Tyranus

Thanks guys! I'd love to get my other stories published, but Lucasfilm is really strict about who writes for them apparently. Until then, you'll have to live with the PDF versions of the Sandtrooper's Story and the Blade Runner piece. If you didn't realize there were PDFs available, go check out the story threads. There are links in there to download all but the most recent updates. Again thanks guys. I'm happy I could share this event with you.

I just wanted to share . . . A short piece of mine, Finé, has been published online. Here's the link it: http://www.iceflow.com/doorknobs/DOORBODY2.html Click on the image for ISSUE 51 and scroll down under the FLASH FICTION category.

ALL Links to PDFs have been fixed so they should work now! Sorry for any confusion there. Also, now Part II Chapters have Chapter names and include content up through the most recent post in the PART II Thread. Thanks for reading!

ALL Links to PDFs have been fixed so they should work now! Sorry for any confusion there. Also, now Part II Chapters have Chapter names and include content up through the most recent post in the PART II Thread. Thanks for reading!

Here are PDF's of Blade Runner Blues so far. It does not include the most recent postings, as there has not been enough content yet for a new chapter. Enjoy! Chapter 1 - The 'Runner Chapter 2 - The Shoulder of Orion Chapter 3 - Reality's Decay

Gaff and Bryant hurried through the wide open, echoing police station heading toward the office ahead. Bryant fumed, slapping the folder in his hand against an open palm as he walked, “****. This happened to Off-World Transports almost two weeks ago and they just decide to let us know now? Six! Six of them on are their way here or here already. How difficult is it to pick up the goddamned vid-phone?” He threw open the door to his office and entered the room, circled the cluttered desk while pulling off his hat and sat down in his creaky, wooden chair. He slapped the file folder he had been carrying on top of the small stack on the desk top before him as Gaff ambled into the office and closed the door. A heavy metal fan oscillated back and forth, circulating the musty air. Bryant was shaking his head, “We can’t keep this information from him, we can’t; he has a right to know; and we’re gonna need him for this one. Holden’s good, but not like him. **** Tyrell . . . and his skin-jobs. Sure, they make colonizing easier and less risky, but they’re nothing but trouble for us back here; nothing but trouble. Talk about your illegal aliens. Those things are the perfect slave labor; especially the older, cyborg models. They don’t think independently, they don’t have families . . . they just do what they’re told. If the spec sheets on those new ones here are right, they’re rolling off the assembly line over there at the Tyrell Corporation with memories and emotions now! What are skinnies gonna do with emotions and fake memories?” Gaff settled himself in the chair opposite Bryant saying nothing as he folded a small piece of paper. He quietly noted the yellowed shade of the desk lamp between them. Images of a much younger and slimmer Bryant standing over his kill on some big game hunting trip adorned each of the four panels making up the sides. They were clearly old photos of a hunting trip from when there were still real animals left to hunt. “Why do you keep these pictures?” he said, continuing to fold his paper. Bryant looked up at him, “Huh?” “These pictures . . . on your lamp”, Gaff indicated with a nod of his head, “Why do you keep them on display for everyone to see?” “Aw ****, I sit in this office working right next to them every day and you know, I haven’t really seen or thought about them in a long time.” Bryant smiled, calming a bit. “Those were taken on a hunting trip my father and I took. **** of a trip that one was. I got a bear, an elk and a wild boar. He came away with a bear and several deer. . . and died the following March. Those are the last pictures I have of me with him. Why?” Gaff finished folding and placed a paper origami bear on the edge of Bryant’s desk, “It seems that we humans have the need for memories and emotions in our lives to give us depth and understanding of who we are. If Tyrell is the genius we all think he is, he certainly would have wanted to figure out a way to give them the same mental support structure we have . . . to help stabilize them.” Bryant scowled, “Huh. Yeah I guess I can see that.” He opened the file folder he had thrown on his desk and raised his eyes to peer over at Gaff, “Paperwork says the new ones, the Nexxus Sixes, have a four year lifespan . . . so they can be controlled. I guess old Tyrell hasn’t perfected his stabilizing support structure yet. Command is wrong on this one” said Bryant, shaking his head as he closed the folder, “Deck has a right to know his wife died on that shuttle.” * * *

Chapter 18 – The Taste of Truth As the running Corellian and the Handmaiden came to the end of the man-made tunnel, the opening narrowed; the walls now those of a jagged, raw cave in the cliff side. “This is the original cave, it’s not far now.” She smiled. Faint echoes of raucous squawks and blaster fire erupted from behind them in the cave. Han looked around as they hurriedly splashed through the shallow water and over irregular stones, “Good. They’re getting closer . . . and I think they just stomped through that nest of Peko-pekos we avoided.” He hurried over the stone floor, following her, “I thought this place was man-made for controlling water diversion, what’s with the cave all of a sudden?” She paused, resting against an upward thrust stone in the floor, “Engineers left the last bit of it in its natural state so as not to interfere with the cliff wall behind the falls. Only one problem.” He closed his eyes, “And that is?” She paused, then continued “It leads to a sheer drop where it ends.” He laughed in agony, slowly twisting away from her, “Ha ha ha, son of a . . .” “There’s quite a bit of room between the cliff face and the actual falling water, though. We could climb down.” She offered. Suddenly he turned back to her . . . a glint of mischief in his squinting eye and his face curled up in a grin that stretched from one ear to the other as he shook an index finger in the air, “That just might work”. He unclipped the comm from his belt and clicked it on once more, “Chewie, scrap that first plan, pal. I thought we were going to be coming out down closer to the platform.” The Wook barked a response. Han keyed his comm again, “I know you can do this, buddy. This is what we’re going to do. I want you to go open the top hatch . . .” * * * A blast of white vapor blew from the shuttle’s release valves across the ramp. The Dark Lord slowed his pace slightly, taking the last steps off to the cobblestones of the lakeside courtyard. He had not been here since . . . well, those long ago days of his youth and innocence, when so many things had seemed to happen all at once; Qui-gon’s death, his introduction to Palpatine, becoming Obi-Wan’s padawaan, and seeing his angel in her stunning white ceremonial gown . . . his angel. The heart beneath his armor, squeezed in beside cybernetic respirators, ached more with each step he took. Even the air of this place weighed heavily on his shoulders, pressing down on his mechanical legs with a weight that threatened to crush him . . . again; haunting the very core of him with memories of those first, early days with her, those early feelings of his love for her; a child’s love, but love nonetheless. Smoke and dust lingered in the air here from the initial invasion. His troops had raced in on swoops and All-Terrain walkers dispersing the crowds from their tributes. Debris littered the ground surrounding the monuments. The bust of Queen Jamila had been toppled from its stone pillar among those of her Senators and lay in several pieces, a powdery mark stained the ground where it had fallen and split apart; her face cleaved down the center and across the forehead. Vader stepped over the stone pieces, moving forward in search of the one that honored her predecessor, Queen Amidala. In addition to the official tributes to past royalty, small private shrines, honoring those lost on Alderaan, littered the courtyard. Flickering lamps illuminated photos of, and letters to, loved ones lost. Flowers reverently positioned in memory of lives shattered alongside personal effects that had been carefully placed and arranged now lay in scattered disarray; all of them broken, painful reminders of where his twisting dark path had led him. The near-silence of the courtyard was broken only by the cold sounds of his cycling, mechanical respirator sucking air in, and releasing with deep exhales. The daylight was fading and all but gone as he wound his way through the rubble searching for her. The broken, graffiti-covered bust of Senator Palpatine appeared, but he did not see his queen. Just as he began to fear her likeness had been destroyed, a veil of smoke blew past and he saw the gentle lines of his beauty’s face emerge; the graceful curve of her cheek with hair spilling over delicate shoulders; her long neck. The white stone carving captured her beauty, her spirit just as he remembered. He stepped around the statue of Palpatine and moved closer. The last of the day’s light revealed the subtle nuances and highlights of the polished stone bust as the man who had fallen from grace, right hand to the Emperor, destroyer of the Jedi and countless lives and worlds in his wake, bent his cybernetic leg and knelt among the flowers laid around her monument, knelt before the ghostly image of his lost beloved. The idea of her giving birth to their son in her last moments without him raced through his thoughts as his tired, helmeted head lowered before her timeless beauty. It was in that heart-wrenching moment on his knee, with burning, damaged eyes that no longer formed tears that he connected the pieces together, realizing how his fears had been used against him all those years ago. Searching his thoughts deeper, it became clear that in those first hazy moments when he had asked about her with a new, enhanced voice that was not his own, and stepped awkwardly away from that ghastly operating table . . . that altar . . . that dark threshold he had crossed; Palpatine had lied to him about his wife’s death, and his role in it. The self-inflicted guilt and agony in that moment and every moment to follow was the skillful handiwork of his master, sculpted to be the perfect control mechanism for his new Sith apprentice. His mind raced and the deeply raging Force currents contorting through and around him were agitated to the point of near illumination. * * * The sound of rushing water had now grown much louder, and ahead, Han saw light from beyond the jagged cave mouth which, mere steps ahead, opened to a sheer drop down the cliff face. He and Yané walked as far as they could along the stones at the base of the cave walls, then Han stepped down into the shallow water, helping the handmaiden do the same. As they moved through the calf-deep water they could now see the last remnants of the fading daylight glowing from the far side of the furious downward-blasting wall of water ahead. A cool misty spray hung heavy in the air, escaping from the torrential waterfalls downpour. Yané tried to yell to Han, asking him how he planned to move ahead, but the roaring sound was so deafening she couldn’t even hear her own words. A rough wind which raced down the cliff face tugged at the Corellian pilot’s hair and shirt violently as he held on tight to the rocks with one hand and leaned out to peer down the cliff. “Come on buddy”, he whispered to himself. As he did, the protruding front forks of the Millennium Falcon appeared, rising slowly up past the mouth of the cave. The jutting cockpit slid into view as his ship inched its way further up the cliff. The Wookiee, seated inside facing skyward, shook his head, bared his teeth and roared in the cockpit as he fought the straining controls to maintain this inverted, near hovering attitude. It took every ounce of his incredible strength and piloting skills to balance repulsor fields pushing to keep the ‘Falcon away from the rocks of the cliff face yet not out far enough to be caught in the thundering power of the falls, and control the drive thrust to hold a semi-steady vertical position. Even the straining roar of the ‘Falcon’s main drive engines were drowned out by the heart-pounding concussion of the falling water barricade which just barely skimmed and sprayed across the underbelly of the ‘Falcon on the far side. As the ship inched higher, the top hatch came into sight. As soon as he saw it opened and waiting, Solo turned and grabbed Yané, holding her ear close to his mouth as he yelled to be heard, motioning to the open hatch with his free hand, “We’re going in there.” She looked around him, then nodded her head. Chewie, straining to lean his head back and watch the top hatch as it moved into position just opposite them, stopped his climb, holding the ship steady as it slid into place. Han held one arm as Yané stepped from the rocky cliff to the small opening. She half jumped and half fell into the small port, landing on the rungs of the internal ladder. Grabbing onto the rim of the opening, she turned herself around and began her descent into the ship. He watched her go as the ship drifted up and down. His first mate fought to hold her still. He held the comm tight in his hand, ready to give Chewie the OK once onboard. Yané finally reached the bottom and Han reached out with his free hand grabbing the rim of the hatch opening. In an eruption of flashes, several crimson blaster bolts impacted the hull beside him, scorching the metal. He snapped his head around to see Stormtroopers advancing on him. He squeezed down on the comm as he dove headfirst into the open hatch port, “Chewie get us outta here now!” Another round of fire pelted the hull as he pulled his feet inside and slapped the control panel, sealing the hatch. Chewie howled, throwing several control levers straight forward. As he did, the front forks of the ship sharply pitched outward, falling away from the cliff, into the crashing water, which instantly flipped the ship over violently, jerking the controls from the Wookiees hands, sending them tumbling down the cliff side. Yané was thrown across the floor into the bulkhead and Han, inside the ladder tunnel, fell one way toward the deck, then was flung back up into the upper hatch, then down again toward the deck, only to be thrown back into the hatch as the ship was rolled over and over, “OW! Chewie!” The ground below was rising up fast as the plummeting freighter continued to roll. Finally the skilled Wookiee was able to get his bearings enough to time the firing of the main drive engines. In a momentary flash, the dark waters of the huge falls lit up a brilliant white-blue, and shipyard workers on the landing pad below, turned to watch as the Millennium Falcon burst out of the falling water just above them. Water sprayed from her gleaming hull across the yard workers, her main engines snarling like a singing buzz saw. Luckily Chewie had judged correctly, throwing the ship out into the air, and not the other direction, accelerating into the cliff. He followed his initial instincts, setting an escape course toward the dense forests and open fields here below the falls, away from the direction of the capital city and the star destroyer stationed in the airspace just above it. Without warning, from among the dense trees below, several rounds of fire unexpectedly pummeled the ‘Falcons underbelly. The Wook flipped the ship up on its side and came around hard right, taking more jarring fire. Amidst the foliage, he was able to see dozens of scattered Imperial all-terrain transport walkers, their guns tracking to lock on to the moving target. Without thinking, he immediately initiated a climb, away from the walkers, but imediately noted the faint, hazy outline of a second destroyer, high up in the atmosphere. With bared teeth, he reluctantly banked away, rolling the ‘Falcon over twice, climbing through an inverted arc up and over the top of the falls heading toward Theed. As he switched on the nav’ computer and keyed in a destination code, his mind raced through the rapidly escalating situation. A destroyer down here, in-atmo, was a lot less threat than one that could quickly lock on, giving chase off-planet. Han fell head-first out of the ladder tunnel to the deck plates with a solid, metallic thud; the comm in his hand skittering away across the metal panels on impact. Yané moved in quickly to help him up. In the cockpit, his co-pilot threw the ship up on one side as they banked away, avoiding a barrage of blaster canon fire coming from several all-terrain walkers, tearing over the waterfront plaza where, far below, Vader knelt on one knee in the middle of the crumbled remains of the memorials. As the already angered Sith Lord raised his head, he saw the object of his search slip away yet again. The already aggravated and volatile Force currents exploded outward, sweeping all flowers and debris away from the epicenter around him. He threw himself up to his feet, his cape and robes billowing in the wind as he drew his lightsaber, igniting it with an angry snap of his wrist, and threw himself at the bust of Palpatine, slashing the stone likeness to shreds with blurring, hacking strokes of the snarling blade. Smoke curled up from the molten stone where it fell to the ground as he regained his composure, his cycling mechanical respirator raggedly sucking air in, and releasing with deep exhales. *

Blade squatted, rummaging through the power packs in the container on the bottom shelf of a rack as the shop owner watched for a moment, and then returned to his work behind the counter. “Vibroblade . . . nope. Repulsor lift . . . nope. Swoop . . . nope. Loadlifter . . . nope. Vaporator . . . nope. Ahhh, what’s this?” He held up a small set of cylindrical power cells, wrapped in shrink-seal. A flat ribbon of wires hung from the bottom of the pack with a small connector at the end. Placing it on the ground, he turned to his pack and pulled off the faulty power cells and laid them beside his find. “Looks like a match to me.” As he spoke, a shadowy drape of a figure slunk from a dim corner of the shop looking left and right, then coming to stand behind him. Blade noted the shadow on the ground a moment before he felt the gloved hand on his shoulder armor, and stood abruptly, dropping the battery pack as he whirled around. He drew his blaster in a fluid motion and grabbed the dark character by the neck, slamming him back against the rack of small parts on the opposite side of the aisle, blaster muzzle firmly beneath his jaw. “What can I do for you, friend? That’s a quick way to find yourself dead with a smoking hole through your head.” The shop owner jumped up from behind the front counter, straining to see down the aisle at what was happening, “Everything OK back there?” Blade kept his eyes locked on the dark figure now in his grip as he replied, “We’re fine back here . . . all fine.” Sweat ran down his nose and dripped to the floor. The owner scrutinized them both with tired, worn eyes, finally throwing up his hands and reluctantly returning to his work, looking back every few moments. Blade’s eyes narrowed to slits, “Wait a minute . . .” his brow furrowing as he concentrated harder, memories scrolling at a blazing pace though his mind, “I’ve seen you before . . . just never this close, am I right?” Every part of the figure’s face was hidden beneath black wraps and cloth, save a slit, from behind which wide eyes stared. Blade pulled away the wraps, revealing the creature’s face. She was human, and shaking, flicking her eyes down to his hand still firmly wrapped around her throat. He loosened his grip slightly. “I was hired by your father to trail you . . . move you out of areas that were likely to fall, reassign you to more stable beats.” Blade’s mind reeled, “You work for the Empire? For my father?” The woman nodded her head nervously. ‘So it was you I saw on Dantooine, Anzat, Troiken . . . and on the Devastator . . . as I was boarding the drop ship?” Again she nodded, small beads of perspiration forming across her face. “How long have you been watching me?” He loosened his grip more, removing his hand completely now, but keeping the muzzle of the blaster pressed under her jaw. Turning her head a bit, she slowly and cautiously raised her hand, rubbing her throat as her other hand slipped the draped hood wraps off, revealing a fair-skinned face and long, thick auburn hair. Her quivering red lips parted and she spoke in a soft voice, “I’ve been following you since the incident in the bar on Coruscant.” She watched carefully for his reaction. He closed his eyes tightly, listening as she continued. “My involvement with your father, however, began several years before that. I was his personal assistant and liaison for private business dealings throughout the core systems as well as branching out to some of the fringe worlds.” Blade opened his eyes slightly, “Private business dealings?” She looked past him now, as she relayed her story, “Although he was an officer, he still maintained a very quiet, very civilian business. Your father sent me from our assigned post on Balmorra to attend a mining guild trade show on a new low-orbit platform city above Bespin. It was a long journey in a sub-light military ship, but I had been made as comfortable as possible. It was a cargo shipment, so aside from the crew, I had most of the ship to myself. My private quarters even had a large viewport. The final approach to the city was amazing. The ship was shaking; being rocked by strong crosswinds as we flew through billowing white clouds. Finally we broke through a cloudbank revealing the expansive skyline completely in silhouette, with the setting sun behind them. When we landed, I was escorted directly to the trade arena where I met with many representatives of the Mining Guild. We ate and drank and talked late into the night, and the more intoxicated they became, the more flirtatious they became. A bit too flirtacious and “hands on” for my liking. While that was the one aspect of the job that I hated, it was also the one aspect of the job that did the trick. I wrote several lucrative contracts at my table that night between drinks and dances, securing huge contracts of work for your father. The sun was coming up as the party was ending, but I headed off to sleep nonetheless. Exhausted, I found the way to my room and let myself in. I was too tired to fully appreciate it, but the room and the views from it were breathtaking. Your father had spared no expense to make sure I was comfortable on the trip. Blade interrupted her, “I don’t understand what any of this has or had to do with me.” Her beautiful eyes flicked over to meet his, “I was coming to that point. It was during the timeframe of that trip that you had your altercation in the bar on Coruscant, and your unit leader died. I was immediately recalled from Bespin, and your father reassigned me from my previous duties to the full time detail following you and your assignments.” Blade’s head hurt as he shook it slowly, “You’ve been watching me from a distance for this long . . . so, why are you approaching me now?” Her eyes stared squarely into his as she took a deep breath and responded, “One standard week ago your father sent me an urgent communiqué regarding a recent discovery. Imperial Intelligence intercepted a portion of a garbled transmission that has now been linked to suspected rebel activity. The transmission originated here, on Tatooine and contained sensitive information. Your father knows you were assigned here and wanted you to be alerted to a possible spy and rebel sympathizer among those in your group.” Blade stepped away from her, switching off the power to his weapon, holstering it. She knelt, picking up the power supply he had dropped, “Is your pack malfunctioning?” Her eyes were sympathetic and sincere. He was pulled out of his daze by her comment, “What?” A wiring harness dangled from the shrink-sealed part, “New power cell for your pack?” she asked. He stared out the window to the street outside, absently responding to her question as he rolled her revelation over in his head, “Yeah. My pack’s dead . . . won’t cool my . . . won’t cool my body glove.” She grabbed up the replacement power cell and walked to the front counter, pulling out a small bag of credits and purchased the cannibalized part. The shopkeeper spoke up as he took her money, shooting a glance down the aisle to Blade and his environmental backpack, “This cell wasn’t made for that pack specifically, but there were several design generations that all took the same core cells. Your friend’s is one of them.” She picked the power cell up from the counter, “Thank you.” Blade uncoupled the old wiring harness, removing the dead cells as she handed him the new, “Thanks.” He took the new cell and firmly pressed the cable connector into the socket on the back of the pack, slipped the cells under the restraining clip, and flipped the switch. Instantly needles on the power meters pegged over to the full indicator. He connected the leads to his body glove and slipped one arm through a shoulder strap, pulling the pack on, “Did your emergency communiqué happen to mention who the potential traitor was?” He pulled his other arm through and adjusted the pack on his back. “No”, she began, “there was very little information to go on, but we know it originated here, and based on the knowledge of Imperial operations, it had to have been one of the troopers in your unit.” Blade saw 1265 approaching from the direction of the marketplace. “Cover your face back over, one of the other troopers is coming, and almost here.” He nodded in the direction of the street. She turned to see the other trooper heading their way. “Did you just arrive, or have you been staying somewhere?” asked Blade She pulled the black drapes back over her face, “I have a room at the Dowager Queen, number nine.” He nodded, “Keep the room. I’ll meet with you sometime in the next few days. Hide.” She nodded and slipped toward the back of the room, suddenly becoming keenly interested in a bin of thrust bias sequencers. 1265 entered the shop, “You slacker, I did the whole loop AND waited for you. What took so long? You find what you needed?” Blade nodded once, “Just getting it powered up and working now.” “OK, let’s get moving, we still have the rest of the spaceport to do, and I’m beat. You’re doing the storage bays.” “No problem. Let’s do it.”, Blade responded following the other trooper back into the blazing heat in the streets. He felt the cooling waves in his body suit spring to life properly as he watched the dark-shrouded woman slink out of the shop heading the other way toward the Dowager Queen. Was it 1265 who was leaking information? It could be any one of them, he had no way of knowing who he could trust. He thought back to his earlier conversation with them out in the desert: “In the guard you’re trained to watch everyone, even each other. Being a trooper in the field, your unit is all that you have. You have to depend on each other. That’s the way it should be, just bear in mind, nothing personal, but until I’m more comfortable, I’m watching each of you . . . closely. We all must have reasons we were assigned here. It certainly isn’t the best post in the Empire.” Blade beat himself up for lowering his guard too readily. He watched 1265 walking just ahead of him . . . it was a mistake he would not be duplicating. * * * Yané kept her grip tight on the two keys as they drew near to the end of the access tunnel. As expected, the blast doors here were locked tight. She moved to the control panel and withdrew the first key, inserting it into the lock. It turned halfway and refused to go any further. She halfway turned her head to Han, “See if you can . . .” He had been watching and stepped up before she could finish, grasping the key, twisting it with all his strength. The stubborn key slowly yielded as he continued intense pressure on it. Finally it gave way and finished its rotation. He pulled the key out as the massive, first layer of the doors opened. When they had retracted fully, a second lumbering set began opening, followed by a third and fourth finally revealing a dark passageway beyond. Yané darted into the darkness. Han followed through the doors, eyebrows raised as he examined the black space beyond, hearing and smelling water. Once through, he used the key and used it to initiate the closing and locking of the doors behind them. The handmaiden had moved from his side and moved along a metal railing toward the enormous circular water spillway door. She put a hand out, running it down over the stone to find the keyhole. Once located, she inserted the second key, turning it with ease. As she withdrew it, a thundering sound issued from the wall before them as the gargantuan stone door began to rotate slowly. As soon as the opening came into view in it, they heard water rushing through below the railing, down in a canal below them. Once the opening had revolved enough for them to pass, they both slipped through as it continued to turn. The grinding sound continued for a total of three minutes until the door had completed a full revolution and locked securely. The water ceased to stream through, and what had come through now flowed away from them, down the tunnel ahead of them. The darkness of the channel was broken by lights several hundred meters ahead. “We better get moving. Even with these doors in place, if they want to follow us, and they do, they’ll find a way. The two took off running toward the lights, the sound of their footfalls echoing in the circular passage. * * * I closed my eyes, silently breathing shallow breaths in and out as I waited for the sound of the closing door. I could hear the faint swishing and rustling of clothing as the pilot moved around somewhere above. There was a clinking sound, presumably as he gathered up some of his new belongings, and then nothing. Finally I heard the door close and latch securely. As I sat in the darkness beneath the trapdoor, knowing the young rebel had gathered his things and gone, the nagging idea of letting him go kept twisting itself over and over in my mind. I didn’t really consider it backing down, as I felt very strongly that we hadn’t seen the last of our Rebel visitor, and I was allowing him to leave. If he was comfortable coming here, my keeping watch on Kenobi’s home could ultimately pay off more in the long run by not arresting or killing the young farmboy turned activist pilot. There was only silence as I remained still, listening. I had to be sure he was gone, and not been deceived into thinking he had. * The transparisteel canopy of the snub fighter lowered into place, securing airlock seals as the power plants for the four main thrusters came online with a throaty hum, blasting a fine spray of sand away from downward facing ported exhaust vents. As they did, monitoring instrumentation in the cockpit flickered on, and the little astromech that had been in sleep mode while charging, came back on line. Its dome swiveled left and right back and forth as a string of tones, beeps and whistles issued forth, followed by a sort of electronic belching before it fell silent. “Okay R2”, said the pilot as he lifted the helmet from his lap and fitted his head inside snugly, adjusting the chinstrap, “Now I know how you feel about being switched off while charging. It won’t happen again, but that just means a slow-trickle charge in the future, you know.” Several beeps flew back in response and the insolent little blue ‘droid swiveled his dome around to face the rear of the craft as its weight gently lifted from the landing gear on the invisible cushion of increasing repulsor intensity. * Still and silent in the dark recess, I heard drive engines firing in the distance, signaling the young rebel’s departure. I threw open the trapdoor and climbed up the few crude stone steps, moving quickly to the front door. Opening it slightly, I could see thin, white, vaporous trails left by the engines of the disappearing X-wing in sharp contrast against the deep azure of the crystal clear Tatooine sky. * * *

Sorry to see you go, trooper.

Thanks for the great feedback guys!! PART I is now available for download in PDF format as well is PART II: Part I Chapter 1 - Origins Chapter 2 - Journey Toward Destiny Chapter 3 - Arrival Chapter 4 - Settling In Chapter 5 – Feeling Out Mos Eisley Chapter 6 – Needle in a Sand Dune Chapter 7 – Droid Hunt Chapter 8 - Interrogations Chapter 9 – The Lars Place Chapter 10 – A Wretched Hive Story Map Part II Chapter 1 - Departure Chapter 2 - Sifting for Clues Chapter 3 - Thoughts from a Moisture Farmer's Wife Chapter 4 - Sacrifice Chapter 5 - Tatooine Haunts Chapter 6 - Chasms and Trenches Chapter 7 - Recovery Chapter 8 - Moral Dilemma Chapter 9 - Crash and Burn Chapter 10 - Canyon Search Chapter 11 - Fate and Shifting Sands Chapter 12 - The Dig Site Chapter 13 - Trust and Escapes Chapter 14 - Revelations Chapter 15 - Thundering Forward Chapter 16 - Pursuits Chapter 17 - Darkness and Light

"If You're Thinking About Getting Married..." RUN AWAY !!!!! and DON'T LOOK BACK!!!!

The Naboo sky, which had been afire with bold, flaming orange light, was now growing dark. The sparse clouds were highlighted with bold pink and purple strokes along their edges as the sun receded below the horizon. Imperial troops stood guard in the Capital Square, along the lakefront and the open expanse of the closed riverfront. The dark Sith Lord stood rock solid on the bridge of the Intruder watching his troops and ground assault vehicles below, wreaking havoc in the streets of Theed. As they had arrived, the transponder signal had been snuffed out, obviously making the search more difficult. However, a small group of his troops had made visual contact with someone matching the description of Captain Solo and were in pursuit. He surveyed one of the royal courtyards and the ruinous remains of the monuments to the past monarchs. If Solo had been spotted, the Wookiee and their ship would not be far removed. Somewhere deep in his brain, far beneath the shiny surface of his forbidding black helmet, he remembered standing in that very courtyard with a trailing padawaan’s braid, at a ceremony of peace, eyeing his angel in far happier times. He felt a sharp twinge in the passages of his nose and damaged glands trying hard to produce tears as he recalled the image of her, the smell of her. He was already turning and striding from the room as he barked out his command, “Captain, have my shuttle readied. I’m going down to the surface.” * The Corellian pilot and the Royal Handmaiden raced through the near darkness of the long tunnel. The faint light they had seen in the distance was now growing larger and larger. Yané was running ahead of him and he quickly turned to look back. No one had followed them . . . yet. “Where will this tunnel empty out?” She kept running, replying as best she could between panting breaths, “There’s . . . a blast door . . . at the other end. Puts us in . . . the water spillway tunnel. Not far from there. Eventually the spill tunnel empties out just behind the Western falls”. Han pulled the commlink from his belt as he ran, “Chewie?” There was a moment of silence followed by static, then his co-pilot barked a response. He keyed the comm again as he ran, “This is what I want you to do . . .” * * *

Happy Birthday Mike!

Thread Updated with new pictures.

The faintest hint of Iran’s perfume still hung in the air. It had been a gift, shortly after they moved in, a scent she adored and had to have. He shook his head as he plodded down the steps . . . she never once wore it for him. He noted the scrape marks dug along the walls, and ran his hand over them. As preoccupied as she was with her awaiting off-world lover, she must have impatiently evacuated, dragging her suitcases along haphazardly. Evacuation certainly felt like the right description, to be certain. The house resembled a war zone, with their world . . . or rather what was left of his world, in shambles. As mentally anticipated, the fourth step from the bottom reassuringly cracked loudly under his foot, just as it always had. Finally, a hint of unchanged, familiar normalcy surfaced for a moment. Passing the small island counter, he grabbed a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker. The stripped kitchen was dark and silent, save the whirring of the refrigerator. With his free hand, he grasped its’ handle, tugging it open, hoping to find something to eat. He slammed the door shut quickly, jerking his head away, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away sharply, nearly hitting his head on an open cabinet door. She either must have left a plate of fish uncovered in there, or some small animal had curled up in there and died. Either way, there was nothing to eat. He stepped away, shaking his head and moving in to the den. The house, indeed, the very walls seemed to exude a drained darkness as he examined the cleared out den. Some of the furniture had gone to his apartment, but it looked as if she had either given the rest away or sold it. As he moved deeper into the room, the dim shape of his synthetic sheep came into view. It lay motionless in the corner, its stiff, dry tongue hanging out on the dirty carpet. Deckard knelt over it, running his hand through the shaggy wool, feeling for the control panel. He carefully opened the small door, revealing several meters and knobs surrounding a charging port. Both meter needles indicated a status well below the empty mark. All the training and learned patterns he had worked so hard to teach it were lost now, all memories purged and lost forever. All she had to do was keep it charged, he thought. An unseen chisel coldly claimed yet another small piece of who he was, as he felt his heart empty a bit more. He pushed himself to a standing position, still clinging to the squared bottle of amber alcohol. There was no longer anything for him here now. Nodding his head silently, he glanced around slowly, then walked through the front foyer, out onto the porch and down into the rain, heading toward his car, leaving the front door open wide. If he was going to sell exotic, synthetic animals off-world, he would need to learn more about them, and he knew a good place to start. A prior case had produced several contacts down on Animoid Row. All the best synthetic animals could be found there. He pulled the door down on his sedan and started the engine. It idled as he stared out at his house, pausing just ever so slightly before accelerating away into the drizzling gloom. * * *

Nice.

A 'Heads Up' for those of us men who may be regular Home Depot or Lowes customers. I recently became a victim of a clever scam while out shopping. Simply going out to get supplies has turned out to be quite traumatic. Don't be naive enough to think it couldn't happen to you or your friends. Here's how the scam works. Two seriously good-looking 20-21 year-old girls come over to your car as you are packing your shopping into the trunk. They both start wiping your windshield with a rag and Windex, with their breasts almost falling out of their skimpy T-shirts. It's impossible not to look. When you thank them and offer them a tip, they say 'No' and instead ask you for a ride to another Home Depot or Lowe's. You agree and they get in the back seat. On the way, they start undressing. Then one of them climbs over into the front seat and starts crawling all over you, while the other one steals your wallet. I had my wallet stolen April 4th, 9th, 10th, twice on the 15th, 17th, 20th & 24th. Also May 4th, twice on the 6th, three times just yesterday, and very likely this coming weekend. Be careful!

She had left in hurry, he figured, as he looked around the room. Pieces of unwanted clothing lay strewn across the rumpled, unmade bed; mostly pieces he had bought for her himself. There were dirty tires marks leading up to, and away from, the spot where the mood organ had been wheeled away. He was certain she had packed it first. Various toiletries had been left where dropped as she had hastily cleared out her portion of the bathroom. After all, she was in a hurry to get onboard an off-world shuttle and be on her way to her new love. He picked up an unused luggage tag from beside the sink . . . Off-World Transports. He turned it over, noting the date from a week ago, and the flight number, 2187. Deckard shook his head, running his fingers through his hair from front to back. On the counter, near the sink was a photo of him and Iran when they had moved in. He lifted it up to see that it was the one of them standing on the porch out front and looking happy. Try as he might, he could not remember who had snapped the picture that day. As he put the picture back down he thought how funny it was that life was this twisting, undulating ride. Sometimes people got on, sometimes people got off, but the ride had no end, and you had no control over the coming or going. Subconsciously he noticed the wallpaper they had picked out together and put up after moving in. It now curled away from the ceiling in several places defiantly. It had been so fresh and vibrant once; now all color seemed to have drained from it. Turning to the window, he inserted a hand between the two hanging sheer curtains and parted them to one side, looking out into the back yard. There was no sheep there. He looked down to the sill and removed his hand from between the sheers, then turned and walked out into the hall. The office had been rummaged through and emptied of anything useful or having value. A large pile of unpaid bills and receipts littered the floor, left behind for him. These walls . . . his house, his home seemed to twist and feel uncertain underfoot now, in a surreal, dream-like way. It was the right location but nothing was as it should have been. A nauseating cacophony of memories and emotions fermented inside him now. The muscles in his left shoulder began to spasm slightly as he headed down the hall to the stairs.

Thanks Theo! Links fixed

There have been a lot of readers of the fan fiction, I was wondering if anyone had comments now as to where it's going, what they might like to see, any feedback? Thanks!

Chapter 17 “By all that’s holy, I hope its GOOD AND COLD somewhere in the galaxy!” spewed Blade, sweat dripping from his brow as he removed his helmet. “This pack can’t be working. I’m not cooling down at all.” Holstering his E-11 and unsnapping the straps that held the pack against his back, he walked over to a low, stone wall that skirted the upper edge of one of the docking bay pits. He set it down on the wall as 1265, who had been walking ahead of him, stopped and circled back. Blade had several small compartments open, trying to figure out the cause of the problem. He traced over the braided, snake-like wiring harnesses with his finger looking for burnouts, but found none. He glanced over a bank of fuses which were all still intact, and kept looking as 1265 leaned in closer, looking over his shoulder, “What’s wrong with it?” “I’m not sure” he said frustrated, “It just stopped working.” He closed the compartment covers and flipped the malfunctioning environmental pack over on its’ side, pressing a status button just below several cylinders mounted up near the top. The indicator panel adjacent to it did not light. He raised his hand up and gave the cylinders an abrupt whack, then tried the status button again with still no results. He exhaled sharply, “**** power cells are dead. I just had new ones put in three months ago!” He pressed the status button again; nothing. “I guess I’ll have to replace them.” 1265 Shook his helmeted head, turning away, glancing down the street ahead of them, “Only the finest Imperial gear for us hardworking troops, huh?” He turned his head in the opposite direction to look back the way they had come, “We just passed the little parts shop Deckard used for his ‘droid parts. They’ve probably got some power cells that would work. If you want to go back and see, I’ll do the marketplace loop and meet you back here.” Squinting his sweat-filled eyes in the bright afternoon sunslight, Blade looked back toward the parts shop, “Yeah, OK” he said nodding his head, “I’ll see you back here shortly.” * With a soft click, the transparent holo-card ejected from the slot in the reader. Felth retrieved it, placing it on the stack of others he had already scanned through. He documented the contents on his datapad, and inserted the next card as the sound of the lift, lowering to this lower cache level, broke the near-silence. Moments later, the noise subsided. Danz and Topolev entered the room, followed by Holder. Topolev, not seeing Felth yet, walked ahead of the others toward the rows of racking that held supplies, crates and equipment, “Down here. This is where we found you.” Holder followed him over to the dusty shelves where he crouched down, surveying the contents of the shelf. A few power cells remained, sitting next to several long rolls of cloth, tied with a cord. The shelf above held a rations crate that Etz had unloaded upon their initial arrival, alongside a small crate of blasters and energy clips. Felth began the scan of the new holo-card, “Now it’s a party.” Danz twisted his head around to see Felth seated before the reader, his face bathed in blue light from the menu screen of the reader, “Anything interesting on those things, Felth?” Not looking away from the advancing images on the screen, Felth replied, “Not really. There’s some surveillance, some arrest records, some testimonials and depositions; pretty boring, actually.” Danz nodded, turning his attention back on Holder. The thawed Republic Commando stood up from his crouch, a scowl across his face. “I know I should remember all this, but it’s just a big blank.” Topolev slapped him on the shoulder, “I’m sure it’ll come back eventually. Still a little foggy up there?” he said as he tapped his temple. The Commando smiled a bit, nodding, “Yeah. You could say that. Some things are crystal clear . . . others like they never existed.” Danz began pulling the power cells off the racking from the opposite side, “OK, Rogue wants these racks stripped down and gone through. It’s time we found out exactly what’s down here.” As they began removing the stored items and stacking them on the floor, Felth spoke up, “Now that you mention it, where is Rogue?” Topolev looked over as he placed a small case of sonic charges on the growing stack, “He and 0600 went out to the Darklighter estate; seems ‘ole Huff has had some Tusken activity. They went to talk to him and check out the crime scene.” “Oh, OK”, said Felth returning his attention to the reader’s small screen and the recorded holo-image of Garindan in the densely-packed murk of Jabba’s court. The darkly-shrouded Kubaz in the holo received a small pouch of money and what looked like several wrapped sticks of spice. His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched, thinking to himself, ‘He’s getting paid. The snitch’s playing both sides.” * * *

a little more: Pris flushed the toilet as Mary helped her to her feet. She leaned over the small metal sink and raised a cupped handful of the running water up, rinsing the bitter taste of vomit from her mouth; Mary’s hands on her shoulders, steadying her shaking body. Roy had made his way to the rear of the ship as they were emerging into the cooler air of the hold. “Thank you, Mary” he said, “I’ll see to her now.” She nodded and allowed Roy to take Pris from her. She moved away from the pair, glancing back sympathetically before disappearing through the hatch to head back to the others. Pris’ eyes were closed, and she leaned against Roy’s shoulder as he kissed the top of her head, “Do you think we did the right thing seeing that doctor?” she said, running a hand over her flat belly, “Or were we stupid?” He smiled, and kissed her head again, “Pris, Pris. No. We were not stupid. With the new knowledge of our incept dates and longevity, it was a need. Going to Earth to confront Tyrell is a possible and likely extension for our lives, but for a bloodline, a legacy, a part of us that Tyrell didn’t create, well . . .this is our best hope for that” he said, rubbing her belly. “Even with an extension, we all die. It's no use reminding yourself daily that you are mortal: it will be brought home to you soon enough ” Pris, wishing she was as smart as he, looked into his face, studying him as he quoted. “Who said that?” she asked. He looked down at her, as his superior mind raced through his implanted memories. “Albert Camus, an Algerian born, French author and philosopher from the last century.” Mary re-entered the room, “I just felt I should check on her. After all, it was me that got you two into this. Am I interrupting anything?” Pris looked to Roy, then over to her, “No.” “I thought maybe I’d sit with you until we get to Earth.” Roy squeezed Pris a bit and released her, “I’ll be in the cockpit with Leon. The trip will most likely take us a week or so.” He turned his attention to Mary as Andy walked through the door with the box of snack bars, “Let me know if anything changes.” Mary nodded and Andy moved closer to Pris, “Would you like a bar now?” Mary wrapped her arms around Pris and turned to Andy, “She’s still feeling sick, Hodge, and will be for some time, I expect. Leave her alone for now. She’ll ask for one if she wants it.” “I prefer my stage name Andy. Please don’t call me Hodge anymore; it reminds me of people and places I’d rather forget” and he turned and walked away. The two female replicants walked over to a cushioned bench in the passenger area where Pris lay down; her head in Mary’s lap. Mary sat beside her, one hand on Pris’ shoulder, the other stroking her hair gently. * * *

That reboot may very well come in the way of ushering in the AMERO and the North American Union, fusing Canada, the US and Mexico. Google Amero or North American Union (a central point in Ron Paul's campaign) and check it out.

PDFs of Part II are now available up to the last post! You can find them here: The Sandtrooper’s Story - Part II Chapter 1 - Departure Chapter 2 - Sifting for Clues Chapter 3 - Thoughts from a Moisture Farmer's Wife Chapter 4 - Sacrifice Chapter 5 - Tatooine Haunts Chapter 6 - Chasms and Trenches Chapter 7 - Recovery Chapter 8 - Moral Dilemma Chapter 9 - Crash and Burn Chapter 10 - Canyon Search Chapter 11 - Fate and Shifting Sands Chapter 12 - The Dig Site Chapter 13 - Trust and Escapes Chapter 14 - Revelations Chapter 15 - Thundering Forward Chapter 16 - Pursuits Chapter 17 - Darkness and Light

Having successfully passed through the treacherous, chaotic asteroid field which occupied the erratic, outer orbital fringe with little damage, the rebel cruiser sailed smoothly toward the 6th and outermost planet of the Hoth system. Under the ever watchful eyes of her bodyguards and personal aid, Alia, the leader of the rebel forces, Mon Mothma, returned to her seat as turbulence began to rattle the transport ship upon entry into the upper atmosphere. She peered out the port window as storm clouds far below raged across the ground with blizzard force, blasting fresh snow and ice across the frozen rivers, mountains and valleys on the wasteland of the planet below. While the five planets closer to the Hoth sun were lifeless and primarily made up of toxic gases, Hoth VI was marginally hospitable for humans. Its axial tilt, orbital position and atmospheric makeup allowed life to exist, but was also cause for constant subzero temperatures. While the daytime temperature high hovered around -32 degrees standard, at night, those temperatures often plunged as low as -60 degrees, with gale force wind chills far surpassing that. As much as she hated to admit it, this location for a base might just be crazy enough to work. While Snowtrooper units were plentiful in the Imperial forces, even the Empire never bothered with an outpost here, and for good reason. Any minerals that might be found here could be found elsewhere across the galaxy without the environmental hassle. Two heavily armed Y-wing escort ships flanked the slow-moving transport as it began its descent into the atmosphere, following the transmitted glide path route toward ground coordinates somewhere on the inhospitable surface below. She turned away from the window, thoughts racing through her mind. Touching Alia’s arm, she leaned in closer to whisper, “Has anyone heard from Garm Bel Iblis?” The aid dropped her gaze and shook her head, “No, milady. Admiral Ackbar had a long meeting with him regarding his concerns for your leadership, but he has not been heard from since that time.” The rebel leader closed her eyes and leaned back into the seat cushions. She turned again to the window, looking out across the stars and planet below. “You know, his accusations are unfounded. I have no interest in removing Palpatine only to replace him with myself. Bail Organa was my counterpart, co-leadership for what has become the Alliance. His murder along with the loss of Alderaan was shocking and tragic to the Alliance as a whole as well as to me personally, and left me with few options. I took over leadership control of the rebellion in a move to unify it and hold it together, not to seize personal power, and certainly not to alienate anyone, least of all Garm Bel Iblis.” She turned to her aid and stared in her eyes as she spoke now, “I need you to know and believe that . . . feel that.” Alia replied, “I have known that from the start, and do not question your dedication or intentions.” Mon Mothma nodded slowly, smiling. The crisp view outside the port window suddenly clouded over stark white, and the ship violently bucked as it descended into the heart of the storm’s wrath. * The newly-added rubber treads on the bottom of the fussy protocol ‘droid’s metallic feet fell silently on the duracrete planks of the hastily laid floor as he made his way through the rough ice corridor. Illuminators hung from wires wrapped around spikes that had been hammered into the ice walls to light the passage. Ahead, it opened into what was scheduled to become a central hangar for speeders and snub fighters. These uneven walls of the narrow hallway had been carved from a solid wall of beautiful deep blue ice, and at any other time might have interested the easily-distracted golden ‘droid, but non of this concerned him as he searched frantically for Princess Organa, muttering to himself, “If only R2 hadn’t gone with master Luke. He would know where to find mistress Leia. Dear, oh dear, I can feel the oil in my joints thickening. Whoever had the brilliant idea for coming to an ice planet must have never . . . Princess Leia! Oh, thank the maker!” The familiar image of the Princess stood several meters ahead of him reviewing plans for the hangar with the crew chief of the ice cutters. She heard Threepio approaching behind, but maintained her focus on the page, “This looks fine” she said, “but see if you can add a connecting corridor here to the command center, and small alcoves for the T-47 airspeeders we have on the way.” “Airspeeders?” questioned the crew chief. “Princess Leia I’ve worked with those Incom speeders before and in this environment . . .” She cut him off as quickly as he had started, “Yes, I know, they aren’t designed for this type of climate. I’m assured, though, that with slight modifications we can adapt them to work quite well.” The crew leader rolled up the plans and headed back toward several massive shearing machines and his crew, “Alright everbody, we’ve got a lot to get done, and there are some new changes to the design, gather ‘round here so we can discuss them before we get started.” The men climbed down out of the cutters as he spread the plans out on a small ice shelf. Leia watched him go and then turned around, “Yes Threepio, what is it?” “The transport ship is on final approach.” Leia looked away from the ‘droid as she answered, “Mon Mothma. Threepio, have a mid-sized, heated troop transport dispatched to the landing coordinates to meet her and her staff. Inform the pilot to bring them here and escort them to my chambers. All other supplies can remain in the ship’s hold until needed.” “Yes, mistress Leia.” * * *