This page showcases all Star Wars Fanon featured works that have been on the Main Page.
2009[]
July 2009[]
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September 2009[]
The sunbeams downed onto the Coruscanti fields below, filled with crops, scarefauna, and, of course, the farmers that worked the fields devotedly. The large, productive farmland belonged to the Jedi Order, to their Service Corps branch. Specifically, the farms belonged to the Agricultural Corps, where Jedi younglings who were not selected by a Jedi Master by the age of thirteen — therefore not becoming Padawans of the Order — would have to go to work, to continue serving as petty associates of the Jedi. Unfortunately, this was the case for many young teens, of all genders and species — the Jedi Order, though, suffered little, as such younglings were usually regarded to as failures and nothing more by their peers and even themselves. Most of the younglings didn't even know why they failed, they just knew they had, and were left with that. A depressing feeling of failure and total loss to carry with them for the rest of their time, all thanks to a heedless Order of Jedi. Narod Antrell in particular felt lied to, betrayed, and saddened by his so-called failure. He was a fairly short, dark-skinned Human male, with scruffy black hair that couldn't be combed down, a big shaggy mess. Narod remembered a bit of his childhood, especially from his time as a Jedi youngling. He barely remembered when he first was taken from his family on Dantooine to Coruscant, but he clearly remembered when he was promised that he'd become a Jedi. Narod was bitter and angry about the entire situation, since he had trained in the Order relentlessly for over a decade and, in the end, was sent off to be a farmer, nothing more. |
2010[]
February 2010[]
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“You guys ready?” their pilot asked, his voice rich and vivacious. He wore the same armor as the commander’s squad, but he was probably twenty years the commander’s junior. “Ready as ever, B.,” the commander replied. “Right,” B. replied, musing over the commander’s play-on-words. “Approaching Deathly Stars in 15, 14, 13…” The commander could sense that the other three members of his squad had become increasingly nervous. Most of them were rookies compared to him; he had been on more than fifty missions with Taris Paramilitary, while the majority of his squad had only been sent on a few dozen. Clenching his pistol, he hoped that the silence would quell their fears, but it seemed to make them increasingly uneasy. “Don’t worry,” the commander mentioned, seemingly stolid. “We’ll get through this. Keep close, stay sharp, and it will be over before you know it.” “May the Force be with us,” one of his squadmates whispered. |
March 2010[]
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There are dark places in the galaxy, where few tread. Ancient centers of learning and knowledge. And there are bright places in the galaxy, equally aged and just as teeming with wisdom. Some are visited by millions or billions every standard year, while others go centuries without the sound of a single footstep echoing within their walls. Still others see regular use, but are hidden, shut away from the galaxy by the careful owners of such places. And, of course, there are those in between. Places that flicker with the softest light, and places that are just slightly tinted by the shadows of evil. These auras, these details and features that characterize a city, planet, or star system are forged by history. The universe is like a lake, with history being a stone dropped into it. The stone affects not only whatever it lands on, but also whatever else is in the lake. Changes ripple outward from the center of impact, and after the broad ripples of history have reached a world, it is never the same. Depending on what sort of stone reaches the pond, some planets may see light. Others may see darkness. Some worlds shift toward neither the dark, nor the light. These are very much in the middle, in many cases because history's changes have not affected them in particularly positive or negative ways. Other times, however, it is because the world in question has not been reached by history at all. In a galaxy with four hundred billion stars and well over twelve million inhabited star systems, there are places at the farthest reaches of inhabited space that even the mighty waves of history do not reach. |
April 2010[]
 "It's tragic, really, seeing you like this," the man's voice called out from behind, one so full of sadness, of regret over what could have been but wasn't. "It's not too late, you know. You're the shatterpoint for everything destiny says is supposed to happen. Do the right thing and fate can be irrevocably changed from this point on." Plagueis couldn't deny that, even if he'd wanted to. His old friend had told him about the coming days so long ago, but he'd dismissed it as a foolish man's deluded fantasy. Yet over the years, as events began to unfold, he'd come to realize that maybe everyone's fate was set in stone, that he'd been unknowingly guided down this road by the Force despite what he may have wanted. And yet even so, part of him felt like he truly did want what was coming to him. Was that the Force playing with his mind, or did he have his own part to play in his ultimate destiny? He felt like he was making decisions, and his own wants and desires seemed to come from within, yet here was a man telling him that someone, or something, had decided that for him, but at the same time he could change it. It was enough to drive a man mad, though he'd already made his choice, even if it was futile. "Once you start down the dark path," Plagueis told him, "it will forever dominate your destiny. You can't stop it from consuming you. My fate is sealed, not because someone wrote it thousands of years ago, but because I want this. I'm tired, and now I'm done." |
July 2010[]
 The combat-reduced squad of Republic Marines, their armor chipped and scorched by shrapnel and blasterfire, their faces stained with blood, sweat, and grime, looked at their officer one more time. The eyes of each man and woman spoke of many things: fear, admiration, pure unbridled grit and determination, as well as an overwhelming sense of trust. They knew that, whatever happened, they were serving and fighting alongside brothers and sisters. Barely a moment passed as their commander asked for, and got, their assent to one last, grand effort. As one, the soldiers raised their weapons, prepared themselves, and leaped through the accessway into the inner control area... For their officer, it was her last leap, as a Mandalorian grenade tore into her chestplate... |
August 2010[]
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It was three weeks ago that it first came down. We were going to Saloch discreetly, which for us meant we weren’t kicking open doors with blasters blazing. In fact, we weren’t even supposed to need our blasters. Our job was helping other people figure out how to fire their own blasters. I suppose that needs a bit of background. There’s this nasty bunch of people called the Lortans, or more appropriately, the Lortan fanatics. Somehow, they got it into their head that the surrounding alien species were going to result in the doom of the galaxy, or something like that. Anyway, they decided to ravage a few star systems in order to avert that, including Saloch. Never mind that the native Tunroth and Duros there hadn’t done anything to deserve that. Our job was to ensure that some export-quality arms were distributed to the locals and help them figure out how to defend themselves. Strictly on the low-down, of course. When the reigning galactic government doesn’t and shouldn’t know you exist, it’s probably a good idea to keep a low profile, which is exactly what we intended to do. Too bad it didn’t work out that way. |
September 2010[]
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I begrudgingly accepted my task at that point. Rolling out of the cover of the table, I sprinted headlong for the vault. All the while, the Sith troopers were peppering me with blaster fire, missing me by a slimmer margin with each attempt. Luckily for me, Marina kept her promise, and she leapt out from behind her cover and engaged the Sith troopers. Once she had attacked, they stopped harassing me. I reached the vault door in less than a minute. The door was only accessible by keycard. Luckily for me, one of the Sith troopers who had been killed by our allies in the initial firefight had left his keycard in the slot. Pushing it inside, I heard a soft click. The door itself slid open automatically, revealing a hulking Gran waiting for me inside the vault. The three-eyed guard stood in front of the Sluissi prisoners, ready to fight with a hold-out blaster. I think I screamed when he pulled the trigger and hit me at nearly point-blank range. Pain. Darkness. I don’t want a posthumous medal! |
October 2010[]
 “With the Force, many things are possible,” Master Zhar chimed in, his voice low but fatherly, after a fashion. “You are a disciplined warrior, dedicated to the Republic. We are considering you for Jedi training.” My attention not fully allocated toward the four-part harmony of Force-inspired philosophical yammering, the Twi'lek's last words caught me blindsided. Realizing that my jaw had dropped several centimeters, I hastily closed it and regarded the Council with something that was intended to be a scowl, but from the nods that all four of them were shooting me, it was clear they could see right through the facade. “You do not trust us, that much is clear,” Master Vrook said frankly. “But you trusted those Jedi who fought beside you against the Mandalorians, despite the fact that they did so against the wishes of the Order. Be mindful of—” “Excuse me, Master Jedi,” I interrupted, my voice spiked with sudden anger, “but with all due respect, you are wrong. I fought alongside the Revanchists, yes, but I never fully trusted any of them, except for one. I'm a Marine, sir, trained to fight the enemies of the Republic, of civilization itself, no matter who leads me into battle!” |
2011[]
January[]
 As I was finishing up my routine and feeling somewhat better for it, Commander Thedus Bimm, also clad in BDUs, walked into the exercise room. Catching sight of me, his blue-green speckled aura followed him as he strode toward where I was finishing up the last of my Shien practice katas. “Remind me never to come at you with a vibroblade,” he smirked. Snapping my saber to its belt hook, I ran a hand through my auburn hair. I had let grow out to nearly waist-length; braiding it before battle had become almost a ritual for me, allowing me to bring my focus fully onto the task to come. “You wouldn't get within two meters,” I retorted mildly, patting Bimm's shoulder. “So, what's the surprise?” “You know, ever since you got back from Coruscant after the fight at Rodia, it's been impossible to keep anything away from you,” he replied irritably, drawing a datapad from a pants pocket. “Yeah, I've got news. Fresh byte over the HoloNet from our last course correction.” I took the device from him, reading the snippet he had keyed up for me. As I did so, a familiar tingling sensation began to tickle at the base of my skull, and I began shaking my head in consternation. “Well, that solves one mystery,” I remarked under my breath. |
February[]
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I step through puddles of… something. It’s almost gelatinous. I have no idea what it is. Smells like home, back on the farm, when my father used to cook over an open fire. It’s a strong smell, and my head starts to spin. Using the wall to guide me, I step from the entrance all the way to the door to the maintenance closet on the left side of the room. If they won’t turn the lights on, I will. My feet wobble under me, hardly keeping my standing. Something’s come over me. I feel weak, and my head is hazy and aches painfully. I shake my head, but I don’t feel any better. “Olan! If you’re in here, this is not funny!” No response. What is going on? Feeling my way to the door, I open the maintenance closet and step inside, carefully avoiding the crates against the wall as I do so. My hands race around the room, groping in the darkness and trying to stand-in for my lack of sight. It’s a pitiful attempt, but I eventually find the generator. Flipping it on, the glowpanels in the room turn on, momentarily blinding me in a burst of radiance. When my sight returned, I wish it hadn’t. |
April[]
Revan studied the top of the doorway, using the Force to inspect the door mechanism. She had a private suspicion that the huge slab of stone would give way and crush her the second she walked under it. After a moment, she felt relatively safe from such an event and let her gaze drift downward. She shuddered and instinctively hugged herself, as though a large pocket of cold air had unexpectedly wafted out through the opening. There had been no actual change in temperature, however. What Revan felt was the tug of the dark side. She looked down. A fog that she hadn't noticed before, a deep, near-black purple in color, had appeared and now clung low to the floor. Though it was thin enough that Revan could easily see the floor through it, the fog looked heavy, swirling lazily like gigantic ocean waves, almost as though frozen in time. Tiny lines of a brighter violet light cracked and sizzled noiselessly within the fog. It all had a hypnotizing sort of effect; just looking at it made Revan want to look at it more, to drink in the otherworldly sight, to explore the secrets of the abyss, but she managed to tear her gaze upward. |
May[]
 “Brace for impact. Gonna be rough,” Jebvui warned them. Samtel tightened his seat restraint, even though he’d already done so about ten times during re-entry. He began counting the seconds until they hit from her announcement, getting to about eight and a half before it happened. It being a jarring crash of the Quick Step. As unpowered crash landings went, it wasn’t bad, as it didn’t kill the entire crew instantly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything remotely close to smooth and innocuous. The jarring impact tore Samtel’s over-tightened strap and hurled him from his seat, sending him flying around the crew lounge along with a motley assortment of other ship fixtures, slamming painfully around as the ship scraped along the surface of the planet. The last thing he remembered was the port bulkhead rushing up at his side much too quickly for his liking. Then there was a sharp pain in his left arm and side, then unconsciousness. |
August[]
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His vision was blurring, and he could barely see clearly past his own hands. Pressing his left hand to his right side where the dragon had hit him, he regretted the decision immediately as a wave of pain and nausea doubled him over. Looking down, he couldn’t even tell which red was his own skin, and which was the flow of blood he felt leaking down his palm and slithering up his forearm. Smelling the blood in the air—not only Tak’s own, but that of some rowdier patrons who had taken to blows for seats—the krayt roared aloud and thrashed its tail toward its fallen prey. Something in Tak warned him, whispered that to crouch down against the pain for even a second longer would be the end of him and he leapt. His jump carried him impossibly high, two or three meters off the ground, and the krayt’s tail crashed into the wall, breaking it open. The screams of the dislodged and crushed patrons were distorted in Tak’s ears; he felt he was listening to them from underwater. He landed badly from his jump, and his knees buckled under him as he came down. Barely managing to catch himself with his left hand before his head would have gone through the floor, the young man pivoted to face the krayt, which was trying to free its tail from the wall. He made to rise, seeing a moment of weakness, but went down again, the rib now jutting out from his side setting his nerves on fire with every second of exposure to open air. It hurt so badly he saw black. It hurt so badly, he saw Tisya. |
November[]
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“You could have spared us a bit of this mess, you know,” the manager, a tall, broad man with a build like a labor droid said gruffly as he reattached another table. “But no, you just sit in the corner and watch.” “The agreement was that I only intervene if someone is about to die,” the woman replied, utterly unperturbed. “And that I help clean the place up afterward.” The manager grunted, then walked away to attend to other matters, muttering under his breath. “Don't mind Feltro,” said the other bouncer from behind, a man named Roal. The woman turned to regard him with veiled eyes; she knew of his employment, but this was the first shift they had worked together since she had signed on two days prior. He was easily twenty years her junior, his lean frame hiding the fact that he could in all likelihood bench-press a Wookiee. His fiery hair was jauntily-cut, his blue eyes darted about the room with a mischievous air, and his grin was almost infectious. “Been grouchy for the last decade, ever since he inherited this little slice of paradise.” “Inherited, you say?” the woman asked, raising a hidden brow. “I was under the impression that he'd bought the place.” “Well, yeah he did,” Roal corrected himself as he helped the woman lift a hologame table back onto its feet. “He inherited a half-share, but he couldn't stand the other owner so much that he bought the poor Gotal out. Rumor says he even bribed a deputy to have the guy deported offworld.” |
December[]
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Jaq was heading for his work chamber, which he affectionately called his "box," to receive and digest a report on one of his latest efforts. Upon passing beneath one such lamp the brown haired, pale-skinned Human was met by a Twi'lek, whose flesh was a rust-red hue and who wore the same dour-looking gray tunic and trousers with a black hooded cloak as he did. The two exchanged comradely nods, the latter with the ghost of a grin tickling at the corner of his mouth. "Lord Malak sends his compliments, Jaq," he said in Huttese. "His emissary has also provided another sample; recently captured, and stuffed neatly into your box." "Well, it's about damn time," Jaq replied in Basic, speaking with just the slightest hint of a lisp as a chortle escaped his lips. "Just when I was about to get bored and see about taking a vacation." “She was a feisty one, too,” the Twi'lek remarked with a chuckle of his own. “You will have to earn your pay with her.” “I always earn my pay,” Jaq declared with mock scorn, then grinned. “Besides, the more they struggle, the more fun I have.” |
2012[]
January[]
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"Tell you what," he said at last. "I'll tell you a story about Malachor. You decide whether it explains it or not. "It happened a very, very long time ago. The exact century has been lost to the ages, but it was around the time when we were pushing beyond the sector of our homeworld, scattering groups of ourselves to the far corners of the galaxy in search of great new planets to conquer and civilizations to battle. "It was a truly great time, you see, because the leader of our people was personally directing one of these grand expeditions. He was called Mandalore the Visionary, and he's one the most shadowy and mysterious figures in our entire history. Some people don't even believe he ever existed. He-" "Did he ever exist?" I asked anxiously. As much as I liked stories back then, I really wanted a straight-up answer from Dad this time. "Shuddup for a minute, will ya? As far as the story's concerned, he existed! "Well in any case, he was called Mandalore the Visionary because that's what he was. Now, as with any important figure from a time so long ago, there's as many different versions of him as there are ways to skin a cannok." I didn't and still don't have any idea what a cannok is. "But just about all of them – well, all the good ones, anyway – paint him as a man with one hell of an imagination... and great with words, too. He could give speeches as well as tell stories. Many of the legends even say he could see into the future. "That helped a lot with telling stories, which was apparently one of his favorite things to do. |
February[]
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The hours passed because they had to. Time was tormentingly dutiful. We did not eat; we barely slept. I sat almost exclusively in a green-padded chair next to the bed, so I could reach the stand with some basic supplies and be within an arm's-length of the bed. The window over my right shoulder offered a little natural light, and the occasional scurrying of nurses in the hallway, just to the left of straight-ahead, broke the monotony. For hours at a time I sat in that chair, aligned with my wife's waist and angled to stare at her face. Alta took up residence on the bench at the foot of the bed, staring longingly up from her mother's feet. When night fell, she simply rolled onto her side and dozed off. A padded bench under the window became an alternate makeshift bed, but we barely used it. Mai periodically awoke but was only partially aware of her surroundings. She sometimes grabed my arm and squeezed as tightly as she could. Each time the grip became weaker and weaker. Her face was drawn and pale. She had not been able to say anything audible since my arrival, but I was not asking for her to say anything. Each time she moaned, as if trying to talk, I wept nearly without control. On occasion, she did muster a few words together. I only wished that she could have one last chance to speak, if this was in fact the end—one last time for her to tell her daughter that she was loved. That's all I desired, should Death's arrival be imminent. |
March[]
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"The demonstration should be made public," said Mra Tarkin, the most important person in my administration. She walked over to me, her hardened glare pierced me. "We need to continue to show the masses what happens to dissidents." "No, it should not. We need not make a public example of her death. The populace is well within our grasp, and the risk of inciting people to turn on us with what I have planned is not worth it. Her demise is more than sufficient. The lifeless body will quell the remaining dissent." Mra snickered and brushed back her brown hair. My advisor's deep eyes seemed to glow at the prospect of having finally completed the process of taking down all vestiges of the former government. The parliament had been dissolved only months ago, and it was a largely popular move, seeing as my faction controlled the legislative body. The leading opposition, the Arrain Makila, was scattered and in exile across the planet—and even the sector. The media, which I run personally, has done an outstanding job convincing the Eriaduan peoples that this event was for the benefit of our society. Hope, change, and progress is our new future. |
May[]
 The booming bass resonated throughout the small club on Coronet, vibrating the very molecules of every structure in the room. Dim red lighting tinted the walls, fading to green and then blue, a cycle consuming the patrons in emotions ranging from lust to envy to peace, reflecting rollercoaster of a tune played. With each pound of the beat, men and women of at least a dozen different species gyrated, pumping their fist, stomping their feet, and swinging to the tempo. Occasionally, a heavily inebriated habitué would spin around in place and topple over from the rush, much to the amusement of their fellow comrades. At the counter, the bartender served drinks, mixing flavors and throwing concoctions into the air to the rhythm of the music. In the background, in a corner booth where the flashing lights barely hit, Labon Sweef leaned his back against the synthetic material of the seats and laid his hands on the table. Labon was just above average height for a man of his stature. His arms were strong, his shoulders broad. His square jaw protruded from his short neck, just above his large Adam’s apple. He was built like a wall, solid and immovable. His squinted, dark eyes scanned the dance floor, the bar, the other booths around him, and concluded he was “invisible”. No one knew, or cared whether he was there. It was the way he preferred. He enjoyed being alone. |
June[]
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We came upon another anomaly as we left this group of tombs. Ten yards out of the circle they formed was another hole, this one not empty. I frowned in puzzlement as Euthsia and I stood on its edge and stared down three heavily decayed human skeletons, broken apart in places and their pieces mingling with each other. It seemed then that my disciple's speculation about the opened tombs was correct. Euthsia looked up after a moment and glanced around, up at the sky which was now dotted with clouds, then at the empty field around us, its only feature the odd spindly tree, tree stump, or rock. I, however, continued to peer down at the age-old corpses. This time, it was I who was lost in thought. "Euthsia?" I said after a moment. "Master?" "Do you remember when you asked me whether I believe that our objective is a man or a beast?" "Yes, I do." I looked up, stretching out again with the Force but still sensing no one else nearby. "I believe that the proper question would be, How much is it man, and how much beast?'" |
September[]
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This would not do at all. This day was supposed to be one of initiation and expansion, the first step into a larger world, and instead it was serving to highlight how deficient he was. He immediately wished that he could go back to his vibroblade, but that was out of the question. Such a move would be considered dishonorable, an admission that he was not nearly as in control of his own power as he had thought – but was that not the truth? Master Greddar had praised his development, and the higher Masters clearly agreed with his assessment, but now that they had actually given him his true weapon, his ability to fight was handicapped. Crippled, even. His thoughts drifted outward to the rest of the enclave, where a few classes of Jedi initiates were performing evening training exercises. Cos Shibatt realized that those Jedi now outclassed him in both speed and elegance. This was embarassing. What good were his years of training to him now? |
2013[]
February[]
 It was at that point that Luke decided to start doing. Relaxing into the embrace of the Force, he let it guide him toward the future, to suggest the place where he ought to be in order to find the next step on the path he had set for himself. It was something he had done before with great success, and he was confident that the same would occur now. The cockpit of the Jade Shadow vanished around him as he closed his eyes, swallowed up in a riptide of images and feelings. Suddenly, his mind blazing with clarity, the Jedi Master's eyes snapped open and, exerting his will, he brought the ship out of hyperspace. "Dad, what the—!" "It's okay, Ben," Luke reassured his son. "How long was I under? "About five and a half hours. I'd just finished eating and was bringing you something when you nearly made me fall face-first to the deck. Here you go." Ben tossed a foil-covered dish of food into Luke's lap. He caught it easily, ripping the cover away and stuffing down the nuggets with his fingers. Barely a minute later, he handed the empty plate back to his son, who pulled a face. "Let's get an idea of where we are," he said, as though he was asking about the weather on Coruscant. Still trying to come to grips with what had just happened, Ben complied in silence, transferring the data to the console before Luke. "This is interesting," the Jedi Master said, smiling to himself. "What, that you just happened to yank us out of hyperspace within spitting distance of a habitable world?" Ben asked incredulously. "Do that again and I might have to revoke your pilot's license." |
April[]
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With the help of the coordinates they’d been given by the tech, Selu and Skip began their search. The coordinates led them into the slums of Quantill City. The narrow streets were drab and the buildings a far cry from the functional yet still elegant embassy compound. Instead of a variety of local cultivars mounted in window boxes, they saw them piled with trash or overgrown with various fungi. The air reeked of refuse and waste, and low overhanging lines that crossed the street between roofs often had objects slung from their lengths dripping a liquid whose origins Selu cared not to contemplate. This was the dark side of Quantill City, the place where their least affluent denizens eked out a living and vice ran rampant. Every city had one; the only difference was how deteriorated conditions were allowed to decay. In this case, pretty far. “We’re almost there,” Selu told Skip. “Get ready.” “Okay,” Skip answered. “I sense someone tucked away in that alley.” “I sense them too,” Selu replied. “Not human.” |
September[]
 Krill’s counselor had recommended that he write down his thoughts and dreams in a journal to be able to get them out of his mind. This would help him process the event and get rid of the torture he suffered from recalling the mission night after night. Krill complied to convince the advisor he was getting better, but the truth was—the journal merely enhanced his thoughts. Krill placed the writing utensil down on his desk and stared at his paper. He had written two pages thus far and could keep going another five if his hand had not started hurting. The pain throbbed in his right wrist as his arm started twitching. He knew he had to stop for a moment, but he feared that if he did, he would lose his train of thought. He had to write. He had to get it out of his mind. He could not dwell on that night. He could not remember it anymore. For three years Krill had dealt with it. Three years was enough. His left arm started twitching. He felt a cold sweat setting in. His breathing hastened. His heartbeat quickened. Krill had to finish his train of thought. Quickly cracking his knuckles and neck, Krill picked up the writing utensil and put it back to his paper. |
2014[]
April[]
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The broadcast had been everywhere on the Royal HoloNet in recent weeks. Renamo had seen it himself at least three times a day, and he only saw the HoloNet at all in the breakroom and at the bars. But it had been short and to the point, and so chilling that it had drilled itself into his memory. The pirate Kilwyo Kesh, having committed numerous and egregious offenses against the people and systems of the Golden Empire, is declared by Her Imperial Majesty Queen Rin the Invincible to be an Enemy of the Empire. Any citizen who can do him harm or bring him to justice is obliged to do so. Kilwyo Kesh. It was impossible, but it had to be. The leader of the Nightside Raiders was here in this dingy bar, standing five meters away without a care in the world. Renamo looked again to make sure—there had been a holoimage of Kesh to go along with the declaration from the Queen—and this time he found the Synnott looking back. |
2016[]
March[]
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The lights were disabled. Although they would have liked to say the darkness made them depend less on their eyes and more on the Force, that wasn’t entirely true. The real reason for the darkness was due to the fact the lighting was permanently disabled in this section of the ship. The lights hadn’t worked for as long as the pair had been in it—admittedly, not long. The Nautolan warrior moved first. His green hands withdrew the metal cylinder resting on his sash and held it near his chest. Extending his reach, the Nautolan flicked a small trigger on the cylinder, revealing the viridian blade of his lightsaber in its radiant splendor. The blade’s subtle glow revealed the Nautolan’s bulbous eyes, head-tresses—dangling like thick locks of hair from his scalp—and illuminated the robes he was wearing. However, the light was hardly enough to pierce the thick darkness around him. His lidless eyes provided acute low-light vision, but it didn’t help him enough. His eyes scanned the otherwise featureless blackness before him. The tips of his fingers danced on the hilt of his weapon, lightly rapping against its metal surface. He wasn’t nervous. He had fought foes far stronger than his current opponent. However, the rush of battle always rattled his emotions. He trained himself to quickly subdue his violent, base emotions and steady the adrenaline rush that threatened to race through his veins. It was almost instantaneous, but it could be quicker. It could always be quicker. |
April[]
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The holo was still trying to piece it together as Lathkapan turned back to the viewport, and felt his own mouth fall open. He could see the newest addition to the unidentified flotilla. The ships were still many kilometers away, the pickets nothing more than pinpricks of light that might have been stars, but he could see this new warship. Thoroughly startled, he whirled around in time to find the holo giving a size comparison, though it was having difficulty outlining the hull of the new ship. The triangular destroyer was not even a quarter its size. "Pull back," Lathkapan commanded, his eyes wide now, but the clamor on the bridge as crewers spoke to one another was too loud. "PULL BACK!" he shrieked, and several of the crew turned to stare. Struggling to maintain his composure, the captain reasoned, "We have to fall back within the range of the guardian moons! Do it!" The silence that followed his commands was deafening, crew members typing input but glancing at him uneasily; Lathkapan could see their confidence plummeting. In the quiet, the comm tech's voice made several jump. "Sir…the hailing frequency…" "I don't think we need to worry about battle warnings now," Lathkapan replied with a slightly hysterical chuckle. "There's no precedent for this!" "No sir," the younger Exoi corrected. He looked at his panel as if it might bite him, then all four eyes turned back up. "They're hailing us." |
May[]
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The man I love is dead. Our son…something far worse happened to him. But that's not what the men and women around me are thinking. To them, a terrible fate that had fallen on a distant world would never be suffered by another. All I can think about is Han Solo—pirate, husband, father—becoming just another casualty in a war that never ends. Yet the celebration goes on. Pilots and soldiers hug one another. They welcome the returning pilots and mourn the dead. All while another hero passes into legend, just as I will one day. In the middle of it all, as the celebration clears, is one solitary girl. Her eyes are wet with the tears of a heartache that no one so young should ever feel. Yet even in her mourning, there's a hope that never seems to die. I don't know her, but I feel like I've known her forever. And so we embrace, comforting one another with the love we have for our friends and family, those we've lost and those who may still be found again. In her eyes, I see myself, the woman I used to be. I see the hope that burned so bright that it fueled the fires of rebellion. And in this moment, my mind wanders. |