A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

[sonofccn]

Another exciting update through I do let some Vipers get their hopes up before cruelly dashing them so you've been warned Preao. Other than that Krevin and Tyler talk, when do they don't?, and generally enjoy the fruits of their evil deeds/plans. As opposed to doing something cool like driving the Emperor's Will around. Also on a selfish note wish me luck, I've submitted some short stories for publishing and can use all I can get.

“We look upon the bleak canvas of the galaxy, at the vestige ruins of untold civilizations, the broken ashes of a thousand-thousand races which but briefly shine in the night before subsuming. We gaze into the abyss with its manifold denizens and monsters, numbers beyond reckoning whom have devoured entire worlds, and look into our own hearts with our petty, destructive seeds. And yet we do no cower, we do not retreat to some safe bosom. Man advances…bellows challenge into the dark of the night…to all the lurkers and whispers of chaos. And if we are to perish it will not because we trembled or failed to act.” Agent John discussing differences between Humanity and Xenos.

New Hope-

I. Sympathy for the Devil Rolling Stones

The skies above the city sang with the dragon like rumble of roaring jets, Komet fighters screaming over the rooftops in diamond shapes clasped on either end by Lightening bombers whose bays gaped open streaming twinkling glints of confetti into the atmosphere. Behind older Swallow fighters paced alongside latest gen Iron Cross interceptors acting as honor guards to the roughly spherical fighters of the Star-People who playfully scythed through the heavens dipping towards the crowds or turning over into a roll.

Their bombers following next in swirling burst patterns which forever changed and shifted, the bulky looking but no less agile crafts pivoting around the central spoke of the venerable Stuka which plied sedately amid the ever changing cloud of otherworldly metal. Playing their part in a metal cavalcade which stretched to gargantuan shuttles garishly painted to resemble all manner of ferocious beasts and fast attack gunships bristling with potent weapons and the stark white clad warriors who wielded them. These stalwart defenders of humanity, these Stormtroopers, now gazing out through the open hatches, waving to the people below who watched the great caravan with rapture.

Nor had ground level been neglected, the city street choked with veteran legions of infantry who proudly marched or rode upon the flanks of armored Panther tanks, half tracks and lorries. Assault guns bearing tremendous cannons prowled between the twin halves of cheering crowds like a parade float, howitzers and siege guns followed hitched to the back of rumbling trucks. Imperiums youths, those of the next age but whom had already pledged their lives to defend the Fatherland, mingled in-between mimicking the heroic stride of their elders. Proudly displaying the polished arms by which they’d had defended their hearth and homestead with against the merciless alien menace had not the Star-People arrived. A pageantry of the very cream of the German Imperium, the very depths of its strength, followed by a showing of the force which had ended their forced sacrifice. Columns of imperial gray drabbed soldiers, energy rifles cradled over one shoulder, marching in peerless unison with one another with the same determined tenacity by which they’d crushed the hated Schlange beneath their boot heels. Then the courageous white armored Stormtroopers for whom no fortress could not be breeched, no defensive line not bypassed, trailing in thinner lines six abreast. At the head of each towered the fluttering banners and gravened standards of their distant Empire and regiments while the preserved scars woven through the mettle of their armor spoke of deeper, more meaningful honor not embroidered in the flittering displays. That of battle with the hated serpentine enemy, of the valor and virtue of martial strife.

After their ranks had drank past followed the silent gliding of their nimble battle tanks, sleek steely gray steeds whose protruding cannon had been found a match for the stout armor of the Xeno tank, from which photogenic commanders protruded from hatchways waving to the people. Then the galloping forms of their two legged walkers agilely swoon and side stepping beside their levitating compatriots ambling past the throngs making up either bank who, child and adult alike, stretched hands up as if to prove the war machines were not fictitious illusions. Towering platforms which celluloid had captured could transform an entire enemy position to cinders on their lonesome and yet they in turn were dwarfed horrendously by the metallic titan which just barely squeezed through the city’s street. Iron hooves which could flatten a Tiger tank deeply rumbling with every step propelling a thick cast body even the guns of a Rat command tank would have failed to pierce, its head sprouting mammoth tusk like cannons which swept from side to side with each thunderous clash of its ponderous gait.

Following the river of men and steel which wound its way through the jubilant crowds whose frenzied zealotry had not been seen since the days of the nigh forgotten Pharaohs, when living gods walked the earth. And in truth was not such displays appropriate? For if the Commodore was not of the divine, if indeed he was mere flesh and blood, than it imported his deeds even greater awe. Scarcely a soul among the assembled had not heard, and in turn whispered, of the fearless Commodore actions at the Capitol, how without hesitancy or apparent self-regard he’d laid into the cowardly Schlange buying precious time for the Lords to retreat to safety. A battle which grew with every telling, whispered on 12th street that he accounted for the slaying of no less than a dozen of the vile serpents while on avenue of Magog spoke of he broke the back of the leader-spawn and with his dagger cleaved its head from off the trunk of its neck presenting the trophy to the beast’s underlings. And no sooner were these deeds uttered than new, more bold ones were given life. A scarred soldier of the Imperium swore the Commodore had descended into battle atop an indestroyable iron steed, a mammoth tank whose fury had no equal but the Commodore’s howling laughter.

While a Merchant-Woman huskily whispered it had been the noble officer whom had slew an Imperial-Capitalist agent which had stormed a policy agency, a twisted soul augmented by arcane and unspeakable technologies and forbidden arts. Able to summon baneful energies of the mind such a being could kill a score with but a thought and yet, so the merchant’s tale went, the Commodore had feared not. Uttering a foul oath at the thing’s hybrid and augmented patronage he’d charged it barreling it over with a crash of his shoulder, pinning it down as he drove his hand down into the warmth of its chest ripping the pulsating organ within. And yet, some whispered, that hadn’t been enough to kill the beast. The loathsome cretin lunging up pinning the Commodore’s arm to his side only for the officer to rear his head back and hammer it into the agent’s shattering it.

So it was expected that the rolling cheers would rise to a fever pitch as the armored juggernaut passed along and the levitating carriage, flanked on either side by army staff cars, made its appearance. At the proud warrior, fitted in the white purity of the Stormtrooper armor, sitting raised in the floating craft’s open cabin waving to the populace on either side.

“You’re sure the deflectors have been calibrated for projectiles right?” Krevin, never breaking his wide smile, whispered to Tyler seated slightly lower in the modified speeder.

“Absolutely, everything was taken care of. Right Krebe?” Tyler, whose smile seemed somehow unnatural, answered smoothly turning his eyes to the other occupant and driver of the craft.

White knuckled, sweating Krebe, perpetual assistant to the SubCommander, nodded swiftly not daring to take his eyes off of the plodding AT-AT ahead on its lumbering, heavy hoofs. A stray landing by the colossal limb enough to flatten the protective shields and crush them all to death through he doubted Tyler would allow him that long before reprimanding his transgression.

“See, nothing to be alarmed about. Through I can’t imagine anyone here attacking…look at them. The Emperor but receive such welcomes.” The SubCommander answered indicating the ecstatic throngs with a couple sweeps of his arms.

“It isn’t them. It’s more of those fething Serpents. If you’d seen one…” Krevin corrected without breaking his heroic façade to the cheering crowds.”…and those dissected ones don’t count. See one moving, trying to kill you…its gets the heart pumping I can tell you.”

“We have a wing of TIE fighters patrolling in addition to Native fighters accompanied by ground sensor nodes and their…RADAR systems. There will not be a repeat of the Capitol incident.” Tyler admonished with a trace of pride in his voice.” We’re safe.”

Having taking it upon himself, once the event had been proposed to him, to handle matters of security. A feat which had not endured him to the local Major whom frequently fretted and butted in on the SubCommander’s work to the point the Commodore had been half afraid Tyler would simply obliterate the city and be done with the pest. Indeed a recent clash with an alleged Merikan spy, whom had been found dead at the Major’s feet, hinted at the use of one of the Subcommander’s axillaries through clearly not his best. Undaunted the Native officer had continued to meddle, Krevin last seeing him reviewing the anti-air batteries dotting the city’s perimeter.

“ To be completely safe we’d need to be back in the embrace of Judgment. Surrounded by meters upon meters of durasteel, starship grade deflector screens and legions of warriors.” Krevin tweaked.” Even then through…”

“Like what happened in the hanger bay with our fish-man “Bob”?” Tyler asked, stern face melting to a more genuine smirk, ribbing back.” Well within the bosom of Judgment and you nearly still had your head sliced off by a overgrown fishiod.”

“What can I say? Must have been born under a bad sign.” The Commodore laughed renewing his waving to the people.” Everything is always trying to kill me. Remember what happened at the battle of Thy and the Beast of Acheron?”

The Beast in question a Pirate Lord, one Nu’Bara, of the Acheron subsector. A giant even for a Wookiee and able to intimidate through raw animal magnetism the Xeno had also possessed a cunning and ingenious mind striking deals and alliances in a web of deceit and intrigue on which he raised the foundations of his evil empire. Including elements of the hated Rebel Alliance who provided greatly exploited tactical skill normally missing in the crude vagabonds whom plied the depths for plunder and spoil.

“I know Jackson still thinks he killed Nu’Bara not merely one of his lieutenants. Still boasts of the “epic duel” in fact and the great honor his victory bestowed.” Tyler allowed playing out Krevin’s humiliation.” It was really bad luck the Beast had a shadow hologram.”

“Slightly.” The Commodore allowed with a suppressed shudder.” Seeing a six foot Stormtrooper transform into an eight foot Xeno is not something I hope to ever experience again.”

“Well it likely wasn’t personal, Nu’Bara no doubt wanted a shuttle to get out system. He had no way of knowing you were on that one and not on our decoy we sent down.” Came the SubCommander’s inadequate consoling.

Krevin had been sitting up front practicing his five minute speech he’d have given select cadre of soldiers for their valiant efforts in taking the planet Thy when a stooping Stormtrooper bustled up into the cabin. Queries on how he’d bypassed the magnetically sealed ramp door were forgotten as he flung the pair of honor guards whom rushed to coral him into the far wall with a thud. Then Nu’Bara, holo-cloak faltering, had turned towards the Commodore drawing his saber.

“He fething near lopped my head off, had I been a hair slower in my reactions, if I hadn’t leapt after the fallen carbine like I did or twisted it back after the Beast well I guess you’d be the Commodore now. Wouldn’t you like that?” Krevin prodded.

“Why? I find my position carries the full responsibilities and privileges without unduly drawing notice.” Tyler answered back, his smirk now fully a mischievous grin, as the speeder’s communication circuit squawked and a twinkling palm sized image of an officer sprouted from its hud.

“Commodore, SubCommander.” The tiny man begin with a treble in his voice, the hologram’s matrix capturing beads of sweat running down from beneath the helm of his cap as well, knowing the price for bad news and failure.” We’ve had a communiqué from Talon-II. A vessel has exited the “Unknown singularity-vortex disturbance” and…appears to have issued challenge.”

New Hope, Deathland-

II.this is war-30 seconds to mars (yeah I've used it before but I thought it sounded good here)

To Shra’Ka’Thra the hairless apemen were a loud and noxious race. Even when prowling for his kin the trampling of their many feet rippled far and wide through the earthen sod signaling their approach even if their frequent laughing and bickering among themselves failed to alert a wary foe. Lacking patience they haphazardly strung out “feelers” without real thought or direction when preserving the core of their strength to more rapidly strike back at incursions might had faired them better. Instead dispersing themselves into minuscule packets of men and machines, some of them merely meaty nuggets of infantry without support. Like the troop now picking its way along the dead, scraggily deathlands, several dozens of the lightly armored variety shambling along under a blazing sun they found disagreeable. Their oily hides lathered in their nauseating secretions of coolant which they dosed from time to time with water from their canteens, splashing and rubbing handfuls across their face and necks. That which they weren’t voraciously consuming to replenish their excessive and faulty heat dispensing systems, Thra stroking a thumb-claw across the cask hung from his armored vest from which he’d drunk less over the past three rotations then he saw the bipeds frivolously wasting.

Three days laying in the shallow rut, only his head and the nose of his assault carbine protruding both caked in dust and grit to blend, waiting with the patience of the hunter for their quarry to ambulate into their teeth. Three days of anticipation as the apes stumbled painfully slow into the trap, anticipation which hung like a neutron star upon Thra to tighten his grip on his carbine’s firing stud. To see their soft flesh rend apart in stuttering hail of lead but he was too bloodied to give in to such impulses. That was for hatchlings, those who hadn’t savored their first taste of combat. Thra was experienced. He would wait for Veteran leader V’ra’s signal. Trusting the elder of hundreds of campaigns across the Ascendancy to judge the optimal moment, that blessed zenith, where their slovenly prey would most grievously be theirs.

The apes themselves still unwitting, ambling like fatted beasts of burden no doubt content to cycle for radio frequencies and motion scans to alert them of ambush. Puny, arrogant creatures who dared think they could match prowess with the destined rulers of the galaxy. Never suspecting their wards and mechanisms had failed them until they heard the whistling shriek of V’ra’s mortar shell arching down from the sky like a fiery comet.

“Run you filthy apes!” Thra screamed as the shell exploded amid them, springing from his trench to join in the fire which converged from all around the enemy troop.” Run from heirs of Saargoth!”

Feeling his heart beat once in his scaly chest, then twice before releasing his claw-hand from the forward grip on his weapon. Taking it to the rear removing the spent cartridge as he turned and lowered his belly to the ground scurrying across as the scarlet pulses of plasma sailed errantly at his previous position. Ripping a fresh clip from off of his vest’s harness and slapping it into his gun he darted to the preselected rock outcropping, curling his lower body around it and dragging his upper torso across its perch. Hanging off of it eyeing the hairless apes, who had flattened where they stood, spread out in a rough circular pattern firing in all directions at gusts of winds or imagined shadows they saw played out on the deathlands.

“Inbound.” V’ra gleefully exclaimed over his warrior’s headsets, risking detection, as a fresh bomb arced upon the bipeds.” Watch’em rip.”

Another thunderous roar rising up as the shell immolated and ruptured raking across the apes position. A warrior, rising to a kneel, splitting in two from the blast while another was flattened into the earth. Still a third, crouching over the crumbled remains of their radioman, abruptly had his head disintegrated. A ragged neck, spurting blood, remaining with hand raised beside it clenching the receiver to the communication set. Others, injured but alive, wiggled across the staining sod like skewered worms their bleating cries challenging the roar of bullets which scythed through the baked air covering V’ra as he picked up his artillery piece and relocated to the third and final point. Depleting his magazine Thra moved as well, uncurling himself darting in a wavy slithering manner ahead of the fusillade of energy bolts which cratered his former refuge.

By now one of the bipeds was attempting to wrangle the ape warriors into a coherent defense, shouting hoarsely at the disparate soldiers firing nebulously at each flicker on the horizon or beep from the motion sensor. Directing some to fire on either side of a stretch of rocky, desolate wastes covering their brethren who made scramble there for what elusive protection it offered. Feebly trying to escape the death zone V’ra had created for them, too little to be of use. In another few moments the assault would be over, Thra and his brother-warriors vanishing to the winds leaving the bedraggled survivors to spin tales of foes twenty times the actual numbers.

Slipping another clip into his gun and pulling back the bolt Thra weaved for the next furrow he’d painstakingly carved into the hard, rocky soil. Reaching it just as a banshee wail split the air, a cacophonous whine which instinctively brought the serpent-warrior coiling rearing his head up to face the winged reptiles which had, futilely, tried to prey on his race eons before. Instead he was treated to a steely bird unleashing a metallic egg from its quiver which lanced into the high ground V’ra would have been heading towards. The dirt mound and any near her vanishing in a blinding pillar of flame as the gunship above circled around, torrents of green beams and scarlet pulses scouring the earth beneath its passing bulk.

“Scatter!” Some warrior shrieked with the enraged fury, calling back the brethren who raised their guns to blaze away at the fat craft’s underbelly.” Disperse to fall back positions ASAP!”

Further warnings from him silenced as the craft, pivoting from over Thra, unleashed another missile which homed on the brief signal’s broadcast. Consuming its originator if he’d had tallied for the barest breath and if not the gunship hovered peppering the ground with beams weapons to coax a survivor out into the open before at last curving back towards the harassed Imperial army troop. Covering them as they, suddenly renewed, ambled taking the outcroppings and dug ruts abdicated by the cruel Vipers plugging away at the departing Xenos. But they didn’t continue after, once the vermin vanished wholly they turned their sights to their wounded. Screams of for medics, or mothers, replacing the crash of weapons fire which had so predominated the sliver of moments earlier. The acting replacement for Lt. Trell, Corporal Hurk, scrambling over to the com receiver to check its status and report back to the base camp alerting to their return and condition. Content to leave the act of vengeance to the gunship, loitering overhead until the unit could began moving out on its own, and its belly full of Stormtroopers.

Gunship Draco-

“Plan’s simple. We hold back let the Vipers think their safe and then follow them back to their nest.” Gunny declared lifting his helm over his head which in no way muffled his rough, gnarled voice.” Draco pulls a strafing run over those fething snakes then we drop under its support.”

“And then?” Kid asked raising his own helmet, its side painted in dark scarlet the number “19”, his timber sounding light and whimsical compared to the Master Sergeant’s.

“We do what Valor squad does best.” Lucky exclaimed at Jek’s side, rifle draped in his arms its sights extended.” We kill them all.”

“But we do more than that. Anything could kill, if it was merely a matter of that a turbolaser would suffice.” Specs correct in his flat, electronic voice which none the less carried his mirthful tone.” Its about sending a message. That there is not a crevice in the seven hells in which we won’t crawl in after and personally disembowel you. We’re Valor squad, we deliver death personally.”

[Praeothmin]

Hurray for Valor squad...

Man, you weave one hell of a tale to make me root for Stormtroopers...
They're the bad guys in the SW movies, you know...
I usually want to see the bad guys die...
But not here...

So yay!

[sonofccn]

Stormtrooper update following Valor squad. Mostly a Gunny centric outing with some colorful oneshots, at least I hope so, which I use as an excuse to shamefully rip off a line/character from a better written movie.

“He’s the fifteen foot tall one playing with that Pershing tank isn’t he?” Agent John querying on which UBO was the Great Dreaming god T’aogu.

New Hope, Deathlands-

I.Surfing Bird-Trashmen

The throaty cries of the missiles, low yield fragmentation type, was a distant, deep bleating of some primordial beast to Jek’s ears as the Draco sharply spun about from its driving run. Diverting back and bisecting the scraggly pile of boulders and shallow foxholes the Xeno beasts had made home. Several of their number appear, scrambling over the fiery detritus and charred rocks, out from their hidden berths not for frantic flight across the parched and sun drenched flatlands but for clearer vantage to the great iron eagle circling over head. Adding to the burst fire and hazy, contrail vomiting rockets which belched from secluded alcoves and hollows in the boulders.

“. Ya’ll think we got their attention?” The Draco’s pilot, a burly trooper with a robotic lens amid a sea of scar tissue for his right eye, crooned excitedly at the sparkling scatter of projectiles exploding along the edge of deflector’s aura.

Beside him in contrast, virtually mummified beneath the layers and wrappings of his restraining harness, sat his droll and silent co-pilot. Made all the more frail looking and sickly due to his refusal to wear his armor, instead only his pliable body glove, save for the Air Corps variant Trooper helmet. Seeing through one black eye lenses the gun cams for the Draco’s nose mounted turrets and the other a constantly scything scroll of data bits cobbled from the sensory apparatuses, using both to direct the twin-linked laser cannons and atomize the rocket totting Viper along with the upper most tier of the rocky bastion it had chosen.

With its removal, the last active dedicated anti-air platform, the solemn pilot/gunner nodded briskly towards his bellicose alternative who, with a joyous yell, kicked his bird down towards the dusty ground. Turning its side towards the burning pyre, still squirming as if maggot infested, as he coasted her to a gentle stop and then raised a hand above to the banks of glowing toggles and switches running over the top of the cabin.

“We are primed and in position, Y’all ready to commence disembarkation?” He thundered thumbing one of the myriad blinking lights.

“Just open the lock Taylor, we can handle a few snakes.” Gunny, giving the barrels of his cannon a rotation, grunted over the whine of the blast shield receding from view.

The pitted metal barricade sliding to reveal a cacophony of sounds and motions, motes of gritty sand flittering through the air commingling with the shattering fragments of leaden pellets blossoming against the nigh-visible edge of the protective matrix and slithering between these two billowing nebulas the emerald skinned devils themselves. Enticed and drawn by the parting of the armored door the serpentine foe, vomiting from crevices and burrows, scythed across towards the gunship. Jek watching the lead Xeno, passing without harm through the edge of the shield’s harmonics, rear himself up off of the dusty, sun baked sod cradling his death-dealer. The noisy, crude weapon beginning its harsh bark, sparks erupting from the corner of Kid’s eye against the door’s edge, just as the thick green particle beam lanced into the alien’s armor shrouded chest. The vile serpent having time to crane its colossal fang filled cranium downward, drawn by the hiss of incinerating metal, to see the beam piercing through a simmering veil of dissolving flesh before its torso erupted in a boiling frenzy which consumed anyone and everything around it.

And across every speaker, headset and radio chronicling the Xeno’s demise and the composite beam’s resurgence skewering a fresh Viper came the throaty roar of Gunner Koath. The fearless, some would say psychotic, trooper assigned to the craft’s flanking ball turret, its crystalline shell sprouting hairline fractures around the jeering soldier as the aliens’ heavy caliber munitions struck and halted against the translucent barrier.

“…bunch of mother-fethering arse stompers! You want some!? Come on get me if theirs a jorblock among the lot of you! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill all of you slimy, puke devils!” Came his screaming response as he pivoted and swiveled his mount in all directions unleashing his fury upon the alien horde.

Hailing originally from some feral world of barbarism the exuberant Koath had been a new addition to the Draco crew, replacing one lost early during the pacification campaign, whom had immediately introduced himself to Valor squad and the gunship’s crew with a braggart endowed tale of his exploits of the city-world Victoria-Mortis. An sprawling Ecumenopolis whom, following the death of the civilian Consular, had collapsed into a blood drenched civil war with factions ultimately gained favor of both the Empire and the Rebellion. And it was during Koath’s talk of night raids against Stratoscrappers, bursting their lower segments open and collapsing their remains upon populace filled palisades, that Gunny asked pointedly how they’d discerned the rebellious agents from the loyalist. Both, typically, stubbornly maintaining the old colors and symbols, per each insistence they were the legitimate heir to the governing body, in addition to and besides the rather fluid and mercantile nature of many of the planet’s warriors and citizens.

“Simple. We go bursting overhead and the suckers run their Rebel agents.” Koath had answered with a bellicose laugh.” They don’t they’re well trained Rebel agents.”

Such laughter filling the ears of Jek and the rest of the squad as the barbarian cleaved his turret back and forth across the battlefield shielding the hovering Draco and opening a charred path for Valor squad. One which, lead by the Master Sergeant, they descended into leaping from the gunship’s maw and scrambling across the cracked and blood drenched ground passing unmarred through the coiling tendrils of seething steam towards the peppered edge of the Xeno holdout.. The particle beam, and Koath’s dank voice, fading as the Lartie bucked and lifted away into a sky already coagulating with soot and ash standing the troopers alone as they flung themselves over the scorched lip of the Viper’s nest.

“Specs…targets?” Gunny demanded over the sudden roar of his weapon, the far dirt wall exploding along with the serpent before it.

“Lots.” Specs answered tacking on his vocalizers best approximation of a small chuckle.” From all sides.”

“Good.” Gunny, whirling around to add his voluminous fire with Specs’s own, decried in mirthful tones.” For a second I was afraid they might escape us.”

The dark specter partially glimpsed by the Sergeant, and detected by the cyborg’s sensors, vanishing in a hail of cremated ash and pulp the squad leader momentarily released his hand from the trigger of his rotary cannon directing Lucky and Kid onwards through the burning mist filled tunnel and then turned to face the opposing warren. Back peddling after his squad, sliding his shoulder into the parched, hard soil and dragging it through it as he crouched, as he clenched the firing stud once more. Barrels spurring to life, spinning into a blur just as the burst of automatic fire began to trace above his head exploding clumps of biting dirt down over his helm and body. Across the way the Xenos either crawled low upon their bellies, scything forward at breathtaking speed, or prostrated themselves like Gunny against the earthen walls for protection. Most unlike the droids he’d cut his teeth against all those years ago through they tore apart just as easily, albeit far more messily.

Bodies bursting where he struck directly, kicked aside torn and bleeding where bolts had struck in proximity through unlike most organics, or droids for that matter, the Sergeant would bisect each of the hurled body masses again to ensure they stayed down. Even then, through the gushing searing mists and swirling dust storms of the obliterated and collapsing trench he saw Vipers, missing their arm and shoulder or their lower intestines punched open and incinerated, stagger up fumbling for their rifle or a short sword or merely trying to use their own quite lethal natural endowments requiring a second or third direct hit to finish off the beasts.

“Just like the old days.” Gunny, happily, thought pulverizing a flechette wielding Xeno whom darted, heaving its scalded corpse-body off of the ground, towards him.

The lacerating steel barbs, nicking dozens of ruts across his helmet and body armor, impaling themselves into the wall beside him the same instant the alien’s sizzling blood splattered over his visor. Lenses struggling to compensate against the bubbling mess which Gunny aided by flicking his hand up from the trigger to front of his helm and back again. Clearing the broiling red paste from his field of vision he was treated once more to the steaming, desolate maelstrom of his own creation. One in which through the slight and peculiar rippling of the broiling mists, one more focused and directed than its shimmering peers, was the sole warning for the Master Sergeant spurring him to roll just as the first throaty report from the rising serpent split the tendrils of smoke and punched through the ether Gunny’s chest had occupied a millisecond before.

Hitting the ground he released his grip on his rotary cannon, rolled ahead of the writhing dirt streamers which traced after him then stopped and raised on his knee. Sliding free his back up blaster from its sheath, training the high powered handgun towards the scaly devil, still half obscured in the swimming mists, whom likewise was dispensing with its rifle. A mammoth paw tearing a bulky, obscenely large caliber pistol from its harness on the back of the other palm and swerving it towards the trooper. The Viper’s maddened but at the same time exhilarated eyes locking with Gunny’s as they raced, pitting harden sinew and honed reflexes against one another. No ”clever” stratagems, no occupations or insurgencies or vulnerable civilians caught between the war torn sides. That telescoping moment a microcosm, a distillation, of the bone shattering allure of War. Its pure, refined essence stripped of the suffocating complexities to, in its most basic sense, a simple born challenge of skill and prowess.

Guilt free indulgence as warrior clashed with warrior, tried and tested each other mettle to be found wanting or victorious. And that was the vital element, one which always made him scoff at the learned, scholarly dissertations which harkened that man was a savage beast at heart. One which was driven by a primal urge to destroy and kill. Man may indeed be a killer but if slaughter was the sole desire then its most effective answer would be a barrage from a Star Destroyer or viral agents dispensed into the atmosphere. True through man’s numbers, and the innumerable alien curs as well he’d hazard, such beings existed, taking delight in the mere carnage, but were the minority. Deviations from the primal lineage who sought to be tried, to be thrown beaten and bloody to the ground only to pull themselves up and wrestled victory from collapsing their enemy’s trachea into itself.

And in the millisecond before the bolt connected he thought he saw that reflected in the Viper’s eyes, along with cauldrons of burning hatred, before those eyes and the surrounding skull were atomized. Burst of jacketed bullets shrieking past Gunny’s helmet as he dove once more reclaiming his cannon, bringing it up as Specs materialized at his shoulder.

“You okay Sarge? When I saw you fall…” The cyborg queried, placing concern in the electronic backwash of a voice of his, firing a spread along the edge of collapsing portion of tunnel where serpents coiled taking up firing positions.

“Never better.” He answered holstering his pistol and gripping the stud to his heavier weapon as he swung it up over the crumbling edge.” Had a bit of a run in with a Viper but we finished that. How Lucky and Kid doing?”

“Adequately.” Specs answered after a moment’s pause, casting his mechanical eyes down from the sight of his carbine to the blinking display on his scanner.

Which were not the words either Stormtrooper would have used to describe their situation a few meters down the scraggly rut encircling the rocky outcropping. Lucky, crouching against one edge of the bend, would have used persistent resistance while Jek’s choice would have been terrifying. The younger soldier ducking back behind the jagged curve of the warren, trying to melt into its earthen fabric, ahead of deep, brass rumbling of automatic fire sprouting from the encrusted base of the rocky knoll. Where, between the rough-hewn fissures of the accrued boulders and stones, the scaly devils crouched firing in rapid, unrelenting rolling storms which scythed alternating from the pair of Stormtroopers.

“Don’t these things ever retreat?!” Jek, screaming to be heard over the clutter of the Xeno’s rotary cannon panning back and forth, shouted braving leaning around his disintegrating cover to lob a few blaster bolts.

Hitting nothing but stony rock he then snapped back drawing a hornets nest of ire from the entrenched foe, tumbling dirt and pebbles pouring down over his head as he shrank into a crouch. Twin blaster carbines upturned in preparation to repeat the harrowing experience.

“They think they’re safe. They have rock to their back and sides. They have enough firepower to slag a battletank.” Lucky remarked peeking around his own earthen shield and firing a quick volley, most going to high, then retreating.” Plus they just ornery to stick it out.”

But not it enough, evidently, to risk exposing themselves to Imperial fire, apparently having slowly sunk through their reptilian brains that they weren’t impervious to blasters. Instead the group appeared content to hold their ground, showering the two man fire-team with lead impeding their progress and buying time for their teammates to do the Emperor knew what. Which couldn’t be allowed to happen, momentum being their chief weapon. Doubly so against Vipers whose tactical resiliency and speed was rivaled only by their biological ones.

“I’m going for it, cover me.” Lucky commanded turning away from the streamers of scattering sod to glare purposefully at Kid who shriveled a little in his armor at the thought.” Do copy me?’

“Yeah feth, I got you.” Jek gulped then with an audible groan leaned around his corner again with both guns blazing.” Hey you egg sucking morons! Prime Imperial meat right for the taking, come and get it!”

He didn’t aim, didn’t even look where he fired instead concentrating solely on making a huge display as he could and flinging as much plasma from his weapons as he could. Both carbines, set to full auto, unleashing a stuttering torrent of scarlet pulses into the rock face. The enraged hisses he heard over the uproar of automatic fire hinting that one of his errant shots had hit home but he had no way of knowing. Nor did he care, throwing himself back around knobby protrusion of harsh, bleached soil and instinctively patting himself down to see if he’d lost anything. Thankfully finding no subtractions from him sum save for scraps of armor off of his shoulder and arm where he’d been grazed, the frayed edges of the black bodyglove beneath protruding out like torn lips but without the wet crimson to suggest anything serious. Which formed part of his response to Lucky, still crouched where he’d been, kneeling behind his shriveling corner.

A sign the senior Stormtrooper returned then spun his weapon towards the tunnel behind them only to lift it when he recognized the shape of Gunny, running bent over, followed by Specs. The latter taking up rear guard firing sporadic, but accurate judging from the sounds, pulse fire down range towards the Vipers still trying to flank the squad.

“I know you got yourself a bit of a situation but shooting won’t help it at all.” The Sergeant, smiling in his voice, remarked hefting up his cannon and rapping it on the side.” Anything my little baby here can help you with?”

“Actually we have this just about in hand.” Came Lucky’s response as the gunship, hereto loitering in circles scouring the circumference of the infestation, thundered overhead.

Four green beams, each dwelling on a gridlock slaved to them by Lucky, coming down upon the dumbstruck aliens warriors transforming each point into an explosive pyre. The expansion of combusting gases, a misaim of burning soot and boiling vapor, constrained between the eldritch rocks turning to gusts of steaming cannon shot. Rushing both inside the alien den and out across the crouching human warriors in a deluge of bone and pulpy flesh hammering like arrow tips.

“Wasn’t that a little close?” Kid demanded, grasping at a seam in his armor plate to wrenched a sliver of stone from his arm, craning his head up after the departing Larty.

“ I designated targets at range twenty-five to thirty, at two-third power that should have been sufficient.” Lucky, almost bashfully, explained rising up and hastily brushing away pitted fragments of bone and rock from his helmet.

“I’m sure you did. While obviously any combustibles the Vipers had would increase the blast radius the issue was likely the fact one of the beams was off target by nearly five meters.” Specs, firing another burst, remarked.” Judging from its luminosity it also likely broke regs and fired at full power. While I can’t swear to it, even my peepers aren’t perfect, but it appeared that beam came from our friend Koath’s turret.”

The cyborg stopping there with his accusation, one which the current manpower strapped armed forces was unlikely to act upon, upon a fellow Stormtrooper. A pregnant pause rolling over the squad, shaking off the effects of the near blast, each member recalling the less sterling manner in which they’d been introduced to the haggard and vicious looking trooper.

“Don’t see what his problem is. I only broke his nose a little.” Grunted the Sergeant rising and leaping forward towards the smoky ruins, a battle still hanging in the balance to be won.

*

Hurray for Valor squad...

Man, you weave one hell of a tale to make me root for Stormtroopers...
They're the bad guys in the SW movies, you know...
I usually want to see the bad guys die...
But not here...

Well I think Breetia said it best, that my story has no good guys merely slightly less psychotic individuals. Through I do admit to being heavily influenced by the Clonewars whose Clonetroopers are very humanized compared to their later descendents.

[Praeothmin]

Oh, a spiteful Gunner?

I'm sure the Sergeant can handle him... :)

It was nice to see lucky again... :)

[sonofccn]

Something special this week. An actual update! Plus more new characters, because clearly I don't have enough in this rambling piece, through most should just be one shots.

“ The work keeps you on your toes. I’ve tangled with self-proclaimed deities freshly awaken from moldering sepulchers, alien monstrosities, and technological wonders. Many times within the same “being” so you have to be quick on your wits if you want to stay with it long.” Agent Sylph describing service in the Bureau.

Chapter V: Serpent in the Lair…

USS Saratoga, airlock-

With the harsh crack of escaping air, the heaving of worn hinges and popping of withered, rubberized seals the heavy caste inner door limply swung out through the stagnate air. Making way first for Enot who spearheaded into the ship’s interior, then Rynth and Huriel followed lastly by the Negotiator Shiami. The wordsmith momentarily revealing discomfort on his lean, weathered face as he crossed into the weightless environ of the Merikan ship but dispelled it with a practice twitch. Replacing it with a modest expression of warmth as he kicked forward, sailing between his protective escorts whom assumed a respectful quarter step behind their charge. Small enough for them to close around the Negotiator should it come to it yet showing they trusted the opposing side not to exploit the opening.

Through such courtesy seemed somewhat irrelevant with only a solitary figure on hand to greet them, the large if vaguely doughy man far from threatening. Neat and unexceptional looking with downplayed mannerism he gently floated in front of the airlock in the center of the ship’s rotunda shaped deck. The unassuming sort whom make the crowds at transport depots or grocery stores, the half specters seen and then forgotten, which likely had taken the man years to master. If he was surprised or threatened by the armed escort of Shiami he didn’t show it, face a bland agreeable mask, instead drifting towards the Negotiator extending his hand out for a brisk shake.

“Welcome to the Saratoga. I’m Mr. Leo duly appointed and recognized representative of the United States.” The diplomat said in the soothing banality of the political class.

“ Negotiator Shiami, ordained speaker for the Galactic Empire. I thank you for your ship’s hospitality.” Shiami answered back through his tone was higher pitched and laced with the acidic crackle of static.

The words came not from his frozen lips tightly pressed in a cold smile but from the silver pustule protruding from the rancid network of scar tissue encircling his throat. The prosthetic needed ever since all those years ago he’d failed to convince a rebellious minded Planetary Governor from the folly of his actions, a swaggering army type the Ruler had drawn a heavy blast pistol midway through a particularly passionate oratory. A fraction of a millimeter difference in the bolt’s path would have felled him, as no doubt the Governor intended, but instead Shiami had only collapsed to the floor. His lungs roasting inside of him from atomized mists he’d chokingly inhaled fighting for breath through in the end they’d been salvageable. Later after his security team fought their way with him to the extraction zone, after awakening onboard the ISS Righteous Vengeance, a Strike class cruiser, under full life support. His larynx and vocal cords however were not so fortunate, the destruction too total for any aid but cloned replacement tissue. A process, the star base surgeon whom installed his prosthetic had explained, reserved for the upper most tier of the echelons and the bluest of the azule blooded of which the Negotiator was neither.

Since than he’d under taken more than a hundred and twenty assignments during his tenure with the Empire, eighteen of which had turned violent, without further serious violation of his being. Thanks to the light-flex armorweave he wore beneath his professional attire, the mono-fiber garrote hidden in the side of his wrist mounted chronometer and a hold out dart launcher coiled in a reprieve up the cuff of his shirt sleeve which was too technologically primitive to show up on most sensor screens.

“It is our pleasure. The crew of the Saratoga and our Government, wishes to avoid any further misunderstanding regarding the supply station and this system.” The Ambassador answered, face still a mask, ending the friendship ritual and gestured down the grungy hall to a hatch in the floor plate.” If you’d be so kind we can retire to somewhat more agreeable surroundings. Your men to, if it is your wish.”

The last bit added after the briefest of pauses, the nonplussed man’s face panning over the trio of stormtroopers no doubt trying to cipher their strengths and weakness. Running simulations on how to contend with each of them if they turned violent same as Shiami ran balancing the need for security against insulting his hosts.

“I don’t think I have need of further escorts with friends.” He said with a nod towards them, deciding the Talon-II was all the intimidation he required, following after his host.

Waiting on the edge of the rusted hatchway for Rynth to nod his understanding before plunging in after and vanishing from sight, leaving the three troopers alone floating in a loose clump together with nothing to look forward to but tedious routine and duty. Each Stormtrooper signaling with a hand gesture, less ears human or robotic hear them, in turn to indicate his helm now rung with the bland diplo-speak of the Negotiator, transmitted by an additional implant in his speaking apparatus along with a condense scandoc of Shiami’s vitals. His heart rate, respiratory, even hormonal secretions scrolling in neon colored glyphs in the corner of each helmet’s vision alerting them to the slightest agitation. Not that there should be any, even Natives typically understood killing the messenger rarely did anything but bring ill tidings. And over a million tons of warship was serious bad tidings for those involved.

Which left the trio really little to do but monitor things on the off chance of a catastrophe, such as occurred when Shiami had accidentally sneezed on a Xeno leader starting a blood feud, through experienced hands at such work idle conversation quickly sprouted between them. Initially on first impressions with the Natives through their limited exposure, and fear of being eavesdropped, greatly curtailed such discourse and its natural currents inevitably drifted to more local and amble pursuits.

“Okay. Havoc the Head Ripper in his prime in the arena of blood. What Duelist could take him?” Enot, in his gravelly voice, inquired with an audible smirk.

Havoc being a self-proclaimed “man-animal” allegedly rescued from a fringe world during the early days of the Empire and even more allegedly being of human origin. A claim of no little dispute considering the sheer mammoth size of the barbarous creature which had entertained fighter pits across the galaxy through no conclusive genetic evidence had ever been obtained. Mostly it was speculated, by those who didn’t want to keep breathing, because elements of the Imperial government had latched onto the brute, whom made show of arriving sedated and lathered in fresh blood, as a symbol of humanities innate superiority/strength during those early turbulent days of waning Xeno blocs in the vestige government. Even the Emperor, whom publicly decried the blatant bloodlust of such sports, had admitted some personal admiration for the man’s tenacity.

“Flog the Giant. Just as big with just a bad a smell. Plus Flog didn’t have to sharpen his teeth with a file.” Huriel suggested with a slight tilt to the side of his head.” Even money the Head Ripper gets his block knocked clean off in the opening gambit.”

Enot, having watched a few of Head Ripper’s exhibition fights following his “retirement”, merely grunted at the fantasy fight’s prediction not even bothering a rebuttal as he turned his glance towards Rynth.

“What’s your take?” He asked, voice as cold as Hoth.

“A giant versus a giant is too redundant. They’d likely just wail on each other and end up in a draw. No you need someone faster, more intelligent in how he fights to throw Havoc off his game.” The squad leader mulled with an audible grin.” Frankly if half of the ship’s scuttlebutt is true I wouldn’t mind seeing the Commodore thrown at him. Say maybe with cutlass and shield, I bet that would be a match.”

“I said Duelist. Imperial officers are off limits otherwise.” Enot complained with huffy exasperation.” Besides…Vader could take both of them together.”

“Fine, take my fun. I-” Rynth stuttered swishing to face his teammates.”-I guess I’d go with the Mysterious Stranger. He was blinding fast, back on the Vid I saw he took out some stiff Duncan in like six seconds.”

Raising his hand as he spoke, shielded by his turning body, and first lightly tapping his armored flank to get both trooper’s attention than indicating with a jabbing finger the hatchway. Both men reading it instantly, heads rocking forward a fraction of a millimeter, without the slightest treble in their resuming voices.

“Speed isn’t going to help you, Havoc fought speed before and he’s simply too massive. You’ve seen the Vids, he has arms like tree trunks. His chest is just a knotted slab of muscle and scars, an E-Web couldn’t pierce through it.” Enot, loudly, protested with Huriel equally bellicose in his counter-arguments.

Citing how pressure points, and the skill to exploit them, matter far more than raw muscle in the final analysis, a series of devastating attacks ala snub fightercrafts rather than the slugging of battlecruisers Enot was envisaging. The argument not all together faked as Rynth slipped around the dilapidated deck towards the rear of the hatch and hinting to a conclusion of blows as the lead Stormtrooper pounced. Thrusting his hand down into open causeway and snatching the lurker spying from it, expecting to pull out anything from an acid bleeding monstrosity to a rebel agent but the little pixie he found struggling in his grasp.

Dressed in faded and abused jumpsuit which seemed a size too large for her, through which didn’t quite diminish what was shrouded underneath, layered in bandoliers and pouches of tools and equipment it wasn’t hard to guess what her function was. Nor was it a cheap imitation, the tool edges were clearly weathered while the uniform was liberally streaked in engine lubricant as was her angelic face through in far less grievous amounts. The light lines adding to her petulant frown as she glared up at Rynth then at his squad mates whom appraised his find.

“Think you can handle her or do you need some back up?” Huriel chuckled.” Clearly she is a dangerous threat to the Empire.”

“Definitely.” Enot added in his harsh, clipped voice of his.” Without your vigilance she might have overwhelmed all of us.”

“Yeah…well she looked bigger on thermal.” Rynth grunted with a shrug finishing depositing his prisoner on the deck beside him.” And she was spying on us.”

“She has a name you know.” She snipped with a whiff of indignation.” Kaylee, and I wasn’t spying. I was just listening…you three were talking so loudly and I was just wondering what the fuss was about.”

Her voice, if it was an act, was good. Nice harmonic between a touch of anger, childish innocence and serious woman to grip the listeners attention yet billow playfully around them drawing you in. Rynth had met plenty of professionals, Agents as well as Joygirls, who couldn’t do it nearly as nicely.

“Well Kaylee I’d have to answer in turn that I have far better acoustic capability than you and can say with some certainty our voices would not carry very far.” He replied rapping the side of his helm.” Wanna try again?”

“Well, and I wasn’t spying mind you, maybe I kinda was curious about you first and then I got distracted by what your were talking about.” She said with a curving smile on his lips and a wider one in her voice.” I didn’t mean anything by it. And I do have a purpose for being here, I’m supposed to be fixing an illuminator on the deck below which went on the fritz.”

Which, as excuses went, was on the par of just happening to have been meandering by with a proton warhead in ones pocket but even as he thought it Rynth felt a nagging tickle of wanting to believe creep up the back of his brain. Besides it wasn’t as if she’d overheard anything of particularly value, unless these people coveted fantasy gladiator games, if she was an Agent.

“Well didn’t your mother teach you the dangers of curiosity?” Huriel suggested playfully.” What if we’re Nexu in Shaak clothing?”

“Not again…we’re not on leave just to remind you two.” Enot sighed reading the softening posture of his teammates.

Which was true enough with plenty of evidence at the potential repercussions, Rynth nearly being left behind in the Evac of a fringe world that had fallen to a bizarre corpse-whispering cult because he’d been away from the insertion/retrieval point. He still had the scars from where he’d tumbled from the speeder after plowing it through the mongrel mobs fighting to get into the “embassy”. But even then, flaming bottles shattering around him spraying the viscous fluid burning within, he’d been grinning as Enot hefted him up. The big trooper hauling him over one shoulder as he sprinted towards the center of the crumbling sanctuary, letting Rynth pick away the mobbish rabble with his blaster, where they were calling down the shuttle. And he was grinning now as he spoke.

“True. Which means we have certain responsibilities.” He sounded with a serious edge, interjecting between the trading exchanges of Huriel and Kaylee, before letting his smile bleed into his language.” So, as squad leader, I do think it is my responsibility to verify our Lady’s story. For security purposes.”

Which immediately drew fixed stares, through their expressionless helms no less, from the other two for completely divergent reasons. Enot no doubt concerned tediously of fighting a man short should it come to it. Huriel’s meanwhile would be of a far more less professional level but it was his lost this time. Experience having shown the smooth talking trooper, his face not marred by the residual trace of a fragmentation grenade, quite capable of walking away the victor in such competition if given half a chance.

“Yes…security. Have to have that.” He muttered with a sullen cloud both of them knew wouldn’t last.” Just make it quick.”

“Don’t know. Plan to be thorough.” He remarked back as he gestured for the female engineer to lead the way down.” Can never be too careful can you?”

“Yeah…remember the Interex?” Enot, looking away, reminded pointedly.

The Interex being a human fiefdom encountered on the border between Wild Space and the Unknown regions, one with a strong Xeno minority whom it regarded as equal citizens. Negotiations had gone badly, to the extent the Judgment had shelled the planet as a bargaining chip to call off the defense fleets, once these diametrically opposed policies of the two Governments came to light. Through specifically the heavy gunner was referencing the Woman in Red whom had apparently been some kind of interrogator and assassin. Through in that case it had been sweet voiced Huriel whom suffered, with a scar traced over his abdomen, the sardonic threat came loud and clear. One Rynth responded too, once Kaylee had descended from sight, by raising his hand after Enot and flashing a non military hand signal.

“I think I can handle her but I’ll call if I have trouble.” He cracked swishing down the hatchway where she floated patiently.

“I don’t think they wanted you to come down here with me. Afraid of what I might do to you.” She cooed, guiding him towards the faulty light node, with a delicious smirk.” And maybe their right to be so.”

“I’ll try and protect myself if you do anything.” He answered equally conscious, not even looking at the light Kaylee indicated but her.” Anything…improper of course.”

“But how am I to know what is improper? You being people from some distant star.” She whispered drifting closer to him, or had he towards her?” I mean what is innocuous to me could be misconstrued most terribly. For all I know of your people you could be a heartless Clockwork just toying with me.

Her hand lightly, but deliberately, brushing against his polished white armor as she spoke. Tickling up from his chest towards the bottom lip of his helm where her long, slender fingers where found by his more gristled counterparts. Hesitating for a heartbeat, looking down at her upturned face, before relenting raising the helmet off together and setting adrift.

“Oh, I’m flesh and blood. Just like you.” He whispered bending towards her warmth, feeling her breath scythed across his scarred cheek.

“That’s quite fortunate. It makes this easier.” He heard her speak, tone low like the grumble of a wolf, just before her fingers unmeshed from his gauntleted ones and struck around his throat.

His surprised cry ending before it could start by a the force of a vise which closed around it, one he couldn’t break smashing his stout muscled arm against her slender one, digging the tips of her fingers through the pressurizable insulation. The other snatching and twisting, painfully, away his still clutched blaster forcing under her grinding grip to release to the same drift which held his bobbing helmet.

Only able to watch, wide eyed, as Kaylee’s form appeared to ripple then expand outward in all directions. Rynth forced to crane his head up to stare level headed into a nigh perfect mimic of his visage, through where his was draining with cold dread her mask was deadly serious.

“If it is any consolation I find this most unnerving as well.” She informed him, voice morphing to match his own, in a deathly whisper before swinging him that inhuman strength into the wall.

His last sight, before the darkness consumed him, that of what Kaylee had become towering over him raising a hand to her cheek which began to darken and sprout puckered scars across it perfecting her imitation.

[Praeothmin]

Nice, a new kind of monster, or was it just a new vampire power?

I guess I’d go with the Mysterious Stranger. He was blinding fast, back on the Vid I saw he took out some stiff Duncan in like six seconds.”

And power, don't forget speed and power... :)
Thanks for the nod... :)

[sonofccn]

Short update. A Talkie where I demostrate I don't understand what the word one-shot means, "Rynth" gets to know her two associates a little more and we get a little more insight just why the Terrorverse is such a warm and happy place to live.

“The Guardian stood eight or nine feet tall easy, necrotic flesh a mottled unnatural hue and harden almost to steel, in a bloated perversion of the humanoid form. Only the most vestige traces of even simian ancestry apparent in its stubby arms, hands regressed to three digits each ending in rancid claws the color of tarnished moonlight, which its stretched down past its engorged hunches towards the Fraulin at its feet. And she, so small and delicate looking I remember, never batted an eyelash as she leapt up to the massive creature. Flipping end over end over its girth filled arm to land feet first on its expansive shoulder, tucking beneath the thing’s wrinkled and rotten head where, after flicking a golden strand from over her eye, she used a pistol I swear to this day she just made appear out of the thin of air.” Agent John describing his first encounter with Agent Sylph.

USS Saratoga-

“That was quick, starting to lose your touch?” The more diminutive of the two white armored soldiers jeered at the form rising up into view.

The abrasive undercurrent marking him as the Huriel the Agent had heard lurking on their conversation, the voice like bells off kilter to each other and full of arrogant energy. Youthful and headstrong she detected layers of hungry eagerness in his words, thoughtless boyish glee at perceived advantage in their competition of prowess both martial and companionship, by which he’d hound after “Rynth” until he got the answer he so transparently sought.

“I received what I desired, no more and no less.” She answered him flatly with a poignant stare she hoped translated through the obstructing helm.” Which is more than I can claim for you.”

Or the man she impersonated, being sequestered in some desolate hold on the ship drugged and sedated for future interrogation. The same being her fate, or worse, through should she fail in her mission which did much to help keep her focused and undistracted.

“If you hadn’t cut in front of me.” Huriel laughed reaching a hand towards the drifting towards Stormtrooper and giving a light hearted shove.” I already had her in my sights when you just side stepped me, just like that dame in that cantina. What was that dive…the Devil’s Parlor or something…”

“The Devil’s Dare. A Sump pump of grog pit. Glad it burned down.” Came the unmistakable rock grinding tones of Enot.” But not to trespass over little Huriel’s fiefdom but what happened to the young woman? Evaporated into thin air?”

The last accompanied by a quizzical turn of the helm towards “Rynth”, the sheathing armor doing little to hide the older man’s curiosity. Through not like Huriel’s eager fast clipped interest rather Enot’s was more ponderous and sedate, the words chosen with more stressed care than his associates would same as he wrapped his concern in the skins of weary indifference. Reminding her a little of John she thought turning her head to face him while continuing to drift towards the unruly Huriel.

“Hardly. But the dame got called away. Duties you know?” She answered, repaying the younger man’s shove with a prod to his shoulder, panning from the stoic soldier to the exuberant to the point of giddy one.” So it looks like today wasn’t day at all.”

“Bah. Any dame who’d give the time a day to a mug like yours isn’t for me.” Huriel laughed, bobbing and weaving through the weightless air, drifting away from “Rynth” his stance wide in case the “attacks” continued.” I have standards you know.”

She actually assumed the contrary but merely nodded and pushed off from Huriel, who looked ever so slightly disappointed as he lowered his more readied stance, nearing towards the gruff speaking soldier. Whose well practiced sigh seeped up from his helm as she approached, the heavily armed warrior shifting his multi-barreled weapon to one hand as he curved through the air to better face her.

“You two. We’re on a mission last I checked not safari. It behooves us to stay frosty and alert.” Enot said with the familiarity of much spoken lines.” And I hope for Emperor’s sake you didn’t get the girl into any trouble. She seemed well maybe not naïve but more endearing than your previous choices, more trusting.”

“I give you my word the dame is in no greater danger than any of us here.” She answered with what she hoped was a good natured chuckle.

Regardless through it didn’t have any effect on the stony Enot who shrugged his massive shoulders like he was shifting the weight of a small moon. His hide more impervious than the armor he wore around it the gravel voiced warrior eased ever so slightly away from “Rynth”, increasing the gulf between which had been shrinking, and somehow managed to make his voice sound even more ancient and grating when he spoke next.

“Which I find less reassuring than you may think. Honestly at times you do make me wonder how you made squad leader.” He rasped sounding like a collapsing mountainside.

“Oh I can tell you. The officer tasked with promotions was female.” Huriel snorted uproariously as if he’d said the funniest thing ever.

Continuing to do so, through more quietly to himself as it dawned through his thick skull his associates were less amused, as “Rynth” corrected her motion and distanced herself from the craggy Enot. Having already been close enough to confirm, even through his armor, he lacked even the slightest taint of the Emerald goddess’s touch.

As did Huriel and the scarred diplomat when she brushed past him, an encounter he prolonged more than strictly necessary, sensing not in the slightest the astral scars which wounded her to her soul. Failing to find, in effect, a reflection of that which permeated her very essence, the dank, nebulous cloud of that which had returned her life or at least a simulacrum of it. Smith, and at times even John, might only joking call her a goddess instead thinking of her in more abstract terms such as non-corporeal entity which existed in a nonlinear fashion but she, Sylph, knew the truth. Had seen She who resided in her crimson tower perched atop an atoll of fetid flesh lapped by the endless currents of a scarlet sea, had heard the hungry cry in the thing’s voice as She gluttonously called for ever more suffering and destruction. A voice she heard over and over in her deepest nightmares, where the wall of sleep grew faintest to the stygian realm beyond, and perhaps solely of the Bureau truly understood the perpetual orgy of destruction and suffering She longed to bring to fruition.

Through there remained the ever so slightly chilling question yet answered on what the true origins for these apparent humans were. How they had acquired their current fleet or weapons of, as reported by the European Alliance’s Agent, of stupendous power and ability. If they did not prostrate themselves before the living flame then what dark-king from across the onyx gulf did they barter with?


Saratoga Administrative suite-

“…we’re fire upon our arrival despite our peaceful intentions necessitating reciprocating responses, ones we deliberately managed and curtailed to the preservation of life aboard the station even at the expense of our own personnel.” Shiami stated with a straight face, gazing hawkishly at his opposite, strapped like himself into a padded chair, watching for a response.

He might as well have waited for a star to freeze, the Merikan representative’s features never changing as he digested the claim. Then at last his lips parted allowing his flat, listless voice to seep out. Never betraying anything either in words or tone but staying utterly emotionless like early model droids, before marketing had discovered the need for emotional software to “humanize” them to the buying populace, sold during the now long gone Old Republic.

“This region of space is contested with radical factions of the Greater German Imperium acting overtly on said claim. While I nor my government condones any action of aggression to a neutral party one can easily understand how your arrival may have unduly provoked them.” He rasped before moving to his point.” However since you could overpower the stations defenses even while minimizing your own actions could you not have merely retreated in good order? The stations weaponry is defensive in nature, it would have posed you no threat beyond a certain range.”

“Of which we had no way at the time of knowing. We are new comers to your part of space and if we reacted rash it was only to spare the greater lives which would have been lost. For both our sides.” Shiami replied with an audible smirk or at least the nearest his vocalizer would allow.

It, after all, was hardly the first time he’d been called in to patch things up after the Empire had entered a system guns blazing and as a rule never admitted culpability. It was always the work of anti-Imperial agents even if you had to rouse some up from an asylum in the dead of night.

“All the more reason to disengage safely rather than risk them needlessly in a confrontation against unknown strength.” His counterpart fired back not even the slightest bit fazed.

“Perhaps but our time in space has thought us to protect ourselves. The Dark Frontier can be quite a hostile place.” The Negotiator parried never relenting.

“A conclusion we equally agree with.” The Diplomat answered with the barest flex of facial muscles as he decided to change tacks.” Hence this regrettable tragedy. But in that spirit of understanding then perhaps we can begin discussion on returning our citizens to us. Any aggression you bore would only be natural responses of individuals to protect themselves in such perilous voids.”

“No. At least not yet. Officially since no state of War exist between our two realms and by your own admission the station was privately own not actionable connected to your government in any fashion they fall under the classification of anti-Imperial saboteurs and terrorists rather men under arms. Currently they are being detained and processed with possible sentences from the acting representative of our government.” Came Shiami formulaic reply.

Which of course wasn’t true, there had been sentencing levied but they’d already been carried out in hopes the executions would “encourage” the remainder, most of the captured had been turned around and put back to the mining operation while a select minority had been transferred to the Judgment for more vigorous interrogations. Of which there was no end to ship’s scuttlebutt on its specifics.

“That is most unfortunate. If your Government won’t turn over innocents who were acting in self-defense how can we be sure of your honorable intentions towards the rest of these proceedings?” The man queried, face still dead but his eyes alight like the hunter who just bagged his game.

“Why my dear Negotiator you can trust us because I hail from a vessel ten times the length of the hull of this craft end to end, a thousand times the volume maybe more, and in turn posses the support of ship some seventeen times the size of my own. And yet here I am politely speaking things over with you. Does that not say it all?” Shiami asked.

“Yes…yes I think it does.” Came the response, tone just a hair colder than it had been.” Perhaps we should adjourn for now, allow any ill feelings dissipate before we continue. Neither of wants any further…accidents as like what occurred at Last Chance.”

“Indeed I believe our talks have established both parties interest for peace. I do not see the need to risk what has been accomplished, I do not have any aversion to the request.” Shiami said, perhaps a little to eagerly, raising his hands to undo his restraints and began to exit the rusty hulk.

“I agree. I believe our discussion will prove most fruitful.” Came the Diplomat acquiescence, a soulless attempt of a smile on his face.

*

Nice, a new kind of monster, or was it just a new vampire power?

Well I'm sure she'd prefer a more flattering descriptor but yes Sylph is meant to be a one off unique entity, at least as far as the Bureau knows, rather than "just" Vampire.

[Praeothmin]

Hhmm, what is her goal, I wonder?

And what is hiding in this asteroid base?

[sonofccn]

Another update and another Talkie because that is what people want not blistering action or squelching horrors from beyond. Just two guys talking to each other in the back of a shuttle, that is what the public demands. Anyway its mostly Krevin and Tyler being well Krevin and Tyler, with another hint of the Commodore's inner turmoil, and Sylph/"Rynth" getting the first good look at just how deep in it Earth is against the Empire.

“Easiest way to stop a “Zealot” tank? A Quickshot explosive perforating dart. Based and improving upon the old M9A1 anti-tank ordinance the Quickshot is a light, man portable missile delivery system capable of penetrating over eleven inches of RHA on a square shot allowing a cheap and flexible deterrent against aggressive armored formations.” Techcorp “ad” for their foreign sales division.

Emperor’s spirit VIP shuttle-

“…seem mostly harmless from the preliminary transmitted. While I’ll of course know more following my Negotiator’s full report it seems the Merikans are unwilling to fight for a partially nonaligned holding.” The crackling image of Crell George soothed from his pedestal in the consol.” Likely they are angling for a settlement. Return of prisoners, perhaps a monetary compensation.”

“And if we refuse? How does it go?” Krevin asked shifting in the bucket of his chair.

It, like Tyler’s seated across the holo emitter or the bank of empty seats on the opposing wall of the passenger cabin, molded with succulent padding to make its grip far more bearable. A feat it was failing spectacularly with on the Commodore, partly due to the inherent inadequacies of a regulations compliant restraint-seat but foremost because the Imperial Commander, in keeping with his accidental tradition, was clad in an overly ornate and stylish rendition of Stormtrooper armor which made him look like some artisan’s statue. Through beneath its gilded colors the Commodore had made sure it was as solid as any pulled from the line, if he was to be a tawdry target he wanted to be a reasonably difficult one.

“Tactically they are anemic. Scans show a plethora of crude fission warheads, some simplistic auxiliary crafts embedded in their hull and quaint magnetic cannons. Nothing to indicate our initial impression was in error.” Captain George answered without any hesitation.

“But strategic?” Tyler, looking up from his portable reader, chimed in.” A single craft is harmless but a hundred or a thousand?”

The SubCommander turning a glance towards the growing smirk on his leaders face on the choice of words than back to the diminutive Crell whose features, through pixilated and hollow, deepened to an unnatural shade. The officer momentarily taken back by the cold menacing air which permeated through the holo-comunicaiton forcing him to gather his scattered resolve before meeting the unexpected line of argument.

“ I do not have those answers at that time sir. The information is still preliminary.” He finally answered.” It may take some coordination with my Negotiator to illuminate those particulars.”

The unease and disquiet palatable from one who was fairly accustomed to having in some manner the full might of the Empire in support. Even along the fringes of Wild Space sanctuary could always be found, from marital threats if not political, by a hyperspace course plotted towards the interior.

“See to it then. I particularly want to be informed. Hate to start another shooting war without knowing whom is on the other side.” Krevin laughed drawing, mercifully, the Captain away from Tyler’s boring gaze.

“Of course sir. I can submit you scandocs regularly of our progress if you wish.” The recovering Crell offered, just the slightest whiff of repugnant indignation in his tone.

From the banality of the task or merely the surmised encroachment on his duties the Commodore couldn’t tell, merely picking it up and placing it within the perpetually churning cauldron which existed beneath the crisp, composed façade. Recalling what he’d remembered of the officer’s service history, having keyed up several personnel over the weeks as inauspiciously as he could, and tucking that in with the other ideas he cultivated and nurtured like a hot house garden.

“Not at all, keep me appraised by all means but I don’t need you hopping about as it were. Report when the situations warrants and I’ll keep up.” Krevin answered smoothly running new calculations in his head.” And if not I’d prefer a more face to face interaction to go over the subtleties which you simply can’t capture in a scandoc or holo image.”

“Coming to the Talon?” The Captain queried permitting a raised eyebrow from his otherwise motionless face at the latest turn of events.

“Not for the immediate time of course. Too much still to accomplish planet side but it is an option.” The Commodore said plainly attempting to disarm both the Captain and the SubCommander without appearing to do so.

The former appearing to swallow it whole heartily, features flickering from one finding a poisonous serpent in one’s boot to merely the dissatisfied indifference of a sump rat, through the latter was as unreadable as always. Any thought or implication on Krevin’s actions his alone same as the Commodore’s to his. Perhaps like Tyler had equally written off the ignoble Crell George as a non-participant if a “push” ever came about. A non-political officer whose “quiet” career had been spent with virtually no impression first thoughts gave good credits he’d sit back and wait the fratricide out before pledging to the winner. Indeed up until he sensed that dissatisfaction the Commodore had been caught trying to angle Jackson to his side if it came to it. An odious task not least of which because the high spirited Colonial was just as likely to turn his turbolasers against him than not. In time the development of the Native forces could help alleviate this hypothetical problem through that was still some time away unfortunately.

But now he saw hints of yearning in the Captain’s voice, of a man of advancing years who was no longer happy with his stock in life or the mark he made upon the galaxy. One who might be tempted with fresh elevation, greater power and freedom in lattitude, but lack the imagination or concentrated drive to be a great danger afterwards. Which was always a concern, history replete with examples of alliances turning on their weaker members. Of course it all could have been nothing, Krevin did not dare delude himself on that score, but it was certainly worth checking to see which way the Talon-II would fall.

“ If you so desire it sir. Now if you will excuse me.” The simulacrum replied before winking out leaving Krevin and Tyler again.

As well as Krebe sitting at the SubCommander’s elbow through he had no desire to join in on the conversation. His pallor ashen he preferred to sit stiff inside his seat tensed to a razor edge should Tyler require or demand anything.

“You surprised him. And me.” Krevin’s second said to him with a turn of his head, a smile in his voice.” You normally don’t slum in lesser Star Destroyers. Judgment may get jealous.”

“I recall the unexpected is the art of war or something to that effect.” The Commodore chided Tyler.” So I guess I still have a few tricks left to teach.”

“Oh I like to think I’m a fast learner through not apparently as great as Donner.” The SubCommander responded in kind.

Both of them knowing all too well how the Assault Commander had been smitten by the Native tactical manuscripts which had been translated into Basic. The rough hewn officer going as far as to make official proposals of assimilating in part or whole of the doctrines inscribed within.

“I’ve tried to digest the excerpts he sent me of…I think “Tanks attacks”…but it was uncoordinated rabble. Overwrought emphasis on the offensive without concern for the strategic situation of a whole or logistical lines.” Krevin sighed rubbing at his temple to banish the threatened return of migraine.

“I took a tack to that one as well. Obviously see why he’s so enamored with it. Gushingly fostering command decision on junior officers, the erratic and random maneuvers to “get behind the enemy”, its almost tailored made for him.” Tyler answered back.” Through I did find it fascinating reading regarding the mindset of the Natives.”

Which the Commodore couldn’t disagree with having gripped a similar rational through he hadn’t bothered to limit himself to merely the war journals and tactical tomes but availing himself to the widest slice of their works, both classical and modern, which had been translated into the Judgment’s database. Liking what he found, an aggressive spirit hobbled but not broken by its hardships which craved the blood of vengeances. Yet one which was not so intractably opposed to ordered discipline as the wild Colonials, one which with the proper incentive they could well serve Krevin’s goals.

“Truly Jackson’s people, a culture devoted to strife and its perfection.” The Commodore tested, curious as always what thoughts and perceptions existed behind his second in command’s eyes.

“ It isn’t nice to insult people like that.” Tyler laughed, through it sounded more like a cackle, playing along and never revealing wholly what he truly thought.” Besides I don’t think our dear Captain has been greatly interested in the Native’s affair. No doubt thinks all that subterfuge and maneuvering dictated is an ungentlemanly way to wage war.”

Through of course one could never tell ultimately what existed beneath the simple brow of a Colonial as perhaps Admiral Korak had learned in his final moments. The law of the jungle did not prosper fools and if anything the people of the Southern Colonies were survivors. Krevin adding another thought as the shuttle neared his beloved Judgment, that to inspect the recent Captain’s duties and activities and whom he may have done it with.

“Speaking of him I hope he still isn’t sore about missing out against the little ground scuffle.” The Commodore spoke as he felt the shudder of the shuttle passing into and landing on the hanger deck.

“Scuffle” of course being a modest expression for the grinding slog the campaign had quickly become, not for the acuity of operation which was swift but the bloody tenacity of those who had waged it. Thousands had perished from the Imperial Army and Stormtrooper ranks, tens of thousands more had been injured, carrying it to completion along with hundreds of fighters, tanks and other vehicles in what had been hoped from the onset to a brutally simple assault. The first wave had dropped like a hammer upon the Xenos head but instead of brittlely shattering against the anvil the enemy had splintered into countless disparate but operational parts which disengaged with painfully bloody results.

“You know how Colonials bear grudges.” Tyler joked as he unstrapped himself and stood up, Krebe already at his side.” Bah, he forgot about five seconds after the stand up fight ended. Crawling between the crags of the mountains to the south or the parched wastelands of deathlands to the west is not what he has in mind for glorious battle.”

“You can never to be careful.” Krevin answered back smiling.” It’s a dangerous galaxy out there. Even discounting the two of us in it.”

Talon-II hanger bay-

As it was expected of her “Rynth” lead her “team” down the shuttle’s gangplank into the humming den of activity that was the bay hoping her momentarily awe had been hidden beneath the encumbering and vastly uncomfortable armor she wore. Armor, she noted, lacking in the glumly uniformed individuals who toiled across the cavernous hanger toiling loading or dismounting equipment and supplies to the various docked crafts not unlike numerous shipyards she had had been privy to in the old Imperium or Alliance. Except for the diverse and numerous clockworks which the laborers counted upon to aid them, chromatic silver and stygian lack plated machines in the guise of Man which teetered stiffly following orders or shorter wheeled ones connected by cables to the auxiliary spaceships in what she’d learn was running diagnostics over the myriad systems rather than manually taking it component apart and inspecting it.

“Mostly busy work.” Enot had grumbled when she’d made vague query to the massed activity and assembled crafts.” But Command will want a taskforce of fighters on standby in case, the ship is too small to reliably hit with turbolasers.”

“Of course.” “Rynth” answered back matter of factly as she picked her way through, a surprising easy task the moment the pedestrian took sight of her armor.” Still seems a waste through.”

“This Empire, any fething common sense is strictly prohibited by decree of the Emperor.” Huriel snorted, laughing again as was quickly becoming apparent he was wont to do.

As to the “Emperor” figure he’d made reference to that figure before, as had Enot and at one point even their diplomat through never much more than a mild annoyance at regrettable happenstance or events. The young Huriel making frequent referral during a recount of some mishap cursed engagement in an alien jungle, against walking carpets or something “Rynth” hadn’t quite understood, in particular but none of them elaborated beyond that point. Making it infuriating encrypted.

What was far less so was the armada’s intention, with or without the alleged Emperor, the talk back dominated by the feeble impression the Saratoga had made and how if it was typical affected the presumed conquest. Enot in a quiet, disparate manner giving thanks to the Emperor for, what appeared, a simple and straightforward campaign while Huriel had noxiously boasted of how the only delay in taking an entire sector of space would be the logistics of “hyperspace lanes”. Another thing “Rynth” had taken note of to try and discern later, an ever growing list it seemed, when the opportunity allowed it. Now through all she could do was play the part of Rynth and wheedle innocently what little she could.

"No sweat through." She thought to herself still marveling at the size of the docking bay.” I’m trapped aboard a ship the size of a city with Fascist Imperialists with more technology than God and the apparent reckless abandon to use it. And they’re talking of putting the boot to my world like they’d done to a thousand-thousand before. What could go wrong here?”

[Admiral Breetai]

I swear, I need to sort my life out more..I have missed a lot of amazing writing. I think Valor Squad has to be my personal favorite out of all of our respective units of fighters. Krevin is as I've said for over a year very dangerous

and the fish man was an amusing touch

how do you always pick the right music man?

[Praeothmin]

Talkies are good!
Do not fear the Almighty Talkie, as it exposes many an important plot point... :)

[sonofccn]

Another update. Mainly checking in on Captain Crell George and SubCommander Winthrop and how things may not be as placid as Krevin assumes. But then in the Terrorverse are they ever?

“From T-55s to more exotic “non-terrestrial” designs the modern battlefield is a destructive, dangerous arena. To deal with it some look to the designs of the past. We don’t. We are the FUTURE. Instead of an old style rocket propelled exploding dart which falters after barely ten inches of armor the two man team Scorpion utilizes a concentrated Heat Ray which can incinerate up to a depth of fifteen inches of RHA nigh instantly facilitating quick hit and go tactics. In addition contrary to bulky missile operated designs currently on the market the Scorpion, provided with additional patented high density batteries, is capable of virtually continuous fire allowing a single two man team to exterminate an entire legion of enemy armor.” Union Industry ad for their foreign sales division.

Talon-II-

In retrospect it was obtusely obvious through for her life “Rynth” hadn’t guessed it as she labored over the stark, gray colored basin in the “waste facility” she’d dunked away from her squad mates in. Running her gauntlet over the spigot’s top and sides in search of a hidden lever in its smooth, featureless metallic surface then dabbing beneath where the sink’s reservoir melded into the grim wall in search of a reluctant valve or clip. Finding nothing of the sort she’d then pulled herself back up, her hand gripping the edge of basin’s edge slipping slightly beneath the spigot’s mouth causing a focused, temperate spray of crystal water gushing from its nozzle into the bowl’s contours as well as splashing over its side. Where “Rynth’s” face, her helmet removed, was as she swung herself back upright spraying across it and causing her to sputter and cough as she finished standing.

“Charming.” She muttered coughing droplets of water onto the misting mirror set up on the wall behind the basin.” Bet their water closet is just going to be a barrel of laughs too.”

Not that the Bureau cared about the state of the Empire’s toiletries and after a few waves of her hand beneath the spigot to confirm its use and a careful glance to ensure she was alone she set about the real reason why she’d broken away. Leaving the water running to cover the retching noises she clutched at either end of the basin and curled over it, gagging as she felt the “package” first shift then lurch its way up through her. Scratching all the way up her throat, which swelled where appropriate to aid its passage, into her mouth that similarly stretched and peeled open. The rigid structure of her teeth and jawbone melting, turning to a soft spongy matter with the excess mass redistributed to newly spawned muscles that opened it in a ghastly ringed, oval shape wholly out of place with human features.

The feeling of it, of the tube passing through her splayed lips or the muscles tugging them apart, through was worse than the haunting glimpses she caught on the polished mirror conjuring in her mind thoughts of crawling slugs and other vermin as she vomited the cylindrical capsule into the sink. The jet of water, renewed with another swipe of her hand, cleansing her stomach’s preliminary attempts to digest the resistant container as she furious worked to knit her mouth back together. Finishing, her tongue running across the enamel shoots budding from her gums, with cupping palms worth of water to her forming lips, swishing it violently back and forth then spitting. Taking most, but nearly all, of the acidic tang with it down into the basin and its gurgling drain.

That done she at last turned her attention to the capsule, drawing it up in her thumb and forefinger very gently and unscrewing its lid. Placing the cap down on the sink she removed the clear fluid filled vial inside as if it was made of nitro glycerin and carefully inspected it for any fractures or cracks during it transit. Finding none she slowly slide it back inside its protective case and sealed it away, hiding it in a pouch in her armor as she reached for her helm. Before putting it on through she held a hand up ran her hand across her jowl inspecting to make sure the network of scars had properly reformed among other structural details.

“Wouldn’t want to run into John looking like this.” She remarked, satisfied with her handiwork, raising the helmet up over the rather traveled looking visage she currently bore.” Maybe Smith…teach him to stare at my gams when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Finishing, once more fully adorned and indistinguishable to the other warriors who stalked the halls of the great ship, “Rynth” turned from the seeping spigot heading towards the mess. In part because her squadmates expected her to meet them there as well in her experience such gatherings were a virtual hothouse for gossip and ship’s intrigue. Things one with a discerning ear could dissect for a wealth of information. In addition the secretion of the “package” had left a gnawing emptiness within her in need of sating, she only hoped Huriel had been joking earlier about the state of the rations.

Talon-II, Captain’s quarters-

“Disgraceful. Absolutely disgraceful.” Crell fumed from behind the dark polish of his gothic desk, face just slightly flushed still and the whiskers of his beard twitching like a bed of maggots. “ That he thinks he can come here. On my ship.”

“Absolutely.” Winthrop answered softly, gently pouring his commander’s tea into his waiting cup.

Tall, thin with an air of rigidness the officer appeared like a Pau’an materialized from some dreadful nightmare, like them possessing a certain quiet grace to his movements. Easily turning the pouring stream of dark, viscous fluid to his own cup and saucer without spilling any then setting the kettle down on its holder and taking his chalice and seat stretched in front of the desk as he’d done countless times over the years since coming to the Talon. Being a ritual the captain had carried with Winthrop’s predecessors and in turn received from the elder spacer he had served under. A chance to quietly talk without fear of listening ears, to voice concerns freely without regard to rank or procedure, review and analyze everything from policy to an drop mission or merely to enjoy some quiet discussion. Through it already appeared decided what the subject would be.

“It’s a disgrace.” The Captain continued reaching for own glass briefly pausing in his rant to blow away the twisting tendrils of mist curling up over its brim.” He’s a child. I commanded a Venator at Umbara while he was still at the Academy yet he wants to look over my shoulder? Preposterous.”

“Certainly it’s not as if the Talon hasn’t run first contact before. Whether we are talking about those Emperor forsaken corpse-whisperers or those foolish Interex.” The SubCommander cited shuddering internally at the memory at how those pumped up cruisers of theirs had cut into the Talon.

Of course it had been the Commodore’s fault, at least partially, that things had come so far to a head. Swashbuckling boyish and headless to the reports Shiami was transmitting back he’d insisted on adding the holdings of the Interex to the Empire. Ultimately vital as ports and safe harbors for the Empire’s navy to continue pushing into the Unknown regions or so Krevin had argued to Command once his taskforce had limped back to Imperial space.

“That was some dreadful business. And all because he wanted to play soldier I tell you.” Crell, beard writhing, responded taking a shallow sip from his cup.” Obvious to anyone that those people didn’t want anything to do with us but then he wouldn’t have a chance to send squadrons of Ties shrieking down over rooftops or slinging salvos of turbolasers fire like some feral Colonial.”

“Didn’t do much of that anyways. Planetary batteries zeroed in on us almost instantly then there was the fighters…rising up in thickets to make attack runs.” Winthrop, whom had command when the scopes had lit up like a star, sighed into his drink.”Distracting us from the cruisers who came to flank us. Until they fired…”

The SubCommander still unsure on how they’d coordinated, ship’s sensors detecting no specific communication, but somehow with the same meticulous care and attention which had characterized even their brief contact the Interex had dropped a small fleet into orbit. Divided into three ship strong Attack Lines they’d dropped from hyperspace, presumably from the dark shadows of moons and planets further in system, hitting aft, bottom and top shields. Everything Winthrop and the rest had been franticly shunting power from to strengthen their forward gunnery arcs.

Caught between the battle should have been decided then and there but the Judgment, on direct order of the Commodore, had instead lowered her shields baring itself to both ground and spaceborn fire while diverting the excess energy to the stardrive for a microjump. Not further out system where it would have been immediately followed and pounced upon but merely “through” the Interex’s planet to its far side. Sinking into the gravity well, vomiting bombers to distract from the cruisers which materialized above it, the mighty warship then had unleashed a torrent upon the planetary batteries beneath it overwhelming their ponderously raising shields.

The Judgment had fired a solitary bolt after that deed was done, from a heavy turbolaser, that detonated a safe but dazzling distance above of one of the Interexes metropolises to act as punctuation to the Commodore’s terse message he broadcasted across all channels and frequencies.

“There is a billion tons of continent roasting firepower above your world. You have thirty seconds, choose wisely.” Winthrop had heard amid the warning klaxons and damage reports, Krevin's voice strained but self-assured even as he courted obliteration.

And 29 point five seconds afterwards it ended, fighters and cruisers pulling back allowing them an escape vector while the planetary guns grew silent, with the same flawless synchronizing which had birthed it.

“Got his glory through didn’t he? All the likes of him cares about.” Crell voiced dismissing his second’s suggestion, his beard rippling in agitation at the Commodore’s antics.” All through his career bounding from one crisis to hotspot fighting for the sake of it. Then I was saddled with him out on the Outer Rim where he can blow up pirates and lay siege to alien worlds without interference from a higher power.”

“Sure has been more than enough instances.” Winthrop sighed again draining his glass.” Lord Krom, the Beast of Acheron…the Commodore certainly seemed attracted to such “colorful” figures. More so than mere demand of duty.”

“Exactly. It’s a game to him.” The Captain agreed pushing the last of his tea past his whiskers and holding the empty cup towards his SubCommander.” A way to amuse himself, to escape the tedium and chore of his station, to live out fantasies of the holo-vids instead of the crushing mortem of reality. Of the boring clerical and management work needed to command both a Star Destroyer and a Squadron opposed to the idealized heroics of a holo-play protagonist .”

The latter of which was certainly true, even before the Talon had joined under the Judgment’s taskforce naval scuttlebutt had painted Krevin as far from an engaging commanding officer. Where Crell could agonize over logistic requisition or intraship transfer, grueling with help of Winthrop over the potential ramifications for each choice, the Commodore gave blanket indulgence to the dictates of his lower echelons. Creating a chaotic maelstrom from which different sub-sections of the ship competed with each other without thought for the whole, where the Judgment acted as some great maw sucking away prodigious quantities of men and materials far above what it should have took to maintain the mighty vessel. Some of it was of course destined for the black markets, such despicable leeches whom prospered by sucking the very lifeblood from the Empire giving practically the Commodore’s writ to carry out their endeavors.

Nor was it merely the mess of paperwork which Krevin disdained, when in orbit scaffolds and maintenance stations where any sensible commander’s concern would be his ship’s welfare the Commodore could be counted on instead to shuttle down to the planet’s surface and vanish among the vice-dens. Indeed rumors, quietly, circulated on more than one occasion of the commander and the cold Tyler arriving mere moments before the taskforce was set to ship out in rumpled uniforms and accompanied by “important planetary dignitaries” of the buxom sort.

“Until now that is.” Winthrop mused over as he rose and poured his Captain another helping, himself he abdicated not liking the bitter aftertaste of it.” Talking of visiting the ship, far more hands on than normal.”

Almost forgotten the return of the perfunctory cause of the Captain’s irritation caught him momentarily by surprise or as much as he showed beneath his bushy hairs and disciplined face. A slight raising of the corners of his eyebrows, for a moment, as he recalled the preliminary train of conversation.

“Yes. Yes it is.” Crell allowed, reaching for his beverage once more, mulling the incongruity around in his head.” Why would he. Why now?”

The Captain’s thoughts turning bleakly to the code Alpha-One scandoc sitting,under heaviest encryption, on his terminal which summarized his science divisions attempt to date to understand and rectify the “hyper-flux transition” the taskforce had undergone. That in itself merely a crude descriptor of the event they’d been sucked into akin to some bestial savage huddling half frozen in a cave labeling the star which heated its world a “ball of fire” and with equal understanding. The results of the happening, whatever once wished to call it, were even more muddled and debated within the report. One had argued the quantum resonance of their surroundings were “off” which since it was a presumed universal constant implied they’d traveled beyond such constraints, through he was debated both on his results and if the constant was truly such to begin with, while another had argued he had determined their position within the known universe but only after accounting for several thousand years of stellar drift, and could have been grasping at shadows, and even then the Home Galaxy was still a hundred lifetimes away at best possible speed.

What all of his scientists agreed on was that barring a recreation of the incident, or if the one person’s theory that they were stuck in the past held the creation of old style sleeper booths, none of them would live to see Imperial space again. They were utterly alone in an inky abyss whose dimensions they had not even began to truly probe. But perhaps that was the point.

“What more could he ask for? A virgin galaxy to put to the yoke, to conquer or lay to ashes as he sees.” Crell pondered slowly letting the implication seep into him same as the tea sliding past his mouth.” No higher authority, no impasse to his will. But perhaps me and that feral Jackson as if he could resist the lure of battle.”

“Sir?” Winthrop inquired leaning forward in his seat.

“ It makes sense. Since our arrival he’s been playing Emperor, fighting the aliens making pacts with the Native’s of this system. He doesn’t want to go back.” The Captain said, the veneer of a smile forming beneath his beard, slowly with the clicking of cogs falling into place.” And that’s why he’s coming here. Clever in his way, he’ll want to neutralize any threat to that. Namely the Talon.”

“I beg your indulgence sir?” The SubCommander whispered body instantly going tense.” Are you suggesting the Commodore will attack us?”

A not wholly impossible occurrence, beyond the tragedy of Korak other vessels of Imperial banners had suffered…most opportune demises. Command ships mysteriously lost their support Lines on the moment of attack or foraying Squadrons were beset with brusque suddenness by ravaging foes of overwhelming power but which none the less could vanish to the ethers afterwards.

“I do not believe it would be so crude. If nothing else he wants the Talon intact rather than a burned hulk.” Came the allusion.” No, he will be forced to be more circumvent. Say finding disapproving conduct during a surprise and personal inspection perhaps. Some bit of trivia by which he could wield as a dagger between us and our crew.”

“And which a refusal of such an inspection itself could warrant him cause.” Winthrop finished for his commander suddenly seeing the clever bands which even as they spoke could be being woven about their necks.

Nominally at least Krevin possessed the power to appoint and displace the subordinates whom served under him barring intervention from a Command which no longer existed in a meaningful sense. As a matter of fact and reality of course should Crell refuse compliance there was nothing the Commodore could do save raw, martial force to force him. Of which Krevin possessed a not trifle sum called the Judgment, worth easily a score of the Imperial class any fight was a full sworn conclusion. Leaving only flight and between brutal, sudden death against banks of turbolasers, the slower death of starvation and suffocation peddling aimlessly through unmarked stars or submitting to the will of the man who would be Emperor the SubCommander did not want to need to force sensitive to see how they’d react.

“Refusal would play into his hands but perhaps he’s too clever for his own good.” The Captain suggested, eyes taking on a mischievous gleam.” I think we should invite him to the Talon under some pretext. Give him no cause for concern, under cut his very argument, and with the same stroke present our aloof commander to the crew. Not the mystical, if carnal, deity some are apt to whisper of but the clownish buffoon he really is. The man-child struggling to play soldier-general, yes that just might be exactly what we need to stiffen the crews’ resolve.”

“I’ll arrange for it immediately sir.” Winthrop answered rising, cold smile on his lips.

After all Winthrop was not like his commanding officer, did not see himself as merely the latest steward in a long shuffling line. If the Commodore could be shaken from his perch, wholly or in part, could not he ultimately rise to the challenge? Commodore Winthrop, it had a good ring to it.

[Praeothmin]

Why those conniving, back-stabbing Imperials...

Moar pleeze?

[sonofccn]

Short update. Mostly me poking a little fun at "conspiracy" types. Don't roast me to bad for it please. I'm weak, I couldn't help myself. ;)

“ Gaze upon the ruins of your work, the slaughter of your gilded spun dreams crushed beneath the iron shod of my boot heel, and now true power. Not the limp wristed shadow which corpulent imperialist-dogs know but true unadorned power that of the old gods knew. Odin, Thor, great Ullr not since you have such pyres burned…”The Commando, via taped broadcast, following an intricate timed series of raids derailing transportation hubs across the European landmass as well as securing vital war elements for his forces.

Talon-II, mess hall-

“…got the dirt from Snid. He’s junior officer in charge of the communication band, splices all of ship to ship communication and the like so you can believe him. And Snid said this wasn’t an accident. No the Commodore got picked, handpicked by the Emperor, to lead us into the Unknown Regions.” Said the callow youth, looking no more than 19 to “Rynth’s” eyes, sitting across on the monochrome table.

Merely one of the innumerable who mulled elbow to elbow in the sterile and span looking cafeteria, row after row of tables stretching near its length in a cavernous room easily rivaling the total cubic space aboard the Saratoga in volume. And it was merely one of the feasting halls, “Rynth” gathering it was merely the one reserved for the white armor warriors and even then merely for those in the immediate surrounding sections of the mile long warship.

“Through I thought Snid also passed word that the Emperor was killed.” Enot rumbled without looking up from the tray he was dabbing a lumpy bread like substance into grayish sludge.

His words that of a contrarian rather than a firm believer, the slightest hints of a warble entering the rocky soldier’s tone as he pronounced the final word. They were also the first he’d spoken since he’d sat down with his meal and been beset by the cocky expressionism of the youthful warrior whom set across.

“Obviously misinformation. Planted to excuse his absence from his glorious position.” The youngling answered dropping his voice to a low hush as if afraid of being overheard.” This isn’t just some charting mission like they’ve tried before. This is big, Clone Wars big. Snid has the good intel the Wraith got royally turned by an aggressor ship not long ago, which was why we got picked to storm the asteroid base instead of them. Imagine a fleet of such ships pushing through our frontier worlds…”

“Of course. A super fleet of bad arse aliens just hiding out in the Unknown Regions all these years just biding their time and in response the Emperor sends a battlegroup or ten? No he sends Taskforce BSQ-187 to try and arrest this mortal threat.” Huriel laughed while struggling to chew the spongy clod of meat which thickened his words.

“Obviously he couldn’t pull the entire Star Fleet, the cancer that is the Rebellion would metastasize uncontrollably. Not to mention if the people found out that another Great Galactic struggle was upon them, so many remembering the blood drenched Clone Wars, would lead to total panic and anarchy.” The youth continued to reason to his unreceptive audience.” So he has to do this below sensor scopes. Using his skill to build a coalition into a bastion in which to blunt these aggressors’ invasion. Why do you think we’re spending so much time in this system? Why bother up teching a bunch of primitive savages unless they were to be the first lodestone in an all encompassing defensive line.”

The latter pronouncement made with the definitive authority of one learned of little but whom believes him master of all, the young Stormtrooper falling silent and returning to his cooling grub as he waited for an attempt at a rebuttal. One which, after Enot shared a harden stare with the abrasive Huriel, was some time in coming. The heavy gunner finishing chewing his latest mouthful and washing it down with a thick, blueish fluid smelling faintly of milk before swiping his greasy lips with a rumpled napkin and obliged the smaller warrior with his rough hewn visage.

“I have served in the Stormtrooper Corps nearly my whole adult life, been from one side of the galaxy to the other. And in that time I’ve fought Pirates, Megarachnids even intelligent reptiles whose forsaken weapons were powered by the “souls” of the innocent but I have never encountered a force which could threaten the Empire as Xeno theorists are want to summon.” Enot said slowly, his words etched crisp and clear like a perfectly forged sword.” Not every shadow which falls or inflicted misfortune is some obscure facet of a Grand scrabble between the Emperor and some nebulous and ill defined “Elder Threat”.”

The heavy gunner’s unyielding and drab mind finding the fanciful mental prostrations certain sects of people put up to romanticize humdrum reality fretful extravagance. A five percent increase in shipbuilding funds meant to him a systematic and logical progression of increased strength to match the expansion of borders of the ever growing Empire. Nothing more or requiring complex explanations which more furrowed the brow than illuminated but to others every action was a move on some celestial chessboard privy only to the highest echelons of society and apparently any random citizen with a holonet access and spare time.

“Sure. And I bet you believe the Death Star was built to keep the systems in line too. Rather than as an assault platform from which the Empire could economically invade the Unknown Regions and this nameless terror which inhabits it. As if the Emperor would waste trillions of credits building the most advanced weapon system the Galaxy has ever seen to combat a few pathetic rabble rousers armed with old hand me down fighters and adhoc retrofitted luxury liners.”

“They managed to destroy it didn’t they?” Huriel queried with a nasty smirk.

The Stormtrooper having during his tenor of service absorbed something of the Naval pride and prejudice concerning the building of proper ships rather than lumbering space stations. Not that he wouldn’t have jumped at a chance to serve aboard the Death Star as part of some Crusade against Xeno filth but by principals he considered it a wasted effort.

“Only because Mace Windu or one of his mad, clone Jedi managed to escape Alderaan ,which they were fortifying for person or persons unknown I might add, with Obi-wan and sneak aboard the station.” The young warrior grumbled souring to his task.” If the feeble Rebel attack hadn’t distracted Vader, whom recovered security logs showed him hunting down traitor Jedi Obi-wan, the Death Star would have endured. It was indestructible, mounted to repel entire battlegroups. As such that would never be found inside the Empire’s breadth.”

“This taskforce can and has routed enemy fleets and can replicate all practical aspects of the Death Star Superlaser if not the more esoteric effects. Even a fortress world fully cloaked in a planetary shield can be, over time, worn through by our guns. All for a trillionth-trillionth of the cost.” Enot laid out in his measured, confident pace.” I do not believe the Emperor is so bad at math not to see this.”

“Against the paltry forces of the known Galaxy. Cruisers and frigates, gunships and snub-fighters. But what of a race which builds a Star Destroyer equivalents as liberally as we do?” The callous youth pounced seeing his chance.” With the balance narrowed how would you combat such a threat? By throwing ever larger battlegroups composed of Star Destroyers at them? Or the one vehicle which can close to their production centers, shrug off any attack, obliterating it with the push of a button?”

Once more looking pleased with himself as the surrounding white armored soldiers all turned expectantly after the brass voiced heavy gunner whom had wrestled control, and responsibility, of their side of the argument. His stony face growing faint etchings, adding what “Rynth” thought of as a humanistic touch to his stern and easily described as cold face, as he worked out what had been said. Patiently and with his typically rigorous motions tearing off strips of his lumpy bread and eating it without concern of the wanted haste of the others. When he finished and stabbed the last of his grayish, meat like substance, “Rynth” could only describe it as possessing a deficit of taste, from his tray and swallowed it did he break his unhurried silence.

“Well I’m not a Commodore or a Naval strategist, don’t claim that I know my arse from a battlecruiser, merely a Stormtrooper who has served honorably the ideals of the New Order. But I would suggest launching concentrated “thrusts” from prepared and extensive supply lines.” Enot reasoned, wiping his mouth once again, in his slow and deliberate manner.” Allowing us to support and maintain the smaller but no less important vessels of the fleet. The Arquitens class light cruisers and escort carriers which will allow us to harry and direct the enemy to an engagement of our choosing. I would also trust to the valor and skill of the Star Destroyer’s crews to be an advantageous factor as represented not least of which by those presented around us.”

The room surging at the latest bit, even those from the farthest corners wholly oblivious to the greater conversation joined in the tidal force of cheering voices or thumping of an gauntleted fist against the table which swept outward. All conversation becoming impossible for the next several seconds as the noise echoed and reverberated over each other, his face impassive the heavy gunner allowed it with graceful tolerance to die its natural death before continuing.

“And I imagine the Emperor would see similar, such proposal vastly cheaper than the construction of the Death Star must have been.” He resumed to the younger warrior, only the gleam in Enot’s eye betraying his enjoyment at eviscerating the man’s argument.” Assuming he was concerned with strictly strategic-tactical matters of course. But fear is unbecoming for such dreaded aliens as you are won’t to conjure living on the edges of the map.”

“Don’t believe me then, I’m not making you, but just remember. We are going to be tested out here. In ways you can’t imagine.” The youth relented, face becoming a brooding mask, retreating back in his chair.

Remaining silent as the conversation drifted from alleged aliens and battle acumen to trifle arguments concerning “duelist”, a topic in which Enot warmed too with considerable affinity. Especially with his bringing up “Havoc the head ripper”, a particularly loathsome manifestation which from his vulgar descriptions reminded “Rynth” of the ilk of Ravagers.

“…so the Wookiee got Havoc’s arms right…doing his best to wrench them from his sockets so what does Havoc do? Leans in an chomps straight through that Xeno’s shaggy mane to his throat…” The heavy gunner exuberantly described not unlike John reminiscing over a prizefight.

And she made a point to chide him less for the violence of his interests as she learned the “head ripper” part of Havoc’s title was far from empty color but rather an earned distinction. Gathering a “collection” greater than anyone in the sector but perhaps the Beast of Acheron which appeared as something as a badge of honor among the Imperials. Another tidbit she tucked away along with everything else she was silently absorbing while pretending to concentrate on eating the spongy, tasteless meat like substance or the vaguely fruit tasting technocolor waxy blocks she’d received as a side. Not inedible by any means and likely nutritious, no one burned calories like the fighting class, through hardly appetizing and she’d concluded she had no desire to learn further about the complaints of “reprocessed matter” she’d heard flung to explain the drab food contents.

Such things beyond the scope of her mission and, she feared, endurance. Or at least her preference knowing better than most how far one could endure. As to her purpose among these savages through she was at least making progress. From there talks she was fairly comfortable of the Empire flagrant Xenophobia, to which even ardent Smith might find issue to quibble, to dismiss concerns they were knowing pawns of a celestial power through they still likely had acquired their technology from whatever race which had originally abducted them from Earth. More troubling, even more than the causal talk of the super-weapons such as the Death Star, was the references made to a Darth Vader. An ominous figure spoken of with mixture of awe and fear and claimed to posses power beyond mortal kin, described as being able to crush a man with a thought, whom it appeared enjoyed a close connection to the much talked about Emperor.

In the days before the Hyborean age it was not uncommon for the disciples of the dark gods to gain footholds in the courts of kings by acting as philosophical-wizards teasing the rulership, and thus his domain, into forsaken worship with promises of grandeur and pleasure. “Rynth” did not see why such could not hold sway once more, or if the talk was to be believed a society more ripe for conversion.

“And if all is to be believed.” She thought to herself sullenly.” The Emperor and perhaps even his Warlock ally are here to direct the expansion into our reach of space.”

Through not if she could help it she silently promised herself, refusing to once again see Earth under the thrall of the Emerald gods' puppets.

*

Why those conniving, back-stabbing Imperials...

But you repeat yourself. :) But what can I say I'm geared towards shiftless amoral characters who'd stab you for the slightest advantage. Donner and Jackson being some of the few exceptions of course.

[sonofccn]

That squeaking noise you hear is the gears of plot slowly turning. We get a little action this update as well as a cameo, sort of, by a familar character.

“…entered in pairs of two, immediately noting the deteriorated conditioned of the atmosphere, predominantly a mix of Carbon Dioxide, as well as the ship itself. Some of it due to weapons fire, Bug sonic disrupters and what may have been radiant matter based weapons, but brackish phlegm seeped from every bulkhead as well pooling in semi-calcified pools along the deck. At least where it hadn’t caved in filling lower compartments from the accruing deterioration and signs of combat we noted progressing down the breadth of the war-rocket. Both forms of damage becoming increasingly more blatant as we approached what we believed had been the bridge, a honeycombed room with particularly atrophied mechanisms. Their electrical dissolved into the slime and oozing from the ruined husks we attempted to operate. As for the ship’s compliment through we discovered crumbling disrupters, frayed tool pouches and vestige fortification hastily erected in sections we didn’t find a soul.” Colonel Malcolm commander of the USS Troopercarrier Vickburg on recovering a Bug war-rocket which “drifted” outside of their sphere of influence.

Talon-II, Remedial room-

I. The Heavy-Short change hero

“…claws, like flashes of gilded lightening, tore through the thick, fetid air of that accursed world plunging through the breast of Roanek, perfuming the heavy air with the precious droplets of his scarlet life, whom was torn from my sight. His heaving, ragged body wordlessly pitched behind the advancing Megarachnid, to be torn to crimson tatters by those which followed their reckless leader, serving as a poignant prelude to my own feckless fate. Heavily weighing me as if a millstone as I but did to discharge my duties and carry the light of the Emperor, beloved by all, against the loathsome Xeno heathens. Such swart like despair hovering over him like a odorous brume as I raised my battle carbine after the ravaging hell-fiend, rivers of ruby gore streaming from off of awry carapace, freely knowing even as I did contract the trigger ushering forth the luminous shot that should even the befoul miscreation of dark gods be slain I could not hope to in turn claim each of his confederates before they turned shot or claw to my sanguine innards.

Determinedly through I fought against such sorrow melancholy afflict me those final, precious motes of time impelled as I was to sell my nugatory self as dearly born as I could. My righteous choler rising in equal measures to the malevolent fury of my weapon as its first scintillating star blossomed. Its rapturous flight tragically fleeting before it bore its wrath upon the dark heart of the callous Xeno swine, its pitted hermetic armor bursting in a hedonistic ululation of frenzied ash and steam. The dynamic result repeated and amplified by my weapon’s precipitous volley of dazzling ordinance, the beat’s body vomiting apart in tendrils of stringy viscera revealing, as those lurid torrents descended, the crazed horde of it peers madly competing with one another for the glory of ending my days.

Such my existence continued some more scant breaths longer than I have previously so erroneously anticipated, the daunting power of my shot aided and added by the treacherous valor of those lowly cretins turning their panoply of cutlasses and cannon upon themselves yet in the merciless due of time a series of victors did emerge. Abhorrence vitriol consuming my heavy heart as such coarse horrors from the dark pits of the seven hells surrounded me, the pungent stench of their malignant presences burning my nostrils and choking my recitation of my oath to the beloved Emperor in that my final twilight of my service of piety and valiancy to the noble cause of humankind.

Low but such abrupt and unpleasant end never came, the murderous cohorts whom would have delivered it swiveling their slobbering mandibles back upon the wretched door they upended in their fiendish quest for entrance. Sensing, by some venerable sensory relic, presagedly the deliverer of their obliteration moment-spans before his truthful admittance.

Like the night devouring the waning aura of the sinking sun he emerged, a shadow of the deepest ebony hue wielding a gleaming scepter of vivid ruby, careening in but the speck of an eyeblink towards the largest of the surviving alien filth. Raising witch’s cackles of vaporized flesh and rocky chitin as he cleaved it asunder, messy formations parting as the dark avenging specter but turned raising his palm towards another of the foul cretin’s kin and who scarce had time to emit the painful wailing of its kind before being crushed in upon itself. Folded messily in half and with scornful ease hefted from the bounds of gravity and hurled like an archaic bullet across the room towards the remainder of the loathsome animals whose frantic fear laced shots were but blocked by the twirling scarlet saber the living shadow but wielded as if a feather and whose scything claws drew back not but knobs seared at the edge.

Then it was over leaving myself alone standing in the viscera soaked room of a abandoned house lost amid the larger churning war while he, that stygian emptiness which light fell upon but did not return, spared my being the most infinitesimal of glances as he slithered away. Parting these words which follow to the scarcely believing ears of mine before he vanished completely to the raging tempest of War of which he was its chosen deity and Blood-god.

“ I sense fear in you, greater than before. Good. Remember it and go, the battle still wages.” He spoke giving life to a void in which planets could die and galaxies subsume to not but dust.

And such did the first and sole confrontation between I, his Imperial Majesty’s most undeserving servant, and the Dark Lord of the Empire, the beloved Emperor’s mailed fist, did end through I…”

“Rynth” stopping there in the turgid recollections of Lance Corporal Kurec, some thousand odd pages of melodramatic mush, and keying back the list of selected texts and films the terminal had prepared from her key search. Having found the machine, the identical cousin to the dozens adorning the neglected chamber, built with the same mindset of utilitarian and straight forward simplicity as the rest of their designs while infinitely more capable and complex than the esoteric Uni-Vac interface of the Bureau.

Tens of Petrabytes of data literally hers at the merest press of a button exceeding the fevered dreams of TechCorp’s proposed Ultra-Vac super computer as well as all but the most far fetched hopes of Bug computational technology. Requiring merely an “operator number” to unlock, learned after feigning malfunction at a public terminal, which she readily obtained from the ever so slightly whimsical and batty clockwork placed in charge of such a tedious and repetitive duty. Incongruously grandfather like upon a battleships of cutthroats and psychotics, through she allowed a few did seem remarkably stable when taken against their peers, the machine-man had lightly chided the “organic-failure to remember anything more complex than the contents of their previous meal” then traced Rynth’s code number by a visual match of the trooper’s service photo.

“ I dare say that’s good enough, having infiltrated to the heart of a Star Destroyer I doubt very much simple retinal or thumb print verification would pose greater challenge. And if so, I surely wouldn’t be the one to stop you.” The machine had laughed, with thick edged formulaic airs, doing a remarkable imitation of a wink from one of its glowing eyes.”Maker knows it didn’t used to be like that, back during the Republic days. Less tape to be tangled with.”

The clockwork had even suggested a “quiet, out of the way place” for study. Doing nothing to suggest the robot believed her excuse but not objecting to it either, a shadowy twilight “Rynth” was glad to accept along with her operator number, as she bid her farewell alternating between concerns she was acting too “stiff” to fears of being far too cordial to a mechaniod. Through if the machine noted anything it failed to voice it, waving briefly with one of its four metallic hands before it returned to the novel it was reading from a gray skinned tablet which operated like a portable terminal.

Regardless of the machine’s perceptions however she, redonning her anonymous helmet, had made a point to travel in the opposite direction he’d suggested. Mingling with the constant flow of gray uniformed naval men, white armored troopers and black uniformed technicians whom filled the arteries of the corridors she’d descended two decks and migrated towards the outer edge of the ship’s livable interior before consulting a “public” terminal for ship’s schematics then traveling from there to her present location.

The hardest part of it all being her surprise that despite their linguistically similar spoken vocabulary, suggesting their “abduction” occurred relatively recently in the last few centuries, their written form consisted primarily of squiggly glyphs vaguely reminiscent of Earth style pictograms. Thankfully through with some determined prodding she’d been able to convert her terminal over to a Romanized alphabet system, construed in the system’s electronic archives as the High Galactic Alphabet, which she found far more agreeable.

Typing had still posed some difficulty but through trial and error she’d persevered, trawling through historical documents as well as technical ones before indulging her personal interest in the mysterious Vader creature spoken of in mixtures of hushed and reverent tones by the other Stormtroopers. Digesting everything from dry, boilerplate after action reports, self-aggrandizing memoirs to chaotic, high speed footage of battlezones. The later was what she selected the a follow up to Kurec’s suffocating dissertation, her screen lighting up with a blurred landscape of rusted iron while the sullen room filled with the muted noises of combat. Along with the sharper reproduced heavy rasping of breath of the recorder, identified by the tiny script of CT-27-5555 flashing in the top most corner, as he bounded between the crumbling wire fences and corroded pipes jutting from acid scarred concrete mountains towering through the ash filled heavens just barely hinted at from the edge of the camera’s vision.

Mortar shells, recognizable on Earth or any world, flew above in their murky haze whistling over head on their diminutive phoenix like flight along side smog bound strike crafts who circled like vultures peppering shimmering volleys into the rancid mess of steel and withered concrete. Tanks there as well, levitating on cushions of air, caught out of the edges of the recording as it bobbed and weaved through torn fences or ducked beneath disintegrated pipes spewing frothing chemicals into fetid pools. Fighting along side biped walkers which hopped and skipped with nimble agility among the blasted ruins, skeletal constructions which swiveled to and fro firing at the enemy withdrawing with proficient haste through the calcified industrial park.

Scrawny, tan clockworks of appreciable numbers who withdrew in mute unison through the shaggy eared jungle of scarlet tinged iron and filthy gray concrete, retreating under the guns of their own high profile tanks. The cannons of the upward thrusting war machines adding to the already quite voluminous fire of the mechanicals helping to flood the camera’s “lens” with dazzling fields of energy beams and the hissing vaporous clouds made where they made contact. But by far the most numerous specimen clogging the busted tracks of mesh fencing or collapsed billboards bearing unreadable signage was the pasty tide of armored warriors who staggered relentlessly forward. Fighting from jagged tooth stalagmite of steel or patchwork wall through the unyielding torrent of fire like the veterans of the Great War pushing their way through a trench’s defense, some of them shooting at revealed foes while others leap out from their meager battlements to dash underneath the scything lines of fire. The fortunate leaping into new dugouts yards further ahead where they radioed for punishing artillery to shatter and open up the avenue to go again, the unfortunate jerking in mid stride and collapsing amid a cloud of fiery embers.

All through it however “Rynth” failed to find hair or hide of her quarry and, suspecting the terminal had errored, reached to send it back to her list when the recording trooper scaled the side of a cliff cement and steel ordering those around him to follow. Clawing his way up and over encrusted wall’s edge and peering down into a basin which centuries ago had been fed by the runoff of the industrial plants but in the recent days had wizened and dried into an empty husk save for the crystallized silt which bedded the ground. Tens of feet thick in places, “Rynth” guessed from where the detritus dipped shallow revealing the corroded wall, and across this crunching bone white bed of petrified dust a dwindling caravan shambled towards a smallish transport packed at its center.

First and foremost of the shriveling line trekking over the bleached sands was a diminutive, scaled alien dressed in once lavish dress who fought between hurrying reaching his transport tugging at his bronze headdress which slipped from his leathery crown and tugging at the heavy crates being carried on stout polearms by more of the tan clockworks. Behind them treaded more of their peers firing with a frenzy palatable even through the recollection of film and ever so slightly more stocily larger, silver skinned cousins whose extended arms each seemed to terminated in a hazy crimson haze of weapons fire. And behind them, a onyx shadow traced in scarlet, an armored figure almost mistakable for a clockwork save for the icy dread which clung in the wake of his passage.

His every powerful step mindful and precise through the churning landscape of sinking salts and charred mechaniod bodies, hindered but not stopped by the ruby fire which threatened to engulf him. His burning sword of light, itself barely even a blur on the recording, intersecting most of the searing bolts ricocheting safely away, frequently back towards their owner, through the edges of his black armor and his flowing cape bore the markings of the growing number which escaped through. Faltering on the dark shadow’s part or mere indifference in his pursuit “Rynth” couldn’t guess merely watch as the recording trooper, with a scream to “make scrap out of those Clankers”, began spraying wildly through the clockworks’ ranks. His comrades, clamoring over the edge themselves, joining in upon the besieged robots who for a brief moment struggled against both the dark specter and the gunmen before being overwhelmed. Leaving only the pole carrying remnant, whom perished and fell in cherry red heaps, and the green skinned alien who at last allowed his ornate headdress to tumble to the calcified landscape as he made a stumbling sprint towards his waiting ship.

“ He is impressive. Not just his power but his ruthless determination.” A voice suddenly spoke behind “Rynth” as Vader hefted the alien up from the encrusted ground and flung him into the rotted wall.” Please relax. Otherwise they’ll won’t be enough left for an Ident scan.”

“You have a funny way of asking people to relax.” “Rynth” answered stopping the recording then turning in her seat to face the voice’s owner.

Finding him, a rather large looking pistol and a pair of flunkies standing inches from here. The speaker, and not for a moment did she doubt he was the one who spoke, was dressed in a junior naval man’s uniform through it was like wrapping a sheepskin around a timber wolf. From his frigid smile to his even colder blue eyes he was a predator, refined to the extent needed to pass and walk among civilization but his beating heart was unchanged from the first primal humans which had prowled the wilderness. His colleagues couldn’t even muster that, both wore the loose fabric uniform of the Army forces messily around their huge hewn bodies, standing sloppily with inattentive and frankly bored looking unintelligent faces. Both were quite impressively massive, dwarfing Smith and encroaching on even a Venusian’s physique, and battled hardened with one’s face partially obscured beneath three lightening bolt shaped scars which bisected from the left eye socket to right jowl and the other’s skin the pasty, mottled color of one badly burned.

“You’ll find I am a funny man. Hilarious even. Right Tun?” Blue Eyes asked prompting the burned figure to nod his head then, after a split-moment, grunt an affirmative.

“Boss is a regular comedian.” Tun growled thickly doing nothing to help his caricature as a Neanderthal.” Only, I doubt you are going to be the one laughing.”

“Should I take that as a threat or merely another joke?” “Rynth” asked tilting her head up to the towering muscle bound hulk.

“Oh Tun isn’t a funny man. I keep him around for…certain unpleasantness. But I’m being impolite.” Blue Eyes said with a smile as inviting as the void of space.” Trey Gambil. Of Imperial Security.”

The final two towards spoken with the way a man might whisper a woman’s name, disgusting warmth no less unpleasant than the coldness it replaced creeping into his features as he spoke that. Relishing it as a child would a secret he was forced to keep breathing it only rarely.

“That’s nice. Through I fail to see what that has to do with an old war documentary.” “Rynth”, recognizing the tone more than the name, stalled panning carefully across the three assembled figures.

“It isn’t. Rather whom it was you were looking for in that recording along with your other searches.” Blue Eyes replied with that hollow smile of his.” To be honest when a Being searches for both “ Darth Vader” and “Jedi” I feel the need to talk to them. And when said person also logs an impressive amount of flags for attempting to view restricted technical matters I really become curious. And when I become curious…well I have to answer it.”

“A marginally laudable quality depending on context.” “Rynth” sighed looking back to Blue Eyes.” So I am correct in understanding that I am under arrest and if I resist you’ll kill me?”

“Aw…tough guy? Well they always are. At first. Right Tun?” Gambil demanded from his muscle bound colleague.

This time the thick hewn clod answering without delay this time in his slobbering voice, a guttural cross between a voiced answer and a dark laugh as his lips parted in a wide grin.

“Yeah Boss. Always, but they scream in the end. I like it when they scream.” The big man gurgled raising one calloused hand and smacking it into his weather beaten fist with a loud crash.

The sound acting as an announcing bell for “Rynth”, settling upon the course she had now been abruptly dragged towards and with a small, reluctant sigh rose lifting her hands in a sluggish, meekly manner calculated to appease Blue Eyes. Gazing up at him she saw first a glint of surprise than disappointment blossom in those frost bitten orbs he possessed, the azule stones turning away from her as he began to call forward one of his henchmen. Only seeing “Rynth’s” smile from the corner of his eye because of it, the milliseconds it took to soak through his retina and be processed far too late. His voice turning to a warning cry as “Rynth” lunged forward grabbing past his blaster to his forearm and swinging it aside, twisting his wrist against its grain as she drove the pointed tip of her other palm up through the notch where his neck melted into his chest.

Both making satisfying splitting noises which she followed by curving up along the side of the collapsed throat and heaving him the opposite direction his handgun fell skidding, barreling over his limp, unresponsive body towards the thick headed Tun’s. Hearing Blue Eye’s skull slap against the deck platting, sounding like a falling anvil, feeling the mushy texture of his skin beneath her as her heel down against his ribs helping to catapult her towards her prey.

His body still withdrawing his rock hard fist from the craggy surface of his palm even as his mind reeled trying to follow the armored figure, ploddingly forming in his brain fore front like still frames from an old fashioned projector “Rynth’s” sailing body landing in front of him even as the air rang out with the iron thud of calloused flesh on plastoid armor. His fist batting the blunt edge of his assailant’s own hand away as if on its own accord, causing the armored warrior to continue forward into Tun’s other limb which snapped behind “Rynth” like a vise holding her in place, then dip towards his waist yanking the bronze handled dagger from its sheath.

Acting by rote the limb then scythed it upwards into the restrained victim, aiming for the chink between the torso and waist plate where the blade could slip easily into the tender innards, all while the muscular henchman belatedly spun his head to face “Rynth’s”. Registering the flush of anger at the figure’s face a breath before the knee drove up into his gut which unlike his opponent had no armor but his thick chords of muscle and even that folded against the driving force exploding upwards through his bowels.

Pain blossoming, long flowing ruby ribbons of it, up through his body as “Rynth”, driving her elbow into his clutching arm, broke free and scrambled up over the larger man’s chest anchoring herself and wailing on the front and sides of his face with a mailed fist. Repeating it even as the man’s leg’s began to buckle, even as she felt warm sticky fluid ooze out and his visage cave in, and he sloughed off towards the floor. Ceasing only after he hit, the noise of his landing cushioned by the spreading scarlet pool, and rose off of him. Reaching a hand to the jutting bronze handle protruding just below her chest plate and extracting it, its edge slick with her lifeblood, then throwing it down at the broken mess of its owner. Only after, the weapon landing with plop on Tun’s ruby stained tunic, did she remember the second warrior. Turning towards him just as his fist collided with the side of her jaw with the force of a colliding neutron star.

Momentary spasms of wishfullness regretting her removal of her helm, left laying on the computer console, through even in those transitory moments before the pain consumed her she doubted it would have aided any. Turning with it she none the less felt something warm and wet sprout inside her mouth along with something dense and hard, blisters of fire running through that entire side of her head as she staggered out of the reach of her attack coughing blood and broken shards of enamel.

Guttural curses than flooded her mind treading precariously through the sea of consciousness as well as the subtle shifting of weight informing her that the assailant wasn’t attempting to follow after, instead she glimpsed with some effort Scar Face’s hand leaping down to his holstered pistol. Content obviously to safely gun her down rather than close and suffer like Tun so, she bleakly realized through her aching brain, she’d have to sweeten the bait. Already catching her balance she’d immediately erased it ensure she plodded half falling towards Scar Face who tensed for a transitory moment expecting an assault then relaxed as “Rynth” drooped catching her falling torso with her hands against the deck plate. The nape of her tilted head perfectly exposed for a flawless execution shot, one Scar Face didn’t pass snapping his arm out to pull her against his drawing blaster.

His sinew and reflexes having been tested countless times in the heat of the moment, from drunken sprawls to hectic battlefields of tens of thousands, and never bested but he had never dueled a clockwork swordsman or the lithe movements of a Venusian warrior. “Rynth” however had, evading his outreach with a roll and grabbing Scar Face’s ankles as she collided into him pushing him up and over onto her back as she flipped driving down on top of the bewildered warrior. Hearing his bones rattle as he was crushed between her and the floor, adding to the grating discord by shattering her elbow into his face once, twice, thrice and more until she felt his body slacken.

Then she rolled off of him, reached bloody hands up to her already healing face and snapped it with a loud crack to the side, and stood up. Looking over the three prostrated figures, savoring the post battle euphoria, she couldn’t help the devilish idea creeping in.

“I guess I should thank you three. You saved me some trouble, and a guilty conscious.” She intoned opening a pouch on her utility belt and extracting the vial. “ So the only question which one of you is the lucky tyke who get’s it?”