Sci-Fi Nerd: I own none of the characters, ships, yada yada yada, except
those of my own making.
Prologue
Wedge was waiting for his third pickup of the day when the news hit him. The crowded bar of Mos Eisley was not the universe's most distinguished place for a meeting, but hey, outlaws couldn't be fussy. The upholstery was bad, the drinks were worse, and the patrons themselves were about as rock-bottom as a sentient being could get.
He'd been waiting for his third delivery of weapons for the day; Talon Karrde really knew how to run an underground organization for being just a simple smuggler. He'd already managed to secure enough spare parts to keep Wedge's boys' X-wings operating for at least another three months; and that was on top of securing a load of high-tech disintegrator rifles for the rest of Wedge's team the month previous. Those had been useful; they'd hit an Imperial armory on Rishi the week after, and the stormtroopers didn't even see the blasts that turned them into piles of ash. Karrde promised Wedge that as soon as they built up enough weapons in storage, he'd try to get a full fledged factory going on one of the asteroid hideouts they had going with General Bel Iblis.
Anyways, the last man of the day had been just a little bit late, and Wedge had started to disobey his own first law of insurgency: never get distracted by your surroundings. He'd started to listen to the various conversations around him without any real intent of using what he heard, and by coincidence, he hit the jackpot.
Two fat Duros merchants were talking in excited bubbling voices as they quaffed large mugs of clear ale that smelled like a ronto's backside. They looked fairly well off, and had a fat enough pocket that Wedge might have considered targeting them in a raid, but he wasn't paying attention to their wealth.
"Did you hear?" one said to the other in a voice suggesting that what was about to be said was important on a par with the destruction of Alderaan. However, this time, unlike many times Wedge had heard that tone before, it was true. "Thrawn's taken Coruscant, and setting up a new Imperial government. Only there's no Emperor; only him."
Wedge didn't wait to hear the rest. He slumped back in his chair, feeling a sense of loss that shouldn't have been there. He'd known, intellectually, that after Bilbringi, there was nothing to stop the Imperial mastermind from taking the Republic to its foundations, but somehow, a seed of hope had been allowed to thrive in his heart even then. Now, that was crushed. Grand Admiral Thrawn, the last and greatest of the Emperor's strategists, had beaten the New Republic. Surely the galaxy was lost.
No. He mentally slapped himself, hard. There were still the foundations of a resistance, laid by Karrde, Bel Iblis, and many more of the generals and officers who had escaped Thrawn's net at Bilbringi. Wedge wondered vaguely about Admiral Ackbar. The Calamarian had indeed fled Bilbringi, but he had returned to Coruscant. Wedge wondered if he was dead. That would be a sore blow in the fight against the Imperial war machine.
A man slid into the booth across from Wedge. He was tall, yet with nondescript features and a rumpled jumpsuit that seemed to fade into a crowd. His build suggested extensive physical training, and Wedge could see the stress on cloth of a blaster tucked into his armpit. He let his own weapons become ready, cocking his big toe in such a way that if he flexed in a certain manner, a small poison dart would be shot out of his boot and embed itself in his companion. He'd become an expert at such subterfuges since he'd gone outlaw.
"You've got the delivery, then?" Wedge asked in a low voice, making sure none of the other seedy inhabitants of the bar could hear their conversation.
"I'm not your delivery man," the man said with a hint of smugness that put Wedge right on edge. If he tried to arrest him or detain him, he'd find a dart in his belly soon enough.
The man must have seen Wedge tense slightly, because he raised his hands in supplication, and even tossed his blaster, a small yet powerful hold-out model that Wedge hadn't seen before. Wedge picked it up, glanced at it, and then put it under the table, pointing at the man's midsection.
"Talk," he commanded.
"I'm an emissary to you from an alien race that lives in the area you call Wild Space," the man said softly, eyes shining with self-importance.
"Uh-huh," Wedge said sarcastically, finger itching with the wish to blow this creep away and just get the hell out of Mos Eisley and off Tatooine. "And I should believe you why?"
"There's a reason I'm so tall," he whispered. "Do you want visual proof?"
Wedge got the man's implication, but he hesitated several seconds before nodding quietly and standing up. He put the hold-out in his waistband, and tossed the bartender a couple of Imperial coins. As much as he hated using that mint of money, posing as an Imperial citizen leant certain protective qualities in this turbulent atmosphere.
Wedge let the man lead him out of the bar and into the glaring double suns of Tatooine's mid-day. The broiling heat immediately brought a sheen of sweat to Wedge's forehead, which was itself instantly absorbed by the intensely dry air. This cycle would continue until they found some sort of shelter from the sun.
The broad boulevard that ran its way up to the cantina's door was deserted, but also pockmarked with alcoves and alleys. His strange companion chose a fairly narrow alley in which to reveal himself, and Wedge followed cautiously, digging out the blaster again, now that he was in an empty street.
The two wedged themselves into the narrow alley, and for the first time, Wedge noticed something hanging at the man's belt: a small silver box studded with dials and switches. He glanced at the box, then at the man several times.
"Yes, you see it," the man said. "Now watch." He fiddled with several of the switches, stabbed a button with his thumb, and then the holo-shroud dissolved to reveal his true nature.
The alien stood more than two meters in height, covered with an oily black skin that gleamed even in shadow. His legs were incredibly long and triple jointed, so that he appeared to be crouching even when standing reasonably straight. Massive four fingered hands and arms descended from a barrel chest that was layered in strange patterns of muscle. Atop a squat neck, a beaked head alighted like a sea monster, filled with razor teeth in its maw and ringed by tentacles around a gaping mouth at the rear of his skull. Massive yellow eyes completed the nightmarish assembly of features.
"Damn." was all Wedge could say. He was not overly given to swearing, but this sight took his breath away. "So you're really an alien?"
The alien ripped away the holo-shroud device for an answer, and snapped it in two. His appearance remained the same. He then spoke in a deep voice, curiously flowing and smooth.
"So you see? I am what I say I am."
Wedge managed to croak, "Yeah, I'm beginning to understand."
The alien bowed his large head in Wedge's direction. "We wish to assist you in your fight against this warlord you are opposed to."
"You'd help us against Thrawn?" Wedge was profoundly honored and terrified in the same instant. "But the man's a genius! He'd rip your armies apart with his strategies like- like straws!"
A rumbling chuckled emerged from the beaked mouth. "Not the In'ca Din'ca, I think."
"Inka-what? That's what you call yourselves?"
"Yes. I do not believe Thrawn, as you name him, has seen our kind before, therefore." The alien held out both hands in a gesture of expectancy.
"He won't know how to counter you," Wedge marveled. It was as neat and helpful a package as he could have hope for. Of course there was still the possibility that it was all a setup.
"You, of course," the In'ca Din'ca said wryly, "Still do not trust me. Therefore I ask you if you will take me to someone who I can explain this to again. I can prove myself to you, in time."
"You have a ship?" Wedge asked, relenting. He'd take this guy to Karrde, who would decide if he was genuine and worth passing on to Bel Iblis for further inspection. With a hunted resistance like theirs was, you couldn't afford to be careless in your treatment of strangers. Every new member got the same interrogation/corroboration process, whether they'd been Republic or not.
"I do," the big alien replied. "I suggest that we travel in tandem; I am correct in assuming you are going to take me somewhere, yes?" He spread his massive hands.
"Yeah," Wedge grumbled, irritated at being forced into a decision like this one. Then he slapped his hand to his forehead and cursed loudly. "My pickup!"
"Your delivery of weapons? They are stowed in my ship," the alien said smugly, and Wedge nearly pulled the blaster and shot him right then and there.
"And how did they get into your ship?" he asked, voice coming very softly and dangerously. The blaster, he discovered, was already pointed at the alien's midsection, and Wedge's finger was putting very close to enough pressure to fire the weapon on the trigger already.
"I suggest you not fire that weapon as yet," the alien cautioned. "Blasters are ineffective against my kind; something to do with our excretions, I believe. As to your weapons, I simply persuaded your man that he had been too late and that I would deliver them to your Captain Karrde myself. He seemed quite grateful to be rid of them, actually."
Wedge hissed angrily and holstered the gun. It seemed he was getting more surprises than he had bargained for on this outing. Now, if only the alien was telling the truth, they'd be set.
"Lead me to your ship," he commanded, and the alien set off dutifully out of the other side of the alley, emerging into the dust-laden air of the city streets without fear for his appearance. Wedge just hoped no hidden watchers had seen two men enter and then their odd pairing leave. "What's your name, if I can pronounce it?"
The alien chuckled roughly. "Our tongue is difficult to learn by humans. I am Kenji Ba'sadahk. My rank in our military forces equates roughly to that of a Captain in yours. I deal with intelligence operations pertaining to galactic activities. That is why I have been sent to find your people."
"Your intelligence seems very well informed," Wedge grumbled. He was still sore that they would be able to identify him, Karrde, his pickup, and their organization so easily. Obviously, they needed more work at concealment.
"Do not be too irritated," Kenji said. "We have been masters of hiding our strength and prosperity for centuries. We knew exactly what to look for to find a hidden organization."
Wedge felt a little better. Maybe this new race could teach them some more ways to hide out and strike more effectively at Imperial targets; especially now that Thrawn had defeated the Republic and would be able to focus on the resistance groups scattered across the galaxy. The largest battleship the resistance had at this time was a Dreadnought, and Wedge didn't think they'd last very long when Thrawn turned loose his Star Destroyers.
Kenji's ship was hidden in a small hangar on the outskirts of Mos Eisley, and there appeared to be no stormtroopers guarding it. Kenji explained that a hefty bribe had gotten customs officials to declare it off limits to everyone except the owner.
The ship itself was a thing of beauty. A tapering torpedo-shaped midsection, painted non-reflective black, was out-rigged by massive twin pods that contained cargo space and engines. Two gun arms were slung just underneath the nose of the vessel, and elegant fins bearing secondary thrusters arched up above the rear of the ship. The whole thing reeked of technological superiority and innovation.
"What do you call her?" Wedge asked.
"In your tongue, she would be the Stiletto," Kenji answered, gazing at his own ship with a sparkle in his massive, predatory eyes. "She is a wondrous craft, is she not?"
Wedge opened his mouth to agree, but a blaster bolt roaring past his sleeve cut off his reply. Without looking behind him, he rolled for cover, coming up behind a misplaced cargo box against the wall of the bay. Yanking out the hold-out he'd taken from Kenji, he risked a glance over the box.
Twelve stormtroopers formed a semi-circle at the doorway, and more were piling through into the chamber. It looked like at least four squads worth. Wedge cursed and prepared to sell his life dearly.
Kenji stopped him.
The big alien dove headfirst into the cluster of troopers, ignoring several high-powered blaster bolts that should have burned him down where he stood. Instead, the impacts glowed orange and then faded as if they were absorbed into him. Four troopers lay dead of claw slashes, and Wedge stood up to join the fight.
The hold-out blaster was of an unfamiliar make, but the design was basically the same, though intended for bigger hands. It spat blue energy bolts that exploded against stormtrooper armor, pitching them backwards with unusual force and causing even more confusion.
Keni brought out a comm as he backed off from the fight. Tapping open a frequency, he spat some burbling words into it, and then shouted, "Duck!" Wedge hit the floor, and then all hell broke loose.
The gun arms on the underside of the Stiletto's nose swiveled and targeted the stormtroopers with a flood of blue energy bolts that combusted them where they stood and blasted large craters in the wall beside the door. Within three seconds, the guns fell silent, having no more targets to shoot at.
"Come on!" Kenji growled, racing up a hidden ramp into the interior of his ship. "They'll have yours marked and impounded by now!"
Cursing his misfortune but also wondering at the strategic impact of a possible alliance with a race like this, Wedge ran up the ramp into the alien ship.
PLEASE REVIEW! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM APPRECIATED, BUT NO FLAMES! -Sci-Fi Nerd
Prologue
Wedge was waiting for his third pickup of the day when the news hit him. The crowded bar of Mos Eisley was not the universe's most distinguished place for a meeting, but hey, outlaws couldn't be fussy. The upholstery was bad, the drinks were worse, and the patrons themselves were about as rock-bottom as a sentient being could get.
He'd been waiting for his third delivery of weapons for the day; Talon Karrde really knew how to run an underground organization for being just a simple smuggler. He'd already managed to secure enough spare parts to keep Wedge's boys' X-wings operating for at least another three months; and that was on top of securing a load of high-tech disintegrator rifles for the rest of Wedge's team the month previous. Those had been useful; they'd hit an Imperial armory on Rishi the week after, and the stormtroopers didn't even see the blasts that turned them into piles of ash. Karrde promised Wedge that as soon as they built up enough weapons in storage, he'd try to get a full fledged factory going on one of the asteroid hideouts they had going with General Bel Iblis.
Anyways, the last man of the day had been just a little bit late, and Wedge had started to disobey his own first law of insurgency: never get distracted by your surroundings. He'd started to listen to the various conversations around him without any real intent of using what he heard, and by coincidence, he hit the jackpot.
Two fat Duros merchants were talking in excited bubbling voices as they quaffed large mugs of clear ale that smelled like a ronto's backside. They looked fairly well off, and had a fat enough pocket that Wedge might have considered targeting them in a raid, but he wasn't paying attention to their wealth.
"Did you hear?" one said to the other in a voice suggesting that what was about to be said was important on a par with the destruction of Alderaan. However, this time, unlike many times Wedge had heard that tone before, it was true. "Thrawn's taken Coruscant, and setting up a new Imperial government. Only there's no Emperor; only him."
Wedge didn't wait to hear the rest. He slumped back in his chair, feeling a sense of loss that shouldn't have been there. He'd known, intellectually, that after Bilbringi, there was nothing to stop the Imperial mastermind from taking the Republic to its foundations, but somehow, a seed of hope had been allowed to thrive in his heart even then. Now, that was crushed. Grand Admiral Thrawn, the last and greatest of the Emperor's strategists, had beaten the New Republic. Surely the galaxy was lost.
No. He mentally slapped himself, hard. There were still the foundations of a resistance, laid by Karrde, Bel Iblis, and many more of the generals and officers who had escaped Thrawn's net at Bilbringi. Wedge wondered vaguely about Admiral Ackbar. The Calamarian had indeed fled Bilbringi, but he had returned to Coruscant. Wedge wondered if he was dead. That would be a sore blow in the fight against the Imperial war machine.
A man slid into the booth across from Wedge. He was tall, yet with nondescript features and a rumpled jumpsuit that seemed to fade into a crowd. His build suggested extensive physical training, and Wedge could see the stress on cloth of a blaster tucked into his armpit. He let his own weapons become ready, cocking his big toe in such a way that if he flexed in a certain manner, a small poison dart would be shot out of his boot and embed itself in his companion. He'd become an expert at such subterfuges since he'd gone outlaw.
"You've got the delivery, then?" Wedge asked in a low voice, making sure none of the other seedy inhabitants of the bar could hear their conversation.
"I'm not your delivery man," the man said with a hint of smugness that put Wedge right on edge. If he tried to arrest him or detain him, he'd find a dart in his belly soon enough.
The man must have seen Wedge tense slightly, because he raised his hands in supplication, and even tossed his blaster, a small yet powerful hold-out model that Wedge hadn't seen before. Wedge picked it up, glanced at it, and then put it under the table, pointing at the man's midsection.
"Talk," he commanded.
"I'm an emissary to you from an alien race that lives in the area you call Wild Space," the man said softly, eyes shining with self-importance.
"Uh-huh," Wedge said sarcastically, finger itching with the wish to blow this creep away and just get the hell out of Mos Eisley and off Tatooine. "And I should believe you why?"
"There's a reason I'm so tall," he whispered. "Do you want visual proof?"
Wedge got the man's implication, but he hesitated several seconds before nodding quietly and standing up. He put the hold-out in his waistband, and tossed the bartender a couple of Imperial coins. As much as he hated using that mint of money, posing as an Imperial citizen leant certain protective qualities in this turbulent atmosphere.
Wedge let the man lead him out of the bar and into the glaring double suns of Tatooine's mid-day. The broiling heat immediately brought a sheen of sweat to Wedge's forehead, which was itself instantly absorbed by the intensely dry air. This cycle would continue until they found some sort of shelter from the sun.
The broad boulevard that ran its way up to the cantina's door was deserted, but also pockmarked with alcoves and alleys. His strange companion chose a fairly narrow alley in which to reveal himself, and Wedge followed cautiously, digging out the blaster again, now that he was in an empty street.
The two wedged themselves into the narrow alley, and for the first time, Wedge noticed something hanging at the man's belt: a small silver box studded with dials and switches. He glanced at the box, then at the man several times.
"Yes, you see it," the man said. "Now watch." He fiddled with several of the switches, stabbed a button with his thumb, and then the holo-shroud dissolved to reveal his true nature.
The alien stood more than two meters in height, covered with an oily black skin that gleamed even in shadow. His legs were incredibly long and triple jointed, so that he appeared to be crouching even when standing reasonably straight. Massive four fingered hands and arms descended from a barrel chest that was layered in strange patterns of muscle. Atop a squat neck, a beaked head alighted like a sea monster, filled with razor teeth in its maw and ringed by tentacles around a gaping mouth at the rear of his skull. Massive yellow eyes completed the nightmarish assembly of features.
"Damn." was all Wedge could say. He was not overly given to swearing, but this sight took his breath away. "So you're really an alien?"
The alien ripped away the holo-shroud device for an answer, and snapped it in two. His appearance remained the same. He then spoke in a deep voice, curiously flowing and smooth.
"So you see? I am what I say I am."
Wedge managed to croak, "Yeah, I'm beginning to understand."
The alien bowed his large head in Wedge's direction. "We wish to assist you in your fight against this warlord you are opposed to."
"You'd help us against Thrawn?" Wedge was profoundly honored and terrified in the same instant. "But the man's a genius! He'd rip your armies apart with his strategies like- like straws!"
A rumbling chuckled emerged from the beaked mouth. "Not the In'ca Din'ca, I think."
"Inka-what? That's what you call yourselves?"
"Yes. I do not believe Thrawn, as you name him, has seen our kind before, therefore." The alien held out both hands in a gesture of expectancy.
"He won't know how to counter you," Wedge marveled. It was as neat and helpful a package as he could have hope for. Of course there was still the possibility that it was all a setup.
"You, of course," the In'ca Din'ca said wryly, "Still do not trust me. Therefore I ask you if you will take me to someone who I can explain this to again. I can prove myself to you, in time."
"You have a ship?" Wedge asked, relenting. He'd take this guy to Karrde, who would decide if he was genuine and worth passing on to Bel Iblis for further inspection. With a hunted resistance like theirs was, you couldn't afford to be careless in your treatment of strangers. Every new member got the same interrogation/corroboration process, whether they'd been Republic or not.
"I do," the big alien replied. "I suggest that we travel in tandem; I am correct in assuming you are going to take me somewhere, yes?" He spread his massive hands.
"Yeah," Wedge grumbled, irritated at being forced into a decision like this one. Then he slapped his hand to his forehead and cursed loudly. "My pickup!"
"Your delivery of weapons? They are stowed in my ship," the alien said smugly, and Wedge nearly pulled the blaster and shot him right then and there.
"And how did they get into your ship?" he asked, voice coming very softly and dangerously. The blaster, he discovered, was already pointed at the alien's midsection, and Wedge's finger was putting very close to enough pressure to fire the weapon on the trigger already.
"I suggest you not fire that weapon as yet," the alien cautioned. "Blasters are ineffective against my kind; something to do with our excretions, I believe. As to your weapons, I simply persuaded your man that he had been too late and that I would deliver them to your Captain Karrde myself. He seemed quite grateful to be rid of them, actually."
Wedge hissed angrily and holstered the gun. It seemed he was getting more surprises than he had bargained for on this outing. Now, if only the alien was telling the truth, they'd be set.
"Lead me to your ship," he commanded, and the alien set off dutifully out of the other side of the alley, emerging into the dust-laden air of the city streets without fear for his appearance. Wedge just hoped no hidden watchers had seen two men enter and then their odd pairing leave. "What's your name, if I can pronounce it?"
The alien chuckled roughly. "Our tongue is difficult to learn by humans. I am Kenji Ba'sadahk. My rank in our military forces equates roughly to that of a Captain in yours. I deal with intelligence operations pertaining to galactic activities. That is why I have been sent to find your people."
"Your intelligence seems very well informed," Wedge grumbled. He was still sore that they would be able to identify him, Karrde, his pickup, and their organization so easily. Obviously, they needed more work at concealment.
"Do not be too irritated," Kenji said. "We have been masters of hiding our strength and prosperity for centuries. We knew exactly what to look for to find a hidden organization."
Wedge felt a little better. Maybe this new race could teach them some more ways to hide out and strike more effectively at Imperial targets; especially now that Thrawn had defeated the Republic and would be able to focus on the resistance groups scattered across the galaxy. The largest battleship the resistance had at this time was a Dreadnought, and Wedge didn't think they'd last very long when Thrawn turned loose his Star Destroyers.
Kenji's ship was hidden in a small hangar on the outskirts of Mos Eisley, and there appeared to be no stormtroopers guarding it. Kenji explained that a hefty bribe had gotten customs officials to declare it off limits to everyone except the owner.
The ship itself was a thing of beauty. A tapering torpedo-shaped midsection, painted non-reflective black, was out-rigged by massive twin pods that contained cargo space and engines. Two gun arms were slung just underneath the nose of the vessel, and elegant fins bearing secondary thrusters arched up above the rear of the ship. The whole thing reeked of technological superiority and innovation.
"What do you call her?" Wedge asked.
"In your tongue, she would be the Stiletto," Kenji answered, gazing at his own ship with a sparkle in his massive, predatory eyes. "She is a wondrous craft, is she not?"
Wedge opened his mouth to agree, but a blaster bolt roaring past his sleeve cut off his reply. Without looking behind him, he rolled for cover, coming up behind a misplaced cargo box against the wall of the bay. Yanking out the hold-out he'd taken from Kenji, he risked a glance over the box.
Twelve stormtroopers formed a semi-circle at the doorway, and more were piling through into the chamber. It looked like at least four squads worth. Wedge cursed and prepared to sell his life dearly.
Kenji stopped him.
The big alien dove headfirst into the cluster of troopers, ignoring several high-powered blaster bolts that should have burned him down where he stood. Instead, the impacts glowed orange and then faded as if they were absorbed into him. Four troopers lay dead of claw slashes, and Wedge stood up to join the fight.
The hold-out blaster was of an unfamiliar make, but the design was basically the same, though intended for bigger hands. It spat blue energy bolts that exploded against stormtrooper armor, pitching them backwards with unusual force and causing even more confusion.
Keni brought out a comm as he backed off from the fight. Tapping open a frequency, he spat some burbling words into it, and then shouted, "Duck!" Wedge hit the floor, and then all hell broke loose.
The gun arms on the underside of the Stiletto's nose swiveled and targeted the stormtroopers with a flood of blue energy bolts that combusted them where they stood and blasted large craters in the wall beside the door. Within three seconds, the guns fell silent, having no more targets to shoot at.
"Come on!" Kenji growled, racing up a hidden ramp into the interior of his ship. "They'll have yours marked and impounded by now!"
Cursing his misfortune but also wondering at the strategic impact of a possible alliance with a race like this, Wedge ran up the ramp into the alien ship.
PLEASE REVIEW! CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM APPRECIATED, BUT NO FLAMES! -Sci-Fi Nerd