OK folks again sorry for the delay however here is the next segment in the TIE Story. Hope you all enjoy and as I did with the X-Wing story I've included the TIE Rules of engagement link below:

http://tie.rebelsquadrons.org/missions/


Again if you have any questions please contact Spokes or myself as soon as possible. I will be updating the TIE mission Zip to include a copy of the story like I did with X-Wing. Lastly happy hunting and have fun see ya out there.



Begin log: B2M5 - An Old Flame

Damon Lightwind

-= CRS: Aragorn, Maintenance Bay =-

After having as good amount of sleep as he'd had in a long time, Damon arrived in the Maintenance Bay. …a.k.a. The Pit. He was feeling quite refreshed and looked forward to the challenges the rest of the day would bring. He had both his droids Patch and Scrappy along side and well as his tools in hand ready to do whatever needed to be done. As Damon approached, he noticed Ra staring at one of the new Squints with a puzzled look. “Lt. Commander Lightwind reporting, as you requested,” Damon called out.
Ra quickly turned toward him and said pointed to the Squint in front of them. “Good. Now, maybe, we can get something done! Let’s start with this mystery.”
Damon looked at the fighter and then back at Ra then said, “What’s the problem, boss? And how can I help?”
Ra sighed, and said, “Well… it’s this blasted compartment! I’ve tried everything to get it open. My goal is to get it open today, one way or another, and preferably without damaging anything too terribly badly. BUT IF I HAVE TO CUT THIS SEA BISCUIT OPEN WITH CONCENTRATED ION EXHAUST…” he pounded the side of his fist on the hull as if in punctuation, but then turned to face Damon and said calmly and sweetly, “But I’d really rather not have to do that. So. What suggestions have you got?”
“I see,” Damon nodded warily. “Um… What do we know about its cover, so far?”
Ra motioned him over to the area in question, and pointed as he explained. “Here is where the problem lies – the two latches on top are simple enough, and by all rights this thing should pop right off. However… when you pull them, it doesn’t want to budge at all, and I’ve tried everything I can think of.”
Damon tried the latches as Ra gave him a sour look. He was REAL glad it didn’t suddenly open up for him, as so many things just suddenly stopped showing whatever symptoms they showed until the exact moment someone showed up that could fix said problem. And he’d been on both ends of that particular little quirk the universe had in its odd sense of humor. Damon looked over the rest of the compartment for any kind of a clue (as Ra’s sour look turned even more so), and asked meekly, “Have you tried having a droid scan it?”
“So far, all I can tell is it’s shielded from scans of any kind. That was the first thing I tried and the only thing it gave me was where to find the latches,” Ra replied. “Next,” he said impatiently.
Damon thought about it for a little while, and then asked, “Has this one been recoded yet for our use? Or does it still have the Imperial coding?”
Ra lifted one eyebrow as he looked at Damon. “No. We haven’t recoded it yet. Although, we have run some pretty thorough diagnostics on it. Several sets, in fact.”
“Let me give it a shot. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve on cracking Imperial encryption, and maybe that’s what we got going on.”
Ra raised one doubtful eyebrow. “Well… Personally… I think it’s going to be a waste of time… but you’ve surprised me more than once already, so… knock yourself out.”
Damon nodded. “Have faith, boss.” In a higher and more gravelly voice, imitating one of the older (possibly the oldest) heroes of the Rebellion, he added, “Not give up will I. Find the answer for you I will. Fail, I will not, where others before have. Hmm..?”
“Yah,” Ra said, entirely distracted by the accuracy of Damon’s imitation. “Go ahead. I’ll get THESE OTHER SLACKERS…” Ra indicated the rest of his nearby crew, who immediately began paying intense attention to the jobs they had been supposed to be doing, “started working on the Gunboats. But if you do find anything that allows me not to dangle this thing aft of the port engine vent, let me know.”
Damon saluted. “YESSIR! You’ll be the second to know. …the first one that knows after me. …Sir.”
“Bite me,” Ra said grouchily, and actually showing more good humor in doing so than one might expect.
As Ra walked off, barking orders at the pit crew, Damon called to his droids. “Patch, Scrappy… here’s the plan. I’m going to power her up, then run our second level decryption and diagnostics searches. Can you guys plug in anywhere, and see if we can talk to this thing?”
Scrappy beeped and chirped a few times, rolled over, extended a universal insertion contact, and popped a second small compartment open so Patch (who flipped open a small compartment on his arm, and pulled out a retractable cable) could plug into the connector the smaller droid extended. “Yes. Thank you, Scrappy,” Patch said. “We are in communication with the Interceptor now, sir.”
“Good. Thanks.” Damon climbed the gantry and slid into the cockpit. After booting up the systems, he plugged in his datapad. Scrappy had already begun transmitting to it, and the info started scrolling up the screen. Patch, the ever cautious one, had already put the weapons systems on non-powered diagnostic mode. Scrappy’s data flow was just the right readable speed, as always. Damon started the normal preflight checks.
After about thirty minutes, Scrappy abruptly rolled backward, yanking Patch’s cable out of it’s jack. Patch said “I told you not to try to access that packet.”
Scrappy chirped his annoyance, rolled back to the connection, and jacked in again. The data pad showed Damon what he’d found. The astromech displayed a 3D rotating schematic of the Squint and all its modifications.
Damon smiled and said, “Okay! Now we’re getting somewhere!” He paused. “A secondary maintenance screen…? Where?”
“That can be accessed when activated,” Patch explained.
“Good to know! How do I activate it?” Damon asked.
“There should be a toggle, just under the main console off to the left of the console base,” Patch answered.
Damon ducked under the console, found the toggle, and flipped it. The secondary maintenance diagnostic screen popped up. “Coolness! Now we just need to get past this access code. Scrappy start with decoder package three, level nine, to find me an override,” Damon called out. Scrappy gave a series of beeps in acknowledgment.
After about fifteen minutes more, Damon yelled, “THAT’S IT!! WE GOT IT! Great work, guys!” He scanned the coding for the new diagnostic screen for a minute. “Okay! That must be what *this* is,” and pressed an unlabled button on the Interceptor’s touch screen.
A loud clunk reverberated through the Squint’s hull. It didn’t take Damon long to figure that something in the rear of the fighter just unlocked. Most likely that compartment hatch that Ra wanted into so badly. He climbed out of the cockpit, slid down to the deck with a thump, and headed to the aft section.
“Well… It’s not open,” he said, not entirely disappointedly. “But if I’m right… then that was hatch is going to pop right open now.” He tried the latches, and got a jolt of energy through them. “Unggh!!” he grunted as he yanked his hands away from the bolts before they could quite be burned there permanently. “Ahhh!!! Very sneaky little impies, aren’t you? …putting in a double security on top of the double latch. Must be something prêt-ty darned important in there,” Damon said excitedly to himself.
He tried to remember just which latch he’d actually pulled first, figuring that if he pulled the other first, it disabled that particular surprise.
That didn’t work either.
His blew on his fingertips, which were practically smoking.
“Uhh… Patch…” he said hesitantly.
“Sir… Maybe if we pulled on them separately, at the same time,” Patch suggested.
“Good idea, Patch,” Damon said gratefully, as Patch trundled up slowly and gripped the latch on the left hand side.
“Patch…?”
“Sir?”
“Thanks for volunteering,” Damon sincerely.
“You’re welcome, sir.” Then Patch added, “I suggest you make sure you don’t come in contact with me as you pull your latch.”
“Yah,” Damon agreed. “Good idea. On three. One… Two… Thre…” Damon and Patch pulled at the same time, just as Scrappy made a very quick, very loud high-pitched sound. Damon yanked his hands off his bolt in a quick automatic reaction. He looked at his fingertips, and it registered that he hadn’t gotten shocked.
It also registered that neither had Patch. …or Scrappy. …and that Scrappy was making chirping noises that sounded very much like astromech mirth.
“SCRAPPY!!! DON’T DO THAT!!! GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK, WHY DON’T YOU!!” He kicked the short droid. …but not too hard. The adrenaline was pumping, but he hadn’t lost all good sense.
As he turned back to the Interceptor, and called softly, “Patch…?”
“Documenting, sir.”
“Great. But I need you to go get Captain Ra.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And say nothing more than I’d like him to see me here at his earliest convenience.”
“Yes, sir.” And with that, Patch trundled off.
Damon draped a cable clip across the bottom of the opening, so the compartment wouldn’t lock again, and rested the cover on it. He moved over to Scrappy and patted him on his dome. “If you ever scare me like that again, I’m going to make you resemble your name more closely.” The droid made a moderately short low tone that ran from the relative high to the relative low. “But you did a great job on this, so I’ll forgive you this time.” And the droid made the tone again, but this time in reverse. As he turned back, Ra ran up, having left Patch to catch up as he could.
“Okay. What’d you find? Please give me good news. …it’ll be the only I’ve gotten today, and the crew is telling me they can’t work when I’m grouchy. …which is total crap. I’m not grouchy. …am I…?” He waited expectantly.
“Uh…” Damon thought quickly how to avoid answering that question entirely. “…how about this…? What would you say if said I could make you a proud papa?”
“’Scuze me…?”
Damon ignored that question too. “Well…?”
“I’ll buy you a drink if you’ve got anything worth while. …but the clock is running and you’re on my time. It’s a limited offer.” Ra crossed his arms.
“Well, Papa… I’ll have a Corellian Ale, please.” He turned and lifted the lid partially, making sure the cable clip stayed in place. “You don’t want this thing to lock again, by the way.”
Ra stared.
“Just like a tatooine bar waitress, say a few kind words to her, and she’ll give up anything you want.” Damon chuckled.
Ra stood there. “Okay, wise guy… I expect a full report on this ASAP!!!”
“Already done.” Then he added, “and if you got a minute or two, I’ll give you more.”
Ra nodded.
“The locking mechanism is a double latch. You have to pull them both at the same time. …but it can’t be one person. …otherwise you lose your fingerprints for about eight months. Being a combat pilot, I’ve got a pretty quick reaction factor, so I kept mine, but I almost lost ‘em twice before I got it right. BUT… there’s a secondary encryption, just like I’d expected.
Ra listen intently as Damon explained in full detail and had Scrappy transfer the schematics to Ra’s datapad. “I wouldn’t put that in the main until you’ve had the chance to let CompOps at it – there may be something else nasty crawling around in there.”
Ra nodded. “I gotta go see the Admiral about this.” Ra jerked a thumb backward over his shoulder. “Do what you can with what we’ve got, if you would, please. I’ll be back after a while.”
Damon saluted as Ra left, studying the datapad so intently that he nearly tripped over a fuel hose.

-----

Ta’ Re` Djo

The call for all the pilots to the briefing room was paging over the com. We were already all sitting in the room, waiting on Castor. I put my feet up on the bench in front of me, and tried to make myself look as relaxed as possible.
Waiting for Castor to come in and give the brief, we were all trying not to chuckle. When Castor walked in, the surprise on his face was to die for. I took a mental picture of that so that I could remember that look forever. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I put my feet down and gave him a pokerface that said “I will NEVER tell.” Ace caught my look and started to chuckle.
Laughter is, in fact, contagious. And it was a few minutes before we all got settled down for the brief.
As it turned out, apparently I was qualified to fly one of the missleboats.
“You have GOT to be kidding me!” I said out loud to my datapad. Really!? They didn’t have anyone better then me...?
After the last mission, which was nothing but an inspection, and quite easy at that, I found myself in the missleboat.
…I HATE missleboats. They are slow and I can’t maneuver myself well in these things.
Oh well…
On the other hand… They do have pretty good shields.
I followed the mission objectives by the book. I went after the Frigate. I took a few shots at the ship with my lasers to bring the shields down and just started blasting the crap out of it with my ions until I managed to disable it.
There was an unknown ship, which we had seen a few times before and it needed to be inspected. I ran out and did that. The ID came up as the Sapphire. Right after I ID’d it, the ship requested to land on the Saguaro, and Castor had granted permission immediately.
“Huh…?” I heard Dave say, apparently forgetting the com was on.
“What the heck is that about?” I said into the com.
Biggie called back, “I dunno… I’m confused.”
“Wat-evs.” I said in my best lower eastside Coruscant accent.
“Let’s keep going with the mission. We got other stuff to worry about, and we will find out eventually whenever we get back to the Saguaro. IF we make it back.” Taan Ronar could always be counted on to keep us in check and focused, even if sometimes he was a little spunky.
After most of the fighters had been picked off – I’d gotten a couple of them – curiosity got the better of me, and I docked. There were two Tie Advanced that were left, but the rest of my squad had either left or ejected, and I certainly wasn’t hanging around to finish the job by myself. I wasn’t good enough to play two against one with that kind of speed.
Speed Kills.
…And I wasn’t too fond of the idea of someone else’s speed killing me.
Castor would probably yell.
…but… that’s okay. I’ll take my chances with him over the Avengers.
Besides… If HE killed me, he’d probably be kind enough to make it not hurt. …as opposed to instantaneous complete decompression.
Yep. I’ll take my chances with the Ghost. …er… Admiral.
I pulled into the hangar on the Aragorn. I landed the missleboat gently and started to climb out. The hangar door opened and Castor walked out. I caught the look on his face and could tell that he knew that I’d left the two Advanced TIEs. I took a half a second and considered getting back in my ship and going back out there. Then I decided that they’d probably be long gone by then, so why waste the fuel.
…I hate it when he does that. He’s got that “if looks could kill” thing down. He must have been a Mom in some prior life.
I climbed down slowly, fairly sure that I wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Castor was going to say. The man walked over and stood there with his hands behind his back.
…I hate it when he does that. I want to see his hands. …and if anything throwable might be in them.
“Ray…? …What…Was…That…” he asked.
…I hate it when he does that. I can’t tell if I’m dead yet, or not.
“Admiral… I didn’t want to end up in the bacta tanks, and my shields were on their way out. I had to transfer everything from my lasers to my shields and engines to get away.”
“You could have done it. I’m disappointed in your lack of confidence in yourself. I expect you to run sims for the missleboat against nothing but Avengers until you can make that boat tap-dance a tune on their tail pipes.”
…I hate it wh… …do I have anger management issues…?
“Leaving those two ships was not… optimal They know we were here, they may or may not know who we are, and they may or may not have observed the Sapphire docking with us. If they have... Well… it probably won’t be… pleasant.�
…I hate it… Crap... I DO have anger management issues…
I felt like I should climb into a hole underneath a rock. …or, at least back into the missleboat. “Yessir. I’ll run the sims. Sir. Starting now.”
“Dismissed,” he said softly. “Ray,” he called.
I paused and turned around.
“Good job bringing down that Frigate.” He raised an eyebrow. “I was told that you disabled it solo, then IDed the Sapphire, and brought down some of the fighters. All in all… Good job. Good job, Ray.”
A slight smile made the muscles in my face feel funny. Then I continued on for the sims.

-----

Dave Trebonius Astoris: Flying 5.2, Alternate P.O.V.

Dave couldn’t help grinning like a schoolboy as he settled into the cockpit of his Gunboat. This, of course, dismayed the tech assisting him to no end. Dave, however, was thrilled to be in the cockpit of a gunboat, a craft he hadn’t flown in years. There was something nice about the gunboats solid mass beneath one’s cockpit chair.
“Is everything okay sir? You don’t need the straps readjusted?” the tech asked, his face contorted into an amusing expression of concern mixed with disbelief.
Dave waved a hand nonchalantly, grinning all the more, “Go on, I’m fine.” The tech still hovered around the cockpit like an anxious winged creature. Dave began flipping switches on his console, “If you don’t go I’m going to take off with you on the nose.” The tech immediately scurried off and high tailed it to safety, not even stopping to salute.

                  

The armada of Grey “Squadron” (a word which Dave occasionally snorted at now, considering how large their little flotilla of ships was becoming) exploded out of hyperspace precisely on schedule. Dave breathed as he saw an armada of ships that was not their’s spread out before him.
“Isn’t that..” he began, and then cut himself off in a low growl as lasers immediately splashed against his forward shields. He yanked the stick and then nosed the sluggish gunboat over to the left, toggling through his threat display as he did so. Four shielded squints! Oh man, he groaned inwardly to himself. As Dave turned to line up a shot on the leader, he suddenly found himself fighting alone.
“Uhhhhh,” he said aloud in the cockpit of the gunboat. Much to his disbelief, the scope showed that all the other Thorn fighters had moved ahead to attack the larger Mynock ships, and he was left all alone with four shielded Tie Interceptors. His face darkened and he swatted at the comm switch furiously. “Control, can I get some help here?” he barked.
“That’s a negative,” came the reply, “we’ll try to cover you with the Saguaro’s guns.”
Oh thanks a ton, Dave thought sourly. He squeezed the trigger and sent kilojoules of vibrant energy pulsing out at the backside of an Interceptor. Leave me... laser burst... to fight these little bastards... laser burst... in my gunboat... explosion! Dave continued to dogfight the nimble craft. He was too pinned down to escape for a run on the Dreadnaught, but he did manage to snap off one hastily aimed torpedo.
By the time the dust had settled and the four shielded squints were toast, the disabling was already done. Dave droned in, made a few identifications, and then the Corellian Transport present requested permission to board the Saguaro.
Castor granted it immediately.
Huh?! was all Dave could think. He shrugged, quite a feat in the confines of his cockpit, and then escorted the rickety CORT to the Saguaro’s hangar.

                  

Later, Dave collapsed into a seat in the bar. Tess walked over immediately and bowed with great embellishment, “May I take your order, sir?”
Dave smiled lazily, “Always on the lookout for a customer, Tess?”
Tess placed a hand over his chest in mock shock, “You wound me with your callous words!”
Dave chuckled lightly, “Bring me.. oh hell, bring me your choice. Something strong.”
Tess nodded amiably and disappeared behind the bar.
“So you don’t ask for permission before sitting down?” came a feminine, yet taunting voice from nearby.
Dave blinked and turned around, startled to find a shorter yet remarkable woman sitting in the shadowy booth at the other end of the table. Dave grunted and attempted to get to his feet, which only managed to get his thighs smacked against the bottom of the table and promptly deposited him back into his seat. “I, erm, I mean, excuse me,” he began, “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else sitting here.”
“Am I that small,” Lessa Kylara said half mockingly, “or are you simply losing your sight?”
Dave reddened, partially incensed, partially amused. “Neither,” he finally snorted. “I’ll leave if you wish.”
Lessa waved her hand magestically, as if bestowing some honor upon him. “You may stay.”
Dave smiled tightly. “Thanks, I think.”
She cajoled him. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite!”
Dave leaned back in his chair. “Not physically, perhaps.”
“Touche,” she replied, with a hint of a genuine grin. I think I’ll indulge him, she thought. A pilot likes nothing better than to talk about what he did. “I heard it got pretty hairy out there,” she began generously.
Dave nodded. “It wasn’t pretty.”
Silence.
Isn’t this where he’s supposed to start talking about how glorious a fight it was and how many people he killed? Lessa wondered to herself. She ventured a little further, “How did you do?”
Dave accepted a glass from Tess. Arriving rather late, he thought. Then carefully considered his reply. “I’m alive,” he said finally. “And the mission was accomplished, so I guess I did fairly well.”
Lessa pressed further. “I know one of the gunboat pilots singlehandedly shot down four of those shielded squints.”
Dave nodded heavily, “I didn’t have any back up, unfortunately.”
At this Lessa suddenly slid up out of her seat and walked around the table. She hit Dave on the shoulder jokingly. “Well, can’t always have help!” Lessa then took off at a brisk walk away from the table.
Dave protested quietly. “...but, I never.. got.. your name.” He sighed as she disappeared.
Lessa’s own thoughts were aswirl, and though she’d never let anybody see it, she was actually quite flustered. He didn’t act like a typical egoist pilot, she thought. I judged him, played him to see if I was right, and found I was horribly wrong... he... wait, who was he?
Meanwhile, back at Tess’, Dave heard a male voice chuckling lightly behind him. Dave looked up from his drink and his thoughts.
“Shot down, eh Dave?” Jack asked jovially.
Dave made a face and then took a long drink.
“Relax, its Lessa, everybody gets that treatment,” Jack added.
“Lessa, huh?” Dave muttered. “Didn’t even get her name.”
Jack smiled smugly, looking down at him, but saying nothing.
Dave sighed and thrust his glass into Jack’s stomach with a smile, “Go get me a refill.”
Jack clutched his stomach, but couldn’t keep a smile of his own off his face, “Hey, who are you talking to me like I’m not the high and mighty X.O. of this outfit!”
Dave quipped, “The guy who just got verbally berated by a female who’s table he sat at unintentionally and then failed to even get her name out of her!” They both laughed.

                                                

Lessa Kylara: Non-flying alternate p.o.v.

Lessa sat back in the dark corner of the B&G, listening to the laughter and joking all around her. This was where they could unwind. She chose to do this alone. Sure, she liked the whole group of them. But, sometimes their carousing was too much. Grinning and shouting back responses when they were thrown her way, she looked into her mug, and thought of how different it was here than her home in the South Quadrant, Brekke, in the Devaron system. So far away, yet so near in her mind.
She looked up quickly as he sat at her table. She could tell he didn’t see her. He had something on his mind. Joking with Tess, and leaving his choice of drink to the bartender, he sat there, still oblivious to her. Who was this guy?
“Do you always sit uninvited?” She teased. He jumped. She grinned, and motioned for him to sit as he tried clumsily to get up. Lessa being small, knew she had to keep tough, to keep the respect of her fellow crewmen. She was an expert at putting them in their place. But, this guy looked like he needed to talk. So she encouraged it. And, was surprised when he didn’t brag, as so many of them do. He, in fact, seemed quite modest. Well, no time to pull out his story tonight. Maybe, another night though.... Getting up, she slapped him on the back, leaving him with one of her usual quirky remarks, and she was off.
I never asked his name, she thought as she exited the B&G. Who was he? Why was he different? For once, the perky elfin sized girl was pensive as she thought of the stranger at her table. And, she would have berated herself to no end, had she noticed her own unconscious act of straightening her hair as she walked out.

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

Taan Ronar: Flight 4.1, Alternate P.O.V.

The sharp hiss of lightsabers echoed throughout the barren halls. Two people, each wielding one of the deadly weapons, moved back and forth through the empty castle, each trying to gain the advantage. One of them, wearing traditional Jedi robes and carrying an emerald lightsaber, quickly picked himself up from where he was thrown on the floor by the other and readied himself for more action. “I’m not about to give up yet, my friend. Not until you return what is rightfully mine.”
The other fighter smirked and twirled his own searing blade of energy, leaving a split second trail of crimson coloured light behind it. “You left, brother. I will defend what I have earned from anyone, and there are far more worthy adversaries than you. Leave now, before I have to dispose of you.”
The battle cry of the first warrior rang through the hall, surrounding them as he charged towards his foe. Light flashed as the two blades of energy collided, their owners desperately trying to gain the advantage over his opponent. The dueling brought them to a window of the ancient castle, both Jedi taking a second to gauge how they could use the surroundings to their advantage. The second warrior attacked with renewed energy, pushing the first toward the open window. With the smile of the victorious, he swung his light saber one last time...
“AAAAHH!”
Taan sat bolt upright in his bed, the nightmare still frighteningly vivid in his head. What was that? It had seemed so real, almost like a memory, except...except that he hadn’t been to that castle for nearly fifteen years, and had never known of Jedi to exist there. Certainly the castle looked more worse for wear than he remembered it. This whole Force thing is starting to get on my nerves, he thought. Taan rubbed his eyes and checked the chrono sitting beside his bunk. Well, it was only a couple more hours until his shift, might as well get up and do some training.

---------

“What in the seven hells...?”
The techie got up from where he was working on the simulator and looked at Taan. “Someone kicked in the maintenance access panel on this thing, so you can’t use it. You’ll have to wait for one of the other flyboys to finish.”
Taan grunted, a little curious at the same time. What was in that Gunboat sim to annoy someone that much?
Fifteen minutes later, he found out. He was still sweating from the physical exhaustion when the cockpit opened up. He had just barely passed it, and was fervently hoping that the next real mission wouldn’t be as hard as that. He waved to the tech on his way out, who was still busy fixing the simulator. He was lost in thought as he made his way to the bar, almost walking straight into another pilot.
“Oh, hey Ray.”
“Hey Taan. You flying this mission?”
“To be honest, I’d rather fly the pigs this time around. I’m not sure whether I’m ready for the Guns yet.”
Ray shrugged. “Fair enough. You look kind of pale, you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, just a hard mission. You off duty now?”
“Thankfully. I need some sleep. I’ll see you later.”
Ray headed off to her quarters, leaving Taan to continue on to the bar.

----------

“Wow...you mean that castle we used to sneak into when we were kids?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Taan signalled for two drinks and handed one to Mira. “It was really wierd. I know it was me fighting, but I couldn’t see who the other person was. It just seemed so real, more so than any other dream I’ve ever had.”
“I don’t mean to scare you or anything, but I’ve heard that Force sensitive people can actually see other times. Maybe it was the future you saw.”
Taan snorted. “I’m not exactly a Jedi, and I don’t even have a lightsaber. And considering I’m going to be stuck on this ship for quite a while, I don’t see any time where I’m going to build one.”
Mira shrugged, a little dejected. “Just an idea. What about...”
Taan’s datapad beeped, popping up a message instructing him to go to the briefing room immediately. Strange, I thought there was usually an announcement. Looking around, he saw the other pilots disappearing out of the bar, some with unmistakable smirks on their faces. Ah...now it makes sense. Taan chuckled and hopped off the stool. “We’ll continue this later. I have to go put in my plea for anything but a Gun.”

----------

After the briefing was concluded, and one or two of the Greys who were obviously in on the joke were “asked” to stay back by Castor, Taan was relieved to see his name next to a Y Wing on his datapad. It was apparent that Mira had already heard this, because she was doing the final checkups on the ageing bomber when Taan arrived.
“This one got knocked around a bit last mission, and there were a couple of loose wires, but it’s in working order now. The captain’s already okayed it, so she’s ready to go.”
Taan smiled. “See, this is why I have friends here. None of these dodgy inspections five minutes before launch.” Taan climbed on top of the starfighter to check it out. “Will it fit Blackie okay?”
“I had to make a few alterations, but it should be fine. You had to “upgrade” your droid, didn’t you?” ‘Blacktop’, Taan’s R2 unit, had a few modifications which sometimes made it difficult to fit into fighters.
“You’re a pal. I better get my flight suit on, we’ll be exiting hyperspace soon.” Taan looked at the blue tunnel of hyperspace screaming past the hangar bay and shuddered. “How can you be out here knowing that is it out there?”
Mira shrugged dismissively. “How can you get into a fighter knowing there’s only a couple of centimeters between you and a vacuum, and you won’t be wearing a mask this mission? I think my job’s safer.”
Taan opened his mouth to rebut, then realized he had absolutely nothing on that. It took a lot of guts or little brain to strap an ion engine and a few laser cannons to your back.

----------

A short while later, Taan had not one, but two engines strapped to his back and was heading towards three very unfriendly warships. Within seconds of launch, the radio was awash with pilot chatter.
“All flights, avoid Neb B2. Disable Vette and Dread.”
“Copy that, Control.” This from Flight 5.1. “Flight 4, start on the Dread. We’ll take out the Vette and be right with you.”
“Roj o, 5.1. Initiating attack run.” Taan switched to torps and centered his sights on the Dreadnaught in front of him. While the Gunboats could pretty much rely on their lasers to eliminate the Corvette’s shields, a Dreadnaught was much larger, albeit older, and required some heavier weaponry in order to disable it. The target was soon within range, and Taan fired off a pair of proton torpedoes at the starship before avoiding fire from an Interceptor. “4.2, I’ve got a fighter on my tail. Could you swat it for me?”
“No problems, One. Breaking left to intercept.”
Shortly after, a flash of light came from the starboard side of Taan’s cockpit. “Thanks Two, I owe you a drink.”
“This is 4.1, the Corvette is disabled. Assisting with Dreadnaught.”
“One strafe should do it, Five. Switch to ions and attack now.” Taan squeezed the trigger, sending blue ion blasts from above his head straight into the Dreadnaught’s engines. Similar shots from the Gunboats disabled the Dreadnaught in seconds. “Control, this is 4.1, the Dread is disabled. Requesting orders.”
“4.1, see if you can get a reading on that YT 1300. It could be the same one we encountered last mission. Four, get on that transport.”
“Copy that, Control.” Taan went to full throttle and headed for the transport, some kilometres away. “Control, this one’s got a strange IFF. Should we consider him hostile?”
There was a moment’s silence on the Saguaro’s end. “Negative, Four. Do not attack unless provoked. We want to know something about this guy.”
Taan buzzed the YT 1300's cockpit, notifying the pilot that he was no longer just part of the scenery. Taan looked at the readout from the identification, and saw something a little unusual. “Control, this guy’s carrying some strange cargo. Do you want to “
”Zaguaro, zis is the captain of the Zapphire. Requezt permizzion to board you.”
Well, this is unexpected. He’s bugging out on his friends. He must have seen what we did to his buddies in the uglies, then.
“Permission granted, Sapphire. Enter main bay.”
Wait a minute...that was the Admiral! What’s going on?
“Thorn Group, ensure the safety of that transport!”

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

With the bulky Corellian Transport parked in the hangar bay, landing was made slightly more difficult. Taan parked his Y Wing next to the YT 1300, taking a look at the unusual markings on it as he went past. He popped the cockpit open, leaving the engineers to get Blackie out and download the flight data from him. Captain Ra and some of the hangar bay technicians, including Mira, were already taking a closer look at the new arrival.
“Hey Taan, looks like you bagged a big catch this time,” Mira said to him as he walked past.
“Personally, I would have liked to vape it, but my orders came from Castor himself this time. I’m going to be very interested to hear the debriefing.”

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

End log: T5B2M5


Battle 3: Grey Tribulation

Castor stood in the hangar bay waiting for the incoming freighter. The message requesting permission to dock had come in less than two minutes ago. Having seen the freighter on a number of hostile occasions, and after the combat situation they’d just seen, Horvath had felt sufficiently uncomfortable with the request and routed it to him directly. Taking the incoming transmission, Castor had recognized the voice immediately and granted permission without hesitation. Then things had gotten a little hectic as he’d started barking orders for a formal greeting for their soon-to-be guest. He quickly set the bridge watch station-keeping roster, and gave orders for extreme attention to the sensor data - he wanted to know with as little lag time as possible if any craft whatsoever entered the system. Then he and Horvath had raced down to the docking bay to greet the incoming guests.
The freighter settled with a resounding clank as its metallic ‘feet’ made contact with the decking. It bounced once on its pneumatic struts after the docking tractor beam placed the craft in its assigned spot. The echoes died within the docking bay while Castor and Horvath stood watching. An Honor Company of the Shock Troop entered, led by Admiral Daggerscout. Teke had thrown the group together quickly, as soon as he’d heard Castor himself grant the transport permission to dock. Castor wouldn’t have bypassed Teke and the security measures in place, unless he knew far beyond a reasonable doubt that the ship was, in fact, secure. The elfin Lessa Kylara had been ordered to pass command of the Brier to her copilot and attend. She’d shed her flightsuit and donned her combat skin in record time. The suit, which she always kept with her even on the Brier, weighed half what she herself did, the throwing blades layered like armor scales.
Their heels clacked on the floor as the Shock Honor Guard marched in smartly. The commandoes came to a halt and turned toward the freighter. Each of the Honor Guard stepped forward or backward, separating their double line to end up in four evenly spaced rows. They came to a simultaneous abrupt halt, standing so still one couldn’t visually detect even their breathing.
The freighter’s engines wound down as the personnel ramp slowly dropped to its open position. The slaps and bangs of their hands against their blaster rifles, and the clacks of the rifles with their metal guards against the deck, supplied their own sharp echoes as Shock executed a sixteen-point maneuver to end in a formal salute stance. Castor noticed that at least a few of the rifles, at least the ones of which he could clearly see the indicators, were fully charged and the safeties were off as the Honor Guard stood looking like little more than stone statues of the Shock Commandoes. Between the unlocked safeties, Lessa with her blades, and the giant Kanashaak, Teke wasn’t taking any chances on Castors ‘guests’ motives regardless of how flawless the Honor Guard’s performance. Apparently. Which was fine by Castor. Teke had taken on the Security Chief mantle as well as the Shock Commander’s role despite flying for Grey. And Teke always took his responsibilities seriously. Even if it meant showing a distrust of circumstances that Castor didn’t necessarily agree with.
As the attendees watched, each in their own fashion, two sets of humanoid shaped legs emerged from the hatch, one set long and spindly, the other set looked short and stubby in comparison. In the lead was a relatively short female rodian with long bright red scalp bristles, who was most likely the commander of the group. Even if he hadn’t known her voice when she had requested permission to board the Saguaro, since Castor had never talked with her at any great length, he still would have visually recognized her immediately as Flame, the ex-pirate. Flame had been responsible for Greedo’s (Castor’s former commanding officer aboard the Odin) discovery of, and very largely for Greys success in destroying, a research base developing a weapon of such destructive magnitude that it made the Death Star look like one of Qixx Dragoon’s spit ball shooters. Her amethyst colored eyes were pointed straight at Castor, but she seemed at ease despite her intense manner and the choppiness of motion her normally short stride gave her.
Behind Flame, the long legs belonged to a duros male, his long stride severely shortened so that he wouldn’t overrun the rodian as they came down the ramp. The lines in his forehead and the stern set to his jaw indicated that his scowl might be permanent, as opposed to the normally smooth features belonging to most of the duros Castor had known. The duros’s oversized khaki shirt hid most of his long arms, and the many pockets of his brown utility vest bulged with circuit boards and data chips, making him look strangely lumpy considering his height.
Close behind the first two, a pair of females came down the ramp, a wookiee and a human. The wookiee was tall, about two and a third meters, slightly taller than the duros but average height for a wookiee female. Her shiny chestnut colored fur was thin so it laid close to her skin, and seemed to be neatly trimmed - something fairly unusual for a wookiee of any gender or age since most preferred to wear their fur ‘au natural’. The way she kept her fur made her seem almost gaunt for a wookiee. The lithe and corded muscles of her long slender arms and legs danced under skin as she moved, without that gangly gate that wookiees normally have, which made the patterns of the lights reflecting off her gleaming fur seemingly move with a life of their own. A wavy black streak started at the tip of her nose, ran back over the top of her head, and continued back around under her left ear to drop down the front of her throat and spread out across her chest. She wore no shirt under her yellow vest which was held together with only a pair of thin golden chains. A sash was tied around her waist, covering the top of a human style pair of very short legged pants, to which a small carry-sac was attached. She moved with all the grace of a professional dancer, and Castor considered her a very striking presence.
But if the wookiee was striking, then her partner on the ramp was even more so. She was a little shorter than medium height for a human female, and her skin was a dark tan with a slightly golden reddish hue. The nearly straight jet black hair, broken by a single streak of stark white, was cut to her eyebrows in the very front, and the sides were kept back out of her face by two thin braids. The finely beaded strips, which were attached to the top of those two braids and hung down to a point even with her shoulders, framed her high angular cheek bones and jet-black and slightly slanting eyes. The muscles in her jaw made her long thin nose twitch slightly as she constantly clenched her teeth. She wore only a light pullover shirt with a plunging neckline and no sleeves under her brown utility vest. Her trousers which matched the vest had series of pockets along the thighs and ended inside her black mid-calf boots. Her arms were lean, and the actual hardness of them showed that she was no stranger to strenuous work. The old blaster burn scar that marked her left shoulder testified to a possible hardness of her character, as well.
Stepping forward to meet the group, Castor gave them one of his formal bows - some gestures were easily understood regardless of the culture seeing them. His elbows held his arms at stiff sharp angles as he touched his finger tips on the center of his forehead, his palms facing in toward his face, and he dropped his chin slightly toward his chest. After holding this posture for a moment, he dropped his hands slowly to his sides and straightened from his bow. After a quick bark from Teke, the Shock statues came to life and slapped their blaster rifles through a five-point maneuver to a “parade rest” stance, returning to their flawless impersonations of statues.
“Captain Flame,” Castor addressed her formally, assuming her station. “It is my pleasure to see you again. Doubly so, as you seem in apparent good health and prosperity.”
“Ah,” said Flame in her buzzing nasally basic, bowing slightly herself. Her snout twitched as she formed words which were still obviously uncomfortable to form. “You have been promoted to Admiral, I zee. You have my congratulazionz on developing your zkill at keeping yourzelf alive long enough to reach it, Admiral Efrata-Landeez.”
Castor noticed the wookiee female tense at the mention of his name. He was also aware of the human female’s reactions at hearing the same, her eyes became hard and narrow, her breath caught, and he could feel something close to the beginnings of panic from her.
“I would like to prezent my partnerz in Quazar Merchandizing,” she buzzed indicating the two females behind her, “Wyeth Ayerzt and Moriah-Luzerne. Alzo, I prezent our firzt offizer and navigator of the Zapphire, Bryta Y’ar.” The two females and the duros each gave a short bow in return to Castor’s, but the wookiee seemed to pause, inhaling the air in his direction, as if attempting to catch his scent. All of them watched the wookiee’s hackles rise and her subsequent brief internal battle with the muscles in the back of her neck to smooth the fur there. The human of the small group, for her part, stared penetratingly at Castor. Her dark eyes, made all the more sere by the high cheekbones and her long thin nose, seemed to attempt to bore into his soul.
“You are, of course, all welcome to stay with us as long as you wish. Our ship’s social amenities are secondary and few, but we are not uncomfortable here. Please allow me to show you to what meager quarters I may,” Castor offered.
Flame’s antennae turned outwards in the rodian equivalent of a negative response. “We appreziate your offer, but we plan on ztaying only a zhort while, and hope to be on our way on other buzinezz quickly. I have a delivery, of zortz, for you.” Her snout puckered in a rodian imitation of a human grin.
Following that queue, more steps were heard on the freighter’s ramp. Castor struggled to keep his face passively serious as the last person came fully into view. He knew that his former commanding officer, General Greedo 96, would brook no tolerance for public emotional displays. Castor saluted Greedo, who neglected to return the salute, or even acknowledge it.
“You have a briefing room, I presume, where we can speak.” More of a clipped statement than a question, Greedo fell right into the role he’d previously held as Castor’s prior commanding officer. Castor thought about the implications of the General’s attitude, and how it would affect his crew, as he motioned toward the bay personnel exit.
That’s going to become a problem, when push comes to shove, and, sooner or later, it will. But his vague premonition couldn’t overshadow his pleasure at seeing Greedo again, and he found the voice to croak.
“This way, please.” He turned to the Shock commander. “Admiral Daggerscout, thank you.” Neither Greedo nor Flame bothered to look at the commando, but Castor noticed out of the corner of his eye that the human female nodded once in Teke’s direction.
Teke barked once. He and his company went through an eleven-point “move out” maneuver punctuated with sharp cracks of their blaster rifles banging on the deck plates, and then marched out as if they were a colony creature controlled by a single hive mind. Horvath went on ahead to collect the Aragorn’s command team and have the conference room next to the bridge prepared.
Castor could only imagine why, with all the rough handling of the blaster rifles, why none of them had accidently fired. And his two droids, Katie and Arnie, finally caught up with the group.

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

The walk to the conference room was generally silent, except for the sound of their footsteps and the never ceasing background noises of his two droids following behind, as Castor knew that neither Flame nor Greedo involved themselves in idle chatting. He also remembered that Greedo didn’t react well when his subordinates engaged in speaking with no specific purpose. Upon entering the prepared and staffed room, Castor made the appropriate introductions and again noticed the human and wookiee Quasar Merchandising partners staring at him.
“General,” Castor began, “you know you are very welcome aboard the Aragorn, and you are invited to take command of it.”
General Greedo twitched his snout impatiently and responded, “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries. We’ve got work to do - made all the harder, now, by the incompetence of your Tactical Ops.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Castor was confused and trying desperately to remember anything that could have been a possible mistake.
“Excuse me, sir,” Greedo said in a whiney imitation of Castor. “The blatant security breach made by your inept Flight Control over an unsecured ship to ship com.” Covering his mouth partially with his hand, so as to give the impression of being on the receiving end of a ship to ship communication, Greedo continued. “Six Lead, stay hot until Shock has that craft.”
Realization dawned on Castor as the memory of the transmission came flooding back. Castor hadn’t thought about it at the time, but Greedo was right and justified his anger, although maybe not to the displayed extent, IF what he knew about the situation that Castor didn’t warranted it. Knowing Greedo, it would. Mostly, anyway.
“I nearly lost control of my bladder when I heard it! Any idiot that received that transmission knows now that this ship carries both Grey Squadron and yourself! Your cover and your safety aren’t worth gamorrean drool! I was going to suggest that you summarily execute the intellectual pygmy that made that transmission, but she may have taken care of that all by herself.” Greedo paused in his tirade to wipe at his mouth. He was practically frothing in his anger. “But you’re alive now, and while you remain so, you still can be useful - IF you think you can refrain from committing any other security concerns.” Greedo reach behind himself and took a small data chip which Flame dropped into his hand, and, walking around the long table, dropped the chip into the holoprojector’s reader slot.
“Understood, sir.” Castor replied contritely, even though he now outranked Greedo - and he couldn’t figure out why that might be so, but didn’t dwell on it much. If Greedo wanted him to know, he’d divulge the information in his own time. But the smile remained on Castor’s face, and it belied the friendship and respect he couldn’t show openly for his one time commander. The effect was not lost on Greedo, though.
“Humph!” Greedo coughed, and twitched his snout, just as Castor knew he would. After a short pause, Greedo pressed a few buttons on the holoprojector and a likeness of the Star Hammer research facility, the one that Grey had destroyed so long ago, floated over the table.
“What you don’t know is that since you were given command of the Odin, I’ve devoted my entire life to tracking down every piece of information I can find about this Malachite and his faction of The Hand. I’ve been able to trace his movements across the cosmos and back. I know every move he’s made, and I know his tactics. I likely know him better than ANY one on either side of this war. I also now know that you have his attention once again, and I know that I can finally have him. We now have the power to take him and his minions down permanently. All I need is you, your ship, and Grey, if they think they can do their jobs well and long enough to actually accomplish something important.”
Castor considered that statement. What Greedo had just said was that he’d been undercover for a long time, since leaving the Odin, at least, and that High Command very likely didn’t know where he was. Or exactly what he was doing. And Greedo, despite all of his ever-present gruffness and anger, was sacrificing much “face” by the mere fact of asking for help.
“You have my unconditional support, of course... The Aragorn and Grey are at your disposal.” Castor said seriously. It really didn’t matter any more, in light of Greedo’s revelation concerning the security breach, if the visitors knew the true name of the ship or not.
“I presume,” Castor pointed at the likeness of the Star Hammer research base floating above the table, “you’ve found that Malachite has begun working on the Star Hammer once more. That alone would ensure my cooperation, but even if it were not so, you know you have my undivided loyalty.”
Greedo nodded curtly, the human gesture of understanding. His eyes shifted from the floating hologram which he’d been staring at back to Castor, as if he hadn’t been sure that Castor would actually understand the entire situation.
“I have resurfaced at this time because I’ve found not only that Malachite has begun his research again, the prototype of the weapon is nearing completion.” The softer he spoke, the more his voice buzzed through his snout. “I’ve come to you specifically because you seem to have the good fortune and awareness to be able to surround yourself with people who are adequately skilled enough to complete most of the tasks assigned to them.”
That was about as close to a personal compliment as ANY one was ever going to get from Greedo. Castor wondered briefly how conversations between Greedo and Flame went, and was hard pressed to suppress a chuckle. In any event, Castor felt he completely understood all the ramifications of the situation he found himself in the middle of.
“Before we continue this discussion, I must bring up another possible security issue. As I’ve said, you have my loyalty. That you have Flame’s, as well, is unquestionable, and she that of her partners and crew, as I have mine. However, with all due respect to the Quasar Merchandising partnership, because of observations, I find I may have possible enemies in Madams Luzerne and Ayerst. I would like to see this situation clarified, if possible.” Castor sat back and waited. Since they had all noticed the reactions of the two partners, all eyes turned to them as if seeking explanations themselves.
Greedo looked perturbed at the interruption, but waited nonetheless.
The wookiee stood slowly and bark-growled once. Katie translated. “Mistress Luzerne wishes to know if she might be allowed to approach you, sir.”
Castor had little idea of her intentions, but could not sense any hostility from her, so he felt relatively safe to allow whatever she had in mind. He nodded his assent, and stood. “Please, do.”
The wookiee circled him once sniffing shallowly and quickly. She stopped close to him and opened her mouth wide showing her huge sharp fangs. She squeezed her eyes closed and played her tongue out so far that the connection between it and her throat practically showed. It seemed almost to be covered with scaley projections that separated to show the soft red bases underneath. She inhaled deeply through her mouth drawing the air over and through her taste sensory receptors. Her slender chest, swelling until it seemed impossible that it could hold that much air, threatened to burst loose from her vest. The sense of smell being a function of taste, and wookiee’s senses being as heightened to the point they were, Castor knew that the wookiee was basically cataloguing and identifying him by his scent.
“Mo?” The human partner said haltingly as she spoke for the first time. “Is it...” Her low voice quavered slightly. She looked back at Castor and stood, leaning forward until her hands were flat on the table top, her arms straight supporting most of her slight weight. She looked as if she might lose her balance at any time, but waited breathlessly for the wookiee’s response.
Moriah-Luzerne closed her mouth and the sounds from her throat were breathy and slow, almost a soft but labored howl which Katie immediately translated. “Our husband.” The droid jumped, startled, and turned quickly to face the wookiee.
“WHAT?!” Flame’s composure broke, Castor’s eyebrow shot up, and the word was echoed throughout the length of the table. Teke and even Greedo started at the two words that would have been thought to be entirely impossible to be said in relation with Castor. While Castor had been involved in a small number of semi-serious relations, marriage was not something he was known to have ever considered.
“Husband? What husband?” Clearly the droid, looking back and forth between the wookiee and Castor, was as confused as the rest of those present. Even Arnie turned his eye quickly toward the wookiee.
“Mo, are you sure?” A tear slid down Wyeth’s face, though she struggled to remain calm. “Castor?” His first name hadn’t been mentioned before she said it.
“That is my name.” Castor’s own confusion was even more apparent than Flame and Greedo’s, but only slightly so. And far more unsettling. The wookiee barked and growled a short sentence.
“Mistress Luzerne replies: Yes,” the droid said, “but not entirely. Mixed, but Castor is there.” Katie turned toward the Admiral. “I’m sure I’ve translated that correctly, but I have no reference to give it an actual meaning, sir.” She shook her head slightly in apology.
Guessing at the basis of the cryptic statement, Castor offered by way of explanation, “I’ve had many body parts replaced over the past few years. About forty-five percent of them, if I get the proportion accurately. A number of them were salvage from combat, and some were farmed. I apologize if I should know you. I spent an unknown number of years in the tunnels of Kessel before joining the Rebellion. All of my memories of the time prior to the tunnels, along with much of the time during, have been unrecoverably lost due to the constant ingestion of raw spice over such a prolonged period. The General can verify this.” He tilted his head slightly in the direction his former commanding officer.
Greedo nodded once curtly in verification, and Wyeth leaned heavily on the table, nearly collapsing.
“You’re alive!” She said, her voice broke, and she stood there shaking.
The wookiee took Castors face in her long hands, her long fingers practically wrapping all the way around his head. She stared into his eyes deeply, and Castor looked back, uncomfortably aware that his were still mismatched from having his right one replaced from salvage after the operation which allowed Grey to reclaim the Odin, the one they now called the “Sabaac Maneuver” in the Academy. Moriah’s huge golden eyes stared into his left one - the original one - and she barked softly, reaching out as if wanting to draw Castor into a big wookiee hug, but not daring to do so.
“Mistress Luzerne said: We’ve missed you for so long,” Katie translated.
Wyeth practically fell back into her chair. Laying her head on her crossed arms, she slumped over on the table. Those present could almost not hear her muffled sob. “But we might have been better off if you’d stayed dead. You don’t remember.” She said quietly, shaking her head. “You don’t remember...” Her voice trailed off.
Castor stuttered. “I... I... don’t understand.” As verbally eloquent as he normally was, he found himself at a complete loss for anything of substance to say.
Wyeth sat up. She leaned far back into the chair so that her head rested on the back’s frame, her hair and braid decorations hanging behind her, and her red and watery eyes staring only at the ceiling. She took a deep and ragged breath, knowing that she was going to have to be the one to explain.
“Not actually ‘husband’,” she began. “Not technically, anyway. Closer to a mutual life debt. Like the wookiees. But we thought about it like a marriage. Even more than that. And we always referred to it like that. It’s a long story.”
“One that, inconvenient and ill timed as it is, must be told. We must be able to approach our task with clear minds.” Greedo’s normal gruffness tried to show through, but it seemed he was just as curious about this new revelation as everyone else - though he’d never, ever, actually admit to that.
Both Castor and Moriah returned to their chairs. Wyeth took another labored breath, trying to hold back the tears, at which she was only mostly successful. The wookiee put her large furry hand on her partner’s shoulder to supply some moral support, and the human female continued.
“Okay. To make a REAL long story very short . . . Mo and I were small time freighter operators. We had our own ship and made any run we could what looked like it would make a profit. We were ahead, and it really looked like we were going to stay there.
“We didn’t know at the time, but we were making runs for the Black Sun. But then we didn’t much care, either. We didn’t ask a lot of questions. Ya know? Got paid not to, and those runs were the better ones. We stayed away from drugs and stuff - mostly running quasi-legal exotics.
“Anyway, we ended up on the wrong end of a sting, and they pulled us in. They had all the evidence they wanted so there wasn’t even a trial. Found out it was all part of a long term operation Vader had going to get Xizor.
“Anyway, we got sent straight to Kessel. That’s where we met you. We all were there for a long time, and didn’t really talk much. One day, our team was caught in a cave-in, and was going to be left for dead, because no one wanted to spend that much time down there taking a chance on the bugs finding them. They also didn’t know that we were alive, either, so they couldn’t justify the risk. But you stumbled on an acoustic channel - one of those weird audio anomalies that caverns sometimes have - and that let us talk. You found a way through the tunnels that joined ours from the other direction, and led us out. We lost a few people at the slide, and one more to a bug, but we got back to the main track and eventually back to the barracks.
“You got whipped for disobeying orders and leaving the group, and they tried to leave you down in the hole a few times. Mo got her own whippings for bringing you back, and I got this,” Wyeth turned her shoulder toward the rest of the group slightly, “when they tried to shoot her the last time. But you took care of that situation too.
“Through the whole thing we got to know each other, and spent a lot of time together - watching each other’s backs. So, with the life debt already in place, we finally got married. Kinda.
“After what had to been a few years of the only goodness we could scrape together in that place, you disappeared. They said you’d tried to escape and the bugs got you. We thought they’d finally succeeded in killing you.
“Anyway, you didn’t come back, and they never found you. Not that they spent a whole lot of time looking. We survived for a real long time afterwards without you only by shutting our minds down and following orders.
“Finally Commander Antilles got us out with the rest of the Black Sun people as part of the operation to help with the Coruscant takeover. We did what we could to help there and then worked doing whatever till we could get a ship and start freighting again. We ran into Flame a while back and eventually became partners just before Greedo came on board. Since then we’ve been running intelligence for the Republic, reporting when we can, using Quasar as the front, and tracking Malachite.” Her breath caught as she looked straight at Castor, her pain evident. “If we’d had any idea you were alive... ”
The wookiee gave a few short moaning grunts and barks, and shook her head a little, and Katie translated. “Mistress Luzerne said: We never would have given up. Ever.”
During the next three hours more of the story unfolded, each of the three giving information to fill in the spaces. In those hours, Castor not only gained a wife, but two (!), and acquired a host of information about his lost past leading up to his time in the tunnels of Kessel where he learned the Grey ways of the Force with the help of the old blind man - his master of the tunnels. The things he heard about himself ranged up and down the entire spectrum of his personal belief scale, and at times seemed a bit past incredible.
He’d grown up on the small planet called Danaea, who’s main business was farming and their chief off world export was soy. He’d come from a fairly rich family, and he had considered himself an over indulged brat during his teen years. That part had been a little tough for him to swallow, not being able to imagine himself as an overindulged brat. Then he’d been conscripted by some storm troopers, and eventually learned to fly TIEs.
“A starfighter pilot for the Empire! I wonder just how many rebels I killed directly, and how many more I caused to join the rebellion and die just because of those first deaths,” he had said.
And Castor had been too “lucky” at a bad time - the Jedi witch hunt was still very much in the minds of many of Palpatine’s officers.
“But they had been right to suspect me of being a Force user. I am. I’m Grey, not Jedi and not Sith, but I am still able to access to the powers of the Force,” he had admitted. So many questions had Castor had for his old master of the tunnels when he’d gone back for Rabid, and had never had the chance to ask. So many more did he have now.
In search of Castor, or maybe to feel a little closer with his past, since that would be all of him that they would have for the rest of their lives - or so his two “widows” thought - they finally were able to work their schedule around so that a run to Castor’s home planet would be profitable. Or, at least, they wouldn’t have to take too much of a loss doing so. Once they had concluded their business, they searched the public records for the Efrata-Landis family and estate so they could give them terrible news about their lost son.
What they found, instead, was even more terrible news that they had a difficult time telling Castor. In a few short minutes, Castor gained a past, two wives, a planet, a family, an estate and a fortune, and then lost almost all of them all irretrievably. The only things left were the past and the wives - neither of which Castor knew what to do with now that he had them.
The local Danaean magistrate, upon receiving the news of proven Force capability on an Imperial planet, had impounded the entire farm and its associated assets. What was left of them, anyway. And there had been some substantial amounts of currency and investments. The assets were funneled back into the government, and the farm had been auctioned off to the highest bidder.
Finding his roots, and then learning that the Imperial Troops, probably the same group that they said had conscripted him, had burned his family and home to the ground, he felt he might know very well how his wives felt at seeing him alive with no memory of their bond. A soy farm! And a large family.
But it’s all gone. All feathers lost to the storm - circumstances beyond ANY one’s control or influence. He thought.
At times a barely audible stereophonic keening could be heard from the ithorian MedOps officer. Elyen’s slight empathic ability which made her so very competent in the medical profession made her give voice to the pain and frustration they all felt.
During those same hours, Castor’s wives heard what he could remember of his time and training in the tunnels. They learned more about the man who grew from the void that was once their lost husband. They learned about his life in the Rebellion, the Alliance, and the Rebel Squadrons. They learned of his dedication and honor.
And they learned why Castor could not allow himself to take advantage of their mutual situation by easing himself back into the roll of being their husband. As much as his soul might fervently wish it, his mind knew that he was no longer the man they had married. To pretend so would still be a lie - the worst disservice he could do them. The worst he could do himself.
During the discussion, as best they could glean from the information at hand, Castor’s disappearance in the mines may not have been entirely voluntary. The two recently ex-widows felt very strongly that Castor would have made his intentions of leaving known, and, since the two really didn’t have any proof of other foul play, they concluded that the old blind Jedi of the mines may have recognized Castor’s Force potential and “caused” Castor to remove himself from the group - thereby enabling the opportunity for his training regardless of any prior commitments he may have had.
But now Castor was faced with a dilemma of a different kind. A marriage rediscovered after an absence of over two decades. A past that he could get closer to. And a military career that had been his entire existence for so long to balance against them both. This new circumstance that Castor found himself in both caused the dilemma and hindered the solution.
Finally, after a long pause during which everyone reflected over the information given, Greedo made a loud buzzing sound, a rodian clearing of the throat. Everyone looked up from their personal thoughts to him.
“Time is running short, both for us and the Republic. We must find a way to cut Malachite’s time shorter, and destroy both him and the chance he has created for the Empire to regain power. Malachite must die, and the Star Hammer with him.” Everyone agreed, though some tentatively. But everyone was brought back to the here and now by his statement.
Greedo pressed another button on the holoprojector, and the view changed to a rotating image of an asteroid. After pressing another button, the image phased half into a schematic diagram. “This is a simulation of what we believe the Star Hammer is. Although we have no proof of its existence or know its location, we have pieced together this much of the puzzle using every bit of knowledge that we have - the items we believe Malachite and his minions have acquired, all considered. By a process similar to speculative reverse engineering we have extrapolated the construction and progress of the weapon and its research. Its operation entirely depends on its completion, and by my best estimates that event is very close at hand.”

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

T5 Fictional Dramatis Personnae Part 2
By R.C.Miller (Castor@RebelSquadrons.org)
A Grey Squadron, of the Rebel Squadrons, Addendum
for Grey Squadron’s add on Battle 2, Tour 5
for the Star Wars TIE Fighter Combat Simulator game.

I've created and included a number of characters for the Forever Grey story. These characters are available for you to use in your reports as you feel they might enhance your stories. You can make up your own for what ever reason or office, but these positions are taken. If you use them, please try to keep them in character and don't make them look foolish, unless it's good natured fun and they are allowed to retaliate. The following is a list of the ones we've met so far, and a short description of each, except for those included in Part 1.

Characters: (In order of appearance more or less)


Castor Efrata-Landis
Katie “K-2pO”
Arnie “R9-D2"
Tacomah “P2" “Droidboy” Somers

Tesserak “Tess”
Medtech Sheryl Iagin
Lieutenant Colonel Davit
Commander Garant - deceased
Kanashaak
Lieutenant Commander Kiellaret
Major Drefclu
Major Shelliak
Major Elyen Ototh
Captain Ra


Captains Forjetti and Minaria

Desceased. Pilots assigned to the Bramble.

Captain Lessa Kylara

From planet Brekke, located in the Devaron system. Brekke’s people are short, thin and elfin like, having pointed ears and sharp slanting facial features. Lessa is fair skinned, has light red shoulder length hair, and her eyes are light green. Having joined the rebellion as a commando, Lessa was at quite a disadvantage in size and strength, but her speed and control of bladed weapons, preferably vibroknives or shivs, made up for any other area lacking. Her self styled hand to hand combat outfit resembles a skin of scales, each scale actually being a pointed throwing weapon or a longer hand held blade, and strategically sheathed in sequence, easily reachable, and layered throughout the suit.
Being as small as she is, and being the victim of much teasing thereof, she developed a wit as quick and sharp as her blades. As her reputation states, anyone may test her, but they become fair game the instant they do. Her verbal victories are legendary in the Shock unit, and her comrades challenge her at their own risk. While her verbal counterattacks may be quick and quite decisive, she is never vicious, and always good humored. Most of Shock just waits for someone to throw a verbal barb at her, they’re her biggest fans.
As her reaction time speed is her greatest combat asset, her assignment in Shock and Grey is as the Brier pilot, specializing in getting commando teams to their access sites, returning the teams to the Aragorn, and keeping the Brier (and herself) alive long enough to accomplish these goals. No one has, to date, attempted to comment on the fact that she uses a booster seat to help her reach the console of the Brier. And even Ra hasn’t quite gotten up the courage to ask Lessa if she’d like the pilot chair modified to accommodate her.

Lieutenant Commander Jila Cosa

The person behind the voice of Flight Control. Daughter of humans Adeen and Brilan Cosa, from the planet Tekurr’’k in the Tamairin system, a chiefly industrial planet. She’s tall, although not excessively tall for a human female, with a medium athletic build. Her hair is loosely curled and dark brown, and the frequency with which she pushes it out of her face tends to unnerve the rest of the Tactical Ops team at times, particularly when things are happening fast and a mistake might be disastrous.
As the Tac Team discuss realtime strategy, Jila stands ready, with her communication gear. She makes no decisions directly concerning strategy, but it's her responsibility to recognize a decision made and immediately relay tactical orders to Grey. All communications between the Aragorn and the in-flight pilots siphons through her and her alone. The slight rasp to her alto voice, normally tends to keep the cocky Greys in line.
Jila tends to be a little introverted, and doesn't normally deal with the Greys very well when they're feeling feisty. She feels slightly socially inept, and her position carries a weight that she sometimes thinks is too much for her to handle. She worries about the Grey pilots, and wants them to understand that she’s only the messenger if things go badly - even though she knows logically that she’s just being too overly sensitive about it.
Most of the discomfort with her position stems from the fact that her training is in Droid Tech, which she is very good at, and often relates to droids far better than she does people. When Castor had accepted her on board, he’d assigned her to the Flight Control Coordinator position - a position she’d known she was going to dread. But he claimed he had full confidence in her ability to do the job, and so that was where she stayed. However. Since everyone on board carried at least two jobs, she was also assigned, secondarily, to the droid division of Captain Ra’s section.

Flame

Flame is an associate from Grey’s Tour 3. A female rodian with long bright red hair bristles which have been dyed yellow at the ends. Formerly a pirate, Flame was assumed to have prior close relations with General Greedo. Her help was indispensable in aiding Greedo, the Odin, and Grey find and destroy the Star Hammer research project.
When Castor knew her from Grey’s Tour 3, she normally spoke little, and then only to Greedo. As Castor was still in the process of learning Tactics and Command Strategies from the General, he was allowed to sit in on a number of the meetings between the two rodians, but only if they were held on board the Odin. He knew Flame to be professional, although sometimes cryptic, and that she had more than enough strength of will to be very cold blooded. Castor always suspected that Flame and Greedo had known each other, possibly intimately, prior to Greedo’s command of the Odin, but that suspicion was never substantiated other than circumstantially. Considering that not even Castor has dared ask, it’s also likely that the information woll not be volunteered.
The primary partner of Quasar Merchandising. While running intelligence for the Republic is their main purpose, Flame keeps well in the background, allowing her partners to be the more visible and dominant.

Bryta Y’ar

Flame’s second in command and her navigator aboard the Sapphire. A male duros, tall and hairless, smooth greyish skin. To date, Castor has never heard him speak. Bryta will nod, acknowledging Flame’s orders, and then he carries them out primarily using his datapad. Bryta’s face carries the marks of a perpetual frown, much like Admiral Teke Daggerscout’s. Nothing else about this duros is known at this time.

Wyeth Ayerst

Human female, and one of the two biggest surprises of Castor’s life. She has jet black hair, broken by a single stripe of white starting just to the left of her slight widow’s peak, but spreading to cover most of the hair at the back of her head. Her hair is kept from her sharp featured reddish golden face by the two thin and beaded braids she keeps it in; one in front of each of her ears.
Small, dark, hard and thin, she carries the look and marks of one who won’t give up. A fighter. A survivor. Surprisingly, she has a soft low alto voice. Even more surprising is the emotion one can see in her eyes. Her eyes, so dark as to almost be without irises, carry her feelings open for all to read. While she has conquered this liability when it concerns business, her feelings of a personal nature are not private.
Wyeth is one of Flame’s partners in Quasar Merchandising. She and Moriah were imprisoned on Kessel by falling into a trap laid by Vader for Prince Xizor. Many years later they were released by Wedge Antilles as part of a plot to weaken the Empire’s hold on Coruscant. During their imprisonment, they allegedly knew and even married Castor Efrata-Landis. While no one knows all the facts of the matter, it is assumed that this particular story will find its way to clarity and Grey will be given any pertinent information then.

Moriah-Luzerne

Probably the largest surprise, both literally and figuratively, of Castor’s life. Not only the second wife he never knew he’d had, but a wookiee. Moriah has a deep reddish chestnut fur, marked with a black stripe starting at the tip of her nose, curling around behind her head and splashing across her chest. Although Moriah could be said to be beautiful, according to a large number of humanoid species, her most striking feature is her violet eyes which seem to adjust their color depending on her mood.
Just about average height for a wookiee female, her short fur, trimmed to approximately two centimeters over her entire body, makes her appear thin, corded, and extremely graceful. Also, going against wookiee norm even as her name and fur length do, Moriah wears human style clothing. Not much of it, but enough to accent her long arms and legs and the wiry muscles thereof. She normally wears a vest, held closed by two smallish golden chains, and very short legged pants. It would appear that her habit of wearing clothes stems more from the fact that her fur is short rather than any particular desire to look more human.
The third partner of Quasar merchandising. Wyeth and Moriah seem to be the legitimate business part of the team, organizing the routes and trade items, while Flame seems to be the original financier of the group and handles the more quasi-legal and intelligence gathering aspects.
As much as security on the Aragorn is taken extremely seriously, the rumors concerning Castor’s wives have begun circulating throughout the ship. The Section Commanders were included in the original meeting with the Quasar Merchandising group, but no one else has been given Official Information about the situation yet.

General Greedo96

Greedo96 is the 96th clone of the bounty hunter shot by Han Solo in the Tattooine Cantina when Luke and Obi-Wan were looking for passage to Alderaan. Greedo had been cloned by, and was in the service of, Emperor Palpatine. The Emperor, though was cruel and treated his servant harshly, killing and recloning the rodian. With every successive clone, Greedo received more training and skills. With every death, his anger and discontent grew, until he finally rebelled against the Emperor and joined the rebellion.
Greedo is a master tactician. He is also slightly insane. His priority is destroying every last single vestige of the Empire and killing every single Imperial agent in their military and spy network. He does not, however, consider collateral damage, excessive force, or non-expendable personnel as significant concerns. At this time he has been tracking Malachite for approximately four years, with evidence that the Star Hammer project has been pursued, built, and is nearing completion. Rebel Squadrons High Command may not know of his whereabouts or his personal geis.
Greedo’s attitude is harsh, even toward his friends (whom he denies having to begin with), and grating. He is impatient to have his self appointed task completed, and seems to know no other emotion than anger, and will tolerate no displays of the softer emotions from his subordinates. His words are biting, more often than not, and many wonder if he is actually capable of his boasts. They wonder, that is, until he drives them to the point of challenging him, and he still remains in total command of his nerves, unmoved by caring, pity, or fear. Particularly fear. He fears nothing except that the Star Hammer will be completed and put to use before it can be stopped. At times of possible danger to his person, Flame can always be found near him, giving the impression that she will exact any retribution for an error in judgement committed by anyone foolish enough to attempt him physical harm.
While the team of Wyeth and Moriah make for a team of quite profitable business minds, the team of Greedo and Flame is a very deadly one. A team that has its own agenda, and will tolerate no nonsense, emotional displays, or objectives other than their own.

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