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| Title: Stranger in a Strange Land - Part 1 - The Arrival Author Name & Email: Authored by Whiskey in the Jar-Jar, Email: witjj@shaw.ca Characters: Dalan Kalamar, OC Era: Post ROTJ - 2 years after the end of the Yuuzhan Vong War Category: Action/Drama Rating: PG-13. Some violence a bit above and beyond what SW is used to seeing. Summary: Dalan Kalamar, a successful ambassador to Earth from his home planet of Bengalis, is subjected to a rip in hyperspace and finds himself in a new galaxy, away from his wife and children, and facing new and powerful enemies. Disclaimers: The Star Wars Universe and references to Robotech/Macross-based material are copyrights of George Lucas and Palladium Books respectively. They are used in this fiction without permission, but in no way am I being remunerated for this work. Anyone who is profiting from this fiction is doing so illegally and without my knowledge or consent. Author's Note: This story is the first of many in a series and chronicles the adventures of Dalan as he moves through the Star Wars galaxy, trying desperately to find his way home. If response is positive, I will continue to post the rest of the stories. STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND Chapter 1 – The Arrival Where am I? Darkness. Cold and eternal darkness enveloped him. Yet he did not fear the dark, for here he was home. This was his jungle: The jungle of darkness. Fear did not rule here...only the man... Calm gently washed over curiosity just enough for him to keep his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. His years of training gave him that advantage. Almost imperceptibly, his eyelids parted. Long before, he’d detected the others in the room. Their presence in the room had caused his whiskers to tingle...one of a few factors that had led to his eventual awakening. Through the slits created by his open eyelids, Dalan could make out the shadows that were milling about. For now, he decided that any sudden moves would trigger an adverse response. Instead, he relied on his other senses to gather information. His ears could make out the voices around him. They seemed to be speaking English, but his head was far too muddled to discern any of the conversations. His nose could detect the odor of a few anesthetics and other strong-smelling chemicals. Perhaps he was in an infirmary or hospital...no...not that. His ears could also pick up the distant thrumming of engines...big engines...over the muffled voices. Wherever he was, he seriously doubted it was on a planet. Dalan timed the milling of the shadows to open his eyes more without detection. Those around him seemed human enough: Dressed like med-techs or something. He couldn’t be sure because he’d never seen uniforms quite like them before. Come to think of it, none of this room looked familiar. His one lapse of panic caused him to take in a quick breath of air...just enough to press his chest against the restraint there. So, they’d tied him up, had they? Another deep breath caused the restraint to stretch only slightly. It had some give and would probably snap under enough pressure. Some subtle muscle flexes indicated other methods of restraint had been applied to his limbs. A few gentle tugs told him the same story as the chest restraint: If needed, he could easily break free. How did I get here? Dalan closed his eyes again and exhaled slowly. The realization that he was in no immediate danger calmed him somewhat. Through his still hazy memory, the tiger tried to recall what had happened up until now. He remembered returning to Earth from his home world of Bengalis when a gunship crossed his hyperspace path. Yes...right...that packla Tomlin Shem had finally caught up to him. Shem had vowed revenge against Dalan for breaking up his prostitution operation on Bengalis less than a year before. Luckily, Shem only knew Dalan as Ravage, one of the more feared bounty hunters in known Confederation space. This fact alone protected Dalan’s family from Shem’s wrath, and at the same time allowed the former pimp to still exist in this life. The battle had been fierce, pitting Shem’s Victor class gunship against the firepower of Dalan’s black VF-1S enhanced Valkyrie attack jet. Though a single seat fighter, Dalan’s craft was more than a match for any opponent in its class...and even a few outside its class. In the end, Dalan wound up trying to speed away as Shem’s reactor core went critical. On instinct, the tiger had started his hyperspace jump sequence just as Shem was blown to hell. Unfortunately, Dalan hadn’t figured on Shem carrying a shipment of Caronite, a rather volatile chemical but also a key ingredient in Shem’s pheromone drug used on his prostitutes. The resulting cataclysmic explosion had followed Dalan into hyperspace and struck his ship like a hammer. The Valkyrie’s instruments had gone insane. Arcs of white static had begun playing over all the gauges, blanking some of them and causing other ones to overload. He remembered the ship careening out of control while in hyperspace, its trajectory going wild. The last thing the tiger remembered was that glow that burned with the brightness of a supernova in front of him that eventually engulfed his ship. He’d thrown his hands up in front of his eyes and roared out his curse to the gods, positive that this was the end of him... Then, all was darkness... The unfamiliarity of his surroundings confirmed that it wasn’t a ConFed Search and Rescue vehicle that had picked him up. He tried his best to keep a level head, but the growing uncertainty of the situation was pressing more and more on his mind. ‘Keep Still!’ he shouted to himself. An attack of instinct at this moment would do him no good whatsoever. He clenched his fists and forced his claws to extend out from his hands, the painful strain of their being stretched helped to re-focus the tiger’s mind. As the moment passed, he noticed that none of the med-techs had even bothered to pay attention to him. Dalan began working through the muscles on his body, tensing them and relaxing them to check for any needles or probes that might have been inserted into his body. His examination detected no foreign objects interfering with his muscles, which gave him some small relief. Relaxing once more, the tiger contemplated his next moves. * * * “Sir?” “Yes, Lieutenant.” “Sir, the medical team has completed their research on our guest. They claim it’s...well...inconclusive.” “How so?” “His DNA structure doesn’t compare with anything in the database. Even the closest match is still only a 60% probability.” “Could he be a mutant, perhaps...some freak accident?” “We ran that possibility through the computer too, Sir. Even with that suggestion, only a 71% probability was arrived at, assuming it was a Horansi crossed with a human. As to his ship...that’s another story.” “What about it?” “We’ve run its configuration through every known ship database in the galaxy and nothing matches it. It's a strange ship, relying more on projectile weaponry than on laser-based. It would have been formidable against the Yuuzhan Vong, I believe.” “Hmmm. Any word on the creature’s progress?” “He’s been physically healed, but his vitals are still very low. Shall I have him roused?” “No, Lieutenant. With luck, he’ll awaken on his own and when he does I want to be notified immediately. Understood?” “As you wish, Sir.” * * * The scene hadn’t changed much for Dalan. The med-techs still wandered about, paying more attention to their instruments than to him. By his estimations, it had been another hour since his small internal battle with his fears. He chastised himself for panicking so quickly earlier, especially considering his first rule of the Hunt: ‘Don’t lose your head, or you just might lose your head...’ Now, though, the tiger began to wonder just what was going on. There had been no move to revive him or do any kinds of bio-scans in this past hour, so why were they keeping him here like this? Was he a prisoner, or were his ‘hosts’ waiting for him to make the first move? A mental evaluation of his body told the tiger that his head was clear enough now that if something happened he could more than handle it. Well, if it was a first move they wanted then a first move they’d get. Dalan took in a long breath of air, permitting his own heartbeat to increase and his overall body functions to come up. He took advantage of this moment to re-evaluate the strength of his bindings and confirm that he could break free if things went sour. “Alert the captain!” spoke a voice over the murmur of the other med-techs. “Our guest is waking up.” So, he was a guest, was he? Well, normally that would be a step up from a prisoner...normally, that is. Dalan looked around to get a better assessment of his surroundings. The dull grey walls of the place made it look less like a sick bay and more like a morgue. The dreariness of the place made Dalan begin to wonder if the reason he’d been restrained was to keep him from running around screaming, trying to escape the boredom of this room. The hiss of a sliding door caught Dalan’s attention. He craned his neck to see a rather stuffy-looking human enter the room. His uniform’s grey almost matched that of his surroundings; about the only contrast to this human’s appearance was the presence of the four armored figures around him. Their armor was a gleaming white...so reminiscent of the snow-capped peaks of Tanya. He could hear the shuffling of feet and rustling of clothing, as everyone in the room seemed to come to attention. This must have been the captain they’d been talking about earlier. “Ah, I see he’s finally awake,” said the captain in perfect English. What was up that haughty accent, though? A black-gloved hand reached out and roughly cupped Dalan’s muzzle, forcing his head to turn first left, then right. “A very highly evolved felinoid specimen if I’ve ever seen one...even more so than the Horansi. Has he spoken?” “Not even a mew for a bowl of warm milk,” replied one of the techs. Dalan rolled his eyes at the comment, painfully realizing that even though the uniforms were different, the human sense of humour was still there. He studied this captain for a time, never taking his eyes off of him while his muzzle was in the human’s rather firm grip. The human seemed rather angular in shape, and seemed to stare down his nose at everything and everyone. For a fleeting moment, Dalan wondered how that nose would look after being pushed through the other side of this chouta’s head. The captain huffed and released Dalan’s muzzle. As he turned away, his ears were suddenly filled with a rumbling growl that from which even a Wookiee would shy away. Yet, as he turned to face the source of the sound, his exterior remained serene. The other techs in the room, however, didn’t share that expression. “Ah,” the captain said. “It would appear our guest is awake.” Dalan chastised himself for growling like that. It wasn’t always the best way to greet someone, sounding like a feral beast. Still, for the rough treatment of him, the captain was lucky to still have his hand attached to his body. The captain moved back towards him and Dalan tensed his left arm. If this packla gripped his muzzle again, he’d be reciprocating in kind. However, the anticipated grip never came...instead the human leaned in a little closer. “Have you anything else to add, another growl or a grunt, perhaps?” the captain taunted. “Now that you mention it,” Dalan spoke softly, “I could use a glass of water...that is, if ‘guests’ are permitted such a luxury.” More gasps filled the room. The captain’s own expression changed for a heartbeat, but he quickly regained his composure. “Further,” said Dalan, straining with his arms. “I do not believe there’s a need for this.” “Now how can I trust you not to try and escape?” countered the captain. “Simple. First, I’m on a ship about which I know nothing, so fighting my way out of here would be useless. Second, assuming I could find the hangar bay, there’s little chance that my ship would be either intact or unguarded. Third, I highly doubt I could commandeer a ship and escape before being blown to vapor. Fourth...” With a slight pull, Dalan’s left hand was suddenly free. “I’ve behaved myself up until now, haven’t I?” With a nod from the captain, the med techs released the rest of the restraints. Dalan finally sat up and accepted the glass of water handed to him. He took a tentative sip, ensuring there were no sedatives or other such tranquil ‘additives’ in the water, and then took a long pull from the glass. “Ah,” he said after, his voice sounding clearer and deeper. “Much better.” “Your insight serves you well, my friend,” commented the captain. “You are indeed on a ship: The Imperial Star Destroyer Roundhammer. I am Corvain, Captain.” Dalan did his best to hide his confusion. What was an Imperial Star Destroyer? Had the Interstellar Confederation been keeping this one under their collective hats up until now? If so, it would explain his unfamiliarity with its interior. “Dalan,” the tiger returned the introduction. “I must say, Captain that I’ve never seen a ship quite like this before. Looks like Spec Ops is gonna blow the budget on this one.” “I fear you have me at a loss, Dalan,” said Corvain. “This is one of several ships in the Imperial Fleet. By ‘Spec Ops,’ I assume you are referring to our Special Operations Division. They have nothing to do with standard ship construction.” Standard? This thing was a standard? If those engines he was hearing were as big as he thought...“I see,” he said evenly, suppressing the nagging feeling of panic that slid over his spine as the feeling of unfamiliarity re-asserted itself. ‘Keep still,’ he thought. “I imagine you have many questions,” Corvain said, snapping Dalan out of his thoughts. “We have arranged quarters for you, and once you’re settled we’ll talk some more.” Dalan nodded slowly, accepting the offer. “The guards will escort you once you’re feeling up to it.” “Thank you,” spoke the tiger softly. He glanced over at the white armored humans again and then back at the captain, and then panned around the entire room once more. The knot twisting in his stomach only confirmed the truth for him: Wherever he was, he was a long way from home... A long way indeed... * * * ‘Space travel is a funny thing. Scientists from around the Confederation have always said that nothing could ever break the speed of light lest it wind up moving backwards in time. The first nuclear powered ships proved this theory as they came within 98% of the speed of light. Any chronometers aboard these ships always seemed to be anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours behind after completing a voyage across space.’ ‘The advent of hyperspace technology, though, gave people the ability to bypass what physics wouldn’t allow. Basically, traveling through hyperspace is accomplished by opening a small dimensional rift in so-called ‘real’ space. In this new dimension, the time/space ratio is weighted heavily on the latter, allowing for greater spatial distances to be traversed in less time. Without this kind of travel, the galaxy would still be composed of naught but lost planets, alone in space.’ ‘It takes a rather large amount of power to generate a rift into hyperspace, but every ConFed scientist agrees that we’ve only scratched the surface of this mode of travel. Perhaps someday, a jump will be made that could send us even further into deep space...perhaps even to another galaxy...’ Dalan shuddered as memories of his high school physics classes danced through his mind. As he continued his stretching routine in the rec area of the Roundhammer, he replayed those three paragraphs over and over in his mind. He’d been aboard this ship for two weeks now, by his own timetable, during which he tried to arrive at a reason for his predicament. All he could think of were the theories proposed by the Confederation’s Science Council back on Orionis IV, about going deeper into the realm of hyperspace in order to travel greater distances. Considering his current situation, Dalan believed he’d just proven those theories to be correct. His stretching over, Dalan picked up the metal staff leaning up against the wall where his warm up suit lay crumpled on the floor. He would have preferred a proper wooden Bo staff for this exercise, but there was very little in the way of that aboard the Roundhammer. Yet, the staff was light enough that it would suffice for his workout. Giving it a few quick spins, the tiger commenced his daily routine. * * * On the bridge, Corvain watched the tiger’s practice through his surveillance cameras. Since Dalan’s awakening, the captain had kept a close eye on him, ensuring that his ‘guest’ was behaving himself. After the incident in the med bay with the restraint, he’d realized that holding Dalan here would be a daunting task should things turn difficult. On the whole, though, Corvain was rather impressed with the tiger’s demeanor and poise. For an alien, he certainly carried himself well...almost as well as an ambassador or another political occupation. Yet, as he watched Dalan go through his workout, he wondered about the true nature of Dalan’s demeanor. Was it genuine, or merely a calm façade, hiding a storm of rage beneath it? The sound of hard boots clopping on the deck plates made Corvain look up from his console. He held the lieutenant in his gaze for a moment, and then relaxed slightly. “What is it, Kol?” he asked. “Sir,” replied Lieutenant Kol Agrilen. “The security reports from last night.” Corvain nodded and accepted the data pad. “He slept quite soundly, sir...after spending several hours reading. He’s learning the Basic language quite well.” “Amazing how two species can speak the same language but write it so differently,” commented the captain. “A bit of an enigma, this one is. Look here.” Kol leaned in to look at the monitor. He gasped as he saw Dalan run through his routine with first the Bo staff, then just with hands and feet. “Precise control,” continued Corvain. “Tell me, Kol: Do you know much about the Old Republic?” “No more than I was taught at the Academy,” replied the officer. Corvain grinned. “I’m a bit of a student of history,” said the captain. “I came across some training holos involving Jedi initiates while poring over some ‘liberated’ artifacts from one of our patrols. This one would indeed rival those ancient Jedi with control such as that.” “He’s no Jedi,” commented the lieutenant. Corvain turned towards him fully and Kol flinched, expecting some kind of reprimand for his loose candor. Yet, only the look of a forming question appeared on the captain’s face. “Sir,” he continued, “the entire rec area has been surrounded by ysalamiri and their nutrient frames. It may be just my opinion, sir, but I don’t think he’s even seen a Jedi before, much less shares their powers.” “How can you be certain?” “I was part of a recon patrol on Dathomir before getting transferred to the Roundhammer,” answered Kol. “I was with a couple of Jedi Pad...now, what was that word?” “A Padawan,” finished Corvain, recalling his research. “A bonded apprentice to a single master.” “Right. Anyway, a troop of Vong soldiers ambushed us, two of them bearing ysalamiri on their backs. I watched the Jedi slump a little as their connections to the Force were severed. Yet, this alien here doesn’t seem to suffer that kind of slowdown when he enters the rec area.” Corvain showed no visible signs of surprise or revelation at this information, save his left eyebrow raising itself slightly. However, the captain was not one for external facial gestures. To Kol, the eyebrow was a clear indication that his story had made a drastic impact on his superior’s opinion of the creature. The pair returned to the monitor just in time to see the felinoid end his routine and re-don his grey pullover. By watching Dalan’s daily routines, Corvain knew that his ‘guest’ would return to his quarters to clean up and then head for the galley to replenish the food he’d doubtlessly burned up during his rigorous workout. However, unlike before, he now watched this alien with renewed interest. His lips twisted into a grin and he moved his hands together in front of his face, pressing his fingertips together. “Such moves, and no apparent Jedi training,” the captain commented. “Interesting...very interesting indeed.” * * * Blue milk...cool. Dalan took a swig of the liquid and settled down to eat. He had to admit that for a ship as mind-numbingly grey as this tub, the food wasn’t all that bad. At the very least he was able to continue his daily exercise rituals, and his stomach was full with rations about as bearable as any ship food he’d tasted. Still, what he wouldn’t give for an open pit-cooked Twaro steak, dripping with Max’s homemade barbecue sauce and still sizzling loudly when it hit the plate. The tiger licked his chops as the thought crept in and out of his mind, sadistically teasing his palette. “Mind if I join you?” Dalan looked up from his seat to see an elderly officer standing before him, tray in hand. With a slight nod, the officer took a seat opposite the tiger. “I’ve heard the gossip around the ship about you,” said the officer, “but until now I didn’t believe it.” Dalan smiled thinly at the comment; this had only been the umpteenth time he’d heard it since waking up aboard this ship. He sardonically wondered if it was standard Imperial training to infuse redundant comments and bad humour into the soldiers. At least then it would explain a few things. “Are only humans allowed to serve aboard these ships?” asked Dalan, deciding he’d better say something. “Based on what I’ve read, it seems crazy that Imperial policy would dictate such a thing. Of course, it could explain the looks I get wherever I go.” “Unfortunately,” responded the officer, “one of the Empire’s original mandates was the purity of the human race. Aliens of any sort were frowned upon and forbidden to serve aboard any military craft.” Dalan understood where this officer was coming from. He’d met several genocide races in his travels and it was always an issue with purity for these people, as if being different was a curse on existence. He regarded this particular officer differently from the others he’d met on board...his social skills seemed much more genuine and not so stiff and rigid like everyone else. It was a miracle that he’d made it to an officer’s rank, the tiger thought. “I take it you don’t share that philosophy,” he said to the officer. “Prejudice is nothing worth fighting for,” the officer readily acknowledged with a nod. “The Republic was restored mainly thanks to the talents of other alien species. In their diversity, they found strength enough to overcome the otherwise ‘pure’ humanity of the Empire.” “So,” said Dalan, finishing his meal and downing the blue milk, “if you don’t support the cause, why do you wear the colors...or lack thereof?” In response, the officer slid a data pad towards the tiger. “What’s this?” he asked softly. Dalan had an idea, but he wanted to be sure he was right. “I’ve arranged for your ship to be in the main hangar bay first thing tomorrow,” the officer replied. “This pad contains some astral data to get you into New Republic space.” Dalan picked up the pad and started looking it over. “Is that the fighting style data you were looking for?” the officer asked as trooper walked by. “Interesting style,” commented Dalan, slipping into the role easily. When the trooper moved on his voice grew quiet again. Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Ever since the Empire lost the war,” began the officer, “the New Republic’s been monitoring Imperial activities and vice-versa. There’s an uneasy peace between the two because of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion, but a war could break out at any time. Corvain wants to lead the charge against the Republic and set himself up as Emperor, ahead of Admiral Pellaeon, and he’ll take any technology he can find in order to make that happen.” A vision of thousands of Valkyries raining fire down on numerous worlds filled Dalan’s mind. With what that ship contained for firepower and other features...“I understand,” said Dalan, the icy tones of Ravage slowly creeping into his voice. “How much resistance can I count on from my quarters to the hangar bay?” “Minimal. I’ll have the maintenance crews in the hangar go through a shift change after the ship is moved. You should have about 30 minutes to suit up and vacate...will that be enough?” “It’ll have to be,” said the tiger. He looked at the pad again, analyzing the map displayed on it. It shouldn’t take him more than a couple of hours in hyperspace to reach Republic space. Where he went from there would be anybody’s guess...including his own. “Has my ship been tampered with?” he asked, putting the pad away. “No. They can’t even get into the cockpit to search it, and Captain Corvain has ordered it untouched until further notice.” “Until I’m ready to just turn it over to him,” muttered Dalan. “What will happen to you when I leave?” “Hopefully nothing if I’m lucky,” he replied. “Worst case I’ll be spaced for helping you escape, but if it means that the balance is maintained then I accept my fate. Go now.” Dalan took the data pad and rose from his seat. Having dealt with moles and contacts before, he made no further eye contact with the officer, whose name he never did get. With his usual pace he disposed of the food tray and proceeded back to his assigned quarters to further study the map he’d been given and to formulate his escape. * * * Dalan made his way back to his quarters and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The bland grey of the room did little to soothe his mind, which had been running in high gear since leaving the galley. So many questions found their way into his mind all at once, making his ears ring with their white noise. He thought about the officer’s claim at Corvain’s plans. Taking a deep breath, the tiger used his focus on the captain to clear his mind. Corvain was arrogant, no doubt, but he didn’t look capable of staging a coup. It didn’t appear to Dalan that Corvain had the backing of the entire crew of the Roundhammer. The aura of leadership around Corvain seemed artificial, as if he was bending the crew to his will rather than earning their respect. He lacked the charisma and confidence that were the marks of a good officer. Of course, with enough hardware for support, almost anyone could force his or her leadership upon others. Another nagging thing Dalan found was the sketchy historical record aboard the ship. No mention was made of the progression of other races or governments, save references to ‘Rebels’ or ‘Republican scum,’ or something else called ‘The Jedi Menace.’ It was all merely touched upon in favour of a heavily slanted account of history based on the Imperial perspective. It made sense, of course, to favour one political philosophy over all others, but only in the sense of propaganda and promotion. Perhaps, Dalan thought, this was all the Empire had to offer: Propaganda and promotion of beliefs. Dig too deeply, and you disappear. The tiger made up his mind. In the morning, he’d quit this place and strike out on his own. He may owe Corvain for saving his life, but no debt was worth giving up the Valkyrie’s secrets; that particular vow he once made could never be broken...no matter the cost. As he closed his eyes, Dalan began to wonder about the officer who’d helped him...gods...he didn’t even get his name. He silently prayed that he would be all right through all this, though he doubted his gods would even hear him now. Tomorrow, it seemed, would be a busy day... * * * Corvain watched his console’s monitor closely this morning. For two weeks now, Dalan had followed a strict regimen of training in the rec area, followed by a shower, a meal, and then further reading in his quarters. Now, though, 15 days after picking him up, the captain saw something different in the felinoid...something strange.Seated on his bed, Dalan was stone still, eyes closed and legs crossed in a meditative pose. He had been that way for over two hours and for some reason, this change in behavior troubled Corvain. Dalan did not strike the captain as one who suddenly changed his daily ritual without a damned good reason. This apparent break in an otherwise disciplined routine indicated to Corvain that something was about to happen...and soon. “Lieutenant,” he called. Kol stepped over to the captain and snapped his heels in salute. “Order a detachment of guards to the hangar deck,” he ordered. Without question, Kol put in the call to the ship’s security chief. Within minutes the hangar would be crawling with stormtroopers. Corvain smiled thinly at the monitor. “You’re going nowhere, kitty,” he said softly. “Nowhere at all.” * * * Dalan emerged from his quarters and moved quickly down the corridors towards the hangar. If the officer had been right, then his ship should be on the deck and unguarded, just the two things he needed right now. When he finally reached the hangar, though, his illusions of an easy escape were dashed. He could see at least twenty stormtroopers milling about his ship, weapons drawn and looking for trouble. The tiger felt his heart sink slightly and turned to go...running smack dab into the barrel of a raised rifle. A sextet of stormtroopers had assembled behind him, and behind them stood Corvain. To the captain’s left, another soldier of some sort held a familiar figure at gunpoint...the officer. “You’ll have to forgive this,” said the captain arrogantly. “But for some strange reason I had the impression that you were trying to leave. Hardly what I would call a fair price for our hospitality.” “And what would you call a ‘fair price,’ if I may ask?” inquired Dalan. His eyes darted over the assembled troopers. Imperceptibly, his feet slid apart a bit more, allowing him to assume a more rigid stance. “You see,” the captain began, “as you’ve probably read, the Empire is not what it used to be. The very word ‘Empire’ is supposed to represent an entire galaxy united under one authority. Right now, the majority of this galaxy is held by the Republic...a government based on the whims of the people, not the common good.” “It’s the people who should decide their own fate,” countered Dalan, slipping into his diplomatic tones. “By accepting responsibility for their own futures, societies move forward.” “Before a society can move forward all must agree on the rules,” commented Corvain. “And to facilitate that kind of agreement it has to be proven beyond all measures that one power can and will dominate all others. Your ship, I believe, holds that key.” With a nod, three of the troopers moved to surround Dalan. “I want to know what it is capable of,” demanded the captain. “You will unlock its security protocols and allow our engineers inside.” “And if I don’t?” asked Dalan. The sharp blast of a weapon filled the air and the tiger watched in horror as the officer crumpled to the ground. The black-clad soldier’s helmet gave no indication of emotion, but the way he held that smoking pistol said it all: He enjoyed what he’d just done. “His fate will be yours, alien,” said Corvain. The word ‘alien’ dripped with the prejudice Dalan had picked up on during his time here. “You will cooperate with us.” Dalan barely heard that last threat. By that time he’d closed his eyes and mellowed out his breathing. Instinct overlaid reason and senses other than sight began speaking. His whiskers tingled as he gauged where the trooper trio was in proximity to him. The light clacking of boots on bulkheads indicated that they were moving closer. Inwardly he grinned. These fools had absolutely no idea what was coming next. The trooper to the rear of Dalan was first. The Dark Seed blossomed forth and Ravage sprang into action. With a lightning fast sweep kick the tiger knocked the trooper off his feet, sending the rifle flying into the air. He caught the rifle with his left hand while using the momentum from the kick to propel his fist at one of the other troopers. The armored guard was lifted a meter in the air. When he landed, the cracked chest plate and accumulating pool of blood underneath him said it all. “Get him!” yelled Corvain. With that, the remaining four guards advanced on Ravage. The tiger was on them in a mere heartbeat. The black trooper, bereft of any armor, fell quickly as his heart was wrenched from his body and crushed. The third trooper that had been guarding Ravage was next as the tiger went for his rifle, pulling off his arm in the process. The trooper screamed wildly in pain for the time it took Ravage to deliver a punch to his helmet, caving both it and the trooper’s skull inward. The other three troopers did their best to take up a more defensive stance, bringing their weapons to bear and opening fire. Ravage found some marginal cover and, once he’d untangled that one arm from one of the rifles, tried to return fire. The shot went wild, hitting the wall just above one of the troopers. Gods, what crappy weapons. Little wonder the Empire lost the war – with weapons such as these, who wouldn’t? In a second attempt, Ravage brought both rifles up and opened fire. This had better results, as the wild salvo cut down two of the remaining troopers. The third found some better cover by one of the walls and was therefore harder to hit. Ravage took a moment to examine the weapons he’d ‘borrowed’ from the guards. They seemed similar to standard ConFed energy weapons...perhaps they overloaded the same way, too. Within moments, the tiger transformed one of the rifles into a ticking time bomb, which he threw in the direction of the last trooper. He made for the hangar as fast as his legs would carry him before the rifle overloaded, transforming both the wall and the trooper in front of it to dust. Crimson fire erupted from several different places in the hangar bay the moment Ravage stepped inside. He ducked for cover behind some cargo crates as they were pelted with fire. He could hear the faint chatter of the troops inside the hangar, all of them trying to coordinate their next moves against him. Just then, inspiration struck him. He glanced at his watch and tapped the face of it twice. He’d had the remote COM port installed in his ship only a month ago, but he’d never had the opportunity to use it...until now. He sent a quick prayer to Ra’Tal, the god of war, asking him to let this one thing work for him this time. “On-line...Command?” “External defense mode,” commanded the tiger, breathing a sigh of relief. “Full radial sweep. Take out anything NOT Bengalan.” The ship’s computer seemed to ponder his request for a moment, and then he heard the faint whine of the servos fill the room. Over his ship’s loudspeaker, Ravage heard Crankshaft’s booming voice as it filled the room with what had become his and his group’s call to arms when things were about to get...well...nasty: “LLLLLLLLLLLET’S GET READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLLE!” As the battle cry reached its crescendo, a new sound erupted in the hangar. From the underbelly of the Valkyrie, what appeared to be a quad laser pod had descended and was now proceeding to add its own white fury to the crimson field of fire that had turned upon it. The heavy blasts shattered the cover behind which the troopers were situated, and vaporized the troopers shortly thereafter. Ravage took advantage of the chaos to make a mad dash towards his ship. Already the cockpit’s canopy was opening as per his instructions. The pre-flight check would be done soon and the Valkyrie would be ready to fly once more...away from here and into the great unknown of space. Amidst the occasional burst of laser fire, the tiger managed to make it to the ship and seal himself inside. He started the ignition sequence. The troopers could hear the ship’s engines begin to power up and sprung up from cover; the strange turret on the underside of the ship had stopped firing. The unanswered hail of trooper fire began anew as more soldiers poured into the hangar, intent on stopping that ship from taking off. However, the ablative armor of the ship simply took the blaster fire and showed no apparent signs of damage. Suddenly, with a roar, the two lower engines came to life. The exhaust blew any of the aft-approaching troopers several meters away as the black ship began to move forward slowly on its wheeled landing gear. Then, in an explosion of fire and smoke, the Valkyrie catapulted itself through the magnetic field of the ship’s hangar bay. Ravage was free, and in his wake he left his usual bloody calling card of total carnage. The ship twisted and turned as the hail of green laser fire rained down all around it. While usually able to absorb conventional laser fire thanks to the ablative plating, that which Ravage saw pouring out of the 1.6 kilometer long pizza wedge above him looked anything but conventional. He wove in and out of the blaster fire, careful not to stray into the multiple cones of tractor energy emanating from the Destroyer. Suddenly, his tracking radar picked up a quartet of new signals, bearing down on him from the opposite direction of the Destroyer and coming in hot. He barely had time to move as they opened fire on him. Deftly, the Valkyrie evaded most of the laser fire and let the armor do the rest before commencing his counter-attack. The nose mounted lasers dealt with the first fighter with relative ease, clipping its portside ‘wing’ and sending it into a spin only to explode a few moments later. Ravage was impressed at the remaining ships’ maneuvers. Looking more like a pod slung between two solar panels, they didn’t look a thing like any ship he’d ever seen. Yet, despite their odd appearance, their moves were almost catlike in open space. It was hard to lock onto any of them and they had little or no problem raining down on him at any opportunity. The trio of ships seemed to have a method to their madness, Ravage noticed. Every time he vectored away from the Destroyer the fighters worked to bring him closer to it...doubtless to stumble into one of those sweeping tractor beams. The shots being fired seemed less intent on destroying him than trying to nudge him in the right direction. Ravage smiled under his helmet...Corvain still wanted him alive. Perfect... Ravage angled his fighter away from the Destroyer again and was met by more fire from the fighters. This time, however, the tiger wouldn’t scare so easily. He weaved in and out of the maze of fire and replied in kind. At his command, the heavy missile dropped from its wing mooring and streaked towards one of the fighters, atomizing it. Shaken, the other ships tried to regroup, but not before another one was cut down by Ravage’s front lasers. Now, one on one, Ravage was more in his element. No longer outmatched by numbers it was a small effort to line up the last fighter and vaporize it. Alone again, the tiger readied his ship for hyperspace. Suddenly, his tracking radar picked up more signals. A dozen ships were bearing down on him and closing fast. Ravage cursed to himself as he punched the Valkyrie’s throttles. The top-mounted boosters catapulted his ship forward and he found he was gaining ground on the enemy fighters. He directed his ship in the general direction in which he wanted to jump and, just before he did so, he released one tiny projectile from the port missile launcher in front of his rocket booster. The TIE squadrons were unable to track the projectile due to its small size and, by the time they’d encountered it, it was too late. The reflex warhead detonated with the brilliance of a small sun, taking with it the first four Interceptors in the flight. The others managed to veer off before the blast caught them as well, but it was too late...the matte black ship had gone into hyperspace on an unknown vector. Powering down from their attack velocity, the remaining TIEs reversed course and headed back towards the Roundhammer. Corvain would not be pleased. * * * The Imperial captain watched with mild disappointment at the apparent failure of his TIE squadrons. In truth, he hadn’t expected them to capture the tiger or even herd him into the Roundhammer’s tractor array. What they managed to accomplish, though, was a thorough demonstration of that ship’s power. Corvain’s guess about it had been right all along. That ship would fit his plans perfectly. “Kol,” he said softly, still watching from the observation deck. “Put in a call to Alpha Team. Have them brought here as soon as possible.” “Yes sir,” responded the lieutenant. After a couple of minutes, Kol called back to the captain. “Sir, Alpha Team reports that they can be here in 47 standard hours.” “Excellent,” said Corvain. He turned his attention once more to the endless field of stars that lay before him. That ship couldn’t sustain Dalan forever. Eventually he’d have to touch down somewhere amongst those stars. He would need supplies and fuel if he were to survive out there. Wherever he touched down, Corvain figured, he’d stick out in the crowd like a tall weed in a field of wheat. Even the seedier worlds like Nar Shaddaa would hold little refuge for him. Corvain smiled as he returned to the captain’s chair. Alpha Team would have little trouble moving through the wheat to find that weed. Find him and return him to the Empire...to Corvain’s Empire. * * * The stars held no comfort for Dalan this night. He watched them from the confines of his ship’s cockpit, unsure if the moon he’d landed on had any form of atmosphere. Granted, he could easily check via his sensors, but right now it seemed irrelevant. The silence was broken only by the faint hum of the ship’s systems; still on standby should the tiger need to make a quick exit. His ringing ears didn’t even register his own breathing, which was even enough, but still laden with the overwhelming stress of revelation. He searched the heavens in vain, searching for any familiar constellation or other astral anomaly that would contradict all he’d learned these past two weeks. Yet, for all his searching, he was left with the same dreaded conclusion: He was alone in a galaxy far away from his own. So terribly alone... ‘Gods, Kerin,’ he thought as he looked at the wedding band on his left hand. ‘We only had two years...the kids...I only wish I could be there to see them grow. I’m so sorry, Calia...I only hope that in time you’ll forgive me.’ Two years since his return home...two years since finally realizing what he’d needed all along had been right beside him for most of his life...and two years since he vowed to never let that go again...no matter the cost. The tiger fought back the forming lump in his throat with a low growl. He silently cursed the gods for this ironic twist of fate into which he’d been thrown. He’d dreamed of an adventure like this five years ago when he felt he’d had nothing to live for. Now, though, to have it happen right at the point when he was happiest in life...truly the gods were laughing at him now. By now, Dalan figured, the ConFed SAR division would have found the remains of Shem’s ship and put the pieces together. He could almost see Kerin holding the kittens tightly, her tears flowing down her sweet face. His other friends would join Kerin in her mourning, and surely his entire Clan would mourn. Gods, it had only been two years since his Grandfather had died...now this? Dalan looked over at the ring on his right hand...the ring of his Clan. Now, it was worth little more than the gold of which it was composed. Rare were the times he could wear that ring with the sense of pride it deserved, and now it seemed to take on a whole new meaning for him. The rings he wore would be beacons for him...reminders of his home and his life. Symbols of family would become symbols of hope and with time, Dalan vowed, he would see his galaxy again. He would return to the arms of the woman he loved and the children he’d fathered. If it took a century of searching this galaxy from one end to the other...if he had to personally overthrow every government on every world to find the answers, he didn’t care. He would go home...someday. TO BE CONTINUED For more go to The Drunken Gungan Website |
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