Beyond - Legends Before - Legends Saga - Legends Intermezzi II | Bits and pieces from the Ἀνάγκη-verse, ECs & OCs | Kessel Run Challenge 2023

Kessel Run week 4: Write a story between 100 and 1,000 words that is predominantly action. You can have as many characters interacting as you want, and you can include introspection as long as it doesn’t outweigh the action.
Characters: the Legends versions of Thrawn (in disguise) and Rukh (mostly unseen but very much present), assorted OCs
Timeframe: 7 ABY, at the height of the Krytos epidemic after the conquest of Coruscant by the New Republic, between chapters 26: Observations and 27: The Tremor of the third part of Ἀνάγκη, concurrently with the novel X-Wing: The Krytos Trap
Word count: 998 words
Notes: This story borrows my Chevin OC Rhicos Mon from Artemian’s Eleven (another fic that I left on hiatus for far too long ). He isn’t the first character from the Detective Eliskandro Stories to turn up in the Ἀνάγκη-verse, but I’d say that it’s more of a crossover situation than a proper shared universe.

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Infiltration

The first thing Kassta noticed was that the Boba Fett lookalike was walking past the Black Sun depot for the fourth time this week.

The second thing she noticed was that he vanished way too fast from her surveillance monitors. If he’d simply taken a turn, he would be… right about there, but he wasn’t.

The third thing she noticed was that, all of a sudden, pedestrians had gone missing from every street around the depot. Now that was outright odd. This was a quiet area of Coruscant’s lower levels – Black Sun wouldn’t have set up shop here if it weren’t – but it wasn’t so quiet that there wouldn’t be a single passer-by. When she flipped a switch to contact the lookouts at the entrance, a burst of static erupted from the comm.

Her dim-witted Chevin assistant, Rhicos Mon, jerked awake from his nap and blinked at her in that barvish way that made her want to sink her claws into his eyes. “Get up!” she shouted. “Ourr feed’s been sliced and ourr comms arre jammed. Ve’rre underr attack.” She collected her combat batons and slugthrower and shoved a heavy repeater blaster in his paws.

The two Zabrak guards outside the surveillance centre were at their posts, blissfully unaware that something was happening. The two Iktotchi at the end of the hallway were playing dejarik and bickering about reading each other’s mind.

The Grans beyond the blast doors though…

“Stunned,” Rhicos grumbled as he crouched to examine them. He stood up ponderously and scanned the corridors for intruders. “Let’s split up. You two” – he waved his blaster at the Zabraks – “come with me. Kassta, you take that side with the Iktotchi.”

The Cathar’s mane rippled angrily. “Ve take one Iktotchi each, Rhicos,” she hissed. “Ourr comms arre down; ve need telepaths. And I’m giving the orrders herre. You go to the bacta rroom. Die defending it if you must; it’s ourr prrivate stash, rremember? Orr the Krrytos virrus vill kill us anyvay. I’m going to figurre out how they got in.”

She watched the trio jog away and gestured for the two remaining guards to follow her. She took point as they spread out to the sides behind her, their weapons at the ready, and they moved carefully towards the main entrance.

They’d barely made it to the end of the hallway when she heard a whoosh, a thump and a groan. She turned around and brought her slugthrower to bear, only to see that the Zabrak had fallen flat on his face, apparently of his own accord. He was out cold.

“What the –” the Iktotchi spluttered.

Kassta sniffed the air carefully. “Therre’s someone herre.” She pointed left. “That vay.”

The Iktotchi nodded and followed her into a narrow side corridor, hugging the walls to avoid an attack from behind. At one point, he clicked his tongue to attract her attention and tapped his horn. Good. Rhicos and the other two had reached the bacta room. She inhaled deeply to catch the intruder’s scent. If they could force him to take a right, they would catch him in a pincer –

There was a loud yelp, followed by a thud. She spun on her heel to find her companion hanging upside down from a rafter and swinging wildly from wall to wall. By the time she released him, he had blacked out. She felt rather than saw the shadow that slipped past her and disappeared with a whisper.

“Oh, so you vant to play cute, eh?” she meowed angrily. “Fine!” She slung the slugthrower over her shoulder and grabbed her batons. “Come at me. I darre you.”

The intruder didn’t take the bait, but it was easier to track his scent now that he’d come close. She moved faster along the hallway, reached an intersection… Yes, he was right there. She leapt around the corner with a deafening roar.

Something long and metallic swept her legs from under her. She half-tumbled, half-backflipped to regain her balance. The faintest rustle told her that her opponent was on the move again – and in the distance, she heard that the shooting had begun.

She threw all caution to the winds and gave chase. Whoever this invisible intruder was, he was a skilled fighter, and if there were more of his kind, their bacta was as good as gone.

Judging from the heavy blasterfire, Rhicos and the guards were putting up a formidable fight. She loped on all fours to reach them as fast as possible. She heard a loud crash and saw a shower of sparkles ahead – apparently a stray bolt had brought down one of the glowpanels – and as she reached the end of the hallway, she saw him.

The Boba Fett lookalike was crouching behind a crate and shooting stunner after stunner at the defenders. The Zabrak was already down, the Iktotchi fell just as she arrived, and Rhicos was shaking his repeater blaster angrily, as if it were jammed. Before he could bring it back up, a being no larger than a cub sprang from the shadows and knocked him out of the fight.

She surged forward with a war cry, jabbing her batons at the Mandalorian. She’d barely moved two steps when she found that her feet were glued to the floor.

The cub-sized being – they were clad in Jawa robes, but they sure as blazes were no Jawa – was pointing a stokhli spray stick at her.

She let out a furious howl and grabbed her slugthrower. “That will not be necessary,” the Mandalorian said as calmly as if he were ordering dinner. “We want your bacta, not your lives.”

And another jet of the gooey mist over the gun forced her to point the barrel towards the floor.

“You’ll pay forr this,” she snarled. “You go up against Black Sun, you pay.”

She barely had time to register the mysterious intruder’s scent near her again before she took a hit to the head, and everything went black.

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Fanon elements and Wookieepedia links

In the Legends continuity, Thrawn disguises himself as Boba Fett wannabe Jodo Kast in the short story Side Trip. I just took this idea and ran away with it, not only for this fic but for the second half of Ἀνάγκη as well.

According to the Wook, the Cathar Jedi Juhani from KotOR is portrayed as speaking Basic with a Slavic accent. I liked the idea that a feline species would have trouble with some sounds in Basic, so I kept that element here for Kassta.

Black Sun
Chevin
Gran
Iktotchi
Krytos virus
Stokhli spray stick
Zabrak

 

I love your character Kassta. Felinoids are always interesting with their action

 

I do love me some Cathar! The action was superb, and that Mandalorian reminded me of an assassin by the name of Thane Krios from the video game series Mass Effect. So... efficient.

 

Thank you for the reviews and thanks to anyone who stopped by to read!

A few quick replies, because I already finished my week 5 fic and I suffer from can't-wait-to-postitis.

@Findswoman Thank you!

I see what you did there

Oh, Kassta is good at her job, no doubt about that. She's the head of security for a Black Sun depot, after all! Rhicos on the other hand... let's just say that he isn't the sharpest tool in the drawer and leave it at that. You'll see a lot more of him in Artemian's Eleven, and that's a story I'm determined to finish this year!

Well, Thrawn doesn't kill people unless he really has to (also in canon, not only in my stories) but then again, leaving a bunch of aliens without bacta during the Krytos epidemic on Coruscant is as close as it gets to a death sentence. And a Black Sun threat is certainly no laughing matter, but they don't know who this fake Mandalorian is, and as far as we know their activities don't extend to the Unknown Regions!

@earlybird-obi-wan Thanks!

I agree! I actually wanted to write more about her, her expressions, the way she moves etc., but there was the word limit. I might integrate this viggie in a longer story at some point.

@Vek Talis Thank you!

Actually, what I had in mind was the scene from the prison break episode of The Mandalorian, when he hunts down everyone and locks them up. (Which isn't to say that Thane Krios isn't a good comparison, it's just that I don't play video games)

Thanks again to readers, reviewers and lurkers! Next entry coming right up.

 

Kessel Run week 5: Write a set of 3 double drabbles with the following prompts: juggernaut, shepherd, undertaker
Characters: Valeria Dalissis (OC), a xenosociologist assigned to Sate Pestage’s office
Timeframe: 1 ABY, at some point between the penultimate and final sections of ‘She’
Word count: 3 x 200 words
Notes: I had Valeria display her academic chops for the first time in ‘She’, a story that I finished writing last week, and I loved writing that, so I thought I’d do some more of it. Each section of this story is a double drabble; they’re separated by hyphens (-) and the prompt word is highlighted in the text.

If you’re reading this, please do so on a browser.
Tapatalk doesn’t display strikethrough formatting and it just won’t make sense if you read it there.​

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A Draft Memo for Sate Pestage

Your Excellency etc etc,

I regret to inform you that Moff Seerdon’s project for Human colonisation of Kashyyyk is dim-witted bantha fodder likely to encounter an untold number of difficulties should it be implemented as described in the attached document.

First, it’s obvious that whoever wrote this poodoo has no clue what sort of environment they’re talking about. Let me first underscore that, while the proposal correctly notes that the ecology of the Érriyyu province of Kashyyyk differs substantially from the wroshyr forests that cover most of the planet, it is equally challenging in that it consists primarily of bogs and marshlands where Seerdon’s bombad Juggernaut tanks will sink in the mud never to be seen again that will undoubtedly prove to be inauspicious terrain for land vehicles such as those used by the Imperial Army. To be remotely feasible, military occupation of this area would entail draining the swamps hello bajillions of credits, which would not only be extremely costly, but also defeat the purpose of the project itself, as this would eliminate the conditions that make this region favourable ground for cattle herding. Besides, it would ruin a unique ecosystem and create a desert, but who cares?

-

Second, it’s also obvious that Seerdon’s aide went to the Drunken Nerf Academy of Agriculture. I should further note that, while the proposal identifies the local Wookiee population as pastoralists (“shepherds” being imprecise here, as there are no sheep on any planet of Sector 3 just check the HoloNet), it fails to take into account the fact that these particular Wookiees are herding Kashyyyk banthas, which is the sole domesticated breed of livestock that can thrive in the conditions of Érriyyu. Kashyyyk banthas, which are noted for their size, are primarily herbivores; they roam extremely large areas in order to meet their fodder needs and will turn to eating meat only if vegetal fodder is inadequate or unavailable. They’ll swallow Seerdon’s Human colonists whole if he goes ahead and slices and dices Érriyyu into smallholdings Keeping them corralled in family-sized farms is therefore impractical and likely expensive for the breeders, who would have to import animal feed in order to keep their herd satiated and prevent it from developing the well-known aggressive behaviours caused by hunger in non-sentient beings.

[insert Naboo Uni School of Agro references here, in case Pestage never saw holovids of angry banthas trampling everything in their path]

-

Lastly, I wish to highlight the fact that using the term ‘undertakers’ rather than ‘colonists’ to describe the farmers that would settle in Érriyyu under this project won’t fool anyone may be a poor choice of words. I understand that ‘undertakers’ is intended to convey a positive connotation, as it was the designation of choice for loyalists who were granted confiscated separatist lands at the end of the Clone Wars; however, its frequent use in propaganda publications pertaining to the Ulaztir province of Bimmisaari has dulled its benign aura in Sector 3. Wookiees have extensive trade relations with the Bimms and are sentient therefore well-acquainted with the war low-level conflict that has been simmering in Ulaztir for nearly two decades between the indigenous population and the Human farmers by the way nobody calls it ‘the Troubles’ anymore so I’m not sure why we still bother. Should Moff Seerdon decide to move ahead with this project against our collective better judgement, I strongly recommend that we review the terminology to make sure that we don’t start a war from the get-go to lay the ground for peaceful negotiations with the Wookiee leadership.

Should you require further clarifications etc.

Valeria Dalissis, PhD

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Fanon elements and Wookieepedia links
I found out earlier today that ‘undertaker’ can mean an Englishman who took over confiscated lands in Ireland during its colonisation by England in the 16th-17th centuries (Merriam-Webster source) so I went with that meaning. In keeping with this Irish theme, I named the Érriyyu province of Kashyyyk after Ériu, the eponymous goddess of Éire/Ireland, and the Ulaztir region of Bimmisaari after the Norsemen’s name for Ulster (hence ‘the Troubles’).

Moff Kohl Seerdon
Sector 3
Juggernaut tanks
Kashyyyk bantha
Bimmisaari

 

Lolol!!! Absolutely loved the bureaucratic snark there, @Chyntuck You are marvelous. Excellent double drabbles.

 

Civil servants are the same everywhere. Great double drabbles with the remarks about the authorities

 

Infiltration was awesome, from start to finish. I love how it dawns on Kaasta that her surveillance is being altered - she quickly puts it together before anyone else realizes something is amiss. And she is clearly the brains of the group! Unfortunately, if that's Thrawn, he's an even bigger brain than she is, and that's why she's clocked at the end.

A Draft Memo for Sate Pestage
This had me smiling all the way through. Oh, the bite marks on her tongue from having to bite back her words! As is pretty typical, the Moff has no understanding of the complex ecosystem and already-established delicate social balances that his endeavor would completely undermine. But that's ok, he doesn't care.
Hopefully he will take Valeria's advice and seek other greener pastures.

Very nice work with both!

 

I've had this on my Watch list since the Kessel Run Challenge started; I'm sorry that I'm just now getting caught up. In this week's "Double Drabble" entry, 1) loved the sarcasm -- if that's Moff Seedon's plan, the sarcasm was soundly deserved. Too bad s/he probably won't see the original memo. Serve the Moff right if s/he was actually eaten by a bantha.... Don't mess with Mother Nature!

2) Really liked your take on the term "undertaker;" having made a trip to Ireland, I'm familiar with the reputation of the English for taking Irish lands. Not the most endearing of behaviors.

Also very much enjoyed the second entry with Quinlan Vos and the Zygerrian. I have a fascination with the Zygerrian race, and no matter which version of their appearance you prefer, a lot of them seem to be aggressively arrogant. This one certainly fit the type. Looking forward to seeing how this conflict plays out.

One thing I appreciate throughout this thread is the plethora of aliens, some of whom I had to look up. (Which is cool -- I love finding new GFFA races!)

 

Time for an update! But first, a few replies to your comments. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

@Vek Talis Thanks! I know that since you read this, you encountered Valeria in another story I wrote, so you probably understand by now that she's not to be trifled with.

@earlybird-obi-wan Thanks!

And it's not just civil servants, you know. I'm a lawyer, and writing this way is essentially part of my job description

@divapilot Thank you!

Oh yes, Kassta is definitely the smart one in that Black Sun warehouse! And in truth she's also a terrific fighter, but being faced with Thrawn and Rukh she didn't stand a chance.

Yeah, I wouldn't count on it. Sadly government officials everywhere seem to believe that they know best, no matter what people who are truly knowledgeable tell them. This tends to be true of modern democratic states, and it's much, much worse in totalitarian systems like the Empire.

@Findswoman Thanks so much for your kind words!

It wasn't all that difficult, to be honest. The GFFA is rife with situations where group A imposes its will on and takes the land of group B, and, well, the Empire would be the chief culprit in this era, wouldn't they?

You know, I actually considered continuing this for the next prompt, with all the correspondence between the Moff and Valeria, and her barely disguised attempts at stonewalling his project. I just didin't feel that I was up to quite that much bureaucratic snark.

@Seldes_Katne Thank you and welcome to this thread! Now thanks to you I have this mental image of Moff Seerdon being eaten by a bantha, and somehow I feel that there's a crack!fic in the making right there.

Same here! I find that the Zygerrians are very, very interesting, both as a species and as a culture revolving around slavery, and as such they would indeed be arrogant. Admittedly, Thirr isn't just arrogant but actually pretty full of himself. Who knows, maybe the next few prompts will give me an opportunity to write more about him, because having him pushed around by Quin is a blast.

Thank you! Hardly any aliens at all in this week's entry, but my final vignette for this challenge will include plenty, including two species I created from scratch, so if you're still around I'll be looking forward to your comments.

Thanks again to readers, reviewers and lurkers! Week 6 coming right up.

 

Kessel Run week 6: Write a story of at least 500 words in which one of your favourite protagonists/heroic characters is the antagonist/villain. This can be an AU, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be.
Characters: Dr. Cottle, Major Xanth, Sergeant Major Oriot, Irang (OCs), Daric LaRone, Saberan Marcross, Joak Quiller, Taxtro Grave, Korlo Brightwater, Voss Parck
Timeframe: early 2 ABY, a couple of months after the Battle of the Poln System and the events of Choices of One, at some point towards the end of part I of Ἀνάγκη.
Word count: 3078 words
Notes: Technically Doctor Cottle isn’t an OC but a character from the re-imagined BattleStar Galactica. I’d been working on a gruff military doctor type for a long time when I realised that the character I needed existed in BSG, so I went ahead and borrowed him; however I didn’t bring anything of his BSG storyline into my ‘verse so this doesn’t qualify as a crossover.

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Transland Day

Doctor Cottle couldn’t figure out what Thrawn’s new strays were trying to do, but he was sure that they were up to no good.

Stormtroopers didn’t hang out in the medical bay. It just wasn’t something they did; heck, it was difficult enough to keep them around when they should actually be here. They seemed to believe that the Empire would fall if they slouched in a hospital bed for more than a couple of hours at a time, and these five had been no exception when Thrawn found them in whatever deep cave they’d been hiding and brought them aboard the Admonitor. Two of them were actually pretty banged up and Cottle had to fight them tooth and nail to get them to agree to a few days’ worth of bacta treatment; the other three had only scratches, bruises and burns but wouldn’t sit still while a medic made a valiant attempt to patch them up. It had been a relief when he was finally able to discharge the last of them, a sniper named Grave who had taken a shot to the abdomen, and for a few weeks they were out of his hair.

And then, they started turning up in the medbay at the most random times and under the weirdest pretexts. The first one to show up was that Grave fellow, who claimed he had come of his own accord for a follow-up on his injuries. That seemed definitely bizarre to Cottle, though not entirely unwelcome; maybe Grave was more sensible than what his stoic stormtrooper persona let on. At any rate, he examined the man and sent him on his way.

The second one was Quiller, a stormtrooper pilot type who was the other severely injured of the lot. He also wanted a follow-up – although why he needed one with Cottle when he’d had several sessions with a physio droid was puzzling. There was also the fact that he stood in the hallway near the storage lockers when there was a perfectly good waiting area; didn’t he want to even come close to the other patients? Still, Quiller had had his thigh pierced by a nasty blaster bolt before he came to the Admonitor, so Cottle had a look and cleared him to return to the barracks.

And then, he caught the scout trooper – Brightwater, he thought the man’s name was – inside his private lab, with the outlandish claim that he’d taken a wrong turn. As willing as Cottle was to cut some slack to new arrivals aboard the Star Destroyer, there was a limit to the nonsense he was willing to put up with, even on a good day. He kicked Brightwater out of the room unceremoniously, double-checked that he hadn’t messed up any of the bacterial cultures that were doing their thing in microplates and test tubes, and locked the door on his way out.

What made things worse was that this was a busy week in the medbay, with all the crew whose surnames started with leth, mern and nern coming in for their yearly physical. Cottle was spending his days scolding patients who didn’t take good care of themselves and medics and nurses who didn’t take good care of the lab; and that was when he wasn’t looking for the various tools and pieces of equipment that got inevitably misplaced with all the comings and goings. He had no time to spare – not for the new Chiss assistant who needed training in Human medicine, not for those Stromma aliens that had joined Thrawn’s task force six weeks prior and whose specifics he was yet to study, and certainly not for a bunch of overgrown toddlers in shiny white armour. He therefore experienced a surge of annoyance when, the next morning, he found the last two of the group, LaRone and Marcross, sneaking around just outside his office.

“What’s your reason for being here?” he barked.

He couldn’t help but notice that LaRone didn’t even raise an eyebrow at such unwarranted aggression, and that was as likely for a stormtrooper company commander as Thrawn breaking into a fit of giggles or Vader petting a tooka. “We’re just here for the physical, sir,” LaRone said way too innocently. “You know, LaRone and Marcross, leth and mern,” – he pointed at himself and his companion – “and I know we’re not on the roster, but we’re still new to the ship so we assumed we should sign up.”

Cottle eyed him suspiciously. “I examined you from head to toe last month and you fought me every step of the way. Why are you so keen to do it again now?”

“Well, it’s regulation, sir,” Marcross put in. “We need the all-clear from you in our file.”

The doctor waved a hand. “You have it.”

“But sir, the regulations state –”

“I said, you have it,” Cottle growled. “All clear. Go and get yourself wounded whatever way you like. On your way now.”

“But –”

“Come on, scoot! I have a bunch of people scheduled for checkups today and none of them are you.”

The two troopers gave him a salute accompanied by an imperceptible shrug before turning on their heel and leaving. He was tempted for a moment to pull rank and have them disciplined but he couldn’t argue – even to himself – that this tiny trace of insolence was undeserved. He saw that their three friends were waiting for them outside the medbay with spacebags in hand, as if they were on their way to the training room. Well, at least next time they turned up they might have pulled a muscle to justify their presence. He made his way to the row of examination cubicles where the day’s first patients were waiting and began his work.

By the time he closed the medbay at nineteen hundred hours, he was in the foulest of moods. It felt like he had spent every moment looking for things – his beaker, his two graduated cylinders, the burner and tripod that should have been right there on the bench, the large transparisteel flasks he kept in the cupboard, his best thermometer; everything seemed to have gone missing, and he’d had to run back and forth to the storage lockers throughout the day. He’d assigned his new Chiss assistant to make an inventory instead of having him observe the physical’s standard procedure – apparently the blasted droids that were supposed to be keeping track of tools and equipments weren’t up to the task – and in his exasperation he’d driven one of the nurses to tears, which he’d have to make up for and he wasn’t good at that. He took a deep breath. Tomorrow would be a better day. Meanwhile, he needed to get some food and go to bed early, because tomorrow was also bound to be exceedingly busy.

He made his way to the officers’ mess, loaded his tray and saw that Major Xanth, the Admonitor’s quartermaster, was sitting alone at a table at the far end of the hall. Cottle liked Xanth. The major was competent, efficient and probably as gruff as the doctor himself. Most importantly, he didn’t talk much, which meant that Cottle wouldn’t come out of dinner with a headful of senseless blabber if he joined him. He walked over, plopped himself on a chair facing the other man, mumbled a greeting and tucked in.

He was surprised when Xanth leaned forward. “Say, Doc, a question if you don’t mind. You know those new stormtroopers we picked up? The ones who call themselves the Hand of Judgement?”

“Didn’t know they call themselves that,” Cottle grumbled. “Stupid name.”

Xanth shrugged. “Yeah. You noticed anything about them?”

The doctor looked up to see that the quartermaster looked distinctly uneasy. “Other than their playing tough guys and always being underfoot?”

This seemed to make Xanth even more uncomfortable. “So they’re always underfoot in the medbay too?”

Cottle sat back in his chair. “Out with it, Xanth. What is it you want to say?”

The quartermaster leaned closer. “I’m not too sure. First the senior captain finds them conveniently in the middle of a really bizarre situation. Then he gives them this Suwantek and has us upgrade it six ways from Coruscant. And now they keep coming and requisitioning all sorts of other materials that I can’t make sense of – burner fuel and coiled piping and vats and printing labels and…” He lowered his voice. “I’m worried that they’re ISB.”

Cottle’s eyebrows shot up. “ISB?”

Xanth nodded. “Only explanation I see. The civilian ship, and all the cloak and sabre… and why would they hang out in the medbay if not to spy on you? I think they’re here to figure out what our task force is really doing, and that can only mean trouble.”

So much for a quiet dinner, Cottle thought. “Did you take this up with Parck?” he asked.

“No. You think I should?”

The doctor scratched his head. “Nah, don’t bother. Let’s keep it low profile. If they’re ISB we don’t want them to know that we’re onto them. I’ll talk to Parck when he comes for his physical, week after next.”

The rest of the week went by in a blur. The medbay staff worked their way through the remaining leth, mern and nern crew without further hiccups – that new Chiss assistant was doing a fantastic job at keeping track of lab tools, materials and equipment, and Cottle was beginning to like him enough to consider learning his name. When Primeday came, he glanced at the scheduled appointments for the morning. This week was the nen, osk and orenth batch, and first on the list was Sergeant Major Oriot, the manager of the Admonitor’s kitchens.

Cottle braced himself before entering the cubicle. Oriot was an indefatigable chatterbox, but it was thanks to him that the fare in the officers’ mess was far better than the slop people ate on most starships, and the doctor wanted to remain on his good side at all costs. He was surprised to find that the sergeant major wasn’t in a garrulous mood, so much so that, after completing the examination and filing the forms, he had to ask: “You okay there, Sarge?”

Oriot waved a hand. “I’m good, sir, thanks. Just some problems I need to sort out.”

“Anything I can help with?”

The sergeant major hesitated for a moment. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Sure.”

“We got stuff missing from the kitchen supplies. Two whole bags of Corellian malted cereal, to be precise, forty kilos total, and a box of slow-release smoked flavouring pellets, which, you know, isn’t something we use much. And then a few packets of sucre, but we work through those so fast that it may just be a mistake in our record-keeping.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I think it’s them newbies stealing stuff.”

Cottle arched an eyebrow. “Newbies?”

“You know them, sir. The stormtroopers we picked up in the Poln system. I dunno where the senior captain finds those types, but this bunch… I think they’re just swindlers.”

Now this was different. Cottle hadn’t given any thought to the five stormtroopers since his dinner with Major Xanth, but he had to admit, it was kind of odd that their names would pop up on two different issues inside of a week – not to mention their inexplicable visits to the medbay – and with wildly different interpretations of what they were up to as well. “Did you mention this to anyone yet?”

Oriot shook his head. “No, sir. Can’t go around accusing people without evidence, can I?”

“Fair. Well, tell you what, Sarge. You keep looking into it. I was going to talk to Parck about that lot anyway. If you have something I’ll put it on my list.”

Another week went by and it was the turn of the peths, qeks and reshes in the medbay. By that time, the Chiss assistant – Irang, he’d said his name was, although Cottle couldn’t quite pronounce that final -ng – had made such dramatic progress that the doctor felt confident letting him close down in the afternoons. He made sure that Parck was the last appointment for the day, and as soon as he was done with the examination, he ushered the captain into his private office under the pretext of filing the flimsiwork and shut the door.

“If you don’t mind, sir, there’s an issue I’d like to take up with you,” he began as they sat down on either side of the desk. “It has to do with the new stormtroopers, you know, LaRone and Grave and whatever the others are called –”

“Brightwater, Marcross and Quiller,” Park completed. “I have been working closely with them since they came aboard. They’re quite remarkable.”

“So you don’t think that there’s something off about them?”

Parck arched an eyebrow. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“I’m concerned that they might not be exactly who they claim to be,” Cottle said carefully, raking his brains for a polite way to say what he wanted to say. “First we find them in the middle of an op that’s wheels within wheels within wheels, then we settle them on board and give them their own ship and they keep asking for more, then…” Diplomatic speak had never been his strong suit, and two sentences in he was already frustrated enough to throw caution to the winds. “Listen, Captain, I know that our man Thrawn likes to –”

“That would be Senior Captain Thrawn, Doctor,” Park interrupted sternly.

“Our man Senior Captain Thrawn,” Cottle repeated absent-mindedly, eliciting a small chuckle from Parck. “Anyway, I know that Thrawn likes to pick up strays left, right and centre, and I know that his instincts are almost always right, but in this case I wonder if he was hoodwinked. I think that these guys are frauds, or worse, ISB.”

At this Parck threw his head back and let out a bout of hearty laughter. “Trust me, Doctor, they are definitely not ISB,” he said as he stood up. “As for frauds… I doubt it, but even if they are, they’re competent enough for this task force to require their skills. Is there anything else?”

Cottle was stubborn and didn’t care much for protocol, but he knew a dismissal when he saw one. “Nothing, sir,” he said, reverting to a more formal tone. “Your physical is good; just make sure you keep an eye on your food intake. I’ll enter the details in your file now.”

He watched the captain walk away, tapped a few keys on his pad to update his data and stood up. Well, that was that, he thought with a sigh. Parck seemed so confident… and anyway, if the captain wasn’t going to investigate this situation, it wasn’t for him to do it; he had quite enough on his plate already, thank you very much. At any rate, it was dinnertime and tomorrow was Transland Day. Oriot’s crew would have cooked up something special and Cottle was ravenous. He locked his office and made for the turbolift.

He was waiting for the car when the five stormtroopers materialised at his side. “Good evening, sir,” Brightwater said cheerfully. “Are you coming to dinner? They said there’s tomo-spiced karkan ribenes on the menu tonight.”

Cottle’s jaw worked a little before he was able to come up with any sound at all. He wasn’t used to people addressing him in such a friendly way – he knew for a fact that most of the crew were terrified of him, and he definitely wanted to encourage them in that direction – but an idea was forming in his mind. If the five troopers were off to dinner, this was an opportunity to go and check out that upgraded ship of theirs. Yes, Parck had said that there was nothing to worry about, but it couldn’t hurt to have a look, could it?

“I need to stop by my quarters first,” he grumbled. “You boys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”

He waited for the next car, went straight to the hangar bay and checked that nobody was watching. The Suwantek looked innocent enough from the outside, although he could see some camouflaged weapon clusters that wouldn’t have been there on a civilian ship. The boarding ramp was lowered, which was a fair indication that the stormies weren’t ISB – those paranoid barves would never let a ship open for inspection by random passers-by. The inside was probably more comfortable and well-equipped than most Imperial Navy craft that weren’t destined for use by high-ranking officers, but there wasn’t really anything that stood out either. His worries had been put to rest, and he was about to give up and go to the mess, when he arrived in the Suwantek’s cargo bay. And here, there was a smell that was outright odd. It was a little sweet and a little smoky and…

He followed his nose to a corner behind the speeder bikes and saw that there was a whole installation there – an installation that involved his beaker, his graduated cylinders, his burner and tripod and his transparisteel flasks as well as the coiled piping and vats that Xanth had mentioned and a few other items that he couldn’t identify at first sight. Apparently Oriot had been right; these so-called stormtroopers were petty thieves and they were conducting some sort of illegal experiment almost in plain sight, right in the middle of the Admonitor’s hangar bay.

He took a step closer to have a better look, trying to understand what they were up to, and suddenly it dawned on him.

It was a still.

And behind it, on a table that was propped against the bulkhead, there was a row of bottles with neat little labels that read ‘Hand of Judgement Finest Smoked Malt’. As he came even closer, he saw that there was a pile of gift packaging materials on one side, and a pile of hard flimsi cards on the other. The top one read: “For Doctor Cottle, with our thanks for patching us up. Happy Transland Day!”

Alrighty then, Cottle thought as he spun on his heel and went back to the turbolift. He’d just accept the gift tomorrow when they turned up, and he wouldn’t suspect them of being up to no good anymore. Heck, if the homebrewed whisky was good, he might even grow to like them.

Unless, of course, they failed to return his beaker.

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Fanon elements and Wookieepedia links

To find out how the five stormtroopers came to be known as the Hand of Judgement and ended up on the Admonitor, you’ll have to read Allegiance and Choices of One by Timothy Zahn.

Corellian malted cereal, slow-release smoked flavouring pellets and sucre are foodstuffs I made up for this story; tomo-spiced karkan ribenes however are Legends-canon.

Suwantek TL-1800 freighter
ISB
Transland Day
Stromma

 

Cottle. He sure is a grumpy doc tending to all the stormtroopers in Thrawn's service

 

Charming way to delineate this guy - loved his attitude and undoubted medical talents - *reads happily on this holiday morn*

Tee hee!

hmmm, suspicions grow ...

suspicions bubble up like yeast ...

annnnd, suspicions confirmed! It was a still.

I'd read Outbound Flight so long ago and was pleased to see Transland Day in a story, well done!

 

Now I want to read the fic with Thrown giggling and Vader petting a tooka!

And that was hilarious how it was nothing more than a bunch of drunks, just getting their drink on. All that cloak and sabre for some hooch.

Excellent bit of intrigue, @Chyntuck

 

Thank you for the reviews and thanks to everyone who stopped by to read!

@earlybird-obi-wan Thanks!

Oh, Cottle is as grumpy as it gets. I don't know if you've seen BSG but it's all there (he's a chain smoker too in that series) and bringing him on Thrawn's ship was just way too much fun to resist!

@pronker Thank you!

Bizarrely enough, yes, Cottle is a good doctor – just a doctor with an attitude

I can't imagine where you found the yeast part

Joke aside, if you were reminded of The Great Escape reading this fic, that's where the idea came from. It was on the telly last week and I just happened to zap to that channel during the scene where Steve McQueen is buying up all the potatoes in the POW camp, and that's when I thought of it.

@Vek Talis Thanks

I agree, these are stories that beg to be written. Although Elli has a series going about Vader and cats that you should probably read

Hey, these things happen. I'd be brewing hooch too if I were stuck in the Unknown Regions!

Thanks again to readers, reviewers and lurkers! Week 7 coming right up.

 

Kessel Run week 7: Write a story between 100 and 1,000 words from the perspective of a child.
Characters: Tam Stramnig and his great-grandmother Nazmat Koch, an artist famous for her paintings of Coruscant landscapes (both OCs)
Timeframe: 0 - 2 ABY, ends with part II, chapter 14 of Ἀνάγκη: The Funeral
Word count: 982 words

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Nana

Tam loved Nana. He thought she was beautiful. She had crumpled skin like his Weequay friend at the nursery; her eyes were shiny like the stars and her hair was soft and white like the light of the moon. She was always wearing big floppy robes and she let him play with them, and when he was rolled up in too many layers she told him that he was a mynock and she made him flap his wings, or that he was a food wrap and she pretended to eat him, and they giggled madly and they played again.

She often lifted him in her arms and told him stories. He didn’t understand everything she said, but it didn’t matter. Her voice was strong and steady and he liked to listen to her. She walked around with him and showed him inside the house and out the window and it was so exciting, there were so many things that he wanted to see. She always stopped near a piece of wall that looked like the city outside but wasn’t, and she told him that when he was a big boy she would give it to him.

When Mummy and Daddy left him with her for the night, she made for him his favourite morning mash and they ate it together before bedtime too. Breakfast for dinner, she called it, and she said that it was their secret. She put a finger on her lips and winked, and he laughed happily, and he never told Mummy and Daddy anything.

But the best thing about Nana was that she had paint. Daddy wouldn’t let Tam play with his paint, he said that he was too little and that he made a mess, but Nana didn’t care. When he grew up a little bit, she let him cover everything with colours, the plastic on the floor and the squares of fabric against the walls and his clothes and her clothes and his face and hair, and after he was done she put him in the bath and she let him swim there. He made so many bubbles with the soap, it was like being in the clouds. Sometimes Mummy and Daddy told Nana that she shouldn’t let him, that it was too much work for her, but she said that the droid did the cleaning, and she liked it better when they stayed in one room. The workshop, she called it, and it was her favourite room, and Tam thought that when he was a big boy he would have a workshop too.

When he grew up a little bit more still she got a chair that floated above the ground and it was her favourite chair, she was sitting in it all the time. She didn’t let him sit in it alone – she said he was too small and the chair was too big – but she took him on her lap and they raced across the apartment. Once they even went in the hallway outside to see if they could go even faster, but then Mummy and Daddy arrived and Mummy was very upset. She told Nana that she had to be careful, she asked what would happen if she fell from the chair. Tam didn’t understand. Nana would just pick herself up and sit back on her chair, and as soon as Mummy and Daddy left they started racing again.

There was also the hanging bar that Mummy got for Nana above her bed, and that was almost as good as the paint. Nana called it the trapeze and she liked to play with it when she got up and sat in her chair, and she let him play too when he came to her bed. He grasped it with both hands and he swung back and forth like he did in the playground, but Nana didn’t need to take him to the playground anymore because she had a swing at home. She told him that he was an acrobat, and then they watched Preigo’s Circus on the HoloNet and he knew that when he was a big boy he wanted to work in a circus, but there would also be paint.

Then Nana became really lazy and she didn’t want to get out of bed anymore. She told him that she worked hard all her life and that now she was going to rest, because her life had been so long and she needed a lot of time to sleep and relax, so she couldn’t play with him in the workshop or in the bath anymore. But it was okay because he was bigger now, and Mummy and Daddy let him play in the bath at home and the teacher gave him paint in the nursery, and when he came to Nana he just climbed in her bed and snuggled against her, and he ran his fingers on the crumples of her face. And sometimes she was awake and she told him stories, but sometimes – often – she was just sleeping and he caressed her hair and her skin and he told her that when she woke up they would play again.

There was a night when they all went to Nana’s, Mummy and Daddy were there and there was Tata Ayesha and Onion and Tashi and all the others, and Nana was in her bed and she talked a lot. It was very late and he fell asleep in Mummy’s lap, and the next day Mummy explained that Nana had gone away because she needed to rest more. Mummy was very sad but Tam told her that it was okay, Nana would come back. Mummy had this funny voice when she just answered ‘maybe’, but Tam knew, and he told her. Nana wasn’t going to go away just like that. She had gone somewhere to relax, and then she would come back.

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Wookieepedia links
Weequay
Preigo’s Travelling World of Wonder

 

What a poignant take on life's experiences for the youngster; he'll long remember his beloved Nana.

 

Alright, I know you asked folks for constructive criticism, @Chyntuck - and while I know that I am no real authority on writing children, much less toddlers - I can't offer much, your work here is delightful and bittersweet. Perhaps I'll come back to it after I have had some time to digest it, but it certainly hit me right where it counts. Without getting bogged down in the specifics of dialogue and having to find that magic sweet spot that can be a child's voice, I think that you capture a toddler's perspective, and their memory, very well here.

One day, when I'm not furiously scribbling on my own work or wrestling with DRL, I'll take the time to read through your works to be grounded more properly for this little piece, though I fear that will only pluck the heartstrings harder! From the little bits and pieces I've already sampled, I know I'm going to enjoy it.

 

He sure has a beloved nana doing everything he likes for him

 

Beautiful from Tam's POV. Everyone in the world should have a Nana so loving and lovable! Heart-tugging as we get his perspective on her decline but her unquenchable personality still shines.

 

Beautifully subtle how you crafted that story. Nana went from whole and hale to not doing so well so she got to sit in her floating chair a lot, and then resting in bed. Tam just loved to snuggle with his Nana. That was so cute, and sad that there was little awareness of what was really going on, and Nana didn't seem inclined to say anything.

Brilliant. Moving. Beautifully descriptive as always. You captured the voice of a small child marvelously.

 

Transland Day

This was such a great character study! Dr. Cottle is so much like Dr. McCoy; I haven't seen BSG but I think I kind of know the type. (I think my daughter works for a doctor like this, in fact!)
This part made me laugh out loud:

Such an honor! You have earned the right to be called by name!

And then to find out why they were sneaking around, taking tubing and food supplies and burners:

The boys just want to show their gratitude. I like how Dr. Cottle's attitude toward them changes from "you are the biggest pain in my side" to "I guess you're ok" as soon as he figures it all out.

Nana

This was very bittersweet. I like how you show her deterioration through the little guy's perspective.

This is very touching. Tam, with all his energy, can't image ever wanting to spend one second exploring and running about, but Nana is slowing down. I love that she still tries to accommodate him, even though she is so tired in her old age.

Such a sweet gesture of love from Tam towards his Nana. They will most certainly be together again, where Nana can walk and move about without pain and never be tired again.