Star Wars OPEN The Kingdom

IC: Natalia Markova
Darkest Night

As the Navigational officer kept her eyes on her station, her ear was staining to hear the conversation between the new Doctor and the Commodore. Her curiosity had been peaked, and she couldn't help herself. There was only so many times one could double and triple check her calculations, or plan the next few steps with the limited information she could get. It wasn't much so it didn't distract her much. Her sensitive hearing picked up a little more of the conversation but not all of it. The bit she did hear made her sour internally, guards would be posted at the medical station. That would complicate any plans she may or may not have in the back of her mind. Though closer to the front of her mind was the anxiety of her previous snooping around.

As the doctor left and the bridge fell back into silence the sound of her beating heart filled her ears. It was fine right, if something were to happen it would have already. The troopers would have dragged her away from her station, would have thrown her into the brig by now, right? Or was the Commodore making her sweat, knowing what she did and just stringing it out, playing with her like a feline with an injured rodent. No, he seemed like a by the book officer, he would have handled it by protocol, would have had her taken away immediately once he knew…

Right?

She looked up from her place in the pit looking at said superior officer staring out the viewport. Swallowing thickly she put her focus back on her station now just doing random calculations just to keep her focus off the paranoia swirling around her mind. What would they face out in the Unknown Regions, what new fascinating stellar phenomenon would they face out in the mysterious edge of the galaxy. Nebulas, blackholes, pulsars, all of the above. In her studies she had learned that anything was possible. She looked up all the routes through known stellar oddities using them as a base for possible hazards she could encounter later on. Give her a base to work from.

It was nice and distracting, kept her mind off the paranoia that sat in the back of her mind. She fell so deep into it that when the Commodore called her name she nearly jumped. Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. The sound of her heart racing filled her ears.

Without any delay she stood up and moved towards her superior. It was a request, but she treated it like an order. Her ever present cherry red datapad with a blooming purple flower on the back of it was with her. She held it close to her chest, her arms crossed over it. It made her feel grounded and somewhat protected. She had wisely moved all her stolen files to a hidden directory that only she knew how to find, and wouldn't appear on the screen if she had to show it to someone else. She was nothing if not prepared.

"Sir." She said softly, stepping up to Mazzanti. Her heart was still beating fast against her ribs...was this the moment everything turned?

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Sergeant Aiden Gray
Bakura

Sergeant Aiden Gray never took his finger off the trigger as he descended the Lambda class shuttle loading ramp and joined the others of Team A for what looked to be a routine mission. He quietly surveyed the terrain far out in front of him not liking anything that he was seeing. He privately wished he'd had his shoretrooper armor on as that would at least protect him more from sticking out like a sore thumb in his regular armor.

"Remain alert," Aiden said to those around him, "just because it looks boring doesn't mean that it is."

He decided at that point to remain silent as he continued to observe and wait for anything, and everything, to happen.

Tag: @Bravo

 

OOG: The below post is a continuation of the below storyline. I would highly recommend reading the below links provided and this post (a course), as to get the proper context and that this expanding storyline will be becoming more relevant as the game progresses deeper & deeper into the Unknown Regions.

• Jul 19, 2020
  
• Jul 25, 2020
  
• Aug 15, 2020
  
• Aug 17, 2020
  
• Aug 19, 2020
• Oct 10, 2020

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


IC: Corporal Joseph Venturi
Company E, 291st Infantry Regiment; Free Jod Colony, Kingdom of Jod



"Ninety seconds!" barked one of two Cargo Hold Technicians aboard the M-1FD Planetary Drop Ship, one of the technicians (a Petty Officer Technician I Class)---who had barked the orders---was standing at the front of the drop ship just before the closed cockpit blast door with a orange safety strap attached---from a gray safety harness over his black uniform---to the singular support beam running down the length of the shuttle with a running hook system; the Petty Officer wore gray combat utility gloves and was further equipped with a gray blaster belt around his black uniform's waist (with four pouches; two for ammunition, one for first-aid, and one for rations, while he also had a clipped MilStan PerCom v2 on his belt and a water canteen as well) equipped with a holstered Standard Issue Army-Navy Revolver on his right hip and held a CQAP Blunderbuss upwards with his right hand, while his left hand gripped one of the red safety handles on the exterior of the airlock. His gray jump seat was directly behind him, its black crash webbing loosely piled into the seat.

The other technician---a Crewmen Rated Plus Class (First Class)---had similar equipment & weaponry as the Petty Officer and walked down the center corridor, his orange safety strap guiding along the singular support beam with a click, click, click as it ran along pre-designed breaks for each row of seats to other sides, where passengers could hook onto. Once the crewmen reached the end, he unhooked---turned around just before his own gray jump seat with black crash webbing---and hooked in again, facing the distant cockpit door to his front.

He forced a knot in his throat down.

The Petty Officer to the front looked above to the recessed (slightly hanging out) overhead clock. He barked again after reading the red digits blink away.

"Sixty seconds!"

Venturi looked down at the CBS Powered Lens Boarding Helmet as the dropship shook, again, and this time more vigorously as a blast must have hit closer to home. There were some grumbles, some gasps, some bursts of encouraging words, and some colorful language that would make your grandmother blush, all from the 100 Infantryman and 16 Naval Guards (wearing their medium armor & weapons) that sat onboard. There were many---like Joseph---who were simply quiet. He looked over to his right where Lance Corporal Teddy Riva sat, who simply nodded in return, and both best friends put their helmets on, soon hearing the snap-hiss as the helmet made a tight mechanical seal.

The snap-hiss echoed throughout the entire dropship.

The dropship shook this time and was then bounced around several times more by heavy incoming close range defensive fire. Warning alarms started going off briefly, before stabilizng and going to yellow. During that little chaos, as some men screamed or cried, someone could be heard yelling from within the hold: "YAHOOOOO!!!!"

"Thirty seconds!" yelled the petty officer.

"LETS GET SOME!" someone else could be heard yelling soon after from within the hold.

The dropship shook again and again and again. Each blast seemingly finding a mark and Joseph saw as part of the exterior armor buckled inward across the hold to the far starboard side (as he was sitting on the port side). He could even see as several stress fractures started to form around the impact area and the whistle of air leaving the hold into outer space was almost deafening.

Still, Joseph remained quiet.

"Ten seconds!" barked the petty officer, adding as he started to countdown, "Nine, eight, s----"

Suddenly the dropship was rocked hard and the area where it was weakest suddenly blew inwards, sending super heated debris and armor plating into the cargo hold; outside, the cold vacuum of space was just starting to turn into the cold interior of a hanger bay. Just as quickly as the explosion went in, it was sucked outward in those few moments before the dropship entered the pressurized hanger and into outer space. Above and within the interior of the hold, both red warning lights and alarm sounds were going off as the dropship was suddenly loosing control as it came into the hanger bay.

In those moments, Joseph watched as super heated armor tore through the starboard cargo hold, tearing through flesh and seats like warm butter, sending body parts, body innards, blood, weapons, equipment, and seats flying and just as quickly being violently sucked outward. Joseph watched at the point of impact as the petty officer was being pulled with the vacuum of space, his orange safety strap preventing him from being pulled completely outward. But in those few moments that everything went in and then out (debris, bodies, weapons), a piece of blasted hull armor sliced through the petty officer and carried with it his lower half of his body outward into the cold of space.

The petty officer's upper half of his body was leaking innards and blood like a sick B-rate horror holo vid as his still twitching body hung from the safety strap, the strap getting tangled on some debris that lodged itself into the ceiling of the hold, and forced his corpse to dangle there.

Joseph kept his eyes on that revolting sight in the moments it took the dropship to drop hard onto the deck of the hanger bay, the exterior hole in the armor showing the outside environment as the dropship slide this way and that, crashing into parked vessels and sending sparks flying everywhere. If it wasn't the sound of object smashing on the exterior hull, it was the sound of enemy gunfire against the exterior hull that gave the eerie scene with red warning lights and alarms a soundtrack. Soon, the dropship came to a edging stop as the blast hole tipped inward and over as the dropship now went end-over-end three times before settling upright with a final, long crash!

Smoke and debris filled the now dark cargo hold illuminated only by red emergency lighting as soldiers and naval guards alike who were alert enough started shouting for everyone to get out. What NCOs and officers were left alive and not badly wounded tried to bring sense to the chaos.

"Teddy?" Joseph asked above the roar of battle outside the dropship.

"Here!" Teddy replied.

Joseph clicked an exterior button on his helmet and the naturally red lenses turned into thermal vision as he took a quickly look around the hold and then looked down to the weapon lock station that held his LR-Model 2 Blaster Rifle upright. With only emergency power and clearly cluttered or out of sync from the crash, Joseph had to enter his PIN code and hit the lock station more then once for the station to release the butt and back half of his rifle. He then undid his crash webbing and looked over to his left, where a soldier was clearly dead in his seat (looked like his neck had snapped).

"Come on Teddy!" Joseph barked, ripping off the helmet and dropping it to the ground now that he had his weapon and knew the direction he was going. He unclipped his kepi hat from his belt and put it on.

"Right behind you!" his best friend replied, depositing of his helmet in the same manner and donning his kepi hat as well.

Joseph climbed over the dead man and to the far side cargo door where a soldier and two Naval Guards were struggling to open the badly damaged port side door. Just before Joseph reached them, they had success and as they pushed the door open----the interior hold flooding with illumination from the overhead hanger lights---their bodies shook unnaturally as they were riddled with close range projectile gunfire.

Two Free Jod Marine Militia were standing there, spraying projectile bullets into the cargo hold (behind them a tossed naval boarding action was being ragged between the successful landing of two other dropships and their combat personnel against the bastioned hanger defenders). Quickly, Joseph brought his blaster up (which was already preloaded), pulled back the trigger, and fired from his awkward sitting-standing position on the last seat of the row. The powerful discharge of the weapon slammed into Joseph's shoulder and at the awkward position sent him backwards an inch. But his shot was true as it tore into the left-most FJM trooper's right shoulder and broke it apart between the shoulder proper and the torso/neck, sending clothing, blood, skin, and bone everywhere. It also dropped the trooper in pain and, if Joseph had to bet, would quickly die.

Teddy was a quicker shot and despite his unannounced discharge of his rifle right by Joseph's ear---which caused the Corporal to bark in shock & pain and left his ear ringing---his shot blew off the top half of the other FJM trooper's head, leaving a mangled brain and eyes exposed above the nose with the rest of the man's upper skull missing. The half headless body dropped to its knees, dropping its weapon, and then went face first into the hanger deck just before the shuttle.

"For King's sake, Teddy!" Joseph barked, rubbing his right ear as he moved forward.

"I saved your arse!" Teddy replied.

The ringing was starting to go away as Joseph crept up to the interior of the exterior door, others joining him and Teddy. Bullets---mostly stray---were impacting the dropship's exterior. As Joseph watched outside, the dropship providing the best cover as he and Teddy stripped the two dead Naval Guards of their ammo and QF-Model 1 Infantry Rifles and dropping their own slower and longer LR-Model 2's, Joseph said to all those gathered (about five including Teddy and himself), "Looks like we got a small beachhead from that dropship a few yards behind us. Their bringing squads our way to form a protective firing ring. We go---" Joseph checked his newly acquired weapon, and then said as he put actions to words as the squads pressed forward and were just starting to form that ring, "NOW!"

Joseph came out of the dropship and brought the QF-Model 1 up and discharged it at the FJM trooper he had spotted with a few others at a second level catwalk above the main blast doors. The trooper's body flipped over the railing and below into the hanger atop crates as Joseph ejecting the spent shell with the lever and swing it back to bring a fresh round home. He came to a sliding kneeling stop beside one of the rescue squads, discharging another round into a enemy trooper who was pressing his attack with two others from around a fiery and broken-in-two Jump Fighter Mk 4's nose section. As Joseph's shot hit home in the chest and brought the trooper crumbling down, the other two came to a similar fate with two soldiers to Joseph's right who discharged their LR-Model 2s.

Despite this small victory, one of the soldiers went down soon afterward to enemy fire as he began to reload his rifle. His equipment and weapon cluttered before Joseph's feet as his body came down face first with a thud. Joseph gave him a quick glance and checked to make sure the soldier wasn't wounded (the soldier didn't responded), and then he went back to his job at hand.

Repeating the reloading theme, Joseph brought down another trooper was that second level catwalk. His fourth shot missed, but his fifth caught another trooper on that catwalk in the shoulder, flipping the man's body around as he fell to the ground. As he was bringing the lever down and back up, he heard a bold yell and snapped his head to his left as he saw a mass of soldiers and naval guards charge with that yell, leaving behind a handful of defenders. Despite their strong defenses and determination, the simply overwhelming and terrifying charge left many FJM troopers suddenly alone and swallowed up by the Jod charge as their comrades retreated to better defenses or fled the battle completely into deeper parts of the station.

There was little control over their company as soldiers still trickled out of the heavily damaged dropship, so it was Joseph that lead the charge, "Come on!" he yelled and the soldiers and naval guards around him joined the charge, while a few stayed behind as a defensive guard to protect the dropship and get others out of its wreckage still and provide medical care.

Joseph made it past the damaged starfighter and was pushing towards the distant stacked cargo crates, the FJM troopers clearly panicking and their disorganized retreat or stay and fight (depending who you listened to) only worsened their situation......



TBC

 

IC: Chief Medical Officer Agnar Morana
Command Medical Bay, Darkest Night, high orbit over Javin

A rubber-gloved finger traced the length of the line along the burnt flesh against the bone, followed by a careful incision of a small metal scalpel. From its tip, a small emitter sent blue energy along the curvature of the blade, just strong enough to peel back the flesh but not enough to burn it in normal cases. The tool was an old one, having belonged to a mentor of Morana’s. His wiry fingers lightly directed the blade deeper into the charred flesh to reveal the raw pink of the inside until the flesh softly fell away onto the metal tray.

Morana picked up the 3 cm piece, examined it carefully through his magnification goggles, and then ate it.

A post-surgery steak was his ritual. Something about the process always made him uncommonly hungry, and in a situation, like this one, it aided in the diagnostic process. Here in the medical bay sat the Chief Medical Officer, alone but for two GH-7 medical analysis units that were at present hovering in place overhead.

At his request for secrecy and security, the doors had been closed and under guard. Additionally, communication and sensor traffic had been turned off in the Command Medical Bay. In front him were three shining durasteel tables, each with the barely recognizable human remains on them. Their bodies were naked and in various stages of an autopsy.

Chewing slowly, Morana allowed the juices from the Chandrillian Tendermeat and its accompanying sauce to fill his mouth as he pondered the puzzle before him. He squinted his eyes as he looked again at each body in turn.

On the edge of the autopsy table in front of him where he ate was a small HUD display. He pressed in the timecode of his recording at the beginning of the autopsy.

[Subject 2 has extensive burns that seem to cover the entirety of the musculoskeletal system…]

He heard his gravelly voice from the recording and a crack as the rib-cage was opened off holo.

[Preliminary analysis finds no starter device or weapon of any known kind, nor is there an indication of a blaster or mechanical fire. Proceeding to the gastrointestinal - now…]

A pause.

[That can’t be right.]

Morana sliced into the steak and took another bite, remembering this moment. This had been the second body he’d examined - checking his notes, this one was from the holotheater and quite far from the other body. He could hear himself rustling inside the cadaver, placing down his tools, and then walking over to the other body.

[As with the first Subject, heavy burn damage from the…inside. There is a clear burn pattern extending…]

There was the sound of flesh being separated and his voice continued with strain as he pried his fingers through the body to remove the charred lungs, as well as pull the esophagus out for closer examination.

[…up through the respiratory tract. The death would have been painful, most likely from burn shock but exacerbated by the fact that both Subjects 1 and 2’s airways are completely destroyed. Asphyxia would have taken them in moments. Lung damage, damage to the throat…]

Organ after organ, inch after inch, his conclusion was the same. These bodies had burned from the inside out. In the case of Subject 3, explosively. His belly had burst under the pressure.

Morana had never seen anything like this.

He took another bite and smiled as he chewed. So close to the Unknown Regions and already something truly extraordinary - if from the Unknown Regions it was.

He scrubbed further into the recording to Subject 3.

[Subject 3 has similar damage to as Subjects 1 & 2, however, it seems to have happened faster and extends to less of the body. Burns are likewise from the inside out but don’t extend to the lower extremities. This may suggest some sort of biological component that the body failed to assimil…]

Morana paused the recording. His eye’s twinkled. He put down his eating utensils and slowly stood to see all three bodies before him. With his mouth open, he slowly chewed audibly. His mastication echoed back to him in the examination room.

The security report he’d received from the Chief of Security indicated no relationships between the victims and no issues with other crew members.

But, what if their relationship was something not with specific individuals, but shared across an entire genome or species. Each was human. Could it be that easy?

It would rule out spontaneous human combustion - which while not unheard of, was rarely “spontaneous” without an outside source. He’d seen rituals of species swallowing burning metals, even flames themselves - but nothing here suggested that. Instead…yes…suppose the reaction came from within the body. It was in fact, from the body. Could that be possible? Chemical? Biological?

Morana waved over the droid.

“The whole body,” he said, his pulse racing. “Here, here.”

He pointed to each of the intestinal remains of Subject 2.

“Spectral analysis…last meal…anything digested or residing here.”

Could it be that simple? That something from the inside had started a combustion process with the point of origin being in the gastrointestinal system. It would explain how Subjects 1 and 2 had more extensive damage if it was a matter of metabolism.

Subject 3 had shown signs of anemia and a thyroid imbalance, which could account for the difference from the first two subjects. Anemia took different forms, but it could affect blood-oxygen levels, diet, nutrition…any number of things.

The droid hovered over to Morana’s place over the body and reported a plant-based meal and some sort of insect. Though not accurate, the closest was an 80-percent match to the flame beetle of Kashyyyk, which would suggest a common genetic structure and perhaps kind.

But what would cause something of this nature? And was it an accident, a biological weapon? Was it truly the Unknown Region reaching her long arm out as the Commodore thought, or was it something closer to home?

Morana tapped the droid on the head with a smirk and went back to his steak. What a nice puzzle.

Tag: @Bravo

 

IC: Elena Shan
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura

Elena glanced at Sergeant Oak briefly, but didn't mention his slip up. It wasn't the time or the place to do so. Instead, she listened as he told her that Imperial Personal began to head towards the shuttles, and frowned in response. What was going on? "We should contact them, ask them if this is the kind of example they think that the Empire should be setting on new planets that have yet to join us or if being late is how they greet Officers from the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. Tell them that if they don't arrive before we need to leave, the consequences will be more then a slap on the wrist." Elena told Sergeant Oak firmly. She didn't need this to reflect badly on her or Joker Platoon.

Tag: @Bravo

 

OOG: And here we go!!!!


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


IC: Flying Officer Rick Johnson & Captain Keth Dotch
TIE Fighters, Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura


[Cockpit Camera Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Flying Officer Rick Johnson
Unit: Bad Love Squadron, Third Flight, Bad 9


Active: Bad 5; Flight Leader (2-1-L); Captain Keth Dotch
Active: Bad 11; Wing Leader (3-3-L); Flying Officer Saraali Deatar
Active: Bad 12; Flight Fourth (3-4-W); Flying Officer Turr Kya



Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:52 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)



Johnson watched the line of Imperials being rushed from the secured zone towards the waiting Lambdas. He also listened to Dotch---as the ranking officer in the flight---give updates. Through the utter quietness and Dotch's every now-and-again voice, Johnson was wondering: was anyone under his repulsorlifts? Because after a few minutes of standing under them, they'd feel like they were in a tropical storm of warm weather.


"Bad Five to Command," Keth reported, "Imperial personnel on the move. All clear around the starport."

"Copy Bad Five," came the almost robotic response from the flight controller woman aboard the Darkest Night, adding, "Bad One, status update."


"Bad One. Top cover clear," came Major Pérez's razor sharp voice.


"Copy Bad One. Bad Seven, report," came the controller's voice once again.


"Bad Seven," came Lieutenant Vise's voice, "Perimeter zone is secured high with green status. Low zone is yellow with Bad Six and Bad Ten checking on a vehicle convoy heading towards the starport. Initial sensor readings match that of the local government delegation that is expected."


"Copy Bad Seven," replied the woman's razor edge voice, adding, "Bad Six, report status of unknown vehicle convoy."



***********


IC: Staff Sergeant Rusty Oak
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura



"We should contact them, ask them if this is the kind of example they think that the Empire should be setting on new planets that have yet to join us or if being late is how they greet Officers from the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. Tell them that if they don't arrive before we need to leave, the consequences will be more then a slap on the wrist."


"Yes, ma'am. I'll see if the shuttle crew can get me an update," Oak turned on his heel and walked back towards the ramp, where Crewman DN-SO-3-18 was knelt on one knee to the right of the ramp, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. Typically DN-SO-3-18 was the gunner of the shuttle, but in landed configuration he would act as a sentry by the shuttle ramp with an E-11 Blaster Rifle. The rifle was held with the extended stock firmly in his shoulder and the weapon pointed slightly to the ground with his finger along the rifle's side, yet close to the trigger. Any seasoned soldier would know that this gunner crewman had been given specialized training and was clearly part of the 714th Special Operations Shuttle Group. While maybe not a soldier by trade, the crewmen was more than capable to put up a fight when called upon. On the backside of the shuttle near the engines would be Petty Officer DN-SO-3-16, the shuttle's engineer; she would be armed with an E-11 as well and have a similar demeanor to that of the gunner: ready for a fight if action called. Chief Petty Officer DN-SO-3-15, the shuttle's navigator, would be on the port side of the wing assembly; armed like the gunner & engineer with an E-11, his seasoned experience in landing operations would ensure a cool head under fire. While the starboard side would normally employ another of the crew, in this case it didn't, as the starboard side was covered by the other shuttles' protection team. This would leave the communications officer in the cockpit in addition to the pilot and co-pilot; and that would make Oak's job much easier and much quicker.


Walking up the ramp and to the forward part of the shuttle, he leaned into the cockpit, gaining the attention of all 3 crew members left inside.


"The Lieutenant wants an update on that diplomatic convoy," Oak announced.


"Please?" Lieutenant Commander Sanddoom said from the pilot seat, his voice holding a fathering tone with a slight smile across his face.


Oak rolled his eyes as he leaned into the bulkhead, "Please????"


Zeek smiled and looked across the cockpit to the communications tech, "Since our Navy Trooper can use his big nice words, we can go ahead and call in a status update."


Oak shook his head with a smile as he looked out the cockpit's forward viewport and saw two TIEs come around at the far edges of his vision half way between top cover zone & ground level zone and angle towards that main transportation road off to the far left (out of sight). While he couldn't see what was on that road with the hangers blocking his vision, he was sure the TIEs spotted something that made them dip under the hangers and out of view.


***********


Bad Six & Bad Ten checking on Vehicle Convoy


[Cockpit Camera Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Pilot Officer DN-66-6
Unit: Bad Love Squadron, Second Flight, Bad 6

• Active: Bad 10; Flight Second (3-2-W); Pilot Officer DN-70-10
• Active: Bad 7; Wing Leader (2-3-L); Flight Lieutenant Andrew Vise
• Active: Bad 8; Flight Fourth (2-4-W); Pilot Officer DN-68-8

Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:52 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)


"Okay," Bad Six said over the shared private comm channel, his voice carrying a tone of teaching, "Its your time to shine."

"Wait---what?" yelped Bad Ten, her hands shaking on the yoke slightly, "Wait, I---I---I can't. Shouldn't you do that? I mean," she chuckled over the private comm channel, "You have only two strikes on your record. I have three! So, ah, you should do it."

Bad Six chuckled as he brought the TIE Fighter around from the approach to the city, making sure the turn was lazy and wide to give him some extra time to get Bad Ten ready. "The first strike was bringing some booze on base during a wartime deployment on some frozen Outer Rim rock. The second strike was sleeping with the Admiral's daughter. Then I got shipped to Bad Love. Look, I can fly and use the comms just fine. You need to get this down or they're going to bounce you out of the Imperial Starfighter Corps all together. Your flying is half rate and you break protocol way too much---even for Bad Love and our standards are laid back. You'll be a gunner on some half-operational Neutron Star-class Bulk Cruiser guarding a no-name mining operation. Do you really want that?"

"No," came her reply, suddenly determined as he pointed out her flaws, "I don't. I can do this. I have to complete my first year as a TIE Pilot so I can apply for officer's training. My entry grades weren't high enough for straight acceptance into the Imperial Academy; so they said I had to do a year in the Navy or Army to get put on a list and then retest, with preference points added because of my military experience. I tested so high for the enlisted ranks that they sent me to school to become a shuttle pilot. After two years, I rested---but failed---although I scored higher and almost passed. So my CO arranged for me to get into Flight School next, saying that would increase my preference points after a year of being a TIE Pilot and I should pass the third time around---which would be my last chance to apply. I want to be a starship navigator."

"And it'll take you longer to apply for navy officer's training as a gunner on some auxiliary bucket cruiser. Your application will get passed up for all those TIE Pilots and Navy Troopers that got their year in and tested higher. You've been out of pilot's training for what---four months? You have eight more months to go. You can do this."

"Okay, okay," Bad Ten replied, her voice suddenly annoyed (she wanted to get this over with), adding as they closed the distance with the vehicle convoy (which showed three Bakura government marked SCS-19 Sentinel landspeeders enclosed to the front and rear by a pair of escorting Arrow-23 Landspeeders. Although the Arrow-23s lacked any government markings.

and slowed their speed, each TIE taking to a side of the road and flanking the convoy, with Bad Six to the right and up and behind a bit, while Bad Ten was closer and lower to the left of the convoy, "Lets get this done!" she cleared her throat, "Bakura Government convoy, this is---"

Bad Six interrupted her, "---Bad Ten, you need to switch comm channels."

She blushed, "Oh, yeah---sorry," she cleared her throat and then switch to the main squadron channel, "Bakura Government convoy, this is Bad Ten of Bad Love Squadron of the Galactic Empire. You are entering a restricted zone. Please state your business."

"Bad Ten," came a shaky military voice, "This is Bakura Government Convoy. We have an arrangement to meet with an Imperial delegation at the starport."

"Copy Bakura Government Convoy," Bad Ten replied, "Please stand-by to be scanned."

"Ah---Bad Ten...ah, that won't be necessary. We were scanned in city before departing."

Bad Six interrupted, "Bakura Government Convoy, this is Bad Six of Bad Love Squadron. You will submit to a scan. Otherwise, stop your forward progress immediately and turn back around to the city."


***********


IC: Staff Sergeant Rusty Oak
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura



The communications tech looked back to Oak, "You can inform the Lieutenant that the convoy is enroute and is cleared."

"Got it," Oak said, giving the shuttle crew a small toy salute, "Thank you gentle beings."

Oak left the cockpit and walked down the ramp, calling out for the lieutenant as he reached the bottom, "Lieutenant, looks like that convoy is on its way. See? An easy---"

"Staff Sergeant! Staff Sergeant!" came down the male communications tech, his voice rushed and in a panic, "That convoy has been hijacked!"

"Sweet mother of---" Oak turned back to where he last saw the TIE Fighters....


***********


Bad Six & Bad Ten checking on Vehicle Convoy


[Cockpit Camera Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Pilot Officer DN-66-6
Unit: Bad Love Squadron, Second Flight, Bad 6

• Active: Bad 10; Flight Second (3-2-W); Pilot Officer DN-70-10
• Active: Bad 7; Wing Leader (2-3-L); Flight Lieutenant Andrew Vise
• Active: Bad 8; Flight Fourth (2-4-W); Pilot Officer DN-68-8

Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:54 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)


"The Bakura Government will not be talked to like this!" barked another voice, this one more bold, "I demand your operating number!"

A new voice came over the squadron channel, that of the Major's, "Bad One to Bad Six and Bad Ten. Break off immediately! Break off immediately!"

Unfortunately, Bad Ten had the wrong comm channel open to respond, "Break off for what?"

Bad Six was already breaking off, pulling back on the stick and applying raw and wild speed to climb, breaking past the hangers that blocked the view of the road and barrel twisting down a few seconds later to get a better shot.

"Just climb Ten! Climb!" Bad Six pleaded, "Clear my shot, Ten! Clear my shot!"

"Clearing shot, Six," Bad Ten replied, still on the wrong channel.

"Wrong channel, Ten! Clear the channel! Clear the channel!" came Bad One's voice, "Break off! Break off!"

She looked down at the comm board and the wrong button activated to speak, then looked over to the last trailing Arrow-23 as its laser cannon turret came into alignment with her TIE Fighter. "NOOOOOO!!!!!" she screamed, her voice crackling over the comm, as the laser blast tore into the TIE Fighter.

Bad Six watched as the laser blast tore into the low-flying TIE Fighter, its double red laser beams punching through the ball cockpit and out the rear, causing the TIE to start exploding even before its debris starting falling the short distance to the ground and rolling and crashing into fiery flame across the open grass land. As the expanding explosion of the TIE's fuel tanks and rolling ball of flam and debris across the ground shot in all directions (including upwards as TIE debris was flung this way & that), Bad Six saw himself having to abort his downward attack run and instead reverse roll upwards and away from the expanding blast and then as he came up through the reverse turn, he hit the thrusters and watched as his TIE rocketed away at a hard right angle.

His body felt every single G-force without gravity-less space to help absorb the shock. He grunted in pain and could have swore he broke a rib in the process. But he was clear of the blast and as he came out of the escape maneuver, he brought his TIE high and around, vectoring in on an attack approach from the rear as now two cannons---one from the forward Arrow-23 and one from the rear Arrow-23 landspeeder---tracked his movements with long darts of red laser beams.

As he lined up his first attack run, but finding it difficult, he watched as the five landspeeders put on the speed, with the front gate of the abandoned starport just under 3 miles away. At their speed, they'd reach it in just over a minute.


***********


IC: Staff Sergeant Rusty Oak
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura



Oak watched as one of the TIEs suddenly came up sharply and above the blocked view of the hangers. He watched for a moment as the TIE climbed and climbed and climbed with pure & raw speed and then did a barrel twist to come down upon the targets from a dive-bombing angle. He then heard a distant BOOM! followed by several smaller booms and then flame and smoke. In those moments he watched the dive bombing TIE aborted his downward attack run and instead reverse rolled upwards and away from the expanding flame, smoke, and debris from the ground that was hidden behind the hangers, but rose above their roofs now for all to see. He then watched as the TIE Fighter came up through the reverse turn, then hit the thrusters and watched as the TIE rocketed away at a hard right angle.

How the TIE pilot wasn't bug guts on his own viewport would be a miracle.

Oak just stood there, quietly, for a moment. But his moment of silence was utterly shattered as the old control tower suddenly blew up as several laser blasts from beyond the clouds impacted it, sending a showering of sound, debris, flame, and smoke raining down towards the starport's main buildings. Moments later, several other laser blasts hit the lower tower structure itself under the top pod and snapped the tower in two, further adding to the crumbling debris cloud of fire, debris, smoke, and now dust as the tower collapsed into the starport buildings.


***********


IC: Flying Officer Rick Johnson & Captain Keth Dotch
TIE Fighters, Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura


[Cockpit Camera Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Flying Officer Rick Johnson
Unit: Bad Love Squadron, Third Flight, Bad 9


Active: Bad 5; Flight Leader (2-1-L); Captain Keth Dotch
Active: Bad 11; Wing Leader (3-3-L); Flying Officer Saraali Deatar
Active: Bad 12; Flight Fourth (3-4-W); Flying Officer Turr Kya


Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:54 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)



Johnson was already breaking his hover stance and slowly climbing on repulsors per protocols as the radio traffic between Bad One, Bad Six, and Bad 10 was going South. He was now rocketing away and towards a high holding pattern as Bad Ten's death scream was now but a disturbing echo in his memory and the control tower came crashing down in the short distance below from red laser blasts that came from the sky above.

The Major's voice was already on the comm as Johnson looked down at his sensor board, seeing now a fully formed sensor blip.

"Fierfek!" he cursed to himself as he circled the starport above, keeping an eye on the ground below, "Those were no space debris!" He hit his helmet on the side, "Trust your instincts you bantha fodder idiot!"

"Coming across your sensor screens now!" the Major was saying, "Looks like a Charger c70 Retrofit from the Clone Wars!"

"We got other pings!" came the voice of Flying Officer DN-63-3 (Bad Three) over the squadron comms, "Twelve CloakShape Fighters coming around the c70's aft four Aggressive ReConnaissance-170s and four BTL-B Y-Wings!"

Clever little buggers, Johnson thought, Ride in behind the cruiser to mask their signature. Had to be hiding on planet for some time---no way they could have entered Atmo without being seen by our orbiting frigates or Bakura forces.

The major's voice was cool as steal, "First Flight and Second Flight, rise to meet those Cloaks. Third Flight, you have the bombers. Those 170s will be escort on their runs---expect our ground forces the target. All Flight, be warned! Those tango fighters are all excellent in atmo, much better than our TIEs! You will not be able to turn and burn with them. You'll need to either bait them to space where we'll have the upper hand or outsmart them!"

Dotch's voice was next, "You heard the Major! Bad Eleven, Bad Twelve, you have top cover intercept! Take out those escorts! Bombers, if you can. Bad Nine and myself will be the safety net for those bombers!"

"Third Flight," came the Major's voice, "Be advised you have three Cloakshapes joining the escorts and bombers!"

"I can't see them!" Dotch replied.

"They're in the sun!" the Major's voice came back.

Johnson looked up as the top cover TIEs of First & Second Flight (seven in total) rocketed towards the distant clouds, where Cloakshapes were dropping from the puffy clouds like rain. From the sun came the bomber run in the far upper distant: two Y-Wings each escorted by two 170s in rear escort to either flank of a Y-Wing and back far enough to provide covering fire. Both "groups" were starting to drift apart from each other as they came out of the sun and formed two different attack run vectors on the starport: if one run didn't get through, the other would. The three cloakshapes hung back in between the two groups and high, able to assist either group if one was attacked.

This all seemed too easy to Johnson. Text book, the TIEs would eat up the Cloakes that claimed most of the squadron's attention while the bombers were the real threat. But even then, four TIE Fighters should have little issue with outdated starfighter designs. Their atmo ability was their only real threat.

"Bad Five, private channel," Johnson said. A moment later Johnson heard Dotch's irriated voice.

"Johnson, I don't have time for this. I know you hate ground cover, but I know you can handle. I don't know about the other two new pilots. Less of a dream assignment, I get it. But we to cover---"

"---Sir," Johnson interrupted, "Its not that. That vehicle escort will have no chance even if they break down the front gates. Our walkers will be all over them."

"Keep talking," Dotch replied.

"These are most likely pirates looking to score our cargo ships. So they'll need troops on the ground. And I wager to bet these pirates are native to this area of space and have been hiding."

"Keep talking," Dotch said.

"Sir, the pirates are mixed in with the Bakura security forces!"

"Sith!" Dotch replied, "Alert the ground forces, I'll keep our bombers busy. Keep those troopers safe, Flying Officer!"

Johnson felt a rush of pride as a smile crossed his face, "Yes, sir!"


***********


IC: Master Sergeant Craig Anthony Stewart (DW-418121; "Animal")
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura


[Helmet Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Stormtrooper DW-418121
Unit: Joker Platoon, 2nd Squad, Team B

• Active: Trooper DW-418128 (Business) (E-22 Blaster Rifle)
• Active: Trooper DW-418127 (E-11 Blaster Rifle)
• Active: Trooper TK-1245 (JC) (E-22 Blaster Rifle)

Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:56 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)



Animal was still on one knee, trying his best to see through the dust & debris cloud that now covered everything. The sun, high above in the morning sky, was nothing more than a smoky-looking orange circle. Comm chatter filled the communication channels in his helmet and he could hear the questions, demands, and WTF comments from everyone in the squad and with the Navy Troopers. Even with thermal imaging on in his helmet---which helped to see the body forms---it did little as the mini wind storm created by the falling tower that still persisted (although to a lesser degree, which the first pressure wave had sent him on his butt). No one could clearly identify anyone else at the moment which---as Animal would find out a moment later---would be a blessing.

"Emergency traffic! Emergency traffic!" came a voice over the stormtrooper comms, "This is Flying Officer Johnson. Bad Nine! Bad Nine! Emergency traffic! Possible enemy tangos mixed in with Bakura security forces! I repeat, possible enemy tangos mixed in with Bakura security forces! Threat not confirmed. Threat not confirmed. Repeat traffic if received! Repeat traffic if received!"

"Bad Nine," answered Animal, "Stormtrooper DW-418121. Traffic received! Possible tangos on ground! Possible tangos on ground! Threat not confirmed."

"Great," Animal muttered to himself, "Just great."

He keyed his helmet comm, "All Teams report in! All teams report in!"

As the dust cloud & debris cloud started to swirl away, Animal started to see red and green blaster bolts exchanged by the security fence. It was Bakura security troops against Bakura security troops!

There would be no way to distinguish friend from foe.

None.

Mission came first and he had squad level control. But the mission had extended beyond his scope of command. This was no longer a squad issue. This was a mission issue. And the Lieutenant had command of the ground forces.

"Lieutenant Shan," Animal started, "Advise on action," he added, looking for the next orders, "Advise on action."

Just as he finished asking for orders, however, blaster fire started lighting up around him! From somewhere near the security fence around the cargo transports, red blaster bolts were flying his way! His helmet started identifying targets as five tangos started running towards him, clearly Bakura security troops. Switching thermal vision off, he settled for normal vision as it was clearing up enough (but was still dusty enough you couldn't see more then a few feet in front of you).

The five enemy troops approached him in the open, confidently firing while walking towards him, their shots wild but closing in. Likewise, however, Animal was in the open, had no cover, and was outnumbered. His armor started taking hits just before he dropped to the prone position, positioned his T-21B Heavy Blaster, and started off-loading blaster bolts in return.

Animal's comm went in and out as he called it out, "---under fire---under fire! DW-418121 under fir----"

It was soldier against warrior, but Animal had the advantage: he was a stormtrooper and as blaster bolts went wild over his head, hit the ground near his body, or even bounced off the side of his helmet, shoulder, or little exposed torso armor, he kept calm and depressed the trigger, taking his shots with cool aim and a steady hand.

In short order, his blasts had shredded through two troopers' legs and one trooper's chest (killing him immediately). The other two enemy tangos on the ground in pain from their legs being practically blown off or ripped to shreds he finished off with mercy kills with a handful of quick shots each, watching their bodies stop moving and their pain ending. The last two tangos were disorganized, shocked that their overwhelming attack had failed because of one man.

But this one man was armed and equipped by the Empire. He was a war machine. His armor would protect him against threats these backwater troops could only dream off. His weapon was oiled and taken care of by him personally, known by him, loved by him, every last part of its deadly mechanical operation being precise. He knew his armor, his equipment, even the little foam protective cover inside his helmet that was starting to peal off on the upper left side from too much wear. He knew every inch of his warrior body and the expectations that went with it.

MUSIC: Disturbed - Indestructible

He got up from his prone position---his armor taking hits as he did so---and started firing towards his enemy as they gathered in more numbers in the distant dusty air, his T-21B battling away in a musical rhythm of death as he went from prone to kneeling to fully upright and with the stock of the weapon pressed up against his shoulder, he marched forward, his oiled weapon beating away. Every now and then a blast would hit his armor and send him backwards an inch. But he kept forward. Kept on.

If enemy tangos were inside the Bakura ranks, than their objective would be hijacking the cargo transports.

"You want some? You want some? You want some?" He kept repeating as he marched forward, not detoured by injury or by death, weapon pounding away with green blaster bolts, "Get some! Get some! Get some!"

His helmet sensors went red as he suddenly brought his weapon around to block a charging enemy soldier's butt of his rifle---which he did. Then he kicked the man's knee out from under him----watching him collapse in pain to one knee---and then he put a blaster bolt through the man's head. He quickly turned back to his attack, his weapon lighting up again after a quick reload.


***********


IC: Benjamin Jacob Waynes (DW-418125, aka "Face"), Jet Chan (TK-1245, aka "JC")
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura


[Helmet Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Stormtrooper DW-418125
Unit: Joker Platoon, 2nd Squad, Team C

• Active: Sergeant First Class Adrias Stark (E-11 Blaster Rifle)
• Active: Corporal DW-418125 (Face) (DLT-19 Heavy Blaster Rifle)
• Active: Trooper TK-1245 (JC) (E-22 Blaster Rifle)

Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:56 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)



The dust was everywhere. But they were also the furthest from the collapsing control tower and had the cargo transports shielding them. Face had heard some off-and-on again comm traffic about possible enemy tangos and then Animal asking for orders. But what got his attention was the alert that one of their ranks was under fire!

But he would love to race to the rescue, he knew the drill. He kept an eye on that grass field and looked down his iron scopes. It was then that he watched the Bakura troops turn on their Imperial support!

"Enemy fire! Enemy fire!" Face reported, watching as the walker was being ambushed and the enemy was trying to capture it, "Sergeant, orders? If they get that walker, we'll be bug guts!"

"I got rear guard!" JC barked, reporting to guard their rear from the enemy fire on the other side of the cargo transports (and hence shielded from them---but an enemy could come around that security fence at any moment).


***********


IC: Peter Streets / Matth'set'peteravrevma (DW-418122, aka "Eyes")
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura


[Helmet Recording...recording...recording....recording....]
Personnel: Scout Trooper DW-418122
Unit: Joker Platoon, 2nd Squad, Team A / Sniper Unit

• Active: Sergeant Aiden Gray (E-22 Blaster Rifle)
• Active: Corporal DW-418123 (Tech) (E-11 Blaster Rifle)
• Active: Lance Corporal Falen Duryn (E-11s Sniper Rifle)

Date/Year: Monday, Year 7975 (C.R.C. Dating System)
Time: 06:56 hours (military time; 24-hour clock)
Location: Planet of Bakura (Wild Space)



They had been closet to the control tower. Eyes had heard comm traffic come and go the entire time, but he was busy digging himself out of the debris that had fallen his way. Luckily, it was light building material, but a larger exterior wall section had fallen just a few feet from him. He could have sworn he saw a body part mixed in with that piece of large debris. Light or not, however, a few pieces were a bit heavy and add gravity and speed to it and they became deadly projectiles. As he finished digging himself out, brushing off pieces of debris, he looked around (his visor cracked and part of his left shoulder armor hanging off his body. Instead of argue with it, he tore it off with a yank. He went to get up and realized his sniper rifle was crushed.

"Fierfek!" he barked, then looked around the fading dust cloud as he grabbed his blaster pistol and made his way over to where he last saw Gray and Duryn; he could see a distant form of a stormtrooper, who he assumed was Tech guarding the far left flank.

"My sniper rifle is done," he told Duryn, holstering his pistol and then unhooking a Model TD2.3 Electrobinocular from his back belt and adding, "I'll spot your shots."

Tech quickly joined the group, putting it, "We have tangos headed this way!"

Eyes looked to Gray, "Sergeant, Duryn and I can provide covering fire for you and Tech. We can thin them out, if you want to do the dirty work," Eyes nodded towards the distant walker as he took off his helmet (because of the cracked visor), "If they get that walker, we're screwed," he paused, then added, "Sir."




TAG @TheSilentInfluence , @TheAdmiral , @Darth_Elu , @Sinrebirth , @Silvertough , @Vehn

 

IC: 'Jingle' Voss
GenMess 1, Entertainment Deck, Darkest Night; high orbit over Bakura

The man cracked a smile. That was a good start he thought with an appreciative nod.

"If it isn't the infamous Jingle in the flesh," Walker said, "I've been posted here for nearly two years and here, finally, I meet the man. The legend. The master chef!" Walker laughed in joy for a moment before nodding to the serving tray, "Is that more warm coffee? You do serve the best, darkest, most basic and cheap dark roast coffee around these parts. People say it tastes and feels like the crappy one credit fill-ups at the local stores on a quickie-stop on planet, yet has that rich feeling of those expensive coffee shop label brands. And I have to say," the man said, "I have to agree."

Chuckling softly he set down the tray, "I am both offended and flattered." and with a side glance to make sure people stopped looking he removed the raised cover, revealing inside two bowls of green milk ice-cream, along with a small set of micro bowls with various toppings. "Close, but no cigaro for you. Just a new recipe of iced milk cream I've been working on." Stating that he set to work on the food he had brought. Prepping a few toppings on his bowl and gesturing for the pilot to do the same as he took a seat.

"Now you have me at a disadvantage. You know me but I still don't know you pilot. Surely you did not come here for the bad vid-screen time or the off chance of meeting me? What can I do for you, a simple chef? Besides teach you proper table etiquette of course." he stated with a serious straight face and nod. Well he held the straight face for about five seconds.

TAG @Bravo

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

IC: Havah Jeth
Cockpit, Hunk of Junk, Belkadan's solo and sand-swept & desolate moon; Belkadan Moon Monastery

Watching through a secure internal comm set to a one way view from near the ramp he watched Palso kept a keen eye on the pair of red illuminated handheld beacons (wands) below as he lowered the Hunk of Junk down into the docking bay below. Every now and then a stronger than usual gust of wind would come up and along with Palso feeling the fight in the control yoke as he struggled to keep it his direction, the already blinding sand storm across the forward cockpit transparisteel would become even more blinding, causing the faint outlines of the Moon Monastery structures to become completely invisible by a blanket of fast moving sand.

This would be a perfect situation to insert a team of commandos and neutralize the spaceport. Shaking his head Havah tried to let that slide by, remembering the heart he had was bringing back flashes of old ways of thinking. Of planning, of ways of doing things that he didn't do anymore. A few short moments later, the roar of wind and pelting of sand against the hull of the light freighter came to a distant howl above as the Gray Tiger modeled YT-1930 Transport settled into the covered docking bay. From the cockpit, Jim gave a small two finger salute to the landing technician ahead of the transport with the two handheld wands, who gave the small salute back before disappearing through a door.

"Even scum and villainy have a code of honor," Jim stated quietly as he powered down the ship (but on a quiet standby for a quick restart and departure if the need arose), noting that Palso was still a child. In this case landing help in a sandstorm was seen for more. Most likely the wand waver was inside jacking up the landing and berth fee prices for having had to come out in this to help a barely competent freighter pilot. Still Havah kept his own musings on the situation to himself. Let the child dream, he was already playing with the lives of everyone that was employed by the Johhny Boy.

"Library," Jim started to Walking Library as he flipped off the last few overhead switches as he turned to the rear of the cockpit where Walking Library sat along with Billy, "Clean off the exterior of the Junk and clean out the exhaust vents of all the sand that got in there."

"That is in my programming, sir. I'll gladly do it," Library responded.

"You will do it," Jim replied as he got up, adding as he departed the cockpit with Billy in tow, "Until I can trust you again."

"You can trust me, Captain Palso," the droid replied.

Jim stopped in the bulkhead, letting Billy slip past and towards the landing ramp, "Until you can remember who you are, Library," Palso shook his head, "I can't."

Switching off the comm he made a last minute double check of his weapons and gear. Namely the pat-down verify of what he had on him. Satisfied with what he remembered and felt he watched as Palso and company came around the corner.

"Bugger," Jim said, "Take care of the ship. And keep Winterkill and Tora company. Keep her engines warm and ready to go in case we need to bug out of here."

The droid replied with beeps and whistles, where then Jim nodded to Havah who took the cue and pushed the button to lower the ramp. Jim had his full set of clothing on, including his jacket and new hat. He kept his black sunglasses in a pouch on his belt. He dug into one of his pouches and retrieved his fingerless black leather gloves, putting them on.

"You expecting a fight?" Billy asked as Palso finished putting on the gloves.

Palso looked at the gunslinger and smirked, "Always," he looked over to Havah, "Keep to the rear, Jeth?"

Nodding he stood patiently, waiting for the two to take the lead. Shortly down Palso was stopped briefly to pay a landing fee to the white and orange P4T Protocol Droid standing at the outside of the door with a datapad and a HVAC Droid which had been modified with a steel box welded onto its top, that clearly looked like a security box for money. A lone MPF Patrol Officer escorted the pair of droids and stood behind them. This was about to get pricey.

"Twenty credits, please," the P4T droid's robotic voice announced dryly, "Flat rate, all day use for the docking bay," the droid pointed to his smaller HVAC campion's top security steel box, "Please deposit the correct amount."

A silent reminder that this was not the place to give back change. Also that this was not a port that wanted to keep easily tracked books neither on the clientele nor on their own operations. Probably had some interesting cooked books for the Empire he had not doubt. Palso dug into one of his pouches, counted out quietly the 20 credits, then deposited them into the steel box's open slit at top. Havah rolled his white eyes at that, amateur.

"Thank you," the white-and-orange protocol droid said, "Please enjoy your stay at the Monastery Moon."

Jim nodded and was off, walking through the semi-crowded corridors. He was in front, Billy in the middle, and Havah bringing up the rear, but almost besides Billy in reality.

"When do I get my guns back?" Billy asked.

"Ask Havah there," Jim said, glancing back as he went up a small flight of sand-covered stone steps and onto a slightly raised corridor running the length of the lower main bottom corridor; the raised corridor lead to shops and businesses positioned just above the shops on the bottom level, "He's holding onto them."

Billy smirked as he followed the man towards Aces' Club, "I'll need them sooner then you think."

Quietly being nearly abreast of the man Havah fell a half step behind to switch sides when a natural passing situation arose. Depositing one of the two pistols back in the holster as he did so. Havah didn't exactly have full faith in Jim, but he wasn't about to give two guns to a maybe such as Billy either. Jim took a hard right and up another flight of sand-covered stone steps roughly halfway down the length of the level below them and then left a few steps later and onto the third level. He continued onward, moving through the crowds at a brisk, but steady and non-alarming pace.

Billy looked behind at Havah, "Best have my guns ready," he winked, "I'll probably need them here soon to save your Corellian hot head from being killed. And you for that matter."

"I'll hold onto the second a little while longer." Havah stated coldly as they continued on. "I think you'll just have one to save after all."

TAG @Bravo ( @greyjedi125 for reference)

 

IC: Commodore Valentino Mazzanti
Bridge, Darkest Night, high orbit over Bakura


Without any delay she stood up and moved towards her superior. It was a request, but she treated it like an order. Her ever present cherry red datapad with a blooming purple flower on the back of it was with her. She held it close to her chest, her arms crossed over it. It made her feel grounded and somewhat protected. She had wisely moved all her stolen files to a hidden directory that only she knew how to find, and wouldn't appear on the screen if she had to show it to someone else. She was nothing if not prepared.

"Sir." She said softly, stepping up to Mazzanti. Her heart was still beating fast against her ribs...was this the moment everything turned?

"Captain," Mazzanti started, "I---"

His words were cut off when Captain Duke P. (Patrick) Totter came up to him, clearing his throat. Apparently this conversation would have to wait.

"Sir, we have an issue." Totter said.

Commodore simply looked at the man with a blank face. No emotion. No concern.

"Sir, our forces deployed planet side have been attacked. It appears to be local pirates, utilizing a Charger c70 Retrofit in atmo and several hyperspace capable starfighters. We did not detect their approach."

"You wouldn't have, captain," Mazzanti stated, "These are local pirates. They know this area of space better than anyone. I would suggest they've been hiding on planet for some time to slip past our scanners or that of loyal Bakura forces. Most likely they even have a pirate nest hidden on planet."

"They knew of our cargo?" Duke asked.

"To the contrary, captain, this is their typical behavior and we just happen to show up at the wrong time. Although I would imagine someone within the Bakura government sold information for the right price, considering the ambush. It is clear these pirates are well supplied, well equipped, and well informed from within the Bakura government. Even supported by the Bakura government to further a local agenda."

"Orders, sir?" Duke asked next.

"We wait. Our objective here is to be as neutral as possible for good faith to the Bakura government. Even in face of danger. And pirates, captain, are a nuisance, not a danger to us or the Bakura government."

"As ordered, commodore. I'll keep you abreast of any changes."

Mazzanti waited a moment after Duke had walked away before he turned to Markova. "My question to you, captain, will have to wait. We have business to attend to first. Calculate how close we can get to the planet on a micro-jump safely. Using the routes you gave me earlier, locate the least monitored one by the Bakura government. The pirates will use that route, both for escape from atmo with our cargo ships and reinforcement from out of system. I have a feeling help will be arriving soon and I want to kill two mynocks with one stone. Once your route is chosen, stand-by for my command to jump. I don't have to stress, captain, a navigational computer's safety protocols would prevent such a jump, because of our close proximity to the gravity well of the planet. Your calculations will have to be precise or we'll go through that planet. When the computer prompts you for a command override, call me and I'll give the code to unlock the navigational controls beyond safety limits. Report to your station."


TAG @galactic-vagabond422

 

IC: Chief of Security Gotz Richter
Command Medical Bay, Decks 8 & 9 (Aft Command Tower), Darkest Night, high orbit over Bakura


Richter was pleased when the two Imperial Navy Troopers flanking the main entrance door checked his credentials, despite his clear role onboard this star destroyer. It meant protocol was followed. It meant order.

As the blast doors opened, he entered and looked around.

Quiet. Empty. Clean.

Even during low times, the CMB was typically staffed at minimal levels for the sake of use. Aside from the three bodies, two droids, the good doctor, and two more Imperial Navy Troopers flanking the turbolift doors deeper inside the medical bay, the place was as empty as a ghost town.

The tick, tick, beep, beep of the various machines in the medical bay could clearly be heard. As well was the chewing of the doctor who clearly had some sick ritual to eat red meat before dead bodies.

In Gotz's line of the work, that profiled someone as a serial killer. He filed that information away privately.

"You like working alone," Gotz announced, his voice carrying like a thunderstorm in the otherwise silent room; his heavy boots echoed throughout the empty medical bay like a gong of death as he took steps to close the distance to the bodies where he took a look, lifting up the sheet of one of them and taking a closer look at the handy medical inspection work, and then closed the distance to the doctor's office where the droids hovered. Gotz's nostrils twitched slightly as they inhaled the rich smell from the man's plate. He added, "Chandrillian Tendermeat. Rich. Good choice."


TAG @Kalio_Dynkos

 

IC: Chief Medical Officer Agnar Morana
Command Medical Bay, Decks 8 & 9 (Aft Command Tower), Darkest Night, high orbit over Bakura

The tall doctor stood between the three remnants of the bodies, a piece of steak still on his fork. As he mumbled to himself, or to the droids (it was hard to tell), Morana punctuated his thoughts by pointing the fork in each of their general direction.

"You like working alone,” a voice bellowed behind him.

Ripped from his thoughts, the black-suited doctor turned quickly to the Imperial Officer standing behind him.

Morana nodded. He slowly placed the steak in his open mouth.

“Mm-hm,” he affirmed, chewing.

He watched as the officer went to the bodies, lifting up the sheet on one of them and looking at the bodies with no hint of squeamishness.

Not uncommon amongst Imperials. They often caused such carnage and were used to the site of it, Morana thought, though not in judgment.

“Chandrillian Tendermeat. Rich. Good choice,” the office said.

“Ah, yes, I - uh, from my private stores I’ve brought along for the journey,” he said, swallowing hard.

Morana wasn’t nervous. He just didn’t like people in his space while he was working. Or people that failed to care about such things.

He smiled his best smile - toothy, wide, blotched with spices.

“Any of these one of yours, Mr…..,” he asked waving to the bodies with his fork.

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Chief of Security Gotz Richter
Command Medical Bay, Decks 8 & 9 (Aft Command Tower), Darkest Night, high orbit over Bakura


"Richter," Gotz answered, "Chief of Security Gotz Richter. I gave you the security reports of these three crew members," he smiled, picking another body and lifting the sheet up more fully to expose the upper half of the body, "And to answer your question, they're all mine. Their safety was my responsibility. Which makes me," he ran a hand along the hair of one of the victims, whose hair and most of their face from the nose up was still intact, "Their father."

He looked lovely at the corpse, yet distant at the same time. As if the once alive person was just a tool to a larger game.

"You're annoyed, doctor, not nervous," Richter spoke as he continued to look at the corpse, before putting the sheet back over the remains and looked up at the medical doctor, "And that is both admirable and very dangerous. It makes you controlled. Yet Calculating. You know everything you do and why you do it. And that," he walked past the doctor, his hands behind his back as he scanned the medical bay as he walked down the central vein, "Is something I can appreciate. Its what made droids and clones so useful during the Clone Wars. One was purely mechanical and understood calculations, while the other...," he stopped, looking off to the side as if thinking on a memory long gone, "...was a ghost of a soul, trapped in a body. Clones would become annoyed by the smallest of imperfection within drill or a mission----yet their annoyance did not come from within their own ranks, for they all operated the same: perfectly like a droid. Their annoyance came from others who did appreciate what their soulless fleshly minds knew: that order and obedience was what was needed to win the day. Not selfish gain. But pursuit to a great goal beyond even themselves."

Richter turned to face the doctor, "Is where I will start our story off. Two boys," he started a walk back towards the doctor, his hands still behind his back, "One nine years old, the other ten years old. Both of their families gone before they reach the skillful learning teenage years. And both boys left adrift, feeling unloved---unwanted. For one, he joins the Judicial Forces before the Clone Wars. The other became a man of science. But both men feel utterly unable to function outside of their chosen career fields as they hide their pain," he stops before the good doctor, "One works dead-end jobs after a stint with the Judicials, the other hides within his academic books. Once the Clone Wars starts, both men find a common connection: the Jedi. For one, it leads to a career again in the military to distant himself from his drug addict former waitress dead mother and acholic drunk fired school teacher and now dead father, to the other it leads to experiments with the Force to fill a rage at the murder of his family at the hands of Jedi and to distant from his family's criminal past."

There was a long moment of silence, before Richter finished up with, "A storied past for both men. If for the one, research was a bit far reaching after 63 years of life and two galactic governments later. But facts don't lie. Facts are incapable of lying. And it is there, Doctor Morana, that I believe you and I will find common ground. And common purpose. We both seek the truth and meaning to what we both seek to understand the most: why. It is what drives us night and day. What brings us clarity and focus to understand the ashes of our childhood for the purpose of our adulthood. And yet, deep down inside, we will always be that little robbed child, no matter much we try to not make it so. Facts give us order. Facts give us stability in the uncertainty of our seeking. And despite all the facts, we come back to a common thread for us both: Jedi. For one, the bringer of a career and stability. For the other, the bringer of loss, despair, and suffering."


TAG @Kalio_Dynkos

 

Flying Officer Saraali Deatar IC:
~Old Salis D’aar Spaceport, Bakura~

As she flew next the shuttle designated as Raptor 3, Saraali could only smile beneath her helmet. It was a simple mission really, but the little joy in keeping perfectly in sync with the one she was escorting was a nice one. Validation of her training and abilities. Making her even more proud was her wing mate, Bad 12, keeping up with the escort sync.

That should keep their superiors happy. Just the way to show the others how it’s done as well. The way it should be.

They continued on their way to the spaceport mentioned in the briefing and already Bad Nine was getting spooked on the comm channel. How typical of that one. Saraali let the Captain deal with him and just doing what it was she was meant to do.

She made a mental note on the information despite herself, but she passed it off as likely nothing. Still, any such things were something to note. Saraali kept her eyes peeled as she flew.

Bad 11, as she was known as here, found herself already acting on instinct before Captain Keth even spoke over the comm as the shuttles were landing.

“Keep it tight, Bad 11 & Bad 12.”

Already done. Though it was no small feat due to the absolute perfection required. This part was all about style points to the Bakuran Government, not just getting the technical positioning right. In the end, she and the others nailed it. So far, a great start to her tenure on this Squadron.

Saraali grinned.

“Excellent job, Third Flight. Better than text book! Now, lets keep this pick-up clear and then go home. Drinks on me if we get off planet without a scratch.”

“Copy that. I look forward to those drinks,” she replied in a chipper tone.

She held her position guarding over the shuttles in their hovering box formation when soon enough, things began to change. First it was standard status updates. Then some uncertainty, which was alarming in and of itself. This should be cake walk.

Saraali furrowed her brow, but said nothing from her cockpit.

Then it all went to hell as she listened to Major Perez’s orders to break off immediately. That was when she knew. When they all knew…

Things were about to get messy. Very messy. One could only hope that they didn’t go all out FUBAR on them.

Just listening to the comm chatter and Bad Ten's incompetence made her heart race with bad adrenaline. Ten’s death scream would haunt her for some time to come.

It was the first she had heard an actual pilot’s death during a mission, live as it happened. There had a few deaths, accidental mostly, during the Academy and College days…but she had never been around to hear or witness them first hand.

Her own hands tightened on her controls as she began climbing, ready for action due to the obvious escalation. The control tower then exploded next, not far away from them, causing her head to turn sharply in its direction.

“What!?”

The Major’s voice came in, sharp and with authority, delivering even worse news.

“Coming across your sensor screens now! Looks like a Charger c70 Retrofit from the Clone Wars!”

She saw them as she looked back to her sensors, her eyes narrowing. It was time for her first genuine action in a TIE on behalf of the Empire. But where had they come from!?

“We got other pings! Twelve CloakShape Fighters coming around the c70’s aft, four Aggressive ReConnaissance-170s, and four BTL-B Y-Wings!”

So the enemy came prepared did they? While there was a sense of panic in her breast, there was no denying it, she went over all the training and simulations in her head. All those meditations every day and night she so enjoyed.

This. This was what it was all about. She was ready for them.

“First Flight and Second Flight, rise to meet those Cloaks. Third Flight, you have the bombers. Those 170s will be escort on their runs—expect our ground forces the target. All Flight, be warned! Those tango fighters are all excellent in atom, much better than our TIEs! You will not be able to turn and burn with them. You’ll need to either bait them to space where we’ll have the upper hand or outsmart them!”

Atmo disadvantage. An important detail well noted.

“You heard the Major! Bad Eleven, Bad Twelve, you have top cover intercept! Take out those escorts! Bombers, if you can. Bad Nine and myself will be the safety net for those bombers!”

“Roger that, Bad 5!”

“Third Flight. Be advised, you have three Cloakshapes joining the escorts and bombers!”

“I can’t see them!”

“They’re in the sun!”

“Already on them!” she reported as her fighter screamed toward the enemy, a banshee unleashed into their midst.

“Bad 12, I’ll take the bomber group on our port side. You should scatter them, charge through the middle and surprise those Cloaks, then take a wide turn to catch the starboard group from behind. Beware the 170s!”

This was also leaning on the ‘safety net’ of Bad Five and Nine for just a few moments, if necessary, as Officer Kya turned behind the enemy thereby throwing them into more confusion before he became the main interceptor of them again. If he followed the advice.

As for herself…

Her TIE’s turrets were already burning hot as she came up and at them straight on for some initial shots (hoping to cause whatever damage she could, and knowing the 170s would be coming forward to cover) before suddenly allowing herself to dip down and then back up in an almost wave like pattern for a single time. It gave time for the enemy to come more out of the sun and would throw off their targeting, not to mention the timing of it should bring her racing upwards right under the enemy formation…

The maneuver caused her to grunt with the G-Force exertion however, but it did not break her concentration. They were battling in atmo, so this was an expected annoyance.

As she raced upwards, she would center her firing range on one of the Y-Wing’s main thrusters from her slight angle. Turning her fighter to recenter herself and keep pace with them as necessary the whole way. If she could strike it, not only would that be a lethal blow to it, it should also quite potentially send it exploding and careening to the side right where its fellow bomber was so conveniently positioned.

There was more chatter on the com, something about enemy within the ranks of the security (kriffing wonderful), but she had to focus on the task immediately at hand. And hope for even decent success at this first exchange.

If she could nail these bombers quickly like this, that would go a long way in securing the ground forces and enable her to help cover the escorts so her wing mate could handle the other bombers.

“Time to make these pirates pay.”

Tag: Bad 12/Turr Kya, Bad 9/Rick Johnson, Rest of Third Flight, Enemy Practice Targets…

@Sinrebirth @Bravo

 

IC: Sergeant First Class Adrias Stark
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura

Adrias frowned under the helmet “I assumed it had been.” his voice trailed. Ugh, there was an itch in the area of his left temple. Stupid helmet, stupid patrol, stupid planet… He stifled a sigh. “I mean, unless the guys did not do their job...”

Then events started moving pretty fast. Before he could process the fact that the Control Tower was collapsing there were the sounds of combat and Animal’s voice on the comms. His mind was racing fast, thinking what to do next.

No, there was no time for fancy stuff, if he froze up they will get killed for sure. At least if they died in combat they could achieve something.

“JC, cover our advance!” he barked “Face, do you see that concrete block over there?” he pointed at a block that was used to stop any ground vehicle to pass “I need you to deploy the DLT there and to spray the enemy with blasterfire. We need to pin them down.” he said grimly “I will keep them distracted.”

“Oh and JC, try to get some help over the comms!”

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Natalia Markova
Darkest Night

"Captain," The commodore started and Natalia couldn't help holding a little tighter to her datapad like a shield protecting her from the wrath of the Imperial judicial system. "I---" He grip tightened waiting for the sword to drop. That was when Captain Totter interrupted them. As The commodore's attention was turned to the second-in-command, she let out a quiet breath. She stood to the side letting the two command officers talk among themselves. The breathless statement made her concerned. It seemed the bad luck of the Darkness Night was in effect. Though one had to ask if it was bad luck.

Coincidences did happen but this was too much to just chalk up to wrong palace, wrong time. Though it could just be paranoia she'd been feeling since entering the office of the security chief. But she couldn't deny the mountain of circumstantial evidence that was building up. At the moment she kept those thoughts to herself. She had a job to do.

A micro jump in system was not uncommon though what she was being asked to do was. To jump closer to a planet was a dangerous thing. Going too far could have catastrophic consequences, leading to the loss of the ship and all aboard, and the irreparable harm done to the planet.

"Report to your station."

"Yes sir." She turned on her heel returning to her terminal quickly pulling up the routes she had pointed out. Choosing the one that was the most out of the way, not near the shipping lanes, over a place on Bakura that didn't have much to pick up a Hyperspace transition. It also was a good jump point to a possible hideout near the system, an abandoned mining colony.

The next problem was the micro-jump. The margin for error was slim. They needed to get as close as possible without crashing into the planet or getting caught in the gravitational pull of the planet. If one saw space as an infinite sheet of fabric then Bakura was a large heavy orb pulling down on it. Her task was to get onto the absolute edge of the depression the planet created.

Was she scared? No, it was all math, all numbers, numbers that couldn't lie, couldn't manipulate her. Math was always true, if you knew all the variables, and even if you didn't you could work out what you needed. She knew the mass of the Darkest Night, knew the gravitational force of Bakura, and knew where an object the size of a Star Destroyer would be pulled inexorably towards the sphere of the planet before her. It wasn't within the Atmosphere envelope but it would certainly be close, close enough to launch all the might of the Empire upon this pirates that would dare lash out at servants of the Emperor.

Given the delicate nature of the jump, too close for most safety protocols, she double checked her numbers going so far as to measure the diameter of Bakura herself, and pulling up geological data to check her figures on the mass of the planet. She left nothing to change, left nothing to chance, nothing up in the air. With a task this delicate there could be no room for error…

With her calculations done she sent them to the Commodore and awaited his order to make the jump...though in that quiet moment between completing her calculations and the order to jump, she looked over her shoulder. Waiting for more troopers to come drag her away once her vital role had been completed.

TAG: @Bravo

 

IC: Elena Shan
Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura

Elena watched the TIE fighters, squinting a little as the sun got into her eyes. She was quiet until enemy fire sounded above and below, and just as quickly ducked behind some crates, grabbing Sargeant Oak by the arm to kneel next to her. "Stay down Sargeant." Elena said as she heard more blaster Fire in the distance.

She heard Animal over the comm. and switched to his frequency. "Animal this is Lieutenant Shan. Get into cover and make sure you identify those targets before you fire. I want everyone to stay low and advance. I'll be up there shortly."

She turned to Sargeant Oak. "I'm not supposed to fight but I won't hesitate to defend myself. Contact command and tell them we need reinforcements even if it's just air support." She told him firmly. "Quickly Sargeant."

Tag: @Bravo @TheAdmiral @Darth_Elu @Sinrebirth @Silvertough @Vehn

 

IC: Sergeant Aiden Gray
Abandoned Spaceport, Salis D'aar

Sergeant Aiden Gray checked his blaster cell as he was being told by a junior what to do. He was a bit rattled from the nearby wall nearly coming down on him and killing him. He didn't care about rank at this point or even proper protocol. He wanted to surround himself with intelligent people. Smart people. Who wanted to live and fight another day. That was how he'd made it this before. By making smart decisions. He wasn't a medal chaser. He was a doer.

"Cover us then," Gray said, "because we're gonna need it. Tech, you're with me, let's go!"

Gray gripped his E-22 blaster rifle and began to hoof it in the direction of the enemy. Now wasn't the time for heroics. Now was the time to assert Imperial authority.

Tag: @Bravo

 

IC: Major Darius Walker
GenMess 1, Entertainment Deck, Darkest Night; high orbit over Bakura


"Now you have me at a disadvantage. You know me but I still don't know you pilot. Surely you did not come here for the bad vid-screen time or the off chance of meeting me? What can I do for you, a simple chef? Besides teach you proper table etiquette of course." he stated with a serious straight face and nod. Well he held the straight face for about five seconds.

Darius sliced off a piece of the green milk ice-cream and put it in his mouth, letting the cold ice-cream's flavors melt in his mouth. He smiled at the experience and then swallowed.

"The name is Darius," he held out a hand, "Major Darius Walker. I was the commanding officer of a TIE Bomber squadron aboard this star destroyer. But if you haven't heard the news already, my TIEs were left back on Javin. And I'm," he pointed towards the holo screen, "Waiting on my new bombers. But," he winked, "You don't know that. I hate having to watch them take away my TIE Bomber back on Javin. You see, unlike TIE Fighters, our TIE Bombers become ours---we fly the same TIE every mission. There's not enough to rotate in and out with only being one squadron on a star destroyer. So, you can say, we become attached. And that's only half of my troubles, right now!" he smiled despite his problems, slicing again into the green milk ice-cream and letting another piece melt his mouth, "But this is helping to swallow my problems, as they were!" he said after swallowing the last bite.

He pointed down to the chef's leg, "Combat veteran?"


TAG @Mitth_Fisto

 

IC: Jengleheimer Voss ‘aka Jingle’ 'aka Master Chef'
GenMess 1, Entertainment Deck, Darkest Night; high orbit over Bakura


Jingle was content as he allowed the conversation by the pilot to take a melancholy role as he slipped into that age old chef position as counselor to the ranking sailor. You can put a head shrinker on a ship but you cannot make all comfortable with them. Chefs were the classic alternative.

Darius partook of the offered treat and gave his name, a Major. A major pain in any authority figures flanks Jingle was sure. The rest well, the rest was a lesson in the life of a flier that frankly Jingle as an itinerate ground pounder lifer, was not impressed with. Still, he had deeply ingrained a love and appreciation for bombers as they were the best whenever anyone had to call in air support. A few bombers could level an enemy army that was nearly over-running your position.

Of course Darius had to pick at the obvious issue Jingle had as he pointed down to the chef's leg, "Combat veteran?"

Chuckling softly Jingle suddenly became very intent on scrapping the last bit of deliciousness out of the bottom of his bowl. "Never had a problem with combat." he stated with a wax worn squint as though sousing out the last drop hideout in his bowl. "Training accident. What's it to you?"

He knew he was being 'prickly' but it was a sore subject.


TAG @Bravo

 

IC: Winterkill, Billy, & Jim Palso
Hunk of Junk & market streets of the Monastery Moon, Belkadan's solo and sand-swept & desolate moon; Belkadan Moon Monastery


Bugger had the unflattering job of watching Walking Library's metal rear can place itself squarely across the starboard cockpit transparisteel, the crude maintenance ladder provided by the docking bay buckling slightly under the droid's metal weight and, after losing its balance, fell backwards between the cargo mandible and the cockpit.

The astromech let out a series of beeps and whistles that seemed to indicate something inappropriate, because the repair droid's reply was nothing short of---well---short.

"Shove it you glorified trash can!" Library snapped back loud enough to cause the internal speakers in the cockpit to crackle, "When I get my memory restored, you just wait, I'm sure I was a top-notch repair droid who can do circles around your mindless dome! Just look at my exterior body---I was built for something moooooooooooo----"

The repair droid's last words ended with a thud on the ground and then the ladder crashing down upon him after slipping completely from the open area between cockpit and cargo mandible.

Bugger whistled and beeped in what sounded like laughs, before swirling his dome to the blinking light on the console: they had a message!

He put down his third foot and rolled over to the Navigational & Communications Station behind the co-pilot seat, plugging in his scomp link and rotating it this way and that. It was a recorded message, caught in delay from a storm of some type in outer space (although it was clear to be delivered "live" in its original delivery). Finally a grainy hologram appeared of Terrel Vacks, the droid working overtime with his scomp link to clear up the imagine and the degraded audio recording.....


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


"I'll hold onto the second a little while longer." Havah stated coldly as they continued on. "I think you'll just have one to save after all."

Billy rolled his eyes as the trio entered Aces' Club. "Famous last words of a dead man." Billy retorted.

Jim walked in and lead the group to an empty table, where the three garbed seats. Palso went as far as to take off his hat, wave down a waitress with it, then put the hat on the table.

"You're not a dumb nerf herder after all," Billy admired, looking at the hot-shot Corellain, "You may yet surprise me. Playing it cool---I like it."

Palso ignored the man as he kept a casual eye out, but he spoke all the same, but not before ordering a drink.

"Whyren's Reserve," Palso said to the Twi'lek female.

"That'll be an extra charge, sir. Its considered a rare bottle," the alien female said.

Jim cast a lazy finger towards Billy, "He's paying for the table."

The Twi'lek turned to Billy, "Sir?"

Billy smirked in disbelief at Jim's words, but kept any other outward expression to a minimal. He knew this game and could play it too, "Menkooro Whiskey."

The Twi'lek turned to Havah next, getting his order. After Jeth had ordered, Jim kept scanning the area casually waiting for the drinks to arrive, not giving Billy attention as he spoke to him.

"You made three mistakes," Jim said, "The first is assuming. The second is capturing us. The third is shooting me."

Billy smirked, chuckling, "And how is that?"

"You see, I have a fancy of mine," Palso said, adding, "Its called history. And its usually the weird, out of the way history. You know," he looked at Billy directly, "Myths. The bedtime stories. The stuff no one sees or believes. But know, somehow, it could be true. But alas, probably not," he went back to scanning the area, their drinks coming a moment later and Palso taking a sip of his drink before continuing, "But none of that is assuming. What is assuming is that you thought I was being a hot-head Corellian---which I wasn't. I believed everything from the beginning. The uniforms, the weapons, the large warship. No one in their right mind would use a children's bedtime story as a backdrop to some large secret operation: the foolishness of it would be too great. Unless, a course, they believed it. And by believing it, they would have to know about it in the first place and lets be honest here: how many people know about a children's bedtime story involving the Kingdom of Jod? Next to no one; there's no modern holo books or even relatively well-known printed books. You need to know what you're looking for in order to find any source material on it."

Jim looked back to Billy, taking a drink of his whiskey, before setting it down again, "How am I doing so far?"

Billy smirked, finishing off a sip of his own drink before setting it down on the table as well, "Charming. Please," Billy signaled with a hand, "Continue."

"Your second mistake: capturing us. While it was your first, I'm putting it here for sake of understanding. By the resources and size of that warship we were hog tied in, you don't need us. Your troops look professional---very professional. Judging from the interior and later exterior---because you blocked our sensors, smart move by the way, on our way out---I'd say north of a star destroyer at 1,600 meters. All that size means resources. Means training. Some lowly light freighter or even larger, the Johnny Boy, you have no need for. None. You have the resources all upon yourselves to employ a light freighter and crew to do the very same thing we're doing. Why risk two bodyguards against three unknown mercenaries? It makes no sense; what does make sense is the bedtime stories. I remember several stories in my childhood: my father would tell me of the stories of the mighty Fighter Pilots of the Jod! The stories were amazing and I remember going to bed all the time as a child wishing I were those pilots. But there was one story that always stuck out to me: the legend of the Squadrone di Spada Straniero. Or, more commonly translated into Galactic Basic: Foreign Sword Squadron."

"That's a fancy story," Billy replied after a long moment. Clearly he was cornered, but he didn't show it.

"Play the fool and people don't see your true intentions. They focus on the fool, not your plan," Palso spoke, truly delighting in the fact that he had everyone played (even Havah and Winterkill he bet), "Just like when I had you shoot me back on the freighter. Planned. I saw then that we were more valuable to you then to simply kill off if we didn't complete the mission. So I'll take the next logical step in that bedtime story: everything is true about it and those foreign fighters came from a shady bar establishment in my bedtime stories. A place of ill repute, of scum and villainy. A place like this."



TAG @Mitth_Fisto ( @greyjedi125 for reference)

 

OOG: @Sinrebirth & @Darth_Elu , after this post from me, feel free to engage and post damage from and to enemy NPCs at will for the bomber element. I will be, however, controlling "Black 13" depicted below throughout; it'll be the one enemy you'll need to request a tag from.

As long as you're not "Top Gun" Maverick on the juice taking down enemies blindfolded while taking selfies and calling Great Grandma Betty, I won't consider anything god-modding. But if you get close, my good riddins, I'll strike ya down with Force Lightening (while blindfolded, taking selfies, and calling Great Grandma Betty)!


___________________________________________________________


IC: Black 13
CloakShape Fighter, Abandoned Starport, capital city Salis D'aar, Bakura


His fighter was unique. How it accelerated. How it deaccelerated. How it banked. How it turned.

You could tell he was an ace.

He was patient, not jittery on the stick. He was smooth, calculating. He was hunting.

His CloakShape Fighter was simple, yet drew the eye in. Blended in, yet stood out amongst a crowd. The pure white hull was interrupted by a black paint-job that ran the length of both concussion missile launchers (dorsal & ventral) and ran through to and the entire assembly of the maneuvering fin. The forward cockpit structural beams were black, interrupted by the transparisteel panes in between them. Both dorsal & ventral wings featured a black number 13.

No markings on the craft could identify it with the Out Riders Pirate Gang or any other organization for that matter. But no record of allegiance was needed. All that his prey would need to know was that they would be the next of on four groupings of red markings a along the port side of the cockpit, under the canopy. The first group (towards the bow of the starfighter) showcased 3-paintings across and showed 8 lines of miniature paintings of 36 V-19 Torrent Starfighters; the next 3-paintings long rows showed 9 BTL-B Y-Wing Fighter-Bombers, while the next group was 21 Aggressive ReConnaissance-170 Starfighters. A fourth group was started with 4 Alpha-3 Nimbus-class V-Wing Starfighters and then ended. Under each red painting was small italic print labeling each "kill" for which battle; the last 2 V-19's, last 4 ARC-170s, and all 4 V-Wings all had the Battle of Coruscant stated as their kill location. In a separate box, with blue markings, next to the V-Wings was a single blue painting of a single Delta-7 Aethersprite-class Light Interceptor. Under that blue marking read "Jedi --- Last Kill @ 3 minutes before Clone Wars ended". In total, 71 "kills".

Under the red and blue marked boxes were two lines of gray painted Imperial "kills" running the length of the boxes (25 per line), showing 11 V-Wing Starfighters, 24 TIE Fighters, 8 TIE/sa Bombers, and 3 TIE/rb Heavy Starfighters. In total, 46 "kills". Aside from the 11 V-Wings (which were all one-after-the-other), the rest of the Imperial kills were random along the two lines with no particular pattern or order, other then they were the newest Imperial kill verses the one before it.

Under the gray painted starfighters was another row of black paintings, showcasing a motley and randomly placed grouping (by kill order, not by type of craft) of 3 BTL-A4 Y-Wing Assault Starfighter/Bombers, 2 BTL-S3 Y-Wing Starfighters, 4 Z-95 Headhunters, 5 CloakShape Fighters, 2 MorningStar-A Starfighters, 8 R-41 Starchasers, and 15 Planetary Defender Starfighters. Total, 39 "kills". This group showcased all his raids on corporate, private interest, "other" shipping interests, and even several Early Rebellion starfighters who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Together, 156 kills over 20 years. Not terribly high, neither terribly low. Regardless, he was still an ace fighter pilot. His pride and joy had been the Clone Wars, where he fought and believed in something, that something being freedom with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Now, he fought for himself. For money, with former veterans of the war they had lost. Most people called him a pirate, he called himself a survivor, doing what he had to do to keep one step ahead of the Republic-turned-Empire.

"Be careful," Black 13 warned over the comm channel as they came from the sun, "There's only two of them."

"We can handle these two jokers!" Boasted one of the other Cloakshape pilots with him.

Black 13 just shook his head and after a moment, replied, "Your funeral."

There was a nervous chuckle from the cocky pilot, "...ah, what there Squadron Leader? You didn't come through?"

Black 13 didn't respond. As they came out of the sun, a sure move to surprise any jittery pilot, he watched as one TIE Fighter went head-on to the port, firing several shots to give them the spooks. The fast TIE, its powerful lasers, and its screaming engine doing all that without the need for a good pilot behind the controls.

With a good pilot, it was your nightmare.

He watched with a smile as the bomber group didn't budge, allowing their shields to take the initial onslaught and even peppering the incoming TIE with their own laser fire. But, they stayed in formation.

Good.

He gave a glance at the TIE as it swooped in under and then back behind the formation.

Good.

He was already barrel rolling out of formation as the second TIE scattered the two Cloaks a few heartbeats later, their pathetic return fire doing nothing to deter the TIE Fighter. He was pleased as he was barrel rolling downwards towards the ground, putting on the speed, and watching sensors and listening to comms, as both TIEs had taken the bait and lined up behind the bomber formations. The two Cloaks repeated the gesture and tried to line up a bead behind the TIEs.

Good.....

And text book. The bait was taken.

He continued his descent, allowing the bombers to act as the bait as he sped up with both raw engine power and gravity. As he cleared the last bits of puffy clouds---his CloakShape started to create a nose-dive crashing airplane noise---he saw a lone TIE Fighter holding up a safety net position above the starport, as another TIE was breaking away from the starport and heading towards the distant convoy on the road.

Beautiful.

The lone TIE Fighter below must have saw his squad's tactical error and tried desperately (and would be in vain, Black 13 would ensure) to break his holding pattern and rocket into a position for a head-on-head showdown. But Black 13 had the speed, the trajectory to out-do whatever the TIE did. And the TIE Pilot knew that, opting instead to bring a slow approach upwards to meet him, giving him the flexibility to bounce around and better place his shots at the fast moving CloakShape who wouldn't be able to break the dive so easily without breaking apart or presenting a easy kill shot for the TIE at best case.

But the White Ghost had one more trick up his sleeve as both pilots waited for lasers to get into range. He switched over to concussion missiles. He could afford to spare one for anti-starfighter deployment, while the other one he focused squarely on the gathering of security forces outside the security fence he was briefed about. Take out the security forces and their "inside men" should have a clear shot towards the cargo ships.

He watched as his sensor screen presented his targets and he cycled through them, selecting two targets for two missiles. He then watched as the numbers counted down and the red scopes got closer to green. For the TIE Fighter, the concussion missile would acquire a target before the laser cannons got into range. If the pilot spooked at the mention of a missile lock, he would have just enough time to switch his target before having to deploy and pull up.



TAG @Sinrebirth , @Darth_Elu

 

IC: Lance Corporal Falen Duryn
Abandoned Starport, Salis D'aar, Bakura

Falen found himself in what could only be described as an alternate reality. A mirror world of sorts. The Starport was still there, yet, different. The control tower, that had, only moments ago, been providing a nice amount of shade from the harsh sun overhead, had seemingly vanished. The orderly lines of patrolling troopers were gone as well, instead replaced by rampaging, screeching phantoms of death.

How peculiar indeed.

Falen slowly blinked, noticing a quiet, yet incessant ringing which seemed to hang just behind his head. He furrowed his brow, rising from his prone position into a crouch. It wasn't his helmet, a quick diagnostic answered that. So.. What was going on..?

He blinked again, tilting his head to look where Eyes was positioned not moments ago, and finding nothing but a suspicious pile of rubble. That was odd. Where could the Chiss have gotten off to..?

The small outcropping of rock violently shattered before him in a hail of laser fire, sending Falen diving to the side in a scramble for protective cover. The endless ringing behind his ears silenced, carrying with it the telltale sound of active battle. Realization struck him at once as Falen brought his rifle up to bear, aiming off into the distance, where a gaggle of stormtrooper and Bakuran troops appeared to be skirmishing.

Falen ignored the dull throbbing of pain which bounced about his skull, instead pouring the entirety of his focus into keeping his crosshair somewhat steady. At some point, Eyes had returned to his side, when, he wasn't quite sure, but such questions were best kept for a clearer head.

"Y'all just gimme targets!" Falen yelled out Gray, Eyes, and Tech, pressing his cheek into his weapon's stock. "Point 'an I'll shoot!" He exclaimed, firing once into the crowd of soldiers gathering around the far-off walker.

A Bakuran crumpled to a heap in response, like a puppet without it's strings.

"One down! Ha ha!"

Tags: @Bravo , @Vehn

 

IC: Chief Medical Officer Agnar Morana
Command Medical Bay, Decks 8 & 9 (Aft Command Tower), Darkest Night, high orbit over Bakura

Morana watched as Richter caressed the hair belonging to one of the burned autopsy patients, described his character, and now walked down the center of the medical bay. At each point he simply said “ah” or nodded.

Richter turned to face him, continuing his almost soliloquy.

“Two boys," he started a walk back towards the doctor, his hands still behind his back. "One nine years old, the other ten years old. Both of their families gone before they reach the skillful learning teenage years. And both boys left adrift, feeling unloved---unwanted. For one, he joins the Judicial Forces before the Clone Wars. The other became a man of science.”

Morana’s eyes narrowed as he realized his place in the story.

“But both men feel utterly unable to function outside of their chosen career fields as they hide their pain," Richter continued and stood before the doctor, "One works dead-end jobs after a stint with the Judicials, the other hides within his academic books. Once the Clone Wars starts, both men find a common connection: the Jedi. For one, it leads to a career again in the military to distant himself from his drug addict former waitress dead mother and alcoholic drunk fired school teacher and now dead father, to the other it leads to experiments with the Force to fill a rage at the murder of his family at the hands of Jedi and to distant from his family's criminal past.”

Again, an “ah” from Morana.

There was a long moment of silence, not least of which came from Morana. While his medical career was often commented on, his childhood was generally unknown to most. His family’s past, in particular, was a piece of history in its own right. The Morana Crime Family had long since been dispatched.

This Richter knew things.

"A storied past for both men,” he continued in response to Morana’s silence. “If for the one, research was a bit far-reaching after 63 years of life and two galactic governments later. But facts don't lie. Facts are incapable of lying.”

Morana nodded, holding his chin.

Non-committal. Non-engaged. Careful to reveal that in a span of just a few moments, the Security officer had picked open an old scabrous history.

“And it is there, Doctor Morana, that I believe you and I will find common ground. And common purpose. We both seek the truth and meaning to what we both seek to understand the most: why. It is what drives us night and day. What brings us clarity and focus to understand the ashes of our childhood for the purpose of our adulthood. And yet, deep down inside, we will always be that little robbed child, no matter much we try to not make it so. Facts give us order. Facts give us stability in the uncertainty of our seeking. And despite all the facts, we come back to a common thread for us both: Jedi. For one, the bringer of a career and stability. For the other, the bringer of loss, despair, and suffering.”

“And on that note,” Morana said, quick to move away from the subject. “Ah - thank-you. Yes. You’re point is well-taken.”

And not forgotten.

He waved to the bodies, brushing his gloved hands on the gown he was wearing.

“Your initial investigation was accurate, Mr. Richter. Burned from the inside out. Though, not from any accelerant or know weapon. However,” Morana paused, stabbing the air and waving his finger dramatically. “You’ll find this interesting.”

On the table was a clear dish, with mashed undeterminable remnants spread apart.

“If I’m not mistaken this might very well be connected, though I can’t wholly identify it which is…uncommon,” he said matter of factly.

He held the dish up to the Security Officer and pointed to the black mush inside.

“It shares some similarities to a flame beetle of Kashyyyk. Do you know it,” he spoke rapidly and did not wait for an answer. “The beetle is aptly named, though can be much larger. I’ve seen some the size of a Jawa - which the damage is incredible. They can - get this - spontaneously combust if you want to call it that.”

His hands made a ball and expanded to show an explosion.

"They eat the plants of the under-forest, digest it, and then turn it into this chemical that allows them to explode. As a defense, it’s rather dramatic, but as an offensive - you see, they explode when they die. Again, dramatic, but what a sight when in a swarm.”

He took back the disk abruptly.

“But this isn’t one of them. No idea what it is. But the genome looks similar. Perhaps an undiscovered cousin. Could be an interesting weapon, though, eh? Self-destructive beetle. Certainly makes you think twice about what’s for dinner."



Tag: @Bravo

 

IC: Commodore Valentino Mazzanti
Bridge, Darkest Night, high orbit over Bakura


An ensign came up with a data-pad and handed it to him. Reading over it briefly, he nodded and handed it back to the lowly officer who walked back towards the security foyer. He took another glance out the massive viewports before turning and walking along the command walkway with his hands behind his back calmy.

"Captain Totter, the bridge is yours," Valentino called out.

Duke Totter looked up from the port crew pits, where he was assisting damage control on an unspecified matter, "Yes, sir," Duke said, quickly ending his conversation with the 3 damage control crew and made his way to the front of the bridge.

Mazzanti entered the security foyer as Brigadier General Alexey Vasiliev and Wing Commander Julius Petrov entered the bridge from the main corridor, Major Hardneck flanking them. All three officers were in their officer uniforms, although Hardneck wore Imperial Officer Battle Armor and was armed with a blaster. Naturally, all three men drifted to the hologram pod in the security foyer, where Valentino was headed as well.

Petrov activated the hologram pod, showing the battle, "Pirates," he said, using the pod's controls to engineer pop-up windows in the hologram; once such pop-up window showed a TIE Fighter recording while chasing a CloakShape Fighter, where the wing commander paused the video, "Military Intelligence analyzed the footage. We can confirm its the Out Riders Pirate Gang."

"We," Alexey took a step forward and activated a few buttons on the hologram pod, adding a similar pop-up window showing stormtrooper helmet footage from Master Sergeant Craig Anthony Stewart (DW-418121; "Animal"). Instead of pausing it, the general let it replay on repeat for the roughly fifteen second video showing blaster fire in the dusty and next to almost no visibility footage, "The pirates have a strong dirt-side presence mixed in with loyal Bakura forces. We think corrupt government officials were involved, with a repeat pattern of aiding these pirates. The pirates were too well informed."

"History," Petrov said next, "Would suggest a larger pirate force is waiting in hiding for some kind of signal. We expect," he brought up several boxes of information and imagines of starships around the live footage of the battle map, "An additional Munificent-class Star Frigate. In support two additional Charger c70 Retrofits. Previous raiding patterns and known documented history suggests using least known hyperspace lanes on planetary raids, dropping hyperspace close to the planet, and swooping in and out before authorities can stop them."

Alexey spoke next, doing away with the pop-up information boxes and bringing focus to the moving red, blue, and green icons on the moving battle map. He pointed towards the shuttles, "We have a defensive ring of stormtroopers around the shuttles. It appears from sensor scans and stormtrooper helmet cameras, the enemy is avoiding Imperial Stormtrooper contact and instead going for the cargo transports and disrupting Imperial and Bakura loyalists patrols. The Imperial personnel to the shuttles are not their concern."

"Their plan," Petrvov put in, "Is to get the three cargo transports out of atmo and to planetary obit, where arriving pirate ships from space will pick them up and take them."

"The enemy troops on the ground are expendable in the pirates' view," Alexey added, "Probably low lifers looking for a quick credit."

The commodore nodded, "Very well. Plan an evac team if needed. Await my orders."

"Yes, sir!" all three officers replied, coming to attention, and then leaving a moment later, the hologram remaining on. Wing Commander Petrov stayed at the hologram pod, looking to the communications consoles across from him to relay orders.

Mazzanti went back towards the front of the bridge, his calm walk and hands behind his back showing confidence and patient. When he came upon the bridge viewports and Duke, he turned to the crew pits port, "Helm," he said, "On your command for micro jump."

He then turned to the starboard weapons station, where the Chief Warrant Officer was leaning out the alcove, awaiting orders.

"Coordinate with sensors. Information should have been uploaded already to your station. You are free to fire weapons at any Munificent-class Star Frigate or Charger c70 Retrofit that exits hyperspace on our new coordinates. No confirmation of target required."

The warrant officer nodded and relied, "Yes, sir," and went back deeper into the alcove to carry out his orders.

As Mazzanti turned back to the viewport, Duke said as casually as he could, "No target confirmation, commodore?"

"No need to if any of the ships exiting are of that class and type.," Mazzanti replied, "I want to catch them before they have time to put up deflector shields."

"And if we fire wrong, sir?" Duke asked, adding, "Into civilians?"

"Then we execute the gunnery crew, captain," Mazzanti replied, almost sounding annoyed at having to explain himself, "Intelligence is sound. I don't know many civilians flying around Clone Wars-era military grade frigates around for joyrides."

"Understood, sir," Duke replied, adding, "A course, sir."



TAG @galactic-vagabond422