap.
Chapter 5
Much later, at the reception, Conway was still forced to wear a black tunic, but he smiled nonetheless, watching Abey’s every move with a sort of spell-bound look on his face. They were receiving gifts from Conway’s numerous relatives, most of which had instructed the children bring them to the newlyweds. Abey’s family was in a whole different quadrant, so her family was ‘there in spirit’.
Last to bestow his gift, the youngest of the brood scampered forward with his infectious smile and after a brief hesitation revealed the hidden treasure from behind his back and shouted, “Hap’ Fader’s Day!”
Abey and the surrounding witnesses laughed at the boy’s blessing fondly. The little boy beamed, as if he had said something very witty.
Conway knelt in front of the boy, his nephew, and gently loosened the boy’s grip from the brightly wrapped box. He said kindly, “I’m not a father yet . . .” He glanced at Abey with a humorous, wicked smile, “. . . but I plan to be.”
Abey blushed, giggling.
The next day, Conway woke up next to his bride. He pushed some of her long blonde hair behind her ear, and he thought he saw her smile. Looking out of the window, he could see the ocean, its shades blues looking very welcoming. He sighed contentedly; he was truly happy.
He smiled to himself. Now about those kids . . .
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army. Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/4 12:59am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
- Date Edited:
6/12 9:59am (2 edits total)
Edited By:
ShadowofLures
|
Part 2 - Loni Aveline
Chapter 1
“After her!”
She ran as fast as she could without dropping the sack she was hiding under her shirt. She ran along the streets, dodging customers, leaping over fruit-laden carts, trying to find a place to hide. She needed this stuff.
At last, she found a safe place; a sewer. The pipes poured their waste into a concentrated pool, so that the recycle companies could go through it later and salvage what was salvageable and reusable.
“There she is!”
Turning quickly, she saw the guards coming, then led them on a high-speed chase through the labyrinth that was the marketplace. Gaining a few seconds on them, she finally dove head-first into the pipe, flipped over in mid-air, and let the slippery quality of the bottom of the pipe and the thrust given to her by her jump carry her farther into the pipe. When she stopped sliding she started pushing herself along the pipe with her feet as far as she thought was necessary. Forcing her body upwards with her feet and back, she re-gained her footing. She hugged the wall so that the guards wouldn’t notice the disturbance of the liquid-waste waves. She listened intently for their voices floating up the pipe.
“We’ve lost her, sir.”
“Petty thieves these days. . . they’re getting a little too smart for me.”
“Yeah, one day they’ll go from petty theft to grand theft.”
The brigade laughed, then walked on.
She breathed. Pulling the sack out from under her shirt, she opened it. The smell of soap wafted up to her nose, and she froze. Checking the bag to make sure. . . yes, it was indeed soap. She threw her head back into the pipe-wall, and started to cry. She thought she had taken the sack of bread! Not soap!
Although you are in the right place to be needing it, she thought as she looked around at her current surroundings.
She curled into a ball, then stopped crying. Looking up, she pulled out a comlink and spoke into it.
“Denny?”
“What?”
“I got the wrong bag.”
“You mean we’re not eating again?”
The man on the other end of the line was furious. She rolled her eyes.
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean,” she said sarcastically.
“Watch it,” he said warningly, but tried to be gentle about it.
“Watch what? The piece of crap that just floated by?”
Denny grunted. It was not subdued laughter.
“Listen, I need you to pick me up.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the sewer pipe at the end of the market place.”
“Stay there.”
“Fine.”
“For god’s sakes, Loni, watch it!”
“You’re the one who just said the ‘g’ word.”
Denny sighed, then his voice deepened to a growl. “I luve you.”
“Love you, too.”
Ending the transmission, she thought to herself, No you don’t. Just smack ‘em in the face and maybe he’ll lighten up.
She sighed. I love Denny, I really do, but he’s just so. . . uptight. I can’t freaking breathe around him. That piece of crap that just floated by made me feel more relaxed than he does.
She said out loud, “You’re talking to yourself again.”
She sighed again, then felt like someone just punched her in the stomach. She clutched her lack-of-abs, rolling on her back to try and subdue the pain. Clearing her mind, she relaxed; the pain disappeared.
Forcing herself to get up again, she started to crawl towards the entrance of the pipe. The stench of garbage filled her nose as she scraped and crawled her way along the path and for a brief moment, she wondered if this was where she would die. She hadn’t eaten in two days, and was already skinny enough to hide behind a pole; well, if she wasn’t wearing her baggy clothes.
Cursed with high metabolism, Loni Aveline was not one to be trifled with. She had had depression since she was attacked at school by a bunch of horny boys, had attention deficient coming out of her ears, but she knew how to fight; and she was good. She avoided any eyes she met on the streets, just in case anyone recognized her. She was a petty thief, yes; but not a criminal. This fact seemed to have escaped the authorities and they had not considered it in their calculations when they put her on the list of “Top 100 Most Wanted”.
Reaching the end of the pipe, Loni decided to wait at the mouth instead of on the street in front of it; if Denny didn’t see her, he might pass her by. Besides, she had told him she was in the pipe.
The sun was far from setting, but she checked her wrist-chrono and saw that she had maybe four hours until Denny would think it was safe to come and get her.
Chapter 2
Loni leaned against the pipe wall, tired from all the running. Thinking of her genetically-received metabolism, she thought of her mother, who was in heaven somewhere. . . wherever that was. Her mother would tell her all the time that she was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. Loni actually never saw much of her father; it seemed that whenever she was asleep he was home talking to her mom, and when she was awake, he was at work.
Loni’s mom liked to talk about the day Loni was born. She would always start with how she was scared of having a child, scared that she would do something wrong, but “Once the bundle was placed into her arms, all the fears and doubts about motherhood faded and in their places settled an overwhelming love that she realized had been there since the discovery of the precious life inside her.” Loni’s mom was a little scary.
Loni’s little sister was married somewhere to some rich guy. Loni’s mom had been delighted that her second daughter was going to be rich, and gave her permission for the wedding right away. Her father had signed off on it somehow too; it was one less mouth to feed, according to him. Loni hadn’t heard from her sister or her father for a few years, and liked it that way, really. Her sister was conceited beyond belief, and her father. . . well, she didn’t know him all that much, and when she did happen to see him, he seemed distant and cold. Her mother was deranged; she practically obsessed over when her father was coming home. It was sickening.
Loni wasn’t too happy with herself, either, though; she was stealing, for goodness sakes.
Well, she thought, better than killing people.
It was true; she’d rather steal any day than actually kill someone. How the guards or the military could kill people without feeling anything she had no idea. Her little brother even wanted to join! When she asked him about it, he had ignored her. His full attention was on his videogames, which were, of course, violent; but at least whenever Pete’s character stabbed someone, blood didn’t spatter across the walls. That was gross.
Her mother was zoned out most of the time, and her brother had been becoming colder everyday. It was either her dad’s bad genes, or he wanted some independence, like all boys do when they get into their teens.
Loni loved her brother; she felt that he was the only one in the family that wasn’t tainted by the black insanity that ran in their family. She had hoped Pete would do great things one day, and have a great life; but it was not to be.
Loni had been walking home from the academy one day when she saw an ambulance zoom by. She thought it was curious; not many people in their neighborhood called for an ambulance. She was still thinking about it when she turned to her house, and she saw her mom in binders. Loni nearly dropped her holos. She was still standing there when everyone had left. One of her neighbors took her in and told her what had happened.
Her mom had killed her brother.
They say that there is no love greater than that of a mother to a child and so it was a shock like none other when it was she who stood over his lifeless body, the weapon in her hand still dripping his fresh blood. Loni couldn’t think; her family was gone.
Later, when Loni was watching the news on the holo-channel, she heard the reporter say that Loni’s mom had been an alcoholic and depressed, and that the day she had killed her son she hadn’t taken her medications. Loni went back to her new room and cried.
Nobody was really surprised when it happened, not really, not on the subconscious level where savage things grow. Most people knew her mother as a bright, friendly, lovely person, but they also knew that she could go into fits of hysteria that included crying, screaming, and – if there was anything sharp around – cutting. Loni thought her mom killed her brother because he was always so mean to her; he complained about everything, demanded instead of asked for things, and was so good at manipulating her instead of telling her the truth, that somehow Loni’s mom felt responsible and always ended up crying over something that she thought was her fault. Loni heard later that her mom died in jail from a heart condition.
Later, Loni decided to go home, because her dad was out there somewhere, paying for the house and the bills, and was always leaving credits on the kitchen table for her, so he knew she was still around. . . but she couldn’t help but think that her father didn’t care.
She still lived in that house, with Denny, but without her father’s knowledge. He was gone days at a time, because of his work, and when he did come home he slept, showered, and was back at work. It wasn’t even a nice house; only two stories with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a day-room.
She never forgave him for letting the funerals take place without her knowledge.
Shaking her head violently, Loni stopped the reruns of these memories. She hated when that happened. She had more important things to think about than her past.
Rolling her eyes at the stupid memory, she noticed the sun had gone down. She checked her chrono again, and saw a grand remaining total of two hours until Denny took her home.
Loni really valued the time she had with Denny; anywhere was better than ‘home’.
She was just starting to feel tired when she heard Denny’s turbines. Getting out of the pipe, she carried the bag of soap with her.
On the way home she made him stop at a shop. Putting the bag carefully on the doorstep, she backed away, sadly. When she got back in the speeder, the sadness was gone, and when she got home, she went to her room and let the fatigue consume her.
Chapter 3
The next day, Loni Aveline, notorious petty theft, walked out on the streets again. She left Denny at the house, sleeping, as usual, and walked around for some fresh air and maybe a chance to swipe something to eat. There was usually some restaurant she could beg at the back door for some scraps on every street, but her favorite place was a little cantina next to the ocean.
The cantina – she didn’t know the name – was famous for having great parties, and the head chef was always so nice to her, always telling her to come back if she needed more. Usually, Loni didn’t like to depend on people for things, but she didn’t have a choice; she had nothing.
She had heard that some fresh Commander had been recruited, and that the guy was “the youngest Commander ever” in the planet’s history, and that he had his congrats-party here the other day. This place was that good.
Unlike other places, the cantina let Loni through the front door. Loni sat at her favorite table, by the window next to the door of the kitchen. She waited for Head Chef Remab to come out and greet her.
He did, giving her a hug, and a “How ya doin’, kiddo?”, along with a “What’ll it be?” Loni smiled at his antics, and prayed that Denny didn’t walk in and see him talking to her; he liked to keep a close watch on her.
After asking for the special, Chef Remab disappeared behind the swinging doors to the kitchen, and she heard him rambling off, “Okay, let’s go, we got a special little lady out there, let’s move, move, move!”
She heard the cutlery making a terrific bang, along with something burning, and she looked around the diner. Across the room, someone sneezed in their dish, then spit on it and wiped it with a napkin.
Gross!
She smiled to herself, remembering something else that was gross: when she was little and went to school, there was a day called Fools Day, where you were supposed to ‘fool’ people. As the unofficial holiday neared, the likeliest suspect for tomfoolery and games made assurances that everything would be fine and then prepared to check off each victim’s name as they heard those famous words, “Happy Fools Day.”
One year, she had her classmates in practically an uproar; what would she do this year?
Her ‘victims’ weren’t really hurt . . . well, physically, anyway.
She dressed up one year with every piece of jewelry in her closet, and wore it to school. Everyone laughed at her as she smiled to herself, proud of her invention. Actually, the ‘victims’ were certain people she wanted to show off her costume to. Her teachers, of course, so she got at least some self-esteem boost there; her friends, of course, because they would congratulate her on being the weirdest of the bunch and being able to prove it; and, of course, the kids that were ‘cool’: the kids who were mean to everyone, gossiped about everything, put on way to much makeup on everyday and thought they were beautiful, the kids who made fun of everything, even if it wasn’t funny. She walked around the whole school that day wearing her outrageous outfit, and when they saw her, their mouths dropped wide open, as if astounded that Loni Aveline, the girl with no friends, unnaturally good grades, and who clearly didn’t shower every night, had embarrassed herself on purpose. The rude remarks were kept private, however, since nothing they could possibly say would hurt her, since she was trying to look like a freak, telling her so would be congratulating her in their way. So Loni just smiled away, happy she was taking advantage of the unofficial holiday to have some fun.
Remab came out with her food, and placed it in front of her with a flourish and a “Bon Appetite!” She waited until he left, smiling at him as he moved on to the next table, then started shoveling huge chunks of it in her mouth, trying not to choke.
Remind me never to go two days without food again!
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army. Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/4 1:00am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
- Date Edited:
6/13 7:25am (1 edits total)
Edited By:
ShadowofLures
|
Part 3 - Nat Clod
Nat Clod woke. He was lying on his sleep-couch, unmoving, unfeeling, unthinking; and let the silence own his thoughts.
His second mission. . .
He quickly wiped away the tears threatening to roll down his cheek, and noticed his cheek was still moist from the previous night.
His room was darkened-gray; like storm clouds before a hard rain. His cot was comfortable enough that he could sleep, and a small table by his bed held a glass of water. His belongings, in his travel pack, were at the foot of his bed, on the floor.
He didn’t want to think. . .
He breathed; then he sat up on his couch, and breathed, his spine perfectly straight. He felt dizzy; he reached over and took the cup, then put it to his lips, and gratefully drank the water that had been provided for him. Replacing the cup, he found he was hungry. Smoothing out his tunic, he breathed before opening the door.
The public space transport, the Songbird, was bustling with beings. The door closed behind him, and he was left to maneuver the hallway. . . alone. . .
Stop! he told himself. He breathed again, focusing on his current need: food.
His feet walked without Nat thinking about where they were taking him. Soon, he was in the mess-hall, along with half the ship’s occupants, trying to get to the buffet.
Before he could register what he was doing, he was sitting on his cot again, eating the ship’s ‘breakfast’. He ate it all, however; he was a Jedi, and had no reason to be picky.
Throwing his tray into the laundry chute, and his trash down the compactor chute, Nat lied down on his sleep-couch again. Sitting up suddenly, he crossed his legs as he sat down on the floor of his quarters. He straightened his back, put his hands on his knees, then closed his eyes.
Meditating on it may help it go away, he thought to himself calmly.
Nat reached back to the corner of his mind that was free of distractions . . . it was empty, and it was a good place to go when he needed to slow down.
Memories whipped in and out of his head, and he paused on one in particular: the day that decided all younglings’ futures, the day they presented themselves to the Masters: Judgment Day.
All the younglings old enough to participate in such a day had been training for months when the only one held annually had come at last. Other Days were specially scheduled for one or two Masters that could not attend, so Judgment Day was for at least ten or more awaiting Knights and Masters to choose one of them for a Padawan!
Nat and his friend Yaric were scheduled to practice before Master Yoda, a teacher at the Temple, a week before the Day. They didn’t know who they would be sparring against, since they were all led into the room blindfolded.
Yoda’s voice rang out in the large room as he said, “Begin!”
The two began to be consumed by their battle, but Nat still had not quite mastered the Force. He reached out for it, but he couldn’t grasp it. Nat suddenly felt a huge push, like a great gust of hot wind, and he was thrown to the ground. As he was regaining his footing, he heard a laugh from his opponent, and he stopped moving to engage him; he knew that laugh.
It was Yaric. He heard the smack of a sweaty cloth hit the ground, and then Yoda’s voice sang out, “Replace your blindfold, you will!”
As Nat waited politely for Yaric to replace his blindfold, he could feel the Force guiding him, and suddenly, Nat spun away from where he had been standing, and heard the sound of a lightsaber go through it. Nat thought wildly, What is he doing? He knows I’m his opponent, I’m his friend; why is he treating me so?
Nat could only answer with one response: Yaric didn’t care. He was in it to win, and if that meant cutting down a person he had only met two minutes ago, he would.
“Replace your blindfold, Yaric!” said Yoda warningly.
However, Yaric just pushed himself harder, and did not comply.
Suddenly, Nat’s blindfold was gone, and laid in two pieces on the floor. Yaric grinned widely, a fire in his eyes that Nat had never seen in anyone before. Yaric turned his back and walked five paces away, then turned. Then he lunged at Nat.
The energy from their weapons sizzled between them and as their eyes met from across the room, they both knew that this was most certainly the end to what might have been a beautiful friendship.
Nat had ended up being the winner of their battle, and Yaric had been so furious with him he had refused to talk to him.
This memory faded and another replaced it. . .
Less than one month ago, he and his Master, Lirel Rom, had completed their first mission together. Nat had been just two weeks from his thirteenth birthday, and he was already a Padawan! He had beamed with pride when he accepted his master’s offer, and his friends were ecstatic.
“You’re a Padawan!” exclaimed B’tan, a girl a few months younger than Nat.
“Well done!” his friend Hidan had said, grinning widely.
“Thank the Force!” Lana sighed with relief, also grinning. “I though you would be a farmer for sure!”
So had I, thought Nat.
The next day, Lirel had appeared at Nat’s door, with a calm, serious expression on his face. “We’re leaving soon on our first mission. I’ll give you an hour to pack your things, then meet me at the docking bay.”
“Yes, Master,” Nat said, returning the blank expression, but inside he was bursting with excitement. His first mission!
Nat had actually been a little late to the docking bay, because he couldn’t find Hiden or Lana anywhere. He had hung his head in shame when he told his master.
Lirel frowned. "You are a member of the Jedi Order now and there are strict rules about attachment," the words from the Master thumped about in his brain as he watched his belongings disappear behind a very large door.
“Yes, Master Lirel.”
“Attachment is not a virtue for a growing Jedi,” Lirel said gently, but his expression was hard. “Neither is it a flaw. Attachment is simply a connection to another being. It can lead to stronger friendships, but it could also create the power to destroy you. Do you understand?”
“No,” said Nat, quite truthfully.
The corners of Lirel’s mouth twitched. He knelt before Nat, his deep green eyes piercing Nat’s light brown ones. “When you are a Jedi, you will travel to many planets, and spend various amounts of time on each mission assigned to you; every time you leave a familiar place, it is always hard to accept that you won’t be coming back. The friends you make there will only be your friends for as long as mission takes; then you will have to leave them. Being a Jedi is a full-time occupation,” he added, standing up and beckoning Nat to follow him. “You will have no time to keep up contact with every friend you happen to make.”
“Yes, Master,” said Nat, nodding. He thought he understood; leaving B’tan, Hiden, and Lana behind was hard; going through that emotional rollercoaster every mission would surely make life unbearable.
Master Lirel was a curious creature; he liked to talk to Nat, and teach him, but he also liked to spend time alone in his quarters, or meditating. Nat respected this; he happened to find studying the information for a mission was most informative, and liked to be prepared, so each Jedi spent their time somewhat distantly from each other. Nat didn’t mind; there would be plenty of time to get to know Lirel over the course of his Padawanship.
The first mission was to oversee the transition of government on a planet who had recently lost its king. It was over faster than Nat had expected. The one memory that had stuck out to him from that mission was the time when Master Lirel and he were walking around the palace gardens, when a slight landslide had occurred. As the two Jedi emerged from the rubble, the younger of the two, shaking his head, said "You would think that someone would have put a 'watch for falling rocks' sign up somewhere!" Master Lirel had laughed. It was the first time that Nat had ever heard his Master laugh. Nat took it as a good sign that they were becoming friends.
The second mission was to (in Nat’s own words) try to protect a Senator from his own paranoia. The Senator of Hirae was very sure that he was the target of an assassination attempt, but they couldn’t find evidence of it, or who was the culprit. Master Lirel was going to pretend to be a new member of the Senator’s council, and Nat was going to pretend to be Lirel’s son, in-transition to a new school.
Distrustful of the Senator's aide forced upon their group, the other members watched him like a hawkbat, oblivious to his true identity. None of them supposed that Lirel was a Jedi! Nat didn’t have trouble keeping a straight face, but inside he was amused by the other council members’ antics towards Lirel.
It all went wrong. . .
No! He didn’t want to re-live it again!
Nat found himself drowning in his own memories, and as he struggled against the current, he realized that his meditation had brought him there for a reason.
He stopped struggling.
He allowed himself to re-live it . . . one more time.
Maybe I have to re-live in order to overcome it . . .
During the first meeting of the Senator and his council to discuss planetary issues, Lirel had been shot with a tiny blaster concealed in another member’s sleeve. The entire room exploded with screams, Nat could hear someone pounding the keypad on the door, calling for security, and the woman who had fired the shot, after gunning down Lirel, had turned her cold, red eyes upon Nat.
As soon as Lirel turned to Nat, Nat could feel the pain rushing through the Force towards him, coming from his master. Lirel’s eyes were blank, a look of content surprise on his face. Blood soaked his tunic.
Lirel fell towards Nat, who caught him clumsily, then tried to support his weight, but failed, causing both of them to be knocked to the floor.
Everyone was running around the briefing room; the Senator had fainted from shock. It felt like everything was slowing down; it took longer for the members to run for the door. It was as if each step they took lasted an eternity, just to put one foot in front of the other.
Nat ripped open his Master’s tunic, trying to get at the wound, to see if he could help stop the blood from pouring out like that. Lirel’s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed Nat’s fumbling fingers, and pressed them to his heart. Nat crawled closer to Lirel, as he tried to speak.
“Master . . . w-what do I do? What do I do?” Nat whispered, trying to stop the tears crashing down his cheeks, in numbers as great as the drops of blood soaking his master’s tunic.
Lirel’s mouth was open slightly, and Nat could hear his labored breathing. Lirel wasn’t looking at Nat, but at the ceiling. Nat imagined that it was too painful for Lirel to move his head.
"Nothing . . . you can do nothing, my Padawan . . . the time has come for me to join the Force—"
“No! No!” Nat cried out, letting his forehead fall onto his master’s hand, which were clutching his own. Nat felt Lirel’s other hand pat his head.
“It’s alright . . . it’s alright . . . it’s okay; I’m right here . . . I’m right here . . .”
Lirel caught the back of Nat’s head, making him look up, toward his master’s face.
“The Force will be with you . . . and so will I . . . always . . .”
“No, Master, no! You can’t . . . you can’t . . .” But Nat wasn’t sure he could tell his master what he could or couldn’t do; he could do nothing.
Then Nat realized Lirel’s chest had stopped rising. Looking up cautiously, he saw Lirel’s eyes were still open, but he looked tired, shocked. The briefing room had finally emptied, except for the woman with red eyes. She was still sitting in her chair, looking at them from across the table, a hungry, evil look in her eyes. Then her eyes stirred slightly, upon Nat.
Nat stood, and started to reach for his lightsaber.
He was too slow.
Shots were fired . . . Nat didn’t know how many.
He awoke drenched in sweat with his heart racing and his eyes refusing to focus and the only thing he could think was "Tell me this is not happening."
Everything around him was white. He could only see fuzzy outlines, and he didn’t know why. He tried to move his hand, but he found it was restrained, as well as his other hand, and legs. There was an oxygen mask over his mouth . . . it was too big for him; the top part had reached over his eyes. Shaking his head so that he might be able to see over his foggy shield, he felt panic course through him like poison. Then his arm was pricked, and something was fed to his body through a tube. His vision was clouding again, but it wasn’t the mask, and everything was darkening . . .
Later, a stranger came and told him he was going to escort him back to Coruscant, after the holiday the planet was currently affected by.
Nat was confused, but then understood; holiday traffic.
A few days later, Nat was released from the planet’s medical center, and was carrying his travel pack, following the stranger to a docking bay.
As the stranger made their travel arrangements, the boy watched the other children partake in the holiday festivities, giggling and searching for the decorated mynock eggs, most of which he'd already found using his special gift.
The Force, your ally is. Learn to use it, you will. Help you, the Temple masters shall. Yoda’s voice echoed through his head, as though it was a memory very far away. Yes, Nat had learned to sense the Force, but he couldn’t use it. Maybe Master Lirel would help him . . .
He froze. He remembered.
Nat opened his eyes, fear flowing through him, sweat appearing at his forehead. He was breathing quickly, and his movements were jerky. He looked down at his hands; they were curled into fists. Looking around, he darted to a corner of his room, and hugged his knees to his chin, as his back was to the wall.
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army. Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
PurpleWave
Registered:
Dec '05
|
Date Posted:
6/11 9:40pm
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
|
So far, so good.  Awwwww... a proposal!
I wanna see more!
-----signature-----
Time travel is confusing, but makes for neat stories.
-Ellen Brand's "Everything I Need To Know, I Learned from Sluggy Freelance"
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
janiasolo
Registered:
Jul '02
|
Date Posted:
6/12 10:08am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
|
|
Very good! The only problem is I'm a little confused. Abey's the woman he's reminiscing about in the prologue, right? I guess I feel like he's going to meet someone else. But that's all in my head, it has nothing to do with your writing. I really like this story and am looking forward to more!
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
VaderLVR64
Title: Fan Fic Manager in Combat Boots
Registered:
Feb '04
|
Date Posted:
6/13 5:22am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
|
Wow! I'm not even sure how you're doing this, but you are! I'm going to have to get caught up. I'm in awe of your ability to weave these very different sentences into a cohesive story.
-----signature-----
If you have to choose between tears and laughter, remember that laughter burns more calories.
Proud New Army Mom - off to bootcamp!
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/13 7:43am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
|
Thank you all so much!
Okay, now that everyone has the back-story to our three characters, the next 4 Parts will illustrate what happens after they are all thrown in the same scene together. I hope you enjoy!
I'll give you guys the weekend to soak everything up, then sometime next week I'll have pieces of Part 4 up.
Thank you all so much for your support! Spread the word!
-Lures
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army. Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
Registered:
Jul '05
|
Date Posted:
6/13 7:45am
Subject:
RE: Mixed Signals
- Date Edited:
6/21 8:15am (1 edits total)
Edited By:
ShadowofLures
|
Part 4 - The Attack
Chapter 1
Returning from a well rested vacation, the squadron commander walked into his office, only to see that all hell had broken loose.
Seeing a message from one of the other commanders, he played it as he neatly placed his jacket around the back of his back, and set his hat on the top corner of the backrest.
“Commander Conway: First off, I want to congratulate you for being the youngest Commander ever to be recorded in our planet’s history.”
Conway smiled at this statement, trying not to turn red.
“But that does not mean you know everything!”
Conway froze, the smile dimming slightly.
“If you haven’t noticed yet, a number of explosives were set off on a small moon in our system, which looks like a chain reaction. No one knows who held the trigger, but numerous leads have been found to live right here on our own damn planet.”
Conway looked up from his desk with a frown and disbelief in his eyes.
“We’re counting on you to round up all the perps on the Top 100 list that are located in your Quadrant; the other commanders are combing through their own Quadrants. However, most of them are in your Quadrant.”
Figures, Conway thought with a sad sigh.
“We’ll contact you when we know what the Council wants to do. Good luck, Commander. We’re counting on you.”
The transmission ended, but the mission had barely begun.
Abey, Conway thought, suddenly aware that everyone he cared about was in danger from this criminal.
“Commander?”
Hoping for progress on the fourth day of searching, Conway answered the comm from his lieutenant.
“Yeah?”
“We’ve found her, sir.”
Conway smiled; he had something. “Good! Put her in a holding cell in my building until we figure out how far this is going.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 2
“What the freak are you doing?!”
“Miss, you’re under arrest for the bombing—”
“The what?”
The lieutenant’s frown dipped dangerously low. “Keep your mouth shut and we won’t use force.”
Fine, she thought, I won’t talk . . .
Kicking out suddenly and landing two well-aimed blows on the male guards who were trying to restrain her, Loni Aveline jumped backwards, landed neatly on her feet, then ran.
They think I’m responsible for that?
She had seen it on the GNN (Global News Network), and still shuddered every time she saw the bodies being carted away. She had never had a problem with blood, but the pain on the victims’ faces was awful.
Chancing a glance backwards, she saw they were now arresting Denny because he had just picked a fight with the guards. Idiot, she thought.
The thief shoved her way through the crowd, pushing anyone who happened to be in her path, hoping she'd be able to get away from the street patrol and just at the moment she thought she'd done it, she slammed headlong into a cloaked figure, stopping her progress completely.
Falling backwards on her rump, she cringed at the feeling, then looked up.
Holy freaking Hell . . . the Commander.
She had just run into the Commander of the fourth quadrant; he stared down at her, and she started to crawl away slowly on her hands and feet. She looked around wildly, and the other guards she had just outrun started to pull out their blasters as they enclosed her and the Commander in a tight circle. The Commander waved a hand, and they froze for a moment. Holstering their weapons, the guards started to administer crowd control. Loni looked back at the Commander incredulously, still moving backwards. He walked slowly towards her.
“Going somewhere?” he asked curiously.
He took longer steps, closing the distance between them, and then gently took hold of her arm, and helped her to her feet.
When he didn’t advance, Loni relaxed a little, then tried to turn and run. But she hadn’t gone two steps before she felt her hand pulled roughly behind her, and she was jerked around to face him.
“I don’t think so,” he said, frowning. The sight of him looking so coldly at her was enough to make her freeze on the spot. Then, with reflexes similar to a Jedi, he binded her swiftly, with her hands behind her back.
She wasn’t fully aware that she had been binded until the Commander had started to steer her through the crowds.
“Let’s go, little lady.”
Loni burned with anger. Little lady?
“Who you callin’ ‘little’?” she challenged softly.
The Commander didn’t seem to hear her.
She was confined to a holding cell next to the Commander’s office. She didn’t know his name, and could frankly care less; she didn’t do anything.
Loni could only fathom how she was connected to this bombing thing. She was notorious for petty theft, yes, but she’d always done her time quietly, without complaint, whenever she did get caught.
When she was told she might have to go to Coruscant for her hearing, she lost it. She practically gave the guard an excuse for a facial surgical treatment. And that was what landed her next to the Commander; and once everyone knew that she was scared of him, she wouldn’t be able to do anything to stand up for herself.
The ship Songbird was taking a public route to Coruscant, and the planet’s authorities had given the “okay” to the plan that they were going to take all 100 of the planet’s biggest, most infamous bad-guys to Coruscant, where they would weed them out until they found the guy they were looking for.
Only a guy could do that much damage, though, Loni thought.
However, when Loni was to be moved from her cell on the planet to the ship, Loni had thought they were taking her away for a different reason: to kill her.
She wasn’t the brightest person when it came to politics, so she had no idea the guards were just relocating her. Consequently, when she was released from her cell on the planet, she put up one hell of a fight; or at least she had thought so.
A wicked smile formed when her jailors were forced again to stop their progression in order to get their prisoner under control, but she would do anything to give the rescue party every opportunity possible to make their move before she reached the gallows.
If there even is a rescue party anymore, she thought angrily.
Now that Denny had gotten himself locked up for stars know how long, she was beginning to lose hope that she would ever get out of here.
The ship’s brig was okay; it was clean, which was an odd change for Loni, since she lived at her house where everything had bacteria growing on it. There were other prisoners too; but they were all fat, sweaty, toothless men who looked at her like a piece of meat on a string. Unfortunately, they had given her a prisoner’s tunic; meaning it hugged her form, something she wasn’t happy about.
Her personal items included a bag of clothes from her room; including a nice, baggy sweatshirt she could hide her torso in.
The first night on that stupid ship, when she was sure everyone was sleeping, she unzipped her jumper, tied the sleeves around her waist like a belt, re-zipped the jumper so she had a ‘fly’ as they called it, and slipped into her sweatshirt. Feeling better, she dug through the other, smaller bag she was issued, marked Standardized Toiletries, and pulled out a brush. Applying it in the usual fashion, she finished grooming herself with putting her hair up with a black band from her wrist.
Content, she fell back on her cot, ready to sleep.
Chapter 3
About a minute from dreaming, Loni heard a loud crash. She opened her eyes sleepily, and looked around the brig. The guards were asleep, the lights were dimmed, and most of the activity from the cells had stopped.
Then she saw it: someone stepped out of their cell.
She quickly got out of bed, and rushed over to the door of her own cell. The man was tip-toeing across the room, getting closer to hers, but his final destination was probably the door the guards were positioned at.
As the man got closer, he asked her, probably since she was the only one awake, “You want out?”
“Hit me up, my man,” she said firmly.
The man smiled in the dark; a very weird, creepy sort of smile.
“You got it.”
She stepped away from the doors so he could do his work, and as soon as she was out, they walked softly towards the door. The man stopped over by the guards to grab a gun, though; which was expected in their situation, so Loni didn’t mind.
As soon as they had left the brig, Loni turned to the man.
Was he looking at my feet? she thought suspiciously.
“Thank you, man. I owe you one.” She saluted him with two fingers, then turned to walk down the hallway. Maybe she could hide in the kitchens . . .
“Yes, you do,” the man said slowly, grinning with his creepy smile. He grabbed her arm and pointed the blaster at her.
Great, what the freak—?
He brought her close to him, then took a great whiff of her hair. Loni rolled her eyes.
Not good.
“Dude, what did you think I meant by ‘I owe you one’?”
“If you don’t know by now,” he said in her ear, and she coughed at the smell of his breath, “you’ll find out soon.”
He laughed softly, but like a maniac.
Oh no.
The man seemed to know where he was going, which was a scary thing. He finally opened a door to a room, and shoved her through it. She landed on the floor with a thud, but quickly regained her footing. Lying around was not going to help.
The man checked that the coast was clear, then stepped inside the room, and locked the door. Turning to her with his creepy smile, he took meaningful, slow steps towards her. His wide black eyes gleamed slightly with a sickly yellow color; Loni prayed it was the lighting in the room.
He sat down in a chair in a corner of the room, the farthest from the door, still aiming the gun at her chest. He chuckled, and Loni could hear a lump in his throat being poked by his vocal cords.
“Strip.”
Loni sat down on the sleepcouch, not facing him, and pretended to clean her nails. “Make me.”
The man’s smile faded, and he lept off the chair, crossed the room, and grabbed her by the hair. “You do it,” he said furiously, “or I’ll do it.”
Ew, Loni thought.
“I’d like to see you try,” she said angrily through gritted teeth.
The man grunted, then jerked her hair to make her stand, then threw her on the sleep-couch. Loni flipped over immediately, but was delayed from regaining her footing by the man’s bulk pushing her back on the sleep-couch.
Okay, now I’m scared.
“HE—” she tried to scream, but was interrupted by the blaster crashing down on her head. She tried to focus her eyes, but for some reason they wouldn’t work properly. She was flapping her arms like a mad avril, and slapping him across the face every time she saw it, but his face was blurred and danced in and out of her range of vision.
The man brought the blaster down on her head again, but with more force this time. The blow momentarily dazed her, rendering her helpless against the filthy bit of cloth forced into her mouth. Her vision was even more impaired after the second blow, but the feelings in her extremities seemed to be enhanced as she felt him rearranging her body on the sleepcouch. Tears flew quietly from her eyes as she realized there was nothing she could do to stop him. Then the man pulled something out from his cloak; a syringe.
Loni gathered all the air she could through the cloth in her mouth, and when she saw the needle puncture her skin she yelled with all her might:
“IN HERE!”
Conway took evasive action. He had heard her scream; both times. He’d followed them from the brig, thinking they were accomplices; he no longer speculated.
He had rigged the door the second he had confirmed that the man had locked it. He immediately overrode the system and opened the door. He exposed the room to the light of the corridor at the same time as the girl was hit over the head with a blaster the man was holding. His blood boiled. Anyone who beat women deserved a taste of their own medicine, in his opinion.
How the hell did he get a weapon?! Conway thought.
A syringe was half-way into her arm, and it looked empty. Angry, Conway shot the man as many times as his own blaster would let him before the man collapsed on the floor. It was on stun, of course; but he wished he’d been allowed to use it on a stronger setting.
As soon as the creep was down, he holstered his weapon, then rushed over to the girl. She was unconscious, and he could feel vital signs in her jugular, but there was no time to waste; he didn’t know what was in that injection.
Quickly putting an arm under her knees, and his other arm supporting her neck, he noted that she was very light, and her hair was oily as though she hadn’t showered in a few days.
I have to do something about prisoner-treatment protocol, he thought as he locked the man in the room. He would let the guards handle the man as soon as the girl was stabilized. Right now, she needed help.
Chapter 4
The next day Conway replaced the guards at the brig doors, and ordered that the man whom had attacked the girl be sedated until Songbird reached Coruscant.
He found both of the escapees’ files and looked them over. The man was a murderer, and the girl, not even twenty, was a known for one-too-many petty thefts. Her name was Loni Aveline. Her background was significantly empty, which troubled him.
After reviewing the files, he decided to take a trip to the medical bay and check on how she was doing. The medics had been able to identify the liquid in the syringe the man had, and they isolated it with counter-drugs. She would be fine, as the medics had reported. She just needed time to flush the drugs out of her system.
She struck him as a ‘passive activist’; he had heard her challenge on their planet, but she always shrank away from him. She was odd, no doubt.
He entered the bay, and immediately his eyes were attached to Aveline’s form on her cot, away from the other patients.
“May I speak with her?”
“Give us a few minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aveline’s eyes opened slowly, and she blinked a few times. Becoming aware that she was in the medical bay, her eyes darted around her, taking in the room. When she caught sight of Conway, she inhaled sharply, and shrank away from him slightly.
“Who are you?” Her voice sounded groggy.
“I’m Commander Conway,” he said to her with his kind smile. “I believe we’ve met?” He reached out a hand to shake hers, but Aveline simply looked at it suspiciously.
“You . . . you saved me?”
“You could say that . . . are you alright?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she growled. “You think I’m weak?”
“On the contrary, I think you showed great bravery.”
“Oh . . . thank you.” Her tone was still suspiscious.
He smiled kindly. “You’re welcome.”
She looked away from him. Conway took this time to look over her body and mentally document the injuries she had sustained during the attack. The patient-shirt she was wearing was riding up on her, and Conway would have looked away out of gentlemen’s honor if it weren’t for the dark purple bruises on her stomach attracting his immediate attention.
“I’ve come to ask you a few questions,” he added.
“I’ve never met that guy who tried to do me,” she said firmly. “I don’t even know his name.”
“I gathered as much,” Conway replied. “Actually, my questions are concerning your background—”
He realized his error at just the moment that her fist connected with his mouth in a jaw cracking explosion of pain. He stumbled backwards into a chair at the same time alarms went off and medics rushed in, trying to subdue the mad woman.
“What about my background?!” she screamed as she struggled against the medics’ grips around her arms, pushing her back onto the cot.
Conway gingerly touched his mouth with the tips of his fingers, and found the flesh to be numb. He stood slowly, watching the angry, hissing prisoner being restrained.
As the medic gave her a sedative, the medics relaxed as she went under, then started to bolt her to the cot.
“I’m sorry, sir, we didn’t know she had violent tendencies,” said one of them.
“Nor did I,” Conway replied, still in shock. “I suppose I deserved it, though,” he added as an after-thought. “In these modern times ‘background’ is usually not a word found in society’s vocabulary when it comes to conversation about family history. I think the correct term to have used would have been ‘history’.”
The medic stared. “I think you need some ice for that jaw you have there.”
“No, no,” Conway replied. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
Conway came closer to the woman, and lifted her shirt slightly so he could see the entire purple mark on her stomach. The way her skin had flushed from the bruising made him think a couple of her lower ribs had been broken. As his examination of the mark lengthened, he mentally matched it to the sole of a boot.
“Excuse me, medic?” he called. “Can you tell me when she obtained this injury?”
“Not from the attack,” the medic replied. “It’s a few days old, but whatever did that to her—”
“It’s in the shape of a shoe,” he said. “In order to have that kind of force and the right angle . . . she would have been lying on the floor, and whoever did this to her would have been standing over her. As far as I know, she didn’t hit the floor during the attack . . . Besides, the marks don’t match the prisoner’s shoes,” he continued, more to himself than to the medic.
“Are you sure you don’t want that ice?” said the medic.
“I’m fine, thank you,” said Conway, already donning his militia-cap and preparing to leave. “I have supplies in my own quarters. Good day.”
Taking a last, fleeting look at the woman before departing, he wondered what kind of grudge she had against the word “background”, who could have left such a deep, dark mark on her body like that, and what it could mean in the coming interrogations.
Chapter 5
Loni was brought back to the brig a week later; the man who had attacked her was moved to a high-security cell on the other end of the brig. She was still being forced to wear the orange jumpsuit, but this time, she was smart: she always kept the lights off in her cell so to discourage any peeping-toms. At night she was only truly safe; no one could see her, but she could see them. Her eyes had quickly gotten used to the dark, and could now easily distinguish what was shadow and what was flesh.
Songbird was to arrive at their destination of Coruscant in another few days . . . she wished her potential rescuers would hurry the hell up.
-----signature-----
Go Air Force, Marines, Navy, Army. Don't die out there, just do your job. Padawan to Valairy_Scot, E-sister of many "Mixed Signals": http://tinyurl.com/5ewvuk I have been dead for 19 days.
|
|
|
Quote Reply |
Active Topic Notification |
Private Message |
Post History
|
ShadowofLures
| |