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Star Wars Star Wars: Black Sheep (Always Accepting New Players)

Discussion in 'Role Playing Forum' started by Bardan_Jusik , Sep 24, 2017.

  1. Adalia-Durron

    Adalia-Durron Jedi Mod Princess of the WNU star 10 Staff Member Moderator

    Registered:
    Jun 3, 2003
    IC Amber Tehanis
    Archeron/Intrepid

    The previous two weeks hadn't been the best in Ambers short life, not the worst but far from the best. Space on the Acheron was at a premium and when she'd been told she'd be sharing with two males and a female she made the conscious decision to sleep with her ship. In her mind it made sense, she could do the required repairs and make sure no one else touched it. Squirt had been paramount in 'acquiring' spare parts thus making her life a little easier and the fact those around her had long since decided she was beyond strange and avoided her had only made her life easier. When the orders to leave the ship and board the Intrepid, she was somewhat relieved as she'd run out of repairs and the thought of making small talk or interacting with anyone filled her with dread.

    Touching her newly repaired craft down lightly on the deck of the Intrepid she was impressed by the bustle of activity in the well lit hangar. Seconds after landing there was a ladder, attendants and almost enthusiastic staff offering to assist her.

    "Welcome to the Intrepid! The young male Twi'lek said as she slid down the ladder. "Can I help you with your gear Ma'am?" Amber gave her head a shake.

    "Thanks, no, I got it." she said as she opened the storage area and dragged her gear out. The Twi'lek stood back allowing her to do before speaking again.

    "We have private quarters for you and I can take you there now, there is a briefing in one standard hour, I'll show you where that is as well. You're going to be assigned to a squadron I believe." he explained. Amber swung the bag over her shoulder before turning to face him.

    "Yeah? Good to hear I guess. Let's go."

    ............................................

    Standing before the reflector in her quarters, Amber rearranged her open collar as she could see her scars. She needed it done up to make sure it was closed and that her past was well hidden behind it. Glancing at her chrono she saw she had enough time to reach the location she'd been shown earlier so without hesitation she made her way there.

    Entering the room she didn't make eye contact with anyone and placed herself as usual near a doorway and leaned against the wall folding her arms. Someone at the front of the room stood and began to speak.

    "For those that don't know me I'm Captain Husk, Commanding officer of the Intrepid. If you haven't already, you'll hear it through scuttlebutt soon enough. This used to be an Imperial ship, we defected and brought her along with us after Alderaan was destroyed. Since then we've fought to restore justice and freedom to the Republic, and now with all of you aboard, we're headed back into harms way." He glanced at the other two officers at the front of the room, looking lost for a moment. "Welcome to the Intrepid." He gestured to the Colonel, "CAG?" The bald headed man stepped forward and took the captain's place at the podium as the Captain stepped back, and after a brief whisper into the other man's ear left through the open hatch through which he had arrived only moments before.

    "I'm Colonel Spence But as the Commander of the Air Group, you can all call me CAG or sir. This is the deal, you're going somewhere very bad, to do something that will get you killed."


    Amber listened and looked to her boots when he said this, wouldn't be so bad she mused.

    "But until then, you're my problem Or more accurately, you're his problem." CAG stepped away from the podium as he waved the commander to it. "Flagg?"

    "I'm Commander Flagg, callsign Boss." He tapped at a button on the podium and the lights dimmed slightly. "Welcome to Black Sheep Squadron." He tapped another button and a holo of the Squadron logo projected in the space above their heads in the room.

    Noticing others around her were looking up, she did the same to see the logo projected, she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Wasn't pretty, but then it wasn't supposed to be.

    "Now, listen up, only going to go through this once. Not only are we a composite squadron, but after discussing things here with the CAG," he gestured to the man again whose expression didn't change. "I also decided to form each flight out of both fighters and bombers to give each flight maximum flexibility and the means to do any job rather than concentrate the firepower in one flight. Able flight, that's my flight. I'm in Black One or Black Lead. Flight Officer Walker, callsign Ghost has my wing in Black Two." He pointed out a man in the crowd, Flight Officer Akiva Lurell, your B-Wing is the heavy hitter for us in Able flight, you're Black Three and Flight Officer Tehanis, "he made eye contact with Amber, she stared back but there was no emotion there at all.. You've got Wolf's (Akiva Lurell) wing as Black Four."

    So she was Black Sheep Four, or Black Four. Akiva Lurell, who was that? Probably should find out. She began to look around the room as the Commander continued.

    "Lieuntenant Balzroth, You're leading Baker flight as Black Five, we got you an A-Wing as your old X-Wing seemed a little busted up after your last assignment."

    Amber turned in the direction the Commander was indicating and without warning she almost gasped. She'd never seen this Devorian before, but something about him had made anger and frustration boil up inside her. She turned away, why was that? Was he like her late husband? Was her instinct telling her there was something really wrong there? Or....she looked back to him, was he the pilot that disobeyed orders engaging Imperials and leading them into a trap that got his wingman killed? She felt her breathing increase as her heart rate did. That was it, it was him. She turned away so as not to attract further attention and forced herself to look at the floor, not hearing the rest of the briefing. Her mind was spinning, he got someone killed so he could be some kind of hero, put a notch in his belt or a cross on his ship. Without looking she could almost feel his ego from where she was standing and subconsciously her skin crawled. Lifting her head she hazarded a glance at him and she felt the same feeling of him being the one. How did she know that? How could she know that? Didn't matter, she turned her attention down again, it didn't matter, she knew.

    The briefing ended and the only way she knew this was the fact those around her began talking and leaving. She needed space, and without looking up she bee lined for her quarters and by the time she got there she was breathing very heavily and grinding her teeth. Slamming the door she leaned on the back of it, dropping her head back and closing her eyes. She wanted to hit something, she wanted to lash out, lash out at him. But he was Black Five, she was Black Four, different flights, but she knew at some point she'd have to work with him and at this point in time, wasn't sure she could. She needed to run, but being in space didn't lend itself to running so the best option was the treadmill in the Gym. She'd have to find it, there had to be one and work these feelings down to a place where she could think straight.


    Quickly changing into a sweat shirt and lose fitting pants she left her quarters in search of a place to run.


    TAG Sarge Bardan_Jusik
     
  2. Vehn

    Vehn Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    IC: Louise "Lou" Gray
    Port Side Pilot's Ready Room
    The Intrepid

    Lou shifted her weight on the uncomfortable chairs in the pilot's ready room. Clearly these chairs weren't meant for long briefings. She listened, to the best of her ability, while Commander Flagg, head of the newly formed Black Sheep squadron, barked out the purpose of Black Sheep squadron, why it had been formed, and the tough jobs that lay ahead.

    Then came the information about how the squadon, and the flight groups, were to be organized.

    Lou shook her head in dismay. This was her third squadron assignment in as many years. She had just begun to form bonds with Ianna Mcear and Joy Sunwalker when she was being parceled out into an unusual squadron formation. Fighters with bombers? Was the CAG crazy? How was that supposed to work?

    Lou listened while the rationale for the maneuver was explained. While there was a certain logic to that concept she also was concerned there'd be a lot of confusion when the shooting got hot. She tensed as Commander Flagg started assigning some of the people she'd known to their individual flight groups. The roster rolled on by and then finally her name was called.

    "Ironhand," Commander Flagg said, "will be leading Delta Flight, that's Black 13 through 16, with Louise "Lou" Gray on his wing as Black 14..."

    Lou's eyes wandered over to her new flight leader. Taab, was it? Mandalorian. Helmeted. Armored. Dangerous. She tried to pierce through the T-visor of his helmet but the tint and the glare of the lights obscured her attempt at reading this individual. She squirmed a bit in her seat. The helmeted leader was looking directly at her. Well, maybe he wasn't, but it felt that way.

    The meeting adjourned and the pilots rose up as a general chatter filled the room. Lou made her way over to the helmeted one, the Mandalorian, what some people called bucket heads. She wasn't going to hold anything back. What Flagg had proposed was insane. She had a good thing going with Mcear and Sunwalker. Now this was getting out of hand. She knew exactly who she was going to vent to and she hoped the Mandalorian's T-visor didn't crack from the heat she was about to dish out.

    Lou was just within range of Major Taab when someone stepped in her way and engaged him in conversation. She threw up her hands in frustration and started the long walk back to her seat. She noticed one of her wingman, she didn't know her name, was also upset. Clearly this wasn't a good idea. Nobody was happy.

    Lou collapsed in a seat next to Black 15.

    "Flagg is an idiot," she grumbled, "a composite squadron? Really?"

    Tag: BookExogorth




     
  3. Rebecca_Daniels

    Rebecca_Daniels Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Sep 3, 2006
    IC: Zara "Zero" Yaren
    Desert Eagle -- Intrepid

    Zara was operating on autopilot. Since Hoth, the days had blurred together, not because of how full they were but because she couldn't tell one from the next. Routine held some people together; she needed variation to keep moving forward. She was out of place on the Desert Eagle, and did her best to keep out of the way of those on duty. At least it wasn't cold any more, and for the first time in ages she could feel the tips of her headtails again.

    She spent the days working on her A-wing with the Eagle's repair crew. The damage hadn't been too severe in the end: her power shunts had stressed the system but just needed some minor replacements, and the targeting package was thankfully mostly undamaged despite the melted armour on the ship's nose-- the blast had taken out the connection to the device rather than the package itself. Some rewiring and replating later and her ship was ready for combat again.

    The rest of her time Zara spent on her own, waiting for orders. Debrief had come and gone quickly-- there just wasn't that much to say about what had happened-- so she stayed in her cabin or in the ship's lounge when not otherwise occupied. Her flask of brandy began to run low in those two weeks so she found someone able to get her a some fresh whiskey in exchange for some gossip.

    Time continued to pass slowly. She didn't know anyone here, and she didn't really care to. Even once they passed her new orders it took her some time to drag herself out of the spot she'd claimed in the Eagle's lounge and depart for her new assignment on the Intrepid. A new squadron then; more people she didn't know, more people who'd die.

    She had time to drop her bag off at her newly assigned quarters before the briefing, thankfully solo, as she didn't want to have to deal with sharing after last time. Zara didn't have a lot to set up, just tucked her clothes in the closet and kicked her rifle case under the bed. She tossed the remaining odds and ends on the desk, hesitated, and set them up properly: her datapad and assorted datacards stacked neatly, her holoplayer nearer to the bed. After a moment, she turned the holo on, and it resumed from where she'd last stopped it.

    "--is Longshot," a smiling human laughed as he spoke. "Because I'm such a long shot at actually being a decent rebel. I'm still better than the Grifter over here, he can't--"

    A different voice cut in, cursing loudly, and the man in the holo continued. "This is for all you future rebels watching, let the record show that Grifter couldn't hit the side of a bantha."

    A Mirialan with tattoos all across his face appeared next to the first. "But I can steal anything, so say nice things or I'll steal your clothes, your weapons, and your dignity." He grinned and left the holo.

    The first man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Grifter's great. Everyone here is great, actually." His expression changed, growing a little softer. "These guys didn't have to take me in but they've never been--"

    Zara shut it the holo off again. She remembered recording these like it was yesterday, when in reality everyone in it had been dead for nearly a decade. They thought they'd leave messages for those that would inherit the cell, let them know about those that had come before. Or, more hopefully, as a recording of what their cell had been like for after the war was over, after the Empire was defeated. Now she had the only copy, and it was for her eyes alone. One last attempt to carry them with her. One more reminder that she wasn't the only one left from that cell, that she owed a debt to the dead, that someday she would make it so she was the only one left and then, and only then, could their memories rest peacefully.

    She arrived at the briefing just bare moments before it began, slipping into a seat near the back. Introductions she paid the barest of attention to, beyond noting names and filing them away for later, when she'd inevitably forget or confuse them anyway.

    "This is the deal, you're going somewhere very bad, to do something that will get you killed." Usually rebel command tried not to be so blunt about their chances, so maybe something different was happening here. A different commander stepped up.

    "Welcome to Black Sheep Squadron. We're a composite squadron, made up of the dregs of Rebel Alliance, the folks no other squadron would touch." Zara had to raise her eyebrows at that; she had no doubt her issues with her previous squadrons had led her here, but the rest of these people must be some sort of screwup too. Looking around now, she thought she recognised a few; from Hoth, maybe, or before that.

    "The Intrepid is headed to the mid-rim as we speak. Alone. Well behind Imperial lines, where it'll be our job to disrupt the Empire by any means necessary. We're not the only squadron on this boat, but we're the ones who will be assigned the nasty jobs that the others can't...or won't, do." Well, this was interesting. Lots of chances to blow up Imperials, at least.

    The Commander began listing their assignments within the squadron and Zara paid some attention, though the names were meaningless at this stage. Once she knew their faces she might be able to remember their names, but for the moment she just waited to hear her own assignment.

    "Black Seven is Flight Officer Zara Yaren and guarding your wing is Black Eight, Flight Officer Pallas."

    Zara nodded, as if she knew who this Pallas was. As the rundown of names continued, she noted a couple: the Mandalorian at the back was the squadron XO, which meant he was the one to avoid, and Wystari and the Hutt-- those two probably had the connections to get... things. She didn't have a lot of credits, no rebels usually did, but it might be enough to bribe one of them to send some stuff her way. Probably Wystari, she decided as she eyed the Hutt across the room; she, like a lot of Twi'leks, didn't particularly like Hutts.

    As the briefing ended, some of those present got up and left immediately. So much for "take a few minutes to get to know everyone" but Zara wasn't particularly interested in talking to anyone just yet, except maybe her wingmate. It'd be a good idea to at least know who this Pallas was, and what sort of ship they flew. She'd heard the talk of a mixed squadron, and she didn't much like the idea of being saddled with a wishbone, even if she had flown them once. But with no indicator of who Pallas was and no one approaching to introduce themselves, Zara slid out of her seat and left.

    Unfortunately, while their quarters weren't shared, the refreshers were. And after all that, she could really stand to freshen up a bit, and maybe take a moment to herself. Having just arrived, it took a few minutes to sort out directions and figure out where the refreshers were, with each corridor looking more and more similar the longer she walked. But eventually she managed to loop back towards the briefing room and found the refresher not too far off.

    Inside was a brown-haired human, so the shared 'freshers was already working out great. Fully intending to ignore the woman, Zara took a second look at the expression on her face and sighed internally. This looked to be one of the ones that had just been at the briefing, not that she'd looked too closely at the humans in the group, and she looked... well, unhappy was one way to put it.

    She reached into her vest and pulled out her flask of whiskey. offering it to the unknown human. "You, uh, look like you could use it," she said, slightly uncomfortable.

    TAG: Mistress_Renata
     
  4. Mitth_Fisto

    Mitth_Fisto Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 29, 2005
    IC: Akiva Lurell AKA 'Wolf'
    Initial Arrival and later Black Sheep Formation Briefing, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

    There had been a brief time back after the escape from Hoth that had seen her shuffled about like a spare card in a Pazaak deck, only to have this place become her new home. The drop off here had been rather shuttered, rude, and pessimistic, but she figured that was true the Rebellion over considering they had just lost their base and so many members. Her own squadron may have saved their ships, but the pilots were mostly dead. A situation that the specialized craft needing special and highly capable pilots left empty ships with no pilots. Not until a new batch could be trained, and with them on the run that would take too long, and so the flight had been broken up. Pilots and craft spread out to other bomber squadrons as far as she had known.

    Nodding to the man when he had left she had opened her gear boxes and set to using the bottom bunk to set up her special Voorpak comfort cage that was done in the traditional Noobian royal architecture and collapsed for the crate when she had left Hoth. Honestly the little fellow had a better room then she did. With a raised cup bed dias, feeder and water bowls in the next section, and a small private 'fresher. Once it was set up she unzipped her flight suit and removed the small cooing ball of fur that seemed to look up at her so lovingly. "Alright Chak, your home is set up."

    The soft bark easily conveyed the little fellows happiness at that. Of course the little guy did not enjoy the speeder flight on Hoth, her bandaged chest was evidence of that. Running on his six legs he made his way into his habitat and made himself right at home. Taking the next set of straps and bell-dongle ends she looked at the wall gap between the bed and the door. Well, more likely the door and the wall gap before the wall and the bed. Nodding at this she removed a multi-tool and set to work installing her upright webbing of her wall bed.

    Of course once that was done, she would need to write a list and possibly see what this tub had in way of recreation. Although she doubted there was much she would find.

    ---Briefing---

    When she arrived she found the others taking their cushioned seats and followed suit. Then began the oldest tradition of any worthwhile institution, absolutely nothing. Looking around at the other pilots was the first time that she really missed having Waxer to crack any jokes about this situation. With a bit of a sigh she waited some more before the new leader that was to fly under showed up and began his speech, something she felt he relished about as much as she had waiting for it.

    When the flight assignments were given she had to nod as she typed out the data on her Flight quickly on a small wrist pad she was wearing with her flight suit. Once everything was nearing being done she snagged a cup of caf' from the droid. Although as she took a quick sip her eyes closed as she sighed in contentment as she snapped a hand out to grab the droids arm. "Whomever made a decent cup of kahve. . .Boonta-spice frak it all, just tell them they have a new best friend." she stated with a grin as she released the droids arm and took another deep inhalation of the drink as she snuggled down into her seat before taking another slow sip. Now properly informed, enjoying the flavor and letting it roll around on her tongue and in her nose. "Finally have something besides my fighter to stay in for." she dreamly whispered.

    All the worries of a mix squadron melted away, the fact that she part of an 'Aleph' squad based lead flight. A bit on the nose if she had seen such a thing in basic before. "To Aleph Team." She said with a smile and raised the cup before taking another drink.

    TAG: Chyntuck, ALL
     
  5. Corellian_Outrider

    Corellian_Outrider Admin FF | Curator: Art&RPF | Oceania RSA | CR NSW star 5 Staff Member Administrator

    Registered:
    Mar 9, 2002
    ~IC~ Captain Cassell Wystari
    Location: Pilot’s Ready Room

    Cassell Wystari arrived at the ready room with moments to spare before the briefing started. He kept to the side and out of the way as best he could in the small space. He met the gaze of Beskaryc Taab’s visor and gave a subtle nod back. He remembered when he first saw the man during a critical moment at the evacuation of Echo Base a couple of weeks ago.

    The fire fight between the Snowtroopers and the remaining Alliance personnel felt like a shootout in a cantina… in the sense that things were getting in the way, moving from diminishing cover to cover. Suppose the only difference was that it was in an ice cavern and there weren’t any flammable and intoxicating beverages and a bar about… at least they have some of those portable fuel silos. To target one of those would be a sure way to bring the roof down upon the lot of them.

    Desperate times calls for desperate measures... as he levelled his blaster at one of the fuel silos at the opposite end of the hanger… the Imperial forces near it were brought down by a shower of blaster bolts… Someone new had crashed the party and changed the play of the field… wearing the distinct armour of the Mandalorean.

    The man made quick work of the troopers and when those Imperials were either dead or routed, the Mandalorean came before him, removed his helmet and surrendered to him?

    It took Wystari a moment to process that. He looked him in the eyes and saw a man who had lost everything. He recognised something else about him too, a smouldering fire.

    “You did not come here to surrender,” Wystari had stated, “you came to fight. Come, we are not out of this yet. My ship is not far and I could use a skilled gunner.”

    Wystari had made sure everyone was loaded up on the Valkyria before they hightailed out of Echo Base. An old friend followed along in their own ship and they provide each other support to clear the fighters and the blockade that awaited them in orbit… until Wystari’s brash friend decided to be an attention seeker and made the Imperial chase him into the asteroid field to allow the Valkyria to escape. After several waypoints, they arrived at the rendezvous point to drop everyone off on the Alliance vessel, Liberty. There was no rest for him as he had been asked to do a couple recovery missions for the Alliance, from procuring supplies to individuals before he was assigned to the Intrepid.

    He felt something shift in his jacket pocket followed shortly by a faint mewing sound. The little one was awake. The small head of a Tooka kitten poked out of the left pocket opening. Wystari watched as the ship's Captain depart the room as he casually took a small plush Tooka doll from his other pocket and held it close to the Tooka. The kitten's little paws reached out and snatched the toy out of his hand and hugged it close.

    “We get through this and then we find your mother.” Wystari whispered to it as the Colonel took the stand. “I bet she misses you.” He glanced down and sighed as he saw it gnawing on one of the oversized ears of the doll. It should not be hungry as he had feed the little one not too long ago.

    After the Colonel and the Commander gave their ‘charming’ motivational speeches, the roll call was made and positions on the squadron assigned. His eyes scanned each member of the squadron and his ears pricked up as he heard the name, Sunwalker. Good, the little Tooka’s mother had made it. After this he wanted to let Sergeant Sunwalker know that he had kept his promise to keep her baby safe for all this time after Hoth and reunite them.

    TAG: Open
     
    Mostlymad, Mitth_Fisto, Vehn and 8 others like this.
  6. Vehn

    Vehn Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    (Joint post with BookExogorth.....many thanks!)

    IC: Mel Ksiur/Louise "Lou" Grey

    Most people just wanted to get out, it seemed. They probably wanted to adjust to their squad mates separately. Mel shook her head. Why weren't they trying this? All of us want to help the alliance. It probably wouldn't even take much effort from them to form small bonds.

    Mel was jogged out of thought by someone sitting down next to her. She glanced askance at the woman. Who was she? Had she been at Hoth? "Flagg is an idiot," she grumbled, "a composite squadron? Really?"

    Leaning a bit on her hand, Mel replied, "It might work, if we weren't so composite on our own. What was your name?"

    "Maybe. Seems risky to me. Asking fighters and bombers to fly interchangeably...I don't know about that." Lou replied, "Oh and the name's Louise Grey but people call me Lou. That's my call sign. How long you been in the service?"

    "Just about three years. You know, about since Alderaan. Mel Ksiur," she said, holding out her hand, palm facing down. She shook her head and turned her hand. "So we'll be flying together? Good, you seem sensible."

    "We'll be flying together. I started my active duty during Scarif with Gold squadron. That was one heck of a battle. I caught a nasty bug that grounded me during the attack on the Death Star. Lots of my friends never made it back. I blamed myself for a long time after that. Shut myself down. I'm still working my way through that mess. I felt like the attack on the Death Star was a suicide run. High Command was pushing it hard. It was a mistake sending Y-wings down that trench. Murderous."

    Lou paused and then continued, "I don't have the answers, Mel. I spent my time in the Imperial ranks. I've taken my fair share of lives. I suppose in the end I'm fighting for my home planet. For Roon. For those people back home who don't have a voice. What brings you to the Rebellion?"

    Mel turned towards Lou, carefully watching her, and her eyes widened at the mention of Scarif.

    When Louise had finished, Mel said, "To put it bluntly, I'm from Taris. I've seen planetary devastation. If the empire would do that, there's no way I'm letting them.

    "You, and your squadron, have my respect. You went, with little support, and your actions helped take down the Death Star." She swallowed, and mulled over Lou's words a bit. "I haven't ever had a squadron. I've always been a sort of a loose end whenever command's let me fly." Her eyes dulled, and she sat back in her chair.

    "Well things are going to continue being loose around here," Lou replied, "but you'll do fine. You just keep your head up and trust your instincts. It was nice meeting you Mel. You take care of yourself."


    "Nice meeting you, too," Mel answered.

    Lou stood and left the ready room. She needed time to breathe. She needed time to think. A good stretch of the legs would do her well. She felt the old tension return. She wanted to get back into the fight. Right away.
     
  7. Mistress_Renata

    Mistress_Renata Manager Emeritus star 5 VIP - Former Mod/RSA

    Registered:
    Sep 9, 2000
    OOC: After a quick consultation with Rebecca_Daniels...

    Max Pallas
    Port Side ‘Fresher #5-C, Alliance Carrier Intrepid

    Max was still gasping for breath when she heard someone behind her clear their throat. She turned to see a young Twi’lek woman with soft violet skin eyeing her and holding out a flask.

    “You, uh…look like you could use it,” she said. Max looked at the flask. The woman could be an Imperial agent, sent to poison her. But then, the Empire considered non-humans inferior beings, would they have chosen a Twi’lek? On the other hand, a non-human might be the last person to suspect of being an Imperial agent, which would be the perfect reason to send her as a spy.

    “Wh-what is it?” asked Max, taking the flask.

    "It's a drink," said the woman, raising her eyebrows.

    Max sniffed the mouth of the flask. Bright, sharp, smoky, with a faint fruity undertone. Whiskey? On the other hand, if she was cursed to die anyway, there were far worse ways to go than poisoned whiskey.

    “Single malt or blended?” she asked.

    The woman rolled her eyes. "You can ask the guy on the Desert Eagle who supplied it," she said. "It's got a nice blend of getting yourself drunk."

    Max took a sip. Yes, bright, peaty, an almost citrusy top-note. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. It didn’t really have the depth it should. They had bottled it too soon.

    “Three more years would have made it,” she murmured, and took a proper sip this time, handing back the flask. Yes, it didn’t have the fullness that more aging would have given it, but it was better than a lot of the stuff calling itself whiskey that she’d encountered with the Rebellion.

    And it had done the trick, opening a warm path down her throat and into her chest, opening her ribcage and letting her draw a proper deep breath again. Her heart seemed to be slowing, too. Max smiled at the unknown stranger.

    “Thank you,” she said. “I did need that.” She thought back. This young woman had been in the briefing, hadn’t she? “You’re with the Black Sheep, right? I saw you in the briefing. I am, too. I’m Max. Maxime Pallas, but I just go by Max.” Spooky had died with the rest of the Bandits.

    Tag: Rebecca_Daniels (no rush, I know you've got stuff)
     
  8. Sarge

    Sarge Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Oct 4, 1998
    IC Amber Tehanis & Kayn Balzroth
    Gym aboard Intrepid

    The gym wasn't too crowded, and there was an open space among the free weights, just behind the treadmills. Kayn grabbed a couple of dumbbells and began pumping them up and down, not even bothering with any kind of warm up or stretching exercises. His breathing quickly fell into a steady rhythm as he tried to focus on the exercise and drive the endlessly repeating refrain from his mind. But after a minute he recognized the pattern of his breathing. Fortunately he hadn't said the words aloud this time, but he heard them in his breath. You got Paladin killed. He jerked his head angrily and focused on the workout.

    Having swallowed her pride and asked directions after a bit of aimless wandering, Amber entered the gym. Looking around she saw few were utilising it at this point and a quick scan found the Treadmills, and something more to the point, someone she was ready to confront now. There he was, lifting weights and looking like he was pleased with his own body and its abilities. Her stomach twisted and fortified itself as she steeled her body and pressed her lips hard together. It was time.

    Striding across the room and manoeuvring around the equipment she stopped to stand in front of him as he continued his self involved workout.

    "Was it worth it? Did you enjoy breaking orders and leading your wing into a fatal trap? Did you mark that on your ship as a kill?"

    That voice. He didn't know the face, but he knew the voice. "Vixen... " His guts churned and his head pounded mercilessly. "What are you doing here?"

    She snorted. "You're the one who shouldn't be here! Why are you still alive? Stang, you should have been the one to die out there!"

    You should have been the one to die out there.

    That felt like a gut punch. His brain was screaming for relief, and he dropped all pretenses and facades as he yelled at her, "YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT?!!!"

    He froze, shocked at his own words, and dimly aware of staring faces turned his way from all around the gym, but keenly aware of the bright green eyes focusing fury into his own.

    Standing her ground and refusing to be intimidated by his height not to mention his bellowing voice and confession, Amber thought she might be sick but didn't move. Lifting her chin slightly knowing nearly every other being in the room had eyes in their direction now she spoke evenly, keeping her expression cold.

    "How should I know what you're thinking? You never gave me a rank, I was following orders and there you were, showboating. You may be a Black Sheep with me, but I never want to be in that position again. Stay right away from me or I might be tempted to even the score for your wing."

    Her eyes, green as emeralds and twice as hard, bored into his brain and his soul. Kayn had never felt anything like it before. He knew he had angered - no, infuriated - her, hurt her, and now she was channelling her pain and anger into him. He felt her pain, and in a stark moment of honesty with himself, he knew he deserved what she was doing to him. Because he got Paladin killed. Paladin, who liked everyone and everyone liked, who had told him over and over again he ought to be nice to people. What would Paladin say now?

    "I'm sorry."

    He tried to meet the green eyes with his own, his left eye clear, cold and lifeless as always, his right eye haggard and bloodshot. It was like trying to look into a bright green supernova from only a quarter parsec away. He couldn't do it.

    His confession caught her completely off guard and she took half a step back. He was sorry, she could feel it. It was genuine and she could see a wave of regret, guilt, self recrimination and grief wash over him, his expression showed it. Suddenly his rage was gone, suddenly he was looking down unable to look her in eye. She swallowed hard, his remorse was genuine. She lowered her voice.

    "I know, somehow I believe you, I can almost feel it." She hesitated for a moment before saying in a less aggressive tone, "I hope you've learned from it."

    She needed distance again, the treadmill was out of the question now. Backing up she spun and strode as confidently as she could from gymnasium. Inside her emotions were in tatters, her feelings confused and her rationale completely mixed up. She'd not expected him to back down, she'd fully expected his ego to fight her and when he'd crumbled before her everything she'd thought had been proven wrong. Reaching the corridor she broke into a run, she didn't know where she was running to, just that she had to run, fast and far.

    Kayn suddenly realized that the burning green eyes no longer dominated the universe. Glancing around, he saw other faces, a few salaciously curious, most looking away in embarrassment. He put the dumbbells back on the rack and quietly left for the shower.

    His head was clearing, and he desperately needed some time to process whatever had just happened to him.
     
  9. Chyntuck

    Chyntuck Force Ghost star 5

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2014
    IC: Foodie
    Two weeks after the Battle of Hoth
    Portside pilot ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

    Foodie would need to upgrade to a larger container for hot beverages if he was going to be catering for this number of people on a regular basis. There were already eighteen organic beings waiting to enter the briefing room today and his largest beverage pod only held eight cups. Of course, he could always brew more kahve on the spot if needed; however, the ideal format would be a Shami carafe*. Perhaps that strange astromech who claimed to be a Jawa on wheels – a far-fetched tale if there ever was one! – would help him scrounge the materials and weld clips to his back, so that he could carry it around. After all, there was a lot of scrap metal to go by on the Intrepid. Many fighters had been so badly damaged in the evacuation from Hoth that they had regrouped with the fleet only to be cannibalised for spare parts.

    A slightly chubby teenager who, in Foodie’s opinion, looked very healthy with her extra pounds – unlike most Rebels, who were far too skinny – came in. He identified her as Ianna Mcear, one of the youngest pilots for whom he had prepared hearty breakfasts back in Echo Base. He blinked his photoreceptors and extracted a homemade cupcake from his flowery apron’s pocket as she walked past him. “Never start your day on an empty stomach, Miss,” he chided as he pressed it into her hand. “And, ahem,” – he lowered his voice – “I would not trust the victuals from the officers’ mess if I were you. Truly awful grub, prepared with second-rate ingredients that would impede your growth into a flourishing adult. You’ll know where to find me at mealtimes, won’t you?”

    More pilots filed into the ready room. Most of them Foodie didn’t know, and among those he knew there were some he wasn’t particularly happy to see. He still hadn’t digested Koruga’s comment about being a cheap substitute for a guard in a Hutt household, and the sergeant was definitely unhinged and rude, not to mention outright cruel to the poor little mousebot strapped to his chest. Captain Wystari’s attitude during the journey from Hoth seemed to indicate that he only appreciated droids who remained silent. The mysterious Mandalorian, besides being mysterious, didn’t appear to understand the difference between caf and boontaspice-flavoured kahve – although, given the likely state of his lingual papillae after a lifetime of Mandalorian cuisine, he wouldn’t be able to experience the taste of anything unless it were flavoured with hetikleyc pepper. The pretty woman with flaming red hair seemed extremely angry, but then if the rumours were true that she’d had to put up with that obnoxious Devaronian cyborg who had taped a ridiculously conceited holozine cover on the door to his quarters, she probably had reason to be. Foodie would have to whip up a cup of hot chocolate for her. She had the face of someone who liked hot chocolate.

    Then came another young woman with a headwrap that appeared to be made of tinfoil; Foodie has seen her shuffling around bits and pieces of equipment in the storage compartment of her X-wing that seemed to indicate an interest in brewing alcoholic drinks. There was also the man with a subscription to a monthly wine-and-cigar delivery for which he’d glimpsed the datawork in the hangar bay’s terminal, the Codru-Ji pilot whose speeder they had rigged to blow up the ice cave on Hoth and a few more people he was seeing for the first time. Suddenly the hubbub in the room died down as Foodie’s favourite person aboard the Intrepid appeared in the doorway: Captain Husk. Now this was a true gentleman and a connoisseur of fine cuisine if Foodie had ever met one. It had been a real pleasure to prepare meals for him over the past few days. Foodie already knew the announcement he was about to make, but he retreated to the back of the room so as to allow the pilots to focus on the details of their assignment.

    Tags: galactic-vagabond422, all

    --------------------------------

    OOC: Endnotes

    * The planet Sham exists only in my mind, ‘Sham’ being the Arabic name of the Levant in general and Damascus in particular. The carafe I have in mind for Foodie looks like the ones used by Levantine street sellers.

    Credit to @Mistress_Renata for Foodie’s pod system. He also has a cocktail pod if anyone’s interested.

    Hetikleyc pepper (according to the Wook)

    @Mitth_Fisto I didn't forget about your tag, I'll be replying to it in my next post.
     
    Mostlymad, Mitth_Fisto, Vehn and 6 others like this.
  10. galactic-vagabond422

    galactic-vagabond422 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2009
    IC: Ianna "Kid" Mcear
    Liberty

    After that battle of Hoth Ianna found herself with no squadron, not even a bomber to pilot. She was still on the Liberty the ship that took her and the survivors of Striker Flight. The first few days she goofed off tossing her bolo ball off the wall in her temporary quarters. The next few she sharpened up her skills in the simulator, until she had gotten to the point she could beat the computer with her eyes closed. By the start of the next week she was looking for something to do and was close to getting into trouble again.

    As she was bouncing her bolo ball off the wall for the hundredth time the door to her cabin opened sending the ball flying out into the hall and ricocheting off the far wall behind the captain of the Liberty.

    "Someone here to see you." he said shoulders level head tilted down to almost glaring at her.

    "Yes sir." She replied scurrying out to grab her bolo ball and threw it back into her room.

    The captain escorted her, more to keep her out of trouble than actually guiding her to the room where she was summoned. The door slid open revealing a dark skinned woman not in a uniform but, had a weight to her, a weight of command.

    Ianna took a seat and the older woman looked over a datapad set in front of her.

    "Ianna Mcear, Kid…"

    "Yes mam,"

    "You can't seem to keep out of trouble can you."

    Kid shuffled feet looking at the floor. "Well, I mean...I...Just get bored sometimes and you know accident happen."

    "More to than others it seems."

    "Well…"

    "It appears that your accidents have black balled you from every squadron in the Rebellion. Right now you won't be flying anytime soon, or possibly ever."

    Ianna's head snapped up her eyes wide she joined to fight to Empire and she loved flying. To have that taken away from her, to be put on the sidelines in a war when she desperately wanted to be at the front.

    "But, I can give you a chance, one chance to fly."

    "Yes," She replied without waiting for anything else.

    The woman smiled.

    "Good, nice to see you're ready to give your life for this."

    Kid was unafraid, eyes locked on the woman as she rose and made her way to the door.

    "Mam," Ianna called out stopping the other woman, "I'm not going to die for this cause...I'm going to live for it. I got a lotta things I want to do with my time in this universe. I want to see the Empire crumble," that was why she joined the Rebellion, to bring about the downfall of the Emperor. "Get married on the shores of the Silver Sea." She wasn't sure who she would be marrying but, that was where she would be, and she would watch as the sun set over it. "And be at Stoney End Park when the Patriots win the Cup." That was a lifelong dream of hers to be there, in the historic stadium of Hana City when her beloved team took home the most coveted trophy in sport. That would eclipse everything else.

    "It's really easy to die for something, all you have to do is make a mistake, make another run when you don't have to," she thought of Maniac, "Attack a cruiser when you've got no shields, or stay and fight when you got no escape."

    The woman who never gave her name left without another word.
    ___________
    Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

    When Ianna entered the Ready Room, she instantly ran up and hugged Joy and Lou, surprised that they ended up in the same squadron, she hoped that they'd end up in the same flight, they'd already proved themselves at Hoth, they can bring the hurt it would be smart to keep them together.

    Just before the meeting Foodie the, in her mind awesome, culinary droid handed her a cupcake which Kid wolffed down without a second thought getting some of the frosting on the tip of her nose. It was amazing, well, not as good as her mom's but, still better than she's had for a while.

    "Never start your day on an empty stomach, Miss,"

    "Yeah, thanks," she replied with a mouth full of cupcake.

    “I would not trust the victuals from the officers’ mess if I were you. Truly awful grub, prepared with second-rate ingredients that would impede your growth into a flourishing adult. You’ll know where to find me at mealtimes, won’t you?”

    She leaned in closer to hear what he was saying when he lowered his voice causing her to wrinkle her nose just a little. She was short yes but, fully grown though, she was completely fine getting her food from the dorid rather than the regular mess.

    "Yeah sure."

    When the meeting started she hastily rubbed the frosting off her nose leaving an obvious white mark on her uniform. While it might of been obvious to others it was not to her.

    She took her seat and listened as intentivly, well as intentivly as she could. The meeting drug on introducing her to various commanders that she didn't feel like she needed to keep track of, until Flagg took the podium. It was made clear he was the leader of this squadron the Black Sheep, the ones no one wanted.

    She looked at the floor shuffling her feet again. It didn't seem like this was an assignment one wanted. All she'd done is make a few mistakes, ok a lot of mistakes but, did she deserve to be in this squadron?

    She waited with bated breath hoping she would be paired with Lou and Joy once again.

    However she wasn't paired with anyone she knew. A Sergeant Malek, an older man with some scruff, while it was not who she would have wanted, she would have to do her best.

    She marched her way up to her new wingmate, the man that was older than her father.

    "Hi I'm Kid," she said with her hand extended, "looks like you're going to be on my wing. Let's watch each other's backs." She beamed a smile at him undaunted by the mission statement, and danger that surrounded them.

    Nothing was going to take her smile.

    TAG: Chyntuck Anedon
     
  11. TheAdmiral

    TheAdmiral Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Mar 28, 2004
    IC: Jocelyn “Joy" Sunwalker
    Port Side Pilot's Ready Room
    The Intrepid

    The last couple of weeks went by in a blur. She did not feel them coming and going. She was not given command of Striker Squadron and for some reason she and her newly found friends Lou and Ianna were taken away from it. The concept of friends felt so strange to Jocelyn as she had forgotten how it felt. The Empire did not tolerate such things and did its best to break such people apart or turn them on each other. The Rebellion was different in that regard, it even encouraged such bonds. Of course hardly anyone wanted to have anything to do with her aside those two women. At least they made her time bearable and to have something to look forward to.

    The Interpid was a former Imperial vessel, she had been on Carriers before so she knew her way around. Seen one, seen them all. She found out that part of the crew were also former Imps, which was a nice change of scenery for her. Not that she cared about it that much. Her friends were here in the room, though she had to sit aside of them. She did not want them to be shunned for being with her. Besides Joy needed to focus so she looked forward.

    The Rebel officers did not command much respect, unlike people like Vader, Tarkin or even Thrawn. That did not mean they were not competent, just not that charismatic, could not fill the room with their presences. Though maybe from the ones that she had seen thus far the captain was the closest and the dark skinned woman, whom Joy immediately identified as a former Imperial. Something in her made Joy’s skin crawl, could she have been from ISB? ‘I am getting paranoid again.’ she thought humorlessly.

    Jocelyn listened attentively to what was being said and tried to ignore the colorful group that had been gathered. There was even a droid of some sort and a Hutt as well! They were all going to die, that was for sure. She pushed back those thoughts, at least they could take some Imperials with them. Their Commanding Officer, Commander Flagg, took the “stage” and gave a not so inspiring speech, which was fine for her, as she was not used to listening to motivational speeches. ‘A composite squadron… Yep, we are going to die.’ then she heard her name and that she was assigned to Baker Flight. She traced the look that Flagg gave and saw a Devaronian? Or was he looking at someone else? Not that she was a specieist but the Imperial in her made her uncomfortable being under the command of a non-human. The other two names did not speak to her, will have to check them. Hopefully she would have access to their files, to study them, given that she most likely will be the second in command of the Flight.

    Her heart sunk, Lou and Ianna were assigned to other flights. She was hoping that she would still be with them. At least they were still in the same squadron and assigned on the same ship so that they could still meet socially. Another name that was mentioned was that of the Captain of Valkyria, Wystarri was it? CAROLS! Jocelyn tried to contain her excitement. Hopefully the man had kept her little fur-baby safe or he would suffer the full wrath of a former Imperial Lieutenant!

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

    After the debriefing she was walking towards the hangar with the hope to speak with the smuggled but he was faster than her so he approached her and wanted to have a word. So they moved away and he opened the pocket of his jacket and there she was her tiny baby Carols! She tried not to cry from happiness as it would ruin her image of a walking ice statue, but could not help it but grin. It even had a toy to play with! She never had the time to find her one so had to improvise but now it had one keep her company! Did she gain a bit of weight, awww, you ever-hungry Tooka! Joy took the little animal gently in her hands. It tried to tap her cheek with its paws and even made a grumpy face, she was comfortable in the pocket and now had to be moved around.

    Joy looked around to make sure that no one was watching and gave a one-armed hug to the big man. “I will try to repay you for your kindness!” and as soon as she hugged him she let him go, after all she had a reputation to maintain. So Joy bid him farewell and positioned Carols so that she could hang to her shoulder while she supported it with her hand. But before she did that she kissed its tummy “Mommy missed you so much!” she whispered to the kitten as it tried to tap her and squirmed a bit. “I am not letting you go, not anymore.” She continued as she positioned it near her shoulder.

    As Jocelyn walked down the corridor she managed to key a short Hello to Ianna and Louise on her datapad, hopefully they could meet later for a cup or two, or at least for dinner at the mess hall.

    TAG: @Vehn, Corellian_Outrider, galactic-vagabond422, Sarge, Rebecca_Daniels, Mistress_Renata, Anyone else
     
  12. Rebecca_Daniels

    Rebecca_Daniels Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Sep 3, 2006
    OOC: Written with Mistress_Renata :)

    IC: Zara "Zero" Yaren ft. Max Pallas
    Intrepid

    Oh, that was convenient. Just the person she'd been looking for. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad if this woman was also a connoisseur... yeah, she couldn't even pretend to think that seriously. Maybe they could team up to get their hands on some drinks if this assignment went on for any length of time. She seemed to know her stuff.

    "I guess that makes you my wingmate. Zara Yaren," she introduced herself, nodding once but not extending a hand. "Black Seven to your Eight. But I'm usually known as Zero."

    She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. Better to find out now than get an ugly surprise. "You a speed jockey like me or one of the hard hitting, slower types?" Please don't fly a Y-wing, she hoped, eyeing her newest wingmate.

    Max chuckled. "Y-wings? If I wanna go slow, I walk. X-wings for me. I like A-wings well enough, but when I punch an eyeball, I want them to feel the pain."

    A Quarren frowned at both of them. "Are you two going to block the sinks all day?" she demanded.

    Zara frowned right back at the Quarren but moved aside without a word. Fine, maybe the refreshers weren't the best place for a conversation.

    "The A's are fine when it's all TIEs," she agreed as she stepped away from the Quarren, "but anything bigger than a frigate is a bit tough. Guess that's what this whole mixed squadron thing is for, versatility."

    "Yeah, although it's strange that it's mixed flights, you know? I'd have thought they'd put all the Y-wings in one flight, A's in another." Max shrugged. "The cell I was in was mixed up in terms of ships because we used what we had, but seems it's more a proper military here."

    That was good, she wasn't the only one a little uncomfortable by the rigidity on display. Maybe it was because this was a crew of ex-Imps but none of her previous squadron bases had felt quite this... military. Couldn't stay a rough and tumble guerilla fighter forever, but she'd fight it as long as she had to.

    "Think the Imps built a bar into this place, or is that too much to hope?" she asked idly, as she headed out the door. "Maybe a lounge? I just arrived, so I don't really know where anything is yet." She glanced left and right as she exited, trying to map their location in her head. They were near the briefing room, and her quarters were... down two decks? If this followed Imperial standards that meant a common area would be... yeah, she didn't have a clue. She looked to Max to see if she had any ideas on what to do now.

    Max shook her head. "I've been here 2 days, I've found the officers' mess and the gym, that's about it. Mostly, I've been catching up on my sleep and answering a lot of questions about the evacuation mission." She pulled out her datapad and tapped on it. "Let's see if we can find a map of some sort."

    "Oh, mess hall." Zara couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. This morning? It had been before she left the Eagle that was for sure. "I could eat." She glanced at Max's datapad anyway, not wanting to push her into coming along. It was habit more than anything to keep to herself, and while she'd met her new wingmate it was still yet to be determined whether they'd actually get along. Not looking for friends, she told herself, a wingmate she didn't want to punch most mornings would be an improvement on the last.

    "Have you... have you met anyone else in the squadron yet? I didn't recognize any names..." The rebellion didn't have so many people that she wouldn't know anyone, but other than possibly being assigned to the same location, no one had jumped out as familiar. Maybe because most people she knew were dead.

    A cloud crossed Max's face. "I've met one, Malek, callsign Veteran?" she said. "We both got caught by an Interdictor while we were trying to get our transports away. He said he had a plan...didn't work out so well. We lost the transports. Both of them." She cleared her throat and looked back at her datapad. "Officer's Mess is...this way."

    "That's rough," she acknowledged. Two transports was a lot of people gone, and they'd already lost a lot before even getting off Hoth. Maybe that was what this squadron was making up for. "I was on TIE duty at Hoth, it's about all I'm good for."

    Zara stuck her hands in her pockets and started moving in the direction of the mess. "Seems like we were all lucky to get out of there alive."


    TAG: Mistress_Renata, TheAdmiral, any
     
  13. Chyntuck

    Chyntuck Force Ghost star 5

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2014
    OOC: This is a joint post between Bardan_Jusik and myself

    ------------------

    IC: Foodie/Commander Wallings
    Three days after the Battle of Hoth
    High Command mess, Home One

    At long last someone – Foodie wasn’t entirely clear who – had noticed his exceptional talent and recruited him in the service of High Command. He had no doubt that he would be asked to perform more heroic feats for the Rebellion in time, but for now he had procured, scrounged and stolen the best ingredients he could find for dishes that would please the motley assortment of species attending this very special luncheon. Commander Wallings had impressed upon him the importance of putting everyone at ease, and he had outdone himself. He had prepared sautéed fungi with a touch of ryll aroma for General Syndulla and bufferavian eggs with benedykt marinade for Admiral Massa. He had even managed an improvised version of sulyet for Admiral Ackbar – improvised and downgraded, because fresh seafood was an unattainable dream here in interstellar space, but Foodie had done the best he could with what he had and the result wasn’t half bad, if he said so himself. Catering to the humans’ tastes was far easier; he had been able to find everything he needed in Home One’s kitchens. He’d pulled off an authentic Alderaanian stew in honour of Princess Leia Organa, and he was sorely disappointed when he found out that she wouldn’t be present for the luncheon. He knew that he was being vain, but he always experienced electronic jitters of excitement at the idea that he would serve royalty.

    Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the glum mood that prevailed around the table. He could plainly see that Mon Mothma was pushing her food around and that General Madine was wolfing down his stew without even tasting it; Admiral Ackbar’s sulyet had remained untouched and General Grafis had put down his fork after a single mouthful. The only people who seemed to have an appetite today were General Cracken and Commander Wallings, and he was happy to refill their plates as soon as they were empty. He was about to start clearing the table, wondering if it was even worth bringing the desserts, when Admiral Ackbar broke the silence.

    Let us stop beating around the reef,” he rasped. “Hoth was a major disaster. But this cannot be the end of the Rebel Alliance. The galaxy is counting on us. We need a strategy to cope with this situation, and we need it now.

    The answers he received were not encouraging. The Alliance’s infantry was decimated and the fleet hardly fared any better; seventeen ships had been destroyed during the evacuation of Echo Base and, what was worse, the Rebel contingent of snubfighters had lost 13% of its numbers. Entire squadrons had been wiped out, with only one or two survivors from each, and it would take weeks, if not months, to train pilots and procure new craft in order to restore their capacity. The surviving ships’ needs were running Ordnance & Supply dry, and Medical was overstretched treating the hundreds of wounded. Every attendee added his own little touch of gloom to the grim picture, until General Cracken’s turn to speak came.

    What we need,” he said, “is a diversion. Something to keep the Empire off our backs while we regroup. Commander Wallings has identified precisely the people we want to carry it out.

    Wallings handed over several thick binders filled with flimsi. The project was being kept to flimsi only for now, no computer records. “Here are the files of the pilots we need.” She watched as the assembled staff officers flipped through them. Many couldn’t withhold dismayed gasps and even General Draven, who was noted for his cynicism, balked at what he saw. “I know, I know. You don’t like it. I don’t like it either. But they are exactly what we need for the kind of missions I am going to send them on.

    There was a long pause as the little group tried to overcome their initial shock. “What sort of missions are those?” General Syndulla finally asked.

    Suicide missions, to be blunt, deep into Imperial territory.” She noted the look of consternation on some of their faces. “These men and women – look at them! They’re all burnouts, or close to burning out. More of a danger to themselves and the pilots they fly with than to the Empire.” There seemed to be little arguing to that; even Mon Mothma had to concede the point. “So I want them together, where they will wreak havoc for as long as they can and maybe, just maybe, give their deaths some meaning.

    Hera Syndulla pointed at a folder adorned with the holo of a heavily armoured man holding a helmet against his hip. Her lekku were twitching with distaste. “But... prisoners of war?

    You know yourself, General, what good a Mandalorian can accomplish for a cell. The damage they can do.” Syndulla nodded but looked unconvinced. “He killed his own son, and now he wants vengeance on the Empire for it. Not the kind of man I want holed up in a cell – where, incidentally, he’d been tying down valuable resources to prevent an escape. I want him out there, unleashing that vengeance, in a manner we can direct.

    What about this one, the Devaronian?” Ackbar barked. “The reports I have seen say he should be up on charges.

    Wallings shrugged indifferently and took another bite from her plate. “You’re right, he should. But would we rather court martial and condemn a man, a great pilot by any account, to spend the rest of the war in a stockade or do we want him out there, putting his skills to use against the Empire?

    And if he gets another pilot killed?

    Look at these dossiers, Admiral! All of these pilots are going to die soon anyway of their own accord.

    Mon Mothma coughed discreetly. “A major concern would be if you cannot control them, Commander. What if they go off mission and start killing civilians? How would that reflect upon the Rebellion as a whole?

    Then we throw them under the hoverbus, their actions are unsanctioned by Rebel High Command, the usual spiel.

    None of them looked entirely convinced. “We’ve been through this with Gerrera’s Partisans,” Cracken intervened. “We managed to differentiate our position then, and we’ll manage now. There’s nothing a bit of positive messaging can’t solve.

    There was another pause before Commander Wallings spoke again. Foodie had to give it to her, she was one tough woman, if a little heartless. “Look, we need breathing room, and for very little cost to the Alliance, these men and women can give it to us. The way I see it, we can waste what little resources we have putting them on trial, guarding and interrogating them, and in some cases rehabilitating them. Or we can set them loose, and let the Empire waste their time and energy tracking them down while we rebuild. I don’t see any other option. Do you? Because the list of actionable proposals at this table is pretty thin.

    The luncheon guests exchanged wary looks, but one after the other they began to nod in approval. “It is decided, then,” Mon Mothma said reluctantly.

    Good,” Cracken muttered. “Let our crazies and the Empire keep each other busy; that’s my motto from now on.

    The mood around the table remained subdued once the conversation was over, but it was considerably lighter than before. Foodie noticed with great pleasure that several attendees finally tucked in. Dessert would wait a bit longer, he thought; and he hastened to offer second helpings and re-warm the food. He was sprinkling seadill on Admiral Ackbar’s plate when the Mon Calamari asked Wallings: “And to which ship do you plan to assign this suicide squadron?

    The Intrepid seems to be the obvious choice. With the sort of losses they’re used to sustaining, you’d think they came up with the concept before we ever thought of it.

    Did you discuss your idea with Husk?

    No,” she said airily.

    The admiral waited for her to continue, but she left it at that. He huffed. “He won’t like it.

    She grinned. “No, he won’t. But” – Foodie could have sworn that she glanced at him before finishing her sentence – “I have something in mind that will sweeten the pot.

    * * *​

    IC: Captain Adama Husk
    Nine days after the Battle of Hoth
    Portside hangar bay, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

    Captain Adama Husk let out a string of curses. “You’ve got to be kidding me.

    Not at all, sir. This is what we received.

    Husk looked at the manifest. “B-wings for which we don’t have pilots? Loadlifters for an empty hangar bay? Spare parts for industrial mixing equipment, not even a complete set? Thermal coveralls? And... four whole crates of size 2 hydrospanners? What are we, the junkyard of the Rebel Fleet?

    I don’t know, sir,” the deck officer said sheepishly. “This is what we got. The Intrepid doesn’t use industrial mixers in the first place. But we have enough hydrospanners to keep us going until the fall of the Empire now.

    The captain sighed. “What about those six boxes over there?

    Stolen Imperial rations, sir. Ready-to-eat meals. They were delivered to Echo Base just days before the battle; our people reloaded them when they evacuated.

    Oh, great. Because the food on this bucket of bolts wasn’t bad enough yet.

    Actually, the solution to that particular problem came along on this supply run,” a sharp voice said behind them.

    Captain Husk spun around to see a dark-skinned woman in civilian clothes. She looked at him coldly as she introduced herself: “Commander Wallings, Rebel Intelligence.

    Husk glanced at his datapad. “Wallings, uh? You signed off on this hogwash, so tell me. I requested tibbana, missiles, torpedoes. You know, stuff to fight the Empire. And you bring me this pile of poodoo?

    The woman was entirely unfazed. “I brought you what Ordnance & Supply can offer, Captain. Trust me, it’s more than many of your peers can say. We’re transferring a whole new squadron to your ship and they come equipped with everything they need.

    A squadron?” Husk spluttered. “I wasn’t even informed!

    She gave him a crooked smile. “A squadron, and then some more. They’re bringing along their own fighters, their own loadlifters, their own intelligence officer – that would be me – and this,” she added, gesturing towards a Gamorrean who was twirling a pair of glowsticks as he danced about on his fat legs, “is Zane, their very own spacecraft marshaller. They should repopulate this hangar bay quite nicely now that you lost all your TIEs.

    Husk eyed her suspiciously. “What’s the catch?

    Her smile widened. “No catch. How about we discuss the details over lunch?” She stepped aside to reveal the tall, bipedal droid that was standing behind her. “You were complaining about the quality of food on your ship. I imagine you’ll appreciate the potential for improvement here.

    Husk blinked. Was that a luxury personal chef droid he was seeing? Yes, it was, although the holster welded to its thigh made for an unusual addition. Now he was certain that there was a catch; even Home One didn’t have one of those in its kitchens. He sighed again. Whatever he was being tricked into doing, finding out over a decent meal would make it easier to swallow.

    Okay. Droid, you should be able to cook a mean plate of pasta, right?

    Most definitely, sir,” the droid said brightly. “Glowblue noodles and chav are one of my specialities.

    Maybe this wasn’t such a bad deal after all, Husk thought. “Any other specialities I should know about?

    I am proficient with over six million recipes from every system in the known galaxy, sir. I trained with Jedi Master Zao himself. And my knack for boontaspice-flavoured kahve earned me the Golden Roasting Award at the 1515th Congress of the Pan-Galactic Kahve Society.

    Husk whistled appreciatively. The droid seemed flattered. “You got a name?

    Absolutely, sir. Foodie, at your service for the greater good of the Rebel Alliance.

    -------------------------------

    Tags: Open
     
  14. Adalia-Durron

    Adalia-Durron Jedi Mod Princess of the WNU star 10 Staff Member Moderator

    Registered:
    Jun 3, 2003

    IC Amber Tehanis
    - Intrepid

    Having run blindly, Amber had no idea how long she'd been going or where she'd even been. Stopping to catch her breath she found she'd made her way back to her own quarters, and for that she was relieved. Palming open the door, she slipped in, closed the door and flopped onto her bunk. Her head was pounding but spinning at the same time. What had just happened? He'd gone from an arrogant stuck up egotistical creature she'd come to accept as a male to a remorseful, regretful and very humble man she did not know how to take, all in a heartbeat. Rolling to her side she stared at Squirt who sat quietly in the corner, it's lights flashing as a slow almost questioning moan came out from the little R2 unit.

    "I'm ok Squirt, I think. Just really messed up." She sat up and put her face in her hands, still breathing deeply. The thought that picked at the back of her mind began to creep forward. Could she have done that? No!! There was no way!! She'd heard it could be done, but she wasn't capable of that, was she? Her mother said no, her mother told her very early in her life she'd not received the gift. Her mother had it, her grandmother had it, but she didn't. Her mother had hidden it so deeply in fear of the Empire finding out, her father didn't even know. She lifted her eyes to look intently at the droid.

    "Come here Squirt" she said softly still catching her breath, the little droid extended its front leg and quietly rolled forward. Reaching forward she touched a small silver panel on the base of the droid, impressing her fingerprint on it. Seconds later the panel slid aside and a tray extended out. It was still there. Carefully she picked it up, studied it as she had many times before in the past, lay it in her hand and turned it over. There was no way she could be like her mother, no way she was like her grandmother who'd she seen as a child perform acts of unbelievable skill. She gave her head a shake, the thoughts whirling about in her head as it pounded from the run and the emotions. She looked up at the droid.

    "Tell me I'm wrong mate." she muttered. The droid let out a questioning sound, unsure of her words. She gave her head another shake firmly. "No!! It's not in me, I am wrong!! This is just a relic of the past, an heirloom and nothing more!!" She stated clearly looking at the object, "And I need to stop blaming myself for people not using their gut feelings and common sense!" she pursued her lips as she put the item back and harshly pushed the drawer back in, the panel slipping back into place. She stood, and breathed in deeply. "That thing is my grandmothers, not mine and I am nothing like her."

    TAG whoever




     
    Vehn, Chyntuck, Mostlymad and 5 others like this.
  15. Mostlymad

    Mostlymad Jedi Knight star 3

    Registered:
    May 12, 2017
    IC: Flight Officer Nikoloz “SQ” Dimmall
    Sky King

    It’d been a few days since the incident between his droid Max and Flight Officer Maxine Pallas’ droid Digger and still the only thing he could get out of his red and yellow R5 friend was that “it was nothing”... or “an incident between droids” that he should just butt out of. Nik could only shrug. He’d spent some time tinkering and repairing the burnt wiring inside his temperamental R5 after the electric shock he received but he was able to get Max back up and running in short order.

    Afterwards Max steered clear of Digger but Nik noticed that his R5 would randomly disappear at times. Once, he’d spotted him leaving Digger’s stall where Digg’s X-wing was kept but all he could do was roll his eyes. I bet he rigged something ‘shocking’ for that droid in there. The mechanic thought real hard about giving the grey eyed pilot a heads up but thought better of it. He even considered trying to talk to his droid but just smirked and shook his head. Sure, I could try to convince him to drop it but when that droid is of a mind it is best to just get out of his way. Besides, it was a ‘droid issue’ right? Better to let them hash it out between them. FO Pallas had come by to apologize for Digger’s actions but Nik had brushed it off. It wasn’t their problem to deal with.

    Nik decided to just ignore the whole thing and instead he focused on learning more about Mon Calamari technology from the Mon Cal techs in the hangar. Learning the inner workings and thought processes behind the different technologies was always interesting to the mechanic so he sat and absorbed what he was being taught like a sponge for the short time he would be assigned to the Sky King. He learned a few new techniques that would come in handy the next time he was tinkering around on his starfighter.

    Overall his experience aboard the Sky King had been a good one, although his brief meeting with the ship’s quartermaster, one Major Shox Seevni, left much to be desired. He’d sought out the Major hoping to get his hands on some spare or discarded Mon Cal parts but Major Seevni didn’t seem to have a grip on which parts where were... his entire inventory system had left much to desire and everyone else lost. Unfortunately he hadn’t had the time to sort through it all as he’d been reassigned to The Intrepid.

    IC: Flight Officer Nikoloz “SQ” Dimmall with Flight Officer Meleema “Ring” Ksiur (Combo with the wonderful BookExogorth)
    Port Side Pilot's Ready Room
    The Intrepid

    “He’s not an idiot you know,”Nik quietly whispered from behind Mel after Lou had left, “Flagg I mean.” He’d been sitting quietly while listening to the conversations around him. He’d given his new squad mates his ear and had eavesdropped on their conversation while he observed his new wingmate. Mel raised her eyebrows and turned around to face him as he continued. “While the pairings are unorthodox they aren’t without merit. I’ve seen something similar work out with devastating effect before.”

    “I doubt they put as much thought into it as you give them credit for.” And it’s evidenced by how little I know of you, she silently added. “You heard my name, but I have yet to learn yours. Were you at Hoth as well?”

    Nik’s square face skewed with an incredulous look. “We flew opposite each other at Hoth... on the same fighter support mission...” he arched an eyebrow at Mel. “But I suppose everything was thrown together at the last moment and quite hectically as we retreated from Hoth. I am Flight Officer Nikoloz Dimmall, callsign S. Q. or ‘Skew’ as everyone seems to run them together,” Nik held a dirty, greasy hand out.

    Mel shook his hand. She was glad to note that Delta flight, probably excepting the prisoner turned flight leader, seemed like flexible people who could work with this situation. That they hadn’t immediately left the meeting after it finished spoke loudly to her. “Your voice sounded a bit familiar. I wasn’t really paying much attention there.”

    Grinning, he added, “Yeah, that was quite the furball we were in. I kept losing you on my scope.”

    “I was trying to keep up with my wingmate.” She had hardly been one, though. Mel had avoided her just before Striker flight took off and hadn’t seen her since. “I need to check up on the x-wing they gave me.” Also, not very many were still in the room.

    “They gave you a new one?” He asked without hiding the surprise in his voice. As far as he knew Ring had made it out of their entanglement with her X-wing intact. Most pilots were attached to the starfighters they had the most time in. Better to know what demons you had in a ship than get a new one and get surprised by a demon you don’t know in combat.

    She laughed. “All but new, to me, at least. They swapped around some of the unmodified fighters, and someone entered mine into the database wrongly.”

    “So what happened to your X-wing from Hoth then? Where did the quartermaster end up sending it when they screwed up the database?” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice as the thought of having something like that done to his starfighter would send him into a rage.

    “I don’t know. It’s probably still on the Sky King.” She assumed that it had been because the quartermasters hadn’t wanted to fool with moving around ships that had no real differences.

    “Would you rather that ship or this new one you’ve been assigned? Or is that why you are going to check her over? Cause if you want that one on the Sky King I know a few guys over there that might be able to get her transferred over.” Almost sheepishly he added, “I spent way too much time in the hanger there.”

    Her eyes flickered as she said, “No. There’s just a minor modification I need to make.” Hopefully it’ll be easier with the new aid that supposedly came with connectability to vehicles. The extra wiring she had to add into her old one was probably why it had been as temperamental as it was.

    “Need a hand checking her over?” He raised his greasy hands and gave them a wave, “I’m pretty handy with a wrench and live in the hangar.” Extending his hand Nik gestured towards the hallway letting her lead the way.

    After thinking it over a bit, she answered, “No. I’ve got it.” She then stood up and walked to the door. She absent-mindedly picked up one of the few remaining cups of caf sitting on a table as she left. They weren’t friends yet, and she wouldn’t let a - hmmm, friendly acquaintance, perhaps - look over her ship.

    Nik shrugged as he walked towards the hangar. “Well if you should ever change your mind you can usually find me tinkering in either stall 242 or 437. Swing by whenever you’d like. Pleasure to formally meet you Ring.” And with a wave, Nik headed out of the ready room and turned toward the hangar with half a mind to dig around to see what kind of parts this Imperial bucket was hiding.

    She called back, “You too, SQ.” She took a sip of the caf. Hmmm, it actually wasn’t half-bad. She might have to stop by the ship’s kitchen and ask whoever made it about it.

    TAG: Bardan_Jusik, Mistress_Renata, BookExogorth, Chyntuck, Vehn
     
  16. Sarge

    Sarge Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Oct 4, 1998
    TEXT MEMO
    To: Sgt Sunwalker, FO Pallas, FO Yaren
    From: LT Balzroth
    Subject: Flight meeting in squadron briefing room at 0900

    IC: Kayn Balzroth
    Black Sheep Briefing Room

    Kayn arrived early, determined to make a fresh start with his new assignment. If the Alliance thought he had the potential to be a flight leader, he was going to be the best damn flight leader he could be. Maybe he couldn't bring Paladin back, but he'd do his best to live a life that would make his former wingman proud.

    He had even taken the time to download an officer's manual and file it in his implanted memory banks. Now if I can only remember what name I filed that under... There it is, MLFD. Military Leadership For Dunces. Subheadings: Authority, Discipline, Rapport & Teamwork... Paladin was good at this kind of interpersonal pudu. Help me out today, wingy, I'm in over my head. Can't let the troops see that, though. Need to project an aura of competence and confidence, according to MilLeadForDun.

    Sunwalker was next to arrive; promptness was undoubtedly a virtue emphasized in her Imperial military training. Yaren came in last. As the purple Twi'lek took a seat, Kayn caught Sunwalker's eyes and then looked down at his wrist chrono. If she was a good NCO, she ought to take the hint that he'd expect her to get the troops where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there.

    He smiled at his flight, trying not to show his fangs too much, and forced himself to sound good-natured and amiable.

    "Good morning, Baker Flight. Anybody else think that name sounds weak? I'm open to suggestions for a better name. Anyway, I'm Kayn Balzroth, Mean Streak, and the higher authorities in their infinite wisdom have appointed me as your flight leader. We're here to get organized and figure out how we're going to make this into the best damn flight in the squadron, right?"

    In Kayn's head, Paladin was making a so-so gesture. Kayn was sure he wasn't as inspirational or motivational as he was trying to be, but he was trying, and he could only hope he'd get better with practice.

    "So, I'm flight lead, and I'm appointing Sgt Sunwalker as my deputy. She's had more military training and experience than the rest of us put together, so I'm counting on her to know what it takes to keep the flight running smoothly. Joy, that means I'm going to be delegating some of the admin deskwork to you. Sorry, it's a thankless job, but it has to be done and you're more likely to do it right than anyone else here. On the positive side, you get the responsibility of taking over the flight whenever I'm not around. After reviewing your open records, I'm sure you'll do fine. And as an additional duty, I'd like you to teach us all to talk like Imperial pilots on our comms. If we can fool the bad guys into believing we're on their side, that might save our necks some day."

    The ex-Imp was apparently taking it all in stride. That one's a closed book.

    "Yaren, you're our second element leader. Just remember to throttle back so that Pallas can keep up with you in her X-wing. According to your file, you're a pretty good sniper, so your additional duty will be to teach us all to shoot. I suspect the others have both handled rifles before, but I've never fired anything bigger than a pistol, so you'll have your work cut out with me."

    Judging by her hard eyes and distant look, she'd be a stone-cold killer on the range. Don't get on the wrong side of that one!

    "Pallas, you're flying Yaren's wing, tail-end of the formation. I hope you and your droid both have eyes in the backs of your heads. I've seen the after-action reports on what you did to that Interdictor, so I want you teach us all some of the basics of slicing. In fact, I have your first assignment now."

    Kayn snagged a mug of kahve from a passing droid and took a sip as he moved a little closer to the slicer and lowered his voice a bit.

    "I'm supposed to have an A-wing transferred to me from Viper Squadron, but they're dragging their heels. And when they finally cough one up, you can bet your last credit it will be the worst hangar queen in their outfit. I used my officer rank to get access to their maintenance files, and the worst ship they have is 7839. The one I want is 7841. Well, actually I want 7888, but that's their CO's bird, and there's no way we'd get that without starting a civil war. So I want you to slice into the Vipers' system and make sure the transfer orders say 7841, not 7839. Do some quiet poking around and let me know what you need to make that happen. Understand?"

    Moving back and addressing the whole flight, he continued.

    "For our first practice flights, we'll fly in standard finger-four formation. I'm down-loading formation assignments onto your personal datapads, so check your screens now. Everybody see where they're supposed to be?
    [​IMG]

    "We'll start with 10 meter spacing, close enough to be in easy eye-to-eye contact, far enough that we're not worrying about collisions. Joy and Zero, stay level with me, Max, stay a little higher so you can see over Zero and keep eyes on me. Everybody needs to keep their eyes open for hand signals when we're running silent. For penetration missions where we're trying to fool enemy sensors, we'll move in much closer, but not until we've had a chance to get used to the way our wingmates fly. In actively hostile territory I'll want a much wider formation, a hundred meters between wingmates and two hundred between elements, so we can't all be jumped by one attacker. I call that the combat spread. From that formation, we can do an old maneuver we called the Sarlacc Twist. My last wingman told me that Corellian airspeeder pilots developed it ages ago and it worked well, especially for heavy fighters going against more maneuverable dogfighters. I'm downloading the file for that one to your pads too."
    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thach_Weave

    "An even better way to guard our back would be to stick a tailgunner in Joy's Y-wing, but I doubt we'll get one assigned. Unless you want to fly with a droid. I bet we could commandeer this kahve maker and program it to shoot. Max, can you download a gunnery program into a general purpose droid? If we can get it to shoot half as well as it makes kahve, it'll be the highest-scoring ace in the squadron."

    Paladin would tell me I'm talking too much and not listening enough. Wrap it up and let them have their say now.

    "I'm sure we all heard what Flagg said about us being the dregs of the Alliance. I've scanned all our files, and he may be right, but let me tell you this. Whether by plan or by accident, he gave this flight the best people in this whole outfit. This flight is going to kick Imp ass from here to the core as soon as they turn us loose to do our thing. All we have to do is put our talents together, help each other, and trust each other. I hope the other flights are getting their pudu together, cuz they're gonna have to bust their butts to keep up with us.

    "All right, that's enough out of me for a while. I want to hear your thoughts and ideas. Who's first?"

    Kayn tried not to sigh too obviously as he shut up and listened. This leadership business was tougher than it looked.

    TAG: TheAdmiral, Rebecca_Daniels, Mistress_Renata, Chyntuck
     
  17. Mistress_Renata

    Mistress_Renata Manager Emeritus star 5 VIP - Former Mod/RSA

    Registered:
    Sep 9, 2000
    ICC: Max Pallas
    Corridor of Alliance Carrier Intrepid
    With FO Zara Yaren

    The two women made their way towards the mess hall, discussing their new squadron in low voices. Max was a bit disturbed by CAG’s casual mention that they would be sent on suicide missions, especially since she got the impression that he didn’t care one way or another whether any of them came back. Max had been on similar missions, of course; the Bandits were partisans after all. But always, heading out, they knew that the reward or the payoff was worth the risk they were taking. Ikrit Boraska had never left them in the dark. And, she knew, he planned and double-checked and did everything in his power to mitigate the possibilities of failure. He did everything he could to make sure they would all make it back, and they would have followed him anywhere.

    Max couldn’t feel the same way about Flagg. He’d actually called them the dregs of the Rebellion? That had put her back up. She was no Luke Skywalker, true, but she was a good pilot, with a string of kills. She was also a competent shot and a very proficient slicer. Zara seemed to share some of her concerns.

    “I mean, if that’s how they feel, I may as well go back to—“ Max broke off, staring at the young woman walking towards them. Pretty, dark-haired… cuddling a small ball of orange fur to her chest. “Is that…?”

    She walked forward quickly. “A tooka? You have a tooka? Oh, thank the stars!” She held out her fingers for the little creature to sniff. “Tookas are so important on a starship! Nothing better for taking out pantry mice or conduit worms, and they can see—“ Max broke off. She’d been about to say “they can see ghosts,” but from the chilly look on the woman’s face, she wouldn’t welcome that information.

    “They can, uh, see in the dark,” finished Max, rather lamely. “It’s very good luck to have a tooka on a ship. What’s its name?”


    Tag: TheAdmiral, Rebecca_Daniels
     
  18. Anedon

    Anedon Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    May 11, 2016
    IC: Ethan "Veteran" Malek
    Rebel Cruiser Sky King

    Ethan sat alone at a table in the main mess hall of the Sky King and stared at the empty glass and the bottle of liquor in front of him. It was a strong drink, stronger than probably everything the rebels would give to their pilots. Ethan had bought the flask years ago on Nar Shaddar and he still remembered the warning of the merchant how dangerous this stuff was for humans. By this point Ethan had drunken almost half of but he had never felt any ill effects from it, or at least no severe. Each time he had lost companions in battle he had taken a few ships of this stuff and each time it had knocked him out for hours and the headache afterwards had been like the collision of two planets. Each and every time the liquor had given him some comfort over the people he had lost.

    But not this time. As Ethan stared at the bottle he again remembered the destruction of the grappler and the death of all the brave soldiers on board. The transports and all the equipment they had been lost, yet this bottle of human killing acid had survived. The universe truly had a bad sense of humor.

    For a moment Ethan remembered the other companions he had lost in all his years in the military. It where many names and faces that came back to him, some almost forgotten, some so real as if he had just meet them a few hours ago. But they were all gone, taken by a cruel and dark galaxy. Again Ethan´s glance returned to the liquor and the comfort he knew the stuff would give him.

    He just needed to a ship and the next few hours would be free of any self loathing and pain. But he couldn´t, he had seen soldiers who had turned towards the bottle before, young recruits who seek to drown their fear, imperials who tried to forget about the horrible things they had done, mercenaries who tried to blend out their miserable life for a few short hours. Had he really fallen this deep? For a moment he asked himself what his old instructor would say if he could see him here. A lonely depressed soldier, broken by the losses he had suffered with his only remaining comfort being a bottle of alcohol. Shaking his head Ethan stood up and with that he shoved his self pity away.

    Mustang, the soldiers and the people on board of the transports where dead, he was alive and there was nothing he could do to bring them back. But they had fallen for something they believed in, a galaxy free from the empire and Ethan knew the best way to honor them was continued their fight. As he left the room he handed the bottle to a group of rebels at another desk, though not without warning them of the danger.

    Then he made his way towards his quarters, it had been a long day and he needed some sleep.

    Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

    A squadron of the dammed fighting the battles nobody thinks can be won? Ethan listened to Flagg´s words and the more he heard the more it felt to him like a suicide squadron. As he looked around him he saw several other pilots sitting around them, men and women, humans and aliens. Are we the outcasts of the rebellion? The ones nobody wants to have? In his time in the military Ethan had been part of such groups before, mostly desperate mercenaries who had taken the most dangerous jobs. And more often than not the vast majority of them had died during these missions. For a moment Ethan asked himself how many of the other pilots knew what they where signing for here.

    After Flagg had finished his speech Ethan stood a bit distant from the other and let his glance wander through the room seeking for known faces. For a moment he shivered as he saw Max, since the day they had escaped Hoth she hadn´t spoken to him and blocked any of his attempts to apologize for what happened. Ethan couldn´t blame her for it, as he had a hard time forgiving himself for what had happened that cursed day.

    His thoughts left Max as someone walked up towards him. A girl barely older than a teenager, short and with dark blonde her gave him a smile. For a moment Ethan asked himself how young she was, what she had done to be transferred into this squadron and if she had any idea that they where up to a mission that was essentially suicide.

    He took her offered hand.

    "Ethan Malek," he introduced himself formal. "You can just call me Ethan, or Veteran if you prefer that, it's nice to meet you." For a moment he weakly returned her smile.

    "What have you done that they send you here?" he asked his new wing mate while in his mind her started to pray that she wouldn´t meet the same fate as so many of his companions before.

    Tag: galactic-vagabond422
     
  19. galactic-vagabond422

    galactic-vagabond422 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2009
    IC: Ianna "Kid" Mcear
    Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

    At first she pumped his hand vigorously beaming a smile.

    "I'm Ianna," She replied,

    "What have you done that they send you here?" He asked, Ianna looked at the ground shuffling her feet a little. She hadn't done much to get herself assigned to this squadron. Just a few mistakes here and there. Did that mean she had to end up here in a squadron meant to work jobs no one wanted?

    "Awww...Well you know." She fiddled with her long braid a little, "I made a few mistakes, nothing major, just like little things...you know I you probably don't want to the full details." It was a long list to go through they probably didn't have the time for her to rattle off all the demerits in file. Besides that would only serve to put doubts in her wingmate's mind. She was a capable pilot, could handle herself, though her records don't necessarily show it.

    "Good to meet you." she followed up. "So where you from?"

    TAG: Anedon
     
  20. Mistress_Renata

    Mistress_Renata Manager Emeritus star 5 VIP - Former Mod/RSA

    Registered:
    Sep 9, 2000
    OOC: Okay, B-flight have got their days split somehow. This is the response to @Sarge’s briefing, which we think takes place the day following the squadron briefing.

    ICC: Max Pallas
    B-flight Briefing
    Black Sheep Squadron Briefing Room

    She hadn’t had nearly enough caff. Max normally didn’t have a problem getting up, but she’d had a late night last night. She had gone into the personnel files of the Intrepid, to get as much information as she could on her new squadmates and her C.O. It had been tricky. She’d assumed that the Rebels would simply have overwritten the Imperial command codes, and that she’d be able to slip in through the backdoor that the ISB left open for themselves. But someone had closed the backdoor—a good sign, really, someone in the Rebellion was on their toes—so she had to find the Rebels’ backdoor. No programmer left a system completely sealed. There were two, which at first seemed wide open and inviting… but as she proceeded, she’d discovered triggers, internal alarms to alert the ship’s security to an infiltration. It was a very clever trap, designed by a master.

    But Max had been trained by a master. She ignored the backdoors and gently, slowly, patiently, found her own way in to the personnel files, reading a good deal about her new comrades. There were quite a few former Imps, including Sunwalker, and she was particularly unhappy at the new XO, the Mandalorian. They couldn’t be trusted. Like prostitutes, they sold themselves to the highest bidder, no matter their protestations of honor. And there was no evidence to support his story, really, although an Atin Taab was listed among the pilots missing after the Hoth mission. This guy had to be a plant. There was also a little information on the thinking behind the formation of the squadron and their ultimate mission. It was maddeningly vague: create havoc behind Imperial lines and buy time for the Rebellion. It seemed as if High Command wanted another guerrilla cell, not a proper squadron.

    It had been very late when she finally left, being extremely careful to cover her tracks, delete file view markers and she’d only gotten a few hours of sleep.

    Their new flight leader, this hairy Devaronian—Borgoth? No, Balzroth--was rattling off information at a scary pace. He wanted her to slice the supply system to get a ship? And something about reprogramming a droid with a gunnery program? She was going to have to find a gunnery program, or write one from scratch. Not to mention finding a droid. And he was diagramming some type of flight formation.

    It was a massive infodump at cyberspeed and she wasn’t even sure how to respond to it. On the plus side, he didn’t seem to think they were the dregs. He seemed to think they were competent, and was looking forward to kicking Imperial ass…a bit rah-rah, but Max would take optimism any day. Especially since she was already cursed. Sometimes, positive attitude helped. She glanced over at Zara, and then at Joy, looking for their reaction.

    She really, really needed more caff.

    TAG: Sarge, TheAdmiral, Rebecca_Daniels, Chyntuck
     
  21. Vehn

    Vehn Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    IC: Lou Gray
    Intrepid
    Personal Quarters

    "You'll never make it with a squadron, Lou. You'll never be good enough to fight for any cause, Rebellion or Empire. Maybe it's best for everyone if you sit this war out. Nobody is going to want you flying on their wing."

    Lou collapsed into her bunk, buried her face in her hands, and fought away the words of her husband shortly before he scrubbed her out of the Imperial Flight Academy on Carida. She'd been crushed by his words. She'd allowed herself to be defeated by someone close to her. Someone she loved. Someone she trusted.

    "If you walk out that door we're done. You hear me? We're done. I won't be able to protect you any longer."

    Lou couldn't take it anymore. She'd run. Run away. Away from a life that had once held so much promise, so much reward. She'd gone back home. Spent some time on the family farm on Roon. Rebuilt, remade herself. Her family fought with her to keep a low profile but she refused and quickly enrolled in a cell that got her into flight training with the Rebellion.

    She was competent in fighters but her heart was with bombers. It was the heavy payload. It was the daydreams of performing bombing runs on her husband and her marriage. Reminding him of what he had lost. There were times, late at night, as Lou drifted off to sleep where she'd slip on her husband's tail and blast his TIE into the heavens. Somehow that seemed fitting, somehow that seemed right.

    Lou reached under her mattress and felt for a datapad. It had seen better years. It was worn out but she knew it still worked just fine. She fired the datapad up and accessed her images. She felt a lump rise to her throat as she flipped through memories with her husband. Better times. Happier times. They were so carefree when they'd first met.

    She reached up to grasp a necklace around her neck from which her wedding band hung along with her dogtags. Beautiful diamonds, shimmering in the cabin light, and that wedding day came back to her more intense than ever. They'd chosen an outside venue that had a beautiful view of the Lady Constance mountain range on Roon. Everything was perfect down to the finest detail. It was the happiest day of her life. She remembered every moment and how safe and secure she felt in his arms. They'd danced the night away, they'd made passionate love, and they'd whispered promises of the life they'd build together.

    All gone. Just memories now. Empty words and empty promises. Something had gone horribly wrong between far flung deployments, an aggressive training schedule, and the demands of military life. Something broke between them. Something irreparable.

    Lou wiped a tear from her eyes and slipped the datapad underneath her mattress. No point in focusing on the past. It was time to focus on the present. Her smaller, newer, and more accessible datapad buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the message. It was from Joy. A simple hello.

    She must've read the message a hundred times before she realized what she needed to do. Lou rushed down to the hangar bay and acquired some paint. She was confident enough in her artwork to pull off her vision. When she was done her Y-wing was blessed with nose art that reflected so much of where she was at in her life. A bomber that symbolized all that she stood for right now.

    [​IMG]

    C-8, her loyal droid, warbled and hooted in approval. Lou rested a paint speckled hand on C-8's dome and said, "Now I've really gone off the deep end."

    The droid cooed affectionately and spun its little head around and around.

    "That good, huh?" Lou laughed and wiped a fleck of dry paint from her forehead. "Maybe there's a bit of a black sheep in all of us...."

    C-8 whistled in acknowledgement. "Takes one to know one," Lou teased as she put the paint away and headed to the mess hall for some much needed food.

    Tag: Bardan_Jusik

    OOC: The insignia is from the Luftwaffe Condor Legion which saw combat during the Spanish Civil War of 1930s Spain. I picked it particularly for its color scheme and thematic elements. The insignia was not picked for any political or social reasons so please don't read into it that way :).
     
  22. Adalia-Durron

    Adalia-Durron Jedi Mod Princess of the WNU star 10 Staff Member Moderator

    Registered:
    Jun 3, 2003
    IC Amber Tehanis and Cassell Wystari,
    Mess Hall - Intrepid

    (Special thanks to Corellian_Outrider for the joint post - kept us busy on a Sunday night!)




    Having bathed and changed, Amber went looking for food as she realised she'd not eaten in nearly 20 standard hours. The signs were clear for that one so finding the mess hall wasn't a big issue. Finding food that didn't taste like dirt or ash, that was a different story. Seated at a table alone, the way she liked it, she forced down food that was only suitable for prisoners on Kessel, if that in her mind. It didn't take long for her lose her appetite as she began to push the pieces around her plate absent mindedly. She should be meeting her new squadron mates, she knew they were men, and that made her uncomfortable but she'd deal with it when the time came. The thought of earlier was still floating around in her head, the entire encounter was still there still rolling about with all the possibilities as to why and more importantly, how.

    Captain Wystari had not expected the brief hug from Sergeant Sunwalker upon returning the Tooka kitten to her. He told her that it was no trouble at all and that it was a pleasure. She had moved on, focused between her kitten and datapad. He smiled inwardly as he watched her go. Give her time to be at ease with everything. The distant and coldness usually a defensive mechanism, he told himself as he left the hanger and made his way to the mess. He was hungry though suppose just this once check the quality of the food onboard the Intrepid than exclusively use the galley on board the Valkyria

    He picked up a tray, glanced at the food available and placed the tray back. He fixed himself a hot drink instead, dark cocoa… a substitute for food. As he looked about, he saw the long red hair of one of the pilots in the squadron.He came around and saw her face, Amber? Wasn’t it? He smiled to her and gestured to the seat opposite her. “Mind if I join you?”

    Amber was lost in her thoughts when a voice broke through. She looked up, the face was familiar somehow, he was smiling and the past had told her that usually meant trouble. She shrugged. "Sure, up to you." She said cooly as she pushed her half eaten meal aside.

    “Ah, thank you.” Wystari noted her eyes as he sat down opposite Amber. He half grimaced as he saw the food and gave an understanding nod. “The food here certainly leave a lot to be desired, doesn’t it?” He remarked softly.

    Amber snorted as she chose to voice her earlier thoughts. "Prisoners on Kessel eat better than this, but it keeps us alive for now. Beggars can't be choosers Lieutenant" She said acknowledging his rank, conversation was not one of her strong points.


    “Ah, you’re probably right about that.” Wystari chuckled. “Their problem is either the cook or lack of ingredients at hand.” He took a sip of his cocoa and shrugged. “Or both.”

    "Definitely both." She conceded, "I suspect the cooking droid is actually a maintenance droid." She understood that the Rebel Alliance was outside of the law, outside the realms of acquiring the appropriate equipment to perform the appropriate job. The conversation was almost dead, there was only so much one could say about the food, so in an attempt to fit in, she pushed on. "I think I saw you at the briefing, are you Black Sheep?"

    “That wouldn’t surprise me.” Wystari nodded in agreement about the cooking droid. “The briefing? Aye, I suppose I am.” He gave a tight smile. “I have been assigned to the squadron by Command. I usually provide support however that role tends to be vague in the mission descriptions.”

    Amber frowned. "So you're not a fighter pilot?" She didn't know who was or wasn't. "What would your role be?"

    “I can fly fighters and can fill empty slots on the roster… However, I am more at home in the larger ships, more of a bonus when it comes to the Corellian variety. I can provide heavy support.” Wystari explained. “Umm... I should probably introduce myself. Cassell Wystari, Captain of the Valkyria.”

    She eyed him for a moment before introducing herself. "Amber Tehanis, Flight Officer, Black Sheep 4, some call me Vixen." It was to the point and without feeling in her mind. No need to give information not asked for or un-necessary.

    “Vixen…” Wystari murmured the name to get a feel of it, then nodded. “It is a pleasure tomake your acquaintance, Flight Officer Tehanis.” He gave her a warm smile. “They call me ‘Skipper’. I am a Captain in my own right but I think they do so to spare confusion with the other Officers.”

    "You have your own ship?" she asked, "I own my X Wing. Which ship?"

    “I do indeed, the Valkyria is a Corellian YT-2000 Light Stock Freighter.” Wystari answered her.

    She'd not heard of that particular model, but she could clearly see the pride in the older man's eyes. Something about him made her feel he wasn't the usual threat most men close to her age made her feel. More of a father figure maybe. She missed her father, he never would have allowed her the life she was living now. "Not heard of it, but you're proud of it, that much is clear."

    “Aye, that I am.” He smiled and gave a nod. “She is my home, my livelihood, the only thing I have left.” He sighed softly. "She is the saucer shaped freighter in the hanger. Sturdy shields, twin guns on the dorsal and ventral positions with forward ion and laser cannon in each mandible… though need to find a source for warheads for the launcher."

    Amber nodded slowly, she understood the pretence of having everything in a ship. "You built it up yourself?"

    “Some of it… I also have a treadwell droid for repairs and services.” Wystari admitted. “For the tricker pieces a shipwright installed it for me… there are a few neutral places that will do it for you without questions.”

    Another nod of recognition. She herself did most her own work these days, she had to learn fast and the hard way, but chose to keep that to herself. Wystari seemed nice enough, but she was wary, always wary of all men. She needed to make a move, listening she could hear the women behind her, they seemed to be oohing and arrhing over something. "Anyway, I'd best move, I think they're" she indicated behind her "Black Sheep too, should introduce myself." She stood up, picking her plate up to empty it. "It was nice to meet you, clear skies Sir. " She stepped back and started toward the refuse disposal to discard her food, or whatever it was.

    “Of course… it was a pleasure meeting you.” Wystari nodded as he watched her rise and took her plate with her. “Until next time.”He gave a friendly salute and smile then took sip of his cocoa as she moved away.

    Truth was Amber was hoping the women would move away before she got to them so she'd be able to just hit the sack, she was exhausted, so she took her time.,

    TAG Anyone
     
  23. Anedon

    Anedon Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    May 11, 2016
    IC: Ethan "Veteran" Malek
    Port side pilot´s ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)
    Ethan returned Ianna´s smile but didn´t fail to notice how she had evaded his question about her reasons for being here. But he didn´t inquire further, it was her decision to talk about it or not.

    "Eriadu," he replied to her question, hoping that the name of his homeworld wouldn´t turn her of. As Eriadu was one of the most loyal imperial worlds and the home of the former Grand Moff Tarkin himself some of the other rebels seemed to mistrust Ethan because of it.

    "Though I haven´t been there for many years and since I left I´ve lived in many places, spaceships, star ports, colonial worlds but nowhere long enough to truly call it home." For a short moment Ethan´s thoughts traveled back to Eriadu as he tried to figure out how many years had passed since he had seen it the last time. Two decades at least, probably more.

    "Where do you come from?" he asked Ianna, interested what had lead her here, to the rebellion and in the middle of a war.

    Tag: galactic-vagabond422
     
  24. Rebecca_Daniels

    Rebecca_Daniels Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Sep 3, 2006
    IC: Zara "Zero" Yaren
    Intrepid-- Black Sheep Briefing Room

    Most of the squadrons she'd been a part of had been rushed, unorthodox. Mission after mission, with little downtime, trying to hit the Empire as fast and hard as they could, relentless and desperate. It meant mission briefings were, well, brief, and no one had enough time to get to know each other before they got blown to pieces. The success rate was questionable, but at least she'd never had too much time on her hands.

    And for the last little while, time was all she'd had. She woke up early that morning, uncomfortable with the new surroundings and unable to get back to sleep. At this hour it was unlikely there'd be too many in the mess, and she made her way there, avoiding the gaze of any she passed in the corridors. She still didn't have the layout of the ship down too well, but the mess and refreshers she'd noted before returning to her cabin last night. The plate she was served didn't look like much, but Zara didn't particularly care as long as it had the right nutrients. As it was, the datapad in her hand held more of her attention than the food, which she ate as she read. She'd managed to download a new novel during her time on the Eagle and, eager to finish, she carried it with her to pick up when she had some time.

    The briefing wasn't until 0900, so she still had time to spare after she deposited her tray and left the mess. Going back to her cabin didn't appeal much at the moment-- she'd spend enough time in the small space as this mission went on-- so instead Zara headed for the hangar; she'd be able to check on her ship, certainly, and she'd found it was a good place to get some privacy without being hidden away.

    The crew there went about their business, working on other ships or whatever they were supposed to be doing. Zara made a beeline for her A-wing, climbing up the ladder and hopping onto the nose. The new plating there still looked a bit out of place, the paint needed redone, but it still looked surprisingly good for the damage it had taken; the Eagle's repair crew had done a solid job, and hopefully the Intrepid's would be of a similar quality. They were, after all, likely to be taking a lot of damage on this mission.

    She climbed back down and sat underneath the A-wing, cross-legged and comfortable, out of the way while she read her novel. The story, about the ill-fated love between a loyal Imperial and a dangerous Rebel, was clearly Imperial propaganda, but she was invested in it regardless. As the Rebel sacrificed herself to save her lover from her violent, nefarious allies, Zara's comm chirped a reminder of the briefing. Great, just when it was getting good.

    The other three were there when she arrived, Max, Sunwalker, both of whom she'd met yesterday, and a Devaronian that had to be their flight lead. Lovely. Zara slouched in a seat, crossing her arms and sticking her legs out long in front of her as she listened to what Balzroth had to say.

    "Yaren, you're our second element leader. Just remember to throttle back so that Pallas can keep up with you in her X-wing. According to your file, you're a pretty good sniper, so your additional duty will be to teach us all to shoot. I suspect the others have both handled rifles before, but I've never fired anything bigger than a pistol, so you'll have your work cut out with me."

    Ugh. No thanks, lazerbrain, she thought at him, but didn't say as he powered through the briefing like some sort of rehearsed speech. This was a starfighter squadron, they wouldn't be doing ground missions, would they? The thought of doing ground assaults again ate at her while Balzroth continued; she signed up to fly, not to take down ground troops. Sure, she'd kept up her skills, but that was more in the hope of one day putting a laser between a particular target's eyes.

    Formations and manoeuvres and whatever. She glanced at them but didn't look too closely; didn't seem too complicated, at least, though this mixed-squadron business was going to make things painful. At least she wasn't stuck with the Y-wing.

    "I'm sure we all heard what Flagg said about us being the dregs of the Alliance. I've scanned all our files, and he may be right, but let me tell you this. Whether by plan or by accident, he gave this flight the best people in this whole outfit. This flight is going to kick Imp ass from here to the core as soon as they turn us loose to do our thing. All we have to do is put our talents together, help each other, and trust each other. I hope the other flights are getting their pudu together, cuz they're gonna have to bust their butts to keep up with us."

    "All right, that's enough out of me for a while. I want to hear your thoughts and ideas. Who's first?"

    If this was the best of the Black Sheep, she didn't want to see the rest of the squadron. Zara knew why she was here, and if the others here had done something similar or worse, then that didn't bode well.

    She caught Max looking at her and Joy, and Zara rolled her eyes in Balzroth's direction. "Do they pay you by the word?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "I mean, uh-- no comments here, Lieutenant Streak." The note of sarcasm wasn't particularly subtle, and her expression remained serious.

    TAG: Sarge TheAdmiral Mistress_Renata
     
  25. galactic-vagabond422

    galactic-vagabond422 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2009
    IC: Ianna "Kid" Mcear
    Port side pilot's ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid (Quasar Fire class)

    Kid nodded her head hearing where Sergeant Malek was from. Eriadu, she hadn't really heard much of the place, other than it was an Imperial stronghold in the outer rim. Most of that information came from her rushed astro navigation classes, and looking at the huge star maps as she charted out her course. It was good to see that he escaped that place, he probably had a good heart and couldn't take what the Empire was doing. So he left and joined the rebellion, an admirable route to the right side.

    Then he asked where she was from, that was easy for her.

    "I'm from Chandrila, my family owns a farm, I grew up there, helping my family with taking care of staga, nerfs, and other creatures. Also helping with the harvest every year. I've only been away for a year and I do my best to keep in contact. It's a little hard at times but, I do my best, have to make sure they know I'm alive." She beamed thinking about her family. Her kind father, her loving mother, the rolling fields that stretched to the horizon. She missed them, missed all of them but, she was out here to bring down the Empire, there would be time for remicining later. "I know, I know, another farm girl trying to make a difference. But, a farm boy did bring down the Death Star, so I think I can do some good." She spoke referencing Commander Skywalker, the Hero of Yavin, farm boy from Tattooine.

    "So ahhh...you have…" she stopped herself, she was about to ask if he had any family. He did leave an Imperial planet, it could be that his family is staunchly Imperial or already in prison. She didn't want to bring that up. "Do you follow Limmie at all, what's your favorite team?" she changed the topic suddenly and with little warning, trying not to bring up anything too painful. Maybe talking about hobbies would be a good way to learn about one another.

    TAG: Anedon
     
  26. BookExogorth

    BookExogorth Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    May 4, 2017
    Presenting a combo post with Mitth_Fisto and Chyntuck. Thanks, both of you!

    IC: Akiva Lurell, Foodie, Meleema (Mel) Ksiur
    Two weeks after the Battle of Hoth
    Portside pilot ready room, Rebel Carrier Intrepid

    There was something about this briefing that didn’t feel quite right, Foodie thought. Captain Husk had welcomed the new pilots on board, but he didn’t seem particularly happy about it. This impression was compounded by Colonel’s Spence speech. The Commander of the Air Group appeared not to want to touch this squadron with a ten-metre Force pike, and, although Foodie wasn’t an expert on such matters, he was fairly certain that Spence wasn’t much of a motivational speaker. Then came a commander named Arik Flagg, whose manner was so gruff that it brought the atmosphere in the room to a new low. Many of the pilots were visibly upset, disheartened or outright insulted by his attitude. Foodie experienced an electronic pang of sadness at the sight of young Ianna shuffling her feet contritely as the man distributed the pilots into groups. He had understood from the conversation in the High Command luncheon that this was essentially a suicide squadron, but Ianna did not deserve to be talked to this way – no one did. All right, the Devaronian probably deserved it, but they were still all Rebels in the end. In that moment, Foodie decided that he would do everything in his power to make the lives of the members of Black Sheep Squadron easier. He could only hope that their commander’s attitude wouldn’t get these lives cut short before their time.

    The briefing was over within minutes and several pilots left the room so fast that one could have believed they were running away. Foodie stepped forward to offer kahve to those who were lingering behind and meeting with their new wingmates. He soon found himself facing the female Codru-Ji whose rigged speeder had brought down the ice cave on the Imperials. She took a sip from the cup he proffered and grabbed his arm with a contented sigh.

    “Whoever made a decent cup of kahve...” she said. “Boonta-spice frak it all, just tell them they have a new best friend.” She took another sip and raised her cup for a toast. “Finally have something besides my fighter to stay in for. To Aleph Team.”

    Foodie had no clue what Aleph Team could possibly be, but the rest was quite flattering. “Why, thank you, Miss. You seem to be quite a connoisseur of fine kahve.”

    Thank you? It had said thank you. “You’re the master brewer? Alright, where in this mess pit of a galaxy do you get your beans fresh enough for this?” Fumbling with her pockets she pulled out her list and a pen. “I’ve been trying to get boontaspice and a good dark wood blend from a rebel world, but the best I’ve gotten is something two weeks before an expiration date.”

    “This is information that I am not quite at liberty to disclose – although recent access to Home One’s kitchens may or may not have something to do with it,” Foodie said with a playful twinkle of his photoreceptors. “Let us simply say that I have secured sufficient supplies for the immediate future.” He peered at her bunch of flimsi sheets, where he could see a long list of extracts, seeds and essences as well as various pet care products. “Perhaps you and I could barter? You have some seeds here that I could use in the future. I would offer a small vial of L’awreal Fur Glitter for your voorpak in return.”

    Her nose wrinkled in response. “Fur Glitter? If you could whip up a nice carbon-based sand for his dust bath you got a deal. Always get gouged on that.”

    “Hmmm. Sand is somewhat outside my area of expertise; however...” His photoreceptors blinked twice. “We ought to consult with a fellow droid better versed than I am in starship mechanics. A little clever tinkering with the Intrepid’s atmospheric reprocessors should enable us to isolate and harvest the carbonic specks scrubbed out of the air for a constant supply.”

    “Sounds like you might have yourself a deal,” she added with a grin as she stuck out a free hand, whilst one kept her sipping and sniffing the kahve and two started making notes on her list to amend them for when she talked to the two official ‘fixers’ for the squadron.

    Foodie would have liked to smile back, but his metal jaw wouldn’t allow it. “I will take this up with the astromechs in your squadron’s hangar bay, Miss. I am certain that some of them would be willing to help.”

    One after the other the remaining pilots left the briefing room. It occurred to Foodie that he had not been given an assignment, but he assumed that the top brass would summon him privately later; nobody thought of him as the dregs of the Rebellion, after all. He poured a new cup of kahve for anyone who may have wanted it. A man with sharply chiseled features walked past them on his way out, followed by a woman in her mid-twenties who took the cup Foodie was proffering without breaking her stride. Foodie sighed silently. He would have to run all over the ship to recover his kahve set; he was an older model and procuring spare parts that fit in his various compartments was close to impossible. He was relieved to see her take a sip and stop dead in her tracks as she stared at the cup.

    Mel, wanting to go to the kitchen, decided to go back to ask about it. This caf was hardly bitter at all. It had an interesting tone. It gave her something to do, at any rate. She turned around and saw one of the pilots conversing with the droid from which she had taken the caf. “Excuse me,” she interjected. “Who made this? I like it.”

    “That would be me, Miss,” the droid said. “Foodie, at your service, winner of the Golden Roasting Award in the 1515th Congress of the Pan-Galactic Kahve Society. I am most pleased that you like it. Is this your first time drinking boontaspice-flavoured kahve?”
    Mel’s eyes widened as she looked at the droid with new eyes. She had seen some cooking droids, but they were almost always simple, or uninteresting, or bad cooks. The concept was captivating, though... How did they decide what to make? How did they know what alterations made it better? How did they differentiate between spices? “I’ve had caf before, but I’ve never liked it.”

    Foodie leaned closer to whisper confidingly in her ear. “That’s entirely understandable, Miss. Caf and kahve are different animals altogether. That you would choose kahve over caf proves that you are a woman of taste.”

    She barely stifled a giggle; the bulky droid looked so silly when he whispered. “Well thank you, Foodie, was it? I’m Mel, Black 16.” She was about to stick her hand out to shake, but then thought better of it.

    Realizing that she had never introduced herself as well to the droid from overhearing the interaction thus far, Akiva decided to fix that situation. “Black. . .” quickly she glanced at her wrist pad with a flick of a wrist, “3. I’m Akiva but go by Wolf with most squads.” At this she tried to smile to show a bit of slightly larger canines. Although honestly she had thought of them as dainty before dealing with humans. “A pleasure to meet another member of the squadron, and always a pleasure to see someone discovering kahve.”

    Mel smiled, a bit unsure about the unfamiliar alien’s body language and expressions, but appreciative of her words. “Likewise.” She looked around the room for a bit. “Foodie, what do you do around here? You can’t be the one who makes what I eat, could you?”

    The droid huffed. “Oh, certainly not, Miss. My circuits would shut down of their own accord if I had the nerve to serve such appalling slop to a sentient being.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I was transferred here by High Command themselves. For now Captain Husk and I are getting to know each other until he gives me the details of my assignment. One of my specialities, glowblue noodles and chav, is his favourite dish, you know.”

    “Oh,” Mel replied. “One of your specialties, huh? What’s it taste like?”

    “It is a most remarkable recipe,” Foodie said enthusiastically. “A sauce of sautéed conewere, spring celto and dabaroo seasoned with shadun and calaratrum seeds, over a bed of teltiar noodles drizzled with steam-distilled chav. Captain Husk likes to add a little pastramised bantha ham to the pan – an unorthodox addition to be sure, but a very refined one. Would you like to try it? I will be preparing it for him today.”

    “Sure,” Mel answered. It would be fun to watch the droid work.

    The briefing room was empty by now, save for the two of them – Akiva had given them a friendly nod and left seconds ago. Foodie inserted the kahve cups in the self-cleaning compartment behind his chestplate and gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”

    Walking along Akiva noticed that Foodie and Mel were just behind her. They were all heading to the hangar together, a bit awkward and a warning sign against her if she didn’t speak up. She was no stalker, although the kahve was pretty good. “Just heading to the hangar to check on my ship, although if you don’t mind I wouldn’t mind sneaking a peek at where the Master Chef has a secret lab.”

    There were a few other pilots and technicians in the hangar bay when they arrived there. Some were looking over their ships – the man with chiseled features who had been talking to Mel was elbow-deep in his fighter’s engine, like every time Foodie had seen him – but most were staring in disbelief at the Gamorrean spacecraft marshaller, who appeared to be teaching baton-twirling dance moves to the binary loadlifters. Foodie raised his metallic shoulders in a shrug. If Zane had nothing better to do... He led Akiva and Mel to the crate that held his secret stash of cooking equipment and supplies and extracted the components of a fractionating still.

    “The secret to the most scrumptious glowblue noodles and chav,” he said, “is to distil your own chav. Shall we begin?”

    “Well, I suppose,” Mel said. “I haven’t had good meal in a while.” She raised her eyebrows at Foodie’s stash. She’d never seen so many things that were apparently innocuous, but looked so dangerous. Knives of all sizes, torchers, blenders – Foodie had it all. The droid seemed vaguely embarrassed under her inquisitive gaze; she wondered how much of that equipment was his property and how much he’d ‘borrowed’ from Home One.

    Having seen what Foodie was up to and that the droid was definitely a fixer that likely would deliver, Akiva waved with two hands, one to each of them. “Alright, I’m better with pre-made food packs and baton-twirling than this. So I’m just going to bail out now and go see if my ship has been being treated alright in my absence. Look forward to seeing you both later.” With that she backed up, with a basic pirouette she headed out to see what she could find out about her B-wing, hopefully those numb-skulled techies hadn’t fouled up anything when they reinstalled the heating elements. “Who here can show me my ship and a couple of size two hydrospanners!” she called out into the hangar, although why that tech was laughing as he approached gave her a sinking feeling worse than the briefing. She was sure she hadn’t flubbed anything, then again it was their language, she was just trying to use it.

    Mel waved at Akiva. “See you later.” She turned to Foodie, as he seemed to be retrieving many items. “Just how many steps are there?”

    Foodie flashed his photoreceptors once more. “Quite a few, Miss, quite a few. The first lesson in haute cuisine is that patience is a virtue.”

    TAG: Whoever is interested in dinner, whoever is interested in alcohol, whoever has an astromech.