[Fic] Star Wars:The Beginning.

[machievelli]

Picture a world where the Republic is still a distant dream, and the Jedi are not yet a force in the Galaxy. Like any fire, there needs to be a starting spark...

 

The Blade

 

Sogor the Tyrant was not pleased.

“How many times is this?” He asked pleasantly. The men pushed back away from him. “How many times have these, these Echani slaughtered my troops?” He looked around but no one dared to meet his eye. He leaned back on the throne, growling. “Seven times I have sent my so brave warriors by the cannon, and seven times I have gotten that!” He pointed toward the open doors of his palace. Of the seven ships he had sent with seven thousands of men five had been returned on automatic pilot. The men he had sent were still in them, if you counted the fact that they had been rendered into parts. One man, One had returned alive this time.

“Bring that coward before me.” Two of the guards grabbed a man in bloody armor, dragging him to slam down on the tile floor. He was missing an ear, and his head was bloody. “And how did you survive? Did you lay down and pretend you were dead? No, of course not. They dismembered everyone else. So how did you arrive intact?”

“I hid among the bodies, Great one.” The man groaned from where he lay. “Beneath their parts.”

“Why?” Sogor stood. He was taller than his men, taller than anyone on the planet. A veritable giant among pygmies. “Did you think I would want a puling coward back?”

“I had to show you-”

“Show me what!” Sogor screamed. “What would be more important to me than your death, coward?”

The man reached to his side, and with a shaking hand laid a dagger on the floor. “This my lord.”

“A dagger.” Sogor sounded surprised. “You lived when all else died for a dagger?”

“A dagger that pierces our best armor as if it were skin.” The man quivered. “Swords of the same kind that cut through the hull of a ship as if it were warmed butter-”

“Lies!” Sogor picked up the dagger flinging it toward the stone wall. By chance it his point first. Instead of shattering it sank into the stone with a simple chinking sound. Sogor stared at it, then walked slowly the room. The knife was not where he had thrown it. It had been at a slight angles and as he watched the pommel seemed to ooze toward the floor, leaving a slice in the stone itself.

He pulled it out with no resistance at all. “Bring him.” He ordered.

The guards picked up the survivor, dragging him toward the tyrant. He looked at the blade inches from his eyes.

“How is this made.”

“Only one of the Echana knows, Terrible one.”

“Only one. Who is this one?”

“The master smith, Great one.”

“Excellent. Sogor turned, and the dagger punched into the man’s chest as if he had no armor on. Sogor pulled down, and the armor opened at it’s seams spilling his guts on the floor.

“This master smith will be mine.”

 

The young one had stared at the stars since she had first opened her eyes. So far, yet each according to her father, could hold life. Not like her home, of course. She reached out. They always seemed close enough to touch. But they were too far away. I will go to you. She promised silently. Some day.

[Hallucination]

Good fic, I always wondered what Star Wars would be like without the jedi. But for the italics, the tags go like this: .

Quote me to see what they look like.

[machievelli]

The ship

“You are out of your tiny little mind Darshan.”

Darshan Solo snorted as he walked. The ships around him stood like pencils laid upon their sides. At the other end of the field he saw one lifting toward space on the system drive. A pity that was not good enough to reach the stars. He followed the flight of the ship, and as it started to disappear from sight there was a flash of purple. Another ship had been cannoned to the stars. That ship would reach it in a few hours and join those that traveled between the stars.

“Do you even understand the risks?” His friend Koori asked plaintively. “No one has ever returned from such a flight.”

“Maybe they haven’t done it right before.”

“And you will?”

“Koori, you designed the engines, all I am is the pilot. Why are you the one worried.”

Koori tore at his hair. It was a lifelong habit as anyone looking at the mop he had would have recognized. “Maybe I built it wrong!”

“Like the kite?” Darshan demanded. The kite had been a laughing stock. Large enough that a boy could sit in it, and strong enough to hold his weight. Everyone had laughed until five year old Darshan had climbed on, and after a brief run against the windy field with Koori and four other boys on the string, had lifted gently from the ground. If the string hadn’t broken he would still be up there.

Darshan had never looked at the world the same again.

“Well that worked-”

“And the boat.”

When they were twelve, Koori had built a boat of paper. The sail had not been a sheet but a series of strips controlled by a simple line. Everyone had laughed, but Darshan had sailed across the Great lake in it, faster than the schooners that ferried people across. A pity it had gotten soaked and fallen apart on the way home.

“Well that worked, sort of. But-”

“What about the bridge?” Darshan demanded.

Everyone had laughed when the young university student had built the bridge across the strait to Bendar Island on contract. It had been too flimsy every one said. Oh it had held the traffic but what would happen when the Great Wind came in the winter? The first storm had come, the worst in over ten centuries, and the next day it was still there. Now five years later others of the same kind had proven themselves even against the waves of the Crimson sea.

“That was simple-”

“So you think now your engine will not work.”

“No the Professor thinks it will not work.”

“Why? Has he inspected the plans?”

“He doesn’t understand them!” Koori shouted. “He says no scientist he has shown them to understands them.”

“But you do.” Darshan said.

“Well, yes... Sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of.”

“No one really understands the original engine. It came from a ship that crashed thousands of years ago, and can’t work as it sits.” He tore his hair again. “Whoever made it didn’t use any fuel source known to us, and there weren’t even fittings for a fuel system.”

“So why is yours better?”

“It just feels right. The parts I machined should make it work. The fuel injection had to be designed right from the tubing. But I think it will work. Just nobody else does.”

“As I said. If it’s every scientist on the planet saying it‘s going to be clear weather, and you saying there’s a storm, I don’t leave my slicker at home.”

“But what if I am wrong this time?” Koori asked plaintively. “What if you go out there, and never come back?”

“Won’t happen.”

“What?”

“Koori, if that happened I’d have to come back just to tell you.” Darshan started up the series of steps into the university science building.

“You’re not making me feel better!”

“I don’t have time for my mother to make some Keflaka cookies and mail them, Koori.”

“That won’t, well actually it would make me feel a little better, but it doesn’t make me feel any safer.”

“Why not?” Darshan opened the door, shoving Koori inside. “It’s not like you’re going to volunteer.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” Koori started gasping as Darshan strode across the room to the lift. The advantage of having Darshan as a friend was you got a lot of exercising just trying to keep up with him. “I would miss you-”

“You didn’t miss me with the Seeker Dart.” Darshan retorted pushing the button. The lift rose smoothly.

“Don’t give me that, You volunteered!”

“Yes I did.” Darshan agreed. He watched the indicator, then looked down at his friend with a roguish smile. “And I slept for a week.”

“Hey, I didn’t design the sleep compound.” Koori grinned. “Besides, I got some rest for the first time since we met.”

The doors opened, and they hurried down the hall to the room where volunteers were gathering to test the hyper drive.

The door opened on a silent room. Old man Shoorilik was reading a book at the desk.

Darshan hurried over. Instead of being first, he’d decided to come in about half way. “What, everyone’s all ready been here, Professor?”

Shoorilik looked up, put the book mark in, and set the book down. “Yes. Quite a while ago, actually. As soon as they found out your friend had made the modifications, no one wanted to even try the flight.”

“So... Why are you still here then?”

The old man harrumphed. “Darshan, as soon as we knew your friend made the design, we knew you’d be willing to jump off the cliff with it.” He looked at his chrono, and made a note. “Someone just won a lot of money in the professor’s pool.”

“Huh?”

“We picked times for your arrival.” Shoorilik commented. “If you had only waited three more minutes...”

Darshan ran out of the room. Koori stood there confused. Three minutes later Darshan came back in.

“Professor, I would like to volunteer for the hyper drive test flight.”

“Very good, Darshan.” Shoorilik stood. “Since there are no other volunteers, it seems you get the chance.”

“And I think you owe me a drink.”

“That I do, Darshan.”

[JediMaster12]

Sounds good so far. I would suggest spacing between quotes and paragraphs. This was a tip given to me and I edited my posts in my story. It's easier on the eyes since these posts don't come in 1.5 or double spacing:)

[machievelli]

I'm used to doing it on a computer in double spacing with tabs, so I hadn't really noticed. Thatks, kid.

[Jae Onasi]

I like the setup of the hyperdrive chapter. You did a nice job of making Sogor a thoroughly reprehensible creature. I caught a sentence or 2 where the construction might be a bit awkward, but I didn't find that terribly distracting from the scenes you painted. I'm looking forward to seeing what Darshan finds in space and how the Echani fit into all of this.

[Ztalker]

original story

 

Good written too!

[Renegade Puma]

Great story so far Mach. But kind of a funny thing, I found a spelling mistake in our critic's writings.

 

“Lies!” Sogor picked up the dagger flinging it toward the stone wall. By chance it his point first.

 

Didn't you mean "By chance it HIT point first."

 

Anyway, keep up the great work. I can't wait to read more.

[machievelli]

Cannon

 

CANNON, HYPER-SPACE: In the millennia before the rediscovery of hyper-drive Cannon, travel between worlds was next to impossible. A vessel leaving Coruscant had to accelerate until it reached near light speeds. However since nothing in normal or N space can exceed light, and the energy cost of accelerating even to 80% was prohibitive, there was literally nowhere to go, and no fast way to get there. The aliens that had left samples of what had to be hyper-light drives had left us no way to make them work. We were primitive natives trying to figure out how a flash-lamp makes light.

 

However hyper-space physicists on Coruscant came upon an interesting anomaly in some of the hyper-drive engines they had discovered; a field of energy still alive after countless millennia that literally made small objects disappear. The experimenters threw pens, paperclips, loose garbage, anything they could expend without too much cost into the field and watched it all vanish. It was postulated at the time that the unknown energy field entered another dimension, and objects stayed there.

 

However a simple prank proved this wrong. One of the younger researchers had been carrying a lurid magazine he subscribed to for several days to shock other more religious researchers. After an argument, one of those researchers had thrown it into the field.

 

Then a moon base on the edge of the system returned the magazine with a demand to know who had obviously thrown it from a shuttle. They knew who to contact because the address of the original owner was still attached to it. The magazine had struck the dome of the military installation hard enough to punch through the clearsteel of it.

 

The researchers contacted the moon base, set up a watch, and sent the same magazine through. Less than four hours later, they received word that the magazine had somehow covered the 10 light minute distance with a starting velocity of perhaps three meters per second. Clearly impossible in known physics.

 

The military became involved, and one day after the arrival of another operative engine at that base, a metal rod weighing 1 kilogram landed in the field outside the primary military headquarters. It had traveled from the base, and burned as it hit the atmosphere

 

It was discovered that the field actually made pinpoint wormholes between the generator and a specific distance determined by it’s mass. The lighter it was, the farther away it reached.

 

At this stage it was merely a useful toy. However the researchers now heavily funded by the military were able to build duplicates of the section of the drive that was working. It was discovered that the amount of energy (The unit operated in the millijoule level) was the most important. The range could be increased or decreased by adjusting the amount of energy consumed. The first successful launch sent a man sized research package to the same moon base. Later tests boosted that mass to a shuttle with ten men in it.

 

Ten years after this was worked out, plans for a ‘hyper cannon’ were submitted.

 

In comparison to the units it mimicked, it was hopelessly crude. The ‘barrel’ of this cannon was a grid 50 meters across, and a kilometer long. It used megajoules of evergy. But if they had judged correctly, it would transmit something large enough for a man to sit in across interstellar distances. The problem with that was it would take years before a message that the traveler had arrived.

 

Instead the data necessary to build a duplicate was transcribed, and a ship ‘Hawk 1’ was aimed at the planet Anaxes two and a half light years from Coruscant. The ten men of her crew entered their ship, drove toward the cannon, and were gone.

 

No one knew what happened to them. Hawk 1 disappeared with all hands. A second ship sent toward Corulag also disappeared. However, the third, launched toward Chandrila, returned eight months later.

 

It has been postulated that the first ships had been sent with either too much energy, meaning they passed through the target system before stopping, or too little, meaning they ran out before they arrived. The research council again returned to working out exactly how much energy was needed to move a specific mass.

 

The Chandrila route became an overnight success as commerce grew to include the new markets on both sides. With passage times between systems of less than a week tourism has risen. The three week round trip with a layover passages from Coruscant to Chandrila for a cruise on Lake Sah’ot or the Silver Sea has become the new cachet for the idle rich.

 

Before the decade was out fifteen planets at the center of the galaxy were trading with ease. Those systems built their own networks of cannon to spread farther and those new systems did the same. Soon dedicated cannon aimed for specific destinations were built, creating entire new networks.

 

Over 200 systems now inhabit the ‘cannon net’ from Lortu to Wayland, from Ambria to Kifex. From the core to the Inner Rim and beyond. Some of those planets beyond the rim have reported extending it further, and trade has become the glue that binds our association together. If the people can ever agree on something as simple as a name, a republic of independent systems will soon span the galaxy...

 

From: Encyclopedia Galactica:

[Renegade Puma]

Great job Mach. Can't wait for your next chapter. I want to see where this story goes.

[JediMaster12]

Good chapter Mach. I was giggling about the magazine landing on the dome of the military place. Nice that you got some humor about you

[machievelli]

The Monk

 

He was tired. The cane he had carried as an affectation for 200 years was for the last five decade a necessity. He had traveled across half the galaxy to be here in this place at this time not from any solid reason. He was directed by the feelings of what his fellow monks had only begun to explore.

 

His home planet was unknown to these bustling people of a hundred or more worlds. This was something his race had agreed to back in their dim past when the Others struck at them. A primitive people, his forebears had hidden, something they had been quite good at. Able to disappear where there was no cover.

 

It had not worked with the Others. Huge creatures three times their height, the Others had tracked down and killed almost 80% of his people back then. They had been driven it seemed by a fury that never abated until finally they had fallen on each other in this fury. Why they had not simply destroyed the planet had never been understood. They had come, slaughtered, left few artifacts, and departed all in the space of a century.

 

The inquisitive secretive beings that had survived had discovered a wonder among the wreckage. An engine that moved itself through space as if the distance was not important. It had not been understood for almost a millennia, but his people were long lived, so that wasn’t the problem it might have been for more ephemeral beings. They worked on this interesting device at the same time working on their own minds. Something about the race had been a danger to those long ago enemies. Something that the remainder shared had been their salvation.

 

The engine was finally mated to a ship, and they traveled outward. They had no computers, and didn’t need them. The strength of what an old sage had called mind-glow drew them, and they moved toward it cautiously. Slowly, as if scouting for an enemy, they moved deeper into the Galactic darkness. They came across worlds shattered into ruin by their ancient enemy. Others battered until only remnants survived of their native populations. Others where the peoples that lived there had been transplanted for some unknown purpose. On each a single one of their people stayed. Concealing themselves they learned what they could.

 

They were still excellent at hiding. Invisible unless they wished to be seen...

 

Until one day on a planet where a native child had walked right up to the observer and asked what manner of creature he was. Stunned, the observer wished to flee, but something of the child’s wonder fed a yearning in the observer he did not even know existed before.

 

The young boy had taken what he took to be his new pet home, and the observer discovered that the boy was unique. A child of another race that held within him the same abilities his own people had. To touch that, that Force that seemed every present in the galaxy.

 

They grew to be friends, and when he discovered that his ‘pet’ was not only intelligent but sentient, the boy concealed this for fear that others might take him away. Together they explored the inner workings of their minds, found new places where each touched the Galaxy in ways no one else around them understood.

 

The boy began to drift away from his own society. He became an outcast, though only because he made others around him uncomfortable. They settled in the mountains overlooking the village of Knossa, and together they studied even harder. Some few began to make a pilgrimage to the rude shack they called home. Most came, and left confused. But a few stayed to learn.

 

In the fullness of time, the boy, now an old man died. His successor, named what was now a cloistered monastery after him.

 

A millennia ago that was now. The monks had spread very little. The jangling of the outside world bothered their search for the inner soul of all beings, and few liked leaving their cloister. When that first observer was ancient, and finally died, another of his race appeared to take his place. Always they kept their home concealed.

 

Dor was the fourth of his people to become a monk and join the order. Now he knew he would be replaced, because what he was about to do would end his life.

 

The auditorium was huge, stuffed with beings, all looking toward the podium where a human spoke. Dor stopped, looking down the steps. He knew the name of the man. Shoorilik, professor of hyper-physics of the premier university on Correllia. Behind him, looking very uncomfortable, were two younger beings also humans. Sighing, Dor surveyed the steps between him and the center, and began walking down a step at a time.

 

“...No one knows who they were.” Shoorilik said in answer to the question from a reporter. “All that is known is that there are copies of these engines, some working, and some not, on over 100 of the known worlds. The engines have been studied for almost two millennia without understanding a thing about their inner workings.

 

“However research on Coruscant over 100 years ago found a way to duplicate the effect on a larger scale with the development of the hyper-space cannon drive. But making them work as they sit, that has been impossible up until now.”

 

“But my readers do not understand what hyperspace even is!” A red Twi-lek complained. “Or how a hyper-cannon works.”

 

Shoorilik sighed. considering your readership, you’re people don’t even understand how the sun comes up. He wanted to say. “Hyper-physics is not for everyone. But we have created a visual demonstration for you. Lights.”

 

The lights dimmed, and in the center of the room above the professor’s head, a model of a hyper-cannon appeared. “A hyper-cannon focuses energy on what we call the Landau wall, the junction between our four dimensions, and the other eighteen believed to exist in current theory. The wall is like a piece of elastic, stretching ahead of you as you push.”

 

On the screen, a man was pushing his hand against a sheet or elastic, the fabric deforming and holding until he had leaned all of his weight against it, but remained unbroken.

 

“This is what traveling between our stars was like before the invention of the hyper-cannon. The more force exerted trying to gain speed, the less acceleration you are able to gain because the wall stretches, keeping you within 4D space. However discoveries on Coruscant showed that these still functioning engines would propel objects faster than light, meaning the Landau wall did not apply.”

 

On the screen, the man had taken a knife, and pushed the blade easily through the elastic.

 

“The way a hyper-cannon works is simple. A ship approaches it at a set vector and speed. The hyper-cannon’s capacitors are charged to a level necessary to break the Landau wall, and translation occurs.”

 

The bright bead approached the model hyper-cannon, and as it reached the filaments left by the capacitors, the breech, suddenly the bead stretched until it was a rod which vanished out of the cannon‘s muzzle.

 

“Well said, Professor.” Another reporter, human this time said. “However that doesn’t explain why it is easier to travel here from Brentaal than it is from Coruscant.”

 

“Space differently bends in some places.” All eyes turned to the stairway, when a wizened tiny figure approached. He paused in his descent, leaning two tridactyl hands on his short cane, green ears flicking back and forth. “Structure like paper weaker which is folded and bent.” He looked around blandly. “Corridors this makes between some stars, and others not.”

 

“An excellent theory, Doctor..?”

 

“Doctor am I not. Monk of Monastery of Jedi I am.” He replied. “Brother Dor I am called.”

 

Shoorilik looked confused. “This meeting is for scientists and the press, Brother Dor. Why are you here?” He worried because half a dozen crack-pot cults had condemned the test that was planned because it violated the will of whatever god they worshiped.

 

“Crack-pot I am not.” Dor said, seeing the flinch, and smiling. “Brotherhood of Jedi exploring unknown are interested in.”

 

“I have never heard of your order, Brother.” A reporter commented. “Jedi?”

 

“Founder of the order he was. Name we took memory to honor.” Dor looked down. “Only seat down there is. If I may walk continue?”

 

“Please.” Shoorilik motioned toward the seat. “To continue, the monk’s theory does explain a lot of what hyper-physicist see in the ease with which transit can be made on the three routes so far explored. To use his own analogy, you follow the fold of the paper from Brentaal to Corellia, but have to cross the fibers of it from Coruscant.

 

“Back to our subject, thanks to a young genius here at the Corellian Hyper-space institute named Koori Deralo, we believe that the first actual human designed hyper-drive is ready for test.”

 

“But it is within a ship, instead of surrounding it!” A reporter, this one Kubaz protested. “It is a violation of hyper-physics-” He spun glaring at the small figure still toiling down the stairs. “If you are going to speak, don’t mumble!”

 

Dor paused. “Violation of intelligence that you speak of that know you do not.” Dor said loud clear. “Original engine not outside ship. Unless miniscule creators were.”

 

There was a ripple of laughter.

 

“Again our friend the monk is correct. These were found inside vessels, some of them massive, discovered on a number of worlds. They had to have driven those vessels, therefore the effect must extend beyond what is known to us.

 

“Student Deralo is credited with finding a way to fuel an engine and rebuild parts that had corroded beyond use. With his modifications, we believe that a small ship will be able to travel without using hyper-cannon.”

 

“Fuel is what?” Dor had finally reached the floor, and was finally seated.

 

Shoorilik blinked. He could have sworn the little being had been twenty meters away from the seat only a moment ago.

 

“Hydrogen fusion with the plasma directed into the engine through shielded baffles.”

 

“Work it would. Like hammer hitting nutshell with. But will work well.”

 

“So glad you approve.” one of the young men commented.

 

Dor looked at the boy. So this was the one. “Name you have I may here?”

 

“Darshan Solo. I’m going to fly the ship.”

 

“Elegance problem is, not complaint. When alone is hammer you have, it must suffice.”

 

The meeting went on for another hour. Finally the last questions had been asked and answered, and the reporters surged in a body toward the exits. Darshan stood, then loosened the braid that held his hair, shaking it out into an ebon sheet.

 

“Chosen has destination been?” He looked down. The only ones in the crowd not moving were himself, Koori and Dor.

 

“Yes it has. Why?”

 

“Go with you I must.”

 

“You’re out of your tiny little mind.” Darshan retorted then stormed out.

 

“With you I shall go, little human.” Dor said.

[JediMaster12]

I like the conversation. Sounds so very Yoda-like. Interesting in how you developed the formation of the Jedi. I like the span of years you give to show that things take time. Jolly good show.

[Hallucination]

Very good fic, I like the background info, keep it up!

[Renegade Puma]

Keep it up Mach. I am so dying to read more and more. Seriously, post more soon if you can!

[machievelli]

The yoda like conversation is because of a coment in the guide to the Star Wars Universe where they said no one knew what race Yoda was or planet he came from. That is why I postulated a race still in hiding. I also worked with the premise that most of his people are extremely force sensitive. If this were a conspiracy theory novel, Yoda's race would be the Illuminati.

[JediMaster12]

And they would try to bring about a New World Order or rather: a New Galatic Order

They would take over the galaxy

[machievelli]

Food for thought kid. Maybe that explains why someone hasn't come to take Yoda's place?

[machievelli]

Echana

 

Echana: Planet located around star named Shirrazu. Galactic Reference GSFD-421/CTS/ER/9.

 

Class: C-7 class, similar to Coruscant before urban construction. Native animals and planets graded at level 6, some dangerous, but within acceptable standards for human colonization under Coruscant Exploration Guidelines.

 

Economic rating: 2.

 

Technology level, in weapons, grade 5. In all other commerce grade 3 and lower.

 

Population: Last census 1.1 million.

 

Demographics: 97% human. Remainder are citizen/factors of other races including Duros, Hutt, Twi-lek, Arkanian, and Bim. The human citizens of Echana are known to be empathic.

 

Government: Oligarchy. Seven clan elders called Prefects, one of whom is Grandee for a five year period on a rotating schedule.

 

Exports: Leechu bark spice (Used in preparation of meat) and Tanif fish both luxury items demanding high prices. The locally made swords daggers and ‘ritual brands’ command high prices for each is a hand made work of art. The Echani have proven to be experts at weapons design and development, and now after eight years has matched or surpassed every other manufacturer in the quality of their weapons, though except for the blade weapons mentioned above they are still not for off-world purchase.

 

Imports: Their needs were and have always been small. Imports include primarily Cassoli oil from Coruscant and Mendrach incense from Corellia. Recently they had a now defunct treaty with Lortu that supplied the Lortuai with swords and the first production of other hand weapons in return for Darson wood from the Lortuai forests of Haanmelo.

 

Social conventions: Since the species of humans now living on Echana are known to be empathic, they have had no wars amongst themselves. It is reported by reliable sources that this is due to that empathy. The Echana are prized as trade negotiators, yet as such few have left their home planet to practice that art.

 

Social interaction seems to be highly confusing, and many consider their sexual mores perverse. There is no form of marriage as understood by the Galaxy as a whole among the Echani. The closest they have to this is what is called the Bonding.

 

Bonding: Echani society requires female children at the age of 13 to bond to a male other than her father or closely related male relatives. While considered a marriage by Galactic definition, there are bonds between two females which are usually considered for commercial gain, to the Goddess herself for those who become priestesses, and even to ideals, such as the present day commander of Echani Military forces Morgai Chandar who swore to be protector to her race when the planet was first attacked by the Lortuai.

 

These ‘self bonds’ are rare and have no discernable pattern.

 

History: The planet now known as Echana was settled in the first rush of the expansion caused by the invention of the hyper cannon. When the first attempt to reach Aargau from Brentaal arrived instead at Corellia everyone was surprised. The Corellians were able to ascertain that space folded in a detectable and easily verifiable manner between their planet and Brentaal, making it easier to travel along specific route, and this information and the development of the folded hyper cannon Matrix allowed rapid expansion along what is now called the Corellian Trade Spine.

 

Echana was the seventh planet discovered along that route by a combined Coruscanti-Corellian team, and the planet was put up for colonization at that time. Settlers from Coruscant and Corellia settled there less than three years after the development of the folded hyper cannon Matrix.

 

The first settlers from Coruscant were of a religious sect worshiping the Goddess whose name is now used for the planet itself. Radowin Chandar of Corellia, commander of the joint mission led the first settlement, becoming the first prefect of what is now called the Chandar clan, and the first Grandee.

 

For over ninety years, the Echani prospered in peace.

 

However starting nine years ago, on the rise of Sogor of Lortu, a low intensity war has broken out. Attempted invasions of Echana has been bested easily. In response to this aggression, the corporation EWI or Echani Weapons Institute was formed to develop and deploy new weapons in the ongoing struggle.

 

ECHANA: Goddess

 

The worshipers of Echana, the ‘Mistress of Battles’ believe that the Goddess judges people not by any exterior form, but rather from within. and has the odd addition that prayer is done when practicing with a sword or ritual brand. The style is slow and smooth, forcing the mind to concentrate is a meditative state that allows communion with their goddess. All known followers of this faith live on the planet Echana and make up 95% of their human population.

 

Since the people of Echana are empathic, their religion does not forbid conflict, but rather assigns it as a necessary evil. ‘A blade in my heart hurts me as much as the blade in your own. Yet plunge it in I will if I must’ (Echana Do Suchi. Prayer book, page 421 ‘prayer for peace)

 

The worship of Echana is all pervasive in the society on Echana, but has little or no liturgy or ritual. The Priests and Priestesses of the faith are more akin to weapons masters, teaching the use of the bladed weapons the Echani prefer.

 

Prayer is done when practicing with a sword or ritual brand. The style is slow and smooth, forcing the mind to concentrate is a meditative state that allows communion with their goddess. The more adept of this faith can spend hours if not days in meditative prayer without undue fatigue.

 

People of this faith are considered forthright, and swear no oaths not taken upon their own blades. To them a violation of such an oath is tantamount to blasphemy. An Echani court has a sword rather than a holy book to swear upon, and that sword is always the property of a High priestess, since they are the leaders of the church.

 

Ritual Brand: Weapon and religious icon of the Worshipers of Echana.

 

The Ritual brand is a blade staff averaging 30 centimeters taller than the user. There are no hand guards on the hand grip since they are used only by the Echani, and those people learn at a young age due care with a bladed weapon. Blades can be single edged either straight or curved, single edge opposite (single edges facing opposite directions on a horizontal plane). Double edged both straight and curved, and double edged composite (One blade horizontal, one edge vertical). One rare model seen in a museum was double edged, one blade curved, the other straight, with a rotating gimbal that allowed it to be turned from opposite to composite with the touch of a stud.

 

Each Ritual brand is handmade and a weapons-smith can adjust the length to suit the user. The entire weapon had a memory plastic fold in the center of the grip which allows the weapon to be folded in half, and the blades held in a single sheath.

 

The ritual brand has been copied by a number of peoples, and the only way to tell an actual ritual brand from one of these knock-offs is by examining the handgrip. The entire handgrip on an Echani Ritual brand is smooth from blade to blade whereas those made by other people have hand-guards or discernable ridges in the center or at the edges.

[JediMaster12]

The Echani are here! I like it. It shows the nature of the Handmaidens and the whole combat thing. It's an oligarchy and yet they worship a mother goddess. Does that mean that it is matrilineal in society?

[machievelli]

Of course.

[machievelli]

The Spy

 

The flight control officer noted the new arrival from Lortu. Only one ship this time. He smiled gently. Why would that idiot send only one ship this time? Still he tapped the button, and the military flight officer logged in.

 

“This is approach control to unidentified ship. Identification please.”

 

“Duros freighter Sarcbaliel. Bound for Correlia. One passenger departing this system.” Came back the guttural reply.

 

“Danger?” asked the Flight control officer.

 

“Possible.” The Military flight officer mused. “Where did the passenger board?”

 

“Sarcbaliel, where did your passenger board, what species?”

 

“Lortu. Human.”

 

“Well?” Flight control asked.

 

“Still odd.” The Military flight officer replied. “I’ll assign a watcher. Let him land.”

 

“Sarcbaliel. You are cleared for landing approach. Welcome to Echana.”

 

“Gracious thanks, Echana. End communication.”

 

Since it was merely a passenger disembarking, Sarcbaliel allowed a shuttle to come alongside, then joined the queue at the hyper-space cannon drive.

 

The shuttle docked at the small station Echana maintained. The customs official stood at the entryway, clip board in hand. The slim woman that came down the ramp surprised him. She was tall, long red hair running in a bloody sheath to her breasts, dressed in about ten square centimeters of green cloth.

 

He gulped, shaking his head sharply. “Papers please.” She handed him her ID chip, and he fed it into the reader. Holani Jantri. Citizen of Alderaan. Profession... His eyes sharpened, and all sexual fantasies disappeared.

 

“You’re a weapon’s merchant?” He asked.

 

“Yes.” She tilted her head, green eyes amused. “What should a weapons merchant look like? A hulking brute that looks like he uses them instead of buying them?”

 

Considering the people that usually arrived selling or buying weapons, that pretty much fit them. The customs officer blushed. “Sorry.” He handed the ID chip back. “Purpose of visit?”

 

“Investigating, possibly purchasing.” She said. “I have heard rumors about the Master Smith.”

 

“She doesn’t turn out much. Maybe a blade a week. Unless you’re buying for a rich man, she can’t turn out serious production.”

 

“I was hoping I could find out how she makes them.”

 

The customs man snorted. “Dream on. No one knows but her.”

 

“Well I can only try.” Holani caroled. He made a notation, and motioned. “Due to attacks by the Lortuai, all transit is through this station. When you decide to depart, you will have to notify Transit control.”

 

“Understood.” Holani walked away from the man, thoughtful. The mission had started so smoothly, and she wondered what might go wrong.

 

Echana was a lush world, so like the parks and forests of her home. The ‘city’ that was the planet’s capital was barely the size of the city she had been born in, maybe fifty thousand inhabitants. All told there were less than a million citizens on the planet, and if it were not for the master smith, she understood why Sogor had considered them ripe for conquest.

 

But stepping off the shuttle shocked her. On her home world weapons were for hunting, for sport, for the army police and of course criminals. Here everyone from the age of five upward carried swords and knives. As she passed a temple, she saw a pair of eight year olds squaring off and fighting with live uncovered steel in a display that would have brought applause at an exhibition. That was where Sogor went wrong. She mused. Instead of maybe a quarter million, he faced almost a million blades. Even the five year olds were a danger. She filed that information away as she headed to the maglev terminal. It was an hour ride to the sleepy village of Sookor-Chandar, and she spent the time assessing these people. Every third adult carried a ritual brand, and she knew the difficulty of mastering it. With no hand guard the untrained would lose their own fingers wielding it. One of the children, all of seven was making passes with her ritual brand in a slow whirl, her eyes watching the edges of the blade to assure she didn’t menace another passenger. Her mother tapped her hand. For a moment, Holani assumed she would order the weapon sheathed. Instead the woman adjusted her grip and the slow wheel of death continued. No wonder the Echani called swordplay the dance of death!

 

The car stopped, and she walked down from the station. At the bottom of the covered stairway, four children of about five stood in two pairs five meters apart. As she watched, two of them began juggling three wooden blades each. “Throw!” one called. The children standing aside each tossed another blade into the pattern, and now four blades danced in the air.

 

“Throw!” The other, a girl called, and two more blades entered the pattern. Suddenly the pattern expanded as ten blades now fountained across the space between the children.

 

“Throw!’ Now twelve blades flashed past Holani’s path in a pattern as bewildering as it was deadly for the last two blades were steel.

 

“Children!” a policeman sauntered over, watching the blades in the air. “Let the passengers debark!”

 

“Yes sir! Throw!” Now fourteen blades flew, but the pattern had lifted enough to clear the walkway.

 

“Please.” The officer said. Holani felt a slight nudge and a three year old tottered across under the blade bridge holding her older sister’s hand. Nervously Holani followed.

 

“An off worlder?” The asked.

 

“How did you- wait, I’m not carrying a blade.”

 

“Got it in one. How may I direct you?”

 

“I’m looking for the Master Smith’s shop.”

 

“Loo-ri street. Two blocks over, turn left, one block then right. On the corner of the next block.”

 

Holani walked on. Behind her there was a clatter and a lot of good natured laughter as the children gathered up the fallen blades. By the time she reached the street she had been directed to, she had seen on couple of children using all steel knives in a bewildering array of weights and shapes but this time on the sidewalk away from traffic. She turned as directed, and walked up the next block. Another pair of older children were juggling, but instead of knives these were full sized throwing axes. The blades impeded her path yet again.

 

“It’s called Cnifta.” A voice told her. Beside her stood a seven year old girl with raven black straight hair. “They’re not supposed to block access to a shop. That’s the rules.” She walked forward until the blades flashed past inches from her face. “Hey you nerf-herders! cut us some slack!”

 

“We’ll cut more than that Revana.” One of the fourteen year olds snapped.

 

“Want me to call Breia?”

 

“All right!” The blades were caught, and they glared at them as Holani crossed after the girl.

 

“Everyone’s afraid of my big sister. Breia is the best at cnifta, and even better at Soo-ti.”

 

“Soo-ti?”

 

The little girl reached into her hair, pulling out a straight needle thin piece of steel. Then her hand flicked negligently. The shaft punched into the wall, sinking ten centimeters into the hard wood. “Soo-ti.” She explained coolly. “My sister can do that from across the room with her back turned.” She grimaced. “When she’s not busy at the forge like it is lately.”

 

“This is the shop of the Master Smith?”

 

“You mean you came to see Breia?” The girl looked at her as if she were a beast in a zoo. “You don’t look rich.”

 

“I am not, but I work for people who are. Could you direct me?”

 

Revana grabbed her hand, dragging her into the shop.

 

It was small and cozy. Every wall had blades on display from the little needles of Soo-ti, balanced and matched blade sets for cnifta, axes like the ones being thrown again outside, and everything from daggers the length of her little finger to ritual brands. An older man stood talking to a customer.

 

“This lady came to see Breia.” Revanna called, leading her on like a tugboat.

 

The man nodded, and handed the ritual brand to the prospective customer. “Breia has a commission from the army for more of her special blades, so you’ll have to wait.”

 

“From what I have seen, it is worth the wait.” The customer brought the blade down on a meter length 40 centimeter thick log, and Holani stared as the blade sliced completely through it.

 

When Sogor had hired her, the mission had seemed merely difficult. Infiltrate Echana, find the master smith, wrest the secret of the blades produced, and return that information to Lortu. Now it looked to border on the impossible. If the only one who knew how to make a blade was the master smith herself (That surprised her as well) it meant she could not merely carry a datapad, but would have to consider kidnapping instead.

 

She shrugged. If it came to that, she would consider it.

 

At a compression forge, a figure stood, swathed in a robe from head to foot. One hand held a piece of almost molten steel in a negligent gloved hand. Only the glove she wore, proof against any temperature below that of a sun kept her from being burned. In the other was a hammer. But she wasn’t striking the metal to form it. She just stood there looking at it.

 

“Breia-”

 

“Hush.” The voice was a throaty contralto. “I can’t hear the metal’s call.”

 

The girl stood shaking with repressed excitement. Suddenly the hammer rose, and struck four times, each time in a different place. Then the blade was thrust back into the forge. “Speak softly, so you don’t drown it out.”

 

“This lady came to see you.”

 

“If she can speak softly, she can stay. Otherwise she must leave.” The Breia pulled the blade out of the fire, striking it again, but only three times. Again each time in different places. “As for you little bullroarer, one loud word and you are out.”

 

“I came-” Holani stopped talking as a hand came up.

 

“My ears are excellent, woman. Whisper.”

 

“I came to commission a blade.” Holani whispered angrily.

 

“At the moment, I am taking no new commissions.” The blade came out, was struck this time with four blows then returned to the fire. “I do not forsee this changing unless Sogor dies and this war ends.” Out, three blows, in, out two blows, back in.

 

“We can wait.”

 

“Not unless you wish to wait for ten years.” The head under it’s hood cocked. “I have orders already covering that much time,” Out strike, in. Out, strike, strike in.

 

“I would feel better if I could see your eyes, woman.” Holani hissed.

 

The blade went into a cooling tank. The figure turned around. The front of the hood had a mask of metal. The gloved hands rose, lifting the hood away, then removing the mask. Holani stepped back in shock.

 

Breia’s face was marred by scars from above her expressive mouth to just below her hairline Her nose was pitted, and her eyes... Her eyes were empty sockets.

 

The master smith was blind.

[Jae Onasi]

The encyclopedia entries were interesting. I caught the 'the style is slow and smooth, forcing the mind to concentrate...' sentence used twice as well as a few comma/single quote issues, but no biggie. A critic can never get away with grammar mistakes.

I love the richness in the detail of cultural descriptions. I've seen blacksmithing done a fair amount, and the descriptions there are quite accurate.

I enjoyed seeing how the Jedi started, too.

I'm looking forward to more.

[machievelli]

The encyclopedia entries were interesting. I caught the 'the style is slow and smooth, forcing the mind to concentrate...' sentence used twice as well as a few comma/single quote issues, but no biggie. A critic can never get away with grammar mistakes.

 

Thanks. I had written it down, decided to use the phrase somewhere else, and copied instead of cut. As for commas and single quotes, that is what editing is for. The story is going too well to mess with minor stuff. You guys are reading it as it's written originally.

 

 

I love the richness in the detail of cultural descriptions. I've seen blacksmithing done a fair amount, and the descriptions there are quite accurate.

 

I spent 11 years working at the renaissance pleasure faire in California, so I've watched a lot of smiths showing off.

 

I enjoyed seeing how the Jedi started, too.

I'm looking forward to more.

 

Did you guys know this one thread has been viewed more than anything else I posted to date?

[machievelli]

The Voyage

 

Dor looked at the ship. Unlike the usual Corellian design, it was a sleek arrowhead of burnished metal. He walked across the tarmac, and ran his hand along the doorframe. The door opened with a gentle hiss, and he entered.

 

The ship was designed for long term occupation as all hyper ships had to be, but was cramped. He walked forward, entered the cockpit, and switched on the nav-computer. As he had suspected, the target system was Brentaal at the opposite end of the Trade Spine from where he had to be.

 

It had taken him years to understand nav-computers. His people didn’t use them, and all of the knowledge he had of them was second hand. He pulled out the slicer, and slid it into the onboard navigational update interface. Now, change heading, duration of flight, and power setting. The Galaxy seemed to approve of what he was doing. The computer didn’t ask for an authorization, for which he was thankful, he hadn’t bothered to find out if there was one.

 

Satisfied, he removed the slicer, then walked aft. The rebuilt ancient hyper engine sat nestled in the middle of the fuel tanks. No one, not even the genius that had modified it knew of it’s potential. Having seen a perfectly operational one, Dor could make a good estimate.

 

He found an air vent, opened the grate, and slid inside. Sitting, the small being meditated. He had several hours.

 

*****

Darshan slid into the vest, looking at himself critically. Long black hair in a pony tail, black vest over white open necked shirt. Black breeches and boots. He was definitely a photo opportunity waiting for the camera. He took his multitool knife, slid it into the sheath on his left boot, then drank the last of his tea, picked up a wooden box from the table, and left.

 

Koori walked, or perhaps it might be more honest to say trotted as he walked out of his quarters, and climbed into the university ground car. The smaller man was nervous.

 

“Maybe I should-”

 

“No. For the love of the cosmos, Koori, get a grip. It’s not like we haven’t proven them wrong before.”

 

“But you never...”

 

“Never what?”

 

“Never chanced getting killed before.”

 

“It isn’t happening. No one with my luck can die that easily.”

 

“Easily he says.” Koori mumbled. “Sitting on five tons of deuterium fuel with a fusion engine and plasma lines that have never been tested. If this ends badly, no one is going to say it was easy!”

 

“Calm down.” Darshan opened the box. “Here, this will shut you up.”

 

Koori picked up one of the keflaka cookies. “You didn’t.”

 

“Yup. I told mom you were bouncing off the overhead and she sent these to cheer you up.”

Koori nibbled, his face blissful. Nothing was as good as Mari Solo’s cookies! He grabbed two more, and thrust the box back.

 

“What are you doing? Three score cookies and you stop at three?”

 

“Take them with you and bring them back.”

 

“And I thought I was superstitious. Fine.”

 

The car slowed at the gate, then sped on to the ramp. Darshan climbed out, wincing as lights hit him in the face.

 

“Mister Solo! Are you worried about the danger?” A reporter called.

 

“No more than usual.”

 

“Does that mean you have faith in Professor Deralo’s design?”

 

“Professor?” He rubbed Koori’s hair playfully. “He’s like me, just a student in the best university in the Galaxy.”

 

“But this has never been tried!”

 

“Neither has dancing on the sun. But if my friend designed the dance floor, I’d be looking for a partner.” There was a laugh and he held up his hand. “Really people, if I stand here answering every question I won’t get off the ground before my thirtieth birthday! That’s all.”

 

He pushed through the reporters, and finally reached the ship. Koori followed as he walked forward, throwing his bag under the second seat. “Why did they bother to put two seats and four bunks in a one man ship?” He asked, sitting in his command chair.

 

“They didn’t build it just for you, you know.” Koori switched on the computers, running a diagnostic. “When you get back they’re going to use this as a advertising ploy. Take some delegate from a planet and let him pick the destination, that kind of thing.” He sniffed with satisfaction, and punched a button on the nav console. “Course locked.”

 

“I hate that part.” Darshan snarled. “Why do I have to have a locked down nav computer?”

 

“Because the University heard about how much you like Santi Morel of Kuat.”

 

“You’re kidding. I asked her for one dance! She still doesn’t even know who I am!” Darshan pictured the woman ten centimeters taller than he was, with rippling muscles. He was almost afraid to picture them together romantically. “Besides, she turned me down.”

 

“What, the great Darshan Solo couldn’t sweet talk a lady?”

 

“No. She didn’t know how to dance.”

 

So why did you spend three hours with her?”

 

“Because I was teaching her Tongo.”

 

“Tongo?” Koori stared at him in horror. “You taught the daughter of the Kuat ambassador tongo?”

 

“Why not?” He looked surprised. “We weren’t betting money!”

 

“What were you betting?”

 

“Kisses.”

 

“I give up.” Koori shook his head. “I’ll be in the control center.”

 

“You do that.”

 

The next hour was taken up in the checklist. Darshan pulled out his tongo dice, and rolled them on the panel beside them idly as he went through the process. Tongo used six dice, each with a different number of sides, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, and 20. It was played by trying to beat the total numeric value of an opponent’s roll, though matching it exactly was the big pay-off. Of course, the odds of matching someone’s roll exactly was right up there with getting struck by a meteor as you stroll down the street. But that is what gambling is all about.

 

“Checklist complete.” The control center reported. Darshan picked up the dice, stuck them back in his pocket, and began strapping in.

 

“All right, engines are hot, plasma temperature nominal. Engaging lift and drive now.” The jets screamed as the ship lifted gently. He rotated in place, giving the press a good look at the future of space travel, and then punched the thrust vectoring to forward. The ship slid like an egg in a greased skillet, picking up speed at a deceptive rate. He stood it on it’s tail, and less than a kilometer from the field was already pushing mach one.

 

The atmosphere behind, he headed for the test area. Every sensing device known to man was arrayed around the 500 cubic kilometer section of near space blocked off from traffic, and he reveled in the feel of the responsiveness.

 

“Darshan to ground, how about we change her name?”

 

“Ground to Darshan, you know the ship was named after University President emeritus Calrissian.”

 

“So what? Who goes adventuring in hyper space with a name like Han Calrissian?”

 

“What would you prefer?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe Hawk or falcon. Something fast! Or maybe Millennium since I‘m going to spend that long for you guys to finish all of the telemetry adjustments.”

 

“Telemetry is set and rolling.”

 

“About time!” Darshan took the control wheel in his hands. He snorted to himself. Han! It sounds like someone who can’t spell hand. You’ll never see a Solo with that name.

 

His eyes tightened. He was approaching the test area, but the course didn’t feel right. He checked his own figures, and it was definitely wrong. “Control, the ship is approaching at the wrong vector.”

 

“Explain.”

 

“The heading is 175, it should be 355. It’s heading in the wrong direction for

Brentaal.”

 

“Give us a minute, Han Calrissian. We’re checking the navigational vectors.”

 

“We haven’t got a minute. I’m disconnecting the nav computer and will return to base.” He reached across, and tapped the disengage switch. The red light stayed on. He did it again with no affect. “No joy, Control. The nav computer is locked.”

 

“We are trying to reprogram from here.”

 

Darshan flinched as he heard a whirring sound. “Control the fusion initiators have activated, get it done!”

 

“We’re, we’re locked out!”

 

Darshan cursed fluently in both Corellian Basic and Twi-leki, slamming his fist again and again on the button that refused to free him from this hell ride. “Control! I have a bad feeling about this!”

 

The ship seemed to stretch until it was a blazing beam of light, and was gone.