"...and Iron Stars for all!"
"Um, Ford, sir?"
"Thank you, thank you, you are all too kind."
"Er, sir, um, there’s a-"
"No, I insist. You all have been too generous with your adoration."
Sub-Lieutenant Dan Skyrider sighed. As the most junior member of Psi
Squadron, the unenvied task of awaking LCM Ford Prefect from his dreams of
megalomania fell to him.
He turned helplessly to Lieutenant-Commander Rhinok Maul.
"See?"
Rhinok rolled his eyes. He stuck his index finger into Dan’s face.
"Now, kid, look closely. This is how it’s done..."
He drooped his head down slightly above the bed’s level, and bellowed,
"FORD! WAKE UP AND SHUT UP, YOU BLOODY IMBECILE!"
Ford rolled over on his back and blinked his eyes hard several times.
"Oh. Hi guys. Um. Briefing?"
Rhinok nodded.
"Oh, OK. Be ready in a minute."
Ford blinked again, then slowly got up and began to rummage through his small
closet for a clean uniform. Just before Dan and Rhinok left, he craned his
head out of the closet to shout,
"Hey! Black and yellow go together, right?"
Rhinok grinned.
"Of course, Ford. Anyone knows that."
"Even if the yellow’s really, really bright?"
"What are you, an idiot? Yes!"
"OK, OK..."
Dan restrained his snicker until the door closed behind them.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

Lieutenant-Colonel Sasquatch tapped his foot impatiently.
"By Ronin! Where the Kessel is he?"
Moments later, the personage in question appeared, uniform poorly adjusted,
formerly trim black mustache unshaven, and dark hair sticking out wildly
under....a bright, gaudy, yellow bowling hat.
"Er, sorry I’m late."
Sasquatch stared incredulously at Ford for several moments, then shook his
head.
"OK, boys, hope you’re all sobered up; we’ve got another mission."
LT Psyko stared at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw LCM
Prefect adjust his hat.
Odd.
Sasquatch continued.
"After our conquest of the Maltar sector, a small band of Rebels isolated
themselves and established a base in one of the nearby uninhabited systems.
Ever since, they’ve been wreaking havoc on our shipping in that sector. The
band is large enough to eliminate the patrols we’ve sent out so far, so Fleet
Admiral Kramer has ordered Psi Squadron to pacify this threat."
Commander Stone Darkstar, leaders of Three Flight, shrugged.
"Sounds simple enough."
Sasquatch looked around the room for a moment.
"The system in which their alleged base is, um, is, er, DSN-7752."
A collective gasp ran through the room.
DSN-7752?
A veritable pilot legend, DSN-7752 was the site of numerous disturbances and
mysterious, unexplained ambushes that had wiped out entire wings of
starfighters. Speculation about what might inhabit the system ranged from an
ancient pirate armada to a holographic device that projected an image of the
respective pilot’s parents-in-law into their cockpit. Stone stood up and
shook his head, attempting to clear his senses. Somewhat unsteadily, he
attempted to regain his seat, but he failed to look where he was heading, and
instead fell on the floor, slamming his head into the back of the seats
behind him.
"Shavit!"
Stone rubbed his head gingerly.
"Ow."
The other pilots were too shaken to laugh at the Flight Leader’s blunder.
DSN-7752....
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"No. Never mind. I don’t want to go to DSN-7752. It’s a silly place."
Lieutenant-Commander Sanj merely stared straight ahead, ignoring Ford, his
Flight Leader. Most of the members of Psi Squadron were, to some degree,
petrified. Although they were one of the most elite veteran squadrons in the
TIE Corps, the ancient myths of that uninhabited system still haunted them,
just like first-year cadets at the Academy. LCM Mordred Pendragon checked
his chrono. Forty-five minutes to launch time.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"Ford, what the heck is that?"
Prefect stared back, somewhat defiantly.
"It’s my lucky green hat."
Stone shook his head.
LT Jon Doyle certainly had to admit, it was an odd hat. Green, with a band
of the same color running all around the brim. The brim itself had little
support, and flopped down o’er the forehead. Tucked into the right side of
the hat were several faux-feathers, colored orange and yellow, in addition to
a brown feather, probably taken from some avian creature. Ford rather liked
the hat. Sasquatch strode through the hangar door.
"All right, boys, into the cockpits. Time for launch."
With much trepidation, the Psi pilots filed into their respective ships and
ran through a quick pre-flight check.
"Psi Squadron, check in."
Almost immediately, Sasquatch’s comm was bombarded by ready messages.
"Sovereign Control, this is Psi-1. We have ten fighters ready for take-off."
"Affirmative, Psi. Your outbound vector is D-71. May the Dark Side guide
you."
"Thanks, Control."
Sasquatch switched comm frequencies.
"Let’s take ‘em out."
The Lieutenant-Colonel accelerated, maneuvering lightly until he had exited
the hangar’s magcon bubble. A brief check of the sensors indicated that the
whole of Psi had followed, and no freak accidents occurred.
Freak accidents.
Shavit, I’m becoming a Cadet again! Get some control, Sas!
"Get ready to hyper on my mark. Jump coordinates are 5328.6659."
He paused, for dramatic effect and so narrators everywhere could fill up
another line.
"Mark."
Make that two, er, three lines.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

Lieutenant Dark Spector yawned. Absentmindedly, he attempted to stretch,
something that, in most Imperial fighters, would have been considered quite
stupid, but in the relatively spacious cockpit of his Assault Gunboat, he
managed to give his limbs some semblance of an extension. A voice crackled
over his comm. The CMDR.
"OK, Psi, this is how we’re going to do it. One Flight will head in first,
followed by Three Flight, who will be escorted by Two Flight."
Spector nodded. Both One and Two Flight were in TIE Advanced.
"Once we find the base, One will make the first run, softening up any
resistance. Three’s Gunboats will then come in to hammer home their
warheads, escorted by Two Flight. Got it?"
He needed no answer.
"OK, reversion to realspace in two minutes. Get ready."
Spector tapped his fingers against the nav console, burning the time away.
Unfortunately for him, the more he thought about it, the longer it took. It
reminded him of an old adage they used to tell him in school, "A watched
Ewok-on-a-stick never roasts".
The time spent reminiscing about this "seasoned" saying accounted for the
rest of the Gunboat’s journey in hyperspace. Spector grabbed his control
stick as the endless starlines slowly evaporated, transforming into hundreds
of white dots, seeming so close, but so far. A good deal of those dots were
obscured by the huge, rumbling, brown-black asteroids that dominated
DSN-7752. The Lieutenant scanned the area with his eyes. Somewhere in those
asteroids, the Rebels lurked.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________
Mordred brought his TIE Advanced into an oblique formation with the Gunboats
and the rest of Two Flight. Somewhere, somewhere...his hand began to tremble
on the control stick. It was just a legend, right? A myth? It could be
anywhere. Anywhere, anywhere.....coming...
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

Ford frowned. He wasn’t one to be superstitious, but...
"Mord, what the bloody frak are you doing?"
He could still see the laser bolts fired from Mord’s craft.
A sheepish voice responded.
"Sorry, sir...uh, I thought I, uh, saw, uh, something."
Ford shook his head.
"Steady on the trigger, Mord."
"Yessir."
Ford shook the incident from his mind.
It was odd, going into battle now. It seemed as if a key component was
missing. Ever since CM Vlade had left, Two Flight, and Psi Squadron, and,
heck, Wing II, didn’t seem the same. The memory of Vlade’s heroic, if vain
defense of Bragollach was still burned in his mind. Mordred wasn’t sure
where exactly Vlade was; a Rebel prison camp, floating around the Rim under
an assumed identity, or, dead.
This one’s for you, Vlade. Wherever you are.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"Commander, sir, I’m picking up something on my sensors."
Sasquatch frowned at SL Skyrider’s transmission.
Is it rookie eagerness, or is there actually something out there?
"Very well. I’m on your wing. Rhinok, you and Doyle split up and head..."
He scanned the sensors for any possible anomalies.
"Uh, head to vector 72.563. Radio in if you find anything. Two Flight, you
keep watch over those cows, OK?"
Sasquatch could imagine the look of amused fury on Stone’s face. Three
Flight didn’t enjoy their craft being made fun of.
"Copy, Sas."
Sasquatch toggled frequencies again, this time to a channel with the SL.
"Lead on."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

As the two TIE Advanced’s moved closer, the more uneasy Sasquatch felt.
Something was going on. A bit nervously, he glanced at his sensor display.
Yes, something was indeed malfunctioning at Dan’s coordinates, but...what was
that next to it?
Sasquatch frowned again. This wasn’t no minor occurrence. He zoomed in on
the asteroid (or was it?), and got a more detailed sensor reading.
"Emperor’s Black Bones! The energy readings are off the chart!"
Just then, a mass of red dots began to fill Sasquatch’s heads-up display.
"Rebels!"
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

LCM Sanj nodded in agreement with Doyle’s assessment. Ford’s voice came over
the comm. "OK, Two Flight, steady. Let the GUNs get off their warheads,
then we take out the rest. Mord and Sanj, you two take the first group,
while I hang back and protect Three Flight. Get rid of those, then switch
out. Got it?"
"Affirmative".
Psyko’s voice blared in the comm.
"Hey, guys, those Rebs are ignoring us!"
"That’ll be their last mistake", Stone muttered grimly.
"Take ‘em."
Five seconds later, a flurry of warheads erupted from Three Flight’s
launchers. The Rebel craft, paying little or no heed, paid dearly for their
ignorance. Sanj watched as six fighters blossomed into brilliant fireballs,
then faded, replaced by the dark vacuum of space.
Ah, now they see.
Sanj watched as four A-Wings peeled off from the main group and blazed
towards Two Flight’s formation.
Rear guard action.
"All right, this is where we come in...Sanj, you and Mord take the first
pair, I’ll handle the other two."
"Copy."
Sanj shifted his laser sights to the nearest A-Wing. He linked his lasers
together for quad fire, and attempted to bracket the fast-moving Rebel craft.
The laser sights flashed green, and Sanj fired off several quick bursts.
All of them hit, with deadly accuracy. Bits and pieces of the engine began
to break off, and the A-Wing slowed considerably. Sanj smiled coldly, and
accelerated. Nearer and nearer he closed, until he was close enough to see
his opposing pilot’s face, frozen in a mask of fear. A feral grin spread
over his face, and he snapped off a final shot that obliterated the fighter.
Like a blaster bolt to the chest, reality hit Sanj again.
"Oh. Yeah."
Head swimming, he scanned the battlefield. Mord had taken care of his
A-Wing, and Ford was already in hot pursuit of the rest of the group. Sanj
keyed his comm.
"Mord, you catch up with Ford and cover him. I’m gonna double back and make
sure that Stone and his group can take out those big ships without hurting
themselves."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

Psyko stared at the end-tails of his proton torpedoes as they streaked out
towards the Rebel transports.
Something is definitely wrong here.
Aside from the four A-Wings, none of the Rebels had even tried to turn and
fight. Stone reinforced those suspicions.
"Be careful. Don’t follow to quickly; they could be setting us up."
Sasquatch suddenly came in on the comm.
"Three Flight, I want you to disable as many of those transports as you can.
A Freighter should be coming along in a minute to drag ‘em home."
"Yessir."
Psyko throttled up, the forces pushing him back slightly in his chair. He
set his sights on a Shuttle, straggling near the end of the Rebel formation.
Switching weapons selection to laser cannons, he linked it for dual fire and
began a continuous stream of laser blasts at the Shuttle. The
non-maneuvering target’s shields were quickly brought down to two percent,
when Psyko toggled back to Ion Cannons, the electric-blue beams sizzling
through space and disabling the craft. Out of the corner of his eye, Psyko
saw Spector open up with laser cannons, piercing a Transport’s shields and
blasting it apart.
"Um. Whoops."
Psyko grimaced.
"Hey, Stone, it looks like those Rebs are reaching their hyperjump point!"
"Let ‘em go. We can’t hurt enough of them at this range."
"Roger."
Psyko slowly slackened his GUN’s speed, and surveyed the remnants of the
battle. Two Shuttles and a Transport had been disabled, and Doyle had found
a cache of supplies and credits the Rebels had hidden away near their
asteroid.
"All right, you Psi pukes, Strike Cruiser Malevolent here, escorting FRT Cisal
pine. If you’d be so kind as to send us the exact coordinates of your
disabled Rebels, you can get the Kessel out of here."
"Sure, barge-driver."
Sasquatch shot the SKC the coordinates, then switch the comm to Psi’s private
frequency.
"Let’s go home, boys."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

Sanj’s face wore a dour expression.
"Me no kill enough Rebels."
Stone passed by.
"Back to the nek-kennel with you, Sanj."
The Lieutenant-Commander rolled his eyes.
SL Skyrider strode past the group.
"Guys! Intel wants us in on the interrogation of the Rebs we caught."
Stone started walking, then tossed over his shoulder,
"Remember, Sanj, it’s not polite to bite them."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

His hands were shaking. His face was pale. He stuttered and stammered, his
speech was incoherent.
Intelligence loved every bit of it.
Seated in a row of chairs, out of sight of the double mirrors that blinded
the Rebel to his interrogators, the Psi pilots began to whisper and murmur
amongst themselves.
Ford leaned over to Sasquatch.
"I haven’t seen anyone as sadistic as these bloody Intel punks since that
dental assistant back in fourth grade!"
Sasquatch nodded in somber agreement.
A cold, clear voice broke in.
"State again what you were running from."
Immediately after the sentence was spoken, the Rebel became hysterical. He
shook violently, until he broke down, sobbing.
"It was him".
The Intel officer spoke again.
"Who is ‘him’?"
"Him! Him is him! Don’t your understand? DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? LISTEN!
LISTEN! IT WAS HIM! STOP IT! STOP IT! DON’T....."
He trailed off, and began to sob hysterically again.
"Perhaps we should take you back there to refresh your memory."
The Rebel’s face looked like it had been smashed with a hammer.
"No! No! Please, no, no, anywhere, no, no, not there, not there, n-"
His eyes rolled up into his head, and Ford watched as he fell over.
Unconscious.
"Take him away."
A tall officer, dressed in an Intelligence Division uniform stepped out from
seemingly nowhere.
"We need more information. A nervous breakdown of this kind rarely happens.
Normally, we would use our own Praetorian Squadron for this task, but, I
suppose you will be suitable enough."
Sanj snarled. Ford made a restraining gesture. No more noise emanated from
the pilot, but his lip was curled up, and glistening, sharp teeth showed.
The officer glared at Sanj, then continued.
"Psi will head out to DSN-7752 at approximately 0800 hours tomorrow. Your
commander will receive a more detailed briefing later. Dismissed."
Subdued grumbling issued from the pilots as they filed out slowly. Sanj,
second-to-last in line glared at the officer in an entirely unfriendly way.
Ford had seen the look on the pilot’s face before. The Bothan’s
reconstructive surgery had cost Sanj an entire year’s pay. He bumped his
Flight Member forward, slowly leading him out.
Bloody Intel. They’ll be the first against the wall when the Revolution
comes.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"Dan, you still have those coordinates for that asteroid?"
The SL keyed his comm.
"Umm...yeah, I think so."
"Could you feed it to me?"
"Sure."
He quickly transferred the coordinates.
"OK, Psi, we’re heading to the big asteroid. You should be getting the
coordinates now."
Sasquatch took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Something was odd in this
system. It had been nagging him the first time he came here, and it was
coming back again.
But what could it be?
The asteroid loomed nearer. Sasquatch narrowed his eyes, scanning the rock
for any unusual spots or marks.
He cried aloud, and covered his face, as his surroundings changed.
Not wanting to face this new development, he hesitated before finally
cracking open his eyelids the slightest bit.
The Lieutenant Colonel was no longer in his TIE Advanced. He was no longer
in space. He had no bloody idea where he was.
Looking around he saw a vast, dark room. It reminded him of the hangar back
on the Sov, only empty.
Vaguely, he made out the forms of nine others. His Psi pilots?
"Uh, hi?"
A familiar voice respond.
"What the heck is this?"
A new voice cut in. It was old and wizened, but with an air of authority.
"Patience, young Darkstar. The galaxy doesn’t wait on you."
Stone whirled around, attempting to find the source of the voice. Finally,
his searching eyes beheld an old man. Tall and wrinkled, but he seemed to
glow with a commanding aura. Something about him demanded respect.
Summoning all his Academy training and discipline, Sasquatch strode up to the
old fellow.
"Sir, as an officer of the Emperor’s Hammer, I demand to know where we are
and what we are doing here."
"Here. Here. Ah, yes, here."
The old man thrust his hand in the air.
"Here. Indeed, what are we doing here? And, what really is this place? Do
you know? Do I know? Does anyone know?"
Doyle spoke up.
"Beer?"
The old man shook his head.
"No."
Stunned silence followed.
Ford slowly began to walk towards the man.
He whispered,
"Sorry, mister, um, whoever you are. They are unable to comprehend the fact
that alcohol might not be the most important part of the galaxy, and of all
life therein."
The man frowned.
"Oh."
He wrung his hands, and then shook them.
Ford tapped his foot.
"Say, um, really, what are we doing here?"
"I have brought you here."
"Why?"
"Good question."
Ford cursed angrily, and stomped his foot against the smooth, rock floor.
"Well, if you’re going to persist in asking us those bloody unanswerable,
round-a-bout questions, let us go."
A serene smile fitted itself onto the man’s features.
"What’s stopping you?"
Ford gestured expansively.
"Perhaps the massive rock wall?"
"So?"
Ford looked puzzled for a moment, then angry.
He turned 90 degrees south, and began to run. The echo of his boots against
the floor reverberated throughout the room. He hit the wall hard. Very
hard. With an almost inaudible grunt, he dropped to the floor, like a Wing
II pilot who had spent a bit too much time in the Sovereign’s cantina.
Three seconds later, he stood back up.
"See? There’s no way out!"
The old man still had the serene smile stuck on his face. Ford was overcome
with anger. Slowly, he drew his herring from the back of his flight suit.
"Yes, keep on smiling, keep on smiling. How’d you like that bloody smile
wiped off with THIS!"
The old man’s serene smile faded, replaced by another, more interesting, yet
indescribable smile, but still a smile nonetheless.
"Ah. A herring. Excellent. It shall serve you well."
Ford advanced slowly.
"Now, you tell me how to get out of here, or I’ll slap you with the fish!"
"Answer one of my questions, and you shall be set free."
"Your questions? Your QUESTIONS?!? NO ONE KNOWS THE ANSWER TO YOUR BLOODY
QUESTIONS! 42! 42! 42! HOW’S THAT FOR AN ANSWER?!?"
"Incorrect."
Ford let out a shout of incoherent rage.
"No one knows the answer to your questions!"
"There is one who knows."
"Fine, then. Who?"
"The man beyond this rock wall."
"I can’t get past your kriffing rock wall!"
"Answer one of my questions, and you will find you will be able to."
The Lieutenant-Commander threw up his hands in utter exasperation.
The man was ready for that.
"There is, however, another way."
"Finally, we get somewhere. What way?"
"I want something. You see, my abode is not very well furnished. One can
only imagine the exotic and beautiful vegetation without the aid of spice for
so long. All I want..."
He paused to wipe a tear that had slowly begun to trickle across his cheek.
"All I want...is a shrubbery."
Ford stood agape for a moment.
"A...shrubbery?"
The tears were flowing a bit more freely now.
The old man nodded.
"Yes."
Prefect shook his head.
"Psyko, get your BeerBot out. It’s time to go."
A hopeful voice responded.
"Intoxicants?"
"Never mind."
In a whirl of somewhat dull, basic colors, dominated by grays and dark reds,
Ford found himself being transported again. He blinked, and saw the familiar
surroundings of his cockpit.
"That was, um, odd."
Rhinok’s voice filled the comm.
"Why don’t we try and reestablish communication with the Sovereign?"
Sasquatch responded.
"Excellent idea. In theory. Already tried, the comms won’t work on that
channel. Or any channel besides this one, for that matter."
"Well, let’s get out of here. Plotting a course back to..."
Rhinok trailed off.
"It’s not there."
"What do you mean, it’s not there?"
"According to my navcomp, um, no other systems exist."
Sasquatch was tempted to roll his eyes, throw up his arms in expasperation,
or something of the sort, but, remembering the day’s events, thought of the
futility of the gestures, and restrained himself from such an action.
"Hang on, I’ve got the Sov’s coordinates memorized. Trying to plot another
course back..."
Rhinok broke off again, and then came back on a minute later.
"Still nothing. Bloody..."
Sasquatch could have sworn he heard an ethereal chuckle.
Mord came on next.
"Hey, I found a set of pre-programmed coordinates in my nav-computer."
"Well, we aren’t going anywhere here. Anyone up for a blind jump?"
Psi’s CMDR mulled the option over in his head. And didn’t like it. And then
realized there was no other option.
"It doesn’t look like we have much of a choice. Hyper now."
Slowly, he reached for the hyperdrive lever, and pulled it back...
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"Navcomps still down?"
A chorus of affirmatives responded.
Sasquatch pounded his fist on the seat arm.
"Unidentified starfighters, please identify yourselves."
Sasquatch reached for the comm.
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Sasquatch, commanding Psi Squadron, a fighter
unit of the Emperor’s Hammer."
The LC could hear muffled conversation in the background. Patiently, he
waited
Finally, "Lieutenant Colonel, you and your fellow pilots are invited to land
on our world of Sierra, as long as you take no militant action, and assure
that the Rebels will not cause any trouble here."
Grimly, he replied,
"As long as we’re here, Sierra Control, they won’t."
"Very well. Your landing vector is 2576.5421. Welcome to Sierra."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"Spector, any progress on that research?"
"Still working on it, boss."
Sasquatch sighed, and lay back on the floor. Lazily, he stretched out his
arms, wanting to be anywhere but where he was at the moment. Their current
location was, in fact, a fairly nice hotel suite in Sierra’s capital city,
Aspen. The Sierran government, somewhat impressed with the Imperials, had
given them several hotel suites, compliments of the Hotel Wintergreen. Dark
Spector was in the process of researching just what a "shrubbery" was.
Tired of the monotony, Sasquatch decided to head into the town, maybe see the
sights.
He got up, tossed his Imperial-issue jacket over his shoulders, and announced,
"I’m going out."
Spector, absorbed in the computer screen, nodded absently.
The Commander exited the room, and began the trek down to the ground level of
the Hotel. With ill-contained curiosity, he stared all around him. It was
the walls. He had never seen walls of that manufacture. Odd. They weren’t
wooden, like most upper-class hotels, nor were they steel that had been
painted or glossed over. They defied all description. Most odd. He reached
the ground floor fairly quickly, and strode off into the day, attempting to
ignore the stares his Imperial uniform drew. Out on the streets, a normal
bustle of people moved about, some rushing past on supposedly ‘important’
business, others, like him, just idling the time away. Sasquatch was in a
fairly well-lighted sector of the city, the glow of Sierra’s sun reflecting
brillianty off the beautifully clean streets. Looking around him, Sasquatch
saw virtually no trash whatsoever. A remarkably clean city. Frowning, he
also noticed the veritable absence of landspeeders and speeder bikes.
How much more un-like a normal planet can this get?
As if to refute his question, a landspeeder, of somewhat older manufacture,
came cruising round the corner of the block. Sasquatch shrugged, then slowly
dropped his jaw.
What the...
A mob of people, all dressed in green, came storming after the speeder. They
surged forward, and soon enveloped the craft. Armed with no weapons
whatsoever, they began assaulting the speeder! Utter fury guided their
fists, and, with the huge mass of them, they slowly began to make dents. The
speeder and it’s occupant; an middle-aged man with a briefcase, attempted to
leap from the melee, into relative safety, but his move was cut short by a
throng in front of him, felling him to the ground. Screaming at the
unfortunate man, they began to kick and pound him on the ground. Sasquatch
began to draw out his blaster, but he was restrained.
Turning, he saw the woman who had grabbed his arm.
She shook her head, mouthing out a ‘no’.
He was almost tempted to draw it nonetheless and scatter the mob, but as he
looked back at the scene, he saw that
the mob had stopped beating the man, and turned back to the landspeeder. It
was now virtually battered beyond recognition. They began to tear off the
outer casing and crush it as best they could. Within ten minutes, the
landspeeder was no more. The man had been carried off by several medics, and
the green-clad mob dispersed out of the streets. Intrigued, Sasquatch looked
to find the woman who had restrained him, but to no avail. She was nowhere
to be found. Shaken, he decided to go back up to the hotel room, where he
determined tp relate the incident to the rest of Psi Squadron.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

As he finished his report of the incident, Sasquatch sat back, ready for the
responses.
Doyle, Stone and Rhinok all had lowered jaws.
"What the..."
Ford merely shook his head, as if he had known that there was something odd
about this planet all along.
Dark Spector, still engrossed with his research, did not join the rest of the
squad for the story, but now approached the group.
"OK, boss, I found it. Coordinates and all."
Stone spoke up first.
"So, what the Kessel is a shrubbery anyway?"
Spector smiled faintly.
"A form of vegetation. Similar to what we call a bush. Slightly smaller in
size, but with more leaves."
"We’re supposed to get that psycho old guy a bloody bush?"
"Well, er, yeah."
Exasperated, the Flight Leader shook his head in disbelief.
"Unfortunately for us, a problem has arisen."
"Which is?"
"The only place where a shrubbery can be found on Sierra is roughly half a
planet away. However, we have our fighters, and there’s probably a speeder
or something we could take to get there."
The rest of the squadron, who had heard Sasquatch’s tale, shook their heads
vehemently.
"Uh, Spector, I don’t think that’s much of an option."
Spector stared at Skyrider.
The Sub-Lieutenant waved him off.
"I’ll tell you later."
With a long face, Ford addressed the group.
"Well, it looks like we only have one option..."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

The next morning found Psi Squadron dressed for some walking. Armed with
loads of water containers and more than a few concealed weapons, they grimly
spoke amongst themselves, preparing for the journey ahead of them. Finally,
Sasquatch addressed the squadron.
"Well, no sense in prolonging this. Let’s go."
With a resigned air, the company moved forward. Then, a blaze of bright
light.
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

"Wha-?"
Stone threw himself to the ground and pounded his head against the dirt.
Ford shook his head.
"That guy has problems."
Psyko snorted and shook his head.
Jon Doyle surveyed the area.
It was a typical grasslands area, with the usual scattering of brown, green,
and dead grass.
The Psi members were standing, for the most part, on a particularly large
patch of dead grass.
"Hey."
Skyrider nudged Mord.
"Look over there."
Mord’s gaze followed Skyrider’s pointed finger, and gradually connected with
the object the SL was reffering to.
Set in almost a perfect circle of green, the bush contrasted greatly with the
flat plains it was perched on.
"A shrubbery!"
"Let’s grab it and go home."
A shrill voice interrupted them.
"Not so fast, Imperial scum!"
Within seconds, nine blasters were drawn. Er, nine blasters, and a herring.
The Imperials whirled around to face the newcomers.
Forty or so men and women, all dressed in green jumpsuits, armed with a sort
of weapon none of the EHers had ever seen.
"Step away from the shrubbery."
The speaker, a medium-sized woman with jet black hair, gestured threatiningly
with the gun she held in her hand.
Sasquatch cleared his voice.
"Ahem. Er, why?"
"BECAUSE YOU CAN’T HURT THE PLANET!"
"Um..."
"Listen, you careless little freaks! Touch the shrubbery and die! At least
then your rotting corpses will be some value as fertilizer to the enviroment!"
Mord leaned over to advise Sasquatch.
"Um, I’ve heard about these folks before. Bad news."
"Yeah, I couldn’t tell."
Facing the woman once more, Sasquatch began,
"Listen, lady, can’t you just spare one little shrubbery? We can’t get out
of this bloody world until we’ve got one! The old guy won’t let us!"
These words only seemed to anger the woman more.
"Touch the shrubbery, she reiterated, and die."
"Lady..."
"AAAAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHH!"
Sasquatch winced as the blood-curling scream rang quite unwelcomingly in his
ears.
Finger shaking, the woman pointed at the herring in Ford’s hand.
"Unethical treatment of animals! Death! For the planet!"
"For the planet!", came the resounding response from the other green-clad
warriors.
With that, the green warriors opened fire.
Jagged purple lightning streaked out from their gun barrels towards the
Imperials, but their foes were ready.
Hurling themselves to the ground, they brought up their blasters and aimed.
"Stun only!"
Sasquatch didn’t want this to become more of a diplomatic failure than
necessary.
Blue arcs came towards the Green folk, enveloping several, and dropping to
the floor.
The Lieutenant-Colonel noted that the stray purple beams did not singe the
grass or ground at all, but merely evaporated upon impact.
Seeing the poor defensibility of their position, Sasquatch scanned the
horizon for a better spot. His eyes fell upon a small hill, perhaps three
hundred yards away. Tracking down, he mentally laid out a path...that ran
right through the green force. Ford evidently had the same thought.
"Cover me, I’m going through!", he bellowed.
Charging forward with reckless abandon, he swung the herring in a deadly patte
rn, felling one after another green soldier. Distracted, the green soldiers
focused their attention on him. Using that momentary weakness, the rest of
Psi burst forward through the green lines. Too late they realized what was
happening. A few scattered bolts came out, but the Imperials came through
the melee unscathed, and ran as fast as their legs would allow them to.
Rhinok gave a silent thanks for the hours of torturous physical training he
had undergone at the Academy. Breathing heavily, they reached the hill.
Weary, they fell upon the up-slope of the hill, and brought their weapons up.
Squinting off into the distance, LT Jon Doyle saw the mass of green folk
rumbling towards them again, but couldn’t see Ford. What had happened?
"They’re in range!"
Jon aimed his blaster and ripped off a round.
The Green warriors opened fire as well.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Skyrider grunt and slump to the ground.
Shavit!
The enemy surged forward, attempting to overrun the hill.
Doyle fired a scattered barrage of blaster bolts all around the oncoming
rush. The Greens, taking several losses, dropped back and re-formed. They
charged once again. And, again, they were met with concerted, concentrated
blaster fire from the Imperials. Seeing more of their comrades fall, they
pulled back, frustrated.
Stone took the respite to survey the situation. The Greens had taken about
ten losses, bringing their number down to three. Unfortunately, they still
outnumbered the pilots by more than three to one. The Greens, however,
seemed to have no desire to charge again, at least for a while. Still wary,
the Imperials gathered for a conference. Doyle and Spector remained on the
outer guard.
Stone shook his head.
"Sir, we can’t go on like this for much longer. They’ll just wear us down
with attrition, and our ammunition can’t last forever."
Sasquatch nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, there are two possible ways out of this. Retreat is one. The other
is to break back across their lines, get the herring, and get the Kessel out
of here. Retreat is not an option."
"Hey! What about a third party?"
Rhinok turned around to see Stone, looking very naive and stupid. Odd.
A change seemed to be working in Sasquatch. All of a sudden he looked dark
and foreboding; evil. He said in a deep, menacing voice, riddled with some
amusement,
"Go ahead! Waste your vote."
Almost immediately after this exchange, both officers stepped back into
reality. The situation was somewhat awkward. They all stood around, quite
uncomforatably, until Doyle spoke up.
"Erm, let’s go for it."
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

They shuffled about some more, then returned to their defensive positions on
the hill. The Greens seemed a bit baffled, not really knowing what to do.
Slowly, they also seemed to formulate a plan, and re-formed their battle
lines. Sasquatch sensed they were going to do something soon.
"Now or never...", he muttered.
"CHAAARGE!"
With a marrow-freezing yell, the Imperials issued forth. The Greens, taken a
bit by surprise, allowed the pilots almost twenty yards before they began
firing. Twisting and dodging, our heroes avoided the deadly blasts with
great skill. Suddenly, Ford burst into the rear of the Green ranks. He
yelled and waved the herring. The LCM felt a burning heat sear through him.
He kept running, but his mind was elsewhere. The Green who had shot him was
quite stunned. He had never seen someone take a bolt on kill and stay up,
much less run. He was about to also shrug and get on with his life when Ford
ran up to him and bludgeoned him with the herring. The Green’s eyes rolled
up into his head, and he slowly crumpled to the ground. Ford had quickly
outdistanced the rest of Psi. Seeing his predicament, he whirled the herring
like a dervish, hacking and slashing. Two were felled with one skillful
stroke. He laughed, a deep, roaring laugh that mocked the warriors of the eco
system. He hacked another one, his grin broadening. Suddenly, Ford lurched
forward a he was shot in the back by another blaster bolt. He felt his
strength begin to seep out from his body. His hold on the herring loosened,
and his movements became more sluggish. Oddly weary, he slashed at another
eco-warrior. To his surprise this thrust was blocked by a lazy upstroke of
the Green’s hand. The Green was, of course, almost as surprised as Ford
(though for different reasons, the primary one being that the eco-warrior’s
hand was sliced off) when his appendage dropped to the earth. Ford kicked
sluggishly, bringing the rest of the Green down. Twenty yards off, Mord saw
the Lieutenant-Commander’s situation. He gritted his teeth and pounded his
feet harder onto the ground, propelling him forward. He raised his blaster
and aimed carefully, not wishing to hit his Flight Leader. Two bolts rang
out, knocking out the two nearest Greens. The ones clustered around Ford
looked up, trying to assess this new threat. Mord wondered how they were
assessing the spread of blaster bolts heading their direction. A
simultaneous grunt went up from the wounded eco-warriors as they dropped. On
the flanks, Sasquatch, Skyrider, Spector and Stone all were wading through
the Green mass. With a triumphant shout, they broke through, and, almost as
one, sprinted like a Chadra-Fan running from a Wookiee away from their foes.
The remaining enemy took a few potshots, but these desperation charges landed
short of their marks. The Imperials stopped only briefly, as Ford swooped
down on the shrubbery and cut it off at the base with the herring. Sasquatch
scooped up the vegetation and tucked it under his arm. Enraged at this new
atrocity, the Greens howled and broke forth, running. Resolve and victory
steadying their arms, the Imperials turned and let loose several volleys.
The enemy advance grew less and less, as more Green bodies began to litter
the ground. Finally, the pitifully few remaining warriors drew back.
Exultant, the Imperials began to break it into song...
______________________________________________________________________________
_______________

Before the second word of ‘Yellow Submarine’ could be wailed, the pilots
found themselves back in the hollowed asteroid. They didn’t have to look
long to spot the old fellow.
His hollow applause rang shrill in the room.
"Excellent, excellent. The shrubbery?"
Apprehensive, Sasquatch stepped forth and extended his arms, the shrubbery
resting in between his two hands.
Delighted, the geezer took the plant. He looked upon it lovingly, then
stepped back. His face grew introspective as he surveyed the room.
"Hmm...where shall I put it?"
He wandered around the room for a minute or two, before placing the shrubbery
near the north end, a third of the way from the wall. The man surveyed the
plant’s new position with some measure of happiness.
"So, um, can we leave now?"
"What’s stopping you?"
Ford very nearly sliced the man’s head off with the herring.
"Again?"
As if to prove his point, he raced towards the northern entranced, deciding
that he would avoid tripping over the shrubbery. He braced himself for
impact as he neared the wall, but his steeled face soon relaxed into wonder
as he passed through the wall unhurt.
It was a bright sort of room he was in, with purple walls and yellow and
orange floors and rugs. A bright blue stripe began where Ford stood and
ended...at the chair where another old fellow sat. He looked slightly
younger than the first old fellow, but seemed a bit older and wiser. Quite
odd.
"Another one, eh?"
Ford stopped, befuddled.
"I’ve told him to stop, but he never really listens. I assume that you got
him his shrubbery?"
Dumbly, he nodded.
At that moment, the rest of Psi Squadron stepped through the wall.
Apprehensively, they waved to the second old fellow.
"Oh, uh, hi."
The old man nodded respectfully.
"Welcome. I take it you want the answers to the questions?"
The Imperials nodded in unison.
"Very well. But, first, do tell me what happened."
Wearily, the pilots related the events of the past three days to the man.
"Hm. Indeed. Well, I would have hacked him with the fish if I was you."
"Would that have kept us from getting the shrubbery?"
"No, but, um, it would have served the fellow good."
"Oh."
Silence.
"Well, um, he won’t let us leave until we’ve answered his questions."
"And?"
"And he said you could answer them."
"He did now, did he?"
"Er, yes."
"Hm. Well, I do know the answers, but I’m afraid since the last incident, it
comes with a price."
"Which is?"
"A shrubbery."
For the second time, Ford found himself wanting to slice an old man’s head
off with his herring.
The moment of anger passed as he anticipated another ethereal transportation
to another strange system so they would have to fight for another shrubbery.
He closed his eyes.
Nothing.
He waited for another few seconds.
Still nothing.
"No nifty funky transporter?"
The old man shook his head, a bit ruefully.
An idea struck Stone. Fortunately, he didn’t fall over.
He strode to the other wall, back to the first old fellow’s room.
As he neared the exit, he heard noises.
Intrigued, he quickened his pace.
It seemed that someone was yelling. The other Psi members, paying no heed to
him, clustered about and attempted to think of a place to find another
shrubbery.
He slipped into the other room, near a large curve in the wall.
He quickly saw the situation.
A red-haired woman was raging at the old man.
"NO! NO MORE SHRUBBERIES! I’M SICK OF IT!?"
The old man did his incredibly annoying serene smile bit again.
"Oh?"
"AND I’M SICK OF THAT BLOODY SERENE LOOK! HOW SERENE WILL YOU BE AFTER THIS?"
Stone gasped. He had heard of such things. His mother had used it to
frighten him as a child into doing his daily chores. But he had never
thought it existed. Until now.
Like a ghostly specter, the ancient horror of a vid called ‘Thriller’ was
displayed all throughout the cave wall.
Stone was soon writhing on the floor.
"No! Stop...the...music!"
In his now-tortured mind, he wondered if it was indeed worthy of calling
music.
"N....no!"
"NO!"
Summoning all his will, Stone gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. He
felt as if he was fighting an army of Jedi.
"No..."
Finally, he stood upright.
The vid had stopped.
The red-haired woman had vanished.
But the old man was lying on the floor.
Stone walked over to the sprawled figure. He checked for a pulse.
None.
Marvelling at the ghastly business, his original intent re-appeared into his
mind.
He walked over to the shrubbery’s location, picked it up (with some degree of
reverence) and went through the wall.
There he found the scene exactly as he had left it, his fellow squadron
members still trying to think of a way, and the second old fellow sitting on
the chair.
"Er, I found one."
Astonishment spread like wildfire through the room.
The old man stood up, a bit aghast.
"Oh! Much gratitude!"
He took the shrubbery from Stone and placed it near his chair.
"Um, I supposed you can leave now."
"Oh. Well, thanks. Nice seeing you."
"I must say that I reciprocate the sentiment."
"Uh, goodbye."
"Farewell."
Suddenly, the pilots found themselves back in their cockpits.
"Sir! My navcomp is, um, working again."
"Excellent. Let’s go."
With that, the stars blurred into starlines, and they began their journey
home...

Back to Magazine