TIE Fighter
Wolf Pack Formation
By
Daryl J. Koerth
Prologue
Sprat! Donovan braced himself as the craft shivered around him, the energy blast that had hit his TIE fighter dissipating against his viewport. He didn't have shields, so unfortunately the transparisteel on that portion of the cockpit spider webbed as it almost lost integrity. Great, he thought. Just what I needed...another dent in my head. Let's see how the old crack shot likes a piece of his own, though.
Drawing on his years of training and all the talent he could hold on to, Donovan threw the tiny fighter into a perfectly executed reverse corkscrew, coming about on his attacker's flank, directly behind him. Who says X-wings are space superiority starfighters? He watched as the glowing engines grew closer, burning hot as they tried to lose their pursuer. It was a rather generous feeling of superior strength, knowing you had your opponent by the throat, knowing that no matter what, you had him defeated, that had driven Donovan to take his first step into being a pilot. Sure, he loved flying--he wouldn't have been a pilot if he didn't--but the sheer sensation of adrenaline that he loved so much, that he felt now, was what had made him want to fight. He took a deep breath as he let his fingers dance over the control panel, routing more energy to his cannons, and smiled as he held his breath and fired. The firing buttons were easily coerced into their purpose, and clicked rapidly as he pressed them again, and again...and with a flash of flame and released gases, the X-wing exploded before him, a flower of pure destruction.
It was that same blinding light which broke the illusion. The world swept into focus before him as the dark dome of the flight simulator rose into the air on its hydraulics. His helmet's view plate adjusted for the sudden rise in light levels, darkening so that it obstructed his sight. Each of his team members got up from their simulator chairs before Donovan finally stood up.
"Once again, my friends, I win the game. Sorry, but I guess it's back to basic for you guys," he said as he unbuckled the restraints on his flight suit. He looked over them, the reflective black faceplates staring back at him. Giving a bright smile, he saluted them lazily with two fingers and turned to retrieve his emergency gear from behind his seat.
"You really think you're the best, don't you Marks?," asked Carson, one of the other trainees.
"You bet, Carson," he said as he added with an even wider smile, "I'm a lot better than you, obviously."
The metallic click of heels on the flight deck always let you know that the commanding officer was on his way long before you saw him, and Donovan immediately dropped his gear and spun to face the C.O., just in time to bow his head in salute. The other trainees were already at attention at their sim stations, bodies rigid under the harsh scrutiny of the officer's glare. He just stood there, looking over the trainees, letting the tension hang in the air for a handful of heartbeats before his eyes finally came to rest on Donovan. His chin rose slightly as he appraised Donovan, and then he spoke. "You are trainee Donovan Marks, are you not?"
Donovan responded to him with a curt nod and a sharp, "Aye, sir."
The eyes of the officer burned into him for a moment longer before he said, "Good. Very good. You shall have the rest of the day to yourself. Gather your personal belongings, and prepare for dispatch. Then you are to report to the Duty Office in three hours for immediate assignment. Understand?"
Donovan didn't believe what he was hearing. He was being assigned. "Aye, sir."
The officer almost gave a smile, and said aloud so the others could surely hear, "Congratulations, Lieutenant Marks. You're fighting for the Empire now."
Donovan smiled slightly, even though he took this very seriously. He was finally getting out of this place. He was going to get to fight against live pilots now, not just these simulated ones. This was going to be great. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The officer turned slightly so he could see the rest of the trainees, and said loudly, "The rest of you are to report immediately to Commander Tsang for field drills. Double time! Move!" He clapped his hands to signify the end of the one-sided conversation, and the trainees scurried for the bay doors that led out into the drilling fields. With that, he nodded to Donovan one last time, and then he turned and walked briskly out of the simulation bay. Donovan just stood there for a moment, his heart leaping for joy. He had been chosen to fight for the Empire, just like he'd wanted all his life. This was going to be great. He turned and grabbed his emergency gear bag off the floor at his feet, then jogged off toward the barracks to gather his things.
* * * *
"Going somewhere, hotshot?"
Donovan didn't need to hear anymore to know exactly who it was he was speaking to. Spinning on his heels, he snapped to attention and tipped his head in a sharp salute. "Yes, sir," he said, and then gave a very brief pause before adding, "To fight for the Empire, sir."
The officer smiled.
"At ease, pilot. I'm not here to drill you about anything." Donovan let his stance slacken, but not much. Not in the presence of the man who had held his life in a tight fist for the past two years.
"Yes, sir."
"I came to congratulate you, Lieutenant. I heard about your promotion and your immediate assignment. Have you been to the Duty Office to receive that assignment yet?"
"No, sir. I haven't yet finished gathering my things."
"Well, please continue. I will hold you no longer. Once again, Lieutenant, congratulations."
"Thank you, sir." Donovan watched as the man turned and walked away before he turned once again to face his bunk, and his solitary bag.
"Oh, and pilot?," the officer said, making Donovan once again spin on his heels to face him.
"Yes, sir?"
The officer saluted him informally with a grin and said, "Welcome to the Fleet."
"Thank you, sir."
With that, the officer turned, and was gone.
Donovan took one last glance over the now empty bunk where he had slept for the past two years, and made sure he had packed everything. Nothing remained of his humbling old home, save for a terribly worn mattress and a set of neatly folded bed sheets that sat perched at the foot of the bunk. He looked to the bag that held everything he owned. Everything he owned, in one single duffel bag. He sighed, and picked it up from the bed, slung it over his right shoulder. It was time to leave. He took one last look into the dim barracks as he passed through the doorway, and thought in a fleeting moment about all of the experiences he'd encountered here, all of the things he'd learned. His emotion threatening to overcome his eyes, and turned and walked out of the doorway. As he walked the long, dark corridor to the outside training fields, he considered his position.
This is what I've always wanted. I'm going to fight for the Empire now, and this is how it must be. There is no room for emotions like these in the life of a pilot. No fears, no regrets, no friends--not for long, anyway...and certainly no pity.
He opened the door to the outside training fields, and bright, warm sunlight spilled onto his face, flashing briefly across his glasses before they had time to compensate for the sudden brightness. Walking across the open fields, he paused a moment to watch the hundreds of trainees going through their rigorous evening exercises, all lined up in neat rows. From behind him came another voice, this one just as familiar as the last.
"Think you're special, huh?"
Donovan turned around slowly, his dark glasses glinting in the bright sunset. Before him stood a young man of about twenty-four, with a fairly strong frame. He was dressed like Donovan for the most part, with his black flight pants and boots, and a tight fitted black shirt that outlined his muscular upper body. Donovan stared at him for a moment before saying anything.
"Careful, pilot. You might just find yourself in charge of mess clean-up, you keep talking that way." He reached up with his free hand to display the Lieutenant's bar in his fingers, and the other pilot's jaw dropped.
"No way. You've got to be joking."
"That's right, Spider...I got promoted. Reassignment effective immediately."
The other laughed heartily, and stepped forward with an extended hand, which Donovan promptly took in his own, shaking it. "Congratulations," he said. "Where you going?"
"Don't know yet. I was on my way to the Duty Office to find out."
"Well, when you find out where they're sending you, put in a good word for my transfer to the same place." He began trotting backwards, out toward the field where the rest of the trainees were exercising. "Maybe I can take your wing someday." Spreading his hands to emphasize a 'see you later,' Spider turned as he jogged back out to the drill field. Donovan watched him disappear into the crowd of trainees, all dressed alike, and then turned on his own heels and began the walk across the compound to the Duty Office.
* * * * * * * *
The so-called duracrete streets of Nar Shadda were hot, crowded, and filthy. And to top it all off, they smelled horrible. A damp, musty breeze blew through the labyrinth of miles-high buildings that grew from the face of Nal Hutta's moon, and it moaned slightly as it strained against the resistance offered it by the thousands of narrow connecting walkways that linked the towering buildings.
The city was a flurry of blinking lights of all different colors, sizes and intensities, and the only sounds were a mixture of crowds and overhead traffic, which all came together to form a dull roar against the background of the dank night air. It was enough to make one's skull ache.
Tal Baasik turned from his high, secluded perch on the balcony of his temporary quarters. He'd had enough of the drab, bleak view. Enough of the city. Walking back inside, he took a cigarra from the left breast pocket of his black vest and put one end between his lips, then lit the other end. He inhaled the thick, bluish-white smoke deeply, savoring its tasteful aroma of stickle-mint and bloodrose, and his mind was momentarily filled with a pleasurable sensation-a suffusing, intoxicated flush that allowed him to relax.
The chronometer chimed softly once, announcing that it was time. He stood and walked to the opposite side of the room, gathering his duffel bag and his blast rifle. He looked out the window in front of him and surveyed the empty walkway that stretched across the vast expanse of free-fall nothingness from one building to another, down the row from his own building. There were no early signs of his quarry. Not yet. He still had a few standard minutes before the transfer took place. Opening the window, he sat down beneath its sill and checked his blast rifle for readiness one last time.
It was a beautiful piece of machinery, the blast rifle. He remembered briefly as he loaded it how he had spent so much time and effort putting it together; designing it, milling the parts from scrap, and crafting each individual piece to exacting standards of precision. It had taken him months to complete. And now it was time to put it to use once again.
He looked down at the charge indicator on the side of the blast rifle and inhaled deeply from the cigarra, then blew out the smoke slowly, calming his nerves. The charge indicator hummed softly for a moment, and one red diamond blinked twice, then set itself into a soft, steady red glow.
One charge.
No room for mistakes.
Shifting his position, he eased the long barrel of the blast rifle out of the window and took the stock up to his shoulder, snugged it up tightly, and looked through the scope down to the walkway below. Two men walked towards each other on the narrow catwalk, intent on each other for the time being. That was going to change, however, all too soon for the unsuspecting targets.
Tal adjusted the scope to auto-focus and inspected the clothing of the man on the left. No markings that would identify him as anyone important. Not him. The man on the right stopped in the middle of the catwalk, looking at the other man somewhat nervously. His apparel was the same; plain, dark, and inconspicuous. He eventually extended his hand to the other, who walked up to him. In his grasp was a small, silver round disc of some kind, a memory chip perhaps. Where was the marker? Tal focused on the man on the right, searching. Something beside the disc glittered a different color from the man's hand, and he looked closer. A ring. A ring bearing the insignia he was looking for.
* * * * * * * *
Allix walked toward the man in the center of the walkway, and stopped when he reached him. The man reached into his pocket and produced his a small silver info disc, which he then extended to Allix without a word. The man's face was tight, and he seemed very nervous. Allix reached up to take the disc from the man, but found that the man would not release his grasp on it.
"Please," said the man, "be careful with this." His voice was almost shaky as he spoke, and he met Allix's eyes intensely. "It is very important."
"Must be," replied Allix. "The kind of money they're paying me to take this thing off your hands...well, let's just say they don't throw that kind of money around at any old blob race. What is it?"
"That's none of your concern," snapped the man. "Just see that it gets delivered safely to the contact on Andrillia." With that he released the disc, which Allix then placed securely in his right breast pocket. "You will find him in Ganastar, in the Industrial sector of the city. A location for the exchange will be supplied to you once you reach Andrillia. Be discreet. Nobody must see this disc but him, or I assure you the consequences will be most dire."
A bead of sweat ran down the man's brow as he spoke, forcing him to blink. "If you reach Andrillia and make the exchange safely, the amount you've already been paid will triple." When Allix said nothing in reply to that, the man simply stared at him a moment, and then said, "You must be leaving soon, if you are to make the rendezvous on time. Go, now."
The nervous man started to turn away, and Allix stopped him. "Hey. Who are you?"
"Just a messenger, nobody important. Now go...."
As he was finishing his sentence, there was a sudden flash of green light, followed by a brief spray of red mist from his chest. Blasters. Somebody was shooting at them.
The man sprawled backwards and hit the rail of the walkway. Allix grabbed for him and saw the scorched, smoking hole in his chest. The man pulled Allix close and spoke brusquely. "Deliver the disc," he said, and then slumped backwards against the rail. Allix ran past the dead man, down the walkway and into the next building over. He had to get back to the hangar, to his ship, and leave this place quickly. Briefly he glanced back over his shoulder, wondering who the slain man was.
His glance was just in time to see the man's body teeter backwards over the rail of the walkway and fall into the dark, dank oblivion below.
* * * * * * * *
Tal walked along a crowded street later that night. He had already been back to his ship, where he had stashed the blast rifle and his other belongings, taking time to redress and change out his identification articles, just in case anyone was to ask about the little fiasco earlier in the evening.
He checked the chronometer in his pocket and decided to go to the meeting he had agreed to more than a week ago, which was the original reason he had come to Nar Shadda. The assassination job he had picked up while he was here. All of that, and he wanted to pick up a couple of power coupling upgrades for his ship, the Naglfar, that went along with the new onboard weapons system he had installed recently.
So much business, and so little time to do it all. Perhaps one day he would retire to a small, out-of-the-way planet and disappear from sight to grow old and fat-or not. For now, though, his meeting was waiting.
When he had gone a little farther along the street, he ducked out of the crowds and into a small, shady cantina with a half-broken neon sign above the door. The Runner was supposed to be one of the better establishments of its kind for those who didn't want a whole lot of attention from unwelcome eyes and ears-which made it a complete and total hole in the wall of the building it occupied. At least nobody would be listening in to whatever it was this woman had to say to him, and whatever business she might bring with her.
Walking to the bar, he took a look around the place. It was shabby, worn down, infested with the local low-life and foreign spacer-junkers that liked to hang out where nobody would notice them. In short, it was a typical Nar Shadda cantina.
"What do you want," the barkeep asked in a harsh, gruff voice. He was a stocky man, very tall and of some alien race Tal had never seen before. Not that it was a new thing; he never paid much attention to anyone he wasn't doing business with. When it came to business, though, he was strictly professional.
"I'll have a flameout," said Tal, ignoring the imposing stance of the man across the bar.
The barkeep poured and mixed the stout liquor, and finally passed it across the bar to him. "Five credits," he said roughly, staring at Tal as though he were some unwanted macropedia salesman.
Tal pulled out a five-credit chit from his vest and dropped it on the bar, though the man was holding out an open hand. "With that kind of pricing," he said, "this place ought to look like a palace." The bartender simply snuffed and picked up the chit, then turned away. Tal took a sip of his flameout and wondered again what he was doing here.
"You're late," came a female's voice from over his right shoulder. Ah, yes. That was the reason he had come to Nar Shadda.
"Late by local time, or late by yours?," he said before turning around to face the woman he had come to meet.
"By both," she said. The woman was gorgeous. There was really no other way to put it. She stood approximately a meter and a half tall, with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders and framed her face, sapphire blue eyes, and a softly chiseled face.
She was definitely a rogue of some sort, too. She wore a tight-fitting crème-colored shirt with short sleeves beneath a black synthetic leather vest, black synthetic leather pants that also fit snugly, and upon her hips hung a gun belt with two BlasTech DL-44 modified blaster pistols on it, one slung on each side. Among other things, he noticed a black cylindrical casing about 45 centimeters long, which hung from a clip at her belt on her right side, almost behind her. It looked to be two separate pieces that were joined together at the center in equal lengths. He knew what that was, but there was no way he'd ever believe it.
"Believe it," said the woman, who gave him a smirk of indignation. "It's a lightsaber." She gave him one of those 'are you done ogling yet?' looks, raised her eyebrows and nodded sideways to a table in the back corner of the room. "Can we sit down now?"
Returning her irreverence, he gave her a sarcastic, lopsided grin and said, "Sure." Then, with a melodramatic sweeping gesture toward the table and a slight bow he added, "Lead the way."
She led him to the farthest, deepest shadow of the entire tavern. The table where they finally sat down was completely devoid of light, save for a few soft, distant glows from the front of the bar. "So," he began as he took a seat at the small table, "what's with the lightsaber? You a Jedi?"
She stared at him for a moment, measuring him. After a few moments her gaze broke, and she pulled out a small cigarra and lit it. "No," she replied. "I just carry it around in case I need it. Not that it's any of your concern." She looked at him again and set a miniature holoprojector in the center of the table. "This, however," she said, indicating the device on the table, "is very much your concern." She gave an almost sadistic grin, and puffed the cigarra.
Tal picked up the small metal holoprojector and held it in the palm of his hand, then activated it. The air directly above the projector lens shimmered with blue and white static for a moment, and then flickered into an image. The image was that of a large, heavy-set muscular man and a much smaller female. The man in the holo was standing almost in front of the woman, blocking the view of who she was. She was bound, though, hand and foot to a pillar in the room, so that she was almost unable to move at all. The man, who was apparently of a very rare species, since Tal had never seen anything like him before, spoke in a gruff voice as the holo began.
"This message is intended for Tal Baasik. You will not recognize me because you have no reason to, but my employer is very, very upset with you, and has been for a long time, now. You once had a shipment to deliver, a very important shipment, and it mysteriously never reached its destination. It has caused my employer a great amount of grief. So, as collateral for settling the debt you owe, we have taken your sister, Corvyna."
The large man stepped aside, and Tal could see the woman bound to the pillar. It was his sister, alright. Corvyna raised her head to stare through the holo into Tal's eyes. Bruises marked her cheeks, as did a small cut across her left eyebrow and a trail of blood from the right corner of her lips. Beaten and ragged, she said not a word in the grim silence of the holo. Instead she whimpered softly once, her eyes pleading for help, and then slumped loosely against the taut bindings, possibly unconscious.
The man stepped back into view and started talking again. "We will accept no less than one million credits in exchange for your sister's life. You have one month before she is terminated." At that, the holoprojector image burst into thousands of tiny flecks of static in the air above the lens, and then was gone.
Corvyna was a strong woman, always had been. She was a mercenary, the same as himself, and just as good at it. Tal could remember numerous times when she had stared straight into the face of danger, even death, and not flinched. The idea that these people had captured her was startling enough. The fact that they had actually beaten her into submission and scared her was completely beyond belief. It not only meant that she was in trouble and there was only one way out of it--money he didn't have--but it also meant that these people, whoever they were, were dangerous.
And now they had his only sister, and it was because of him.
The woman sitting across from him reached out and picked up the small device, placed it back inside her vest. Then a thought struck him.
"Who are they? How do I know where I'm supposed to leave the money? They didn't give me any contact info."
"I have the first piece of that puzzle," the woman said. "For a price." She smiled.
"Name it," said Tal, genuine anger beginning to seep into his voice. Who was this woman, anyway? She leaned forward, cradling her drink on the table with both hands, and met his gaze evenly.
"I want you to go to a meeting I'm putting together, one week from now."
"What kind of meeting?"
"The good kind," she said hushedly. "Don't ask questions you know I can't answer in a crowded room." She didn't miss a thing, this one.
"Why a meeting? Usually people want money for information."
"The meeting's just a first step. I need your help. Go to the meeting, and I'll provide you with the location of your sister and her captors then."
"Fine," said Tal. "So where's the meeting being held?"
She shot him a warning look and raised a finger to silence him, then took something out of her vest. Her eyes never leaving his, she slid the small object across the table to him. An information chip. "Read this when you return to your ship, and not before. It gives the location of the meeting site and has some 'navigational instructions' on getting to the site's position."
"Great. Are we done?" He started to get up from the table, downing the rest of his flameout, and stopped himself before he walked away. "Who are you?," he asked.
The beautiful woman smiled slightly, mocking his lopsided grin from when they'd first met. "Sabrina Starks," she said quietly. "Now get out of here, before somebody catches you for that little job you pulled earlier."
Tal felt his jaw drop. "How do you know about that?," he asked fiercely. She simply let her grin widen and winked at him.
"I have my ways. Let's just say I've taken a special interest in your work."
"Good to know I have fans," he said, turning away from the table and heading for the door. He stopped before he got there and looked back at the table he had just left. She was already gone without a trace, as if she had never even been there. It was time for him to go as well, as security guards walked into the bar through the back door.
Tal Baasik turned silently, and stepped out into the crowded streets to disappear.
Chapter One
The Administrations Building of the Imperial training facility on Norvall II was a cold place. The walls were a blank gray, devoid of any color or decor, and even the floors on which his feet rested were laid in sleek black tile. Nothing about this place was warm or inviting at all -- especially the front desk attendant.
Donovan Marks sat alone in the waiting room outside of the Duty Office, straight-backed in his black dress uniform, staring at the walls in front of him and wondering when it was going to be his turn. 'How did I get here,' he thought silently.
He remembered back to when he was a young child, living with his family in the Delta Prime drifter colony over the dead planet of Celestine Prime, in a system near the Galactic Core. Celestine Prime had once been a lush, beautiful planet , so the Tales of the Elders said, which was long since destroyed by a devastating comet collision. Because of that catastrophe, a plethora of medium-sized asteroids hung around the planet like a great crown of rock and ice, left behind by the comet that had killed all remaining life on the surface to commemorate its death.
The stories of the Elders said that the people of Celestine Prime had seen the comet coming along its treacherous path, and had built the four large drifter colonies that now surrounded the planet, to save as many and as much as they could.
That was when the Empire had come. Well, not really the Empire; rather, it was the Old Republic under the rule of Palpatine, who was later declared Emperor. They had helped build the drifter colonies, along with a powerful shipyard, and had helped evacuate the colonists from the planet's surface to their new homes in orbit. They had left a garrison of forces at the shipyards to help protect the people of Celestine, and had shipped supplies to the colonies ever since, in exchange for the people's help in the shipyards.
It was in those same shipyards that he had learned to fly. His parents worked in the shipyards, as did everyone else in the colonies, and he frequently went to work with them and spent the day cycles walking around the hangar bays, watching the ships come and go. The shipyards mined raw ore from the dead planet below, and Donovan often would go along with the pilots of the miner vessels when they made runs to the surface.
He soon learned the controls and the mechanics of the ships, and longed to fly one of his own. He began to work at the shipyards when he was old enough, building the insides of the massive starships, and learned a great deal about them by spending his free time in the offices of the design teams, going over each ship's schematics and studying them, committing them to memory. He even maintained and repaired the small fighters that docked at the shipyards; and that was what had gotten him into the Academy.
One day, as he was doing some repairs to a standard TIE fighter, the colonies were attacked. He finished the repairs quickly, making sure to reconnect the firing electronics in the cockpit. Soon the hangar he was in filled with TIE pilots, scrambling to their fighters. He fastened his crash webbing and flew out into the thick of the battle along with the rest of the squadron. Every ship in that space battle had been destroyed, with the exception of one -- his. At the age of sixteen he, Donovan Marks, had flown a half-crippled, unshielded, minimally armed, stolen TIE fighter against an attacking military force that out-manned and out-gunned him, that was better trained than him in every sense, and had completely defeated them. Even though every other ship in the battle had been destroyed, he had survived.
When he returned to the station, he returned a legend. The officers at the shipyards had offered him anything he wanted, and he had requested a letter of recommendation and a transfer here, to the Imperial training facility on Norvall II, where he could learn to fight for the Empire and give back to those who had helped his people all these generations. Now he had gotten his chance.
The door to the inner office opened, and an officer stepped out, looked at Donovan. "Donovan Marks?," the officer asked.
Donovan snapped to attention, bowing his head in salute. "Aye, sir," he said sharply.
"Step into my office, please," the officer said, and then walked back through the doorway. Donovan followed him in, and closed the door gently behind him before taking a seat in front of the officer's desk.
Ten minutes later Donovan emerged from the Duty Office carrying his duffel bag full of belongings and two packets of paperwork, one for himself and one for his new commanding officer, each of which contained his promotion, orders, and immediate reassignment. He left the Administrations Building and walked across the compound to the Officer's Lounge to await the coming evening.
* * * * * * *
Donovan stood on Landing Platform 7746D, awaiting the arrival of a Lambda class shuttle that would carry him off the planet to the star destroyer Imperious, which would then transport him to his first assignment in the Outer Rim. The only thing he knew about this place so far was what the report he had been given told him; that it was a shipyard somewhere in the Outer Rim in what they called "Black Sector." He had no idea what that meant, but it sounded interesting. Perhaps he could make a name for himself there, and gain another promotion, another transfer. Perhaps one day.
For now, he gazed up at the star-sparkled sky and wondered when the transport would arrive. Something made a noise behind him, and he turned on his heels to look. The other pilots that had been in his training squadron stood behind him, climbing up onto the landing platform. He recognized them all, and called out to them in a hushed voice.
"Spider?," he called to the young man in the lead. "What are you doing here? You know the XO will kill you if he finds you out of your quarters without permission!" Spider held a finger to his lips to silence Donovan, and walked slowly up to him.
"It's alright, Donny...we don't mind. We all wanted to come say goodbye, and wish you luck." Spider smiled slightly, and looked over his shoulders at the young men who now stood just behind him.
Donovan looked across their faces. He had known these men better than anyone for the past two years, and they had known him the same. Some of them had always been rivals of his during drills and simulations, and others had been his wingmen, his best friends. All of them, though, had the same look in their eyes as they stood on that hard duracrete platform and looked through the dark night at him. Respect.
Donovan dropped his bag and extended his right hand to Spider, who took it quickly and stared into his eyes, then pulled him into a brief hug. "Be careful out there, my friend...and good luck," Spider said softly, and then release him and stood back. "We'll all miss you, and we all hope one day we can fly beside you." The others nodded almost in unison, adding their assent to that.
Each of the eleven young trainees walked up to him individually and shook his hand, giving him their best wishes for the times to come. Donovan accepted each handshake or hug with a stiff upper lip, wishing them the best as well and promising that one day they would get their turn.
Suddenly the thin air was split with a sharp, high-pitched whine, and the shuttle began to settle down to the landing pad. When it extended its ramp for him to come aboard, he turned back to the group of young men and raised his voice slightly above the gentle whine of the shuttle's idling repulsors.
"I wish you all the best of luck. One day, you'll be standing here, and I hope that you each get the same great farewell that I have gotten tonight. Thank you, men...and goodbye." He straightened his back and clicked his heels together, then gave a strict military salute. The others all did the same, giving their best military salutes back to him. Then he saw the shadowy figure standing at the edge of the landing pad, with hands clasped behind its back.
The commanding officer that had been his worst nightmare for the past two years, the one who had taught him everything about Imperial service stood watching Donovan's farewell. Donovan didn't have any idea as to how long he had been there, but he was sure the officer was ready to scramble the other trainees. Then, without a sound, the officer stood at attention and saluted him. Donovan gave him a salute in return, and then turned to walk up the ramp and into the shuttle.
The trip from the surface of Norvall II up to the Death's Head was a short one. There was very little conversation, since he was the only one on the shuttle other than the pilots. Donovan simply sat in the cushy acceleration seat he had settled into when he first boarded, watching the atmosphere drain away from the viewport and fade into the oblivion of space. Stars suddenly popped out of the dim contrast of the clouded viewport as they exited the upper atmosphere, and he felt the gravity lighten as the ship's artificial gravity systems kicked in as opposed to the strong pull of the planet.
From beneath the shuttle, it seemed, the Death's Head rose into view as it came around the planet in orbit, awaiting the shuttle's arrival. Donovan marveled at the ship, taking in its enormous size and fearsome shape.
When the shuttle landed in the Death's Head's hangar bay and he disembarked, he was met by three men in officer's uniforms. The one closest to him, who was standing in front of the other two, spoke up first.
"Lieutenant Donovan Marks?," he asked with a tight military accent.
"Aye, sir," Donovan stepped to attention and bowed his head in salute. He looked back up at the officer and met his gaze evenly, then added, "Reporting for duty, sir."
The officer let silence hang in the air a moment as he studied Donovan from head to toe, and then spoke again. "At ease, Lieutenant."
Donovan relaxed his stance, and the officer continued to talk. "I am Captain Dolgren, and you are now aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Death's Head. Welcome, Lieutenant Marks."
Donovan held the officer's gaze and responded in an only slightly more relaxed voice than his first one. "Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me, Lieutenant. Not yet, anyway. I am here to tell you that your trip to the Outer Rim has been delayed." Before Donovan could think of anything to say, the Captain continued. "We have been dispatched, effective immediately, to the Fornax system to assist in a brewing conflict. You'll be briefed when we arrive in the target system. For now, though, I would like to introduce you to two other men who will be important to you while you are here."
The captain gestured to the man on his right hand side, who took a short step forward and gave a military salute as the captain introduced him. "This is your new commanding officer, Commander Tilman, and this," he gestured to the man on his left, " is your deck officer, Sergeant Warsen." Sgt. Warsen stepped forward in the same fashion that Commander Tilman had, gave the same sharp salute, and then stepped back. "We are currently preparing to depart, so I must make my way to the bridge to oversee the final steps." He raised a hand and another man came from elsewhere in the hangar bay behind the captain.
"Sir," the man said as he snapped to attention. He was tall, thin, and ordinary looking. In fact, he looked a lot like most of the other people that were working in the hangar bay. He was a petty officer.
"Petty officer Yohl, please escort Lieutenant Marks to his quarters. He will be staying on Deck 7, in Section 1B, room 7A." With that the captain turned and proceeded, along with the C.O. and the Deck Officer, out of the hangar bay and toward the bridge.
The man gave a sharp salute and turned to Donovan. "Follow me, sir," he said, and then spun on his heels and began walking toward the turbolift. Donovan picked up his duffel bag and followed the man to his room. They took the turbolift up several levels, and emerged in a larger corridor than the ones they had traveled so far. It was much more plush, too. The floor was a slick of the corridor was actually carpeted in a short-thread carpet the color of crimson. When he opened the door to his temporary quarters, though, he got his first real surprise.
The quarters were not just a single small room as they had been back at the facility on Norvall II. He stepped into the room, dismissing the petty officer with a word of thanks, and looked around as the door closed automatically behind him. The walls were lined with all manner of Imperial regalia, decorations to complement the lush royal blues and ebony blacks of the room's decor. A few small holographic statues were displayed about the room where they were most appropriate, one of the emperor himself. In short, the room was gorgeous.
He walked over to a small bar of sorts that was situated against the wall and looked for something to drink. Sure enough, there was a full complement of alcohols and liqueurs as his disposal. He poured himself a small glass of a liqueur distilled from the leaves of the blue stickle-mint plant, added a few small cubes of ice, and looked around his quarters again. At the back of the room, not far along the wall from where the miniature bar was, there was a small control panel. He walked over to it and pressed the top button...and looked on in stunned silence as the solid wall panel split in two and moved apart in pieces, disappearing into the walls beside it. He now stood looking out at the empty expanse of space and stars through a wall-sized viewport. For a moment he experienced a floating sensation akin to that of zero gravity travel, watching the stars drift past ever so slowly. He remembered his drink and took a stiff drink of it, still staring out the viewport. He felt the deck beneath his feet hum slightly, and knew they were about to enter hyperspace. He walked up to the viewport, placed his hands flat against the cool transparisteel, and watched in complete awe as the stars became star lines, stretching all around his small body in the enormous viewport, and he plummeted down the endless tunnel of hyperspace.
* * * * * * * *
Nar Shadda's main spaceport facility buzzed with activity. Everywhere beings of all races bustled about on their own business; selling information, perusing the various vendors that had set up shop in the walkways (which were all controlled by the Hutts, of course), and hurrying to meet their schedules. Nar Shadda was known for this kind of filthy place. It would be a pleasure to finally leave it.
Sabrina Starks walked casually through the crowded spaceport's registration center, hoping to find the last little piece of the puzzle she had come here to build. She stopped at an information terminal off to the side of the walkway and began a search of the spaceport's router logs. Soon enough she found the entry she was looking for, and opted for further information on the ship's registration. The terminal displayed a file entry for a ship called the Listless Wanderer, registered to Allix Parm'iltar. The ship's stated destination upon departure from Nar Shadda was Laxxis VII, an out of the way moon that nobody really took note of, nor had any reason to. 'What a fool,' she thought silently, allowing herself a small grin of satisfaction. 'He may be a smuggler, but he's no good at hiding anything. He's going to Andrillia, just the way he should.' She terminated her link to the spaceport's ship registry and returned to terminal to idle. At that she walked the rest of the way to her docking port in silence, satisfied at the thought that she had everything under control...as usual.
Upon leaving orbit, Sabrina pushed for deep space. Soon enough, a larger ship came out of hyperspace directly in her path, and she slowed her acceleration to docking speed. It was her crew aboard that ship, awaiting further instructions from her. She opened a line-of-sight comm channel and hailed her main ship, the Silent Stalker.
"Silent Stalker, this is Stalker I. Open the main hangar, I'm coming in."
A smooth female voice came over the comm in return. "Acknowledged, Stalker I, hangar is open. Ready and waitin' for you, boss lady. Bring 'er on in." She smiled at the voice of Liza, her chief crew officer, and began the process of landing her small ship. She had a lot to do, if this was all going to work out right, and the chronometer was already counting down on the time she had to get it done. She would make it. Everything would work out just fine.
Once her ship was secured on its launch palette in the Silent Stalker's hangar bay, Sabrina went up to the bridge.
The doors opened to the bridge, and Sabrina stepped through to meet with the smiling faces of her loyal crew. Everyone turned their heads from their stations to look at her, already knowing what was next in line, only waiting for the word from their captain. It was Liza who broke the silence.
"Did we make it?," Liza asked, her bright eyes accompanying the grin of anticipation on her lips. There was never any doubt what Liza had in mind; either she'd tell you right off, or you could hear everything she was thinking through the loud expressions on her face.
"Everything went better than planned," she said, allowing a slight smile to cross her face as she perused the small group of the ship's bridge crew.
Liza was the crew chief, her first officer in the organization. She was a short, trim woman with straight, chest-length brown hair that she usually kept in intricate warrior braids. Liza had come straight out of Coruscant, the once-capitol of the Old Republic. Now it was ruled by none other than Emperor Palpatine. Liza had been abandoned by her parents at a young age, and was pick pocketing when Sabrina found her. Lucky for Liza that Sabrina had been able to catch the girl's wrist as it slipped out of her pocket with a few credit chits; soon after that Sabrina had convinced the girl to join her organization. Over the last few years, Sabrina had taught Liza everything the girl knew: how to be a good smuggler, a good pirate, and a killer assassin. Liza was a good student, too. She picked up very quickly, and everything she learned was committed to memory for good. Nothing slipped past Liza.
"So everything's set, then?," Liza asked. She was referring to the meeting, of course. She knew about the other two parts of the plan, but she was also smart enough not to mention it in front the rest of the crew who didn't know...and didn't need to.
"Yes, Liza," said Sabrina, allowing her smile to spread a little across her lips. "Everything's set."
She turned her head to the ship's helm station and addressed her helmsman, Valex. "Val, set a course for the Andrillia system, and bring us out on the back side of its third moon, out of sight."
"Aye, Captain." Valex turned quickly to the helm's console and began working the controls. Within a matter of moments he chimed in again with, "Course set."
"Good," Sabrina said. "Take us into hyperspace." Valex turned the Stalker to its new course heading, and the stars outside the bridge's viewport stretched into star lines as they entered hyperspace. She turned back to Liza. "Liza, please come to my quarters later at your convenience," she said, to which Liza responded by nodding. Turning, she walked off the Stalker's bridge and through the ship's small maze of corridors to her personal quarters, where she locked the doors.
She walked to her desk and sat, weary from the past few days she'd spent on Nar Shadda.
She pressed a button on the desk's control console, and a small holorecorder extruded up from the opposite side of the desk and turned on. She set herself in a respectable pose and started the recording.
"Sabrina Starks, authorization Delta Romeo seven-seven-seven," she said in a firm voice. "This is Sabrina Starks, Captain of the Corellian starship Silent Stalker. This message is intended for CXO Braiden. In regards to the situation in Nex Siejerne, everything is clear. Timetable has been set to close at Husap Re'nefar sec-troi eren devi, CSRST: 1600.02. All plans are proceeding on schedule. Captain Sabrina Starks, 91914BSC. End Communiqué."
Sabrina reached down and turned off the holorecorder, then stored the message in her personal transmissions log. She pushed the desk's button to connect to the bridge's comm station. "Trixie," she said.
After a very brief pause yet another female voice came back over the desk's small inset comm speakers. "Yes, Captain Starks?"
"Transmit the ship's message queue as soon as we drop out of hyperspace for our first course change. Encrypt them all with the code box I gave you last week."
"Yes, Captain."
She turned off the desk's console just as her door's chime sounded. From the desk she unlocked the door's mechanism. They opened automatically, and her first officer Liza stepped into the room. "You wished to see me, Captain?"
"Yes," she said, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk. "Please, seal the door behind you and sit. We need to discuss preparations for the weeks to come." From the personal file beneath her desk she produced a set of blueprints, schematics, and detailed timetables. Liza sealed the door behind her, as she was told, and then took a seat at the desk, ready to begin work on the rendezvous they were planning. There was much work to do, indeed. They began to talk, focusing on every detail of the elaborate set of plans before them until everything was perfect, and soon lost themselves in the grand scheme of it all.