This is my first fanfic, originally posted [link=http://boards.theforce.net/message.asp?topic=6532360&replies=9]here[/link]. This fic is sort of an en media res introduction to some of my OCs and the minor EU characters I plan to portray, and I chose this plot because I could get a variety of them together and make an interesting catharsis out of a breakup.

As usual, this is all done in LFL's patch, giving George Lucas such creative and legal rights as he sees fit, likely including siccing Boba Fett on my tail and/or sending a stormtrooper legion to occupy Eaton Residential College if I try and make a cred off of this.

Posted here is the edited and expanded version of "Snow Job," vastly improved from its original incarnation. More portions will be posted as they are revised.

Enjoy!

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Snow Job

You'd think after a few years of duping Imperials, Hutt crime lords, pirates, and terrorist organizations every month or so, things might get kind of routine. The fact is, it never does. It's hard to get comfortable when one slip-up can put you at the mercy of folks who don't really appreciate the Rights of Sentience when they want to either make you talk or just get a sick laugh. Plus there's always a new twist, the edgy thrill of facing off against some of the most brilliant and ruthless people this galaxy has created. That's the line that led me to New Republic Intelligence and to the Special Threats branch.

My name?s Mykael Shone. My dad was a Clone Wars fighter ace with 12 kills, the former Imperial Governor of Lynfar, and Rebel resistance leader ? I like to say that contradictions are inherent in this family. Along with my mother, he was the mastermind of the Lynfar Resistance, giving the Empire ulcers even as he was commended by the sector Moff for his tireless support of the Empire. That?s what saved our tails when Imperial Intelligence tore through the planet, smashing the Resistance and scattering the bits into the winter blizzards of Lynfar. The old sneak had insulated himself from the cloak-and-dagger world so well that Moff Jerjerriod himself wished us farewell as we boarded our shuttle to Pantolomin, saying we were relocating due to the ?shocking extent of the Rebel conspiracy? on Lynfar. Pantolomin was a whole different world ? jungles, beaches, and seas bathed year-round in warm sunlight, rather than Lynfar?s four seasons ? arctic, tolerable, stifling hot, and rainy. The violation of Lynfar?s once-great forests by lommite mines and cities didn?t help the atmosphere either. It seemed as if half the surface was strip-mines, and much of the rest was smoky factories. I didn?t miss it too badly though, as I was occupied with studies in drama and psychology at university, and later NRI training. Not to mention that somehow I had been nursing a latent longing for the beach bum life. It?s a wonder I managed to graduate, let alone with honors.

NRI Special Threats is the branch of New Republic Intelligence resposible for keeping track of the good, the bad, and the ugly ? anybody with enough firepower, malice, political pull, resources, or all of the above to hurt the New Republic. Pirate gangs, crime lords, arms dealers, slavers, war criminals, bounty hunters, mercenaries, rogue warlords, ?allied? fiefdoms, the Empire ? all of them are our territory. It?s kind of analagous to the old-time Sector Rangers of the Old Republic and the Empire, but mixed in with the sort of stuff that Alliance Intelligence perfected during the Rebellion ? recruiting agents, setting up cell networks, gathering surveillance data, and the like. In short, they expect us to do everything and throw in an order of caf ? stimtea in my case, juiced up to the point where it could blow an exceptionally fat Hutt off his repulsorsled. Well, it?s been an interesting few years. I?d been counting down the missions of late ? once you?ve put in twenty, you?re out ? being a ?23er,? it?s called, because in the days of Alliance Intel you had a 23 percent chance of

 

*shark bumps thread to surface*

 

A revision of this, dear Alion? I'll be the first to reply. I love how you set up Myk's character from the first, and the little info you give about Sangre. Great job! I can't wait to see what you revised in the rest of "Snow Job."

?I think I need to hit the ?fresher.?

LOL! When's the next post, oh great one?

 

Most of these first few parts are just minor revisions, mostly incorporating some more EU details and trimming some rough edges on the plot. I'm currently about halfway into an entirely new scene and made some revisions to some of the other scenes in the last half of the fic.

This is kind of an excuse to keep myself in business while Darth Real Life dishes stuff out. I had a great Halloween - fish-counting grad students can be some serious party animals, and Cedric (the French tech in our lab) got my vote for best costume (a Homeland Security radio collar and tagging dart ). However, Sunday I got involved in a boneheaded fiasco that put me on the UM Scuba Club's **** list and it's looking like I'll have to rip through the last Orgo exam and the final to get out with my hide - see, start studying NOW for the first two weeks of December.

Anyway, here's the next segment:

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The first thing I did after stopping by the armory was to get back to my swoop on the pad and fly it to the hangar where the Ghtroc was waiting. I wanted to get my mission kit and my swoop bike aboard so I?d have some stuff to use. The Ghtroc 720 is an older light freighter, about the same vintage as the good old YT-1300 but a little tougher, quite a bit slower, far less agile, and capable of carrying an extra 35 tons of cargo. I was pleased to see that the holds were empty, as my cover entailed picking up a delivery of starship parts from a local salvage yard. Not that I?d actually be doing that ? there was no way in hell I was going to be packing any deadweight when I got off Iscera. If the reinforcements failed to pull the agent and her prisoner out, I was going to have to do the job ? likely as not, I was going to have a heavily armed bounty hunter flying a souped-up attack ship on my tail in that case. I wasn?t too happy about the armament on this junker ? one forward-firing laser cannon and two single turret guns mounted dorsally and ventrally. I wouldn?t know for sure until I took off, but I suspected that I really couldn?t expect to be the quickest and nimblest hunk of junk in the void either. I was happy about the stuff I?d managed to con out of the Palace armory, though ? one Stormtrooper One blaster carbine with an old Viper-1 two-shot grenade launcher and an IR-5 Intimidator repeating blaster pistol. I wasn?t quite as well armed as Sangre, but I figured I could probably lay waste to most cantinas in the Outer Rim Territories, which was plenty good enough. There was also a small kit of grenades, demolition explosives, and blaster power packs aboard, enough to last me through a short siege. I tend to go by the old Nature Explorers? motto, ?Be Prepared? ? although they were thinking more of bringing along your poncho in case of rain instead of bringing a grenade launcher in case of bounty hunters or the odd argument at the bar. I was never much into hiking anyway ? Lynfar wasn?t that exotic and beachwalks were more my style on Pantolomin. I?d find out pretty soon that I wouldn?t have a cinder?s chance in a blizzard of getting in any beach time on this assignment - literally.

There were two techs in the hangar checking the ship over ? rather, one female Calamarian and a Treadwell repair droid. The organic tech walked up to me and handed over a datapad. ?How hard of a kick would it take to rattle this junkpile apart, Chief Asharab?? I said, glancing at her nametag.

The Calamarian turned her head and stared at me with her left eye. I think that?s an expression of interest, as opposed to staring with the right eye, which is either an expression of love or a challenge to fight. I?m as unprejudiced against aliens as can be, but neither one of the latter options sounded fun to me. ?It?s not the Millennium Falcon, but it flies and fights better than it looks. The ion drives have been tweaked to give you about 30 percent more speed,? which still left me about even with an old Victory-I Star Destroyer, ?and the hyperdrive is Class Two ? not fast, but it?s not going

 

Wow.

Very cool.

 

Nice use of OC's and characthers from Dark Forces.


Uppers all around.

 

Good to see you giving this the revised run, Ali. Myk's voice is still thoroughly enjoyable and I can see you've got it flowing even better than before - of course it was pretty damn good the first time.

I think somewhere along the line I ended up with a slice of DNA from some kind of carnivorous predator, which would explain some of my personality traits as well as my dietary preferences. Well, at least he knows himself.

I've been a bit busy - but will make time to check up on Halberd Squadron asap.

 

Alright, heads-up. This includes a whole new scene I put together.


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Several days later and halfway through the food supplies, the Turnaround popped out of hyperspace in the Iscera system. I was pleased to note that Intel had gotten its info right when I noted a Socorran accent in the spaceport manager?s voice. As soon as I mentioned that I had most of a case of Socorran raava left aboard, he gave me immediate clearance to land. Those who rant against the evils of intoxicating beverages have no idea what doors some of the good stuff can open for you, although I would have to figure out what to do when I told him that no, I really didn?t have any booze aboard. Just kidding. This assignment was tempting fate as it was.

Prior to this, my most terrifying flying experience had occurred when I got on the wrong end of a fifteen-on-one dogfight over Nar Shaddaa in an R-41 Starchaser while I was badly burned from an accident I?ll recount later. Flying a clunky Ghtroc through a thundering hailstorm with lightning flashing all around and trying to come down onto an icy landing pad easily beat that. At least over Nar Shaddaa I could dodge the debris and shoot down my opponents. Here there was nothing I could do but keep a white-knuckle grip on the control yoke and pray. I?m not really sure which was more effective, but I managed to land the thing in one piece and not die of a heart attack. Either one of those options would really have ruined my day, and my whole week had been ruined the instant I had met with Sunnar. I felt that I really wouldn?t like to mess it up any further.

Thankfully, Sunnar had made sure to include heavy winter exposure gear in my equipment locker. Probably leftovers from Echo Base on Hoth - I remembered Sunnar telling me she had been stationed there on a liason tour with Starfighter Command, although given the significant differences in our clothing sizes I was pretty sure it wasn?t her old snowsuit. Thank the Force for small favors, because otherwise it would have been very short in the limbs and pretty loose at the hips and bust. I put on my blast vest, the shoulder holster for my SH-9 silenced slugthrower, strapped my blaster holster low on my left thigh with the butt sticking forward, placed my PRP-502 dart pistol at the small of my back, dropped my vibroknife into its sheath in my boot, strapped two vac blade launchers under my wrists, slipped my snap baton into my pocket, and hung the Intimidator from its shoulder swivel under my right arm. Over that went my flight duster and my rucksack, which contained my clothes, toiletries, some rations, my enhanced datapad, 2,000 credits in chits of varied denominations, the carbine, the grenade launcher, extra ammo, plus a few other odds and ends. I pulled my swoop bike out of the cargo bay, put on a riding helmet, goggles, and a scarf, locked up the ship, and sped out to the terminal.

I made sure to catch a quick drink with the spaceport manager. You may want to tear my head off for shooting the breeze with one of the boys while a ruthless darkside marauder stalked the frightened rookie agent and her pain of a prisoner. Actually, my own guilt lobe in my brain was tearing me a new one for it, but I had three good reasons for my deriliction of duty. One, my nerves were shot to hell after that approach, and my hands were still shaking. Two, I didn?t want to seem rude. OK, those are lousy reasons for leaving a fellow agent hanging, even a dumb cadet, but my third reason was good. The guy cleared every ship that landed on or took off from this ice cube. He also knew where said people parked their rides. I wanted to know where Sangre was and if any of his colleagues/competitors had shown up of late. Depending on how his employer wanted to play it, Sangre could have been hunting on an exclusive contract, in which case I?d only have to worry about him, or the contract might be open to other hunters, in which case I was going to be in the middle of a lot of coherent light and explod

 

more, more, more

 

Great ending - gets us hanging on the edge of our seats.

I put on my blast vest, the shoulder holster for my SH-9 silenced slugthrower, strapped my blaster holster low on my left thigh with the butt sticking forward, placed my 2VX dart pistol at the small of my back, dropped my vibroknife into its sheath in my boot, strapped two vac blade launchers under my wrists, slipped my snap baton into my pocket, and hung the Intimidator from its shoulder swivel under my right arm. Golly - are you sure he hasn't forgotten something!

Great evocation of Alion and his skills. This gives us a clearer idea of his abilities and Myk's grudging respect for him as a fighter.

?I?m pleased to know that you spent your first hour on the scene intoxicated and exchanging gossip.?

I saw several gangs of toughs hanging around like ozone in the wake of a blaster battle I like that simile.

I ended up blowing out the electrical systems on a Gymsor-2 freighter due to my misinterpretation of the droid?s report, which had actually been a rather colorful description of my imagined reproductive proclivities.

This sets the scene well. I like the idea of the swoops not needing security locks, and also the fact that Myk feels he has to watch his "exterminations." Thanks for the great read.

 

I didn?t turn my head to avoid watching the little droid buy the circuit farm...


I don't know why I find that so funny, but I do.

 

The fact is, it never does. It's hard to get comfortable when one slip-up can put you at the mercy of folks who don't really appreciate the Rights of Sentience when they want to either make you talk or just get a sick laugh.

I like this story already, although I have one suggestion... more paragraphs, it's too bunched together, and man it kills my eyes and I skim over some of the stuff, just saying is all.... please don't kill me I like it... MORE!!!!!!!

 

Great posts, Alion! I really like the added section, because it really adds more to Myk's character.

I?ve had at least one bad experience with a particularly obstinate R5 where I ended up blowing out the electrical systems on a Gymsor-2 freighter due to my misinterpretation of the droid?s report, which had actually been a rather colorful description of my imagined reproductive proclivities.

LOL! I can totally see that happening. Keep up the excellent work, almighty dude.

 

Well, I 've been tied up with a stupid sociology project and in my late start on Tolkien (finished The Hobbit during the weekend, now I'm on to LOTR), so I've been delayed in writing up the next section, or rather fleshing it out from a litany of explosions, shooting, and bad guys dying.

Yesterday was just ... weird, very weird. To start with, three weeks ago I started speaking with a former friend of mine who I haven't had a conversation with in two years due to a tiff we had freshman year. Yesterday I'm at a medieval fair in TY park up in Broward to see a friend of mine, and I swear I got too close to the stage when the gypsy comedy act was discussing curses. Last night I'm grilling a mutual friend over AIM for info on my latest unrequited love, and who checks in for a chat? The ex - aka the real-life Chelle Eniale (for those of you who didn't read the original draft, just wait). Oddly enough, I was in a forgiving mood and talked to her for the first time in a year. She seems to have cleaned up some of her bad habits, bucked up, and started dating a decent guy back at WVU, and I've invited her back as a friend, all corpses dumped in the lake with the crocs and barracudas.

Obviously, this is going to require a bit more rewriting of the plot than I initially had in it. I'm most certainly not getting mushy though - if anything, the acrimonious nature of the dialogue is going up a notch!

 

Glad you're finally starting on Tolkien! He's the king of numerous subplots galore. Puts Shakespeare to shame.

Woah...you're speaking to the infamous one? I'm got to give you kudos on being able to forgive and forget. I hope everything goes well with that!

I'm most certainly not getting mushy though - if anything, the acrimonious nature of the dialogue is going up a notch!

Hehehe...sarcastic dialogue is your forté.

 

*sound of explosions, blaster shots, alarms, etc.*

This will be my last communication on the boards for some time - probably until just before Christmas at the absolute earliest. My profs are all planning to kill me (4 exams, 1 5-page paper, 1 presentation) next week, and I have a 7-page geology paper due by the 10th. That's when finals start, so I don't think I'll even want to enter any non-academic thoughts into my brain. Hopefully I can get back to work after I fly home Dec. 17th.

 

Well, I clawed my way through my Orgo final. In the brief breather between now and Physics on Monday, I present this post. At midnight on the 17th, I'm seeing ROTK with a bunch of friends, and then it's off to the frozen wastes of Pittsburgh for a month. I'm sure I'll need it just to heal over the overexpansion trauma to my brain

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I uttered some pretty vile curses under my breath as I turned around. Just as I thought, right there in the hatchway were two thugs, who I instinctively nicknamed Potbelly and Nerd-Boy. The former was the guy with the gun, a cut-down Sorosuub Renegade configured as what the Corellian Security Force calls a ?hotshot,? with the trigger guard removed and a glowrod under the barrel. Highly unsafe for both target and user. As my designation implied, Potbelly was a fat oaf who evidently didn?t spend much time out of the saddle. A bulky snowsuit and padded leather vest didn?t do much for his figure, and his face was a greasy, stubbled lump of meat wound around two small black eyes and a smoldering cigarra. If it hadn?t been so blasted cold I should have at least smelled that and the B.O. half a klick downwind. Nerd-Boy, on the other hand, was also armed, but the gun he was packing was a BlasTech HSB-200 holdout blaster, which I don?t consider a respectable sidearm for even prissy old ladies. Then again, it was a blaster pointed at my general anatomy, which was a bad thing, although without Potbelly it wouldn?t have done him any good ? I could have broken the guy like a twig, and I?m not exactly a bruiser myself. The pissed-off look on my face was practically popping his pimples.

Potbelly grinned ? I wasn?t really cussing myself out because of fear, it was because I was furious about letting these two clowns get the drop on me. ?Nice piece,? he said, nodding at my -44. ?Drop it.?

Not having much choice in the matter, I let go of my blaster. Simultaneously, I made a little wiggling motion with my thumbs. The folks in the Boom Room at Intel had fixed me up with a set of vac blade launchers that could be armed by flicking a low-pressure switch with your thumb tendons. It was a tricky manuver, but not that hard to get and it beat accidentally shooting somebody if you turned your wrist the wrong way in a noncombat situation. Potbelly and Nerd-Boy had no idea, but I had two lethal little surprises up my sleeves.

?What gang did you come off of, punk? You?ve got to be new or stupid, since anybody with a brain knows this is Iceball territory. Find another wreck to pick over.? I recalled from my briefing that the Iceballs were one of the bigger swoop gangs here, mostly rivalled by the Snowmen ? a crack bunch that wore around abandoned bits of the stormtrooper armor the garrison had left behind. Both were a pretty unpleasant lot, not given to regular bathing or tea parties.

I gave him an evil smile. ?I don?t think you want to mess with me pal. I suggest you let me get the hell out of here.?

?Hear that, Gribber? Guns to his head, he wants us to let him go.? Potbelly laughed, which was a really nasty sound ? I mean, indigestion came to mind more than mirth. ?You should have gotten the hell out before we found you, stupid.? Gribber ? which I guess was Nerd-Boy?s preferred designation ? laughed as well, a really annoying nasal sound. I had to kill the both of them just for that.

?Falac ytiu,? I replied, using a really nasty Isceran phrase as I leveled my arms at the two and snapped my wrists upward. This triggered the vac blades, which are nothing more than depressurized chambers holding a trio of razor-sharp flechette projectiles in place. With that movement, the launchers spat the blades out in a triangular pattern that I?d made sure to aim at both thugs? necklines ? never know when a guy?s packing chest armor, and even winter clothing can turn a lethal hit into a survivable one. The skull?s full of bone, especially with dimwits like this pair, so I was hoping to slice open the

 

HEY! I take time out of Physics studying to post, and this is the frelling thanks I get?



Upping for readers after the most grueling semester of my career - ha ha, ho ho, hee hee, I'm free!

 

Great toast.
I mean psot
I mena post
I mean post.

arrrrgh. I nned my beta, stat!

 

Sorry, Ali. I got offered a few days extra work - and as I need the money . . .

Anyway - marvellous post. I'm exhausted. Your fight scenes are so visual.

The pissed-off look on my face was practically popping his pimples. Loved the alliteration.

You didn't by any chance imagine your professors as swoopers did you? Great characterisations of the gang members, anyway.

 

Great post, Al! I love the descriptions in your fight scenes. Very vivid and all. And Myk's signature wit, as usual. Good look with your other finals!

 

And a little New Year up. I wonder how Myk would celebrate New Year? No doubt with a bang. A really, really big one.

 

I know you're busy, Alion, but will there be any more anytime soon?

 

I agree - more please. Pretty please with sugar?

 

To use a bit of aeronautical slang, this past academic year has resulted in "losing the Jesus nut" on my sanity. My poor brain needs recuperative time

Anyway, I've survived another year. Wonderful. Time to get back to work

This summer will be my trans-global tour, stops listed as follows:

May 17-May 27: Back to Pittsburgh for a breather and visits with the folks.
May 27-June 17: Back in Miami, working in the lab.
June 18-July 1: Somewhere in the Caribbean ...
July 8-Dec. 14: Adelaide, South Australia with a definite side trip to Cairns, Queensland and hoped-for visits to NZ and other places in the lands of the Southern Cross

I'll have to work on the next rewrite, which should be the Myk/Chelle reunion. I can promise changes to the exchange and how the two face off, as well as another IRL-inspired past crash-n'-burn for Myk. Stay tuned!