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Author	Topic: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/25/08!!
Darth McClain Registered: Feb '00	Date Posted: 6/17 3:57pm Subject: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/25/08!! - Date Edited: 6/25 7:47pm (3 edits total) Edited By: Darth McClain
	Tales from the Intelligence Gala is a spin-off from the Talon Intelligence Squadron (TIS) saga. Early on in the second chapter, the Talons attend the traditional Intelligence Gala. It used to be a prestigious event, but over the past few years, it has become a sham of its former glory. This years' Gala is no different, except for one significant way. The Gala is bombed. Many perish instantly, and hordes of others are injured. Still, some escape unharmed. Tales from the Intelligence Gala explores some of the "others" who attend the Gala. As we (the authors/editors of the TIS revival) were preparing to work on the second installment, Talon Intelligence Squadron: Not Always Fair, the idea of non-Talons being affected by the events at the Intelligence Gala kept bouncing around in my head. I talked to several other authors/editors, and we decided to have our first "Talonverse" spin-off. Contributing authors include Jedi_Perigrine, Darth Muis, Lilith Demodae, StarscreamPrime, and me. Without further adieu, welcome to Tales of the Intelligence Gala. -----signature----- Once a Talon, always a Talon Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book 2! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28489742 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431
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Darth McClain Registered: Feb '00	Date Posted: 6/17 4:01pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	First up is "Tale of the Exploded", by Jedi_Perigrine. Hope that y'all enjoy it! ________________________________________________________________________________________________ Major Purnatha Jor, head of Kinrath Squadron, watched with interest as Kevin Ski stood at full attention, as erect and unmovable as a Coruscant building, while the admiral promoted him to major. Again. The middle-aged human leaned back in his seat, mind reeling. How long had it been since the first promotion to major? Was it after the Skirmish of Sullust, or before? The details eluded him, and they weren’t important now. All Purnatha knew was that Kevin had fallen far, and hard. Ski’s rise through the corps was impressive in its speed, made even more special by his talent for command and his ability behind the stick of a starfighter. That’s what made his abrupt fall even more incomprehensible. How had he mentally survived the sudden demotion? It seemed like the man was alive for one purpose: to lead brave men and women to victory after victory. Jor thought it would have been more merciful to put a blaster bolt through Ski’s head. Yet here the man was again, being honored for his service to the Intel community. Purnatha glanced over to his two closest tablemates. Lieutenant Gresht, his Rodian XO, was staring at Kevin with contempt running free in his expression. The lieutenant knew nothing of Ski’s exploits, or if he did, he didn’t care. Gresht was an average soldier, though he lacked the leadership ability of a worrt toad. In all seriousness, the man should be pushing flimsies somewhere, working as an aide to an aide of an aide. But when it came to inter-departmental politics, the Rodian was impossibly capable. Where the affairs of the state came into play, Gresht was a master, able to see patterns and make connections that only made sense to those who could intuitively sense the currents of the political spacelanes. As far as Purnatha was concerned, the Rodian didn’t earn his position as XO, never even earned himself officer status. In short, the little creep had brown-nosed his way up. That had never sat right with Major Jor. He was CO of the unit though, and he had to promote harmony within as best he could. Only one of his flight officers knew his true feelings, about Gresht and his disturbing abilities. At how the Rodian was suddenly assigned to Jor’s unit, displacing one of his own officers, displacing the man sitting next to him, in fact. A human, Flight Officer Tryngor Gott was major Jor’s best slicer and original XO. The man had been second in command and with him since the day Jor was placed in command of Kinrath Squadron, a million battles ago. Tryngor was a rock, always a steady presence to have in any furball. At the moment, he was fiddling with a datapad, reading through the list of the Talons’ personnel and their accomplishments. Now Gott, there was an officer. Jor couldn’t count the number of times that Tryngor had jumped in front of blasterfire, putting himself in harm’s way for any and all of his squadmates. Tryngor had enough medals of valor and Rellen Shields that he could have armored an entire uniform with them. Lieutenant Gott often joked that he would have done exactly that, if the medals had any hope of withstanding incoming fire. Gott was so blasted selfless, he looked skeptical when Jor told him it wasn’t necessary to take Gresht’s bullet for him. Apparently Tryngor had decided Major Purnatha was just being sarcastic; he couldn’t know how much Jor was praying for a stray shot to take down the Rodian. Or how close he had been to doing the deed himself on multiple occasions. “All those awards and he’s just now being promoted to major?” Tryngor whispered softly, as he read through the long list. Gott’s whisper distracted the major from whatever the admiral was saying to Kevin Ski. Jor gave him a frustrated look and waggled his fingers at the datapad in a “give me that” gesture. Flight Officer Tryngor had the sense to look abashed as he did so. Major Jor didn’t even know how high Kevin had risen...had he made colonel before his abrupt fall? They had been casual friends, once upon a time, but war and distance had pretty well erased any chance of their friendship growing. He shook his head regretfully. “For bravery and courage in battle, the High Council hereby promotes Danya Faithwood to Flight Officer,” the admiral was saying as he clipped the rank insignia and awards to her well-pressed uniform. “Hubba hubba!” Tryngor breathed, getting a good look at the very attractive woman on the stage. The flight officer winced as Major Jor gave him a seething glare. Still, Gott had a point. In fact, all the women now standing up on the stage were attractive in their own ways. Purnatha shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and get a good read on Ski’s personnel. They were all fidgeting in barely visible ways. None of them looked comfortable on stage, whether that was nervousness from being the center of attention or something else, the major didn’t know. The Talons received their awards with honor and…tightly restrained hostility? Jor shifted his attention to Kevin, whose angry glare was going to melt a hole through the far wall any second now. Purnatha saw muscles flexing underneath the major’s uniform, a sure sign he wanted to grab somebody by the neck and shake until organs popped free and plopped onto the ground. What in space was going on? He relegated the admiral’s voice to background noise as he scanned the individual files of all the Talons as they were named and decorated. Illegal hacking. Barely forgivable and potentially current Imperial ties. Defiance of orders from a superior officer. Defiance. More defiance. A disgraced teacher? A medic without updated certification? Spurned lovers. Jor hardly noticed the Talons’ departure from the stage as they sullenly returned to their table. He ignored the music, ignored almost everything as he read through the Talons’ files. Each individual boasted impressive abilities and yet Purnatha couldn’t imagine a bigger bunch of misfits and screwups. That point was only emphasized as Stone, their physician of all people, pulled out a doll that looked strangely like a hawkbat, and started waltzing around the dance floor with it. And Stone wasn’t even the one they yanked from a psychotic institution! Kevin Ski’s command had been designed as a farce! “Those bantha-riding, sith-munchers!” he swore softly. “Sir?” Tryngor asked, suddenly concerned. The romantic music that was playing in the background was completely at odds with the fuming tone of Jor’s voice. “What the hell is the intelligence community thinking, crewing together personnel like that? Even Kevin Ski shouldn’t be able to get those clowns formed into a viable unit.” A couple of nearby officers looked at Purnatha distastefully as his voice was louder than he intended. The major couldn’t care less. Yet, Ski had brought them together, at least a little. And they had managed to pull off a mission somehow. The closer Jor looked, the more camaraderie he saw between all the Talons who were sitting or dancing together. It was in its infancy to be sure, but the bond was growing. The Talons themselves might not have even noticed yet. “They’re intentionally mocking Ski and his people.” “Major Ski has fallen a long ways, sir. I’m sure Intelligence is just trying to eliminate any loose ends in as efficient a manner as they can.” He glanced quickly, tensely at his chrono, as if he had somewhere else to be. “Sir, we should probably go now.” The Rodian’s vocal tone and apparent approval to what the Council was doing made Jor’s teeth violently clench together. The thick muscles of his forearms strained as he grabbed the edge of the table, doing his damnedest to keep them from ripping off Gresht’s arms and beating him senseless with them before shoving them where the sun don’t shine. Lately, Jor’s patience with the Rodian was miniscule at the best of times, and to the major’s mind, now was not the time for almost blindingly treasonous political outlooks. In a tone that should have spontaneously combusted the Rodian, he turned to glower into Gresht’s eyes. “Lieutenant, you will speak about Major Ski with respect. He is a damn fine man. He’s got more guts and commanding ability in what he leaves behind at the ‘fresher than you do in your entire body. Do I make myself clear?” Big black eyes threatened to pop out of Gresht’s head, his proboscis-like mouth opened in pure startlement. “But sir! Ski was demoted under perfectly understandable protocols. He--” Purnatha couldn’t refrain from grabbing Gresht’s collar and squeezing the material up around the neck, cutting off the Rodian’s air. Gresht thrashed weakly as Jor’s tone dropped to even more dangerous levels. “You,” he growled, hating to release the egg-sucker enough to allow him breath. Letting his discipline take over, he loosened his grip anyway. A little. “Are going to come with me and apologize to the major.” With a shove, he sat the Rodian back into his chair. “No sir. I’m leaving. You should come with me.” Gresht looked like he was going to wet himself, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. But the strong recommendation in his voice was irritatingly obvious. It was Purnatha’s turn for his eyes to nearly pop out of his head. “What did you just say, Soldier?” “I said no, sir. I’m leaving.” The Rodian glanced increasingly anxious at a messenger who had delivered something to Kevin. If Major Jor had any grasp on his rampant emotions, he would have applauded the Rodian’s sudden appearance of a backbone. Instead, he was sorry they didn’t allow weapons in the event, otherwise his XO would be lying in a pool of his own blood as his commanding officer danced merrily around the holey, smoldering corpse. “Get out of here,” the major growled. “I’m going to talk with Major Ski. Then I’m going to talk to the admiral and ask for permission to dismember you slowly, then leave your broken corpse in front of HQ to use as a welcome mat.” “I’ll take the rest of the squadron with me then,” Gresht said, already turning to go, quickly trying to gather up the rest of the unit. He was very much in a hurry, almost running. If Jor could see his own face, he would have appreciated why. He was disgusted with his XO and further incensed at the snotbag’s cowardice and the liberty he was taking with his own rank. Purnatha was irritated that the only one who had heard the Rodian in his duplicity was Flight Officer Tryngor. He would have to explain to the rest of his crew why he murdered Gresht, once they all got back to headquarters. Envisioning Gresht’s body as he slowly hacked it to pieces was almost enough to bring a tiny semblance of emotional control back. “Sir,” Tryngor said, standing by his CO’s side. “I’d like to meet Major Ski, if I could.” Gott’s unwavering loyalty helped reduce Purnatha’s anger to barely containable levels. “Of course, Flight Officer, you’re welcome to join me,” he said through still tightly clenched teeth. Major Jor started moving towards Kevin. Tryngor was right behind him. Purnatha barely knew what he was going to say to the man. Avenues of conversation passed through his mind, each quickly assessed and discarded. As he threaded his way through the crowd, he tried to catch Kevin’s eye, hoping to find out what kind of reception he would have when he greeted his old friend. The young messenger who had already left one communication was back, apparently delivering another. As Kevin opened it and read it over, he stood almost numbly and stared upwards, almost directly over Major Jor’s head. Major Ski shouted something and started to drop, but Purnatha didn’t understand the words. He followed Ski’s gaze up, noting the blinking object above him. Purnatha was suddenly being pressed under the crushing weight of Flight Officer Tryngor as the man jumped on his back, steering him to the floor. The deafening explosion that went off half a second later was followed by the cascading rumble of several tons of building debris. To add insult to fatality, Lieutenant Gresht was completely clear of the building, as if he knew what was going to happen… -----signature----- Once a Talon, always a Talon Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book 2! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28489742 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431
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JediXManSerenaKenobi Registered: Jul '07	Date Posted: 6/17 5:27pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	Ooh, interesting! -----signature----- " 'Do you believe in God?' written on the bullet/ Say 'yes' to pull the trigger / And I will pull the trigger!" Talon Intelligence Squadron Artist! Talons rule! Proud member of Wrenga Jixton's Virtual Blondies! Christian=follower of Savior Jesus Christ
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-thor- Registered: Nov '02	Date Posted: 6/18 10:26am Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	Now why do I suddenly envision "Roasted Rodian with minced Admiral" on Bullwinkle's menu printout in a while? -----signature----- Signature space for rent ... now where did I leave the HoloNet address ???
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Lilith Demodae Registered: Oct '99	Date Posted: 6/18 10:34am Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	-Thor- that is just so wrong. Not that I would put it past Bullwinkle, because I wouldn't. -----signature----- This post is brought to you by: Vetinari / Vimes '08 Scorpion pits and Justice for all Once a Talon, Always a Talon!
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Jedi_Perigrine Registered: Apr '08	Date Posted: 6/18 12:02pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	I wonder what that would taste like with a talented chef behind the ingredient. I'm sure it wouldn't be too bad... -----signature----- Look out boards, MamaVader snipped my braid! Still a Talon! Visitors+Vacation=Barely any time for writing! WAAH!
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L0B0 Registered: Jan '08	Date Posted: 6/18 12:40pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	Good stuff for sure. The alternate POV adds an interesting perspective to the scene without being redundant. Plus, there were some witty one-liners in there, which I always like to see. Talonverse bonus material = -----signature----- Check your Six! ---> http://www.talonintelligencesquadron.com/index.htm * Mando'ad draar digu... * Self Appointed FADA Acolyte
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Darth McClain Registered: Feb '00	Date Posted: 6/18 3:26pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	L0B0 posted: Talonverse bonus material = We couldn't agree more! Glad that you guys have liked it so far! The next one should be up on Friday. -----signature----- Once a Talon, always a Talon Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book 2! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28489742 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431
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Darth McClain Registered: Feb '00	Date Posted: 6/20 3:42pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories)
	“Thanks Dad…” or “The Tale of the Bith Conductor” – by Darth Muis Frankly, he was just fed up with it. He had been conducting the New Republic Symphony Orchestra for almost four years now and they only ever played at official events like the Intelligence Gala they were playing tonight. He had simply grown tired of it. No, he had grown sick of it! All these pompous officers standing around with their drinks, patting their own backs, telling old war stories and not paying any attention whatsoever to the music. To them it was just decoration. Like the centerpieces on the tables and the streamers high over their heads. He hadn’t studied all those years with the best teachers Clak’dor VII had to offer to become mere decoration! Sure, he knew many of his fellow students had ended up playing rowdy cantinas and seedy dancehalls in spaceports across the galaxy, having to work really hard for only a couple of credits. At least they played for an audience that paid some attention to them. He envied them sometimes… As he was sure they envied him. Sicmo Bah’n, the famous Bith conductor, put his lips around the straw and took a sip of his Alderaanian wine. This was his third glass of the evening and he was starting to feel a little light-headed. Ah, who was he kidding! He needed this job. He loved the things that came with his position as the conductor of one of the New Republic’s most prestigious orchestras. The free housing, people looking up to him and especially the money. He needed the money! He couldn’t go back to drinking cheap, no-name brand wines. He had grown accustomed to the taste and the smell of the highest quality. He was an alcoholic and he knew it, but at least with the credits he earned he could be a classy alcoholic... But on the other hand, wasn’t the job that earned him this money the reason why he started drinking in the first place? There was a knock at the door. Was it time yet? Sicmo looked at the chronometer near the bed. The bright red numbers were about the only light in his darkened quarters. He still had a couple of hours... There was another knock. Sicmo sighed (something he had picked up from being around humans), put down his drink, got up out of his comfortable chair and made his way through the dark to the door. When he hit the open button, it whizzed open and the brightness of the hallway blinded his extremely sensitive eyes for a couple of seconds. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?” A familiar voice said. When his vision returned, Sicmo recognized his human lead Fizzz-player Nom Antares. “What does it look like?” Sicmo replied and walked back to his chair, leaving the door open for Nom to enter. He entered, closed the door behind him and turned on the lights, blinding Sicmo for a second time. “You really should cut down...” Nom walked over to the chair, took the glass of wine from Sicmo’s hands and smelled it. He made a face and handed it back. “The guys are starting to notice.” “So, let them! They’re not going to get me fired.” He emptied his drink. “I’m the best conductor they ever had and they know it.” Nom sat down on Sicmo’s bed, which was nothing more than a slightly-too-hard mattress (for human standards, anyway), and grinned. “I guess you’re right.” He took a strange object from the nightstand and studied it intently for a couple of seconds. “But one of these days we’re going to be playing for members of the New Republic Board of Culture and if they notice you’re drunk you’ll be conducting the Ewok Symphony Orchestra even before you can drink away your hangover.” Sicmo scoffed (another trait he had picked up from humans) and got up from his chair. “I’ll just hold back that night.” “I’d like to see you go try.” Nom replied and grinned. “Is this why you came here? To lecture me?” Knowing Nom was right, he quickly changed the subject. “Nope.” Nom got up from the bed and straightened his jumpsuit with his hands. “Some of the guys and me are going out for a quick drink before the Gala and we were hoping you might want to join us.” “Aren’t you contradicting yourself here, dear Antares?” Sicmo asked, adding Nom’s last name for sarcastic purposes. “First you’re telling me not to drink and now you’re asking me to go out for drinks...” “You know you’re going to be drinking anyway. Better to do it in good company than by yourself in the dark.” He had a point there, Sicmo thought. But he didn’t really feel like being around people. He had been planning on sitting by himself in his darkened room and that was what he was going to do. And besides, Nom was just inviting him so he could keep an eye on him. He didn’t need a babysitter… “No thanks. I still have to make some preparations for tonight.” He lied. “Okay, suit yourself.” Nom replied and shrugged. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at The Thirsty Hutt.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Before he closed the door he turned around and faced Sicmo, who had sat back down in his chair. “Just don’t do too much preparing.” The door whizzed shut and Sicmo was alone again. He turned off the room lights on the console by the chair and put his lips on the straw. I’ll do as much preparing as I like. ******** So far, it had been just as he had expected. The Gala was like every other official New Republic event Sicmo had ever attended. There had been formal introductions, some speeches and some people got promoted. The orchestra had been working its way through the regular repertoire and the guests politely applauded after every song. But other than that, they didn’t seem to pay much attention. Some couples ventured out onto the dance floor but there were never more than five at any given point. Sicmo felt a bit dizzy. He shouldn’t have had that last glass. Or maybe the last two. And Nom Antares had been right, the guys in the orchestra had started noticing. At some point Sicmo had almost lost his balance when he put his arms over his head and brought them down violently to signal the end of a song. He could have sworn that he saw some of the humans in the woodwinds-section roll their eyes. The orchestra was just finishing an Alderaanian waltz as a well groomed young man in a flight officer’s dress uniform came up to Sicmo and handed him a piece of flimsy. He folded it open. In perfect handwriting it read: “Eyes on You”. “Do you think you could manage that?” The Human asked. Sicmo turned to look at him. “Of course we can manage that, young man, it’s hardly a challenge!” Immediately after Sicmo said it, he realised he had been a little harsh. The human however, didn’t notice, or was polite enough not to let it show. “Thank you.” He simply said, smiled and turned to walk to a group of tables, not far from the dance floor. Sicmo, slightly shaken by his inability to hide his true emotions, turned back to the orchestra. From the corner of his eye he saw Nom shake his head with a combination of sadness and frustration showing on his face. Sicmo decided to ignore it and started giving instructions. I should try to cut back on the drinking. He thought. Or at least on nights like these... The song went off without a hitch and as the last notes faded away, Sicmo started rummaging through the sheet music on the stand in front of him to see what piece they were going to play next. Suddenly there was a commotion behind him. A human yelling something at the top of his voice. As he turned to see what was going on, Sicmo heard a terrible rumble over his head. The next thing he remembered was somehow flying over the orchestra, slamming into the far wall. After that, everything went black. ******** “You’ve been really lucky, you know that?” The voice cut through Sicmo’s odd dreamless sleep. He tried to open his eyes, but found it harder than he had expected. When he finally managed to open them, he panicked briefly. Where was he? He didn’t recognise anything! He seemed to be lying in some kind of bed, but it wasn’t his own... As he turned his head to the left, he noticed strange equipment set up around him. Was he in a hospital? What had happened? “Ah, you’re awake!” A voice next to him said. He recognised the voice as the voice he had heard just before waking up. He turned his head to the right and in the dim light he saw a Bith male standing next to his bed. “Father?” Sicmo asked, noticing a sickly-sweet taste in his mouth. “Yes, it’s me.” The Bith replied in a soft tone of voice. Father has come to see me in the hospital! The thought made Sicmo happy. Only seconds later, he realised what that meant. His heart started racing and something next to him started beeping frantically. “Calm down, son.” His father said and put his left hand on Sicmo’s forehead. “You’re dead!” “I see the drinking hasn’t erased the memory of me dying.” “How…” Talking was suddenly very complicated. “Does it matter?” His father asked. He took his hand off Sicmo’s forehead and sat down on the bed. Sicmo’s heartbeat started to calm down a little and the beeping stopped. “What matters is that I came here to talk to you.” Sicmo nodded. Was he dreaming? “You’re not dreaming.” Sicmo’s pulse started picking up again. Could he read his mind? “Calm down! Look,” his father turned his head to look at something beyond Sicmo’s field of view. “I’ve come to talk to you about your life. This is important, so listen up.” He turned back to Sicmo and stared at him intently with his big black eyes. “You can’t go on this way. You’re wasting your talent and you’re wasting your life!” He got up from the bed and walked to the window. Sicmo did his best to turn his head, but that too was suddenly very complicated. “I know why you’re still here.” His father continued, “You always enjoyed being envied by other people, being looked up to. And you never liked change. That’s why you’re still doing something with your life that you really don’t enjoy.” His father turned around and walked towards Sicmo. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told you.” He sat back down on the bed. “You probably think I always was a musician. Well, before you were born, I used to be the director of an interplanetary shipping company. I had worked hard to get to where I was and the first couple of years, I loved it. The attention I got, the money I made, I simply loved it. But then, just after the Computer Mating Service approved of your mother and I having you, I quit. Just like that.” A smile crept across his face. “Needless to say, your mother was quite upset. But it just wasn’t challenging anymore. I wanted to do something else, something fresh. So, that’s when I started being a Jizz musician. I had always played the Kloo horn and it had always been my dream to do it professionally. It really didn’t make much money and looking back, it might actually have been a little irresponsible, what with having you to take care of soon, but I’m happy I did it.” He got up from the bed and turned the face Sicmo. “You and I both know the only reason why you’re drinking is because you don’t like what you’re doing with your life. Think about it son, and then decide whether you want to go on this way. Don’t be afraid to take a risk every now and then.” Sicmo tried to respond, but he couldn’t. He was simply overwhelmed by his father being there and by what he had to say. Suddenly, he felt quite sleepy and he struggled to keep his eyes open. “Go back to sleep, you need to gain some strength.” His father said, but the voice seemed very distant. Finally, he lost his struggle and fell back into dreamless sleep. ********** There was a knock on the door. Sicmo took a break from packing his suitcase and pushed the button to open the door. Outside was Nom Antares, his left arm in a sling. He looked a little tired. “Is it true?” He asked. “Is what true?” Sicmo replied, knowing exactly what Nom was referring to. Nom saw the half packed suitcase lying on the bed as he walked into the room. “So, it is true, you’re leaving!” “Yes, I am.” Sicmo went back to packing and Nom sat down in Sicmo’s comfortable chair. “Why? Did the explosion scare you into it?” Nom mused aloud. Sicmo turned around with the Bith equivalent of a frown on his face. “No. I’ve just decided that I want to try something new.” “So, what are you going to do?” Nom asked, adjusting his sling. “I’ve applied for a job as a Nalorgan player in an experimental new group being formed by Xexto percussionist Balano.” “Creating music on the edge, ey? That sounds interesting,” Nom said and grinned. “You know,” he paused for a second, “there is another rumour I’ve heard…” Sicmo smiled. “If it’s about me cutting down on my drinking, than that rumour is also true.” “Just like that?” “Well, not just like that.” Sicmo said, and left it at that. Nom seemed to get the clue and understood that Sicmo didn’t really want to talk about it. “When are you leaving?” “After the memorial for Nydo and Trec Adaid.” “Poor Nydo and Trec.” Nom said solemnly. The orchestra had had surprisingly few casualties. Almost everyone had gotten hurt somehow, but only two members had died. Both had been sitting towards the front of the orchestra and had been crushed by falling debris. The rest had been spared because the orchestra had been set up in corner of the hall under a lower, better enforced half arched ceiling for acoustic reasons. And those acoustic reasons had saved their lives. After the two deaths, Sicmo had been hurt worst, with several broken bones and a fractured skull. It had been a close call, but a couple of days in Bacta and two weeks in Coruscant’s finest medical facility had done wonders. The others had recovered nicely as well. “So, I hear you’re quite the hero.” Sicmo changed the subject to brighten the mood a little. “Ah, it’s nothing.” Nom replied, with clear false modesty in his voice. “I got a couple of people out of there. There were plenty of people doing the same.” “I heard you went back in four times. That takes quite some courage.” “Well, I guess you’re right.” Nom said and laughed aloud. Sicmo joined him. “Why aren’t you coming with me?” Sicmo asked after they were done laughing. “I’m sure Balano could use a good Fizzz-player.” “Well,” Nom shrugged, “I’ll think about it. You know, the orchestra also needs a good Fizzz-player.” He got up out of the chair and walked towards the door. “I’ll leave you to your packing. One more thing,” Nom opened the door, “some of the guys are going out for drink at the usual spot afterwards. You want to come with us? Make it a goodbye?” Sicmo nodded. “I’d love to, thanks.” “Good! See you at the memorial.” Nom stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Sicmo closed his suitcase and sat down on the bed. He looked around the room he had been living in for four years. It had never really seemed like a home, but now it was truly just another room. He got up from the bed, did a last check to see if he had everything. He picked up his suitcase, which was a little heavier than he expected, and walked towards the door, opened it and stepped out into the hall. Looking back one final time he couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks dad...” He whispered under his breath and the door behind him whizzed shut. -----signature----- Once a Talon, always a Talon Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book 2! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28489742 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431
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Jedi_Perigrine Registered: Apr '08	Date Posted: 6/21 8:42am Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/20/08
	Great story Muis! You made highly believable and human characters in a SW world not commonly scrutinized! Well done! -----signature----- Look out boards, MamaVader snipped my braid! Still a Talon! Visitors+Vacation=Barely any time for writing! WAAH!
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Lilith Demodae Registered: Oct '99	Date Posted: 6/21 9:59am Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/20/08
	That was fantastic! The Gala explosion actually turned out to be a good thing for someone... -----signature----- This post is brought to you by: Vetinari / Vimes '08 Scorpion pits and Justice for all Once a Talon, Always a Talon!
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-thor- Registered: Nov '02	Date Posted: 6/21 10:00am Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/20/08
	Strange universe, the GFFA is. Is it just me or do the folks living there really need advice from long-dead relatives or friends instead of getting their heads set straight by living people? -----signature----- Signature space for rent ... now where did I leave the HoloNet address ???
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Darth Muis Registered: Mar '00	Date Posted: 6/22 2:00am Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/20/08
	Thanks for reading everyone! Jedi_Perigrine: Thank you! And the funny thing is, the main character isn't even human! Not sure whether that's a good thing, or not. Lilith Demodae: Thanks Lilith. Well, I guess sometimes you really need to shocked to make a much needed change in life. -thor-: It is a strange universe! He just needed to hear it from someone he truly admired, I suppose. Thanks for reading! Next update on tuesday. So don't go anywhere! -----signature----- Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book Three! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28952461 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431 "Once a Talon, always a Talon."
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Darth McClain Registered: Feb '00	Date Posted: 6/25 3:49pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/20/08
	Expect an update later tonight! -----signature----- Once a Talon, always a Talon Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book 2! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28489742 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431
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Darth McClain Registered: Feb '00	Date Posted: 6/25 7:47pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/20/08
	Well, it looks like this is the last entry, at least for now. It is called "Into the Blue," or "Tale of the Survivors." I wrote this little story, and hope that you loyal readers enjoy it, and have enjoyed this project as a whole! Thanks for reading! _____________________________________________________________________________ It had been four days since the blast that rocked the Intelligence Gala. Lieutenant Devin Suron still had a massive headache from that inauspicious event. Not only that, but Suron was still stuck in room 1138 of the sickbay aboard the New Hope, a Nebulon-B escort frigate orbiting Coruscant. He looked down at his medical gown and saw the gauze and stitches that marked his lower body. How did I get here? the lieutenant asked himself. He could remember some details about that fateful night. Suron and the other members of the Spectrum Special Forces Group had been recalled from the front lines in the Deep Core to attend the Gala. In fact, Suron had only been formally promoted to the rank of lieutenant during that ceremony by Admiral Leran Taliq himself. The admiral had recently been placed in charge of the Vigilance Fleet, to which the New Hope and Spectrum Special Forces Group were assigned. Suron had earned a battlefield commission for leadership and bravery during the Onderdon campaign a few months ago. Things had been moving slowly since end of Operation Shadow Hand in terms of promotions, but Suron didn’t let it bother him. He and the rest of the Spectrums had kept fighting the Imperials, mainly in mop-up operations on Onderdon and, recently, in the Deep Core. Which leads to the Gala, he thought bitterly. Dressed in his best uniform, Devin Suron had proudly escorted the lovely Lieutenant Mirana Valee, espionage agent extraordinaire and a fellow member of the Spectrum Special Forces Group, at the Intelligence Gala. Major Grison had informed the Spectrums that the event was not what it had once been, but proper attire and attitudes were still needed. This was the first year back on Coruscant, after a year onboard the Home One, due to the temporary reconquest of Coruscant by Emperor Palpatine. Suron understood the importance of this year’s event. He was an intelligence professional, trying to avoid political situations as best he could, knowing that it was impossible. He would do his best to make the best of the situation that he was placed in. Suron got out of the cold durasteel chair that he had been sitting in, and made his way to the window of the sickbay. He gazed out at the sky for a moment, before settling in on Coruscant itself. Suron could see areas of the planet that were still in need of reconstruction, even from kilometers away. I guess that the Imperial takeover didn’t go as smoothly as planned, he wryly thought. Coruscant still needs healing, just like the Intelligence community. The Spectrums had been given their moment in the sun fairly early in the evening. Commodore Nor and Admiral Torin Salos had both said kind words about their service to the New Republic in its great time of need. Members of the Intelligence High Council had said similar things about the rest of the groups, although Devin doubted very much that they meant them. A bit of bitterness flared up in the lieutenant, but he quickly suppressed it. I can’t say that I wouldn’t do the same things if I was on the IHC, he reminded himself. I can’t pretend that I would be better than them. They do have a lot to deal with, before, after, and during the gala. The one group that he distinctly remembered was Talon Intelligence Squadron. He had heard about everything that the formerly great Kevin Ski had been through – who in the intelligence sector hadn’t? – and had heard rumors about how unruly his squadron was, even though he was halfway across the galaxy. The Talons had generally behaved themselves during the tedious and insincere ceremony, and Suron was fairly impressed. For the bunch of murderers and thieves they are supposed to be, he thought, they handled themselves well. The dancing had been next. Mirana Valee was a much better dancer than Suron, but she amused him for a few numbers. They had particularly enjoyed “Eyes on You,” the sentimental ballad. Shortly after it ended, they went back to their table with Major Grison and his date, a logistics officer that he had known since their days at the Intelligence Academy, and noticed a blue skinned, white feathered Omwati pass a flimsy to the newly minted Major Kevin Ski, sitting two tables away. Devin remembered Ski shouting, “Everybody, get down!” and something about a bomb that was about to detonate. Did that bomb ever detonate! Suron had grabbed Mirana and practically tackled her to the ground to protect her. Suron could still hear the ringing of the explosion in his head. He had been knocked unconscious by the force of the bomb. Mirana had been knocked out, as well. Everything must have been flying around them. Devin must have been hit by something, because the next thing that he remembered was waking up in a bacta tank with a gash on his leg and nicks on his face. Mirana had been much luckier and only had a few scrapes on her deceptively delicate body. Not everyone had been so lucky. After coming to in the bacta tank, Suron had been informed that Major Grison had not been one of the survivors. He had been pinned down by the table and suffered too much internal bleeding before bacta treatments had started for there to be any chance of his survival. Suron clenched his fists. The commander survives the front lines of an asymmetric war, only to die in a terrorist bombing at the Intelligence Gala? Is there any justice in this galaxy? Suron certainly hoped so. He hoped that whoever was responsible for this attack was repaid for their misdeed. It’s probably all connected to the Talons, Suron thought somewhat bitterly. It had been Major Ski that had given everyone the warning. Why him? he wondered, but quickly pushed the thought aside. That didn’t matter. What did matter was the enemy. He wanted to fight back, not be stuck in sickbay. The major hadn’t been the only casualty from the Spectrums. It was almost too much to handle. How? Why? We survive the Deep Core and the Imps with minimal casualties, and half the squad gets wiped out at what is supposed to be a secure event, a celebration. All of these questions and more were running through the lieutenant’s mind. Worst of all, the New Hope was running low on bacta. Quite a few of the honorees that had been pulled off the front lines and subsequently injured had been sent to the medical frigate. Suron was well enough along not to get bacta priority, so he had been given the old fashioned treatment. Suron heard a knock at the door. “Come on in,” he said causally, not sure who to expect. “Hey, Devin. It’s me, Mirana.” From Suron’s perspective, she still looked gorgeous, even in an ordinary Spectrum uniform. “Hey there, yourself.” He stood up and gave her a hug. “How are you doing?” Mirana shrugged her shoulders. “All right. You expect people to die in war. I understand that, and sort of expect it. But when about half of the squad gets killed at a dance, I don’t know.” Her brown eyes started to water up. Devin was feeling much the same way. “It’s going to be okay, Mirana. It’ll be okay.” Somehow, he thought. He gave her a shoulder to cry on. It was the best thing that he knew how to do. ******** “We’re gathered here today to honor the members of the Spectrum Special Forces Group who perished in the Intelligence Gala blast.” It was three days later. Devin Suron was physically as good as new, but still a wreck emotionally. Two days ago, word had gotten out that another of the Spectrums had passed away during surgery. Make that seven Spectrums. Over half of the group. Captain Esyyk Loren'ia, the Bothan executive officer, was running the daily operations, at their temporary Coruscant headquarters. One of those duties was overseeing the memorial service. There were only four Spectrums left, and they deserved the captain’s best work, as did the deceased. "Major Hal Grison was a leader, one of the best to ever wear a uniform of the New Republic,” Loren’ia said with a slight hint of Bothese in his accent. His words showed the deep respect that Essyk held for his late commander. The captain was dressed in his most formal uniform for this solemn occasion. As Grison’s accomplishments were outlined, a holo of the late major was projected on a wall. The major always looked determined and ready to do anything for a cause that he believed in. “Most importantly, though, Hal was a warrior. He would want us to continue on in our fight against tyranny and injustice throughout the galaxy.” The Bothan captain paused for moment of reflection. Loren’ia grabbed his hands and held them tight, showing his frustration and uncertainty. Grisson was their leader, and deserved their utmost respect. Grison had taken them into highly volatile situations against crack troops and led them back out with only minor scrapes and bruises. “Unfortunately, Major Grison wasn’t the only one to perish due to the blast,” Loren’ia somberly continued, his fur ruffling up with the emotions that he was feeling. “We lost six other members of this fine Special Forces group.” A collage of holos replaced the image of their leader. “Lieutenant Gareb Vel’lik, Sergeant Lokik Thalar, Sergeant Torrin Notant, Corporal Weran Antross, Private Ryen Torprin, and Private Corcen Zarrus also lost their lives. We need to mourn, grieve. And we need to fight back, and take the fight to the enemy.” Although the Bothan didn’t say it out loud, the survivors all knew that enemies, at least in the Bothan’s perspective, were both within the New Republic Intelligence Sector, and outside of it. “The enemy has hit us hard. These were friends and family,” Essyk said, the anger creeping into his furry face. He quickly tried to compose himself, but struggled to do so. “We’ve been through so much together, fighting the enemy. But we can’t do that any more. At least together.” He managed to pull himself together, despite the uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know what the future holds for Spectrum Squadron. Whether we’ll take fresh recruits, or be merged with another group. But no matter what happens, we’ll still be a family. We are Spectrum Squadron. Down but not out. “Lieutenant Suron informed me that he would like to make a statement,” Loren’ia said, and handed the stage to Devin. Like the captain, Mirana, and T’krin Kal, a male Vurk, Suron was wearing his best uniform. “Thanks, Esyyk,” the lieutenant said, and then cleared his throat. “People die in war. It’s an inevitability; its how war works. We try to kill our enemies, and they try to kill us. It’s brutal and barbaric, but it’s our business. “But knowing that people die in war doesn’t make it any easier. When Private Maleb Iliya was gunned down on Zata four weeks, it was tough. Maleb was wet behind the ears, but becoming a good soldier. He died heroically, fighting the enemy.” Devin paused for a second and gulped before continuing. What he was going to say wouldn’t be easy, but he needed to say it. It had been wearing on his mind for the past two days and had talked to Mirana and Esyyk about it for hours. He did not want to mess this up. “Major Grisson and the others didn’t have that luxury. We were called off active duty to attend this Gala. We, along with many other groups, were honored on that fateful night. Our squad was decimated. What are we going to do about it? Are we going to sit back and worry about the cronies on the Intelligence High Council?” A grimace of anger showed upon his face. “No. We cannot. We need to take the fight to the enemy. Things are in our hands, now. The IHC has done enough misdeeds before the Gala to warrant it’s restructuring, in my opinion. But we’re here to serve the New Republic as soldiers, not the police. And we need to remember and honor our fallen comrades as we do our duty, as best we can.” Devin stepped off the stage, and went to the crying Mirana Valee. “Thank you, Devin,” Essyk said, fully recomposed now. “The lieutenant is right; our job is to fight. That’s what we’re good at, what we’re trained to do. It’s never easy. “Mirana and I have decided to start a wall of fame for the fallen Spectrums,” the Bothan continued. “We’ll be researching this unit’s history back to old Rebel Alliance. Many have served with distinction and given their lives to a noble cause that they believe in. We will honor their sacrifices. “Finally, Spectrums, we need to remember our fallen comrades as brothers in arms. They knew that death could come with the job description, and joined anyway. These men were truly heroes,” the captain concluded bitter sweetly. “Spectrums, dismissed.” *********** “Do you remember, back on Ord Cian?” Devin asked Mirana and Essyk. The Spectrums were at the Last Good Buy, a popular cantina in the Intelligence Quadrant on Coruscant. Most of its denizens were typically students at the Intelligence Academy or recent graduates, since the Gala, it seemed as if everyone from the intelligence community had taken to frequenting it, including all four of the remaining four Spectrums. It had been two days since the memorial services. Things hadn’t been easy, but the Spectrums had managed. There had been meetings with one of the liaisons, a human named Devoe Rosche. He had known Torrin Notant for years; they were both from Corellia. Torrin was a few years younger, but their families had been friendly. Mirana rolled her eyes. “How could I not remember Ord Cian?” She, Devin, and Essyk were by far the most veteran members of the Spectrums; both had been with the group for at least five years. “I’ll never forget you trying to convince that crazed figher pilot to go back up to the, what was it called?” Essyk said, shaking his head. "The Defender,” Devin supplied, remembering the mission far to well. “That was it,” the Bothan replied. “Pilots are such hotheads. They’re nothing but trouble.” That got a chuckle, and an “I agree,” from T’krin Kal. “Wasn’t he convinced that Admiral Derien Mel-Clin was holding someone captive?” Mirana asked. “The details are starting to get a little blurry.” Devin nodded. “Yep, that’s right. This hot head thought that someone was stuck in carbonite. Eventually Major Grisson just about had to restrain him to get him back on board. Pilots are crazy.” Suron stood up. “I’m going to get another Corellian ale. Anyone want anything?” The others shook their heads. “I’m good,” Mirana said. “Me, too,” Essyk replied. “Yeah, I don’t want any more,” Kal added. “I’ve had more than my share tonight.” The Vurk smiled. His reptilian body relaxed in the chair and chatted with Mirana and Essyk. The lieutenant walked up to the bar. “I’ll take another Corellian ale, Nooram.” “Sure thing,” the Devaronian bartender replied. Devin decided to sit down on one of the black leather stools that surrounded the bar. “Rough week?” a voice asked Suron. He turned his head, and saw a woman sitting next to him in a black tunic. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. The Last Good Buy was a popular hangout for those in the intelligence community; it had been a rough week for just about everyone in the sector and everyone in the cantina. “Does the IHC get under your skin?” the stranger asked. “It seems as if they’re always getting in the way. They even left their own marquee event before things went haywire.” Devin snorted. “Is that really a question? Of course it does…the IHC gets on everybody’s nerves.” “There will soon be a way around them,” the woman continued. Suron had a look of disbelief on his face. “Yeah, okay. That’ll be the day.” “It will be here sooner than you think. Meet me here tomorrow at 1400 hours, Devin Suron, and we’ll discuss the matter more.” The lieutenant’s jaw dropped to the floor. He wanted to know. What the…?Who is this person? But before he could do anything, the mysterious woman gave him a quick look, pointed to his newly poured Corellian ale, and disappeared into the crowd. Devin picked up his drink, and took a sip. “So, Nooram, do you know anything about this girl?” the lieutenant inquired. The Devaronian shrugged. “For how many credits?” Devin scowled at him. “How many drinks have I bought from you in the past week?” “All right, all right,” the bartender gave in. “I don’t know her name, but she’s been around the Last Good Buy the last couple of days. She does the same routine. Mysterious, for sure.” “Have you seen the people again?” Suron wanted to know. This was his life at stake. The Devaronian’s two red horns bobbed up and down as the bartender nodded. “See that guy over there?” Nooram pointed to his right. “They talked four days ago. He’s still around. And see that girl in the green tunic?” The lieutenant nodded. “They met the day before the Gala. So, things seem to be pretty safe.” Devin looked noticeably relieved. “Thanks.” He tossed a few credits on the bar table, and went back to the Spectrum’s table. ******* The next day, Devin Suron made his way back to the Last Good Buy a few minutes before 1400. He had told Mirana and Essyk what happened, and they figured that he had nothing to lose by going back to meet this mysterious contact. She could have made an attempt on his life if she had wanted, and Nooram’s information was usually entirely accurate. They felt secure about his decision. Mirana, though, had insisted that he stayed on the top of his game and that he always keep one hand on his BlastTech DH-17 blaster. Suron slowly made his way up to the bar. Nooram came over to where the lieutenant was sitting. “The usual?” the bartender asked. Suron nodded. A few minutes later the mysterious woman returned. “Come with me, Suron,” she said in a commanding, but calm voice. He finished his drink, stood up, and followed the woman. They got in a speeder, and eventually made their way to a skyhook in the Coruscant skyline. Neither one said anything. Devin figured that if the woman wanted to say anything more, she would do the talking and took his fellow lieutenant’s advise. The woman pulled up next to the gray skyhook, and gestured for Devin to exit. “I guess I get out here,” he said smugly. The woman was not amused, but followed him into the skyhook. “Wait a moment,” the woman said. “I will inform my superiors that you are here.” She quickly turned around, and left Devin in a huge room that appeared to be a hangar. Suron decided that he was relatively safe. If this woman, or her bosses, had wanted any harm to come to the lieutenant, she had plenty of opportunities. He decided to look around for a moment. Just because he felt safe, though, didn’t mean that he would let himself be caught unprepared for anything. Who entered the room was probably the last person that Suron ever would have expected. “Ma’am?” he asked, very surprised. “At ease, lieutenant,” came the soothing voice of a female NRI operative. Her black hair shone in contrast to her brown tunic. Suron complied with the order, with a look of bewilderment still on his face. “You recognize me?” “Yes, ma’am,” the lieutenant replied. “I do. Captain Jan Ors, no?” Jan nodded, and extended her right hand. “To what do I owe this honor?” Devin asked, shaking her gloved hand. “I’ve heard endless accounts of your exploits with Kyle Katarn.” Jan tilted her head to the side and shrugged her shoulders. “They don’t send us on blue milk runs. This galaxy is a dangerous place. But I’m not here to talk about ancient history.” “Then what are you here to talk about?” Suron asked, maybe a little too forcefully. Jan held her left pointer finger in the air. “One thing, Lieutenant Suron. Mon Mothma is interested in forming a secret intelligence operations group. No red tape. No Intelligence High Council.” The words “no Intelligence High Council” caught his attention. “No IHC?” he mused aloud. Wouldn’t I love to kill everyone of those good for nothing Gamorrean pigs. They’ve got a tough job, but they don’t always need to butcher it. Jan knew that she hit a nerve. “No IHC. No bureaucracy. It would just report to a few people. After the events of the past year, Mon Mothma deemed it in our best interest.” Devin Suron knew more than most about the events of the last year. It had seen the tail ends of the Thrawn campaign, and the Reborn Emperor Crisis. Palpatine’s return had sent the New Republic reverting to the old Rebel Alliance, in terms of operational set ups. Their temporary capitals at Nespis VII and the Pinnacle Moon had been lost. That wasn’t even including the bombing of the Intelligence Gala. It had been a rough year for the New Republic. The lieutenant nodded. “How would it operate, then?” “It will report solely to Mon Mothma. She will run the organizations in conjunction with Admiral Hiram Drayson.” “No IHC?” “None of the normal bureaucracy. Just those two.” Devin stopped for a minute, thinking about the proposition. “What about the other Spectrums? Could they join?” he wanted to know, even though he had a bad feeling. A quick shake of the head confirmed it. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Only you have been accepted into this program. But before we get any further, I have to know – are you in?” Devin paused for a second and closed his eyes. It’s what you’ve been looking for. No IHC, no hurdles to jump through, no wastes like the Gala. But, Mirana and Essyk! We’ve been through so much together, even before this hellish week. It wouldn’t be fair to them. We’ve had our ups and downs together, but we’re family. But still…this is an opportunity of a lifetime. Jan Ors could tell that the lieutenant was conflicted. It was a tough choice, a life altering one. She was pleased that he was weighing his options. Once he gave his answer, there was no turning back. “Yes.” “You’re in?” Ors asked, just to be sure. “Yes. I’m in.” “Welcome to Alpha Blue.” -----signature----- Once a Talon, always a Talon Talon Intelligence Squadron: Book 2! http://boards.theforce.net/Message.aspx?topic=28489742 Tales from the Intelligence Gala! (TIS spin-off!) http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28600431
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Trika_Kenobi Registered: Nov '99	Date Posted: 6/27 7:54pm Subject: RE: Tales from the Intelligence Gala (OCs, "Talonverse", anthology, short stories) - Updated 6/25/08
	Sweet! As always, McClain, your stuff is top-notch. You Talons have put together a wonderful collection of stories to add to the Talonverse, and re-reading them is always a pleasure. Thanks for the ride! -----signature----- "Once a Talon, always a Talon." Clear skies, sir. http://www.TalonIntelligenceSquadron.com proud oldbie master to -Kypster-
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