Vengeance - draft - Chapter 1 (unfinished) Opinions please

[Guest]

Here is a portion of Chapter One of my new story : Vengeance

I don't know the Mando'a word for angel so I used Galaar which means hawk. Mando'a is very flexible so I don't think it will confuse anyone but if you know the word for angel then I'd appreciate a heads up. Thanks.

 

Critique welcome. Enjoy!!!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Chapter One - Sowing the Seeds

------------------------------

 

Corsucant was and had always been the center of galactic politics. War after war had spun through the galaxy and always Coruscant remained at the center of it all. The small shuttle Vhett was used to hauling cargo, usually this had been foodstuffs. Now her pilot ran weapons to the underground that always sprang up in defiance of whatever new faction had taken over the seat of galactic politics. There was no political bend to his actions. These anarchist's were in fact huutun,cowards, by his estimation. A convenient tool, nothing more. He didn't trust them but it served his objectives to use them for the moment. Sitting at the helm Galaar was waiting for his approach window to open. Galaar Kry'am, angel of death, he was now. Formerly a retired clone commando that had deserted the Grand Army of the Republic in its final days, before the rise of the Galactic Empire. Galaar had left behind the warrior's life, had taken up farming. Galaar had married and had several children. They'd been raised the Mando way, verde an, warriors all. He hadn't told them not to fight, he'd set the example of farmer for them. He would not restrict them and had taught them how to fight as all good Mando fathers did with their children.

 

The last war the Jedi had unleashed on the galaxy had made him what he was now. Darth Cadeus had captured Boba Fett's granddaughter. Using blood samples from her, his cronies had unleashed a virus specifically tailored to attack the Fett genome. Galaar had been off-planet when it had struck. Upon returning he had been quickly turned back with the news that he could no longer breathe the air on his adopted home-world of Mandalore. Galaar had family though and so had sealed his armor and set down anyway. It would have been better if he had not but what kind of man turned away from his family. The scene had been gruesome. He'd almost removed his buy'ce then and there to die beside his son. The controller's voice crackled over the comm re-centering his attention.

 

"Shuttle Vhett, you are cleared for approach. Confirm receipt of landing instruc tions. Transmitting now." The voice of the traffic controller was familiar. Good , his man had made it in on time.

 

Galaar had spent a year preparing to unleash his private war on the galaxy. There would be no rhyme or reason, no pattern to discern. The major factions had all banded together, Galactic Alliance, Imperial Remanant, and Confederation. They would all reap the whirlwind now. They would look for a group, he was a one man army. They would find clues that pointed at each of the others, he would divide and destroy them. They didn't care that they had robbed him of his family. Fett perhaps deserved this sentence but he had been off-world when it struck. His son hadn't deserved this fate, he'd been young and innocent. There had been no blood on his hands. No one cared that many innocents would be struck by the virus. The Galactic Alliance simply ignored this heinous act, as usual. Galaar would not claim the acts, what would be the purpose? This war would consume his remaining years. Vengeance.

 

"Shuttle Vhett to Control. Confirming receipt of approach vector. Approach lane Beta, Pad 9 Industrial Sector." Galaar spoke clearly and set his approach vector, slightly increasing his speed since the lane was clear.

 

"Control to Vhett. Confirmed, happy landings. See you on the ground." The comm crackled off. From here he would land and though he didn't expect a thorough inspection he was prepared for one. On previous runs he'd always enjoyed the approach, the view of Galactic City was breathtaking. Now, where before he had seen a beautiful cacaphony of lights, he saw only targets. Random targets. No rhyme no reason. He wouldn't restrict himself to Coruscant either. The galaxy was his battleground, all the citizens who tolerated these injustices would get a wake up call.

 

Galaar brought his shuttle in smoothly, setting her gently down on Pad 9. The ship settled on its landing struts, the hull pinging as it cooled. Galaar set all systems to standby, hitching his bucket to its waist clip he moved aft to lower the ramp. A small shipment of blasters and thermite was concealed amidst the modified foodstuffs. The ramp went down, settling to the deck with a dull thud. Galaar sat on a crate and activated his gauntlet holo-projector to watch the market prices as he usually did. They knew him here, he'd made this run a thousand times. The first time the inspectors had seen him waiting in his armor they had been nervous. He didn't blame them, a Mandalorian in full armor was indeed an intimidating sight. They'd given a very thorough inspection, it had taken hours. It had been expected, he hadn't worn the jet-pack as he didn't now. A single blaster had been on his hip. He'd actually been questioned about why he wore armor if he was nothing more than a simple farmer. It was a reasonable question with what was, at least to him, an equally reasonable answer. I am Mando, warriors born, warriors bred. Ready to defend home and family with less than a moment's notice. Galaxy's a dangerous place. He'd said it without rancor and without fear. Indeed he'd smiled into their grim faces. They had eventually softened, he had been honest, this they had eventually seen. The inspection would likely be cursory at best. Galaar was ready for surprises though, the weapons were well concealed in various places, broken down so as to be undetectable and properly shielded in a nano fiber sheathes. The sheath was programmable and could fool all but the best scanners, which the inspectors didn't have.

 

The inspection had been cursory as expected. The transport was en route from the client as promised and more or less on time. Galaar put his bucket on, awash in the HUD, the 360 view, time, atmospheric data, and suit integrity among other things. His thoughts wandered as they tended too when waiting, Mandalore was a dead world for him now even if a cure was found as some hoped. Galaar Kry'am would never return, there was nothing but pain to find in that place. No, he would wander the galaxy wreaking vengeance till the end of his days. All the happiness had fled, all joy he would feel at returning to see his family. Two of his sons had deployed with Fett to retake the Roche system, they had fallen a few days into the battle. A grief stricken wife he could not find, his life was in shambles. He had wanted to spend his life raising crops, to nurture life instead of taking it. All this had been denied him in the end. It seemed he could not escape the warriors life no matter how hard he tried. Tears welled up in his brown eyes, he was glad the bucket was on so they could run free. A few well timed blinks brought up the family photos in his Heads-Up-Display. There they were, smiling into the holo-recorder, he let one video run for a moment. The children playing, dueling with spades as if they held beskads instead. Oop, Atin had brought his makeshift saber in too fast for his younger brother. He'd caught little Ordo in the ribs and sent him sprawling. Galaar had watched without interfering, the boys had to learn to defend themselves. Little Ordo hadn't backed down, he'd sprung up and tackled Atin. They'd rolled on the ground and he'd not broken it up till it was clear it had escalated from playing to real anger. Then he'd sat his boys down and reminded them that one should always let the rage fade in the face of family. A sob wracked his body. His boys, his life, dead. His fists clenched unconsciously.

 

The HUD blinked as the approaching transport entered his field of vision. Marking a new target. It was a simple van like repulsor craft. It pulled up and a young human male jumped out. He hesitated to approach and then visibly steeled himself. A hand hovering over his sidearm, he strode over to Galaar. Galaar stopped him by simply looking up at him. The boy, perhaps twenty standard years old, paused a few meters away.

 

"Your Torg?" he asked. There was a hint of fear in his voice. The tension in his frame was obvious. This was the name he had given them.

 

Galaar let the question hang a moment then gestured the youth closer. This time at least the boy didn't hesitate. He came forward.

 

"I am Torg." Galaar said. "You?"

 

"Benson." he responded.

 

"What are the colors of the four moons?" Galaar asked.

 

"Grey, green, gold and red." Benson answered.

 

Galaar waved him forward with a gauntleted hand. The young man gave a simple hand gesture and four more disembarked to help load the van. They went about their business in silence. All of them were young. The old manipulators wouldn't risk exposing themselves. Hutuun. Cowards. They used the young as shields. Chakaar. Thieves, liars, vermin.

 

"So..." Benson muttered, a bit nervous. Galaar gave him an appraising glance. There was some steel in this one but raw, untested as yet. Would he be strong enough to survive the storm? Did he yet realize that he was the pawn of old power hungry beings.

 

Galaar handed him a datapad. "You'll find instructions for unpacking and assembly. Go on give it a look. This is your only chance to ask questions."

 

Benson took the pad with a steady hand and firm grip. The Mandalorian was an unnerving sight in his armor. He was determined not to show fear, if he could help it. Benson wondered if he'd be so intimidating without it.

"Verd ori'shya beskar'gam" Galaar said to him. Benson looked nervously at him.

"A warrior is more than his armor." Galaar translated. Benson was even more discomfitted now. Was this man a mind reader as well?

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Sowing the Seeds? That's an interesting name for a section. Could be sexual.

 

There were some typos which detracted a bit, from the overall quality of the story. For instance ”œYour”

[Raynuk Montar]

Ben... While I know you're offering viable and excellent advice, especially given the title...

 

... Come on. This thread is over a year old, and it doesnt look like Maximusvader stuck around very long to even SEE your feedback!

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Ben... While I know you're offering viable and excellent advice, especially given the title...

 

... Come on. This thread is over a year old, and it doesnt look like Maximusvader stuck around very long to even SEE your feedback!

 

Maybe he's got this thread set to notify him when someone posts? That's a valuable feature in this particular forum.

 

[Raynuk Montar]

Ok I'll give you that... I have Torment set up that way.

[Lord Ar-Pharazon]

Ok I'll give you that... I have Torment set up that way.

 

As do I with Advent of Shadows.