A'n Rose: Sector Ranger (Star Wars/Worm)

[Heather_Sinclair]

1.0

Blinding light flared in front of Soong Alay, a sure sign that I was trailing far too close to Gavin Tal's light freighter in an attempt to blow him into tiny pieces. Attempted murder of a Sector Ranger was more than enough authority to spread his atoms across this little portion of the galaxy, but a shooting battle across an entire star system was never one of my strong suits. I was more of a face to face kind of girl.

The entire ship shuddered as I rolled to the left to avoid most of the debris from whatever flew out of his cargo hold at my last round of cannon fire. Whatever it was packed an extremely large amount of explosive of some type.

Why couldn't I have hit that while it was still on his ship? I'll tell you why; I have the galaxy's worst luck.
A warning light blinked on the control panel in front of me followed by an annoying high-pitched alert.

"Schutta!" I snapped before hitting it and calling out to my astromech droid. "Artoo! Lock down that loose power coupling before we lose propulsion."

He responded with a rude low-pitched noise and then squealed when something collided with the bottom of the ship, knocking us off course yet again.

"I know. Shut up and fly the ship." It's how he always talks to me when he realizes a lot of repair work is in his immediate future.

It's my fault for not buying one of the new R-4 series droids with the predictive software modules when I had the chance. But R-2 has been with me going on twelve years without a single memorywipe. There's a lot to be said for owning a droid that knows your ship inside and out. He knows exactly what to do when worst comes to worst, and doesn't spend precious time repairing non-critical systems when his tin can is on the line.

Before I had another chance to line up a final shot, a giant ball of red and green energy exploded in front of Tal's ship and he was heading straight to the center without even a twitch of movement from his wings.

"What is he doing?"

Something flailed out of the energy field and careened off the nose of his ship, knocking it slightly off course. All I got was a few nanoseconds worth of time to see it was large, vaguely humanoid, white, and there were a lot of wings involved, before I overtook it and it disappeared behind me.

"Uh-oh." That couldn't be good.

One second he was there and the next his ship was being swallowed up in the field, disappearing off the sensor grid.

If there as one thing I've deduced about Gavin Tal is that deep down he's a coward. There was no way he'd willingly head straight into something that would end his life without any chance of escape. So, me being the brilliant investigator that I am immediately came to the conclusion that whatever that thing was, it wasn't a weapon. His shields were already down and a good chunk of his cargo hold was venting to space. I, on the other hand had my ray shield at full. Common sense said that I would be perfectly fine encountering most discharges of energy, and there was no way I was going to lose him this close to capture.

I didn't get the chance to warn R-2. I probably should have anyway.

Alert klaxons wailed around the ship as my console went completely dead.

"E chu ta," I breathed. "We're totally karked."

The stick went heavy in my hand as fire lit up the viewport and the hull. If I didn't know any better I'd say we were entering a planet's atmosphere at a really bad angle and that wasn't possible. The closest one was half a light year away. Sounds of something popping against the hull told me Tal was in much worse shape.

"Artoo! Now would be a really good time to…."

I didn't have to finish the order when power came back on and virtually all of it was blinking red on the console in front of me. The stick jerked and I had to fight it to ease the nose in a controlled angle. It really wouldn't be a good idea to go into a spin at the moment. R-2 let his displeasure be known.

"I'm working on it. Keep your shirt on!" I shouted.

One by one systems started to come back online just as the fire outside started to clear, and I nearly lost it when I saw the sensors. Yep, it was a planet that appeared out of nowhere, and yep, Gavin Tal and his ship were currently being scattered across its entire upper atmosphere in a nice pretty grey and chartreuse cloud of debris.

R-2 came over the coms again with a litany of problems we were about to have if I didn't get on the ground as soon as possible. The problem was it was mostly water we were over – and closing in on much faster than I was comfortable with. Something popped to my left and sent up an acrid smell of electrical issues.

"Great," I said to myself as I tapped at the sensors. "Give me somewhere to land."

The ion engines took that moment to cough at me and power across the ship flickered. I winced at the thought of another power coupling blowing and picked out the first city that came up when land appeared across the horizon. Larger cities would most likely have the needed parts on hand to repair most problems and get me back out into space – if I actually made it there without tanking Soong Alay in the gray waters below. A loud warning whistle from R-2 told me it was going to be a close call any way I looked at it.

I scanned the area with my eyes and couldn't find a spaceport anywhere, but there were a lot of low-tech building scattered all over.

"The beachhead it is then."

We came in as quickly as was possible, hopefully without scaring the poodoo out of whoever was manning that ancient hover tech out in the middle of the bay. It wouldn't do to get on the bad side of whatever passed for authority on this backwater planet. Terrifying the locals tended to go badly whenever it wound up on my reports to SR Central Command.

The Sector Rangers had a good reputation on the Outer Rim, even more than the Jedi. The fact that we tended to look the other way on minor offenses if the information or criminals we were looking for fell into out laps had a lot to do with it. Jedi have long and detailed memories and they like to pass on every little thing to the appropriate authorities, while Rangers got in and got out with as little fuss as possible. Having a local government report you for creating a problem on their world was a nice big black mark on our records. However, this couldn't be helped. It was either land with a bit of a show or explode spectacularly on arrival.

I could always offer an official apology later.

The landing skids dropped as I brought the wings up in position on the most deserted portion of the shore I could find. Three humans still had to scatter or get crushed. Luckily, I'm an awesome pilot – not really. Once I saw they cleared, I dropped the ship with a final resounding thump, shaking the entire thing enough to receive another squawk from R-2.

"We're alive. Be thankful," I called back.

The smell of extinguisher concentrate was thick in the air as I made my way back to the engine compartment. That wasn't a good sign. Fire was involved and R-2 had to put it out. He was going to be pissed. That meant my cabin climate controls were going to karked until everything was back to normal. It was his way of punishing me. He always blamed it on something out of his control, but the timing was always same. Once everything was fixed, magically my nights didn't fluctuate from frigid to sweltering every other hour. That new R-4 unit was looking more attractive by the minute.

"How bad is it?"

R-2 spun around and blew his extinguisher at me with a contemptuous flatulent noise just to let me know his thoughts on my question.

"It's not my fault!" I said as I fanned the air in front of me. "There was big plasma… thing. I didn't have time to avoid it."

It was a little white lie to a droid; I probably wouldn't be sent to one of the Seven Hells for that. Besides, I was the one in charge here. When he started to advance on me with more extinguisher threats I backed out of the room and was beginning to rethink the chain of command.

"I'll get it taken care of, alright?"

He whistled at me and jerked back just a little. I had to sigh.

"Fine. I'll arrange an oil bath for you. Just… compile a list of what's wrong and I'll submit it to whatever passes for starship maintenance around here." Spinning around, I headed to my cabin to grab my gear and the Corps issue credit chip. This was going to bankrupt my maintenance allowance for the coming year.

"Fraking blackmailing droids."

By the time I geared up and slipped on my jacket with all the Sector Ranger insignia for everyone to see, I could swear I heard banging somewhere below me.

Rule one: Don't touch the ship.

Everyone knows this, from the Deep Core to Wild Space. You just don't touch someone ship without permission – period; especially a Ranger ship. Apparently, I had to school some backwater rubes about that one.

I checked the loads on my slugthrowers and holstered them and then grabbed my sword on the way out, sliding it into the sheath attached to the back of my jacket. Yes, I preferred a reliable slugthrower to an unreliable blaster. I like to know, when I put a being down, he stays down. A universal sign of that is blood. Blasters tend to cauterize the wound most times, so you can't tell if the being you put down is wearing body armor. My slugs go through everything but heavy armor. That new white plastoid crap stops most blaster fire in its tracks, not my babies though.

Gavin Tal found that out the hard way when I shot him in the ass on Nar Shaddaa. I warned him though. I specifically remember saying, "Sector Ranger; stop or I'll shoot you in the ass!"

It's not my fault when they don't listen. I really hate Nar Shaddaa, especially the Red District. You can't even lean up against any given wall without contracting some funky disease that takes weeks to clear up – not that I would know anything about that. Honestly. If I was looking for a little companionship it definitely wouldn't be on that moon. That's what Zeltros is for; everyone knows that – except for maybe the skocha kung that had developed a fetish for banging on the hull of my ship!

I hit the control for the ramp at the nose of Soong Alay and waited for it to lower itself while I contemplated heading down with two handfuls of slugthrower, but I bit it back. It was their planet and I was an uninvited guest – or at least that's what the Corps manual says in situations like these. Proper procedure was to smile, offer greetings, apologize for my unannounced presence, and ask to speak to a Republic representative.

What came out instead was, "Alright already! I had to put out a fraking fire, you impatient son of a Hutt!"

It was a small white lie told to a very rude person; I probably won't be sent to one of the Seven Hells for that one.

I had to stop and blink for a moment at the guy in the blue and grey power armor. Maybe I should have gone with the Corps standard greeting just this one time.

He stood there looking like he knew what he was doing, presenting a… is that a halberd? Anyway, he was presenting a halberd like he was going to cut a swath through the hull if provoked properly. Luckily, I was just the person that could do just that – or maybe I should just stick with the Corps manual.

"Hero or villain?" he said, speaking High Galactic like he was born to it.

Galactic Standard Basic was the language most used, especially to off-worlders general. You never know what some people would or could speak, but Basic was pretty much the standard. Considering he was using a Pre-Republic language for opening remarks made me think I might have a chance to glide through this.

"Special Enforcement Officer, actually," I announced at the top of the ramp. "Sector Ranger, which you probably know from seeing the Ranger insignia on the wings?"

The only place on his armor that showed any skin was his hairy chin and his lips, which at the moment were pressed together in seemingly mild frustration – his lips, not his lips and chin – that would just be awkward looking.

"I don't recognize those markings, or your apparent occupation, or your accent for that matter. I ask again: hero or villain?"

The obvious definitions didn't really apply to me. Depending on who you asked, a Ranger could be either. I mean, I'm sure any member of the Black Sun criminal organization would consider me a major pain in the butt.

"I'm a Ranger, Republic law enforcement. This is a Republic planet, right? I mean I know we're on the Outer Rim, but the Corporate Sector is on the other side of the galaxy, and this isn't Hutt Space… not that I have anything against Hutts in general, as long as they're law abiding."

His helmet turned slightly and I was at a loss at what he was looking for until a human female stepped out from the starboard side. She was armed, but the weapon was holstered. The one thing I didn't like was the scarf on the lower portion of her face, hiding her identity. On a seemingly temperate world like this one, it didn't bode well. If we were on some desert planet then a face covering would make sense; here, not so much.

She looked at me with a measuring gaze for a few moments and then straightened. "You said 'Republic planet'. What… what planet do you think you're on?"

Being in my line of work I hear some really strange questions. Like one time, on Tatooine, a moisture farmer approached me and asked why I was arm deep into a dead bantha's butt. He obviously didn't know about the spice smuggling ring I just uncovered and that I was just retrieving the evidence.

Yes, sometimes my job really sucks.

Anyway, I wasn't prepared to hear that particular question right at that moment, asked in that particular tone of voice; the one that says, 'you're talking to a crazy person, be nice.'

"Uh… about that. I was chasing a suspect I'd tracked to this sector and boom, big ball of plasma… I'm guessing anyway. One minute your planet isn't on my sensors and the next I'm breaking atmo."

Pointing upward I added, "That's my suspect up there… or what's left of him anyway. So, if you could point me to the closest spaceport I'll get my ship fixed up and get out of your hair."

The woman looked to Mr. Power Armor and then back up to me. "You're saying you're from outer space?"

"Terminus actually, on the south end of the Hydian Way and Corellian Trade Spine, but I grew up on Coruscant." I paused for a moment at the squinting of her eyes. "And you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

She shook her head.

"Great," I muttered. "Only me. Only I could do this." Then louder. "May I ask – what planet am I on?"

Again she looked back to the armored guy, almost like he was her superior. "Uh… Earth, Earth Bet."


Next ~>

 

[Heather_Sinclair]

1.1

Earth – dirt – well, I've heard much weirder names in my time. Who was I to judge? I was kind of confused at the add-on at the end – Bet? Was this a pleasure world and gambling was their main vice? From the looks of the buildings and the citizens standing around gawking at Soong Alay, I could believe it. Everyone was obviously just scraping by except for the local superintendents.

Apparently that's what my greeters belonged to – The Protectorate. Frankly it sounded a little too overseer'ish to me. Organized crime was obviously a thing here. That would make Mr. Armor Guy's opening question a lot more relevant. If I was a hero then obviously I'd be here to crack down on this Protectorate's iron grip on the local economy.

"I'm Miss Militia and this is Armsmaster," the scarfed woman said.

Military codename mindset; I was right. When offered very little in terms of clues, my powers of deduction sometimes amazed even me.

"A'n Rose, Special Enforcement Officer."

"You said that before," Miss Militia opened. "What exactly does that mean?"

Rubes; what are you gonna do?

"The Corps of Rangers are assigned a sector of space to patrol. We break up slaver rings, spice smugglers, help out with local law enforcement in tracking down hardened criminals and so forth within the Republic worlds. SEOs, like myself, are given a wider range of arrest and detention powers. We're able to cross sector boundaries as well, which widens our jurisdiction."

Mr. Armor Guy – Armsmaster – gripped his weapon a little tighter, probably intimidated by my presence.

"But obviously this world, Dirt Bet, isn't part of the Republic, so I don't have the authority to interfere with local goings-on unless I'm in pursuit of a suspect."

"Earth… Earth Bet," Miss Militia corrected me.

"Right… that," I added. "So, you don't have to worry about me interfering with your stranglehold on the local population's economy. However, if your government wants to apply to be a citizen planet in the future then that'll have to change."

"Stranglehold?" Miss Militia looked at me, obviously confused.

I nodded at both of them and then pointed around. "Your citizens are observably intimidated by the flaunting of your wealth and bearing of arms. Not so much you, Miss Militia, but him definitely. I mean why else would you flounce around in power armor amongst people that aren't apparently armed except to intimidate them."

Her shoulders jiggled slightly with suppressed humor and I think I may have unintentionally made a faux pas.

"We're parahumans, Ranger… Rose?"

"Just Rose is fine. What's a parahuman?"

Armsmaster turned upon the arrival of several black four-wheeled conveyances. I know I saw evidence of rudimentary hover technology being used on that building out in the bay. Why in the galaxy wouldn't they use it on their vehicles?

"It's a long story. Suffice to say that there is a criminal element that we are here to protect the average citizen from. We don't have a stranglehold on anything, since we're the law enforcement."

Oh. Well that made more sense, but there was still one issue. "Why are you both masked then?"

She reached up toward her scarf and then pulled her hand away. "It's to protect the civilians that are a part of our daily lives off duty."

"Ah." I nodded. "Well, as soon as Artoo has the ship repaired I'll be gone, and… what are they doing?"

"That's the local Parahuman Response Team, PRT for short. They'll be cordoning off the area until you can move your ship. You weren't exactly subtle with the light show in the sky and your landing here."

I glanced up to see the last vestiges of Gavin Tal had already blown clear and the sky was a nice cerulean blue in its place.

"Wasn't my show. Tal blew himself up fine without me."

"Your suspect?" she asked.

"Attempted murder of a Sector Ranger; me actually. He dumped a load of explosives not too far away and then triggered… something which landed me here. I can't be more precise without further investigation."

Miss Militia twitched and then reached for her ear at what was probably a communication device. A moment went by and then she looked at me, her eyes widening by the second. I glanced over at Armsmaster and noticed I had his full attention as well.

"What?" I asked.

"Did you… did you happen to see a tall – about fifteen feet – white winged creature on your way in?"

I paused and thought back to that thing which blew past me when Tal activated the big ball of plasma.

"Uh… sort of?"

She looked confused. "Sort of what?"

"Remember that ball of plasma I told you about? It blew the white thing past me. I caught maybe half a second of it flailing past my port side."

Miss Militia had to pause again and cup her ear before nodding to nobody in particular. "Do you think I might be able to talk you into to coming to Protectorate Headquarters? There are some very interested people that would like to talk to you."

Raising both hands I backed away a single step. "I had nothing to do with whatever happened to that thing other than as a witness. That's was all Tal's doing."

She shook her head. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with blame. It's actually a good thing. The Simurgh has been terrorizing this planet for a really long time and now it's gone."

"The Simurgh," I tested on my tongue; it didn't sound too good. Looking up I tracked where I most likely came into atmo.

"Look in that direction. At the speed it was going…"

"No, you don't understand. We have a lot of equipment that does nothing but watch that thing, even in space. One minute it was there, a big red and purple ball appeared, and then it was gone. We had eyes on that explosion and then your ship coming out of the center of it."

I measured that for a moment. "A good thing?"

She nodded and I could almost see a smile under her scarf. "A very good thing."

Seeing as how this was a non-aligned planet, I might be able to get a piece of any reward credits if I played it just right or maybe some gold since odds were good that they didn't even know what a Republic Credit was in the first place. That was one of the issues with being a Ranger. Any reward money couldn't be accepted since it was our job to take out the bad beings to begin with.

"Uh, sure. Let me just close this thing up." Turning around I keyed up my wrist link. "Artoo, lock down the ship. The locals want to pick my brain."

He beeped and made that annoying flatulent sound again.

"Funny; it should take longer than a minute. Some people appreciate my talents."

The ramp made its way closed, and as I turned around I noted out in the gathering crowd that this world's version of the HoloNet News was already broadcasting. I waved cheerily in their direction and they were already harassing the guards that were blocking the way for an interview.

"We don't really have the time," Miss Militia noted. She seemed in somewhat of a rush, but let it never be said that I didn't do my job for the Corps and for the Republic.

"Sorry, it's part of my duty to address the local news outlets. If it got back to Central Command that I was ducking the newsies then it would mean scut duty on Felucia for the next five years. Transparency is the watchword lately ever since the Separatist faction started in with their propaganda campaign."

"But…," her voice trailed off as I approached the cameras.

"Greetings citizens of Dirt Bet."

"Earth!" Miss Militia whispered harshly behind me.

"Earth Bet! My apologies. As you can see I've only just arrived on your planet and recently learned that you are not part of the Galactic Republic, home to over a hundred and seventy-five million member worlds, living in peaceful harmony with one another."

This was definitely worth a bump in pay when I got back to Coruscant. How often did a Sector Ranger make first contact with a human colony? Before they know it, they'll be part of the Republic and have their world mined for every available natural resource just like every other citizen planet. It shouldn't even be that hard.

"You're an alien!?" someone shouted to my right.

"Alien? No, I'm human, just like you. Though there are a number of non-human species out there amongst the stars. My name is A'n Rose, Special Enforcement Officer for the Corps of Rangers, representing the Republic and keeping the peace across the galaxy, one despicable criminal at a time."

"Mom!"

I glanced to the left. There was a weedy looking girl with round-framed spectacles on, jumping up and down in the back, waving her arms at me. Her eyes were particularly large and immediately reminded me of the Naboo Hawk Bat Owl that dive bombed me the one time I was playing escort to the local senator on planet at the beginning of my career. Nasty sort. The owl was nasty too.

"Sorry, Little Owl; I think I would have remembered giving birth on a non-aligned planet, much less anywhere else."

Miss Militia inserted herself between me and the crowd. "We really have to go."

That was enough anyway. I just wanted to get my name out there so people knew who to say was responsible for this acquisition when their time came to join the republic. Finder fees could realistically go into the millions of credits if the new planet had the proper resources. For instance, if they had a ready supply of Mandalorian Iron deep in their crust then I'd be set for life and could retire to any pleasure planet of my choice. Frankly, I'd be satisfied with some untapped plasma reserves, or maybe a decent sized phrikite mine.

"Goodbye for now, citizens. Perhaps we'll speak again soon!"

~O~

The boat ride over to the building in the middle of the bay was quaint, and the discussion in the interim little to none. Everything seemed to go fairly smooth up until the point where we entered the building and their version of security started scowling at my slugthrowers and sword.

"You'll have to leave your weapons with us, Miss; security reasons."

While I understood their protocol, I had my own that I was required to follow.

"A Ranger does not relinquish her weapons to anyone at any time. Sorry, liability reasons I'm sworn to uphold."

He eyed the two parahumans that were on either side of me and then tried a different tack.

"We have similar liability reasons, Miss. You can't take a weapon inside unless you are with the Protectorate or the PRT."

I gave him a congenial smile, just to try to stay on good terms. "It is against Republic law for a Republic representative to hand over advanced technology to a pre-hyperspace civilization. Would you hand your weapons to a youngling who has no clue as to their function and then walk away not knowing what they're doing with them?"

Not giving him a chance to answer, I continued. "No. I can see that about you, Officer. You look like an intelligent sort, so you can understand why it's out of the question to leave anything of mine behind in your care. One wrong button inadvertently pushed and most of this entryway could be atomized in the blink of an eye, and it would be my fault, most likely a precursor to a planetary war."

I was overstating things, since I didn't happen to have any thermal detonators on me at the moment, but the gist of the example was made.

Armsmaster stiffened slightly beside me. "You have something that has the ability to atomize the surrounding area?"

Glancing over my shoulder I sighed, not really wanting to answer that question. Overall I find it's always a good idea to keep the people around you guessing as to your true abilities, so I sidestepped the question.

"Well, obviously this is going to pose a problem. Perhaps your superiors will meet on my ship or a neutral location where nobody has a problem with others being armed. Granted the ship will be somewhat cramped, but I'm open to other ideas."

"Sir, the landing pad?" Miss Militia offered.

Ah, Armsmaster was definitely the ranking officer. It's probably why he has the better toys. The only weapon I spotted on Miss Militia was the small slugthrower at her side. Wait a minute. All that was currently there was a sheathed knife. Granted it was the size of a decent vibroknife, but I could have sworn it was a pistol of some sort there earlier.

After a notable pause, he gave her a single nod and she took it from there.

"We have a landing pad for Protectorate members with the ability to fly. They can access the building from that point. It's closed off on three sides, and we can arrange to have a table and chairs brought out. Will that suffice?"

I nodded. "As long as you're happy, and everyone is not all exploded, then I'm happy. How do we get there?"

I was somewhat surprised at the technology in their turbolift. It gave me hope that they wouldn't be too far behind the curve if they attempted to petition for member status with the Republic. The same question was still coming up in my mind though; why wasn't this tech being used everywhere. It didn't pass my sight that much of it was located in this one building which wasn't that far off from most places I've visited from the Expansion Region inward to the Deep Core. It was a little dirtier than most, but once you've been to a place like Nar Shaddaa, cleanliness is relative.

Except for the Jedi Temple. I don't know what unholy pact they made with whatever god out there, but I never saw so much as a mote of dust floating in the air whenever I was present.

A conference table was already being set down when we arrived and Miss Militia gestured to any one of the chairs present. I kind of liked that. Nobody enjoys being told where to sit unless there's some sort of official dinner or something that needed attending. Hopefully this wasn't a race that insisted on having meals and snacks at every gathering. Hutts were like that. The problem was most of their snacks were still living and they were often insulted when you didn't partake. Well, not insulted exactly; amused is a better word for it. They take a particular sort of demented pleasure in making everyone around them as uncomfortable as possible, like their appearance and smell alone weren't enough to turn most sentient beings stomachs.

Armsmaster went to stand sentinel at the head of the table while I took a seat to one side where I could take in most of the area without having to turn around. Miss Militia sat next to me and seemed more than interested in all things everywhere but where she was.

"You mentioned aliens, non-human lifeforms."

I nodded. "Thousands out there. A lot are humanoid: two arms, two legs and so forth, but there are many that aren't."

"They all speak English like you?"

English?

"Ah, no. Actually, you're speaking what we call High Galactic. It's an ancient language that's primarily used for official purposes, ceremonies, the Jedi speak nothing but on Coruscant. Mostly everyone speaks Galactic Standard Basic, or Basic for short as a general language for commerce. However, there are as many languages as there are species in the galaxy."

She mulled that over for a moment. "Don't you think it's strange that a planet that isn't a part of your Republic would have similar languages?"

"Nah. I see it all the time. Most likely some of your ancestors are probably lost colonies whose history was forgotten along the way over time. It's not that difficult to get lost if you have a hyperspace engine malfunction and your coms go down as a result. Boom! You're on an uncharted planet on the Outer Rim only to realize that you left your supply of fresher paper back in your apartment on Alderaan. That gets uncomfortable after a while."

Miss Militia squinted her eyes at me, not understanding what I was talking about. "Fresher?"

I cleared my throat and glanced at Armsmaster, statue like posture. "You know… when you have to… relieve yourself?"

"Oh." She straightened up a little and chuckled. "I guess we're alike in a lot of different ways."

"Yeah. Fresher humor is pretty much universal."


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