Endor.

The very word nowadays introduces a feeling of uneasiness in many a TIE pilot, Moff, and Admiral. It was, quite frankly, an act of genocide on the part of the Rebels. About a million died on the Death Star alone, including the Emperor and his right-hand man, and the lives of many top Navy personnel and pilots were extinguished when a crippled A-Wing caused the Super Star Destroyer Executor to smash into the battlestation’s surface. This effectively wiped out a huge portion of the Empire’s leadership. Not even the Grand Admirals themselves could not reunite the entire fleet, and many to-be-rogue commodores and fringe Moffs knew it.

So did the Rebels.

I had been in the Navy for about a year, shifting from Assault Gunboat duty to Interceptor escort in the Omwat system. When Sullust had shifted its loyalites to the Rebels and SoroSuub, Inc.’s governmental control was gone, so was my life as a freighter pilot. I was known as one who didn’t care for the Rebels too much, and my kind wasn’t welcome in the Sullust system anymore. So here I was.

After those you-know-who terrorists had regrouped after Endor and left the native Ewok population to die in a ecological holocaust caused by the remains of the Death Star, they decided to call themselves the "New Republic" and start K.O.’ing Inner Rim outposts all over the place. Our lucky Interceptor squadron was the target of an A-Wing hit-and-fade run, and all you need to know was that my snubfighter was lost, and so was I. Shaken from my near-death in the treetops of Omwat and taking advantage of Imperal communications and records being on the fritz, I generated a fake ID and lived a relatively peaceful civilian life on Sulon, the moon of Sullust, on our now-abandoned family foodstuff farm.

This went on for a couple years, until Imperial recruitment holos were starting to slip into everyone’s daily newsfeeds. Believe me, those Rebel loyalists went crazy -- I’d like to personally congratulate the slicer who put those in! Anyway, all they held was the Imperial insignia and an obscure-looking set of nav-coordinates. I decided it would be worth the risk, and took the old family bulk freighter.

The Corellian system?! A good neutral ground to do these kind of things, I guess. No Rebel "flytrap" force could search and seize the huge amount of freighter traffic that came through these ports. Wondering where to begin, I noted the fact that the jump-coords had pointed the freighter straight at a docking/commerce platform.

After going through standard docking and entry procedure, I strolled through the central corridors among the ship supply merchants and holostands, looking for something, I don’t know what, that would direct me to where I wanted to go. As if on cue, a gloved hand gestured toward me from a private dealing chamber. Putting my hand on my DL-44, I carefully stepped into the room.

I nearly fell over with surprise when I was greeted my an ominous, cloaked figure who literally sent my blaster flying out of my hand.

"My apologies, sir, but you won’t be needing that anymore."

"Eh?"

"I have probed your thoughts. I know what you came here for. This is the only surefire way we can do this, without the...new players in government...interfering. I have a Skipray ready in the docking bays -- we can leave immediately."

I suppose I didn’t have much choice.

Eventually, the Cloaked One and I were in the blue otherworldiness of hyperspace.

"There is little of your story I cannot discern. You’re a former Navy pilot. You want to come back to the TIE Corps and get the revenge against the Rebels that they deserve."

Actually, the gravity of what I was doing eluded me when I came here. I was willingly going back into military service, and I could very likely get killed by an enemy whose power and clout were growing daily. I suppose I just did this on instinct. I don’t really know.

"Well, y-yes. Of course."

"Do not worry about your abrupt absence from service. While some of the more...less forgiving Imperial officials might have considered your actions treason, now the Hammer needs every pilot and crew member they can get." He glanced at me. "Especially experienced ones."

"The Hammer?"

"Yes. We existed before the events at Endor, which is one thing that seperates us from a lot of other Imperial warlord groups vying for power. We at first were simply an elite TIE force stationed in Oversector Outer, but we have had to...expand our role."

"Huh?!"

"You’ll see. Have a ration bar, it’s going to be while."

A warning beep from the blastboat’s navcomputer sounded, and we were there.

"Wow, a space platform. Amazing force you guys have here," I said rather sarcastically.

The Dark Jedi flinched. "This is just the training platform, and you know it."

The Skipray Blastboat flew into a docking bay along with an array of TIEs, utility tugs, and other support vehicles. We were the only sentinent beings in the entire docking bay.

"Just some basic information. This place is called by the name Daedalus. You will be assigned the position of Trainee, and the rank of Cadet. This is standard procedure for all new pilots -- we should be able to dig up your old roster files from the central database of the Emperor’s Hammer, but you’ll still have to take a procedure course before your promotion to Sub-Lieutenant and squadron assignment. Try to be friendly with the officers."

After I stepped out of the docking bay, he was gone. Fortunately, I didn’t need any help finding my way around, as the hallway branching off from the bay led directly to the registration office. As I walked down the polished passageway, a wash of old emotions and memories came over me. And as I prepared to address the registration officer, one feeling stuck out in particular.

Prejudice. Against "non-humans." The only reason I was accepted into the Navy a few years back was my natural navigational skill, I suppose. I was a pretty decent pilot, and my proportions fit into a TIE pilot suit without much modification, so I was in. Now I hoped the Navy had gotten "desperate" enough to throw such biases aside. However, as others glanced at me and mumbled or made quizzical expressions, I knew it was still there, at least to an extent. Never mind them. I would show them my ability soon enough.

"New applicant?"

"Yes."

"Your name?"

"Calvin Nunb. Home planet, Sulon."

"Odd name for a Sullustan."

"Not my fault."

"Very well. Have you had any previous piloting experience?"

"Yes, in fact. I served as a pilot in the Navy a couple years ago. I was told that one may be able to pull my old pilot records out of the Imperial databases."

The officer frowned. "Hmm. I’ll have to..."

He opened what appeared to be a comlink channel. "Flight Officer O’Flynn, sir?"

"What?! I’ve had a long day, and I’m writing the fleetwide briefing! What is it?"

"U-u-uh, new applicant. Claims veteranship in Imperial Navy. Requests Imperial database search for, uh, pilot data. Name, uh, Calvin Nunb."

"Excellent! Send him in!"

The officer’s gaze snapped from the com unit to me. "Looks like that’s that. Level 3, Alpha Block, Command Chamber. You can’t miss it." He gave a sharp salute, and I almost forgot to return it. It was the gravity of what I had just done in the past day coming back to me again. I was part of the Navy again. My civilian lifestyle was gone for the second time.

After about three minutes of walking and riding turbolifts, I finally got to my destination.

"Sir?"

"Cadet Calvin Nunb? Come in. I’m waiting for our resident slicer to get here."

About a minute later, a kid who looked no older than sixteen Standard revolutions entered the chamber. Slicing paid good money, and I admired those who were skilled enough at the "art" to do it professionally.

"Thank you for your arrival. The situation is simple. We have a new cadet here, and he says that we may be able to dig up his old pilot record in the old Imperial databases. Can you handle it?"

"Shouldn’t be a problem. The only thing is which data server will have what we want."

"I served in the Omwat system. Does that help?"

"It gives me a good idea of where to probe."

"Well, then, let’s see what you can do. Cadet Nunb, feel free to move in. We’ll notify you when we find anything -- here’s your standard-issue datapad. Keep checking it."

I took the folding datapad, stuck it in my flight suit’s utility pouch, and looked up my barracks assignment. Level 2, Alpha Block, Barracks Chamber 4-A. I summarily stuck my datapad in my flight suit’s utility patch, realizing how much I must have stood out among the humans in grey trainee uniforms.

Lucky for me, I had an empty chamber, with none of the eight bunks occupied. I didn’t really seek company anyway, at least not for now. I had to get settled here, and more importantly, get something to eat. All I had was that ration bar...

To make a long story short, I was there about a week, waiting for my Imperial procedures test and my old pilot roster files to be evaluated. I also did a lot of warming up in simulators, making myself familiar with new craft developed since my time in the service. The TIE Defender was now used throughout the Navy, as was the new Missile Boat. I also heard rumors and stories about "Scimitar Bombers," "TIE Experimentals," and "Praetors," though I never flew any myself. Eventually, I had graduated from the entrance training and was transferred to the Imperial Star Destroyer Challenge.

I studied my squadron assignment carefully. Sub-Lieutenant Calvin Nunb, Inferno Squadron, second member of Flight I. Assigned to interdiction duty -- craft used: TIE Defender?! Those things were 300,000 credits apiece! If the Navy had any sense they’d give us the old Assault Gunboats, but hey, I’m not complaining. I wasn’t in a flimsy Interceptor anymore.

Preparing to enter the Inferno barracks quarters aboard the Challenge, I felt the typical feeling of unease at preparing to meet my wingmen and superiors for the first time. Maybe it didn’t really matter -- TIE pilots aren’t known for their long lifespans. Morbidity aside, I was first greeted my one of the Flight Leaders, Captain Mauser.

"Welcome to Inferno Squadron, man! We’re down to five pilots after two just went AWOL and you joined up. Also, one of our pilots is in sickbay for shrapnel removal, so really we’re down to four able-bodied members. The Empire’s just understaffed these days..."

"I can believe it."

"Yeah. You might as well go say hi to Manitsas right now. Ace is out designing sims again, but go talk to him when you get the chance."

"I’ll do both. Thanks."

I approached the office of my Squadron Commander and Flight Leader, and it turned out I didn’t even need to knock.

"Just for future reference, you don’t really need to announce your presence around me, a lot of us in the Fleet are Force-sensitive."

"Sheesh..."

"I take it you talked to Mauser? He’s quite the ace there."

"Yeah, I saw his dress uniform hung up."

"Anyway, I bet you’d like to know our current squadron orders."

"That would be nice..."

"Yes, it would, wouldn’t it? Anyway, here in the Home Guard, we aren’t constantly taking out Rebel outposts like those in the Aggressor Strike Force, but we deal with smugglers, internal affairs, that sort of thing when we aren’t directly threatened. And right now, we’re doing a shipwide sim drill."

"What fun. I remember those."

"Isn’t it? Well, our wing is drilling on a simulation of a campaign that us in the Dark Brotherhood fought a while back."

"Simulations of campaigns. Those are the worst."

"Yeah. I bet you’ll have lots of fun doing it." He flashed a somewhat sadistic smile.

"Uhm ,okay, thanks, sir."

So, I decided to head over to the sim chambers and try the thing out. Man, they’re a lot better these days than back before Endor. Much more...integrated than the old visor-thing. Anyway, scrolling through the mission directories I found our drill campaign, and fired it up.

I got treated to a nice little hangar departure sequence from our home Imperial Star Destroyer, and I was then in the combat zone, with a group of three wingmen under my command. Remembering those old "situational awareness" lectures, I spot-checked the situation, and it was not good. There was an oncoming force of MC-80 cruisers being intercepted by a TIE Bomber squadron, and three flights of TIE Fighters, including mine, were being rushed by four flights of Alliance craft. A-Wings, B-Wings, X-Wings and Y-Wings -- the whole show. We didn’t stand a chance, but that didn’t mean we weren’t going to try.

Deciding that the heavily shielded and armed B-Wings were even more of a threat to our frail TIE Fighters than the A-Wings and X-Wings, I ordered my wingmen to attack the nearest B-Wing, hearing the somewhat ego-boosting "acknowledged, sir, using your target for attack." I watched as my wingmen swooped down in a diamond formation for their attack run -- and promptly all died as they smashed into our mothership. "NO!!!" I cried. I think it was audible from the other side of the Challenge.

Still determined to get this to work, I swooped behind a B-Wing and began blasting. And blasting. I knocked down its shields when my threat indicator turned its cheerful red color and wouldn’t stop. The space behind me was beind filled by lasers from A-Wings, and, surprisingly, Y-Wings. I was glad right then I was in a TIE Defender squadron in real life. Somehow I managed to finish off half the B-Wings until an A-Wing decided to cut me through by ramming into me. Sheeeeeesh! I decided to ask for some help from Mauser in the adjacent sim chamber, only to discover he had finished the sim.

"How’d you do that?!"

"Oh yeah, that mission’s pretty hard, isn’t it? The key is to order your wingmen around and just keep juking. You’ll get it eventually."

"Uh, okay, thanks."

Not the best advice in the world, I suppose, but it told me the thing could be done. At least by him. I heard another cry of rage from the sim chamber down the hall -- Manitsas’ voice, it sounded like. I supposed he must be trying to fly the thing now, too. I decided that I had better go get some synthesized creamed drutash grab (light on the wallet, unlike the genuine thing), and see if there was anything else I could do as my first day on the Challenge. Remembering my brief time on the Imperial Weapons and Tactics Academy taking the core procedure course, I decided to access their electronic version via that ever-handy datapad and see what other courses they had.

"Hmm. Simulation design." Of course I wasn’t planning to slice that sim mission, but I sat down and started looking at the notes. The test seemed pretty easy, with no actual submission of a sim file required.

"Hey, I reviewed your old Imperial Navy Pilot Record. Nice stuff. I sent up your request for promotion to Lieutenant."

It was Manitsas.

"Had fun with that sim, Calvin?"

"Oh yeah. It was great. And no, I’m not doing this course here to slice into the sim file."

"That’s too bad."

"Yeah, but I didn’t want to risk all the nasty stuff that could happen, you know."

"Yeah. Anyway, I’m hitting the hay. See you at roll call tomorrow."

We exchanged salutes, and he was gone.

Anyway, I kept flying the monster for a week, always flying and dying. I fervently hoped my roster entry wouldn’t record how many times my little TIE Fighter got blown up.

0100 hours, Imperial Standard Time.

"WHOOOOOHOOOOO!"

"Ugh, don’t tell me that’s Calvin," Ace and Mauser mumbled almost simultaneously.

"Hmm, looks like our Sullustan friend beat the Insane Mission of Death."

"Well, for yelling like that at 0100 hours, I think our good friend Calvin deserves a prompt insertion into one of our luggage chambers," said one who shall remain unnamed.

"Agreed -- by order of the Squadron Commander..."