"Rise and shine Lieutenant!" Captain Tempest's words rang clearly in the early morning stupor inside the Kappa barracks. Shimir Sheerelk rose to survey his surroundings. All around the cramped, metallic quarters, his fellow flight members were too rousing from their cots, several rather grumpily. Loved though Tempest may be, anybody who had the pleasure of instigating early morning PT was doomed to receive the squad's anger. Without a word, Shimir donned his training attire, and headed out the door.
The morning PT consisted of a five kilometer jog around the Wing two training facility. Shimir finished second, close at the heals of Captain Tempest. Lieutenant Zyrax came in less than a minute later, silently as always. The veterans, Colonel Astaroasta and Major Xerves were understandably slower than the younger members of the squadron, but still made good time.
"Feeling aright today Colonel?" Shimir asked, a friendly jeer towards his superior. Astarosta's lopsided smirk was the answer, as he produced his blaster, and nodded towards the shooting range.
'Loser buys the first round...rookie" The Colonel growled, as both men strode off to the range, where plastoid cutouts were already being raised. Shimir now drew his weapon, a standard Blastech-320 pistol, and leveled it to aim at the target. He depressed the firing stud. Instantly the pistol issued fiery compliance to the action, delivering a bolt through the torso of the target. Shimir fired again, and again, and again. After his designated twelve shots, he drew the plastoid closer to examine it. He had put all of his shots within the half meter "vital" area. All would have killed the man. He donned a wide smile, one which quickly vanished after seeing Astarosta's results. The veteran had put all of his shots between, yet not touching, his target's eyes.
"Tough luck kid, see ya tonight" The Colonel chuckled as he grabbed his bag, and exited the room. Shimir sheepishly gathered his gear, and returned to the barracks.
Being the end of the week, today the Kappan pilots had the day to do what they wished with it. Shimir took advantage by immersing himself in the Sovereign's archives. The ship had amassed countless pieces from thousands of worlds during its journeys, and all of them, fiction, reference, and assorted others, were stored here. However, instead of tangible data, it was all stored electronically, allowing the room to be exponentially smaller, and more efficient. Shimir sat himself down in one of the cold, metallic seats, and switched on the console. The unit took a minute to boot up, before displaying the search screen. Shimir typed in his results, and leaned back as the processor hummed gently under the inquiry. Lieutenant Zyrax took the seat next to him. Zyrax was a quiet individual, he never said more than was required than him, and to get a conversation longer than five minutes with the man was a miracle. But he was a damn good fighter pilot, and Shimir felt genuine sorrow for the sorry bastard who found Zyrax on his ass, pounding his ship to frag.
"Howdy Zyrax, what's eating ya?" Shimir asked offhandedly, scrolling through the results of his search. Much to his suprise, he got an answer:
"Just wondering what your engrossed in Lieutenant" Zyrax mumbled, only slightly more audible than a whisper. Shimir could not help but wonder if this was actual interest, or just another one of Zyrax's attempt to be sociable.
"High Jumping Zyrax, its hobby of mine you know? I just cleared two meters a week ago, you should have seen it, is was a beautiful jump" Shimir boasted, turning eagerly to face his comrade who now owned a puzzled look.
"That is the practice of getting over bar with no aid, is it not?" Zyrax probed delicately.
"Yeah 'Rax, that's how you do it" Shimir answered, although he knew it was an understatement. The sport was so much more than that. It was a passion, a way of life, not simply a mere hobby.
"Why go through all that, when you could simply have someone or something assist you in getting over the bar?" Zyrax asked. It was all Shimir could do to keep from laughing at how seriously his comrade could manage to ask the question.
"Well Zyrax, why do you still insist on polishing your boots yourself, instead of having the droid do it" Shimir analogized, in a manner he knew would suit Zyrax the best. The lieutenant thought about it for a second, before settling on the meaning, and erupting in a modest grin.
"Because somethings are done best the old way" He answered knowledgiby. He extended his hand to the seated pilot, who shook it. "Thanks lieutenant Sheerelk."
"No problem Zyrax" Shimir answered, pausing for a second to survey Zyrax's retreating profile, before returning to the console. Suprisingly it was a sport practiced by many around the galaxy, a rarity, since different cultures valued different beliefs. However, this particular ability, while there were minor differences, was uniformly recognized as important. Shimir particularly liked the Andjorin's approach to the matter. For them, it was less a hobby and more a religion. Scholar's spent their entire lives devoted to the practice, and their findings unfolded here before him. Indeed, a majority of their holy text was devoted to this discipline, they had everything, from suggested trajectories, and weight ratios, to the psychology behind it, and its correlation to the meaning of life. It was truly remarkable, Shimir had already devoured two chapters, and was working on his third. His peaceful study was shattered by the sounds of alarm klaxons.
"Alert, Alert, Wing 2 to your stations, repeat, Wing two to your stations!"
Captain Tempest announced that there wouldn't be time for a briefing, amid the hurried grab for flight suits and helmets in the Wing 2 barracks. All the pilots had their different preflight rituals. Astarosta and Algaron both kissed pictures of their loved ones. Around the corner, Tempest could be seen hunched over the table, quickly scrawling the finishing touches onto his latest painting. The normally silent Zyrax was screeching the climax of an opera of some archaic culture, a noise which turned upside down the already turbulent knot in Shimir's stomach.
"Gentlemen, Let's Roll!" Tempest called out, striding out the door in large bounds, flight gear clutched in his hands. The two flight leaders fell into flanking positions, totally focused, in their zones. Sheerelk and Zyrax followed suit, and the Squadron together took up nearly the entire width of the hallway. Further down, Shimir could see the other squadron's of Wing 2 exiting their barracks, most considerably larger than Kappa. Together the wing strode towards their hanger bay. Stormtroopers lined the corridor, holding back the bystanders who paused in their duties to watch the pilots. Then the clapping started. Together in unison, like rain falling angry on a tin roof, the support of nearly a thousand loyal Imperials resonated throughout the steel belly of the ship.
"Give 'em hell boys" shouted the janitor, brandishing his mop high in the air.
"Fight the good fight gentlemen." spat the flight officer, in his prim accent.
"Send them one from me..." growled an injured soldier, looking back over his shoulder from the retreating gurney.
"Double Time!" shouted Captain Tempest over the torrent of noise. The Kappans broke into a jog, the helmets beating in rhythm against their legs, as they rounded the corner, and strode into the bay. A metal railing coursed the stream into two directions. Shimir cleared the railing in a single bound, and hit the flight deck 3 meters later. He bounced up, and sprinted off towards his ship.
The Zantasuken was being attended to by two techs, one wielding a fuel hose, that was spewing the it's contact in the aft portion of the craft. The second tech was commanding a vehicle that was loading the boat's warheads.
"What have we got today Kal?" Shimir asked by way of greeting, jamming both of his feet through the pant legs of his flight suit, feet emerging on the other side after their short voyage.
"You got twenty advanced missles and ten rockets, sorry but that's all we had time for sir" The tech replied offhandedly; his main concern at the moment was not detonating his lethal load in the middle of the hanger bay. Shimir nodded his approval, and after donning the remainder of his gear (sans his helmet) he hoisted himself onto the first rung of his ladder to survey the scene. The tech's were backing off from all the various assortments of craft, and the pilots were now doing their preflight checks. A heartless female voice announced that they had two minutes till decompression.
"Guess that drink will have to wait until after we kick some ass eh?" Astarosta asked, clapping a heavy hand onto his wingman's shoulder. Shimir turned around, grinning.
"That is if you make it back sir! You are looking a little bit older than you used to..." Shimir eyed him playfully, surveying his flight leader.
"Can still kick your ass rook, I'll see ya in the void" The Colonel laughed, climbing the rungs to his own boat, and pulling his flight helmet down over him. Shimir followed suit, strapping himself into the cramped confines of his Missile boat. He heard the hiss of his suit compressing, as he locked the helmet into place. He was now sealed, hermetically if his luck did not hold out, into his ship. It was easy to see where the intimacy between man and machine originated. Shimir took several deep breath's, sucking in the oxygen saturated air, the foul taste tainting his mouth. Over the comlink he heard the typical background static that accompanied battle, as all the other squadrons left the bay. His breaths came faster now, and moved to echo the beating of his heart, which felt ready to expel itself upon Shimir's next exhale.
"Shim, you ready to rock?" Came Colonel Astarosta's voice, tinny and gritty over the comlink. Head still down, Shimir raised his arm, and cranked his elbow, in a circular pattern. "Flight two is go for launch, stand by" Astarosta sounded again. Shimir heard the sound first. The noise of metal scraping against metal as the docking clamps retracted. It sent shivers dancing up his spine, and a chill piercing through his torso. Then, the tractor beams flung him out into the cold abyss.
"Captain, what's the dealio?" Shimir asked, busily scanning the area for hostiles. He saw several blips on the radar, but could not account for any of them visually.
"The Sovereign was having hyperdrive problems, so she slowed to sub light to fix it up, and it looks like we stumbled across a Rebel patrol." Came Captain Tempest's explanation.
"How much we looking at Cap'? Shimir asked again, bringing the stick back a hair to level with Colonel Astarosta.
"A couple of modified Corvettes, and some starfighters, nothing we can't handle" The Captain answered, holding back no confidence.
"Tempest, I have another TIE Defender flying in formation with me, you know anything about this?" Major Algaron sounded in, his tone conceded a hint of worry.
"That's our newest recruit, just transferred to us today. He spent a month with Sin, after completing his training."
"Well, that puts of to half-strength" Shimir muttered angrily, after switching the comlink off for a brief second. He now flipped it back on: "Welcome aboard son" He issued his abbreviated greeting. It was echoed by the rest of the Squadron.
"Aright gentlemen, we have hostiles inbound. Algaron, you deal with the starfighters, Zyrax and I will take Corvette 1, Roasty, you and Shimir have number 2, lets roll fella's!" Captain Tempest ordered, and with that, the ships broke formations, and sped off to battle.
Shimir ran through his pre-combat routine quickly and efficiently; eyes darting back from console to console as he made a cursory scan of his sensors. He brought up the threat display of his target on the CMD. It showed a 3D rendering of the familiar Corvette form, or "Blockade Runner" as those with illegal interests preferred to call it. Scouts had identified it as the ship Crimson Tiger and its manifest was listed as unknown. Pirates was the obvious conclusion. In his perefrial, he saw a second ship glide into position with his own, throttling back to match his speed just off the tip of his left wing.
"Ready to do this rook?" Astarosta's crackle filled the cockpit. Shimir leaned down to activate his comm unit.
"Let's turn and burn Colonel" Shimir called back, disengaging the safety on his weapons and amping up his shield recharge rate. "Kappa 2-2 is weapons free and ready to engage."
"Aright kid, this is how we do it..." Astarosta growled "I'll take out the laser turrets, you just worry about delivering the Pussycat a pair of rockets between the eyes." the veteran explained.
"Roger that sir, I'll follow your lead." Shimir chuckled despite his efforts other wise.
"Kappa 2-1, Moving to de-tooth the Tiger" The Colonel reported back once more before speeding up and banking hard towards the Corvette. Shimir eased his left rudder pedal in slightly , and brought the stick around to bear on the Tiger, and brought his throttle down to 1/3 power. He ordered his comp unit to alert him if a hostile craft came within 2 kilometers, and shifted the tangle of plugs hanging overhead to shunt power from the lasers to his shields. One of his monitors lit up with a view of another cockpit, as he started receiving telemetry from Roasty's craft. He configured another monitor to record a view from outside his wingman's craft, and watched the action unfold, as he began to set up for his own attack run.
The Corvette had targeted Roasty's incoming Missile Boat, and had already thrown some turbo laser blasts in his direction, but the small profile of the approaching craft caused the shots to be well off the mark. Shimir saw the craft dip it's nose to line up with the lower laser turret. The problem that had been nagging at the back of Shimir's mind resurfaced: As soon as Roasty released missiles, they would be shot down by the 'Vette, and to get close enough to use lasers, his ship would take quite a beating. Taking out the turrets would make Shimir's job exponentially easier, but he failed to see how Roasty could pull it off. Then he saw the Boat's engines flare blue, as the Colonel engaged his SLAM's.
"Roasty, what's the deal, you don't need anymore speed sir!" Shimir advised frantically over the Comm, a plea to reason.
"Relax Lieutenant, I know what I'm doing. They can't target myself and my missiles at the same time, let's see which is more appealing. See ya on the flip side." The Colonel answered briefly, before audibly disengaging the comm. Laser fire washed over his canopy as he hurtled towards the capital ship. His craft began to buck and weave, as the master showed his skill with the stick, evading a majority of the fire that came his way. He cut out the overdrive just as he reached the hammerhead of the Tiger. A gout of light streaked across the vacuum, as the Colonel released a missile from one of the upper ordinance pods. The turret rotated to reacquire their lock on him. It was their last mistake. The missile pierced the bulbous turret in it's midsection, and exploded in it's midst, vaporizing the gun (as well as all inside) instantly. Roasty then snapped rolled upwards, hugging his craft close to the Corvette. He pulled out of the roll completely inverted and staring the upper turret eye to eye. Too close to engage with missiles, Shimir saw several bright green darts shatter the serene darkness of the void. The telemetry from Roasty's craft informed him of the outcome: The second turret had been punctured in several places, and the lifeless bodies of the gunners drifted out into open space now. Shimir shut off the console, not wanting to see the end result of the open exposure to space.
"Nice shooting Colonel, get clear now" Shimir asked his superior.
"Roger that 2-2, lead is now heading to engage snubs" Roasty replied, and Shimir watched his craft bank hard back to the dogfight.
"Copy that, 2-2 beginning my attack run" Shimir said more to himself than anybody. He cranked his throttle to full, and centered the wounded Corvette in his sights. It was listing slightly to port, as it's captain frantically tried to calculate an escape trajectory. The beeping sound now blurred into solid tone, as the yellow "tracking" indicator gave way to a red "fire" light. Shimir thumbed off the protective cover over his warhead trigger. Without hesitation, he depressed the stud. He heard the locks release from the first rocket, and watched as it streaked towards it's target, leaving a vibrant trail of orange in it's wake. It impacted with an invisible barrier encompassing the Tiger. The ship's shield flickered into visibility for a second, and energy danced across it's surface as it fought to retain it's defense. After a valiant effort, the bubble flickered off, leaving the craft exposed. Shimir moved to fire once more, when he noticed a message queue on his CMD. It was a distress call from the Tiger requesting the immediate assistance of any available ship. It reported that the ship's escape pods had been rendered useless. Tough Shit Shimir thought, as he sealed the crew's fate with another tap of the firing stud. The rocket impacted with the ship in the center of it's vast engine complex. It drove inward, crumpling the engines to conform to it's path behind it. It exploded in the middle of a triangle formed by two fuel tanks and the central core of the complex. This ignited the engines, and the fuel provided a deadly addition of thrust. The Tiger broke apart as its engines rocketed forward, and through the rest of the ship, while the remainder of the ship stood still, decimated by the engines traverse through the form. Seconds later, only the lifeless corpse of the Tiger remained. Shimir paused for a fraction of a second to watch a handful of escape pods escape the hulk. Then he pulled back hard on the stick, and brought his ship about, and sped off towards the dogfight.
Major Algaron and his still anonymous wing-man had succeeded in tearing apart the enemies formation, and a quick review of his log informed Shimir that the major had already amassed three enemy kills, all of them X-Wings. The holo-map showed that two X-Wings still remained, with a handful of older R-41's in support. Flipping an overhead switch, Shimir toggled the craft for missile deployment, and angled it towards the near nearest X-Wing. The outlaw pilot drifted slowly into Shimir's targeting systems, and the box began to flash yellow. Immediately his adversary dove out of his sights.
"Damn!" Shimir exclaimed out loud quickly checking his scopes for the fleeing snub fighter. He had not been expecting the pirates to be equipped with missile lock detection software.
Of course, he had not been expecting this engagement at all. Re-aquiring his target, he circled around again to engage. Laser fire streaked across the barren canvas of space, with the stars and the ships providing the only reprieve from the monotonous landscape. He again centered the X-Wing within his sights, and again the enemy ship veered hard, to port this time. But Shimir had anticipated this, and cranked his stick hard to pursue his adversary, easing the throttle back slightly. The X-Wing rolled desperately, the movements seemingly at random. After a couple of minor adjustments to his craft, Shimir's box flared red, and he again depressed the stud. Less than a second later, flame engulfed the X-Wing, as the ship broke apart, and the debris scattered in all directions. Shimir noted the blue streak of plasma that the ejection seat gave off, as the pilot narrowly escaped his death. Captain Tempest's voice engulfed the cockpit.
"Algy, a hostile has attained missile lock on you, begin evasive maneuvers" He ordered, emotionless over the transmitter.
"Negative lead, I have a hostile X-Wing inbound, I only need one more shot to get him. My shields can take whatever the pirates throw at me" Major Algaron explained. His confidence was shattered seconds later. "Shit! That's an advanced missile, how the hell did they get those?" The desperation in his voice came through clearly despite the malfunctioning speakers. Shimir new the gravity of the situation. While the TIE Defender could easily survive a direct hit from a regular missile at marginal shields, an advanced warhead would tear it apart.
"Begin evasive maneuvers Algy!" Captain Tempest ordered again.
"I'm trying, my engines were damaged during a pass at that last X-Wing, I don't think I can out run it" The major reported, for the first time hints of despair began to creep into his tone. At that moment, an idea struck Shimir.
"Algy, come around, bearing 197, come face to face with me, and break when I tell you!" Shimir called out, frantically, diverting power to his shields, and bringing his craft to face the Major's.
"Lieutenant, what are you..." Algy began
"Just do it Major!" Shimir boomed, as he watched the flight leader's TIE Defender wheel around to approach his. Shimir allowed himself to breathe deeply a few times, as the two ships sped towards each other. As the Dagger like form of the TIE came dangerously close to collision with Shimir's missile boat, he made his move: "Break Algy!" Shimir watched the Tie's form roll hard to starboard, and saw briefly the bright orange tail of the warhead speeding towards him. He closed his eyes, and waited.
The missile impacted hard against his shield, collapsing them and sending the shock wave rippling across his hull. His cockpit sparked and sizzled, as Shimir was slammed back fiercely against his seat, the sharp metal corners digging into his side. He cranked his stick backwards, in a vain effort to reorient his ship; the blast had knocked out the Missile Boat's guidance systems and sent it spinning off into the void. All across the dashboard, lights began to flicker, than die out, as the wounded boat strained to maintain it's existence. The comm system crackled to life:
"Kappa 2-2, this is Kappa leader, do you copy?" Captain Tempest asked, allowing a tint of worry to be inflected in his voice.
"Roger that Kappa leader, I'm still here" Shimir answered, grimacing and rubbing the spot where his elbow had impacted with the plexi-steel canopy. He made a cursory check of both his ship and his body, and noted them both in fair condition. His thoughts snapped back to the present. "Lead, what about the other hostile's?"
"Gone, our newest addition took out two, and the rest hypered out. That kids butter with a TIE" Captain Tempest reported with genuine awe. Shimir imagined that the kid must have lived up to the title, to illicit the response from the Captain.
"Thanks Elk, I owe you a drink" Algy reported in now, voice again calm, and emotionless.
"Cut the chatter Dragons, we will have plenty of time for talk at the bar" Tempest returned to business. His boat angled back towards the Sovereign as the rest of the squadron fell back into formation. Together, they limped back towards the flagship.
He stood silhouetted against the rain streaked window. The soft hiss of the door easing open was not enough to warrant his attention.
"The task force has failed master, shall we send more ships?" mewled the underling, a mere shadow cast by the light oozing in from the open door.
'No, it will not be necessary." He anticipated the henchman's next question before it was squealed: "If I wanted to crush them I could have. This was just to determine whether or not the informant was reliable." He paused. "It is clear now that he is" Silence again engulfed the chamber as an awkward tension began to stagnate in the room. "You may go..." The man finally concluded. The hiss of the underlings exit, and the patter of feet fleeing down the hallway marked the mans return to solitude.
"Sir, what is the purpose of this function?" Zyrax asked intently while straightening his dress uniform, gaze fixed on the small mirror residing on the wall.
"Well Zyrax, the Medical Officer, Rear Admiral Wemmel has just concluded his tour of duty, and is stepping down from the position, so Admiral Proton has ordered a retirement party in his honor to be held tonight." Shimir replied, gingerly trimming a small patch of facial hair that had escaped his last purge. Running his palm over the now smooth angles of his sharp face, he paused for a moment to study his own reflection.
Shimir stood a hair over two meters in height, towering over most pilots. Originally the navy had declared him too large for starfighter duty, but Shimir's feel for the stick had turned enough heads to get him the job. He had a dark complexion, a permanent tan from his childhood on the planet second from the sun in his system. Built large, he had an avid love for free weights, and looked forward to the weight training in the gym every fifth day. He was not handsome, but had a certain ruggedness to him that was appealing. It was a rarity to encounter one who didn't like him.
"Wemmel, eh?" Zyrax snapped him back to the present "I flew with him a few times..." Zyrax smiled softly, as he drifted back temporally "...that was before your time" he added, again back to the current date. "Where's Brix?"
Brix was Kappa's latest addition. Still a Sub-Lieutenant, he had been one of Daedalus' brightest prospects when he graduated. He joined Major Algaron in flight three, and already had quite a few notches on the side of his cockpit. Shimir glanced around the corner and saw Brix meticulously attending to his long mane of hair. High Admiral Patel had recently lifted the ban on long hair; He figured that if TIE pilots were willing to give their life for the Empire, a little mop on the top could be accepted. Tempest strode in, wearing new colors on his chest and looking rather sheepish. He was clutching something in his right hand.
"What's the deal Temp?" Algaron asked, fastening the last button on his dress uniform, and stealing a glance away from the mirror.
"Yeah Temp, what gives with the paint job?" Astaroasta growled, pointing at Tempest's new insignia. Astarosta had given up on the top button of his uniform, which now hung open near the neck, revealing a healthy crop of graying chest hair.
"Stele's made me a Major" Tempest mumbled, intently studying a scuff mark on the floor. The announcement was greeted by a cacophony of laughter throughout the barracks. For a brief instant, Shimir saw the squadron as they truly were, not as this ugly war had turned them into. They were no longer shells of skin and sinew, ghosts of misery, but instead, vibrant, animated young men, enjoying a heartily laugh. Zyrax shook with violent internal giggles that threatened his balance, and Algaron lay doubled over the counter slapping his fist against the durasteel surface. Astarosta let out one or two rough guffaws. Only Brix remained unfazed, still dousing his hair with gel. Shimir had asked him earlier the reason, and Brix had simply grinned. Shimir now wheeled on Major Tempest.
"Looks like our little Tempie's growing up" Shimir jeered playfully, pinching what little flab there was to grasp on Tempest's cheek. Tempest grinned maliciously, opening his palm and presenting another insignia to Shimir.
"And he's made you Lieutenant Commander, ickle Shimir" Tempest returned the cheek-pinch as Shimir deepened from brown to crimson, and the room exploded again into laughter.
Kappa Squadron strode together into the Sovereign's massive ballroom, or rather the room now designated for that function. It consisted of several cargo bays sans the bulkheads between them, which were propped up on the side ready to be welded back into place after the function. The walls were draped in imperial red and blue, and the logo of the fleet stood together with that of the medical corps. Instantly Shimir saw the reason behind Brix's preening. Across the room, an entire legion of nurses were lined up, donning dresses, most of them white or imperial blue. It was the first time in uncountable years that Shimir had laid eyes upon a woman that couldn't kick his ass. And the dresses, elegant ballroom dresses that billowed down to the sparkling floor, enveloping completely their bodies from the waist down. Low cut dresses that veed deep revealing the ladies soft curves, and elegant necks. It was a welcome change to the ladies in uniforms aboard the Sov, who coincidentally did not look at all impressed with the foreign, revealing, nurses. The squadron filed into their assigned position as Admiral Proton began his speech. He described the Medical Office's evolution since Rear Admiral Wemmel took over, and the drastic increase in the number of lives saved, and various other monotonous subjects, with intermittent applause and cheers. Most eyes and ears however were turned upon the nurses, in fleeting glances of longing. A generous few returned them. Wemmel took the podium briefly.
"In my brief tenure as Medical Officer, I have had the pleasure of witnessing a great number of miracles" He began "I have seen men damn near death make a full recovery, and seen doctor's, nurses, deprived of sleep for weeks breathe life into those thought dead." He paused for a brief second to collect his thoughts. "The greatest miracle however, came from a fellow by the name of Sergeant McAdams, of the Hammer's Fist." Several stormtroopers in the ranks bowed their heads in respect. "He came in so badly shot up and maimed it was hard to tell one part from another. It was clear right away that he wasn't gonna make it." Wemmel swallowed hard and took a moment to wipe his eyes, which shot back up misty and glazed. "And McAdams says to me, he says 'You gotta fix me up again Admiral, you gotta get me outta here' and I said 'Why? You gotta sweetheart back home or something?' And he says to me 'Naw sir, but I left ten of my men down on that there ridge and I'll be damned if I let them take it without me.' He died two minutes later. He loved the empire, he loved his men. He loved them so much, that he died for them." Wemmel's head fell into his hands and he collapsed into sobs. The room stood silent for s minute, before a red-eyed Wemmel reappeared. "This may sound horrible, but saving lives has grown old for me. I am a soldier, and a soldier's lot is to take lives. I will return to Kappa Squadron as a Colonel. It is my place." He announced, to cheers from wing two. After the cheers have died down, he added: "Go dance and enjoy yourselves."
Kappa remained awestruck by Wemmel's choice, and excitedly shook hands with each other. After which, Brix strode off excitedly towards the nurses, where he was quickly enveloped by no less than four of them. Shimir licked his hand and attended to his hair lamely. Slowly, the women and the pilots inched towards each other, as though testing the waters to determine if they were toxic. The women seemed to gravitate towards the higher ranking officers. Shimir immediately felt inferior compared to his squadron mates. He was the youngest, save Brix, who seemed to be getting by on looks alone. He had a measly sextet of medals, nothing compared to Roasty's breastful, or the dagger clinging to Tempest's side. He felt he was in for a long night.
Shimir walked over to the bar, where an emotionless protocol droid was serving drinks. He asked for a hard drink and downed the shot in one go. Empty glass in hand, he stole a glance towards the dance floor. About midway across the shining, dura-crete surface, a woman stood, a woman that could not go unnoticed. She stood slightly shorter than Shimir, and was wearing a light blue dress that dragged on the floor as she moved, giving the distinct impression that she was not walking, but gliding; some ethereal creature from a perfect realm. She wore her rich black hair down, a cascade that tumbled down in shimmering waves, crashing just past the blades. Her complexion was light and fair, and she seemed to glow under the harsh, iridescent lighting. As she turned, she shot him a sparkling smile; one that not only lit up the shadows of the room, but the shadows of his heart as well. Upon spying him, she strode over towards him.
"Hello pilot!" She chirped merrily, then paused to examine his rank insignia. "Erm...Lieutenant Commander!" She proclaimed with a degree of satisfaction. Shimir wheeled around to check if Brix was standing behind him. When he turned back the woman looked horrified. "Oh, I'm so sorry, did I get it wrong? I've been studying ranks you see, but some of them look so much alike. What are you? Commander, Captain, Major..." Shimir interjected:
No, uh...you got it right uh....Lieutenant Commander Shimir Sheerelk...uh...that's me sir!"
Shimir performed a sorry excuse for a salute, which was a valiant effort given the trembling that had seized control of his body. Hit took him several seconds of standing at attention to realize his slip up, which he attempted to remedy. "Ma'am! Uh...that's me Ma'am. I know you are a Ma'am, I just said sir because you rank higher..." He let out a gasp of exasperation with himself. The nurse put her gloved hand up to her mouth to suppress a giggle, and turned away to compose herself for a couple of seconds. During this time, Shimir exacted retribution for his past mistakes by reaming on his hair extensively. When she turned back he moved to apologize, but she cut him off swiftly.
"It's quite all right pilot, I've made that mistake before too" She laughed heartily, and exuded a sense of calm that lured even Shimir to break into some nervous chuckles. She smiled softly, a softly that melted through Shimir faster than hot plasma. "Will you dance with me pilot?" She asked, staring right into Shimir's hard brown eyes. Incapacitated now and without the ability to speak Shimir managed only a few vigorous nods before being whisked away to the dance floor.
They took their place amid a crowd of people, several of who Shimir recognized. The now Colonel Wemmel was moving among the crowd, pausing every now and then to shake hands with a junior officer. To his right, Shimir spotted Roasty, who seemed to have given up on the notion of ballroom etiquette and hand his hands clamped firmly onto the buttocks of a perky young nurse. The Colonel threw a wink in his direction before returning to the matter at hand. Shimir merely grinned. He turned his attention back to his partner as the waltz struck up. Shimir stumbled awkwardly through the first few steps before he found his feet and fell in time. His partner smiled appraisingly.
"I wouldn't have guessed that you knew how to dance" She said, in the kindest tone possibly. Shimir smiled sheepishly, as they continued.
"My sister loved the waltz, she would make me dance it wither her over and over..." He reminisced as they continued. "This damn song..." The nurse lit up.
"A sister?" She asked "Where is she now,is she in the Corps as well? Do you have any other family?" She persisted with enthusiasm. Shimir's face lost some color as he spun her into his arms.
"She's Dead." He replied. "They're all dead."
"I'm sorry, I didn't..." She began. They finished the rest of the waltz in silence; an uneasy tension hanging thick in the air. When the music stopped, she smiled apologetically and turned to go. Shimir grabbed her by her shoulder, which was dainty, with little fat he could feel the smooth bone beneath.
"Wait" He said, as she turned back in curiosity. She raised her eyebrows slightly. "I don't even know your name' He explained, hoping for a response.
"Thyree" She exclaimed,looking relieved that the mood had lightened.
"Thyree..." Shimir began, a grin again growing on his face. "There's something I want to show you..."
The view screen flared to life in the dark recesses of the room. A man sat at an empty bar stool, quickly checking the encryption software to ensure that it was active. The light emanating from the view screen illuminated dark corners of his face, shilouetting a sinister yet unrecognizable figure. Seconds later, a man's voice pierced the silence.
"Operative 18, your information proved most reliable last time, we have another task for you, I am sending it through now..." His voice came through synthesized through the voice garbler, giving an strange vibe of superiority. The comp unit whirred dangerously as schematics, text, and graphics struggled to be downloaded all at the same time. The man on the stool, Operative 18, struggled to take in all the information himself.
"With all due respect, this plan leaves me rather vulna..." He began.
"It is not your place to question the magistrate. Carry out your orders, and you will be rewarded handsomely. Fail, and you will suffer our...displeasure" The emphasis placed on this last word echoed ominously in the small confines. The view screen died as quickly as it had come to life, and engulfed the man in darkness once more.
"Well, what do you think?" Shimir asked eagerly, arms outstretched. Thyree looked at him quizzically.
"What is it?" Came her query. It was not unexpected, but Shimir felt disappointed all the same.
"It's a High Jump pit" He explained. When she looked even more confused he decided to elaborate. "It's an ancient custom from my world. You see, this bar here..." he hoisted his "bar" (a salvaged s-foil from a Z-95 he had stripped down to suit his need) into position. "...and then, you try to jump over it without help from anyone." He finished looking pleased with himself. Her look changed slightly, but not for the better. Instead of being confused, now she just thought of him as crazy.
"Why would you want to that Mr. Sheerelk?' She laughed, her wide smile mocking him from across the hanger bay. Patches of red again enveloped his cheeks, as he sank down on the soft foam of the mat.
"I figure it's the closest a guy can come to flying; close as he can be to free." He mumbled. "I dunno, it's probably just stupid..." But before he could continue, he noticed her spindly fingers snaking around his upper arm. He looked up and her smile, no longer one of jeer, but one of affection. She brushed her hair back as she took a seat next to him.
"I think it's very romantic" She purred, resting her shoulder on Shimir's shoulder. He reached up with his free hand to run his fingers through his hair, and together they sat in silence for what seemed to be at least an hour. Eventually she spoke:
"What Squadron are you in, Lieutenant Commander Sheerelk?" She asked, raising her head back up to look him level in the air. They were so close that Shimir could not see anything but the perfect lines and angles of her face.
"Kappa, Wing Two" He announced without hesitation. His anxiousness had become replaced with infatuation with Thyree.
"Kappa eh..." She bit her lip "I'll see if I can pull a few strings, get a transfer or something over there" She mused to herself. Shimir was excited at her apparent interest with her. But the feeling was soon replaced by disappointment.
'Wait Thyree, that's no good. i'm leaving in a couple days with the General, we are patrolling the EH for the next two months." He rambled downtrodden. Two months was an eternity to wait to see her when he came back. If he came back. But she only seemed to brighten.
"That's perfect!" She exclaimed. Seeing Shimir sink horribly further into depression, she quickly explained. "The General is looking for a nurse, can apply and have the job in no time, then we can spend some...quality...time together" She giggled. Checking her chronometer, she announced that she had to go, as tonight was the deadline to apply.
"G'night pilot' she said to him, before kissing him softly on the cheek, and running out of the hanger bay. Shimir lay their for a few seconds. Upon hearing the door whoosh closed, he let out a whoop of excitement, and vaulted himself onto his feet. He strode over towards his ship, but stopped short, as he noticed a figure hunched over the side of the craft. He made a grab for his blaster, but as this was his dress uniform, he was not allowed to wear it. He could see clearly the bluish aura of an arc welder being used. Walking closer, he saw clearly a squadron patch on the man's upper arm: A flaming bird, crying. Shimir approached the man.
"What are you doing to my ship." He asked, hands ready to protect himself, if he needed to. The man turned slowly, welding visor still down, and examining Shimir through the slit. The tinted Plexiglas afforded Shimir no view of the man's eyes, a disconcerting situation. The man beckoned Shimir closer.
"Just adding your corvette kill to your ship sir" The man's muffled reply came from beneath the visor. As Shimir looked closer, he did see a durasteel cut out of a corvette half-wleded onto the side of his fuselage. Sheepishly, Shimir admitted to himself the fact that their seemed to be no danger here.
"Right, well carry on then" Shimir mumbled before leaving the bay. This left the man again in darkness, the only light provided by the sparks he forged, and the blue glow over the surface of the boat.