Star Wars Character Cafe - The Floating Fortress Part 1

Title: Floating Fortress (PG)
Author Name & E-mail: Mjsullivan (mjsullivan@kooee.com.au)
Characters: Clip Argentsson (OC), Eva Pah'ker (OC), Booster Terrik, Wedge Antilles, Airen Cracken.
Era: Shortly before ANH
Category: Action/Adventure
Summary: A young smuggler must choose between his neutrality and his friends during the early stages of the Galactic Civil War after a routine delivery goes terribly wrong.
Disclaimers: I have not, am not, and will not recieve any profit from the creation of this story. I do not own any of the canon Star Wars characters that feature in this story.

FLOATING FORTRESS

A Long Short Story by Mitchell J Sullivan

1. Grand Admiral Tigellinus

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an Admiral in possession of a great army must be in want of an enemy. For many years, Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus had lacked such an enemy – and it weighed on him. Stamping out pathetic uprisings and extinguishing petty civil wars was beginning to thaw his passion.

Thank the force, then, for the Rebel Alliance.

Thank the force also for the gracious Emperor, who not two weeks ago had granted him the greatest of honours. No longer was he Admiral Tigellinus. No longer would pirate outposts be his only source of exercise. Best of all, no longer would he have to spend hour after hour in the bureaucratic prison of the Military Security Branch of the Imperial Senate.

Not now that the senate was dissolved.

Not now that he was Grand Admiral Tigellinus.

Within the Emperor’s inner circle of 12 (The 12 Grand Admirals) there were no rules or boundaries, just the limitless wisdom of the man who controlled the galaxy. The only man who had vision enough to spot the Jedi order for the treacherous disease that it was, and the only man who recognised the inferiority of non-humans.

The New Order was perfect; too perfect to be spoiled by those that are too primitive to grasp its beauty and accept its totality. Tigellinus sneered as he thought, The likes of Aliens. The likes of the Rebel Alliance.

But he caught himself – The soon to be crushed Rebel Alliance, he corrected. Now that the Emperor had completed the construction of the ultimate weapon, now that supreme power was theirs, symbolically channelled through the almighty Superlaser…

The Rebellion stood no chance.

Nor should they. An organisation that let it’s military craft be commanded by aliens was clearly backward. In fact, they even used the alien ships in their day-to-day combative engagements. Mon Calamari star cruisers might look impressively ugly to the human eye, but they were just as likely to short circuit every one of their systems in an instant during navy battles.

One day soon, the Rebellion would understand this.

Perhaps that day would be today.

“Admiral, we are leaving hyperspace,” a precise voice pierced Tigellinus’ thoughts.

“Very good. All weapons and deflector shields ready – all this time, if you please Ensign Luco,” he said, throwing an icy look at the junior weapons console operative. He nodded, his skin a ghostly white, and intently went about double, triple, and quadruple checking his readiness. Tigellinus smiled.

Control. That was all that was needed.

“Eleven seconds until reversion,” an anonymous navigation officer cited. Tigellinus frowned, making a mental note to correct the officer in the next free moment. Reports should be given only at round intervals. The trivial length of a standard second may not seem so important, but it all came down to control. Accuracy, exactitude, precision…

Perfection.

That is what made for successful missions.

“Sublight engines active,” sounded the report. At that very instant, the mottled blue hyperspace tunnel reverted back to a much more conventional speckled black space vista. The vastness of space had long ago lost its raw impressiveness to Tigellinus. However, just occasionally, the concept of having just travelled so many light years in so short a time still moved him.

“Scanners?” he queried suddenly.

“Negative on hostiles for short, medium and long range areas, Admiral. Several civilian vessels have activated emergency sublight power, seeking hyperspace exit points… possibility of illegal cargo is high…” the officer trailed off as Tigellinus waved him silent with his hand.

“We are no longer concerned with petty criminal activity, we are here to thwart the Rebel Alliance. Now, if you please, initiate phase two of the operation and begin contacting the sleeper units on the planet’s surface,” he ordered, sitting all the while very calmly in his command chair.

“Affirmative, Admiral,” the obedient communications pit chimed as one. Tigellinus smiled.

Control, exactitude… everything was proceeding perfectly to plan.

“Admiral – comms report that the governor is hailing the ship. They demand an explanation for this unexpected visit,” stiff-backed captain Garlinn said primly. Tigellinus smiled, and nodded his head once.

“They can demand all they wish – send no reply,” he ordered.

He no longer answered to bureaucrats.

The large brown, orange, and glowing purple orb of Gavortis Major hung serenely in its orbit around Gavortis Alpha, which by contrast burned violently and turbulently. Tigellinus’ icy blue eyes also blazed.

How ironic it was that soon – very soon – Gavortis Major would become more turbulent and violent than its sun.

2. Clip Argentsson and the Raging Cusper

“And I keep telling you, pal, that this is a certified shipment for Gavortis Stevedores Incorporated!”

It was a lie, and Clip Argentsson knew it. He had told the same lie before a hundred times – a thousand times – and this was the only time he’d ever hit such resistance. Exactly what was different about this run to Gavortis was a mystery – The ship was broadcasting exactly the correct ID, it was the same old salvaged Imperial Gunboat that always delivered the supplies, and his was the same old voice that always spoke to traffic control.

So what in the name of the Emperor was different this time?

“Neg that, Raging Cusper – the system is in a state of lockdown as of now,” the voice of the arrogant traffic controller returned. Clip swore, and slammed a fist down onto the sensor console. The shipment was already four sithing hours late, and…

The second he actually looked at the sensor console, he understood.

Flashing quickly, not fifty kilometres aft of the Raging Cusper, was the blood-red triangle of an Imperial-Class Star Destroyer. Suddenly, the shipment didn’t matter. In fact, the shipment was the last thing on his mind. That Impstar would be sending out a sensor focus any second now, and once they saw through the phoney ID from the ship, well…

He couldn’t let that happen.

His reflexes suddenly quickened, hands and eyes darting in all directions. He tried desperately to ignore the frantic twittering of Noosa, his R2 unit, who seemed bent on sending him deaf.

“Noosa, shutup!” Clip shouted.

Options – there weren’t many, but each had a reasonable chance of success. He could dart out into the majestic orbital rings of the planet and try to elude capture long enough to go to hyperspace… but that was quite dangerous. Of course, he could turn tail now and punch the ship into an emergency hyperspace hop, but that was even more dangerous.

The force damn these Imperial Authorities – didn’t they have anything better to do than hunt down the odd semi-legitimate business operator? Surely that new rebel faction – the alliance, or whatever they called themselves – surely they must provide some distraction from this mundane duty.

Options – he had to decide quickly. In maybe 20 seconds – or less – the Imps would break through the fairly weak encryption on his ID. Of course, that was the worst case, if they had begun to decrypt the second they arrived in system…

Too many sith-serving variables!

“Noosa, quick – can you calculate a quick hyperjump out of here, from this location?” he asked. There was a short, negative bleep. “In that case, better mag yourself to the deck – I think we’re gonna have to-”

Clip jumped suddenly as the comm unit crackled harshly to life.

“Civilian traffic, cease flight and go to ground or station docks immediately. This is an Authorised order from His Excellency, the Emperor Palpatine. Compliance is commensurate to reciprocity,” the highly anal voice of an Imperial Captain blared at him. Clip couldn’t help but laugh (very nervously) at the confusing babble the officer had just spilt.

Compliance is what to what?

Options – they had run out.

It was now or never. With that destroyer so close, it was all he could do to punch out of the system. He brought the ship around to face the daunting blackness of deep space and reached tensely for the hyperspace levers, ready to snap them back and forth very quickly. If he held them too long, the largest pieces anyone would find of him would be atoms.

“Hold on, Noosa…”

Force be with us…

“Raging Cusper, don’t even think about it.”

If clip had jumped at the last sudden crackle from the comm unit, this time he positively shot out of his seat. But this voice did not fill him with dread. This voice filled him with utter, indescribable relief.

“Booster!” he shouted, letting all of his anxiety escape with a single word. A smile spread across his face – his trademark boyish grin. Thank the force for people like Booster Terrik – and indeed, anyone that gave him an excuse not to make emergency hyperspace hops.

“Don’t risk your life that way, kid – there’s no need,” Booster continued “Come around to the Novetica grand orbital casino and pull into landing bay 29-04 on the starboard side. I’ve cleared you a berth,” he instructed. Though Clip was still apprehensive about the huge triangle of death sitting right behind him, something in Booster’s voice assured him.

Slowly and deliberately, so as not to alarm the Imperials, he swung the old gunboat perpendicular to it’s current heading. The huge mass of the Novetica Grand loomed before him, currently in the planet’s shadow. The running hull lights combined with the brilliant white interior lights – glowing through thousands of windows – to create the impression of a rather freckled, oversized caf decanter.

I guess ‘Novetica Grand’ is a bit of an exaggeration.

It was some coincidence, meeting Booster like this. Sure, his old boss used to travel to Gavortis occasionally – but he had unloaded that contract when Clip left. It really didn’t matter, especially since his intervention had probably saved his life – but he couldn’t help being curious. Booster always seemed to know exactly what was going on. Everywhere.

“Booster, how did you know I was about to…” he trailed off, letting the question complete itself. Force knows it was all too easy for the Imps to listen into conversations like this. No need to incriminate himself that stupidly. “Pull the plug?” he finished.

“Oh, I know you too well, kid. Finger always on the panic button. Just trust me this time, they’re not here for you,” he said assuredly. Clip’s heart skipped a beat…no need to incriminate myself, eh!

“Ahh, should we really be discussing that sort -“

“It’s fine, Clip. This channel’s pretty secure,” he said. Clip shook his head. Trust Booster to be prepared for situations like this. It wasn’t every day that the biggest ship in the Imperial Fleet was breathing down your neck.

But if that bothered Booster, he sure wasn’t showing it.

Quickly and smoothly, he manoeuvred the Raging Cusper into the berth at bay 29-04. Hitting the comm one last time, he received instructions from Booster to meet in the observation deck cantina.

Clip looked pitifully over at Noosa, still magnetically locked to the deck. Poor thing, he’d been forgotten since Booster had called through. He smiled quickly – not that droids could interpret the expression – and patted the little droid on the head.

“It’s Ok Noosa, you can unlock now. I’ll be in touch, ok? Stay by the comm unit,” he instructed. He twittered an affirmative, and rolled over to the console obediently. Clip had to laugh. He’d always taken Noosa to be a slightly, well…slow droid. But he didn’t mind. He was a faithful little droid, and that mattered to Clip. As long as he could still perform hyperspace calculations accurately, he was in no danger of replacement. And they hadn’t flown through a black hole yet.

Still nervous, he turned from the droid, trying to keep his mind focused. Scooping up his comlink and blaster and attaching them to his belt, he hastened from the ship. He needed to find out what in the galaxy was going on at Gavortis Major.

3. What in the Galaxy was going on at Gavortis Major

Booster Terrik was a substantial man.

His bearded face and cracked skin belied the intelligence and genuine compassion that he was capable of. Of course, a small scar running from his eye to the top of his ear gave him the look of the Galaxy’s most conspicuous smuggler.

Appropriate really – because he was exactly that.

He stood as Clip approached him through the loud and predominantly human crowd at the Novetica Grand cantina. Clip returned the broad smile with his own grin – he hadn’t seen Booster Terrik since, well…

Since he had been made an orphan.

“Argentsson, people usually look older when you haven’t seen them in a while. You, dear boy, haven’t changed a bit,” he said coarsely. Clip snorted a quick laugh, unsure whether he meant it as a compliment.

“Ahh, thanks Booster…neither have you,” he answered.

Booster laughed his deep belly laugh, and slapped Clip hard on the shoulder. “No need for sarcasm, kid. Can I get you a drink, or aren’t you of age yet?” he asked.

“No need for sarcasm, eh Booster?”

“Returning the favour. Now come on, what am I wasting my money on here?”

Clip very quickly thought it over in his head. “Alright, I’ll have a Starfruit Liqueur Shikoko,” he said.

“Corellian Ale it is,” Booster replied intently, and stalked off to the bar.

Clip shook his head resignedly and sat at the circular table. From the observation deck, he had a magnificent view of Gavortis Major. It was as unique a planet as he had seen. Predominantly orange and red, it was surrounded by beautiful rings of purple and blue ice. To match these rings, at random points on the planet surface were large clusters of purple and blue lights – the great luminescent cities of Gavortis Major. They were a highlight of tourism in this sector, and yet Clip had only ever seen them like this, from space…

He made a mental note to change that fact one day.

In the bottom left extremity of the observation window, he could just see the apex of the depressingly grey triangle of the Star Destroyer. It was a sobering reminder of why he was here now. Sithspawn, he hadn’t even thought about what he was going to tell the suppliers to Gavortis Stevedores. Considering how they’d reacted in the past to bad shipments, it would probably be better all round if he allowed himself to be caught by the Imperials. Less talking he’d have to do.

Though from the way Booster was talking, he could knock on the door of the big ship and shake hands with the Stormtroopers without being arrested.

Bizarre.

“One Corellian ale,” Booster announced, dropping the foaming mug onto the table in front of Clip. He snorted a laugh again, and picked it up.

“Thanks Booster.”

He waved a dismissive hand “put it on my credit account.”

“Will do. And I’ll tell you what – if you tell me what’s going on here, I’ll do your next run for free,” said Clip. It was a completely unreasonable offer, but he didn’t care at the moment. He just wanted to know what the hell was happening.

“That might come in handy, now that Antilles is gone,” Booster remarked. Clip’s eyes shot wide open.

“Wedge is dead?” he demanded.

Booster drawled another long laugh. “Nah, kid, but close to it – he’s gone and joined the Rebel Alliance. A fighter pilot,” he explained. Clip felt a second tidal wave of relief wash over him – two in less than an hour. Wedge had been a good friend to him for a few years, until they had parted ways, when they were both still kids. Shortly after their parents had died.

“What, a Smuggler’s life not good enough for him?” he asked lightly.

“Think he just wanted a legit excuse to go shooting up Imps,” Booster responded, more seriously than Clip wanted him too. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected from Wedge. Sure, he had no love for the Empire, but the Rebellion? He’d be dead in three weeks, tops.

“So, what, you found the pirates responsible for the bomb?” he asked eagerly. Booster leaned forward, and shook his head slowly, his expression mournful.

“Funny you should ask,” Booster said slowly.

In the aftermath of the explosion at the refuelling station, Wedge and Clip had parted ways. Clip had been avid to move on with life, to try and start afresh. He burned as many bridges as he dared, and set off alone. Wedge, on the other hand, had been hit hard by the death of his parents. He and Booster had gone in pursuit of the pirates responsible.

And in all this time, Clip had never bothered to inquire after their progress. Somehow, he felt disgusted in himself – like he’d done something terribly offensive and had only just now realised.

“He’s a good pilot, is Wedge. I never thought he’d do it. But fate has this wonderfully satisfying way of serving up justice. He took the Z-95 – damn near scrapheap of a ship, too – and followed the pirates. And two days later he was back – with a whole bunch of kills to his name.

“Yes, he found them – and killed them.”

Clip stared forward a moment. He didn’t know how to react. This was both wonderfully satisfying and horribly empty news. The pirates – the ones who had killed his parents and forced him into a life of self-determination – were dead. And yet, here he was. Still by himself. Still orphaned.

“Right,” was all he could say.

“Tell me about it,” responded Booster. Clip shook his head, and pushed memories of old acquaintances from his mind.

“No, you tell me about it – what in the Galaxy’s going on here?” he asked. Booster smiled through the bottom of his now-empty ale glass. He slowly wiped his mouth, casting his eyes around the casino as he did so.

“It’s the Rebels, kid,” he finally revealed. “The Rebels are here, and they’re ready for ‘em – the Imperials, I mean. This whole thing – the Impstar, the surface landing –, its all a great set up. In about-” (he checked his wrist chrono) “four hours, that monster is going to blow,” he said, nodding toward the star destroyer now fully visible in the window.

Clip recoiled.

“How do you know about this?” he asked tentatively.

“Simple: Wedge,” he answered.

Clip sat back to try and take it all in.

Sithspit. It was really happening. The Rebel Alliance was no longer a rumour, floating around in the back of his mind. It was here, and it was ready to take offensive action. Suddenly, the words civil war took on a whole heap of meaning. People were going to fight, and die, for their respective causes.

For a kid who was too young to remember the clone wars, the very concept seemed alien to him. Sure he’d seen people kill for business, but the bottom line in situations like that was the almighty credit. Loyalty and idealism were pretty redundant, as far as he was concerned. War was so unprofitable.

Why risk your life if you aren’t going to get a decent capital return?

“Right. And Wedge thinks that they actually have a chance, does he?”

“Well, yeah – and so do I. If you heard the plan, so would you,” Booster answered. Clip spread his arms wide.

“Well, I think we have time,” he said sardonically “Why don’t you fill me in?” he asked. Booster narrowed his eyes at him, apprehensive, even after years of friendship, about giving out details.

He was saved the need to answer immediately by the PA system.

“We wish to advise all patrons that a small Imperial entourage will be arriving on station momentarily. Please go about business as normal,” the chirpy voice of the protocol droid instructed.

4. Something Weird, and I don’t Like it.

Booster stood from the table quickly.

“Time to move,” he ordered, sweeping his cloak over his broad shoulders. Clip didn’t argue, standing just as quickly. His right hand fell to his blaster neatly holstered at his side – Sithspawn; he should have worn a cloak or something to conceal it with. It wasn’t exactly illegal to carry side arms on this station, but openly doing so made him a target for curious troopers.

“We’ll head back to the landing bays – continue this discussion on board the Pulsar Skate. She’s docked in port side bay 13-13. You remember what she looks like, right?” Booster asked absently.

“How could I forget?” Clip retorted.

“Good. You take the lift at the end of the corridor – go straight to the ship, ok? Try not to dawdle-” he eyed Clip’s blaster “And keep your hand well away from that sith-serving thing. Avoid the troops if you can,” he instructed, already moving out the door.

“See you soon.”

They parted ways – Clip exited right while Booster went left. The twittery nervousness had returned to Clip’s stomach, mixed with the distant tingle of excitement hovering around his temples. This was only about the third or fourth time he’d ever had to tangle with Imperials – a fact he was ambivalent about.

The thought of defying the Empire was so attractive to him – a childish instinct that he had never lost. Yet at the same time, dying was a concept he still grappled with. He didn’t want to die out of stupidity. He didn’t want to die any way.

Not ever.

It wasn’t cowardice – at least, he was pretty sure it wasn’t cowardice. He didn’t have to pretend he was hero of the universe, did he? What was wrong with being a little scared of death? Especially in times like this – civil war. A million people could die in the space of ten seconds, and not a single one of them would be properly remembered for what they might have been. Casualties of war, they would be labelled.

He’d been a culprit himself. Marching around those clone war museums on school visits had been as boring for him as they had for everyone else. Even visiting the commemorative plaque of his grandfather – who had been an artillery gunman – had always been a yawning affair for him. He knew how the dead were treated when they were so numerous. They were statistics.

Boring ones.

Unfortunately, the two notions went hand in hand – defiance and death. And in business circumstances, as he had always been taught, death was only worth the risk if the pay off was big enough. So there was no point being defiant, and risking death, by joining the Rebels.

And this wasn’t a business situation. He was swept up in something that had nothing to do with him – and he positively hated that. He wasn’t getting paid, and he certainly wasn’t taking sides or perpetuating a cause. All he was doing was trying to get out while he could, without being arrested or killed.

This must be what it’s like to be the average galactic citizen, Clip decided.

The transit lift at the end of the corridor was small – probably only room enough for three large-ish people. It had a multitude of destinations, and clip selected the one that was labelled ‘Docks 0-25’. If all went well, he would simply stroll up to the Skate’s hatch and…

His thoughts trailed off as the lift doors slid back. Standing almost directly in front of him – thankfully, their backs turned – were four Imperial Stormtroopers.

Oh, Sithspit!

He immediately forced himself to calm, and began walking forward before the troops would notice him lingering. The key to escaping them now was to act naturally and to stick to a story… nothing was wrong… he was an average citizen moving to the docks, just to check on his droids…

One trooper turned jumpily as he approached, the other three moved to either side of the corridor. Strangely enough, two of them seemed to be huddled closely, blocking the entrance to a door. That wasn’t usual Stormtrooper behaviour – well, as far as he knew, anyway.

He kept his gaze steady, and put on his most innocent expression – an expression that he knew was thoroughly believable. The closest trooper monitored him closely, and halted him before he could pass.

You’re an average guy, just going about your business…

“What business do you have down here, citizen?” he asked brashly.

Innocence firmly in place, Clip started. “Oh, um… I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was something going on, ahh – I’m supposed to be checking on our family’s droids. They’re getting cache wiped in the docks. Dad sent me down-” he stopped short as the trooper put up a hand.

“There is nothing ‘going on’, child-” (clip suppressed a surge of frustration) “merely a visit from Imperial High Command. If you want to go through there, you have to surrender your blaster and provide me with the name of your registered ship,” he explained, pulling out a datapad.

This was odd. Since when did Stormtroopers carry out menial tasks like this?

“Ahh, sure…” Clip said, extracting his blaster slowly. He was none too happy about giving it up – particularly since, in all likelihood, he wouldn’t be coming back through here. But, it was preferable to death. The next problem…

“Name of ship, please?” he asked as one of the other troopers confiscated the gun.

He could probably use the Raging Cusper; the Imperials (according to Booster) weren’t looking for it. The only problem with that was that it didn’t quite fit his story. A converted old gunboat was not the ideal family transport, even in the poorest of circumstances.

But, it was the best he could do, if that datapad did indeed display a landing register.

“Raging Cusper,” he stated simply, almost casually. He didn’t like the amount of vibration that was showing in his voice. It wasn’t a noticeable shake, but a skilled listener would easily spot the trepidation.

The trooper eyed the datapad, presumably found an entry for the Raging Cusper, and looked up immediately. “Alright, you can go through. Be sure to come back this way within two hours to pick up your weapon,” the trooper instructed, banally. Clip sighed internally – thank the force troopers bore easily.

“No worries, thankyou sir,” he said (genuinely) graciously, and ambled through the door. Angry at the loss of his weapon, but feeling considerably better for having left the troopers behind, he began scouting for landing dock 13-13.

The landing bays of the casino were huge, bigger than most orbital stations he was used to. The arrangement was simple, a tried and true ‘jetty’ system – a single boardwalk running along the innermost wall of the hangar, with enclosed boarding platforms sprouting from it. The dock numbers ascended as he walked along the boardwalk. He sighed as he passed dock 02-15, and prepared himself for a long walk.

On his way, he amused himself by perusing the wide variety of spacecraft sitting dormant in the bays. It was typical for an establishment like this, a kind of upper-middle class clientele – a Corellian transport here, Kuat Drive Yards action runabout there. A shining Seinar Excelsior-class luxury transport caught his eye, as did a jet black Centrista space liner. He did not linger, though – he had to find Booster.

Before long he had worked his way around to dock 13-13, and found Booster standing just outside the hatch of the Pulsar Skate.

“What in the Empire took you so long?” he asked.

“Ran into some troopers. Look,” he said, indicating the empty holster on his hip. Booster raised his eyebrows. He casually rolled back his cloak, and displayed his perfectly present blaster.

“Why did they take your gun?” he asked abruptly.

“What do you mean, ‘why did they take your gun’? They’re Stormtroopers. They always take people’s guns. It’s what they do,” Clip answered incredulously. Booster shook his head quickly.

“No way. I passed two troopers on my way in, too, and they didn’t even say a word to me. They can’t, they aren’t allowed to. Side arms are not forbidden on this station, Clip. Someone’s put one over you,” he observed. Clips furrowed his eyebrows, frustration welling up again.

“They said there was a visit from High Command running at the moment and I wasn’t allowed to take my blaster into the docks!” he said sharply. Booster also furrowed his eyebrows, and waved a lazy hand around the large bay.

“You see any Imperials in here at all?” he asked loudly.

Clip stopped, his insides sinking. It didn’t take long to realise exactly what Booster was telling him: the docking bays were completely devoid of Imperial officers and troopers. So then why did those troops take his Sithing blaster!

“And it ain’t no visit from High Command, either. A shuttle came across with a field commander and a squad of Troopers to secure the station while operations are goin’ on down on the surface of the planet,” Booster explained, amusement starting to spread to his features.

“But I don’t get it,” Clip said sullenly “Why steal my gun?”

Booster shrugged. “Bored, maybe?” he offered.

But Clip’s mind was wandering again…back to when he had first seen the troopers crowding around the mysterious door. He had never seen the label on the door, but it was a very small one – nowhere near the usual-sized double doors that lead to important places in this casino. It had to be a utility closet, or a maintenance closet, or some such thing.

So why protect it?

Suspicion writhed in Clip’s stomach…something strange was definitely going on here. He chewed his bottom lip, looked once down at his shoes, and then directly back at Booster.

“Something’s going on here, Booster. Something very weird, and I don’t like it,” he said. Booster chuckled quickly.

“Yeah, people are robbing you. I wouldn’t like it either,” he said lightly.

“I’m serious. Something isn’t right. And I’m going to find out what,” he said firmly. He turned and began stalking back the way he had come. Booster suddenly stopped laughing, eyes widening.

“What are you doing?” he asked quickly, falling into step beside him.

“I’m going to get my gun back. If they were Stormtroopers, then I’m a Hawk-bat,” he said. Booster shook his head, grabbing Clip’s arm.

“Are you joking. You’re going to walk up to armed troops and demand they give your gun back to you? You’re space crazy. Stormies or not, they’ll kill you before you’ve finished your first sentence.”

“So what do you suggest?” Clip asked.

“I-” Booster began, but the rest of his sentence was lost – drowned in a very large explosion that seemed to shatter Clip’s eardrums. He hit the floor, all thought of his gun forgotten as he felt an unbearable heat wash over him. A harsh stink filled the air, and glowing pieces of metal streaked everywhere like lethal, smoking streamers.

Something, somewhere, had just gone straight to hell.