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Loss; 58 ABY, Correllian Cybernetics Hospital
Topic Started: Nov 26 2011, 05:42:37 AM (237 Views)
Nonune
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Galactic Federation Global Mod
The room wasn't much. By Correllian Standards. Which meant to most anyone else it was rich if tastefully done. It had been a bungle, which in military standard meant he was being so well taken care of because they were covering their collective asses. Only reason he was checked into the best Cybernetics facility money could buy. Or maybe it was the news reels. Everyone who survived was being well taken care of. The Old Man, blast his guts, would see to the dead's families.

It was the nurse that got him the room with the view though. The room with a wooden framed bed and chairs and a desk. He glanced at the desk in the mirror, one smooth round orb and one set of lenses shifting and focusing in on the desk. Names, numbers, types of plants began feeding into his view through the left eye's cybernetic link, causing him to blink and turn away quickly. Focus on something neutral.

His face. Instantly specifications about what he was looking at blurred into action. His R9 droid beeped and bleeped, and facial recognition software ran, bringing up his dossier. Inactive pending.

"Blast you you wretched...." He blurted out and turned to growl at his droid. "I should disassemble you, you know?"

Answering in a series of bleeps and beeps was all the little droid ever did. "I don't need my record everytime I look at myself! Just....Power down for a moment and let me be."

The Droid's answer to that was pithier and much nastier.

Gabriel snapped the smooth one-way transparent plas-steel plate into place over his new eye, a small snap-hiss of pressurised seals closing any opening to the... Hole. There was no other word for it. He had a hole in his head where his eye was. His head burst with the excruciating pain pf the thought and he almost ripped the IV from his arm in the violent motion that brought both hands down on the polished stone sink....

His B-Wing slipped out of hyperspace, sublight flickering to light as he lifted the Visor of his flight helmet. A glance at the comms told him his squadron was sliding in from Hyperspace behind him, and there last in a much larger blip on the scanners, the Stalwart. They had received an emergency distress call while on patrol, and had jumped into what was assumed hostile territory. Sure enough three starfighters and two freighters appeared on the scanners as well, scrambling from their positions around the trade convoy and scrambling to escape to safe jump coordinates.

The thrill of pride accelerated his heartbeat, as he accelerated and felt the presence of his team accelerating behind him, keeping formation. They had trained long and hard, fought this battle in real time a thousand times. As they closed distance S-foils opened, he could almost feel the Ion cannons in the other two B-Wings and three Y-Wings start to charge, almost hear the roar of the Stalwart's engines as it accelerated to keep pace.

As it became apparent that the Pirates were loosing ground, the Old Man's voice, gravely and tired, a voice that had buried too many friends and saved countless others, called out over the comms systems in all channels.

"Unidentified ships, you are performing illegal acts against Galactic Federation's Citizens. Stand down and prepared to be taken into custody. If you resist, use of deadly force is authorized. This is your only warning."

He almost laughed when a display in his cockpit showed that his X-Wing Pilots were arming weapons according to the plan. Three sets of blasters and three of of proton torpedoes were armed. He only held his tongue out of courtesy. After all it wasn't often his B-Wing was graced with a Camera Crew. There had been a moment there when he had thought that the press committee was going to try and send a reporter with him, fortunately there was only so much space in even the larger starfighters, and well, he needed to give this rookie navigator some flight time. So he only had the room for the cameraman, crammed into the back.


Growling Gabriel tore his face away from the mirror. Hating what he saw in it. Hating it, and loving it. Hating himself for loving it. At least the Doctors here on Correllia had done a better job then the Doc on Stalwart. He had to give them that. If the Old Man and the Doc had had their way there would have been a standard issue spy camera under a scrap piece of armored bulkhead.

For the fiftieth time he flicked the leather folder open. Some of these companies must really want his service, they went overboard on the paper for the contracts and offers. He almost growled out loud at the one with barely hidden sexual overtures for some-wife of someone's personal security guard. The paper was even perfumed. He didn't even bother looking at the rest in that folder, practically slamming it shut.
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