Night Sky:: Pt 3::: The Firstfruits

IV
Folded space. The feel of moving yet being completely still. A deep stasis to contemplate the eternity that lies in the dark spaces between the stars. Every ship that moves outside of its own solar system carries one of the wonders of the galaxy: The warp Drive engine. It allows beings from across the galaxy interstellar travel. The darkness between inhabited systems had been eliminated with the coming of this hyperdrive technology. But it did not come alone. With it came the realization that awareness on beings across the galaxy was not meant to inhabited warped space, folded reality. Awareness continues its eternal consciousness. And in that light, the Hyperspace damper came to be.
The Black Raven, being one of the most massive carriers in the Raven arsenal, exuded enormous amounts of energy in both its warp engine and hyperspace damper. Every station, every bunk bed quarters was ensured to protect the minds of its crew. But not hallways or checkpoints.

Her serrated blade cut his uniform. Time started to slow down then. He found he had time enough to look up in to her face. In to her eyes. Hazel pupils that stared at him from across a gulf of empty space and yet close enough to drawn in them. There was hate in those eyes. A stare full of anger and hate that condemned him for what seemed an eternity. He tried to look down again. He should be dead by now, with her serrated blade buried deep in to his chest. He swam in hazel deep waters towards light, up above. He escaped her gaze and looked down expecting to see his own flesh split open. The knife had not yet entered him. Its tip had just touched skin. A drop of deep red, almost burgundy blood burst out of his body. A small drop, barely visibly staining the very tip of her blade. "No," he thought, "Not like this." He looked over the shoulder of the girl in front of him to the floor behind her. There, he saw Sgt. Garth, his blood escaping him in slow, gravity defiant gushes that sloshed out of him towards the wall behind him and up its surface. some drips had managed to reach the ceiling.

-----------------------


At the dawn of the 21st century there were many religions on earth. Humankind was a mishmash o ideologies that pit them in confrontation among themselves. Zealot governments in all continents brought their armies with all their destructive might in to neighbor or far away countries in the name of a god, of freedom and justice. Every side claiming to possess these human faux ideals.
They would have destroyed themselves.
It was only after two hundred years of bloody conflicts in which the global united nations organization would be only a joke and a pitiful observant that the Firstfruits event spread its dark blotted filth across the face of the earth.
The reborns. One of those religions saw its coming in its sacred books. Saying that is Christ risen from the dead, and with him, those in his light become the firstfruits of them that slept and are now risen. The book prophetized that In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.

In the most sacred ancient texts of the powerful religion organization it was that their  god uses the analogy of a people of ancient times called Israel and its agricultural harvests to illustrate important aspects of his plan of salvation—the "harvesting" of mankind, in a sense, in which the resurrection of the dead played a major role. Aspects of this plan are pictured by specific annual festivals and Holy Days, which in turn represent harvest times in ancient earthling tribes ....

Deep in the bowels of the Black Raven Prison Hold. Thirteen hundred Severed Nations humans shared cell space with one of the reborn, a small chuld the Raven infantry had picked up and thought of as sick...

The boy was not sick, he could not get sick anymore. He was undead.

Night Sky:: Pt 2:: Juventus

III

The sky is blue that day. "Good thing I landed this charter job through the hills on such a day", he thinks as he shifts in to a higher gear; It is a good day. It could be said that olden times were best, but he would not say that. He has never known good times, no good old days for him, each and every single time of his long years have been a struggle, a death race or a fight for survival. Childhood on earth used to be all fond memories. Not anymore. Not for at least four hundred years. When the world ended and the dark ones came.

The world as it was known ended. 

The firstfruits were reborn.

The sky is blue today, that is good. the vehicle he drives bounces and slides on the uneven dirt; enormous wheels spin hell bent on getting through the surface of the rolling hills and lightly forested area of the southern parts of Thessalonica. He drives without paying too much attention to his surroundings. Some humans would consider these parts of Earth even beautiful, so long as you keep away of the elder cities and stick to cruising the yellowish grass, the red dirt, or stroll under the shadow of green trees.  Still, he does not mind, but the blue, the blue of the sky is good.

The vehicle he drives is a monster of a truck, several axles and eight wheels. He is not riding alone. There is a humanoid sitting next to him; but he does his best to ignore his presence, because, well... because next to him to him on the open cockpit vehicle sits one called Lt. Riley; an alien,  a damned Crovite, The Law. He has lived enough to have seen his share of the galactic law enforcers known as Raven. Mostly aiding the Federation of United Nations on earth but god knows why; they could have just as easily decide to throw their lot in with the Severed Nations.

He drives. He ignores his Raven co pilot, he just wants to get there as soon as possible. Being in the open during the day was a risk, awe inspiring though the day might be; but now the day was fading, and the blue of the sky deepening, darkening, growing even more beautiful, in his opinion.  He is fifty years old and he has ever known this life; The life on earth reborn.  A life in which a federation of nations, The Feredarion, represents earth amongst the myriad of races, species and filth of  the galaxy at large. this United Federation of human nations does not comprise the whole of the human species; There is the Severed Nations, humans that were left resenting, left behind to die, denied their human birthright, made outcast. One could never know where or when the terrorist countries of the Severed Nations would attack a city, destroy a convoy, bomb a peaceful colony; or at least that was what it was commonly said on the Federation controlled cities.

But those are not the complete human kind, are they? No, there was also Them: The whispers, The shadows, The lurkers in the night called The Firstfruits by fanatics of old beliefs. There were few of them now, about to be eradicated by both Federation and Severed Nation forces;  but still they roamed and haunted the alleys and dark places of some olden abandoned cities. Like the one just a few kilometres from where they were right now: Toulouse. 

He shifts uncomfortably on his seat as he glances on the direction of the city, "You know, Lt. Riley, this is not very safe" He says without much interest in actually engaging in conversation with the alien. "That city up there, can you see the towers and buildings?". Lt. Riley turns his metallic orbs he calls eyes towards him, "Yes Mr. Juventus, I can see it," The Crovite replies while staring and unnerving him, "I also know its called Toulouse and I could tell you about  four hundred years of its history and that of these parts you now call Thessalonica" His gray eyes deprived of pupils do not quit, he stares as if to make madmen of all humans, starting with him, and continues, "We will be safe from The things called Firstfruits for a few more hours; do not worry my friend, I will protect you in any eventuality, for you are now under the protection of Raven by order of the Federation of United Nations. Nothing will come to harm us.” He adds with a little smile on the corner of his lips.

He stares back at the alien’s face. The resemblance to humans was uncanny. What could possibly had come about in the universe for something like two species millions of light years apart evolve to basically the same anthropomorphic appearance? He had discussed this at length with Charles, back at the Federation head quarters in Thessalia. But he did not dwell too much on it. The answers frightened him something fierce. So He continues to drive in silence and time seems to hang, to slow and float about him as the sun starts to acquire a golden tint.

He turns the wheel on his all terrain vehicle to avoid a segment of the dirt road that had been flooded, he is sure it could pass trough puddles without effort; but getting dark, and not sure of the depth counts as an unnecessary risk in his book, and he always kept that book open when on a job. He does not slow down, but applies pressure on the pedal instead. They round a yellow grass hill that is starting to turn golden in the setting sun as they drive by; The vehicle does not slow down its frantic race, and at the bend in the road just after the golden hill, they now see the lights and buildings of their destination: Thessalia, the largest Federation city on these parts. His job is about to be concluded. The deal was to take the alien from a northern Federation landing site and in to the city’s Federation building, receive some form of package in return to take back north to Stuttgart’s Federation facilities.

The city comes closer. Its towers loom. Its lights flood the surrounding hills and forests. He takes the vehicle off the dirt road and in to the pavement of the City’s main street. A walled city, like most of them are in the world today. He had seen pictures of those cities mankind used to have, four maybe five hundred years before. Not the same. He had not known good old times. He drives through city blocks laden with  tall spires of buildings creating canyons of concrete and steel; and in those canyons and through them people lazed about in apparent tranquillity. Yes, the world that the Federation had created after the chaos of the old world seemed best, just seems best; safe from the dark ones, safe from the Severed Nations.

He veers off the main street and navigates through neon lighted  streets. After a few turns and twists, they arrive at a tall building with glass panels on all sides and on all floors. The eagle symbol of the federation adorns the entrance in gleaming silver metal just above the doorway in to the main lobby. Just above the metal eagle, and also in gleaming silver letters, the word VALOR can be read. A word that strikes not only fear but also hate, respect, honour and courage on the people of earth, depending on where you are standing when you see it. Valor, the military arm of the Federation. Worthless pieces of shit in his opinion. But he is not here to make opinions, but to escort this alien in to tht Valor building and specifically in to the offices of one LTG. Morris.  

They walk down the silvery aisle in to the main lobby. The turbolift takes them to one of the highest floors. He remains silent when they exit the lift and walks without a word trough the destination aisle until they are in front of the office of this Lieutenant General Morris. Riley glances at him before entering the office, “Mr. Juventus, if I might say so, I appreciate your transportation service and I can see you are a man of both honour and courage, some of the most desirable characteristics found in earthlings.” He smiles under those metal orbs of eyes. “ I meant to ask you before, while on the road, but did not find the gall." Juventus shifts his body and feet under the uncomfortable stare of Lt. Riley, "but How does my Earthspeak sound to you?”. The Crovite continues and smiles apparently in earnest.

 He does not respond. He looks down and up the aisle they are in, it is empty. He tries to restrain his arms, but it is in vain. With a forceful shove, he takes both his arms up and grasps the Crovite’s head with all his strength. His arms bulge from tensed muscles, He stares right in to those gray eyes. “Listen, Lt. Riley, if that is even your name,  we are about to be done here, and I’ll be one happy maggot  once I’m rid of you. But you want to know how your Earthspeak sounds?” He takes both his thumbs and starts applying pressure on the alien’s eye sockets. He does not know why he is so enraged, or perhaps he does, having learned the purpose of the Ravens visit on earth’s orbit one or two nights ago, just before he landed the charter job. 

He knows the Crovite can easily snap his spine in two with his bare hands, rumours said they could lift a transport vehicle in combat, and some have been seen leaping up to second or third stories. He does not care. Severed Nations or not, those were humans they were about to take on board an alien ship in to god knows what destination. “It sounds like the wailings of an unnatural space creature trying to smile from behind a flesh mask.” He regains control and lets go of the Crovite’s head. He walks down the aisle, back towards the turbolift without looking over his shoulder. The Crovite massages his head and eyes in soft movements of his hand as he watches him go back down the hallway. 

He does not care about the job anymore. Payment be damned, he would request a funds transfer later on. He also does not care about the package to be transported back north; next assignment be double damned, He thinks as he enters the turbolift. He takes a deep and long look in to the city around him through the glass walls of the lift as it slides down level after level. The city shines, a luminous living entity. And now, suddenly, after fifty years, to him, Mikael Juventus, former member of Valor, chief of operations of the Red-eye transport Co. The city also resembles a huge metal monster.

It is late.. He sits on a bar stool in the darkest joint he could find. He has to wait until morning comes to drive back north. The music is a loud and horrible electronic garble. He would never understand music not performed by acoustic instruments. He glances up again. It is late. Perhaps too late. But no, after a long drink, he glances upward again, and through a clear glass ceiling.. there it is. IT is not too late,  looking upwards he can see an enormous space shuttle bearing the symbol of the Raven. A few kids on a booth behind him clap and cheer as they too look up. “Look, a Raven craft”, they say as if they were seeing a chariot of a god. He tries his best not to punch those kids in the face. After what he has done that night, that would be an easy job.

After leaving the Federation building he had roamed the streets for some time. Night had come and still he had been roaming aimlessly at first, but then, slowly and unconsciously his steps had taken him to where he knew was  the Federation prison. As a former officer in Valor, he had known when and how to approach the facility. Then he had found them. The prisoners. Her.

There, everything had begun.

He glances up and sighs. “Good luck girl”. He says in a hushed tone as he gets up and transfers credit to the bartender for his drinks. He stumbles towards the door, but his mind is racing with the possibilities and enhanced by alcohol. He leaves the bar and exits out in to the night sky, where the stars are no longer identifiable from orbiting  ships and carriers. But that particular night the stars were shining in all their glory. Drunk, he continues to stare at the night sky, waiting to double check if he is actually seeing stars or stationary ships.

They are stats.

No ships in orbit that night, but one. A massive Raven carrier up there somewhere in the night sky.

The same night sky to where a thousand human souls were being taken off world right now. 

Night Sky:: Pt 1.

Night Sky

I


For a whole century now the darkness between moon and earth have been defeated; replaced with the reflections of the sun on metal and chrome, and the constant traffic lights of endless carriers, freighters, and other vessels lining up to pass on Earth's outer station stationed on its faithful moon. Only on some rare occasions incoming earthbound traffic was diverted to check points on Venus or Mars. This was such an occasion, and the reason: an enormous Raven Starfleet carrier stationed just off the moon.


The carrier hummed and vibrated in the emptiness of space, its massive engines plain visible from viewports on Luna station, rivalling with the brightness of the sun. Its endless stations of comms arrays, cannon emplacements and observation decks made the Luna base small by comparison. The gleaming white metal of the ship hummed and vibrated in the engine's final phase to enter warp. The vibrations stirred moon dust all around the lunar station.


There is no turning back now. He tied to keep his steps on the command deck sure and strong despite the trembling on the metal surface. He kept walking towards the front of the bridge; he could see Earth on the view screen and its moon on every window panel as he approached the from rows of seats and control stations where at least 15 other flight officials prepared the jump drive. "All systems ready commander", "All channels open sir", "Ready to disengage docking clams Cap'n", "Course laid in sir", he could hear these voices echoing each other with pre launch procedures all over the command deck. And he could sense in the middle of it all, a stoic, tranquil, white haired man staring at the viewport, receiving all the information, but not letting out any sound or motion. He could see the man as he approached the front of the bridge. He has never been on the bridge of a cruiser before and he found it hard not to look as a rookie as he approached the captain of the vessel.


The man turned his head towards him. The bridge went instantly silent, as the at least fifteen other crewmembers expected the words of their captain as soon as he moved a muscle. "Are the prisoners secure Lt. Riley?" With a fluid motion, he saluted the captain and confirmed his question. He could not find it in himself to look the man straight in the eye, and that made him feel small and inadequate. Gathering courage, he spoke again. "Aye sir, all thirteen hundred souls secure". "Very well Lt. return to your station and inform your men that the jump to Tartarus is imminent."


He retracted his steps with strong strides. It was the first time he talked to one of the senior officers in his brigade; no, not just only a senior officer this one, but also a senior Crovite. Rumours around the ship had the captain at three hundred years now. He could not say for sure by looking at the man if this was true, and he never liked to pay heed to rumours, but something in those lavender slightly glowing eyes put him off. As a norm, the Crovos people had no pupils and metallic orbs for eyes; dull, metallic orbs that some how terrified earthlings, or at least the few he had come in close contact with. Without a word, he stepped outside the bridge and in to the turbolift that would take him some fifty levels below, to the cell levels.




II


"They were loaded like cattle in to the slaughterhouse. Not a single one of us said or did anything. The world is theirs. It has always been theirs." The girl thought while kneeling in the dark. "When did it come to this...?"


The characteristic hiss of air pressure changing snapped her back in to attention; the heavy security airlock doors were opening. Two pair of heavy boots were walking down the aisle towards her. She kneeled in the darkened chamber, unmoving, frozen not in terror but in cold blooded anticipation. The lights on the small chamber turned on automatically at sensing the genetic trace of the men entering. "No, these are not men, as much as they look like us". She shifted her position behind a security desk filled with panels and controls for the prison block that spanned three levels below of the gargantuan carrier.


The security checkpoint chamber was small by the standards of the rest of the ship. A massive window portal displayed a somewhat disappointing view of jet exhausts and lights of the endless traffic lane trying to approach ear, disappointing to all except true spacers that know an undeniable truth: you cannot longer see stars so close to a planet's orbit as easily as by looking out a window. Lt. Riley turned the corner from the turbolift aisle and in to the chamber; a few steps put him next to the small space where the security desk was. He was followed by Sgt. Garth. Riley glanced over his shoulder at Sgt. Garth; These names were ridiculously out of Crovite regularity, but as a law enforcement body, it was necessary to adopt a more human name, humans being the predominant scourge on the galaxy. Still, riley missed his Crovite ascendance: The Crovos were by no means a petty race. Regal and elegant, their black, greyish, or purplish eyes without pupils marked them as mysterious beings.


“Sgt. Garth, would you be so kind as to turn off the security protocol to access the lower levels”, said Riley as he turned his gaze on the enormous window that covered the entire right hand wall of the small chamber. “I need to run a final inspection before the...” he was cut off by a ghostly reflection on the view port: the ghostly image of a lithe, muscular girl and the impossible thing she was about to do. Riley had barely time to turn and see the right hand of the girl as it rose towards the neck of Sgt. Garth, which would be perfectly alright any other time and place. But right there and then it was the least and most terrible thing Riley could have never thought it would happen to him. The girl was, for starters, clearly a human, not Crovite, and furthermore, her jet black hair and hazel eyes marked her as a member of the Severed Nations, a human race which happens to be the same race as thirteen hundred souls trapped in the bowels of the Black Raven, the cruiser he was in.


He started for his DL-44 blaster pistol just as the girl flashed a vicious looking serrated knife; she then took Sgt Garth by the hairs on the back of his head and pulled hard; looking up and not knowing what was about to begin, Sgt. Garth felt the serrated edge of the girl’s knife ripping flesh and tissue, felt the warm blood drenching his chest in a second and for a moment he wondered at the tingling sensation on his legs and arms, wondered at not seeing a spray of blood as he would have expected, but a silent, bountiful gush cascading all over his chest, legs and drenching his boots; then he just felt his knees buckle as darkness took him. Crovite blood was also a deep glorious dark red.


The girl screamed as blood emanated from the Crovite’s neck. She fixed her eyes on the other alien that came in to the chamber and pounced on him as he levelled his blaster pistol. She won the hand by being the fastest. With a fluid motion, she slapped the blaster out of his hand and aimed for the kill; As she was about to dig her serrated blade in to his chest, something happened she neither expected nor felt before; both their bodies lurched and trembled while they struggled, both their existences collapsed on to themselves; they both slammed against the bulkhead behind her, right next to the door that led to the prison levels below.


Black Raven, the massive cruiser star ship had finished its countdown and engaged its warp jump in to a distant part of the galaxy...

It's Allright...

That's all right, if I'm stupid, It's all right. I used to do drugs. Now I do games and all sort of bullshit. Kills my mind. If I'm stupid I don't have to do it. I don't have to face it and live with it. If I'm stupid, it's better.

So he walked down the street thinking. He thought too much sometimes, this man... er... I mean, this boy. All the city around him screamed at him as he walked, buildings opened their huge mouths spewing curses and thruths at his face. He just ignored it all.

But at the end of the day, he just came back again to actually face it... the blank page and the cursor tilting, tantalizing, fucking with him. So he typed away, trying to beat the white.

Just trying to beat the white...

Star Wars: A Jedi's tale. Chapter IV

IV
　
He decided to try the bars first. As the night advanced he was getting nowhere. He went in to the third joint of the night. Different from the others, more “upper” class; there was even a weapons sensor that went off as soon as he crossed the threshold. A recorded voice went off near his head. “Welcome to The White Pearl, please deposit your weapons in the bin, they will be well cared for”. Followed by a storage bin that opened up on a wall on his left. He placed his Death Hammer in it and got an electronic token in return. Good, the lightsaber was not scanned.
　
　
As he walked in to the place, he extended his senses, drawing from his emotions, he let himself go in to the myriad of emotions, thoughts and feelings. Almost every table was occupied, and he could sense thoughts of sadness, joy, celebration, concealment, deceit, and betrayal. Curiosly, in such a place, all emotions were somewhat dampened, slanted, and the patrons surely preented composed and calm faces to one another. He opened his eyes, dozens of beings moved about; the greatest concentration of species was around a sabacc table at the bak of the bar. The holographic dealer was explaining the house rules to about four players; and twenty odd onlookers. is gaze stopped there. He senses someone watching him intently from that area, and whoever it was, it was very shocked and surprised at his entrance. He had hit the jackpot.
　
　
　
He walked to the bar, and asked for mint liquor. Alema’s favourite. The drink made him somewhat nostalgic. He picked it up after paying for it and moved between small black tables made of something resembling carved wood. There was a band playing some tune rag time. He looked over to the musicians and spotted a humanoid with four arms going at a wooden piano completely enthralled by his own playing. He smiled and came closer to the sabacc table. As he neared it, the sense of that someone’s surprise and awe, turned in to terror and aggression, He could feel it directed at him. looking straight in to the holographic dealer, he scanned his front arc of vision for the face tht matched the feeling and could not make it out. The hatred directed at him became stronger.
　
　
　
“Yes Oreth, hate can be powerful, but also, love is equally strong” It’s dawn. They cannot see the sun on their westward window. On Coruscant, the sun rises on the east, funny enough. This is when they came together for the first time. She lies in bed next to him, the top half of her body lies leisurely uncovered, the white sheets loosely slip down to her stomach. Her naked skin resembles the peaceful seas in the bluish light of the coming morning. He turns and caresses her. He is drinking mint liquor; but her words are a far more fulfilling and potent draught, and he drinks from her by long desperate gulps. “They are the same heavy coin, the metal from which they are crafted is unbreakable; one face of the coin caresses and kisses with powerful force and energy” She turns to him and strokes his head tresses, then kisses his cheeks, his lips. “the other face bites, barks and mauls with the same relentless energy” She turns from him, gets up and starts to don her Jedi outfit.
　
　
　
Her under tunic slides gracefully, then her outer tunic. He gets up and takes her sash, helps her place it around her waist, seizing the moment to hold her one last time. “But master... Alema...“ He feels a tingling in his chest at using her fist name, “if they are the same energy, how can love conquer hate?” She smiles, “Now its not the time for that lesson, now focus Oreth“ she continues as her face grows darker, “remember today. Today, life is good. Drink the mint liquor, and look at its bluish colour. Look for the bluish colour Oreth, behind the veiled faces, the bluish colour of a pair of eyes.” He does not understand, he feels this is another of Alema’s teachings. Even now, after the moment they shared, she cannot help but to fall in to her role as the master. She steps away from him and walks to the balcony, “Oreth, you will die under the bright jewel if you do not learn to use the visions of the past.”
　
　
　
He raised his glass, the bluish colour of the liquor cast dancing figures in his eyes. The force was acting now, through her teachings through him and through their... love. A sudden commotion began in the bar, behind the sabacc table, at the far end from Oreth. He saw them then, a pair of ice blue eyes, looking at him intently, then those eyes were aware of his realization. Patrons started to move away. other ran. “No blasters!” some one shouted. But the warning came too late. In a desperately fast movement, faster than Oreth had seen on a non sensitive, the man with the ice coloured eyes drew and let off two bolts of red death. He was ready for him. He was unconsciously aware of him the whole time, and his lightsaber ignited in a green buzzing sound with the frenzy of battle at the hiss of the blade.
　
　
　
He stopped the first two bolts. The man began to run backwards and shot wildly at him. His lightsaber danced in wide arcs left and right, keeping the red blaster bolts from panicked patrons and sabacc players. The green blade then spun and moved forward; he ran after the man avoiding his very fast blaster shots. this man was definitely dangerous, fast and deadly. He had to get him away or put him down for good. A blaster bolt aimed at the front entrance activated a pair of security blaster emplacements that came down from the ceiling. This man definitely knew this place and its secrets. Oreth spun wildly, ducked and raised his green blade. He was a blur of brown flowing robes and green energy.
　
　
　
Drawing from the Force, He crushed the gun turrets by closing his hand in a fist. He caught a brief moment where the assailant was isolated from innocent standbys and drew his arm backwards, palm opened; he then thrust his hand forward and the Firce did the rest, it responded with an incredible energy that Oreth was not aware he possesed. He truly was being fuelled by Daneela’s memory, Alema’s love and his own betrayal to the order and what it stood for. The force push sent the man flying back in a blur of black clothes and wild blaster bolts. The guy kept firing his weapon as he flew to the nearest wall and smashed against it.
　
　
　
　
You don’t get to die on me!. He thought as he ran to the still body lying by the entrance weapon storage bins. By now, all patrons were darting to the exit, crowding it, and the storage bins spilled their contents. Oreth stood over the downed man. He was face down, still holding his blaster. An Aratech. He force moved the weapon away from the inert hand, crouched by the body and turned him.
　
　
　
At first he thought he was seeing some force vision. Even though Alema had helped him master and control them, she also repeated constantly that his eyes could betray him, and not to trust them. Well, now he was sure he could not. Tehe face of the unconscious shooter was that of a boy, not more than seventeen years of age, human. The boy opened his eyes a little; Oreth stood there watching unbelieving, at a set of brown eyes. “Wha... what happened...” said the boy. Oreth stood up immediately and surveyed the place around him over and over, choking a cry of rage and frustration. What HAD happened?
　
　
　
Humans and Rodians for the most part, with some of the other domiant races sprinkled here and there, were crowding the entrance, some were arguing about ownership of the blasters and weapons spilled on the floor from the storage bins. The back of the bar was empty. The sabacc table was overturned, its holographic dealer still bidding the next player to either up the ante or fold. The Oreth turned to the bar; the attending barmaid, a human in her middle aged years lay dead over the counter. a blaster bolt burning the flesh on her face. Behind her, a door to a kitchen and storage room stood broken out of its hinges, its locked burned off.
　
　
　
No, not burned off; as Oreth came close to the bar counter, he could clearly see the door had been sliced open. Lightsaber work.
　　

Turan:: Chapter I:: At The temple Of Vril Ya. II

II

　

The trip had begun some days before; at sunset of some seemingly far away day now, some day detached from their existence, their reality. The riders thundered their way through communities, farms and hamlets, until they sped past the last of the prosperous and more civilized settlements; they sped like purple shadows in the night. They drew the looks and attention of some of the less than respectable folks of the towns and villages that were out in the night air. Some of those looks were more fearful than threatening, for it was known the iron hand grip by which the Turanian imperial forces imposed the light of the Imperium. It was not common place to behold three hooded riders wearing the imperial purple and gold crest, without even stopping for beer, women or lodging, which soldiers frequently took from the townsfolk without paying for them, of course.

　

Helmut frowned upon these imperial soldiers, most of the bulk of the army behaved like so; because they take for granted that the only payment soldiers should give to civilians is the protection and imposition of the imperial law and order to protect the last bastion of civilization against the coming tides of madness from the other kingdoms. Even so, imperial troops were respected and some might say even loved. No single thing is denied to the servants of the Emperor; for he is, by His own conviction, servant of His vassals as well. Helmut believed and admired the Emperor because of that conviction; he loved Him from the very core of his soul.

　

The riders had made their first stop at seeing the sun rise on what would be their second day of journeying under a grey shadowy sky. They brought their horses to a halt near an inn they spotted next to the main imperial road. At that time, Helmut was still reluctant to accept his two assigned companions enough to share a table with them; and so he went in to the inn most to his displeasure, and ready to skulk in a table by some darkened corner. The building had three stories; its facade was red painted wood; and it had an attached small stable in which Helmut could see a hallway connecting the two structures. The interior, of course, was a dump. It stank of beer and sweat, the floor was covered in sawdust and wood shaving, a cheap trick to save cleaning time from all sorts of liquids. The place was nothing like the inns in the city of Turania, with its polished marble floors and scented table decorations.

　

The time at the inn had gone without incidents. Aside from a couple of local drunkards and a small, curious old man that fired endless questions to the riders, there had been no problems. It had been a very good first step. They fed on Imperial coin for their own soldier pay would have barely bought them a pea soup and a mug of barley beer for the three of them. On their travel, Helmut had already observed with disgust how these traders and dealers in goods over priced their wares; the farther from they were from the capital, the more expensive things got in the lands where the fist of the empire did not have a good grip, where its light did not diffuse the dark. Helmut would have to report this, and would have to make sure to send an armed garrison escorting an imperial accountant to settle on these lands. Of course, he had to get back to the capital alive, first.

At the inn, his companions had ordered a steamed ham and the house wine; all accompanied by black olives, dry cheese and fresh baked bread. All of which they devoured like true orcs; one of them in particular seemed to have a fierce appetite: little Krista; she had such a hunger that made Helmut smile at seeing her small round cheeks bloat with every mouthful, and her tiny pointy ears bob up and down with each bite. Helmut guessed that moment was when he had started to like "the midget" as he had taken up to calling her; even though she made furious tantrums every now and then about her not being a midget human, but a gnome. A very irritable one at that, had thought Helmut, not only in one occasion.

　

Helmut had hopes that Krista Greenmoss deserved all the respect she seemed to inspire in the imperial soldiers; they all talked to her with the uttermost honourable tone Helmut had heard among even the grunts. Still, he had found it hard to believe. He had seen how even at the tower of the order of Ix, the initiates in the traditione streghana regarded her with admiration. But on the other hand, he still had a fresh memory of how a captain master of arms smiled with mockery and disdain in his eyes when her little figure of not much than one and a half meters tall was announced to be one of Helmut's companions.

　

He felt cheated then; how was he supposed to go in to blood, steel and darkness and comeback unscathed, bearing a light to shun all other lights in the world if that little rat was hanging from his cloak all the time? Could they not have picked at least someone with the height of an adult humanoid? as it turned out, the midget was fine; and during their first meal together at the inn, watching her gulp huge chunks of steamed ham, Helmut felt akin to her, though he some what knew that when saw more than meets the eye; she gave the impression of knowing more about this infernal search than she let out.

　

So, instead of brewing and steaming in mistrusts, Helmut had attempted to distract himself by killing a huge amount of flies, though not a portion of how many flooded the place; while at the same time eating large mouthfuls of ham, cheese and bread, drowning them with rice water. Not beer; he would never allow himself such indulgencies. He could not. The risk of losing his mind to the inheritance in his blood had always been too near, and it would be insanity to add intoxicating substances in to the mix. As he ate, an elderly human had come up to him. At first, Helmut dismissed the old man

　

The old man seemed very interested on why were the travellers visiting the old inn by the imperial road so far south from the capital, where the action was. He had heard the rumours of rebellion and encroaching of borders from the other seven kingdoms and nothing of interest was happening in the south; so why were they there? the old man kept asking. Helmut, patiently and without using the craft, had tried his best to impress on him that it was not a visit for any affair of the small nearby communities; he had told him time and again that they were merely refreshing and getting the horses rubbed down and rested. the old man was not satisfied. Amongst endless questions he had tried to convince Helmut to take his grandson as squire.

　

Only when he old man had gone too far and tugged at Helmut

　

At that moment, Helmut had seen the old man pass a bitter gulp, stare at him for just a second, turn and exit the establishment without looking back. The boy looked back however. Perhaps that should have been a warning sign; one that Helmut ignored. He smiled bitterly and tired, then he looked upon his companions, they had not been aware of any of it.

　

The imperial order of ix had been his only escape from the wilderness without home; an escape from roaming the wilds, sleeping on cold stone by fires that do not provide warmth. Though that particular day at the inn, his inheritance had allowed him to keep on swatting flies and stuffing his mouth with ham and cheese, without any other curious onlooker to pester him or the two girls he was with.

　

A little after sun up; they had made sure the horses were well rested, scrubbed, oiled and rubbed; once this was done; they left, without a sound but the gold coind tinlking in the stable boy’s questions, and even had attempted to dissuade him of pursuing his inquiries.“He’d serve you well m’lud, he’s a stubborn boy, but strong and able” he had said one too many times, so Helmut had sized the boy up. It was a small lad of about fifteen springs, that apparently had nothing interesting to look at except the interior of the old man’s robe, which he did not let go, through the entire time. Grandpa was very insisting on taking his lad to be instructed ads an imperial soldier, for apparently, the man had cleverly noticed the colours the companions bore, though they had tried to hide them beneath stained dusty coloured travelling robes.’s robe was when he finally abated; he had seen what was beneath the hood for it slipped down halfway to his neck and revealed his features, his fangs, the greyish tone of his skin, and his half-blood that was impossible to hide in plain sight. Those piercing small, black eyes that seemed to pierce with a sharp sparkle, that huge body mass, muscular neck and arms; it only spoke of one thing, a thing that walked always hand in hand with scimitar curved blades and horrors told village after village: orcs.“This is better”, thought the half-orc. It’s better to fear the big bad monster, to avoid him and only look at him indirectly. Helmut preferred loneliness, the hood over the eyes; to hide and be hidden, to forget his blood an ascendancy; the mix that had doomed him to struggle twice as hard as any other being. To be half human demanded that he’d be more than any human; and to be half orc demanded him to be better than any orc; but never really belong to either race, always shun by both heritages.’s hands. Only the gallop and breathing of their horses could be heard on the road when they sped southwards.

Star Wars:::: A Jedi's Tale. Chapter II: There is No Emotion...

He stood long in the cleaning facility, with his apartment around him in silence and darkness. He could barely see his silouhette in the mirror; all he could see were her eyes as she was dying, the red stains of blood rage dancing in front of his eyes, becoming larger, engulfing him until nothing around him existed. Pure blind rage. It had all been his fault, he had killed her. If only he had been better trained, or if the council had not sent him, he had told them! His fury was a fire within him, a fire he could tap on. He could get them, all of them, specially the assasin, the dark figure, he could wave one hand and the force would be there with him, ready to crush them all. He felt it more likely with each passing second. Her death was to become the fuel that would make him unstoppable. He had it in his hands. He hade never been so ready until now.
Why didn't his master taught him this power? Why were padawans being shun from this potential? They could master it, they would not succumb to the dark side if their intentions remained noble. What is the importance of tapping in to this source when done for the right of the republic, ot in the name of the people that they cared about... Why deny a base emotions that all sentient life forms share? Is it not denying strong emotions also denying the very essence of what make them being with soul and awareness?
No, he had to remain calm, but he was losing that battle. He had to focus, remember the way he started. Let out resentment of what was not taught to him aside. Remember what he did learn. Where he came from. He was never meant to be a Jedi anyway, he was part of the AgriCorps, not a padawan to be knighted. Still, if he had recieve better teachings... If only...
He breathed, trying to focus all of his being in to breathing, in and out. He walked out of the cleaning room and in to his couch by the window. He finished his drink, collecting his thoughts. There must be something he can do. He thought about going back to the spaceport hangar where the representative of the council would surely still be, he may not have taken off yet. He definitely would need to get out of his apartment, they would be coming here for him, in time, and in force. He sighed and looked around his place. He was growing fond of it. Life was so much simpler before; before his master found him and took him from the AgriCorps.
Dantooine had been peaceful, meaningful.
It is morning on another world, another time. A peaceful world. He is young, a young Nautolan out of his enviroment. He is standing outside the jedi enclave in a low hill overlooking the fields of crops on the northern agricultural sector of Dantooine. He has been there for over a year, working all over the planet in using his force sensitive talents. He had focused his better work inside the enclave, allowing beautiful plants to grow out of their normal sizes, bringing species from other worlds to enhance the beauty and peace of the Jedi's inner sanctum in Dantooine. The place was old, rebuilt, and the plants he was helping with made it even more beautiful.
He had not been chosen as an apprentice by the age of thirteen, so he had limited options. So, in spirit of his affinity for nature and things that grow, he volunteered for the Agricultural Corps assignement. He had been brought from Coruscant to Dantooine under the authoriy of the Council of Reassignment, working in conjunction with the Republic Agricultural Administration to provide healthy crops to those under-privileged star systems suffering from natural disasters or blight.
Dantooine had been in rebuilding ever since the days of the old sith wars. the Jedi enclave was now in full splendor, its inner courtyards, and hallways finished with wooden walls, made any holo recording of the ages past pale in comparison. In these days, the AgriCorps also attract ranking members of the Order who wish to take a more hands on approach to helping the common people of the galaxy.
A few days before, he had met Alema Mon-Rahs, a human; full Jedi knight on a volunteer tour of the AgriCorps. The encounter had caused a huge stir in the young Nautolan's emotions. He wanted to talk to her for as long as she had patience for him. It had been a great few days; doing tours of the farms and farmlands, settling new ones to provide work for unemployed populaton, and treating seeds and plants for a better growth, while at the same time just drilling the Jedi knight with questions. Alema had been happy to oblige him with all manner of anwers ranging from what sort of life a full knight leads, to the manners of training a new padawan learner goes through, and even to the current political tensions with the taxation of trade routes that, apparently, had caused some blockades in peaceful planets by the trade Federation. Every time you step on some one's purse, it is the peaceful planets with no armies that pay the price. Nevertheless he and Alema were confident that Jedi ambassadors would put an end to these blockades happening all over the Republic, acting under the orders of Chancellor Valorum.
He had learned a lot, and he only wanted to learn more.
As he stands in the outside of the enclave, the speeder that is to take him to the offices of The Council of AgriCorps Masters in Dantooine shows itself coming up the hill and stopping in front of him, he feels optimistic and light hearted. With the Force on his side, this meeting will change his life. He had been summoned for a reason, and he had strong feelings that he knew what that reason was.
The landspeeder stops in front of him. He quickly boards it and the driver pulls off, towards one of the largest enclaves of the northern sectors, which contains most of the civic and public offices of the Republic. As they speed through the olive, golden and tan fields, he remembers exploring this part of the planet for the first time, and being specially amazed by walking the corridors and admiring the ruins of an ancient Jedi Temple, its echoes and ripples through the force still palpable after the ages have passed.
Morning is not yet over when the vehicle speeds away after dropping him in the civic enclave. He directs his steps in to the offices of the Corps Masters. He is delighted to see the strong and elegant shape of Alema Mon-Rhas enveloped in her Jedi robes, standing just outside the Corps office. they greet each other with a peaceful sense of belongness, as if they both know where the events of the day are going. He steps in to the office with Alema on his side, and in doing so, his life changes.
Inside there are three more Jedi knights talking with the Agri Corps master on Dantooine. He can see a screen with his dossier displaying information on his life, they definitely had been discussing him. They reach a conclussion. They tell him he is to leave off back to Coruscant. Tehy tell him the council has granted special permission for him to be trained as a padawan.
They tell him he is to become a Jedi, knight of the Republic.
The galaxy has endless number of species, planets and sectors that had not been explored or brought in to the Republic. Destiny, fate or The Will of The Force is always in motion, however, and the energies that bind people together, that direct events seeminlgy in a random faashion; also tie the knots of pain, suffering, and the winds of the Force blow people's lives away to fulfill its will. The Will of the Force is unkown, even to the most learned Jedi Masters.
Such a wind was blowing in deep space; in the unknown regions. A smuggler ship had inadvertely encountered a species of sentient beings not seen in the Republic for countless years, and now thatpast encounter had made the wheels of the Will o The Force turn once again.
In his apartament at Ord Mantell, the Jedi sat gathering his thoughts, calming his emotions, recollecting better days under the sun of Dantooine, and his inner eye did not show him a red and purple nebula, beautiful to behold, and what that nebula frames in the deep regions of space. A massive star cruiser, gleaming under the light of the nearest sun, its white metal body of incredible power sits still, silent, menacing not only by the sheer bulk of its size, but also because of its numerous emplacements of turbo laser artillery.
There is no space station, satellite or trade route in the vicinity that could pick up its menacing readings. Its interior hallways are red carpeted with blueish walls. The life support systems working in perfect condition by maintaining low levels of oxygen and a cold temperature, comfortable for the specific needs of the race that inhabits whithin its walls.
In the captain's quarters, the decoration is stoic, and spartan, but not deprived of some small strategic luxuries, like the newly installed holographic display of every star system recorded in the Republic's databases. The room is darkened, only the glow of this beautiful technology lights the face of the man controlling it; A technology stolen for the captain of this ship from Coruscant by Viggo Alexi's operatives; The black Sun. The captain, a tall, blue skinned man surveys parts of the galactic map at will, changing star systems aftehr the other, zooming in to planetary, continental, and city views, then zooming out to galactic view again.
He is interrupted by the sound of his hatch opening, and the sudden flood of hallway blueish lights. He walks in to a thin center dais and removes a small glass marble from it; the image of the galaxy collapses and dissapears. "What is it", he says to the also blue skinned man coming in to the room. "It's Daneela, she is here" the man says and leaves the room.
A moment later, a girl of about 15 years comes in to the room. She surveys the place with familiarity and the captain catched a glimpse of contempt in her eyes; he clears his throat as he approaches her; "Daneela, your training is concluded" The captain says, then continues after a brief pause. "Are you ready to leave your life behind? Are you ready to go live in the Republic, and forgo our people? Are you ready to start your mission?"
After a brief silence, the girl stands tall, looking the captain in to his red glowing eyes.
She never falters, her deep violet eyes, a bit different from the normal reddish one of her race, never leave the captain's face. "I am", it is the only thing ahe says. The captain nods silently and opens a communication channel, "Is everything ready?" he asks through a commlink. The answer is swift, "Yes sir, they are... waiting for her in the hangar". The tall man turns to the girl and walks her out of his room. "You know what must be done. Though I will not be with you through your difficult task ahead, I will be with you now, as you begin." The captain tells her, as he steps out of his room and walks with her through hallways and repulsorlifts until they reach the main hangar.
Their way there is silent.
Upon exiting the last repulsorlift, they begin to walk thtough the hallway that will take them to the hangar.
As they enter it, in an unexpected movement, the Captain turns to her and hugs her closely, stroking her black hair, and kisses her forehead. "Good bye, daughter". He says, though no emotion can be blatantly detected, right before five or six blue skinned soldiers begin, surgically and clinically, to beat her to a pulp.
They strike hard and without mercy, though simpathy is in their hearts; blow after blow, she takes it. She never falls until the end, until the butt of a rifle strikes her between her beautiful violet eyes; she falls only until she is unconscious.
Then, her bleeding body is placed on an escape capsule and shot in to the black space. Nothing in that capsule can give away her origin, her starting point; No connection whatsoever to what and who she really is.
"I hope we are not sending her to die", one of the officials, aide to the captain, overseeing the beating of the girl says. The captain smiles with a melancholy that his aide has rarely seen in him. He remembers seeing that same smile on his wife's funeral. "Oh, but we are, old friend" answers the Captain, patting his aide on the shoulder, "We are."

Turan::: Chapter I: At The Temple of Vril-Ya

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named Night,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule —
From a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime,

Out of Space — out of Time

The chapter one

At the temple of Vril - Ya

Helmut peeked over the edge of the cliff on his left. He admired the enormous Amirtha Gangai river snake its way through the Yellow Plains. Few times during his journey he had the opportunity to admire something more than the monotone flat horizon of the extensive plain. Now he could not but look over the extensive silver band as it ran between the walls of the deep ravine to his left, always to his left, west. Helmut and his two companions rode following the river always on their left. They were riding south. Seen from afar, they were nothing but three hooded travelers galloping they way from the north, and in Helmut’s opinion, not fast enough. A keener observer might notice and be surprised by the state of the horses; they seem about to collapse; such observer might also wonder at the ragged and tattered state of the traveler’s cloaks and outfits; at the wobbly state of their posture on top of their steeds that contrasted with the stern effort that they seemed to imbue on their reins to extract even more speed out of the beasts. And an even more keen observer might frown upon the punishement the horses were under when no chase or persecution was to be found.

            Helmut felt the exhaustion on his horse and raised his head to look ahead. The other two horses were snorting and blowing through mouth and nostril. No danger was in sight, tiredness was getting them under their rider’s forced galloping on the yellow grass. In front of the riders, the trail they were following started to veer away from the cliffs to their left, and slowly began to rise, leading to a wide and tall hillock, situated within sight of the river through which the wide river ran. Some nights before, shortly before the horror on the woods, the three companions had argued about making the possible importance of that hill, and decided to make a first exploration spot of it. It was, according to a map they had stolen to the order of Ix, an important place of power, for some unknown reason.

So the riders leaned harder on their horses as they saw the elevation, puchin the animals beyond what they can give; from their mouths came foam and loud snorting noises, but the horses held, and did not waver, but increased speed instead. There was no need to review their maps again. The hill was the only elevated feature of the Yellow Plains.

They had rested the horses only a couple of times during their journey, Helmut remembered as they neared the hill, one of those times had been in the middle of the forest rith over the southern border of the empire, before the Yellow Plains stretched to welcome them. A chill ran through Helmut’s spine, and he tried his best not to reminisce the Woodland horrors; He had tried to reason with his companions against going in to Lavondiss, but to no avail. Those two girls even ignored his recollection of the whole pectrum of faiths and beliefs from different regions of Turania, all of which held the forest of Lavondiss as being strega lamia, or being cursed, damned. Later on, all three of them had joined the spectrum of faiths and beliefs that held Lavondiss as strega lamia.

Helmut felt the increasing pressure within him, the sense of urgency, as he began to ride up the hillock. The woods were behind, no use in thinking about them now; the inn where they made their first stop was also behind. That urgency within him demanded that he extracted the most speed out of his horse. Helmut spurred his mount while shaking the reins and yelling with impatience to his companions, bidding them to do the same. The summit of the hillock was rapidly approaching.