Myra Haren's Story

"The Outer Rim and Wild Space are not exactly safe, nor are they locations you will return quickly from..." General Organa paced up and down the line of people gathered for an important mission, her cane clicking as she went by each person. A mission that one would not otherwise be quite able to derive from the line-up lest they knew the details. There was the ship's Captain, a Chiss senator, a soldier, a smuggler, and a Jedi. Quite the diverse and mismatched group. However all were rebels in their own right.

"But someone needs to do it, and preferably not die in the process." She Stopped and faced them, "This war is stagnant, we are on our last leg. Something needs to change. We need newfound interest in the rebellion. The Outer Rim and Wild Space think they are too far to reach and as a result, safe. They sit over there while the rest of us keep the First Order at bay... no more. You have my permission to act on the rebellion's behalf in whatever way you deem necessary. Bring us new forces so that we may finally put an end to this." Mismatched though they seemed, each person was chosen very carefully for the success of the mission. A ship's Captain who knew the First Order, a Chiss senator who wouldn't take no for an answer, a soldier who could adapt to the situation, a smuggler with contacts and a whole lot of luck, and a Jedi who had survived a childhood in Wild Space. If anyone else were perfect for a diplomatic mission to the outer territories Leia didn't know who.

General Organa gave her blessing and bid her farewell to the rebellion's missionaries, "And may the force be with you."

In the Outer Rim....

The crew of the Starbird struggled in vain with their ship, doing everything they could to prevent a very early end to the mission and their lives. They were failing.

What looked like a black hole was sucking them inwards rapidly, and they could only watch in vain as they felt the pressure mount, at one point rendering them unable to move. The young Jedi tried in vain to use the force to knock the ship out of the field pulling them in. The thrusters pushing everything they had. An agonizing three minutes it took for all of them to black out.

Black....

Our rebels awaken, heads hammering, the sound of battle ringing in their ears. Their ship is hovering over a planet, they are at the battle of Geonosis, the Clone Wars have begun. And they are being shot at.

“Leg’s looking fine to me.”

She had grinned.

All throughout the speech Myra had done nothing but give their aging general a devilish grin, perhaps one of the few who did. You could argue the weight of this mission had encumbered her very little, less than the usual things she had been known to carry around the verse, just another day on the grind and pray to your mismatched socks you’d emerge victorious and breathing. And with all four limbs and a head still intact, as well, but the smuggler had counted those a bonus ever since she started dangling that thin rope she’d shamelessly dubbed her life. And what a life it had turned out to be…

Survival, betrayals, rescues, and now the rebel alliance had planned on sending her back to the rotten bit of space she’d hoped to have escape from in the first place. Joy, oh joy. Maybe she’d get to earn money as the circus equivalent of a fool, dodging blaster fire as soon as she set foot on any bit of the Outer Rim.

Honestly, she hadn’t planned to count her coppers on any of her contact still wanting anything to do with her. Let alone the rebels. Too much risk staked in that, truthfully, but it wasn’t like she’d gone and tell their dear general that fact. No, she’d rather risk dancing to some crime lords whims than spend another boring routine at this rebel base and contemplate gouging her eyes out for the want of some variety.

A break from that was as good as any, she thought.

“And may the force be with you.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Myra piped up, an arm reaching for the token Jedi in their merry little misfit crew. “I won’t let this force out of my sight, I promise.” She spoke, arm draped over the other girl’s shoulders and a playful smile edged across the smuggler’s face. She never had much with the old words, and felt a little iffy around anyone preaching them. Faith was worth very little in her line of work, so Myra had never taken much to it. At the end of the day the money you made was your worth, not the appeasement of some nebulous entity.

Blighted sons of bitches as the Jedi were, their evil counterparts were the worst of the lot. Still, Myra wouldn’t hold that to Kiersha. Not unless the girl suddenly decided to point her little glowy stick at the smuggler’s neck.

---

“Bluh?”

Well, she was alive. Only not very coherent, apparently. They’d gotten themselves in quite a pickle and not even space wizardry had helped them get out of that shitting mess of a situation any better than the captain’s attempts at steering in the opposite direction of the wormhole.

And Myra? Well, one moment she was hanging onto the bars in the cargo hold specifically built for finding your footing to sprawled on the ground in some newly-invented yoga position (and spine hurting just as much) wondering what the hell happened.

*Bang*

The ship shook. In fact, it hadn’t stopped shaking ever since she had the capability to take note of her surroundings. They were- “Oh fuck!”

Well, swearing was back at full volume.

Somehow Myra had managed to untangle her knotted self and sprint for wherever the rest had misplaced themselves. Presumably just as baffled as she was. “What the-” Fuck she would’ve said if it weren’t for another rumble of the ship’s hull. “Okay, I won’t ask, but… can we get the hell out of here. Please?” She offered to no particular member.

“… Did I ever tell you about the First Order scout who had been sent to ambush me?”

“Yes,” A patient Alliance staff flatly stated.

“How about how I got the blaster scars on my body?”

“Yes…” The patience was running quite thin.

“Or the-“

“Don’t you have a mission briefing to go to?”

“By the Force! You’re right! I’ll tell you a good story later!”

The Alliance staff member Bennjin had been talking to did not plan to hold his breath, but he was immensely thankful he had paid attention to the scout’s transfer orders. The man sighed in relief as Bennjin Dorr hurriedly left the barracks.

The Scout was in a full sprint as he made his way to the Command Centre. His short hair blew back in the wind and momentum. As he approached where he was supposed to be, he spotted another member of the squad entering the building. Good, he wasn’t too late.

Bennjin Dorr entered the briefing room, beads of sweat had formed from the run, and he was panting rather lightly.

Now was the time for professionalism. Bennjin kept his mouth shut throughout the briefing. However, he did smirk at Myra’s particular commentary. Out on his older missions, Bennjin never had many people to talk to. Now that he was part of a squad, he no longer felt quite alone- at least in the corporeal sense. He always knew the Force was around him, and that kept him smiling despite isolation. However, the Force was not exactly one for banter like back in the mines.

At least, the Force had no banter for everyone except for those who could hear it. Bennjin did not particularly like Kiersha- the Jedi that had been assigned to the squad. He had always held an image in his mind as to what a Jedi should be. This younger woman seemed to be the antithesis for every aspect he had idealized. The only thing going for her was a particularly cool lightsaber.

His idealistic opinions aside, orders were orders. None had the heart to defy a figure as warm and strong as General Organa. Despite Bennjin’s somewhat exceptional mission performance, he had always preferred leaving higher command to those who could wield it as well as Bennjin could a sniper rifle.

—

Bennjin was knocked awake on the first sign of the wormhole pulling on their ship. He had taken to napping in the lower level in the U-wing gunship. A man like him was not particularly useful aboard a ship unless he was given a specific task to do, but after the rumbling began, he suspected he soon would.

His orders were to assist the ship to escape the unyielding pull, but he couldn’t even make it to his station before the ship gave in, and was sent into free-fall into the wormhole. Bennjin tumbled around the relatively cramped seating area for soldiers. He thrust his arms around his head to stabilize his neck, and tucked his legs in. The Sniper bounced on the ground, bounced again on the wall. Despite his efforts to avoid it, he blacked out.

—

“Ugh…”

Bennjin lay at the far back of the hangar bar of the Starbird. Feeling groggy, Bennjin struggled to go through the steps of his survivalist’s training. He flexed each finger on his hand, then his toes, then up to his wrists and ankles. Then his legs and arms, then his chest, and his neck. He felt every muscle and tendon pull naturally.

There was no sharp pain associated with broken bones. “I thank the Force,” Bennjin whispered low, like a quick prayer. He was relieved that his injuries only extended as far as bruising. In reality, it was more his suit that saved him. Like most soldier’s suits, Bennjin’s light plating and build-in splint-like rods that reduced the force of impact (and subsequent injury) from large objects, or from nasty tumbles.

A loud clang made Bennjin stand up, on-alert. He had heard the smuggler, Myra, curse aloud from somewhere on the upper floor. down the corridor- likely where most of the squad were. Bennjin gripped a hand over one of the seating bars to keep himself upright in the wake of continued rumbling. As he moved, he stopped nearby the ladder leading up to the upper level, and peered through a tiny window to his right.

Countless ships hovered in orbit around a planet Bennjin couldn’t identify for the life of him. It appeared that they were locked in a huge conflict. “Looks like the Outer Rim’s got plenty of support they could give,” Bennjin noted aloud, a relatively new practice. The words felt awkward coming out of his mouth, since usually these observations were kept to himself. Before the squad, he was the only pair of ears who would hear them. “I don’t recognize any of those ships.”

The majority of the present ships were oddly familiar. They lacked the rather iconic bridge and twin shield generators on the stern, but the triangular hull was unmistakable. “Seems they looted a lot of Imperial ships.” Bennjin’s right hand brought up his binoculars for a closer look, while his left hand gripped at a hand hold to keep himself stable. Something seemed off, though. If these ships were scavenged like his observations led him to believe, why did they all look the same? Perhaps the most interesting, yet puzzling aspect, was that the ships looked pristine, and unmarked. They were military ships without any custom paint jobs on the hull.

He had identified all he felt he needed to. For now, they were absolutely being shot at, judging by the rumbling of cannonfire striking and whizzing by their ship. Bennjin Dorr slipped the binoculars back into their carrying case, and called up the ladder proper. “What are your orders, sir?” He called to his commanding officer.

"May the force be with you."

"Please." Irwin adds on in his mind. "Please be with us." He doesn't know a whole lot about the force, but from what little information had been gleaned from stories about Lord Ren? It would help to be polite to it.

He'd stood at attention during the briefing which is more than can be said for the smuggler also present and had turned sharply on his heel to inspect the ship that he'd be piloting on this job- The Starbird, a UT-60 U-wing transport/gunship. At least they got his preference for larger, more firepower-heavy ships over fast, maneuverable ones. The U-wing's more than big enough to carry them- in fact, with only five passengers, it's equipped just a touch more luxuriously, with comfortable seats for passengers and plenty of storage space. The ship has a hyperdrive, so the journey won't be quite long enough that they'd sleep on it. According to Irwin's mission plan, there'd be adequate time to rest on whatever planet they visit and then take off in the morning, so on and so forth until they've returned home.

"I usually transport ordnance, not passengers." An argument could be made that explosives were simply non-living passengers that destroyed their destination, but that's just a little beside the point, isn't it? He'd slipped on his dark flightsuit, settled into the seat, and flexed his fingers over the craft's controls. This, this is comfort to him. The barrage of information from the instruments is something close to relaxing. The comfort in knowing everything that's going on.

The liftoff from the base had gone on without a hitch, almost too perfect a takeoff. It was probably a sign, now that he's earned the benefit of hindsight. The wormhole, his desperate attempts to steer them away from it- he'd even gone so far as to activate the hyperdrive in a fruitless attempt to escape it's pull.

He made little effort to build any kind of friendly relationship with the passengers- what, a Sniper, a Smuggler, a Chiss Politician and a Jedi? You couldn't put together a stranger group if you tried. Besides, they're the important ones- Irwin's just the ferryman, bringing them from Point A to Point B to Point C.

---

"What the-?" He wakes up, still in the pilot's chair, still at the controls. Controls which are currently going crazy at him, announcing proximity alerts, incoming fire, damage, etc. As if the ship rocking dangerously about wasn't enough. Irwin boosts up the shields, accelerating and trying as hard as possible to evade the incoming blaster fire.

And also taking the comm, speaking to all passengers aboard. "All passengers, brace for incoming fire. Someone get on the turrets and start taking out hostiles. We'll figure out where we are when we're safe." Thrusters to max, shields up. He's trying to get out of range of... whatever is shooting at them. As tough as the U-wing is, it's no starfighter. And the ship is badly damaged from the struggle against the wormhole too. Taking on one capital ship, let alone a group? Out of the question.

The ships firing on them aren't registering as anything familiar- they look Imperial, though the paint job suggests they've been taken by some kind of pirates. Still, there's little time to think on it as he points the thrusters at them and hauls ass in a safer direction. He's keeping that planet within view, however. Unidentified it might be, but the hostile ships hovering above it and firing on them suggest at least a small sentient presence.

A flash of red hair flew past several people walking the halls, her stride quick and purposeful, not graceful. She was late. Honestly she should know better by now, but god damnit the fucking line for lunch was getting longer by the day. Or maybe she was just showing up later. She preferred her theory that the lunch line was purposefully being long to spite her. A way for the force to spite her maybe.

People did not keep General Organa waiting, that sort of thing just wasn’t done. Kiersha hoped she was just on the knick of time, and as if to give her better excuse, someone else was also equally as tardy as she. Some soldier boy entering opposite her. Kiersha had yet to meet everyone who would be on the crew. They were going to be working together for a very long time, it was best that she knew all of them for as little time as possible. No need to make acquaintances until absolutely unavoidable.

Kiersha listened to the speech in all seriousness, standing at attention, hands behind her back. Watching as General Organa slowly walked their line-up, her cane clicking and carrying her with more effort than it did last year. Kiersha became distracted with thoughts of the General’s health, she was getting old...

God damnit Myra, Kiersha has made the mistake of standing next to her. Myra was an acquaintance that she wouldn’t admit she liked, and for most people around base it was quite unavoidable to meet her. Luckily she was very easily distracted, and Kiersha didn’t have to put up with her for much at a time. But ho boy did she like to pack just about everything and more in that short time. Myra flung her arm around Kiersha’s shoulder and Kiersha gave a straight faced thumbs-up to the General. Might as well play along. Even if the force could go stuff it up its own bunghole for all she cared. She always was of the opinion that the thrice damned entity, or whatever it was, chose wrong when it chose her.

---

The ship's alarms blared, red and loud. And while normally Kiersha was all for red and loud, in the moment it induced panic. They had just started the mission not too long ago, they were barely in the Outer Rim. Hyperspace travel is a fickle thing, and even the most precise Navcomputer in the galaxy is something created by living beings- which are prone to error. Asteroids, comets, planets- everything in the realm of realspace leaves it's mass shadow on hyperspace. Thankfully, every hyperspace-capable ship is built with safeguards, backups, safeguards for the safeguards, and backups for the backups designed to increase the chance of the crew's survival in the case of a miscalculation.

It usually works. The Starbird was violently pulled back into realspace, dropping in to a closely-packed asteroid field.

The jolt shook everyone aboard the ship, and toppled everything not nailed down, including Kiersha. She was quick to stumble upwards and check the windows. Debris, it was everywhere, and it was moving. The ship. It was also moving. Strangely.

She staggered at first, but was soon in full gallop to the cockpit. Technically she was the co-pilot of the Starbird, with no one else on board who knew how to fly a ship like this. The throttle was ahead full, as the U-wing's sublight engines strained desperately against the gravitational pull. The instruments of the ship lit up in reds, blues, greens, every color used to signal imminent danger.


"WHAT THE fuck Cap-tain." Kiersha had to shout over the alarms. She rushed over to her seat, and hesitated at what she saw in front of her. By the force.

Light was bending around it, asteroids and debris being stretched into the distance as it was sucked into it. It was a... hole. "No no no no no no no. FUCK that." Kiersha snapped into action, flipping this switch and that, they were already on full thrusters.

"Black hole. The gravity field has us now." Irwin kept pushing on the throttle, as though it would somehow force the ship past full speed. The ship listed to one side, resisting the attempts to even point it away from the gaping hole in the universe.

"How the FUCK did we end up next to a black hole?!" Kiersha demanded, quickly seeing that they were much too close and the thrusters weren't going to do any damn thing. A cold sweat mounting on her brow. "Ok ok plan, I've never done this before..."

She got up and walked to the cockpit doorway, bracing herself, "On my count, hit the hyperdrive." She began to pull, feeling the whole ship in a way she hadn't before. The strain of the sheer size took a moment too long to get used to it, the seconds ticking by agonizingly.

"Hyperdrive primed. Jumping to the last safe coordinates." He's punching it in by hand, not quite willing to trust a navcomputer after it had gotten them into this mess.

"NOW." Kiersha pulled, the force reacting strongly within her in her fearful state.

Irwin flipped open the hyperdrive switch, pressing it down- and waited. And waited more. There was no obvious change in the ship's position, no sign of movement in the slightest.

Kiersha let out a frustrated and pained sound, the cockpit creeking, the pressure within the ship mounting.

"It says we're already at lightspeed. Still stuck in the gravity." There had to be a malfunction, some excess weight to dump- there wasn't any. No options left for escape.

"No." She said weakly, not giving up. She was getting dizzy.

"Kiersha, if this ship gets pushed any further, it'll tear itself apart!" Genuine fear breaks a normally flat tone. He punches the hyperdrive switch again, and again, met with further defiance from the laws of physics.

"It's not moving!" Tears welled up in her eyes from the strain, electricity sparking at her fingertips, a sign of her stress. She was getting so dizzy, was she on her knees? She was beyond recognizing that now.

"It won't go faster-...won't..." Irwin's passed out. Strain from the wormhole, the lightspeed, all of it more than your average human was built to handle.

Kiersha was not long behind him, slumping to the floor finally.

---

Alarms, those fucking alarms, again? Kiersha woke up, head pounding. Was this a deja-vu? It was happening again? No, she was the floor of the cockpit. She crawled to her seat in the co-pilot's chair and slumped herself in it, not entirely knowing what she was doing, memory of the wormhole fresh in her mind and the desire to stop a slow decent into it. She got her bearings after a few moments and realized that the scene in front of them was very different from the one they had been in... moments ago? Was it moments ago? How long had she been out? The Captain was shouting orders... the turrets!

"Turrets, we need someone on the door guns!" Kiersha was supposed to be one of those someones, was it possible to have this much adrenaline coursing through you? Things were suddenly clear. She hopped out of her seat, running, or staggering if you were being judgemental, to the right side of the passenger end of the ship.

"Shoot anything that shoots us Soldier boy." Kiersha shouted as she passed him.

Bennjin had slight reservations, given the unusual look of the ships that hung around the immediate area. However, they were absolutely under attack. He absolutely needed to get on the guns. "Yes ma'am!" He barked rather loudly as he reached the top of the ladder. He stepped rapidly towards the starboard turret, and set himself in the gunner's seat.

It was thanks to these turrets that the so-called soldier boy was able to be useful in a space battle. He knew weapons, and he knew ranges. His primary concern was taking down immediate threats. That meant the debris that surrounded them, and fighters approaching to rapidly intercept.

Kiersha sat her ass down in front of the turret, wasting no time in picking a target. She shot at ships, any that got too close, without hesitation or recognition of who was on which side. As far as she was concerned this whole battlefield was in their way. She did take note however, that these ships looked imperial, and yet not, while others were unrecognizable to her. Oh well, they were all dead if they got within her range. She shot one down, using the force to cheat a little, despite her exhaustion.