Where Were You When...?

[Ben Merasska]

When You First Heard the Outcome of the Battle of Endor

Denon, 0 ABE


<style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 56.7pt } P { margin-bottom: 12pt } --> </style> Ben had a difficult time from the start.

Like Trix Idalix acting in that swoop-bike racing holovid, Ben simply wasn't cut out for this sort of work.

“Okay,” he murmured, furiously scratching out a last will and testament on his notepad – and all the rest of my possessions go to Lyanie Quez, doll of the squadron; except that life-size nude holo of Fara Dawcett, which should be donated to the Children's Relief Fund Centre Director Derrick – while the teenager anxiously watched him, wondering what the instructor was writing instead of what was in front of them in the lane.

Well, he tried to write the above, but due to the shaking and bumpiness of the vehicle, Ben's handwriting hardly legible save for a few words: and a— t-e rest – m- p—s– Lyanie Quez doll o- – s—dr—n e— life-size nude holo – dona— . The rest was too illegible to be recognised as something other than squiggly lines. Little did Ben know that this would come back to haunt him later.

Every time the teen would crane her neck to see what he was writing, Ben would twist to keep his magnanimous, giving last words a secret. This compounded Ben's fear to the point of near hysteria, though he carefully bottled it in until he was done writing. He had learned with much difficulty that it was difficult to scream and write at the same time.

Ben finished in time to see a large cargo speeder headed straight for them, and finally gave in to the impulse to scream for his life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

No matter what happened, it seemed that he'd have to deal with someone about to kill him every so often, whether by accident or design. He shuddered in remembrance of the latest attempt. Next to him the girl was sniffling quietly while they both studied the battered speeder.

“Don't you have insurance for this kind of thing?” she asked. Ben didn't answer, but looked at her silently for a moment, and went back to staring at the vehicle. Looking at it again herself, the girl winced, realising that Mr. Merasska was answering her question. How often did a speeder get flipped by falling hunks of frozen bantha steaks? She could still see the bloody streaks on the windscreen from where the chunks had thawed due to how close they had gotten to the heating vents of a large building. The myriad dents and scratches seemed to spell doom for her future nights out with friends—at least with her at the controls of the speeder. It was a miracle the repulsors still worked. At least Ben didn't seem too angry with her now.

She sighed, sniffling again, only to jump when a sudden explosion of colour erupted in the darkening sky. She gasped. Fireworks were going off all over the city; people were running past shouting and more were cheering down the lane.

“What's going on?” Ben asked. One of the young men running by stopped and smiled, before looking at them.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Looks like you've been through a hell of a day.”

“I will always try to forget what happened today,” Ben said affably, even almost cheerily. “Now what's going on?”

The man's grin came back, this time even wider than before.

“The Emperor's dead. There was a big battle out in the Rim somewhere, and almost a quarter of the Imperial fleet's been destroyed!”

Ben wanted to punch the man. After punching him, he wanted to strangle him—strangle all the stupidity and foolishness out of his head. But before he could sate his desire to punish the man for believing such a rumour, the man took him by the arm and pulled him into a nearby pub. It was almost full of people, but there was still barely enough room to squeeze through. The holo was set to a news frequency.

“...We will repeat this news for the benefit of all: according to reports, the Emperor is dead, having been present at the moon of Endor, where a large part of the Imperial fleet was destroyed in a battle with the Rebellion. We have unsupported reports saying that the damage was just as bad or worse for the Rebellion. I repeat: the Emperor is dead.”

The last few words seem to be a cue for the crowd in the pub which let out a roar of joy, happiness and relief, an outpouring of emotion that Ben wasn't entirely prepared for.

Ben wanted to be happy. But all he could feel was shock. Shock and the somewhat chilling thought, 'How many died this time?'

Beside him, the girl was crying still, hugging the young man for all she was worth. Seeing him, the girl let go of the young man and leapt up to hug him tightly. People all around were doing the same: shaking hands, hugging, crying, cheering; the place was suddenly more alive than it had been for years.

And for the first time in years, Ben thought that perhaps it was finally over. For the first time in years, Ben allowed himself to hope.

He set the girl down and walked out the bar, using the commotion to remain unnoticed save for the random man or woman wishing to share their happiness at what seemed to be the beginning of a new era of freedom from the pervasive fear that had gripped them for decades.

He was happy and hopeful, yes. Happy that things seemed to be looking up, and hopeful that the celebrations would last long enough for him to find a way off planet before the company saw what had happened to the speeder and decided to make him pay for it.

[Aiden Tahmores]

When You First Heard that the Emperor Died

Druckenwell, 0 AE


I'll pay for this.

There was little else to do, given the circumstances, save for musing on the consequences of his actions. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, and the sheets that wrapped around his unclothed form were far more expensive than anything someone of his pay grade would have been able to afford; certainly far more indulgent than anything that was issued back at the barracks. That there was space for two was an unusual occurance as well; the mattress beside him was empty, but a stray hand brushed against warm silk, and he knew she hadn't been gone long.

His arms rose, wresting on the pillows behind his head as a self-satisfied smile formed on his features. Totally worth it, though.

Mind wandering, he drank in the sounds and sights of his surroundings. The room, like the bed, reflected a level of comfort and luxury that he hadn't enjoyed for quite some time. The room was filled, though not cluttered, with objects that for the most part served little or no useful function; ornate trinkets and decorations from across the galaxy. Aiden was hardly an art critic, but in terms of material costs alone, the sculpture in the corner must have been worth more than a year's worth of his own wage. The woman who had invited him back here was clearly making good use of the relative wealth made available to her.

His ears detected a noise wafting through the open doorway to the bedroom; something that sounded not entirely unlike sobbing. He frowned; given his performance the night before, that definately wasn't the reaction he'd expected. He studied the sound for a few moments longer; electing to investigate he slipped free of the bed and, wrapping the sheet around his waist in the interests of modesty, padded barefoot out into the appartment.

He found her, wrapped inside a bathrobe too large to have been her own. A datapad nestled atop the ellegant legs that his senses still remembered being wrapped around him; the eyes that had entranced him in the bar the previous night were red and swolen, cheeks glazed with the tears that had leaked from her eyes. Her vision was unfocused, aimed vaguely in the direction of a holonet feed displayed on the datascreen mounted to the wall.

Sympathy tugged at Aiden's eyebrows; softened his voice before he had the chance to speak. "Laura," he almost whispered. "What's wrong?"

Clearly she hadn't noticed him enter; her eyes flicked towards him, startled as he spoke. She sniffed back more tears, back of her hand wiping at her eyes. She offered him a smile; the pain in her eyes turned it bittersweet, and threatened to rip his very heart out of his chest. "There was a battle." Her voice was cracked and broken, little more than a shadow of the angelic tones that had lured him here like a siren song. "My husband's ship was destroyed."

Husband. The word resonated, sparking snatches of memory from the night before. You're married? A Navy Officer. Gone for months. Won't he find out? I want you, and I know you want me. I have needs that he can't fulfill. But you can.

Awkward panic mixed with empathy and sadness strangled Aiden's voice into silence; only the thinnest of sounds managed to squeeze through the vice grip on his throat. He took a few hesitant steps towards her, arm reaching to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. "I'm so -"

She shrugged his touch away, emotional barriers clamping down in an instant. "The Emperor was killed too," she stated, eyes returning to the news feed. "Word just broke on the holonet. There will be riots. You should return to the garrison."

"I shouldn't leave you alone."

Undirected anger flared in her eyes, twisting her voice into venomous words. "My husband died the night that I betrayed him with another man. If I never see your face again, it will be too soon."

Aiden felt a drain from his very soul, sadness and regret weighing down his limbs like lead. His eyes fell from hers, brows conflicted. A vague nod expressed itself; reluctant feet turned his body away. He hesitated, faltering as he approached the threshold to the bedroom, and his discarded clothes. "For what it's worth," he offered, "I am sorry."

"Sorry won't bring him back," she shot back in response. "And it won't undo what I did."

* * *

It felt like the gravity had increased in his sleep; Aiden's gait was somber and slow as he left the appartment complex mere minutes later. His speeder was miles away, parked outside the bar that had been the venue for his precious evening of downtime. With no duty scheduled for today, he'd expected to spend the morning either unconscious or hungover, not guilt-ridden and in search of transport back to headquarters. But then, the Emperor had died. That fact hadn't even sunk in yet, but even so: no wonder the worlds felt like they were ending.

A hand dug into his pocket, searching out a comlink to summon some form of transit back to base. Fingers closed around the duraplast cylinder, tugged it free and brought it towards his lips. Fluke orientated him in the right direction to see a flash of crimson flare in the window of the luxury appartment he'd just departed. The iconic and instantly recognisable whine of a blaster shot wasn't even necessary for him to know what had transpired. His body turned numb, his insides collapsing in on themselves into the maw of a black hole.

He searched for his voice, and barely found it as he clicked open the channel on the comlink. "This is Lieutenant Aiden Tahmores," he said, voice vague and shaky. "I need a medical team to -" He cut himself off. "Wait. No." His jaw clenched. "Just send a coroner."