Disclaimers: Ah, how I wish I owned Star Wars. Perhaps that way I'd be able to correct the new trilogy and bring order to the galaxy. But alas! I do not, and so I state it here that I'm not trying to make a profit of any sort. Don't sue me, Mr. Lucas; I am but a poor barstard.
Prologue:
A rumble from one of the lower decks was the first thing that awoke the trooper designated RC-1214. It had been nearly two hours since his squad had been relieved of duty aboard the Introspection, and though he had just over half an hour left of his free-time before he was required on deck once more, he had a nasty feeling in his neurological implants that something was going wrong.
Glancing rapidly around his quarters, he leapt to his feet, taking in the pearl-silver walls and the harshly coloured metallic floor. He darted forward to the table and grasped his helmet, fitting it over his blunt facial features as rapidly as he could muster in his current dreary state. With a hiss, he felt the atmosphere around his face being purified, and a friendly hum from the onboard computer reassured his weathered nerves that all would be all right. He still hadn't found what he was looking for. An ominous lump in his Adam's apple was beginning to throb in protest to the sudden increase in stress.
He counted. One, two three, four minutes. There was nothing for it, either it was his imagination or an engine stall from one of the propulsion drives. Glancing up at the com-screen welded roughly to his wall he took care to notice the flashing green light, indicating the ship's hyperdrive was in operation. The trooper's stomach lurched. An engine failure? In Hyperspace? Perhaps not. The very fact that he was still alive showed that an engine failure was out of the question, and so his mind methodically began to search for other reasons to attribute to his waker. Another minute passed, and RC-1214 felt his calm returning. It seemed that his last mission had left him paranoid.
As though in response to his state of calm, an ear-splitting banshee-like scream tore through the entire deck like a fist through paper. One-two-one-four felt an incredible surge of force as his body was flung backwards onto his bunk. The floor shuddered angrily and separate moans of angst from the very walls around him rattled wave upon wave of torment into the trooper's skull. He knew what was going wrong now was deadly serious, and it wasn't to do with the inner-workings of the ship. All around him faerie sparks began to fly, eagerly reaching out, their hot spikes lusting for something to come in contact with. With a single fluid and rapid movement, 14's already gloved the hand flashed down to his weapons holster and found what he was looking for, before bringing up his battered rifle to his face. The rifle was non other than the DC-17m. Ion conversion pulse shells: four rounds worth. This gun was a sign of his authority among his brothers. This gun represented his superior ability. This gun represented his status of being a commando unit; the republic's elite fighting force. Faster, stronger and more intelligent, it was RC-1214 and his squad that the republic relied on to get the job done with the utmost efficiency. This gun was the reason why he was still alive.
"A fat lot of good this gun is going to do me now." He muttered under his breath whilst grabbing a further ten rounds and buckling them to his utility belt. By now the warning klaxon was in full operation, blaring out a purely metallic noise for all who cared to listen to it. Not that anyone was however- the explosion had shaken the ship, and already the hive of corridors and rooms were alive with ant-like efficiency. Troopers raced down the corridors yelling commands whilst officers attempted to contact the bridge, all the while with the tearing sound in the background that a one kilometre Venator Star Destroyer shouldn't make.
The intercom crackled into life, spitting static around the corridors. There was a slight intake of breath, and someone spoke. The words were simple, yet to those on board it was a catalyst for more chaos:
"This is Captain Maliron, of the Introspection. The Hail protocol is now in operation. Please proceed to your posts."
One-four swallowed loudly. Hail protocol confirmed his fears of an attack- all troops were to man the main gun embankments on the starboard side, and in the case of capture, there was the self destruct to deal with. His swallowed voice returned to his throat, formulated a sentence and was instantly barked out: "You heard the man! All sector 5 troops are to report the gunning deck for immediate cannon deployment. MOVE."
Troopers left right and centre began to dash for the lift, their monochrome suits moving as one in another ant-like buzz.1214 followed the nearest trooper to the door where they encountered their first hold-up- the lift was locked.
"Jammed, sir. The shock waves have caused the magna-seal to malfunction. We could use the override codes though only the captain has that information." Stated the light green clone sergeant in charge of his group, apparently trying to seize his chance to impress when around his superiors. 14 swore under his breath, and reached to his backpack for a demolition charge.
A hand stopped him, gripping his arm just so that he could no-longer reach his charge.
"Hold on there, Prime."
Prime sighed at the sound of his nickname, and felt his spirits rise. At least he needn't do this alone.
"All right there, out of the way numbskulls! Grade-A Leet Haxor COM-ING THROUGH!"
A smile crept over Prime's face. If there was ever anyone to sort out a technical problem, it was Processor. RC-0452 was possibly the finest computer slicer aboard the ship, as well as a close comrade. He watched as the ornately green patterned whiz nonchalantly pushed aside his lesser brothers, unclipping a wire from his belt. One end was quickly slotted into his helmet's left side, whilst another fitted snugly into the e-lock's terminal. A few seconds later, and with a shrill beep, the door's control hissed, and the troops were able to board.
"Main gunner's deck, and step on it- there's a large party of droids that are waiting for me to forcefully deactivate them." Spoke Processor loudly as he unplugged himself from the terminal.
"Look pal, who do you think you are? You barge in, shoving us out of the way like so much scrap, and then act as if you're the only trained trooper on the ship. What are you, a commando unit?" The pea-green sergeant enquired with more than just a touch of annoyance laced into his concord-dawn accent. There was a quiet pause and Prime noticed one of the troopers in the background nudge the other and nod in Processor's direction. 52 turned around and looked the sergeant in the eye.
"What are you, retarded? If you'd bothered to read your goddam briefing you'd know that from my obviously different armour, extra equipment and presence of an actual personality that yes, I am indeed a 'commando unit'." quipped Processor. "I am both without sleep and a highly irritable asshole. And in answer to your question, I think I'm better than you!"
The sergeant stammered, the personality stab has thrown off both him and most troopers in his presence. He tried to formulate some form of witty response, but could only manage an "I" to escape his helmet before being interrupted by a violent shudder, uttered once more by the ship's pressured hull.
"Stow it for now." Interjected Processor to the pea-green sergeant. "We're here."
He was right. The lift raised itself out of the shaft, emerging in the centre of the gunning room. It rose for another half-foot, creating a miniature plateau against the well-polished black floor.
"Everyone out!" Yelled Prime, lifting the DC-17m to his face and stepping off the lift "Get to your guns and prepare to return fire- make them regret ever crossing the Introspection!"
The main port gunner's room revealed itself to be relatively narrow, with just enough room for piles the of ammunition heaped behind the ominous weapon systems. All was eerily silent in the spaces between shots from the 'enemy'. The familiar rumble from the torpedo bays directly beneath were yet to be manned.
Troopers ran to the point defence laser cannons, ramming the explosive packages into the long cylindrical gun emplacements as would navy crew members do with cannons from the sea-borne days of old. With ear splitting roars the cannons lobbed energised death into the void outside, aimed at the circular battle ship.
"We've got 'em, lads. Aim true." Lied Prime. He knew there was little chance of getting out of this- the ship had been caught unawares, seemingly jolted deliberately from Hyperspace. Jolted from Hyperspace in a republic controlled system. They were meant to be safe there- how could they be blamed for not being battle-ready? A quick glance at the console Processor had acquired showed that the shields were down, and likely to stay that way, along with the communication's mast. No calling for help.
"This channel secure?"
"As far as I'm aware, Processor."
"We're... Not going to make it. Are we, Prime?"
"No. Or rather, this ship isn't. The call for evac will be in less than a minute. I'd start slicing that terminal and get the transports ready. We don't want to stay here a minute longer than we need to."
The reply Prime received was one of far less confidence than the one heard in the lift shaft.
"Yes sir."
Processor's fingers were a blur of fluid movement as he ravaged the computer's database in an attempt to ready the express car that ran from the gunning deck to the docking bay. After all, with a ship that was just over 1050 metres in length, these 'side lifts' were the only practical way of moving from point A to point B.
The noise from his 'lightspeed' fingers were not to be heard over the racket made by the cannons and their thunderous rumbling as more of the energised gas was expelled into space.
"Their shields are visible! They must be nearly down!" Yelled one of the troopers, barely concealing his new found tidal wave of hope. "Take that! And THIS!"
Lights flashed and the high pitched warning sirens flickered rapidly indicating the immense strain the cannons were under. Side troops were moving as fast as they could to replace the plasma shells as the used packages slid smoothly out of the rear of the cannons. The power outage was already in the red- there was no time for thinking; just moving package upon package into the available slots. During the fast paced commotion, a single, low note began to burst from the sirens. The sound waves resonated throughout the cavernous gun room, changing everything into a perfect vibrating speaker, allowing what the troopers referred to as the 'bad beep' to be heard with crystal clarity.
"We can't! We were going to WIN!" Yelled the trooper who was manning the gun, all hope draining from his voice like water down a plug. He frantically pulled his trigger, his body shaking as shock began to take hold. The call for evacuation and the completion of the protocol had come. "Going to win!"
"Prime, the side lift's on its way. It'll be here any second." Processor informed his batch brother, ignoring the trooper's yells of horror. No reply came.
"Trooper! Get a hold of yourself and loose the trigger finger. Remember back in the pods when..." Prime's voice had no effect, as the traumatised trooper began an almost child like scream as he began frantically pushing buttons. His hands slammed on his control console in frustration as another poorly placed shot missed its target. Slammed a second. Slammed a third. His shaking fingers found an inappropriate target. Prime watched the events unfurl in seeming slow motion as his subordinate inadvertently pressed the shield release button. In the split second that the shield glass flickered off, a burning red bolt of energy managed to breach the gap in front of the gun, turning it upright in a kaleidoscope of fiery heat. Further yells of protest were quelled as the clone's body was flung backwards, hitting the wall with a grim sounding crunch. Prime felt his heart wrench and quickly shrugged off the guilt. Barking an order at the remaining troopers, he ushered them to the lift doors.
"Lift's here. Time to flee, heroes." Proclaimed Processor
The republic commandos and their followers piled into the confined metallic box that had drawn up behind the blast doors, and rested their rifles by their sides. The bad bleep was now laced with a deceptively smooth female voice declaring a reactor leak.
"Punch it."
The carrier sped into action, plummeting down the narrow shaft at tremendous speed and gaining momentum at a shocking rate. They left the now deserted gunner's room far behind them as flames began to violently erupt like a Roman candle from overhead piping. Prime's head reeled at the thought of how close they were cutting it, feeling his blood pressure rise. A few more seconds and we can access the shuttles.
The blast doors slid open, hissing to a stop to reveal the grand open space of the hangar. The ceiling was home to thick, iron gates, attached to great wheels of metal that drew them back majestically. Rearing iron pillars plummeted down from the roof as horrendous industrial mockeries of trees. Fighters were said to line the walls, eagerly awaiting the joy of the fight, whilst a hundred oily-armoured technicians ran in a frenzy to prepare them for their battle hungry pilots. They should all be scrambled by now. Attempting to save the ship.
They weren't.
Prime tried to assess the situation- the fighters lay still. None had managed to move. A glance up showed that the hangar gates hadn't even been opened, and a quick scan of the area showed a mass of dead bodies already succumbing to the hungry flames. Prime sharply took in the smell of burning flesh and choked with both disgust and realisation. We've been lied to. We were going to die all along... The captain knew it... We never had a chance.
Prime dropped to his knees, and raised his gun to his face. DC-17m. Ion conversion pulse shells: four rounds worth. "And a fat lot of good this gun is going to do me now."
Prime ignored the shouting of his comrades. He ignored their cries. He sat; perfectly still, oblivious to all around him. He was alone. Alone in the only world he ever knew.
Someone ran forward past his curled form, and he glimpsed quick, separate flashes of laser fire around him.
"Droids! Take COVER!" Were the last words that the Republic Commando RC-1214, nicknamed "Prime" ever heard.