Beyond Redundancy Part 2: New Beginnings (or not) - OCs

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by Dickie, Dec 14, 2011.

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  1. Dickie Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jan 19, 2005
    star 4
    Title: Redundancy - Prologue
    Author: Dickie
    Timeframe: Just prior to ROTJ - rest of story approx 3yrs post ROTJ
    Characters: OCs
    Genre: Action, general-swashbuckling-space-caper
    Summary: TIE Fighter pilots from the 85th Fighter Wing find themselves disgraced and out of work following the fall of the Galactic Empire and go their separate ways. However an opportunity comes up that brings them back together and back into the cockpit...


    My first attempt at a Fan Fic, I've had this idea for a while but have never gotten around to writing it down - however I've got a day off work and it's a rainy day so here goes, any feedback is welcome - especially if anybody has any advice/constructive criticism!




    0159hrs - ISD Relentless

    Buzzing. As unwelcome as it was unrelenting it caused him to wake with a start. He grunted and reached up towards the blinking chronometer just a few centimetres above his head, slightly dazzled by the blinking red lights. Gradually the display swam into focus as he fumbled for the button to switch the infernal thing off - 02:00. The start of another day in the endless cycle of identical days onboard the vast Star Destroyer. How many had passed so far? He then remembered he'd stopped counting a long time ago - about the same time he'd stopped counting down the days till the end of the deployment. With a yawn he brought his hands up and rubbed his face, stubble feeling rough against his palms. Join the Imperial Navy the recruiter had said, See the Galaxy he'd said. He grinned and shook his head as he reached across and slid the curtain back from across his bunk, hearing the other man roll over in the bunk below, presumably silently cursing being woken up as well - certainly this had never figured on any recuiting poster.


    The cabin they shared was just wide enough that he could touch both bulkheads if he really stretched; there was a small fold-out wash unit built into the bulkhead opposite the door and two bunks on the bulkhead to the left, with two lockers opposite forming a horse-shoe around the door. The small floorspace in the middle was just big enough for one person to have room to move. He reached out of his bunk with his left arm and found the handlebar attached to the ceiling, grasping the cold metal with both hands he pulled himself up and out of his bunk before lowering himself gently to the deck, feeling the cold floor on his bare feet - would it really have cost the Navy too much for some carpet? He could feel the ships engines and systems vibrating through the deck and shivered slightly as the dry, conditioned air - feeling cool after the warmth of his bunk - washed over him. Still in the pitch black he reached over to the lighting panel next to the door, after so long on board he knew exactly which switch he wanted by touch and activated the dark red lighting. In the crimson gloom he quietly opened his locker and removed a washbag, before turning to the door and sliding it open by hand to step through into the bright passageway outside.


    Still in a sleepy haze he found the shower room four doors along the passageway. Inside the bulkheads were bare metal, along one were two metal wash-units with mirrors, and on the other were two shower-units. On the third bulkhead someone had lashed some fibrecord from one side to the other and hung what appeared to be sweat soaked sports clothing up to dry. Standing opposite the near wash-unit he filled the small basin with warm water, listening to the pipework creaking and juddering as the unit sprang to life and pumped the hot water from somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship. After shaving quickly with his vibrorazor he opted for the shower-unit on the left - for the past six weeks the other one had had a faulty thermo-regulator causing the water temperature to vary wildly. It struck him as faintly amusing that despite the Empire's advanced technology and the sheer amount of manpower available on the ship, nobody had fixed it yet. Maybe it was out of spite from the ship's company, who constantly seemed to have one issue or another wi/>
  2. Thumper09 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Dec 9, 2001
    star 4
    Great start! Vyn's same-old-same-old day got turned upside down pretty quickly.

    Your story has a great military pilot "feel" to it. I like the dialogue and descriptions, plus it's cool to see Vyn still enjoying the adrenaline rush of flying an Interceptor. The dogfight was easy to visualize and had good pacing, which can be difficult to do. Kudos for that.

    I really liked the hover cart racing. I could totally see that happening. [face_laugh]

    I'm looking forward to reading more of this. :) Again, great post!
  3. Dickie Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jan 19, 2005
    star 4
    Thanks, I'm glad somebody enjoyed it :)


    Anyways, without much further ado I've finally gotten round to posting Part 2. Please bear with the lack of action - there is more to follow! Here goes:




    Redundancy Part 2: New Beginnings (or not).

    Three years later.

    Vyn looked at the man sat across the desk to him. The room was stuffy, with damp clinging to the beige walls, despite the half-hearted efforts of a fan blade slowly turning on the ceiling. He looked to be in his mid-50s, balding and beginning to spread at the middle underneath the off-white shirt he wore open at the neck, the large sweat patches beneath each arm a result of the oppressive humidity characteristic of this particular jungle covered world. Another jungle world surfaced in the back of Vyn?s memory, he recalled those seven tedious months spent in that dank, mouldering camp during the defense of Galdon VI, spending day after day scrambling against seemingly endless Rebel fighters, always short of spares, with little fresh water, living in basic tents and eating nothing but Imperial-issue ration packs, unable even to wash themselves or their uniforms. Out of all the casualties they?d taken during that campaign, over half were actually lost to disease, malnutrition or fell victim to the nightmarish jungle predators that stalked the camps at night ? the final defeat and withdrawal had come as a relief to those who survived.

    A cough brought his attention back to the man sat opposite him. The man who he needed to give him a job, even if it was just hauling fruit and unprocessed wood from this backwater to other worlds where they could be sold.

    ?Well, Vyn, I have to say from your CV you are qualified, and your check ride with our Chief Pilot this morning, but?you know, there?s just something I?d like to clarify??

    Great, here it comes again, thought Vyn. The man looked at him again and grinned nervously,

    ?You see, you never actually specified where you qualified as a pilot, or for that matter, where you spent the 12 years from finishing school on?Jabor wasn?t it?to a few months ago. That, and that smart blaster you have strapped to your leg??

    They both glanced at the SE-14r blaster in the holster strapped to Vyn?s right thigh,

    ??that smart Imperial blaster I should say, makes me think one thing. You?re an Imp.?

    The man paused, and raised an eyebrow, Vyn suspected he knew where this was going.

    ?The fact that you don?t even deny it is admission enough, and frankly, I won?t employ your kind?? the mans face began to redden as his voice grew louder,

    ?Scum like you spend 12 years committing the kind of crimes that have torn this galaxy apart, and have the nerve?? he banged his fist on the top of the desk, causing an empty drink container to tumble to the floor,

    ??the NERVE, to saunter in here, pretending like nothing ever happened ?cos you need a job now somebody gave your precious Emperor what he deserved. You know what? Those boys you chased from one end of the galaxy to the next who did it? We owe everything to them. Everybody knows what you did to those you captured, and I?m not about to insult their memory by letting you pretend it never happened. Get out of my office. I hope you die in a ditch somewhere I really do, especially if anybody ?round here finds out.
    ?
    The man practically spat the last sentence out, Vyn wasn?t entirely sure if it was a veiled threat or not, news stories about ex-Imps winding up dead weren?t exactly uncommon.

    ?Perhaps you didn?t hear me. Get out.? The man?s eyes pra/>
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