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Author	Topic: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OCs >>Update! 1/6<<
Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 9/3/03 1:32am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<<
	UP you go again... -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 9/9/03 10:47am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 07/26; announcement 7/29<< - Date Edited: 9/16/03 4:18pm (1 edits total) Edited By: Xaara
	Kell's mood had changed rapidly from upset to anxious. He didn't want to admit that, of course—a jittery wingmate was not someone anyone wanted at his side in a potentially violent situation. But however much he tried to quash all the tendrils of fear that crept through him, he was unable to quell the sensation of disquiet. "Where are we going?" asked Myn from somewhere ahead in the darkness. "If this is an official arrest, I demand a show of identification." It's worth a shot, Kell supposed. He doubted very much that the people who had attacked their speeder were in any way associated with law enforcement officials. As he expected, one of the captors snorted and whispered to a companion walking near him. The first figure laughed aloud, then drew his blaster in a single smooth motion and fired a shot that skimmed just over Kell's head. Kell had time to notice that the blaster was still not set on stun; then he was on the ground, rising to his hands and knees, spitting sand, and reaching for a blaster that was not attached to his hip. "Get up," said the man who headed the line. "We don't have time for this." Reflecting that he would rather run across the desert and take his chances in the dark than follow an anonymous group of people over that same dry land, Kell continued to trail the other members of his group. Whatever he wanted to do would have to be cleared through Myn first. Myn, as the ranking officer in the group, would decide if there was to be any sort of resistance or escape effort. Then there was the little problem of determining exactly who had taken the four Wraiths captive. If, as the apparent leader had hinted, the group actually formed part of a Rebel organization, the pilots had unwillingly, though somewhat fortunately, stumbled upon the people they sought. If, however, the group did not actually belong to a Rebel cell, two questions arose: who were they, and what did they want? Another shout from up ahead, and Kell left his unanswered questions simmering in the hot desert sand behind him. "We're here," came a voice Kell hadn't heard before. "Light, please." Someone produced a glowrod and aimed it toward a door nested horizontally in the sand. Another person punched a series of buttons on the door, then stepped back as it swung open and revealed a long and dimly lit tunnel that seemed to disappear under the earth. Kell squinted and peered into the gloom, but the vague sense that the tunnel took a turn somewhere about a hundred meters in was his only reward. Another voice, this one female, ordered the Wraiths into the tunnel. Turning, Kell tried in vain to determine where his squadronmates walked in relation to the other people—it seemed they all belonged to the human species—around him. A quick cuff on the back of the head was his only gain for his curiosity. “Where are you taking us?” Myn asked from somewhere in the dank shadow. Someone grunted a reply too muted for Kell’s ears to discern, and Myn again retreated into silence, evidently dissatisfied with the response. The group marched through the passageways at a brisk pace, hesitating briefly at junctures as if the leaders harbored misgivings as to the correct direction. Though Kell attempted to keep a map of the tunnels in his mind, the abundance of intersecting channels made the task all but impossible. He catalogued what he could remember, but seriously doubted his ability to find his way out of the labyrinth without a guide to accompany him. Slowly, Kell became aware of the fact that the tunnel had ceased its downward slope and had leveled out into what resembled an interior hallway. The floor had been finished, and the illumination shone more brightly than it had at the outset of the march. Kell took the opportunity to study his captors. To his left strode a tightly knit group of human males, none over thirty, all heavily armed. Their skin gleamed the dark color of the natives of Noráshi, and though they conferred among themselves, all three sets of eyes remained fixed on their charge. To Kell’s left and slightly behind him walked another group, this one consisting of two men and a woman. They kept their weapons and eyes trained on Runt and Myn, wary of the Wraiths’ leader. A pair of men brought up the rear, forcing Falynn to walk before them and turning to watch the tunnel they had already traversed with an anxiety that set Kell on edge. Surely there was nothing to fear within the actual passageway? Kell made no attempt to communicate with his squadronmates, supposing that all would be explained upon his arrival at, well, the destination. After another dull hundred meters, the tunnel ended in what appeared to be a plane of smooth rock. At once, two of the male leaders began to argue in livid whispers. “I thought you said you knew where you were going!” “I followed the directions I was given. Not my fault that the map went wrong somewhere.” “There are hundreds of kilometers of caves and passages down here. If you’re lost now, we could wander for weeks and never be found.” “I’m not lost! We just made a wrong turn somewhere.” “That’s the same as being lost.” “No, it’s not.” “Yes, it is.” “Well you’re the brilliant one; what do you propose?” Silence. A scowl. “Does it occur to you that maybe we’re in the right place?” “Right. We’re in the right place. This is like setting out for Corellia and ending up on Tatooine and saying, ‘Well, it sure looks like Corellia’s dried up a lot since I last visited.’ Admit it, you’re lost.” “Fine, I’m lost. What do we do now?” “I don’t know. Don’t you have some way to contact her?” “No.” “You brought us down into a maze of tunnels with no way to contact the person who sent you down here.” “Yes.” “You’re an idiot. And furthermore, I don’t—“ The words cut off abruptly as, with a shrill wrenching scream of stone against stone, the end of the passageway lifted to disclose a room beyond, empty but for a single woman standing at a bank of controls. “Are you two done quarrelling or would you like to finish it in the hall?” she asked, unsmiling. The initial loser of the argument, gratified at the change of fate, smiled at his opponent. “Told you we were in the right place.” “Shut up,” muttered the defeated man. Frowning at them, the woman smiled. “Welcome to our safehouse. We always welcome a visit by the New Republic.” Kell wanted to ask her who she was, but Myn beat him to it. “Who do I have the honor of addressing?” Myn asked, his tone suggesting that the honor he felt was somewhat less than absolute. “Introductions come later,” said the woman, her dark face crinkling into a friendly smile. “For now, you may follow me to a ‘fresher for a wash, and then to the common room for something to eat and drink.” Pushing his curiosity aside, Kell took his cue from Myn and stepped into the safehouse. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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TKeira_Lea Registered: Oct '02	Date Posted: 9/9/03 7:06pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 09/10<<
	Glad your back Xaara! Again another great post. I am intrigued as to where the Wraiths ended up and who the mystery woman at the end was. Looking forward to more!:D -----signature----- http://www.lominalecantina.com character often lies in contradiction ~ jfostrander01 Wingman - a post LotF fic http://boards.theforce.net/beyond_the_saga/b10477/28548970/p1/?219
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 9/10/03 7:22am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 09/10<<
	Xaara's definitely back...and nice post, i like the way you're building up the tension in this... -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 9/11/03 1:08pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 09/10<<
	I'm still reading, I'm just slow in replying because of the Awards. I loved the way the mysterious group thought they were lost or had taken a wrong turn! But now I wonder who this mysterious woman is. Looking forward to more! -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 10/26/03 7:58pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 09/10<< - Date Edited: 10/29/03 7:51am (1 edits total) Edited By: Xaara
	Thanks, TKeira. I had fun writing this post, especially as all of the plot threads are beginning to come together. I'm glad you liked it! Thank you, JSD—tension is one of those things that is a little hard to judge from the author's POV. I'm glad you're enjoying the way the story is building. Don't worry about being slow to review, Jane Jinn—at the rate I'm writing, you'll have plenty of time. More coming up! READERS: I apologize for the long wait between posts, but life has been more than hectic and it's not getting any better on the horizon. I'm writing whenever I get a few minutes, which I can assure you is not at all as often as I'd like. I was just looking at this story the other day, and I realized that it's been in the works for over a year. So I guess I could call this a sort of anniversary post. Oh, and one more thing. I don't know if any of you have been wondering about the title of this story, but in case you have, there was supposed to be a plot thread explaining it that never really got off the ground. Now, it's Home In Time for Supper more for historical reasons than any real concrete literary ones. If any of you have ideas for a more applicable title, please PM me—I'd be happy to take a look. All right, the public service announcements are now officially over. Here you go! ******************************************************************* Something white and hazy and fuzzy around the edges hovered in front of him, teasing his eyes open. He tried to focus, jumped at the searing pain that shot through his head, and immediately closed his eyes again. Slowly, as he became aware of the sounds around him—beeps and whirrs, murmurs and the scuffle of feet and wheels—he tried to piece together what he knew of what had happened. There had been some sort of emergency, Jax knew, and he had been forced to flee with…someone, and maybe that someone…or was it two people? And what had happened? When had he hurt himself? Was in the actual flight out, or later? Had he gone back in? Something nagged at the back of his consciousness: a name, perhaps, or a face. Something important had happened, dammit, and he couldn't remember what it was. "Jax?" A voice penetrated the haze surrounding him. "Jax, son, can you hear me?" When Jax—yes, that's my name—tried to respond, his vocal cords produced only an obnoxious and dissonant groan. He tried again, with the same result. Concluding that efforts to speak would not result in coherent conversation, he opened his right eye. If I can't talk, I'm at least going to be able to see. A tall man stood over him, smiling vaguely in the encouraging way doctors smile at their patients. Jax began to wish he had not opened his eye. Again, the man spoke. "You're Jax Arvid, correct?" Jax nodded. "You suffered a rather serious concussion on your way out of the command center. Do you have any idea how that happened?" Jax wondered whether the man seriously expected him to answer the question in sentences composed of subjects, predicates, and appropriate adjectives, adverbs, and punctuation. When the man waited, Jax shrugged. "You were brought here by a young man who was part of the Imperial crew that defected recently. He stayed for a while, but then he had to go with the New Republic personnel in charge of making sure that the Imps stay where they're supposed to." To his mild surprise, Jax found that his mouth had moistened somewhat. He tried opening it experimentally, and discovered that he could speak in a truncated manner. "Oh?" he said. He took a few moments to recover from the effort, and then croaked, "Water." Though the man before him did not seem highly intelligent, he did understand Jax's request. Within a minute, he had gone from the room and come back with a tiny plastic cup full of clear liquid. Jax sipped gratefully, savoring the cooling sensation as the water ran down his throat. It was nice to have something cool, because sometime recently it had been hot and smoky. Fire. Something about a fire. And the smoke was important, because the smoke had stolen something. The smoke had taken something important. He had been running to get away, running to get away from…somewhere, and the smoke had come upon him and stung his eyes and throat, but something worse had happened. His forehead furrowed in concentration, Jax tried to remember what had happened. The Imperial who had taken him to the med ward, where he now found himself, had Jax known him? And if he had, then what was his name? Hopelessly confused, he gave up trying to puzzle out the answer and asked the medic, "Who brought me?" "Young kid, no older than twenty-five, reddish-brown hair, not too tall. All dressed in black. Name of Risin, or Rason—something like that." "Rison," Jax said. "His name is Rison." Rison Cairn, and we were with someone else. Who? Who were we with? And where is she now? She? Is it a she? Where—Nascha! Jax sat up with enough force to send the pillows propped behind him flying from the bed. Throwing off his blankets, he began to swing his legs out over the edge of the cot, only to be stopped and restrained by the man who had awakened him. "You're not going anywhere just yet, son. Just lie back down and we'll get you something to eat and—" "I have to find her," said Jax, hating the pleading tone in his voice. He struggled briefly against the man, but in his weakened and confused state could do little against the man's sheer physical strength. "I have to find her," he said again, this time more forcefully. "She needs me there." "I don't know who you're talking about, son, but I'm sure she'll be fine. You need to cooperate now, or I'll have to get an Emdee in here to sedate you." The man smiled as Jax complied with his orders. "Stay right here now, and I'll send someone right back with something for you to eat." He exited the room. This time Jax did not risk waiting; someone might see him. In one awkward motion, he hauled himself from the bed and stood precariously, balanced with one hand on the mattress for support. He noticed his pants on a chair nearby and stopped to pull them on under his thin hospital gown. Shedding the gown altogether, he tied his boots onto his feet, then pulled his undershirt over his chest and shrugged his shirt over his shoulders. Carefully, with one hand on the wall to orient himself, Jax made his way through the door, into the hallway, and toward the exit, where he assumed someone could tell him where to find Nascha. Nascha. Every time he repeated her name to himself, a shudder of guilt ran through him. He had forgotten her. He had forced her to flee with him, but he hadn't been fast enough. And when it was over and they were outside, he hadn't even been strong enough to make sure she was in capable hands. Someone had taken her away and he had barely made it another few steps before passing out. He had failed her, one of his closest friends. Ahead, two Twi'leks sat at a dimly lit desk, entering data into portable information storage stations. As he approached, the one closest to him looked up. "Do you need something?" "I'm looking for someone who should be in here somewhere. Would you be the person to tell me where she is?" The Twi'lek nodded. "Name?" "Nascha Rajani." Typing the name into his computer, the Twi'lek waited for a moment, and then said, "Room twenty-three. It's around the corner, to the right, and five or six doors down." "Thank you," Jax called, already on his way. Shuffling his feet with one hand pressed against the cool reassurance of the wall extended the length of the trip until Jax thought that he would never arrive. Several times, he stopped, his head aching and throbbing. He pressed on regardless, unwilling to stop so close to his goal. So it was that he stumbled into room twenty-three an eternity later, barely maintaining his balance as he crossed the room to the single bed. The woman lying in the cot had an oxygen mask over her face; her normally colored face had turned an unhealthy yellow. She lay on her back, her blond hair dirtied with ash and splayed out on the pillow under her head. Trembling with exhaustion, Jax collapsed onto the chair beside her bed and took one of her cool hands in his. "Nascha," he whispered, "you have to wake up. You can't not wake up." There was no indication that she had heard him. He tried a different tack. "Please, Nascha," he said. "Just once, listen to me, and I'll do anything you want me to do in the library. I'll shelve books, I'll organize the database, I'll appropriate furniture from the pilot's lounge, I'll do anything, just you have to wake up." His voice quivering with panic, Jax added one last, "Please?" Still, Nascha did not respond. With tears escaping his wavering control, Jax settled his head on the cot, not relinquishing his grip on Nascha's hand. He dozed intermittently, determined not to fall asleep, not to fail her again, not to leave her the way he had before. He was on the verge of sleep when a slight movement sent him fully awake. "Nascha?" he murmured, incredulous. Slowly, impossibly, her free hand moved toward her face, pulling at the oxygen mask secured there. A sharp tug, and it came free, sliding down her left cheek. In a low, raspy voice so different from her usual melodic tones, she whispered, "I'm holding you to that promise." -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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_3MD_PsychoSniper Registered: Oct '03	Date Posted: 10/27/03 6:45am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 10/26<<
	I just read all thats been posted. Nice story, I've always thought that the Wraiths have been neglected since that merry band of rejects is so ammusing (Its the Ewoks) -----signature----- This is my old username. My new one is Wes_Janson NJO sucks worse than anything before it, even Planet of Twilight. NJO should be flamed from existence
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Jane Jinn Registered: Jan '00	Date Posted: 10/27/03 12:16pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 10/26<<
	Happy posting anniversary! Jax has a pretty good memory for someone who's just suffered a severe concussion. Still, it's good that he can remember Nascha. I liked the description of how awful she looked, with her face an unhealthy yellow colour. That's a pretty big promise he's made there, to appropriate furniture from the pilots' lounge! Wonder if she'll really hold him to that. -----signature----- Mostly retired now Just making the occasional guest appearance
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 10/31/03 7:18pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 10/26<<
	Welcome to the thread, _3MD_PsychoSniper! I agree, the Wraiths as a group have generally been neglected--there are so many rich characters to draw from, and no one's using them. Yes, it's definitely the Ewoks. Thank you for stopping by. Thanks for the anniversary wishes, Jane Jinn. (This story has been in the writing stages for a rediculously long time). And yes, appropriating furniture from the pilot's lounge could prove somewhat challenging, but for now [hopefully] Jax and Nascha will concentrate on recovering from their respective injuries. (Oh, and I just noticed the fanfic newsletter link in your signature--I'll be heading over there right away. There hasn't been a FF newsletter in far too long. ) -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 11/3/03 1:10am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 10/26<<
	Wow...nice post, Xaara. And it's no big deal, we know what a hectic life is like...i have exams in two weeks and should actually be studying right now. Ah well. -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 11/5/03 4:04am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 10/26<<
	Ah the joys of examinations. Thanks for reading, and I should have a new post up this weekend. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 11/24/03 12:57pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 10/26<<
	I know I said I'd have a post up...a long time ago...but as usual, life's been hectic. Thanks for your patience everyone. ******************************************************************* I don't like this. Wes knew he wasn't claustrophobic – he'd spent hours inside the cockpit of an X-wing, after all – but something about the rock passageway close about him caused his breathing to quicken along with his pulse. Perhaps it was the cold dampness of the tunnel, or the fact that he was in it with several people he didn't entirely trust to let him back out. Or maybe, he thought wryly, I'm just getting paranoid. The last explanation seemed the most logical, and he accepted it for the time being, turning his mind to more practical matters. Like where he was going. "When exactly is this meeting?" Wedge asked. "And what is it supposed to be about?" Charla continued walking at a quick pace. "It's scheduled to start within several minutes, and we will be discussing several minor issues pertaining to the Society. Nothing of great importance, I assure you. I won't be missed for a half hour at least." Wes frowned. Though he felt relatively safe with Piggy and Tyria behind him and Lucio and Wedge in front, the unease that he felt did not abate. Subtly, he fingered the soft outline of his holdout vibroblade, reassuring himself that it was still inside his pocket, ready should he have any pressing need to defend himself. Now, he chided himself, you're being melodramatic. The group had reached the end of the hallway; with a quiet command, Charla opened a door. "Though here," she said. "We're actually inside the meeting area once we pass through those doors." A sigh of relief almost made its way past Wes' lips. He clamped his mouth shut to stop the sound and followed the rest of his squadronmates through the doorway. Once inside, he glanced around what appeared to be a small conference room cut out of solid bedrock, its walls roughly hewn and its floors uncovered. It resembled, he thought uncomfortably, a very small box. The overcrowded portable chairs did little to dispel the feeling of closeness; the people sitting in them, turned without exception to watch the newcomers, did even less. Wes tried a little smile. He noticed with some misgiving that no one smiled back. Charla nodded at the human male standing at the front of the makeshift presentation projector. "These are the ones we discussed," she said. "They were brought here by Melcia." The man nodded. "Very well. Take the empty seats at the back." He returned to his presentation, and the meeting attendees again directed their eyes in his direction. "As we all know, the Resistance movement calling itself the People's Freedom blew up a portion of the tram tracks that run between the station here and the station in Arteria. This is counterproductive for several reasons. First, there were quite a few hapless Noráshi on that tram, and it only inconvenienced them, making them hostile to our cause. Second, it further angered the Imperial powers here, who are, needless to say, already against our cause. Finally, it makes travel between here and Arteria exasperatingly difficult, as there is only one tram line and it is, as of the moment, not going to be fixed for at least a week." Pausing to scratch the side of his nose, the man nodded to a meeting attendee in the middle of the crowd. "What do we intend to do? It's not as if we can prevent them from doing what they see fit." "No, and I want it to be very clear that we must never resort to violence to stop them. This cannot degenerate into a civil war." The man looked over the room, his eyes hard. "Is that clear?" Nods came from around the small space – Wes had to admire the man's knack for speechmaking. Something about the way he phrased even the simplest ideas managed to hold most of his audience's attention. Had Wes been a member of the rebellion on Noráshi, he might have found himself equally interested; as it was, he could barely keep his eyes open. During the lull in communication, Wes wondered idly what had happened to the other groups. Perhaps, he mused, they had found meetings as thoroughly dull as the one he was now attending. When Tyria poked him sharply in the side, Wes jumped, then frowned at the woman sitting next to him. "What was that for?" he muttered. "Almost falling asleep," she whispered back. "We're new here, you know. It's not as if you can fall asleep in assemblies from the very beginning of the whole initiation process. Wait a few months first." Wes crossed his arms and affected a hurt expression. "Are you implying that I normally sleep through meetings?" "Nothing of the sort. You normally reach a plane of existence previously thought to exist only in the afterlife." "Funny. Very amusing." A member of the cell entered the room, held up a datapad, and gestured at the speaker. "We have news, sir." His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, the speaker raised his own datapad, accepting his subordinate's transmission. "Thank you," he muttered. He scanned the message quickly, then looked up at the assembly. "We've just received intelligence indicating that the Imperials plan to raid People's Freedom's headquarters. Evidently, People's Freedom has known about this plot for some time and has reacted to the danger posed by the Empire. Earlier today, they took several Imperial citizens hostage as said citizens were attempting to pass the tram obstruction caused earlier by the explosion. The Imperials have issued a bulletin with the passengers' names and descriptions in the unlikely instance that they should be found. Despite these provisions by the People's Freedom, the Imperials still intend to stage a strike. Personally, I don't think the hostages stand much of a chance." Someone near the back raised her hand. "Do we have names?" "Hamad DeLaurent, Resina Ferani, and Lot Dolfo are the three humans. The other is a nonhuman street performer who calls himself Grent." Wes just managed not to stiffen, but Tyria's hand abruptly gripped his arm, and Wedge took a careful breath that indicated an effort to remain calm. Those are our people. Subtly, he turned until he could see Wedge from the corner of his eye, waiting for any sort of instruction. The Commander brought one hand up to rub his eye, using the motion to cover the shake of his head. Clearly, Wedge meant to wait until later to discuss the information he had just received. Settling back into his seat, Wes covered Tyria's hand with his own and squeezed gently, for once refraining from making any comment on her sudden shift from smugly superior junior officer to a woman very much afraid for someone close to her. He understood her worry, just as he understood that there was no option but to wait. He sighed. Waiting was never something he had been very good at. ******************************************************************* Myn, Falynn, Kell, and Runt followed the woman, who had introduced herself as Rashii, into the set of underground rooms. Myn disliked the situation for three reasons. First, he was someone else's prisoner. Despite the welcome Rashii had given them, he noticed that the blasters pointing at his group had not disappeared. Second, he was inside an underground area with no obvious escape routes. He was almost certain that he could not find his way out through the tunnels, and just as certain that without help he would be captured before he could locate another exit. Third, Rashii insisted on referring to his group as members of the New Republic, recognition that made Myn exceedingly uncomfortable. He had at first tried to deny his connection to the New Republic, but found it impossible. Though Rashii did not yet know the actual names of anyone in his group, he had the feeling that she could find them out without any great deal of effort. The fact that Falynn was in this mess alongside him made him feel better and worse at once. She was a comforting presence, but had she been assigned to a different group, she could have been somewhere else when the attack occurred, safe from the people who might or might not be rebels. They had arrived at the 'freshers, and Rashii stopped to allow them time to enter and use the facilities. Myn waited for Falynn and another member of the group to reemerge before he went in to wash himself. He might be in a position of very little power, but he was going to protect the health of his squadronmates to the best of his abilities. He was a Lieutenant, and as ranking officer in his group, he had officially taken command at the moment of their capture. His face and hands washed, Myn exited the 'fresher feeling slightly better about the course of events. Though he had yet to hear a motive behind his capture, he felt confident that Rashii would supply one once his group reached the common area. The woman did not disappoint him. "I suspect you're all wondering why you're here," she said once everyone had taken a seat and a beverage. "First, I must apologize for my cell's treatment of you – despite the instructions I gave them, they apparently mistook you for Imperials. I'll have to speak with several of them. "No doubt you are also wondering how I know you're affiliated with the New Republic. To that, I have a simple answer: I have many eyes and ears within your government. Most only allow me to see and hear the political struggles underway, but a select few have been placed within the actual command structure of the military, where they perform their jobs to the best of their abilities while reporting to me on all matters of importance to our little rebellion." The explanation of how Rashii knew that Myn's group was from the New Republic did not altogether satisfy him, but he let it rest for the moment. "Then were you the people who destroyed the tram tracks?" Myn tried not to sound accusing, but doubted that he had succeeded in entirely masking his distaste. "Yes," said Rashii. "We destroyed the tracks to draw Imperial attention away from other rebel cells. We want to be considered the main stem of the resistance movement so the Imperials will concentrate on us. Because we are the strongest and most well-equipped organization, we feel that this diversion will allow our allies to devote their time to bolstering their own cells." "That makes sense," said Myn, though the sense he found in Rashii's statement was at best unstable. "But why do you need us?" Rashii leaned forward, her golden-brown eyes taking on a disquieting intensity and her long fingers tapping one knee in a complicated rhythm. "I can't contact the New Republic. Even with my people installed at Coruscant and other major centers, I don't have any way to talk to or negotiate with someone in a position to help our cause." She took a deep breath and flicked several strands of her rust-colored hair away from her face. When she looked up again, she caught Myn's eyes and held them. "I need you to talk to your superiors for me. Find some resources – material or monetary, it doesn't matter – and a way for us to receive them." Shocked, Myn began, "I can't just—" "—I don't want anything to have your name on it. The New Republic doesn't have to recognize our rebellion. But we do need resources that we can't afford." Still gaping, Myn turned toward Kell, who was sitting to his right. The taller man simply shrugged and raised an eyebrow before addressing Myn by his alias. "I don't know, Hamad. We'd definitely have to talk to someone further up the chain of command." "I don't know quite what—" Myn tried again. This time the sound of blaring alarms cut him off. "What in the name of—" "Imperials," said Rashii, her lips coming together in a tight line. "Retaliation. You would most likely want to brace yourselves against something solid, like a wall." Myn had a vague sense of Kell's sarcastic, "Well this is wonderful," before the bunker shook with the impact of what he assumed were bombs dropped from above. After a confused moment, he found himself crouched in a corner, Falynn in his arms, with no clear recollection of how he had arrived in that position. Instinctively, Myn maneuvered around her, shielding her as well as he could while protecting his own face and neck. More blasts sent tremors through the caverns – sand fell from the ceiling in little waves accompanied by the crash of toppling furniture and the scraping of innumerable sets of feet hurrying to escape. The lights flickered, came back, and then went out altogether. And then, an eerie silence, broken only by the indistinct hum of the green emergency lighting. Raising his head, Myn blinked the dust from his eyes, released Falynn so she could stand, and glanced around the room to check that his group was intact. His initial relief at finding them alive was soon tempered by his uncomfortable realization that there was no one else visible. "Rashii?" he called. "Someone?" The heavy tramp of booted feet marching in formation echoed through the hall, and Myn reached for his blaster, noticed Kell, Runt, and Falynn move similarly. At the same moment, all four realized that they had never retrieved their weapons from Rashii. Just keeps getting better. "Hello?" Myn hazarded, rising from his position near the floor and taking a cautious step into the room. The first stormtrooper appeared around the corner and pointed his blaster rifle directly at Myn. "You are under arrest in the name of the Empire," he said. "Resistance will result only in death." Breathing quickly, Myn watched the stormtrooper, not yet allowing himself to admit defeat. He set his feet in a classic defensive stance: his right foot forward and most of his weight on his left leg. Perhaps there were only two or three of the Imperials – if that were the case then he, with the assistance of his squadronmates, stood a fairly decent chance of attacking the Imps, appropriating their blaster rifles, and fighting through any other enemies and out of the complex. The glimmer of hope that came with that thought died as eleven more stormtroopers crowded the tiny room. Captured twice in one day, Myn thought miserably. Maybe I should just resign my commission. As if she understood his thoughts, Falynn caught Myn's gaze and smiled a tiny, encouraging smile before offering her wrists to the purposeful Imperial holding a set of binders. Grimacing, Myn followed her lead. -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Jaina_Solo_Durron Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 11/24/03 4:38pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 11/24<<
	Hmmm...I wonder what'll happen next? More soon please Xaara darling? -JSD -----signature----- Be nice to me, I might be your doctor someday.
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Xaara Registered: Jun '02	Date Posted: 11/26/03 1:31pm Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 11/24<<
	So do I. But seriously, I have the next post mostly done, so I should be able to post again soon. Thanks for reading! -----signature----- My Ramblings: http://www.livejournal.com/users/xaara/ My lil bro/sis: Flyboy_7/Wyn_Fel Wyomé, Handmaiden of the Crest
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Thumper09 Registered: Dec '01	Date Posted: 11/27/03 12:05am Subject: RE: Home In Time for Supper--Wraith Squadron/OC's>>updated 11/24<<
	Well, after reading Renewal and liking it very much, I figured I'd better check this story out at long last. The fact that I started reading it yesterday and stayed up late both last night and tonight to read everything up to this point should give you an indication of how addictive and how good this story is (and I'm a slow reader, too! ). What can I say. Wow. I love your characterizations of the Wraiths and your OCs as well. Awesome, awesome story. Quite a ways back, when Falynn, Ton and Face were talking in the mess hall, was that a reference to Falynn's eventual death? I should probably know but it's 3am and I haven't read the Wraith books in much too long (...must change that...). Anyway, keep up the good work. Looking forward to more. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! (And if you don't celebrate this particular holiday, have a great day!) -Katie Thumper -----signature----- "Like anything worth writing, it came inexplicably and without method." -Karen Eiffel The Way--Imperial pilot OCs, OT: http://boards.theforce.net/the_saga/b10476/28104637 OC X-wing fics: http://www.coronasquadron.com/corona.html
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