Author's Note: I posted this in 'Other Fiction' for a number of reasons. Although it takes place in the 'Star Wars' universe, it does not follow the 'space opera' genre. The styling is more a combination of the New Battlestar Galactica series and JAG. The tone is far darker, even than Episode III.
It is not some Anakin/random-teenage-girl-slash-fic, and Jedi play a nominial role.
This is not your parents "Star Wars."
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Star Wars: The New Republic
Book 1
A Matter of Duty
Prologue
James Riley wasn't the kind of Jedi knight to put much pretense on his religion. As he roused from his rack aboard the New Republic Starship Mon Keratos, he nearly flopped onto the floor, his head smacking squarely against the book he had dropped there the evening before. As his head impacted against the latest issue of Interplanetary Relations magazine, the loud blaring siren that indicated Condition One had been set pierced his ears like two pieces of dry durastell rubbing against one another.
With a sudden movement, he reached out to the Force and brought his alertness to full. He far preferred an Alderannian drink known as 'coffee' to bring himself from the bowls of sleep, however there was little time to enjoy his usual morning routine. Rousing an hour before duty, he usually had time to enjoy a warm cup of 'coffee', a cigarette (as Executive Officer, he had the authority to designate his personal quarters as an 'Authorized Smoking Area') and an Eradian chicken egg for breakfast.
This morning came a full three hours before his normal duty time, and the sound of the operations petty officer in the Keratos's Combat Information Center (CIC) came over the intercom.
“All hands, set condition one throughout the ship. Lieutenant Commander Riley to CIC on the double.” As though to punctuate the Mon Calamari petty officer's announcement, she added, “This is not a drill.”
“Stang,” James cursed, jumping to his feet. Grabbing the nearest piece of clothing that looked like a khaki duty shirt from his night stand, he threw on the soft egren cloth garment. Not bothering to button it up, he grabbed his pants (the belt still through the loops) and yanked the pants up his legs while stepping into his mirror-polished shoes.
Shaving would have to wait, so he ran out the bulkhead door, grabbing his BlasTech DL-9 pistol, lightsaber and ever important pack of cigarettes just before the massive bulkhead nearly closed on his wrist.
All around him, the crew of many races from across the galaxy was in just as much a hurry as their Executive Officer. Sloppily latching his pistol to his belt and hooking his lightsaber to the holster, he pushed passed a wookee crewman trying to carry a spare point-defense cannon barrel down the corridor.
“Pardon,” he said to the massive wookee, knowing full well he didn't have to apologize to a subordinate. But James Riley wasn't that kind of officer who believed he could do no wrong.
Jumping into the nearest turbolift, he slammed the combination for deck four into the keypad. He pulled an electric razor from his pocket and began shaving his badly stubbled face and with his free hand, he began buttoning his shirt. A captain, cramped next to him in the lift, chuckled slightly before James glared at her.
Just as he finished buttoning his shirt and shaving, the turbolift stopped at deck four, and he pushed his way out of the lift and began running down the winding corridor to CIC. Shouts of 'make way' began to sound off as people whom he outranked on the ship observed the usual military custom of getting out of the way of a superior commissioned officer.
Sloppily returning the salute of the marine guard at the entry to CIC, he could sense the level of tension, even without the Force. Commander Lelin McCoy, his friend, commanding officer, and occassional 'drinking buddy' stood at the tactical operations console. The large circular display in the center of CIC projected a holographic image of the Mon Keratos in a green wireframe at the center with bogeys (unidentified starships) in blue. Without hesitation, he rushed up to the TOC and asked:
“What's going on?”
Chapter 1
Lelin McCoy was the kind of woman who liked order. In fact, she liked order only slightly more than she liked long forgotten ideals of 'selfless service' and 'honor.' This was a sticking point for Lelin; a bright, young, Republic Naval Officer who was a stickler for duty aboard her starship. She genuinely loved her crew, yet at times would not necessarily act in their best interests when they came into conflict with their duty to the New Republic.
At age 35, she was somewhat of a paragon in the Republic Fleet. She was a brilliant tactician (at least, thats what her mentor, Admiral Thayner, at the Academy always told her) and in spite of herself, her crew genuinely felt a great deal of loyalty to her.
At this point, all the poster girl of the Republic Fleet wanted was to take a few hours off after landing Ambassador Furgan in the Ripoblus system. The words to describe the fat, old, Twi'lek ambassador were somewhat lost to her right now, but 'naive' and 'pacifist' came to mind, along with a few other, less complimentary ones. She slumped against the bulkhead nearest to her in CIC, making it seem as though she were adjusting her boot, and sighed.
The mission of ferrying Ambassador Furgan to the devastated Ripoblus system had been little short of a nightmare. Furgan, who was a professor at the Academy on Mrlsst, couldn't help but ruin the traditional dinner party she had hosted for him when he first came aboard the Mon Keratos. But for that matter, her Executive Officer hadn't helped either.
The Ambassador was a traditional ivory tower professor, firmly believing in the idea that if only both parties could sit down and talk their differences out, the need for war would be eliminated. Lelin hated political debates over things such as that, but James Riley loved to dive right in and engage in a contest of verbal fisticuffs with anyone who didn't generally see things they way he did.
In all honesty, he usually wiped the floor with his verbal opponents, as he did with Ambassador Furgan's argument that “In the long run, violence never solves anything.” However, as much as she liked her friend, his constant, over-principled badgering of the annoying Ambassador that evening was enough to get on her nerves. So much so, she pulled rank on him after dinner and instructed him not to debate with the Ambassador further.
After her brief sigh, she walked over to the Tactical Operations Console (TOC), which stood in the center of CIC. The bright red lettering on the status bar held the word “STANDBY.” The central projector in the middle of the wide holo was OFF while the ship was in Condition Four.
In fact, only the most vital panels in CIC were lit during the midwatch: weapons, sensors, and one of the starfighter panels which tracked the Combat Air Patrol (CAP). All the other panels were in low power mode, set to come to life if there was a change in the function that they were monitoring.
The night crew kept to their stations, monitoring every blank panel, making minute corrections to the hyperdrive, shields, or stellar navigation. There were few operations going on at this hour on the Mon Keratos, especially during a time of peace for the New Republic. Not that there was an absence of war in the galaxy, but the Republic had no declarations of war with any other nation.
To her right, Lieutenant Daviv McDennel, a “tall, dark and handsome” human male, was monitoring the ship's hyperdrive with his large headphones over his ears. He turned in his chair to say something to Commander McCoy.
“We'll be in the Ripoblus System in two minutes, sir,” he reported. “Looks like it'll be a smooth ride in.”
“We can only hope so, Lieutenant,” Lelin replied, knowing far better. If CIC was quiet right now, it wouldn't be for very long. There had recently been a famine on Ripoblus, and the governor had been overthrown by a religious zealot group known as the Titans. The mission of the Keratos was to escort Bidib Furgan, a Candorian diplomat, to the leader of the Titans, an enigmatic man known as 'Nom Anor.' The Keratos would then deliver humantiarian aid to the starving Ripoublusians.
“Coming out of hyperspace,” Lieutenant McDennel announced. All the system panels in CIC lit up, coming to full activation mode.
“Raise shields,” Lelin ordered. An unusual precaution, but her service during the Yevethan Conflict had taught her that caution was the better part of discretion.
The slight humm of the shields powering up could be heard over the sound of electricity flowing through billions of circuits at once.
Suddenly, as to shatter the relative calm, Lieutenant McDennel grasped the console in front of him and looked at it in shock.
“New sensor contacts!” he said aloud. “Seven bogeys on heading 129.232.092.” Seven electronic blips showed up on the TOC, indicating their positions relative to the Mon Keratos.
Lelin examined their formations. From what she could tell, it looked like a convoy of heavy freighters was being closed in upon by a group of four old Z95 Headhunters.
Without hesitation, Commander McCoy took charge of her ship. She turned to her Air Boss and began issuing orders.
“Launch the alert fighters,” she told the Ensign. Without batting an eye, she then turned to Mon calamari Petty Officer 2nd Class Rimoul. “Set condition one throughout the ship. Lieutenant Commander Riley to CIC.”
Her Jedi Knight Executive Officer had a reputation for getting to the CIC in less than four minutes after being called. For a ship of almost 1600 meters and a maze of corridors, it was quite an accomplishment.
Looking back to the TOC, she saw four green blips leave the Mon Keratos's launch tubes, indicating that the CAG, Captain Joshua “King” Lawrence and his flight had launched.
“Commander,” Petty Officer Rimoul said from his comm station. “Captain King has a visual on the new contacts. Four Z95 Headhunters closing in on a convoy of three Belean medical freighters.”
“Probably Nom Anor's men,” a familiar voice said from behind Lelin. She glanced at her watch, noting her XO made it to CIC in three and a half minutes.
“Tachyon Alarm!” Lieutenant McDennel shouted. “Commander, the Z95s have missile locks on all three freighters!” The Advanced Tachyon Dectection Grids (ATDs) had been the standard for faster-than-light sensor and targeting computers for several millenia. However, an active sensor sweep or targeting lock was easy to detect, as the small particles that traveled faster than light known as 'tachyons' were easy detectable by modern scientific sensors.
That wasn't good. Already the Z95s were busy zeroing in on civilian freighters. Without hesitation, Riley picked up the radio handset and spoke.
“King, this is Keratos Actual. You may flash the Z95s.”
“Just like you're mother!” King jousted over the comm. Occassionally the young hotshot CAG let his quick wit get in the way of his military bearing. However, Lelin and James generally tolerated his outbursts due to his quick flying and ability to keep the Air Wing together.
“Twenty seconds until the alert fighters intercept!” Lieutenant McDennel announced.
Lelin picked up the other handset.
“Patch me in to those Z95s” she told Petty Officer Rimul. The Mon Calamari flipped a switch, and aligned the frequencies before nodding.
“Unidentified Z95s, this is Commander Lelin McCoy of the N.R.S. Mon Keratos. Back off, or get a rude surprise.”
Lelin's message was met only with radio silence, and what she thought was a slight burst of static.
The four green blips on the TOC were now in range of the now red Z95s (designating them as bandits or hostiles.) One X-wing broke off from the main group, and closed to point blank range with the lead Z95.
“WhooooHoooo!!!!” The voice of Captain King could be heard over the CIC intercom, as he swooped his X-wing to the bow of the first headhunter. 'Flashing' another ship meant closing to point blank range, then engaging your hyperdrive for less than a nanosecond. The resulting light flash from entering hyperspace was enough to cause great discomfort to the victim.
“What's going on?” Ambassador Bidib Furgan said, walking slowly into CIC. The fat, portly Candorian Twi'lek seemed to smirk, almost as an overlord watching his underlings sweat while he got fat. While Ambassador Furgan officially had operational control (OPCON) of he Mon Keratos for this mission, Lelin had made it clear that military decisions were strictly her purview.
James turned away from the TOC to face him.
“Mr. Ambassador,” he said with surprising calm. “It seems Nom Anor and his Titans don't like free medical supplies.”
“Oh, I doubt its that, Commander Riley, especially when two buffoons have at each other with their ships.” Ambassador Furgan replied. “Please remember the Rules of Engagement.”
Before Riley could come back at the Ambassador with a witty comment, King came over the wireless.
“Keratos Actual, this is King. They ignored the flash, they're continuing to-.”
Before Captain Lawrence could finish, one of the blue freighter dots disappeared.
“Those bastards blew up one of the medical freighters!” King shouted over the wireless.
Riley's hand immediately went for the radio handset, and nearly had it to his cheek to give the order 'Weapons Free' when Lelin snatched the handset from him.
“You know the rules, commander,” Lelin said with mixed emotion. “Until they've fired upon us-”
James spun around to face his commanding officer. “They're going to murder them, Lelin!” he shouted. “We can't-.”
“Sir!” Petty Officer Rimoul interrupted. “I have the captain of the Medical Freighter Conway on the wireless.”
All ears in CIC listened intently as the voice of a frightened civilian freighter captain begged for help over the intercom.
“Mon Keratos, this is Captain Belkor of the med ship Conway. Please help us. We've been hit, many wounded!” Those words were punctuated by blood curdling screams from a variety of sentients in the background, no doubt suffering from severe burns as a result of taking a direct hit from a proton torpedo.
An angry Captain Lawnrence came over the wireless, shouting wildly and almost demanding orders.
“You know the orders, James,” Lelin said.
James knew the orders, and he didn't like it. President Borsk Fel'ya declared that the Republic Military could not intervene in local planetary affairs unless Republic Forces were attacked first.
Now was a moment of truth, Lelin thought. Would she directly violate an order by Fleet High Command, or obey order and sacrifice the lives of the Conway and the other ships in the convoy. For James Riley, the choice was clear, but for Lelin McCoy, it was even clearer. Orders were orders, and they were to be obeyed even when you didn't like them, no, especially when you didn't like them.
For a moment, the world stood still as Commander and Executive Officer squared off, staring deep into one another's souls. There was an uneasy sense on the bridge that Lieutenant Commander Riley just might be crazy enough to try to relieve Lelin of her command. Lelin McCoy and James were, for a few moments, locked in a battle of serious looks.
However, James ended it by methodically picking up the radio handset.
“King, this is Keratos Actual,” he said with an angry sigh. “Maintain Weapons hold.”
“What?” King shouted back. “Are you crazy? What the Fra-.”
“Captain Lawrence!” he shouted back over the wireless. “Either you obey your orders, or don't come back!” Unceremoniously, he slammed the handset back into the mount, unexpectedly changing the channel to the comms with the Conway.
What came next were what some might have considered 'just deserts' for a lack of courage, or perhaps even a sign from God. A few, static laced messages came over the comm from the dying Conway as it succumbed to missile barrage after missile barrage.
“Mother...mother! My...legs!”
“...my dearest Eileen...love her”
“Tell Irangnor...the park...just like mommy said we would.” The final message was the most blood-curdling scream; one far worse than even James Riley, who had flown medevac missions during the Yevethan Conflict, had ever heard. It sounded as though bloody murder were being committed.
Ambassador Furgan simply shrugged, gave an uncaring glance, and walked out of CIC.
