Beyond - Legends Life and Limmie: Senator Tales (OC)

Me'lin did a great job of literally smacking some sense into Gark.

 

TAGS to Tim Battershell, jcgoble3, Trieste


The strange cruiser approached the cruise liner slowly. Gark and Me’lin watched as it went out of sight from the front viewports and went to the side of the big cruise ship. “What are they up to?” Gark wondered aloud.

“Are they trying to dock?” Me’lin asked.

“That’s possible,” Gark said. “But why? Are they trying to save us?”

“Maybe they are,” Me’lin offered.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Gark commented. “No rescue ship would show up in hyperspace at this very moment with its weapons trained upon our ship. The comm channels are jammed; I think whoever owns this cruiser means business.”

Then there was a slight groaning sound, and Gark looked at the monitor in front of him. The auxiliary airlock was reported as being opened. But he hadn’t done anything; perhaps it had been opened remotely. But how could that be? He or Me’lin hadn’t touched anything. Obviously there was more to this puzzle than met the eye.

“They’re boarding us,” Gark said.

“What do we do now?” Me’lin asked.

“There’s not much we can do,” Gark said. He sat on the edge of a console. “Someone is boarding us because they want something that we have. What that is, I don’t know. But it seems awfully convenient for this to be happening to us now.”

“Well I’m not going to let some crazed cruiser stop me from getting out of here,” Me’lin said, a fiery tone to her voice. “We’ve got to stop them before they can board.”

“Too late,” Gark said as the warning klaxon for an unauthorized opening of the airlock sounded around the control cabin. “Sounds like we don’t have much of a choice right now.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Me’lin asked.

“We have to keep sending out the distress signal,” Gark replied. “But if it’s still jammed, then no one will receive it. And we’re sitting ducks out here in the middle of nowhere. That cruiser obviously set this up; there’s no other explanation.”

“Do you think it has to do with the men downstairs who were shooting at us?”

“I think it has everything to do with them,” Gark said. “Looks like Superbothan needs to come to the rescue once again.”

“He hem,” Me’lin said, clearing her throat. But it was obviously more of a statement than anything else.

“OK, fine. We’ll go to the rescue this time,” Gark said, rolling his eyes a little.

“Because I’m not letting you get out of my sight,” Me’lin said.

“Why would I try to do that?” Gark asked as he checked the utility belt on his action suit.

“Because I want my shot at these guys,” Me’lin said, frowning. “They’re trying to kill us all, and they tried to strain our marriage by ruining this cruise and then filling your head with evil thoughts. So I want to get rid of them so that we’re back to normal.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gark said. He went to the door. “I think we’re still upright,” he then said.

“How can you tell?”

“There are servos here. We’re right-side up no matter what happens,” Gark said.

“How does that help us get down to the airlock?”

“It doesn’t. But it tells us that one part of this ship can stay upright at all times.”

“Still not sure how that helps.”

“We’ll find out,” Gark said. “Let’s go.”

---

Down at the airlock, the first troopers arrived into the belly of the Regal Majestic. They were toting their rifles menacingly, and their leader looked fearsome. “The boss gets killed, and we kill in his name,” he said to the armed men. “Now go and kill the perps. I want their heads on pikes!”

The soldiers began to fan out through the bowels of the ship. Despite it still being upside-down, they were able to make a lot of progress. A few crewmembers of the liner were captured and held at bay while more troopers went upstairs.

“Who killed our boss?” the leader asked one of the workers, threatening the man with an accusatory finger.

“I . . . don’t know,” the crewmember said. “We are not kitchen staff.”

“Kitchen, eh?” the leader said. He then shot the crewmember dead on the spot. “Useless,” he said. “Can’t get any information out of them.” He brandished his pistol at the other captured crew. “Unless any of you are willing to save your hides by giving us information.”

“There was a bomb . . .” one crewmember said after a few seconds of silence.

“Where was the bomb?”

“In the kitchen, somewhere. I didn’t see it. It must have exploded.”

“I need to know who used it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me, or I’ll blow your head off!” the leader yelled at the informant.

“All I know is that there was a bomb in the kitchen. I saw some men bring something suspicious aboard . . . I think it was a cake . . .”

“A cake?” the leader asked. The crew member just nodded.

“It was for a big gala with dinner tonight.”

“See, boss, they can be reasonable,” a trooper said.

“Quite,” the leader said. “A cake, eh? Then that narrows things down. Let’s go,” he said. The crew members were left behind, and the leader led his troops down the hallway towards the stairs. They had to find the killer of their boss, or else they were as good as dead. That’s how things worked in the crime underworld; obviously some other crime boss had knocked off their boss. Now they were going to pay the other criminals, whoever they were, back with deadly force. No one got away with an assassination like this, especially on the boss’ travel gala. Heads were going to roll tonight.

---

“Nat, hurry up! We don’t have a lot of time!” Bucky yelled.

“Almost got it!” the Hapan said as she used a utility wrench to get a metal piece in place.

Bucky had heard rumblings on the floor above, plus some blaster fire. Obviously someone was stomping around upstairs, and they likely weren’t friendly.

“Got it!” Nat exclaimed. She slammed the lid on the control panel and then hit the power switch. Instantly the emergency generators were activated, and slowly but surely the floor began to tilt. Bucky rolled out of the way, and Nat wedged herself in between two metal pipes on the floor.

---

“Do you feel that?” Gark asked. He and Me’lin were running along a corridor when they felt their feet slipping more than usual.

“I do,” his wife said. “Did it work?”

Their answer was quickly received when the ship began to tilt once more. They found themselves caught up as the floor they were standing turned sideways, and then were unceremoniously dumped onto the real floor when the entire ship found its footing again. Gark landed next to a fake plant that was fixed into the ground, and Me’lin hit home by a window. She winced as she got to her feet.

“You alright?” Gark asked quickly.

“I think so,” she said, stretching out her back a little. “I wish we had stayed in the control room if it had servos instead of running around like this and potentially getting ourselves hurt.”

“Can’t go back now,” Gark commented.

“Where’s the cruiser?” Me’lin asked. She looked out the viewport but could see nothing.

“By the auxiliary airlock,” Gark finished.

“And where in the hell is that?” Me’lin queried.

“This way,” Gark said. He ran down the hallway, and Me’lin joined him. If she was hurt, it didn’t look like it. Obviously the adrenaline was flowing now for both of them.

When they got to the airlock, they found that it opened up into the belly of the cruiser. Two armed thugs were standing over a group of four crewmembers, likely prisoners. “We need to free those workers,” Gark said.

“Leave that to me,” Me’lin said. “I’ve gotten a lot more on this trip than I’ve bargained for already, both for my marriage and my sanity.”

“Look, I’m sorry about all those things I said, OK?” Gark asked. “Can we please move on from that?”

His answer was a quick kiss from his wife. “Consider it done,” she said. Then she stepped out from behind their cover. “Hey, pea brains! Yeah, I mean you two!”

“Hey!” one of the thugs yelled. The two of them charged Me’lin, but she let them come. As soon as they were in range she punched one of them in the face, and the other missed a punch to her gut. Me’lin then whacked the other man with a vicious knee to the groin followed by a knuckle right to the face. Both thugs sprawled out onto the ground, and Me’lin rubbed her hands together as if to wipe something off of them.

“Nice job,” Gark said, noting the two beaten men. “I’d like to think you’ve learned a thing or two from me over the years.”

“That’ll teach them to mess with me,” Me’lin said.

“And I think it’s quite sexy,” Gark said with a smirk.

“Keep it that way. We’ve got a long way to go,” Me’lin said. She looked at the crewmembers. “Where’d they go?” she asked.

One of the crew pointed towards the stairs. “Thanks,” Me’lin said. “Let’s go.”

“I find it funny that I’m following you into battle instead of others following me,” Gark commented as they ran to the stairs.

“It’s my turn to lead,” Me’lin said.


“And I just hope we get there in time,” Gark replied. They were definitely in for a difficult fight.

 

Interesting. Keep 'em coming!

 

TAGS to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3


Me’lin reached the top step, only to run into a group of armed thugs waiting at the top. Blaster shots rang out in her direction, and she retreated to the landing below. “Not a good start,” she commented as the first thug hit the stairs. She raised her blaster and shot at the man, but the shot was wide left and made a burn mark in the wall. More thugs began to fire in their direction, and Gark almost got hit in the muzzle as a shot whizzed by him.

The two of them hid around the corner of the stairs as the thugs went down slowly, shooting as they went. “This is going to be difficult,” Gark commented, stating the obvious.

“Any ideas?”

“We’ll have to fight our way up the stairs,” Gark said. “But that starts with this thug right here.” He reached his blaster around the step and squeezed off a shot. It hit a thug in the arm and downed him, clutching his extremity. Another thug tried to get an angle on the couple, but Me’lin shot him dead with a hit to the chest. “You know,” Gark said after seeing this move, “I must say that you’ve improved your skills.”

“Being home all the time allows me to practice,” Me’lin said. “I told you that being a stay-at-home mom would let me take care of Cecilia. But when she’s asleep, or being fed, then I have time to practice my fighting skills. Because I know you’ll usually get us in a tight spot.”

“It’s not like I try to,” Gark said. He looked around the corner to see more thugs try to reach them. “It just happens that way. Honest.”

“I know,” Me’lin replied. “So then it’s up to me to stay in shape.”

“Speaking of Cecilia . . .” Gark said, but he wasn’t able to finish the thought. Another thug came down the stairs, and Gark didn’t have his blaster in the right spot. Instead, the Bothan lunged out and kicked the thug in the chest. The thug recoiled a little bit, but then sent out a punch in Gark’s direction. He got hit by the glancing blow, and his head snapped back a little bit. But then he won the battle by bringing his blaster to bear and whacking the thug in the face, downing him. Then he turned his blaster on another thug and shot them dead. The body fell down the stairs to the landing with the two unconscious thugs on it. Gark then turned back to his place of cover.

“What about her?” Me’lin inquired.

“Well, we don’t know what’s happened to her. We left her behind in the nursery . . .” Gark said.

Now Me’lin had a very worried look on her face. Obviously something had come to her attention. “The ship flipped upside-down!” she said. “That’s twice now! What happened to her? Is she alright?”

“I don’t know,” Gark said. “We can only hope that she’s fine, and that something broke her fall. Because if she didn’t . . .”

“Don’t say that!” Me’lin burst out, shutting Gark up. “She’s going to survive! I know it! She can’t die on me!”

Gark then grabbed his wife’s shoulders hard, trying to grip her enough to stop her from acting irrational. “Calm. We’ll get her back,” he said. “But right now we need to focus. If we mess up now, her life, and ours, will be in mortal peril. We have to save this ship; it’s our only chance.”

“OK,” Me’lin said. A tear dropped down her cheek.

“You’ll just have to trust me on this,” Gark said. Then he let go and looked up the stairs. “I wonder why more guards aren’t going to join us.”

His question was quickly answered when he heard the sounds of blaster fire. He waved Me’lin forward, and they went up the stairs slowly. By the time they got to the top, they could see the thugs they had beaten up firing down the hallway. Gark snuck up to the top step and stayed low to the carpeting. In the distance he could see white-suited individuals firing back at the close group of thugs. They looked like the same group of trained killers that had been killing off the crew ship staff after the explosion in the dining room. Obviously they had a beef with this new group, whoever they were.

Shots were flying back and forth, with both sides trying as fast as they could to dispatch the other. Every now and then a combatant would fall dead or wounded, the product of a well-placed blaster shot. And they were aiming to kill; there were no prisoners to be taken in this battle.

Gark then slid back to join Me’lin. “We can’t go that way,” he said. “We have to go a different way. Have to meet up with Bucky and Nat, and then go from there.”

“But they’re at the bottom of the ship. They can’t easily reach us,” Me’lin pointed out.

“We don’t have much choice. Besides, there are passengers we need to save. These thugs can knock themselves out, but we can’t let them kill innocents. We have to save this ship, and its passengers and crew. Undoubtedly their families will want them back,” Gark said. “Like Cecilia for us. We want her to survive. Others will want their family and friends to live as well.”

“I know,” Me’lin said. “But how do we get around? This is the only staircase on this floor . . .”

“And the turbolift isn’t a good option,” Gark said. “Since we’ve already flipped over twice, it’s not safe to assume it still works. So we need more stairs.”

“The grand staircase,” Me’lin said, suddenly remembering their only option.

“It’ll be crawling,” Gark said.

“But it’s our only hope. Come on!” Me’lin said. The two of them beat a hasty retreat and made their way to the grand staircase. It went for a length of three whole levels, and as soon as they got to it, they were met by a crowd of worried passengers, most of them still wearing their formal attire from the dinner that had been rudely interrupted. The S’rilys charged down the stairs against the stream of worried beings, almost knocking several individuals over as they ran.

“Sorry, got business to finish down there!” Gark said as he almost knocked over a human.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” shouted someone as the two fighters passed them.

When they reached the end of the staircase, Gark readied his blaster for action. The power pak was close to being empty, so he slipped in a new pak from his utility belt. Now it had full power. But he wasn’t ready to hear the blaster fire that was coming from where they had just left. The two of them spun around to see some white-coated thugs firing on the passengers. Several were hit and killed in the maelstrom, and a stampede for the top floor ensued. Bodies were trampled underfoot as the passengers ran for their lives. Gark went back to the staircase, and he could see a white-coated thug firing at the backs of the passengers. He leveled his blaster and shot the man dead on the spot, the body collapsing onto the landing. “That’s one down,” the Bothan told himself.

But the firing on the passengers came back. More of them were falling, and Gark knew he had to do something. But he didn’t have the proper angle; he couldn’t fire on the thugs without potentially hitting an innocent passenger. That was a risk he couldn’t take; there was no reason for him to be a murderer. Me’lin would kill him if he did. So he lowered his weapon. “Can’t take the shot from here,” he growled.

“Then what are we going to do?” his wife asked.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Gark said, sighing. “Without a proper shot, I can’t afford to maybe shoot one of the passengers if I miss. I don’t know if my accuracy is good enough from this range and angle to make sure I don’t miss and hit someone else.”

“If only Bucky was here,” Me’lin said.

Gark tapped his comlink. “Bucky, Bucky . . . come in,” he said.

“Yeah, boss. What’s up?” Bucky asked from the other end of the line.

“Where are you?” Gark asked. “We’re in a jam.”

“We’re fighting our way out of the bottom levels. Apparently we have a new group of enemies . . .”

“Yeah, a mysterious cruiser docked on the auxiliary airlock, and they’ve been fighting their way aboard. They don’t seem to agree with our white-coated adversaries,” Gark filled in his security agent. “Something tells me we’re in on some sort of crime conflict.”

“Then that makes things more complicated,” Nat’s voice came. “If we’re stuck in a gang war, then we have to be extra careful. They’re willing to kill each other until there’s none of the other left standing. And if they kill anyone else, so be it. That’s how they operate.”

“They’re doing a good job at killing already,” Gark said. Another passenger died on the staircase above. “And there’s nothing we can do.”

“Stand by,” Nat said. The sounds of some blaster fire came, and some grunting and groaning. A few gut punches were audible, and then Nat came back on. “OK, I think we’ve freed ourselves as far as the turbolift.”

“I wouldn’t take that if I were you,” Gark cautioned. “We don’t know if it’s operational.”

“Who cares?” Nat asked. “I’ve taken on harder tasks that climbing some lift walls before. It’s easy to do.”

“We don’t have time for that,” Me’lin urged. “We need you up here quickly.”

“Then stop yakking and let us do our jobs,” Nat said. “Where are you?”

“By the grand staircase, lowest level,” Gark said.

“OK, we’re a few floors below you. We’ll get there as soon as we can,” Bucky said.

Several tense seconds passed as Gark figured out what he was going to do. He couldn’t let these passengers continue to be fed into the meat grinder. Something had to be done. Finally he made up his mind. “We have to make a stand and fight,” he said.

“But we’re on the low ground,” Me’lin interjected. “If they find us, and they’re above us . . .”

“Then we’ll have to strike them now before they see us,” Gark said. “You ready to follow your crazed hubby into the thick of another firefight?”

“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice,” Me’lin said. The two of them came out of their cover, and they could see some blaster fire above them. Gark set his ascension gun, and shot into the air quickly. As he rose, he noticed that the white-coated thugs were seeing him for the first time. A few blaster shots whizzed past him as he rose into the air. When he got to the top landing he quickly switched his blaster over to firing mode. He downed a surprised thug who hadn’t seen him coming, and then started to rain fire down on the other thugs. He killed one who was cornering a pair of Duros, and then wounded by shooting in the leg another fighter. Me’lin, who was down below, took aim at a thug and killed them with a well-placed shot to the torso. They were gaining the upper hand.

Then Gark could see movement in his peripheral vision. Some of the second group of thugs was coming down the hallway towards him, and some blaster fire peppered its way around him. He knew that there was no time, so he swung around onto the stairs just in time to avoid being killed. He landed hard on a step and nearly knocked over a passenger who was trying to flee. Some of the second group thugs began to fire on the white-coats, and they returned fire. Now there was a deadly crossfire between the two groups, and Gark kept his head low as he went back up the last step. He peeked around the railing to see the group set up their defense. From here he was able to pick off two armed thugs without being easily seen. He had to snap his head back to not have it shot by the other thugs, who had noticed where the shots that had killed their comrades had come from. Two thugs made their way to the stairs, and Gark wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way. They had him cornered.

Then one of the thugs fell to the ground, knocked unconscious. Gark looked up to see Galin, who had thrown a hard projectile at the thug. The other thug turned around, and Gark took the chance to take the woman’s legs out from underneath her. She crashed to the ground, and then Gark kicked her aside. He had to make sure that Galin wasn’t in danger; where was Mykal?

---

Mykal made his way to the ship nursery. Once inside, he could tell that something was wrong. Several young children were lying face-down on the floor, many of them bruised up or bleeding. The teen didn’t see any enemies in here, but the children haunted him. Were they dead? Where was his baby sister? Was she alright?

“Help!” came a weak cry from nearby. Mykal looked to a nearby overturned table, and found a hand feebly waving underneath it. The teen jumped into action and pushed the table aside. One of the care providers was freed from the table, but still looked battered.

“Are you alright?” Mykal asked as he helped the woman to her feet.

“I think so,” she replied to him. “What happened to the children?” She looked at the carnage in front of her, and her face became very gaunt. “What happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Mykal said. “Are they alright too?”

“They don’t look fine,” the woman said. “They’re . . . they’re . . . dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Mykal said. The woman began to weep, and Mykal tried to comfort her. “I’m here for my sister.”

“I . . . I don’t know . . . where she is . . .” the woman sobbed. “I couldn’t save them . . . they’re all dead . . . because of me . . .”

“It wasn’t your fault. Someone attacked the ship,” Mykal said. “There was a giant explosion in the dinner room.”

“What?” the woman asked.

“I don’t know what’s going on. My parents told me to keep my brother safe . . .” Then he knew that something was wrong. Where was Galin? He had been with the teen moments before.

“Kid! Kid!” Mykal started to shout. Now he was not only missing his sister, but now Galin was nowhere to be found. This was getting worse all the time.

But first he had to find Cecilia. His adoptive parents would want him to bring them back their daughter, alive or dead. He hoped the former, but if she had passed, maybe that would bring them some sense of closure.

The two of them started to search through the piles. A small child looked back up at them, and the woman tended to the boy, who began to cry. His arm looked limp, like it was broken. She tended to his needs while Mykal continued to search.

He turned over a bookshelf filled with children’s books, and then found a very heavy pink blanket. He moved it aside.

That’s when he found Cecilia.

---

“Ow, stop pushing!” Bucky said angrily to Nat. The two of them were climbing the walls of the turbolift shaft.

“Hey, I need all the help I can get,” Nat said dismissively.

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Nat said. “The grand staircase should be right on this floor.”

Two minutes later, she climbed up into the well and forced open the doors. Bucky came up behind her, and they charged onto the floor. It didn’t take them long to find the grand staircase, and when they did they found a lot of bodies, and Me’lin. The Twi’lek was trying to fire at the white-coated thugs, who were now shooting at her and at the second thug group.

“What’s happening?” Nat asked as she came up to the Twi’lek.

“Getting rid of these enemies,” Me’lin replied, not moving her gaze to look at the Hapan. “Gark went up to the top floor, but he seems to be pinned.”

“That’s easily fixed,” Nat said. She jumped into action and then got her blaster pistol on target. Down went one of the white-coats, easily killed from this range. Nat then drew a second blaster and aimed it at the top of the staircase. She let loose several shots, killing one second-group thug who was leaning over the railing. His body dropped down two stories, taking out one of the white-coats in the process.

Gark looked down to see Nat standing there at the bottom of the staircase, and now he made his move. He jumped into action, firing his blaster several times as he retreated into the nearby hallway. The thugs were confused, and Gark took this chance to rejoin his comrades. He ran out of the hallway and used his ascension gun. The hook fired and found some footing, and he rocketed into the air. Some blaster shot were fired at him, but they all missed wide. He shot down to the bottom of the staircase and found the other three.

“What took you so long?” Nat asked.

“I should ask you the same question,” Gark said.

“Uh oh, we have company,” Bucky said. The four of them looked to see the armed thugs coming down the stairs, pushing terrified passengers out of the way as they went.

“Come on, to the dining room!” Gark exclaimed.

"What about the passengers?"

"We can't save them," Gark said. It was true; they had to fight, but not here. The four of them ran down the level until they reached the dining room. They barred the door and then set up a few overturned tables as protection. Then they hid and waited, Nat and Gark holding their blasters up and ready to fire. They had to make a stand here.

And all the time, Gark wondered what had happened to Galin. He had seen his son just for a moment, but then he had disappeared. Hopefully Mykal was with him, and they had a plan to get themselves out of danger. That’s all the Bothan could hope for as he waited with baited breath to make a defensive stand against the thugs.

 

Somehow I suspect that Galin will be the hero here.

 

TAGS to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3

The doors burst open, and the first of the thugs charged into the room, like cattle to the slaughter. Nat and Gark opened fire, and three thugs dropped dead quickly. But more of the enemies kept on coming, and Nat finally missed a shot. It didn’t take long before the defensive position was compromised, and the four had to retreat from the tables they had been occupying moments before.

During the retreat, Me’lin tripped over something. When she landed, it took her a moment to get up, and then she screamed. She had tripped over a dead body, a passenger who was still decked out in formalwear. They had a blaster bolt to the chest as their cause of death; it was certainly a grisly fate. Some of the dead crew members lay around the doors the enemies were now coming in through; there was a lot of dead mass here in this room. It looked like a battlefield, which it now was once again.

“Shake it off,” Gark advised his wife as he let another blaster bolt shoot from his pistol. “We need to make sure we don’t end up like them.”

“He’s got a point,” Bucky said. The sniper had turned his rifle around and whacked an enemy on the head with the butt of the gun. The man crumpled to the ground without any fuss, obviously knocked out by the force of the hit. Gark realized that he didn’t have the range on one enemy because they were so close, and he took one hand off the pistol so that he could engage in hand-to-hand combat. He swiped at the enemy’s chest; the move missed, and Gark found himself on his chest when the baddie spun him down. Gark avoided the headlock and punched the enemy in the jaw. This bought him enough time to turn over onto his back and shoot the enemy in the chest, killing his adversary.

“This room is going to keep filling up if we don’t do something,” he said as he lifted himself off the ground. “They may have a whole army on that cruiser.”

“Leave that to me,” Nat said. She winked slyly and then made her way out of the room, her pistols blazing the whole time. It was enough cover fire to allow the other three to retreat to another fortified position.

“I hope you’re enjoying your trip,” Gark said sarcastically to Me’lin, who was firing next to him.

“Oh, I’m loving it,” she replied in the same sarcastic tone.

“As long as we survive this thing, then we’re good,” Gark commented. He downed another thug with a shot to the leg.

“We need to survive. Our children need us,” Me’lin said. She missed a wide-open shot, obviously distracted by the conversation in the heat of battle.

“Right-o on that one,” Gark said. “Bucky, how in the hell do we get out of this one?”

“Just keep shooting,” the sniper said. He picked off another enemy, this one a white-coat. “Don’t stop shooting unless you die.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Me’lin remarked bluntly.

“It’s true,” Bucky said with a slight shrug. “You can’t shoot a gun when you die.”

“Thanks for the confidence,” Me’lin said, rolling her eyes slightly.

It was obvious that they were losing the battle. They had to get closer in and fight, because the thugs were starting to overwhelm them. One crawled over the table the three were using as a shield and lunged at Me’lin. Gark intercepted the man’s momentum and they tumbled to the ground. Gark punched the man in the face, but then got a haymaker back that stung. They trade several punches before Gark finally put an armbar to the man’s face and stunned him momentarily. Me’lin covered Gark’s back by downing a thug at point-blank range.

“They’re gaining on us,” Bucky said, stating the obvious. “We need to drop our guns and fight.”

“They outnumber us!” Me’lin exclaimed. “We’ll never survive by hand-to-hand skills!”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Bucky said. Then a thug jumped over the table and knocked the sniper to the floor. The two of them wrestled for control of Bucky’s weapon, which was knocked out of his hands and hit the floor. The wrestling match continued for several more seconds before the thug’s body suddenly became limp. Bucky threw the body off him to see Me’lin holding a survival knife in her hand. She had stabbed the man and killed him. “Thanks,” Bucky said to his comrade before diving for the rifle. He dodged a thug and picked up the weapon, then turned it around and shot a thug dead while sitting on the floor. Gark knew the sniper was a good fighter; now he was really proving his worth.

The tide kept turning until the thugs were everywhere, of both sides. They had decided to put aside their differences for a moment to try and knock out the small group that had come out of nowhere to oppose them. “Time to put ‘em up,” Gark mumbled to himself as he holstered his weapon and then prepared himself for one-on-one fighting. He sized up two thugs who then charged him. Using an uppercut from both hands, he was able to hit both of them in the gut and force them to leave the floor momentarily. That allowed him to hit on in the back of the head with an elbow, and the other got a haymaker to the face. Both recoiled after the hits, the head hit stunning one thug. Gark finished the other off with a shot to a sensitive region of the body, and the two thugs were downed.

Me’lin was having more difficulty. Two thugs had decided to attack her, and now she was caught by one of them. The other tried to punch her in the face, but she ducked, and the punch landed right in the chest of the other thug. The two began to argue, and Me’lin pushed one of them down to the ground. But the other grabbed her again and threw her onto the ground. The other one drew a knife and prepared to kill the Twi’lek.

Me’lin watched as the knife got closer. This was her life that was slowly slipping away as the blade came closer. She was going to die.

The knife-wielding thug got kicked in the behind and tumbled over, dropping the weapon. The thug holding Me’lin down turned to look, and she tried to free herself. It was to no avail, as the grip was still too strong. But Bucky came from outside her vision and knocked the thug free of her. She now kicked the thug in the face to finish him, and got back up to her feet.

“Thanks, Bucky,” she said.

“Anytime,” the sniper said. He then kicked a thug down before being tackled to the ground once again by another enemy. This wasn’t exactly the kind of fight he liked.

Me’lin and Gark found themselves face-to-face, almost punching each other. In the heat of battle, they stared at each other momentarily. “Lin . . .” Gark started.

“Gark . . .”

“I’m sorry about all the stuff I said earlier, about leaving,” Gark said. He punched a thug down to the ground.

“I know,” Me’lin said. “You learned your lesson.”

“Boy did I,” Gark said disparagingly. Me’lin slapping him hard in the face four times wasn’t something he would soon forget.

“If we’re to get out of this mess, I want to make sure we do it right,” Me’lin commented as she kicked down a thug who was trying to grab hold of her leg. “I want to reaffirm our vows.”

“Right now?” Gark asked as he dodged a punch, then had to duck as another one came in at him. Me’lin kicked at the thug to knock them down.

“Right now,” she said firmly. “There may not be a better time.”

The two of them grabbed each other’s hand, and for a split-second they looked at each other. Then they heard a scream of a thug coming towards them, and they smacked the thug in the face with their clasped hands.

“Do you regard me as your loving wife, who you will support through sickness and health, with the latter not being very likely?” Me’lin asked. She moved her hand out of Gark’s and then smacked a thug down with her elbow.

“Yep,” Gark said. He bashed two thugs’ skulls together, and they collapsed to the ground dazed. “And do you take me, the accident-prone guy who got us into this mess, as the only man you’ll ever want to be with, and through all the stuff you just said?” A thug charged him from behind, and got Gark around the waist. The Bothan sank both elbows into the thugs’ chest, and the man fell over.

“Yes, I do,” Me’lin said.

“Then I think we’ve reaffirmed,” Gark pointed out. “And now we need to get out of this mess.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Me’lin said. Both of them then shouted “Look out!” as they saw thugs come up on the other, and they clasped hands momentarily as they jump-kicked. They turned each other around and then whacked the thugs in the chest with their vicious kicks.

“You know, even if I didn’t know you two were together, I’d still say you were on the same plane,” Bucky commented as he finished off another thug.

“Doesn’t do us any good if we’re dead,” Gark said. Yet another thug fell to the meatgrinder that was the Bothan. Nat had certainly taught him well all those years prior.

Then another explosion rocked the whole ship, and the combatants fell over. This cost Gark his chance to beat up a thug, and everyone wondered if the ship had been completely compromised. Then a voice came over a comm. channel. “The ship has been lost! Repeat, the ship has been lost!” The nonwhite-coats looked at each other. Which ship had been lost?

“Retreat! Retreat!” came the voice over the comm. unit before it was filled with static. The fighters were confused, and the three passengers decided to finish the job. They whacked down the stunned troopers, and then shot the last one trying to flee. When the commander of the enemy forces came in, brandishing a huge weapon, Me’lin and Gark joined up on punching the leader in the face. Then they finished the job with a blaster bolt.

The threat seemed to have passed. The remaining fighters were taken prisoner, from both sides. Some passengers came into the dining room cautiously, and when they saw all sorts of thugs lying on the floor, they applauded the three who had saved them. Nat soon joined them, a wry grin on her face.

“What did you do?” Gark inquired.

“Beat up some baddies, blew up a ship . . . you know, nothing much,” she said.

“That sounds like an awful lot,” Bucky commented as he pushed another thug towards the prisoner line. The passengers were now taunting the defeated soldiers mercilessly, some of them having lost relatives and friends in the fighting and were not going to forget them.

“Same as always, Nat,” Gark commented.

“You should expect that from me every time,” the Hapan said. Then she paused for a few seconds. “Now what?”

“Now we have to get through the hard part, cleaning up this mess,” Gark said, surveying the battlefield that had once been the dining room. Bodies were littered all over the place, passenger, thug, and crewmembers alike. They couldn’t revel in the end of the fighting; it was over forever for each and every one of them.

“Might as well get started,” Bucky said. He looked to the passengers. “Anyone know where to start? Where is the ship captain?”

Gark and Me’lin looked at each other again. They then embraced without saying a word. It felt good to be done with the danger, and to be together again, with no strings attached.

“That’s a wrap,” Me’lin said.

“Hopefully,” Gark said. “I have a feeling we’re not done yet.”

A blaster bolt rang out in the dining room, and all eyes turned to see where the shot had come from. A thug held a blaster at Gark’s back, obviously ready to fire it at the Bothan. Gark looked down; he seemed fine.

And then the thug fell over, dead. The blaster he was going to shoot Gark with hit the ground. Gark and Me’lin then looked over to the door, where Galin was kneeling. He had been on one knee and held a blaster aloft, obviously having killed the thug.

“Galin!” Me’lin exclaimed.

“Mommy!” Galin exclaimed back. Mother and son came together, and Me’lin gave her young son a big hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it back,” Me’lin said.

“Dad’s taught me a lot,” Galin said proudly. “I even saved his life! Does this mean I’m a superhero like he is?”

“Sure are, sport,” Gark said, coming over. “You can be my sidekick anytime.”

Then Me’lin thought of something. “Where’s Mykal?” she asked, ending the embrace of her son and recoiling a little. “

“We got separated,” Galin explained.

“We better go and look for him,” Gark said.

“And where’s Cecilia?” Me’lin asked. For having just found her son, she was now starting to fret again. “What if the worst happened to them, and we only have one child left?”

“Don’t overreact until we find them,” Gark said, laying a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder. “We’ll find them, and they’ll be alive, trust me.”

As the two parents and their son went to the nursery, they were met by Mykal. Me’lin hugged her oldest son. “I didn’t know where you were,” she sobbed.

“I’m alright,” Mykal said.

That’s when Me’lin noticed what Mykal was carrying. It was a heavy-fabric pink blanket. The teen had a blank look on his face.

Me’lin’s resolve began to waver. “What’s that?” she asked.

Mykal just pushed the blanket a little closer to her. Me’lin looked down at it, and then back at Mykal. “Is it . . . ?” Mykal didn’t say anything.

Me’lin took hold of the blanket, and then unwrapped it. Inside was a tiny blue Twi’lek . . . it was Cecilia. Her body wasn’t moving. A tear formed in Me’lin’s eye; her precious daughter was dead. Her face scrunched up as she prepared to let loose and wail, and she brought her daughter’s body close to her. She had done all this work to save herself and her husband, and yet their daughter hadn’t been able to survive. This was a cruel galaxy, and it was striking close to home.

However, as soon as the waterworks began, Me’lin felt a small poking sensation on her neck. She looked down and saw Cecilia staring back up at her. Then the eyelids blinked, and the baby girl smiled.

“Cecilia!” Me’lin exclaimed. Mykal didn’t say anything but grin. He had known the whole time. Me’lin couldn’t control her emotions. Her daughter was alive and well. She hugged the baby as close as possible to her body without hurting CeCe in the process; the mother was reunited with all of her children, two whom she had carried and one whom had been adopted. “I’m never going to let you out of my sight again,” Me’lin sobbed as she kept Cecilia close. “Never again. I promise you.”

All Cecilia did was smile.

The rest of the trip was an arduous one. Finally a military vehicle docked with the cruise liner, and the thug prisoners were offloaded onto the waiting ship for extradition. Gark, Me’lin, Bucky, and Nat all helped clean up the liner, including helping give small memorials for the fallen. It was hard work, since many survivors had lost loved ones or friends. Gark and Me’lin were just happy that they hadn’t lost anyone; their whole group was still together.

When they got back to Coruscant, news of the disaster had spread virally on the HoloNet. Gark did what he could to avoid attention, and for the most part he was able to get away from it. When he was grilled in an interview, he tried to be as cool as could be, not saying much. He didn’t want to start up a media firestorm; he just wanted to forget the whole thing. The cruise company offered to compensate them for the entire cruise, since things hadn’t gone well. The S’rilys took their money back, but instead of pocketing everything, they made sure to give some cash to each of the crewmembers’ families who had lost a member in the fighting. Many crew had been lost, so each family at least had a little something to cover their costs. It was all Gark and Me’lin could do, since they couldn’t bring the crew back from the dead. That was something no one had ever accomplished.

That afternoon, Gark found Me’lin sacked out on the couch on her back, dressed in her bathrobe after having showered. Near her head was little Cecilia; both of them were fast asleep. Gark just smiled, and he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair and spread it over the mother and her daughter. They looked so comfortable. “Thank you,” Me’lin whispered after the blanket was laid over her, her eyes not even opening. Gark nodded and left the room; he was going to let his wife and daughter be. They were all tired after that escapade.

But at least it was all over. They were still all together, and that’s what mattered the most. And their resolve couldn’t have been stronger.

 

Great ending, and Galin finishing the job. Wonderful.

 

Now, on to something completely different.

TAGS to Trieste, jcgoble3, Tim Battershell



Mykal opened the door and entered the home. He set his bag down near the sofa and then ventured into the kitchen. Me’lin, wearing a bandanna around her head, was working in the kitchen on something. She turned when the youth came in. “Hi Mykal” she said. “How was school today?”

“It was OK,” Mykal said. He shrugged.

“Oh come on, school should be fun.”

“Limmie is more fun.”

“Mykal Oha, you know that Limmie isn’t the path to fame for everyone,” Me’lin said, shaking her head. “Make sure you do your work in the classroom, and you’ll be eligible to play the rest of the season. No worries, no fretting, just a fact.”

“I’ve been doing well,” Mykal offered. It was true; ever since he had been adopted, he had become a much better student. Having Kortney help him was also a big boost.

“But you need to keep it up. I don’t want you slacking since this is your senior year,” Me’lin said. “Anyways, you’ll need to keep your grades up if you want to go to college.”

“But would anyone take me?” Mykal inquired.

“I don’t know. But it might be more at hand than you think,” Me’lin said. “A letter arrived for you today.”

“A letter? For me?” Mykal asked, a look of confusion on his face.

“Yes. Some college sent you a letter,” Me’lin said. “It means that someone might want you to go to their school. You never know. It’s on the table.” She went back to cooking whatever it was on the stove, and Mykal sat down at the table. Sure enough, there was a letter there with his name on it. He picked it up and examined it. He never received letters; this was perhaps the first one he had gotten in a decade. He slit the envelope open and out came a letter on flimsy. He began to read.

Mr. Oha,

We are Biggelow College, a Division II school located on Denon. We are contacting you via letter to inform you that we would be interested in hosting you for an official campus visit at your leisure. Although an official visit does not necessarily require you to attend a campus event, we are formally welcoming you to attend one of our home Limmie matches.

One such event would give you a field pass for the game to be on the sidelines during a Biggelow College home game, in which you could inspect the athletic facilities, meet coaches and staff, players, and see what Biggelow College can offer you.

During your visit, we would like to show you around the campus, so that you may gain a better understanding of the Biggelow way. We want you to feel at home, so if you have any requests to make your stay more enjoyable, please let us know.

And have a wonderful rest of your senior season.

Wishing you the best,

Karl Klick
President, Biggelow College

Mykal read the letter once, sat for a few seconds, and then read it again. Biggelow College . . . he had never heard of it before. But that was likely because Denon was on the other side of the Rim, and because it was a smaller school. They wanted him to visit their school because he was a Limmie player? That meant they were interested in him playing for them in the future. Was it a scholarship offer?

“What’s it say?” Me’lin asked. She was now facing the teen as she continued to work in the kitchen.

“It’s an offer for me to make an official campus visit,” Mykal said, referring to the letter to see their terminology.

“An official visit?” Me’lin asked.

“Yeah, whatever that is.”

“Mykal, do you know what that means?” The teen shook his head. “It means that they likely want you to attend their school and play Limmie for them.”

“Is that good?” Mykal asked.

“It’s great news!” Me’lin exclaimed. “It means that you might be able to go to college! Did they offer you a scholarship?”

“No . . . but would they offer it to someone like me?” Mykal asked.

“Mykal, you don’t understand the significance of an athletic scholarship?”

“No . . . we never had chances like that where I grew up . . .”

“It means you can go to college for free . . . or at least with waived tuition and room and board.”

“What’s that?”

“Means you can live on campus and have meals paid for. I hear the GCAA . . . they are the association who runs the college sports leagues . . . passed a resolution a year or two back giving players unlimited free meals. So you’ll be able to go to college basically for free!”

Mykal let this sink in for a moment. He could go to college? When he was growing up, that seemed like an impossibility. Now he had an offer from a small school to visit their campus, especially for a Limmie game? Somehow, the game he had picked up because of his size was now paying off.

“A scholarship means that they’ll let you go to school there. An official visit means that you’ll be a valued visitor to their campus, and they’ll show you around. Where’s it at?”

“Biggelow College . . . Denon . . .”

“Denon, hm?” Me’lin said. “You know, Gark mentioned that the Senators have to visit Denon in a few weeks’ time . . . we might be able to make your official visit that weekend.”

“You think so?” Mykal asked.

“Sure. We’ll have to ask Gark, but I think we could swing it,” Me’lin said. “This is great news. I’m proud of you, Mykal. It means that colleges are beginning to take notice of you.”

When Gark got home that night, he shared his wife’s opinion on Mykal receiving the letter. “It means that they’re taking notice of your skills on the pitch. See, I told you this would pay off,” Gark said. “Now you need to go to Denon and see this place, and see if you like it. Not all colleges are going to be for you.”

---

Prior Week, Denon

“You have no idea how difficult it is to recruit from Coruscant,” one of the Limmie coaches said. “They just don’t like us out here on Denon.”

“We’ve gone through fifteen recruits, and sent them letters. Doubt any of them will sign,” another said.

“We have one more to go through. Mykal Oha, Wylsonridge High,” the head coach said. The highlights began to play, and from the very first play, the coaches could see something different here. “Where has this kid been all this time?”

“I don’t know . . .”

“From his bio, it says that he’s only playing in his second year of organized Limmie,” one of the assistants said.

“That’s probably why.”

They continued to watch the footage. Time and again they saw need for refinement in many aspects of the teen’s game, but what he offered was intriguing. He had sheer size and muscle; the highlights they had, albeit being only a few, showed them a player who would likely be a solid full back for a college team the next season or two.

Then they saw the major highlight. Oha pushed a decent-sized kid, the blue-chip athlete type, down the field on a fastbreak for the defense. Then the other player got dumped over a bunch of advertisements surrounding the field. “He did not just do that!” one of the assistants said.

“Holy crap, where did that come from?” asked the other one.

“That kid’s special. A little raw, but we can work with him to refine that game. What else does his bio say?”

“Hm . . . second year of Limmie . . . full back . . . decent grades . . . played on a senior-heavy team last year in his first-ever season . . . starter last year . . . hm, here’s something interesting . . . no . . . wait . . . wait . . . WHOA!”

“What is it?”

“We need this kid to sign with us,” the assistant said.

“Why? Surely there are other kids like him out there if we miss out. I know that we’d like to sign all these kids, but most of them will likely sign elsewhere . . .”

“No, there isn’t another kid like him. Not in this graduating class. Not for another decade plus.”

“And why’s that?”

“He’s the adopted son of Gark S’rily, general manager of the Coruscant Senators.”

There was silence in the room for several seconds. Then the head coach spoke up again. “Do whatever it takes to get him to commit to us. We can’t let this kid go anywhere else.”

“Why this one?”

“Two reasons. One, if you see that kid’s talent, soon enough Division I teams are going to be chomping at the bit to get him. He’s a rare talent, but if he has no other offers, then we might have a chance to steal him before the other schools notice. And two, if S’rily was brought on board, imagine what kind of pull he would have as a booster. Think about it; an Elite League general manager’s son attending our school. Think of how much we could get from the other boosters we have if we get someone like that on board with us. We might finally be able to finish our stadium upgrades. And the recruits in future years might find that an important bargaining chip, plus having an influential booster. We need to sign this kid, whatever it takes.”

---

The day prior to the Senators-Demons game, Mykal visited Biggelow College. He got to see Homecoming Day for the school, and all the pageantry that went with it. He was only one of three recruits there to see the spectacle; obviously he wasn’t at a very popular Limmie school. But the fact they wanted him was special. He liked it for that.

It was a very busy day for him; lunch with the coaches, guided tours of the campus facilities, of the gym, the locker rooms, the student union . . . it was a huge place for a guy like Mykal, who had never been on a college campus before. He commented to Me’lin as a side note that he would get lost in the sprawl of the campus if he didn’t stay with them. The Twi’le comforted the teen by saying that they wouldn’t leave him behind.

And the Biggelow staff was overly friendly. They seemed to be waiting on Mykal hand and foot, something that he had never experienced before. He ate good food, met good people, and had an experience he had never thought was possible. But Gark’s words to him still rang true: Not every college would be a good fit for him.

After the experience, Biggelow decided to offer a scholarship to Mykal when everything was wrapped up. Mykal knew he couldn’t accept the offer just yet, but he thanked the staff for giving him the offer. With that, Mykal’s first official visit came to pass.

He just didn’t know if any other schools would be following suit.

 

Me likey. Can't wait to see where Mykal ends up.

 

I have no doubt he'll take over the entire program a la Phil Knight and become Grand Poobah S'rily of Bigelow.

 

Here's your Superbothan holiday post.

TAGS to jcgoble3, Trieste, Tim Battershell



The dream, whatever it was, now involved getting hit by something. Gark felt something jump on him, and he opened his eyes begrudgingly. There was Galin, sitting on the bed with a wide grin on his face. “Get up! Get up!” he said excitedly. There was only one reason for this: Life Day. “Come on, Dad! Get up!”

Gark groggily looked to the chrono by the side of his bed. It read 0630. Of course Galin had to wake him up at this time of the morning. Typical kid. “Wha . . .?” Gark said, although he knew exactly what his son wanted.

“Come on, Dad! It’s Life Day! Get up!” Galin said. There was a sense of urgency in the youth.

“It’s only 6:30, sport,” Gark said.

Galin reached down and grabbed a hold of his father’s arm and tried to pull on it. It was comical how he was trying to move the elder Bothan, but it didn’t work.

“All right, all right,” Gark finally said. It was obvious there was no use trying to get Galin to go back to sleep; he likely wouldn’t be asleep and would check his chrono every two minutes.

“Mmm . . . Morning . . .” Me’lin said as she stirred on the other side of the bed.

“I think we got a new wakeup alarm for Life Day,” Gark said. He rolled over and got out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He still felt tired, but there would be no rest for the weary. The team had rolled into town late the prior night after getting back from Denon. It had been planned so that the team could be here on Coruscant for Life Day and not be stuck in transit somewhere on this day, especially after another wrenching loss. Not everyone celebrated, obviously, but it was a day off from practice, and a day of sleep that Gark was hoping to catch up with. It looked like that was now just a pipe dream.

Galin was now off the bed and went to the door excitedly. “Presents!” he said repeatedly as he then disappeared from the bedroom.

“Where does he get that energy?” Gark wondered aloud. “I used to have that once.”

“I think I did too,” Me’lin commented as she slowly got out of bed. “Then we had kids. And I think that took it out of us.”

“Probably right,” Gark said, stretching and yawning. He got up and went into the refresher, trying to tamp down some of the “bedhead” he found himself with. It wasn’t important to keep it down, but it just looked crazy, like a man who needed sleep. After washing his face, he went out to the kitchen. Galin was already waiting for him, as was Mykal. “Morning, Mykal,” he said to the teen.

“Are we opening presents?” Galin asked excitedly. Obviously the disappointment of rudely waking his parents up had worn off.

“Not until we’ve had breakfast,” Gark said. “Mykal, could you get me one of the bowls from the cupboard?” The teen handed the Bothan a bowl, and he prepared himself some instant oatmeal-like breakfast. Galin and Mykal both got theirs ready, and then Me’lin, now dressed in her bathrobe, came out holding Cecilia.

“Fancy breakfast, hm?” she said with a chuckle after seeing what Gark was preparing.

“You’re just lucky I’m not getting cereal. I at least have enough initiative to get this heated and served,” Gark said. “It’s not a day to work.”

“We still have the holiday party today to prepare things for,” Me’lin commented. The team was gathering at Team HQ for the annual Life Day celebration, and they had to take their requested items for the potluck. This was going to be a short week of practice going into the Rydonni Prime game, but perhaps it was for the best to let the players forget about the season thus far for a few days. Things weren’t going as planned, so perhaps two days off would help their morale.

“But that’s not until later,” Gark said. He was glad that they weren’t hosting it this year; coming in late from the Denon trip had torpedoed any prep time that Me’lin wanted. On Coruscant, Life Day was celebrated every year, just at different parts of the year since the orbital rotation with Kashyyyk changed. So there was plenty of Life Day to go around on the galactic capital.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t at least get started on cooking and the like,” Me’lin said. “I was actually considering getting up about now anyways to get started.”

“I was hoping to get a little more sleep,” Gark admitted.

“You can get that tomorrow. I think we should sleep in,” Me’lin said. “That Denon ride seemed long.”

“It was,” Gark said, agreeing with his wife’s sentiment. “And I think we’ve earned the extra sleep.”

After breakfast, which included trying to feed Cecilia and not have her try to fling it back on someone or bang her tray with both hands, the family went into the living room where the presents were located. Galin sat near the presents pile, Mykal and Gark sat chairs, and Me’lin sat down on her back on the sofa and had Cecilia on her mother’s stomach. The child wasn’t as fussy now as she had been a few minutes earlier; obviously sitting here was comfortable.

“All right, Galin, you can get us started,” Me’lin said. Galin picked up the first gift, and then scooted over to Mykal.

“it’s for you, Mykal,” he said.

The teen picked up the gift, looked it over a little bit, and then started to tear the wrapping paper open. Out came a common-looking box. “Come on, open it up,” Gark said. “We didn’t just get you a random box.”

The teen did so, and he smiled when he saw its contents. “What is it?” Galin asked.

Mykal pulled out a new pair of cleats. “Whoa,” he said.

“They’re the right size and everything,” Me’lin said. “Our potentially college-bound senior needs good cleats to make sure he plays well this year and beyond.”

“Cool,” Galin commented.

Mykal put the cleats back in the box and set them on the floor. He would try them out later. Galin looked at the mound of presents and pulled another one out. He then went over to his mother and handed her the gift. “It’s for CeCe,” he said.

“You got a gift!” Me’lin said in her sweet voice to her baby daughter. “See that?” Gark and Galin rolled their eyes; sometimes women got way too involved around their children. This was one of those moments that was a little too sickeningly sweet for their tastes. Inside was a new outfit for the baby to wear, a Senators onesie. Me’lin got her precious little girl into it and then fawned over her for about a minute before Galin stood there holding a gift for her. Me’lin took the present and saw who it was from. “From the accident-prone, yet devilishly handsome, guy in your life,” she said. Then she looked at Gark. “Did you really write this?”

“Guilty as charged,” Gark said.

Me’lin opened up the gift to find a necklace pendant. “Open it up,” Gark encouraged her. Me’lin did so, and she found a family portrait inside. She had received one of these when Galin was about two years of age, and now this one included her entire family up to this point. Mykal and Cecilia were included on this one.

“It’s wonderful!” she remarked. She then put it around her neck so that it was close to her heart, just like the individuals who were in the portrait.

Galin then found one for his father. Gark opened it up to uncover a “Galaxy’s Greatest Dad” mug, signed from the kids. He put the mug down on the floor and waited for Galin to find another gift. A few more gifts were handed out before Galin finally noticed the albatross in the scene.

“What’s this?” he wondered as he went to the largest package. It dwarfed the rest of them.

“Well, who’s it for?” Gark asked.

“Me,” Galin said, dumbfounded.

“Then open it up, sweetie,” Me’lin encouraged her son. Galin eagerly ripped it open and found a box.

“Yes!” he yelled excitedly.

“What is it?” Me’lin asked.

“Yes!” Galin said. His eyes lit up, and he pushed the box towards where his mother could see. It was an electric quitarra starter pack. She looked to Gark; he just had a wry look on his face.

“You bought that?” she asked.

“Of course I did,” Gark said. “He’s always been interested in seeing me play mine, whenever I have it out. So now he has his own to play around with.”

Galin opened up the package and found what his new instrument would look like. It came with all the essentials that he would need to play. “And I think I know what he’s doing after we’re done here,” Gark commented. He had played quitarra a little bit in college, with Ondal teaching him. It had been a hobby for the longest time, something he usually forgot about. But then he had rediscovered the instrument when he had played his make-up song for Me’lin the prior year when their relationship had been on the rocks, and then he had dusted off his old instrument. Now he played it semi-frequently, and Galin always took notice of its tone. Now he had one to play.

Later on, Galin found some new music in his gifts, and he eagerly put them aside. “I’m gonna learn how to play that someday,” he said with a wide grin.

When Gark got a new hoodie sweatshirt, it signaled the end of the presents. Now it was time for the family to get started on food preparation. But Me’lin had been smart and had pushed the players to bring their own food so that they wouldn’t have to make as much. This bought them time to sit down on the floor, or Me’lin on the sofa, and just spend some quality family time. Gark and Galin ripped open the quitarra box and Gark started to show his son how to hold the instrument. Mykal fiddled with the new datapad he had received, and Me’lin just sat there enjoying the company of her children and her husband.


It was yet another nice S’rily family Life Day. And even though they couldn’t spend the whole day together, as they were needed soon at HQ, they were taking some time out to be with each other. The season seemed to be in the tank already, but they were trying not to worry about it. And that’s what mattered on Life Day: family.

 

Great post. Wonderful way to cheer me up when I'm sick.

Transmitted from Wild Space via my datapad's DROID brain

 

I hadn't heard of the quitarra before, but that's fantastic. I can see it now in a few years--the S'rily Five will be rocking out like this. Sounds like a great Life Day on Coruscant this year!

 

New opportunities for a new year!

TAGS to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3


“Go, Mykal, go!” Me’lin shouted. Mykal, as if on cue, smacked the opposing full forward, and the ball came squirting out. “Get on it! Get on it!” the Twi’lek yelled as the loose ball skittered on the ground. Mykal got to it before an opposing forward could and gave the ball a solid boot. It rocketed off into the sky and was cleared from the Wylsonridge defensive zone.

Later on in the game, Mykal made a diving tackle to stop an opposing player from scoring a goal on Tony, the senior goaltender for the Kell Dragons. This tackle ended up preserving another Wylsonridge victory, their sixth of the season. After the teams went through the handshake line, Mykal went to the sideline. He had someone to talk to.

“Hi Mykal!” Galin said. He was on the grandstand, looking down at Mykal through the metal bars that separated the seats from the field. “You did great!”

“You get some highlights?” Mykal asked.

“Yeah. I think colleges will like you,” Galin said with a wide grin. “Got it all.”

“Good job, little man, good job,” Mykal said with a smile.

“Hi Mykal!” Me’lin said as she and Gark joined Galin. “Good game from you. You really stopped them!”

“I did my part,” Mykal said sheepishly.

“You know, Mykal, you keep playing like that, and you’ll get a scholarship from some pretty prestigious schools,” Gark commented.

“You think so?” Mykal asked. Gark nodded.

“Trust me, I’ve done a lot of talent evaluation in my line of work with the Senators. I know what to look for. You’ve got the skills colleges want.”

“But will they send me an offer?”

“You’ll just have to wait on that,” Gark said. “Right now, you need to enjoy your victory. You earned it.”

Mykal went over to the cheerleaders, who were packing up their belongings. Kortney Stammish was there, the senior cheer captain. She smiled when she saw Mykal approach in his black uniform. “Hi Mike!” she said. “Nice win out there!”

“Yeah, I held ‘em,” Mykal said proudly.

“So, are we going to the playoffs this year?”

“I hope so. Gotta make up for last year’s loss,” Mykal said. He still remembered how he being suspended from the team at this point last year cost them a chance at a better seed in the postseason. He wanted to get that bad taste out of his mouth, however it was possible to do so.

“I think you’ll do well,” Kortney commented. “You’re a good player, Mike. You’ll take them to victory.”

“So . . . this weekend . . . um . . . wanna catch a Holo?”

“Sure. I’ve got an assignment to finish up, but the class is easy.”

“Are your parents still hard on you?”

“Not as much now that I’ve shown them I can handle the pressure,” Kortney said. “It’s not like I haven’t accomplished anything in high school,” she said with a scoff.

“So . . . 1500 work this weekend for a show?”

“Sure. I’ll see you at the local theater. Bye, Mike!” Then Kortney was off, talking to her fellow cheer members. Mykal went back to the locker room with his team. They had a victory to celebrate.

---

That Weekend

Me’lin and Gark were out in the yard of their home, working on the landscaping a little bit. It wasn’t a big deal for them, but they wanted it to at least look presentable. As Gark wiped his brow, he could see two familiar faces walking down the street towards them. “Lin, it’s two boys from the school team,” he said. Me’lin looked up from what she was doing.

When they got closer, the boys were recognized as Doog, the center half back, and Tony, both of whom played for the Wylsonridge varsity team with Mykal. “Hi boys,” Me’lin said. “What brings you here? Mykal’s out right now . . .”

“You didn’t hear?” Tony asked incredulously.

“Hear what?”

“Mykal’s play has gotten him recognized,” Doog said. “Coach just told us that he got a pair of scholarship offers from Super 16 schools.”

“Really?” Me’lin asked. Now she was intrigued. “Which ones?”

“He didn’t say. But Mike’s a lucky guy. Getting a scholarship offer from one of those schools is a big deal,” Tony commented.

“You boys going to college on scholarship?” Gark asked.

“Nah. The parents want me to go to Valorum no matter what. They met there, so they have fond memories,” Tony said. “And I don’t think I’d make it on the team.”

“I’m not nearly good enough to get a scholarship,” Doog said. “I’m looking at going to UBCV; good school, that one. They have good programs in what I want to study.”

“Well, then good luck to the two of you,” Gark said. “Does Mykal know of these offers?”

“Nope. Coach hasn’t told him yet. For some reason they were sent to Coach instead of to Mike.”

“That’s curious,” Gark said. “Well, we’ll tell him the news when he gets back. Unless you boys would like to stay.”

“And help with the yard work,” Me’lin said, a wry grin on her face. “We could always put you two boys to work.”

“No thanks. We’ve got places to be,” Doog said. “So, are you two coming to Senior Night in two weeks?”

“Of course,” Me’lin said. “It’s our chance to see Mykal get honored as a senior.”

“Don’t forget that we walk down the field with him during the pregame,” Gark reminded his wife.

“We having another get-together, Mrs. S?” Doog asked. Me’lin was “Mrs. S.” to the team, since she helped cook some of the postgame meals. One of the team get-togethers was at the S’rily home.

“We could. I think Mykal would like to have some friends with him when he decides on a school to attend, as long as his grades are high enough,” Me’lin said.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Mykal’s in two of my classes, and he’s doing better than me in both,” Doog admitted. “Kortney Stammish must really be helping him out.”

“I’m serious, that’s one of the power couples at school,” Tony said. “Head cheerleader . . . star full back on the school team . . . poor Mike can’t handle all the popularity.”

“And I think it’ll get more intense if the offers keep rolling in,” Doog added. “Think about it, Wylsonridge, of all places, having a star prospect whom is getting scholarship offers from Super 16 schools. Who would’ve thought that? Coach is ecstatic. Gives him some extra leverage when it comes to talking with the school district to keep him under contract.”

“Bert will do alright,” Me’lin said. “He’s taken good care of Mykal.”

“And he thinks we’ve got a chance to be his best team yet. I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but with Mykal getting offers like this, this is our best chance if we’re going to have one real good shot at the playoffs,” Tony said. “And I feel a lot safer with him in front of me weeding out those punk forwards who try to score on me.”

“Mykal’s a good space eater,” Doog said. “It’s nice to have him backing me up.”

When Mykal got home from the theater, he was informed about the scholarship offers. He felt overwhelmed at first, but as time went on, he became more receptive to the idea that he could go to a prestigious school for Limmie and get a good education.

For Mykal Oha, college wasn’t a pipe dream anymore.

 

Excellent! Keep 'em coming and let's see where Mykal ends up.

 

TAGS to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3, CPL_Macja


“Is this all you know about them?” Steen Roggers, a.k.a. Captain Alsakan, asked as he looked over the files.

“I’m afraid so,” Gark said. He was sitting on the end of the table that Roggers was at. “That’s where you come in, Cap. We need intel.”

“You know I was trained to beat the crap out of people, not gather intel,” Roggers said. “Military training and all.”

“I’m well aware of that. But I think your new team can help you with that. I needed someone with your leadership skills. It’s why I signed you in the first place to the Force, because I knew that someday I might need your help.”

“And can I meet this new team?” Roggers inquired.

“I think that’s in order,” Gark commented. “Come in,” he said into a comlink. The door behind them opened, and in came two individuals. Nat’alia Patrovish, her flame-red hair nicely curled once again, and Bucky Darnes, the sniper, entered the room.

Steen stared at the two new entries. They seemed familiar . . .

“Bucky?” he finally asked.

“Steen?” Bucky said, his mouth agape.

“Bucky!” Steen said. The two men gave each other a big hug. “It’s been ages!” the blonde-haired human said.

“I know,” Bucky replied. “You don’t look any different from when we were serving together in the army.”

“You know how big a fitness freak I am,” Steen said, a wry grin on his face.

“If you’re still in the same shape you were when we were kicking the crap out of the bad guys, we’ll be fine. I’ve got your back,” the sniper commented.

“And Nat, nice to see you again,” Steen said, turning to the Hapan. “How long has it been since we last worked together?”

“A while,” Nat said. “Last time, you almost got us all killed, until I bailed you out.”

“That was a very dangerous mission. I was able to save our skins, though,” Steen said, pointing a gloved finger in Nat’s direction. “Don’t forget that.”

“How could I?” Nat asked, a smirk on her face. “You mean the time you screamed like a little girl?”

“I didn’t. It was a battle cry.”

“Mm hm, sure,” Nat said.

“Now that we’re back on the same page, we need to act fast,” Gark said.

“What do you need us to do?” Bucky inquired.

“I need for all of you to gather intel on this mysterious group who keeps breaking into the stadium. Anything you can find . . . intelligence, audio files, mission reports, past-date canned food in an old locker, I just need to know who they are, and what they’re up to.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” Nat said, shifting her weight a little bit as she tried to stand tall. The men in the room towered over her slight frame.

“But we need to exercise caution,” Gark said. “We don’t know what we’re up against. I hope these are just stupid teenagers who bought a fake I.D. card off the Holo. But this is an Elite League stadium we’re talking about; I don’t think teenagers would be smart enough to get in. We’re likely dealing with, at the very least, well-organized vandals.”

“So you need to assemble a strike team,” Steen finished.

“Exactly. Once we know what we’re up against, then we can send in a series of surgical strikes that will hopefully finish off the threat. Quick, simple, efficient,” the Bothan said.

“One question. You’re travelling all over the galaxy with the team. What in the hell is Steen supposed to do since he got called up?” Nat asked.

Gark had prepared for this question before sending in the promotion of the Captain to the Senators. “We have two options. Either Captain Roggers travels with the team to away games, of which we have two remaining, and plays as normal while slowing down the investigation process, or he stays here on Coruscant and figures things out from there, and we’re down a backup corner back. Either way, someone has to lose in the scenario. It depends on where you’re needed most, Cap.”

Steen stood there and thought for several seconds. If he travelled with the team for away games, he would be endangering the underlying intel mission. If he stayed behind, it would be difficult for the Bothan to cover up his disappearance, but it would let him focus on the task at hand. This was a no-win scenario; he just had to make the right decision.

“Where are the road games?” he finally asked.

“Agamar and Nar Shaddaa, Weeks 8 and 11,” Gark said. “I would rather it be Ralltiir, since it’s close, but no dice on that. They’re both far away; you can’t catch up to the team later. Too hard to coordinate that and then dress for the game.”

Steen continued his thought process. The road games would make it difficult to work on his mission. After all, he wasn’t a Limmie player by trade. But on the other hand, he was a good soldier, and a good teammate; he wouldn’t leave his teammates down by not showing, even if it was due to additional directives from the General Manager. This wasn’t the military; he wasn’t in the service anymore, but he was being asked to do something that would require plenty of military-style maneuvers and tactics. And thus he was almost a soldier again, although being an “agent” was probably the more correct term.

“I need to play,” he finally said. “Can the investigation be suspended for a few days during those trips so that I can play? I can’t let the team down, or you, sir.”

“Frankly, Cap, you can’t let me down except by not finding these guys and bringing them to justice,” Gark said after a sigh.

“But that means you’ll need us to fill in for you while you are gone,” Bucky commented.

“Right,” Nat said. “And I think we can fill the void, but it’s not something I like doing, necessarily. Especially when it’s not my own assignment.” Nat was right; she wasn’t being asked to do everything here. Besides, she was the best at espionage, not straight-out brawling. That was Roggers’ best attribute.

“That’s why I’ll call in a little added muscle,” Gark said. “And I think I know a few people who can help.”

---

Bar, Lower Depths

The crack of the cue hitting the cue ball resonated around the dingy bar, and the ball shot forwards on its suicidal charge towards the complete rack. The ball then slammed straight into the rack, causing the balls assembled there to scatter. One went into a corner pocket, another into a different pocket, and two more close to going in themselves. The large man who had shot them took a look at the other players and then repositioned himself to take another shot. The ball slammed its weight into one of those teetering on the edge, knocking it into the pocket with ease. The third shot didn’t go as well, as he scratched when the ball went too far and landed in the pocket instead of the target. When he knew that there had been a scratch, the man stroked his overly-large mustache and placed his cue on the floor, its fat end touching the ground.

When the other player had finished their turn, he observed the table before moving in for the endgame. In went a ball, then another, and two more. He was clearing the table with ease, until finally he had the last two balls to deal with. He struck the cue ball, but it nailed the winning ball and its skittered into the pocket.

“And that’s game,” the other player, a Duro, said. “You owe me 50 credits.”

“Fine,” the man said, slamming the fifty credits down onto the table. The Duro scooped them up in his hand and left. “Damn ball,” the mustached man muttered to himself. He wanted to smash the cue in half, because it had failed him. Each of these bars had different cues, and they just didn’t work for him. He had just lost enough credits to buy drinks to get him completely sloshed, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Then someone placed a hand on the table, and he looked up. There was a Bothan and a blonde-haired human standing there, the Bothan with his hand on the table. “What do you want?” the man asked.

“Just to play a round,” the Bothan said. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Look, I lost all my money just now, so I don’t have anything more to play for,” the mustached man replied sternly.

“Then let’s just play a friendly, then, shall we?” the Bothan asked. He re-racked the balls and then rolled the cue ball over to the mustached man. The game began, and the man was quickly out when he scratched. The Bothan put his cue up in an odd position, but when the ball was hit with the cue, it was a rocket. The ball slammed into the remaining balls, scattering them all over the table. One by one the balls went into the pockets, and the mustached man was concerned. How in the hell could he win this game? Finally the Bothan completed running the table, and the game was over when the winning ball slammed into the now-filled corner pocket nearest his end of the table.

“Who are you?” the mustached man asked incredulously.

Gark pulled his visor back to reveal his face. “Hello, Dun Dun. Bumming around bars much?”

“Hey, long time no see!” Dun Dun Duman said excitedly. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Gark said.

“I would do it over a drink, but seeing as though I’ve lost my money, I can’t do any such thing,” Dun Dun said.

“I’ll buy,” Gark said.

It didn’t take long to get Dun Dun on board with the project. Things had been made easier with the drink that Gark had bought him, followed by the next one. Dun Dun could just put away drinks like nobody’s business, but at least he was in the fold.

---

“Another bar?” Steen asked. “We’ve been to a lot of these today, it seems.”

“Once you’ve been to one bar, you’ve seen ‘em all,” Gark commented. “But it’s a necessary stop.”

The two of them went inside, and made sure to take a beeline over to the corner. A man sat there, taking slow sips of his drink and staring off into the distance. Gark sat across the small table from him, Steen making sure to stay close in case something went wrong. “Staying busy?” Gark asked.

“Enough,” the man he knew only as “X” replied. “Don’t tell me that you have a mission for me instead of me informing you that all hell is breaking loose.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Gark said.

“Sounds like I’ll need another drink,” X said. “I think I’ll need it after all this is over.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already paid for quite a few drinks already today,” Gark said.

“Then you wouldn’t mind one more.”

---

“How many more of these are there?” Steen questioned as he and Gark approached an electronics store at the nearby mall.

“One more,” Gark said. “We’re close.”

The two entered the store and went into the back, skipping all of the shiny displays of new gadgets at the front of the store that were there to draw in the casual shoppers and make them stick around for the usual sales pitches the employees gave soon afterwards. But they were interested in what was going on in the back. Gark placed his hand on the back counter, giving an amused look at the Feeorin who was blankly staring at a screen.

“Excuse me, but I think I could use some customer assistance,” Gark finally said when it was obvious that the Feeorin wasn’t noticing him. The bulky man looked up at him.

“What?” Duckett asked.

“You like sticking it out in this lame mall job?” Gark asked.

“No, but it pays the bills,” Duckett said.

“How about I offer you a job that will probably pay better?” Gark asked.

Duckett took his eyes off the screen. “I’m listening,” he said simply.

---

“How many more places are you going to take me?” Steen asked wearily as the two of them approached an abandoned old restaurant.

“Just this,” Gark said.

“Oh, great, an abandoned building. Fun,” the human commented.

“Yeah, because it’s places like this that good fighters hang out,” Gark said. “Now follow me, and keep a keen eye out.”

“Should I ask why?”

“Nope,” Gark said as he entered the building. Steen dutifully followed, and then the two of them were over at the bar.

“What the hell are you trying to do? It’s not like there’s anything in there . . .” Steen said as Gark reached for the lever. But the Bothan would not be deterred, and the lever was pulled. Then a trap door opened, and Gark motioned towards it with his hand.

“See?” he said.

“What is this, some kind of secret lair?”

“Yep,” Gark said. He then placed his feet next to the hatch, and looked back up at the human. “And make sure you don’t land on me down there, because if you do, I’ll kill you,” he said with a wink before diving into the utter blackness. Steen had no idea what in the hell was going on here, but Gark seemed to know what he was doing, so the Captain came in after him, pulling the door closed behind him.

Steen shot out of the end of the tube and landed hard on the floor. Gark stood over him, shaking his head. “You forgot to mention that,” the Captain commented as he picked his face from off the floor.

“Eh, I’m not used to having new people come down here, so it’s not something I have to say a lot,” Gark replied. “Come on. You need to see some things.”

“Where exactly are we?” Steen asked as he dusted himself off.

“The Bothancave,” Gark replied simply.

“Come again?”

“The Bothancave,” Gark repeated. “This is my secret lair, my fortress of solitude, if you want to call it that.”

“I see,” Steen said. Then, without warning, two blaster cannons shot out of the wall and aimed directly at Gark, ready to fire at a moments’ notice. The human began to panic; he had no idea those weapons were there, and he didn’t want to be killed. What the hell was this place? As the Captain looked a bit shaken, Gark looked down the barrel of the nearest turret calmly. He had been like Steen the first time he had come down this way, but he had gotten used to this by now. He gave the password, and the weapons retreated into their sockets, leaving the two men alone once more.

“What the hell was that?” Steen asked, moving the hands from in front of his face. Gark looked back at him, wondering why the Captain thought holding his arms up would deflect a blaster bolt to his face.

“Security,” Gark replied. “I don’t know why X installed it, but hey, if it keeps this place safe, I’m all for it.” He then went to the door on the far side of the room and opened it, Zeke following behind him. They then started to go through the Cave, but not before Gark found 4K, the protocol droid, deactivated near the lounge. He flipped the on switch, and the droid came to life.

“Hello again, Mr. S’rily,” the droid said cheerfully.

“Hello 4K,” Gark said. “Long time no see.”

“Who is this?” the droid asked, taking a look at the Captain.

“4K, this is Steen Roggers. He’s my main agent on this mission.”

“Welcome, Mr. Roggers,” the droid said. “I am 4K, at your service.”

“Uh . . . thanks,” Steen said. Gark even had a protocol droid down here? What was this place?

“4K, the situation has gotten worse, I’m afraid,” Gark said. “I need you to round up the list of extra contacts. It should be under code 421. At least, I think that’s where I stashed it.”

“Right away, sir,” the droid said. “It will take a few minutes.”

“That’s fine,” Gark said. “We’ll be here a while.” The droid tottered off, leaving the two men alone again. “Now I just hope everyone remembers how to get here.”

“I think we did,” came a familiar voice, and Gark looked up to see Nat standing in the other doorway. Behind her were Bucky, Dun Dun, Duckett, and X. “Not too hard to remember this place.”

“We need to talk,” Gark said. He ushered everyone into the conference room and then shut the door.

“So, what’s the plan?” Dun Dun asked.

“Well, that’s the sticking point,” Gark said. He sat at the head of the table. “We don’t know who we’re up against, or what they want. So we need to get some intel, and if they are a hostile group, we then need to kick the crap out of them so that they stay away from the stadium.”

“That’s it?” X asked. “You had me going there like Calo Mornd had somehow found a way to come back from the dead.”

“I have a feeling that this could drag out,” Gark said. “That’s why I brought all of you into the fold. And to give you job offers.”

“Job offers? I’m definitely listening,” Dun Dun said, leaning in a little bit.

“Security jobs with my company, agent status, like Agent Patrovish here,” Gark said, motioning to Nat as he spoke. “With Andromeda being a giant intergalactic company, I need some muscle who can keep order. I’ve already had some rogue people at one of the plants, and I need to make sure things go smoothly.”

“You’re suggesting that we rule with an iron fist?” Steen asked. “That sounds awfully like a dictatorship to me. And I hate tyrants.”

“Unless all of you have a better idea,” Gark said. He sat back in his chair as he said this. Steen now stayed quiet.

“How about we talk terms later,” Bucky said. “We need to get this mission done first.”

“He’s right,” Nat said. “I’m sure we can crush these guys.”

“I’m banking on that, but I’m taking no chances,” Gark said. “Starting now, all of you start gathering intel. Each one of you has a unique skill that I’ve seen used to high effect; let’s do that again.”

“And who’s going to call the shots? You’re going to be wrapped up with the team and the company,” Bucky said. “Not like last time.”

“I’ve taken care of that already,” Gark said. The door opened behind him, and Me’lin S’rily stepped into the room. She had a headset on.

“How’d you manage to pull that off?” Dun Dun asked. “It’s been a long time.”

“Oh, marriage has its benefits,” Gark said with a grin. Me’lin raised up her left hand, which had her wedding ring on it. “Including our old director.”

“And, for the record, he asked nicely,” Me’lin said.

“That’s great, but where do we start?” Steen asked.

“That’s up to you, Cap. You’re in charge now,” Gark said. “I’ll help when I can, but that might not be much. Keep in touch when you can.”

When the meeting was over, Gark had a moment to talk with Me’lin. “You sure you’ll be able to take care of Galin and Cecilia while also working here? What about Mykal?”

“It will be difficult, but I want to catch these guys as much as you do,” the Twi’lek said. “Because I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I do too,” Gark said. “It feels like we’re getting into something that we don’t know.”

“That’s pretty normal with you around.”

“Hey, I said on the cruise that I was sorry for being so accident-prone.”

“Then let’s try to get these guys before you get us into any sticky situations,” Me’lin said.

“Then we’ll have to get things done quickly,” Gark said. They kissed each other.

“Very quickly,” Me’lin said.

Then Gark remembered something he needed to attend to. “I’ll be back,” he said. So he went and made a few calls. When he was done, he returned to the main area where all the others were gathered.

“I’ve got in touch with all three of the emergency contacts. They’re on their way.”

“Who did you need to call?” Dun Dun asked.

“Some extra firepower,” Gark replied. “Since we don’t know what we’re going up against, I figured it would be prudent to have a few extra helpers just in case. I’m headed out to meet them. If anyone wants to come along, that’s fine.” He walked out of the room and then up the back staircase to street level. Making sure no one was outside, waiting for him, he closed the door and then met up at the rendezvous point.

Soon enough, three of the others arrived. Nat, Steen, and Dun Dun appeared behind him. “What kind of firepower?” Dun Dun asked.

“That kind,” Gark could hear something. One of the contacts was coming. Then the sound became louder, and louder, and louder. It sounded like a jetpack of some kind. Gark then looked up, and the others followed. A figure wearing a jetpack slowly descended to the ground, then cutting off the engines when they were on their feet. The other three were confused; what was this Mandalorian doing here?

“Good to see you responded to my message promptly,” Gark said to the figure. The armor was a medium blue in color, with some red streaks down the sides. The helmet was adorned with a golden “halo” of sorts on the top, along with the aforementioned blue coloration scheme.

The Mando took his helmet off to reveal a face. “Explain why you dragged me out all this way,” he said.

“I need your help,” Gark said.

“What for?” the Mando asked.

“I need some intelligence, and some firepower. I figured you could help me.”

“You realize that I paid my debt to you already,” Sony Tark said.

“Then I’ll have to pay you a regular rate,” Gark said.

“It might be steep,” Tark said.

“Depends on your price,” Gark said.

“Who the hell is that?” Dun Dun asked incredulously.

“This is Sony Tark. He’s one of my more ferocious associates,” Gark said. “A real cold-blooded killer.”

“I do my job well,” Tark said.

“Well, I guess we can use all the help we can get,” Dun Dun continued.

“But that’s not it,” Gark said. He turned once more to see a large figure coming towards them. Everyone turned to look as a blue-skinned Herglic showed up. This was odd, because Herglics were meant to be black, not blue. “Looking good, Bulk.” Gark said.

“Would you stop calling me that?” the Herglic asked gruffly.

“This is ‘The Incredible Bulk’,” Gark commented to the others. “He’s our extra muscle.”

“I can see that,” Steen said.

Then the sound of an engine came into the area, and everyone looked to see a motorcycle-like vehicle arrive. The man on it then removed his helmet, allowing his long blonde locks to be freed from its prison. “I have arrived,” the muscular man said.

“Right on time, Roht,” Gark said as the man got off the machine.

“How many contacts do you have?” Dun Dun asked incredulously.

“A few,” Gark replied without turning around to face Dun Dun. “There were some that none of you knew about previously.”

“I can tell,” Nat commented.

“We need to go back inside and talk things over,” Gark said. “Follow me,” he said to the three new arrivals. “But don’t forget. If you try to rat us out, or this location, I’ll make sure that you meet a grisly end. Got it?” He didn’t like having to say this, but the Bothancave needed to remain a secret to any and all.

“I understand,” Roht said firmly.

“Good. Let’s go have a chat,” Gark said. They all went into the Bothancave once more; this would take a lot of planning.

When the meetings were over, Steen looked at the entire secret lair he was going to be based out of. This was exactly the kind of missions he was trained for, but he was nervous. How would he do? He was out of practice, and he had a lot of elements to deal with. He didn’t know how he could work with all these agents. S’rily was spending a lot of cash on these people, and they had to succeed. His job as an agent was on the line now. The call had finally come in, and it was his turn to make good on S’rily keeping him on this long.

“Nervous?” Nat asked.

“A little,” Steen said.

“Relax. We’ve got a lot of firepower,” Nat said. “We’ve got your back.”

“I’m just afraid that I’m a little out of practice at all this,” Steen said. “For the longest time, I tried to make sure that the galaxy was safe for democracy. And now I’m not so sure.”

“We live in dark times,” Nat said. “And that’s why the boss asked for your help. We all know that this probably goes deeper than we realize at the moment.”

“And that’s what worries me,” Steen finished.

“You’ll get it back, Steen. I trust you, and I don’t say that often,” Nat said. “Act like you did in our last mission, and we’ll be good to go.”

“I hope you’re right, Nat. I hope you’re right,” Steen said. He had a lot of thinking to do.

Meanwhile, Gark was talking to Mykal and to Galin, who had accompanied Me’lin to the lair. “Mykal, no word of this place to anyone,” Gark said.

“I heard of you,” Mykal said. “You saved people once. All that stuff in the basement . . .”

“Yes, that was me in an older version. It’s time that I step into that role once again,” Gark said. “I need you to understand, Mykal. I’ll do my job, and you’ll do yours to finish off this season and get that Limmie scholarship. Promise me that you’ll play college ball and follow your dreams, like I did mine.”

“I promise,” Mykal said.

“And Galin, not a word of this to anyone, either,” Gark said to the six-year old. “No blabbing, or you’re grounded big-time.”

“OK, dad,” Galin said. He seemed put-out by these restrictions.

“Cheer up, sport, you finally got to see this place,” Gark commented.

“Gark, you’re needed at Team HQ for an information session with the groundskeeping crew,” Me’lin informed her husband.

“Then tell them I’ll be there in a few,” Gark said. “I hope this is our first step towards catching these guys.”

The Bothan didn’t know what was in store. All he did know was that big things were likely afoot, and that he needed to be ready.

 

Awesome. Catching the guys breaking into the stadium is going to be a full-fledged Superbothan project.

 

Redressers reconvene!

 

TAGS to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3

It was a real nail-biter of a game. Wylsonridge had stormed back from a 10-point halftime deficit to tie things up with the other school, but there were still two minutes left in regulation, and the opposing team wanted to end it with a long drive here that could then be converted into the game-winning set. Mykal tried to keep his matchup in front of him as he had all game; both players had traded good plays throughout this one, but now it was up to him to stop his opposite number and try to get the ball back to the offense.

The opposing team stalled for a good minute before starting their offense. They knew the value of killing clock in a tie game like this. At worst, they could go to overtime, where they likely would be able to pull out the win if they kept up these stall tactics and could channel the energy from the first half. But Wylsonridge had more momentum coming from their comeback rally, and if this game went extra time, they might pull it out.

With a minute left, the opposing team began to strike. Their corner forwards came up to try and provide natural picks for their center half forward, who had the ball up top. The forward used the pick to get around the matchup and then get into open territory. One of the Wylsonridge corner backs missed on a tackle attempt, and now Mykal had two options. He looked back momentarily to see that no one would provide him with help on this play. He had a center half forward coming closer to him, and a full forward to deal with on his own matchup. It was the old fast break play, a 2-on-1 situation where the defender usually lost. The Iso play forced him into the corner. If he went after the forward with the ball, the full forward would have the open shot on goal. If he kept on the matchup, the center half would have room to make a play.

So Mykal made a decision. He stuck with his matchup. Undoubtedly some in the stands would think him crazy for not going out on the charging forward, but Gark had taught him to stay home in this situation. The Bothan had once coached defense in the Elite League; he knew a thing or two about the Back 6. The center half forward, noticing the open space, had to improvise; obviously the idea here was to try and suck Mykal out towards the charging forward, and then to dish the ball inside for the easy look. It was a play that had been designed to deal with Mykal’s bulk and athleticism inside; obviously he was good enough to be game-planned against.

The forward readied to throw the ball, and Mykal put in a bump against the full forward who was trying unsuccessfully to hold him up. The ball came out of the hand, and Mykal jumped for the ball. He was able to get a finger on the ball, and it spun crazily towards the net. Tony, the senior goalkeeper, was able to catch up to the ball, albeit just barely. Mykal hit the turf after laying out for the ball, but then the whistle blew. It was a timeout, but not for a score. He breathed a sigh of relief; he had saved a goal.

On the sidelines, Coach Kammel had one last thing to say to his players. “We’ve got twenty seconds left on that clock. They’ll be covering the top of the key. Bash it down low and see if we can’t just beat their defense.”

“Coach, they can put out as many defenders as they need,” one forward commented. “We don’t have that many to counter with unless we take out defenders.”

“We have the momentum. Full attack on offense, with one player back to keep them from getting a quick break-out and shot on goal,” Kammel replied. “We won’t let them get any time to work with. Pulling the goalie is our only chance to stay even with their defense.”

The forwards started to check in from off the bench, and even the backup midfielders came in. At least one player had just been called up from JV, and was in their first-ever varsity game. Mykal went to the bench with his fellow defenders, but Kammel stopped him. “Oha, where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To the bench, coach,” Mykal said.

“The bench? Where would you get a foolish idea like that?”

“Defense . . .”

“Mykal, I need your bulk out there on offense. I need someone who can take up space and clear out the defense,” Kammel said bluntly. A ref came over to tell the Kiffar that his timeout had expired, but Kammel held up a finger to show that he was almost done.

“But Coach, I’ve never played offense . . .”

“Then you’ll need to grow up quickly,” Kammel said. “Try to open up space out there. Know how to create a pick?”

“I think so . . .”

“Then get one. We need to score here. Come on, Oha, you’ve got this. You’re not a D-I prospect for nothing,” Kammel said. He then shooed Mykal back onto the field. “Go get ‘em, big guy!” he yelled at the full back now turned offensive block-maker.

Mykal felt strange when he got into the formation. He had never played on this side of the field before; the opposing goalie was right there, so much closer to him than normal. In the Back 6, the offensive zone felt a world away. And now he was here with the Front 6. He looked back only to see open grass. Tony had been pulled, and only a defender, placed near midfield, was out there to protect against any opposing team advances should they force a quick turnover. It was a risky play, but they wanted to win this one in regulation.

The ball came in, and Mykal knew he was lost. He had no idea how to play offense, no idea what the play was. So he zeroed in on the nearest defender and just threw his body into the player. The girl fell to the ground on the bump, and that opened up a hole behind him. A Wylsonridge forward went around the edge sealed by Mykal and then passed off. Ten seconds. Mykal whipped his head around to see where the ball was. A forward on the side had it, one of their stars. But the opposing team, in a zone look, had her triple-teamed. Mykal looked at the clock again. Eight seconds. He lumbered forwards to try and provide help, even if just an extra pair of hands to make sure the opposing team didn’t get the ball and one last desperate kick towards the uprights.

Six seconds.

The forward, while fighting with the opposing defenders, saw Mykal in front of her. She desperately threw a knuckleball from her position, as hard as she could throw it. Mykal saw the ball come towards him like it was in slow-motion; he could almost see the laces spinning as it neared.

Four seconds.

The ball was starting to get near him, and Mykal could feel a defender behind him ready to make the play. He had to do something; he was the last line of offense here. If he didn’t do anything, this one was going to overtime. So he punched the ball to his left with a rock-hard fist as it came near him. It felt odd to have the ball nail his knuckles, but he didn’t care. The ball took off towards the goal, and the angle had the goalie stymied. The ball somehow cleared the bar, and then the horn blared.

Wylsonridge had won the game on the very last second of play, a bar point scored by the unlikeliest candidate. Mykal was dumbfounded; he had scored a point? His teammates mobbed him. He could feel his head being slapped all around by the players, and then it finally came to him. This felt good. He, Mykal Oha, had scored a point to win a critical game. Wylsonridge had won the league title for the first time in a long time, and he was the reason why.

The feeling of the game-winner stuck with him all week. He was the talk of the school, and then the offers started to roll in. Schools with panache were noticing him now, and he knew he would have a difficult time whittling them down.

It took a while, but he finally made a list of his Top Ten Schools.

Biggelow College (Denon)
University of Zeltros
Tanaab A&M University
College of Fondordelphia
University of Corellia, Bella Vistal
University of Tatooine, Anchorhead
University of Dantooine
Balmorra State University
The Ord Sabaok University
National University


The season wasn’t over, and Mykal knew that he wouldn’t make a decision until later. Signing Day was several months away, so he had time to make a decision. His adoptive parents told him that coaches would probably starting dropping by in person to talk to him, and that he would have to deal with all the attention. He wasn’t sure how that would work, but for the moment, the season was still going. He would worry about colleges later. He had unfinished business in the high school game to attend to first.

 

TAGS to jcgoble3 (who I think is gonna like this one), Tim Battershell, Trieste


Gark’s speeder pulled up to the house, and he sat in the seat for several seconds before getting out. He felt stressed out, so much so that he felt wearied by it. He had come back from a meeting with his agents at the lair, to figure out their next attack plan. So far they had come up with nothing, and the longer this went on, the more stressed Gark got. Having the team struggling didn’t help matters, or did Cecilia’s constant wailing at night. What he would give for a day off.

He finally went inside the house and dropped his keys in the bin where they belonged. No one was there at the moment, so he finally went to the kitchen. A snack was the perfect thing for him at this point. He needed something, anything, to get his mind off things. The thieves had executed another daring raid into the stadium, and a few more items, although not extremely expensive, were missing. That made the third incursion in the same number of weeks, and having to replace things was getting costly, not to mention the difficulty of having to maintain a neutral face to the public. If they, or the team, found out what was going on, he would have a major scandal on his hands. And it was no fault of his own; he wanted to find the perpetrators so badly, because they were ruining him.

He opened the fridge and pulled out a gelatin cup. It wasn’t much, but perhaps something that didn’t require much effort to chew would help? Besides, the flavor was rather creative, so he figured he would try. He closed the door to the fridge and looked for a spoon, but his wearied mind was too busy thinking of what he would say to the media should they find out what was going on at Senators Stadium. The search for a spoon was low down on the totem pole of importance.

“You look terrible,” came the voice of a kindred soul.

“I feel bent out of shape, yes,” Gark said. He could feel Me’lin wrap her arms around him.

“How’d it go?”

“Horrible. They haven’t found anything yet. And there was another break-in recently.”

“I would love to tell you not to stress out so much, but I know how much this means to you,” Me’lin commented softly.

“It means everything,” Gark said. “It’s not my stadium to own, but still . . .”

“You need to relax, I can tell.”

“That sounds nice. It really does.”

“Then drop the cup there and we’ll see if I can calm your nerves a little bit,” Me’lin said. She led him to the sofa, where she instructed him to lie face down on its surface. She helped him take his shirt off, and then started to dig the palms of her fingers into his t-shirt, trying to rub out the tension in his abdomen and back.

“OK, go through it one more time, but try to think positive,” she said as she massaged her husband’s back.

“Steen says he can’t find anything,” Gark said. “None of the others have come up with anything either. We’re on edge about all this. I want to fire the groundskeepers for this incompetence, but I know it’s not their fault. Or if it is, I can’t find them guilty just yet.”

“Do you know who’s behind the break-ins?”

“Nope. Whoever they are, they’re keeping themselves well hidden,” Gark said. “They obviously know what they’re doing.”

“What’s being stolen?”

“All kinds of things. Not just expensive things, but hard-to-replace items as well. It’s going to be a mess if the media or the team finds out.”

“How long do you think you can keep that charade up?”

“I don’t know, Lin, I just don’t know.”

“Well, I want you to know that I back you no matter what. Even if the media says that you’re at fault, I still believe you,” Me’lin commented as she continued to rub. She could definitely tell that his muscles were tense like bricks when she started, but now it seemed like she was getting somewhere. A tense husband was never something she liked seeing. Gark was no fun when he was bent out of shape.

“I’m afraid that it might come down to the firing squad if this goes public,” Gark bemoaned. “The fans are going to rip me apart.”

“Don’t worry about the fans. They’ll think what they want to. You need to worry about your own actions. Do what you can, and hopefully they won’t find out.”

“Easier said than done,” Gark said. This was one of the times where he wished he could shrink in size and become as small as a Midichlorian, too tiny to see with the naked eye, and basically forgotten by everyone. It was that kind of fear that made him want to hide under a table when he felt too depressed. And it wasn’t like his home life wasn’t good; it was just that the occupation hazards he was dealing with at the moment took major precedence.

“Just relax, OK?” Me’lin asked in a concerned tone. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I just hope you’re right,” Gark said. He could feel the stress in his muscles ebb, but the tension in his mind was still present. The only thing that could help relax him was the capture of these criminals and their prosecution. Until then, it would definitely dog him.

“It’s not good for Galin to see you so uptight all the time,” Me’lin warned him. “He looks up to you so much.”

“I know. But there’s not a lot I can do about it at the moment,” Gark said.
“You just need to be a good father for him,” Me’lin continued. “Not like you’re not already, but it could use some improvement . . .”

“And I guess I’m not the best guy to deal with at times like this,” Gark admitted.

“No, but I don’t mind too much. I’ve taken my lumps as a wife, so I hope I’ve gotten enough experience to help you deal with stress in the future.”

“Well, you’ve gotten a good start,” Gark said. He was feeling a lot more relaxed now. “Besides, you managed to get my shirt off . . .” He let out a bit of a smirk, although he wasn’t sure if his wife could see it from where she was kneeling.

“Not too hard. You didn’t complain too badly.”

“It’s a good start. I’m surprised you showed restraint.”

“I was just testing you to see if you wanted to get down to it, or just to leave it alone.”

“I think it’d do me a world of good,” Gark said. He turned over on the sofa and then the two of them kissed. “Anything to beat the stress.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Me’lin asked. The two of them kissed again, and then headed to their bedroom. Me’lin closed the door behind them.

As they prepared to make love to each other, Gark had an unsettling thought. “Is Mykal home right now?”

“Yes,” Me’lin answered as she fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt.

“Would it be appropriate for him to hear us making out from his room?” Gark asked.

“Gark, he’s in high school, almost an adult in society. We shouldn’t try to shield him from everything about adult life, because he’ll find out on his own if he hasn’t already,” the Twi’lek commented. “Force knows if he and that nice Stammish girl have already been making out under the bleachers after Limmie practice.”

“You really think Mykal would be that forward?” Gark asked. It seemed like an absurd proposition.

“What I’m saying is to not worry about it. If Mykal hears, then he hears. Then he knows that we’re deeply in love; is that such a bad thing?”

“I guess not. What about Galin?”

“He’d probably think it was some sort of Holo we’re watching in here. And Cecilia wouldn’t understand; she’s too young. Now come on, we’ve got some stress-relief to get to,” Me’lin said. She smirked at these last few words.

The two of them finally got into bed. Gark could feel Me’lin’s smooth skin against him, and she was nice and warm to the touch. He was glad to be married to her.

“Gark?” she then asked out of the blue.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking . . .”

“About?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about our family . . . we’ve got two beautiful children, and Mykal . . . but he’s going off to college next year on a scholarship if he can get one . . .”

“Get to it,” Gark said urgently.

“Gark, I’d like to try for another baby,” Me’lin finally said.

“I thought we agreed that Cecilia would be enough to fill out our family . . .” Gark said. This bombshell had definitely blindsided him.

“That’s just it, honey . . . I want another one, but if we don’t have another, I’ll be fine with it. I just want to make the best love to you that I can, and see what happens. Because I love you so much.”

“And I do too,” Gark said. “I don’t know if a third child is the best choice I could hope for in this relationship, but if it would make you happy . . .”

“Please, Gark. Just give it this one try. I won’t ask again,” Me’lin said. They shared a very poignant look at each other for several seconds. “If I’m not pregnant from this night, then we’ll keep our family where it is right now in number, and that will be fine with me. But please try. For me. For us. For the family.”

Gark wasn’t quite sure about this, but he wanted to make sure his wife was happy. When she was happy, so was he, they were that close. “Ok,” he said. “One last time, this one for all the marbles. So let’s give it the good ol’ college try, and we’ll wait for biology to decide its success.”

"Thank you," Me'lin said with her trademark smile.

So they gave it that good try. Gark’s head hit the pillow that night completely satisfied with his relationship. It was times like this that stress just melted away; it was a blissful feeling.


Cliffhanger!

 

So baby or no baby? Stay tuned!

 

And not for a thrilling, or maybe not so thrilling, conclusion.

TAGS to Tim Battershell and Trieste


Me’lin walked through the aisles of the grocery store, Cecilia in the cart. She sometimes made a fuss, but this was not one of those times. Me’lin was happy to see her young daughter was showing restraint from being fidgety right now, because shopping was always a hard task to begin with. First was the number of items a family of five needed. Then came the recognizable characteristics. When you were married to one of the most recognizable men on Coruscant, there were always the people who might recognize you and say something. The last thing she needed was to have to deal with a swarm of people trying to pester her to talk about her husband. She didn’t want any of that publicity, just to shop for her family. Gark was at work at Andromeda, and Galin and Mykal were both off at school, so she had the chance to make the shopping trip.

As she went down another aisle, she realized that she had forgotten something on the list. Rolling her eyes, she picked up the item she needed to from that aisle and then had to go to the other end of the store to pick it up. Why she had forgotten it, she had no idea.

As her cart went along, she looked around the store. Some people would give her intriguing looks, likely people fawning over the young child in the front of the cart. Perhaps one of them was a creeper who would be fantasizing about her for some time to come. And perhaps they just were looking to see who was coming. Her cover wasn’t blown yet, but the longer she was here, the more likely she would be found out. So she kept a steady pace, not running, but walking quickly enough to not be dawdling.

Finally she made it to the aisle she needed the forgotten item from. It was some toothpaste for Galin, the kind he really liked. She didn’t care for the taste, but her son seemed rather particular about it, so she got it all the same to placate him. At least he was brushing his teeth; many kids didn’t, and they ended up at the dentists’ getting fillings and the like. Galin didn’t have those problems as of yet, which meant a small victory for medical science and maintenance.

She picked up the tube box and tossed it onto the cart, and then headed back to the checkout aisle. But then something stopped her. Right next to her, hanging on the rack, was another item she had forgotten about. The pregnancy tests were right there, and she quickly grabbed one off the shelf and put it into the cart. She had somehow forgotten, if only temporarily, about her and Gark’s attempt to conceive the prior week. This would likely be the last one she would have to purchase, because three kids plus Mykal was definitely more than enough children to deal with. At least if she was pregnant.

She then went into the checkout line, and waited for the woman in front of her, who had a full cart, to finish paying. When the line finally cleared, she went through to the cash register. The cashier dutifully added up all the items, and then got to the pregnancy test. “Here’s hoping,” she said to Me’lin, who wasn’t paying attention.

“Um . . . thanks?” the Twi’lek asked, more of a question than an acknowledgement.

“Hoping to give her a sibling?” the cashier asked in a low voice, as to not announce the purchase to the wider market. She pointed to Cecilia, who was sitting up now but staying quiet. Me’lin nodded. “Then good luck to you.”

“Thank you,” Me’lin said. Once the items were all in their bags, she took the cart out to the speeder and packed it all in the back trunk. Once she got CeCe into the back seat, which took a little bit of effort, she drove home.

As she drove, she thought about how she was going to play this. Gark knew about this last attempt to conceive, and had played his part willingly, so he would figure that at some point here she would be taking one of the tests. But how to play it out? Should she take it as soon as she got home and then inform him of its verdict when he got home, or would it be best to take it when he was home and then watch together to see if it changed color? After some thought, she figured it would be best to take it as soon as possible and then inform her husband of the outcome when he got home.

Once home, she put the groceries away in their proper places, fed Cecilia, and then put her in her crib. Then she excused herself to the refresher with the test in hand. In ten minutes, she had taken the test and was now waiting. The box said to wait five minutes for results, so Me’lin began to wait. Quite a few thoughts went through her head as she waited and watched, the seconds ticking by slowly. She just wanted to get to five minutes and see.

Then the doorbell rang, and Me’lin cursed her bad luck. She set the test down on a tissue, and then answered the door. It was Galin, back from school. Me’lin ushered her son into the kitchen, and then went back to her test. Two and a half minutes had passed, and she wasn’t seeing any change in color.

Then the front door opened again, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m home!” came Gark’s voice. How he hadn’t caught up with Galin, the Twi’lek didn’t know, but he was home now. Obviously work had let him out early, or at least he had dictated it to be so. She went out and kissed the Bothan.

“Welcome home,” she said.

“You have no idea how welcome seeing your smiling face is after a long day at the office,” Gark commented. “Running a company is hard work, I can tell you.”

“But you do such a good job at it,” Me’lin replied, almost purring as she spoke. “Just like how well you do in the bedroom.”

Gark just chuckled. “That I do,” he said, a wry grin starting to come over his face. “Want to attend an encore performance of last week’s masterpiece?”

“Sweet offer,” Me’lin said, running her finger down Gark’s jacket lustily. “We’ll see how we’re doing tonight, and then decide.”

Gark then lowered his voice. “Have you taken a test yet to see if we succeeded?”

“I have, and it’s been about five minutes,” Me’lin said. “Come on, let’s go and see.” The two of them went into the refresher, and then they looked at the test.

It hadn’t changed color.

Me’lin just sighed. For all she wanted it to have changed its hue, for all she wanted another child to carry, there was also an enormous sense of relief that her family was set as it was. She had the privilege to go through two pregnancies already, and despite their discomfort periods, she didn’t regret them. Galin and Cecilia were her babies, and she loved them both. They wouldn’t get a sibling, but she and Gark had tried their best. Now she had closure.

“Well, it looks like I failed,” Gark said.

“It’s not your fault, honey,” Me’lin said. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Can you learn to live with this?” Gark asked. Me’lin nodded.

“We made a deal, Gark. It didn’t work out, so I won’t ask again.”

“Promise me that.”

“I promise, with all of my heart.”

“You do realize how much I love it when you say that?”

“What?”

“That you really mean it when you say something like that.”

“Oh yes, I really do try,” Me’lin said. “Come on, Galin’s probably hungry. I should get started on dinner soon . . .”

“Perhaps I can cheer you up with those famous bedroom moves of mine to make up for the disappointment?” Gark asked, stopping her from going anywhere.

“I’d like that,” Me’lin said. She tossed the pregnancy test on top of an old rag that was slated to be thrown away, and then accompanied her husband to the bedroom.

In the darkness, while the subtle sounds of passionate sex could be heard from the master bedroom next door, the discarded test finally spilled its secrets and changed color.

 

at the ending.

How long before she figures it out?

 

About this long. One day between posts.

Or is it?


TAGs to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3


Me’lin ran into the kitchen. Gark was still sitting there reading something on his datapad, and Galin was finishing with his plate. Mykal had late practice that night after school, and had then decided to go see a Holo with friends afterwards. Me’lin had been unsure of his homework situation, but the teen worked to convince her that he was on top of his homework load and that everything was fine.

Gark looked up to see what the commotion was about. Me’lin was holding something in her hand, and she had a huge grin on her face like she had won the lottery. “What is it? Did you win a lottery fortune?”

“Even better!” Me’lin exclaimed, almost like she was out of breath. “I’m pregnant!”

“Wait, I thought the test was clear . . .” Gark said, his brow furrowing. He hadn’t seen a change in color, nor had Me’lin.

“Look at this!” the Twi’lek said, putting out the palm of her hand to show her husband the pregnancy test. Sure enough, the color strip had changed its hue.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a chemical reaction caused by time or the rag you put it on?” Gark asked. It was possible that the test had malfunctioned after a while, because they had let it sit for about three hours before Me’lin had retrieved it, likely to throw it away.

“I know it, Gark, I just know it,” Me’lin said proudly.

“Can we at least take one more test to make sure?” Gark asked.

“You doubt it?” Me’lin replied.

“I just want to make sure that it’s right, and that we’re not being fooled by a faulty test,” Gark said simply. “Is the store still open?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t planning on making a run there tonight. After all, we were kind of busy,” Me’lin said with a wink.

“Well, that’s up to you. If you want to know if you’re going to be expecting, then go. If it can wait, then stay here.”

“I’ll go, then.”

And Me’lin did. She purchased another test and brought it home with her, quickly taking it. Then she called Gark into the refresher with her, and she closed the door behind him to make sure that they weren’t disturbed.

“Just watch and wait,” she said. She could only hope this was working, and it wouldn’t be a cruel joke played on her by strange fortune.

Two minutes passed by, then three, then four. Me’lin sat there with baited breath, hoping to see a change. Gark was hoping not to; he wasn’t quite sure that his wife had been right. There were too many factors in play at this point to be sure of anything. Besides, his chances of success had been slight, given that he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore, and because one try didn’t always work. Besides, Galin and Cecilia’s conceptions had been accidents. The couple originally wanted no children, just each other’s company. Now they were potentially staring down a third baby. He just wanted to keep the family to two and Mykal, which seemed like more than enough.

Then the color changed.

Me’lin was officially pregnant.

She jumped into Gark’s arms, startling him. “I just knew it,” she said, sobbing now with joy. “Thank you, honey. We did it. We did it.”

“Well, I just did my role, and we did it right,” Gark said, trying to explain to his wife that this was to be expected. He was still shocked that it had turned out that way, but he quickly made a switch in his demeanor. “You doubted my ability?”

“No. I knew you could do it,” Me’lin said, kissing the man whose arms she was now in. “You have no idea how happy this makes me.”

“I don’t know how Galin will take it,” Gark warned, letting his wife back down to the floor slowly. “He’s already feeling left out with Cecilia being around, and now another child will diminish that.”

“Mykal will hopefully go off to college, and then we will have three. He’ll just have to deal with two younger siblings.”

“Then you expect me to get up every night to take care of both of the younglings.” Gark said. He wasn’t sure if that was the right term, but hey, it sounded different.

“That’s your role as a father, yes. You have to do more work than just to please me in bed one night to knock me up.”

“So, now that we both know that we succeeded . . . now what?” Gark inquired, trying to change the subject. It was obvious that Me’lin had the baby fever, and that it consumed her. He had no idea where to go from here. At least this time they knew it was coming rather than the bombshell being dropped on his head at a very random time. He still remembered how shocked he had been when Me’lin announced to him that she was carrying Galin, back on their honeymoon. That seemed so long ago, in a different galaxy – far away.

“I wait for my belly to swell out, and then you can help me around in my addled state as I nurture the young one,” Me’lin said. “Just like the loving husband you are.” Again she pecked his cheek with a kiss.

“You know, Lin, at this rate we’ll have something like six children in the next five years. You’ll be like Madelyne Vigo about a decade and a half ago,” Gark said, jesting. “Almost always pregnant.”

“Ugh, no. Six is way too many. I love you enough to easily conceive six times over, but no, never that many pregnancies.”

“Well, somehow she went through that. Besides, you never know. She and Till might add to that brood at any time. Knowing how those kinds of politics work out, that would cement his legacy.”

“You mean to forge his distinct line by having his own kids with her?” Me’lin asked.

“Pretty much. But that’s not our concern. And as far as having six kids, you never know. You could be having triplets in eight months’ time.”

“Let’s hope not,” Me’lin said cautiously. “I don’t think I could carry more than one baby inside me at a time.” She had heard a recent story of a woman who had recently died after giving birth to quadruplets, and had been a species not accustomed to doing that.

“One is definitely enough,” Gark pointed out.

“One it shall be,” Me’lin said. “And it shall be one of ours, a full-blooded child of a true hero and his loving, caring wife.”

“I take it you want another daughter?”

“Of course. I even have a name picked out.”

“That is?”

“Aileen.”

“Like Wynn?” Gark asked, shuddering.

“Yes to the similarity, but so much better than her,” Me’lin said. “Because she won’t be trying to break us down, but will help build us up.”

“And if it’s a boy?”

“We could name him after your father . . .”

“Gille? No, that wouldn’t work,” Gark said, shaking his head. He didn’t want any son of his to be saddled with the name of his father’s dad.

“What about Kanan? He was a famous Rebel hero before the Civil War.”

“Too much historical pressure there. Besides, the man’s been dead for coming up on three centuries. I think we should look for something more realistic there.”

“Darwyn?” Me’lin then asked.

“The famous scientist?”

“Yes. I think it would be a nice name.”

Darwyn S’rily, Gark thought in his mind. They could definitely do worse than that. Perhaps better, but they needed to make sure that it was a boy first before they decided on anything. “We’ll have to keep thinking on it,” he then said. “We have a lot of time to prepare.”

“That we do,” Me’lin said. She rubbed her belly, even though there was hardly anything in her womb as of just one week after conception. Someday soon there would be a slight bulge, and then more and more swelling until she would no longer be able to see her feet while standing up due to the massive size of her stomach. Strangely enough, she was now looking forward to that. “I have some perfect maternity wear from when I was carrying Cecilia. I should get those out in a few months when the baby starts to show.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would say that you are happier than anything to be pregnant.”

“Even though it can be a pain, and birthing isn’t fun, the pregnancy period is actually somewhat exciting. Think about it; we’ve created new life, and I’m displaying it proudly in my abdomen to the rest of the galaxy. Doesn’t that excite you?”

“It’s the part afterwards that I’m not as hot on,” Gark muttered, but Me’lin overheard him.

“You aren’t excited about being a new father again?”

“Not as much as I was with Cecilia. This time around we tried real hard, and we succeeded. But it’s not going to be easy. And now I know well in advance that my sleep patterns won’t go back to normal.”

“Then what about me? I won’t sleep well the next few weeks as baby decides to squirm about and start growing,” Me’lin said. “And then morning sickness will set in.”

“Ok, too much information,” Gark said, holding up his hands to stop Me’lin from saying any more.

“But it’s all worth it in the end. I enjoy being pregnant,” Me’lin said.

“I don’t know how you could enjoy carrying around a giant weight in your gut that saps all your energy and makes you unable to walk without waddling,” Gark said.

“It’s different when you’re the woman in the relationship,” Me’lin said.

“Please tell me you won’t go for six.”

“Please promise me that you won’t die and leave me with the children, like with Vigo. Because I don’t want to have to re-marry and then have more children,” was the reply.

“Touche,” Gark said. “Anyways, when should we break the news to Galin?”

“Anytime,” Me’lin said. “We have eight months.”

“That we do,” Gark said. “That we do.”

So they went and told Galin the news. He looked depressed after being told, and walked back to his room and shut the door.

“Didn’t take it so well,” Gark said, stating the obvious.

“Oh, he will,” Me’lin said. “Trust me.”

“Somehow, in regards to Galin, I don’t,” Gark said. “He’s taking it real hard, and I don’t blame him. He didn’t get any say on what we did last week. I bet he would have begged us not to try for a third.”

“He’ll change his mind. He’s my son, and I love him as much as I will this new child,” Me’lin said. “Change is always good for a family.”

The next day, Gark broke the news to a few of his closest people. One of them was Polis Vayne, his next-door neighbor. “Wow, having a third one?” Polis had asked.

“Yep. She wanted to try one last time for a child, and it turned out that it worked,” Gark said. “I’m sure you and Meredith haven’t had similar issues?”

“Meredith and I have talked about it for a while, but we ultimately decided that we aren’t going to try for another one. At least not yet,” Polis said. “But we’re getting to the age where if we are going to have another, it’d probably be the right time. Besides, the twins are already growing so tall. I’m proud of them.”

“So is Galin,” Gark commented. “Seems like an eternity ago when Lin told me she was carrying a baby. That was one hell of a shock to my system, I can tell you that now.”

“Imagine having twins as your first child,” Polis said with a smirk.

“OK, you’ve got me there. I’ve still got more than you, at least if the pregnancy period goes right and we get our third one out healthy and happy.”

“We’ll keep it that way until further notice,” Polis mentioned. “Meredith was pretty cranky when pregnant.”

“Even crankier than normal?”

“Yep.”

“How is that even possible?

“I don’t know. All I do know is that she’s one tough woman. She’s tough on her players, but is a great mom to the kids. How she can do both, I will never understand.”

“Maybe we’re just not meant to understand women.”

“I’ll believe that,” Polis commented.

Meanwhile, Me’lin had excitedly told her friends, including her sister. “You won’t believe it, Lia!” Me’lin said.

“What, sis?” Re’lia Horstse said as she played with young Nadine on the floor of their home.

“I’m pregnant again!” Me’lin said.

Re’lia’s eyes lit up. “Congrats, sis! That’s great news!”

“I know. Gark and I promised that it would be our last attempt to have one, and what do you know, it worked,” Me’lin said. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

“Well, all the power to you, sis,” Re’lia said. “If we didn’t have an adopted daughter, and Dirxx was . . . compatible . . . we’d be trying for another.”

“It would be worth it, in my opinion,” Me’lin said.

“But it takes a lot more work, since . . .”

“Come on, Lia. You aren’t getting any younger,” Me’lin said. “If you want to have another one, ask Dirxx. I’m sure he’ll be agreeable.”

Re’lia looked at Nadine, then at Me’lin, and then at her sister’s stomach. A look came over her face. “You know, sis, I’m jealous,” she said. “At least you and Gark can try and succeed.”

“Doesn’t stop you,” Me’lin said. “Come on, you and I, both pregnant at the same time, since I already am and you seem to want to be. Just like old times. What do you say?”

Re’lia’s countenance brightened up. “Bulging belly buddies forever!” she said.

“I hate your terminology, but yes, sure, why not?” Me’lin asked.

“Honey!” Re’lia then yelled to get Dirxx’s attention.

“Yeah?” the Besalisk said, coming into the room.

“I’m going to set up an appointment with the fertility clinic next week. I’ve wanted another baby,” Re’lia said proudly. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for some time, though, so it’s not just something I wanted in the last five minutes. We could definitely support another mouth at the table. Do you approve of my decision?”

“Well, ultimately it’s not up to me,” Dirxx said after a pause to let the request sink in. “But if it’s what my queen wants, then sure. I just wish I could do it for you so that you don’t have to go to a clinic. It’s not the same, you know.”

“I know, but it doesn’t really matter how it happens. It’s what I want, and I’ll take it in whatever way I can,” Re’lia said. She turned back to Me’lin. “Tell your new baby that Aunt Lia will come through with another cousin, don’t you worry.”

“I’m surprised that you were so quick to agree,” Me’lin said.

“I’ve been wanting two kids of my own for a long time, sis. It’s about time I do that,” Re’lia replied.

“Then it’s settled,” Dirxx said, breaking into the conversation. “Make sure to set up that appointment, and we’ll get you in there as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, sweetie!” Re’lia said. “See, Lin, I can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Oh, I know,” Me’lin said with a smile. “And I’ll let you have your glory. But just know that I was still first to have a kid.”

“You’re older than me, so of course,” Re’lia said. “But that doesn’t stop me from trying.”

“Well, good luck, Lia. I’m rooting for you,” Me’lin commented.

“You know, Gark could definitely help in the process,” Re’lia joked. “I’m sure if you asked him he could get the job done for me . . .”

“Oh no, Gark wouldn’t do that. He’s mine,” Me’lin said jealously. “Besides, to know that he would be sleeping with my sister, and trying to get her pregnant . . . I won’t let it happen.”

“You know I’m joking,” Re’lia said. “But he would probably be successful.”

“I know what you mean,” Me’lin said. “He’s knocked me up three times now. That’s pretty good, all things considered.”

“I just wish that Dirxx could do that for me,” Re’lia said with a sigh. “But it would be extremely dangerous, so I have to use the clinic.”

“It’s not all bad,” Me’lin said, trying to be consoling. “At least then you have some measure of choice, while Gark and I have to rely on biology to see what kind of child we get.”

“I guess you’re right,” Re’lia sighed. “If anything, though, at least I get a child out of it.”

“And that’s what’s important. As long as you’re happy with it.”

“I’ll schedule a time,” Re’lia said.

“Good luck,” Me’lin commented. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“Thanks. I hope it won’t be long.”

In two weeks’ time, Re’lia Horstse was confirmed to be pregnant. She and her sister would once again carry children, and they knew that it would be a challenge, and a gift, for both of their lives.

 

And now an update on Mykal.

TAGS to Tim Battershell, Trieste, jcgoble3

“Hey Mike, you know where you want to sign yet?” Doog asked at lunch one day. Wylsonridge had their first playoff game the next day, and while the team was still trying to think about that game, the fact that Mykal had scholarship potential after high school was quite the big deal.

“I don’t know yet,” Mykal said with a shrug.

“Is it true that you have about twenty scholarships offers?” another player on the team asked.

“Something like that. I don’t count them.”

“I bet it must be pretty wicked to have that many,” Doog commented. “I wish colleges were that interested in me. Then I could go to college where I want to and play ball. Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“My mom says it’s not so easy,” Mykal said. “She says college is a lot of work.”

“But it can’t be all bad, right? I mean, think about it. College. We’re not stuck in high school anymore, we can study what we want to. And we get to play ball instead of going and working at a call center or something like that. At least if we can get onto the team,” said another boy, who had a scholarship offer from a Division II college.

“We’re real jealous, Mike,” Doog surmised. “We wish we were in your position, a three-star recruit coming out of a school that isn’t known for churning out prospects.”

“It’s just a bunch of stars,” Mykal said. “I’ll play ball no matter how many I have.”

“So, where are you looking at going? I hear Ord Sabaok has some great dorm parties, and a lot of hot girls,” another player said. “UCBV wins a lot of games, and a few other Super 16 schools are no slouch. You should go to ‘The U’ if they give you an offer.”

“I’ll worry about that after we’re done in the playoffs.”

“You mean after we win the whole damn thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Mykal said, a small grin forming on his face. “Yeah . . . win the title . . .”

Later on, he went through his scholarship options again. He had at least 15, if not upwards of 20. He would have to start cutting some of them down, because he could only go to one school. It would be a difficult decision, and one he knew he needed to think on. From what he had heard, the offseason was when recruiting really heated up. He would wait to declare until after the season, because he wanted to visit a few colleges, especially the ones on Coruscant. So he resided himself to worry about the playoff game the next day, which was his immediate future. His long-term future was a bit more complicated.



Mykal's College Pick Tracker:

Biggelow College (Denon)
University of Zeltros
Tanaab A&M University
College of Fondordelphia
University of Corellia, Bella Vistal
University of Tatooine, Anchorhead
University of Dantooine
Balmorra State University
The Ord Sabaok University
National University