Thursday, April 07, 2011

A World Unknown

It's been a couple years, hasn't it? I'm not sure where to start. I'm currently sitting on the RNS Endeavor, cruising at speed to Coruscant. Where have I been? Christ, the question should be where haven't I been. The Outer Rim has been my home for the past few years, my brothers-in-arms the only thing remotely constant in my life. Every system out there has had some political crisis or another, something we've had to deal with. Everyone has their problems. Even me. I met a woman, actually. We courted for a year, a wonderful year until her perfect, fragile life was cut short at the hands of some unknown space-borne disease. It seems that everything is gone now. Even Jardena Oneida, a Commander in this wonderful Navy, and perhaps the only friend I made outside of combat, hasn't checked in for several years. What is this Republic? Is she lost? What have we given everything for?
I'm told that due to my actions in combat, I'll be presented with at least a year's leave upon returning to Coruscant, a grim reward for taking so many enemy lives. I guess that's something to look forward to, I know almost every man on this ship would kill for an opportunity like that. I don't know what I'll do. Free time isn't something we clones were ever trained to handle. I know where my first stop will be, though, the ceremony for all those we lost out there over the years. I started posting here nearly six years ago. And in the span of six years, well, let's just say we clones have a way of coming and going considerably faster than that.
Anyway, first to the ceremony, then to a nice bar to buy my lads a round while they ogle those whorish twi'leks. After that, who knows? The Republic has granted me something brand new: a life. I think I'll try and track down Jardena, bloody hell I hope she's alive.

Until next time!
Your friend always,
Epsilon 775 (Sev)

Friday, May 23, 2008

A question

The following are E775's personal thoughts, not a part of the current story

So... wow. A lot has been going on lately. Reassignments, deployments, readiness exercises. Demolition of the older Deep Spatial stations, and doing security for construction in Coruscant. I've been damn near all around the galaxy in the past few months, all at the expense of the lovely taxpaying citizens of the Republic, and I've seen just about everything there is to see, all the way out to the Outer Rim. Sometimes I feel like I'm losing touch with what I'm supposed to be. I mean, I'm a clone trooper. What mentality am I meant to have? What am I supposed to do after I'm unfit for combat? I heard a rumor circulating the barracks at Terrestria Novata (one of those planets waaay the hell out in space) that because of our "growth acceleration" used to make us ready to fight earlier, we would be dead before the Republic had a problem with us. Are we then no more than the simplest of battle droids? It would seem like a bad idea, then, making droids that need food and medpacks, and may the gods forbid that someone in the Senate ever question the morality of this whole thing.

I grew up under the harsh fluorescent light of the surveillance robots. They watched me and my fellow clones grow up. The Kaminoans did their best to ensure that not too many of us died in training, but if we did, who really cared? It was only a matter of slapping another development pod on the incubator. I raced through my first ten years of life, having them compressed into the span of just about 2 years. None of us ever really knew what was going on. There was nothing out of the ordinary. We didn't know any better. When they started training us with "live fire" it was common to see the guy that you just ate midday food with get shot in the faceplate by the guy who you ate breakfast with. Death was ever-present, and doled out in generous helpings, by your own friends, whom you would gladly place a round of plasma through. It was as if we didn't know what we were doing. We were rewarded for killing people, and though the Kaminoans thought we were all the same, we could tell when someone never came back from a training session. Then they had the wonderful idea of splitting us up into two massive divisions. Red and Blue. We ate only with our team. We were trained to truly and deeply hate the other team. They were not like us, we were told, they were different, THEY were the enemy.

After a few more years of this, they sent us out into the field, being particularly careful to never deploy any former Reds on a mission with any former Blues. They messed up once, as was inevitable. A whole legion of former Reds was working away at a city center on Felucia, when the "reinforcements" of former Blues showed up en masse. Someone found out that the two were "enemies", and as one thing led to another, the battlefield was scattered with hundreds of dead clones and destroyed gunships. It wasn't that any of them had consciously thought to kill the others, it was ingrained in them, along with the obedience and unwaveringly loyal cooperation. I say all of this with an air of contempt. "How could they have been so foolish?" But the truth is, I am no different at all. We are all clones, bred for battle, without thought to the consequence. We were meant to be the perfect warriors, the Republic's answer to the armies of battle droids hoarded by the Confederates. The problem that no one saw was this: We had minds.

The question that I ask myself every day, the question that plagues all of my thoughts is one that seems so basic in it's concept. Do I really have a mind of my own?I think, therefore I am. But do I really think if I have things so driven into my mind that they avoid conscious reasoning or emotion?

Am I really alive?

-Epsilon 775 (Sev)

Friday, November 02, 2007

An unexpected visit

A continuation of the "new" story that began with the last post

“Attention crew of the Aggressor, this is the Captain. You’re probably all wondering why you had to dress up today. Well, I’ll tell you why. Commander Seidel is arriving in three – zero minuets. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know, but for whatever reason, his shuttle is under a top secret classification. When I give the order, I want all nonessential personnel to report to Shuttle bay Alpha Hotel Sierra. Form up by rank, and let’s give the commander a warm welcome.”

Commander Seidel was a very good friend of mine, we had gone to the Academy on Coruscant together, and most of my crew had met him as well. Although his rank was “Commander”, he was actually an Army commander, not a member of the Imperial Navy. His rank was roughly comparable to that of a Navy Rear Admiral or Vice Admiral.

“Wait…” Corporal Guendson began, “We’re…picking up something on an approach vector.” “Get me whatever visual you can,” said Lieutenant Priore, already walking to the slightly sunken navigation “pit”. “Sir,” yelled a young ensign, tearing his headphones off and wheeling around from his screen, “there’s more than one. I read at least three objects approaching our current position at mark 44.78 around the planet, speed…” he paused, “mach 10, sir!” This was unexpected. “Raise shields” I said, “size estimate?” “About the size of a Lambda – class each,” replied the ensign, “But they’re traveling far too fast to not engage hyperdrives.” “Sir!”, yelled the lead communications officer, Junior Lieutenant Vahr “They have no Imperial identification, not even mandatory civilian I.D. tags.”

“Are they Rebels?” I asked. “Possibly,” replied Vahr, “but what’s driving them so fast without jumping to hyperspace?” “I don’t know. Open a hailing channel and instruct energy control to drain the main drive’s power. Divert it to the shields.” “Aye,” he said, tapping on a built – in data pad. “Channel open.” “This is Captain Golon of the Imperial Star Destroyer Aggressor to the three craft approaching our position. We have you on our scanners now. Please identify yourselves immediately.” There was about 4 seconds of tense silence, followed by a brief burst of static. I waited a few seconds more. “I repeat, please identify yourselves at once.” I flipped of the microphone, “Lieutenant Priore, make ready all batteries. Hold fire until I order.” “Aye,” he said, “all batteries charging.” I would try every means possible to establish contact, but if they refused to reply, and continued on their attack vector, I would be forced to blast them out of existence, not that any of the energy from the ship's 20 turbolaser arrays had gotten to my head.

To Be Continued...

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Rendezvous at Transita 12

“Captain,” a voice said. “Captain, you requested to be awoken at 1500 hours Coruscant time.” I laboriously forced my eyes open as the voice on the private com to my quarters continued. “Captain, it is currently 1502 hours, on Coruscant time.” I remembered why I had requested the wake – up call, and bolted upright in my bed. “I’m up. Thank you, Corporal.” “Not a problem sir, hope you rested well. We’re holding position above Transita 12, as per your orders.” “Very good Corporal. That will be all.”

I needed to make an important announcement to the crew. I had gone to sleep in my uniform, anticipating that I would be too groggy to get dressed before I got to the bridge. I stood up off of the bed, combed my hair, and placed my cap precisely on my head. I checked my clock, which was always on Coruscant time, but could switch rapidly to the time on any Inner Rim planet. 1504. That was suitable. I gently opened my door out into the hallway. I liked having the door open on occasion. It allowed a person to not feel so cut off, so secluded. I tied my dress shoes with a pinpoint precision. I had ordered all of the crew to be in full dress today. None of them quite knew why, but that would change shortly. I stepped out into the hall, and shut the door into my quarters.

Although it was afternoon on Coruscant, it was early in the morning here, and on this side of Transita 12, the sun had yet to rise. On my way to the bridge, I was saluted by a few crew members, all, of course, in dress. I liked it when my crew looked sharp. I also knew, however, that they always seemed a little bit uncomfortable in their “Admiral’s Attire”, so I rarely ordered them into it. Today, though, I had yet to see a single Ensign fidget in their uniform. I finally arrived at the bridge, after taking a leisurely walk up. “Ah, it’s a beautiful sunrise, no, Lieutenant?” “Yes, sir, Captain, it is. It sure is.” He replied. “Alright, I need to talk to the crew. I’m sorry I couldn’t have told you earlier, but I’m under orders.” “Of course, sir,” he said. I picked up the microphone and activated it for shipboard communications systems.

Keep the Change

For a few weeks, maybe longer, this blog will be shifting to the story of a Captain Golon, of the Imperial Star Destroyer Endeavor. Sorry about that bloody bad cliffhanger that the old plot "ended" on, but, ya know, we're movin' on to a different story. So, I hope you enjoy it, if you don't mind the character switch!

Sunday, March 04, 2007

A Plan of Action

A continuation from "The Light"

The object, which vaguely resembled a huge starship traveled upwards for about a minute, at a very slow rate, and came to a stop about 200 feet off of the ground. The effervescence was no longer nearly as intense, but the ship still radiated some light . "Right, well, you're in charge now, Epsilon" said Beta 492, "what do we do, sir?" "Uhh.." I paused to think. I wanted to see if the shaft, and, therefore most likely the ship, was controlled by the Confederates, but I didn't want to put anyone in danger due to my own curiosity. Other commanders made decisions like this all of the time. They put lives at stake because they needed to. Because the Republic needed them to. We were used to taking those kinds of suicidal orders, we knew we would die with honor, we would die to save the Republic. But I am just another trooper. How do I tell my comrades that they need to sacrifice themselves for our cause? How would I ever be able to live with myself knowing that I had sent my friends to their deaths while I stayed safe? "Sir, what is our plan of action?" Beta inquired again. "Split into two groups. Beta, Tau and I are going into the shaft, everyone else, move to offensive positions around the shaft, and be prepared to provide cover fire."

My plan seemed like a pretty good one, at least at the moment. What I had forgotten was that Tau was our best sniper, and a fairly poor infantryman. The three of us in the small "strike team" crept over to a small staircase which spiraled downwards around the circumference of the perpetually deep shaft. We started to creep down the stairs, and we approached a small control console. "What in the hell is this?" asked Beta. "Wait... I've seen one of these before, it's..." Tau muttered. Beta reached forward to touch it. "No, don't!" yelled Tau, just as Beta's finger connected with the holographic panel.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Comm signals back online...

Hello all you readers of this blog. I've been quite lacky on the posting lately, but I'll try to get back up to par sometime soon. Maybe there will be a post this weekend. The problem is, you see, I'm not entirely sure where this storyline is going. It starts here if you haven't read it. This is also a pretty good post. When I started writing this current line, I thought I knew what was going to happen in it. It turns out I was wrong. The whole "death of Kappa" part onwards was pretty much made up as I was typing it. So, yeah, that's my excuse for not continuing it for a month. I'm going to try to do another joint with Oneida such as here and here, but no guarantees on that. Yep, that's the post for now.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

The Light

A continuation from "Don't let them know what hit 'em"

Now we knew that these Confederates were prepared for our "surprise" ground assault. "Next gun, next gun!" yelled our clone CO. "Use grenades, and don't let them know what hit 'em." We ran over to the next turret, tracking the plasma bolts back to their source to find it. It was about 2000 feet away, so we had a bit of a sprint ahead. Our footsteps were light and swift, just as we had trained for them to be. I listened through my helmet to the deep "chunk, chunk" noise of our target, and the grasses swaying in the light nighttime breeze as we ran past. I heard my own breathing, which started getting heavier and heavier. Then I heard a sound that shouldn't have been there. "Tink". That was it. It was followed by a thump and some static over the comlink. "Oh, god!" yelled Beta 487, "They've got Kappa, sniper, sniper!"

We dropped to the ground instantly, and crawled as fast as we could in any direction of cover. We were in the middle of the open field, and the only protection accessible was another part of the forest that we had recently emerged from. We turned perpendicular to our previous route, Kappa's last route, and crawled for the trees. Whoever had shot at us fired one more round of a sleek, long, lethal, red plasma round, but then mysteriously stopped. We continued towards the forest for what seemed like an eternity, but at last, the trees stood before us, offering to shelter us from our unseen attacker. We continued inwards, still crawling, until a bright spectrum of light, dominated by a silvery gold hue blinded us.

An immense hole, larger than any ship that the Republic had in service, opened slowly in the ground, releasing more and more of the increasingly brighter light. We shaded our eyes with our hands, but the light was everywhere, all - penetrating. Then a massive object started to move, very slowly, and hardly visible through the glare, upwards, towards the now bright night sky.

To be continued...