Saga Galactic Tales Series - Short Stories Around the Galaxy! (Not AU)

The following vignettes were entries into the Star Wars Galaxies, "Galactic Tales Competition," a weekly writing competition where the contestants were required to submit a 500 word story about a chosen subject. Later on in the series, this word limit was upped to 1000. Most of these stories feature characters that can be seen in the story Out of the Shadows on these forums. I have enjoyed taking a brief look at these characters outside of the narrative constructs of that story.

I hope you enjoy:

The topic of this week's competition was - Jungles of Yavin IV.


Tales From the Jungle

The Price of Victory


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Large leathery fingers slowly churned through the rich loamy soil of a jungle clearing. The leaf strewn floor of the forest was dappled as the canopy above parted to allow diffused shafts of rare sunlight into the depths of the forest.

Ieheeloonea Gaivee methodically reached into the pack on his hip, pulling forth two lavender bulbs. His stereophonic voice cut through the damp air as he chanted the ancient Ithorian funeral rites, gently kneading and folding the velvety bulbs into the dark earth.

His double voices sang in somber harmony, joining effortlessly with the native sounds of the jungle. When his song was finished, he paused for a long while, feeling the sunlight bathe his mahogany skin and the last remnants of the steamy jungle mist swirling around him.

Finally, he straightened, and his large heavily-lashed eyes glistened darkly as they took in the pile of still steaming wreckage in front of him. The twisted metal of the scrapheap still had the unmistakable shape of an Imperial TIE fighter, along with large, disjointed slabs of metal that he could only assume had once been a part of the monstrous Death Star, the dreaded space station that had threatened Yavin IV only weeks prior.

Though, unlike many of his race, he had a natural curiosity about mechanical technology, the Ithorian officer could not help but see the Empire?s super-weapon as an abominable parody of a world. Looking around, he felt the life-energy of the jungle flowing through him, and the similarities with his homeland of Ithor were impossible to deny.

The wreckage before him, however, represented the taint of vanity, and the arrogance of humanity. They had created a world with the sole purpose to destroy. It ran afoul of everything the Ithorian had ever believed.

And it reaffirmed the decision he had made long ago, to eschew the uncompromising passivity of his race, and to join a seemingly hopeless cause, leading him into direct conflict with the Empire. His mind raced back to that fateful day above Ithor, when a younger Ieheeloonea, an officer in the small Ithorian Defense Force, had witnessed the Imperial Star Destroyer Conquest annihilate the sentient forest of Cathor Hills in order to intimidate his people.

It was at that moment that the young Ithorian realized that, though it conflicted with the ideals he held as sacrosanct, there were some things worth fighting for.

In his time with the Alliance, he had met many others who had been pressed by circumstance into roles they were seemingly unsuited for. Theirs was an army of teachers, scientists, and artists as much as soldiers, but the brutality and ubiquitous threat of the Empire had made them all brothers and sisters in arms.

Ieheeloonea looked down at the incongruous cairn of his friend Dr?uun Unnh. The little Sullustan was buried under the steaming wreckage of their greatest victory. As a tear unabashedly traversed his sinuous face, Ieheeloonea couldn?t help wonder how much it would cost them all...to overcome.

 

You managed to put so much into so few words! Bravo!

 

Disclaimer: Both the protagonist and setting in this vignette were created by Kevin J. Anderson in The Illustrated Star Wars Universe. I borrow them here in an attempt to illustrate the final moments of Dr'uun Unnh's life.

The topic for the competition this week was - Massassi Temple

Echoes of the Night

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The little Sullustan chattered excitedly to himself as he peered through the vegetation at his latest discovery. Unlike the many other temples he had cataloged in his time on the jungle moon, this temple stood tall and black, seemingly undamaged by the ravages of time.

He had found this moon for the Alliance, and though it fit all the criteria for a hidden Rebel base, it was the complicated ecosystem and ancient temples that appealed to the naturalist and archeologist turned scout, Dr'uun Unnh, and he had spent every waking moment since they arrived exploring the region. This temple was the most interesting one he had yet discovered.

It stood proudly in the center of a crystal clear and eerily still lake, the mirror-like sheen of the water reflecting a perfectly inverted image of the temple and the massive orange sphere of the gas giant planet in the sky above.

Below the diamond clear waters of the lake, columns of rock rose just inches from the glassy surface, standing as submerged stepping stones. As Dr'uun Unnh stepped tentatively out from the shore, his face split into a joyous grin. He imagined the ancient culture that created this temple watching with awe as their high priests seemingly walked across the water to their holy site.

As he approached the great temple, the Sullustan noted that the walls seemed to be made from polished obsidian. Sparkling corsuca jewels, expelled from the high pressure core of the gas giant above, were embedded within its glossy surface. Intricate etchings in a language Dr'uun had never before seen adorned the entire structure, deftly cut into the volcanic glass.

Looking up, he noticed in the split apex of the pyramid, a colossal polished black statue of a dark man with flowing hair. The massive form gazed out ominously across the lake, as if judging his domain from horizon to horizon.

Dr'uun Unnh began taking readings of his findings, scanning the strange writing into his datapad while rapidly dictating notes. So enraptured by the site was he, that he failed to notice, either in the blue skies, or reflected in the crystal lake below, the form of a small metallic moon creeping around the deep red horizon of Yavin in the sky above.

Eager to get back to base to analyze his findings, the little Sullustan ran back to his speeder bike, hopped on, and sped back through the thick undergrowth towards home. Even over the whine of the bike's engines, his sensitive ears pricked at a booming sound. Killing the engines, he looked up, and his beady black eyes widened at the sight of a flaming comet of metallic wreckage crashing through the canopy.

A flicker of sadness registered in that brief moment. Dr'uun realized that the dark temple had protected its secrets. As his world went black in a crash of flame, the dark statue back at the pinnacle of the temple seemed to smile with dark satisfaction.

 

The topic of this week's competition was - Pirates! Arrrgh!

Tales of the Pirates

Viper's Nest

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A brilliant bolt of interstellar lightning shot across the bow of the Nebulon B frigate, illuminating it in purples and blues. The sharp prow of the great ship sliced effortlessly through the glowing plasma of the nebula like an ancient sailing vessel on the open seas of countless worlds. On the bridge of the frigate, several forms sat in silence, bathed in the eerie blue light of the nebula rolling gently beyond the large viewports. On a raised dais, looking out over several command stations, sat the lithe form of the Twi'lek captain, Feye Gahst.

Her sharp but melodious voice cut the silence of the darkened bridge, "Time beyond estimated reversion commander?"

A dark form turned away from a console, the blue light from his terminal silhouetting him. "Plus twelve minutes Captain."

She flipped open a pocket chonometer, a "gift" from one of her former masters, one she had taken great pleasure in liberating, nearly as much pleasure as she had taken from "liberating" him from the stress of living. Sparing only a scant second to chuckle to herself, she returned her attention to the moment.

Where are they? She thought, growing slightly concerned.

As if sensing her distress, the large form at her feet stirred and emitted a feral growl. Absently, Feye lowered a hand, idly petting the dark-maned head of a fierce desert anooba. The fearsomely tusked Tatooine predator purred and leaned against her command chair.

She closed and pocketed the chrono and turned her chair around to face a dimly glowing plotting table behind the command station. A horribly scarred Ithorian bridge officer used a laser pointer to illustrate a dashed line on the three dimensional holographic map rendered above the table. Noticing her attention, he said in a gravelly stereophonic voice, "Two more standard minutes and we will be out of intercept range. It's possible they plotted a course taking them past the Point and into the Perian rout."

The captain looked at the giant asteroid indicated on the holo board, a big hunk of interstellar ore, so useless to miners that its name was simply, U7435-1a, but to smugglers (and petty Imperial officers behind on their patrol schedules) it was commonly known as Anchor Point, a large gravity well in the middle of deep space. Skilled astrogation navigators could plot a course close enough to the asteroid that it yanked them out of hyperspace. They could then slingshot around the rock with sublight drives and break free of the gravity well, jump to hyperspace, and effectively shave hours off of the traditional trade rout along the much-used Perian way.

Many Imperial officers copied this technique from the smugglers they so openly despised, as it was an effective way to meet quotas faster than expected, gaining attention (and promotion) quickly. Some Imperial officers went as far as to call the course, "Ambition's Gambit."

Feye had worked with enough Imperials to understand the way they thought. Ambition was a strength, but when it was not tempered by responsibility or reason, it was clearly an exploitable weakness. And Feye Gahst was all about exploiting weaknesses. The captain she was stalking was an ambitious man, one who would do anything to get out of the pedantic duty of escorting supplies to backwater outposts. She would find him.

Feye smiled fiercely at the Ithorian and said calmly, "Oh, they'll be along shortly, Neyro."

Before he could respond, three tones emanated from the proximity sensors, and the once quiet bridge came to life.

A human at the main sensor station yelled, "Contact! Three-one-four mark two-six. Two Carrack Cruisers and four medium Barloz-class freighters." He turned to look at her with a boyish smile on his face, "That's our convoy Captain!"

Captain Gahst spun around in her command chair and issued orders to her already busy bridge crew, "Come about to one-seven-four

 

These are great! Could you PM when you update this thread?

 

Of course! I am glad you enjoy them.

 

The topic of the competition this entry was submitted for was...Spies

Tales of the Spy

The following two stories are segments of "A Spy's Tale", a collection of stories featuring that irrepressible rogue, Ulin'dran Dree. The entire series recounts the exploits of the smuggler, spy, and reluctant Rebel in the years immediately prior to Episode IV. Hope you enjoy them.


To Heir is Human

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Long immaculately taloned fingers delicately plucked an appetizer off of a passing platter. Amid light laughter and revelry, the delicacy was flirtatiously fed to a dark-eyed young human woman.

?Oh Baron,? breathed the raven-haired woman, ?You do know how to flatter a lady.?

Taking one graceful step backwards, a young Twi?lek male, richly attired in clothes at the height of Liannan fashion, bowed deeply, his piercing amber eyes meeting with the young woman?s as he replied, ?Flattery only comes easily when it is but a matter of simple truth.? A quick swish of his deep blue and white lekku accompanied a roguish wink as he straightened before her.

The delighted young woman impulsively grasped the Twi?lek?s hand and pulled him along through the large, crowded ballroom, unconcerned by the disapproving glares of several guests, all of them human.

As he was pulled through the crowd, Ulin?dran Dree was well aware of the animosity his flirtation had engendered, but found it to be a calculated risk when he looked to the exuberant woman guiding him towards an ornately carved alabaster staircase in the distance. Soon, he would have his reward for braving the rigidly stratified Liannan society.

When he had arrived at the exclusive party some time earlier, he had not been surprised to find that the only beings in attendance who were clearly not human were the servants and various attendants of the scions of Liannan nobility mingling in the vast room.

Though the doormen at the exclusive penthouse manor had questioned him with their eyes, one look at his carefully prepared identification had verified his identity as Baron So?Pal of the Pelagia province, ambassador from the Tapani sector, and more importantly, a heavy investor in Sienar Technologies, based, conveniently, here on the city-planet of Lianna.

So, with a flashing smile and a suave grace that belied no self-consciousness, the Twi?lek strode confidently into the foyer, shrugged off a fine midnight blue overcoat, and left the attendants contemplating how unusual and unsettling it was for an obvious alien to rise to such heights.

Of course, to Ulin?Dran Dree, the son of a minor Coruscanti courtesan and a tramp-freighter-piloting, small-time smuggler, the irony was quite amusing.

In but an hour?s time, the smooth-talking con had won the affections of Lady Miri Santhe, heiress to the Sienar fortune and grand-daughter of Lady Valles Santhe, the administrator of the massive militarily contracted company. In but a moment, he would have access to the manor?s more private accommodations?and computer systems.

As they approached the spectacular stairway however, a large man stepped out in front of them, bringing the couple to a stumbling halt. The man stood tall and straight, with close-clipped grey-blond hair and a severely trimmed mustache. He wore the unmistakable gray and black of an Imperial dress uniform.

Miri Santhe giggled and placed a delicate hand on the man?s barrel chest, saying lightly, ?Oh Rodin, you startled me.? She looked to Ulin?Dran, ?He?s always turning up in the oddest places.?

Ulin?Dran, noting the man?s glare firmly on him, said softly, ?I'm sure he does.?

Not looking at Miri, the Imperial officer said in the clipped tones of the Coruscanti elite, ?Lady Santhe, I believe your mother warned you against cavorting with the?help.?

Ulin?Dran smirked at the tone of the last word, noting the big man?s steely eyes traveling over him appraisingly, making it obvious where the Twi?lek ranked in his estimation.

If Miri noticed the insul

 

Two for One

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Iridescent blue waves of hyperspace undulated past the panoramic viewports of the Imperial Star Destroyer Obliterator. Standing on the command catwalk, eyes burning with intensity as they gazed into the blue void, Captain Teral eagerly anticipated the inevitable conclusion of their hunt.

Their target was cornered, fleeing from the steel hand of justice. Working with the treacherous Durga the Hutt, Teral had sprung a perfect trap on his nemesis. There was only one place he could run, and Teral's command ship would get there fast enough to prevent a second jump.

As a warning tone sounded from the navigation station, Teral closed his fist triumphantly. There would be no escape this time.

A voice below called out, "Standby for reversion."

The blue void broke apart like waves on a dark shore. Captain Teral immediately noticed the ponderously floating field of asteroids littering this dark corner of space. They had arrived at Polis Massa, and before them, moving with futile speed, their quarry. The elusive Quantum Storm, burned towards the hazardous terrain.

The wily Twi'lek had avoided justice for too long. It was time to end this chase once and for all.

A confident voice rang from the communications pit, "Sir, Captain Dree wishes to speak."

While he was initially inclined to ignore the fast-talking smuggler he had chased from one end of the galaxy to the other, Captain Teral found himself unable to resist witnessing the desperation of his prey.

He chuckled menacingly. "Put it on screen"

"Yes sir!" the young officer replied as he dutifully turned to his control panel.

Moments later the form of a stylishly dressed, midnight blue-skinned Twi'lek materialized over the central viewport. With a maddening shrug and a brilliant smile, the Twi'lek said easily, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to talk about this, Teral?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Dree. You're trapped like the sludge rat you are. Surrender now and we may spare your crew."

Chuckling, Ulin'dran replied, "We've all seen ?Imperial justice' first hand over here Teral. You'll forgive us if we'd rather take our chances with the rocks."

"You can't hide forever, Dree. They'll tear you apart long before they even scratch our paint," the captain said flatly. "You have nowhere to run. Don't do this the hard way."

Captain Teral did his best to sound pleasant, but the hard edge to his voice was unmistakable. He rather hoped the smuggler would do things the hard way.

The Twi'lek's image on the holoscreen wavered as the modified freighter slipped deeper into the asteroid field. Through the static, Ulin'dran said smugly. "I'm disappointed Teral. After all your many humiliations, I expected your betters would send a proper fleet officer out here, not some illegitimate, rimrunning monkey-lizard like yourself.

Slamming his fist down on the command console, Teral cut off communication and barked to his helmsman, "Take her in!"

"But sir, the astero..."

"Are of no concern to me!" Teral barked. With a glare, the captain growled, "There's a gap in the field there." He pointed beyond the viewports. "We can get close enough to blast through his cover." Standard procedure called for the deployment of mine-laden TIE Bombers, but the Twi'lek spy had slipped through too many traps for Teral to 'go by the book.'

"I want to personally crush this vermin." A feral smile played across the captain's face as the massive ship moved forward.



* * * * * * * * * * * *



Ulin'dran Dree watched calmly from the small command pod of the Storm as the Obliterator inched closer. He glanced at his communication's officer, a young Kuati woman named Falla K'sar. Noticing his silent query, she quickly replied, "Warning transmissions from the automated beacons are jammed."

Nodding, he glanced at his chrono. Just a few more seconds...

"There!" he shouted, and with a flash of pseudo motion, the unmistak

 

I love two-for-one deals! These were great. Your work is very, very impressive. Your OCs are beautifully crafted and complex. Lovely!


Miri Santhe giggled and placed a delicate hand on the man?s barrel chest, saying lightly, ?Oh Rodin, you startled me.? She looked to Ulin?Dran, ?He?s always turning up in the oddest places.?

Ulin?Dran, noting the man?s glare firmly on him, said softly, ?I'm sure he does.?

Not looking at Miri, the Imperial officer said in the clipped tones of the Coruscanti elite, ?Lady Santhe, I believe your mother warned you against cavorting with the?help.?

Ulin?Dran smirked at the tone of the last word, noting the big man?s steely eyes traveling over him appraisingly, making it obvious where the Twi?lek ranked in his estimation.

If Miri noticed the insult, she chose to ignore it; instead she slapped the man on the arm playfully, saying, ?Rodin, this is no servant! This is Baron So?Pal of Pelagia. He?s visiting all the way from the Tapani sector. Isn?t that wonderful?? She gazed at Ulin?dran, clearly infatuated with what she considered to be exotic.

?Baron,? she breathed, ?This is Lord Rodin Hlian Verpalion, advisor to Lianna?and a real pain in the??

?Pleased to meet you!? Ulin?Dran said quickly, feeling his ire growing under the man?s withering stare. He managed to swallow his pride however, in order to play his role effectively.

As no response seemed forthcoming, he shrugged helplessly and chuckled, looking to Miri, ?I get that a lot at these events Lady Santhe. My father adopted me when I was but an infant. He took me into his family despite the violent savagery of my people.? He turned to look into the Imperial officer?s gray eyes and said solemnly, ?He saved me?much the way that the Emperor strives day and night to save us all.?

Ulin?dran noticed that while Miri nodded enthusiastically at his surprisingly patriotic response, the big man was hardly moved by his words. Still glaring at the Twi?lek, he growled, ?I will be watching you, tail-head.?

 

Thank you. I've had a lot of fun with these, and have a few more on the way.

 

The topic of this week's competition was Naboo.

The Mierdrym Chronicles

These are short chapters from a story chronicling the exploits of Corvalis Mierdrym before he joined the Rebel Alliance.

Fallen Flowers

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The mournful cry of a falumpaset echoed eerily in the swirling fog of a cool morning. As if answering the call, several large forms materialized, cutting through the mist like great sailing ships through gray water. Soundlessly, the ghostly white gualamas, carrying a host of exquisitely dressed courtiers and handmaidens, walked into a damp clearing.

The ivory horns of the gualamas were held high, displaying a carefully trained and bred nobility befitting the royal ?Twirrling? party. As striking as the intricately festooned handmaidens were, mounted regally in their ornate saddles, they paled in comparison to the regal bearing of the Queen of Naboo. Draped in exquisitely cut and layered robes of royal purple, she sat calmly astride the massive guarlara, a great and noble beast, the finest of a herd bred exclusively for royalty.

Almost unseen, slipping in and out of the mist, their escort of traditional royal guardsmen patrolled silently astride their sleek and powerful tusk-cats.

Not so silently, the decidedly non-traditional element of this party made itself known with a clanking of armor and the wet slopping of boots in the damp grass. The white forms of several imperial storm troopers marched around the perimeter of the hunting group, looking like menacing ghosts in the fog.

A tusk cat ridden by a dark-skinned man padded near the massive form of the glossy black guarlara of the queen. Though the two beasts were predator and prey respectively, the breeding and training of the royal beasts tamed their natural instincts. The Queen looked down at the man beside her, not for the first time wishing that training and breeding could do the same for many of her advisors.

The man bowed in his saddle and said silkily, ?A fine morning for a hunt, is it not your highness??

The Queen responded in the calculated ?voice of state? she had developed over the years, ?Yes, Moff Panaka, it is a glorious morning indeed.?

Another man, sitting casually astride his white gualama, trotted up between the Queen and the Moff. Panaka sent the rakishly dressed noble a withering look, while the queen looked down on him with an expression somewhere between annoyance and admiration. The man?s gualama skittered a little, nervous being so close to the tusk-cat, but his rider deftly kept him under control, a feat all the more impressive considering the large, winged, and hooded twirrl perched on his gloved arm.

?Greetings your highness.? He smiled up at the queen, offering a playful wink.

?Greetings Captain Mierdrym? The Queen?s voice was imperious still, but a hint of humanity laced the icy tone. ?It is?agreeable to have you with us on this most important display of our shared tradition?

The captain flashed a gleaming smile. Kylantha hated hunting.

Wincing at the noise of the stormtroopers, the captain looked over to the Moff, ?Must they make such a racket, Panaka? The twirrls will never catch a thing.?

?Moff Panaka.? The older man corrected. He continued, purposefully addressing the Queen, ?I?m afraid the added security was necessary your highness. Reports indicate growing unrest among the Moenian Rebels. We can?t rule out the possibility of violence. So we must be prepared for...?

Captain Mierdyrm interrupted, ?Being prepared is one thing. Allowing Imperial goons to trample over everything we value is quite another. Security becomes irrelevant when it starts to destroy all that we are.?

The Moff glared at the white-clad noble but said calmly, ?What we are? And what are you, Captain? A no account son of a dead off-worlder? You have no place to lecture me about what we are or how to defend it.?

The queen raised her hand bidding them to be silent. H

 

Very nice, very compact set of stories but still good. I especially liked Fallen Flowers, even though it was sad, and Two For One.

A few small things I picked up on, mostly related to formatting. Feel free to disregard at your leisure. On your first story, I have one small suggestion, and that's to change "Ithorian funeral rights," to "Ithorian funeral rites," Otherwise, good work. On Viper's Nest, "Comm, open up a channel on imperial frequencies." might be better worded as Imperial. Same with "Barloz-class" as opposed to "Barloz-class". In Two for One, "Their target was cornered, fleeing from powerful command ship would get there fast enough to prevent a second jump." I think you might be missing a word, like maybe a in there. In Fallen Flowers, I don't the apostrophe is needed in "Greeting?s Captain Mierdrym." Also, "You doubt our honor and our wisdom young Mierdrym. Should it be Prince Mierdyrm then? Should the Firrerreo prince sit astride the guarlara and the throne of Naboo?" (Bold indicates my suggestions). Same with noble Guarlara moved to, guarlara probably shouldn't be capitalized.

Anyway, very nicely done. These were excellent reads.

 

Thank you for your suggestions. Those were all very careless mistakes on my part, and I am glad you caught them. The missing word in Two for One was actually an entire missing sentence. I had tried to delete one word and accidentally deleted the entire line! I am very glad you pointed that one out! I will fix them immediately. Feel free to mention any others you may find!

 

The topic of this week's competition was...narglatch attack!

Escape


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The harsh squawk of a pikobis startled the stately gualama, and he skittered to the side splashing in the murky ankle deep water. Corvalis struggled with the reigns for maybe the hundredth time since entering the marshy swampland beyond the green fields of Theed.

?Easy boy,? he implored, with more confidence than he felt.

The ivory-horned gualama regained his footing and continued a methodical, high-stepping march through the tall reeds of the marsh. Brushing water from his silvery hair and slapping at the annoying bugs that swarmed them both, Corvalis looked around nervously, obviously as out of place in the swamp as his skittish mount.

It had been several hours since the tragic "accident" that had occurred in the royal twirling hunt in the early morning hours. Hours since the young noble had bounded off into the woods, astride his gleaming white steed.

Corvalis had always been a rather impetuous youth. He had thought the act one of noble protest, but now, walking through a fetid swamp, his pristine cloak and ceremonial armor stained by the splashing mud, he realized that he had once again failed to ask the important question, What next?

Shaking his head, he said to his gualama, ?First things first. Back to the estate, and we?ll figure out what path to take. Right boy??

His mount hrumphed in annoyance. Looking around as they walked, Corvalis said, ?Oh, it?s not that bad.? He gazed out to the left where the water deepened, watching the pom-hoppers leap acrobatically across the green water.

?I don?t know, maybe I?ll build a summer home here, huh??

Before he could finish the thought, he noticed his mount tense. Corvalis reflexively reached down to his holstered blaster, but before he could pull the weapon free, the gualama uncoiled in a great bounding leap. Somehow, he managed to stay astride the panicked beast.

A great roar heralded the attack, as something huge swept the rear flank of the gualama. Corvalis yelled out in fear as the sickening feeling of flying side-ways through the air threatened to overwhelm him. Amazingly, time seemed to slow down for him. He freed his feet from the stirrups and propelled his body from the saddle. The gualama fell with a splash, and Corvalis tumbled wildly in the mud.

He groaned, and rolled to his feet in time to see the great narglatch rising from the bloody gualama. He reached down for his blaster, only to find he had lost it in the fall.

The predator let loose a terrifying bellow and crouched menacingly. Corvalis fumbled with the ceremonial hunting saber at his side and managed to free it just as the great beast leaped for him in a flash of violent motion.

He struggled underneath the predator, finally rolling it over, his sword buried to the hilt in its barrel-sized chest. Brushing himself off, he stood, covered in mud and blood in the fetid swamp.

?Okay, maybe no summer house.? He said to no one in particular.

Sighing with exhaustion, he thought, What next?

 

This week's topic was...propaganda!

Using top secret ghostwave transmissions, the Alliance Shadowcast program piggybacks Imperial commercial advertisements via the HoloNet. While this ingenious system allows for orders and communiques to be transmitted right under Imperial noses, it also transmits the official Alliance News Reel:

Shadowcast Newsreel:

?Oh Gorbell, I wish only that we could stay together forever.? The woman clung to the arm of a dashing officer, hiding her face against one of his broad shoulders.

The soldier reached down and lifted her beautiful face, gazed into her tear-rimmed eyes and said, ?My dearest T?lula, you know the deepest secrets of my heart, and to you will it always belong.?

The gallant officer straightened and looked away towards a sky filled with the gleaming multitudes of a departing fleet, high above the Imperial Center skyline. He continued, ?But my life is nothing without the Empire. Truly my heart can never be at home with yours while any peace we may find is so threatened from beyond.?

Looking down again, taking the curvaceous woman in his arms, he whispered, ?My duty calls me to the stars above, but for as long as we are apart, I will always long for the starlight of your midnight eyes.

Brushing a strand of dark hair from her ivory face, he kissed her long and deep, before pulling away. She held onto his hand as he hopped aboard a transport shuttle, fingers reluctantly sliding out of his as the shuttle lifted off.

Standing on the skid of the departing shuttle, he yelled, ?By the glory of the Emperor, I shall return for you in victory!?

With his words, T?lula stood strong, pride drying her tears as her love disappeared into the star-filled sky.

As the image of her striking profile faded to black, the rising triumph of the Imperial Anthem began, though it was soon superseded by the garishly incongruous music of the network?s advertisements.

?Tonight?s broadcast of Triumph of Will is brought to you by Somnaskol Red, the finest synth-ale in the Inner Rim. Somnaskol Red, works?every time.?

While the advertisement seemed to continue, a brief moment of static indicated the transmission of the shadowcast. Superimposed over the muted backdrop of a Somnaskol Red advertisement was a clear image of an attractive human woman. She sat at a nondescript desk with a backdrop that seemed idyllic and peaceful, arboreal, like the fields of Chilastria or lost Alderaan.

In a non-threatening but attention commanding voice, the woman spoke.

?Greetings free people of the Galaxy! This newscast is brought to you by the United Sentients for Free Speech. We have interrupted your regularly scheduled propaganda to bring you important news from the front. The Alliance to Restore the Republic, fighting for freedom throughout the galaxy, has struck a mighty blow in their noble struggle. Striking with conviction and courage, the Alliance forces recently eradicated an illegal Imperial mining operation in the Ottega sector.

This mining operation not only exploited the labor and resources of several peaceful systems, but was attached to an Imperial Navy sector fleet dedicated to the goal of creating more terror weapons like the dreaded Death Star, destroyed by freedom fighters less than one standard year ago. With these weapons, the Empire would no doubt slaughter countless billions as they did on peaceful Alderaan.?

The newscaster paused for effect as she bowed her head in a moment of silent reverence before continuing with renewed vigor.

?In an exclusive interview with the USFS, Alliance Line Admiral, Ieheeloonea Gaviee, stated, ?We will do whatever we can to ensure the free trade of goods and services within the collective domain of the treaty worlds of the Republic.??

An image of a peaceful looking Ithorian in a white Admiral?s tunic flashed on the screen as the newscaster continued, ?Imperial reaction has been muted, but one unnamed lieutenant in the Ottega Sector Moff?s office did state, ?These Rebels have become quite a thorn in the side of our oper

 

Okay, still getting caught up! You update really fast, LOL!

Loving all of these. I can't pic out a favorite. Not yet anyway.

 

lol yes, I have updated these rather fast. I am going to take a little break through the weekend and maybe much of next week, so that should give some a chance to catch up if they are so inclined. I am very happy you are enjoying them! They are fun to write.

 

Love these stories and your OC Corvalis is a real nice character.

 

This story was submitted for the Galactic Tales competition subject "Starfighter Battles" It was created in the form of an in character after action report and is based on a very real encounter in deep space in the game Star Wars Galaxies, a battle that forever cemented my undying admiration for the work horse of the Alliance fleet, the oft-underestimated Y-wing. It is a bit longer than the other galactic tales I have posted, but I hope it is somewhat entertaining:

After Action Report - Flight of the Rustbucket

[image=http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b293/Loonee1/Y-wing/screenShot0758.jpg]



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After Action Report A-217 -Personal Log

Agent CM7

With the fleet putting in for some much needed refurbishment and the the majority of the 13th enjoying some much deserved R&R on Mon Calamari, I decided to take the opportunity do follow up on some research I had undertaken with the help of the Star Tide's extensive astrogation charts and anthropological surveys (few on the ship these days remember it started its career as a luxury liner and a science vessel before the war. It's sometimes hard to remember that we all started as something else...before the war).

During my off duty hours, I had located a planet near Mon Calamari, Munto Codru, where a small colony of Firrerreo were rumored to have settled.

Since the destruction of Firrerre and the start of the war, I have yet to meet, or even hear of another Firrerreo, and though I was never particularly devoted to tradition as a youth, or even that interested in history, the disturbing thought that I may be the only one of my people left in the galaxy has awakened in me a desire to collect and learn all about my homeland that I can, in the hopes of one day rebuilding some small fragment of the beauty that was home.

Munto Codru, luckily enough, is relatively close to Dac (Mon Calamari). But even though it seems like a short hop on the flimsiplast starcharts, it is still a few hours by class 1 hyperspace as the planets are at different distances from the galactic center plane.

So, in order to make the trip, I had hoped to requisition a ship that had a decently fast hyperdrive. The T-65s, and the R-22 prototypes were out of the question, as they were being repaired and upgraded at the Mon Calamari shipyards. The Admiral was kind enough to offer me use of the Manollium Flame for the trip, but unfortunately, he was called away on personal matter himself, and since the executive shuttles of the Star Tide had all been stripped of parts for patch ups of our fighters on our long deployment, I was left with very little choice.

It was Lieutenant Fesevoa who solved my problem. I overheard him speaking in the galley to Matorullk about a ship they and crew chief Razzlemaksolorialis had been working on in their spare time. Apparently Lancer Squadron's old trainer BTL-S3, which had long been considered virtually unflyable, was now up to specs with their efforts, yet they were lamenting the decision by Fleet Command to offload the old ship and send it off to the Rara Avis training squadron. According to Fesevoa, "The old rustbucket still has some fight left in her," an opinion with which the temperamental Wookiee Matorullk seemed to concur.

Sensing a solution to all of our problems, I stepped into the conversation, proposing that I petition for a "stay of execution" for the old fighter to use it on a little scouting trip that might take us near a little planet called Munto Codru.

While both were happy about the turn of events, they insisted that one of them go along on the trip, as they both knew the ship's many idiosyncrasies better than anyone else in the fleet. As Matorullk was too large to comfortably fit in the turret and navigation station, it was decided that Fesevoa would accompany me. Though I was a little reluctant to discuss much of the tr

 

I'm still getting caught up. PLEASE leave me on the PM list!

 

This week's topic was "Journal entry." Since I had just done a journal entry from Corvalis' point of view for the starfighter battle submission, I decided to follow up with an entry from Line Admiral Ieheeloonea Gaivee chronicling his experiences during the same time frame as the previous entry.


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Admiral's Personal Log 37.05.21 06:00 C.R.

Agent BHI-1

After our defense of the Ottega refining operation, the Star Tide was due for a quick berth at the Mon Calamari Shipyards for an intensive repair program. The crew of the Tide, and the rest of the 13th (Including me) were looking forward to a little well deserved R&R as the capable techs repaired battle damage that had, in some cases, been patched together as long ago as the Battle of Fondor.

My personal relief was short-lived however. No sooner had Captain Edgeleriak informed me of the fleet's readiness to jump, than a message from Alliance command was received. It was addressed to me personally.

My father, Feroniloonea, was apparently gravely ill. Though we had our differences (He never agreed with my decision to join the IDF, let alone the Alliance), he had always been the roots of the great tree that was our family. I had to go to him. Since the Tide was scheduled for repairs and the fleet was out of commission for a time, I decided to take some little-used personal leave.

Unfortunately, the Flame's hyperdrive was on the fritz, as I had had little time to properly flush the bio-gel circuitry packs. Because we were still in the Ottega sector, and Ithor was nearby, I decided to requisition one of the Red Nebula Corsairs' modified MandalMotors M3-A Scyk fighters. (I had a lot of stick time in similar fighters during my time with the Ithorian Defense Force). Despite the protesting of Captain Edgeleriak and most of the senior fleet officers, I departed for Ithor as soon as the ship could be prepped.

In a concession to the stifling concerns of Fleet Command, I accepted the escort of the Red Nebula Corsairs. While I appreciate their willingness to make the journey, and do not doubt the sincerity of their concern, I have a feeling that a few of them were looking forward to a little vacation in the resorts of Tafanda Bay, a far cry more luxurious than the Alliance barracks on Mon Calamari. (I overhead Lieutenant Annoth singing the praises of Ithorian rum as he prepped his ship with Faolagan.)

However, the Corsairs deserved every bit of the relaxation and distraction they could find, and they would more than adequately display that on this journey.

Though the distance to Ithor was short astronomically speaking, it was still several hours via hyperspace. (Note to self: Find more time to keep the Flame prepped. These knees are as creaky as a sparspil tree in the wind after being cramped in a cockpit for that long).

Our transit was a little more interesting than expected however, when, almost two hours in, we were unexpectedly pulled into realspace. Apparently, an interdictor mine, set up to disrupt our mining operations in the sector, had been placed along the little used hyperlane. The mine must have been slaved to a hypertransmitter, as moments later, the unmistakable flashes of ships leaving hyperspace dotted the sensor board.

Immediately, the Corsairs moved into a defensive formation, and Faolagan immediately assessed the threat: Several modified TIE Interceptors. Though only a scout party, and most likely not suspecting to find a flight of fighters, they represented a serious threat, and displayed that by immediately moving into attack formation.

Though it had been a long time since I had flown any combat engagements in a fighter, the M3-A responded like a dream. The Corsairs, long-used to such fighters, were not intimidated by the Imperial presence, and deftly countered the Imperial attack.

One after one, the crimson TIEs were vaped under the guns and

 

I'm late getting here. So sorry! But the udpate was wonderful!

It is all too easy sometimes to rationalize death when it is sterilized by the command chair of a great vessel like the Star Tide, and it is tempting to celebrate the death of mortal adversaries, especially after the intensity of a chaotic and dangerous firefight, but to do so is contrary to everything we fight to protect. Aggression and violence are tools sometimes needed to protect the tender seedling of freedom. But when one enjoys employing them too much, they corrupt the seed, and any fruit garnered from it bears the taint of evil and the legacy of failure.

Perhaps my father has feared that all along.

 

Very philosophical and good. I wasn't sure if I'd like a story about an Ithorian officer, but it was well done. A minor suggestion, you might italicize your ship names, but well done otherwise.

 

Thanks. I am glad you enjoyed it. As for your suggestion, this time at least, for good or ill, it was a conscious choice lol. I thought about it, and I certainly do in my story Out of the Shadows, but I guess I felt like...since the two journal entries are done in a basic military text format that those conventions wouldn't really be used. Perhaps its a little too campy, but I was envisioning some scrolling green text on a late 70's era computer screen, a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away lol.

Thanks for the concrit though. You almost always give very helpful advice, especially to someone who tends to move a little too fast like me.

 

The topic for this week was "Pod-racing." Which I found a rather difficult subject to describe in this week's 500 word minimum, so I decided to focus on the preparation of one particularly nasty racer I hope you enjoy.

The Boonta's Eve Classic

[image=http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b293/Loonee1/SES/Sebulba.jpg]

Pugwis slammed a hydrospanner into the twisted metal fairings of the oversized J930 engines of his Dash-3 Podracer. A DUM-5 pit droid issued a startled series of tones as he skittered away from the enraged Dug. Though typical of his surly species, Pugwis had more reason than usual to lash out in rage at all those around him. He had just been defeated soundly in the Vinta Harvest Classic on Malastare, a race he needed to win to pay off a debt to the crime lord Jabba the Hutt of Tatooine. While he should have been thankful that he had walked away from the spectacular crash with his life, in typical fashion, the Dug had set about blaming all those around him for his failure, in particular, his hated rival, the Gran, Malfonic of Malastare.

That three-eyed nerf-herder had defeated Pugwis more times than the Dug cared to remember, and he always made it a point to gloat after the races, reminding Pugwis not only of the Colonial Grans' domination of the indigenous Dugs of Malastare, but also of the fact that Pugwis had never achieved even half the success of his famed grandfather, Sebulba.

Living up to his grandfather's reputation for success and cruelty was a difficult task, and the more Pugwis failed in the former, the more he tried to make up for with the latter. Unfortunately, his sadism could not pay off his debts, and he'd been forced to enter the Boonta's Eve Classic without enough credits or time to hire a proper repair crew or fully refit his battered podracer. He had, however, managed to install a few modifications in order to help him achieve the only goal he held more important than victory - Vengeance.

Gripping the twisted metal with his strong, articulated toes, Pugwis braced himself on his sturdy arms, pulling the fairing into place with a feral growl. Snarling in satisfaction at the feeling of bending the metal to his will, the Dug imagined the expression on the Gran's maddeningly docile face when the hidden vibroblades installed in the fairings sliced through his steelton cables, sending his pod crashing through the starlite flats in a display of beautiful carnage. Chew on that, cuddsucker, he thought menacingly.

After he collected the credits for winning the race, he'd pay off the coruplent slug, Jabba, and return to the flats to rip out the heart of his hated rival as a fitting trophy.

He grabbed a nearby DUM-5 droid and began pulling the limbs from it's mechanical body, hoping the automaton's binary protestations would drown out the little voice inside his head, If you don't win, it will be your heart on Jabba's platter.