That'll Be the Day...

[Dai]

1 year and 7 months AE...

That'll Be the Day...


Music sounds best when disguised. Kicks and snares hide behind chords. Chords hide behind strings. Strings hide behind vocals. Vocals hide behind faces. Pretty faces, ugly mugs, strange smirks hide in bands. Bands hide on stage. Singers don’t hide at all, though they should. The crowd half-watched from seats, lounge chairs and bar stools. A few patrons clapped, lazily. The musician set was over. She staggered backstage beyond the curtains. Another group was sent on. Noses flared as a Wookiee trotted to the drums. Eyes went big as a Twi’lek girl touched the nalargon. She was cute, but they were more amazed at all her piercing and tattoos. Not only her lekku were marked, but her neck, arm and face. Jewelry hooked her nose and lip. There were more piercings too. She had almost as much as the human, the singer. With a wild mess of hair, mandoviol shoulder-strapped, he tapped the microphone.

The feedback boomed through the crowd.

Ka-bonk!

Curses followed, and in many languages. Huttese, Bith, Ithorese, Dug, and many more could be heard. Hands and tendrils protected ears. The bartender just laughed. Meanwhile, one guard escorted a Gungan out. Another dragged a Gran. The three-eyed beast was unconscious with bruises. Few noticed. The lights were too dim. The windows were draped too. No one could see in. Passer-bys could only see the neon sign, shimmering Ithor Spore. Small sparks flew from the old sign. Grit and grime kept the building blocks together. Womp rats were fixed behind the cantina waiting by the garbage. Chefs threw out their left-overs. There weren’t many scraps to go around though. Little went to waste in a place like this.

Little space was wasted too. Where there wasn’t a person, there was smoke. A red tinge lit what wasn’t shadowed. Each table had at least a cup with cubes in it. Droids and human waitress alike swept about, picking up tips and tabs. Chatter stirred in the back, near the lounge. Then the sounds died down, as the boyish man leaned into the microphone. His voice was like crunchy peanut butter – mostly smooth, but with a bump here and there.

“I’m Dai…” The singer looked back at the crew. “And we’re the Abo…”

Behind the Wookiee’s sticks hit, and the Twi’lek counted:



“1” Bang!
“2” Bang!!
“3” Bang!!!



“Hit it!!!!”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Blood oozed out.

The needle pricked the thumb. Nightfall and stars were all that could be seen out the large glass windows. The building was another skyscraper in Lianna Metro’s ecumenopolis. A luxury hotel, suite # 1505, and it had been billed under the name ‘Xizor”. Certainly, the handle was homage to the great man – an infamous man. None would know the pseudonym’s origin, and those that did would do so in secrecy. Beyond the royal suite door was plush furniture. Ruby sofas, winding stairs, sparkling white floors, and long drapes kept the man at ease. There he sat, slouched in his couch. His arms stretched across, completely relax. His head was cocked back, showing off his perfectly trimmed chin hair. It was long, and touched with gray, like the tied knot on his head. Adorn in a house robe, he seemed too comfortable to use such a scandalous name on his bill – but he did. A laugh escaped him. A paper lay on the table in front of him. Scribbles of writing in different languages came down. Signatures were written across the bottom. One of the marks was in basic, reading “Savan”. The man bent over, with his bleeding thumb and pressed it down under the name.

Behind the couch stood stout two droids, who awaited his command; and they weren’t ordinary. Both of the droids were armed. Old models, with new shiny armor – droids built from the HK-series. The two stared passed the man’s shoulders at the guest.
The guest was big, burly, discolored, and covered in husk. The other name on the paper was in Houkese. The Houk picked up the paper; examined it. Then he nodded, with a small smile. A blaster rifle was strapped on his back, along with more artillery. On guard behind him were Farghul. The felinoid were dressed all alike. At their waist were pistols.

“Confirmed.” The Houk said.

The HKs were still. The human whipped his thumb with a napkin, pleased. The two men stood up, shaking hands. “To a new alliance. And perhaps even friendship.”

“And to success to the both of us.” Their hands released. The Houk smirked. “I had no idea that the view from up here would be so breath-taking. It makes me sad to leave.” One of the Farghuls put on the Houk’s duster for him.

“The next time you will have to stay for dinner. Our chief cooks a Brentaal cuisine that is just as superb as the scenery.” The Houk listened, placing his hat on. “It’s to die for, so to speak…”

The Houk chuckled. “I never thought I’d break bread with a member of the Black Sun syndicate.”

“Don’t worry. The food won’t be poison. No more betrayal.” And the Houk left. The Farghul followed. Closely. The door slammed behind them.

"Objection: Can I crush his neck now, master? Just a little? It's been a long time fantasy of mine...."

The master laughed. “No, not this time…”

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

♫…One room shack
On the alley-back
Control, I'm told
From across the track♫

A cigarillo lay limp at the lips of the Zabrak gaped mouth. His arms were around his girls. On the left was a Theelin exotic model turn shock ball cheerleader. The right arm cupped a beautiful Zeltron hairstylist. Both were oblivious. The two cheered for the band, like everyone else – some were even dancing - as the lucky guy in the middle watched. He didn’t watch the singer serenade. He didn’t gawk at the furry critter banging away with the drum sticks. Nor did he sit captivated by another girl, such as that Twi’lek fingering sweet notes out on the keys. The lucky guy wasn’t feeling lucky anymore, because he was watching the door.

The guards at the entrance had been forced aside. Three Faghul had pinned down the corners of the room. And a Houk was trotting in with a WESTAR-M5 blaster rifle in hand. Deep in the Zabrak’s gut, there was a pain. A sudden pain, that nearly sent him to the bathroom. He almost thought he had crapped himself, but it was just his nerves.

Neither of the girls had noticed a thing. They mindlessly kept smiling, and listening to the boyish man sing.


♫…And I didn't have to be here..
You didn't have to love for me..
While I was just a nothin' child…
Why couldn't they just let me be
Let me be, let me be, let me be♫

Most the girls screamed with joy. The group of gals by the stage didn’t just scream, they yelled. They yelled in fear. The Houk’s blaster was pointed. He had slipped up front. His daring eyes pierced at the singer – Dai Voo Juñ– the mark.

[Dai]

Once upon a dream there were three set of eyes. They were magical eyes. Whenever they were welled up with surprise, they grew up to three sizes bigger than any normal set of eyes. Often it was a pretty girl, or possibly a fine young lad that got them to be big. Often it was followed by drool. Sometimes the eyes would were blown up and boomed for bundles of credits. It was truly magical. Yet once in a while, the surprise wasn’t so good. This was one of those times. Fear welled up in all three set of eyes, but largest of the trio were the brown ones. And in those brown eyes there was a reflection of an ugly Houk with a blaster pointed directly at them. Fright didn’t only well up in the young man’s brown eyes. It popped up in other places in his body. Butterflies flapped in his stomach. Sweat appeared in places his performance hadn’t muster, like under his feet, below his nose, and at the nape of his neck. Fear also found its way into his bladder. The young human was certain he was going to pee on himself. His intestines weren’t doing too well either. Also, his magical wide eyes could see the rest of the club. Everything was so still. Men leaned up against the wall staring at girls passing by, cracking jokes, with silly smiles & in mid-laughter. The bar keep had was starting to duck for cover under the counter. A Sullustian girl a few paces away from the stage was choking on a nuna bone at a reserved table. All her girlfriends were crowded around, trying to do the heimlich. Well, except one, because she had been trying to get the singer & drummer’s attention the whole set. Most the buttons on the girl’s top were down at this point. Everything was silent, at a stand-still, for just that second as the band welled up with fear.

Many months had passed since the band formed. Despite most people’s assumptions, the formation was most of the Wookiee’s doing. His name was Mahrrlee, but they just called him Bob. Like most Wookiee he had seniority on everybody, and he had seen a lot. Bob fought a lot too. Mahrrlee was in the Clone Wars and done many hunts. His fright did not last long.

“Hraawr!!”

Before a blast was fired, Bob roared in his Xacizk dialect. The language was even foreign amongst his people, but the band understood. Rough translation meant “Run!”, and that’s what they tried to do. The Twi’lek cowered behind the nalargon. Dai flailed about, twisting to the side. Bob threw his drumstick. Twirling about it in the air, it came to an abrupt stop as it banged the Bounty Hunter’s face. It was just another one of Marhlee’s surprise attacks. The hunter was thrown into a whirl. His hands shot up, surprised, leaving the blaster bolt meant for Dai shooting into the ceiling. The club responded. Even the men, gawking and chatting up the girls, responded. They ducked. They scoured. They jumped, crawled and dashed for the exit.

All the Farghuls that hoped to hold down the fort were bumrushed. Dai knew better than to disagree with the crowd – he followed suite. Leaping off the stage, he threw the microphone, with the stand, down on the Houk. Falling to a comfortable crouch, he turned and gave a nod to Bob. That was his goodbye. Under all the fur, Bob was smiling, but he wouldn’t for long. After the moment’s exchange, Dai was sloppily dodging the crowd. One foot leaps over tripped groupies, and tables, twist between dashing patrons, he was doing a clumsy dance out the cantina.

“Get out the way – frell!!” He exclaimed, haplessly tripping – however staying off the ground. “Go! Go! Go!”

While Dai pushed, the Houk was trying to gain his wits. And while the hunter was trying to gain his wits, the Wookiee and Twi’lek escaped backstage. It wasn’t a tall matter for the hunter, though, because the bounty was on the boyish man. The Houk had a long track sheet, with only one missed mark. All he could think about was how this boy, this singer named Dai, was not going to be his second. Grabbing up his blaster rifle, he stood and began to trot through the crowd. Dai was still pushing, his head twisted over his shoulder. Unlike Bob, Dai didn’t have Clone War experience. The only time he became one with nature was on school trips. However, he knew a thing or two about getting away, and he made sure to use it. As the group flushed to the door, bunched up, he got skinny. Not in the magical way his eyes got big, but the old fashion way – the way that kids do when they slip through crowds – and he elbowed through.

Screams and scampers were everywhere. Yelps were nearest, as he nudged through. One even laughed – Dai poked his funny bone as he slither through. In a matter of seconds, the singer went through the dark entanglement of must cantina-goers, arm pits, stretched out arms, and just wide enough legs at the stuffed door, to the neon lit outside of the Lianna night. Outside, people were still running. Dashing to their cars, blasting down the streets, the fear was still very much in the air. Aslong as the Houk was on his tail, there would be fear.

Dai needed to move, and move fast. Pushing against the wall, he catapulted himself into a speedy step. That speedy step turned into a run. His legs were working hard, while his mind went blank. The young man hadn’t a clue where he was going, where he’d hide, but he had to get the furthest away from that cantina, and that crazy, ugly, dimwitted Houk with the WESTAR-M5 blaster rifle. His feet beat the concrete. The sound echoed in his ears. Blocks blurred, and the sweat continued to trickle. Cold chills slid down his spine, but he ignored. Dai was forgotten. All there was, for him, for those seconds, was running. Nothing but the thud of his feet, and the thought of Bob's face snarling into a horrorific growl:


Run!
Hraawr!!
Run!
Hraawr!!
Run!
Hraawr!!
Run!!


---Biiing!



The sound echoed. It wasn't his feet. The thud of his shoes against the hard streets didn't sound like that. Instead there was a rattling. Something seem to have shattered, like glass dropped on a floor. The sudden confusion forced a flutter of blinks in his eyes, as they glazed over. His arms were wailing about, freely, as he toppled. The fluttering of his eyes ended, as he closed them and hit the ground.

The thing he hit remained motionless...

[Mahrrlee the Bob]

A repulsor lift hummed with life. Scores of speeders zipped about the moonlit sky. The streets were filled. Ladies and men treaded down the lit up blocks. Bright signs and street lights lined the district. Night did not keep the city from buzzing. Workers needed breaks beyond their shift and home life. There, in the Lianna nightlife, they could find refugee. The freedom also allowed for strange characters to roam. Immigrants turned beggars, vagabond changelings, and enslaved sex slaves blended in the crowded of daylight laborers. Women and men from many origins, species and ethnicities trekked in and out of clubs. Laughter or tears followed.

At 02:15 Galactic Standard Time, the evening was still young for most. Down by the Ithor Spore there was a pack of exited patrons. Most had hid in the parking lot, while a fight broke out amidst all the chaos that ensued when the Houk bounty hunter crashed the party with his Farghul goons. He and all his cronies had pursued their target on speeder bike, scouring the streets. No one knew where the mark had gone beside two select people.

Leaned against the black & blue hull AV-21 (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/AV-21_landspeeder) land speeder was the furrier of the two. Mahrrlee watched as the singer thrashed up against the repulsor trolley. The hobo pulling his house behind him on the trolley barely flinched as Dai went down. In a nonchalant glance the tramp simply shrugged it off and went back to his meager living. The Wookiee couldn’t help but laugh. And he laughed a hearty laugh. Bob slapped his knee, jolted with glee, his sparkling fangs showing as he snickered. All the hooting and guffawing could be heard from the other side of the street. Crowds walked pass, around and over the fallen escapee. A few even joined in on the romp, chortling as they tread pass.

Mahrrlee shook his head as he crossed the seat. The Twi’lek keyboardist kept the speeder in hover. The smug smirk was hard to see under his furry exterior, but it was there. Even as he got closer, checking out the bump, the smirk didn’t fade. In a huff, the young (by Wookiee standards) drummer crouched down and got up close & personal with the unconscious star. A growling grumble slipped out of Bob’s lips as he stared at him. The words were hard to decipher for anybody passing by, but the grunt seemed like a definite tease; especially since he sneered some more afterwards.

“Wrahar…Wraarh,” he grumbled, trying to wake him up. The murmur grew louder as he leaned more in. A snarl drove his lips out. After a show the Wookiee smelt worst than a rancor. Enough stench make a Duros or Nemoidian vomit, but Dai was too far gone. All Bob got from the vocalist was a twitch. In a desperate plea, he slapped his big hands across the young man’s cheek.

Nothing.

If there was a bucket of cold water or ice around, that would’ve been the Wookiee’s second choice. The recent flashback of cantina fights, juke joint mishaps and any other trouble Dai got himself into at the casinos began alternating in the furball’s mind. More often than not, Bob was stuck carrying Dai out after he had tried talking to the wrong nice girl, or owing the wrong person money. The amount of nights, arguments, and drunken stupors the band had to endure were too much to count. Although the boy was some trouble, he wasn’t the only one in the group. Those few times Dai wasn’t off meddling, Mahrrlee found himself on stage or a counter with a bottle in his hand singing tunes that the band never dare try out on a real crowd. It was like they were family, always embarrassing one another.

Crouched over the songster, Mahrrlee looked up and across the street at nalargonist. He gave an awkward shrug, shook his head, and then cupped his hands under the former actor. Once again, he was carrying him. The sight of it was beginning to get old for the girl. Gig after gig they were stuck with troubles. Either the venue didn’t want to pay, managers never showed, or there was a fight. It was beginning to get old, and it showed on all their faces. Dai’s was slopped with drool, as his head flailed back and forth, hanging over Bob’s shoulder. Mahrrlee head was down in absolute distraught and shame as he crossed the street. And Aura Vao, the Twi’lek musical extraordinaire, completely disregarded the lame duo, staring straight ahead at traffic stubbornly. Bob felt like he had disappointed his mother or something. She snorted and sucked her teeth, detesting the very moment. In a matter of seconds, their pitiful charade of an escape plan turned into an excuse for Aura to be a diva. That was one thing there never failed.

“Rwaa…” he spitefully murmured under his breath. She, no bigger than 1.6 meters in height, shot him a cold glance. Then, he, all of 2.2 meters, cowered. A couple walking pass sniggled, as the Wookiee slumped carefully away, sloppily tossing Dai in the back seat. The thud of the singers head banging against the other side jolted through their ears, forcing the two band mates shoulders up in a cringe. They exchanged impish looks, laughed, then the Wookiee jumped in the passenger seat.

Aura rolled her eyes at the stupidity. Over and over again, she had to babysit them. She clicked and pushed her feet down. The accelerator warmed to life. Despite her exotically pierced face, she kept stern control over the vehicle. In a twist of the wheel, she cornered out of the tight parking space and sped into the air traffic. The barrage of landspeeders flashed pass, a bike following. Instinct told the Mahrrlee to duck, but Aura looked mischievous at the bikers.

She knew it could be the hunters, she didn’t care. In the security of her vehicle, Aura had little to fear. Plus, under the seat, she had her protection. Although Mahrrlee was the battle-weary of the group, she was the ruthless one. As he ducked in the seat, he could recall one bad night touring Naboo. A Gungan heckler had gotten out of line. The sea critter had the nerve to interrupt the set, screaming cat calls and insults about “slave girl” this, and “lekku-head” that. Before Mahrrlee knew it, both his drum sticks were lodged in the Gungan’s throat and he was being bashed with the seat by a half-restraint Aura. Dai had seen it coming, but he was too amused to hold her back with any sincerity.

Bob had to buy two new sticks too, but at least he got a laugh out of it. Still, the fuzzy giant wouldn’t be laughing if he had to face the Houk again. A heckler and bounty hunter were two very different problems. Aura didn’t seem to be aware of that, so he tugged at her as he slumped in his seat. “Hraahwr,” he suggested.

She denied. “Dont worry...They wasn't nobody.”

The light turned green. She sped up ahead, turning down the block, and hit the air-way. Soon, they’d make it to their destination, and Aura wouldn’t have to deal with the two’s insolence anymore.


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



Kloo horns, omni boxes, fanfars, slitherhorns, all synchronized, yet sunk in a deep tone, under the crinkling clatter from the kicked diet fizzyglug can. Dust, from the garage floor, was collected by the can as it rolled to a stop next to the parked landspeeder. The ceiling light swayed as the door slammed shut behind the soft steps. Aura walked in with another 6-pack of Jawa beer. Cartons of the stuff were stacked by the bagged garbage at the garage door. Mahrrlee sat atop the tool shed, one his large feet propped up on an open drawer while the other leg dangled. Next to him the jukebox rumbled with music; old jizz & aubade tunes that inspired their parents to have them. Well, not Mahrrlee. His parents preferred the resounding boom of the drums, or the calming whisper of the wild, over the musicality of the Modal Nodes, but he smiled nonetheless. Bob examined a portrait he had grabbed up from the top of the fridge. In the frame stared back an old Twi’lek woman in the middle, with a young Anzati girl, small Icarii boy, and a faintly familiar looking Twi’lek girl at the lady’s sides.


“That’s grandma Norah.” The Wookiee looked up, blinking, intrigued. “She use to be involved in this whole adoption thing…She loved the kids.” Aura plopped the pack on top the speeder, throwing one at Bob. He caught it, listening to her go on.


“I was the only flesh in blood in that picture – obviously – but…but she sure made them feel like part of the family. Ain’t no telling where those kids woulda been without her.”


“Hoorwaar?” Bob pointed at the Icarii.


“Yea, he was an interesting one…” Mahrrlee roared a tease, and they laughed.


“Seleon – that was his name. Always was fighting somebody. Always in trouble. Worst than Dai,” she gestured at the unconscious body in the baskeat, taking a swig of her beer. “Now he’s off somewhere really fighting…Last I heard he was blasting Imps into space dust.”


Bob smirked behind his fur.


“And that other one was quiet…but she’s doing the exact opposite. Meddlin’ around with the Imperials like that’s the way to go. She was real smart kid, always doing his work. Should’ve realized those Imperials don’t want nothin’ to do with folks like us if we aint putting credits in their pocket.”


She took another swig. She was right, as far as Mahrrlee could see. Slave-drivers across the galaxy always picked the Twi’lek and Wookiee’s for labor. Both their species had faced harder times throughout the known history. Their parents made sure they knew that too. Therefore, they took pride in their hard times, and enthused in the better moments. A lot of what they talked about Dai could never, truly, understand.


But he tried anyway, that’s why they loved the bastard....Really, he's a bastard. No dad, and such...

[Dai]

Grime, a headache & the burning scent of Dorian passion fruit was what he had to wake up to. Dai eyes fluttered, as he realized his aching joints. Memory wasn’t serving him to well either, but he could recall the thudding resound which put him in a dreamy slumber. Everything else seemed to be a blurred image of a dash. Dirt from his fall was mush up against his face, and his shirt was off. His squinted eyes eased back and forth as he lay there, finding only silhouettes and incense in the dimly lit room. The last thing he could remember was the set, and that terrible interruption. Before his feet had hit the stage his veins flowed with Neutron Pixie (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Neutron_Pixie). Anytime he took some he woke up in a strange bed; this wasn’t a new. Dai wasn’t sure what happened, but he was sure it was bad, and it hurt.


“Flarg…” He cursed and groaned, craning himself up into the semblance of a sitting position.


His hands sloppily rubbed his eyes, but ended up pushing up against all his face. Snorting, grunting, and blinking with barbaric disgust, he peered around with glazed, drowsy eyelids ready to fall down and put him back to sleep. Slobber had dried up on the side of his cheek. His hair was flat in the back from the big pillow. The bed embraced the rest of his body, with Dramassian silk.


Once Dai had done a death scene for a romantic-drama in a cot with Dramassian silk in it, and it wasn’t hard to play dead in such soft, expensive cloth. However that was then, for at that moment he felt horrible. He massaged at his neck, rotating his head around. His eyes were closed, but he had seen the deep blue four walls, blotched with paintings and the generic table stands with the drawers nearby. A bundle of years had passed since his more stable days on Coruscant, but he knew a family home when he saw one.


Although there was no certainty where in the galaxy he was, he was sure he hadn’t gotten into too much trouble. No one was next to him as he woke up, and that meant he could tip-toe out. At least as soon as he got his wits about him. Chatter could be heard beyond the door.


A familiar voice and disturbing roar echoed from down some way – a hall more than likely. The tremble of music traveled too. The chatter turned into a wild banter. After a few blinks, caused some after-shock stupidity, he mustered a weak smile. Somehow Dai had missed his mandoviol leaned up against the door when he glanced over the place.


“Well ain’t that something…” Dai looked down at his lap of ruffled covers. The gleam of daybreak shot in through the blinds behind him, casting a bit of light to go with the burning tips of the incense. Lost in thought, he wondered. Dai wondered about the rest of the tour, and who that interruption was exactly. A lot of debts had piled up, but he didn’t expect such an attack in the Allied Tion sector. It was why the band even decided to perform there. With his head down, he tried desperately to evoke any memories, remind himself of any occasions or names he had double-cross. The list in his mental rolodex began forming, and it was getting long.


Nearly 20 different organization representatives came to mind, but that wasn’t what daunted him. No, it was the reach they all had. If one could find contact in such a strangely, protected cut-out of galaxy, he had to stay on his toes. Casinos weren’t safe anymore, and nor were half the hotels across the Outer Rim & Core territories. In too many of his exploits he had stepped on Black Sun official’s toes, owing more sums than his band could gather. Skipping town was the only good, logic choice he ever had. And at this point, it was biting him in the choobies. Things were looking bad, but he was sure things would get better. There were more pressing things to concern Dai’s mind, like getting paid for that gig, and his stomach.


The grumble in his belly was beginning to become aggravating.


In a sudden sweep, he jumped out the bed. On the floor were his pants. Quickly, he pulled them on with his free hand. The other hand yanked to open the door. So, before he knew it he was dancing with one pant leg on, pulling the other up, hopping down the corridor to that fine smell of his favorite: Biscuit Baron’s Bantha Breakfast. No hang-over was complete without it, and Baron’s famous blue sauce. The taste buds in his mouth were just watering for a go.


Only problem was when he turned around the corner into the kitchen, yelling out, “Guys – ya’ll better not have touch my foo—“ he was cut off. Cut off by the unfriendly, frequent sight of a barrel glowering back at him, only inches away. Instinctively, his hands shot up.


“Damnit!!” He whined. “Can you come back after breakfast?”


…BAM!!!


----------------------
Raxus Prime



http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v706/LaLaBoogie/600px-Raxus_Prime_Jedi_Temple-1-1.jpg

As the darkness swallowed the planet, scraps of metal flew. The surface was a wasteland, parted by toxins and overlooked by floating damaged goods. Old house appliances and droids alike hovered under the blacken sky which was overtaken by factories and strange buildings. Rays of sunshine hoped to struggle though, but only manage to peer in on the broken junk land. The people that dared to live on the planet were forced into compact spaces, and reduced to live in small, industrial dwellings. Out the high heights of a building window, the sight of the community looked like an ant-field. The heights were from a down trodden, archaic temple.

A forgotten fool, named Kazdan Paratus, and follower of a hokey religion had crafted the sanctuary in a gothic, yet with uncanny resemblance of the fortress once based on the Imperial Center before the New Order was born. In the wake of the fool’s death, the Junk Temple was nothing more than a folksy work of architect to the citizens, but the approved personnel that knew of its significance walked the halls proudly. Those sanctioned were the very reason why Dai sat there, tied up and battered, staring out into the distant murkiness for hope.

Blood slid down, over his brow. The blaster’s blunt end had gashed him good. Sweat mixed with the bruises and dirt as he panted, his head hunkered over while his trampled hair tried to hide his face of shame, dangling over his face. His battered body held limply from the chair. The tied limbs were the only thing keeping him up. A puddle of crimson was forming under his arms, behind the chair; because the material was fasten so tightly. Every few seconds he’d gulp, only to wheezed some more.

At the middle of the highest spire’s council room Dai sat alone and weak. Surrounded by crumbled statues of ancient faces, he awaited. He awaited more pain. They had tortured him since he had awoken to the deep darkness on the transport. Punch after punch, wail after wail – the bruises didn’t end at his face. Down his body were welts from ripping whips on bare flesh. Cuts ran down his back and chest.

There was no rhyme or reason. Tears streamed down his face through it all. He was numb at this point, diminished to thoughts of his friend. In the midst of the pain, the faceless torturers had made it clear his pains were for Mahrrlee & Aura. They were alive. In what state, he didn’t know.

He groaned. His head still down.

“Mr. Juñ, sir – the great, amazing, talented child star,” the soft voice came from behind him with a feint, slow applause. “If it is not too much trouble for you, I’d love to get your autograph.”

Dai’s tired eyes looked up, searching for the fan.

[Olivia Shañ]

Clap!
Clap!
Clap!

It moved closer.

Clap!
Clap...

And closer.

Clap…

Dai could smell the fresh rosemary. Although his nose leaked of blood and the planet reeked from factories, he could smell it. He could feel the deep breath of calm. At the nape of his neck prickled hairs stood as the cool breaths eased out through the fuming airs. It was chilling. Calming. The pitter patter of steps did not thud any longer. Still, his faint sight could not make out anything other than the dismal skyline. Shattered statues continued to watch. His ears could hear their haunting, quiet cheers as the puddle under his seat was filled by more bloody plops. Dai also heard the clink of a holster being shifted. Yet, he didn’t move. He was far too weak, but he registered the frosty touch of durasteel.

The cannon pressed up against his left cheek, forcing his head into a tilt. In his right ear came the voice – of a woman. Dai’s ear was tantalized by the champagne lava that the voice was. It didn’t touch only the eardrum, but the other prominent parts around it, like the cheek, the neck.

“I’d like the autograph,” the blaster slowed down his face, from his neck, down his chest to a place in his lap. “Right there.”

She spoke softly. She was Olivia Shañ. Daughter of the COMPNOR. Her unidentified parents did not mold her ferocity, the Coalition did. Contempt snarled her face, not actual hatred. Olivia despised the idea of a Dai Voo Juñ. Dirt and crimson tarnished his face, as her extra hand tugged at his hair. In a yank, she shoved his back into the seat. Like a snake, she curled over his shoulder, allowing him to see her face.

The blaster had yet to move.

Olivia saw his torment and panic and smiled. “Click!” She pulled her finger back, the audible sound mimicking how she mouthed it. Dai jerked wildly. Sweat and tears mixed with his muddled face. All in expectation of a booming, baby-destroying explosion that never came. Olivia laughed.

She laughed a hearty snicker, her hands flailing in the air as he hobbled off, holding her stomach. The display was to Dai’s dismay, as she pranced about in glee. Hunched in front him, cackling, she stopped to look back up at him. Then, laughed some more.

“You should have seen your face,” Olivia giggled over Dai trying to scramble back his manhood by holding back his sobbing tears. “You should’ve seen it,” she repeated.

“Son of a bantha,” he murmured.

“Huh?” In an instant, she wrenched herself from the chortling fit and glared at him with eyes that bore through men like beams.

“You heard me,” he seethed.

KaPoosh!!!

The blaster bolt vroom in a singeing tear through the air, freely sweeping pass the tattered, tortured meat bag dangling near lifeless on the chair. Beyond him the blast escaped to a statue of a pointy-eared troll, exploding the bust into splinters of its former self and splattering the figurine along the pebbled spectra by the door. Arm outstretched, hand grip firm, eyes locked, shoulder tight yet loose, Olivia glowered at her subject:

“Next time,” she lowered the blaster slowly, smoothly walking toward him. “Next time – Next time I wont miss.”

Olivia fell to one knee before him, thrusting the blaster under his chin. She propped his head up, holding his gaze. One eye was shocked, the other dulled in ghastly demand for the body to sleep. He was tired. He had been battered and beaten. “Do you wanna know where you are here.”

She pushed the blaster into his mouth, “Do you.”

He mumbled. The blaster was jostled deeper. “Because I’ll tell you.”

He nodded fearfully. She pulled the blaster out. “Yeah, I’ll tell ya.”

[Dai]

Shallow breaths slipped from Dai’s lungs. The slither of the dead cold blaster rolling across his tattered flesh and scars pricked his senses. Eyes once shocked and livid struggled to stay under the drooping eyelids. Nerves weakened. Thoughts wrapped around his mind, begging for sleep. Only the wild woman’s words kept him awake. He sat slumped over in the chair once more. There was no certainty he’d get out of this one alive. His demise almost seem to be waiting for him in the distance as he gazed absently ahead.

Once on Druckenwell he had met death, face to face. The occassion was quite different. Lumped in a circle of pazaak players, he bet his lungs and liver. Spices and shots were on his side, whiles chips were on the others. Like a clown he downed those ills at every failure, daring to win at each hand. The night turned to morning and he was there stuck in a chair just like this moment. Laughs were abound. Everyone got a kick out of the great holo-star dangling at the bits, musing silently like an absolute fool. It wasn't simply embarassing, but painful. Blood wasn’t leaking, but the tears streamed. Death could tug the fear out of the most valiant of men. It certainly had done a number on Dai.

As she spoke, he tried to follow. The blaster’s taste in his mouth didn’t wake him anymore than shoving the blaster under his chin. Most of him and his body was a mangled mess of what it use to be. His shirt dangled off him, torn. Shreds of flesh pursed of blood along his biceps and shoulders. Scars were everywhere. The assailants used a number of tools and fist to batter him into the pulp. Flashes of the torment smeared through his mind, as traumatic as it was. There wasn’t much energy left, but he focused it to his mouth and ears. At least he could still communicate, and that was enough for him.

“Tell me,” he shivered, words coming out in a murmur.

Dai's head shifted up, craning about sloppily. His eyes rolled about, searching through the darken space. Shadows faded in and out, as he faintly found the building spires. The place was ancient, and maybe he'd be as well.

"...Tell me"

[Olivia Shañ]

“Ok then.”

Olivia perked up. A mad grin spread up along her face. The grip she had on the blaster loosened. In a twirl, she found herself back on her feet in front of her subject, her eyes jostling to the side as she wandered wily into thought and wonder. She twisted on her heels, her finger twirling the blaster about as she began to pace.

“First and foremost, this is Raxus Prime,” in mid-step, she stopped. Chuckling with the intent to be obnoxious, she looked down at his nearly lifeless body. “Do you know anything about Raxus Prime?”

The question was rhetorical. “Didn’t think so.”

She calmly went back into her pacing. Olivia glided around him, the thud of her steps echoing through the empty temple ground. Her eyes grazed over the scenery. In the smog of Raxus Prime nightfall, she felt most at ease. The deep breathes that she took were in stark contrast to the strained one’s she heard from her foolish victim. In a casual stroll about him, she stopped once more, but behind him, in mid-step pouncing by his ear.

“Well, this is the place where droids go to die,” she whispered. The wild smirk on her face was becoming famous. It was the smirk that kept her on her anchor spot. It was the smirk that divulged more than needs be from political figures that dare compete against her on air in a questionnaire.

“Die, die, die.”

Leaned over his left shoulder, she felt his dying chill. Olivia pointed over his other shoulder, guiding his eyes to the floating objects. The lit eyes of the droids smeared in the thick, black haze of the Raxus’ sky. Arc wrenches floated alongside their former users. In the cloister of debris were past giants of space adventures. Or at least the ship parts of those fabled voyages. Generator cores bumped up against astromech droids that once had reconfigured their calibrations. Pilot droids that had saved planets in evacuations soared by interrogation droids that destroyed dreams. The commonality amidst them all wasn’t simply their wired interiors, but that their insides were hovering along with them. There was no utopia. Gears floated pass their motorized eyes. Vocal coders tore from their hull drifted in front of them. They were silent victims of time. The Galaxy advance and they were laid to waste in this forgotten land.

“It’s mechanical purgatory...Purgatory – I like that word.”

She bopped him on the head. “Don’t you like that word?”

Wisped back to her steps, she spiraled around the chair, her back facing him as she swayed seductively before him. Her steps trailed toward a statue. Ahead of her, in the emptiness of the atmosphere, were more droids circling the temple. Her body was adorning in black, tight suit. Betraying her deadliness, Olivia sauntered away like a model. Then, abruptly, she turned about, with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a tease in her stance, pointing the blaster once more at Dai.

“What’s so cool and great about purgatory is that it could mean this,” she playfully placed the gun to her temple. Her mouth stunted a frown; her eyes drooped sadly; her hand motioning a tear down her cheek as she mouthed Bang, Bang.

“Or this.”

Olivia stretched out her arms, embracing the all. Her head flew back, overwhelmed by the imagined splendor. For a moment, she stood on her tippy toes, fixed in this angelic pose. Then, slowly, she looked back at Dai with a mock smile. “This is where you are.”

Slowly, she treaded toward him, menacingly.

“And if you want to see your heaven you will do as I instruct you.” Kneeling to his face level, her voice became silent and slow, like a transit system in Coruscant. “Otherwise your friends will be in the void.”

Dai was silent, as expected. Any gasp was for air. Inaudible and in agony, Olivia reveled in the experience. The upper-hand was always an easy hand to play. Crouched before him like the prey she was, her hands gripped to the side of his head, calling for his attention. With alert eyes and grinding teeth, she dove in almost close enough to touch noses.

“Now, listen up in there,” she shook him. She gnarled. “If you don’t want those debts and bounty hunters on your ass you’ll go to Corellia and attend the Agrilat Swamp Circuit Classics. I will contact you with further instructions. All of what you need will be suplied, understand? Got that? ”

She tossed his head back, standing up. Her eyes drifted, searchingly. “I know I miss something,” she murmured. “There was something…

Oh! Yeah!!”


...BAM!!!

Dai was getting sick of that sound.

[Dai]

Giants swarmed around the tiny blonde baring microphones. High pitch yelps could be heard as countless hovercams captured the mob’s attack. In cantinas, clubs and households across the galaxy men stopped their channel surfing for a split second to get a glimpse of the show. An eager smile, coupled with a devilish gaze looked back at them. Long blonde streaks flowed from the woman’s head and an unassuming wardrobe fit snuggly on her frame as the horde barked at her. They shouted questions; penetrating questions. She nodded, played, shook her head and rolled her eyes. She was Wynssa Starflare (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Wynssa_Starflare), the famous sex symbol.


“I know you knew the Diktat,” one of the interviews asked, their brows furrowed.


“Yes, yes,” she began, her head going down. “Dupas was a dear friend of mine…it’s still hard to believe he’s gone. Especially in the way he went…”


The crowd nodded. Most knew Wynssa for her correctness, the optimistic personality and smile of the Galaxy. Others on the set knew her on the set as Syal Antilles, the runaway actor. Most of the producers, director and staff of the movie, Year 0/16:5 were aware of her background. Some of the actors did too. Off to the side a 12 year old boy watched. His hair was low, his face was filled with youth, and his skin was like caramel. A man in a suit had his back to the boy on a conference call – the agent – his name was Erick Jixi. The talent agent was sure this movie was a good follow up to the kid’s lead break-out role in Children.


“Dai,” he said. “This will be it. This will be your big role that solidifies you. Makes you large! ENORMOUS! GIGANTIC!!”


Talent agents often got excited quick. Charisma was one word to describe it, but Dai had a few others in mind not fit for a sub-adult. All he could do was shake his head and go along. Before the boy knew what happened, he was hugging Wynssa leg, the director was yelling “cut” and the two stars would head out to get some food at the nearest restaurant on the Emperor’s budget - the Emperor was nice to his stars & starlets like that, especially when half the industry was embedded in the Empire through COMPNOR or some other organization - that was the life. Over the time of the shoot Syal had warmed up to the boy. Told him stories of the industry, given him pointers, and invited him out to house parties. In a way, he was like an adult. Age didn’t mean much in this business, maturity did. Dai had that. Since he was seven his days were filled with visits by home-school professors, contract signings, accountants’ conference calls and strange paid appearances at juvenile venues. Odd and unusual as his life was, Dai had grown increasingly accustom to the high life. Standing there he marveled at how composed Syal was with her paparazzi. Erick had often warned that one false move could mean his career. Dai always heeded such words, but Syal seemed completely unfazed.


Security guards trotted pass the youngster. Wide eyed, he smiled as the group of bulky men trotted toward the media cluster. Quickly, the cams were pushed aside with the interviewers. Dai put his hand up, restraining a laugh as one of the journalists was tossed away like a dog. The journalist screamed, scrambling for balance with his limbs flailing wildly all over the place as he toppled to the floor.


“C’mon, c’mon,” an assistant pushed at Dai. “We got the escape scene in less than 2 minutes.”


“Ah – But it’s so funny.” They snickered.


Coruscant wasn’t home to most the cast, and the few that were shacked up on the Imperial Center hadn’t seen the planet in such lighting. Large vessels had been purchased for the filming. Old starships that had been manufactured in the Clone Wars were flying above. Explosions almost too real tore around them. Relic droids twisted about in the terrific blast as Separatist landing crafts swooped pass the window Dai and Wynssa hid under. Glass shattered in the previous scene, and it was left scattered across the building. Bulky, plated, menacing droids clunked in the room nearby, captured on cam as their blaster bolts poured from their extended arms. Shrieks echoed through the building as Dai hunched Wynssa. His heart beat skipped. More shots echoed. More womanly yells and screeches were heard. For a moment, he forgot the hovercam was circling. The vroom of the hovercam’s zoom was dulled to the foreboding thump of the incoming B1 & B2 battle droids. Before the shoot had read up; Dai had done his history. Large and formidable, the B2 super battle droid was armed with dual built-in laser cannons, wrist rockets and tri-shots. They weren’t to be messed with. Even their steps shook the room.


Ahead lay a fallen table. By the door a DC-15s side arm blaster rested on the floor by seemingly lifeless men decked in authentic clone trooper armor. Outside rumbled the sounds of war. Dai tucked in closer to Syal’s protective arms. Blast shocked the building; rippling tides of hard winds from nearby eruptions shook him. His nerves leaped. Dai’s eyes squinted, his face scrunched against the famous star’s warmth.


The effects came closer. Prickles of dust swept into the room from the mocked detonation. Dai couldn’t hear the director, the production staff or even his thoughts. All he could hear was the fast clump under Syal’s bosom, his own sobs and the clatter of their biotic end. Dai could barely think. Twelve year olds weren’t built for war. That was the point, though – the reason why the script called for a brash move. Amidst the moment, what he could remember was his next move.


And he did it.


In a barbaric cry, he wailed and failed from Wynssa’s arm. She called out to him, her protective arms reached out for him, but he struggled over the fallen troopers, haplessly tripping into a slide to the side arm blaster. During pre-production the child actor was sent to Eshan to study for his stunts. His role called for a tough, patrician youth and strict training as a Senator’s child. He had to be killed in the martial arts. So, he learned. Even the slip was coordinated. In a curl, he slowed himself as he skid across the floor and sprawled out for the blaster. After hundreds of exercise and practice, he instinctively spread his legs in mid-slide and gripped the side arm, pointing it at the door. The blaster was the genuine article; too genuine.


At the flick of Dai’s finger, the blast burst from the heavy pistol. A dreadful discharge screamed from the old clone commando favorite. RC-3222, also known as Atin, owned that pistol. How’d a kid, born nearly six years after the wars know that, know that? Dai didn’t understand it either, but he saw it..


--


Green gloom loomed in a twirling beam overhead. A greener dwarf leapt over head. Beams shot pass. Grumbles jumbled in the man’s throat. Fear and adrenaline mixed to keep him cunning. Blasts streamed pass. Detonators jumped through the air over the bulwark of fallen starships. Impossibly colossal buildings hid the cloned brethrens in it’s shade, while bronze and white aircrafts were plucked from the sky shooting at one another. The blaster choked in Atin’s clutches as he pointed to an oncoming flock of droidekas.


One.


Two.


Three.


He got them right in the head, before he heard another squad man yell.


“Duck!”


The war had finally come home.


--


The control room shook with terror. Droids didn’t know fear, but if they did their wires would be burning. Three of the Omega squad dashed in, out of the shadows, blasters in hand. Atin held to the explosives, eyes like daggers behind the ominous helm. Unsuspecting droids at the mining facility backed away, blasting with apprehension. The two others dodged, sweeping in a flack, shooting at their hulls. All the B1 battle droids hadn’t the hull to withstand the assault. Faltering to the floor without celebration, the commandos walked through calmly.


Atin’s hand scampered for the demolition explosives at his hip. His hand passed the side arm blaster before clutching the detrimental end to the facility.


The others activated their com links.


“Omega Squad…”
--


Through the lens of DC-17m, life looked feeble. A pull and all could be gone. Hunched in the high spires of the Coruscanti building and all could be lost. The view wasn’t simply one sided though. As in this delicate moment, the tension was thick enough to be cut with a dulled vibroblade.


Atin had one of those. Tucked in at his waist, blaster in hand, he waited behind the sniper as he looked down at the terrorist. It was a Korunnai, prepared to take the hostage and flee.


Hostage crisis were hard to handle, and to move quickly would leave them in trouble. They had to handle the bombs, and all the other intangibles. Atin hoped he wouldn’t have to use the DC-15 more than once. His hand pressed to the side of his helmet, opening the com link.


“We’re coming.”


The mission was going to begin. They’d have to move quickly, or they’d hear the sound of—
-----------------------------------------------------


“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!”


The blast set off, tearing through the droid’s helm. All it’s weaponry was deactivated; there was no violent response beside the wrist blaster lifting. Shock ran over the staff. The director huddled in the corner smiled as the other’s unwittingly blinked with raised brows. Dai wasn’t sure what that was.


“Almost nailed it,” the director praised, clapping. “Almos—“


The groggy sound of the filmmaker’s voice gurgled into nonsense as Dai was swept into a black unconscious.


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


Present Day

Bubbles…

Floating…

Oxygen…

Quietly, he soaked. Lost in a sea of confusion and darkness he could hear the distant thumps of life. He sensed the spark. An uneasy flow pushed him about. Fragile, he had no retort. He simply floated there. After moments of silence his eyes fluttered. Blue blurred all he saw, while glass distorted the rest. Everything was out of focus.

He jerked violently. Battle cries or baby bawls were muffled by a breathing apparatus. His eyes tighten and he jerked more. The man’s arms lifted, swinging at the thick, blue haze. Murmurs surrounded him. Swishes of the substance soaking him were the only thing he could hear clearly, closely, intimately. Then, there was clicking, followed by a sucking noise.

Before he knew it, he was on his knees gasping for air. The apparatus slipped off him as the water was drained into oblivion. Scars had grown faint under his harden skin, and he was wet.

“Voo Juñ, we are 30 minutes from Corellia,” an automated voice alerted.

“Uhmm....” Dai dismissively waved his hand, still on his knees. “None of this makes any sense. Wanna gimme a chance to breath eh…”

The former child actor looked up, searching, whipping his eyes clean of the bacta. A scowl crawled over his lips as he squinted with red eyes for the voice. Around him was a plain room. On the table were clothes. He kept searching. Next to him, on his left, was the culprit: a short droid. (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v706/LaLaBoogie/?action=view&current=robot_thing_by_nastynoser.jpg)

“O, Bring out the artillery…” He joked.

“Sir, that will be provided when we dock.”

“Shuddup…” Dai pulled at the droid’s leg. Slowly, he pulled himself to a stand and patted the droid on the head.

“…”

“Tell you what – get me a pack of cigarillos and a nice batch of tea and we’ll be good.” Dai’s eyes widen as he pointed at the man with a smile, leaning up against the med desk.” Best to start this lil’ fling on the right foot, right?”

The droid impatiently shook his head. “Sir, I am GIO-13 and will be serving you on your—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah – just go get me my order,” GIO-13 looked a lot like a waiter/waitress droid. Dai couldn’t decide if it was meant to be a boy or girl droid. Looking away, he surveyed the room. The hum of the engine verified it was a starship, but from how compact the med bay it was certainly not large enough to pass as a freight ship – it was a star courier.

“Who is flying this thing?”

“We are, sir…”

“Great. Just great…”


...To Be Continued