Beyond - Legends First Sentence Challenge! Post your fics here!

Well, they were going to be included in several responses to The Ultimate Drabble Challenge. But for now, they're in a couple of chapters in my fic "Sleeping and Dreaming". And they are definitely going to be in that story's sequel (watch as they take a certain Jedi Knight out to lunch ).

That's all they're located in so far.

Thanks for finding them interesting, though.

 

Lots of J/J, I noticed. Not that I'm surprised. Lots of good stories all the way, and so many of them seem to involve some combination of Jag, Jaina, angst, and spawnlings. That's a hint, Mr. Denning.

Anyway. I humbly submit for your merciful consideration...


Title: Countdown
Author: Shadowen
Characters: They're all OCs! All of them! Hahahahaha! Ha!
Genre:Space Opera. Duh.
Summary: 750 years after the Battle of Endor, the galaxy is a very different place: there are three powers in the galaxy, sector 0 is neutral territory, Force use is highly regulated at best and illegal at worst, and the Jedi, though active, have been outlawed and considered terrorists since the disastrous Solo-Skywalker Wars centuries earlier. Now, an elite Ascendancy soldier is on a mission as a diplomatic liason to the Imperium just as the galaxy starts to get interesting.... (The Legacy comics are being ignored for now.)
Disclaimer: It is my plan to travel in time to 1965 and give my dad the outline for Star Wars, allowing me to have a hand in the Expanded Universe and giving me the ability to declare this canon, as well as bestowing vast wealth upon my family. Until I have solved the problem of temporal paradox, however, Star Wars is not mine and therefore I cannot and am not making money off of this. Stupid space-time.
Notes: Not my first fanfic. Not my first Star Wars fanfic. Not my first Star Wars fanfic I've posted online. My first response to a challenge ever. Also, the first part of what will almost certainly end up as a very long story.


tick

It?s been said that the moment you are born you also begin to die, as the tick tock of death?s chrono is activated, counting down to the moment one will return to wherever their beliefs teach, the how, when, where and why to be determined somewhere along life?s path.

This was particularly true of the Constructed. Major Kaec'el'ldorin, at least, counted his heartbeats when he was idle, figured out how much time so many of them would take, and used that to figure out how many heartbeats he'd have in his life--and thusly how many they had left. He didn't know if others did it, but he'd be more surprised if other Constructed weren't at least clock-watchers.

Most of them, he knew, decided they had to take their time very seriously. Major Kaec'el'ldorin used their "condition" as an excuse to do the sort of thing the Ascendancy normally frowned on. "Are you going to deny a dying man his fun?" he'd ask, when attractive female superior officers frowned at him, or when a squadmate glared while trying to calm his relentlessly twitching biceps, or when a politician politely tried to extricate himself in the middle of a ribald joke.

It wasn't really fun, but a pushing of the boundaries. The Ascendancy was hidebound and stagnant, even as their scientists explored knowledge that would be considered abhorrent in the Imperium or Dominion. They were making strides in becoming more tolerant and relaxed, but they had to become more adaptable. His purpose as a soldier in the Ascendancy was to defend it against any threats, including those from within, and he was doing his in every way, using his fate as a shield.

He couldn't use that excuse here, of course, unless he wanted to fabricate having some incurable disease, or be executed. Damned military secrets.

That didn't prevent him from having his fun, of course. It made him seem annoying and childish when his best excuse was, "I prefer to not delay my gratification until my next life," or, "If you can't laugh, you might as well cry," but there was always something.

It had been sixty beats--about two minutes. The bridge was quiet. He decided to try diplomacy again. "Captain?"

Marcus Djema of the Imperium frigate Nova Wind turned to his "guest". The Imperium officer had skin that was somehow pale and dark at the same time, with light brown hair kept military short. He wore a captain's uniform well, despite his relative yo

 

Well, there's certainly something to be said for sardonic smartass insult contests.
Tough to write, but fun as hell to read.

Intriguing idea you've got here...now, I don't read the EU (and you couldn't pay me to do it), so I don't know if the Constructed comes from there, or is something of your own invention. What's the background on that group?

Oh, and this line,"Politeness can go for a long walk out a short airlock. If I'm unhappy, everyone is"...ah, bliss.

Anywayahoo, an interesting response to the challenge. Feel free to use the rest of the sentences (and yes, you can use them even if the rest of us have already taken our stabs at it. That doesn't make you the second, third, or fourth fiddle to Buzz Aldrin or Neil Armstrong or a singing banana).

 

Actually, I've reconciled myself to being the Buzz Aldrin of that sentence. I know Neil Armstrong, I know Buzz Aldrin, but for the life of me I can't remember dude #3.

Anyway, the Constructed are my own invention. What they are is a division of Ascendancy super-soldiers--think ARC Troopers, Royal Guardsmen, IG-100 MagnaGuards, that sort of thing. Specifics, such as their origin, will be dealt with in future installments.

 

I just love this Shadowen.

You've given us an action packed first chapter, leaving me with oodles of questions that must be answered, which means more! more! more!

"Never fear, Captain. You're too pretty to die. You and those cheekbones, and that chiseled jaw."

I barely stayed on my chair laughing so hard. I couldn't believe the Major, a Chiss, said that to him. Too funny.

Fifteen Star Dragon fighters piloted by some of the best in the galaxy swooped down on two antiquated shuttles piloted by special ops troopers.

This should be interesting, he thought when he heard Tarth?s war whoop.

I'm rooting for Cell and Tarth. I'm hoping the kid doesn't buy it in the fight.

Love the storyline. And the OC's are definitely cool. I'm very eager to read more of this story.

Are you putting it in its own thread, for everyone to see? I hope so, this is great so far. And if you do and send pm's for updates, you could put my name at the top of the list.

Again, great start.

 

If/when I get past the first "act", as it were, I'll make a new thread for it.

 

Michael Collins.

Yeah, I had to look it up. I did remember his first name, though.

 

tock

The void always wins.

The universe keeps spinning towards entropy and chaos. Nothing can stop it. Trying to stop it often helps it. And no matter how fast light travels, it always finds darkness got there first, and is waiting for it.

The ship broke apart as Thunderhead Squadron watched through their canopies. Colonel Waroo Perek watched silently. His scanners showed no signs of life, but there was biomatter consistent with the remains of organic life forms.

Of course, that doesn?t mean we have to like it.

?Who were they?? asked Five. She sounded like she was going to be ill. He reminded himself she was the youngest for all her talent, just twenty-three, and hadn?t seen something this meaningless before. ?Did we get anything from them??

He shook his head out of habit, though she couldn?t see it. ?Just the beacon. It wasn?t even verbal.?

?They...? She hesitated. He thought he heard her choke off a sob. Or maybe vomit. ?They must have been so frightened,? she whispered.

?Sorry, boss,? said Eight. ?It was so weak at first I thought it was random noise.?

?Not your fault, Eight. Not anybody?s fault.? He killed the mike as he sighed. Sometimes the universe seemed so small, when you could travel light-years in seconds, and then things like this happened... He flipped the comm back on. ?Can?t blame anyone.? Except maybe them. If they?d kept better care of their ship... ?We?d better get going. We don?t want Captain Djema to think we blew him off, do we??

He brought up his log as the autopilot engaged. Received distress signal from coordinates 0,7,9 at 1732. Hyperspace jump 1732. Arrival 1737. Unknown freighter, Bantha-class, disintegrated momentarily before arrival. No survivors.

It wasn?t much, but it guaranteed the ship and its crew, whoever they were, a sort of immortality through bureaucracy.

?All right, Thunderheads, hyperspace on my mark. 3...2...1...mark.?

Stars, starlines, and a twisting blue corridor. He settled back for a few minutes of the ?What If?? game. Nothing they could have done...

That didn?t mean they had to like it.


I know, I know, it's not much. I'm trying to get more done, but I'm starting to write a bloody novel, and I'm jumping all over. This is a valid scene, though, so I'm posting it by itself.

Also, I'm not gonna be able to post this week, because all my final draft stuff is done on computer and I won't be in my apartment. Canadian Thanksgivin's, yo.

 

That's alright Shadowen. Post 'em when you got 'em.

Great bit here. I'm filling up with more questions again, about who they were and if the ones battling Djema now are the ones that destroyed them and if yes, who the heck are they?

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving.

 

T'ank you.

Also, something you have to ask yourself: what makes you think the mysteriously derelicted freighter with its apparently dead crew showing up just in time to pull a squadron off schedule on its patrol and allowing an apparently imposter squadron to attack a near-enemy of their government is important?

And one thing I want to ask the readers (all two of them, looks like): were any of you fooled even for a second when you read the Colonel of Thunderhead Squadron watching "the ship" break apart?

 

Guess what? With this scene completed, I have almost a straight shot to the end of Act I. Two or three more scenes to finish writing at the end of the Act and that's it for the opener. Also, until I run out of completed scenes, I will be posting one a day.


tick

A Dragon jinked left, then back right, diverted from its target only for a moment. In the more sluggish Salamanders, Tarth and Cell had to pull around, but by the time they got their cockpits pointing the right direction, their target had broken off to avoid fire from the Nova Wind.

"Lead," Tarth said, "do you get the feeling they're ignoring us? They're kind of dodging, but they don't really attack."

With a grimace at the observation, Cell said, "Why should they? We can hardly drain their shield power with these flashlights and they can outmaneuver us blindfolded."

His tone mock-confused, Tarth said, "I thought the point was for us to create a distraction while the Imps get away."

"That was the idea," said Cell. "Don't you hate improv players? They never stick to the script."

"I dunno; at least this way they're not killing us."

Cell ignored that. He knew Tarth didn't mean it. The Constructed are born to die... "If we buzz them, they might pay attention. Something our size smacking their shields would be more than a bug on the canopy."

"You've got the soul of a poet, Lead."

They accelerated, coming closer to the Wind, then wheeled back and flew at the Dragons from an angle. The starfighters they targeted pulled away, then looped back around again to go at the Wind. Tarth and Cell twisted around, dropping their targeting HUDs over the Dragons to make them jink away again. Rather than chasing those ones, they took the most convenient pair next, giving the Wind a few seconds' reprieve, continuing at full speed toward their charge, then looping back around to play chicken again.

And still the Star Dragons didn't fire at them. Tarth was amazing, pulling maneuvers Cell hadn't thought the old shuttles were capable of. But it was doubtless a help that the enemy just didn't seem to be any good.

He'd seen recordings of Dominion pilots, and they maneuvered better in heavy superbombers like Deathbirds than these ones did with arguably the best midlevel multirole starfighter in the galaxy (though some pilots thought that CEC's Switch-class OmniFighter had an inherent modularity that made it more versatile). Only one in five pilots was good enough to be assigned to a squadron with Star Dragons. Whether these ones were lazy, or spoiled by their high tech, they certainly weren't flying like Dominion pilots.

It was mildly worrying in the part of Cell's brain he devoted to digging out incongruities and other breaches in patterns.


?All guns concentrate fire on the fighter that will be highlighted on your targeting screens unless it's completely outside your field. If we focus on a few we can drive them away or destroy them and won't have to deal with it for thirty seconds." This was going to be a trick, Marcus knew, but he'd been practicing hard in the sims and it usually didn't overwhelm him for over four minutes. That was a long time in a real battle.

"In range, sir," said Ward.

"Fire at will!" he barked, touching the sensor map hovering in front of him.

And then the other one in front of him, and then the ones on either side.

The trick with starfighters attacking a bigger ship, even a relatively smaller one like the Nova Wind, was that the bigger ship's guns had limited fields of fire. It was simple physics that a gun couldn't shoot in the opposite way it was pointing, of course, but depending on the shape of the hull and protuberances like sensor dishes or comm blisters, a gun on a flat hull section might not even have its full 360 degrees horizontal and 180 degrees vertical field of fire.

For that reason, Djema had devised a tactic that really only worked with smaller capital ships with three or four major fields of f

 

tock

"Whoa!"

Several seconds and thousands of miles short of their destination, Thunderhead squadron was jerked out of hyperspace, ships spinning haphazardly, threatening to collide with each other.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Perek, though he had no idea how or why any of his pilots would know the answer.

"Huh." Eleven's voice, sounding out after a moment of silence, was genuinely puzzled and curious. "It's like hyperspace doesn't exist past this point. We should get a research vessel out here."

"Doesn't exist anywhere past this point?" Three said, sounding nervous. With good reason, Lead knew, remembering the doomed ship they'd encountered just minutes before. Thunderhead squadron could almost certainly make the nearest planet before running out of power and supplies, but people in deeper space, or in the emptiness between systems, would not be so lucky if they were suddenly pulled out of faster-than-light travel and couldn't get back in.

"No. No...it's a limited area, though the exact other side is past sensor range. My computer can just make out the curve..." An image of the anomaly appeared in the lower right of Lead's HUD, showing the astrocomputer's extrapolation: a rough-edged sphere with a radius of nearly a light-minute. The squadron was a tiny point on the very edge of the anomaly.

"Will it come back?" he asked, more of the universe than his squadmates. "Is it permanent? What could have caused this?"

Eleven responded almost immediately, "No idea, no idea, and a hungry hungry vacuum worm. Respectively."

"What?" Lead asked, confused out of his reverie.

"Just kidding! No idea for your third question, too." A few snorts were transmitted through the comm, sounding more like bursts of static.

"Vacuum...worm?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Didn't you ever play that game as a kid?"

Eight said, "Uh, Boss? I'm pikcing up a battle a few thousand klicks thattaway."

Five said, "Which way's 'thattaway', Eight?" More snickers.

"Um, bearing 0, 2, 5." There was a moment of silence from everyone, then Eight said, "That's about--"

"The rendezvous!"

"Punch it!" said Perek, pushing the throttle forward and hitting the SLAM switch, focusing very carefully on what was in front of him--at that speed, he'd be lucky if he saw what killed him before he hit it.

 

tock

"Whoa!"

Several seconds and thousands of miles short of their destination, Thunderhead squadron was jerked out of hyperspace, ships spinning haphazardly, threatening to collide with each other.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Perek after they recovered, though he had no idea how or why any of his pilots would know the answer.

"Huh." Eleven's voice, sounding out after a moment of silence, was genuinely puzzled and curious. "It's like hyperspace doesn't exist past this point. We should get a research vessel out here."

"Doesn't exist anywhere past this point?" Three said, sounding nervous. With good reason, Lead knew, remembering the doomed ship they'd encountered just minutes before. Thunderhead squadron could almost certainly make the nearest planet before running out of power and supplies, but people in deeper space, or in the emptiness between systems, would not be so lucky if they were suddenly pulled out of faster-than-light travel and couldn't get back in.

"No. No...it's a limited area, though the exact other side is past sensor range. My computer can just make out the curve..." An image of the anomaly appeared in the lower right of Lead's HUD, showing the astrocomputer's extrapolation: a rough-edged sphere with a radius of nearly a light-minute. The squadron was a tiny point on the very edge of the anomaly.

"Will it come back?" he asked, more of the universe than his squadmates. "Is it permanent? What could have caused this?"

Eleven responded almost immediately, "No idea, no idea, and a hungry hungry vacuum worm. Respectively."

"What?" Lead asked, confused out of his reverie.

"Just kidding! No idea for your third question, too." A few snorts were transmitted through the comm, sounding more like bursts of static.

"Vacuum...worm?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"Didn't you ever play that game as a kid?"

Eight said, "Uh, Boss? I'm picking up signs of a battle a few thousand klicks thattaway."

Five said, "Which way's 'thattaway', Eight?" More snickers.

"Um, bearing 0, 2, 5." There was a moment of silence from everyone, then Eight said, "That's about--"

"The rendezvous!"

"Punch it!" said Perek, pushing the throttle forward and hitting the SLAM switch, focusing very carefully on what was in front of him--at such a speed, he'd be lucky if he saw what killed him before he hit it...

 

(Seriously, people: nothing? Not even a "you suck"?)


tick

The enemy was down to ten, including the one damaged by the Chiss Lieutenant that Nova Wind's gunners had finished off. But Wind's shields were on the verge of collapse, and earlier gaps had lost them nearly a fifth of their guns.

He'd modified his earlier tactic after they'd destroyed the collision-crippled Dragon: rather than trying to lure a damaged ship into a particular firing arc, he had the gunners chase it through judiciously targeted shots into a killzone. Even with Nova Wind damaged as she was, the trick was working, thanks in part to the Chiss pilots figuring out the game--and now there were nine, but the explosion, close to the hull, made the port bow shielding flicker.

Which, in Djema's subconscious, was a concern--the success of the tactic, not the shields; the shields were very much in Djema's conscious mind. For Dominion pilots to be so easily mislead--it was an obvious tactic after the first few times, essentially a pincer maneuver using energy weapons, but they'd pulled it off four times now, and the Dominion pilots weren't catching on. If nothing else, he'd hoped Thunderhead squadron, whom he still thought of as friends, weren't that stupid.

There were any number of reasons they might be bad pilots, such as propaganda and the weight of reputation, but Djema had seen Dominion pilots fly--had seen Thunderhead in action. They were better than this. Against Nova Wind, even taking into account that they may have been pulling their punches, not wanted to kill their friends, they should have been halfway home and mulling what kind of dinner they were going to have by then.

Of course, even sub-par as they were, they were still winning the fight.

The ship trembled, as a particularly accurate shot damaged the inertial compensators. "Ward!" he yelled, "where's that edge you were talking about?"

"Three thousand and closing, sir!"

"Graff--yes!" he snarled, another Dragon shattering as it ran from one salvo straight into another. "Graff, ETA?"

"Eight minutes if we--" Another blast shook Wind. "Eleven minutes," Graff corrected himself. "If we keep pushing it, and if we do we'll need a few weeks in dock for repairs to the sublights."

Djema shook his head slowly, muttering angrily. "Too much time," he murmured. "We can't hold them off that long..."

"Sir?" Ward said softly. "I have another squadron of Star Dragons approaching from our starboard bow. Intercept speed."

The bridge was silent save for the occasional shudder from Wind when she was hit and the humming of consoles.

"It's been fun, gentlebeings," Djema said after a long moment. Keying for the ship's intercom, he said, "All nonessential personnel, this is Captain Djema. Please proceed to escape pods and abandon ship."

"Captain?" Ward said, almost before he was done, suddenly sounding hopeful.

"Yes?" Djema responded wearily, not noticing her tone, and just barely managing to remember to take his finger off the intercom switch.

"The second squadron also reads as Thunderhead."

 

tock

"Repeat that, Eight."

"I said, Lead, that I'm reading the squadron attacking Nova Wind is us. Minus...looks like seven fighters."

Against a patrol frigate? "Imposters," Warek said, at the same time as Four, Five, Seven, Twelve, and Fifteen. He mashed a switch and opened a channel to the Wind. "Captain Djema, this is Colonel Perek. Need some help?"

There was the briefest imaginable pause, and Djema said, "Is that entirely legal, Colonel?"

"Since your opponents are obviously not Dominion pilots, I'd say yes. We're, uh, aiding the representative of a trading partner by defending them from assault against pirates."

"Sounds legal to me. Also, there's a Salamander shuttle out there. Try not to fire on it; it's being piloted by a Chiss, and he might get snippy."

"Wouldn't want that. See you after the fireworks. Thunderhead Lead out." He switched to squad frequency, tagging the shuttle as friendly and bursting the info to his pilots as he did so. They were smart enough to do it themselves, but it was protocol for all squad members to do it upon receiving pertinent information; this ensured everyone got it.

Almost growling, quite an achievement with his soft voice, he said, "Thunderheads: take them."

 

tick

"Major, this is Captain Djema. The incoming Thunderheads are friendlies; we are sending a burst."

"Copy that," Cell replied, as the approaching red dots turned green on the HUD. As he'd expected, then: their attackers weren't Dominion. But whoever they were, they were only the tip. Pirates and slavers didn't use Star Dragons, and only the richest privateers could afford military grade fighters. Most of them, in keeping with mercenary tradition, preferred the CEC competition.

Someone was, for whatever reason, using mediocre pilots. It wasn't for budget reasons; anyone who could acquire a full squadron's worth of new fighters (he assumed they were new) wasn't lacking for cash. But while elite flyers were cocky, for someone just starting up or struggling to get by, a high-grade starfighter could buy an awful lot of no-questions-asked.

Thunderhead--the real Thunderhead--didn't need the help, but he wanted to see how it ended, wanted to see Tarth properly avenged. And while they didn't need the help, that didn't mean he couldn't be of use.

Recalling the tactics he and Nova Wind had been using, he adapted them. The pilots must have been clueless not to have figured it out by now, never mind that Star Dragons' shielding was strong enough they could completely ignore his shots and hardly notice the difference. Mediocre? Try pitiful, he realized.

Exploiting an opponent's disadvantage so ruthlessly might have been a cheap shot, but in an old noncombat shuttle, it was the only one he could afford.

A stream of fire, just skipping over the edge of one Dragon's shield, caused the pilot to jink to port in a reasonably good imitation of a sideslip loop. The maneuver, however well executed, was ill-thought-out, as it took the ship straight into the sights of two real pilots. Already battle damaged, faced with heavy fire from both sides, it appeared to collapse on itself before shattering outward violently.

Cell, in the midst of twisting away, felt the shuttle tremble as the explosion brought down its weakened shields. He suddenly found himself rolling gently through space, straight forward, and unable to stop his ship. At least he hadn't been under much velocity.

Thunderhead wiped out Dunderhead, as he was starting to think of them, within another minute.

"Lander-1, this is Thunderhead Five. Do you copy?"

"Here, Thunderhead Five. Go ahead."

"Do you require assistance?"

"Engines are out, maneuvering thrusters are out, emergency thrusters are out, I'm spinning into oblivion..." He allowed himself the pretension of pausing before finishing with, "No, I'm fine."

The shuttle trembled slightly and stopped spinning, then oriented towards the Nova Wind. "Never spoken with a Chiss like you before," Five said. He could see Five's Dragon ahead and above him, the faint light from its tractor beam oriented on his shuttle.

"How many have you spoken to?" He knew that Chiss left the Ascendancy and traveled out through the Dominion and Imperium in the centuries since the Century of Wars, but he suspected they were still fairly few in number.

There was a pause on the other end. "One, I think."

He snorted, "You think?"

"Hey, I was young. I can't even remember if I was talking yet." As if with embarrassment, she mumbled, "And he might have been a Duros."

He let himself laugh at that. She sounded so discomfited. "You must have been young, to mistake a Duros for a Chiss. Can you remember a nose?"

"Yes."

"Definitely a Chiss, then. If we have a flaw, it is that we tend towards overlarge proboscises."

"Ah, right. He had a prow that belonged on a battlecruiser."

Cell smiled...but suddenly wasn't in the mood for banter. With nothing else to do, he stumped back in the couch. At least there wasn't family to notify. He'd never have to deal with that.

It was small comfort.

 

tock

"Five, after you hand off the shuttle to the Wind's tractor crew, follow it in and land. You and I have a date with the captain."

"Jay-Jay's gonna be so jealous, Lead." Jer'na Jer'na, Thunderhead Seven and a Zeltron, had actually looked into Djema when she found out he was Hapan. After seeing some holos and listening to his voice, she'd pronounced him "delicious". Rahne considered telling him so, decided the meeting was likely not going to be a social call. If there was a victory party they were invited to afterward, though...

Lead's ship was already in the hangar, beside where the battered old shuttle was being set down. She thought she recognized the class of shuttle, though it wouldn't come to her. She pulled off her helmet, bid her Dragon's AI farewell, and clambered out.

Something tugged at the edges of her mind, refusing to let go. It wasn't the type of shuttle, but it had to do with the shuttle, and the Nova Wind, and the Chiss pilot of Lander-1. She had good instincts, but the answer just wouldn't come. Frustrated, she relaxed, letting the adrenaline from the battle drain away, letting memories of Jaina's Starships entire her mind...

It came to her as the shuttle's side ramp lowered and a tower of a Chiss stalked down. He was over two meters, wearing black armor over a deep red bodysuit. His mass was hard to tell with the armor, but she'd wager he pushed a hundred fifty kilos, naked and dry. On the armor's "biceps" were markings in blue she recognized as Chiss rank insignia, but she couldn't tell what rank they meant. His hair was kept shorter than military length, and his eyes seemed unusually dim. His nose had been broken at least once in the past, but his face seemed devoid of scars aside from that. It was also, at the moment, devoid of any expression.

"A Salamander?" she asked him brightly. "You're braver than I thought."

"Nice," was the grunted reply. His earlier playfulness was gone completely.

Now that's what I expect from a Chiss. But it wasn't his normal state; he was in pain, she could tell, and it wasn't physical. Another memory from Jaina's tugged at her... "You lost someone out there, didn't you?"

His surly expression gave way to surprise.

"Bloodhounds come with two shuttles," she said.

He didn't respond aside from a curt nod, but his expression softened a little. He stalked from the hangar, silent save for the heavy clank of his boots.

Perek came up behind her. His expression was blank as always, but he sounded like he found the whole thing amusing. "I think that went well."

She glared at him, but admitted to herself it could have been worse. It had seemed like the Chiss had let go of his anger, at least.

"C'mon. Seven's pet is waiting for us."

She laughed, but it was half-hearted. There was more death than the Chiss warrior; Wind had looked so damaged from the outside that she had to have lost no small amount of crew. It was a win, but only so far as the majority of them had survived.

Rahne had a feeling things were going to get worse. She'd learned to trust her feelings.

 

There's maybe three more parts, and then I'm done with Act I, and I have most of it written. I just need to fill in the details.

And then I get my own thread.

 

Title: The Morning After 3
Author: JediAelinwen
Characters: Kyp, Jaina, Jag, Tahiri, Jacen and Danni
Timeframe: Post-NJO
Summary: A familiar scenario...

"From the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent," Tahiri thought wryly.

When Danni and Jacen had asked her to go out to the club with a ?group? of friends she should had known that Jacen would have, of course, invited his sister and thus Him. She desperately wanted to slam her head against the table where they were sitting at her own idiocy.

At the small round table Kyp sat on Tahiri?s right, Jaina her left and Him to Jaina?s left; with two empty seats between Him and Kyp.

Tahiri had the rather strong urge to get extremely drunk to try to numb herself to the chaos of feelings in her. However her desire not to spill anything about that night - and to not have a repeat of that night to add on to her already rather high mountain of guilt - had kept her nursing one drink for the last hour and a half.

The others at the table seemed to be limiting their alcoholic beverage intake as well. Kyp, whom had a reputation of being able to keep up with Han Solo when it came to alcohol, was only halfway done with his second; Jaina, with the high Solo tolerance for alcohol, was only just starting her second; and He wasn?t even halfway done with his first.

Jacen and Danni had left the table to dance; Tahiri would have normally eagerly headed for the dance floor, most likely dragging companions along with her. Right now she was just trying to get through the evening.

When Jaina and He had arrived Tahiri had only just kept her reaction in check; she had wanted to be as far from both of them as possible at the small table, but she, Kyp, Jacen and Danni were already there in their seats and the only ones available were between Danni and Tahiri. He had pulled out the chair next to Tahiri for Jaina and then taken the one next to Danni. Tahiri hadn?t been able to look at Jaina all night.

There was loud music mixed with almost shouted conversation, the clinking of drink glasses and the scuffle of feet and chairs filling the air of the club. By any standard it was noisy.

Tahiri felt like their table was in a sort of soundproof bubble. Not a word had been spoken since Jacen and Danni had gone to dance and none of them seemed to notice the noise around them.

She kept discreetly glancing at her wrist chrono trying to gage the soonest she could leave without being rude or bugged to stay. Time was moving as slow as a Hutt. At this point she wouldn?t be able to leave for another hour at least.

This was the longest night of her life.

~8~

?Please tell me I?m not the only one getting the feeling that they are all hiding something,? Danni muttered into her boyfriend?s ear as they danced.

?I was about to ask the same thing.? Jacen?s eyes flicked over to his sister and friends.

Danni looked at the four over his shoulder as the slowly turned. ?Whatever it is they are each hiding it feels like it is all connected somehow.?

Jacen nodded. ?And it has something to do with the party.?

Danni watched the group at the table. ?They aren?t talking to ? heck, they aren?t even looking at - each other. Not even Jaina and Tahiri.?

Jacen frowned slightly as he turned toward the table seeing that his girlfriend was right. ?What in Hoth happened??

Danni shook her head. ?I dunno, but something has to give.?

Jacen nodded. ?Whatever it is they all seem to want to burst but something is holding them back.? He watched them again. ?They can?t go on like this.?

~8~

Jaina felt a headache building behind her eyes ? and it wasn?t from the alcohol.

She had had a lingering headache ever since that night and now it was culminating into one of nightmare proportions.

She slowly turned her glass in front of her on the table.

She would never have imagined that her brother would have invited Him tonight. They got along better now, the war had helped form stronger bonds between the Jedi and the tw

 

Author: Vongchild
Title: Sizzle
Characters: Anakin Solo and Tahiri


Don't remember which week this is.

---

[b]Sizzle[/b]
The energy from their weapons sizzled between them and, as their eyes
met from across the room, they both knew that this was most certainly
the end to what could have been a beautiful friendship. Whatever play-nice potential that ever existed evaporated into bitter rivalry, and both apprentices knew it. Their masters sat by the score recorder sipping tea and seemingly unaware of the situation that was quickly bubbling up.

?Bring it on, Blondie!? teased the male apprentice, a tall young boy of 11 who bore the unfortunate name of a late Sith lord.

The girl apprentice, short, blonde, and barefoot, scowled at him, speechless. After a moment?s pause, she blurted out the only appropriate insult she could find.

?Dummy!?

?Play nice!? one of the masters called with a chuckle.

?Begin!? called the other.

The clock started and the two students lunged at each other, practice sabers blazing. Rather than either receiving a stinging first blow, they met halfway across the arena, arms shaking with reverberations from the impact. Both retreated to plan another strike. The boy made the next move, whirling at the girl. For a moment, it appeared that he possessed the upper hand, but then the girl danced away. Although he was bigger and stronger, she was fast and light.

For the first few minutes of the match, they maintained the grace that was expected of older padawans. After that, however, they digressed into clumsy, ill-planned moves. Neither scored off the other, and the seconds ticked down.

?Stand down,? one of the masters called.

They retreated to their corners, panting and exhausted. Neither of them was victorious. In fact, neither had come even close.

Anakin Solo and Tahiri Veila grinned across the room at each other. Each was fairly certain they had met their match.
[b]fin[/b]

 

On your first official assignment completed, Vongy! This little vig made me grin as only barefoot Tahiri can. Wonderful visuals.

 

Welcome to the challenge Vongchild.

Very nice. I think your entry was the first A/T pairing for that particular sentence. And you worked it out to suit them perfectly.

?Bring it on, Blondie!?

I can see Anakin saying that.

Of course I also see her rolling her eyes at him.

Anakin Solo and Tahiri Veila grinned across the room at each other. Each was fairly certain they had met their match.

In more ways than one.

 

Title: Lost And Found
Author: leiamoody
Characters: Meaithe (an OC from my alternate universe)
Timeframe: Sometime after ROTJ
Summary: One never knows what they will find hidden in the library...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The irony of this well-known and heavily populated planet being the one to hide such a deep secret had not escaped her.

When she came across the dusty black carrying case hidden among a pile of data discs and an incongrousuly placed green velvoid length of cloth, Meaithe did not know what to make of the object.

That is, until its Force presence overwhelmed her like a supernova.

The moment her fingers touched the thick plastene covering, a sharp jolt of pure light flashed in her mind, and her arm tingled with a strong vibration as if stunned by a shock of concentrated life energy.

This box held something that once belonged to the Jedi.

She was stunned for a moment...and then she laughed.

"Whatever this might be, it's wonderful."

Wonderful indeed...that some sacred relic should be here on this world, when the Empire was surely about to be removed. Victory over the oppressors and murderers of her Force kindred, both Jedi and those untrained but born with the instinct.

"The Dark Side could not hold us possessed forever," she whispered.

She had to know what this mysterious treasure was...

Meaithe picked up the stack of discs and moved them to the second shelf. Then she pushed back the hideous length of green cloth, then grasped the small box at its edge and lifted it from the shelf.

It was light...the kind of case used to hold items when traveling. There wasn't a lock to be found on the case, not even a hint of the traditional black wax sealant used by the Jedi for their diplomatic pouches. There was only the standard lock to be found. It definitely wasn't new by any means, not only because of the amount of dust on the surface, but also its style indicated the age. It was at least twenty years old, one of the typically mass-produced containers used by various business types during the latter years of the Clone Wars. An unlikely vessel for something so important...but that would be the best place to hide something of this magnitude.

Meaithe placed the case on the desk behind her. She traced her index finger over the edge in front. What could be in the case? What was so important that it was brought here to Aeithera? And who had brought it to a university planet and thought to hide it in the deepest part of a city library?

The feeling of purity emanating through the cheap plastene caused her fingers to hum. She wished for a moment that the gift of seeing through solid objects was one that she possessed. But that wasn?t her ability, and she would never have such a capacity until she happened to come across someone to train her in the Jedi arts. There was no point in wanting a power that would not be in her arsenal anytime soon.

It was time to quit stalling, and open the bloody case.

She bent down, and found the latch, a small silvery thing that almost looked new. Then she pressed on it with her thumb.

The top of the case flew open with a crack, which caused Meaithe to back away for a second.

Now that it was open...was she really prepared for what might be inside? A lost Jedi artifact, to be sure. Not something one generally found during the course of an average work day.

The words Aduman had said during her last visit to the City drifted up into her thoughts...?When the moment happens, you must not ignore it. This moment will change the course of not only your life, but also those of your friends and, perhaps in time, it shall also lead to the return of the Jedi back into the galaxy.?

At the time, she had thought her afterlife Jedi Master guide had finally lost all strands of connection to reality. It wasn?t unheard of in the Netherworld for those in the helping class to forsake their sanity...she remembered what it was like from her time in a similar position.

But this was dif

 

Loved it leiamoody.

I find it so amazing with this challenge that the participants take these sentences into a totally different direction than we have in mind when we write them.

Meaithe has certainly stumbled onto something here. I was on the edge of my seat waiting for her to open it.

It was time to quit stalling, and open the bloody case.

Took the words right out of my mouth.

There was a book. An actual physical object from the distant past, with pages bound together by a faded brown Bantha hide cover. Books had not been used by most intelligent beings for millenia. Ever since the invention of digital media storage devices, there simply had been no need for holding things of importance on pieces of paper bound into thick volumes.

So this book must truly be ancient. From the very first days of the Jedi Order...no, further back than even that far distant time. This book must be from one of the lost groups of philosophers and monks who once long ago studied the mysteries of the universe, codifing and quantifying their earliest discoveries of that flowing essence binding and surrounding the galaxy together. Eventually, they made contact with each other, and gathered on Tython for the legendary Conclave of Nekyia to meet and match their findings. And there came a time when they called it one name, that which would reach down through the ages to the present day. ?The Force?.

What a wonderful find. I'm hoping that there will be more to this. I'd really like to see what Meaithe will do with this treasure.

Oh and btw, your signature cracks me up. From what I just read, your 2007 is going to be a great writing year.

 

Thanks.

Oh, most definitely. What she's found is one of ten books (there's quite a backstory to this) written back in the early prehistory of the Jedi. That, I would say, is a little bit significant.

That's kind of you to say, but I'm not sure it's going to happen that way. At least, not here at TFN. I can't do the popularity contests very well. But I'll still definitely post responses for the First Sentence challenges when a good idea comes to me.