(Decided to return to the Star Wars universe for a little writing fun. I don't expect to do any simming, but we'll see how this goes. And there
will be action here! I promise.)
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STAR WARS
SINGULARITY
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The fledgling New Republic has met its
first great challenge, the rise of the
reborn Emperor Palpatine, who sent his
massive World Devastators against free
worlds throughout the galaxy in an
effort to crush the spirit of rebellion
against the evil Galactic Empire.
With the help of Luke Skywalker, the
Republic stopped the World Devastator
threat on the planet Dac, home of
the Mon Calamari and new capital of
the Republic. Palpatine has been slain,
and the free peoples of the galaxy
can begin to heal after the horrors
of war.
Now the Republic must turn its
attention to the numerous treaties
it has signed to help those in need,
including the far-flung system of
Demeter, where the people must be
evacuated before their planet is
consumed by an encroaching
black hole...
"Our experiences determine who we are. Each of us
is a living documentation of history. We cannot
escape the past, for we cannot escape ourselves." - The Blind Seer of Demeter
This is the devastation of a world, thought Tellar Atlas, as he watched the scarred surface of Dac crawl beneath him from the viewport of a stripped down dropship. Island chains appeared like piles of fresh ash crumbling into the sea, which was murky and streaked with what looked like tendrils of dark liquid but Tellar knew to be the debris of war: parts from ships and parts from bodies. The great planet eaters, the Empire's world devastators, lay like smouldering metal islands in the shallow seas around the land, some occasionally spewing dysfunctional swarms of TIE Droids that carreened out over the open sea in search of some phantom target. They disappeared into clouds so gray and ash-thickened that Tellar wondered if the Mon Calamari would ever see the full light of day again.
"Atlas, I asked where you've got your field clinic," said the pilot, Enos Kil. "Be a lot easier if you could give me the coordinates."
Tellar glanced at his fellow Corellian and shrugged. "It'd be a lot easier if somebody could give me those too. They said forty kilometers due south of where we made atmo, the big island. Said it still had some trees on it."
"Well we're thirty clicks south and I should be able to see the thing by now. Why are you so late getting down here? Ain't the chief medic for the regiment supposed to oversee the setup of his own field clinic?"
"Bureaucracy," said Tellar. "The joys of rank and privilege." He rubbed at his freshly shaven face as the planet's humidity seeped into the aging dropship and made his skin itch. As the dropship swung back and forth in air currents, he swayed with it uneasily, stumbling against a bulkhead. He couldn't sit, since the seats had been stripped out in favor of more cargo space for medical supplies, which were strapped to the floor with frayed canvas netting.
"I was surprised when I heard 'bout your promotion."
Tellar caught Enos's eyes in the reflection of a cockpit monitor and raised an eyebrow.
"I mean, surprised you accepted. Thought you liked doing all the grunt work, saving lives and the like. Didn't take you for that type."
"Neither did I," said Tellar.
Enos cleared his throat but didn't make another sound until they touched down. They found the island eventually, after calling in their location on their comm unit. With electrical bursts from downed devastators and atmospheric interference from smoke and ash, actual electronic positioning was nearly impossible. For the time being, all on Dac was loss and confusion.
~ ~ ~
The Victory Star Destroyer
Precision flashed out of hyperspace nearly too deep into the planet Demeter's gravity well, yet high enough that it was immediately free-falling into a perfect low orbit. This space above the cobalt and tan marbled world had been reserved for the capital ship's arrival; around it, Imperial shuttles and transports were streaming up and away from the surface. Many returned to the surface, if only to carry more passengers to one of the two Golan superstructures in orbit, staging points for the evacuation.
One of those shuttles had been holding a steady course with two TIE Fighters flanking it, and it now accelerated toward the underside of the
Precision and its open hangar. The shuttle's two lower wings folded up as it approached the hangar bay while the TIE Fighters peeled off and screamed back into the planet's atmosphere.
Lieutenant Commander Lanssere stood at the end of a small honor guard of stormtroopers, which was carefully arranged at attention in two rows of ten. He watched landing pads extended from the bottom of the shuttle as it settled onto the flight deck, the boarding ramp already opening. The ramp hadn't even touched the deck before Moff Hartle descended in long strides, ducking his tall, lean frame to emerge at the bottom. A pair of stormtroopers in battle-scarred armor hurried after him.
He was known as the Crooked Moff, but not for any lack of loyalty or illicit dealings. A severe scoliosis had begun to plague him nearly a decade ago, just prior to achieving the rank of moff, and left his right shoulder considerably higher than the left and his large head bobbing forward on a thin neck. He was strangely handsome, but this combined strangely with his asymmetry to make him appear to most as somewhat grotesque. As he approached Lanssere, it was clear that his eyes were two different colors, one brown and one blue. The older man's hard gaze unnerved him.
"About time," Hartle snapped, stopping less than two feet in front of Lanssere.
Lanssere could smell fresh mint on Hartle's breath and worried that the moff would smell the quick drink he had taken minutes earlier in his quarters. "My apologies, sir, we received our orders --"
"Don't 'sir' me, commander. I'm not part of your navy."
"Yes, Moff Hartle." Lanssere forced his gaze to match the moff's. He could see himself reflected in the brown eye, not the blue.
The moff's thin lips broke into a quick and equally thin smile. "Fine timing, commander," said Hartle. "Pay no attention to my quick temper. Let's walk."
Hartle led Lanssere and the two scarred stormtroopers out of the hangar and into the tight corridors of the aging ship. The
Precision had seen service at the end of the Clone Wars and had been refitted nearly a dozen times since then, each new modification a patchwork of half-effective enhancements installed over the last. The interior of the ship was a maze, and finally after two years as her commander, Lanssere felt he knew her. Hartle, however, seemed to be having no problem.
"You seem to know your way around, sir -- Moff Hartle," said Lanssere, trying to walk with his hands clasped behind his back as an officer should yet having trouble also matching the lanky man's stride.
"I do." Hartle paused at an intersection before whirling to the right and walking on, nearly barrelling over a shocked ensign.
"Did you serve once?"
"Once."
They stopped at another intersection, where Hartle addressed his two stormtroopers. "Barracks are that way. Meet us on the bridge in two hours." He and Lanssere then continued to a bank of turbolifts, taking them to the officers' quarters. Lanssere notified the moff that the crew had prepared the executive officer's stateroom for him, since the ship had been without an XO for two months. "As I expected," said Hartle.
Hartle stormed into the stateroom, quickly appraising his surroundings as Lanssere remained just inside the door.
"So, why am I here, commander?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Onboard the
Precision, commander."
Lanssere glanced at a mirror over a holocase. "It was at your request, sir. You demanded a capital warship be stationed in system to oversee the evacuations of all Imperial personnel."
"And why would I request a capital warship?"
He thought for only a moment. "You expect the Republic," said Lanssere, narrowing his eyes.
Hartle came toward him, his eyes wide and hard. "I cannot explain to you the importance of this world. Mostly because we have yet to understand the full details of its importance, but things are happening here. On the surface. Amongst the people. The Republic will want it."
"We left Demeter three years ago but returned not five months ago. What is so important? And why return only to evacuate yet again?"
"The first time we left was not an evacuation; it was a reallocation of resources. But now, the black hole at the fringe of the system is too close. There has been ... an anomaly in the galaxy."
"Anomaly?"
"She will know what to do, when she arrives. She will explain. She will not be far behind you now."
"She?"
Hartle smiled thinly. "The Lady Anathema."
~ ~ ~
A pair of TIE Fighters screamed overhead, their ion engines deafening and echoing into a roar among the jagged rocks of the desert ridge. A pair of Demos huddled in shadows and waited for the sound of the alien starships to fade into obscurity. They were each about the height of an average Imperial alien, bipedal, two arms with a thin skeleton and wiry muscles supporting it. Skin that continuously shifted and flowed into shades of brown and green, wet looking, black retinas in otherwise translucent eyes. No hair. They wore jumpsuits the aliens had forced on their ancestors generations ago.
They did not speak. Instead they communicated through the air, not quite telepathically. The aliens had never fully understood it. Subatomic particles were not immune to manipulation, it was just a matter of knowing how to do it. Evolving. The aliens had stunted their biology in favor of machines.
The pair crawled through the rocks, staying out of the sunlight, which was dangerous at this time of day and at this latitude. The desert took without remorse, and it seldom gave anything back. Seldom.
They climbed a rise in the ridge and looked down to where the rocks fell abruptly away, almost a kilometer straight down to the desert floor. And they saw that the rumors had been true.
The desert had receded, from horizon to horizon. Where once there had been nothing but sand, the pair of Demos saw stone like flat bedrock for kilometers in every direction, like a floor that was being swept clean. This had not been this way just three standard days ago.
It took them two hours to climb down the face of the ridge, weaving their way along an ancient trail. The sun was beginning to come around the ridge, and if they did not hurry, it would catch them in the open. They carried plenty of water, but they worried about the burns. At the bottom of the ridge, the sun emerged and beat down on them. They hurried across the vacant sands toward the bedrock.
There was a narrow, deep gulley that descended into the bedrock, leading to a perfectly circular cave. Two statues stood like sentries, six-limbed, eyeless, and not resembling any creatures the Demos had ever seen. Warily, they moved past them and entered the cave.
Neither would emerge again.
