Chapter One - Inyri Larse, Not Nicola Ettyk
"Born and raised on Ord Mantell, piloted shuttles for three years, and flew the Kessel Run. This would be a more impressive resume if you were applying to a 'smuggler school', Miss Larse," Captain Tavira Davip said to the young dark haired woman in front of her, spitting out the word smuggler. She hated this, absolutely hated it. If someone were to ask her what part of being Admiral Daala's aide she hated worst, this would be her answer. Reviewing possible Imperial Cadets and then telling the Admiral her opinion of them.
The young woman in front of her, Inyri Larse, gulped slightly and nodded. "Yes sir, I know."
That was something else the Captain didn't understand. Why the Sith were all officers, even the women, called "sir?" But that was a question for another time and place.
"Tell me, Miss Larse, why do you want to become an Imperial pilot?" she asked the formula question, her tone still monotonous. The woman infront of her though for a moment, brushing a strand of black hair out of her face.
"I like to fly, Captain. That's really the only reason," Larse replied. That was enough for her. Jotting down an acceptable down beside Larse's name, she dismissed the girl. A few moments later, Larse was little more than Cadet Trainee 187 out of 423.
I walked briskly away from Captain Davip's office, not stopping until I reached my small, one-man fighter, a Z-95 Headhunter. Once safely inside, I finally allowed myself to relax and become Nicola Ettyk again.
* * * * *
I'd pulled if off. I had managed to convince the Imperials that I was Inyri Larse. I had had a computer slicer take my history and make it into "Inyri Larse." The name of Ettyk, I thought ruefully, was too well known as the name of a smuggler to be welcomed into the Empire.
It wasn't patriotism that had inspired me to join up, but a need to fly. And with the way things were going, the Empire seemed to be the way to go.
Leaning forward slightly in my chair, I turned on the ship computer, having it hit it twice before I could even try to find what I wanted. I brought up the hololetter the Imperials had sent, "inviting" me to come for an interview.
Skimming it, I scrolled down about 2/3 of the way before I found what I wanted.
Cadets are allowed to congregate in the local bar, ImpStar, when not on duty.
Perfect. I needed a way to persuade everyone that I was 16 like I said, not 14 like I really was.
I pushed the door open in to the "ImpStar," and looked around. All men and not one was a day under 27. Several turned to look at me as I headed towards the bar.
"Corellian brandy," I said to the burly bartender, trying to project more certainty into my voice that I was feeling. The man looked at me critically, taking in my height, (just barely five feet,) almost lack of figure, and as everyone always does, my silver eyes.
"And you'd be how old, lass?" he asked.
"Sixteen. A year over the legal drinking age on Nar Shadda and the exact age on Ord Mantell," I replied, an edge in my voice.
"And it's seventeen in Imperial space," he replied, apparently not amused by my wonderful "knowledge" of legal drinking ages on smuggler worlds, legal being the key word there. Before I could retort, the door behind me swung open and I turned to see who'd entered.
An average height male, maybe nine inches taller than myself, with tan skin and a toothy smile appeared in the doorway. Spotting me, he headed over. Leaning down slightly, he murmured the words "play along" in my ear.
Keeping my confusion from my face, I nodded ever so slightly. Flashing that toothy smile at the bar tender, he said, "Ah, Signure, good to see you again. I'm afraid that I'll have to steal Miss Larse away, several people are wanting to meet her."
The bartender, Signure, nodded and growled, "Fine Doru. Just get the girl out of here."
Nodding, he steered me out of the ImpStar. Once outside, he turned towards me, grinned, and offered a hand. "Rev Doru. I'm from Mimban."
Taking the extended hand, I nodded. "Inyri Larse, Ord Mantell. Thanks for the help back there."
"Oh no problem," he shrugged it off, "I was on my routine save-the- new-recruits-from-Signure run anyways."
I had to laugh at that. It seemed to be a pretty good description of what'd just happened.
"So where do the younger pilots go, Rev?"
"A little place called DownTime."
* * * * *
Rev led me into the small bar straight towards a group gathered around a round table towards the back. Three men and three women looked up as Rev brought me over. A tall blonde whose green eyes contained hidden mischief grinned at Rev.
"Another rescuee from Signure?" she asked. Rev nodded and I felt a slight flush come to my cheeks.
"Everyone, this is Inyri Larse. Inyri, the blonde next to you is Koyi Kether, the really big guru next to her is Zakju Raydon, the short brunette and the skinny guy nest to her are Nura Konnair and Tenteng Noor, and the pretty boy next to them is Evin Valton," Rev said, introducing them one by one. The blonde, Koyi, I remember her name was, pulled me down to a chair next to her.
Rev slid into a spot beside a tall muscular woman who hadn't been introduced yet. "And this lovely lady is Gaerra Bradon," the woman punched him in the arm, finally turned her face towards me, revealing a long jagged scar going down one cheek.
"Flattery that I don't deserve is not the way to my heart, Rev Doru," Gaerra replied with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Rev grinned and gestured a serving droid over.
"Lomonian ale for me," he ordered. The droid turned towards me.
"Corellian brandy," I ordered. Koyi grinned at me.
"Nice to have another Corellian drinker along,"
Evin, Tenteng, and Rev, slapped their foreheads. "I knew it! I just knew it!"
"Knew what?" I asked coolly,
"That we'd end up with another insane Corellian before long."
"Got a problem with that, Valton?"
"I just don't know how many of you Corellian chics the Academy can take,"
I grinned, taking a sip of my drink, which the droid had just brought. Setting down the glass, I let my old smuggler mannerisms come out.
"It's Ord Mantell, old boy, Ord Mantell. I'm an Ord Mantellian who drinks like a Corellian. Quite a large difference," I almost slapped my hand over my mouth at the words that had just come out. Never had I been more aware of my real age, looking across the table at the about 18 year old Evin, a sarcastic smile on my face.
Evin opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. Grinning slightly, he stretched a hand across the table towards me. "Welcome to the Empire, Larse."
I grinned and took another sip of my drink. Everything and everyone around the table seemed so familiar, almost like back when I had been a very young smuggler. Wonder what Captain Davip would think of that assumption.