Sergeant Hiska Dey'Vega
Bravo Squad
Classified Subdivision
Commandos' Corps
Imperial Elite
Imperial Army
22 R.G.C.
300 Hours Imperial Centre Time
Before my grandfather's grandfather was born, it was our land, our good places, our gods lived there, the skies and streets alike watched over us; we were happy, we loved; we had families and homes, good lives! But now, now I must fight The Rebels disturbed the gods, they poisoned our minds, took what was ours: wives, children, land. And the Rebels talk of how they help us and protect us; they put us to sleep with gold in our purses. And when we awoke, all we had was gone, stolen! They take our sons and turn them into little Rebels, ha! So now I fight to keep what is mine, what must stay mine! There can be no peace! No peace with Rebels! Men of stone and steel and lies! There can be only WAR!
My entire family is gone, dead. We left Bothawui years ago to escape the destructive politics created by the Rebels; the infighting among the Bothan clans was too much for our elders to handle. Clan Dey left for a remote desert planet, I never bothered to learn its name and never will; the only piece of information I will never seek to control is the name and any knowledge of that dreadful place. But the fact of the matter is that we never would have had to leave for that horrible place had the Rebels not come; if they had never brought the misery of political infighting to Bothawui, the Dey never would have left and I would still have a family.
I hope to find a new clan, one not made of black Bothans like myself, but of like-minded visionaries and good people. The Captain Acibor, for instance, is a good man, the Lieutenant Rhykis, too, is a good man; my fellow Sergeant Larosz, indeed, is a good man. I can see that these people, this Bravo Squad, is Hiska's new Clan Bravo; I will be happy here. The words spoken by my three alien comrades are all backed by sincerity, good humor, loyalty, and honor.
The Captain, despite his peculiar dialect of Basic, is a phenomenal linguist and rhetorician. To listen to Durlock Acibor's phrasing and wordplay alone is a pleasure; I often feel like provoking him to speak for the sheer purpose of having the opportunity to analyze another brilliant turn of rhetorical phrase. The Captain's words carry a force that can be likened to the ancient Mind Tricks of the Empire's most loathed enemies, the Jedi, but without the dark, demonic sorcery of the inhuman monsters. I will follow Captain Acibor's orders to the death, and I intend to.
Our good Lieutenant Rhykis is drastically misunderstood by most. His words carry strong postmodern undertones, and he seems to be a brilliant parodist of Galactic youth. Sadly, his clever lampoons are entirely overlooked by my fellow Sergeant and the Captain; Larosz is simply humorless, and the Captain is always too focused on larger things to pay Rhykis's witticisms any heed. I, on the other hand, enjoy listening to the Lieutenant's half-complaints and social commentaries. Rhykis is, at the moment, the epitome of "fish-out-of-water," to use a term that meant nothing to me until after departing my "homeworld." Still, I have the utmost faith that Rhykis will feel more comfortable in his surroundings given time. The Lieutenant can place a round through the skull of a wamp rat at a hundred meters; he has the skills, he just needs to get used to the military lifestyle.
Sergeant Larosz, however, is a mystery that I have yet to crack. The Trandoshan seems humorless, entirely focused on the destruction of the Rebellion, and unfailingly devout. These three characteristics are typically found in one type of soldier: The Clone Trooper. As far as I have learned from my 7 years of reading everything from feet to faces to speech to, in a way, minds, I have learned that no sentient being can act as a Clone Trooper, as a droid with skin. Therefore, I postulate that Larosz hides something, that there are further emotions within him that he has learned to suppress enough to shield them from my detection; beneath his massive, scaled, morbid surface must beat the heart of a sentient being and ponder the mind of a feeling person.
As of yet, Larosz had revealed only his insatiable battle lust. For four hours, the Trandoshan unrelentingly devastated target dummies in the Theta Sector practice room. When he had expended the amount of fuel he was allowed to use for practice with his flame projector, he moved on to his blaster carbine, and when he had expended the amount of power he was allowed on that, he proceeded to remove his gloves and maim the target dummies with his bare claws. The Captain called out maneuvers and targets for our T'doshok to attempt while Rhykis just watched in awe; he had long since grown bored of the practice, he had bull's-eyed a few dummies but the challenge was far gone, so he sat next to me on a bench half watching and half sleeping. I, on the other hand, watched Larosz's movements intently, studying him, trying to ascertain more about his character from his combat; the ancient Echani taught that the martial arts are the ultimate form of expression and that one can learn more from another in a brief melee than in an entire life of kinship. Unfortunately, I had already learned all I could from Larosz's combat: he is incredibly confident, ridiculously focused, intimidatingly strong, and remarkably refined. But I know that to better understand Larosz, I have to talk to him; something which I actually have yet to do.
Larosz made a swipe with his claws, shredding the upper half of the target dummy, then followed through with a roundhouse kick that shattered the remaining lower half; finally, Acibor intervened. The Captain walked up behind the T'doshok, who panted heavily with a mixture of adrenaline and simple exhaustion, and placed a hand on his arm "'at's enough, Sergeant," he said kindly, "we've been practicin' fer four hours now. I'm pre'y sure we'n handle anything Nar Shadda'll throw at us, eh?"
The Sergeant turned his head from the broken splinters of the target dummy to Captain Acibor, who looked up at him with a weak smile from about three feet under his chin, "Yess, ssir… I agree. I am more than prepared for our misssion. Thank you for training with me, Captain." Larosz's speech was more a low, hissing whisper than actually talking; it depicted a reservation not present in most sentients, and sometimes even an eagerness to keep a secret. Rhykis next to me, had he been listening rather than slumped up against the wall with his head thrown back and some drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth, would have caught only the Captain's side of the conversation. However, one of the benefits of my Bothan bloodline is hearing superior to most other sentients; Larosz's words were as clear to me as if he had been whispering them right into my ear.
The Captain forcefully walked toward the bench upon which Rhykis and I sat, allowing the clomping of his armor and boots to wake my Zabrak Lieutenant, "Good ta see that yer with us, Mista Rhoikis. I was jus' about ta lead the men down ta the hangar for deployment. Do ya agree with this course of action, Lieutenant?"
Rhykis sat up straight and pointed his head directly at our Captain while his eyes scanned the room, allowing him to get his bearings, "Aye, Sir, I do, Sir!" The Zabrak then quickly rose to his feet and shot the Captain an officer's salute, he was starting to get used the role.
Captain Acibor chuckled under his breath, "Good, good. Let's get movin' then. We need ta be headin' off ta the hangar, this monstrosity of a ship should be comin' outta Hyperspace in a minute or two 'ere."
Just as the Captain was leading us out of the practice room, Quartermaster Tyrrell wandered in carrying a bag of power packs, "I saw you guys ran out, so I snuck a few more clips out of the store for you to practice with," he then noticed that we were departing, "Aww… you're headin' out, huh? Makes sense, I heard we'll be dropping into Kessel any minute now. Well, you all have a good one, I'll be here whenever you need me." Tyrrell started back into the armory, but stopped as he clearly remembered something, "I almost forgot! Lieutenant Rhykis there has a long-com in his helmet. If you ever need me, he can get a signal directly through to me here. You know, without going through the Herald's communications red tape. You run out of ammo or need a ride or something; I'll do what I can to hook you up."
I watched the Quartermaster Sergeant with curiosity. No ordinary man would go out of his way to be so helpful. I looked at the Captain, whose face was belying similar feelings; but when I looked back to re-examine Tyrrell's face, I saw what was clearly a motionless wink. Without actually closing one of his eyes, Tyrrell showed a glint that meant something to the Captain, who replied: "Tell Xela I said 'thanks,' aroight?" And with that, we went out the door and followed Captain Acibor to the hangar bay.
I have heard from my peers, those who have been in the service of the Empire far longer than I, that IA Intelligence is often lacking and inaccurate, sometimes fatally. But for whatever incompetence that Intel may have previously shown, they have made up for it with the ship they supplied us. They prepared a rotten carcass of a transport vessel, perfect for infiltrating the dregs of Nar Shaddan society; it was a small ship, suited for five operators with adequate cargo space for either fifteen more passengers or some loads of goods; it would fit in flawlessly with the day-to-day traffic of the Smuggler's Moon.
My comrades and I made our way on board the vessel by way of a single entry ramp into the derelict cargo/passenger area, whereon our pilot moved forth from the cockpit to greet us. He wore the long green trench coat of an Imperial Ace pilot, a matching helmet, and the rank badge of a Lieutenant Commander. Our pilot removed his helmet and placed it under his left arm in the manner common to "flyboys."
But this wasn't a flyboy at all. Our pilot removed her helmet, revealing a distinct human female face. Her blond hair, however, had been trimmed down to a slight buzz. The purpose, obviously, was military; should artificial gravity ever be compromised, a long mane of hair floating around certainly would not be beneficial. The woman extended her hand to the Captain in greeting, "Lieutenant Commander Blake. You must be Durlock Acibor."
The Captain nodded and apprehensively took her hand, "Cap'n Durlock Acibor, yes. You'll be flyin' us ta Nar Shaddaa teday, huh?" He asked with skepticism,
"Yep. And I'll tell you, there's no better pilot in the Imperial Navy to do it, Captain. I'll set your men right down on the target's head, and do it faster than anybody else." Our first impression of she who would be our pilot for many missions to come: I noted that she is particularly proud of her work; though her speech and mannerisms indicated a strong, independent exterior that covered for well-hidden emotional turmoil and traumatic past experiences. I always like the idea of concluding that sort of thing with "further study is needed."
"Good ta 'ear it, lassie, good ta 'ear it." I could clearly see that she wasn't terribly thrilled with the idea of being called 'lassie,' as she half-scoffed under her breath and turned back to the cockpit, "Very good, poilet, me an' the lads'll take our seats back 'ere in the hold. You jus' get us there as fast as ya can, aroight?" The Captain went to one of the seats that lined the cargo hold and took his place, whereon the Lieutenant sat next to him. I decided that this was the perfect time to gather some more information on Larosz, who had taken the seat opposite the Captain, so I placed myself next to him and opposite Lieutenant Rhykis.
"You have been rather quiet today, Sergeant." I noted, hoping to open the door for some conversation,
"I do not like to talk much, I prefer action." He replied in his half-whispering voice.
I pulled the seat harness down over myself, "Well, I do not see much opportunity for action on our flight. I believe this trip will be more one of talk."
"No. When there iss not action, there iss rest for Larossz. The Ssergeant will ssleep thiss day." The vessel's engines roared and we were all jostled about in our harnesses as the craft began to lift into the air, save for Larosz; he neither wore a harness, nor was he at all phased by the sudden movement.
The craft had cleared the Star Destroyer, but it continued to lurch back and forth in the open space, "But perhaps we should talk first, before rest. You know, Larosz, it is important to build camaraderie and trust in a squad; we have to know we can depend on each other on the battlefield."
The crackling voice of our pilot came over the ship's aging intercom, "If you look out one of the portholes, which this ship is not equipped with, you will see some of the magnificent black holes that dot the Kessel system." Rhykis chuckled slightly at the sarcasm, but he was busy receiving some sort of command lesson from the Captain.
"No amount of talk will build my trusst in you, Dey'Vega. Your actionss on the battlefield itself will earn my trust and respect. Now leave me be." The Trandoshan turned away from me, giving me a clear view of his left shoulder.
"I require your aid, Larosz," I said, attempting a new tactic, "As a fellow hunter. The Scorekeeper would look unfavorably upon your spurning of a fellow hunter, would She not?"
This statement quickly grabbed the Trandoshan's attention, he turned back to face me, "You do not require my aid, you ssimply wish to exposse my faultss with your mind trickery. I will not be fooled."
"Sergeant, it is my business to know as much about everyone as possible. I gather intelligence. If I have no intelligence on you, our squad could be in danger. To aid our own efforts as hunters, I must speak with you." I avoided raising my voice and continued using an imploring tone,
Larosz sighed very audibly, enough that our Captain looked away from Lieutenant Rhykis for a moment and over to us before he continued his lecture,"Very well, Ssergeant Dey'Vega, for the good of our misssion, I will ansswer your quesstionss."
I proceeded to gather what I could from Larosz, but it was surprisingly not that much. It seems that he hunted Wookiees on Kashyyyk before joining the Imperial Army, but found little challenge in capturing the hairy creatures. He says that his day of change finally came when he was abandoned by his fellow hunters when they left in the hunt ship without him; obviously, he doesn't know exactly why they did it, but he suspects that they felt threatened by his size and greater ability to hunt, and so they left him to eliminate him as competition. So, as the story goes, he survived for several weeks doing what his people do best, hunting, until he came across an Imperial patrol; at first, he took them for corporate slavers trying to steal his people's Wookiee slaves, but after stalking them noted that they were a unit of the Imperial Army securing the corporate outpost. Larosz saw the Empire for what it is, a protector of civilians and a guardian of free trade. In time, he revealed himself to the soldiers and explained his situation; sympathizing with him, they took him back to the outpost and offered to return him to Trandosha. The great T'doshok, however, decided that he had had enough of hunting Wookiees and returning them to his people, who clearly weren't interested in his help anyway, and instead asked them to take him to an IA recruiting station so he could join the war effort. The Imperials readily complied and Larosz ended up where he is today.
As far as I can tell, Larosz hides no secrets behind his rough exterior. Larosz is simply a rough person. However, the great T'doshok is a difficult book to read; I have no reason to believe that he has received any special training, but I have also had very limited exposure to the T'doshok before my meetings with Larosz. The specific nuances of Trandoshan speech and their mannerisms are a mystery to me, so I can draw only on what is basic to all sentients when examining the behavior of Sergeant Larosz.
But as his tale drew to a close, so too did our journey through Hyperspace. Nar Shaddaa is not a far jump from Kessel, and so we quite clearly felt the drop from Hyperspace to Realspace. A tremendous lurch and a magnificent clunking noise from the ancient hyperdrive gave us our final indication that we had indeed arrived at the very center of Hutt space. Once again, Lieutenant Commander Blake's intercom crackled to life,
"This is your captain speaking, welcoming you to the armpit of the Galaxy, Nal Hutta. We will be making our stop at the primary moon, Nar Shaddaa. Nar Shaddaa is a bustling metropolis of life, often called "Coruscant, if it were seedier, uglier, more overpopulated, and devoid of all culture." Please ensure that your harnesses are tightly fastened, as this miserable bucket of bolts is about to enter Nar Shaddaa's lousy excuse for an atmosphere." Her tremendous sarcasm is amusing, but I often wonder if she carries on a few more sentences than necessary. It still seems as though she is hiding something; if not behind her "empowered woman" image, then behind her "undiscovered humorist" image.
As the ship proceeded to make its valiant struggle against the mighty, superheated friction of the atmosphere of the Smuggler's Moon, my thoughts turned back to our mission. We were to find someone, a man, and probably kill him. I had never killed anyone before. I imagine that most in my situation would probably be either nervous about the necessity of the events to come or repulsed by the humanity of them. I, amusingly, was neither. I could not wait to spill the blood of he who did the same to so many innocents.