Star Wars OPEN Paradoxical Echoes: An Original Trilogy Game (Always Accepting New Players)

IC- Logan Grimnar
Fire Support Base Charlie, Lespawn 1-9

"Captain," Animal said respectfully with hushed tones, still zoning out the Major who kept babbling up at the holo-projector about the post-action reviews, "Any news on casualties, sir? Tech was telling me three guys from Hunter Platoon hit the bucket with sniper fire later in the morning after the first casualty report came out. Anything else we missed from the brilliant blockheads at HQ who don't tell us anything?"


Logan took yet another swig of his liquor, belched and turned his head to Animal.
"I can't tell you much, Master Sergeant, seeing as the arse-heads in the sky seem to think we can figure things out for ourselves..."
Logan turned his head back to the holo-projector as another headache kicked in, he suffered constantly from these headaches and never dealt with them properly.
Oh well. Logan thought to himself, taking another sip from his flask. Can't have everything. His eyelids slowly closed and he slid into sleep.

Bravo

 

IC: Reen G'Spaugh
Bridge, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9

Bridge command was full of busy work, as it should be considering their current deployment. Monitoring the chatter between priority and non-priority channels was mind-numbing at times, but Reen wouldn't become a lazy leader. To cope with the mental downshifting, she would tap into the network and switch back and forth almost in a game to see how much she could track at once. In addition to this, there was always an off chance she could pick up some juicy hearsay from open channels. Along with being the Chief of Communications she was an expert gossip. Knowledge was power and she wouldn't hesitate to exploit any lazy crew-member who happened to spill something onto unsecured lines. The chances of any of this happening however, were slim to none since most of the ships comms had heavy encryptions and personal, unsecured devices were contraband.

"Miss G'Spaugh, please alert our escorts to our change of orbit and instruct them to stay in their orbit positions, providing assistance to the Assault Ship in low orbit." said the Captain as he broke into her thoughts.
"Right away sir." she responded with sharp professionalism.

"Once that is done, Miss Markova & Miss G'Spaugh, have your seconds take over and you may retire for the remainder of your shift. Well deserved break, both of you. Keep your comlinks on, however. We are in a war zone."

Reen gave a paused glance at Markova, signaling that she intended to make good use of the upcoming duty break.

Flipping some switches on her master control panel, she moved her mouth closer to the receiver and began, "Darkest Night bridge command to all escorts: alert ready 2 and mark our coordinates for new orbital position. Hold in orbit and provide the Acclamator with tier one cover. Bridge command out."

She followed the verbal command with a summarized analog message sent via text broadcast in case any one had their audio off or currently disabled. Better to be overly informative than vice versa.

TAG: Bravo galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Natalia Markova
Bridge, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night

"Miss Markova, please take us out of orbit. Position us to the north pole of the blue-and-green moon, bow facing to that Golan II,"

Natalia looked up from her station. She hadn't noticed Captain Totter coming close to her, too wrapped up in her terminal.

"Y…Aye, Aye sir." She spoke using the proper Navy reply for receiving an order, her voice was soft, nearly a whisper but, could still be heard. After that she set right to work on her calculations. In her mind she could see the entire system. Three dimensional thinking, that's what they called it at the Technical School being able to take two dimensional displays, or hard numbers and building a picture of it in your mind. Natalia excelled at that sort of thing, just a quirk of her thoughts.

She could see the fabric of space, bent and giving under the weight of Lepsawn 1-9, and the moons around it. She charted the course trying to maintain as much momentum as possible as they broke from synchronous orbit. Another thing she could see in her mind's eye was the range of the Golan-II it's deadly reach expanded over the north pole of the planet like a translucent red sphere, something for her to avoid.

As she guided the craft along it's path she made sure to keep starboard side of the ship facing the planet's surface, providing gunnery a clear view of anything coming up from the surface or the space station. The thing she did not do was show the enemy the Darkest Night's aft, it was the weakest part, few lasers could be brought to bear and if the engines were damaged that would harm their combat effectiveness. That could not be allowed, she could not let her ship come to harm due to her carelessness.

It wasn't for the thousands of lives that lived aboard the monster of steel that she did this. It was only out of her own need to do everything with unerring accuracy. She was what most people call a perfectionist, wanting to do everything correctly, especially her job.

It would take some time to cover the distance between planet and the moon. Natalia didn't leave her station thought all of it. She couldn't leave it up to someone else, this was her task, she would see it through.

She had already angled their approach just slightly positive in comparison to the equator of the main planet in the system. Up and down mean precious little in the vacuum of space. With artificial gravity she could turn this entire ship upside down and no one would know the difference unless they were looking out the viewports. Then what was up and what was down. Was it the way gravity pulled? Was that on the ship or on a planet?

Such grey areas annoyed Natalia, so everything was positive or negative as compared to the equator of the main planet in the system. It created a flat plain that split the area into positive and negative spaces.

In the hypothetical roll 180 degrees a move towards the south pole of the planet would be a negative move even though it would seem to positive to those on the ship. It was always best to use a constant in the area rather than some point that could move from moment to moment.

Coming closer to the blue-green orb's gravity well Natalia adjusted course angling away for a bit then turning in while maintaining positive elevation. She would use the pull of the moon's gravity to turn the ship and elevate it. Saving energy and momentum with the move and keeping constant acceleration until needing to reverse thrust to hold above the north pole of the unnamed moon, facing the station that held sway over the skies above top of Lepsawn 1-9.

"We are now in position sir," she said quietly. "I stand relieved." She turned to her second and quickly and coldly showed the careful, meticulous, calculations she had done, and the adjustments needed to account for their new location.

As much as the navigation officer wanted to remain at her station she was given a direct order. She learned early on that one disregards those at one's own peril. If she had a good reason to stay at her station she would bring it up. At this moment there was no good reason for her to remain, as well, she could finally hide away in her room and listen, possibly practice her Viol, finally quiet the song playing in her mind.
She turned making her way to her cabin. On the way she gave a look to G'Spaugh she was also relieved for a time and the look she gave meant she was looking forward to her time off.
All Natalia wanted was to go to her cabin and listen to music.

TAG: The Vanguard Bravo

 

IC: Commodore Peter Englewood
Ready Room, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


As the blast door closed from behind him (sealing the bridge from view), Peter unbuttoned the top two buttons of his uniform shirt and, making is way around his desk, crumpled like a sack of potatoes into his office chair.

Releasing a sigh, the Imperial Naval Officer rubbed his forehead until the headache that was forming lessened; he leaned back in the chair & tilted his head backwards to look up at the red Imperial crest & motto, in which he believed in so much. He wondered, if ever so briefly, was it worth it? His loyalty to the Empire was unquestionable. But it seemed that this Rebellion was getting worse. For every rat hole they took out, it seemed ten more emerged over night. It seemed like a losing battle.

All of his education, both militarily & academically, pointed to this Rebellion gaining the political ideology on a large enough scale, coupled with political activism & hard liner militant actions, that made simply erasing this political epidemic a much harder task. The Rebellion had become a host now for other parasitical extremist groups; singular & alone, these extremist militant groups---at times resorting to terrorist actions against civilian targets when military targets didn't send a strong enough message---were easily rallied against even by political groups that didn't condone the Empire's views, but favored less cowardly terrorist actions against civilian population centers. Moreover, the Imperial Navy & Imperial Army easily handled these threats on a militarily level.

But now, even the least favorable of these extremest groups had a banner to fight by, a political imagine that they could use as a shield to direct focus away from their least then honorable actions and point to the greater political goal, the greater good, for their necessary evil against the Empire. The Rebellion provided the imagine & the shield. And while more honorable and traditional military forces assembled under The Rebellion, these larger groups shielded and hid from view the more heinous & evil actions of the extremist militant groups on the edges of even the Rebellion's own tolerance level for such groups.

And now, militant extremist and political hate groups sprung up across the galaxy, all labeling themselves as freedom fighters for the Rebellion. And the Rebellion, desperate for followers & soldiers to fight their wars, tolerated these groups, just as long as they killed Imperials, they would turn a blind eye to their other sins. The question became, when did the Rebellion become the very thing that they so desperately sought to supposedly destroy in the Empire: hate? The very ranks of the Rebellion were becoming full of extremists, criminals, and murderers, quickly on pace to out-number the "good freedom fighters".

Didn't the Rebellion realize that if they won their political coup, that the very extremists, criminals, & murderers that they relied upon to fight their wars would turn out to rot their government & political imagine from the inside-out and collapse their government?

Peter wasn't an idiot. He was a educated man separate from the Empire's political ideals. He didn't believe & march in-step with everything that the Empire stood for politically. But on the flip side of that coin, he wasn't a fool either. Peter had seen the dying, decaying, & politically bloated Galactic Republic towards the end of that government's lifespan & had lived & served under their banner. While not perfect, the Empire provided the better option for peace, stability, & advancement in all fields of the sciences & arts. If those that wanted free hand-outs, those that lacked vision, and those that lacked the strength to do what was better for the galaxy & not just themselves fell behind and "suffered" for their own poor choices & laziness....

Peter was okay with them also being on the working end of a E-11 Blaster Rifle. His brother-in-law was dead, his nephew would grow up without a father, all because people wouldn't accept that the Empire was a better option, a better solution. A few would have to suffer for, as the Empire saw it, the greater good of the galaxy. And it was the Empire's greater good that Peter was aligned with, not trying to revive a failed system of bloated politics that ended with the end of the Clone Wars.

Straightening himself up in his chair, he re-buttoned his uniform up properly and brought his computer out of sleep mode. He brought up the latest information from the post-battle action. With West Squadron deployed just outside the Lepsawn Star System, he knew his rear was protected & he had reserves he could call upon if an enemy fleet appeared out of hyperspace to challenge him. This gave him relative ease and time to plan how to support the Stormtrooper Legion planet-side, the Army detachment on the moon, and that blasted Golan II above the planet's North pole. While Peter knew a direct assault with even half his squadron could easily take out the station, he wanted to A) keep the majority of his squadron in hiding & reserve; B) reduce his own losses; and C) take the station intact if possible.

Suddenly, his stomach growled like a lion.

He had his answer.

He keyed the comm for Jengleheimer Voss to report to his Ready Room. First, with his favorite Corellian dish. Second, with a data-pad to take notes.

Englewood was certain the Master Chef wouldn't mind getting some rust off.


TAG Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Security Chief Cain Shinzon
Main Hanger, ISD Darkest Night, Battle of Lespawn 1-9

There was just the briefest of pauses following Cain's suggested interrogation practice, one that told the Mandalorian that the Military Intelligence Chief didn't approve of his methodology. Typical MI thinking, subtlety and subterfuge as opposed to simple brute force. Those methods would take time, time the troopers down on the planet might not have. Not that he actually cared for them individually, but in order to maintain their fighting strength, and usefulness, to the Empire, they need to prevent their own losses while maximizing those of the enemy. Perhaps she would have responded better to him suggesting simply putting a blaster in the mouth of any prisoner, and a five second count to start talking. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head as he rejected the idea. MI certainly wouldn't approve of that old standby either. Still, before she rejected him outright, there came a placation, one designed to stroke the Mandalorian's ego.

"Chief, as always I appreciate your thoroughness. Your troopers are far more qualified at this sort of work than the Stormtroopers meeting us in the hangar are," Questus said. Cain sneered behind his faceplate as the woman spoke the obvious truth, at least as the Mandalorian saw it, before she continued on. "But this is an intelligence operation, not merely a security one, seeing as your troopers are performing excellently as always. It's best if we leave the threats of physical violence to myself and my interrogators. Wouldn't want the prisoners to wet themselves before I have the security cameras focused on them. Imagine how the hangar chief would fuss at having to clean that up." She smiled in obvious amusement as the Mandalorian let out a short, sharp, guttural laugh. "Besides, if we split them two to a cell without any regard to what pods they come in, we may give them a chance to coordinate their lies, an option I'd like to deny them. Please have the prisoners organized into groups of which pods they arrive in, search them, and deposit them into holding cells, either by those groups or on their own. If someone looks especially skittish, isolate them. Anything the troopers find on the prisoners is to be boxed up and sent to the intel wing to be analyzed."

Cain regarded her. The request had come in the form of an order, an order that she technically was in no position to give. Once again her position outside the chain of command gave him pause, but not for long. Maintaining a cordial working relationship with MI was simply not only in the best interests of the Empire, but also for the Chief of Security for any Star Destroyer. For one as decorated as the Darkest Night, it had become a hallmark of that success. The two departments scratched each others backs, and though Questus had rejected his attempts to take charge of the situation (in a way far more likely to generate results in his opinion than her own) he was willing to play along to further build upon that relationship.

"As you wish," he clicked on the comm link in his buy'ce (helmet) and relayed the proper orders to the security squads detached to this assignment.

The turbolift doors opened, and the pair stepped out into the hangar. No pods had arrived as yet, but the status display on his HUD indicated they were just moments out. Her took a moment to ensure his troopers and the stormtroopers were on the same page and then checked in with control. Several squads had been detached to the surface, though Cain was willing to let them operate under Stormtrooper command for now (much as these stormtroopers in the hanger were under Cain's command at the moment). The mixing and matching of forces tended to wreak havoc on effective command and control, or they would have on lesser vessels than the Darkest Night, which somehow managed to make things work. Cain liked to attribute that to his own combat and soldiering experience which bridged the gap between the soldiers of the Stormtrooper Corp and the troopers of shipboard security. That done he now noted that medical had also been waiting for them in the bay. Were there returning wounded from the surface already? That didn't seem to be the case, or his problem as Questus again began issuing orders.

"If you'd please, direct your troopers and the stormtroopers in their task once the pods arrive. I'll deal with the CMO." Cain nodded his understanding. She had taken charge of the mission, and now Cain was glad for it. "Surgeon-Commander, I was somehow unaware that you'd been ordered to this hangar."

"Really? I find that very hard to believe." Debgate countered, to Cain's amusement. There did indeed seem to be little that escaped the prying eyes of Military Intelligence. She gestured to the magcon. "Some of the survivors could be injured," Cain smiled at that notion, the more injured rebels the better. "...Chief. I'm down here to make sure they don't die on you before you learn something useful." Cain snorted again, as if he cared about the survival of the enemy prisoners. If they died, they died. The Empire could always take more, and if they couldn't, it meant the Rebels were all dead, the Rebel presence here was stamped out and another mission accomplished. "However, I will of course follow your lead on this, Chief. I definitely won't take the MIC."

Questes gave an insincere smile, one Cain was well versed in from his dealings with her over the last several years. "It would be dangerous, I think, to get in between you and the gravely injured," she said, then glanced at the redhead on the other side of Debgate. "Or between you and anyone else, it seems, regardless of their level of injury. My bark and my bite are both fairly terrible, it's true, but we all have the same goal here, do we not? The Empire needs its TIE pilots and its chief medical officers and its chief intelligence officers."

More of the placating remarks from the Military Intelligence chief, though this time directed at the medical staff. "All the same, I'd hate for too many of our medical supplies to be squandered on criminals, especially seeing how far out in the Western Reaches we are."

"I'll second that," Cain interjected.

"But that is your prerogative, after all. Those needing more extensive help can be transferred to the medbays, though I suspect Chief Shinzon will want to post guards on them." Cain grimaced. The MI Chief was right, guarding any captured Rebels taken to the medical facility would further stretch his security detachment. He glanced at the stormtroops awaiting the first pod as it was brought on board, and idea dawning. Yes, they would do nicely for that. "I'll detach the stormtroopers here to guard any hostiles sent to medical facilities, though I'm in agreement with MI, don't waste too much in saving their wretched lives." He glanced at the incoming pod being guided in by the tractor beam. "These are traitors, and ultimately they deserve a traitor's death."**

TAG: Laine_Snowtrekker, Sith-I-5

**Again adapted from The Patriot

 

IC: Jengleheimer Voss ‘aka Jingle’
Imperial Star Destroyer Darkest Night, Messhall 3

*Swish-CLUNK! Swish-CLUNK* The rhythm of his own walking resounded down the corridor as he headed toward his personal Mess. Sending a message ahead had been an easy thing to do with Kitch on the job, but as always serving thousands with dozens was an art as much as a science and he had learned to lean on the supplied droid. His predecessor had taken the bug eyed AP-5 model with him to his new posting and so Jingle had been left with whatever requisition saw fit, the first one he had received had been an AP-5 but, well his mode of operations didn't mesh well with what he had called a bean counter.

The greatest blessing he had was when that fight broke out between those stormtroopers and army regulars while he was passing through the mess hall doing an impromptu rounds to see how people liked the average food aboard ship. He hadn't really done one of those in a couple weeks, but when the AP-5 had been damaged enough that the Empire authorized a replacement droid he had made sure to get something more sturdy that could handle something more than food manifests and comm traffic from the different kitchens and storage areas. After all if a fight broke out having him and his security droid around was a good measure, especially after he began tinkering with the droids specs himself to help Kitch 'loosen up a bit'.

Entering his private domain he set to work at his small cooking units. Quality not quantity was the domain of his personal kitchen. He could still cook for sixty out of this small private facility that doubled as his office and food science lab if he needed to. Which largely just meant dignitaries and command staff from each shift at most, not that he really expected to hosting anyone from the planet they were currently pacifying.

"Glad to see you finally decided to show up. I have half a notion to stick a finger in your souffle for making me deal with Snowwalker." Kitch started in on him as the lanky droid bent to open an oven and remove a souffle.

"Kitch, you shouldn't have!" he jokingly stated as he walked forward to look at the board. Namely a small screen that constantly scrolled any requests from the leading staff members. They could all request whatever they wanted, but that never meant that they would get it. . .unless you were the captain of course. "Kitch did you see this?"

"Yes of course I saw that. I even got the meal started, you've made it often enough. Then again what do I know? My specialty is just strategic analysis. Not like I could cook." Was the droid sulking? Honestly it was hard to tell, but after that fateful rewire a few months after he got this droid he had never known boredom nor silence unless it was performing a task that took focus.

"Alright, talk me through it. Just so I know you didn't poison the Captains meal before I put the finishing touches on it."

"Fine, but just so you know I still haven't figured out why the Captain wants to eat a datapad with his meals."

"What?"

"Item two on request list, favored meal and side of datapad. Honestly you human's have the weirdest taste in companionship." Jingle looked up from his datapad at the droid at that statement as it looked away from a piece of meat that was getting a solid pounding, "What? Oh. Present company excluded of course sir. You're not even human, why would you take offense? Or is this one of those rank things again?"

"No, it's 'one of those' you're tenderizing meat next a souffle that you have caused to go flat again things."

"Oh. I'm sorry Master Chef."

Raising an eyebrow he stepped around the droid to look at the meal and taking a spoon scraped a small taste before heading back to food stores for the needed adjustment ingredients to make it to the captains liking.

"I really am Jingle. Jingle?" Turning back to the counter it poked a finger in the flat souffle.

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

Outside the Captains Ready Room


Carrying the two handled tray with a large serving dome he found himself having to turn slightly hit the door chime button. Walking with a full serving tray had never been a fun job as a chef, but doing so with his bloody leg was always choir to avoid jarring the food too much.

TAG: Bravo

 

IC: Escape Pod Occupants
Hanger Bay, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night


Caper pressed his male human face up against the viewport of the Class-6 Escape Pod, seeing 2 squads of Stormtroopers taking various positions around the pod.

"No," Caper breathed, "I'm not going back to the Spice Mines of Kessel!"

He tuned back around to see his 5 fellow escape pod members and exclaimed, "STORMTROOPERS! We're on an Imperial vessel! I'm not going back to Kessel!" He grabbed his blaster rifle to make his point, gripping the barrel tightly.

Flelex, a male Duros, shook his head as he dropped his blaster pistol to the floor. "Fighting them will just end in your death....and ours. And I for one, tend to live & fight another day."

"You Sithing freedom fighters of this Rebellion!" Caper shot back in anger, "I never signed up to fight with your type! Now we're going to die because of you!"

"And we," fired back a massive Wookiee with a translator device to his throat, "Didn't sign up to fight with criminal scum like you!"

One of the "criminals" stood up just then---a male Twi'lek----figuring for his blaster pistol, "And we didn't ask for you Rebels to help us! This was our world, NOT yours, Rebel scum!"

The other two humans----both criminals----sat back in stunned silence as the four talkers got into a fist fight.

Caper fought bravely, but when everyone paused the fight when they heard taps mechanical taps on the outside of the escape pod, he breathed a final word as he took out a thermal detonator and armed it, "I'm not going back to Kessel."

The Duros looked at him and lunged at him, yelling, "NO!!!!!"

But it was too late as the detonator went off----


TAG all in hanger bay

 

IC: Surgeon-Commander Debgate, Flight Lieutenant Baille Harte, Main Hangar
Location: Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


Levric smiled up to her in response to her verbal parry, and the Shaman wondered if the younger woman recognised the punny acronym "MIC" for "Military Intelligence Chief".
In hindsight, it wasn't remotely amusing, which would explain the insincere vibe that she got off Gwen's expression.

"It would be dangerous, I think, to get in between you and the gravely injured," she said,

Debgate made a noncommittal sound at that. The intelligence officer was late to the party on the matter. Whilst the Surgeon-Commander certainly wanted to be able to heal everything with a heartbeat, she had been in Imperial service for over a decade. Captain Risk had done his best to bring her around to the idea that The Tribunal that she worshipped, were fine with enemies of the Empire not being recipients of her help.

It was a quandary that gnawed at her. Her own conscience, and the declaration that she had signed at Coruscant Med, going against the Tribunal?

She noticed Levric glance past her at Baille Harte. "Or between you and anyone else, it seems, regardless of their level of injury. My bark and my bite are both fairly terrible, it's true, but we all have the same goal here, do we not? The Empire needs its TIE pilots and its chief medical officers and its chief intelligence officers."

She fancied she could see something in the officer's eyes, a sense of loneliness? A tinge of envy that she was not a party to the same level of support as Baille.

Debgate shuffled back a step to make introductions, then in the same stance, retook her position, the maternal instinct to protect the young pilot gaining prominence. Now was not the time to expose her charge to these two heavyweights.

She followed her gaze as the MIC glanced back towards the magcon, and she could see now, the glow of the hangar lights catching something beyond the atmospheric containment field.
"All the same, I'd hate for too many of our medical supplies to be squandered on criminals, especially seeing how far out in the Western Reaches we are."

"I'll second that," The Security Chief chimed.

The Mandalorian looked from Gwen across the bay to the neat rows of armoured stormtroopers awaiting the first pod as it floated inside, a thick line of bright blue caressing the large barrel-like craft as it was pulled slowly through the invisible shield.

Deb was ready to sigh, admit at least overt defeat now that two beings of authority had weighed in on the side of the Tribunal. But then-

"But that is your prerogative, after all. Those needing more extensive help can be transferred to the medbays, though I suspect Chief Shinzon will want to post guards on them."

She gazed in mute surprise down at the back of Levric's head.

"I'll detach the stormtroopers here to guard any hostiles sent to medical facilities, though I'm in agreement with MI, don't waste too much in saving their wretched lives." He glanced at the incoming pod being guided in by the tractor beam, and lowered to the deck. "These are traitors, and ultimately they deserve a traitor's death."

Bang bong

This probably was not the right time and place, but what the heck.

Bang bong

"Chief Levric. Send me a comm when you are next visiting the Mess, and I will join you."

Bang bong

"What in the Original Light are they doing in there?" Baille piped up, unexpectedly.

Debgate glanced sharply back at her, then at the pod, which was rocking, side to side with loud metallic thumps, like it was trying to roll over, only to be thwarted, again and again, like a bound Sand Giant.

Bang bong

One stormtrooper was trying to bend forward to see into the transparisteel gash that served as a viewport on the flat front, but he kept getting clouted across the faceplate and knocked aside by the ridge surrounding the window.

Bang bong

"What're they doing in there?" Was a query being asked by several of the stormtroopers as well, with one of Shinzon's security troopers seeing an opportunity to get one up on them: "When a Mummy and a Daddy, love each other very much-"

"NO!!!!!"

"No?" Deb echoed, staring hard at the mysterious Class 6 escape pod. Hard white shaft of light suddenly shot from the viewport, making the stormtrooper there drop to a knee, gloved hands to his faceplate!

More white light appeared under the pod, an up-ended dome pushing quickly into the hangar deck beneath it, then expanding through the pod's near flank until its spherical brightness consumed the capsule and pushed for the closest troopers.

Debgate shut her eyes, the light pink through her eyelids, and blindly flailed for Baille using the memory of where she had been standing and slapped a hand over her eyes, and another getting hold of the smaller woman and pulling her into a hug, turning to put her back towards what she now knew was a thermal detonator going off.

Moving as two, she blindly tried to insert her bulk between Gwen and the SUPER BRIGHT baradium shield as well, while trusting that the security chief's buy'ce (helmet), would polarise automatically to protect him!

She could hear cries from others in the hangar, but concentrated on holding Baille's head and face close to her, and shielding it from the blast!

Tag: Laine_Snowtrekker, Bardan_Jusik (just in case you can)

 

IC: Gwen Levric
Hangar, Darkest Night

"I'll detach the stormtroopers here to guard any hostiles sent to medical facilities, though I'm in agreement with MI, don't waste too much in saving their wretched lives." Shinzon's helmeted head swiveled toward the incoming pod being guided in by the tractor beam and lowered to the deck. "These are traitors, and ultimately they deserve a traitor's death."

The pod rocked side-to-side. The Sixes were relatively sturdy, stable things--Dav had built a fair number in the shipyards, as they were a fairly common component to most CEC designs. It should not be rocking like that.

Gwen almost did not catch Debgate's next words: "Chief Levric. Send me a comm when you are next visiting the Mess, and I will join you."

An invitation to the mess? What had brought that on? Did the CMO have an angle she was working? Still, it was a pleasant thought, to have company during a meal--it was not an invitation for anything more than company at a meal, it could not be anything more than that. This was the life she'd chosen; she'd known what she was choosing, too. Still, it would not do to rebuff a friendly overture.

"I'll keep that in mind next time I'm in the Mess," Levric said, giving a short nod of agreement.

Yet they were not in the hangar to make lunch plans. The escape pod rocked against the floor again, knocking loudly against the decking. Somewhere in her stomach a bad feeling lurched.

"What in the Original Light are they doing in there?" Harte said.

Levric was also asking herself that question, and whatever the answer was, it wasn't good. The mechanics of the pod didn't allow for such a malfunction, but sentient beings could. Why, though? Her mind flicked through the possibilities. Slight as the list was, none of it boded well. Could there be a disagreement among the pod's passengers? There were likely weapons on board--none would cause a rocking like that, though.

She tapped out commands indicating that any data feeds from the pod needed to be captured.

One of the troopers kept trying to look into the pod but was knocked back each time. The pod rocked, loudly clanging, and the rocking grew worse.

Other troopers began questioning the odd occurrence--some shifted their stance backwards slightly, their weapons still at the ready. A trooper from the security detachment started into a basic anatomy lesson; he was cut off by a loud, strained yell: "NO!!!!!"

From inside the pod? What in the Five Brothers were they doing? This was a situation that needed to be contained, now.

"No?" she heard Deb echo. Levric gazed at the pod. Hard white shaft of light suddenly shot from the viewport, making the stormtrooper there drop to a knee, gloved hands to his faceplate.

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. A thermal detonator. One of the idiots on that pod has a thermal detonator. And set it off. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. A pointless waste.

Technical details regarding such detonators were fairly standard knowledge, among both Imperial military members and among those she'd spent time with during her time undercover on Coruscant. Two types: destruction and incineration. Nasty things, but limited to a basic spherical radius regardless. But this light--the hallmark of an incinerator, the type that turned everything within its ken into ash. It would take out the pod, the decking, the people--anything that sphere came into contact with would be gone. She could already feel the heat being generated by the sphere as harsh light pooled underneath the pod.

Gwen squeezed her eyes shut and took a step backward out of instinct. Intellectually she knew she was already far enough away from the explosion to not be caught in it, sure, but it sure felt closer than was comfortable. Would Shinzon's helmet polarize? They did that, right?

"Back away from the pod," Levric commanded, hoping that the troopers would get back before it enveloped them. That would be on them, whether or not they listened. She could hear boots scrabbling on the decking but didn't know who it belonged to.

Two people smacked into her. Neither wore hard armor, so Debgate and Harte. The CMO was somehow positioned between herself, Harte, and the light. (No wonder Shinzon always wore his armor; he probably expected things like this all the time.) Her eyes watered, even from where she was stationed behind the CMO. (It would be a thing to ponder, later, on why the CMO had done such a thing as step in front of an intelligence officer. It was a surprising thing, but not something of immediate import.)

The glare of the light died down, leaving nothing behind but a scoop out of the decking, wires sparking where no longer connected to anything, and ash gently floating in the area where the pod had been. Fire suppression droids were scurrying across the hangar floor toward the newly created depression.

Levric's thoughts were furious. How many people had been aboard? How many troopers had been caught in the blast? How many lives had been lost? How much information had she lost by losing the prisoners? How many of the other pods had similar idiots aboard them?

Still, Levric kept her composure, though she assumed she now looked a bit disheveled and anyone with a discerning eye would detect the anger. She scrubbed at one of her eyes with the palm of a hand; they'd be fine, thanks to the CMO's quick actions. She wiped her hand on her leg, then grimly looked over to Shinzon. "It's a security matter now, Chief," she said. He'd be able to use his methods now. Wouldn't he be pleased. Unfortunately for the Rebels, these first prisoners had brought a cold, cruel fury upon them. "My suggestion, if you want it, is that the scanners recalibrate for weapons rather than people so we get an idea of what we're expecting with the other pods. If the scanners already were doing so, we need to find out how a thermal detonator made it past those scans. Additionally, if we cannot get good intel from the prisoners to protect our boys on the ground, we'll have to get it another way. What would you like for me to do?"

They could debate about methodology later; right now, the security of the ship was of utmost importance. Whether she was holed up in her office or down on the planet dressed as a local or meeting with the Queen or, really, a combination of any of that, it would be for the safety of the ship. After all, she was one of the beings who lived on it.

TAG: Bardan_Jusik, Sith-I-5, Bravo

 

Laine_Snowtrekker - I love the way that you are settling into this MI role!

Some of my fanfic while Bravo had been gone, steered towards familial, parent and child stuff, and I can clearly seeing it influencing my roleplay here.

 

IC: Major Hardneck
Fire Support Base Charlie; Lepsawn 1-9 (Neglected City)


"Captain," Animal said respectfully with hushed tones, still zoning out the Major who kept babbling up at the holo-projector about the post-action reviews, "Any news on casualties, sir? Tech was telling me three guys from Hunter Platoon hit the bucket with sniper fire later in the morning after the first casualty report came out. Anything else we missed from the brilliant blockheads at HQ who don't tell us anything?"

"I can't tell you much, Master Sergeant, seeing as the arse-heads in the sky seem to think we can figure things out for ourselves..."

Hardneck growled under his breath; finding the nearest throw-able item (a laser pointer), he chucked it right at Captain Griminar!

"CAPTAIN!" barked the Major, "The next time I see you drinking on my time, will be your last time. Do you get me soldier?"

Not waiting for a response, Hardneck grabbed the other laser pointer and addressed the gathered officers & NCOs to the hologram floating above; he circled where Fire Support Base Charlie was at from an live-fed aerial view, then zoomed out further and moved the live photo-imagining North-West to another cluster of buildings, drawing a red line from the Support Base to the new location of buildings. This cluster of buildings seemed more sociable, with streets, stop-signs, trees, small shopping centers, & mostly residential buildings. He drew a circle around it with the laser pointer and zoomed in slightly. Residential homes & apartments dotted the exterior parts of the roughly square-like "site" with commercial, community, and then higher-density residential apartments closer in to the center if the site. The middle of the site was home to a local zoo & several parks.

"This is Residential-Economical Site One or RE-dash-One, one of five total such sites around our Neglected City. This is our new objective and these sites are generally the most populated with civilians. Other units within the Legion will continue cleaning out the outlaying industrial sections of the three Neglected Cities we have chosen to attack upon, as well as the two major sea-ports in which we have yet to capture and continue to have heavy fighting at. But, the Legion will not advance today; instead, the focus will be on securing air superiority in and around next day target areas and our held-defensible areas. The Legion will also focusing on cutting off supplies and other logistical support that connect these three cities. As you can see...."

The hologram zoomed out all the way to show the surface continents from an aerial view just below the clouds, showing the 3 Neglected Cities in question all along or near the coastline of the central continent hugging the bottom Western-Southern part of the globe, with the cities being on the Northern-most inland small "C" natural port.

Then the hologram zoomed back in to it's previous position, which was the most in-land and middle of the 3 cities, "Dark Battalion, however, has been given orders to advance. Unsupported by the rest of the Legion," several of the gathered NCOs & officers grumbled among each other for the moment that Hardneck allowed, then he quieted everyone down by continuing, "We want to draw the enemy in on our one driving attack force. First, we want to lure the enemy into thinking we'll be taking our time; Second, if we can get a driving advance deep into one of the cities with just a Battalion, we hope to demoralize the enemy defenders. We will have artillery support and gunship support from Fire Support Base Charlie.

"Our air support will greatly be dependent on how fast we knock out anti-aircraft assets in our objective zone. While we still have orbital bombardment as an option, the Navy had to re-position most of our fleet assets around the planet for their own upcoming operational goals. As such, we are now sharing orbital bombardment & TIE support with all other Legion requests with a reduced number of Imperial Navy assets to share them with.

"We will be dividing the Battalion up into three Attack Groups and a Reserve Group, with three of the four groups supported by a stormtrooper company, Scout Trooper Platoon, a squad of Snipers, a squad of Imperial Jumptroopers, and a squad of Incinerator Stormtroopers. Our fourth group of just Stormtroopers will act as a reserve element in the rear with the field hospital to support all attack groups as needed.

"Each Attack Group---labeled A, B, and C---will have armor support from a MAAS Force. Each Attack Group will have a AT-AT, two AT-STs, 4 Compact Assault Vehicles, 5 AT-RTs, and 5 74-Z Speeder Bikes. The Reserve Group will have a single AT-AT, 3 AT-PTs, 3 Combat Assault Tanks, 10 AT-RTs, and 5 74-Z Speeder Bikes and sit precisely one klick away from the front-lines. The rest of the MAAS Force will provide earlier listed Artillery Support from Fire Support Base Charlie.

"Group A, you'll attack and attempt to roll up the enemy's left defenses, while Group B will drive up the middle, and Group C will mirror Group A on the right defenses. Artillery support from the Fire Support Base will be limited, so choose your targets wisely. Drive down the enemy's throats at the drum beat of artillery advancing before you and armor cleaning up the heavy stuff. We're meeting in the middle abandoned zoo & parks-area where we expect to find their command post for this entire part of the city.

"If our earlier landings are any indication, know that the enemy is equipped with heavy weapons and ready for a fight.

"Joker Platoon, you have your arse's up in the air. You'll be dropped in by Gunships to take care of anti-aircraft positions, call in air strikes, and naturalize high-value targets that the ground forces can't reach. You'll arse's will be left hanging in the wind if you don't act fast.

"Officially, I'm supposed to tell you to watch your fire with civilians and avoid unnecessary destruction of property, as the Lepsawn Central Administration Planetary Government is an ally of the Galactic Empire.

"We're up in one hour. Get food, rest, & geared up. Dismissed!"


TAG Master Vo'Un'Var , any others

 

OOG: I will be getting to the escape pod tags later this week; I want to give Bardan_Jusik time to respond first.

Mitth_Fisto , I will be getting to your tag (hopefully) tonight or tomorrow.

I'm on a one hour count down before I have to the family to see the grandparents, so I'm pumping out a quick post for story-filling purposes. My wife's mother couldn't make the trip to the hospital to see her granddaughter due to failing health, so we're having to pack up & drive out there. Then be back in time so I can return to work tomorrow (oh so much fun).

---

IC: DW-418128 (Business)
Fire Support Base Charlie; Lepsawn 1-9 (Neglected City)


"Come on Business," Tech said, looking back behind the pair as a child looks to see if he's got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "This is a restricted area. Outside the defensive zone. If we get caught---"

"Well then," Business said with a smile as he looked up (as his helmet was attached to his utility belt hanging off to the side) as he knelt down over a debris pile stuck in a tunnel as he pulled it away piece by piece, "Why don't you use your big-boy voice and order me out of here?"

Tech rolled his eyes, "Okay, fine. I order you to stop."

Business laughed, "My grandmother could do a better job then that!"

Tech grinded his teeth, "DW-418128, as a Corporal of the Stormtrooper Corps, I order you---"

Business barked in laughter, "What are you now? A college kid having a wet dream about wanting to become a stormtrooper? For Sith sake, Tech, you gotta hit maturity bud. The Twi'lek girl I'm dating is more of a man then you!"

"You'r dating a what??!"

Business stopped his digging and snapped around, "First of all, lower your voice. Even without your helmet on, Space Cadet George, your voice travels through these abandoned tunnels and up above these vents above us. Second, don't you ever call my girl a it. Her name is Shelia and she's beautiful. Heck of a kisser too."

Tech rubbed his head uncomfortably, "Business, you know that's against Corps' regulations. Only human with human. If someone found out that you were dating an alien----"

Business cut him off suddenly with hand motions as he pointed above silently. Above the old tunnel system---once used to transport crude materials to and from the industrial district in automated carts----two Rebellion soldiers walked over the vent grate that covered the disconnected tunnel use. Business waited for the soldiers to pass, by counting to 20, then spoke up.

"Because Captain Know-It-All, you're the only one who knows. So if someone finds out, I'll know who leaked the information and I'll come cut your throat in your sleep. Are we on the same page?"

Business went back to work, cleaning out the old tunnel system, then stopped when he hit something solid. Cleaning it out the rest of the way, he discovered the kart and then threw his helmet back on, activating the night vision. Just as he had guessed: clear sailing the rest of the way through the darkened tunnel---assuming, a course---that the rail system was still intact deeper inside.

"Now," Business said after he took his helmet off, "Throw some of your magical explosives in that kart. We're gonna give those Rebs a proper hello."

"I don't think that's legal," Tech said, shaking his head.

Business raised an eyebrow, "Really, Tech? You broke the bright red legal tape surrounding your life when you decided to sneak past the advance pickets with me. Don't quit on me now. Trust me, it'll be worth the risk."


******

Soon-there-after, Tech had planted the explosives and a remote controlled steering device Tech himself had made in the kart. Then they covered the tunnel back up with the debris and trekked it back to Fire Support Base Charlie, all without being seen.

Putting the man-cover back over the maintenance shaft under the factory, Animal clapped his hands free of the dust & dirt, "Job well done, Tech. You took a big step today in getting your man card. Like a father, I'm proud of you!"

Tech shook his head, then stopped as Business walked on. When the latter noticed he was alone, Business stopped & turned around. "What?"

"Does Shelia know your a Stormtrooper?" Tech asked.

Business shook his head, "No, not yet. She thinks I'm a freighter pilot...for now."

"And when she finds out the truth?" Tech asked.

Business shrugged uncomfortably, "I live one day at a time, Tech. Maybe you should try it. Causes less gray hair."


NO TAG

 

IC: Commodore Peter Englewood
Ready Room, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


Trying to conquer the endless abyss of paperwork & reports that the Commanding Officer of a Star Destroyer---let alone the rest of the 115th Naval Battle Group---had to do, was always a good time filler to pass the time and make him focus less on his growling stomach.

Then his door-bell chimed. He glanced at the sensor-motivated holo camera outside his door and a smile came across his face.

It was the Chef. And chefs always brought good news in Englewood's book.

"Enter," Peter said and the door opened...


TAG Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Jengleheimer Voss ‘aka Jingle’
Imperial Star Destroyer Darkest Night, Commodore's Ready Room

As he heard the Commodore's word and watched the swish of the door open he smiled openly at the man as he stepped through the doorway. *Swish-CLUNK!* "Good day Commodore! Not enough danger today yet?" With a smile he faltered from his walk into a bit of limping roll step as he focused on keeping his 'toes' raised so that the claw like appendages wouldn't tear into the rug, *Swish-click-click-click* easing forward he roll and repeated. He didn't remember what it was about the colorful rug he was walking across except that if he tore it, it likely would cost a years salary to repair. So it was with ginger motions he made his way across, sacrificing naval pride and posture to ensure that the commodore's meal was unmolested by the last journey and the rug remained intact.

"Just had to test your chef and your systems against a potentially toxic meal?" Setting the tray down he lifted the lid to allow the aroma from the old Corellian dish of Dalyrake waft across the room with the usual sides the commodore favored. "Kitch sends his regards." he added with a wink at the side of data pad with a bit of green garnish resting on top.

TAG: Bravo

 

IC: Sandy
Corridors, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


Another day. Another repair.

Such was the life of Sandy. No one knew his real last name and frankly, he didn't care to tell anyone. He had lived a long life and wanted to be left alone----as much as possible---to do his own thing. But, one had to make a living still and the Empire was the way to do that. Plus, Sandy felt a certain obligation to a Commodore Peter Englewood. Something he couldn't quite explain, just felt he had to to do. His long-time friend & business partner, Pack, didn't agree with this rash decision that lead to the two selling their company on Cloud City several years ago. But then again, Pack didn't disagree with the decision either.

"F-187 Fusioncutter," Sandy said, his robotic hand dropping out of the utility box that the upper half of Sandy's torso was squeezed into as he stood bent over; when the tool was placed in his hand, he wormed his body around to allow room for his robotic arm to fit back into the maintenance hatch.

"I hate being your errand call boy," Pack grumbled from the floor, where he stood outside the utility box; he took a shady look around the corridor---saw no one---then reached inside his tool box and cracked open a cold one. After finishing off the drink in record time, he crushed the can and through it back into his tool box, issuing a long, wet belch, "Whoever designed these Star Destroyers was a I D 10 T Form for sure. Who puts a access cover not large enough for someone to get into, but torso height off the ground so a person like me, who could get into it, can't! I mean----OUCH!"

Picking up the burned out power board from the floor (which appeared to have melted to the support truss, which appears why Sandy asked for the Fusioncutter), which had first hit his head, he looked up to Sandy's half concealed form in the maintenance hatch, "Hey, watch what your doing!"

Sandy's half muffled voice came back from inside the hatch, "Well, stop complaining! Give me a new power board!"

Grumbling, Pack ruffled through the extra bag of odds and ends equipment they brought to any repair job on the ship and grabbed out two power boards, "Which one? Mark Nine? Or Mark Ten?"

"The one with the Double Switch Relay Converter Outlet."

"Mark Ten," Pack said matter-of-fact to himself and handed the proper power board to Sandy's out stretched robotic arm, who then disappeared back inside the maintenance hatch.

Suddenly the red hue that was snaking out around Sandy's form turned into a blue hue and Pack could hear the successful power-up of a reconnected power supply. Soon, the fusioncutter came out, which Pack grabbed and put away, then Sandy's upper half reappeared, his right organic arm closing the hatch and locking it again with the code pad lock device.

"Well," Sandy said matter-of-fact, wiping sweat from from brow as he repositioned his hat, "That should make those Navy Lieutenants happy again on Deck Three. They'll have their power back. That power board was burned out."

"Time to get back to the shop," Pack replied, "I need a cigar."

"Yeah, lets----" Sandy started as he got his own tool-box up off the ground---he could see Natalia Markova & Reen G'Spaugh walking down the corridor----"---on second thought, I'll meet you there."

Pack could Sandy's focused, forlorn look, and sighed, "One of your weird feelings again, right?"

"Yeah," Sandy nodded, as if in a different galaxy then this one.

Pack shook his head and started collected his things and started his trek back to the nearest turbolift. Under his breath, he muttered, "You're losing your mind, old man."


*******

When the two women got close, Sandy cleared his throat. "Ladies, if I could have a moment?"

As the two women stopped, sharing looks with each other, Sandy could only imagine it was because they thought Sandy was some old creeper looking to score cheap flirting points. But no, Sandy was too old for that bull-****.

"If you don't mind me saying----I feel something is about to happen to you two. Something powerful to change the way you think about your world as you see it now. Call it my old grandpa sense, but I felt like I needed to tell you two that," with polite nod, Sandy departed the opposite direction that Pack went, so the women wouldn't think Sandy was following them. There were dozens upon dozens of turbolifts aboard this Star Destroyer, he could find another one to take him to the same level that Pack had gone to.


TAG The Vanguard ; galactic-vagabond422

 

Game Master's Note ---

---

I have updated the Game Policies with the following updates:

• Game Rules (modification of Game Rules #9)

• Player Character vs. Non-Player Character (PC / NPC) Usage

• Death of a Character

• Removal or Suspension from Game

---

God Bless,
Jason

 

IC: Alex Qipao19 (loyal npc), Surgeon-Commander Debgate, Flight Lieutenant Baille Harte, Main Hangar
Location: Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


Alex sat in the cockpit of the ceiling-suspended TIE Phantom that he shared with Baille Hart, even though it did not look like they were going to be deployed.

He suspected that it was because "Woof!" as he called her, due to the sound that the ignition sound that the redhead would probably make when caught in planetside sunlight; was considered a fragile femme by Command.

He frowned as the Main Hangar ceiling ahead of him, and the foremost portion of his craft's own cockpit ceiling brightened with a white glow for several moments, then faded back to normal luminesense.

"What in Oseon was all that about?" He wondered aloud.

* * * *

Debgate heard Levric suddenly start speaking, and took that as a sign that the thermal detonator had dissipated, so opened her eyes and stepped back from Baille, switching her hands to holding the younger femme's head and bending to look intently into the other's eyes.

"What happened?"

"Was I that fast?" Deb queried. "Thermal detonator went off"

She released one hand and held three digits up in front of the child's face. "How many fingers am I holding up."

"Three." Harte responded correctly, adding, "Though you should really get me to close one eye, then ask me."

"I was, uh, testing your parallax vision."

With her face being held in place, Baille couldn't help but look up at her, but managed a doubtful expression. "Is that a thing?"

"Maybe." The Surgeon-Commander evaded, then did the suggested variation to the eye test, getting Baille to shut one eye, then the other, and getting her to counting her splayed fingers with each .

"Okay, you're fine. Good girl." She ruffled Baille hair fondly, then clipped instructions to her. "Right, check on any casualties at the periphery. Then work your way in to the centre. Also, have Hangar Control hold the rest of the pods outside, unless directed otherwise by Security Chief Shinzon."

The Surgeon-Commander gave Levric a 'come hither' gesture. "Chief, you're next!"

Giving the MIC time to approach, she turned to the pilot, already speaking quietly into her wristlink as she stepped away, and called after her, "And I want Medical teams down here!"

* * * *

Baille glanced up from her PAC20 comlink towards the disaster scene as she spoke to the coordinating centre for Medical. Her view of the area was being obscured by the white clouds from the extinguishers the responding droids were using on the smooth crate cut into the floor, though she could see that one of the additional medics was already there, among the fallen troopers, and her gaze alighted on a slightly steaming, shorn backplate from a stormtrooper, a chargrilled layer of pink meat visible inside.

She felt acid reflux touch her throat as she shut her eyes again, and turned away. "Yes," She breathed, "we'll need medical coccoons and gurneys down here. Body bags too."

"Copy that, Lieutenant. We're on the way."

"Thanks. Harte out."

GAMMA 3, YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO LAUNCH- rang out loudly across the hangar, in the voice of the Hangar Control bod that she had just been speaking to. -OH!

"Lieutenant Harte from Hangar Control" came through her PAC20 before she had a chance to put her arm down. She pressed the response button.

"Harte. Hello again."

"We have a problem."

"Yeah, tell me about it!"

"Your thermal detonator cut power to the rear starboard quadrant. We've lot artificial gravity-"

Baille glanced in the indicated direction at the far rear corner of the Main Hangar, spying that the lighting back there was dimmer than the rest of the space, and flickering badly.

The familiar brick-like form of a Telgorn Corp' Gamma-class assault shuttle bobbed into view above and beyond several parked ships, its nose dipped.

Ooh, she grimaced to herself, they'd need a pilot to re-land that thing; apply the magnetic landing gear.......

"On it!" She called into the comlink, and set off at a run.


Tag: Laine_Snowtrekker, Bardan_Jusik, Bravo

 

IC: Queen Natasha the Bold
Office of the President, Central Government Complex, Lepsawn Central


Queen Natasha looked sorrowfully across the busy capital city. In the reflection of the transparisteel window was her ever loyal Grand Royal Adviser of the Islands. Despite the title, she simply called him Richard. Sharing in that reflection, and of whom who gave her far less reason to smile then Richard, was also several high ranking Senators from the Planetary Senate and, as always presence, Captain Jeffery Vicks, the man from the Empire's Imperial Diplomatic Corps.

"Our planet---our home---is under attack. We have invited the Empire's military machine to our backyard," Natasha turned around, as she pointed to the several colored holographic imagined battle footage from earlier in the day that floated above her desk in boxes, "And now we must decide how much further to go. Captain Vicks, have you heard from your people?"

"Madam President," Vicks bowed, "I must stress the urgency of my previous message to you. The Empire will not conduct any more operations beyond the three Neglected Cities they now hold without you giving them full planetary jurisdiction. Holding our mighty forces back from aiding your forces in other military engagements across the planet only allows the enemy to hide and swell their numbers in the places you have restricted the Empire from. Only more loss and suffering can come from such a decision. You called us for help, we are here to help. That, Madam President, is the Empire's position."

"Captain, I will not allow a foreign government to land an invasion force of troops in my people's capital city."

"Madam President, we are allies and our force is not an invasion----"

"Allies, yes. But not fully trusted," shot back a male senator to the Captain.

"Your position, Senator," the Queen replied, "Not mine. I do believe the Empire has honorable intentions," she looked back to the Captain, "As of right now, Captain, you will communicate to your government that they will stop at the Neglected Cities and hold the ground they have won. We will resume diplomatic means with these crime lords and hope that they see sense. If they do not, my government and yours will further military planning to recapture our planet by brute force if necessary."

"Madam President," spoke another senator, this one a female, "I would at least request that you allow the Empire's garrison already here in the capital city to be released from their quarters. Have the Empire help secure the capital city. Our law enforcement forces are already stretched thin with riots and our military forces are too thin protecting the outskirts of the capital city to be of any use inside the city. With every passing day we allow this crisis to continue, is one more day crime lords and other unsavory characters can be rotting our beautiful city from the inside out."

Queen Natasha glanced to Richard, who gave her a slight nod. She then turned to Captain Vicks, "Captain, you may deploy the Imperial Garrision within the city limits to help patrol the streets and provide a extra security measure in stoping & detaining any criminal behavior. But your troops will be operating under Law Enforcement's authority, not your own. Are we understood?"

"Crystal clear, Madam President," Vicks bowed, then added before he turned and left, "A busy day awaits the Empire."


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

Diplomatic Housing, several blocks away


Master Sergeant Dax listened in on the bugged Office of the President, the thick black foam patted headphones blocked out all other sound, as he sat around a kitchen table with Master Sergeant Davis across from him. A singular white box (which sat in a larger armored silver suitcase) sat in the middle of the table with a small satellite dish coming out of the middle and the headphones connected to the box. Several buttons and monitors dotted the white box.

"Crystal clear, Madam President. A busy day awaits the Empire."

Planting the listening devices in the Office of the President was easier then stealing candy from a baby, Dax remembered. He had slipped in, slipped out, and got back in time for dinner all on his first night here on Lepsawn 1-9. It was all textbook.

As it was clear that Vicks had left the room, as other chatter started happening, Dax took the headphones off, as did Davis.

"You better go pick up Wonder Boy," Dax said, referring to the nickname he and Davis had given Captain Vicks, "We wouldn't want him to think we forgot about him."

Davis put his headphones down and stood up, stretching, "So when are we going to start bashing some heads in?" he highlighted his point with making a right fist and slamming it into his left open palm.

"When Wonder Boy takes a nap tonight after his usual long parties, we'll make sure we drug his night drink extra strong. Then we'll head out. Plant some explosives, leave some evidence. Get back here before he wakes up. If he can't persuade the Madam President to allow more movement and freedom for Imperial forces, then we'll do it for him."


NO TAG

 

IC: Security Chief Cain Shinzon
Main Hanger, ISD Darkest Night, Battle of Lespawn 1-9

Satisfied that the medical staff had been sufficiently cowed, Cain turned his attention to the first incoming escape pod. Now that it was inside atmo in the hanger bay they could hear noises coming from inside it as it rocked from side to side, noises almost as if...

The Mandalorian security chief raised two fingers on his right hand to get the attention of the pair of stormtroopers nearest the pod and with a sharp movement he pointed to them and then the pod, ordering them silently to check out what was going on. As they moved in he looked to the scanner technician at his station that was taking readings from this and the other pods out there. "Weap..." Cain manged to get out before the bay was filled with a searing, blinding light. Thermal Detonator, his mind filled in cause of the light with nary a thought. As his T-Visor polarized quickly enough to dampen the light to acceptable levels. The Stormtroopers helmets should provide them the same protection Cain thought, and that meant Cain and the Stormtroopers could react quickly to what was going on. Save for the pair that Cain had sent in close to inspect the pod. For them it didn't matter. Troopers to the last they had followed the Security Chief's orders to inspect the pod and ignored MI's warning. One was caught fully within expanding the energy sphere of the thermal detonator as it went off, while the other lost most of the right side of his body. He fell to the deck writhing and screaming in pain. A distraction to the work that needed to go on here. Cain approached the fallen trooper, even as medical staff rushed forward, and without a word drew his blaster pistol before putting a yellow round through his head. The shot echoed across the bay, though none of his own troopers reacted to it. It was a mercy killing, there would be no saving that stormtrooper after the injuries he had sustained. Now at least everyone else could get on with their assigned tasks.

"It's a security matter now, Chief," Questus announced bitterly. "My suggestion, if you want it, is that the scanners recalibrate for weapons rather than people so we get an idea of what we're expecting with the other pods. If the scanners already were doing so, we need to find out how a thermal detonator made it past those scans. Additionally, if we cannot get good intel from the prisoners to protect our boys on the ground, we'll have to get it another way. What would you like for me to do?"

Cain inclined his head, it was no small matter for the Chief of Military Intelligence to make that admission. "The interrogations are still yours Questus, my hands will be full securing these prisoners now that we know they still have some fight in them." His feral smile was hidden by his faceplate, but the tone he delivered his statement in spoke to his excitement at stamping out any resistance he found in the prisoners. "As to the scanners, they were calibrated to pick up weapon signatures, but those were not reported in a timely manner. I'll be recommending the execution of the scanner technician to the Commodore as soon as things here are squared away." He looked to two of his troopers who grabbed the surprised scanner technician and took him off towards the detention area. The scanner tech's assistant stepped up and took over his console, sweat beading on her face just under her hairline. "Prepare to bring in the next pod, if it shows any signs of resistance, repulse it back out into space and ventilate it."

TAG: Laine_Snowtrekker, Sith-I-5, Bravo

 

IC: Natalia Markova
Corridors, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night

Natalia walked quietly next to G'Spaugh both seemingly heading the same way. They both had officers quarters. Now off duty she finally allowed her mind to stop fighting her compulsion. She hummed along to the composition drumming her fingers on her datapad perfectly on beat. She could already feel the comfort wash over her mind as she gave into the cyclical thoughts that plagued her. She had lived with this mental illness, Overexcessive Compulsive Disorder, since she was little. Her father took the doctor’s words to heart and learned the signs of her quirk. Her never said a cross word about it but, he did all that he could mitigate it, to help her manage it.

Sometimes that was him being stern standing over her shoulder as she struggled through her homework. When she got too frustrated he would turn on some music to allow her to calm down. It was years of this regime she didn’t know if it helped but, it allowed her to recognize the signs, and gave her some coping mechanisms to deal with her ‘Disorder’. It made her functional, allowed her to live a somewhat normal life.

As she made her way down the corridor an older man, dark skin, robotic arm, grey hair. She could note and recall seeing these features before but, she had no recollection of his name or anything personal about him.

"If you don't mind me saying----” he started, Natalia stop her progress, looking to the person speaking, “feel something is about to happen to you two. Something powerful to change the way you think about your world as you see it now. Call it my old grandpa sense, but I felt like I needed to tell you two that,"

Her brow furrowed as he walked away, what did he mean, how could he feel the future. It was something she couldn’t understand, and things she didn’t understand hand to be understood.

"Excuse me." she said chasing after him, calling out softly. "Excuse me sir, what do you mean by feel something? How can you feel that something is coming? Why did you tell us?"

TAG: Bravo The Vanguard

 

IC- Logan Grimnar
Fire Support Base Charlie, Lespawn 1-9

"CAPTAIN!" barked the Major, "The next time I see you drinking on my time, will be your last time. Do you get me soldier?"

Logan flinched in his chair as the Laser Pointer hit him in the forehead.

"Sir, Yes Sir."

Logan blurted out these words uselessly seeing as the Major had already moved on. he stowed away the half-empty flask and tuned out the voice of the major, drifting into a daydream.

"Joker Platoon, you have your arse's up in the air. You'll be dropped in by Gunships to take care of anti-aircraft positions, call in air strikes, and naturalize high-value targets that the ground forces can't reach. You'll arse's will be left hanging in the wind if you don't act fast.

Logan snapped awake, silently cheering, the Major was almost done.

"Officially, I'm supposed to tell you to watch your fire with civilians and avoid unnecessary destruction of property, as the Lepsawn Central Administration Planetary Government is an ally of the Galactic Empire.

"We're up in one hour. Get food, rest, & geared up. Dismissed!"

As Logan stepped out of the Command Post, He grinned as he let the alcohol slide down his throat. He nodded to Animal and made his way to get some food and rest. Hopefully he could explode a lot of stuff, it gave him joy to kill, Just as it gave joy to the person who killed his wife.

TAG- Bravo

 

IC: Reen G'Spaugh
Corridors, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night

Reen arched her back and neck as she walked, stretching the ligaments and muscles that had been in the sitting position for too long. The officer's quarters were on the same deck for Bridge personnel, relatively close to one another. The lodging wasn't spectacular, at least it was better than anything the bluejackets lived in. As the two women walked together but not together, Reen took notice of Natalia's humming and felt the tune was familiar but couldn't put a nail on what the song was. Too bad she didn't have her personal music device on her, it could easily pick up the notes and match the song with the enormous music library that existed on the net.

Not noticing a mech with his toolbox until he spoke up, "Ladies, if I could have a moment?" he began after clearing his throat.

G'Spaugh glanced at Natalia, who was glancing at her. Great, another lonely man on a ship far out in space, Reen thought to herself. Despite the excellent training given to Imperial troops, they were still subject to the effects of war and long deployments. "What is it?" Reen replied quickly, with a cool confidence in her voice. Whatever this man wanted, it probably wasn't worth her time.

"If you don't mind me saying----I feel something is about to happen to you two. Something powerful to change the way you think about your world as you see it now. Call it my old grandpa sense, but I felt like I needed to tell you two that," with polite nod, he did an about face and walked away towards the turbolifts. With one eyebrow arched, Reen muttered quietly, "Someone's been drinking on the job. We ought to report-" but before she could finish her thought, Natalia interrupted, "Excuse me," and followed quickly after the man, clearly invested into what he just shared. "This isn't what I had in mind for my night off," she called out to her fellow officer, "but fine, let's see what he's on about."
"Excuse me sir, what do you mean by feel something? How can you feel that something is coming? Why did you tell us?"


TAGS: Bravo galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Gwen Levric
Hangar, Darkest Night

The screams of the injured trooper, now put out of his misery by Shinzon, still echoed in Gwen's ears. Perhaps it was merciful for him to have done so--thermal detonator burns were no laughing matter, if the previous time she'd seen such were any gauge to measure things by--but that should have been the CMO's call. But it wasn't a battle to fight--at least, not Levric's battle to fight.

After listening to what she had to say, Shinzon inclined his head. "The interrogations are still yours, Questus," he purred out. "My hands will be full securing these prisoners now that we know they still have some fight in them."

Well, that self-righteous, vindictive tone brooked no wiggle room from which to treat other sentient beings as such. Still, pleased that she would still retain control over the interrogations, Levric nodded in agreement with him as Shinzon continued, "As to the scanners, they were calibrated to pick up weapon signatures, but those were not reported in a timely manner. I'll be recommending the execution of the scanner technician to the Commodore as soon as things here are squared away." She followed what she presumed was his gaze over to two of his troopers, who grabbed the surprised scanner technician and took him off towards the detention area.

Levric watched as the trio disappeared down a corridor. "I'll add the tech to the list of those to interrogate," she said. "In case there's a reason behind his actions beyond mere incompetence."

That was something Levric expected that the Commodore would want, anyway, though arguing over the tech's fate was beyond her purview. That would be the Commodore's choice and his choice alone. Her job was to find the facts, gather them as neatly as possible, and present them to him for review. However, Levric had observed a certain level of baffling but genuine loyalty to certain people in the Commodore, and any being who cared for plants like that man did certainly had a streak of conscientiousness when it came to sentient life.

Still, the Commodore was an audience, just like everyone else was; all one had to do was find the correct trajectories from which to approach a person. A tall order on a ship of this size, and an even taller one in a place like Coruscant's seedier levels. One could also get so mired in the lies that the person in the mirror was no longer recognizable--but that was a line of thought for another time. There was still a battle to be fought, and one that Gwen hoped would be fought mostly on her terms.

All this flicked through Gwen's mind while the scanner tech's assistant stepped up and took over his console, her hands fluttering slightly above the controls. "Prepare to bring in the next pod, if it shows any signs of resistance, repulse it back out into space and ventilate it," Shinzon ordered the tech, who immediately began complying with his order.

"Chief, you're next!"

The shout had come from Debgate. Levric spun on her heel to face the CMO, who was beckoning at her in a come-here gesture. What now? Next for what? Something medical, Levric presumed. "I'm fine, Commander," Levric said, relying on the old trope of 'busy person protesting the medical officer's commands'. "This is not time for a check-up."

No need to give Shinzon reason to think her weak; she'd rather Debgate think her stubborn.

TAG: Sith-I-5, Bardan_Jusik, and Bravo

 

OOG: I will be getting to tags for The Vanguard , galactic-vagabond422 , & Master Vo'Un'Var later this week (hopefully Tuesday night or Wednesday night at the latest).

---

IC: Commodore Peter Englewood
Ready Room, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


"Just had to test your chef and your systems against a potentially toxic meal?" Setting the tray down he lifted the lid to allow the aroma from the old Corellian dish of Dalyrake waft across the room with the usual sides the commodore favored. "Kitch sends his regards." he added with a wink at the side of data pad with a bit of green garnish resting on top.

"You may tell him thank you from the Commodore," Englewood said with a smile, then extended a hand, "Please, sit. I have two questions for you. The first, more important then the second."

Setting the dish aside, but making sure to grab a few quick bites, Englewood offered the Chef some refreshments from his cooler, then after the two were sitting, began again.

"Well, three things, Mr. Voss," Peter corrected himself, "First, the Dalyrake is perfect. If its not cooked just right, fear not, I'll just be dead in the morning," the Commodore smiled, then continued, "Your leg. I would imagine the crudeness of its design is a reflection of your near-human station within the Empire, not a reflection of your service to the Empire i its own right. As such, aside from any objections, I would like to offer you a better replacement. And with my need for your services beyond the kitchen----my third question later---I think a recommendation put in by me would not fall on deaf ears. But, the option, I leave to you. Your response, Mr. Voss?"

Before the Commodore could hope for an answer, a vibration could be felt throughout the ship, quickly followed by the Imperial Siren and the Commodore's own Ready Room be basked in a red glow to indicate an emergency.

Peter was quick to active his comms, "Report," he said calmly as chaos flew around his world.

Duke's voice came back over the comms, "Interior denotation, primary hanger bay. I'm waiting for confirmation from the Hanger Chief, but first security team reports flowing in indicates a thermal detonator was in one of the escape pods."

"And how did any weapons get past our scanners?" Englewood shared a look with Voss, an Army veteran he was sure was asking the same question.

"Hold traffic," Duke said suddenly; Englewood could hear the officer put his hand over the mike and the muffled tones of another conversation. Then Duke came back, "That was an update from the hanger, Commodore. Confirmed on all previous, add loss of partial power and most gravity in rear starboard quadrant of main hanger bay. At least two confirmed Stormtroopers KIA with several others wounded. Chief Shinzon is securing other escape pods and has the scanner tech in binders being escorted to the brig."

Englewood rolled his eyes. He would had thought Shinzon would have more follow-through then that! "Captain Totter, secure the Star Destroyer. Alert all nearby commands of our situation and kill the alarms; downgrade us to Yellow Alert. Our hanger bays are closed until further notice; no one leaves or lands without my direct permission. I'll deal with Chief Shinzon. Ready Room clear."

Englewood turned to Voss, "Chef, grab your field gear and stuff it in a bag. Change out into a rag-tag set of clothes, clear of Imperial markings. Check with security, grab a blaster rifle and whatever other weaponry you think a rebel soldier would carry. Your with me in the forward shuttle hanger in twenty minutes. I'll brief you on the way. Dismissed."

After Voss left, Peter selected the comm channel for Chief Shinzon, "Security Chief Shinzon, private channel please." Englewood waited for his own comm board to indicate that the Chief had complied, then Englewood didn't hold back, "What in Corellian Nine Hells is going on in my hanger bay, Chief of Security?" Englewood made sure the man's own title stuck out to Shinzon, "Furthermore, what in a Hutt's mother are you allowing more escape pods to land when the first one blew up? If you keep putting holes in my Star Destroyer, Security Chief, I'll start putting holes in your career!"

Englewood took a breath to calm himself, then added to Shinzon, "I had a Battalion of Spacetroopers aboard this Star Destroyer, but most of them had to turn in their rocket man suits for regular Stormtrooper armor to assist the Legion planet-side and I'm not willing to risk what few I have in reserve for your mistakes. So that leaves you and your Navy Troopers. Captain Totter has the ship on lock-down. Nothing comes in, nothing comes out of those hanger bays without my direct permission. Now, I still have----" Englewood checked his own tactical read-out, then came back to the comm, "---Nine more escape pods floating in space. I am going to assume each and everyone is hostile and has weapons. And you should too. But I also want intelligence for our ground forces planet-side. So, Chief of Security, your going to pick your best Navy Troopers and go extravehicular. If you are successful in retrieving creditable intelligence assets from those escape pods, alive, then I will forget the hanger epsiode and mark it up as an escape pod engine malfunction. However, if you fail, you'll find yourself on the nearest civilian transport off my Star Destroyer and out of the military.

"I will be down in the hanger in twenty minutes. I would hope to see you extravehicular by then. Commodore clear of traffic."

After ending the comm, Englewood smirked. He loved being a jerk. It always motivated the career military types. And Shinzon was, at least, professional enough to considered career, even if he didn't want it outright. He was too dang proud of a Security Chief to let other people fail him.

Englewood laughed, a little, as he could see the disciplinary reports flowing in tomorrow morning from Shinzon on each & every crew member involved on that hanger disaster. The Chief wouldn't let anyone escape punishment. And people said Englewood was tough? Please, Peter thought, he was a cuddly toy bear compared to Shinzon on his best day.

Keying his comm board again, he reached out to Lieutenant Steadfast, "Mr. Steadfast, I want your two best pilots in the front shuttle bay, equipped for both planetary and space, in twenty minutes. Make sure their starfighters are transferred over to the proper bay."

"Understood, Commodore. Twenty minutes, shuttle bay. Steadfast clear." Came back the officer's voice over the comm.

Satisfied that he had got everyone in the right places, Englewood took some savoring larger bites of the meal from the Chef, then departed for his own personal quarters. He had to go get ready as well.


TAG Mitth_Fisto ; Bardan_Jusik

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IC: Lieutenant Steadfast
Corridors, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night


Steadfast had just ended the comm call with Englewood, as he walked the corridors to the hanger bay as fast as he could with his cane, when he keyed the comm for his next message.

"Flight Lieutenant Baille Harte, you're up in twenty minutes. Report to the forward shuttle bay. Your TIE will be transferred over. Your contact will be the Commodore himself. Pick your best wing pilot as a second. Come prepared for some ground pounding as well. Steadfast clear."

However much he hated to admit it, Harte was his best. While young---and often times raw behind the controls---she had that natural gift of hands that Darth Vader himself saw. And it didn't hurt that Steadfast recommended her for Vader's pet project in Dark Nebula Squadron, despite their last mission together ended in Steadfast almost having to issue a Court Martial on her (a LOOOOOOOOOONG story about Steadfast & Harte being stuck on a last-ditch rescue mission of a civilian freighter attacked by pirates). But he decided to give the fiery stubborn independent red head another chance, considering she was a natural on the sticks. So far, she hadn't failed him. Or Vader.


TAG Sith-I-5

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IC: Captain Duke P. (Patrick) Totter
Bridge, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night


Totter had his hands behind his back as he looked out at the distant Golan II Space Defense SpaceGun that hung over the planet's North pole. The rising sun silhouetted it and its two lone CR90 Corellian Corvettes. While in and of itself the station didn't amount to much tactically, it was a bastion of a bear to defeat still and had to be removed. While serving with Commodore Englewood long enough, Totter knew the Commodore's next move & it would be his to anticipate his CO's orders----without orders actually given---and act upon them. That's what made them such a good team within the command ranks of Star Destroyers.

Totter keyed the comm to Military Intelligence from a small console board along the ledge of the front bow bridge windows, "Lieutenant Levric, report to the bridge immediately. Captain Totter clear of comms."

The Chief of Security could handle the escape pods. He needed Levric up here to crack the communications encryption coming in and out of that space station. He needed to know what was being said, but more importantly the Commodore needed to know if he was going to go this crazy away mission that made no sense in Imperial military doctrine, but made all the sense in saving Imperial lives.


TAG Laine_Snowtrekker

 

IC: Sandy
Corridors, Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Darkest Night, orbit over Lepsawn 1-9


"Excuse me." she said chasing after him, calling out softly. "Excuse me sir, what do you mean by feel something? How can you feel that something is coming? Why did you tell us?"

Sandy stopped, hoping to avoid the pair of women any further. This weird "feelings" he got to tell people always got him in trouble. A few years back, he warned an Army soldier to disobey a direct order, for Sandy could "see" his death as if in a dream if the soldier followed through with the order. Not only did the soldier not listen to Sandy---and ultimately paid with it for his life---he also reported the aging mechanic to his superiors. Luckily, his own superiors agreed that Sandy's advice would had not only saved the soldier's life, but also the whole company, because the commanding officer had missed a vital flaw in his battle plan. Ultimately, the aging mechanic was slapped with a note in his file and it was left at that, seeing that Sandy did have the military experience to back his decision (although the Court Martial board had recommended Sandy next time tell a commanding officer, not an enlisted man).

The gray beard mechanic sighed. "You ask too many questions and you do not listen," Sandy simply replied, "Look around you and you'll find the answer," the old mechanic took out a small half-rusted multi-tool out his pocket to prove a point, "This tool has been with me since I was a child. I found it, cast aside and forgotten in a trash heap. It's function has remained the same for many years and as new tools come and go, this multi-tool has remained the same. No power to it, no fancy abilities. Just a flat-head, a Philip's head, a small knife, and several other odds and ends to use if in a pinch. You are this tool. Not old like it, mind you, but more then what it appears on the surface. Don't be part of the crowd, stand apart from the crowd, like this tool does. When all the fancy tools and policies break down, this tool defines the odds and keeps on working. Like you, and your friend here, you two must look beyond the uniform, beyond the crowd, and to yourself. There, you will find the answer."

A small vibration could be felt throughout the Star Destroyer, quickly followed by the Imperial Siren and a red glow flowing out across the decks.

Sandy looked at the two women, "I do believe," he look a closer look at their ranks, "That two bridge officers such as yourselves should report to the bridge during a situation such as this."

With a small two finger salute, Sandy boarded the turbolift he was near and headed back to the shop. If whatever this emergency was, they weren't calling for battle stations, so as far as Sandy was concerned, until someone called for him, he was going to continue on his day as normal. By the time you reached the age Sandy was, few things made you jump and trip over your tongue in excitement.


TAG @The Vanguard ; @galactic-vagabond422