The Azure Expanse

[entropy]

I'll let Edj fill you in on all the details, but here's the quick summary of our last encounter...
...In limerick form, because I know how much Edj hates haiku.

We went to go mine a gas giant
At the request of our client
but once we arrived
We just barely survived
Cuz the sith lord was less than compliant

We dodged the electric floataion
And stumbled upon a space station
We ventured inside
And two jedi did find
In some sort of strange hibernation

The Jedi were Nis Veth and Martin
And though their equipment was spartan
They told us forthwith
How they beat back the sith
This tale, our cause it did hearten

They'd been there for seventy years
Expecting a rescue from peers
But they didn't know
Why the help didn't show
The answer was worse than their fears

[K_Feldspar]

The stars were twinkling cheerfully. One of the moons of Baleus glowed brightly, reflecting the orange light from the star Baleus. Below, the planet Baleus was a lovely large brown sphere with smoky green splotches. Several silver yachts drifted gracefully nearby the newly completed orbital shipyards.

No one could see the cloaked form of Stygian’s space suit creeping along the hull of the Star Destroyer moored in the shipyards. He made no sound as he slithered across its surface, not inside or out. He peered into a service hatch, confirmed that there was no technician in sight, and edged into the superstructure. He paused as he put his hand on the inner latch, and glanced at his chronometer. Suddenly he rammed the latch open and burst into a hallway in the lower engineering section. There was one guard on duty that looked shocked for the last two seconds of his life. He saw the hatch open, and felt a burning sensation in his gut. Stygian quickly pulled the body into a maintenance closet.

Right now the Star Destroyer’s security team should be in a panic. Stygian’s team had sliced one of the central computer cores and inserted an AI that should be playing all manner of patriotic holovids all over the ship. Well, that and protecting itself from being removed from the central computer core. Sure enough, he could hear the Emperor’s old coronation being played nearby.

He proceeded down the hallway past a guard post where five troopers had stopped to see what was playing on the monitor. Stygian left a small device on the wall before continuing down the corridor. Seven seconds later he covered his eyes as a lumaflare went off where the guards were standing. One of them stumbled out into the hall, but then fell backwards into the guard post. This sort of event happened three more times as Stygian made his way up to the command deck.

He was about to enter the Captain’s office when he heard the “10 Ways to Serve the Empire” holovid end mid-sentence on the monitor at the end of the hall. He paused just for an instant, but it was an instant too long. Emergency lights came on, and Captain Ander came racing out of his office plowing right into Stygian. “Blast it!” Stygian cursed in his mind. He reached for a weapon as Captain Ander clambered to his feet frantically looking for what he hit. Stygian took the opportunity to strike quickly for the Captain’s throat, but the Captain turned to look at an officer that had come around a corner. The Captain felt the blade buzz past his neck. Then he proficiently tumbled forward, bounced back to a running position and shouted at his other officer to get security.

Stygian heard ‘tink, tink’ at the same time, and looked at his feet to see a grenade roll up to him. He dove into the Captain’s office for cover, and managed to escape the brunt of the blast. He raced out the door now, and careened past the other officer that had stumbled into this botched assassination attempt. Stygian needed to kill Captain Ander. He rounded a corner, and caught a glimpse of the Captain rushing into another office. The door hissed shut just as Stygian made it there. He spoke briefly and quietly into a communicator, and a second later the door hissed open. The Captain was nowhere to be found.

Stygian rolled in two more grenades, and ducked out into the hall. Smoke filled the room as he slipped back into the office and sealed the door behind him. He placed a breath mask on his face that gave him fresh air and the antidote to the poison smoke. He counted to five. A muffled thump could be heard coming from behind a piece of furniture. Stygian carefully crept over to where he heard the sound. Captain Ander’s body was sprawled out on the floor. Stygian plunged his vibroblade into the Captain’s heart. “Sorry Corē.”

His Gruesome task finished, Stygian made his way back off the Star Destroyer. The stars outside glittered, the moon reflected cheerful orange light, and yachts drifted gracefully nearby.
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[Edj]

"Whatha!", I sputter as I lunge from the dreamscape, hands flailing in the weak light before me, legs kicking furiously at the tangled blanket enveloping them; still trying to flee an inevitable explosion, my chest aching from a deep wound that isn't there; arms sore from gravitic compression and the stress of endless panic that is.

Coming around in the bunk, I slump to the edge of the cot. "A dream...", I mutter to myself, head shaking. The sullen motion spills droplets of cold sweat onto my hands and across the sheet still casually binding my feet. I untangle myself and walk to the scrubber, stepping over the cold steel rim and into the unit; letting the pain of existence wash away with the cool water spitting towards me; allowing my mind to wander over the events of the last few hours.

On our way back from an odd procurement run aboard a forgotten space station, the Eye's hold filled with freshly scooped blaster gas, we were hailed from the Blue, and asked if we wouldn't mind having a word with the gravilectric space station. It had apparently "got up", taken exception to the creatures scurrying around its decks, and embraced a heavy lead pipe approach to solving the problem.

The suits had given the matter their diplomatic best and found the station lacking the political decorum our rebellious superiors had been trained to anticipate. Our methods tending to be somewhat more... persuasive... during aggressive negotiation, we were asked to step in.

Curious, we went aboard, and found the station had fired up its own little AI: a bitter, snotty, wretch of a jacking thing, with a penchant for suicidal mania and sweeping genocide. Apparently, some bits had been shifted, some datum had gotten exposed, and a some tables had been overturned (or something along those lines. Verspeak is a bit... yawn...). In any event, Jack in the Box had utterly lost its capacity for reason, and events quickly degraded from passive elocution to normalcy.

We tried to talk nicely, but Jack wasn't having any of it. It crackled to life and barked at us using some mangled Wookie sub-dialect I could barely understand (but hey, what's to understand? "Wookie angry. Wookie smash."), then Jack collapsed our escape route, sent some drones with jacking laser-beams on their heads to punch holes through our noodles and sent the entire station hurtling towards a distant star, intent on taking the sector down.

We knew it had gotten serious when, following a burst of laser-light, Cherrywood's balsa-foot burst into flame for the second time. He'd been bleeding out for a little while, but that in and of itself isn't atypical. The Cherrywood brisket, however - that's a solid sign of things having gone too jacking far, and we took note.

Luckily, Rika was able to quickly recycle the drones: now serving as slightly battered pie plates, and Zeke was able to hack into the system, trash bin the AI, and save the hour.

The really critical event, however... the thing that really set the moment in stone, topped the cake, and otherwise blew confetti from the rooftops, was the discovery that even after rescuing two Jedi from seventy years of imprisonment aboard a derelict space station lost in the bleak depths of the cold black; lifting them gently from the clutches of a maniacal Sith, and bringing them back to civilization, even then, after all that, I still can't get a jacking lesson. Not even a self-help guide; not even a couple pointers.

With educational policies like that, its no wonder these guys are almost jacking extinct.

Maybe taking that Stygian guy up on his offer to teach me a few things isn't such a bad idea? I know, he's not Mr. Trustworthy, but a Lek's gotta do what a Lek's gotta do, right?

Anyone?

[Edj]

When asked to define the causes for which the Rebellion fights, it becomes easy to spout passionate words like “righteousness”, “justice”, and “freedom”; doing so with all the conviction one might expect.

Upon deeper consideration, however, I find myself in a quandary. Surely if we mottled members of the underground resistance fight for freedom, justice, and righteousness, then the entity with whom we battle must, of necessity, represent absolute tyranny. Yet under Imperial control I have seen little to support such an accusation.

Let me carefully rephrase that point: I have seen examples of tyrannical behavior, demonstrations of violence, and incorrigible displays of barbarism and cruelty at the hands of the new government, but, and this is quite important, these appalling attributes existed equally in the machinations of the expired Senate. Those Jedi laser rods aren’t just a slick personal accessory you know. Peoples were injured by those things.

Some might even go so far as to propose the structure offered by the new establishment has brought about a much-needed unity: introducing efficiency and eradicating much of the chaos and confusion experienced under the more liberal pre-Palpatine model. I don’t have to dig through a bag full of regional credsticks or keep track of conversion rates or local laws anymore, as example.

So I ask myself: are we, as a whole, really worse off now than before? The answer is, of course, yes and no. The Empire represents a cohesive entity: strong, efficient, and eminently capable. Its existence however, requires of its subjects a toll of reduced luxuries – a stipend of moderation and self-control; a tax of support and a promise of social compliance.

And perhaps that, right there, is what the Rebellion is fighting against.

Perhaps we are fighting for the right of every man, woman, and Wookie to lay about in booze-addled half-consciousness; the freedom to lob vulgar rhetoric at whomever we wish, in any one of a hundred languages; the ability to embrace self-indulgence in all its grotesque and enchanting forms with fanatical fervor. We stand here within the choking grasp of the Empire, maybe, and with fists of charged particle and syncopated light we rail against the Imperial embrace. We few might act in the interests of all to shake free the wicked monkey at our backs, and finally silence the insidious voice of acquiescence that threatens to break our will and rob us of ourselves.

We fight not for righteousness or justice, but for indulgence. We fight for the ability to do whatever the jack we want, whenever the jack we want to do it, using whatever jacking method we prefer.

That’s why we had to blow up the Arrester. I’m quite sure of it.

Jacking Empire always showing up when you’re right in the middle of…

[K_Feldspar]

Hmmm it's been a while since we've played, or since I've read this last post. Somehow I think that I haven't made the empire evil enough, or perhaps I've made the rebellion to haphazard and free of discipline. In any case, from the last post of Edj's it doesn't seem like they're fighting for justice because I haven't oppressed them enough. They're not fighting for freedom because I haven't imprisoned them enough. There not fighting for love because I don't hate them enough. I shall surely change my storytelling and tactics! Soon we'll play again. As soon as I finish moving!
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[Edj]

Entropy.

The universal force of decay. A methodical deterioration of order into something less... assembled. Less predictable. Somewhat similar to the effects of Baelean Gin on rational thought and motor function.

Since decay tends to add complexity to, well, everything one might try to do, at least short term, it becomes practical to fight entropy tooth and nail. And that, my friends, means proper care and maintenance. Scan the manual on that new Blastech pistol at your hip and you'll find a maintenance section towards the back. They don't just encode that section because they enjoy cramming bits onto a data pad, no sir. They encode it to help you wage a war against entropy.

With that in mind, try to see if you can spot the influences of mechanical entropy in the following anecdotal recap:

Recently, having folded the crew's perfectly pressed and stainless whites, I was walking towards my assigned bunk aboard a derelict freighter with the last load of my own personal linens in hand. Sadly, the octogenarian freighter had lost the ability to shuffle forward under its own power, and we were aimlessly adrift in space, again, but that had little effect on either my walking or the laundry. What did have an effect was the Imperial gunboat that snapped out of hyperspace, bored a hole through our hull and immediately began spackling the gaping rift with a squad of storm-troopers. What had a bigger impact still was my summary detention and transport to a lovely eight-by-eight to await interrogation.

As a sidebar, I may have eluded in the past that the Empire has its benign points. I apologize for that. These Imperial chaps were just flat-out rude, and the treatment I was forced to endure must be swiftly and decisively abolished from all interrogation manuals universe-wide. The smells alone haunt me still.

To return to my entropic anecdote, however: With the assistance of a stolen ISB stealth suit, a few lucky keystrokes on the Victory II's brig control system and the impressive concussive damage of Drax in jump boots, I and the crew were freed from the olfactory horror of Imperial detention, and thereafter hastened to escape the belly of the durasteel whale in which we were trapped.

On our way to procure alternate transportation from the Victory's hold we encountered some resistance, as one might expect, but armed with one of our Jedi light-sticks and almost three full hours of cinematic instruction, I felt ready to take the Empire to task. Confidently, I called forth the plasmic fury of the Jedi and sprang into combat, blade whirling in a blinding screen of luminous wrath, each crackle and buzz of the weapon promising instant death. At least that's what Holowood would have you believe. I bought into it too, and standing there, saber cutting a fiery arc across the chest of my opponent, I found myself again awed by how often, and how spectacularly, marketing overshadows reality. I was mildly disappointed, to say the least, when the allegedly lethal photo-saber failed to punch through the rugged woolen fibers of a standard Imperial uniform. Thankfully, I was also packing an impeccably-maintained Wookie, who very efficiently and expeditiously renegotiated the situation to our favor.

A similar round ensued shortly thereafter with four of the Empire's boys in white. Again I unleashed a wicked laser-light show, brutally dazzling the troopers but otherwise doing no more damage than if I had simply shouted expletives in their general vicinity. It was Rika who took matters into her own hairy claws once more, dispensing rebel vindication like a wooley hurricane. You know those stories about straws getting rammed through trees? They're nothing compared to the sight of a storm-trooper being spread across a blast door like peanut butter on toast.

Minions dispatched, we skulked into a hanger and made good our escape. A few Vercoon hacks surreptitiously entered into the Victory's astronav system and the flying wedge was sent to explore new opportunities in exciting, far distant corners of the sector, while we attempted to hop back to home base, somewhat stymied by the sudden apoplexia of our R2 unit. It'd been bleeping and ticking for some time about its maintenance schedule, but with the Verpine on leave, we're at a bit of a loss. Silly thing is supposed to be self-repairing anyways.

Events moving forward ran along similar lines. The Eye's mighty ion cannons failed to penetrate the shielding on a lousy Y-wing drifting near a sector boundary, my blaster might as well have been a spray bottle of mild detergent, and I've finally figured out the laser sword I've been toting around is either a stolen Holowood prop or a somewhat phallic flashlight. It certainly isn't a weapon. Or maybe the power supply is just running low. I'm not real sure where the batteries go, however, and I'm not keen on asking the former owner.

Proper care & maintenance I say. Replace your plasma cells regularly, pay attention to any flashing red lights, and check the logs daily; its your only weapon.

Without it, everything just falls apart.

[Edj]

My head is pounding, thrumming with the pressure of internal exertion. My eyes, no longer focused, ache as I struggle to gain reprieve, face strained and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. My ears hear only the thump and rush of blood pouring through my veins, and my body is beginning to shudder from the fury of muscles too long wracked by fierce spams. The feeling in my legs long ago disappeared, and from all experience, it may be only moments before I shuffle off myself. Never before have I felt so close to death.

Though the pain is almost too much to bear, I attempt once more to force relaxation, concentrating on the meditations disclosed by Karol, may he rest in peace, and for a brief moment it feels as if the agony might fade.

When a new wave of torment breaks across my body, I cry out involuntarily - whimpering for it all to stop, rasping out weak promises of restitution to any who might listen. The torturous sensation takes me to the edge of sanity, and brings me to the lip of consciousness, and then, as darkness creeps into my periphery threatening to consume me, with a tiny *pop*, the pain subsides, and my eyes are flooded with a panoramic view of things and of people and of places elsewhere.

Surely I have died, and yet, if such is the case, what am I seeing, and with what do I see? As these questions surface, the images before me shudder and flex, warping and pulling until I am faced with a new scene, one of a great metal hull adrift in space, seen from the noir beyond its protective bulk.

I takes me but a moment to realize I must have been spaced, and am now staring back at the Eye of the Hurricane - the ship I was aboard but moments earlier. I clamp my mouth shut in an effort to hold my breath from within the vacuum of the deep black, knowing full well it will do no good.

It is more than a few tense moments before I realize I am not, in fact, going to die. With renewed hope, I drift closer to the hull and peer through one of the windows, surprised to see a young, familiar looking Twi'lek walk past one of the ship's auto-chef units, his bewilderment turning briefly to scorn with a glance at the device. The Twi'lek turns to the window and stares out intently, scanning the cosmos through squinted eyes for what feels like an eternity. I can sense the Twi'lek growing agitated, clearly unable to catch sight of whatever it is he is looking for, and shortly thereafter, he turns, despondent, and walks away.

With a snap the pain returns, coursing through my skull with a stabbing hurt that reminds me of old holovid labotomy documentaries: surgeon's pin lodged deep within a patient's eye socket. The universe around me shakes and starts to spin, losing definition with each dizzying twirl. I clench my eyes shut in an attempt to reduce the number of senses overloading my brain, and moments later feel a drop in my gut that brings me back to wrenching heavy-G swoop drops on Baleus as a kid. My limbs go slack with the sensation and the pain evaporates amid a warm wash of incredible relief. I open my eyes, slowly, and am greeted by the familiar sight of gray duracrete flooring beneath my feet; its flat light- gray surface spotted with darker gray where my sweat has fallen.

I wait a few moments to be sure the pain has receeded fully, then with a heavy sigh I flip shut the year-old issue of Twi'lek Monthly spread across my knees, and perform the standard finishing rituals, wincing as sensation rushes back to my legs and starting as the cacophonous auto-flush kicks in.

Walking back to my bunk, reflecting on the strange events of the last few minutes I catch site of the mid-deck auto-chef that served me the rancid meal I just evacuated, and it is all I can do to keep from lodging my foot in the control board. To my left is a portal facing the stars, and suddenly deeply curious, I wander over and stare into space for a few minutes, scanning the depths of the black anxiously for any signs of, well... self.

It is a foolish exercise I realize, and with that, I turn back, and wander off to my bed.

[Edj]

"Aiiieeerrrrk!"

The sound exploded from my throat as I jerked backwards, hands flung out at my sides, feet suddenly trying to cycle fast enough to pull themselves back under my swiftly falling torso. The lumistick I'd been carrying was sent spinning down the long, darkened hallway ahead, its cold blue light flickering strobe-like as it twirled and bounced into the depths. Shadows flashed and rippled across cut stone and ancient carvings in the wild light, but the wispy motion and ages old kerf were sensed in my periphery alone. My gaze was locked on the creature.

I felt the wind rush from my lungs and pain tear through my headtails as I collided messily with the ground. I was only barely able to bring my left arm up to cover my face in time, fingers curled around the first object they had encountered on the up swing.

The terror had rushed from the fluttering darkness and leaped towards me in a flurry of jagged teeth and deep, dangerous claws; its leathery, mottled hide stretched taut over its lean frame not unlike the nerf-hide that covers the gunnery chairs in the Eye. As it descended, a dozen hooked barbs and countless fangs aimed at my soft spots, my heart stopped pounding, I forgot how to breathe, and I simply cringed, awaiting death.

Time slowed to a crawl, allowing me the wholly insensitive opportunity to not only witness my inevitable destruction, but actually study it. Having rushed past the discarded glow-stick to attack, the descending creature was now rendered as an inky silhouette back-lit by an ambient haze of eerie cyan light. It was almost beautiful; an archon of death trapped in flight; resplendent within a cerulean aurora. Against the blue-green light, I could see the beast's scaled maw stretched wide, exposing dozens of long black teeth that would no doubt lodge themselves in my flesh momentarily; could see the deep black hooks extending from its powerful legs and the lethal talons extending from its splayed fingers - barbs and spurs that would soon find purchase in my immobile form, locking me in an immeasurably painful embrace before tearing, ripping, and gnawing. It's skin, creased and complex in some areas, was yet drawn in others so as to make the heavily muscled thing seem impossibly lean. Truly, this was a monster designed to be an exceptional predator, and as it fell ever closer, I felt somehow privileged to have been afforded death by such an incredible being.

It was then that a coruscating crimson blast ripped through the air above, shattering my reverie. Light from the heavy blaster's discharge altered the soft blue back-light and I saw the thing above me mutate in the new illumination - its features now cast in red it seemed somehow far more terrifying than the creature that had floated in the sapphire shroud moments earlier. I may have screamed at this point. Again.

Time abruptly accelerated as a crushing force slammed into me from above. I felt the thing push off at an angle, using my body as an impromptu springboard, leaving behind a wicked gash in my side, and activating the Jedi flashlight in my left hand, the stark violet bar of scorching light erupting with crackling energy less than an inch from my face. As the great lizard spun away, I scrabbled to my feet, side covered in slick, black icor and hauled backwards, frantically waving the glowing mauve broom handle before me.

That was then.

Now, I lie here, on the cold stone floor of this forsaken place, staring through eyes that are fast losing focus, into a humming purple haze, waiting for the flash of terror that marks my end. My fingers are numb and my body cold but for the searing pain coursing from my ravaged side, and from a handful of deep lacerations in other locations. It is out there somewhere, hiding in the dark, hard black nails tapping here and scraping there. I can hear it breathing and smell the mold of its clammy skin; I can taste its hunger.

It is waiting, somewhere dark, concealed, patient. Waiting for a moment of calm. Waiting for the snapping purple light to fade, or the distant crimson shots to cease.

Waiting...

[K_Feldspar]

Stygian gazed out the window of the captain’s office aboard his expropriated star destroyer. Corē’s old office offered an outstanding vista of the binary star system laid out before them. The two bright blue-white orbs were wrapped in typically entrancing azure nebula. The Azure Expanse offered many views like this, but Stygian had never seen this one before. He believed he looked on Surinukeru delta, and awaited the navigator’s report confirming it.

There were no planets in Surinukeru delta. In fact, all six of the Surinukeru systems were strangely devoid of planets, and the core-ward most of the ghostly Azure nebulas twined amongst them all. What was notable, to Stygian at least, was that this wispy blue space was outside the Azure Expanse. Surinukeru alpha was a short distance from the Hydian Way. However, current routes through the Surinukeru were time consuming and incommodious. That’s fine for military traffic. Regular trade would require regular routes.

There was a quiet chime at the office door. Stygian walked over and opened it. The portal hissed upwards with typical reckless abandon. A sweating, yet relieved looking, junior officer stood in the hallway. “Sir, we are certain. This is Surinukeru delta!” Stygian stared at the uncomfortable officer, and then responded, “Fine. Redeploy the survey teams here. Have them find a more convenient corridor to the Hydian Way.” The officer spun quickly around, and strode back to the bridge.

Stygian walked over to his desk, and tapped on the communication console. A familiar wrinkly figure appeared on a holoprojector. “Officer Stygian, have you good news?”

“Yes sir. I do. We found a way out to the Surinukeru.”

The wrinkly figured shifted slightly in his seat. “That is not the most convenient of transits, but it will do for now. Transmit the new routes, and I will send you the resources you desire.”

“At once.” Stygian switched off the holoprojector, and transmitted the coordinates.
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[K_Feldspar]

An officer sat alone behind a simple metal desk. The cold steel room looked out onto the courtyard of the Governor’s Palace on Baleus. The voice on the intercom just informed him Captain Stygian was on his way, and that he was uncharacteristically livid.

“So much for a simple reprimand.” The officer’s plan to cow the population with conscripted troopers was an abysmal failure, and the decoy Star Destroyer was splintered into a dozen or more pieces. “Why didn’t I just administrate? I was a good administrator. Perhaps the Captain will be merciful and I’ll only get a few months on an ice mine…” He muttered to himself discontentedly.

At once Stygian exploded through the office door. Rage roared from his lips like fire. “I left you in charge for three months, and you set us back three years!”

The target of his rage skittered out of his chair into a standing position trying to defend himself, “S-s-sir, I assure you…”

Stygian charged forward into the room vibroblade in hand. “Fool!” He screamed.

A tragic sinking feeling coursed through the officer’s body suddenly. His thoughts turned briefly to his pension, and how his wife could support the family.

In a single swift motion Stygian lunged over the desk, and knocked the officer to the ground. The vibroblade sank easily into the officer’s chest. Stygian twisted it slowly. The officer’s face was awash in shock and fear. Momentarily there was a perplexed look as well. Then he coughed, and expired promptly.

With that, Stygian calmed somewhat. “Your actions were indefensible.” He stood up and straightened his clothes. He wiped the blood from his vibroblade off on the corpse at his feet, and called out on the intercom. “I’m afraid I’ve made quite a mess. Please alert the sanitation services.” Stygian looked despondently down at the corpse again. “Now I have to clean up the mess you left me.”
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[Edj]

The slick coating of blood on the stone floor made it difficult to reposition. Well, that and the loss of sensation in critical parts of my body, not to mention the foggy mental haze brought on by sanguine loss. I wasn't entirely sure repositioning was an effective strategy anyways: the snarling creature in the shadows seemed able to approach from any dimension, but laying here waiting wasn't a plan either. Besides, Drax was still out there somewhere – maybe he could get a shot off as the lizard gnawed on my appendix; save himself...

I summoned the strength to stand and immediately felt the cut of a jagged claw rip through the thin, rubbery material of my jacket, and the thinner, less rubbery flesh of my back. A shimmer of black whipped through my peripheral vision but was gone again before I could focus. I felt the latent sting of a wound I knew was too deep spread across my shoulders, the course grit of the wall sliding up my cheek and hands as I crashed to the floor once more, and I realized I was not going to rise this time. No longer in control of my own destiny, I simply closed my eyes, and waited for the cold fingers of death to wrap themselves around me.

I awoke on a cold table in an infirmary, medi-packs crudely pasted to my deeper wounds, surrounded by a flickering white nimbus of light, and with the realization I wasn't dead, I groaned miserably and slowly surveyed my surroundings.

Drax was standing next to a panel of controls at the center of a room that contained what looked like a series of bacta tubes, each of the transparent amber chambers filled with horror. The contents were life-forms to be sure, or had been at least, but they looked like nothing I would expect to appear in nature; many little more than grotesque, twisted, saurian shapes, half-evolved, floating in isolated pools of pale yellow gelatin. One of the scaled residents, however, seemed somewhat less... disturbing... than the others, and it was this chamber Drax appeared most interested in.

I sat up, grimaced as the adhesive from the packs tugged against the closing wounds in my side, and swung my legs over the table just in time to hear the chamber seals de-pressurize and jettison the viscous yellow fluid to whatever holding pan used bacta fluid dumps to when the tubes are drained.

Within the chamber was a slight creature; wiry, though tall, and covered with scales. Flashing back to my last moments in the stone hallway, I painfully dropped off the table and scooped my over-under from a nearby counter. Drax, always a rock in a crisis, calmly checked his own weapon, then moved over to the prone figure slouched at the bottom of the emptied tank.

Moments passed in still silence, and when the creature finally moved, I almost leaped out of my skin. Drax whispered a long string of syllables to the beast, and when it finally responded, he signaled to me that the creature was not a threat. I didn't bother to lower my weapon.

A few more minutes of whispered conversation, rapid and alien, and the creature stood up and eventually pointed to a large, locked durasteel cabinet, within which we found clothing for the creature, and a Scitech vibro-blade.

Now, I know I'm a very, erm... optimistic and open-minded Twi'lek, as I am sure all of you can attest to... for a couple of creds anyways... prone to the belief that everything always works out provided the right cosmic remunerations are deployed, but I have to admit to being a bit put-off by the odd gecko with the wobbling knife. Who runs around with a vibro-blade? What does that say about an individual? I like to get in real close to the gore? I like killing the hard way? I can tell you what it generally doesn't say: "I'm a nice rebel philanthropist with a pleasant, rational disposition."

So I was feeling a little sketchy about this... guy. At least I was until something far more horrifying charged into the room wearing a tattered lab coat and nameplate that read “Dr. Bob”.

Robby, M.D., you see, was a vast reptilian creature, full of muscle and wrath, and he had obviously taken some exception to our presence; probably we had screwed up some Empire funded research grant or upset a rack of petri dishes somewhere. In any case, it ran in, screeching, and I swear, before I could haul the over-under around to face the monstrosity, the curious guy with the knife leaped over the table like a jacking Iridonian acrobat, spun into bonesaw Bob and jammed that crummy vibro-blade of his into the slasher's sternum.

It startled me the way the wavering blade squirmed its way up the huge lizard-man's midsection, leaving some rather unmentionable debris in its wake. I didn't know those wiggling kitchen saws could cut through, well, anything of substance really. A vibro-knife. Like the kind one might employ to cut soft bread or remove the cellophane packaging from a new holodisc. In any case, the knife did exceptional work and Bob, sans intestines, spleen, and some pulsing gray organ I'm not familiar with, dropped.

After that, how could I not at least grudgingly accept the new guy? Drax tells me he's some sort of corporate assassin, subjected against his will to a series of terrible Imperial experiments in RNA manipulation. I don't know what an RNA is, and I don't know many kinds of Imperial experiments that wouldn't qualify as “terrible”, but I do know I'm not particularly comforted by the new Imperially-modified assassin watching our backs.

Even if he is only armed with a vibro-blade.

[Edj]

To my chagrin, the Imperial genetics lab, despite its glistening stainless steel surfaces, stark blue/white lighting, and flickering digital panels, was not housed in a more progressive location on a nice progressive planet away from the cold stone walls splattered with pints of my blood. The small room with the misshappen monstrosities had, for some reason, been jammed into the pre-existing corridors of the eldritch stone temple, where lithe, somewhat tetchy bipedal lizards with large claws now seemingly roam free.

Stepping past the quivering debris of Dr. Robert and down a short hallway, the clean, minimalist Imperial architecture quickly gave way to dark stone once more.

My visions had suggested the temple was once a training ground for the Jedi, but that must have been back in the days before the invention of fire, because nobody lives like this. I've been to Coruscant and seen the old Jedi Academies, mostly now converted by the Empire to provide affordable assisted living to the elderly, but they're nice places, regardless. Durasteel frames forming towering buildings with glass windows, electricity, running water; and I mean through pipes, not cascading free fall down a natural rock wall or rushing past with the occasional canoe afloat on ts surface.

This building was, instead, simply arcane. No modern conveniences (outside of the lab, and I wasn't particularly keen on spending much time amongst the canned grotesquery therein), so while I knew this basalt ziggurat was important somewhere in my future, in the more immediate now it just offered unnecessary discomfort. Drax was of a similar opinion, and our kindly reptano assassin, erm... hissed. Drax seemed to believe it had indicated compliance with the option to leave, and we did so.

As a sidebar, and lest I forget, we also found inside the temple a handheld, brass, clockwork device. If anyone out in Hololand has any idea what this thing might be, worth... I'd be much appreciative. Lorva stuck an image out there in one of his standard picture folder thingys at ITP://ewh.empire.gov/exp/sys/azure/archives/~biteme/clock_01.iif. You have to scroll down past the cartoon of Palpatine sitting pantless on the Universe reading an issue of Imperial Times. I've tried Impoogling the thing, but either the Holonet doesn't have a great deal of information on archaic temple tech, or I'm just that poor with Holonet searches.

I'm willing to assume the latter.

[Edj]

Gravity is a curious thing, it seems. I'd always believed that it was simply relegated to the task of pulling things swiftly floorward, but it appears the realm of possibilities extends much farther, though I may be misinterpreting the technical details. I'd have Zeke explain, but he's tied up with "more important matters", like trying to seal the exposed eastern side of the station and restoring power to the fifteen decks above and below the few floors the station's occupants currently have access to.

It seems that density, or size, or weight, or some combination of at least similar attributes has something to do with how much gravity is in an area, and when gravity is present, it warps space. I have felt no such warping myself, but if the bugs say that's the way it works, I'm willing to go along. I can calculate the jack out of break-evens for a game of Tasorian Dead Drop on Abregado-rae, but trust me, you'll want to stick with the 'sects for the sciency crap.

In any case, you can use this warping to shove things around. Like the station itself. Through wormholes. You can also manipulate other bits of cosmic wonder with the station. Like strings, which doesn't sound terribly impressive (I mean, I manipulate strings every time I tie my shoes), but apparently its a tremendous discovery. Drax, with a contingent of young Verpine he pulled from their essential duties repairing the auto-chefs on floor Bark-Bark-Chirp-E (which all apparently produce a medley of millet and liver when you ask for anything other than soda crackers) has somehow figured out that we can fire a massive beam of customizable particles from the belly of the Gravilectric. They blew up a chunk of space rock a half an mAU away with the thing. Of course, they also blew up two-thirds of the power transformers on the station and caused a short in one of the stairwells that temporarily reversed gravity, spilling Lieutenant Commander Farley's millet stew on his dress whites and causing him a nasty tumble down, erm... up? two flights of stairs. That ended poorly. Apparently Drax had inadvertently circumvented some fancy new deployment and testing protocols designed to prevent such things. The Verpine have been redeployed running conventional conduit in a sub-cellar. I took care of the whites.

[K_Feldspar]

The group hasn't played in a long time. I got the creative urge again, and we'll see if I can get us all back in the game. It's been so long though so we'll have different characters on different missions in a different time. Speaking of which the next post will speed us forward a bit, and provide some context for where I'll start the new group.
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."

[K_Feldspar]

The commander of the gravitic space station yelled into the communications panel, “Engineering, you need to activate the jump drive!”

The chief engineer clicked something back calmly, and the translation played out on the commander's screen. “Full power within seconds!”

“Helm! Make the jump as soon as you see that drive light go green. We're already two and a half minutes late.”

Just then the helmsman announced she was making the jump. The commander felt strangely disoriented, and space seemed to stretch out a bit. There was a snap, a crackle, and an arc of electricity jumped between the helm controls and a nearby support beam. Then everything went back to normal. “Helm, what was that? That doesn't usually--”

The commander was distracted by the holoprojector showing the contents of real space around the station. To his supreme horror it was filled with star destroyers.

“Sir, we've jumped right into--”

“I can see where we've jumped! Sensors, where is the Alliance fleet?”

“Sir, they're headed in our direction.”

This wasn't supposed to be a slugging match. There wasn't even supposed to be this many sentry ships, but it looked like the entire Imperial navy was surrounding him. The commander knew something was desperately wrong. “Helm, plot a course to rendezvous with the fleet, and go. Tactical, target the nearest enemy vessel on that route, and open up on it.”

Just then a green lance shot out through space, and splintered one of the Alliance cruisers into a thousand pieces. The bridge crew gasped collectively, and the commander growled at them to stay focused. “Awesome,” the commander worried sarcastically to himself, “on top of all this the Death Star's main weapon is already online.”

Data from the rest of the Alliance fleet started appearing on his monitors now. When the fleet first arrived it seemed that the second Death Star's shields were still up although they were out of commission now. A group of fighters were diving down into the unfinished orb's superstructure. “This whole operation... it was a trap from the very beginning.” The commander was stunned.

The gravitic station's native weapons no longer functioned, but the crew had been steadily adding traditional heavy weapons. The station now sported a formidable array of heavy turbolasers and torpedo launchers. The turbolasers were now focused on slagging a star destroyer in their immediate path.

“Time to rendezvous with the fleet?”

“One minute, thirty,” came the reply.

“Tactical, shield strength?”

“Holding strong sir.”

The turbolasers gutted a trench right up the middle of their first target. The ion drives sputtered and went dark. As the star destroyer started into a long uncontrolled spiral another lance shot out from the death star to obliterate a second Alliance cruiser.

“Sir, the Alliance fleet is adjusting their course. It looks like they're going to take a swipe at the Executor.” The super star destroyer's hulking form was sitting off to starboard, and just out of range. The station didn't have as many guns as that ship, but it had much better shielding and armor.

New orders flashed across the commander's screen. “Helm adjust course to take us to the Executor. Tactical, see if you can draw as much fire off the Alliance fleet as possible. Split our fire up between all convenient targets.”

The commander's strategy seemed to be working. Several star destroyers were now pounding on the station's shields along with all the nearby guns on the Executor. “Helm, start us rotating, and bring us within torpedo range of that monster.”

The slender spiny station started to rotate about its long axis now as it continued to make progress towards the super star destroyer. Ten seconds later the tactical officer reported they were inside long range for torpedoes, and the commander immediately shouted for their launch. Blue streaks of torpedoes poured out of the station's launchers as it rotated, and forty seconds after that the aft port quarter of the Executor was a glowing red inferno. The super star destroyer's turbolasers ceased firing, and then its drives went dark.

The Death Star reached out for the station. Its super-laser impacted the stations shields, and for a fraction of a second it looked like they might hold. It was just too powerful though, and the gout of energy pushed through the shields and slammed into the armored hull. The ancient armor buckled, turned cobalt blue, then black, and then was no more. The beam punched through the superstructure and started cooking the armor on the other side. The station heaved violently as the beam punched through the lower decks. The station groaned. The bridge crew cast nervous glances at each other. Crumpling noises could be heard throughout, but that was it. The station survived.

“Sir,” came a call from one of the sensor stations, “I'm getting some strange readings from the Death Star.”

The commander looked over to the sensors. Then he looked at the holoprojector where the representation of the Death Star was replaced by an explosion. The bridge crew cheered loudly, and the commander took a brief second to sink into his chair. “Alright people let's mop up!”

----

Stygian couldn't believe it. He watched the clip play out across the holonet a second time. The Death Star exploded, and the Imperial fleet scattered and ran. He rose from his chair, and went over to the window in his office in the old governor's palace. He gazed out the large picture window. It was a dark and clear night. The sky was speckled with bright twinkling stars, and dappled with one of the piercing blue nebulas that gave the Azure Expanse its name. Down the street from the palace there was an explosion, and briefly he could see fire. Stygian sighed. Then he headed for the palace landing platform.
_________________
"I don't believe it!"

"That is why you fail."