Flyboy Chronicles Part 2: Dark Heritage

Flyboy walked into the room. The walls were covered with a thick slab of durasteel, sound proofed, covered with a small devices to prevent communications and scanning to go through it, and another layer of durasteel before meeting the rocky innards of the asteroid. But you could not tell from his vantage point, all you would see would be some kind of metal room with ornate carvings of curving triangles and circles.

The square room itself was huge, going up about five floors, engulfing Flyboy. His black jumpsuit played back with the steel interior and you could see clearly where he stood, which was in the doorway. Then after a few seconds, he strode into the room. The door closed with a hiss when he reached the outer edge of the center circle and he heard a clink once he reached the center, confirming it was locked.

In his mind, the room was not as cold and barren as it looked from normal eyes. He stretched out his mind, his area of influence increasing with size. There, he thought. Eight small lights glowed softly in his mind’s eye. With a flick of his will, they glowed with fiery intent. Out of the walls, from niches not before noticed, eight force-attuned remotes floated to life and came into a circle around their target.

His hand went to his belt and emerged from the cloths folds a second later, and with it a lightsaber. It was shorter than most with just enough room to fit two hands on the hilt and little else. On either end jutted four daggers, each pointing in the direction of the blade when lit. The daggers looked like some of the triangles on the walls, with ornate symbols and a circle in the center of each one. The handle was wrapped with a dark purple cloth, and the only metal shown on it was two activator buttons, circular in design and engulfed by a diamond with each point pointing to either end of the lightsaber. Each button and design were further up the hilt than usual, each one bare centimeters from the emitter.

A smile drew upon the warrior’s face. He held the cylinder out in front of him and pushed one button. A purple blade sprang to life before him, spraying an eerie glow across the room. He held it in front of his face, his smile growing wider. The remotes sprang to life before him, each going in different patterns. One whizzed by his head, shooting two darts, one at his feet and the other to his face. He brought his blade in a wide circle, knocking the two energy darts away, harmlessly, into the wall.

Two more of the flying orbs came his way: one from his left, the other from his right. They both shot at the same time. Flyboy, not wanting to waste the effort of hitting both darts, leapt high into the air. The darts flew harmlessly past where he once was, and started heading toward the remotes. They juked out of the way and started closing in on him once he landed.

Through his mind, he saw an image wiz past, like it went to lightspeed before he got a closer look at it. Temporarily dazed, the left remote spat out another dart. He moved his blade in time to block it, but it was lazy and he could feel the repercussions from the blast. Flyboy shook his head to clear it. But as he turned to his right, the image came by again, but clearer.

He was in his cockpit; the space around him lit up with explosions and riddled with laser blasts and missiles. His head swelled with the noises from his com, hearing screams of both death and temporary joy, of commands and defiance, of fear and excitement. His own lasers screaming, he swung around onto a ship that was of the other pirate’s fleet. Two shots and the fighter exploded. He turned around in time to see his segregate father explode in his own fighter. It took six fighters to bring him down.

Flyboy lifted his lightsaber around in a fast arch, slashing the remote on his right, which was now in front of him, in two and bringing it around with his left hand to do the same to the other. Fear and hate swelled in his head, washing over him like the sea to a small pebble, bringing him clear views of the battles playing out before him. It engulfed him, and it did not matter. He let it flow through him, empowering him, shoving his area of influence far beyond the boundaries of the walls around him. The hate and anger now flowed from him, washing over the remotes, igniting their little fires in the force to be brighter than a normal man. They were alive now, alive and deadly.

One remote swept around his feet, another flew over his back and head and coming up above his face. He leapt into the air once more, doing a summersault in mid air. There was a hiss, a bright flash, and two thuds. He reached the floor, the air around him growing brighter, yet darker in the force. He held his lightsaber in his right hand now, and a shaft emerged from both sides. Behind him lay two halves of a now unrecognizable, blackened and charred sphere.

He followed his prey closely; bringing his fighter around in a lazy arch right behind the six fighters that destroyed his father. His Headhunter slowly took aim right behind the lead fighter. Flyboy hit his trigger, his thumb pressed down on it with all his might. One, two, three; shot after shot after shot came from those two laser cannons, and one by one, the ships exploded in a tremendous ball of white flame. Three already went up when he started his cry. The scream filled the com channels, ceasing all communication for several seconds. All pilots were stunned; everything seems to stop for just a moment. Then, when all the red lights on Flyboy’s computer screen winked out, the battle began anew.

He was still screaming. Two more remotes came barreling at him, he swung at the left one with one tip of the lightsaber, bringing the other around to finish the circle to the right. Both turned into a flame ball in mid air. Another flew overhead, shooting as it went. Left, right, left, no bolts touched anything but the remote from where they came. It fell to the ground, immobilized.

He turned his ship around, heading towards the fight again. There was a huge cloud of fighters everywhere, lights blinking on and off, and not one little dot stayed in the same spot for more than a nanosecond. Out of nowhere a huge dagger came into view, right into the middle of the fighting. It was a ship all right, for the fighters stupid enough to be in the way bounced harmlessly off its hull; harmlessly for the big ship, anyway. Green lasers stabbed into the very heart of the battle, destroying the enemy pirates, and their explosions destroying the few fighters left on his side.

The door slid open behind him, he turned sharply, taking the remote that was following him off guard. It was destroyed before its processor even thought about duking out of the way. No, vengeance is mine!

It’s mine! He sped up, flying as fast as he could towards the oncoming assault. There was his prey, a fighter that was flying around the green lasers with ease. Simple prey. He switched over to missiles, not coming anywhere near to lining up the targeting. He fired two, one overhead of the prey and one under. Then he slipped in behind it. It knew he was locking on, and was a good pilot. He knew this trick. He started a climb, then dove sharply, and climbed even faster once the missile above him was past. Unfortunately, it was not that good. It had missed the last part of the trick. Two red lasers slammed into it right behind the cockpit.

The lightsaber flew through the air, slamming into the wall. Between it and the wall were the remains of the last remote, right by the door. The tips of the now extinguished hilt burrowing into the remote and the wall behind it.

Darkon looked over his right shoulder, seeing the electrical sparks coming from the machine, then turned his face back to the man in the dark robes before him. “Nice work out?” he said, not really a question, but still implying it.

Flyboy was sweating heavily, “Why.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t an answer, it just was a word that suited the mood. It was as if Flyboy had extinguished all the emotion in the universe in those few minutes, and now there were no words of joy or excitement between these two friends.

“Even though I have no training in the force, and I have no talents I am aware of, I could still… I don’t know, feel your presence. It shot through deck thirteen like an explosion, I bet everyone could feel it.”

“Memories, Darkon, memories.” The last word broke the façade Flyboy was trying to impose. It took on a sad note, a bit lower in volume, but barely noticeable, by Flyboy that is. Human hearing couldn’t pick it up.

“Anyhew,” he said, using one of his employer’s favorite words in lighter times, trying to brighten up things, “we’ve got a visitor. One that you’d probably like.” Flyboy gave him an inviting look, which was quickly swept away with Darkon’s next words. “No, it isn’t Crystal, she’s with Tannash on the other side of the galaxy, remember. You’d better come see for yourself.”

Flyboy took two steps as Darkon left the room. His face reappeared around the door, “Visit the refresher first and do us all a favor.” That brought the smile to the dark man’s face. Darkon left with a stupid grin on his face as well. As he was about to leave the room himself, he ceremoniously plucked the lightsaber from where it was lodged, shook his head trying to fight the laughter, and then left the room.

* * *

It was a cold autumn’s morning. The man woke up and looked out the window to see a bird fly by. It wasn’t normal for a bird to fly by, for the building he was sleeping in was a barren wasteland with little vegetation. He turned his face 90 degrees to look at his bedside chrono. He immediately jumped out of bed, pulled on his boots and zipped up his jumpsuit before running out the door. He was outside the building and heading to the other in under a minute. He slowed to a trot once he stepped inside the flat, large, gray building jutting out of a mountain. Coming to the door way about ten rows down, he quietly strode up beside a group of people wearing the same dark gray jumpsuit.

“Glad of you to join us, Cadet Flyboy,” the instructor said. No other cadets turned to face him, yet they knew what was going on inside his head. He was determining if he could take down the instructor before he would be able to call in some guards.

He continued after a few seconds, “Cadets, this is going to be one of your toughest runs in the sims. This is based off a run on an Old Republic ship when the Empire was just starting.” That statement got a few surprised looks, yet he didn’t stop for a heartbeat. “At first it was a full wing of early TIEs doing a strafing run on the VSD Juggernaut VII, a badly damaged ship after a conflict with two other VSDs belonging to the Empire. Yet they were still no match for it. Seventy-two TIEs soon turned into six. You will be flying lead for the six remaining fighters. You keep them all alive, consider yourself at leave for the rest of the day.”

“Cadet Flyboy, you up for the challenge,” his face turned toward the cadet, looking cold behind that smile. The sentence wasn’t a question, it was more of an order, but it was all the same for the cadet.

“Yes, sir!” he barked, turning toward the instructor with the same expression, but without hiding it behind a smile. Without an acknowledgement, he headed straight for the simulator pod. Picking up a gray TIE helmet, he climbed in and closed the hatch behind him. The familiar ball shape of the cockpit welcomed him into the seat. The screen in front of him was black. Then a face appeared; the instructor’s.

“Okay, listen up. You have five friendlies out there and a swarm of bogeys. The VSD already launched a wing of fighters, mostly Y-wings, some uglies, little else. Get to the buoy at about thirty clicks away and a carrier’ll pick you up. The fighters won’t stray that far out. You have no reinforcements, so keep what you got.” His head was replaced by a green 3.

“Three, two, one, green!” he heard the words in his head. Before the e from the green was sounded, though, the screen turned into a starfield with several moving stars. He counted five T/Fs out there and at least a dozen wishbones.

He kicked his throttle to full, feeling the g force pushing him into the seat. He dove straight under the main fighting, then pulled hard up into the heart of it like a dagger. He fired two green lasers into the swarm, one hitting an ugly. It did little damage, though. He managed to grab an ugly and two Y-wings behind him though, and they followed him up. He took a snap roll to port and dove again, this time towards the high shape of a Victory Star Destroyer. Red lasers stabbed up at him from the behemoth, he juked left and right to avoid them.

Then other red lasers cut across his view; the ships behind him finally got a target lock. He rolled to port, snapped to starboard, and lined up with the ship flying over its hull about a meter from it. Lasers were poorly aimed and he managed to lose the ugly behind him for a few minutes. Finally the ship was past him, and he swung around the neck of the command tower and dove straight towards the engines. The Ys were still behind him, shooting away.

Flyboy started heading towards one of the big engine exhausts. He snapped rolled to port, then pulled up, diving under the ship. The Y-wings weren’t as maneuverable as him and went sailing into the exhaust. Their shields gave up as they were trying to turn and the force of the exhaust tore them apart. The ugly was a better ship, though. It swung up above the huge circle of blue exhaust and came down the other side hammering Flyboy’s TIE with read needles of light.

He snapped to port, twisting his fighter in corkscrew maneuver. Red lasers played past his fighter, yet none touched. He pushed his throttle to full, pulling up from the belly of the ship after he reached the end. The turning stopped and he flew full speed into the dogfight. All the TIEs were still alive.

He dropped speed to a third and turned to starboard, firing his lasers as he went. An ugly sped by, and was hit by three of Flyboy’s green lasers. It’s engines exploded, turning the ship into a rolling fireball. It smashed into another ship, taking both of them out of the fighting.

Turning another time, he left his left hand on the control stick and moved his right hand over to a keypad on the control board. Taking attention away from the battle, he called up his squadron’s com frequency and gave the order to run. All five TIE Fighters turned around and headed for the space buoy. Flyboy took two quick shots before doing the same.

He was half way to the destination before he realized someone was still firing at him. He tried looking at his scopes, but he couldn’t see anything but a pile of junk behind him. It came to him like an explosion, the ugly. He shut down power to the engines and pulled down and out of the way of the ship. It sped past, displaying that same red color along its flat nose.

He started pulling power from the engines and powering up his laser again, but it would take time to restore them. Pushing his engines to full again, he flew past the fighter’s line of sight as it was turning around. It followed him on his way.

Flyboy, again in his fighting stance, twisted and turned so that the fighter behind him wouldn’t hit him, but still stayed on course with his target. It was within two clicks now, and its metallic glow from the TIE’s engines was filling his cockpit. Within a half a click, he lowered his engines to 1/3, turned to port, and raised them to full again in one fluid motion. The ugly sped head first into the buoy, causing both of the objects to explode in a brilliant flame.

Flyboy was turning around when a red laser came flying out of the explosion and caught him in his port solar panel. The ship went into a flat spin, and Flyboy was thrown into the right side of his cockpit. Reaching over, his turned off his engines. The spinning stopped, but he was dead in space now.

“Gamma three, this is Strike One,” his com sprang to life, filling his head with a welcome sound, “congratulations on a job well done. All fighters are here and accounted for, consider yourself at leave for the rest of the day.” The star field in front of him turned black and the hatch behind his seat opened, bringing the back of his seat down with it.

Pulling off his helmet, he crawled out into the brightly lighted room. His ears filled with applause from the group of cadets at the far wall. Unstrapping his gear as he walked, he dropped all the equipment on the bench assigned for it and left the room by the big blast doors behind the cadets. Before the doors closed he heard the instructor tell the next cadet to move in and the clapping quickly died out.

* * *

“…and the talks continued today as the final papers were signed giving command of Division Stormwind over to the Crimson Strike Fleet, making it a full division of the aforementioned fleet.”

Flyboy walked into the room. The large blast doors behind him closed as he stood still. In front of him, splayed out in no pattern at all, were around two-dozen metal round tables with similar chairs around them. To the right of the room was a huge, curving bar running the length of the room with stools placed at regular intervals. Flat-board holonet screens were suspended about the ceiling. Smoke and noise filled the room, and whatever space was left was given to various cadets and officers at the academy where they were.

Flyboy strode into the room, walking past a group of men wearing green uniforms, indicating they were from the military. Taking a seat at the bar, he ordered a corellian whiskey and watched the imperial news.

“As seen here, the two commanding officers of both groups sign the official declaration as their executive officers witness the event. Both admirals were not available to comment on this occasion.

“They’re fools,” a voice behind him said. Flyboy turned to see a man with a red uniform behind him. The man looked down from the screen, saw the look on Flyboy’s face, and finished the statement, “Phoenix and Starfire, they’re fools.”

“How do you say that?” Flyboy answered, intrigued.

“Because, signing over a division of the empire to a strike fleet, it’s absurd. Free form divisions are not to be controlled by fleets.”

“Ah, but may I remind you that Division Stormwind is more or less a navy of sorts, which would accent a fleet with more force and offensive power to actually fight back against the New Republic.”

“Good point, I renounce my early observations,” the man smiled, “My name is Cadet Marshall Kain, though the last is a foster name.”

Flyboy pointed to the seat next to him and Marshall sat, “I’m Cadet Flyboy, which is a foster name of sorts.” That brought an interested look to the other’s face, but Flyboy quickly changed the subject, not wanting to go into the issue, “I don’t recognize the uniform you are wearing. Might I ask what division you wish to join in the New Imperium.” The last words were mocking, yet produced a slight smile from the other’s face.

“I’m a tech, just working for any tech division or engineering pool of which I can get into.”

Flyboy cut in, “Ah, one of those high paying jobs I see,” and took a sip of his whiskey.

Marshall’s jovial smile was very pleasing to the other, “Ha, high paying. I’ll be lucky if I get to own my own tools. But I see your looking to be a bridge crew. I hear there’s some credits to be found there.”

Flyboy’s laughter brought Marshall into another fit, though he did not quite understand the joke. “Bridge crew! I would never be caught dead in some electrical pit. I’m a fighter pilot.”

Laughing, “Fighter pilot! Sorry!” Marshal quiets down after a few minutes. “So, um, pilot. What, um, what size crafts can you fly?”

Flyboy, taken aback by his stuttering, answers after a few seconds, “Well, I’m capable on most fighters, small shuttles, light freighters, jumpers…”

“Whoa, whoa, that’s enough. What kind of freighters?”

Flyboy takes a sip of his drink before continuing, “Light, like those YT-1300’s and up, MX-80’s, Supa freights. Basically anything that can haul around two thousand kilos, plus extensions,” stopping for a second, then adding, “Why do you ask?”

Marshall looks around for a second, then leans closer and whispers in Flyboy’s ear, “I know who you are.” With these words, Flyboy turns a shade red, but barely noticeable. His eyes gleam with a fire not before seen by the other cadet, “All alone out there, no one like you, with gifts you do not want or need. Life is hard.”

Flyboy barely keeps his voice low enough for a whisper, “What do you know about being alone?”

“I know the same as you. For you see, I am one of your own.” Flyboy’s faced turned pale, but the fire in his eyes remained. “How?” was all he could squeak out.

“Flyboy, I am one of your own; the race with no name or face. We are the last, and we finally have a chance to learn of why. I will not be able to tell you more until we are on our way.”

Flyboy’s eyes searched through the man’s own, searching for the truth. Locking on something, as with a target, his eyes widened and the fire was gone, replaced by a deep pool. Fighting the first urge to cry in nineteen years, he croaks out a reply, “Where?”

Marshall’s face, now showing triumph, looks once more around the room, then back at the cadet’s face. “The hangar, bay thirteen, pod twenty-one. It’s the first docking space on the right. Meet me there in one quarter of an hour. Trust me, it’ll be worth your while.” Marshal rises abruptly, looks one last time around the room, then quickly and quietly leaves.

Alone, Flyboy returns to his drink, holding it as a mother to a child. And in a second, all looks, all emotions are gone from his face. He downs his glass in one motion, and leaves the room. Once he was half way across the room, a credit chit hits the bar in front of the bar keep.

* * *

“What the hell’s that?” Flyboy yells across the loading bay. Marshall turns to see the other walking towards him. He was wearing a black jumpsuit and carrying a small, bulging bag.

“Glad of you to join!” he yells back. Marshall himself was wearing civilian clothing: a tan, lose shirt and dark pants.

Now close enough to talk normally, Flyboy speaks up, “You didn’t answer my question, what is that?” he points up at the ship behind the other. “It looks like a miniature Bulk Freighter, but with the middle cut out and one engine pod.”

“It’s our ship,” Marshall says with a smile, turning to face the large ship.

“Our ship? We’re are we going?”

“All in good time. The equipment is on board, it’s already been through its preflight checklist, and we’re ready to launch anytime. The hatch is on this side, lower bulkhead. The cabin where you can stow your gear is just to the left of that. Then finally head on up to the bridge, its all the second deck.”

Giving a quizzical look at Marshall, Flyboy heads up to the ship. Opening the hatch, he looks once inside, takes his head out, then after nothing happens, walks in. Opening the first door on his left, he throws his bag into the room and walks away before it closes. Reaching the only cross-corridor, he turns left again and heads up the stairs. Emerging into a small cabin with a rather large viewscreen in front of him, he turns around, taking in his surroundings.

Walking up to the front console, he takes the left seat. Flyboy looks over the console and recognizes a lot of the controls, and hardly anything else. The screen under his right hand displays that the ship is ready to launch.

“Nice ship, isn’t she?” a voice behind he says. Startled, Flyboy turns around slowly to see Marshal behind the console sticking up in the middle of the command cabin, looking down at some instruments.

After a few moments, Marshall looks up, “What, you don’t know how to fly this?”

“No, no, it isn’t that. It’s just, well… it’s not quite what I had in mind.”

“And what did you have in mind?”

“Well, um…” Flyboy fumbled with a few thoughts in his head as he tried to come up with an answer, “I didn’t really have anything thing in mind, but if I did, this wouldn’t be it.”

“Well, now that that’s settled, take her out.” With that, Marshal looks down at his screen again.

“What? To where?” Flyboy exclaims.

Looking up from his console again, “Listen, this isn’t very hard. You know how to fly, I don’t. Take the controls, and take us out of this loading bay. Once out of orbit, I’ll tell you where to head.” With that, they both got back to work. Calling in clearance, the ship leaves the bay and shoots up into orbit.

* * *

The white streaks suddenly turned into the familiar blue kaleidoscope of hyperspace. The viewscreen turned a shade darker to compensate for the brightness of the view outside, yet the blue still reflected off Cadet Flyboy’s face.

He abruptly turns to face the other figure in the room, “HOTH?” he said for the third time.

“Yes, Hoth,” Marshall said without looking up from his console. “Do you have a problem with going to Hoth?”

Flyboy took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, then, calming down a bit, he proceeded, “Well, no, not really. It’s just…”

“A floating ball of ice?”

“Out of the way,” Flyboy corrected.

Marshall looked up from his console for a second, “I’ll ask again, is there a problem with this?”

The answer came more readily this time, “Well, I thought it would only take this afternoon. I mean I didn’t apply for any leave from the Academy. I’m going to get reprimanded for sure!”

“Relax, cadet, everything is taken care of. I already applied for leave for both of us,” this visibly calmed Flyboy down, “Don’t worry, everything is by the book.” After a few seconds, the cadet pilot rotated his chair to examine the instruments. A few minutes later, Marshall spoke, “So, when did you know?”

The pilot turned to face the speaker, “Know what?”

Marshall took a few moments to consider his words, “That you weren’t human.”

Now it was Flyboy’s turn to consider his words, “I’ve always known. Ever since I was born, I’ve had this feeling throughout my body. I never knew my parents, they were killed when I was very young, but I could always feel their presence.

“I was born on a ship repair station in the Bespin system. By the age of three, pirates came and destroyed my home and killed my family. I was the only one to survive. At the time, the pirates didn’t know there were children aboard. Once they found my escape pod and realized what they had done, they took me in and raised me on an asteroid base close to Hoth. They never kept secrets from me, and I always knew what they had done. But I forgave them at an early age, and I was invited into a new family.

“That’s where I earned my name, that is, once they put me in a Z-95. But, anyhew, I was examined by the doctor once they brought me on board and they found out that I was empty inside. They couldn’t believe how I could survive with hardly any internal organs,” a grin grew on Flyboy’s face, “At first they handicapped me. I remember old Derrjck carrying me around everywhere. But I showed them I could be like any man once I picked a fight with a brat of a kid.” The grin faded on the man’s face as the memories faded into the clouds of his mind. It took a second to recover, but he managed to say, “So, how about you? What’s your story?”

Marshall walked down to sit in the copilot’s chair, “I was always an orphan. I never knew my parents, never ‘felt’ them. I was born and raised on Coruscant. I spent my early years in an orphanage. I escaped one night and joined up with a gang of kids down in the bowels of the city. We survived off of garbage and the occasional stolen purse for four years until we were captured by imperial police. I have no idea what happened to my friends, but I was taken to a processing center and worked off my debt to society.

“I spent another two years there until the owner of the center felt sorry for me and helped me escape to a far away planet. That was right before Imperial Center fell to the rebels. I hopped ship the first chance I got and managed to enroll at the Junior Academy on Luxem. The doctors there found out about my unique ‘gift’ and sent me to a military hospital to be studied. They were not painful, and after they had found out all they wanted to know about me, the doctors enrolled me here, paying for the acceptance themselves.”

The two looked at each other for a long time, then, without saying a word, they went back to their posts.

* * *

Flyboy veered off the main corridor and traveled down one of the side halls going into the interior of the asteroid that was now his home. The hall opened into the central hub of the station: the Promenade. With his second in command, Darkon, in tow, he entered a lift tube and pushed the button for the appropriate level. The lift ascended.

“Got an update for me?” Flyboy said after the lift started.

Darkon’s eyes went unfocused for a moment as his cybernetic mind sifted through the main computer. “We have unloaded forty-seven transports today plus five larger ships. Thirty more are scheduled to unload. We have one capital ship in repair with minor damage, which should be cleared to leave within the hour. Seven other ships are in smaller bays, which all should be cleared in under four hours…” The statistics continued until the lift stopped.

“I’ll meet you and our guest at my office in an hour,” Flyboy said. His friend agreed and the lift descended as soon as he stepped off. It was a few short paces until he reached the inner walls of his suite. He discarded his black jumpsuit and walked into his refresher unit. His was one of the few on the station that had actual running water instead of sonic forces. He smiled to himself as he thought that it paid to be a CEO.

The warmth of the water penetrated his skin, and his muscles soon relaxed. His mind began to wander again.

* * *

The food on the ship was not pleasing to the stomach. But no field rations were, so young Flyboy had to accept the brown lumps or go hungry. He sat there, with the mash on its foil, sipping some water from a dispenser cup in the cramped galley. Everything was cramped here on the ship. There were four rooms on the bottom level: 2 cramped bunks, a cramped galley, and a roomy refresher. But since there was only one shower assembly, it was considered half the size of what its actual volume is. The bridge takes up the entire upper deck, which is about the size of one of the ship’s bunks. All of this takes up the front half of the ship.

The back half was the medium sized cargo/engineering bay. Flyboy had not seen what was stored there, but since he had no need to work on the engine with Marshall around, there was no need to see what was behind the door. So, to occupy his time, the young cadet spent his time either eating, calculating the trajectory of the approach to Hoth, or working on his studies. Marshall had the foresight to download the next few weeks of training courses at the academy so the two cadets wouldn’t have to suffer greatly.

And so, for days, the two cadets shared the same transport. They hardly ever talked since they hardly ever saw each other. Flyboy tended to stay up later so that there wouldn’t be over crowding in the refresher. This also changed their meal times. Their studies also separated them since Flyboy usually worked on the secondary computer to fly simulations while Marshall tinkered with unnecessary engineering equipment in the hold. So it was a surprise when Marshall burst into the galley.

“We’re closing. ETA states five minutes,” was all Marshall said. He quickly ran up towards the stair well to the upper deck. Flyboy tossed the meal into the disposal system muttering something under his breath about mynock droppings, and followed the other cadet.

He bounded into his seat as the warning siren went off, and his hand went to the control board automatically. The blue swirl of hyperspace disappeared suddenly and the blackness of space flooded the view.

“WHAT ARE YOU…” Marshall began.

Flyboy cut him off from finishing the rest of the sentence. He already knew what his comrade would say, and was prepared with an answer. “The targeting computer is off by twelve clicks. If I hadn’t taken us out of hyperspace before the computer did, we’d of landed in the middle of the asteroid belt, or worse, the planet itself. Besides, its always good to jump in a little far from the beacon because you never know when any stray asteroid is going to be sitting there.”

“How do you know the computer is off?” Marshall asked dumbfounded.

“I was calculating our projected path yesterday, and our course didn’t match up with any of my previous jumps into the Hoth system. Since I lived there for the better part of my life, I know those coordinates by heart. I knew my coordinates were right, so the computer had to be wrong.”

Marshall stared at the back of his Flyboy’s head for a few moments before he went about his work. He was not used to being out-smarted by anyone.

Flyboy piloted the ship towards the ice blue planet before them. Unfortunately, the faulty targeting computer brought them closer to the asteroid belt than they had wanted to. Fortunately, Flyboy grew up in the belt, and even though the huge rocks continuously move about, there are small paths left by larger asteroids that only experienced pilots of the belt know how to traverse.

The box of a ship sped into the first straight, moving towards the center of the field. Minor pieces of rock and debris flew past, and small chunks hit the shields, but were harmlessly vaporized. To port two large asteroids collided and hundreds of shards scattered. Flyboy rolled to starboard, but, because the ship is not as maneuverable as a snubfighter, some shards hit the hull.

Among the sirens and shaking of the floor plates, Marshall managed to yell, “Are you trying to hit everything?”

“You wanna fly this thing?” Flyboy shot back. This broke his concentration for a split second and a rather large rock just appeared in their path. He noticed in time, and pulled up hard. The ship missed the monster, but another, smaller, yet devastating, asteroid crashed into their plating.

Flyboy pushed the ship to even higher speeds, hoping they could reach the edge before the ship falls apart. He rolled to port, then immediately afterwards hard to starboard, just in time to avoid two rather dangerous stones.

Ahead of the ship lumbered one of the biggest balls of stone in the field. Its’ wake was the clear section of space that the two cadets had been traversing. But since Flyboy felt he knew this section of space like the back of his eyelids, he quickly pulled around it, and even more quickly dove as a rock the size of the ship pounded into the behemoth. Halfway around the small-planetoid, the pilot noticed another “clear” path and sped towards it.

In this path, the two could see clearly all the way to Hoth, the icy blue outlining all the dark brown stones, or lack thereof. Flyboy gunned it, even though the engine was already at full. The lane was mostly clear of rocks, but at the speeds the ship was traveling, even dust seemed like an explosion against the hull. The two were just a few clicks away from freedom from this trap when a fast moving, yet rather large stone crossed their path. The pilot was about to move to the right, yet there was another asteroid blocking his path. His gaze moved up, to the left, and all around, and yet he could not see an opening for escape.

Flyboy, remembering what he had done in the field years before, relaxed and let his eyes take in the entire scene. He could see the deadly rocks spinning toward the ship, the pockmarks and holes on the rocks, and even the small dust fields around the larger specimens. He focused his vision and tried to view the larger asteroid in front of them. With his back turned, Marshall could not witness Flyboy’s grin.

With a flick of his wrist, he slipped the ship to starboard and a few seconds later it was engulfed by stonewalls. Flyboy had found a cave in the planetoid’s crust and decided to follow it through. Up, down, left, right the pair sped through the path. The cadet handled the controls with skill and ease, yet a boxy freighter cannot be handled like a fighter, and its metal plating scraped the cavern more than once. And when the ship felt as though it were about to break apart, they were through the asteroid, and what’s more, the belt itself. Now it was Flyboy’s turn to miss Marshall’s grin.

The metallic box stood out in the bleak, white wasteland. Flyboy stared out the viewport and memories passed through his head. He had spent a life here, but it seemed a life an eternity before now. He could hear and feel the hellishly cold wind pass over the hull. His mind raced with memories and thoughts, running since his first trip here all the way to this day. Life had been hard, but he had managed. His thoughts continued through the race in the asteroid belt and the rough, but livable, landing.

Marshall disturbed his solace. The cadet heard his friend’s steps up the ramp into the cockpit, pretending not to notice Marshall’s approach.

“I feel it’s time to discover our heritage,” Marshall said casually. Suddenly, Flyboy, in his youth and arrogance and thirst to uncover anything about his past, realized he had never stopped to ask what they were doing on Hoth. He turned to speak, but a little surprise festered his demeanor.

“Marshall, why have you dragged us here?” Flyboy could barely keep from yelling at his new friend. Anger from his stupidity welled up inside him.

Marshall didn’t even bat an eye. “A month ago, I gathered some information from some drunken poachers. They claimed that, on a trip to Hoth, they hit a wall of some metal they’ve never seen before. It was carved with curved lines…”

Flyboy interrupted, “And you are taking leads from drunken…”

“The poachers,” continued Marshall, “took some images and scans.” The other took the offered datapad, stared at it for a few seconds, and replied, “So, where do we begin?”

The first day out in the cold, the two cadets journeyed to the uncovered artifact. It was glossy, but from the ice or its natural condition, they couldn’t tell. The wall itself was golden in color, with a thick, clear covering that was etched with the lines. They were deep, yet took large slopes and seemed to spread out through the covered pieces. Only about a square meter of the wall was uncovered, with large blocks of pure ice encasing the rest.

On the second day, Flyboy finally got to see what was in the hold. Besides access to the engines, there were two pieces of equipment. One, a two-meter long tube with dozens of boxes and handholds protruding from it, was a beam drill. The other was a monster of a machine. Standing twice as tall as a man and in the general shape of one, its arms and legs were extra thick with four large claws extending from each of its hands and feet. Where a head and chest would be was a glass cage big enough to fit a human. When he first entered the hold, all he could say was ‘woah’.

Their scans showed a doorway in this wall, but the only problem was that it was buried under several meters of solid ice, and even with their equipment, it would take days to uncover the portal. And so they started. The drill was heavy and cumbersome, so the two cadets switched tools periodically. For three full days they labored in the cold. The wind was chilling to the bone, but the rather large tunnel they were creating warmed them somewhat.

Then, after three days at cutting, they hit something, literally. Flyboy was in the claw, what they had nicknamed the man-machine, and he swung its arm into the ice. It pushed through about a quarter of a meter, and the arm stopped. Flyboy put more force behind the arm, but all the motors and hydraulics in the universe couldn’t budge the ice. He pulled the claws from the ice, and to both cadet’s amazement, the claws were drastically dulled and bent.

Marshall shifted the weight of the drill in his arms, charged it to full, and fired. The violet beam melted through the ice, and then, for about a meter around the laser, the ice glowed violet. It started to melt after a few seconds, and a near-perfect circle was devoid of ice. And in that circle stood the wall, glowing with the purplish light of the beam from the drill.

Marshall switched it off, and the glow vanished. The wall was unscathed, either from laser or razor claws, and still had the clear covering. He proceeded to fire on the wall where the ice still stood, and it always had the same effect. The other eventually climbed from the beast and, pulling out his blaster, fired at the barrier like his friend. Soon, about an eight by eight meter section of wall was uncovered. The carvings, which had seemed like creases or circuitry, took the shapes of circles and rounded triangles, each one as tall as a man and overlapping each other. And, right in the middle of the opening, just as their scans had shown them, was an almost seamless door.

“Okay, now what?” Ask Flyboy, never taking his eyes from the glimmering gold.

“Both you and I saw that this section of wall wasn’t masked like the rest and we could scan through it. So, it’s a door, and all doors can be opened,” explained Marshall.

“Easy for you to say.” The engineer pulled from the pocket of his winter suit some scanning equipment, and walked to the barrier. The door itself was almost hidden among the spiraling lines and curves, and it itself appeared as just two rounded right triangles sitting side-by-side, but if you looked carefully enough, the carvings of its lines proceeded into the golden metal, and not just half-way through the clear part.

Flyboy heard his friend’s question after only a few tries, “Are you going to stand there or help?” He walked over to the red head.

“Okay, these creases are the door’s frame and…”

“My, aren’t we the Stater of the Obvious,” Flyboy remarked. Marshall was more than a little annoyed.

“But, there is no key hole, pad, or otherwise, so we can’t open it.” They both stared at the wall, looking for any hints at its contents.

“What about that?” The pilot pointed to a hand-sized triangle inside the bigger one. It stood about shoulder height up the wall on the crease that was the crack between the double doors.

“I’ve already tried, there is no circuitry or anything to suggest it has something to do with this door. Its just a design.” Without listening to his friend, Flyboy placed his hand on the triangle. The doors swung in, to both cadets’ surprise. And it did so without any dramatic flair: it had no sound, no jerking, and it moved quickly and efficiently like it was brand new.

The hall it opened into was roughly shaped like the doorway, but wider and taller, standing about three times as tall as a tall man. The walls were not as ornate as the outside wall, and it did not share the clear covering and golden luster. In fact, the corridor was dark and dismal, taking a greenish-blue tint from the interior walls and vaulted ceiling. Without saying a word, the two walked into the darkness.

The cadets had been exploring for a few hours but had found little. The long corridor opened up into a tall chamber, about twice as tall as the corridor itself. The chamber was a perfect cube, except for one small fact, the wall opposite the corridor didn’t exist. Instead, the chamber itself overlooked another huge chamber, large enough to fit an entire city, towers and all. The drop from the smaller room was straight with about a kilometer to the bottom of the city room. Both rooms were filled with odds of equipment and rusting machinery. But to both people’s amazement, the air was not as frigid as the exterior, it wasn't even cold. The entire complex was filled with warm, dry air, and their cold suits did not stay on for long.

After much consideration, the two friends decided to remain in the complex for the night; they didn’t want to waste fuel and energy. After walking to the ship to get necessary equipment and supplies, they set up camp in a corner of the smaller of the two chambers. After another hour of scouring the room, they found several different treasures: for one thing, once they shut the outside door to stop the cold drafts from entering the corridor, interior lights flickered on, and a computer terminal recessed in the wall of one side of the room came to life, showing organized rows and columns of red triangles and circles. Another was a sort of datapad, with more of the triangles and circles. The last treasure was what Flyboy found on his own: a cylinder of metal, wrapped in purple cloth and with four triangular daggers extending from each end of the cylinder. He decided not to share this with Marshall for some reason.

Flyboy was finishing his meal as Marshall was seated at the terminal, looking through this race’s supposed lettering system. “I wonder who actually built this place,” the technician murmured to himself.

Flyboy glanced up at him, “You mean you don’t know?” It took a few seconds for him to reply, but barely noticeable, that is, to regular humans.

“Well, I assumed that they were our people, but I just don’t know.” More and more the other questioned their relationship as random thoughts filtered through his head. It was proved by Marshall that Flyboy was too impulsive and took action without thinking. But as he sat there, he started to correct his mistakes.

“How did you know to find me?” he said.

Marshall stopped what he was doing and, after another moment’s hesitation, turned to his friend. “What do you mean?”

“At the academy, you seemed to know a lot about me, I wondered how?” Flyboy repeated.

“I read it in your record,” he blurted out.

“My identity isn’t in my personal record, I know, I’ve looked.” More and more, Marshall looked uneasy. Ideas flowed through the pilot’s head, ideas that didn’t make absolute sense. His training mission was way too easy, and cadet engineers sometimes practiced tooling with simulators. Even though their ship was an old freighter, it and their equipment were more costly than what a cadet’s salary could afford, even if they did work extra jobs. And how did Marshall know to come here if he didn’t realize who this building’s creators were.

Marshall sensed his uneasiness. Sensed? Flyboy though, how did I know what he’s sensing? How do I even know what I’m sensing? Too many emotions and feelings stirred up in his head, but the more complex the world became, the more clearly he could understand what was happening. His eyes could see further than they could before, and he could feel what was happening around him. And he felt that Marshall, his friend, wasn’t what he said he was.

Suddenly Marshall’s expression changed into a mask of hatred and rage. He reached out his hand, and in a moment, a long, metallic cylinder flew out of his duffle and into his hand. He twisted his grip, and a golden shaft of light emerged from one end, and it so happened that that end pointed directly at his former comrade.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t start to think, your report looked so promising in the Imperial files,” he sneered.

The other was completely confused, and over the years he had learned to mask his body language, but he hoped that his adversary couldn’t feel his emotions.

Marshall continued, “I bet you are wondering who I actually am. Usually, I wouldn’t admit to who I actually am, but since you are going to die soon…” the blade shifted to a cutting stance above the red head’s shoulder, “I might as well tell you. I am, actually, the Jedi Knight Marshall Kain, working for a small group of force users who are ridding the universe of Dark Force wielders like you. That is, if you ever knew you had the force in you.” Flyboy started to realize why he could feel things, but just a little too late to learn how to use them now.

“I have studied you for a long time, and know probably more about you than you will ever know. But, as I am needed else where, and since you don’t have very long to live, you really don’t need to know who you are.” The other, remembering something at the back of his mind, crouched onto his feet. Marshall readied himself, “Good bye cadet!” The blade hissed through the air, but the only thing that was cut was air itself. As Marshall had lowered his blade, Flyboy saw it in his mind’s eye and leapt back behind a small stack of old garbage. The attacker growled.

The cadet, running for his life, jumped over another crate and reached a third covered with gray cloth. He fumbled with it for a few seconds before he found what he was looking for. His back was turned to Marshall, and he silently walked up behind the other without causing a single sound. He readied himself for another sweep, and let loose with his gold blade. This time, it contacted with something, and that something was another energy blade, but it shown with a purple hew.

“Very well, young jedi, very well indeed. But, unfortunately for you, I am the better at this game.” Marshall swung his body around in a circle, sweeping his blade at Flyboy’s unprotected side. Realizing too late what was happening, he tried to deflect the attacker’s incoming blow. The force of the swing, though deflected by his own weapon, knocked him back a few steps, and his heel went over the edge of the overhang. Another gesture from Marshall’s hand, and his work was done, the heretic was falling a kilometer onto a hard-metal floor. After he collect the necessities, he blocked the outer door by caving in the tunnel they had created and left for the ship.

Almost ten meters above the floor hung Flyboy, and very much alive, unknown to his attacker. The blades on the end of the hilt of the weapon were made of very strong metal, and easily cut into the walls of the huge chamber. It took a few tens of meters for him to slow down his descent and eventually stop, but he survived. He knew Marshall would block the outside door, and even then, there would be no possible way to climb up the wall and unblock the door fast enough to stop Marshall’s takeoff. So, after several minutes of thinking and hanging, he started his slow and manual descent downwards.

He searched through his small section of the large chamber only to find very large pieces of ruble and a lot of darkness. He ventured out towards the center of the city-sized room and found, to his amazement, a large spire of ice had worked its way through the heart of the chamber and stood about as half as tall as the walls themselves with a rather large base to support it.

After finding the natural tower, his feelings led him, to his best guess, east. Near the side of the wall of the large chamber stood a small vehicle. It was rounded with two flat fins parallel to the ground protruding from the spherical cockpit. Holding the sphere up was a rack of long tubes, probably weapons of some sort. And, to his amazement, the door was open. The young pilot climbed in and started pushing buttons. After about an hour’s worth of playing with the controls, he had both an understanding of the ship’s capabilities and a plan of how to escape.

Flyboy’s hand reached over and pushed a triangular button, and the ship raised off the ground a few meters. More buttons and switches pushed the craft to the great ice spire in the middle of the room, and by moving levers with his feet, long beams of lasers erupted from the craft’s belly and neatly melted a ship-sized hole in the ice.

On a flat plain of snow and ice, a large, furry, horned animal stood staring off into the horizon, looking for its next meal. The taun-taun dipped its head down to the ground in order to get a lick of water and clear its head. For a second, it thought it heard a sound from underneath its feet, a sound it had never heard before. Before its thoughts could go back to its next meal, the ground started to glow red, first dull, and then brighter. Not only that, but it could feel its feet start to warm up drastically. It launched off the crimson ice and ran for its life. If it only looked back for a moment, it would have seen the ice explode in a storm of red lights, then a dark circle would fly from the hole and shoot into the sky.

* * *

He hadn’t even remembered that he stepped out of the shower, but now, the owner of Rancor Pit Station walked, fully clothed, around the corner of the upper level of the promenade and into his office. The instant the door slip open, his lightsaber was in his hand with a single energy shaft emerging from one end. In the middle of his personal office stood not only his best friend Darkon, but his most hated enemy: Marshall. It had been a decade since he had even heard the name, and none of his friends knew who he was since they weren’t part of his life during his days at the academy. But, both sets of senses told him that this man was before him.

Naturally, Darkon look worried, “Ummm, Fly…”

Without moving, Flyboy said, “Out, now. Get security covering all exits, but no one enters this room once you leave.” He finally stepped into the room and his cyborg friend slipped out behind him, locking it as he went.

“Nice setup you have here,” Marshall murmured as he, too, reached for his lightsaber. Now, the other noticed the design of it. It was industrial, with really no unique marks on it. It was built of differently sized cylinders stack on top of one another. The bottom, and longest had a rubber like mesh around it, and he noticed that as its wielder squeezed the mesh, the blade was ignited. Two energy weapons sung dissonantly.

“For your sake,” Marshall taunted, “I hope you learned how to use that thing.” He swept the golden shaft up into the air, bringing it down upon the other’s. Flyboy lifted his up and, flowing his down and bringing it up again in a sideways figure eight, gave his own attack. The red head parried and pushed away, taking a step back. The other raised his weapon to his face is a classic guard position while the other charged. He slashed on the right, the other parried, then the first swung around to his right, bringing his blade on the other’s left side. It was too fast for Flyboy to parry, and both of them knew it, but still he was not harmed. When Marshall looked up to see how his target had blocked his attack, purple blades emitted from either ends of the hilt. Taken aback, Marshall swept away a few steps behind him.

“I see you have a few tricks up your sleeve.” Again, Flyboy said nothing, but readied himself for the next attack. The other again charged, sweeping his blade to both the left and right, taking blocks on both purple blades. Then, breaking the pattern, he jumped back a step and leapt into the air with his blade above his head. Flyboy brought his saber above his head with the blades pointing to the sides. But, again, he had made an error, and the path that Marshall’s blade would take would be right down the center of the hilt, possibly destroying both blades. The golden shaft sliced through air and as its user’s feet touched the ground with it pointed down as well. But, as he looked around, bracketing the deadly beam of energy were two purple blades in an X pattern with his own saber being between the bottom cross. He glanced up, and his adversary now held two identical looking lightsabers. Each one was about a fist’s length, and four daggers on the top of each hilt extended towards each blade. At the pommels were almost flat sections of metal, noticeably unscathed or charred. As he stared for a second, small corresponding metal pegs and holes flattened themselves on either pommel, and soon there were no signs of there being any fastening devices between the two blades.

Angered beyond belief, Marshall pulled up and took several steps back. Flyboy’s lightsabers twirled effortlessly in his hands, creating elegantly swirling shadows across the room. Now it was finally time for Flyboy to say something, “My turn.” His right hand spat out in front of him and the now unlighted hilt sped across the room. It dug itself into Marshall’s shoulder. Grimacing greatly from the pain of defeat and the weapon, he pulled it from its purchase and swung his blade across the door, creating a human-sized hole. The guards outside, realizing that facing charging jedi were never mentioned in the applications, fell to the floor, and the redheaded attacker fled from the room. Without waiting to catch his breath, Flyboy was out the door after him, both blades in hand.

His old friend had already jumped from the upper platform to the stone floor below and ran through the crowds of people in the promenade. Glancing over his shoulder for a mere second before running up the metal gantry he yelled to his employees to get to the hangar bay. He kept pace with the jedi easily because he had to move through a throng of people while Flyboy moved freely on the upper track. They both exited the hall through tunnels at their respective floors, and both made their way towards the only hangar on this rock. But, suddenly, the imperial could no longer feel the presence of his target. Masking his steps, he has learned much, too. Thought Flyboy.

After a few minutes chase, he ran to a hangar devoid of people other than his security teams. The great chamber was squarish, not as big as the city-room on Hoth, but large enough to fit several fully loaded bulk freighters with room to spare. Since lots and alcoves had been marked off and rented, many different shapes and sizes of craft occupied the floor. In the two sidewalls several recesses were designated for the station’s personnel and high paying smaller ships. Control rooms and customs offices occupied the wall that had the entrances to the tunnels. The third wall led into space itself.

The owner pushed through his security guards and into the main room. Standing on the main floor were Darkon sporting twin heavy pistols, Utmog, the Gamorrean and Chief of Security, hefted a large axe in one green hand and a very large blaster in the other, and Poly, the security droid and deputy chief, carried a stun rifle. Before Flyboy could walk up to his friends, Darkon’s personal comlink beeped. A voice spoke from his jacket pocket saying that Crystal’s ship just entered their sensors.

“She’s early,” Darkon noted.

Flyboy murmured, “No, she’s right on time,” then speaking up so the others could hear, “Tell her to block the entrance to the hangar and get ready for a fire-fight. Then Poly, head to the right, Utmog to the left, and Dark…” he glanced at his friend, “You’re coming with me.”

“Should’ve stayed in bed,” he remarked back. The crimson robot and green pig moved in their respective directions while the two friends walked through the empty ships. Flyboy moved his still detached lightsaber hilts together, and with a small click, they connected seamlessly. His companion spoke up again, “Fly, you think he’s in here? Our teams were here…”

“He’s here,” the other interrupted. Darkon shrugged and turned to look behind them. As they rounded a particularly boxy freighter, they heard the roar of engines firing up. Flyboy immediately leapt over the next ship and the other called to his men. But it was too late; the ship had already warmed up and was halfway across the bay before even the dark jedi could reach it. Various security members fired at the fleeing ship, but to no avail. Before the great figure eight ship that was the Crystal Hauler could safely fire its own weapons, the small fighter controlled by Marshall shot a warhead that disabled her lasers for enough time to escape.

Panting and a little out of breath, the cyborg reached his friend. “Sorry Fly, but there’s no way our fighters can get to him now. If you want, I could send…”

“No…” the other said disappointedly, “…don’t waste the effort. Besides, I know we will see each other again. For that, I am certain.”

“Who was that guy?” Darkon said, “He said he was an old friend from the academy.”

“He was.”

“He seemed friendly enough,” the other replied dryly, then, after a moment’s thought, “Well, as friendly as any of your friends.”

“I’ll tell you about it some day.” With that, he stood, staring off into space as his love piloted her ship to safety. Security teams and repair crews walked off to tend to their work, and life went on. But Flyboy’s dreams are haunted with glimpses of that redheaded jedi, and he knows that there is still a battle ahead of him.