Fool's Errand
by FL/CM Akira Vorsahyer

Part I

The dream came again, as disquieting as ever. He crouched atop a small rock amid a sea of molten lava, clutching at it for dear life, the sky boiling around him, red as blood, the ground heaving as if titans below were locked in some mortal conflict. The occasional crack of lightning was all that broke the roaring of some terrible storm, not created by any natural forces; the bolts were a sickly, ghostly blue, scarring the earth like blazing meteorites, ever closer to where he stood.

With a sickening lurch, the rock lost whatever anchor had been feebly holding it steady, and set adrift within the molten sea. With astonishing alacrity, he rushed along the torrential flow, bobbing this way and that, fighting a steadily losing battle to maintain his strength and balance.

Ahead the deluge forked, the lava rushing both to his left and right. Atop the cleft of the fork, his mother stood in struggle with a dark, cloaked figure, the latter facing away from him. His mother's face, unnaturally sharp and clear, showed the determination that was her anchoring force in the universe, but also the signs of fatigue. She would fight with dignity and valor - she always had - but ultimately this was a conflict she would not win, and that terrible knowledge was plain upon her face. Yet if she knew fear, she refused her adversary the satisfaction of it. Her bearing showed nothing but calm, the quiet conceit of a skilled warrior who had finally met her match after a lifetime of preparation.

This, in itself, was odd. Serropans were a people of peace, with no history of war and no knowledge or need of combat. Their allies had shielded the skies above their quiet world as they tended the fields by day, and composed enduring works of high art by night. Yet here was his mother, moving with a speed and grace terrifying for their beauty, fighting with nothing but her hands and the earth, displaying prowess that was the stuff of legend.

No Jedi was as skilled. No Sith was as terrifying.

Now other figures began to appear. There to the right was another dark figure, mysterious for now, beckoning to him with a voice and bearing that yet seemed somehow familiar. There to the left stood a woman, an aura of light her only garment, her reddish hair a writhing tempest about her head; she, too, somehow familiar. Where the dark man beckoned, the woman of light simply stood, calm and purity radiant in her being, the brilliance of it all the more unreal for the chaos that abounded her. Where the dark man grew agitated with his passions, the woman of light was passive and serene, accepting the strife around her as necessary, even fitting or proper.

Figures now emerged from the lava. To his right came Koranth, Trickster of Fire and his own namesake in combat; to his left came Amaryanth, Maiden of Fire, patron of his mother; behind him rose Camaryanth, Champion of Fire, protector of all warriors. Slowly, the three surrounded his precarious mount. "You must choose," they chanted tauntingly, swirling about him. "Choose your destiny. Choose your fate. Choose your fortune. Choose your mate."

Over and over, came the chant. Faster and faster, came the swirling. Still the man beckoned, still the woman radiated quiet peace. Still the combatants struggled.

Still he gripped the rock, paralyzed with fear.

As always, the mocking Fire gods laughed, causing a whirlpool in the lava from their antics. As always, they lifted from their acrid home and burned across the sky. As always, the rock slammed against the cleft of the fork, shattering into dust…

Akira woke with a start, bathed in sweat.

He sat bolt upright in his bunk, the unfamiliar surroundings causing him momentary confusion. He sighed audibly when he realized where he was: a small sleeping quarters aboard the escort carrier ESC Vanguard, shared with his fellow pilots of Theta squadron. Above him came the quiet, even breaths of his wingman Carl Lost, emanating strength and power even as he slept. Fatboy across the room, snoring and murmuring contentedly in sleep; Stark Rhavyn above Fatboy, soundless as death, with only the even rise and fall of his chest to prove otherwise.

Leaden with fatigue, Akira lay back down, glancing first out the window at the starry void, then to the chronometer built into the wall. 4:15 am, ship time. His duty shift began in just over two hours.

He would not, he realized, be able to get back to sleep.

Draping his ship-issue coverlet over his shoulders, Akira trudged into the mess, in search of a mug of klava and some peace.

"Good morning, sir," intoned a modulated mechanical voice a with a tinny, yet cheerful echo. "What can I get for you?"

"The usual, Wildfyre," Akira grinned, glancing at the silvery protocol droid. All the comforts of home were aboard the Vanguard, even C-1W4, aka Wildfyre. The droid had been through a lot over the years, including some rather…creative reprogramming at the hands of Wing II. Not exactly standard Imperial operating procedure, but you'd be hard-pressed to find a better bartender anywhere in the Emperor's Hammer.

His mother's voice, not exactly heard, but undeniable in his mind.

I could say the same for you, he teased her back, as he accepted the steaming mug from WildFyre and took a seat at a central table.

Nonsense, came the reply. It's mid-morning here. You forget that the whole of the Universe does not obey your ship's time keeping.

Golden laughter bounced through his mind. Simple. Your presence is always bleary when you first awaken, doubly so when you're overtired.

He grinned in spite of himself as he sipped, life (or at least awareness) flowing into his veins as the warm liquid revived his body. To what do I owe the honor of this little visit?

A sigh from her - an odd thing, that, when it's telepathic. I wanted to bid you farewell. Your ship is taking you further away than I can sense. Before your duty shift we'll have lost the ability to communicate.

He nodded, a pointless gesture since she couldn't see, but he couldn't help himself. You feel like you're keeping something from me.

She hesitated for the briefest fraction of an instant. You are in danger, my son. There is a dark presence aboard your ship.

Akira snorted. There are a number of them. The Sith and their ilk are well represented in Wing II.

He shook his head slightly. She was always saying things like this. I'm a big boy now, Mother. I can take care of myself.

Ford Prefect, commander of Psi Squadron, wandered into the mess. He nodded to Akira as he collected his drink from WildFyre. "Ford couldn't sleep either," he said, settling himself across the table from Akira.

Akira ignored him.

Do not underestimate the powers of Darkness, my son, came the words in Akira's mind. This is a time of trial for you. A trial you must face alone.

I know, he replied. No matter what anyone says, taking out an entire Rebel training academy doesn't sound like it's going to be a walk in the park.

Ford prefect stared at Akira openly. If Akira noticed, he didn't let on.

I speak not of your mission, my son, cautioned Akira's mother. Our time is short. Remember what I have taught you, and remember this above all: surrender not to the Fire of anger. That way lies madness. Koranth is your totem; use his cunning to your advantage. Remember to think before you act; that way you won't have time to be angry.

Ford waves his hand in front of Akira's face. "Akira? You sure you're not just asleep out here?"

"I'm sorry, what was that Ford?" asked Akira.

Ford just shook his head. "Ford still doesn't understand where the Academy is going wrong these days," was his only comment.

by FL/CM Akira Vorsahyer/Theta 3-1/Wing II/SSSD Sovereign

Part II next month