//------------------------------//
// Madness and Disdain 
// Story: Alone In The Galaxy 
// by Purple Patch 
//------------------------------//

Four little hooves scraped frantically across the floor as Pipsqueak rushed through one corridor to the next, each one looking and feeling like they stretched on for miles.
The thing was after him.
The smiling, laughing monster was after him.
He could hear her.
No door seemed to open. Even if he could reach the panels for them, they were glaring red and flashing.
He feared to touch them. He had a feeling it would bring the thing following him closer to him somehow.
His hooves felt like marbles rolling in all directions on the flat, smooth floor that just kept stretching on.
Yet he sped on. What other option lay open to him?
The bright red lights disorientated him. There was a blaring alarm sounding from seemingly random parts of the corridor.
Everything was making him desperately want to curl up in a corner, shut his eyes and wait for it to end.
But he knew what that would lead to...
There was another sound.
Something between a cackle and a screech.
The thing slid out of the corridor, the tentacles in her hair writhing and creeping.
And that horrible smile.
And those eyes. Black, gleaming, lifeless things.
He wasn’t entirely certain if she actually saw him but he didn’t want to test that theory.
He belted back down as her deranged laughter echoed back at him.
“Scurry away, little Nuna! Chick-Chick-Chick!”
He’d lost sight of the Ayy and Lunae and he had no idea who else was in the corridors.
On and on he ran, no idea in his head about where he should be headed or what he could duck into.
Just to outrun the creature and hope it wore out before he did.
The sound of his hoof slipping on the floors was akin to a death knell. He stumbled and the creature heard as he did.
“Don’t know how to fly yet, little Nuna?!”
‘Please!’ he willed his legs to stay strong and fast ‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...’
There was a clang, a droning noise coming to a sudden stop and blank light blinded both of them a moment before Pip picked up his hooves again.
The monotonous voice sounded again.
‘All-Clear. Security has been stabilised. Quarantine is no longer in effect.’


At last. A way out.
If only he could reach a door handle.
As he felt the shadow of the chasing creature bearing down on him, making him feel colder just feeling up behind him, he gave a shriek as he felt himself taken off his hooves.
Then a familiar whistling greeted his ears as he saw the corridors whizzing behind him quicker than ever.
“Minnie!” he exclaimed as he noticed the Mouse Droid going like the clappers beneath his hinds, having scooped him up like a cow-plough and sped him to safety.
As they meet a junction in the corridors, the screams and curses of the Maldovar Boyz in retreat sounded as a messy-haired young woman with shaded eyes and a mouth she was covering in pain darted out of the right corridor. Catching sight of Pipsqueak, and the thing chasing him, she gave a muffled curse and doubled back, thundering boots sounding before her.
Minnie swerved left, nearly throwing Pipsqueak off, as they left their pursuer at the crossing.
Ilitha paused.
Two quarries escaped in opposite areas.
With an impatient hiss, she turned right.
The foal wasn’t going far, even without the quarantine.
And this way at least, she could work up an appetite.


*


Grand Moff Croesus Crodd stared with pop-eyed indignation at Voss Parck, Imperial Captain and Hunter-General, who’d waltzed into the main control chamber without so much as a by-ones-leave and tapped in the quarantine cancellation and was now standing before him and the Grand Vizier with a frank, unapologetic face.
Sate Pestage and Labryn Thurg wore similar expressions to Crodd.
At the desk, Wilhuff Tarkin and Hurst Romodi wore expressions of mild interest while Ensign Eli Vanto stood tentatively in the corner, hoping no-one would explode somehow.
“Are you ill, sir?” the captain finally broke the silence.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Crodd found his voice and used it profusely “Explain yourself! Immediately!”
“Alright, um...Voss Parck, twenty-eight years of age, Corulag-man. My cousin’s an ensign to Grand Moff Byluir and he’s rather a tosser. I owned a Tooka once, called Gantok. Not the brightest of Tookas but I loved him. They called me ‘Porky Parck’ in the academy but after I demolished a pirate port at Ank Ki’Shor, they started calling me ‘Voss the Boss’ which, as you can imagine, I much preferred. My first date-”
“Shut up!” Pestage shrieked “On whose authority do you dare to override the commands of an Imperial Grand Moff?!”
Voss gave an awkward look and answered.
“The authority.”
There was a pause. Crodd and Pestage glanced at each other.
“As in...”
“The authoritative authority, you might say...”
“The...the S-Supreme C-C-Commander?” Pestage started stuttering “H-H-He’s here? When?!”
“About two minutes ago actually. Asked me to override the quarantine and gave me the codes. Didn’t want to waste my time, or more importantly, his. As a matter of fact, he wanted to have a talk with you, excellencies. He...didn’t look too pleased. Though I rarely see him with any other expression, to be fair.”
“I...wasn’t aware...” Pestage mumbled “We will of course, erm-”
“No.”
All eyes turned to the Grand Moff of Velcar who stood red-faced and lidded-eyed.
“The Imperial Security Bureau has given me command of the punitive measures upon the hijacking party and the investigation into their crimes. The Supreme Commander has been given no such equal command else I would have been informed. So...” his cold yellow eyes bore into Parck’s.
“If he wants to speak to me...he can damn well come and find me himself, not send his little ferrets scurrying around for him! Is that clear?”
And without waiting for an answer, he stormed off, followed swiftly by Pestage and Thurg.
Four men were silent for a while.
Hurst Romodi cut in.
“Fifty credits says Velcar’s looking for a new Grand Moff before the day’s done. Eh, Tarkin, old boy?”
Wilhuff raised an eyebrow and brushed his angular chin with one finger.
“It’s not like him to invite such attention from...such a man as the Supreme Commander.” he said, deep in thought “Whatever he’s risking he must feel will pay off one way or another...”
His commlink bleeped and he raised it to his ear.
“Yes?” He held in away from his ear a moment before talking in a tone of forced-adoration that did not sound natural on him.
“Yes, of course I hear you, darling, and what a pleasure it is to hear your...voice...again.” He massaged his temples “Yes, I know that, my dear. We have just had a quarantine and...what? Well...I...don’t quite know if the Dreadnought has a boudoir at all, let alone one specifically Tarisian-style but...yes, of course I’ll have a word with the...right, right, I’m sure Captain Daala can take care of you for the moment but...yes, of course, I’ll be with you shortly.”
He gave a sigh and took his leave, shooting a withering glance at Eli Vanto who looked ready to snigger.


*


The Once-Upon, a gleaming Manta-class assault Starfighter, landed deftly and sleekly upon a high spire on the heady, dusk-shrouded Obulette, its two wing-points just touching the landing pad floor as its head arched high towards the perpetual twilight of the star system.
The pilot descended from a set of lowering stairs from above, standing before the radiant spire palace and its ornate riverway.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling cool natural air hit it for the first time in almost a year, and took a grateful sigh.
Octavian Grant had come home.
Two attendants in shimmering green suits and emerald visors bowed as he approached the riverway. A small dark indigo pontoon speckled with silver was brought forth which they manned in the front and back. The Grand Admiral unbuttoned his collar and boarded the pontoon, the seat formed like a cradle, its spherical base held slightly below the water so as to be gently rocked by the water as one rested. Fragrant flowers formed a crown over the seat. The whole thing was perfect luxury, finest Tapani craftsmanship.
Worth coming home for in itself, Grand Admiral Grant had always found, as it took him inside the majestic Palatte Mecetti, covered by a gigantic shimmering glassy dome. Unlike Eriadu, the cover was purely cosmetic. It artificially made the clouds clear so all one saw in the sky were the stars upon an indigo sheet, swirling nebulae and cosmic orchestra adding splashes of colour here and there.
Passing over the white stone archway, he was greeted by the gardens, a flourishing meadow the river snaked through. Two young women were feeding furry russet fathier lambs, the younger of the two was tying colourful ribbons with bells gently around their thick fluffy necks.
As the boat passed, scattering a flock of pylat birds, Octavian waved at them.
The girls stood, their faces lighting up with glee as the younger one gave a joyous squeal.
“Tavi’s back! Tavi’s back!” They stood and rushed up the garden hill towards the courtyard. Passing under hanging plants heavy with rich orchids and ripe fruits, the pontoon came to a stop.
Leaving the spectacularly comfortable seat would often be difficult for some but Octavian never found it hard here. He leapt off the boat and strode up the marble steps as a flock of young women ran down them with giddy smiles and welcoming giggles.
He greeted them with open arms.
His sisters, sisters-in-law and female cousins. Ophilia, Orosia, Opimia, Ostoria, Otacilia, Ovidia, Orcidia, tall Evoirey Balis, Lestera Hejaran who wore black lipstick, slender Meimilia Gantrolo, the twins Terinia and Tarpeia Pheron, plump Jerusha Rutledge and crimson-haired Linky-Nightingale Tritum.
All of them rushed to him and fought for hugs as he chuckled.
A warm welcome was something he had missed.
Colour, music, cool, clean air and abundant cheer. All he’d known growing up.
And the dresses his family wore. All the colours of the wind, so vibrant, the silk so lush and graceful, the jewels twinkling.
It made him feel so inspired.
Down came his mother, Penelope Grant, nee Panos. Planting a kiss on his cheeks and forehead, her aging frame delicate to his touch, the elderly Tapani Matriarch wore a stately crown of silver, green and red.
And standing atop the palace stairs, under the mighty doorway, was his aunt.
He made his way up, converged with every step by the convivial flock.
“How has it been in space, Tavi?”
“How many battles have you won, Tavi?”
“Are there any nice men in your fleet, Tavi?”
“Who was the ugliest alien you fought, Tavi?”
“Did you get us anything, Tavi?”
“Darlings, please, I crave a moment of rest.” he said with his hands raised in apology “Your aunt and I must convene and ensure my time here is one I can spend productively as well as merrily.”
There were a few slight moans and pouts from those present. Penelope Grant gave him a knowing glance as he piped up a suggestion.
“I know. Tea on the terrace. Have the attendants bring up our choicest morsels and we’ll tell each other all that’s happened while I’ve been away.”
The suggestion was met with pleased reviews as the girls hopped in excitement and set about organising a tea party, promising him the treats he’d been partial too ever since he was young.
Sighing as his family bustled across the courtyard in their pretty dresses, he turned to greet the Grand Matron of the Mecrosa Order.


Loalo Ettagon, Suzerain of Nyssa, was tall, taller than Grant by at least a clear head, and slender. Her teal hair was kept above her shoulders, swept up in curly locks. Her lips were thin, painted and glittered violet. Her eyelids were glittered too in shades of purple and green. Her nose was dainty and angular, her cheekbones sharp and straight.
Her dress was in two layers, a thin black sheath was cut to cover the bright red and gold wraparound underneath.
Blood-red starstones hung from one ear.
Octavian Grant beheld the inspiring sight.
How lucky he was to have an aunt like her.
They hugged, tight and warm, Loalo’s soft, low voice making him feel young and cheery and safe as it always had.
“My treasure...you’re home, Octavian...you’re home.”
“I only wish it could be longer...that I didn’t have to deal with this...farce these insurgents have put together on my home.”
“Of course, my dear. Let’s put an end to it quickly, together. Then we can all enjoy your time with us now. Come...”
She took his hand and they paced to his chambers.
“Was it terrible over there, darling? Where they had you working?”
“Ugh, where to start?” Grant gave a sigh of revulsion “The noise, the crowds, row after row of ugly, ugly stormtroopers! Who designed that god-awful visor?! What was their angle?! ‘Cower at our legions of furrowed-brows and hare-lips?” He shuddered “Bulky, clunky messes of men, the lot of them! If I ever have my way, I’ll streamline the garb. Give it more room to move...” he waved one hand in front before him in thought “Link the eyes and mouth like ebony tears, smiling in battle like a primal cat, both elegant and ferocious...and the prime fighting force...all in gorgeous crimson!”
“One day, darling, one day.” Loalo Ettagon gave a lilting laugh “You must be in a better mood if you’re feeling inspired.” Her eyebrow rose curiously “Now, darling...tell me about Thrawn. What has he said to you?”
Octavian Grant gave a sigh. It was pointless asking his aunt how she knew. After all, he was part of the reason her sources were faultless in the first place.
“He’s...more affable than I expected from...his type.” he mused “I think I was wrong about him. He’s certainly not trying to bring the Empire down.”
“So...what else would he be doing there?”
Octavian shrugged.
“It sounds strange but I think he genuinely feels like he’s doing good by working under us.”
“No-one in that position acts out of their own heart, sweet child. They can’t afford to. I should know.” Her aunt’s tone had become grimmer.
“But then why else would he be doing this? We’ve checked. We’ve sent the Mecrosa to look in on him again and again. We thought we had him on that Noghri project he was getting involved in but then he brings them into the Empire itself, under our command. There’s no sign that he’s planning anything.”
“That...is usually the first sign.”
“But why?”
Loalo Ettagon gave him a look.
“Creatures like him don’t need a reason. They are drawn to power like flies to rotting flesh...Not too unlike humans, to be honest...”
“Ironic.” Grant chuckled “If only my colleagues knew how ‘human’ Thrawn was, they might be a lot more accepting of him.”
Aunt and nephew shared a chuckle as Loalo Ettagon raised a hand.
“Never mind that now, we’ll discuss such murky things later...”
She opened the chamber doors and they stood in the chambers of the only son of Odysseus Sigismund Grant.
He stood in the centre of it and sighed, droids hovering out of the ceiling and removing his grab of admiralty, leaving him in black coveralls as he moved to put on something more comfortable.
Loalo paid it little mind. She’d dressed him ever since he was little.
“So...” he felt his breath coming easier without the wretched white collar “The Mecrosa’s tracked down this insurgency? All its members, all its activities...”
“All taken care of, my dear.” Suzerain Ettagon put a finger to her lips and hushed her only nephew, turning his gaze to the wardrobe “Forget it all for now. Come here...I brought you a little...treat.”
Tentatively, Octavian Grant paced over to his walk-in wardrobe, which his aunt opened with the secret code known only to the two of them, to behold its newest addition.
A buoyant cascade of luscious marine fabrics stood before them; bands around the wrists and waist hanging nets of tiny glittering gems; its neck and shoulders open and lined with a rippling lilac collar as light as air; the sleeves and the front of the collar decorated with braces of soothing elder flutterplume feathers.
Grant stared. His eyes felt moist.
“Oh aunty...” he murmured, his face steadily lighting up with wonder as he turned to his aunt.
His eyes looked almost Porg-like as he asked gently.
“Can I try it on?”
Loalo gave him a soothing smile as she signalled to the dresser droids.
“Of course you can, my little baby boy.”
Barely stopping himself hopping with delight, Octavian Grant was fitted with the magnificent attire. It fit like a glove and it felt right. Every muscle in his body felt massaged, every nagging pain felt eased, every knot felt unravelled.
He breathed as he felt himself glide across the room. Laughing jubilantly, he took his beaming aunt’s hands as they spun round and round and landed on his armchair, the one he’d always sat in as his aunt took care of his every worry.
Aunty Loalo had always been there for him, ever since his first days. It had been she who explained to him what he didn’t understand, coached him through his studies, passed his messages, got him out of trouble, got him things he wanted, kept his secrets and let him be himself.
And made sure his father wouldn’t know.
He wouldn’t have hated him, Octavian knew this, but he just wouldn’t have understood. Odysseus Sigismund Grant was a stern and orthodox man and his only son would have had to be as he was.
And after a while, it had hurt to be his father, to try so hard to be something he wasn’t and fear to be anything else.
But his aunt understood. She always understood.
Just as she had then, Loalo Ettagon gently stroked his brow and cooed.
“You are beautiful, my darling Octavian...You are...perfection.”
She kissed his forehead as the Grand Admiral lovingly caressed the silk of his glittering array.
“And together...we’ll fly the Emerald Banner for all to see...”


*


Minnie continued to scoot down the ship’s ways and bends, Pipsqueak just managing to avoid being thrown from her bonnet as she gave a frantic bleep, her buttons blinking magenta, and a large door before them opened. Voices could be heard behind it. They sounded familiar.
Pipsqueak felt himself surge forward once again and then was suddenly pulled off the droid as a wall of black cloth swamped him and he fell into darkness.
He crawled around blindly, calling out to whoever would hear him.
“Where am I? Who turned out the lights? Rae? Is anybody there? I can’t see a thing. Let me out! I want out!”
There then came the sound of a loud, high-pitched screech as the fabric cage flapped up and down and two high-heels Pipsqueak found next to him stamped frantically at the base of clammy, veiny and distinctly unshaven legs.
“WILHUUUUF!” the screeching thing sounded “HELP ME! IN THE NAME OF SESWENNA, PLEASE HELP ME! I’M BEING ACCOSTED BY A WOMP RAT! THERE’S AN INFESTATION ON THIS HORRID SHIP! AN INFESTATION I TELL YOU! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!”
“Please, Madam Tarkin, if you just stay still a moment...” a young woman’s voice was heard and the dress was lifted up slightly by hand.
Thalassa Tarkin, wide-eyed and pale-faced, stared as the little scruffy-maned pinto colt tumbled out and shook his head.
“Oomph...Ugh, thank goodness. Thanks, Nat. Cor, it was horrible in there.” He rolled over in a daze and looked up at Mr and Mrs Tarkin.
“Oh. Hello.”
Thalassa’s eyes began to roll back as she gave a strangled wheeze. Wilhuff, knowing what that meant, put his hands behind his hand and stepped to the side.


With a mighty thump, the massive figure of Thalassa Tarkin crashed to the floor unconscious.
Pipsqueak blinked.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d said to warrant such a reaction.
Natasi Daala winced as she surveyed the spectacle. Wilhuff Tarkin meanwhile glanced at his comatose spouse and then gave Pipsqueak a look that was as close to a genuine smile as he’d ever seen on him.
“I’m starting to like you.” he said frankly, parting for him “I believe your droid friend’s found you a suitable room. Best hurry. Things are rather hectic at this particular juncture and I’d rather you were out of the way for all our sakes.”
Pipsqueak did as he was bid.
Wilhuff looked to his young secretary. Before she could speak, still puzzling over what to do with Thalassa, the Grand Moff raised one finger and tapped his commlink with his other hand.
“Hello, Screed?” he began in an earnest tone “Can you hear me? I need your assistance. I want a cadre of medical droids with a...very large stretcher on Corridor Nineteen, Sector Xi, as soon as possible.”
“As you say. Are you alright, sir?” The voice of Terrinald Screed came through.
“Yes, we’re fine but something of a dilemma has befallen us. My poor wife has been accosted by the hijackers...”
“...bloody hell. Is she hurt?”
“No, no noticeable injuries. In fact, I’d be more worried for the hijackers. But she’s unconscious in the corridor. Some sort of fit. She’s pale, sweaty, swollen, hysterical, I mean more than usual...Do you know, I worry one of the intruders may have been carrying some sort of contagion. You never know with these Hutt Space travellers.”
“It’s quite possible, sir. If she’s fainting, it might be better for you to remain with her and-”
“No, no, out of the question. There’s definitely something that me and Captain Daala should steer clear of. I don’t say this often but let’s let the droids handle this.”
“Well, I need to know what it could be before I set up the droids, sir. How serious does it look?”
The Grand Moff gave a half-hearted glance at the prone Thalassa Tarkin.
“Ooh, very serious, very serious indeed. I can see the changes already.”
“What sort of changes? I need specifics, Tarkin. I mean, is she turning into a Rakghoul or something?”
“...well, it’s hard to tell with her. Regardless, I think she might need quarantine.”
“I see. Well, there were rumours of a strain of Blue Shadow Virus in the slums of Nar Shadaa. If that’s the case, she’ll definitely need quarantine.”
“Ah yes, that sounds just right.” Tarkin said with a smile before correcting “I mean, you’re right. So, out of concern you understand, how long would that quarantine last?”
“About four weeks?”
The Grand Moff’s face lit up like a starburst.
“Sir?”
“Do you know, Screed, much as it pains me to be apart from my darling wife for so long...I think we should make it eight. Can’t risk a pandemic creeping across the Fantasia at a time like this. Not with so many of the Empire’s best and brightest coming and going.”
“Couldn’t agree more, sir. I’ll send the droids down right away and section off the corridor. You and Captain Daala should head off quick and take a good shower.”
“Oh, we will...I will, that is to say. Thank you, Screed. I promise I shall not forget this kindness.”
He switched off the commlink and turned his gleaming eyes to his glamorous secretary who’d started toying with her ginger ponytail in a playful manner and tilting her hips slightly from side to side.
The Grand Moff gave a command.
“My chambers. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir!”


*


Motley, dirty boots thundered fearfully on the shiny slate-grey floors of the Fantasia.
The Maldovar Boyz had played their cards wrong.
“Hurry, you stupid pudds! She’s coming!” Radds screamed as his cohorts frantically undid the bonds Rae Sloane and Natasi Daala had left him in along with Cap’n Snertling Haph-Pinter, Magro ‘Stinkyboy’ Slim and Drazala Nuwaan who still wore the lubricant bucket on her head.
“No, the third wire down! No, wait, second. No, second-up!”
“Not like that, let me do it!”
“Just cut the frakking things! Now!”
He didn’t see who did it but as soon as his wrists felt free, he leapt off the seat and made for the door.
They heard another door lift open before they reached the one they were facing.
Slowly, fearfully, all eyes turned to Imperial Jester Ilitha.
There she stood in the doorway, so warped and demented. Her body was wrapped in a gaunt, sheer black robe that made her appear somewhat scarecrow-like from the torso-down. Her tentacles were decorated with shiny dark-grey rings with spikes and prongs arranged in some cryptic fashion. If her face was pretty, it was marred by the big sick grin across her face. Her quiet little giggling was making her body twitch and rustle as if she was vibrating with maniacal glee.
As Radds took a step back, Ilitha’s right eye twitched and she took a step forward.
“Gah, to Byss with this! Let me at ‘em!” The smallest of the Maldovar Boyz showed either the greatest courage or stupidity as the Zilkin, Cap’n Snertling Haph-Pinter, jumped up and brandished a spare stun-baton at the Imperial Jester and snarled.
“Come at me, ya munge-fuddlin’, coddle-floppin’, snapper-whippin’ little doggone gill-gussie! I got six years on the hometown special forces, I’m fulla’ vim and vinegar, I got scrap an’ steam to spare an’ I’m spoilin’ for a fi...hey...Hey, whoa?! Wh-what are you doing?!”
The Zilkin’s round, stomping feet had left the floor and the miniscule body of Snertling Haph-Pinter was steadily climbing the room in mid-air, his four limbs frantically waving in the air.
“Get offa’ me! Get offa’ me ya Selmi scrump-seller! This is an injustice! This is the greatest injustice the noble Zilkin race has ever suffered an’ by Gromas you’ll pay for it! Do you hear me?! Put me down, I say! Put me down! That’s an order! Put! Me...er...wait...Wait!”
The Zilkin suddenly felt gravity harshly and violently return to his body and with a terrified screech, he fell the Zilkin equivalent of a fifty-five foot drop. The Maldovar Boyz stood and stared as, with a crunch, Cap’n Snertling Haph-Pinter met the ground flat on his face.
Ilitha gave another small giggle as she approached the ruined Zilkin.
His limbs were bent at irregular angles. His hands reached for nothing as he gave a small, gurgling groan.
“Help...me...”
The Nautolan’s cloak parted as a boot rose above the Zilkin and, as swiftly as he had, stamped into the floor.
The Maldovar Boyz winced as one as Snertling Haph-Pinter was crushed like a jogan-fruit. Ilitha’s foot ground the creature below her with savagery, drawing her heel over the floor once and twice.
All that was left of the late Cap’n Snertling Haph-Pinter and the legacy he often boasted of was a mess of green and yellow slime and two disjointed legs akimbo at the base of the splatter.
Ilitha’s leer twisted larger and longer as she gave a fishy hiss.
“Don’t talk. Just scream. And run.”


The Maldovar Boyz found themselves feeling unusually compliant.
Drazala Nuwaan, however, had heard nothing. Knocked over in the bruhaha, she found the mucilage bucket still stuck fast on her head. Muffled groans and grunts came from within as Ilitha watched.
With a giggle, she held out one hand.
An eerie sound, like a lonely breeze on barren soil, filled the room.
Drazala stopped struggling a moment, the bucket and the head within held still.
Then there was a low groan. Not from her but the bucket itself.
Her hands shook.
There was a crumpling sound and a stifled but audible scream as the bucket began to compress and rumble. The Zeltron’s hands pawed frantically at the crunching metal bucket that twisted and squashed as if toyed with by invisible hands.
At last, with a deranged titter, Ilitha gave her hand a short, sharp twist.


Scrambling like womp rats from a burning nest, the would-be hijackers fled, making for the sector hanger where they’d landed their carrack.
Then they noticed the pale, sunken Snirk McNoyd steadily rising off the ground. His legs started kicking at thin air as he reached out helplessly.
“Help! Help me! She’s gonna’ get me! Get her off me!”
The Iktochi, Yutane, stopped to grab at his hands. Pressing her heels against the floor before her, she found neither of them moving an inch.
Then, like a gust, both of them were pulled back. Yutane screamed at Snirk to let go of her own hands as the two were dragged along the corridor, screaming all the way back into the room they fled. There was the sound of a drawing lightsabre and the screams soon stopped.
“Stop! Stop, goddamn it! She’s just gonna’ keep chasing us!” Docor Danstan drew up his blaster furiously as they reached a turning “We need to fry the bitch! Right here! Right now! Come on, find a spot to shoot!”
“Screw you guys, we’re getting outta’ here!” Radds pushed past him the Maldovar Boyz split.
Together, he, Ornar Xapp, Belwana, Ur-Yompa, Gorvy ‘Go-Long’ Lomberd and Bar’Jin Bast took each side of the corridors, loaded their blasters and waited.
And waited.
There came the sound of footsteps.
Two pairs.
The Maldovar Boyz primed their sights as a woman walked out of the corridor.
Surprisingly, it was Drazala Nuwaan. The dented but perfectly fuctional bucket was still on her head but she didn’t seem to register.
Instead, she walked in a stilted, wooden fashion, her arms locked at her sides, shambling from one heel to another.
Docor stared with unease.
“D-Draz?”
As if on cue, the Zeltron’s hands flew to the bucket and gently removed it.
Along with the head inside it.
A mangled stump above her shoulders greeted them as the still-standing body shook morbidly, held out the bucket before them as if offering them a lucky dip and then topped to the ground, a swamp of blue and crimson gunk flying out the bucket and spreading across the floor.
“Holy frak!” Ornar Xapp wailed, pressing his back against the wall in terror.
“You sick bitch!” Docor yelled “Come out here and get yours right now!”
A bizarre voice replied.
“Whassa’ matter, boys? S’all taken care of.”
“Yup! We’ve all made up, see.”
The Maldovar Boyz stared, blood running cold as they saw Snirk McNoyd and Yutane stick their heads out of the corridor. Their faces however, were locked in a morbid silent scream.
Yet their jaws moved, never fully closing their mouths.
“Ilitha’s not gonna’ hurt ya!” Snirk seemed to say “She’s a reeeeaaaal nice gal once ya get to know her!”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Yutane appeared to reply “These Imperial chicks sure know how to have fun! Har-har-har-har-har!”
“Hur-hur-hur-hur-hur!”
“Aw, you guys say the sweetest things!”
An eerie, slightly childlike voice met their ears as Ilitha at last emerged, still wearing the sickening grin as she gestured with her index finger for her friends to follow.
The heads of Snirk McNoyd and Yutane flew and floated before her, bobbing and weaving like puppets.
Blasters shook in the Maldovar Boyz hands as they watched, too terrified to make the first move.
“You see, I’ve always been really good at making friends.” the Nautolan said in a faux-sweet tone before she put a hand to her mouth, casing Yuntane’s mouth to jam shut.
“Oops, did I say ‘friends’? I meant corpses. I get the two confused...One kind of leads to another in my experience.”
“Shut up!” A bright red plasma bolt shot through the corridor from Docor Danstan’s blaster barrel. It missed by a good few inches.
Ilitha’s smile was gone. Her sheer black eyes were wide and fixed on the people before her.
The heads of Yutane and Snirk toppled to the ground as she took a deep breath and spoke in a lower, harsher tone.
“Okay...do you have any idea...how frakking rude that was?!”
“Just stay back! Stay the frak back! I don’t care how many frakking light-swords ya’ got! We can still blast you! We’ve still got enough back here to take you down! Okay?!”
Breathing heavily, Docor stepped back in a crouch. The others did the same.
Ilitha’s right eye twitched as they all found their back heel.
She drew a hand out of her cloak and made a strange gesture.
A short metal cylinder glided out of her cloak.
Then two.
Then three.


She put her thumb and forefinger together as each one ignited with a long scarlet blade of blazing energy.
She gave a smirk and spoke.
“No...I don’t think you do.”
With one last ditch burst of fleeting courage, Docor Danstan gave a roar of fury as he opened fire. His comrades did the same, blasting round after round towards the deranged Imperial Jester.
Ilitha’s blades surged forward and spun in a mad dance, steadily drawing closer and closer with every whisk and wave.
As the blasts subsided and Docor fearfully acknowledged the empty magazine light on his blaster, he ran.
Two humans, a female Twi’lek, a Nikto and a Dowutin followed in hot pursuit.
None of them made it to the doors as, spreading her fingers, Ilitha sent the three lightsabres spinning forward.
Five heads hit the door, leaving their bodies far behind.


Radds ran. Ran like he’d never done before.
He’d got on the bad side of many people on Nar Shadaa. Street vendors, debt collectors, bar toughs, death-stick dealers, prostitutes and their pimps, even a gorg chef on one occasion.
They all paled to this. All he had ever known paled to this.
Behind him, screams echoed as Ilitha appeared to materialise from the sides and corners of the corridors, snatching them one by one.
At last, the doors of the sector hanger reached him and he jammed it open.
A slate-grey one-eyed Wookiee pulled him aside and smashed a furry fist into the door control.
Radds shook his head, gathered his breath and spoke.
“Where’s the ship?!”
Thracca gave a growl.
“Gone?! Whaddya’ mean gone?!” Radds screamed. He was met by more growling.
“Our...employer...stole our ship?! Wh-why?! Why would he...Okay, are there any other ships about?! Okay...okay...I think I can get one running...Gimme’ your gun.”
Obligingly, Thracca handed him his bowcaster. Behind him, three red lights jammed into the locked doors and, with a hellish crackle, steadily cut through.
The bowcaster was heavy in Radd’s hands but he managed to point it.
“Thanks.”
It fired and Thracca fell to one knee, his left leg perforated by a smoking hole. The Wookie gave a guttural wail of pain and thrashed at thin air as the boy he’d believed his friend took off down the hanger, going for the abandoned TIE Interceptor that had stopped for refuelling and repairs, still in reasonable flying condition.
Flailing, Thracca looked back as the doors threw themselves open and the deranged Nautolan emerged.
He bared his teeth, balled up a fist and threw a punch with one last roar.
One of the lightsabres whisked through the air.
The body of Thracca fell like a sodden carpet as Ilitha held the Wookiee’s head in her invisible grasp.
Gazing into its dead eyes and open jaws, she gave another giggle and held it up before her bouncing it in the air to flap its jaw as she imitated the Wookiee language.
“Grararooraroo! Whururoo! Brafroo!” Howling with laughter, she threw the head across the room and paced towards the TIE Interceptor and her last piece of prey within it.


“Come on! Come on! Come-on-come-on-come-on-come-on!”
Radds pleaded the Interceptor engine to prime as the ignition gave a mechanical choking sound and its thrusters refused to set. He pressed every button, twiddled every lever and eventually banged the control panel with his fist and cursed.
“JUST WORK, YOU STUPID FRAKKING PIECE OF PUDD! I DON’T WANNA’ FRAKKING DIE! FRAK’S SAKE! CAN NOTHING GO FRAKKING RIGHT FOR ME?! JUST-”
Thump!
He looked up with a jerk.
And stared.
Thracca’s head had landed against the screen.
There it was, pressed against the glass, sharp Wookiee teeth bared as if in ghostly rage.
Then it drew back and hit itself against it again.
Then another. This time a female Iktochi.
Then a human.
Then another human.
Then a Dowutin.
Then a Klatooninian.
And so it went on until all the severed heads of the young men and women Radds ‘Goldenboy’ Burrl had led to their deaths were slamming themselves against the glass. The Maldovar Boyz leader could only stare in shock, shaking all over as the dead things hit the ship. Over and over and over until at last they all drew back as one and, like a grisly, baleful fist, shot forward.
The glass shattered and Radds ‘Goldenboy’ Burrl gave the loudest and longest scream he’d ever uttered. Trapped in a corporeal nightmare, he could only scream as the heads bit him viciously, lifting him up by his ears, neck, wrists, thighs, ankles and hair. The young man wriggled like a fish on a hook as Ilitha paced forward, one hand raised, her fingers drumming the air like a demented piano-player.
The other hand rose and brought her three sabres up in the air, the hilts set at three points facing inwards, forming a bright red Y right below Radds. The hand that held them drew up one finger and spun it lazily as she gently lowered her first hand. Her powers drifted from one focus to another as the lightsabres spun, faster and faster and faster as Radds was lowered, screaming and writhing, into a make-shift white-hot shredder.
Finally letting one hand drop, the Goldenboy’s screams subsided as he and the severed heads that carried him were reduced to charred black scraps slowly tumbling over Ilitha who spun in a circle below, grinning and laughing and holding out her tongue.


Her insane cackling filled the sector hanger as up in Sector Nu, Hurst Romodi and Eli Vanto stared at the whole hellish spectacle through the camera feed.
“I...am not...cleaning that up...” Romodi managed to mutter.
Vanto blinked and swayed slightly, left and right, in a motion indicative of shock and nausea.
"Sweet...krayt-spitting...space-dust..." he mumbled queasily.
The old officer meanwhile pressed his fingers to his hairless temples and pleaded answers from his own thoughts.
“Dear stars above, Crodd...What is that thing and what the frak did you do to make it?!”


*


Tentatively, Minnie Mouse-Droid wiggled on her wheels to gesture Pipsqueak inside a small room with an open door then made for a small vent in the corner which opened and shut after her. Pipsqueak meanwhile leapt inside and ducked behind the side of the doorway.
As the door slammed shut a moment later, Pipsqueak pressed his back against it and slid down in a relieved slump, gasping for air.
Then his ear pricked.
There was noise coming from a pod in the middle of the room, a large cylinder made for some means or another, Pip couldn't think what.
Was that...giggling?
He crept over to it hesitantly and kept his ear open.
Voices could be heard. Familiar ones.
“Oh goodness...how did we get so wet?” A young woman cooed.
“I...would make a quip there but...” A young man was fumbling with his words.
“But it would be lacking in taste and appropriation and above all, very naughty. And you’re not a naughty boy are you, Pari...”
“Ah...no, ma’am.”
“No, you’re a good boy. And good boys get treats, don’t they...Now, what treats...lie in store for my good boy?”
“What indeed, my lady-”
Pipsqueak found his hoof pressing a button on the pod controls. The door slid open.
Lying in the pod was Parisian Froul in a rather damp uniform that smelled of swimming pools, half-buttoned from the top.
Next to him, almost on top of him, was Shayla Paige-Tarkin in what looked like a thin silver wash-gown.
Both of them had wet hair and wide eyes.
“Er...”
“Pipsqueak-Hi!’ Shayla said the two words so quick they may as well have been one as she bolted upright, accidentally planting an elbow in Parisian face. The ungainly corporal managed to find his feet as the two adjusted their garb with nervous smiles and flushed faces.
“Erm...” Pipsqueak blinked “I know it’s none of my business but...what were you two...”
“Er, I was injured.” Parisian said suddenly “And the Senator here felt it best to...er...”
“Give his injuries a close look.” Shayla finished “To...determine whether he should head to the medi-bay...at such a time.”
“Okay...” the colt mumbled “But wouldn’t you have taken off his shirt to have a look then?”
“Well, we didn’t want to rush thi-umph!” Parisian was shushed by another elbow, this time jabbing his ribs as Shayla shushed him.
“It’s okay.” Pipsqueak gave an insolent little grin “I won’t tell Mr Glandon. Or Mr Tarkin.”


“Thanks, Pip.” Shayla chuckled, noticing his stun baton “So, you went out to give them a walloping, eh? That’s what I like to see!”
“You know, tucked under your foreleg like that, you look almost like a Grand Moff yourself.” Parisian added, starting to laugh at the sight.
“Do I?” The colt checked himself “Hm...Yeah, I suppose so...Heh-heh.” Hopping on the spot and holding the baton under his foreleg imperiously, he screwed up his face to look as pompous as possible, stuck his muzzle in the air and bellowed in a posh but brusque military drawl.
“Atten-SHUN!” He marched in a circle, kicking his legs up and down “Left! Rrrrright! Left! Rrrrright! Companyyyyy...Halt!”
Shayla and Parisian couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle as Pipsqueak snorted through one nostril, and eyed them with one eye as if he were wearing a monocle and moustache.
“Stand up strrraight, soldier!” He waved the stun baton and yelled at Parisian who, alongside Shayla, stood to attention obediently, trying hard to keep their grins closed.
“Reportin’ for duty, sir!” Shayla trilled with a salute.
“Jolly good show!” Pipsqueak pursed his lip “All quiet on the front, soldier, eh wot?! Nothing out of its prrrroper place?!”
“I don’t think so, sir! Not with Grand Moff Pipsqueak to take care of things, right, corporal?!”
“Right. I’d say whoever messed with you would have to be ma-hahahaha!” Parisian couldn’t hold back his laughter and doubled up with glee. Pipsqueak stood under him and fixed him with a glare.
“Any more funny business and I’ll have you in the guardroom for bally insurbidation, d’you hear! I’ve got me’ eye on you, sonny!” He jabbed his baton in the air “And the same goes for you too, missy! MEEEEEEHEHEHEH!” He gave a bizarre bray that set the three of them falling on the floor with mirth.
The door at last opened as the humourless Captain Feanor Rondel stood and surveyed the three rolling caperers.
Pipsqueak found his hooves and his baton and readopted the pose again, giving the captain an arched eyebrow and another bellow.
“Yooouuuu need an ‘aircut, you ‘orrible little softy!”
His jibe was met by more laughter from Parisian and Shayla who were now busy trying to pick each other up, wiping tears of hysteria from their cheeks.
Feanor Rondel rolled his eyes with a grimace.
“Hilarious...The Grand Moff wants to see you. Just the foal.”
Pipsqueak hopped on his hooves and struck yet another pose.
“Tally-ho then! You heard the officer! Smoke me a kipper, I’ll be back for breakfast! Rrrriiiiiight-face! Forwaaaaard march!” And with that, he spun on his hooves and marched off with the already very-tired-looking Captain Rondel.
Sharing another chuckle, Parisian Froul and Shayla Paige-Tarkin turned to face each other, both beginning to smile in a way that suggested more than simple camaraderie.
Shayla took Parisian by the wrists and raised an eyebrow.
“Now...where were we?” Shayla cooed as Parisian found himself pressed against the wall as the young Senator nuzzled his bared neck.
She smelt of rojos and everlillies. He felt his hands rise steadily to her shoulders.
All he knew was that this was a much more glamorous job than he’d been led to believe. The Senator of Eriadu? The niece of the...
“Wait.” he stopped, worry on his features “Did Captain Rondel say...which Grand Moff?”
Shayla looked up with a concerned look before her grey eyes widened with grim realisation.
“...oh no...”