StarWars is property of LFL and the big flannelled one. No money is made, since this piece was written just for fun and exercise. All original characters are mine. If you want to use them or distribute this story elsewhere please ask first.

TIE-Fighter: Resources of the Empire

Chapter 1

In the catalogs and star maps of the Galactic Empire's capital on Coruscant the brown dwarf had no name. Just a number, since there were so many stars like this one. M-IR-450,019,023 (M-Spectraltype-InnerRim-450,019,023). To some of the local population of the sector the brown dwarf was known as Durinol. The only thing remarkable about Durinol was its age. When the forces of gravity had pulled together to form the insignificant system - billions of years ago - there was enough matter to ignite the fusion of hydrogen, but not enough to give the new-born star planetary companions. A few hundred asteroids were the only entourage fate had given the brown dwarf on its endless journey through the universe. Not that it mattered. Not for the ancient star and certainly not for its companions.

They lacked the awareness necessary to care.

Something that wasn't true of the four objects that were on a course into the system.

They were small, very small. Smaller than planets, smaller than moons, smaller than most asteroids and comets. Only several meters long, wide and high they were fragile looking, artificial constructs: spherical cockpits attached by thin pylons to hexagonal-shaped heat-radiator-panels, with two tiny thrusters for an ionized particle-stream at their back. It was this thrusters-system that had given them their name:

Twin-Ion-Engine-fighter. TIE-Fighter. The main star fighter of the Galactic Empire.

At the moment those thrusters weren't active. The four fighters were moving with a constant speed of thirty-thousand kilometres every second - ten percent light speed - and since there was nothing in the vacuum of space to slow them down they would keep their speed without the need for additional thrust. This way they would reach the asteroid belt in fourty minutes.

The asteroid-belt and whatever was hiding inside of it.

---

Kolt "Scanner" Ceavers checked his sensors and scopes. Again. His instruments were working in perfect condition. It was time to wake up his flight-mates.

"Alright Red-Flock, we'll do this slow and smooth. Start decelerating at 500 Gs. When we're down to 3,600 kilometres per second we increase to 4,200."

"Great. That prolongs our flight-time by a hour." the complaint came from his wing-man or, in that case, wing-woman.

"You've got a problem with our approach, Farmgirl?" Ceavers asked. The other pilot was right about the additional time, but their slow approach would make it more difficult for potential enemies to discover the approaching TIEs.

"Yes Sir, I wanted this exercise to be over before I'm running out of oxygen, Sir." answered Hella "Farmgirl" Jalpa.

Behind the impenetrable lenses of his helmet Kolt Ceavers eyes turned into slits. Hella's voice had been humorous, but sometimes his co-pilot tended to be a little sloppy.

"You haven't forgotten your reserve-tank, Hella?" A standard tank contained enough breathable gases for twenty-four hours and this mission would be over long before that time was up, but to go out without a reserve-tank...

"No, Scanner, I didn't forget the reserve." Hella replied.

"Farmgirl wants this mission to be over, because her space-suit itches. Or rather she is itching. Our good Farmgirl was talking with a collegue from Blue-Flock, when she was supposed to take a shower." explained Tser Shintsky, the third member of Red-Flock.

"BOMBER!" Hella shouted.

"I knew I smelled something." Karamu Stafar, the fourth pilot of the quartet joined the conversation. "But I would have never guessed it to be Farmgirl."

"Wait till we're back, Bomber. I'll get you for that." Farmgirl threatened.

"For what? I wasn't wasting time on the typical female behaviour of talking." Bomber explained.

"Talking is not typical female behaviour." Hella argued.

"Yes it is. Scientifically proven. Your female body-structure is evidence of it."

"Now you've made me curios. How is my female body-structure evidence of being talkative?"

"Because a females butt is larger than her head. Do you know why?"

"I don't want to, but you're going to tell me anyway. So why is a females butt larger than her head?" Hella asked, sensing a trap.

"To save her from falling out of the window while gossiping." Bomber concluded laughing. Stafar joined him and even Ceavers couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"I hope you assholes know that you're a bunch of chauvinistic Gamorreans." Hella thundered.

"Hella, I'm hurt." proclaimed Bomber. "We're the Imperial Navy. The Imperial Navy is anything but chauvinistic."

"Actually we're part of the local sector-group." Hella corrected. "The real Navy is so far above the likes of you, that you'll never see a real battleship. Not even a Star Cruiser when I think about it."

"Now you really hurt him." Kolt complained, who knew about Tser Shintsky's not so secret dream about a rise through the ranks of the galaxy-wide operating part of the Imperial Starfleet.

"I'm not hurt. Not really." stated Bomber. "No ill feelings Farmgirl, huuh?"

"Of course not, Bomber." assured Hella. "Of course me and my butt will still have to get at you, comrade." she said.

"Whenever you wish, Farmgirl." Tser Shintsky answered.