Saga - OT Anomaly - Olympic Dare Story - Piett, Chiraneau, other Imperials, OCs

Here is my dare challenge!!

Note that this is NOT the entire story, there is a lot more, but I wanted to get the stuff that qualifies me for the challenge up before the deadline.

Dare: 1

Spoiler

Dare #1:
Two (or more) characters of your choice are stranded on an island (or similar such setting). How do they save themselves, and survive in the meantime? You must include:

• The phrase “I cannot unsee that!”
• The words agelast, callipygous, and kerfuffle
• Dangerous fauna
• A fishing mishap

Characters: Firmus Piett, Vrei Chiraneau, Arrik Bachenkall, Lenz Ardan, OCs (Quom Derrosk, Thanos Altair, Reima Vrand, Trask Waylen, amongst others).

Time Period: Between ESB and ROTJ

Summary: The Executor and its crew are on a vital mission when everything turns upside down. They are thrust into an adventure that doesn't seem possible, but certainly feels very, very real.

Disclaimer (as per usual) that I own nothing.

Concrit is welcome, but if there's major corrections (more than two or three), please PM me so I can keep track of it all!

A big thank you to our mods here for putting this together!!

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ANOMALY ​

​

CHAPTER 1​

Admiral Piett stood at the helm, his gloved hands behind his back, judging the battle that unfolded before him. It shouldn’t have lasted longer than a standard hour. The opposing forces were rag-tag and mostly composed of ugly fighters, ships that were lucky to not fall to pieces by simply flying through empty space. Yet in the heat of battle, they were holding up remarkably well.

He recalled the briefing only a day ago. Lord Vader had called him to the bridge, explaining that a Rebel sect had enlisted criminals to help with their work. It seemed fairly standard at first, something that absolutely any admiral with half a brain could accomplish. That was until he continued. It was from there that everything had…gone to Sith, for lack of a more eloquent term.

The Rebels were not just seeking black market trades and deals, as they usually were. They were seeking a valuable dump of sensitive information. One that had been stolen weeks earlier. The data included defense plans for at least two Imperial bases in the Outer Rim, along with supply and weapon shipment information for twelve sectors. It would appear that the arms dealers who stole the information did not know of the extra gift they had procured, but Vader went on to explain that it was a clever cover story. An outpost had intercepted Rebel transmissions that explained everything. The arms dealers were allies, not simple criminals seeking to make the highest bid.

Of course that complicated things, which is why they were now dealing with the nuisance of uglies pelting them with ramshackle proton cannons. Any normal criminal would accept a high bid, the data would be returned to the Empire…and the criminals captured and sent to any number of correctional facilities. Someone with an interest in the Rebellion wouldn’t give the data up without a fight.

This certainly wasn’t much of a fight, but it was enough.

They were aware of exactly which ships had been present to steal the data. The only problem was breaking through the wall of fighters to get to them. Seven individual ships – cruisers, capital ships, transports – stared across at the Executor. Individually, they were no problem for the Super Star Destroyer. All together, they were creating quite the diversion.

“Sir,” Crewman Thanos Altair stood ready as Firmus spun, “We’ve intercepted a transmission. It seems to be code of some sort.”

Firmus nodded and reluctantly left his vantage point, following closely behind the crewman. He stopped by a standalone desk just beside the bridge’s catwalk.

“What have we got?” Firmus asked, squinting slightly and trying to discreetly interpret the data himself.

“I’m not sure, sir, it seems to be some sort of code. It’s not even in Basic.” The ensign – Markos – looked between the screen and the two men rapidly.

“Play the dictation, ensign.”

The ensign obliged, pressing a few switches. The words that came from the speakers were certainly sounds, but they weren’t comprehendible. Only a few stray noises made any sense to Firmus, sounding remarkably similar to Huttese. However, it had been years since he had spoken one iota of it. The console had rudimentary translators for most things, but since the Galaxy was less than ideal, code often never translated.

“Submit it for translation,” he ordered, nodding to them both and not wasting a moment of time heading back to the viewport. The larger ships were still holding strong. He needed them picked off, one by one. If any of them escaped, there was the chance it would be holding the vital data. He wouldn’t accept failure, nor would he be taking any chances.

“Chiraneau,” he summoned, waiting for the commodore to approach.

“Yes, sir?” Commodore Vrei Chiraneau stepped up beside him, his aged features gazing out towards the battle.

“What is the status of sector fifty-two?”

“They’ve made progress, sir, but not as much as we need to see. The ships crossing through the sector are still faster than we can follow.”

“Is the 82nd still prepared?” Firmus asked, referring to a squadron of modified TIE bombers - perfect for disabling a ship’s engines.

“Yes, though if I may state an observation,” Vrei watched to the far left, where bolts criss crossed and explosions burst every few moments.

“You may,” Firmus said, willing to hear his opinion. Though Lord Vader would often not support the difference in perspective, the crew was hand-picked and more than capable in many situations. Vrei especially. He had been plucked from a small Outer Rim defence fleet, far from his home planet of Corellia. His record was impressive, his strategy nearly impeccable in the small skirmishes he had faced. With even more experience and training, he was quickly becoming a highly skilled officer. One who could soon command with ease.

“Sector fifty-one is left unexposed, which would be the most obvious attack point for the 82nd. The chance remains that they can outrun us, sir. I recommend approaching through sector forty-seven.”

“And should that not work?”

“Prepare an additional squadron for a second wave attack,” Vrei replied, “From sector sixty-seven, directly across from forty-seven.”

Firmus nodded. The approach was valid, but not perfect.

“From sector sixty-three,” Firmus noted, watching the continuing battle, “sixty-seven would be too close, their fighters would be able to take both attacks simultaneously.”

“Of course, sir,” Vrei said, nodding, “Shall I have the squadrons prepared?”

“Indeed,” Firmus replied. He gave Vrei a quick look, and the Commodore turned to speak with the Marshal – Quom Derrosk. He was a man focussed on status, always acting as though a single imperfection would destroy his reputation. Which meant he was agelast and more frigid than the surface of Hoth.

Within minutes, a swarm of TIEs and TIE bombers raced towards the battle. They wove between the uglies with ease, the TIEs reducing many of them to mere debris. As they drew closer to the battle, they split up. They reformed into two smaller groups and headed for the first ship within the sector. The bombers flew ahead, picking off more of the motley fighters. They swarmed around the Imperial ships like sandflies. Despite them being greater in number, they didn’t stand a chance. Explosions bloomed up in the blackness of the sky as the TIEs assaulted them unforgivingly. Their crumbling shells were being barraged with fire from the best pilots in the Galaxy - and they were losing.

Firmus, appeased by their progress towards disabling the first ship, glanced to the other side of the battle. There was minimal success, the smaller squadron of TIEs not yet breaking through their defenses. The visibly older Mon Cal cruiser was unscathed. He only took a moment to think.

“Marshal,” he summoned, waiting for him to look up, “Focus on disabling the Mon Cal in sector twenty-four.”

“Yes, sir,” Quom nodded and stepped sidelong to another console.

Firmus turned back to the viewport. The swarm of uglies and their blaster fire was thinned out now; mere moments after the TIEs had approached them. Streaks of cannon fire still shot through space, aiming for the straggling fighters. Occasionally another explosion would materialise, quickly being smothered by the lack of oxygen. The TIE bombers swooped down towards the callipygous cruiser and released the first set of proton bombs. The flickering blue orbs collided with the cruiser’s shields, which pulsed with ripples of energy. They weren’t disabled yet.

“Why are the shields still up?” the Admiral questioned, walking towards the crew pit and quickly descending the stairs. He leaned over the scanner desk, watching data scroll across a screen. Arrik Bachenkall, one of the crewmen, glanced up.

“The run to disabled them must have failed, sir,” he said, adjusting his in-ear comm nervously, “the scanners are still picking up full functionality.”

“Failed?” A voice asked incredulously. They both looked up. Marshal Derrosk had already stepped to the edge of the pit. “That’s not possible.”

“It must be,” Firmus replied coolly, “The shields are still functional.”

The Marshal did not bother to even reply. He turned back around and barked orders to the crew sitting before him. Firmus leaned forward again, to the scanner crew. “Ensure the shields are down in the next 2 standard minutes.”

Any longer than that, and they were risking the mission at hand. The criminals would no doubt have time to counterattack them now that they knew their plan. The TIE bombers would be their first target, and they were vital to the Empire’s success.

“Understood, sir,” they replied, almost in unison. Firmus headed back to the helm and waited for their indication that the shields had indeed been disabled.

It came soon after.

“What are their numbers?” He asked, still surverying the battle ahead. The Mon Cal’s surface burst into flame as the bombers pelted it. The engines erupted into a burst of orange. He breathed a short sigh of relief.

“I count forty strong in sectors one through thirty,” came a reply, “twenty-four in sectors thirty through seventy.”

“Engines on the first cruiser have been disabled, sir,” Arrik interjected.

“Excellent,” Firmus replied, pleased by the fact they had succeeded. Their numbers were dwindling and they had now lost one of their precious cruisers. The second one, on the other side of the battle, would soon follow. From his vantage point he could see the miniscule fighters as they darted around the capital ships. The TIEs were fighting vehemently through the wall the criminals had attempted to build…and it was crumbling rapidly. He clasped his gloved hands and stood a bit taller.

A klaxon began to blare. He recognized it instantly as a critical systems alert. He rushed to the opposite side of the bridge, Vrei and Quom joining him almost immediately. It continued to screech, soon being joined by a flashing red light.

“What is going on?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” the crewwoman replied, her eyes pasted to a screen. It spat out readings rapidly. “All systems are in order. It’s stating we are in a gravity well.”

A deafening crash echoed from above them. The ship lurched violently. Firmus grabbed the chair to steady himself. Vrei and Quom stumbled for a moment and searched the ceiling, puzzled by the sudden turn of events.

“Altair,” Firmus grabbed the crewman as he walked by, “Get a report from the scanner crew started. Every celestial body, every ship.”

Thanos nodded and hurried off back towards the front of the bridge. Firmus and the other two men followed behind.

“Sir,” Vrei started as they walked, “Should we not be attempting to evade the gravity well?”

“Not knowing its origin, no,” Firmus replied. It could be anything. At this point, it was already past the realm of likely occurrences. The Executor was the largest ship ever produced. There was no way another ship was holding them in a gravity well. The sector had been scanned for any potential hazards, as usual. Which meant no celestial origin. There was nothing.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Lenz Ardan called, back at his post beside Arrik. Firmus stopped and looked down.

“Have you found something?”

“No, sir. Just abnormal energy readings with no known source.”

Firmus looked bemusedly at Quom and Vrei – moments before the ship shook again. It was more violent than the last tremor.

“Move us forward 3 klicks, now,” Firmus ordered. He turned to the bridge and looked out, trying to solve the situation. The klaxon continued to blare, loudly. The atmosphere, usually calm, had filled with apprehension and nervous energy. No one dared pull their attention from their work.

“Sir, we can’t. The engines aren’t responding.”

“Use auxiliary power.”

“Disabled as well, sir,” the reply came.

Firmus quickly strode back to the systems officer and examined the information.

“Run a diagnostic, then.” He was starting to feel fear prickle at the back of his neck. Whatever was stopping them was a force he did not want to meet.

“On it, sir,” she replied.

As he was heading back to the scanner team, a new alarm began to sound. The Executor roared and bucked, shuddering even more violently than before. His feet slid from beneath him and he met the floor with a smack. He coughed and blinked away stars, trying to refill his lungs after the landing had shoved the air out. The ship rolled again, and he prepared for another vicious tremor.

“Sir?” He looked up. Thanos extended a hand. He took it and heaved himself up. The alarms had quieted suddenly.

“SitRep,” Firmus ordered, breathing in the eerie silence. He rubbed his smarting ribs and looked around to make sure everyone was safe. A few of the crew were still dusting themselves off. The bridge was dim. A few backup lights cast weak beams throughout the space. The consoles bathed the crew in their colourful glow.

“Most systems are back online, sir,” the systems officer called, “Main power is still rebooting.”

Firmus looked down to the scanning crew. Lenz was leaning over Arrik’s shoulder, pointing to something. His face was shrouded in shadow, only visible for a brief moment as a blue light flashed beside him. “Lieutenant?”

He shook his head incredulously. “Whatever it was, it is gone now. No gravity well or abnormal readings.”

“Sir, the criminals are gone,” the man beside them mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Lenz shifted over as he adjusted a small knob. He looked taken aback and immediately stepped back, meeting eyes with Firmus.

“Admiral, sir, they’ve vanished. There’s no sign of them. There’s not even a hyperspace beacon.”

Firmus spun on his heel and focussed outside the viewport. There was nothing but empty space. Whatever had shook the Executor must have somehow gotten rid of them. He swallowed. There was the chance they had escaped with the data. Lord Vader would not be pleased. He tried to ignore the pressure building in his gullet. They had to find out what had happened, and they needed to find those ships.

“And galactic positioning is down, sir. Coordinates are no longer accurate,” Vrei called from his vantage point beside Thanos. The news was a silent blow. There was no way they could find the criminals if they couldn’t even find themselves. The lights blinked back on. From the corner of his eye, he could see them all glance up. He remained focussed on the screen.

“No longer accurate?” Firmus closed the distance quickly, looking at the galactic charts that shimmered before him. Surprise flooded him as he saw their readout. The small blinking icon stated that they were entirely west of the Core, deep within the Unknown Regions.

“Refresh the coordinates,” he instructed, waiting for the indicator dot to reappear where they had been battling the criminals. Instead, it flickered ominously in the same location.

“It says that is the last known coordinate, sir,” the crewman said as he flicked two switches fluidly. The console beeped angrily and the screen didn’t change. Firmus furrowed his brow and turned back to Vrei.

“Get a full diagnostic completed of the galactic positioning,” he said, waving down Quom only a moment afterwards. The Marshal broke away from his team and approached. “Do we have contact with the 103rd or 44th?”

“I’m afraid not,” Quom replied, frustration audible in his voice despite his taciturn expression, “They are out of range entirely.”

“Strange,” Firmus said, puzzling over everything. He moved back to the viewport and examined every centimetre he could see. It was entirely black. There wasn’t even the faint glow of a sun. He had no way of explaining it. Tapping his finger against his chin absently, he continued to stare out. Though it didn’t seem possible, there were no other explanations. Either the criminals had disappeared in the battle, or the Executor was no longer in the system.

“Sir,” the systems officer called again, “The Galactic Positioning is entirely intact. It hasn’t reported any errors.”

The bridge doors slid open. Everyone turned, locking their eyes onto the towering black figure that entered. Firmus’ breath caught in his chest. He cast a cautious glance to both Vrei and Quom, who now stood frozen just a few metres to his right side. Darth Vader’s breathing echoed as he approached. His footsteps sharply cut through the ambient whirrs and beeps of the ship’s consoles.

“Where are the ships, Admiral?” He growled. It sent a shiver though Firmus’ spine. He’d heard the same tone many times before, though he hadn’t been the one receiving it.

“Milord,” he bowed quickly, trying to hide the fear that now threatened to overtake him, “There seems to be an anomaly in our data. A malfunction of the Galactic Positioning.”

Lord Vader stopped, his cloak swirling about him menacingly. “What sort of malfunction?”

“We’re not quite sure,” Firmus explained, trying to keep his voice steady, “Either we have somehow ended up in the Unknown Regions, or the enemy ships have disappeared entirely.”

“The Unknown Regions are more than half the Galaxy away, Admiral. I suggest you rethink your theory.”

Firmus exhaled as silently as possible, realizing that he had been holding his breath.

“I would, milord, except that our Galactic Positioning hasn’t had any errors or anything of note in the logs.”

His statement was only greeted with silence from Vader. Firmus pursed his lips for a moment and tried to find a way to explain everything that wouldn’t end up with a deckhand dragging him away. He fought the urge to shake his head. This was utterly ridiculous. Of all the things that had happened in his lifetime, attempting to explain to a Sith Lord how a 19 kilometre long ship teleported was certainly the most bizarre.

“The data is on screen over here, milord,” he said, motioning to where Thanos and the other crewman sat, “I ensured every iota of protocol was followed, yet the conclusion remains the same.”

The crewman averted his eyes quickly as Lord Vader turned and stalked towards him. Firmus followed and hoped that the data would remain the same. The last thing he needed was it to prove him wrong. He clutched his hands together tightly and nodded to the crewman, who was noticeably paler with Vader standing over him.

The positioning dot blinked back onto the console, exactly where it had been prior. Somewhere deep in the Unknown Regions. Vader tilted his head closer to the screen. Firmus felt a flicker of relief as it showed, knowing that now he had no reason to witness Vader’s wrath. The bridge fell silent as he continued to judge the information flashing before him.

“Send a distress signal,” Vader ordered, not waiting another moment before stepping to the viewport and looking outwards. Firmus nodded to Vrei and stood back. Though he wished to continue his inspection of the systems without restraint, he was unsettled now.

“Admiral,” Vader said, after a few long moments of gazing outwards. Firmus marched up to him in a heartbeat.

“Yes, milord?”

“Scan the surrounding area continuously. I want to know if anything changes.”

Firmus nodded. “Of course, milord.”

Vader spun and headed back towards the bridge doors. A crewman jumped aside as he passed.

Just as soon as he had left, Lenz pulled away from the pit crew and called again. “Sir, you might want to see this.”

“What is it?” Firmus asked, glancing up momentarily as the lights flickered again. He skipped down the stairs and stopped beside the Lieutenant.


“There’s something in the cargo hold,” Lenz paused and looked worriedly at the screen, then back up. He wrung his hands. “More than something, sir. Somethings. And they’re alive.”

 

CHAPTER 2​

​

Firmus studied the screen. Sure enough, multiple lifeform readings were showing up. He blinked twice, thinking that maybe it was an anomaly. The data remained unchanged. It seemed impossible; the cargo holds had been devoid of life just an hour ago, at the last scan. There had been no report of a breach or any intruders. This was only growing more bizarre.

“Sir?” Lenz asked expectantly.

“Send a scanning team immediately, and a detachment with them,” Firmus said, directing the last sentence to the crew above. He watched the blinking dots as they moved almost rhythmically across the screen. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“Yes, sir,” Lenz replied, immediately heading to a comm at the far end of the console.

Firmus re-emerged from the crew pit. Seeing the still empty space surrounding them, he shook his head slowly. If they were truly in the Unknown Regions – which he would have to find out somehow – then it could take them months to find a suitable path back towards the Core Worlds. He paced back and forth, letting his eyes wander across the star-spotted space ahead.

“Sir,” Vrei said, a datapad in hand.

“Yes?”

“Our manual locator may still work, should you wish to attempt finding our position again. Whatever force affected Galactic Positioning has left that unscathed.” He held out the datapad, filled with green text and a couple of schematics. Firmus looked it over only briefly.

“That could take hours or days,” he replied, having had to utilize it only once before, when he had been a lieutenant aboard the Valiant. It could also interfere with other more vital systems, which is why it was usually reserved for a stranded ship being mostly offline.In this case, it would probably be more beneficial than harmful. It would offer them the chance to head in some direction. He glanced down at the datapad again, but the screen had shut off. “Are we positive the systems are online?”

“I am, sir.” Vrei scrolled through the datapad again quickly before dropping the arm to his side.

“Then yes, Commodore. I believe that is our best option,” Firmus said, nodding once.

“Sir,” Lenz called again, “The scanning team is prepared.”


---


“This is going to be interesting, eh Vrand?” Sergeant Trask Waylen tapped his comm twice, ensuring it was online. Satisfied by the fizzle it emitted, he picked up an oddly-shaped piec e of equipment. Ahead of him stood a group of Stormtroopers. They were preparing to open the double blast doors to the cargo hold. None of them knew what awaited them. Their preliminary scan had picked up at least 20 lifeforms, but there was no indicator of what they were.

“Definitely,” Administrator Riema Vrand strapped a basic scanner to her wrist and patted her pocket for the rest of her equipment. She glanced behind her to the scanning team that had accompanied them. They were still working on calibrating some of the equipment. Once they were finished, they’d be able to deal with whatever was inside the hold.

“As long as this doesn’t end up like last time,” Trask smirked at Riema.

“Last time? You mean the utter disaster that was entirely your fault?”

“I’d say seventy-five percent my fault,” he pouted at her ever so slightly, “You were supposed to be on the other end, Vrand.”

“We were waiting for you, up until your comm mysteriously shut off,” Riema replied. The scanner on her wrist hummed and she checked it quickly. When nothing of importance showed on the miniscule screen, she clicked it off.

“I lost it,” Trask said, now using the shiny metal wall to fix his gingery hair. Riema pursed her lips. She knew exactly how he had lost it.

“Only because you were busy trying to catch some creature.”

“A fish, Vrand,” Trask replied. He was still inspecting his hair, despite the fact that he’d likely have to replace his helmet in the next few minutes. He turned to face her, his green eyes alight. “It was a coethelydon.”

“A fish? Coethlydon?” Riema crossed her arms. “You came back with bite wounds and one half of your jumpsuit ripped to shreds. Your hand was down to the bone! I cannot unsee that, and fish definitely don’t do that.”

“They have teeth.”

“And how can an aquatic animal bite someone on land?”

“I had no way to catch it on land,” Trask said. Riema sighed and slowly shook her head. He hadn’t ever told her this much detail before. In fact, all she was told that day was that a creature had attacked him. She was growing more uneasy that he was the one commanding the small group of Stormtroopers. Whoever had put him in charge must have something against her.

“You didn’t,” she said, trying to hide the irritation growing inside.

“It was worth thousands,” Trask replied, shrugging, “I could have gotten myself a new navsystem, and you a trip to see your favourite band.”

Riema closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Of course, that’s what I really wanted.”

“It didn’t matter, though. You never answered my call when I did get a hold of a comm.”

“We were being chased by those infected gundarks,” she replied simply. Though they were supposed to be a team – a joint effort between the Imperial Security Bureau and the Army – Trask certainly acted like he’d rather work alone. One day, she hoped to give him just a taste of what it would be like without the ISB on his side. She was thoroughly annoyed now. “Which you were supposed to be keeping away from the outpost.”

“Infected gundarks are nothing,” Trask replied, polishing a smudge on his E11 with his black sleeve before checking it over briefly. “We could have dealt with them. Easily.”

“Except for the fact that they could have ripped any one of us to shreds. They nearly killed Lieutenant Adarian. Plus, if it wasn’t for us, you wouldn’t have lasted a second. You would have been going in blind,” she said, unfolding her arms to point at him, “You know exactly what was in that jungle. None of those creatures were friendly.”

“I have eyes. And you couldn’t have done it yourself either. You ISB, always complaining,” Trask snipped. His comm beeped. He looked at it for a moment before signalling to a Stormtrooper with a red pauldron, “Here we go.”

Riema sighed again. He was such a nebula-head. Filled with gas, but not much else. It still astounded her that for the most part, he had accomplished every goal the Empire had set before him.

Somewhere in there, he must have a brain, she thought.

She stepped back with the scanning crew and signalled. They quickly fell into line behind her. Ahead, the Stormtroopers took their positions outside the door. Four of them knelt to either side and the remaining ones formed a crowd, their rifles trained on whatever target might greet them. One of the Stormtroopers punched in the code to the first door. It slid open with a hiss. The second door stuck for a moment before creaking open.

They stormed in with blasters at the ready, but no shots rang out. Reima looked at one of her teammates, then to Trask.

“What’s going on?” she asked, only hearing the ‘troopers footsteps echo as they marched into the hold. She had expected a brilliant display of crimson as the doors had opened, or at least within the next few moments. The readings they had gotten were more than definitive. There was life somewhere in that room.

Trask pressed the comm in his ear and strode forward towards the door. “There’s nothing,” he replied, shrugging. “Guess your equipment isn’t so foolproof, eh?”

“Not so fast,” Reima said, waving her team forward, “We still have to do an in-depth scan. For all we know, they’re stowed away inside the crates.”

“Locked crates?”

“It’s possible they aren’t locked,” she replied, leading the crew past him and into the doors. Though the crates were supposedly foolproof, they were easy to manipulate if someone had the right knowledge. They set down the equipment quickly and started unpacking. Riema looked around. There was absolutely no evidence of any unwelcome guests. The cargo hold, despite the thin coating of dust, was barren except for a few isolated crates. A chill snaked up her spine. Something wasn’t right. She looked to every nook and every corner with her eyes and examined every shadow. The team worked around her. She decided it best to personally inspect every crate. Her footsteps rang out in the room eerily as she checked each and every locking mechanism. None of them seemed to be tampered with. If they had been, it would’ve been much longer than a few hours ago. The air in the room was dry and the floor was coated with a thick layer of dust that seemed to have taken years to form. The clouds of dust they had kicked up accosted her eyes. She rubbed them and blinked rapidly, trying to dull the burning.

Minutes later, they had everything set up. She had surveyed every centimetre of the room at least four times. She exhaled, blaming the cold she felt on the open, airy room around them. There had to be a ventilation shaft somewhere nearby. Trask broke away from the Stormtroopers, who were stationed around the room. He approached Reima with an expression of annoyance. She sighed. The last thing she needed was for him to start cutting corners and breaching protocol. There was a reason he was still only a sergeant. Skill in the field meant nothing if he wasn’t willing to do things the right way. Reima herself wasn’t always orthodox, but that didn’t mean she broke the rules.

“We’ve checked the room multiple times over, Vrand,” he started, looking around himself, “All that we’ve found is this stale, dusty air.”

“Let us get our scan done. Don’t cause another kerfuffle,” Reima said, pulling one lock of short brown hair back under her hat. Trask shrugged and leaned on a tall crate. A short trill came from the scanning equipment, indicating that it had finished its first in-depth scan.

“Me? Cause a kerfuffle?” He tried to sound innocent.

Reima ignored him and stepped over to where she could see the readout. The operator glanced back at her, before moving from the display. She looked at the display once. Shock flit across her features. Tiny spots of energy filled the entire cargo hold.

“Waylen,” she said, her voice quiet with surprise, “We have a problem.”

“A problem?” Trask asked. He came up behind her and looked at the readout.

“There’s something in this room,” Reima replied, scanning it again quickly with her caf-coloured eyes, “I don’t know what it could be, but it’s something.”

She clicked through the scanner’s readings and glanced up momentarily. Her hands were starting to sweat. Each time the screen changed, the data remained the same.

“Infrared scanners on,” she instructed the team, unclipping a thin pair of glasses from her belt and sliding them on. The room took on a deep bluish hue; the people around her became ripples of colour. She took one last look at the scanner’s screen, wincing as the light burned through the glasses. Quickly finding a suspicious dot on the scanner and blinking the light from her retinas, she turned towards it. A strange cloud of churning colour floated about 4 metres away.

“Kriff,” she whispered, her mouth agape, “What is that?”

“What is what?” Trask asked. Having no glasses, he was just staring straight ahead into empty space.

“I’m not sure, but I think we need to find out,” Reima replied, “It’s some sort of energy signature, in the corner there. That’s probably what all of them are.”

When she got no reply, she turned to find that Trask had already returned to a pair of Stormtroopers in the corner. He was pointing to where she had seen the energy cloud.

“Latham,” she said, summoning one of the senior agents, “I want a count of them and a full analysis of what they could possibly be.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, dispensing more specific orders to the rest of the team. She watched the cloud as it continued to roil. She had never seen anything like it. She knew absolutely nothing about it, and it sent a wave of fear through her. Not knowing was one of the few things that she was afraid of. Not knowing meant anything could happen. She stepped closer, ever so slowly. Every step was even and calculated. She got within a metre and stopped. The air had a faint sulphurous odor. It mixed with the dust her feet stirred, making her cough. Her hand flew to her mouth, trying to stop the sound. The cloud disappeared suddenly, a rush of air flying past her with such strength that her hat fluttered to the floor. She jumped back and spun, scanning the room. A wave of nausea roared through her stomach. She gagged and coughed, trying to avoid vomiting. The room spun around her. Her hand reached out onto a crate and steadied herself against it.

A klaxon rang out, followed by the sickening slam of the cargo hold’s main doors. She ran forward to where the crew had stood. They were gone. Trask stood staring at the doors. Three or four Stormtroopers were still inside, a few metres away from him. She brushed her cropped hair from her face and approached him. He turned and looked at her, puzzled.

“You alright, Vrand?”

“I think. Where are they?”

“I don’t know. They must have gone out the doors…but…did you feel that…wind?”

She swallowed the bile that still rose in her throat and nodded. “It was some…creature. It came right at me.”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Trask said, now visibly shaking. Reima walked up to him, worried. She had never seen him blink at a threat…let alone tremble. He seemed spaced, like she had seen many times before with spice addicts going through withdrawals. She picked up his hand. It was clammy and shook heavily. He smirked at her for a brief moment, but couldn’t hold the expression through the tremors. “Now’s…not the…not the time.”

“Shush,” Reima snapped, not wanting to put up with him. She took a quick look at his eyes. His face was pale. His pupils were mere pinpricks in a sea of green. “Sit down, Trask.”

“I’ll…get…my uniform…d-d-dusty,” he argued, inspecting his uniform. When he brought his head back up he swayed side-to-side, “And we have…we h-h-ave to find the others.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just do it. That’s an order,” Reima said. Her own head was still spinning; her stomach was still in her throat. Whatever that thing was, it certainly was not good. She blinked and tried to shake away the vertigo. It failed, but she didn’t have the option to just sit down. With Trask as ill as he seemed, she needed to figure out what was going on. He needed help.

“Alright, V-v-vrand,” Trask slid to the ground and shut his eyes. Reima watched to ensure his chest still rose and fell with breaths before she looked to the door’s console. A small light blinked red, signifying it had been locked. Who would have locked it? She clicked on her comm. It screeched at her and she shut it off almost instantly. She examined it, checking the tuning. All the settings were the same as before. She adjusted the small antenna at the base and tried again. This time, she only got snippets of voices. They were shattered by the blare of static.

“Hey!” She called to the Stormtroopers. They craned their necks to look at her. “Over here, now.”

The four of them stepped over almost soundlessly. She inspected the notches on their pauldrons, trying to see if any of them were medics. They weren’t. But at the very least they would be able to use the medpac in the scanner kit. Or take a pulse.

“Watch him, make sure he’s okay,” Reima instructed, “He’s not doing well.”

“Yes, ma’am,” The leader of the group nodded, pulling off his helmet and gloves before kneeling beside Trask. Reima input her code into the door. Her fingers tripped over the buttons, but she eventually was able to type it in. The console rejected it with an angry beep and a flash of red light. It swam before her eyes. She blinked until the room felt less unsteady, then tried the code again. Then a third time. Each time it failed to open and gave her the same irritated noise. She put her hand up to her forehead and sighed.

She walked around the corner, stumbling ever so slightly as she tried to keep a straight line. There was a door to the other end of the hold. It was also locked, but the codes were supposed to be the same. Whoever changed the outer doors’ codes couldn’t have changed the internal ones. At least, they shouldn’t have. Her chest heaved for breath by the time she got to the door. The air was still heavy with sulphur. A bang echoed through the wall and she stepped back. The wave of adrenaline that followed only made her feel more dizzy. She waited a moment and pulled out a small round chip, pressing it to the door. It lit up with orange, red, and green, chirping at her. She put another chip with an earbud into her ear, waiting for the interference to fade. Once it did, she was shocked by what she heard. It was some sort of shrill…singing? Or was it screaming? She took one finger and pressed the bud deeper into her ear.

Beyond the high-pitched tones, there were voices. They seemed to be speaking another language, though it sounded remarkably close to Basic. Rustling and the echoes of heavy footsteps underlay that. She lifted her wrist to the door and flicked on the scanner. It hummed to life. If anything, she’d be able to get a basic reading of something that lay beyond the door. It, surprisingly, gave her no signals of life. She punched in her code again, a hand on her pistol holstered to the side of her black pants. The door clicked twice. For a moment, she thought it was going to stay stuck. She let her eyes wander back to where Trask lay. One of the soldiers was still kneeling beside him, a hand feeling the pulse at his wrist.

The sound of metal sliding startled her. She snapped her head towards the door, screaming as a grotesque mass of flesh and teeth charged her.

 

Superb I enjoyed the suspensefulness building as they realized something's totally off! Your characters are competent and work well together. Firmus is a great leader.

 

Nyota's Heart - Thank you!!

 

Wow Volshe that is one impressive story you came up with using the prompts of a dare challenge! The initial space battle is amazingly well-written and the moment when things go awry in chapter 1 had me on the edge of my seat (loved ominous-but-puzzled Vader too, by the way). And the "thing in the cargo hold" scene in chapter 2 was deliciously freakish -- yet hilarious at the same time with the story of how the fish bit Trask thrown in there for good measure I am totally adding this to my reading list and waiting for the next, non-dare instalments.

 

Thank you so very much Chyntuck !! I'm glad I could catch you as a reader...unlike Trask catching that fish, heh. I really appreciate the wonderful review!

 

Very interesting use of the prompts, well done on building the suspense in the second chapter, and good job with the space battle in the beginning.

 

Thank you very much!!

 

That was awesome--what a build-up! I can't wait to learn what she found! Would you mind tagging me as you continue, please?

 

Thank you both!!!

I will definitely tag you , nycitygurl !! I'm glad you like it so much!

Mira_Jade - thank you! That means a lot!!

I love the words that were chosen for the prompts. Callipygous and kerfuffle are loads of fun!

 

Great story, loving the characters. Well written action and snappy dialogue. Suspense was built well and I especially loved how chapter 1 ended.

 

This response may not be as long as usual, because of my brain's constant weird bias about this story - it deliberately rewrites it, changes it, inserts random Ewoks and other furry aliens in it and whatnot. It did not do to any other story, so as far as I'm concerning, you're chanelling the energy from Mortis, the Force Planet and the black hole in the middle of the Galaxy Far, Far Away.

The first chapter takes a while to go through for somebody who's not familiar with most of the space battle-related stuff and the protocol per sé; but after I researched things and all, I was amazed at how well you handled it. Not to mention that it prepares the reader for something completely different than what happens in the second chapter - which is absolutely justified, given what genre this is. Piett's stoicism is comical at times, but then again, IT'S PIETT. You manage to poke fun at him and make him admirable for the very same reasons - and, IMHO, that is the correct way to write one's favourite character.

Your OCs fit in seamlessly and their conflicts, no matter how funny, are adding to the whole confusion in a cool way and they're realistic. Despite the Empire's discipline and all, it would've been more or less unrealistic to expect everybody to be super-calm in a situation like this.

Another thing I realised only now is that the build-up is Bermuda Traingle-ish.

The word cotyledon in this context made me laugh. Though I seriously expected some sort of people-eating plants at some point. Then again, blame it on The Three Lessons and the stranglethorn plant (even its name is frightening).

The cliffie left me wanting more. Hope Reima will be OK! Give us the rest of the story soon, pretty please!