Date: Sat, 19 Apr 1997 12:06:08 -0500
From: Pablo and Julie Hidalgo <phidalgo@CYBERSPC.MB.CA>
Subject: [SW-RPG] FLUFF: Memories of Fire, Chapt 1. Continued.
Sender: Star Wars Role Playing Game Discussion Group <SW-RPG@LISTSERV.AOL.COM>
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Reply-to: phidalgo@cyberspc.mb.ca
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Organization: Springfield Isotopes
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It took several hundred meters for a ship the size of Home to come out
of its hyperspace velocity. The massive converted Tsukkian waterhauler
was anything but graceful, appearing as a haphazard collection of bulbs
and tanks patched together with an alien mind, with hundreds of sensor
antennae bristlings its surface in an insectoid fashion.

        The ship’s display read a forward velocity of zero. Lens Reekeene
looked at the other displays. The emergency life support tanks were
online. Their last skirmish had thankfully only cost them their primary
oxygen supply.

        *Thankfully,* she laughed humorlessly. It was quite fortunate for a
ship without shields and weapons to survive an attack by an Imperial
assault shuttle with only its air supply gone. The loss was much
greater, though, for the other Rebel shuttle. Six of the brightest new
recruits for Reekeene’s Roughnecks had died before they even got a
chance to fight.

        Lens stepped down from her command chair on what passed for a bridge on
the modified waterhauler. Her expression was such that the other crewers
knew better than to say anything. She had heard it said that she
resembled a corner store clerk, with her matronly build and concerned
eyes. But when she was angry, she exuded a commanding presence.

        Lens stepped into the turbolift, and keyed for the engineering section.
Her husband would be down there, and she wanted to see how the old ship
was holding up. It occurred to her that the corner store clerk analogy
was accurate in some ways. Reekeene’s Roughnecks was a mom-and-pop
operation of sorts, with Lens and her husband Mikka in command of the
Rebel group. But she seriously doubted if any other mom-and-pop
operations could boast a supplemental Rebel intelligence operation, over
50 troops and six starfighters.

        The turbolift doors opened, and Lens stepped out into the
semi-organized chaos that was the engineering section. She knew her
husband had to have pulled a miracle to have gotten Home into hyperspace
in such short notice, and the result of the miracle were all around her.

        Twisted and shorted power routers, coolant leaks, and the stench of
melted insulation attested to the narrow escape. She grabbed a breath
mask, holding it by hand instead of strapping it on. The engineering
section was one of the first areas to lose its atmosphere. Now, the
backup tanks only filled the section with half of its complement.

        “General!” The Givin technician, a species that resembled an animated
skeleton, snapped to attention.

        “At ease, Yierg, where’s the Chief Engineer?”

        “He’s there, sir, just behind the hyperdrive motivator banks,” replied
the bone-faced humanoid, pointing a milky-white hand down the corridor.

        Reekeene rushed down the busy, emergency-lit section. Around her
astromech and treadwell droids bustled about, using their tool
appendages to help regulate power flow and maintain systems. Lens looked
down at the two-meter tall cubes that formed the brains of the
hyperdrive system. Jutting out from beneath the cracked casings were a
pair of nerf-leather boots. The pair she bought her husband on his
fortieth birthday.

        “Hello, General,” a muffled voice called out from under the motivators.
“What brings you down to the boilers?”

        Lens crouched down. She and her husband shared the same rank, but when
the situation was dire, she always referred to him by his position.
“Chief Engineer, I came to see how you’re holding up.”

        Her husband, Mikka, pushed himself out from under the motivators,
hovering slightly on his repulsor mechanic’s creeper.

        “I’m all right, Lens. Yourself?”

        She spoke quietly, as a leader and a wife. “That was close.”

        “I know... ” In the dim light, Mikka’s black face was even darker than
it appeared. His face was lined with beads of sweat. “We’re lucky,
damned lucky.”

        “Tell that to the six recruits.” Lens said. Her deep blue eyes were the
same that day she lost her merc group, years ago.

        “Lens, don’t do this.” Mikka put a strong hand on his shoulder.

        A shadow crossed her face, and she was General Reekeene again. “When
can we get hyperdrives up again?”

        “Not for another three hours.” Mikka responded. “How’s Terro doing?”

        Her venere fell away, for a second. “He’s in a bacta tank. He should be
out in another hour or so. We’re safe for now, but I don’t want to press
our luck anymore than we have to. Give me those hyperdrives in two
hours.”

        “Yes, sir.” replied Mikka. He chanced a slight wink, and then slid
underneath the motivator before she could return it.

        “General,” a young human lieutenant approached within a meter of her.

        Lens stood up, “Report.”

        “We’re reading a X-wing starfighter approaching from port. Its markings
are consistent with Tiree’s vessel.”

        “Go to Yellow Alert,” replied Reekeene, moving toward the turbolift.
“I’ll be on the bridge.”