OOC Note: Another story written with the fucking incredible Steve Renn. Posted with permission.
Looking between each other, the shaman were uneasy. A storm had gathered here, a vicious swell of tumbling gray clouds sheared by the winds high in the firmament, walls of clouds curling in and eating themselves like some starved otherworldly thing. They belched lightning and wept rain, forming as a dark mist in the distance as that great mass approached the jungle.
(Metamorphosis Part 1)
A human player from the Coruscant bolo-ball team weaved the ball in and out of the collection of players from the Tralus team. They raced after the player, designated as number eleven from his mesh jersey. Eltich Ahi cursed quietly in Mando’a, not wishing to wake his wife as she slept; her head reading against his thigh. The long, shapely tendrils of her lekku wrapped loosely around the arm he had draped over her side. She mumbled quietly in her sleep as she always did, her lips barely moving. “…used to represent our ignorance of the states of systems that are actually in one or another pure state, and although this has seemed to many to be an adequate way of interpreting mixtures in classical contexts, there are serious obstacles to applying it generally to quantum mechanical mixtures.” He looked away from the game, a faint hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked over the lithe form of the Tolian Twi’lek who had surrendered herself so completely to him. He wondered for a brief moment what was in her head, why she always spoke in her sleep. It was a thought that drifted back to his subconscious mind when he returned his attention to the game, just in time to see Tralus snag control of the ball from Coruscant. “…it occurs in a situation where quantum mechanical effects should describe these actions due to the extremely high density and therefore particle interactions. To date it has not been possible to combine quantum and gravitational effects into a single theory. It is generally expected that a theory of quantum gravity will feature black holes without singularities.”
(Ayy’shiri felt reborn after a certain point in her training. This marks that transition.)
Her gloved fingers raced over the commands to manually push the engines into overdrive. Twenty three hundred.
With a quick motion and a gleeful laugh she yanked the stick to the right, forcing the light craft to roll up and over an incoming asteroid. She was free and more importantly, she knew her name. Aay’han. It was how she was born into the life of an asr’manda. It was how she lived each day. In speaking with her Hibi’buir only a few hours previously, the realization had dawned upon her. A lesson on Aay’han after a night of sheer joy. The Tolian would not take a name until she became verd and she had told him that much. What she didn’t tell him was that she never wished to be adopted as his daughter.
She didn’t understand why, knowing the pride and honour it would bring her to not only become verd but part of the aliit Ahi. She wouldn’t presume to know, nor would she presume that it would be her place. It had, afterall, only been a week; another fact she could hardly believe. It felt like she had been doing this for years.
As she passed through the asteroid field she brought the engines down to idle and manuovered the little starfighter so that she could stare down at the planet below.
She had a home now. She had a family now.
The twi’lek smiled as she leaned back in her seat and watched the weather patterns spiral over the planet’s surface.
He told her to take all the time she needed to think on the lesson in patience and silence that he had taught her. They both knew she’d not be up here long. She couldn’t stay away. Not from her training. Not from him. Time and time again she reminded herself that she was his student and she was in mourning. She also knew that she wouldn’t allow herself anything. Too much had happened and too much needed to be done was her constant reminder.
It held strong.
This face looks back at me. It’s cold and mechanical, I can tell I wasn’t sure if I was building another of my Pit Droids or something new. She is new. She is me in an odd way. RU-N4N is the moniker of identity I’ve given her, Runan is what she’ll be called. A remote controlled droid unit with no obvious ties to me. She has two A.I. processors, one is a dummy unit should she get into a situation that would infringe on her remote operation. The second is entirely disabled until a time when Punkal, Arazil and Kal can activate it. I hope that day never comes. And I hope that they take the precautions to safeguard those keys they have in case anything happens to them. Though, that’s a day I hope I never see.
He sleeps so peacefully beside me, holding onto me as if I were Mister Bantha. It makes it difficult to continue my work, but I have no desire to move. This was never a place I expected to be in my life and perhaps that’s the reason I’ve decided to keep a personal log of my research and adventures. If they could even be called adventures…
Perhaps in time we’ll adopted a clutch of snotlings and this will serve a purpose in telling them the story of their psuedo-parents. Perhaps it’ll just be a datachip that is eroded over time when it is dropped and forgotten. Perhaps, even in my worst nightmare, it’ll be found by Imperials when I have finally gone too far. Though, should that day come, I’ll wish them luck on breaking the encryption.
Maybe I’ll just leave it unlocked…
I’ve got this feeling that if I ever go down, it won’t be for the petty salvage that Arazil and I clean up and peddle. Or the contracts I take from time to time to serve as a simple spanner jockey for the Rebellion when they need an expert eye on their crafts.
Something tells me it’ll be for something that I haven’t even seen coming up on the horizon. Which only goes to tell me I need to step up my game. My job requires me to keep my record pristine. A smiling face to represent Quantum Mechanics. Legitimate credits to back a not so legitmate employer. I’ll never forget the look on Punkal’s face when I told him I could make ships in the name of the Glaston’s. Then again, I love getting him to make that face. Watching as his brain processes if what I’m saying is even possible, then the light to his eyes when he realizes that he’s talking to me.
I specialize in the improbable.
And the impossible.
Which is why she stares at me right now.
I think Kaliper was a little more than distressed when I put her down beside the edge of the bed.
RU-N4N. A little joke of what I’ve become. I wonder how many will get it and understand my walking, talking, “Kriff off” to my own culture. I think it’s because of that, that I choose to leave behind the ‘da’ in my name. I am no longer the second of two, in reality, I’ve always been solitary. My twin died the day we were born. I could go further and say that I’m not really a Shiri anymore either, but that would be a lie with my father so close to me.
Kriff, my father… I don’t want to see his hotel bills from West Carova…
OOC Note: Kwade Demar aka Oranbega is responsible for the Mythosaur and Mando’a in the center of the battle ring.