Graduation

Character stories and events from around the galaxy

Graduation

Postby Sythbo » Fri Jan 27, 2012 12:24 pm

“It’s not that I can’t do it it’s the fact that it’s Impossible!”
The young sixteen year old Sythbo shouted the fact from the BT-6 Thunderclap’s empty flight deck, the holoterminal behind him buzzing static in response. Leaning forward in the Pilots chair he flipped switches on the primary dashboard without time to even think about them, extending the aft wing flaps to provide precious manoeuvrability power in sacrifice of the now less important speed. Before him lay a ring belt, a minefield of ice, dust and rocks hundred times larger than the tiny support ship he was piloting; alone. The co-pilot was dead. As was the engineer, and any droids on board. The only survivor was the Senator, and she was sealed in her chambers while he was sealed on the bridge. He knew the situation, and now he had to act on it. But to make matters worse, he had been told he had to take the BT-6 through an asteroid field. Computer calculated odds of three seven twenty to one, but that was if a Droid was piloting. Sythbo was human. That meant something.
“Auto assists power low: disable to conserve fuel” beeped the ships computer, prompting some light swearing from Sythbo. Auto assist was a vital part of any operational flight deck – at the breakneck speeds most ships travel at usual human reflexes are too slow to respond to instantaneous changes, which are handled by the computer. Without Auto assist, Sythbo would have to do everything by hand, at Seventy five percent the speed of sound. Not an easy task, especially whilst navigating an asteroid field. As Sythbo flicked the breaker transferring power from the aft lifters to their stern counterparts, he watched as the shadow of the first enormous ice-asteroid engulfed the bridge. They were in the field.
Red lights began flashing in the bridge as the ship pulled a full three hundred sixty degree flip to permit a sizable block of ice to pass through the wings instead of colliding with the bridge. Red was supposed to keep passengers calm and convey a sense of urgency, but Sythbo just found it annoying so he turned it off. He was standing now, working both the primary, secondary and tertiary dashboards simultaneously while his eyes darted from the two dashboards in front of him to the third affixed to the ceiling. The bridge was designed for two pilots and a captain to fly, meaning Sythbo could only reach less than half of the controls but with what he could reach he was using to the best of his ability. Sweat already glistened on his forehead, and the thick plastiglass screen that permitted him to see where he was flying was already riddled with tiny chips from the billions of miniature particles of rock ice and dust that had already bombarded the ship. They were unavoidable, and whilst they obscured Sythbo’s vision he had stopped looking out the window thirty minutes ago, preferring the radar and sonar to provide him with more accurate readouts than his eyes could offer. And it was serving him well, aside from the scattering of miniature debris, not single asteroid larger than an apple had struck the craft, although the motion sickness was making Sythbo feel a bit dizzy. Whilst outside the airlock there was no gravity, the change of thrust from the Hull and Board boosters respective to their individual flaps caused the artificial gravity on board to waver slightly enough to give Sythbo space sickness, but he swallowed it down in order to push just that little further. He was over halfway through.

The final challenge. It was almost humourous in its cliché, wide open space on the other side of the ring, with just two enormous blocks of ice in the way. Two enormous blocks of ice that happened to be slowly moving together on a collision course. They were each at least twice the size of a Valor class. Forsaking the radar for his own eyes, just this once, Sythbo took the precious few seconds to observe the sides of the asteroids that would clash together, memorising every groove and trench that could save the ship. Then, it was time to work. First he closed the wings, significantly sacrificing his overall manoeuvrability in the y plane in favour of reducing the ships overall size. He would need that later. Closing all the flaps he pushed extra power into all four Ion engines, blasting the ship forward with an edge of speed before turning it ninety degrees widdershins to line up with the flat sides of the encroaching ice floes. Above him from the point of view of the bridge was one, and below him was another. And somewhere, out of view on the 3d plane of the asteroids, the two first collided.
All across the gap both giants shed thousands of shards of ice, many larger than the Thunderclap herself, which were sent hurtling across the rift to explode into smaller shards on the other side. Without the extended wings all Sythbo could do was to dart the ship to port and starboard to avoid the rain of razor ice, one shoe kicked off as he worked one of the dashboards with his foot to keep up with the steady demand of electrical commands just to keep the ship steady. Ahead of him the gap of beautiful glistening stars was being closed off all too fast, he couldn’t make it unless… Putting his foot on the Pilots chair Sythbo dived across the holomap to the co-pilots chair and grabbed the control stick. With his free hand and foot he felt to the necessary controls whilst he looked at the ammunition checks – he had torpedoes in the launchers. As the ship approached collision with the closing maw of the asteroids, he hastily took aim and fired, seconds later an explosion of fire and smoke covered the closed mouth of the rift.

Several long seconds later the BT-6 Thunderclap burst out of the smoke into wide open space, the deafening crash of the two asteroids collision propelling the ship forwards into space and static.

Sythbo lay sprawled across the Holomap, one shoe off and drenched in sweat and probably a few tears. At the back of the bridge, the door unlocked and opened, A Lady entering the bridge.

Followed by two other women and six men of various alien backgrounds. The space visible through the screen turned to static as the shaking of the deck subsided and the simulator sank into its default position.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to present you Sythbo Lepps, who has just beaten a test simulation deemed impossible by all boards of testing. As such he may at the end of this Academy year, be the top student in the Academy’s history.”

Polite applause. Sythbo just lay there, recuperating.

“And all in a time of one hour, twenty five minutes, and thirty one seconds. Impressive work Lepps.”

"Fuck it."
Sythbo
 
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Re: Graduation

Postby Sythbo » Sun Jan 29, 2012 9:24 am

Sythbo slammed his fist into the locker, his arm barring passage for the lanky student who was hurrying to a seminar.

"I've seen the scores you Cheat.”

“Sythbo! Good to see you have you done something with your hair?”

“Stephen Gorrka, you bloody cheat! The ice rings in half an hour! You could not have managed that unless you pushed full speed through the field in a straight line! Hell until I managed it two days ago they considered the simulation Impossible and it was supposed to be a display of how a Pilot reacts against impossible odds!”

“Sythbo I really have to get to this…”

Quickly ducking under Sythbo’s arm Steve broke off at a hastened walk through the corridors of the Academy, Sythbo soon in pursuit.

“What do you even care? So you come second this year…”

“And I would have come first in the whole Academy’s history if you didn’t cheat…”

“I didn’t cheat…”

“And that would mean a job wherever I wanted it! I could have flown the Star of Couracaunt… Get back here you nerf-herder…”

Breaking into a Run Steve made an effort to get away from his classmate, whom also began to sprint. Bursting through various gaggles of bored students and pushing over gormless droids, the pair of them sped down the corridors remaining just an arm’s reach away from each other. Steve was faster on his longer legs, but Sythbo was more agile, weaving through groups of chattering girls whilst Steve was content to push right through them.

“You little rat…”

Sythbo stopped mid-insult as Steve stopped dead in his tracks, his feet almost skidding out from under him as he pressed the button to open the door. With a whoosh, the pair of them now stood in full view of the entire senior class, Master Richtenstein mid-sentence. Steve etched into the lecture room, and Sythbo, despite having no need to attend the lecture, slipped in after him growling under his breath. Steve selected a seat in the middle of a row with no empty seat either side, so Sythbo slipped into the row behind him, positioning himself to sit right behind his rival. He wasn’t just pissed off at this point, he felt downright angry, hurt and cheated, and wanted blood. If he couldn’t keep himself in control he would cause a scene, and that’s the last thing he wanted; fighting meant suspension, or expulsion. Not only two weeks from Graduation.

“You Sithspiting prick” Sythbo whispered right into Steve’s ear, leaning over the desk to do so. “I went through the records. You weren’t hit by a single thing, not even dust. Just because the computers can’t notice such a huge anomaly doesn’t mean I can’t tell them.”

“You wouldn’t. Not after I helped you out with that Medallion thing.”

“Do you think for one second that gets you off the hook? That was one hack, you got yourself into the bloody mainframe for this! And don’t tell me you couldn’t, you managed to splice the senate’s computer once for just a name.”

“What do you want me to do? I needed high marks or my life is ruined-“

“Your life? I don’t give a Banthas arse about your life. You’ve pushed my life into the dirt for this!”

“I didn’t think I would beat everyone else on the system! I can push your time up above mine if you like Sythbo, just don’t tell the Dean, I need this job.”

“And make me a cheat like you? I wouldn’t stoop so low if I were a Kaminoan faced with a small door. You’re done Steve, Done.”

“Sythbo No. I’ll do anything.” Steve was begging at this point and to a level Sythbo sympathised. He knew Steve’s case, he was put into the Academy by an over expecting Father, and expected nothing less than an Ace Pilot to come out. Unfortunately, Steve had little to no skill behind the console. His talent – and to call it a talent would be an under exaggeration – was behind a computer screen hacking systems. He could get further into Senators secret files than an Astromech droid with the password. Which is something Sythbo couldn’t do to save his life – he was useless with computers. Barely understood them. Mechanics, yes he could ace. But the moment it went electrical he lost the plot completely. So Steve had something he could offer Sythbo in exchange for first place.

“What could you possibly offer me in exchange for first place? You’re dead.”

“I’ll hack anything for you! I’ll do your computer tests! Anything!”

Sythbo stopped to pretend to consider it, but he already knew that this was something he wanted. “Alright.” He said after a while. “But whatever I ask, whenever I ask, you do to the best of your ability, however many times that happens. Got it?”

Steve had no choice but to Agree.
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Re: Graduation

Postby Felaion » Sun Jan 29, 2012 3:30 pm

Very nice ;)
Master Vagandro Rist - Jedi Sage & Diplomat
The Jolly Green Giant
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Re: Graduation

Postby Sythbo » Mon Jan 30, 2012 10:49 pm

Turning the tarnished Medallion over in his hands, Sythbo waited for his turn. ‘Never let it out your sight’ were the words urgently whispered to him when he was first given it, and he never did. It was always around his neck, or in his hands there he would play with it, turning it over and over in his excited fingers. He knew what it was supposed to be of course, an old family heirloom from the days of the Mandalorian war. A Medal for valour awarded to his great something Grandfather for Piloting a Legendary ship in a legendary battle. He also knew it was bantha bollocks, but he heeded his Grandfathers urgent warning. Because it was the last thing the old man ever said to Sythbo, he died in a tragic shuttle crash on his way home off-planet. The Medallion was a dull thing, attached to a thin silver chain by a loop that had been welded on at some date. He could see how it would have once been a medal, where the ribbon would go and all, but he knew that no republic medal looked like that. At least he had thought he knew until recently – Steve had done some research for him and now he wasn’t so sure. He worried it thoughtfully in his hands. It was a teardrop shape, a raised star on the front and, hidden beneath a layer of tarnish, a drawn star on the back. The two stars differed in design, The frontal one bearing four points whilst the one on the back had eight, but Sythbo had never really worried about design. He just wore the pendant, and rarely took it off. It meant something to him, sentimentally.
He was so lost in his own thoughts he barely heard his name being called. It took a light shove from behind him before he snapped out of his daydream, and another to prompt him out from the wings and onto the Platform, to a polite round of applause. The Dean was standing behind the Podium, his Diploma in one hand and a smile on his face, beckoning Sythbo over. Entranced, Sythbo approached him, took the Diploma in one hand, turned and smiled as a flash took his picture. He heard a loud cheer from somewhere at the back, and looking, saw a shock of Red hair before he was ushered from the Platform. Ten years in the Academy. Ten seconds was all they spared their record breaking graduate. Typical.
And then Sythbo was attacked by a Hug that would rival a Wookies or worse, his mothers. His dark blonde hair was ruffled and before he knew it he was staring at a Grin, Blue eyes and a shock of blood red hair.

“Hello Gara.”

Sythbo held his poker face for a few more seconds then his mouth burst into a Grin and he gave his Eldest brother a hug back. Gara Lepps was two years Sythbo’s senior, and Twins with Sythbo’s other brother, Thotu. Both were force sensitive, and both had trained as Jedi but with mothers position in the Senate and their home so close to the Jedi temple Gara often snuck out to visit his family. Thotu, who was far more serious in his studies, remained in the temple frowning upon his friendlier twin. Still, it was nice to see Gara after all this time, he hadn’t changed a bit since their last meeting year past, and his hair still dyed the same colour. Naturally he shared Thotu’s brunette but as a form of rebellion he had dipped his head in a vat of chemicals and his hair had come out as red as fire. It seemed he liked it that way as he hadn’t changed it back.

“My little Brother’s all grown up! Look at you, with your certificate and Pilots licence, soon you’ll be a Legend like your Ancestors.”

Sythbo flashed a shade of red that could have rivalled his brother’s hair, only able to respond with a sheepish ‘Thanks.’

“I have bad news smallest one, Mothers fallen ill and Father is looking after her. They couldn’t come, but they were so proud to hear your achievement. Best in the Academies history – or you would be if that slimeball hadn’t cheated. If you want I can sort him out for you, you know?”

Sythbo smiled. “No thanks Gara, I cut a profitable deal with him and he won’t be troubling me again. I’m happy with second best. And I’ll visit Mother as soon as I can, I do hope she recovers. How are you finding life in the Temple?”

“I’m not. I’ve uh… left the Jedi order. A small misunderstanding mostly, only they don’t give a flying shit about me or the fate of anything outside the mid rim. I spent a year campaigning to get a relief force sent to a small planet in the outer rim, but eventually gave up and went to liberate it myself. And apparently that constitutes as disobeying the council. I only returned to the Capital to see mother and you before going there for good.”

“Oh Gara…”

“Don’t worry little Brother; I could use an Ace pilot like you so if you’re ever in the outer rim look me up. And I’m not the only one who came to see you graduate…”

Sythbo almost jumped out his skin as a small girl wrapped herself around his neck, swinging her knees around his body in piggy back. Sythbo saw a flash of golden brown hair swing past the corner of his vision before two hands closed over his eyes.

“Guess who?”

“I guess a little annoying Sister who should be busy knocking out guys twice her size to become a big annoying sister.”

“You guess right!” Came the reply as Sythbo’s back was released from a vice grip. His little sister half skipped around to hug her older brother properly, a tiny excitable yet timid girl who was scary as fuck when she got angry. How exactly the tiny model of a human ended up in the Republic Military officer Training Corps he had no idea, but she had always been able to beat all her brothers in a head on fight, even Thotu, four years her senior. Serra Lepps, Fighting girl. There had always been the biggest bully at school she couldn’t beat, but when you have Gara Lepps for a Brother that bully never bothered you much again. At the start of the year she had signed up, and that was that. This was the first Sythbo had seen of her since.

“Hello Serra, How is my favourite Sister?” Sythbo smiled, kneeling down to condescend her height. In response she stood on tiptoes and threw her arms out to balance. “I’m almost bigger than you.” She retorted, before sticking her tongue out. Sythbo wished she would grow up sometimes, but knew that would never happen. She would always be the littlest. And she was still over a foot smaller than him.

Sythbo smiled as his little sister half ran half skipped off to the bathroom. As he turned back Gara grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Sythbo, I need something from you.”

Taken aback, Sythbo frowned slightly. Gara had lost all his warmth, he now looked panicked. His skin seemed paler, his eyes wide. He looked strangely… lost.

“Grandpas Medallion. I need to keep you safe; I need to keep our family safe. I can stop them going after it for a while, but I need to safe keep it.”

Sythbo was speechless. For a minute he considered handing it over, then and there. Gara wasn’t a liar, he would only have asked if he really thought Sythbo was in danger. But then he faltered; Grandpa told him to give it to no-one. Taking a step back, he shook his head.

Gara just sighed. He didn’t even press the matter, and some of the warmth returned to his face.

“I knew it. You’re a Lepps; you stick by your word. Guard it with your life; the stories are true. I’ll try to make sure they go for yours last, and I won’t tell them anything. With any luck I’ll stop them before they get to you.”

And with that Gara was gone. All it left Sythbo was a lump in his throat. If Gara was right, then the medallion was worth more than his entire scholarship. The Black Thorn was real.
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Re: Graduation

Postby Sythbo » Sun Feb 05, 2012 1:35 pm

At last. Eighteen years old, and performing his first Gig in the Republic Navy, Sythbo lounged in the Co-Pilots seat on the Bridge of a Valour Class Capital. The sheer expanse of controls and dials required numerous Pilots to manage the flight of the Enormous Spaceship and Sythbo, new to the Corps, was number two. In his first placement, that was a feat to be proud of, direct apprenticing to the Pilot and Understudy to his position. As the capital cruised into Orbit of Coruscant whilst the Hyperspace routes were calculated to the Republic fleet, Sythbo breezed the pre-jump checks as child’s play, the controls and commands already second nature to him. Watching the readouts on the navicom Sythbo calibrated the coordinates of the Republic fleets destination, pulling up the charts of known space debris and any systems blocking the way. There was only one system so Sythbo calculated a curve past the orbit of the third planet, at a total achievement of 300 parsecs. Hardly a record distance, but still, at hyperspace, a quick journey. Taking account for mass increase and activating the Hyperdrive converters to force the increase into additional velocity, Sythbo signalled the Pilot to show his calculations and preparations were ready. The pilot, on order from the captain, pulled down the Hyperdrive lever and through the Screens, Sythbo watched the Stars seem to elongate as the entire Capital ship transported into Hyperspace with a burst of speed.

Sythbo heard the battle long before his brain registered what was showing on the scanners. As the ship pulled out of Hyperspace she decelerated right into the flight path of the remaining debris of a Hammerhead corvette. Sythbo just sat shocked as the Pilot instantly began raising the forward shields, altering the trajectory and firing the hull boosters to gain height on the looming collision course, as Sythbo jolted out of his trance and began altering the port and starboard stabilisers to turn the ship to hopefully pass harmlessly over the burnt out chassis. To an extent it worked, but the whole ship shook violently as the bridge of the Hammerhead scraped noisily along the hull shields, alarms ringing to indicate a hull breach in one of the loading bays. Deep in the depths of the ship Sythbo could hear the scramble sirens, as starfighter pilots ran to their fighter ships to get out of the Capital and form a defensive convoy around the more powerful but vulnerable turbolasers that lined the armour plating of the ships chassis. Spinning in his chair Sythbo began working the secondary controls, whilst the Pilot barked orders at him through the comms network, broken up slightly with the rear pilot whom was handling tertiary commands. The calm nature of the Pilot kept Sythbo’s heart from racing too fast and he managed to keep the ships stable, pulling it into a cruising speed towards the centre of the battle, the central space station. The station was in bad shape, under attack from two Empire capitals, as well as several whole squadrons of fighter ships, orders from the Admiral already buzzing through for the Valour to liberate it. Already the Valour was cruising as a high speed towards the port bow of the attacking ship, forcing it into crossfire between the Valour and the Station’s turbolaser battery defences. The Empire ship barely stood a chance, torn at on both sides from heavy fire as its shield energy depleted and the high voltage laser beams began tearing into the hull, explosions starting in the magazines and spreading until the entire ship began breaking up. Back on the bridge Sythbo was almost unaware of this as he kept the ship in flight, closing the engine flaps to force deceleration and set the ship into an orbit around the station. The ship shook violently as a large bit of debris from the wreck struck its side, but Sythbo was already on it, programing the shields to strengthen the cracked hull and sending droids to seal any breach.

The computer readout told him the news before the Pilot managed to get the information to him over comms. The Imperial raiding party was in retreat, but they had captured their objective. The orders were simple; the Valour was to pursue. The Imperial Corvette holding the objective had been forced to calculate its Hyperspace jump in a different direction to the rest of the fleet; the Valour must reclaim the stolen goods and return to the fleet. Sythbo couldn’t help noticing something odd about the orders, why was the Valour the only ship sent if the entire fleet was already prepped for battle? And why did the Empire send the ship carrying the stolen goods in a different direction to the rest of their fleet? Regardless of his objections, Sythbo continued his work, locking onto the Targets trajectory before its jump, using the co-ordinates hacked from the targets flight computer. Once again the stars elongated, and with a jolt and a shudder the Ship accelerated into Hyperspace.
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Re: Graduation

Postby Sythbo » Tue Feb 07, 2012 4:23 am

As the ship sailed through Hyperspace, Sythbo sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, spinning slightly to the right to glance around the Bridge. To his direct right was the Captain’s chair, dead centre in relation to the glass windows that permitted the Pilots a view of their surroundings. To the right of the captain’s chair was the Pilots station, where he sat checking the charts in relation to their destination. The Rear pilot wasn’t on the bridge; he had a room of his own looking out the back of the ship, to permit the flight team a full aerial visibility. Behind Sythbo the floor descended into a trench where numerous technicians sat working at their stations, a second trench on the other side of a wide bridge that stretched back to the door, the trench dipping into the floor behind the Pilot as the former did behind Sythbo. Around the Trench there was a significant amount of floor space, at least as thick as the floor bridging the gap between the trenches, where more technicians and some of the underpilots worked at their stations. The Main door stood at the back of the bridge, and a wide glass window curved around the front, the bird’s eye view of the entire room forming a ‘D’ shape. The Captain wasn’t present, he had gone below the instant the Ship jumped to Hyperspace to check on the Ships passenger, a Jedi Knight, to inform him of the Situation. Sythbo had seen the Jedi as he boarded, a Mirialan with black hair and dark green skin. He had also got a good look at the hangers – huge rooms filled with battle-ready fighter planes, protected from open space by both high voltage forcefields and thick bulkhead doors. The Fighters themselves were mostly Ravens and A-wings, with a few XA-8s. Sythbo had longed to hop into one of them, but had resisted. The Co-Pilots chair was far more of a challenge than the simple controls of an A-wing anyway.

The Pilot let Sythbo know over the Comms: the target had slipped out of Hyperspace and in a few minutes the Valour will have caught up. The plan was for the Valour to offer the target a chance to surrender the goods, before attacking. All Sythbo needed to do was to keep the Valour stable. Turning his chair to look out the front window, Sythbo watched the twisting blue tunnel of Hyperspace fade out into stretched stars which snapped quickly into simple dots in the blackness of space as the ship decelerated to an almost stop.
Right in the middle of an Imperial Fleet.
Sythbo counted two Capitals within a second of seeing the fleet. He spotted the third, their target, a moment later, turning slowly to face its pursuer. The other two both were in battle-ready positions, accompanied by countless squadrons of fighter ships, numerous corvettes, and a significant number of support ships. All in battle-ready positions pointed at the Valour. No-one needed to say it because the same thought was on everyone’s minds. It was a trap.

The Communications barrier was broken less than a minute later. The Imperial Admiral broadcasted his message through every speaker on the Valour, so Sythbo had no problems hearing it.

“This is Imperial Admiral Tiberian. You are to surrender utterly and unconditionally, disarming all weapon batteries and allowing a Boarding party to land and collect the Artefact you are carrying on board your ship. Once it is in our possession you will be free to leave once our engineers have determined that your ship has been completely disarmed. If you choose to decline our orders we will be forced to take lethal action. What is your answer?”

Radio silence as the Captain, somewhere on board the ship, pondered the terms. Seconds seemed like hours as not even the terminals made a noise, every last form on board waiting.


“We accept. Hanger two will be made ready for your landing party.”


The Bridge doors burst open as at least twenty Imperial soldiers barged onto the bridge, forming with rifles at the ready aimed at the collective Pilots and technicians inside. The Captain, who now stood behind his chair facing the door, slowly raised his hands behind his head, prompting everyone else in the room to loyally follow suit. This included Sythbo, despite him being unarmed. He could see a blaster holstered in the Captains belt, but had no desire to play the hero, it would only get him and probably the Captain killed. So he stood there whilst the Steady clamp of footsteps grew closer, a click, click, click noise from beyond the doors. And there he came, A Sith Pureblood, striding onto the Bridge with a purposeful step, Followed shortly by a Hooded and Masked man, wearing nothing but Black save the bright white trousers that spilled out from under his Long black Duster. His mask covered his entire face save his eyes, which were shaded by the black cloth hood that was attached to his Duster. Despite being unable to see his eyes, Sythbo couldn’t help but feel that he was looking directly at –him-

“Captain, It’s good to see you co-operating.” The Pureblood sneered, Halting his stride right in front of the Captain. “I trust you know why we are on board your… ‘Ship.’”

“We do not ‘Sir’ and request politely that you depart my Bridge and let us on our way.” Replied the Captain gruffly.
“Oh, is that so?” Said the Pureblood grinning wickedly. Sythbo didn’t see his hands move but with a flash of red the Captain fell to the floor headless, the Saber burns smoking lightly. Like everyone else on the bridge, Sythbo tried his best not to jump or yell, but he jolted sharply in surprise.
“Shame.” Said the Pureblood. “As it happens we are looking for an Artefact. And what luck! Its right here.”
Sythbo couldn’t help but jump as the Purebloods head turned to look right at him. But he didn’t manage a yelp as suddenly; somehow, his throat began to contract preventing the air getting to his lungs. He gulped desperately a few times, as he could feel a tight invisible fist closing hard around his neck, pulling him up with more strength than he, or it seems the ships artificial gravity, could resist. It slowly pulled his feet up off the ground, his lungs feeling like they were stabbing him in the heart, no air left to breathe. Gasping, he pulled his hands to tear at whatever was gripping at his throat, but to no avail. As the edges of his vision began to blur and black out, Sythbo began to accept that he was about to die.
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Re: Graduation

Postby Sythbo » Wed Feb 08, 2012 4:36 pm

Sythbo’s vision blacked as the grip around his neck suddenly loosened and the floor came crashing into his feet. Temporarily blinded, he could feel only pain in his legs, the unique sound of a Lightsaber cutting through flesh, and a surprised gasp. As the light began to return to his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of the Pureblood looking at him in surprise, his chest producing the blade of a Crimson red Lightsaber. Behind him his masked companion stood, his eyes contorted with anger, his Lightsaber unsheathed and pressed hard against the small of his masters back. The Blade had cut right through him.
“I said no” Growled the masked man, disabling his Lightsaber and allowing the Pureblood to fall to the floor. Out of the emitter at the end of the hilt were three sharp spines that glowed red with heat and the Purebloods quickly drying blood, as the rest of him died quietly. “Not him. Not yet.”
Sythbo, as well as the rest of the crew on the bridge, could do naught but stand there in shock. The unexpected Deus ex machina had left them seemingly Paralysed, but the Imperials at the door recovered the quickest, turning their rifles to aim at the masked man. As one they fired at his back but with a flourish, his Lightsaber jumping into action again, the masked man deflected three bolts back at their masters, the other seven scattering around the room wildly. With his free hand the masked man cast a wide arc before him, the four living Imperials on the left hand side of the door being pushed forcefully into each other and then the wall, knocking two of them cold. More Blaster fire came, which was also deflected around the room, another Imperial falling. That left five, two of which were still struggling to regain their Balance and, deactivating his Saber once more the masked man flourished his hands and threw them both forward, sending a wave of air forward at the Imperials, knocking them back against the wall, their heads coming in contact with the metal striking them out for the count. Turning to Sythbo, the masked man strode up to him and knelt before the young Pilot that lay sprawled on the floor. Without so much as a word or a request, he grabbed the chain medallion that hung around Sythbo’s neck, and lifted it off, standing up and placing the chain in the pocket of his leather Duster. Then he turned to leave.

At the door of the Bridge stood a Dark Green Mirialan, cloaked in a brown robe that covered the Ceramic and metal armour of a Jedi Knight ready for battle. His belt had cloth Kamas hanging from it, and Sythbo could see a Lightsaber sitting in its holster at his hip. Slowly, without haste or any obvious urgency, the Jedi shrugged off his cloak, which fell to the floor in a heap behind him, and unholstered his Lightsaber, passing it to his right hand where he activated it, an emerald green blade bursting from the hilt with a signature hiss. The Masked man just stood there, regarding his new opponent, the rest of the bridge watching, unsure what to do.
“Jedi Knight Vagandro. I was wondering if I would see you on board this ship,” came the calm, cold voice of the masked man. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping aside, your ship is hopelessly outnumbered and I have no desire to request it be blasted out of the sky.”
“I will not be stepping aside Fallen one,” came the equally cold, but more calculated and calm reply. “Already eight have died on this ship today, and countless more in the feint attack back at the republic fleet, just to draw this ship into your trap. I do not know what it is you have done all this for, but I cannot let you leave with it.”
As the Jedi mentioned the eight casualties, Sythbo noticed with shock for the first time the Pilot, sprawled over his console, a rifle bolt burn in the centre of his chest. He must have been struck by one of the wayward bolts. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away, Sythbo looked back at the confrontation.
“Any deaths are regrettable, but for the greater good” insisted the masked man, pressing his point in hard. “Have you any idea how many would have died had the actions of today not occurred?”
“No and I have no wish to know. Surrender yourself and be spared.”
With Vagandro’s words, the whole ship shook as what appeared to be half the Republic fleet dropped out of Hyperspace around them. What had, up until that point, been relative quiet burst out into a symphony of explosions and laser cannon fire, as both fleets opened fire upon one another, whilst the masked man looked around in what his eyes relayed as sudden shock.
“I radioed for re-enforcements the moment you came aboard fallen one. If your prize was worth this much trouble, you would not have fired upon this ship while it was still aboard.” The Jedi said slowly.
“So be it.” Replied the Masked man his calm voice returning, who reached up to lower his hood, shrugging his Leather Duster off where it fell to the floor. Stepping forward, Lightsaber in hand he activated it, the Crimson blade once more carving through the air. Without the Duster Sythbo could see the contrast between his White trousers and black tunic, silver crowned circlet stitched onto his black cloth mask. Striding towards the door, he watched the Jedi begin to approach him, both of them breaking into a run, arcing their Lightsabers at each other which connected in a flash of light and a loud crash.
Jedis fighting is a Silent duel, each move planned ten steps in advance, the opponent already foreseeing it and planning his counter. To compare it to a professional game of Dejarik would be fairly accurate; except each move was delivered so fast and accurate it was almost impossible to understand who had the upper hand at any one moment. At one moment the masked man seemed to be pushing Vagandro back but seconds later the tides had turned and he was being forced back himself. With such a close battle there was no time and no space to concentrate long enough to use the Jedi’s mysterious force powers, so the blades would clash endlessly together, harder and harder as tricks and feints seemed to get more and more daring. Suddenly however, both parties split up, each taking a few steps back to observe their opponent momentarily. Then, once again they clashed, the fight continuing.
Suddenly, the ship shook with a force that could only mean one thing. They had been hit by something, possibly enemy fire. Sythbo was snapped from the trance that had come from watching the fight and began to consider his options. Whilst the duel was going on the crew of the bridge couldn’t do their work properly to move the ship, the fight was too distracting. And the Pilot was dead – meaning he had to take command. Reaching out, he pulled the Captains blaster out of her fallen master’s holster, tucking it into the waistline of his trousers. Then, as quietly as he could, he crept up the central platform of the bridge, towards where the Jedi duelled, pausing momentarily over the masked man’s Duster, where he knelt down for a second then continued. As he approached a position behind the masked man he suddenly ducked, in sync with his target, as Vagandro swung his blade past where his head had been moments ago. As the masked man stood however, Sythbo remained crouching, lining up his target. Pulling his arm back like a snake coiling for an attack, Sythbo struck out a fist towards his opponents kidneys, aiming to momentarily incapacitate him.
His fist never connected however as the masked man kicked out at his opponents chest, knocking him back a few steps, and swiftly backfliped over Sythbo, landing right beside him and grabbing his outstretched fist. Before Sythbo had time to think he was thrown at the Jedi knight who dropped his saber to catch him, as the masked man turned and sprinted towards the captain’s chair. As he passed his Duster he swung a hand down to grab it, swinging it up and over his arms and back onto his shoulders. As he reached the Captain’s chair he curved to the right, grabbing one of the joysticks on the primary control panel, jerking it hard to the left. The Ship jolted hard, and jumped into movement, tipping widdershins, throwing everybody on the bridge hard to the floor. Turning, the Masked man began to run towards the door, but as he got halfway across the platform, the Jedi Knight standing to intercept him, he span, his Duster billowing out as he threw something at the floor hard. It exploded into a thick cloud of smoke, engulfing the masked man and, as the smoke cleared, he had vanished.
Sythbo didn’t stop to apologise to the Knight for letting his opponent have a chance at freedom. He was already running to the Pilots chair, desperate to prevent the ship from crashing into anything else, as it glided clumsily towards an Imperial Corvette. Grabbing the control lever Sythbo wrenched it back into Position, pulling the ship back up onto a steady course, turning it so the ship was at a right hand angle to the nearest Imperial ship. Grabbing the primary comms unit he stabbed a button to activate a universal broadcast and spoke clearly.
“This is your Pilot speaking. All personnel must detain any Imperial engineers still on board, and all Republic engineers must report to their nearest missile battery to try and get it armed again. If you see a masked man, he is armed and dangerous, do not attempt to confront him. Primary orders are to get our defences working. Pilots, scramble to your ships, I want all hangers ready for escort position in ten.”
Pushing the speaker away Sythbo’s hands began dancing across the control board, the first of the missile batteries already coming online and opening fire upon the Target imperial Corvette. The corvette almost instantly returned fire, as Sythbo pulled the Port shields into full operation, the firepower harmlessly absorbed but at a huge cost to the shield generators remaining power. There was no Co-Pilot, so he had to redirect the most important secondary controls to the primary station, and do without those he didn’t need. Hold on, with a slight lurch, Sythbo felt the rear stabilisers slip into effect, a secondary command he hadn’t authorised. Briefly turning his head to the left, the Jedi Knight was sitting in the Co-Pilots chair, frowning deeply as he worked the secondary controls. He didn’t look at Sythbo or even regard his presence, but Sythbo felt he knew he was looking. Smiling briefly, Sythbo turned back to his work. The Valour carved gracefully through the open space, curving gently around the Corvette that was feeling the punishment of three different weapon batteries, dealing its own punishment in return. With different systems going offline as a direct result of the Engineers attention in the Magazines, Sythbo was beginning to struggle to keep the Ship flying in a straight line. It was time to make a tactical retreat. The Ship had almost achieved a 180 degree arc, facing back the way it came so Sythbo began the Hyperspace calculations, pulling the comms system towards him and ordering a recall of the fighters and a seal of the hangers. Panicking under the pressure, Sythbo’s finger itched over the Hyperspace lever as the ship finished his turn, his eyes glued to the light that would indicate the Hanger seal. The second it blinked, Sythbo grabbed the lever and pulled it down, the ship jolting hard into acceleration back to the Republic fleet.
As the Hyperspace tunnel closed around them, Sythbo breathed a heavy sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair. Dipping into his pocket he pulled out the Medallion he had pickpocketed back from the masked man’s Duster, looking at the Medal that hung off the chain. With a satisfied smile he hung it back around his neck, feeling clothed once more.
Sythbo
 
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