Post by Junk Angel on Dec 25, 2007 10:59:17 GMT -5
First off, I posted some of it on on TRF as well already.
The main reason I want to post it here, is to seek some critique. Since my english is sometimes quite meh, the same goes for spelling and stylistics.
I also strongly interested in your overall opinions etc.
Dramtis Personae
Dreamer Squadron
Dramatis Personae
Dreamer squadron
Captain Armadillo Sante (Human male from Coruscant)
f.o. Kerian "Spook" Irdako (Sevian/Arkanian offshoot female from Coruscant)
f.o. Ksuhn "Datacard" .... .... .... .... ... .... .... .... (Jenet male from Gomar)
f.o. Tinar Geloon (Human male from Melomin)
f.o. Keesun Feurin (Mrlssi male from Mrlsst)
f.o. Leivin Siviram (Falleen female from Falleen)
f.o. Key En'vaanenday (Nikto male from Nar Shaada)
f.o. Ayla Su'ran (Human female from J'T'P'Tan)
f.o. Queeno Seleem (Rodian male from Rodia)
f.o. Bracka Sarloon (Selonian female from Coruscant)
f.o. Ulaana Sry'mar (Ryn female from Sacoria)
f.o. Z-E-43 "junk" (artificial lifeform)
Dreamer support crew
Posh Quitan (human male from Gyndine)
New Republic personnel
Lieutenant Egolpo Kavar (human male from Thyferra, Starfleet)
General Edon Crespin (human male from Corulag)
chapter 1
Chapter 1
Broken dream
It was midnight - Captain Sante was starring at the display of his holo. There, shining bright inside the dark room was his displacement order. If he could, he would have shot it trough with lasers coming out of his bloodshot eyes.
Captain Sante was handsome, small as was common in his line of work, and clad in the orange jumpsuit of a New Republic pilot. His normally bright grey eyes shining from his mane of untidy blonde hair, were dull right now. A bottle of the rare Whyren`s reserve, almost half finished, in his hand.
Dreamer squadron, they put me in charge of Dreamer squadron, what did i do to anyone? Sante thought.
He couldn't believe what happened and even considered taking the blaster on the table, lifting it and blowing the bolt trough his forehead.
Sante was motionless, merely starring at the order and the blaster,occasionally sipping from the bottle.
An hour later, his mind was finally made up. He stood up, walked over to the table. Sante turned the holo off and threw the blaster with a clash into a corner. He then returned to the bed and collapsed onto it.
* **
The door buzzed and Sante found himself sprawled on the bed. He didn't even manage to stand up before the door opened and a New Republic officer walked in. The officer was almost Sante's antonym.
He was tall, darkhaired and clearly not a pilot. He was a barge driver, dressed in their greys- Sante snorted to himself. They are sending a sithspawned barge driver to pick me up – he was horrified and angry at the same time.
The fleet officer threw a a salute almost by the book and greeted Sante:“ Lieutenant Kavar reporting. I am to to escort Captain Armadillo Sante to starfighter command. Am I here correctly?“
Sante did his best to get out of the drunken haze he was in, from the night, and threw a somewhat shaky salute himself.
It seems that starfighter command doesn’t even want to touch me anymore, they take me already for dead, he commented to himself.
Aloud he said:“At ease. You’ve find your way alright.“
„Captain, I presume you have all your things already packed... If you’d follow me please.“ Kavar turned around and waited for Sante outside of the door. Sante followed moments later, trying to give his scruffy hair at least some seaming of order. His ship bag was readilly thrown over his shoulder, his meager positions carelessly thrown in.
The were on Borleias, one of the new New Republic bases inside the core. Most of the elements from the destroyed Folor base were now residing here.
The command center stood on the far side of the base – cut off from the mild see, by a giant field of permacrete. There at least five various fighter squadrons were stood, as well as other starships. They both went trough the entrance. Kavar briskly,with Sante trailing a few stes behind.
The walls of the corridors, trough which they went, had the Republic crest engraved and painted on them. It was of course orange, a sign of good luck to pilots.
„Captain, general Crespin will receive you know. Just go trough these doors“
„Thanks lieutenant, no reason though to follow me to my dieing ground. Good by in the force.“
Sante satiracally chuckled at Kavar’s puzzled look. „Don’t worry Kavar, it’s only something a pilot could ever understand.“ Under his breath he mumbled:“Dreamer squadron...“
Sante went in trough the doors, only now realising the three day stubble on his chin – and the general was notorious for being worse than a holostar agent. Like if it mattered anymore, his mind chimed in.
General Edor Crespin, the former commander of Folor base, was sitting behind his desk made of massive wood. He threw a biting look in Sante’s direction, though released it after a while.
„Captain Sante, usually I would reprimand you, or anyone else for that matter, on your looks, but...“
„But I’ve been transferred to Dreamer squadron...“
„Captain! That’s no way to speak to your superior!... But yes, you are technically right.“
„Sir, I already accepted it, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, yet could I just have one simple question?“
„Send the concussion missile out captain.“ General Crespin seemed to do his best to remain emotionally neutral, but one could here the anger deep in his voice as well.
„Sir, why? Is it becaise of what I said to that senator?“
„Captain Sante, it is not your place to ask these questions, but yes, I’ve recieved a very strong request, a request bordering a direct order that is, from high up. They want me to clean up, and send you somewhere, where your chances of meeting the senator, or any other of the political posh heads, is almost nil, and most of all, where they can’t see you. I can only say, that I hate to loose such a good pilot and secondary commander as you, but it seems I don’t have as much strings as the other side, and frankly they left me no other choice. It was also told to me, that two captains in a squadron are one too much. Now you know as well as I do, that we were waiting for a slot to open, which is rare, since normally lead take s one of the former squad members, but they were somehow able to find one in a matter of hours. They briskly informed me, that Dreamer squadron is in dire need of a commander. Brighten up Sante, look at this as a chance, your trip to greatness.“
„More like my trip down the desintegration hole.“
It was clear from Crespin’s expression that he though the same, even if he didn’t say it aloud.
„I trust you made your goodbyes with Arrowhead already?“
Sante merely nodded.
„Good then, your flight to the Outer Rim leaves tomorrow at 0800 Coruscant time.
And captain one more thing, never ever tell a senator he is going to die with fire in his lungs, understood?“
chapter 2
Chapter two
Birth of a Nightmare
Ignored space. It was aptly named. As far as Sante knew, not even pirates were too interested into it. Lot’s of asteroid fields, but of course with no larger traces of ores, a couple of habitable systems and just about nothing else.
He was in his ship, an A-wing. It still had the yellow colour scheme of the Arrowhead squadron.
Sante remembered all his former friends, comrades and sometimes even lovers. People, he was almost certain, he’d never see again: Katmer, Tysno, Apram… There were almost too many to recall in this moment. He needed to shut them off, or he’d go crazy.
Yet at the same time, a small part of him, somewhere in the back of his mind was interested in meeting his new squadron, thrilled at the prospect of his own command.
But this small part was quickly suppressed by the bleakness of the space around him.
Out of hyperspace, the giant asteroid field stretched to infinity. Somewhere inside it, sat the hidden base of Dreamer squadron. It was first made to act as both a police as well as a recon station.
Of course, no enemy ever came to this force forsaken territory and the remoteness made it a perfect place for punishment.
Soon the local squad members became lazy, incompetent, corrupt and they never performed their assigned duties. Piracy and smuggling thrived, the populations of the worlds in the outlying territories suffered.
Yet this was not the end of the Dreamer’s fate. Soon, the only ones sent to the squadron, where those that became too uncomfortable or too dangerous to the rest, but still good enough to stay as pilots.
This volatile combination created a constant lack of pilots for the squadron – the average survivable rate for the members of the active pilot roster was about three weeks.
Most survived longer of course, due to a lack of craft, since most of the casualties took their A-wings with them, to the other side of the force, and the waiting lists were not exactly short. This giant money black hole, naturally led to another phenomena – the equipment that Dreamer squadron received, tended to be inferior, more faulty, barely passed the test and had lot’s of other problems.
Now, captain Sante was to take command of the squadron.
***
The base seemed quiet and eerie from the outside. It was not exactly hidden, but the fact that no external lights shone, made finding it quiet a task. Sante only managed this, thanks to having the coordinates.
He began to slowly doubt if anyone was in the entire base. His doubts were deepened, when he flew into the hangar. Eleven sleek, black, with white stripes adorned A-wings stood there – alone.
There were no pilots, no mechanics or even droids in sight.
The entire hangar was deserted and dark. Sante was nervous, unsure what to think. He labored out of the cockpit, jumping down from the side of his A-wing.
He walked around the entire giant hanger, looking for any sign of habitation. He was successful after a while, finding some dirty underwear thrown into one of the corners.
It was all one size, and somewhat stinky, which suggested that it belonged to one person, and that it was put here only recently – a day or two at best.
Sante thus began his search. He trudged trough the base, alert and watching, slowly finding the trail of someone living inside the base.
The empty wrappers inside the cantina, and everywhere else for the matter, the somewhat unkempt refresher, dirty heaps of something, that might have been mucky republic jumpsuits – the original colour was probably orange in any case. There were also holos strewn everywhere. Very specific entertainment holos.
He whistled as he read a few of the titles aloud: ”Three twi’leks and one cockpit, a gamorean’s lust, racial equality celebration, Coruscant undercity fun…” It all brought back memories of his years in the academy back. He blushed, and quickly made his way his way onwards, slowly turning the lights on as he went.
The base was not exactly run down, but clearly dirty. It wasn’t damaged, but so filthy, Sante feared he made get stuck to some of the surfaces, where he to touch.
After a while, he heard a voice – a deep rumbling voice that did it’s best to create something like a Jizz song sound. The tone was so off, Sante thought, that the bearer of the voice was almost making a new musical genre – a very disharmonious one.
As he got closer to the “den” as he began to call the place from which the voice came, the singing grew linearly louder, just as the mess heaps became exponentially bigger. Sante pulled out his blaster and advanced forward. He wished he had kept his mask on back there in the hangar, the smell was almost malicious.
There seemed to be another little hangar down here. A Few ancient freighter and one A-wing stood here. Most of the ships were open, cables running everywhere.
Back in a corner, a bog, fat creature resided, working with a welding torch.
Sante burst in, the blaster raised.
“Captain Armadillo Sante, commander of Dreamer squadron! Identify yourself now!”
The creature turned around and Sante recognized a human face. The man was munching something, and a few chunks fell out of his mouth. He spoke, while he put the torch away.
“Howdy there commander. Posh Quitan, dreamer mechanic on station sir.”
Posh stretched out his grimy hand.
Sante was repulsed, but he didn’t see any other option than to shake the man’s hand. It held no sense to make himself enemies right after arriving.
“Captain, I’ve been expecting you for a few days now. I was almost afraid, you had become a slitter.”
“Eh please, Posh right? A slitter?”
“One of those that kill themselves after getting the transfer. So what did you do, to get sent to our little place in hell?”
“I’ve said a bad thing in the wrong time to a bad person.”
“What? People don’t get sent here for something as petty as that. You have to be at least a bit nuts for that.”
“I’ve told a senator how he would die.”
Posh eerily became relieved: “Oh, then I guess that, that does qualify. ‘Ey you know, I’ll let you know the rest of the crew.”
Posh smiled, and seemed to chirp like a droid. Beaming he waited. Sante was beginning to doubt his sanity.
But then they came, Rumbling, beeping and bashing – a band of astromech droids rolled in.
“Well here they are, my mechanics, my children.”
Sante just blinked, and replied callously: “Um Posh, could you tell me what’s a band of astromech droids doing on an A-wing base? It’s not like the ships need them? And I though you meant people when you were talking about the crew.”
“The droids? They just got send here as surplus, and well I never send them back. The group just grew over the years. They’re mighty useful though, fetching stuff and the like.”
“Mighty useful you say? Well tell them then to clean this place up ASAP. And I was asking about the people.”
“Clean up? But this place is clean…”
He quickly stopped talking. Sante’s piercing look tended to have that effect.
“You’ve all ‘eard the boss boys, shah, scamper try to clean this place up, as if it needed that.”
To Sante’s relief, Posh’s children, apparently had a different idea about clean.
“And the people?”
“Didn’t they tell you? They’re all dead. Captain Fremer decided to play commando here, without knowing single thing about the ground. Suffice to say, their deaths were painful. You and me are aaaaall alone here. I think you’re to choose the new squadron. I hope you select some brunchy nonhumans…”
chapter 3
Chapter 3
Building a dreamscape
Sante was walking trough the station. The way it looked now, was probably the only bright thing in his life lately.
The band of astromech droids worked effectively and Sante himself decided not to mention them in his report. He cringed when he imagined what he’d have to do, were he to clean the entire place up himself. Maybe a thermal detonator would would do the trick, if barely.
The droids changed most of the lights, as well as fixed the cooking droid. Which, if not necessary, was definitely welcomed. The nutrient bars were already going up his throat. Sante was amazed, when Posh said, that the bars were the best food in the galaxy, since in Sante’s opinion, even the gruel stormtroopers had, tasted better. Not that the food the droid prepared was that much of an improvement – there was just nothing in the stores.
Still, his most troublesome duty lay before him. It was just an hour ago, that he received the folders of the possible candidates.Sante knew, he’d have to go trough them, but that would wait a few moments. He had to to get himself something edible first.
***
He sat in the empty cantina, eating a meal made out of nutrient bars and some crackers, all mixed together, cringing at the taste. He thought about the station. It still lacked most of the infrastructure, that made life on stations at least bearable. Most of the refreshers still lacked any form of ventilation, and most of all, the cantina, he mused for the hundredth time, had nothing else but that darned paste. In the end , he wished he just did his job, and never decided to eat first.
He sighed, and went into his office, stepping over boxes of, what one could only call kinky material. It the heirloom his predecessor left him. He wondered, weather to leave the boxes over to Posh, or throw them into the incinerator.
„I’ll burn the things, even if it’s the last thing I’m ever going to do. Might lift my mood at least a tiny little bit up.“ He mumbled to himself.
Sitting down on the gairish chair, another relic of his predecessor, he fired up his datapad.
There wasn’t an escape now. The thing that haunted his dreams for over a week, was here – his terror, the wraith of his thoughts.
There were about fifty profiles. A-wing pilots, shunned by their colleagues, considered too crazy, to be able to finish their duties in normal service. Yet at the same time, pilots, that are good enough, not to be thrown out at a moments notice. Pilots like him, he thought. Which ones will he condemn and which ones will he save, with a discharge in disgrace – he didn’t know.
***
It was late and Sante still didn’t have any names. He considered picking on those, lunatic enough, not to mind. Yet had he done that, a new commander would have exactly the same dilemma in a month, he was certain of that. Sante still wasn’t sure what to do, but his instincts led him.. They were telling him, to select the best team he could – give them all a last fighting chance and kick the other out.
Still the question, which ones to choose, remained. He knew all too well, that just their flying abilities weren’t enough. People didn’t get sent to the dreamers for bad flying. There were other factors, factors he saw all too well in the various profiles: 25 mission, 24 times failure to comply with direct orders, kleptomania, overtly aggressive, sexual assault, bit squad member. It was almost like the circus of the damned.
In the end, he had eleven names. Sante didn’t just choose pilots. He also tried to ensure, that those he chose had other abilities as well. Abilities like medical training, mechanical aptitude, infiltration and others. He didn’t plan to go down like the last commander of the dreamers, but it was always better to have a number of options open. He signed and send the transfer orders, falling to sleep a second later.
***
„Hate to tell ya captain, but ya’ve got yourself a slitter.“
Sante woke up with a start. His head ached, as he tried to focus. It took him a while, but in the end he was able to make out Posh reading trough his datapad.
„Quitan! What in the name of the force do you think, you’re doing?“„Nothing Captain, just checking your choices. And like I’ve said, ya’ve got yourself a slitter. It just came trough.“ He took in a deep breath and continued. „Flight officer Derali Trascand, of the New Republic A-wing fighter squadron Speedaxe committed in 8.5 ABY. Starfighter command hereby regrets to inform Captain Armadillo Sante, commander of the New Republic A-wing squadron Dreamer, that his requested transfer cannot be done.“
„What?“ Sante exclaimed, „That was my medic! There was nothing in the profile to indicate this!“
„I’m actually surprised that it’s only one, it’s usually over thirty percent. Medic ya say? Well there’s one more on the list. Should I click it?“
„That one? Well I guess there’s no other option. Hit it.“
„Will do captain. So tell me, ya fancy a good drink? I feel like ya need one.“
Sante glumly nodded. „“Just bring it Posh, We’ll have it here.“
The main reason I want to post it here, is to seek some critique. Since my english is sometimes quite meh, the same goes for spelling and stylistics.
I also strongly interested in your overall opinions etc.
Dramtis Personae
Dreamer Squadron
Dramatis Personae
Dreamer squadron
Captain Armadillo Sante (Human male from Coruscant)
f.o. Kerian "Spook" Irdako (Sevian/Arkanian offshoot female from Coruscant)
f.o. Ksuhn "Datacard" .... .... .... .... ... .... .... .... (Jenet male from Gomar)
f.o. Tinar Geloon (Human male from Melomin)
f.o. Keesun Feurin (Mrlssi male from Mrlsst)
f.o. Leivin Siviram (Falleen female from Falleen)
f.o. Key En'vaanenday (Nikto male from Nar Shaada)
f.o. Ayla Su'ran (Human female from J'T'P'Tan)
f.o. Queeno Seleem (Rodian male from Rodia)
f.o. Bracka Sarloon (Selonian female from Coruscant)
f.o. Ulaana Sry'mar (Ryn female from Sacoria)
f.o. Z-E-43 "junk" (artificial lifeform)
Dreamer support crew
Posh Quitan (human male from Gyndine)
New Republic personnel
Lieutenant Egolpo Kavar (human male from Thyferra, Starfleet)
General Edon Crespin (human male from Corulag)
chapter 1
Chapter 1
Broken dream
It was midnight - Captain Sante was starring at the display of his holo. There, shining bright inside the dark room was his displacement order. If he could, he would have shot it trough with lasers coming out of his bloodshot eyes.
Captain Sante was handsome, small as was common in his line of work, and clad in the orange jumpsuit of a New Republic pilot. His normally bright grey eyes shining from his mane of untidy blonde hair, were dull right now. A bottle of the rare Whyren`s reserve, almost half finished, in his hand.
Dreamer squadron, they put me in charge of Dreamer squadron, what did i do to anyone? Sante thought.
He couldn't believe what happened and even considered taking the blaster on the table, lifting it and blowing the bolt trough his forehead.
Sante was motionless, merely starring at the order and the blaster,occasionally sipping from the bottle.
An hour later, his mind was finally made up. He stood up, walked over to the table. Sante turned the holo off and threw the blaster with a clash into a corner. He then returned to the bed and collapsed onto it.
* **
The door buzzed and Sante found himself sprawled on the bed. He didn't even manage to stand up before the door opened and a New Republic officer walked in. The officer was almost Sante's antonym.
He was tall, darkhaired and clearly not a pilot. He was a barge driver, dressed in their greys- Sante snorted to himself. They are sending a sithspawned barge driver to pick me up – he was horrified and angry at the same time.
The fleet officer threw a a salute almost by the book and greeted Sante:“ Lieutenant Kavar reporting. I am to to escort Captain Armadillo Sante to starfighter command. Am I here correctly?“
Sante did his best to get out of the drunken haze he was in, from the night, and threw a somewhat shaky salute himself.
It seems that starfighter command doesn’t even want to touch me anymore, they take me already for dead, he commented to himself.
Aloud he said:“At ease. You’ve find your way alright.“
„Captain, I presume you have all your things already packed... If you’d follow me please.“ Kavar turned around and waited for Sante outside of the door. Sante followed moments later, trying to give his scruffy hair at least some seaming of order. His ship bag was readilly thrown over his shoulder, his meager positions carelessly thrown in.
The were on Borleias, one of the new New Republic bases inside the core. Most of the elements from the destroyed Folor base were now residing here.
The command center stood on the far side of the base – cut off from the mild see, by a giant field of permacrete. There at least five various fighter squadrons were stood, as well as other starships. They both went trough the entrance. Kavar briskly,with Sante trailing a few stes behind.
The walls of the corridors, trough which they went, had the Republic crest engraved and painted on them. It was of course orange, a sign of good luck to pilots.
„Captain, general Crespin will receive you know. Just go trough these doors“
„Thanks lieutenant, no reason though to follow me to my dieing ground. Good by in the force.“
Sante satiracally chuckled at Kavar’s puzzled look. „Don’t worry Kavar, it’s only something a pilot could ever understand.“ Under his breath he mumbled:“Dreamer squadron...“
Sante went in trough the doors, only now realising the three day stubble on his chin – and the general was notorious for being worse than a holostar agent. Like if it mattered anymore, his mind chimed in.
General Edor Crespin, the former commander of Folor base, was sitting behind his desk made of massive wood. He threw a biting look in Sante’s direction, though released it after a while.
„Captain Sante, usually I would reprimand you, or anyone else for that matter, on your looks, but...“
„But I’ve been transferred to Dreamer squadron...“
„Captain! That’s no way to speak to your superior!... But yes, you are technically right.“
„Sir, I already accepted it, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, yet could I just have one simple question?“
„Send the concussion missile out captain.“ General Crespin seemed to do his best to remain emotionally neutral, but one could here the anger deep in his voice as well.
„Sir, why? Is it becaise of what I said to that senator?“
„Captain Sante, it is not your place to ask these questions, but yes, I’ve recieved a very strong request, a request bordering a direct order that is, from high up. They want me to clean up, and send you somewhere, where your chances of meeting the senator, or any other of the political posh heads, is almost nil, and most of all, where they can’t see you. I can only say, that I hate to loose such a good pilot and secondary commander as you, but it seems I don’t have as much strings as the other side, and frankly they left me no other choice. It was also told to me, that two captains in a squadron are one too much. Now you know as well as I do, that we were waiting for a slot to open, which is rare, since normally lead take s one of the former squad members, but they were somehow able to find one in a matter of hours. They briskly informed me, that Dreamer squadron is in dire need of a commander. Brighten up Sante, look at this as a chance, your trip to greatness.“
„More like my trip down the desintegration hole.“
It was clear from Crespin’s expression that he though the same, even if he didn’t say it aloud.
„I trust you made your goodbyes with Arrowhead already?“
Sante merely nodded.
„Good then, your flight to the Outer Rim leaves tomorrow at 0800 Coruscant time.
And captain one more thing, never ever tell a senator he is going to die with fire in his lungs, understood?“
chapter 2
Chapter two
Birth of a Nightmare
Ignored space. It was aptly named. As far as Sante knew, not even pirates were too interested into it. Lot’s of asteroid fields, but of course with no larger traces of ores, a couple of habitable systems and just about nothing else.
He was in his ship, an A-wing. It still had the yellow colour scheme of the Arrowhead squadron.
Sante remembered all his former friends, comrades and sometimes even lovers. People, he was almost certain, he’d never see again: Katmer, Tysno, Apram… There were almost too many to recall in this moment. He needed to shut them off, or he’d go crazy.
Yet at the same time, a small part of him, somewhere in the back of his mind was interested in meeting his new squadron, thrilled at the prospect of his own command.
But this small part was quickly suppressed by the bleakness of the space around him.
Out of hyperspace, the giant asteroid field stretched to infinity. Somewhere inside it, sat the hidden base of Dreamer squadron. It was first made to act as both a police as well as a recon station.
Of course, no enemy ever came to this force forsaken territory and the remoteness made it a perfect place for punishment.
Soon the local squad members became lazy, incompetent, corrupt and they never performed their assigned duties. Piracy and smuggling thrived, the populations of the worlds in the outlying territories suffered.
Yet this was not the end of the Dreamer’s fate. Soon, the only ones sent to the squadron, where those that became too uncomfortable or too dangerous to the rest, but still good enough to stay as pilots.
This volatile combination created a constant lack of pilots for the squadron – the average survivable rate for the members of the active pilot roster was about three weeks.
Most survived longer of course, due to a lack of craft, since most of the casualties took their A-wings with them, to the other side of the force, and the waiting lists were not exactly short. This giant money black hole, naturally led to another phenomena – the equipment that Dreamer squadron received, tended to be inferior, more faulty, barely passed the test and had lot’s of other problems.
Now, captain Sante was to take command of the squadron.
***
The base seemed quiet and eerie from the outside. It was not exactly hidden, but the fact that no external lights shone, made finding it quiet a task. Sante only managed this, thanks to having the coordinates.
He began to slowly doubt if anyone was in the entire base. His doubts were deepened, when he flew into the hangar. Eleven sleek, black, with white stripes adorned A-wings stood there – alone.
There were no pilots, no mechanics or even droids in sight.
The entire hangar was deserted and dark. Sante was nervous, unsure what to think. He labored out of the cockpit, jumping down from the side of his A-wing.
He walked around the entire giant hanger, looking for any sign of habitation. He was successful after a while, finding some dirty underwear thrown into one of the corners.
It was all one size, and somewhat stinky, which suggested that it belonged to one person, and that it was put here only recently – a day or two at best.
Sante thus began his search. He trudged trough the base, alert and watching, slowly finding the trail of someone living inside the base.
The empty wrappers inside the cantina, and everywhere else for the matter, the somewhat unkempt refresher, dirty heaps of something, that might have been mucky republic jumpsuits – the original colour was probably orange in any case. There were also holos strewn everywhere. Very specific entertainment holos.
He whistled as he read a few of the titles aloud: ”Three twi’leks and one cockpit, a gamorean’s lust, racial equality celebration, Coruscant undercity fun…” It all brought back memories of his years in the academy back. He blushed, and quickly made his way his way onwards, slowly turning the lights on as he went.
The base was not exactly run down, but clearly dirty. It wasn’t damaged, but so filthy, Sante feared he made get stuck to some of the surfaces, where he to touch.
After a while, he heard a voice – a deep rumbling voice that did it’s best to create something like a Jizz song sound. The tone was so off, Sante thought, that the bearer of the voice was almost making a new musical genre – a very disharmonious one.
As he got closer to the “den” as he began to call the place from which the voice came, the singing grew linearly louder, just as the mess heaps became exponentially bigger. Sante pulled out his blaster and advanced forward. He wished he had kept his mask on back there in the hangar, the smell was almost malicious.
There seemed to be another little hangar down here. A Few ancient freighter and one A-wing stood here. Most of the ships were open, cables running everywhere.
Back in a corner, a bog, fat creature resided, working with a welding torch.
Sante burst in, the blaster raised.
“Captain Armadillo Sante, commander of Dreamer squadron! Identify yourself now!”
The creature turned around and Sante recognized a human face. The man was munching something, and a few chunks fell out of his mouth. He spoke, while he put the torch away.
“Howdy there commander. Posh Quitan, dreamer mechanic on station sir.”
Posh stretched out his grimy hand.
Sante was repulsed, but he didn’t see any other option than to shake the man’s hand. It held no sense to make himself enemies right after arriving.
“Captain, I’ve been expecting you for a few days now. I was almost afraid, you had become a slitter.”
“Eh please, Posh right? A slitter?”
“One of those that kill themselves after getting the transfer. So what did you do, to get sent to our little place in hell?”
“I’ve said a bad thing in the wrong time to a bad person.”
“What? People don’t get sent here for something as petty as that. You have to be at least a bit nuts for that.”
“I’ve told a senator how he would die.”
Posh eerily became relieved: “Oh, then I guess that, that does qualify. ‘Ey you know, I’ll let you know the rest of the crew.”
Posh smiled, and seemed to chirp like a droid. Beaming he waited. Sante was beginning to doubt his sanity.
But then they came, Rumbling, beeping and bashing – a band of astromech droids rolled in.
“Well here they are, my mechanics, my children.”
Sante just blinked, and replied callously: “Um Posh, could you tell me what’s a band of astromech droids doing on an A-wing base? It’s not like the ships need them? And I though you meant people when you were talking about the crew.”
“The droids? They just got send here as surplus, and well I never send them back. The group just grew over the years. They’re mighty useful though, fetching stuff and the like.”
“Mighty useful you say? Well tell them then to clean this place up ASAP. And I was asking about the people.”
“Clean up? But this place is clean…”
He quickly stopped talking. Sante’s piercing look tended to have that effect.
“You’ve all ‘eard the boss boys, shah, scamper try to clean this place up, as if it needed that.”
To Sante’s relief, Posh’s children, apparently had a different idea about clean.
“And the people?”
“Didn’t they tell you? They’re all dead. Captain Fremer decided to play commando here, without knowing single thing about the ground. Suffice to say, their deaths were painful. You and me are aaaaall alone here. I think you’re to choose the new squadron. I hope you select some brunchy nonhumans…”
chapter 3
Chapter 3
Building a dreamscape
Sante was walking trough the station. The way it looked now, was probably the only bright thing in his life lately.
The band of astromech droids worked effectively and Sante himself decided not to mention them in his report. He cringed when he imagined what he’d have to do, were he to clean the entire place up himself. Maybe a thermal detonator would would do the trick, if barely.
The droids changed most of the lights, as well as fixed the cooking droid. Which, if not necessary, was definitely welcomed. The nutrient bars were already going up his throat. Sante was amazed, when Posh said, that the bars were the best food in the galaxy, since in Sante’s opinion, even the gruel stormtroopers had, tasted better. Not that the food the droid prepared was that much of an improvement – there was just nothing in the stores.
Still, his most troublesome duty lay before him. It was just an hour ago, that he received the folders of the possible candidates.Sante knew, he’d have to go trough them, but that would wait a few moments. He had to to get himself something edible first.
***
He sat in the empty cantina, eating a meal made out of nutrient bars and some crackers, all mixed together, cringing at the taste. He thought about the station. It still lacked most of the infrastructure, that made life on stations at least bearable. Most of the refreshers still lacked any form of ventilation, and most of all, the cantina, he mused for the hundredth time, had nothing else but that darned paste. In the end , he wished he just did his job, and never decided to eat first.
He sighed, and went into his office, stepping over boxes of, what one could only call kinky material. It the heirloom his predecessor left him. He wondered, weather to leave the boxes over to Posh, or throw them into the incinerator.
„I’ll burn the things, even if it’s the last thing I’m ever going to do. Might lift my mood at least a tiny little bit up.“ He mumbled to himself.
Sitting down on the gairish chair, another relic of his predecessor, he fired up his datapad.
There wasn’t an escape now. The thing that haunted his dreams for over a week, was here – his terror, the wraith of his thoughts.
There were about fifty profiles. A-wing pilots, shunned by their colleagues, considered too crazy, to be able to finish their duties in normal service. Yet at the same time, pilots, that are good enough, not to be thrown out at a moments notice. Pilots like him, he thought. Which ones will he condemn and which ones will he save, with a discharge in disgrace – he didn’t know.
***
It was late and Sante still didn’t have any names. He considered picking on those, lunatic enough, not to mind. Yet had he done that, a new commander would have exactly the same dilemma in a month, he was certain of that. Sante still wasn’t sure what to do, but his instincts led him.. They were telling him, to select the best team he could – give them all a last fighting chance and kick the other out.
Still the question, which ones to choose, remained. He knew all too well, that just their flying abilities weren’t enough. People didn’t get sent to the dreamers for bad flying. There were other factors, factors he saw all too well in the various profiles: 25 mission, 24 times failure to comply with direct orders, kleptomania, overtly aggressive, sexual assault, bit squad member. It was almost like the circus of the damned.
In the end, he had eleven names. Sante didn’t just choose pilots. He also tried to ensure, that those he chose had other abilities as well. Abilities like medical training, mechanical aptitude, infiltration and others. He didn’t plan to go down like the last commander of the dreamers, but it was always better to have a number of options open. He signed and send the transfer orders, falling to sleep a second later.
***
„Hate to tell ya captain, but ya’ve got yourself a slitter.“
Sante woke up with a start. His head ached, as he tried to focus. It took him a while, but in the end he was able to make out Posh reading trough his datapad.
„Quitan! What in the name of the force do you think, you’re doing?“„Nothing Captain, just checking your choices. And like I’ve said, ya’ve got yourself a slitter. It just came trough.“ He took in a deep breath and continued. „Flight officer Derali Trascand, of the New Republic A-wing fighter squadron Speedaxe committed in 8.5 ABY. Starfighter command hereby regrets to inform Captain Armadillo Sante, commander of the New Republic A-wing squadron Dreamer, that his requested transfer cannot be done.“
„What?“ Sante exclaimed, „That was my medic! There was nothing in the profile to indicate this!“
„I’m actually surprised that it’s only one, it’s usually over thirty percent. Medic ya say? Well there’s one more on the list. Should I click it?“
„That one? Well I guess there’s no other option. Hit it.“
„Will do captain. So tell me, ya fancy a good drink? I feel like ya need one.“
Sante glumly nodded. „“Just bring it Posh, We’ll have it here.“
Just try and double-space the paragraphs, or it looks all jumbled. 
Keep up the good work. Like EagleBrains said over there: remember to double-space the paragraphs or it looks all jumbled. 
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