Rather Mauled, I Think.

"What attack pattern is that, anyway?  It looks like it's...what?  Alpha, Beta?  Those are two words I just learned, though."  Tiok babbled, the Sullustan already adjusting the Unchained Kiros' deflector fields in anticipation of the TIE/ln wing's attack.

Niobe glanced up from the point defense cannon controls, almost silently cursing the luck that put her in the bridge of the cruiser, rather than their more nimble, battle ready transport, the Swift Grifter.  They really needed to find her a new name, but at least she could dodge the TIE's aim in the smuggler ship.  It did not feel natural  or wise to her to accept ship blasters slamming into your shields.  A quick glance at the formation of the two incoming wings told her they were using the far more offensive tactics of Gamma pattern - a gusty move for just TIE/lns.  Her eyes narrowed.  Why would they...

"Gamma, obviously," sighed Athorn, standing next to Tiok at the tactical display.  It was, perhaps, more shaming than she would be to the Sullustan, but she figured Chiss had to over-emote with their voices to get certain ideas across.  They, as a culture, probably never picked up on rolling their eyes to express exasperation - because no one would pick up on that sort of movement from their softly glowing red orbs.

She nodded curtly to Athorn, in agreement with his assessment, though he was already angling around the display, so she doubted he saw it.  She went back to her previous though - Gamma was a very forwardly offensive pattern for just two wings, even supported by an ISD out of the nebulae clouds.  For that matter, why hadn't they launched the remainder of their fighter compliment?

~~~

The captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer Torment brought the comms to life over the sounds of the ion engine screams with a quick, throat-clearing cough.  "The cruiser is limping, its fighters spent in the last engagement.  Inferno, go in flying Imperial Attack Pattern Gamma.  We shall make it lesson to the other rebel scum.  Melt. It. Down."

"Fire One to command," a voice rasped over the comms,"Acknowledged.  Assuming Imperial Attack Pattern Gamma.  Check in, Inferno."  A number of somewhat muffled voices replied in turn, acknowledging the order.  "Fury One, yuuuuup!" DX-77-4 - cut in quickly to prevent the attack leader from calling her wingleader's...sense of humor. "Fury Two, ack," her jaw tightened with an effort not to laugh.  Miraculously, the check-in continued without any discipline threats.

"All wings, begin attack run."  After three quick passes from the TIE/INs, the shields of the oddly shaped, alien-built cruiser weakened, given no time to regenerate - but no rebel fighters launched to challenge theirs.  The bombers of Tuk'ata wing joined them on the fourth pass, and shields and hull crumpled and exploded, throwing wreckage that Fire Three wasn't quick enough to dodge.  DX-77-4's mouth tightened, and she rolled her eyes underneath her mask.  The cruiser had a skeleton crew aboard, enough to draw them in to kill it when it's remaining fighters and transports must have snuck out between jumps, before it got here and the Torment had been alerted.  They'd missed the bulk of the surviving rebels, and had no idea until the attack had been underway.  It had been the third time they'd just missed the enemy - but at least the scruffy anarchists had yet again had to sacrifice firepower in order to save themselves.

"A ration of Bonadan in honor of Fire Three, when we get back," she nearly spat across the comms.  Fury One responded soberly, quietly, "A drink, in honor of our loss today.  Sure."

~~~

Their attack pattern hadn't executed as tightly as she expected from the sort of diehards that would still be with the Imperial remnants these days.  Niobe muttered, "something's not right," even as she tore into the damaged wingman from the first group, sending panels spinning away from each other at a sharp angle.  They called for the Kiros' surrender, and looked like they were going to attempt to board.  When they sprang the trap, she guessed that the Destroyer had set a trap for any Alliance forces attempting to reach Hapan space - the way was dangerous, so the Hapans might not be in on the ambush.  The lack of fighters, and the attempt to capture them did not add up.  She shook her head - there was no way to explain this change in Imperial strategy.

Gyrinim called up the the bridge on the comms.  "I'm going to shout 'knock, knock.'  They'll pause cutting the door, and say, 'who's there,' then I'll say 'Nexu.' 'Nexu who?' 'Nexu one through this blast door is going to get rather mauled, I think.'"

She ignored the librarian and his distractions.  Her eyes widened, and she breathed in sharply in surprise.  They weren't Imperial remnant.  They were common pirates.

Accepting Violence.

The glowing, light blue form of the Saber Master leaned back, folded his arms, and began at a mild pace.

"One!  Not so wide a stance, padawan.  Two!  Not straddling a tuk'ata, here.  Three!  Better...Jung!"


~~~


Gyrinim reached out with his senses to the small crystal device sitting on the crate across the room.  The holocron's glow shifted, the deep red radiance brightened to a soft, light blue as he thought of his lightsaber, and his ideas for how to modify the weapon.  An instant after he mouthed the name of the saber master imprinted within, Xieran Halcyon's image appeared in the center of the room.

The imprint greeted Gyr as he always did.  "How can I help?"

The archivist responded as he always did - by clearing his throat.  "Saber Master, thank you.  I was wondering if you could help me apply the Ways of the Sarlacc and Ysalamiri to a...different weapon."

The imprint glanced down at the saber clipped to Gyrinim's belt, then at the metal staff lying across his legs.  It raised an eyebrow.  "This isn't about those regrets you had before, is it, padawan?  We can continue to work on your control with the saber.  And, I'd rather not be remembered by history as a Jedi stick master."

Gyr grinned at that.  "No, Saber Master.  Instead, I was thinking of modifying my saber..."

"Oh, now that could be interesting."  Halcyon's imprint tilted his head, as he cut Gyr off.  "A saberstaff?  And you, a padawan who didn't even complete his training in Form I with a Master supervising you?"

Gyr stood up, a challenging look in his eyes.  According to records, Master Halcyon had been quite proud of his accomplishments with the Ways, and would have a hard time passing by an opportunity to test himself.  "There is Knowledge, Saber Master.  You yourself have graded me proficient in both Forms I and II."

"Yes, but you are not what I would call a natural, consular.  We'll be working twice as hard."  The image looked Gyr up and down, frowning.  "Maybe three times.  Are you sure you don't want practice lifting rocks, instead?"

"If I am correct, Saber Master, I should adjust for the added length and change in grip by...." he held the staff horizontally in front of himself, but gripped it off-center, closer to the right hand side.

"No, padawan, unless you feel certain you prefer to be just a torso."  The image sighed, and Gyr breathed deeply to repress a grin of triumph.  "Three times."


~~~


The imprint counted off more quickly, calling out marks and maneuvers.

"One!  Two!  Three!  Jung!  Two and sai!"

Gyrinim breathed deeply and let the memory of the marks he had been practicing take over for his hands and feet.  He felt that he would start to trip and stumble if he tried to force his body to keep up normally, and the imprint would call out if his memory got something wrong.  For now, there was no rush, no fatigue, just his mind, and the Force.  His mouth formed the words "There is Knowledge," and began to anticipate what the imprint was about to call.


~~~


The holocron's glow was a deeper blue as it sat on the edge of the workbench.  Gyrinim hunched over the center of the table, and another imprint stood over them both.  The figure's pointed ears peeked out from it's long, white hair, and it's arms were folded, hidden somewhere in it's heavily-mantled robes.  The imprint's lack of motion, and it's expressionless, pupil-less eyes, gave the impression of a statue.  Gyr had read a few accounts that Jedi Master Arca Jeth gave that impression when he had been alive, too.

"The cystal shards seem to have responded well to our previous work, archivist.  By all accounts, you only need to weave the strands into the zeyd cloth and attach the thermoplast plates."

Gyr reached out his claws behind him to another worktable, and one of the jumble of tools he had gathered from around the base snapped into his hand.  He pulled down a heat-visor - working this close to some of the tools and the heated crystal strands put a strain on his vision, and would have left him blind after just a few minutes.

The imprint of Arca Jeth had used the right word - the crystals hadn't simply been worked, but had responded to the heat, the pressure, and being shaped by Gyr through the Force.  It was as if they knew the form the archivist wanted for them, and helped. He only needed the help of a legendary Jedi sage to figure it out.

"Armor, even more than weaponry, suggests a casual relationship with violence, archivist.  A lightsaber must be drawn and ignited.  Armor is clothing for battle, worn as an acceptance of combat."

Gyr nodded, and flipped up the visor to look at the imprint.  "Yes.  And as soon as i can, I'll take it off, and put it up on display.  I feel like I need to wear it, for now, though"

The imprint nodded, and they both though of other Jedi who felt like they needed to accept violence for a time.  Gyr went back to work.


~~~


"Onetwosaitwoonethreejung!"

The staff and Gyr both blurred through the marks as the Saber Master called them.

Resolute.

Zero.

Zero posts in 2017.  How can I defend that?

I can't really defend it, but I can try to explain it to myself and my readership (which is a nice word, because it can include just one reader if it needs too).  This last year, I have been a titch more emotionally involved in politics here in the U.S., and actually did a bit of decent writing at the start of the year - mostly on that blue social media website.  That's not what I want to create here, so I picked a platform and expressed dismay, anger, disappointment, and a bit of hope over there.  When I was done, I didn't have the energy to create here, so I put it off.

"When I have energy."  I promised.

Happy New Year!

I don't know what all that emotional investment accomplished over there last year.  I can't measure it.  I certainly can't see any evidence that I changed minds, made any sort of impact aside from making like-minded people nod their heads.  My actions last year didn't work, or help, that I can tell.  The dismay, anger, and disappointment are all still here, so I'm taking a different approach.

Let's talk about stories again.  Maybe even tell some.

I'm in a Star Wars RPG (not that system, sorry!) campaign run by an old friend, and played by a few new ones.  I'll be posting character character stories here.  My Nobilis campaign is moving along with some big changes for some of the characters. I'll be reading and listening to audiobooks as I did all last year, but I intend to gush about all there here, too.  I have a bit of Welcome to Night Vale to catch up on, and I feel like I should talk about that.

At the very least, I should manage a haiku when I don't have anything else ready.

Until next time...