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Stell Chevric

Military Officer
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    Je'ka
  1. What Stays in the Cantina

    Fair enough. Alderaan seemed like it'd suck. But expectations and pressure to get things right? Sounded like exactly what Stell had signed up for in the military, even if the Peacekeepers were a little lax on discipline compared to the Republic Navy. Sounded like life in general, unless one was living in a basement expecting one's mother to handle all the real-life stuff. The poor kid. How old was he? Definitely, as she'd thought, too damn young for Nar Shaddaa. Well, he was up the wrong turbolift if he was asking her for advice. Stell wasn't necessarily very good at handling things like that. Her idea of getting away from a bad life situation was enlisting in the Republic Navy, spending several years in academies, and pretty much just giving up all independent choice aside from maybe a week at a time. Force. I'm not on Nar Shaddaa to get depressed... Stell looked around for a server droid. There was one trundling right by them; she snapped her fingers at it. "Hey. Hey! Get me a Gizer ale. And a Corellian rum." Clearly, if she was thinking these things, she wasn't drunk enough. The droid wheedled in the affirmative and continued on its way. The pilot returned her attention to the young smuggler across from her, tapping the cards in her hand on the table. "I don't know, kid. Stang, not like it's hard to find stuff to do. Big kriffin' galaxy out there." Yeah, she was no good at advice stuff. Couldn't exactly lecture him about the dangers of smuggling, and how he ran a good chance of getting shot at by someone like her, plus had a damn sight better chance at getting shot at by angrier people with bigger, more illegal cannons. Well, she could probably help. But he didn't look too much like Peacekeeper material. Didn't pay well, after all. And if he had outstanding warrants and all, it'd be annoying to have to clear all that up. But they needed people. She could say something... "I mean, Jedi Peacekeepers are always recruiting... if you're a smuggler, bet you can fly a starship, and we're short on pilots." Since when was she helpful? "But like... it don't pay well. And you gotta work with Jedi. There's a lot of poodoo out there, too. Sure if you want something else legit, you could find it. Or something else not so legit. But that's a bit dangerous." Look at her, the fighter pilot, cautioning someone against danger. Luckily, the droid came back with her drinks; she snatched up the rum and threw it back, grateful for the opportunity to burn all that poodoo out of her mind with alcohol.
  2. What Stays in the Cantina

    Stell didn't say anything about his supposed teaching. In her opinion, teaching didn't matter too much without experience. Felt kinda hypocritical to think that, given her time on Prefsbelt and Anaxes, but she'd known plenty of pilots who'd been taught by the best and been vaped thirty seconds into their first dogfights. It happened. So she trusted her eyes and her ears and her own damn experience over anything someone else told her. Maybe that was why she didn't get on as well as she probably could with the Jedi. Their whole thing was kinda predicated on faith in the Force. She'd never been much for faith. Set was a round. Three sets, you win. Sounded fair. Except the kid looked like he was gonna vomit. Not because he was drunk- at least, it didn't seem like that. Kriff, was he like... sad? What was going on there? Maybe he'd had something other than alcohol, as well. The pilot dropped her feet down off the table, scooting back instinctively to put a bit more space between them. "Stang, kid, you okay?" she asked, scrutinizing his face, trying to figure out what in the seven hells was going on. Had she hurt his feelings or something? Damn, he was in the wrong place if she had. Couldn't be fragile out here. Suppose we all learn that at different times, though...
  3. What Stays in the Cantina

    Stell shrugged, looking through her cards. "Politeness only gets you so far. Nobody's from Nar Shaddaa, either. You just end up here. It's like a bad diner." And that was like... thirty percent nonsense. People were from Nar Shaddaa. But they were either poor as shit, or doing pretty well in the Hutt service industry. Because nobody wanted to stay on Nar Shaddaa without significant monetary incentive. What did this kid even do? His protestations made it very clear that he certainly was not from Nar Shaddaa, and that he probably didn't spend too much time here, or at least not in the rougher parts of the place. Who knew, though? Probably better not to. People's stories on the Smuggler's Moon tended to be a bit weird. Kid might be a serial killer in hiding, or like... a sexual predator or some poodoo like that. Or just some naive young man who saw too many holodramas and decided that an outlaw's life would be a good time. Ultimately, it didn't really matter. None of her business, unless he got weird. But then again, this was Nar Shaddaa, so if he did, she was allowed to just shoot him. Well, kinda allowed. So long as he wasn't under anyone big's protection. Nar Shaddaa was weird. Hutts were odd. That was sorta what it boiled down to. Stell realized she'd spaced out, staring into the middle distance past the kid's head. She had put a lot of alcohol into herself. Blinking rapidly, she refocused, glancing down to her cards again. "Okay, okay. So... twenty points. Negatives are negative. Positives are positive. The kriff you mean by a set?"
  4. What Stays in the Cantina

    He was too damn enthusiastic. How old was this kid? Too kriffin' young for Nar Shaddaa, at least. Or at least seemed like it, with his weirdly earnest attitude. "Help her out". Skraggin' idiot. But an earnest idiot was better than an earnest creep. "Back to Dantooine." she said, sliding into a seat at his table. It was nice not having to keep a proud military bearing at all times; she slouched luxuriously, enjoying it. "And unless you fancy squeezin' in an Aurek cockpit, you won't be "crashing" in there. Thing's built for one, though. Wouldn't recommend it. You might be a little fragger, but even so..." Little. Kriff, now she was doing it. He was even her height- maybe even a slight bit taller. Below human male average, though. "You don't call me "miss", neither. You call me Stell, or Lieutenant, if that's the sort of thing you're into." But he didn't seem the type. Some guys, though... Force, he had a weird smile on his face now. And he was looking at her... expectantly? Was that what it was? Was he trying to hit on her? If so, he needed some practice. She ignored it, snatching the cards he'd dealt out and leaning back, putting her booted feet up on the table. They were... cards. Yeah. She didn't know really what to do with them- pazaak was, as far as she knew, a bit more complex than most games she knew how to play. Although, honestly, she'd probably been taught pazaak about eighteen times while intoxicated. Didn't remember a damn thing. Would probably be the same after this time. Who knew, though? Maybe something would stay. "So what do we do with these?"
  5. What Stays in the Cantina

    Nar Shaddaa. The classiest of places. Stell hadn't been to the Smugglers' Moon in years. Not since before she'd joined the military, which was... hell, a long while ago. Right after she had gotten into a fight with her mother, an actual fight, with fists and blood and screaming, a fight that ended with her locked in the airlock of a freighter, sobbing, phlegm and blood all over her face and fear in her eyes. Her mother had left her there for three hours. Longest three hours of Stell's life. She had been almost certain her mother would space her, all the way until the door had come open and her mother had come over the intercom, telling her to take the shuttle and get the hell away. So she'd bounced around a bit. Not for long, but long enough. They'd been near Hutt Space when her mother had thrown her out, so Nar Shaddaa had been the obvious first stop. Stell had lived in the Corellian quarter for about a month, working as a diner waitress, before getting offworld. Hadn't been the best time of her life. So why was she here now, sitting in a cantina in the anus of the galaxy, pouring great quantities of alcohol into her body? Just because. Pretty much it. After that fiasco at the party on Dantooine, when one of the Peacekeepers had assaulted a Jedi, and another Jedi had stepped out of line... yeah, when she had a couple days' leave for debauchery, it was best to do that offworld. No Jedi to morally police everyone, no Jun to disappoint, no way to really get busted down. And if some pile of poodoo got handsy, like that Peacekeeper at that party, she could just shoot him like he deserved. Wasn't any law around here aside from the Hutts. It was day two of her stay. It was cantina three of the night. It was drink five at the cantina. She'd lost the nice (if a bit dim) Twi'lek from earlier, as well as the charming Zeltron female who'd brought her out in the first place. Just had to make new friends, that was it. Of course, on the Smuggler's Moon, new friends were a dangerous proposition. "Another one." she said, slapping a palm on the bar. A human male slid up next to her, rakish smile on his ratlike face. "And one for me- and put whatever this little lady's drinking on my tab." he said, nasal voice assaulting her ears. Stell looked at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Little lady?" She wasn't a lady. She was a damn pilot, and she'd vaped skraggers twenty times better than this borrat. And little? "You callin' me short?" Stell Chevric was not the tallest of women. She was not a little person, either. Wasn't quite a Twi'lek dancing girl. She didn't mind that. But her height? Maybe that hit a nerve. She drew herself up, hands curling into fists, half stepping off the stool. She might not be as tall as this rodent, but she sure as hell was stronger. And she had a blaster- her Merr-Sonn pilot's compact on her hip- while he didn't. All of these things appeared to impress themselves on the hapless ratface who had dared to attempt to buy her a drink. He turned and walked away, casually. She returned to her seat. The bartender had given her another mug of Gizer while she'd been occupied by Ratface. And now he was cutting some guy off. Loud guy, with a pazaak deck. Apparently he had had enough. Stell picked up her mug, drained in one long pull, put it back down, and decided that she had had enough, as well. At least for this cantina. Maybe pazaak would be a good idea. Maybe pazaak with a drunk barve would be a lot easier and more profitable. She stood up on shaky legs and realized that there were two things wrong with that. Number one: she was also drunk. Number two: she actually barely knew how to play pazaak. Whatever. Who really cared? Adjusting her tank top, Stell lurched her way over to the guy, heavy field boots thudding on the floor. "Hey, you wanna show me how to play pazaak?" she asked, a hand going up to scratch at the base of her ponytail.
  6. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    "I read them as well, Two." To let him go and make a run on them? Might chew the Seppies up good, but then again, Aureks were valuable and so were recruits- especially pirates. "Negative, Two, don't get within range. Gain altitude, we'll observe the situation from afar." Much more sensible. Sure, Stell always enjoyed shooting fish in a barrel, but this one probably wasn't a good idea. He'd done some fighter training before, but she highly doubted he'd had ground-attack schooling. Aaaaaand her console went crazy. They were targeting her, and from Paam's exclamation, her as well. Evasive maneuvers- basic stuff, no need for anything fancy at this range. "Do not engage, Two. Garnik is sending a party out, they'll handle it." She gained altitude quickly, seeking cover in a light cloud bank. "Garnik, we've picked up separatists inbound, they've tried to target us. Can't tell how many from this range." "Understood, Outrigger Lead. Get out of there, we know where they're going, and we got a gunship on the way." Stell nodded, though nobody could see it. "Roger that. Two, form up- we'll refuel at the fort and get on our way home. Not our fight." It's an important lesson for all of us to learn. Can't get all of 'em. And I'd feel pretty bad if Paam miscalculated and flattened himself on the ground. And Commander Jun wouldn't appreciate the loss of one of her pilots- or one of her Aureks. Can't disappoint the commander... again. She pulled the snubfighter around, towards Fort Garnik. And from there, homewards to Dantooine, and to monotony. Ahh, well. Couldn't all be action, could it?
  7. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Nothing on her sensors either in the air. She hadn't seen anything, no blasterfire, no smoke trail from a missile, nothing. The rational part of her mind was telling her that her torpedoes, or Yakko's, had probably breached a reactor or something, but the rest of her brain was screaming threat, threat, get out, and so she yanked the Void Bitch up and away. "Fort Garnik, the pirate's down. No ground fire, don't read anything in the air." "Could see it from here, Outrigger Leader. You're pretty close to separatist-held territory, but they haven't got any anti-air anywhere this close to the fort, as far as we know. We scanned that carrier right before it went- it's a known seppie. Any survivors that you can read?" "Can't tell yet. Two, you pick up anything? What's odd?" Paam had brought his Aurek about to form up with her. "Garnik, if it's separatist, will they come and grab what they can from the wreck? Do we have to start worrying about anti-air?" Stell banked over, craning her head to look down at the smoking wreckage, just a dot from up here. It had dropped like a damn rock. Pretty big vessel, but bulk freighters generally were. Anything salvageable would be rather valuable, especially to some cash-strapped seppies who needed spare parts and honestly everything they could get. And there were probably fighters still in there- even if just the ion engines in those were somewhat intact, they'd be worth thousands of credits. Stang, if Stell was a seppie commander, she'd risk a quick run for anything they could salvage. "It's a possibility, Outrigger Leader. We're putting together a party to come over there right now. Stay over the wreckage, keep an eye out for us."
  8. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Yeah, that freighter appeared to be going towards the planet, which was also just absolutely wonderful. There was still something of a civil war down there, and if they weren't the sort of barves that just popped out of space and took a ship at the system jump point and ran with it, then they were probably at least loosely affiliated with the separatist movement down there. "That they are, Two. If they land in separatist-held territory, we can't do anything." she sent tersely, cutting her shields to minimum and rerouting the power to her sublight engines to try and catch up. "Nek, far as I can see, you're clear, so get planetside quick once you got the barve." The Bitch, bless her fusion-powered heart, was catching up. Paam had hit the pirate vessel, so it was slowing down real quick. Almost in range... Back to general frequency. "Unidentified SoroSuub freighter, heave to immediately." The threat was implied, and as the targeting computer began to scream at her, they'd be hearing about the same on board. Sensors were reading it better too- looked heavily modified, cargo bays opened wide up to accommodate fighters, as of course it would be. Paam had definitely hit her, tearing up one of her engines. "Two, I've got a lock, stay clear." she said, back to Peacekeeper frequency. She still gave them a couple seconds to comply, but they didn't. And so she loosed a proton torpedo, streaking off into the void; a second later, she saw a brief flash. Sensors said a hit, but no speed decrease. Another one, another streak, another flash. No speed decrease again, but something came over general comms from the freighter, a high-pitched male voice. "Stang, okay! Okay! We surrender!" Stell felt the clunk under her of the torpedo autoloader cycling, and the targeting computer was still shrieking its lock tone. "Cut your damn engines then or I'll take them off." She had three more torpedoes, and sensors were telling her that the freighter had no shields anymore, so that would be easily enough to tear it to little tiny shreds. "Okay!" shrieked the voice, and then Stell saw the glow of the vessel's engines blink out. So that was progress. Damn pirates. Haven't even got the balls to keep fighting. She put her shields back up, just in case of surprise attack, and maneuvered over to the vessel. "Two, go back and take the Nek down. Fort Garnik is expecting us. I'll take this sack of poodoo down." Yeah, her torpedoes had done a good amount of damage to the the freighter. And now she had to escort it down, because they'd decided to surrender before being totally disabled. But hey, it worked, didn't it? "Unidentified SoroSuub, we're going to Fort Garnik spaceport. Proceed at forty-five percent sublight power, and if I detect your weapons powering up, I will shoot to kill." "Understood." came back the response. Their engines fired up again, coming down towards the planet. It was pretty close now, and Garnik was on the side of Ord Mantell currently rotating towards them, so it would be a short journey. And it was- a short, uneventful journey, Stell just slightly behind the freighter. As the were about to enter atmosphere, a new voice crackled over the general frequency. "This is Fort Garnik control. Void Bitch, you're cleared for landing. Freighter, identify yourself." "Fort Garnik, this is Void Bitch, bringing in a pirate carrier." The Aurek shook as they made the transition into atmosphere- another problem with a little fighter like this. By civilian standards, it was a rough entry, and you wouldn't get anything else in a fighter. "They-" "Oh, stang-" interrupted the freighter, and suddenly there was a detonation and a streak of smoke spiraling to the ground. It had exploded. Yeah, stang is right.
  9. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Another one down- well done on the new barve's part. Shame they had him driving the big stuff, but they needed good people there, too, she supposed. He was going after the freighter at something close to full speed, as far as Stell could see. She looped back around to do the same, although she was a bit far. "Two, we can't board that thing. There's... stang, only seven of us." she said over the Peacekeeper frequency- couldn't let the pirates know that they only had five crew on the Nek. "Gonna have to disable it and leave it for Republic authorities, or vape it if they keep fighting. If there's any question, shoot to kill." And that sounded real weird to say, as a so-called Peacekeeper, but that was how it had to be. Couldn't have Paam get himself killed trying to take some pirate schutta alive, that wouldn't be any good, and less pirates meant more peace. They couldn't all be Jedi, after all. "Outrigger Lead, we're about to pick this guy up. Any more we need to worry about? I only got two sets of binders on this whole damn ship." crackled the captain of the Nek. Another good point- shit, what if the freighter barves bailed out? That was gonna be a mess. Just everything. Everything was a mess. Motto of the Peacekeepers should be "undermanned and underpowered", or some poodoo like that. After that party fiasco, and now this, and everything else she'd heard... had she signed up for a maglev wreck? At least it's a well intentioned maglev wreck. And you're still flying. "Not yet, Nek." Stell clicked the switch on her dash over to torpedoes, activating the targeting computer and bringing the sight humming over her shoulder to drop in front of her visor. Freighter was too damn far, but maybe she'd be able to get a shot in, depending on how they reacted to Paam and how fast their navicomp was.
  10. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Whoever these barves were, they sure as hell weren't the Empire's finest in those fighters. Probably because said finest had died screaming in fire over Kaas and Korriban and Bastion, with an Aurek on their tail. They'd been hard bastards, and these pirates... well, they weren't. Not like they weren't good, though. This guy Stell was chasing was pushing his little fighter to the limit, and he was doing a decent job of it, but instead of trying to get himself to the superior position, he was just keeping away from her. That was how a lot of people thought, evade and then attack, and it was a lot of what they'd beat out of her on Prefsbelt. And while he could evade for a while, he couldn't do it forever. He rolled hard and then pulled planetward- but just a little bit too wide. Stell cut him off, cannons blazing, and the fighter sort of just came apart, a perfunctory detonation wiping its portside wing from existence. It tumbled away, detonating a couple seconds later, her visor auto-dimming to protect her eyes. A good, quick kill. None of that messy stuff. She pretended like that just meant she was skilled, but if she was honest, you could never really tell what was gonna happen, and sometimes you messed up. And then , as she shot past the wreckage, she saw another blip appear on her sensors. Distress beacon. Ahh, stang. Barve had ejected. Which, cool, she hadn't killed another person, just a fighter- but honestly she hadn't been broken up about it. Pirates were scum. And now she had a pirate floating in space, helpless, and no longer a combatant, which meant she had to get him picked up. Which was a headache. She'd deal with that later. "Good kill, Two. You got that last barve handled?" Stell had seen him get a hit in, but he was out of sight now. That was generally enough to get the upper hand in a void fight like this, but it'd be real bad if it wasn't, and Yakko bought it on this mission. "Nek, I hate to do this to you, but one of these bastards ejected. Gonna need you to come back and pick him up." "Acknowledged, Outrigger Lead." That didn't sound very happy, but of course it wouldn't. Nobody wanted a pirate on board their vessel, even bound up real tight. And that meant they were going to have to figure out what to do with the barve once they got to Mantell. Wonderful.
  11. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Supremacy-class starfighters. Well, not too bad. Those things were essentially toys. Barely any shields... but they did have power. "Copy that, Two. Don't let them get behind you, and we'll be fine." Of course, there were three of them. "Nothing in sensor range so far. Maybe they're based planetside." She opened up the throttle, coming up a few kilometers from Yakko's Aurek. Yup, they were Imp fighters, all right. "Nek, we're engaging enemy fighters. Keep me posted, will you?" she commed, once more diverting some power from guns to sensors, trying to get some more range out of them. "Copy, Outrigger Lead." came the freighter's response; at the same time, Stell picked up another contact on the sensors. "Reading something else- shows up as a SoroSuub bulk freighter." That would be the carrier Yakko had been looking for. Pirates generally didn't have proper carriers, so they modded up whatever they could get. Bulk freighters were cheap, and they could fit a hell of a lot within them, and were thus ideal for ad hoc carrier duty. And that meant strategy had to change- if they killed the fighters, they killed some fighters, but whoever was in charge of these pirates would be in the freighter. That'd cripple their operation, at least for a little bit. Well, first things first. The fighters were still approaching. Fingers fluttering over the console, she recorded a message. "Jedi Peacekeepers. Break off now." Short but sweet; Stell set that to cycle across the general short-range comms frequencies. And yet still, the fighters came on. It wasn't like they weren't here to attack, they were Imp fighters- they had literally no possible utility aside from shooting things. But she had to try. Peacekeepers, it was in the name. Switching back to the Peacekeeper channel, she sighed. "If they close to torpedo range, hit 'em. Don't take any chances." These Imps didn't have missiles, so they'd be easy prey until they closed to cannon range. She activated the targeting computer, toggling from cannon to torpedoes. They were closing rapidly, very rapidly. Warning hadn't helped at all. "Then we take out the freighter." The computer pinged. They were in range. Plenty of time for a nice solid lock. The lead of the three was a good target; selecting that one, she watched on the sensors as he suddenly went crazy trying to avoid it. The other two broke off as well, spreading out in all three dimensions. Could see them now, just barely within visual range. Pulling the Bitch up, she kept on the fighter, until she got a solid lock tone, and then she sent a torpedo on its way. It streaked away, and he'd be occupied with that for a few seconds; accelerating, she chose one of the other fighters. A bit close for torpedoes now, at least in her mind, so she switched to cannons. Simple stuff.
  12. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    “Transmitting, Two. We got three jumps, two little ones, one tiny one. Looking at about three hours travel time. Here to Garqi, Garqi to Borosk, Borosk to Ord Mantell. Hope you brought a holobook.” Stell hadn’t- but she did have snacks. Anyway, she preferred to nap in hyperspace. The star-streaks were a little nauseating. The freighter they were escorting was just coming into view up ahead, a bright blip on her sensor screen. Transponder read it as a CEC medium freighter, the Obese Nek. That had to be some sort of joke, because those things weren’t that slow. Corellia didn't make slow ships. “That you, Outrigger Squadron?” came the staticky voice of the Nek’s captain over the comms. “Ready to go when you are.” “Yeah, that’s us.” Stell’s navicomp beeped- course calculated. She locked it in, punching in the orders to calculate the next jump once they got out. Shutting down sublights, she began to warm up the hyperdrive. “Two, we’re going first. On my mark.” A quick retro burst arrested her forward travel, leaving the Aurek floating in the void. "Three... two... mark." Activating the hyperdrive, the stars elongated, and Stell yawned. She only had four or five packets of snacks with her- she'd have to husband her resources well. The navicomputer pinged at Stell, jerking her awake with a start. Controls were locked while in hyperspace, which was a damn good thing, or her knee smacking into the stick would have thrown her into a gas giant or something else equally stupid and dangerous. They were almost at Ord Mantell- finally. The first two jumps had been uneventful, as had this last one, except she'd run out of salted tuber crisps. Aside from that tragedy, all was well in the galaxy. She tightened her crash webbing, loosened earlier when she'd decided to sleep. No use for it in hyperspace, after all- any accident there and best case scenario the Void Bitch was just a flattened disk of durasteel with some previously-human organic jam inside, spinning around in an asteroid field for the rest of time. The navicomp pinged again, and the stars turned back into dots, pushing her against the webbing; the controls came live again. Wrapping gloved hands around the stick, she activated the sublights again. The pirates had been reported as striking just after realspace transition, which was pretty standard pirate routine. Catch 'em unawares. Classy stuff. Taking that into account, she set her sensors to scan a bit wider than normal. Not picking up anything just yet. "Two, everything green? Picking up anything on sensors?" With her left hand she checked her cannons for power- everything there was good. Torpedo launchers showed loaded and ready. Stell had never been to Ord Mantell before, but she'd heard it was a rough place. The Nek blinked back into existence. At the same time, a contact popped up on her sensors. Two- no, three. Wonderful. "Two, I'm reading three contacts approximately three hundred kilometers past you and closing. S-foils in attack position, protect the freighter. Nek, get those engines burning, let's get planetside." Stell opened the S-foils, scowling; rolling the Bitch over the freighter, she got ready for a fight.
  13. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Paam showed up, a pretty average-sized, average-looking barve. Nothing special, which is probably good. They hadn’t given her much information on the guy, other than that he was Corellian, like her, and drove bigger ships. Apparently he was qualified to pilot a fighter, though not in combat, and that was about all she needed here. “Yeah, that’s me. We’re an escort today. Low pressure, maybe a couple pirates at most, no big deal.” She reached a thickly-gloved hand out to shake. “I’m Outrigger Leader this trip, you’re Two. I hear you’re not much of a fighter pilot. That’s fine. We’re just out there to scare the vultures away.” And also they were pretty low on fighter pilots. Republic Navy wasn’t downsizing as much as the Army was. Didn’t need footsloggers if they weren’t fighting a proper war, but pilots were always pretty useful. Also, they’d spent a good amount schooling them, so they didn’t just toss ‘em out. “We’re crosstraining everyone on fighters. Haven’t got many of us flyers in the Peacekeepers, so the Commander wants us all trained on whatever we got.” One of the fitters working on the Bitch looked up at her, giving her a wordless thumbs up. All filled up and ready to go. “Alright, hop in. Let’s get in the air.” She turned away, climbing up the orange ladder into the Aurek’s cockpit, affectionately patting the name painted in yellow on its fuselage and its accompanying kill tallies beneath. Dropping into the little seat, she pulled the canopy down and locked it tight, starting through her preflight check routine. There was a bit of flimsi stuck in between the fuel gauge and the oxygen pressure gauge with the checklist upon it; even though she already knew what was there, she unclipped the stylus from her left sleeve and marked each item off. It was all green; flipping the series of toggle switches at the bottom of the control panel, she warmed up the repulsorlifts and the sublight engines, giving the thumbs up with her other hand to one of the fitters, who nodded and pulled the ladder away from the vessel’s side. Pulling her helmet on and securing the breathmask across her nose and mouth, she sealed it to the neck of her suit and flipped on the comms. “You reading me, Two? We got a couple minutes ‘till the freighter we’re babysitting gets off the ground. Let’s get you some refresher time in a fighter on the way to the jump point.” Engaging the repulsors, Stell brought the Bitch off the ground and out of the hangar, engaging sublights as soon as she cleared the building and shooting the vessel up into the sky. Like any proper fighter pilot, she’d dialed the inertial compensator back to 95 percent, and the acceleration pushed her helmeted head back into the headrest- which put a massive grin on her face. There was a reason she’d gone for piloting starfighters.
  14. Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down

    The commander stared at her a second- well, not at her, at her body- before her gaze snapped up to Stell’s eyes. What was that? Did she detect a little bit of embarrassment in her face? What- Oh. "It's alright, lieutenant, you don't need to ... cover up your situation." the commander said, a little laugh accompanying the words. Kind of quavery. A bit nervous. Stell resisted the urge to glance down, suddenly realizing that perhaps her attire didn’t mix well with her current sweaty condition, at least for speaking with a superior officer. It was maybe better suited to a competition at a beach party on Zeltros, which this certainly wasn’t. "Last night, you... assaulted a Jedi Knight." Jun continued, hands swinging behind her back, tone stern. Yeah, Stell had. And though she knew she shouldn’t, she definitely didn’t feel bad for it. Arrogant barve needed to learn that he wasn’t a special star and that the galaxy wouldn’t coddle people like him. Two kinds of Jedi she’d seen so far- the ones who understood things and kept it loose, and the uptight bastards who’d apparently sat on a lightsaber at one point and thought it made them better than normal beings. It was funny, from what she’d heard about the crazy stuff that had gone down on the surface of Korriban, as well as Kaas and Bastion, it was the lightsaber-up-the-ass ones who’d gone berserk on civilians. "Usually, that's enough ground for a dishonorable discharge. Attacking with or without provocation with the intention of causing harm is something that we as Peacekeepers frown upon. The Jedi are our comrades in arms, and antagonizing them isn't something we endorse." Yeah, a dishonorable discharge was what she had been preparing for- but usually? Stell picked up on that, and perked up a little bit. She wasn’t getting thrown out? Well, that was good. Didn’t have to melt any witches that way. So what was going to happen? Jun answered that right away. Community service, because apparently she also thought the Jedi was a bit of a bastard. Six months, as an instructor. That wasn’t usually thought of for a punishment, but for a fighter pilot… well, it wasn’t ideal. She’d prefer to be in the dwang out there, guns blazing, but it was better than being thrown out. And counseling. Stang, were they going to make her talk about her mother? Well, that probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She’d live with it, at least. Roll with the punches, she’d learned that much as the unpaid copilot of the Chevric Shipping Flagship of the Week, because her mother could hit pretty damn hard. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Wasn’t really much else to say. Letting her off with that? And it wasn’t just the kind thing to do, it was pretty damned smart for the Peacekeepers- they didn’t really have that many pilots thus far. "Alright, so next thing to do would be... Dilk's court martial, I'm shorthanded on officers not involved in last night's events so I can't get a judge to start the whole thing just yet." Yeah, there had been a good amount of officers at this party, and there weren’t really that many total in the Peacekeeper Corps. “How long until we’ll have enough, ma’am?” Couldn’t be thaaat hard to find a couple more. Well, maybe to find some with legal experience, but there were certainly a few in the Peacekeepers. “And do you think it would be possible to get a sanisteam anytime soon?” Peeling her sweaty clothes off sounded like the definition of bliss. Like the clouds would open up and some deity would push himself out, accompanied by soft music, and beckon her up into the soft caress of hot steam. Yeah, she could definitely go for that.
  15. You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

    Peacekeeper Hangar A-3, Dantooine, Melona 3630 BBY... Stell Chevric loved hangars. Something about the smell of fuel and oil, the eternal susurrus of the fitters hurrying about, and then of course the starfighters. Aurek strikefighters, thin darts resting upon their landing gear, bubble cockpits open, just awaiting their pilots. Her Aurek that she'd flown for the Republic was no more. Her last flight over Korriban had been a little hairy; she'd lost an S-foil to enemy fire, and been pretty torn up. They'd parted the poor girl out, and even if they hadn't, Stell's move to the Peacekeepers would have taken her away. Now she had a new one, if new meant a reconditioned fighter from the war, built fifty years back, cobbled together with parts cannibalized from other ships- the Peacekeepers took what they could get. But it had all the requisite parts. Two mean cannons, capacity for six torpedos, and a snug little seat. All anyone really needed. Stell had named her Void Bitch. It suited her. The fitters were fueling her up, checking her out. Another Aurek sat next to the Bitch, but this one wasn't familiar. Probably because this one belonged to the cadet that was supposed to be her wingman today. The Commander had stuck her on instructor duty as punishment for crushing some upstart Jedi's nose at a party, which was probably reasonable, and a hell of a lot less than she'd been expecting, but it still meant she had to fly with new pilots. Luckily, the one today was supposed to be pretty decent. Apparently he'd left the Republic Navy with the same rank she had, lieutenant. Probably meant he could fly, at the very least. Yakko Paam, his name was. They were supposed to be escorting a freighter to Ord Mantell. The situation there was still essentially a flaming pile of bantha poodoo, but it was improving slightly, and of course they were the Peacekeepers, so the freighter was full of basic aid things. Foodstuffs, medical supplies, a couple prefab buildings- she wasn't totally sure of the cargo manifest, but it was all supposed to be helpful stuff. Last freighter to go to Ord Mantell, though, had been damaged and reported a pirate attack. That was what she and Paam were there to protect from. She checked over her suit idly, ensuring all the seals were properly locked, which they were. Had her Merr-Sonn's holster locked to her chest, emergency oxygen canisters clipped securely to her waist- all good. Her helmet was dangling from her left hand, the one thing she'd been allowed to keep from her Republic service. Well... not really allowed, but nobody had said anything when she'd taken it. It was a beat-up thing, scratched and dented, a stylized Corellian sand-panther's silhouette painted on the sides, LT STELL CHEVRIC UJOPC stenciled in over the brow. Paam should have received a message the day before; he ought to be getting here any time now. Nothing to do until then but wait. Stell didn't like waiting. She also didn't like being late, so she always arrived early. Kind of a quandary there. But hey, he'd be here soon and then they could get off the ground.
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