Star Wars: Red Sky Falling

by NukaDirtbag

Summary:

The First Order prepares for the final chapter of the New Republic. Starkiller Base enters its final stages of completion, ready to make it's grand declaration of war.

Across the galaxy a colonial security officer has to retrieve two lost scavengers and on distant Eriadu the mad Tarkin heiress plays dollhouse with assassin droids.

None of them realize that a bigger threat looms just beyond the stars. It cares not about politics or personal squabbles, it comes only to consume.

Notes:

Has all characters that are tagged, but focuses on my OCs, just a heads-up. I tend to write out a few chapters ahead before I start posting to try and keep a regular schedule, so I often run into the issue where I have to decide whether to tag characters I know and have written into the narrative prematurely to brace readers in advance or just don't tag them until the chapters where they make their proper appearances.

I'm tagging characters prematurely this time, if readers find that irritating then comment and let me know. This is partially because I write ahead and plan it out in advance so when I say Anakin Skywalker will make an appearance I mean it, but I do understand how that could be annoying if you're coming for Anakin and finding out he won't actually appear until a chapter in the late teens

You don't need to know Warhammer lore for this fic, I think I explain the Tyranids pretty well in the first 7ish chapters. They don't really have super deep lore or a lot of major recurring characters.

Chapter 1: Lover's Abound (Smut Chapter)

Summary:

A pair of scavs find their big score, or so they hope.

Notes:

This was tagged in my Still in the Dark series because it uses those OCs however you won't need to read the other fics to follow this one (though I'd appreciate it if you did read that one too).

Dusk grew close as a single green speeder crossed the blue, jagged, rocky landscape of Tetina. Inside were Trass and Drake, two young, dumb lovers, as the locals would say. Two young upstarts whose greatest ambition was simply to elope together. The destination didn't matter to them as long as the road included each other. A Twi'lek and a human, who would say to anyone that asked, "Just you and me, to infinity."

Before them was the wreck, a lifetime ago it was called Agonizer, now it was just the wreck. Many existed like it across the galaxy—from Jakku to Endor to Pammant. An Imperial-class Star Destroyer, decrepit, rusting, and rotting, an echo of an older time, now just the source of income for two 24-year-olds perpetually saying that just one more good scavenging run and they'd be off this rock.

Finally, Trass pulled to a stop in front of the imposing wreck and took a deep breath. "Let's get it done. What do you say?" She readjusted her green lekku as Drake nodded in agreement, holstering a sidearm and picking up his slicer pad for any Imperial security systems that somehow managed to be online. They'd never found any, but assumed caution was warranted. Likewise, Trass stepped out of the vehicle and retrieved a large repeating blaster from the trunk, also not something they'd ever actually needed inside the wreck, but again, they assumed caution was warranted.

They didn't speak as they trudged through the hangar, their boots crunching on decades of accumulated grit and shattered transparisteel; every step echoed from wall to wall and out the way they had come. The air inside was always ten degrees cooler, smelling of rust, ozone, and decay. Their headlamps pierced the oppressive gloom, the beams catching swirling motes of dust—the only things still moving with any life in this place.

"Remember when this place was scary?" Trass asked as they approached the bulkhead to deeper within.

"You mean when we were 12?" He shook his head. "I never felt scared of it; that was a you thing."

"Nuh-uh, the first few times you wouldn't even come inside with me." She peered through the long hallway past the bulkhead and paused. "Hello."

She waited until the echo died. "Guess we're the only scavs that still bother with this thing."

Drake stepped in past her. "That's because old man Mandrakago has them all thinking it's haunted." He started wriggling his fingers. "Oooooh, it's me, the spirit of the captain."

Trass giggled before pushing him aside and stepping inside. "Yeah, okay, how about we just find something valuable and get outta here?"

"Oooooh, the captain forbids you from finding his treasure."

Trass rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully before giggling. "Oh, and what's this great treasure?"

Drake smirked and pointed to her loins, still making that same voice. "The treasure still be buried there."

Trass's green skin turned purple as she blushed. "Oh, shut up. You've spelunked down under enough to know there's no hidden treasure."

"The spelunking is the treasure." He countered, leaning in close.

"Okay, okay, fine, maybe…. When we're done, we can have a little treasure hunt." She elbowed him playfully. "Now, let's find something worth finding."

Hallway by hallway, bulkhead by bulkhead, they dug deeper, the way illuminated only by flashlight and memory. Deeper they had to go because scavs had been picking the place clean for years now. They stopped at every panel looking for parts, searched every room, everything punctuated by Drake checking his chrono.

"Thought you wanted to take our time?" Trass questioned.

"I wanted to time everything perfectly for your surprise." He admitted as he checked a cavity in the wall.

"A surprise?”

He nodded. "Only happens every few hundred years."

She paused, her lekku almost wiggling. "That sounds… promising."

"Trust me, you wouldn't want to miss it.”

That certainly put a bounce back into her step. She moved quickly now, her eyes scanning every cavity and corridor anxiously as the chrono slowly ticked.

Their scrap wasn't worth much when they found it. It wouldn't be their jackpot off this rock, but it would sell for something—a case full of old power cells and deep-space biscuits.

There wasn't time to mourn the fact that they'd be trapped here another day; they had something special to get to. Drake led the way step by step until they emerged from a hole torn into the Star Destroyer's hull, walking across the top of the ship, the planet surface well below them.

Atop the Star Destroyer, he pulled her into a kiss, gentle at first, growing in demand as his hands glided over curves. They'd had sex in the wreckage before, but never on top of it.
She was a willing partner, pushing him off only to disrobe herself as quickly as she could, laying back on the cold metal of the ship's armor. He mounted and lined up right…

Then he paused.

She looked at him, concerned. "Changed your mind?"

"One more minute." He gestured upwards.

The planet had two moons. One eternally ablaze from an incident thousands of years ago when a chemical tanker crashed, the other a celestial body of pure glass and crystal. She watched slowly as they aligned into an eclipse, the fires of one projected and magnified by the other, painting the sky, the hull, and the ground below in a vivid, roiling rainbow.

For a long moment, they were silent, wrapped in the impossible, shifting colors. The universe felt vast and mysterious, but for once, it felt like it was making something just for them.

"It's beautiful," Trass whispered, her hand finding his.

"Told you it was worth the wait," Drake said, his voice soft. "Just you and me."

"To infinity," she breathed.

As he finally entered her, a moan escaped her lips, but her eyes were still wide, reflecting the roiling heavens. It was a surreal symphony of sensation—the chill of the metal beneath her, the heat of his body moving within hers, and the impossible canvas of light painting their skin. Even in the middle of sex, the sight around her was almost too distracting, but her moans came anyway as she let him take her; he was thick and long, each thrust drawing more music from her mouth.

Everything was his to take—the way the flesh of her breasts squished in his hands, the caress of her neck that slowly turned into a commanding choke, making her meet his gaze like the good girl she was.

She felt him lift her legs over his shoulders, but even as she met his gaze, her attention was torn by the way the light danced on his face. Usually, one would need spice to view something like this, and here she was just enjoying it with a clear mind as her body danced on the edge of an orgasm.

He grunted again and again as he fucked her; he could see the lights dancing on her skin and in her eyes, but in that moment, the eclipse was of no concern to him. She was beautiful, and someday she'd be his wife. He had the ring ready; he just needed to wait until this planet was far behind them.

They lay together afterward, skin cooling in the open air, watching the eclipse paint the world in impossible colors. Trass traced lazy patterns on Drake's chest, her lekku relaxed and content.
"We could stay here forever," she murmured.

"We could." Drake kissed her forehead. "But I thought you wanted off this rock?"

"Maybe the rock's not so bad." She smiled up at him. "As long as you're on it."

"Sap."

"You started it with your fancy celestial romance."

He laughed, pulling her closer. The eclipse was beginning to fade now, the moons drifting apart, and the rainbow light dimming back to ordinary starlight. In a few minutes, it would be gone entirely—something so rare and beautiful, reduced to just another memory.

"Hey," Trass said softly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him properly. "When we do get off this rock... where do you actually want to go?"

Drake considered it, running his fingers along her lekku in that way that always made her shiver. "Anywhere with an ocean. A real one, not some dried-up salt flat. Somewhere we can just... exist. No scavenging, no scraping by. Just us. We become fishermen, live in a cute little houseboat. Anytime we don't like our neighbors we could just sail away.”

"Just us," she echoed, and kissed him. "To infinity."

"To infinity."

They stayed like that a while longer, watching the last traces of color fade from the sky. Drake found himself thinking about the ring hidden in his footlocker back at their shelter—a simple band he'd traded three months of good salvage for. He'd know when the time was right. Maybe when they finally made it off Tetina. Maybe when—

The sound hit them first. A roar that split the sky, so loud it rattled the hull beneath them. Then the light—not the soft rainbow of the eclipse, but something harsh and white-hot, streaking across the darkened sky.

Something was falling.

Something big.

Then the sound of an explosion and a gust of air as its emergency thrusters kicked in to slow its descent. It was a ship; though in this light, it was a shooting star, a big shooting star that carried yet another hope of realizing a dream.

Drake was on his feet instantly, fumbling for his pants and datapad. Trass grabbed her shirt, eyes locked on the burning trail cutting through the eclipse's beauty.

"Did you see where it—" Drake was already pulling up the speeder's sensors on his pad. "There. Four klicks northeast. Fresh crash."

They stared at each other.

"Salvage rights," they said in unison.

Drake was already pulling up the comm frequency, hands shaking—not from fear, but excitement. "This is Drake Millhouse, independent salvager, transmitting universal salvage claim. Crash site four klicks northeast of the Tetina Star Destroyer wreck, coordinates uploading now. Claimed under Outer Rim salvage protocols, witnessed by Trass Kaval, time-stamped and logged."

The acknowledgment came back almost immediately. "Received and logged, Millhouse. You're on record and CorSec approved. Happy hunting."

Drake killed the connection and looked at Trass, his grin so wide it hurt his face.

"This is it," he said. "This is our ticket."

Trass pulled her boots on, already moving toward the hull breach that would lead them back to the speeder. "Then what are we waiting for?"

As they gathered their clothes in the now-fading light, Trass paused, her eyes fixed on the spot where the moons had aligned. "Do you think we'll ever see anything that beautiful again?”

Drake came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "With you? I'm counting on it. Now come on, let's go cash in this junk.”

Notes:

If you read this far thank you, and feel free to give any feedback, good or bad.

Kudos and Comments are endlessly appreciated.

Chapter 2: CR-90

Summary:

Everything that can go wrong goes wrong

The speeder skidded to a halt beside the new crash site, kicking up a cloud of pale dust. Trass’s eyes widened as she took in the mangled shape. She didn't know ships, but everyone could have recognized this specific model even in its sundered state. A CR90, one of the most famous corvettes CEC had ever designed, practically a symbol of the old Rebellion.

Drake examined it as well, standing up in his seat. “You know company procedure, right?”

Trass nodded without taking her eyes off the vessel. “Check for viral contagions first, then chemical contaminants, then relay the results back to CorSec, check up every 2 hours.”

She turned to him. “Is that right?”

“Chemical first,” Drake corrected, “but yeah. We follow that checklist or forfeit the payout.”

She sighed as she reached into the back for a small handheld scanner, the corporate-issued model that was always a few software updates behind. “The joys of being stuck on a corporation-owned planet.”

She held up the scanner and slid over the side of the speeder, cautiously approaching this new wreck. Drake didn't follow, instead examining the crash site.

“No cratering,” he muttered. “Their emergency thrusters must have engaged in time to prevent kinetic impact.” He glanced around, counting scattered fires. Multiple blazes still clung to life, but he was certain everything would be extinguished soon enough.

He heard beeping from Trass’s scanner until it finally gave a single, finalized click. Trass checked the reading. “Our database is limited, but we're not picking up any known contaminants or viruses.”

“Any unknown signatures?”

She shook her head no. “Traces of carbon monoxide, but everything is accounted for.” She turned her gaze to him. “Should we make something up?”

He shook his head before picking up their comms device. “CorSec, no signs of contamination or contagion.”

“Copy, scavvers,” came the reply. “Logging it now. Keep us updated.”

"You nervous?" Drake asked, watching her hands shake slightly on the scanner.

"I guess fresh crashes feel different than the Star Destroyer. More mystery." Trass glanced at him. "You're not nervous?"

"Terrified," he admitted. "What happens if we mess this up somehow?"

"Then we'd never get our license renewed and we'd be stuck here forever with no way off."

"That's what you're worried about? Our license?"

She shook her head, suddenly serious. "No. I'm worried that I'll never see Coruscant's cityscape or the glowing trees of Felucia."

"I love you," he said.

She blinked, surprised. "I mean, I know that, but—"

"No, I mean—I really love you.”

Trass's lekku flushed darker green. "Well. Good. Because you're stuck with me. To infinity, remember?"

"To infinity." Drake clipped the comms to his belt. “I'll lead.”

Trass nodded in agreement, and with that, they were entering through a port-side emergency airlock. No signs of internal fires, the interior hallways illuminated red by emergency power lifts still barely clinging to life.

“Well, the much-rumored red light district,” Trass commented.

Drake shook his head. “A red light district would have a lot more half-naked Twi'lek girls.”

Trass stopped mid-step. “Why?”

Drake looked back at her. “Red light district.”

“And?”

His eyebrow raised a little. “Do you know what a red light district is?”

She shook her head no.

“It's where people pay to get laid.”

“Oh.” She nodded and started walking again before stopping again. “Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Half-naked Twi'leks? We're not the only hookers in this galaxy; that's so fucking racist.”

“Yeah, but Twi'leks are my type.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped next to him. “It's a harmful stereotype and forces us to relive our victimization by the Hutts and Empire.”

He sighed. “You're right. I'm sorry, but…” he gestured around. “Is this the best place to discuss this?”

She looked around at the crimson-lit, corpse-quiet corridors and shrugged, though the gesture lacked its usual confidence. “Just another wreck. We've seen them before.”

And so they continued in lockstep; she took his hand while keeping her gun hung over her shoulder. “So what do you think?”

“It sucks in here.” He trudged along until suddenly she pulled her hand from his embrace. He turned and saw her eyes wide as she took in a big insignia on the wall.

Her voice was reverent and gentle as she reached out her hand and placed it flat against the wall. “The Resistance.”

He paused, letting her have her moment. She took a few seconds before turning to him. “My grandma was taken from Ryloth when she was just 11, dragged to a barracks on Adumar and told she’d be doing their work… and nothing else.” She paused, letting the memory rise, her fingers brushing her lekku to make it more vivid than any human could recall.
“She made me promise that whenever I saw someone excuse the Empire—or speak for them—I’d knock them down for her. And I always did.”

“And that includes the First Order.”

She nodded. “Especially the First Order.”

With that, they continued until suddenly it felt wrong. Burn marks in the floor, claw marks on the walls, and then the corpse. A Rodian covered in its purple blood, absolutely covered in lacerations.

Drake felt Trass pull away. “Karabast, the smell–”

And then she vomited on the floor. She was right; Drake couldn't place what it smelled like, but it was likely the worst thing he had ever smelled.

“Looks like they struggled before the crash… would explain the crash.” He kneeled down, finding the corpse gripping a blaster in one hand, an old bryar pistol, and a datapad in the other. “This should be handy.”

He picked it up and tried powering it on. It lit up faintly, immediately clocking his concern: no encryption, no password, no security measures, like someone wanted it to be easy to access.

To his side, Trass had kneeled by the Rodian, wiping her cheek, before reaching out delicately and closing its eyes. “They were good people.”

Drake nodded. Maybe not every member of the Resistance was a good person, but everyone in the Resistance would have at least tried to be a good person in Trass’s mind, and when he heard her stories, it was hard to disagree.

He swiped through the tablet, immediately finding a video file titled “SOS: For the Republic.” He tapped it, opening the video.

The screen flickered to life, green and grainy. The image wavered as a hand-held camera struggled to stay steady, catching the pale interior of a crumpled corridor. A young Pantoran officer appeared, breathing hard, a pink ponytail hanging over her shoulder.

“…This is Lieutenant Velara, call sign Crimson Talon, broadcasting from the Tetina sector. Transmitter and comms have been damaged,” she said, voice clipped but tense. “If anyone receives this, the situation is critical. Repeat: the RZ-7239 Resistance outpost has suffered massive casualties. Casualties are—”

The camera swiveled, catching glimpses of the destroyed barracks. Tables were overturned, lights flickering. Weapons, some bent, some snapped in two, littered the floor. The walls bore deep gouges, clawed and smeared with dark streaks.

“…a bio-organic infestation, unlike anything previously cataloged. Unknown species, highly aggressive. Civilians and personnel were—” She swallowed hard. “Decimated. We were unable to hold the outpost. I repeat, unable to hold. We pulled out, en route to deliver our combat footage and testimonies to New Republic High Command. We need to alert High Command.”

She paused, scanning a nearby hallway. The camera caught a shadow skitter past too fast to identify, a segmented shape moving across the floor before disappearing. Her hand tightened on her gun

“This message must reach High Command. Hosnian Prime. Transmit immediately on receipt. Coordinates are logged, but if you find this, trust nothing survives here. Nothing. Proceed with extreme caution. Threat… overwhelming. Repeat: overwhelming.”

A loud thump rattled the walls. She jerked the camera toward the noise—a figure, unidentifiable, hunched, moving fast, striking something out of frame. A scream, garbled and brief, cut off mid-word.

“Cor—comms failing—must—broadcast now—”

The feed wavered violently as the camera was thrown, bouncing off walls. A streak of green light flashed, then static swallowed the image entirely.

Beside him, Trass clenched up. The smell of burnt circuitry and blood hung in the air as she swept her weapon across the hallway. “Whatever that was, it could still be in here.”

“I agree.” Drake scanned the hallway. “The tablet is on low battery, the casing is damaged. If it dies, it may not power back up. If we want answers, we can't wait.”

She scowled, then nodded. “Fuck. Can't get an easy way out, can we?”

“No. Seems like today is gonna be difficult.” Drake replied before tapping the datapad again, seeing a list of recordings—must be all the evidence and footage Velara wanted presented to the New Republic Defense Force. His fingers hesitated over the list of files, dread knotting in his stomach, then he hit another video at random.

The screen flickered to life, green-tinted and grainy, like a personal helmet cam recording. A stormtrooper sat on a metal crate in a dimly lit hangar, helmet off, face tight with focus. Beside him, another trooper fiddled with a blaster, double-checking an energy pack.

The first trooper cleared his throat. “This is TK-4412, call sign ‘Razor,’ recording log, pre-deployment. Assignment: RZ-7239. Primary objective: neutralize bugs… and, uh, pick up a grateful local if she’s around.”

He glanced toward the corridor outside the hangar. “Admiral Sloane briefed us on a possible infestation. So… bug hunt. Planet’s a Resistance hotbed. Snoke or Hux would have us massacre the place, but Sloane’s taking a ‘subtle’ approach.”

The camera swiveled slightly as TK-4412 leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “The idea is, if we clear the bug problem, the locals might warm up to us, which puts pressure on Resistance operations here. Makes the cell… unsustainable.”

He tapped a datapad on his thigh, bringing up a holographic map. Red dots flickered along the Outer Rim, showing scattered Resistance activity. “Hotspot here, near the Unknown Regions. Hopefully sunnier than Starkiller Base.”

The trooper’s gaze met the camera. “But hey, Admiral Sloane calls it clever anti-insurgency tactics. I call it Razor’s guide to getting girls. You just kill a few bugs while looking heroic, and boom—heartthrob bonus points.”

He straightened, picking up a helmet and strapping it on. “Setting down soon. Hope the bugs are ready, because razors are sharp.”

A pause. He exhaled. “Yeah… that sounded cooler in my head.”

Trass turned to Drake, her expression grim. “They wanted to get these recordings to Hosnian Prime.”

“That's what the first recording said.” Drake’s fingers hovered over the datapad again. There seemed to be about two hours worth of these recordings. Trass was right; it was dangerous in this wreck. He clicked to check each recording's timestamps. “SOS: For the Republic” was the newest and recorded two days ago; the second oldest was only titled by a string of numbers. “But we need to know what to call this in as.”

The screen flickered with static, and the datapad in Drake's hands abruptly went dark for a second, the footage of the stormtrooper ending and picking up a new recording automatically. The evidence of what that Velara woman was concerned about, he hoped. Behind him, Trass’s grip on her blaster tightened as she scanned the hallway again, trying to stay vigilant.

The screen glowed green. There was a heads-up display, and in front of the camera was a blaster held carefully. A visor camera for some sort of police or soldier, confirmed within a second as the camera panned around, revealing a squad of First Order stormtroopers. Unspeaking and stoic, but that didn't mean the video was quiet; the staccato of blaster fire was only barely audible through the recording.

Trass grumbled but kept her eyes on the hallway.

One of the stormtroopers made hand signals, and the stormtroopers all nodded before the camera swiveled forward again, motion as their cameraman started moving forward. In their peripheral vision, Trass and Drake could discern blood splatters, doorways that were numbered, some slid open revealing living spaces. Furniture, clothes strewn about, a little tooka doll the size of a boot stained blood red, all punctuated by the heavy breathing of the stormtrooper in his helmet.

The HUD flickered with information: squad vitals and environmental data: Particulate density rising. Air purity 42%. Unknown biological agent.

The night vision gave everything that sickly green cast, but something was wrong with the image quality—a haze in the air that scattered the light, made everything slightly blurred at the edges. The haze deepened—tiny floating motes caught in the green light, scattering it, turning the air milky. Every step forward distorted the feed a little more as the stormtroopers stepped into the interference. The stormtrooper’s breaths took on a mechanical quality, his helmet’s toxin and gas filters going into overdrive.

"What is that?" Drake murmured, pointing at the atmospheric readings. "That's not smoke or dust. The sensor can't identify it."

The squad rounded a corner. The camera caught more blood, drag marks leading into darkness, scratches in the walls. The blaster fire was louder now, multiple sources, echoing through the corridors from somewhere ahead. Underneath it, something else—clicks, chittering sounds that didn't match any species Drake recognized.

Then the sound of a beeping. Repeated and steady. A voice behind the cameraman stated very bluntly, “Picking up motion.”

"Aurek-Three, hallway secure, advancing to intersection." The trooper's voice was calm, mechanical through the helmet filter.

"Copy, Aurek-Three. Besh-Two reports contact on level five." A different voice, the squad leader maybe.

"Acknowledged. Maintaining sweep pattern; keep track on our moving targets."

They moved, their military training abundantly evident, covering angles, checking corners. Standard urban warfare doctrine. The helmet cam panned across a doorway with deep gouges in the frame—claw marks that had torn through the metal like it was plastoid wrap.

The environmental readings continued to degrade. VISUAL CLARITY: 64%. The particulate haze was getting thicker, the helmet's filter now letting out a static hum. One of the stormtroopers ahead raised a fist—a halt signal. The camera stopped, the blaster tracking left and right as the trooper scanned for threats.

More sounds from the distance. Screaming now, mixed with the weapons fire. Human screaming. Something else, too—shrieks that hurt to listen to, even through the recording's tinny speakers.

The squad moved forward again. The helmet cam caught glimpses of the destruction: a wall with holes punched through it from the inside, electrical wiring hanging loose and sparking, something dark and wet coating the floor that reflected green in the night vision.

They entered a wider corridor. The camera panned right.

A figure came into view, slumped against the wall, a peach-colored Twi'lek, clearly Resistance from the emblem on her shoulder pad, wearing an odd mismatch of civilian clothes and old CorSec armor padding. “Nee jabba... wamma doe rah ki'nala!”

“What is she saying?” Drake questioned.

“Over there, too many of them,” Trass answered before putting her fingers to her lips. She turned her gaze to the datapad and cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowed as she tried to decipher what she was seeing.

Trass’s face scrunched as the stormtrooper yanked the woman in the recording upright. For a moment, it looked like an execution. But instead, the blaster swung past her, down the corridor she was gesturing toward. He pulled the Twi’lek to his side. She, trembling but defiant, drew her weapon and pointed past him.

Trass’s grip tightened. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Another fighter staggered out—bleeding, clutching the torn stump of an arm. He didn’t stop, just ran past, screaming, as the squad opened fire into the dark.

The world became red light and static. Blood hit the lens, smoke and spores choked the sensors, and then the video froze on one image.

Tall, broad, sleek like the stormtroopers, but a head taller, black armor and a dim red glow in its visor. In the same firing position as the stormtroopers firing downrange, another First Order stormtrooper took cover behind, firing his own blaster.

“What is that?” Trass murmured. “They were… helping each other…”

Drake squinted before fiddling with the tablet. “No, what is that?”

He zoomed in, tried to depixelize the image, zoomed in again. In the visor of that tall, dark trooper was a reflection of whatever the trooper was firing at… a claw, not like anything they'd ever seen. Segmented. Bladed. Long like a sword.

Then came the shriek.

Not from the recording.

From right behind them.

A blur of chitinous darkness slammed into Trass from a side vent she hadn't even seen. The impact was like a speeder bike—a sickening crunch of body against armor, and she was hurled into the opposite wall. The datapad flew from Drake’s hands, its screen cracking as it skittered away. The air filled with a wet, sweet smell—like fruit rotting in the sun—and a shadow rose up behind her, silhouetted in the datapad’s dying green light.

“TRASS–” Drake was reaching for his holstered blaster, but it was too late.

Drake screamed, and she was splattered with warm red blood.

Notes:

This chapter took pretty heavy influence from Forward Unto Dawn at the end there. That shot of the Spartan in the marine's found footage and then the reflection of the energy sword in the visor reflection always stuck with me and I tried to pay obvious homage to that sequence here.

How'd I do building up the tension with this chapter though? I think that's what's really important for me to get feedback on.

Chapter 3: There Is No Light

Summary:

Commander Elysia Oneya of the Corellian Security Force enters the fray

Tetina's landscape was as dreary as ever. As soon as the eclipse ended, the sky returned to its usual dull blue, painting the craggy terrain and sparse settlements with a routine monotony.

A massive drill, nicknamed the "God Hammer," bored deep into the planet's core for rare minerals. A refinery processed the metals, and a CEC plant turned them into base components, later shipped to distant Corellia for assembly.

And in the middle of those very interesting and mind-blowing industrial positions was a town, also owned by CEC, just large enough to provide and sustain the work force needed to run the planetside industrial zones, but not large enough to give them a fulfilling and enjoyable life. On the third floor of the local CEC command center, in the office of CorSec Colonial Taskforce branch 237, Elysia Oneya sat surrounded by paperwork.

Actual, physical paperwork. A droid could have scanned her signature and called it done—but no, the higher-ups insisted she hand-sign every form, bypassing her old trick of letting an intern scroll through datapads while she handled the actual important tasks: weapon checks, troop training, and discipline. Tasks that actually required her decades of experience as a former stormtrooper. But here she was, stuck with forms even an untrained recruit could complete. She sat there pen in hand, feeling her blonde hair get greyer, her blue eyes struggling to stay open.

Finally a knock on the door grabbed her attention. She turned her gaze upwards to an Ishi Tib in the doorway. "What is it?"

"That uh, scav team that called in salvaging rights in that crash earlier." His beak seemed to tremble. "They're late to check in… I mean, they've missed two check-ins."

Elysia rested her chin into her palm, 2 missed check-ins meant 4 hours. Also meant she was working late, hours late and probably not going to get paid for a second of it. "So they forfeited salvaging rights and their paycheck. It's that…" she paused, "that little starry-eyed couple of high school sweethearts, right?"

The Ishi Tib nodded.

Elysia sat back in her chair. "They're a lustful pair. Caught them fucking in an alley once. Both got written up for public indecency. They're probably late because they're tempting the cruel mistress of pregnancy's attention."

The Ishi Tib's beak dropped a little, his eyes fierce in thought.

"I mean they're probably fucking in the wreck."

The ishi tib nodded. "Of course ma'am, but company protocol dictates we investigate. Lack of check in could be a sign of danger to the colony. An invasive predatory species or murderous stowaways."

"Or something else to make this job interesting." Elysia sighed. "Get a squad ready, get a drop ship ready for contact."

The Ishi Tib nodded again before clearing his throat. "If I may, ma'am?"

"Yes."

"Why does that pair still have authorization for scavving."

She sighed very loudly. "Great question, because those licenses are handled by CEC bureaucracy on Corellia."

"Have we contacted them about it?"

"Sure, I make the call, get connected to a secretary. She puts my information request into the system, two weeks later I get a response and it's an automated response that says they declined my request for a new vending machine."

"I'm not sure I follow."

Elysia pushed a particularly boring requisition for away. "They care so little about my information requests so little that the droid they have process them can't even be bothered to read them correctly."

"Alright, I'll get the team ready, who's taking point?"

Elysia rose from her chair stretching her arm. "Me."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Sure. In my absence you'll be acting CO and you can sign documents in my absence." She pointed to the stack on her desk. "Start with those ones."

He didn't argue, not that she would have given him time, she was out that door and hooking a left to the armory, comms in hand as she started giving orders. Team 3 on deck, get the drop ship ready, departing ASAP. She did a weapon inspection quick, looking over an H-9 "Compliance" Carbine and the standard CorSec Combat armor, a green uniform with some thin plating over the shoulders and chest, not exactly formidable. 

Then she was in the hangar with a full squad of 14 officers, carbines in hand and armor clad. Most had been in CorSec for years, but in actual field experience they were all practically green. Then a hand on her shoulder seeing a familiar shit eating grin, green eyes, greying blonde hair, taller than her and handsome as ever.

"Hey beautiful, come here often?"

And that's how always approaches his wife of over 2 decades, making her roll her eyes before she responded. "You know the colonial manager gets mad about you being in secure areas Blitzer, you're not authorized."

He shrugged. "Well my access card lets me in so how am I supposed to know it's off limits to me?"

"Because they keep telling you it is."

"Well then they should update my card and make sure those credentials aren't on my file."

Elysia smirked. "I'm sure when they ring that idea past security that the techie will get conflicting orders from his CO telling him he's not allowed to lock her husband out." She reached around Blitzer giving him a tight hug, not so long ago her heart skipped when she touched him even after 20 years of marriage, but now she had a droid assisted valve, machinery that understood the heart and its function, but not the matters of the heart. No longer having the butterflies, what an unexpected price to pay for a 56 year old woman to stay front line ready and as physically capable as when she was still young. "Better hug me back, didn't you hear? We've got real action, I might not come back."

A tight squeeze as he hugged her back, a tight firm grasp holding her in place. "Yes ma'am, and be more clear if you want me here or not, ma'am."

"Good boy Blitzer." She pushed herself back gently, he responded by letting her go without a fuss. "Now make sure when I get back you have something romantic setup so your wife remembers what makes her job worth it."

"Yes ma'am." Blitzer saluted playfully. "If I remember right, you're a fan of how mouthy I get."

Elysia turned red as she heard one of her officers snicker. "Blitzer, we are in public you can't just be LOUDLY talking about FELLATING me. Some of my troopers have the maturity of middle school children."

The snickering suddenly stopped. Blitzer cocked his eyebrow and then shrugged. "I'll be waiting."

Elysia reached up and stroked his face, tilted his chin down and stood on her tippy toes to kiss him. A quick peck before asking. "Is the drop ship ready?"

"Yes ma'am." An officer replied.

She broke all contact with Blitzer as she straightened up and playfully pushed him backwards. "All civilians vacate the premises or face arrest. Everyone else, we're leaving now."

 

******** 

 

Twenty minutes and the boxy drop ship touched down 40 meters north of the Corellian wreck. Elysia was first to have her feet on solid ground her carbine already raised. 14 security officers followed her, an additional 4 autonomous drones detached from the bottom of the hovering drop ship to lead the way.

"Scav crew reported no chemicals or contagions before they went dark, ma'am."

She nodded but raised her fist. "Hold position and prepare hazard masks anyways. Wait for my signal."

The officer nodded. The drones pushed forward, humming as they scanned the air for any particulate matter the scavs had missed. Any chemicals or virus in the air that could explain why they went AWOL. Elysia followed the drones, her breathing turned mechanical from synthetic lungs that now overrode her normal breathing pattern to filter what smoke residue remained in the air.

Her heart, her lungs, a synthetic coating along her "key" musculature. All the things CEC provided her to stretch a veteran's life far beyond its limits. They'd even offer her a computerized brain eventually to delay any chance of her retiring. She'd decline it, not because she was attached to the idea of retiring but because she often wondered, once a droid helps operate your mind, can you really still call yourself human, or do you become something else entirely, a simulacrum of nothing, just flesh and machinery conjoined for hubris.

Her internal monologue was interrupted as the drones chimed. No particulates detected, no masks needed, her synthetic lungs unnecessary for the task at hand. She raised her hand and made the forward motion and the team advanced behind her until they reached an open airlock, an officer, a kind togruta woman named Nahsee took point now, her melodic beautiful voice keeping those qualities even as she yelled. "Search and Rescue."

The team followed her flanked by the probes until Elysia paused and took up the rear. Moving down the hallway until they hit their junction.

"Split into three fire teams. Two with five men and one probes, one with four men and 2 probes." Elysia ordered. "Keep weapons on non lethal and remember proper escalation procedures. I don't want extra paperwork because one of you has a twitchy trigger finger."

The teams split, one headed for the bridge, one to the engineering bay and Elysia's team would sweep the main corridor. Carbines up, checking corners, moving in a tight formation as the situation got worse. Claw marks on the walls, blood splatters across the floor. Elysia wasn't a detective, but you didn't need to be to know this ship's crash and these signs of struggle were connected.

Only a few more steps and they found their corpse. Rodian, utterly eviscerated, couldn't say for sure without an autopsy, but it looked like an animal attack, or someone on way too much death sticks. Elysia took in the sight, processed it quickly, she'd seen a lot of death in her time, even caused quite a bit herself. Then she turned her head.

This corpse was fresher, more familiar. Drake. One of the two she was here to pull out dead before she arrived.

And then guilt slammed into her. 

She was the one that approved his claim to salvage rights. She's the one who rubber stamped him coming here. She's the one who didn't dispatch a crew when they missed their first check in and now she was the one who didn't have time to dwell on it as she tapped her comms. "All officers switch weapons to lethal, fire at will. Suspect is armed and dangerous."

Near his body, a datapad, cracked screen. One of the officers picked it up and loaded it up. "It's got an SOS on it ma'am."

Elysia took it and watched the footage. Audio was garbled. A Pantoran woman speaking directly to the camera, glancing around frequently, the only thing Elysia could make out was New Republic High Command and even that through the pad's speakers sounded like a knife of high pitched squealing. She handed it to the team's drone. "Transfer the remaining files and process them, give me the gist of it when you're done."

She gave one last glance at Drake, and his various internal organs that were now decorating the hallway and took a deep breath. "We need to find Trass, stay sharp."

They moved deeper into the ship, past more claw marks, more blood. The corridor opened into what had been a mess hall—tables bolted to the floor, chairs scattered like something had torn through in a frenzy.

Then they heard it. A voice, barely audible. Babbling, rhythmic, almost like a prayer.

Nahsee raised her fist—halt. The team froze. She tilted her head, montrals picking up the sound more clearly than human ears could. "Someone's alive."

The voice came again. Not Basic. Elysia's translator struggled to parse it—fragments of Huttese, something else woven through.

Nahsee moved forward slowly, carbine lowered, approaching one of the overturned tables. She crouched down, peering into the shadows underneath. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. We're here to help."

The babbling stopped.

Then started again, faster, more desperate.

Nahsee glanced back at Elysia, then back under the table. "It's Trass. She's—" Nahsee's voice softened. "She's scared."

Nahsee holstered her carbine and crouched lower, hands visible, palms out. "Trass. It's me Nahsee. Remember me? I'm a medic. I need to check if you're hurt. Can you let me do that?"

The babbling didn't stop, but Trass's eyes flickered to her, then away, then back. Recognition, maybe. Or just tracking movement.

"Okay. I'm going to come closer now." Nahsee shifted forward slowly, deliberately telegraphing every movement. Behind her, two officers repositioned to maintain sight lines down the corridor. Elysia kept her carbine up, something was off, something was very very off.

Nahsee reached the overturned table and peered underneath properly now. Trass was curled tight, knees drawn up, back pressed against the wall. Her jumpsuit was torn at the shoulder, fabric dark with dried blood—hers or Drake's, impossible to tell.

And that hand. Drake's hand. Clutched against her chest like a child's toy.

"Trass, I need to check your shoulder. That blood—is that yours?" Nahsee kept her voice low, steady. "Can you show me?"

"Nee... nee boska..." Trass shook her head violently, the hand pressed tighter.

"It's okay. You don't have to let go of—" Nahsee stopped herself. "You can hold onto him. But I need to see if you're bleeding."

A pause. Then slowly, painfully, Trass shifted enough that Nahsee could see the tear in the fabric. Not a cut. No visible wound underneath. Relief flickered across Nahsee's face.

"Good. That's good. You're not hurt there." She pulled out a mobile bioreader, the kind designed for field assessment. "I'm going to check for internal injuries now. It won't hurt. Just stay still."

The bioreader hummed as she passed it over Trass's torso, checking for broken ribs, internal bleeding, anything that required immediate intervention. Elevated heart rate. Shallow breathing. Core temperature down two degrees—not critical, but concerning. No structural damage.

"She seems ok, but it's calibrated for humans, we won't know for sure until we're back home. She's definitely in shock." Nahsee said gently. She pocketed the scanner and reached for her canteen. "Trass, I need you to drink something. You're in shock. Dehydration will make it worse."

She held the canteen out. Trass stared at it like she didn't understand what it was.

"Just a sip," Nahsee coaxed. "Please."

Trass's free hand—the one not clutching Drake—moved slowly, shakily, reaching for the canteen. Her fingers wrapped around it. She brought it to her lips, took a small sip, then another. The babbling quieted, just for a moment.

Trass's head snapped toward her. The babbling intensified—words tumbling over each other, half Huttese, half something else. Ryl, maybe. Pidgin. Her hand shot out, pointing behind them, toward the corridor they'd just cleared.

"M'um... m'um ka... chuba!" She shook Drake's severed hand like she was trying to make them understand. "Dopa-deece! Goodee wanga!"

Nahsee looked to Elysia, shaking her head. "I can't—it's not standard Huttese, it's blended with Ryl. I'm catching pieces. 'Many.' 'Walls.' 'Darkness.' But the rest—"

Trass kept pointing, kept babbling, eyes locked on something none of them could see. Elysia turned and looked where she was pointing. There was wall panel torn asunder that was sparking from live wires. Some blood splatters. Nothing unusual… the shadows were… no the shadows weren't shifting.

"She speaks basic, get her to speak in basic." Elysia ordered.

Nahsee grimaced but complied. "Trass, boska Basic? Mee ootmian keepuna, boska..."

"Nee boska... nee boska... kava nooma... kava listen…." Trass replied quickly, still staring at that same spot.

"Hard to make out… but she thinks it will hear us."

Elysia scanned the corridor behind them again. Empty, but the shadows seemed different again. Like the light was being refracted through water.

The drone's scanners hadn't flagged anything, but it was also audibly whirring as it was trying to process the contents from that datapad, maybe it's sensors were on subroutines or something, Elysia was never much of a techie.

"We need to get her to proper medical attention, try and get her ready to move," Elysia ordered. "We're extracting. Now." She pulled her comms. "All teams rendezvous at extraction point."

Nahsee stroked her chin, before reaching for a kit at her hip. "I can try anxiety blockers to help calm her nerves, Altriscope for the pain– no that would counteract anxiety blockers."

Nahsee continued arguing with herself out loud as she divided up a small collection of pills that she dropped into an injector pistol, the pistol churned like a food processor as it turned hard pills into a one hit stimpack. 

Nahsee waited until the sound stopped and looked Trass in the eye. "Don't look at the needle, it'll make it hurt less."

 

******

 

The dropship's landing lights cut through the dark as Elysia's team emerged from the wreck, Nahsee supporting Trass on one side, another officer on the other. Trass's legs worked mechanically, one foot in front of the other, but her eyes were still unfocused, still darting to shadows that shouldn't move.

She still clutched Drake's hand.

"Team Two, report," Elysia spoke into her comm as they approached the ship.

"Bridge was clear, ma'am. No survivors. Found three more bodies—Resistance crew. Also found some green ichor that didn't match any of the corpses found and took samples."

"Team Three?"

"Engineering bay secure. Two more KIA. Whatever did this, it's thorough."

Elysia's jaw tightened. Eight confirmed dead, probably more they hadn't found. And one survivor who couldn't form a coherent sentence.

The dropship's access ports were already wide open, the pilot visible in the cockpit running pre-flight checks. All three teams. Fourteen officers, all accounted for. All still breathing.

It was too easy.

The thought hit Elysia like ice water. They'd found a massacre scene, hostile wildlife or worse still potentially aboard, and they were walking out without a single casualty? Without even seeing what had done this?

She scanned the perimeter one more time. The craggy blue landscape stretched out in all directions, jagged rocks casting long shadows in the fading light. The wreck loomed behind them, dark and silent. Nothing moved.

Nothing she could see, anyway.

"Get her on board," Elysia ordered, gesturing to Trass. "Nahsee, stay with her. Everyone else, defensive perimeter until we're loaded."

The officers formed up automatically, carbines raised, covering the approach to the dropship. The drones hummed overhead, scanners still running, still finding nothing.

Nahsee guided Trass to a seat. The young Twi'lek moved like a puppet with cut strings, compliant but absent. She stopped suddenly, her whole body going rigid.

"Trass?" Nahsee's hand tightened on her shoulder. "What is it?"

Trass turned her head slowly, looking back at the wreck. Her lips moved, forming words too quiet to hear over the dropship's idling engines.

"What did she say?" Elysia called up.

Nahsee leaned closer, listening. Her montrals twitched. "She said... 'it's watching.'"

Elysia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She swept her carbine across the landscape again. Rocks. Shadows. The wreck's twisted hull. Nothing.

"Load up. Now."

The teams moved quickly, filing through in pairs, maintaining coverage until the last possible moment. Elysia went last, walking backward through the access port, carbine still raised.

Just before the door sealed, she could have sworn she saw something. A shimmer in the air near one of the wreck's torn hull plates. Like heat haze, except the temperature had dropped ten degrees since they'd arrived.

"Get us airborne," Elysia ordered, moving toward the cockpit. "And keep scanners active. I want to know if anything follows us."

The dropship lifted smoothly, engines whining as they gained altitude. Through the viewport, Elysia watched the wreck shrink below them. Trass sat strapped into a jump seat, Nahsee beside her, still holding her free hand while the other remained locked around Drake's severed one.

An officer approached Elysia, holding the cracked datapad. "Ma'am, the drone finished processing. You need to see this."

"Give me the summary."

"It's... complicated. The files are mostly corrupted, but what we can make out—" He paused, clearly struggling with how to phrase it. "Some kind of hive species on a frontier world. Was a Resistance hotbed but the First Order tried responding to distress signals. Both groups failed to contain the threat, our lucky wreck back there escaped with orders to relay the information back to the New Republic Defense Force and it's High Command."

"Show me."

He pulled up one of the cleaner clips. The footage was shaky, green-tinted night vision. Stormtroopers and Resistance fighters, firing side by side down a corridor. And in the brief flashes of blaster fire, something moving. Too fast to track properly. Segmented. Bladed appendages catching the light.

Then static. The audio dissolved into a chorus of screams and a sound like chitin scraping on metal.

"That's the clearest shot we have," the officer said. "The rest is worse. But ma'am, whatever that is... The First Order deployed a full Resurgent Star Destroyer and by all records the droid processed that vessel never left."

Elysia stared at the frozen frame, at the thing that was barely visible in the wash of green light. "Transfer these files to base with instructions to transmit them to Hosnian Prime."

"Ma'am, Colonial Code dictates only the Site Manager can authorize interstellar communication."

Elysia pulled her view away from the frame. "Code: 143. I'm a ranked security officer, I can authorize communications in the event of a crisis. Code 22: A ranked security officer can determine when a security crisis has been found."

"Those codes are supposed to work in the absence of a site manager."

"That's the intent," Elysia countered. "But the regulation itself doesn't say that. It says a ranked security officer can authorize communications in a crisis. I'm ranked. This is a crisis. Follow the order."

The officer started fiddling with the drone. "Signal is bad out here, the transmission will take a while."

Elysia nodded and turned her attention back to the cockpit's canopy, and the star strewn night sky. What was once the best part of colonial life, a night sky almost devoid of light pollution where the stars looked like a treasure chest of silver on black was now much more disturbing. It was telling them that they were alone out here. Even with hyperspace travel help would always arrive too late.

And in this night she watched a stream of crimson cross the night sky like. Gaping wound carved into the fabric of space time itself.

She wouldn't know it until she was back in the confines of the colony's hangar bay, but there would be no relaying anything to New Republic High Command.

Starkiller Base had fired.

Notes:

Its Star Wars/Warhammer fic, but Aliens was the biggest inspirations on this chapter. Watch me just bend over backwards to use lines from Alien and Aliens at every point I get the opportunity to

StarWars.com refers to as the native Twi'lek language as Twileki, but the Lords of the Sith novel in 2015 called their language Ryl, which I think sounds cooler so I stuck with that. Lemme know which you prefer though.

Chapter 4: Static

Summary:

The Corellian Defense Force mobilizes for war, but will it be soon enough to save it's Wild Space colonies.

Notes:

I tried using the movie camera mode for Empire at War to help provide visuals, Thrawn's Revenge graphics aren't quite as good as I hoped for these images and it doesn't have models for Tyranids that I can use
so instead of posting the screenshots here they're dropped a links so that they don't break narrative flow if you're not interested in them. Shouts out to CoreyLoses and the other guys on his mod team for his cool YouTube channel and top notch Star Wars gaming content anyways though.

Static.

"We picked up an unknown lifeform during salvage. It's in the ventilation— wait—gods, it's splitting the hull—!"

"AUREK NINER NINER! I REPEAT! AUREK NINER NINER!"

Static had long been an annoyance to the many beings across the Skyriver galaxy that worked comms. It was coarse on the ears, it always meant your job was about to require you to fiddle with machinery to make a signal come in clearly.

"Kava naga! Kava naga! Chuba doompa, ma boska! Keepuna! Tagwa nago sleemo bantha poodoo! Mee jewz ku! Ateema chesko bargon! Kava naga keepuna!"

"Multiple casualties. No visual confirmation—they move in the walls— in the walls—they're learning—"

"Isk'arra vel! Isk'arra vel! Thesh'na kortav mesheen! Pala'dren sevek! Korth melanis veshar! Tel'kana bresht! Isk'arra vel korath palen! Mesheen sevek kala!"

Sometimes though, so many transmissions come in that they crackle together, one interrupting the next in a rhythm like popcorn popping. Transmissions falling upon your switchboard like rain drops and pooling together–to the overwhelmed mind of a Trandoshan operator, they start to blend together into a pool impossible to tell where one started and the next began. Was it Mintooine that needed air processors, or were they reporting atmospheric anomalies? Was it Tatooine that was reporting atmospheric anomalies? The information poured through the mind like water, pooling and roiling before falling out of the brain like a waterfall.

"Unknown spores in the air— automated filters cannot identify— we need containment NOW—"

"This isn't an animal. It hunts in coordinated pairs.bWe lost Javi— gods, it dragged him upward. Command, pull us out. Please. Pull us out—"

"Unknown target. Not rebel. Not Resistance. Squad lost. We are abandoning ship. Repeating: DO NOT APPROACH—"

"Hosnian Prime… if anyone can hear this… these things don't die. They take whatever you kill. They… they're coming."

Suddenly static didn't seem so bad. It crackled, wasn't pleasant on the ears, but sometimes you don't understand how good your life really was until you have real problems to compare your inconveniences to.

 

******** 

 

As the drop ship finally came in close enough for the colony to be in view once again, Elysia's heart fell.

The colony was fine, everything was fine as the first rays of sunlight lit up the ragged blue rocks of Tetina. No, the issue was the grey ships also being illuminated. The largest was a Corellian Proficient Cruiser, with a trio of old Starbolt Carriers and a swarm of the much smaller corvettes CEC was famous for. Corellian vessels—CorSec didn't maintain an interstellar fleet, it only provided gear and equipment for colonial security forces—Corellian vessels meant the Corellian Defense Force was here.

She pulled her gaze away from the ships. Her mind was whirring. Corellia was in the Core, they were so far out in the Outer Rim they were pushing the boundary of Wild Space. They would have had to have mobilized and entered hyperspace hours before she tried contacting the New Republic's High Command at least. Which meant Corellia had had reason to shore up colonial security and hadn't felt the need to inform her beforehand.

 

**********

 

Danny Oneya sat alone in the living room, a bottle of Corellian brandy sat half empty in front of him. Mommy's medicine. They'll hunt you for it, the time of the Jedi is over, keep it secret, keep it safe.

He nodded before lifting the bottle to fill his shot glass, pinched his nose, tilted his head back, and drank the shot. Slowly the whisperings around him faded—still there, but he no longer heard the thoughts of the neighbor as she tried hiding her affair from her husband, no longer heard his father trying to think of what wine his mother would enjoy most when she returned.

No longer felt that darkness and hate from far beyond in the regions his mother simply called First Order space. The alcohol burned, but now he felt normal. 

He lifted his hand and carefully watched it, looking to see if it trembled or for any other sign he drank too much. Still sober, just numb.

He stood up. "Dad. I'm going to work."

A clatter as Blitzer dropped something before his parents' bedroom door hissed open and Blitzer poked his head out. "Already? I thought you had another hour."

Danny shook his head. "You and Mom are going to want privacy, right?"

Blitzer's face went red with embarrassment. "Uh… she certainly made it seem like we'd be– right, you just run along, and try to socialize. Your mother wants grandchildren, you know—that clerk at the commissary seems nice, maybe you can–"

The front door hissed shut as Danny was already gone. He'd already tried with that exact clerk—hadn't worked out–her ideal sexual partner was a rancor. Not an exaggeration—he'd read her mind when they discussed intimacy, she actually wanted to get used by a rancor. He had cut the mind read before it got too graphic so he didn't know how she imagined the mechanics of that would work without a lot of pain, but–

Feed

He spun on his heel.

Nothing.

He was alone on the deckway of the colonial apartment block. No stray pets, no other people. He scowled. Maybe a second shot would have been necessary, but that also might have gotten him tipsy before work, and the production plant was not somewhere you wanted to work while intoxicated.

He turned slowly, still scanning for any source of the thought before continuing his walk to work.

Then he felt it, the back of his brain going warm.  Mom is back… and she's not happy, so his dad was probably pouring wine right now for nothing. At least she was back at the colony though, even if there was still a facility between them.

Fifteen minutes later, the production floor was loud enough to drown out most thoughts. Danny had learned early that machinery was a blessing—the rhythmic clanking, the whir of assembly lines, the constant industrial noise created a kind of white noise for telepaths. That, and most of the workers just resorted to idle thoughts.

He clocked in, pulled on his safety gear, and took his position at the quality control station. Simple work: scan components, flag defects, keep the line moving. He could do it half-asleep.

Feed

His hand slipped. The scanner clattered against the conveyor belt.

"Oneya! You drunk?" His supervisor, a Klatooinian with a perpetual scowl.

"No, sir. Just—slipped."

"Don't let it happen again. CEC doesn't pay for mistakes."

Danny retrieved the scanner, reset his station. Focused on the work. Components passed. Scan. Pass. Scan. Pass.

Feed Feed Feed

Not one voice. Multiple. Overlapping. Like a chorus.

His hands started shaking.

"Oneya!"

"Sorry, sorry." He forced his hands steady. Scan. Pass. Scan—

FEED

The word hit him like a hammer. He staggered, caught himself on the conveyor belt. Around him, other workers' thoughts:

What's wrong with him?

Is he sick?

Better not be contagious—

Hope he doesn't shut down the line

But underneath all of them, growing stronger:

Feed feed feed feed FEED

Not words anymore. Sensation. Pure, overwhelming hunger.

Danny ran for the bathroom, hand over his mouth, convinced he was going to vomit.

The supervisor's voice behind him: "That's coming out of your break time!"

In the bathroom, he gripped the sink, staring at his reflection. Pale. Sweating. Eyes too wide.

"You're fine," he told himself. "Just need to tough it out until lunch, then you can—"

Feed

In the mirror, behind him—

No. Nothing there. Just tiles and stalls.

But the hunger was so close now. So present.

Like something was in the walls.

 

**********

 

To Elysia's dismay, the hangar bay was very busy–a lot of Corellian men and women in Corellian uniforms almost identical to hers except for the insignias. A few Nemesis-class patrol ships had been docked, bigger than the boxy drop ship she was stepping out of.

They weren't patient either—she'd taken three steps before an officer approached her. "Are you this colony's security manager?"

"Yes. That's me."

He nodded. "Our orders are to take you for a strategy discussion with the Captain and Site Manager."

"Lead the way." She handed her carbine off to one of her security officers. She doubted they wanted her walking into a strategy meeting with a gun.

She followed him out of the hangar and into the hallways, which were now teeming with armored figures, mostly human, a few odd aliens here and there. A lot of ground troops. Had to be an actual ground officer of higher rank than her around here somewhere.

They also all smelled strongly of sweat, they'd been working hard transferring gear and supplies down here.

Finally, though, he led her out of the CorSec offices, across a hallway to the administration area that also bustled with military activity, and to a meeting room. Beige carpet, big round table, surrounded by colonial officials—the site manager, the lead union representative, the mining overseer, production overseer, head of traffic control, and three different CDF officers that reminded her that this wasn't just the weekly meeting that could have been a memo.

The senior CDF officer—a human woman with admiral's insignia—pulled up a holo-display showing the Outer Rim. Red dots scattered across Wild Space.

"Sixteen colonies have reported similar incidents in the past three weeks. Similar reports, uncannily so." She paused for effect. "So we've been deployed as a preemptive measure. Keep the colony safe, as a precaution."

The site manager, a Sullustan named Vors, leaned forward. "What kind of incidents?"

"Unidentified biological threats. Aggressive, rapidly spreading, highly lethal." The admiral gestured at Elysia. "I believe your officer can give a report that will match previous reports—"

"Eight confirmed dead," Elysia interrupted. "Including a civilian salvager I approved for the operation. We recovered one survivor—severe psychological trauma–and intelligence suggesting this threat has already destroyed First Order assets."

"First Order?" The union rep, a Twi'lek woman, looked skeptical. "What would they be doing out here?"

"Responding to distress calls. They failed." Elysia pulled out the cracked datapad. "We have recordings from a Resistance officer describing an outbreak at an outpost. The First Order deployed a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer. It never left."

Silence.

The production overseer cleared his throat. "With respect, Commander Oneya, a Star Destroyer is a formidable vessel. Are you suggesting some kind of... pest problem... destroyed an entire—"

"These aren't pests." Elysia's voice was flat. "They hunt in packs. They coordinate. They adapt. One of the recordings shows them learning from combat patterns."

The site manager's jowls quivered. "Admiral, what's the CDF's recommended response?"

"We should evacuate," Elysia interjected.

Every head turned toward her. The admiral cleared her throat. "I believe your security commander is correct, a limited–"

"Evacuate?" The production overseer laughed nervously. "Do you have any idea what that would cost? We have contracts, deadlines—"

"We have people," the union rep cut in. "If the threat is as severe as Commander Oneya suggests—"

"Then we contain it," the site manager said firmly. "We can't just abandon CEC infrastructure every time there's a biological incident. The economic impact alone—"

"Economic impact." Elysia felt something cold and angry settling in her chest. "I just watched a twenty-year-old kid pull her boyfriend's severed hand from a wreck full of bodies. The economic impact is the least of our concerns."

The site manager's expression hardened. "Commander, I understand you've had a traumatic experience, but—"

"Traumatic?" Elysia stood. "You want to see traumatic? I have footage. I have a survivor who won't speak Basic because she's too terrified. I have records from another planet–"

"Everyone, please. We're all on the same side here." The CDF commander held up a hand. "I agree to at least a partial evacuation. Non-essential personnel will be evacuated."

"Only non-essential?" The union rep looked around the table. "Are we providing those that stay with hazard pay and better life insurance plans?"

The production overseer turned red. "That's not fair—" 

"Sixteen colonies," Elysia said quietly. "You said sixteen colonies have reported incidents. How many have been contained?"

The admiral hesitated.

"How many?" Elysia pressed.

"We're... still assessing the situation on several—"

"None." Elysia looked around the table. "None of them have been contained. Which means whatever this is, it's winning. And we're sitting here arguing about cost-benefit analysis."

The site manager stood. "Commander Oneya, you're clearly overwrought. Perhaps you should—"

"Be listened to since she has the same concerns as the Corellian Defense Force." The admiral interrupted again. "Your union representative is right. I want you to evacuate non-essential personnel. For essential personnel, want you to slow production and select skeleton crews to evacuate additional personnel."

Both overseers scowled. "This colony just barely paid off its investment and construction costs last quarter, we're still a barely profitable site. CEC needs this facility running–"

"CEC will be listened to when it foots the bill for its own colonies. CorSec and CDF are run by the Corellian government, not CEC." The admiral stood up. "In accordance with colonial law, defying my orders is grounds for charges of treason." The admiral's gaze settled on Elysia. "Commander Oneya, please keep that in mind when enforcing compliance. Opposition to our evacuation is an act of treason."

 

(Since CEC gets mentioned a lot I'm throwing around a lot of EU Corellian ship names to help CorSec/CDF feel like unique factions that are different from the First Order and New Republic. You can find ship specs here if you're into that kinda thing: CEC Ship Guide)

Notes:

Even though I've been uploading to AO3 about half a year now I'm still kinda getting used to doing these author notes and responding to comments and the other kinda stuff that helps connect the work with the fandom and readers. I've got social anxiety so if I let your comment sit without reply it's legit that I just don't know how to respond to it.

Chapter 5: The Mad Lady Tarkin

Summary:

Leonia serves tea to assassin droids while the galaxy burns. Her therapist would be so proud.

Light years from Tetina, across the galaxy in fact, Gazrael Anata sat on one of the dozen patios of the Tarkin family estate surrounded by the skittering of the cat-sized spider-like Silence Droids and awkward shuffling of family servants, a datapad in front of him and cup of caff in hand that he sipped.

In eyesight, in a simple sleek black dress, his wife Leonia Tarkin-Anata sat on a blanket holding a tea kettle as she poured tea for… four garishly painted silence droids. "Stabbington, wait your turn."

She hummed her mother's song—the same melody she'd been humming for forty years—as she poured tea. The droids chittered amongst themselves in their coded language, a sound like knives being sharpened. That was the part he was used to by now; the unusual part was the carriage that sat beside her that she rocked gently when she set the kettle down. Apparently in her mind Whisper had reverted to being an infant. He had no idea how she'd made that calculus, but she insisted that memory-wiping droids made them younger.

From the patio, Gazrael read the news feed on his datapad. Another Resistance attack on First Order shipyards. More refugees flooding the Outer Rim. The galaxy was tearing itself apart again, but it meant more planets contracting ORSF for security and paramilitary assets, which meant more money for him. He'd have to find a way to donate it all back to charitable causes to wash his conscience of being a profiteer of suffering—using half the estate as an orphanage for refugee children wasn't enough anymore.

"Gaz!" Leonia's voice carried across the garden, bright and cheerful. "Come join us! Stabbington wants to ask you something!"

He didn't look up. "What does Stabbington want?"

"He wants to know if you're still mad at mommy!"

Gazrael closed his eyes and counted to ten. Dr. Yeral's exercises. Breathe. Accept. She's better than she was.

"I'm not mad," he called back.

"That's what you always say!"

"Because it's always true!"

"Then come have tea with your wife and children!"

He looked up at that. Across the garden, Leonia waved, a vision in black silk and silver jewelry, immortally young when she's rich enough to clone her organs and replace them as needed. And still had a very unique brain, one that her psychologist made a lot of money trying to get back to normal operations. Around her, spider droids scuttled and chirped, their vocabulators creating a chorus of mechanical contentment.

Gazrael stood, datapad in hand, and walked toward his family. Twenty-four years ago Leonia had said she didn't want children; she maintained that to this day—no biological children, just these droids that cycled between children, students, and household pets every few months, and whichever domestic fantasy most struck Leonia's fancy. He'd never wanted children either, but this was much quieter than when Leonia had decided they were students and she was their private, luxurious, and mysterious piano instructor.

Gazrael sat cross-legged on the blanket, datapad balanced on one knee. Leonia pressed a teacup into his free hand.

"You have to actually drink it," she chided.

"It's too hot."

"The gesture matters, Gaz."

He mimed taking a sip while his eyes tracked another report. ORSF Patrol Vessel Vigilance: No contact for 72 hours. Last known position: Wild Space, grid J-7.

A metallic scraping sound drew his attention. Nermal, black with yellow lightning bolts—Leonia's little lightning bug—was dragging his teacup across the blanket in circles, leaving wet trails behind it.

"Nermal, darling, that's not how we—" Leonia sighed. "You know what, never mind. Express yourself."

The droid chittered happily and accelerated, the teacup now orbiting him like a tiny moon.

"He's going to spill," Gazrael observed.

"He's being creative." Leonia poured more piping hot tea for Stabbington, who sat rigidly upright, his blade-legs folded with perfect symmetry.

"Stabbington, on the other hand, has impeccable manners. Don't you, darling?"

Stabbington's photoreceptors pulsed once in acknowledgment.

"See? A perfect gentleman." She turned to the carriage. "Unlike someone who won't stop fussing."

From inside the carriage came a series of plaintive beeps and whirs. Whisper, apparently unhappy with his confinement.

"You're a baby, Whisper. Babies don't get to sit at the table." Leonia rocked the carriage gently. "When you're older, maybe next week, you can join us again."

Gazrael raised an eyebrow. "Next week he'll be old enough again?"

"Memory wipes are very destabilizing for their development," Leonia said seriously, as if this made perfect sense. "It's important to give them time to adjust to each new stage. He'll have grown up by next week."

"Right. Of course." Gazrael agreed, making a mental note to check if she was behind on her medications again. She usually took them on the dot, but sometimes her droids distracted her.

Hush—red and gold, smaller than the others—lifted his teacup with two delicate blade-legs. Held it. Stared at it. Then, with what could only be described as deliberate intent, upended the entire thing over his own head.

The tea, of course, did nothing. But Hush sat there, dripping with hot liquid, photoreceptors blinking in what Leonia would insist was satisfaction.

"Hush, sweetie, we've talked about this." Leonia's tone was patient, practiced. "Tea goes in your mouth, not on your head."

Hush chittered—a sound like grinding gears.

"I know you think it's funny, but—" She paused, reconsidered. "Actually, you're right. It is a little funny."

Gazrael took an actual sip this time, hoping to set an example for Hush, not that Hush ever seemed to actually respect his "daddy."

"Stabbington thinks you're being rude," Leonia said, turning to Gazrael.

"Stabbington is a reprogrammed assassin droid."

"He has feelings."

The droid's red photoreceptors dimmed and brightened in what Leonia interpreted as agreement. Even the droids seemed to be in on the delusion now; Leonia was rubbing off on them.

"My apologies, Stabbington." He raised his teacup in salute. "Lovely weather we're having."

The droid chittered. Leonia beamed.

Nermal, still circling with his teacup, bumped into Stabbington's leg. Stabbington didn't move—too dignified to acknowledge the disruption. Nermal reversed course, bumped into him again. Still nothing.

On the third bump, Stabbington's blade-leg shifted slightly—just enough to redirect Nermal away from the blanket and toward the garden path.

"Stabbington! Don't be mean to your brother!" Leonia scolded.

Stabbington's photoreceptors remained steady. Unrepentant.

"He started it," Gazrael muttered.

"That's not the point. We don't—" She stopped as Nermal, now free of obstacles, accelerated down the garden path, teacup bouncing wildly. "Nermal! You come back here this instant! Don't use your thrusters on the lawn!"

The droid did not come back. He disappeared around a hedge, chittering what could only be interpreted as laughter.

Leonia stood, hands on hips. "That droid is going to be the death of me."

"You could just reprogram him," Gazrael suggested.

"And lose all his personality? Absolutely not." She sat back down, smoothing her dress. "He's high-spirited. It's good for him."

From the carriage, Whisper let out a long, mournful beep.

"Yes, yes, I know you want out." Leonia rocked it again. "But you tried to stab the gardener last week, so you're staying in there until you learn some self-control."

Gazrael's datapad pinged again. Another asset. Another grid square going dark.

Fourteen now. No, fifteen.

He frowned at the pattern, trying to see what he was missing, while Leonia poured another round of tea and hummed that damned song about never fading away.

Cautiously the butler approached. "Lady Tarkin-Anata, we have a new communiqué from the First Order—"

Leonia's eyes went unfocused for half a second before she caught herself and took a deep breath. "Is it more of that 'join us, rebuild the past' nonsense?"

"Yes ma'am. They are insistent they have shifted galactic power."

Leonia rolled her eyes theatrically before rocking the baby carriage again. "Please inform them my therapist has informed me that intergalactic politics have negative effects on my mental state."

"I don't think they care," Gazrael muttered.

Leonia looked at him and then back at the butler. "My therapist believes my current outlets are the best places to channel myself, and I have no interest in relapsing."

The butler's gaze turned toward a red and gold droid, Hush, lifting up Whisper's teacup and dumping all the contents on itself before returning his gaze back to Leonia. "Of course, ma'am. Your mental health is of the utmost concern, however the Outland Regions Security Force is one of the largest private militaries in the galaxy; it puts you at the center of—"

"That's my husband's concern." She deflected. "The Tarkin bloodline no longer deals in weapons and military matters. We paint and plant flowers now. All concerns about ORSF should be directed at my husband." She lifted her finger like she was scolding the butler. "Make sure Rylo Ken knows that."

"Kylo Ren, ma'am. And the communication was from Hux this time."

Leonia turned to Gazrael. "Darling, I can feel months of peaceful meditation becoming undone. Please handle your affairs."

"Of course." He stood up to lead the butler somewhere private when suddenly Leonia covered her eyes, looking upward.

"What is that?"

Gazrael turned and saw the red scar across the sky. It was enough to make his heart sink.

"The First Order is destroying the New Republic, ma'am. It was in their communiqué."

"Tell them to do it later; it is setting the wrong atmosphere for tea time."

The butler gulped but bowed. "Of course, ma'am, I'll send a message immediately."

The butler disappeared into the estate. The red light in the sky faded, leaving only ordinary blue.

Leonia sat back down on the blanket, patted out some wrinkles, and then started pouring a new round of tea for them all.

"Well," she said brightly to the droids, "that was rather dramatic, wasn't it? The First Order always did have a flair for theatrics. Very rude of them to interrupt tea time, though."

Stabbington chittered.

"Yes, I know it's serious, darling. But what am I supposed to do about it? Send them a strongly worded letter?" She lifted her teacup, pinky extended. "Dear First Order, please stop destroying star systems during afternoon tea; it ruins the atmosphere, and the refugees cry a lot when we try processing them for humanitarian efforts. Regards, Leonia."

Gazrael was staring at his datapad, jaw tight.

"Darling, you're doing the thing where you forget to breathe." She reached over and tapped his knee. "Breathe, darling. Dr. Yeral says catastrophizing doesn't help."

"Hosnian Prime is gone."

"Well yes, but we weren't particularly fond of Hosnian Prime anyway, were we? The local cuisine was dreadfully uninspired when we sponsored that art gallery." She tilted her head, considering. "Although I suppose billions of people were probably quite fond of it. That's unfortunate."

"Leonia—"

"I'm coping!" She gestured with the teapot. "This is me coping. Would you prefer I have a violent fit? Seize a warship and voice my concerns with the First Order's foreign policy with an orbital bombardment? I can do that instead if it would make you feel better."

He almost smiled. Almost. "No. This is fine."

"Good. Because I've already used up my breakdown allowance for the month when I thought Whisper was going to rust." She looked at the carriage. "You're fine now though, aren't you, sweetie?"

A mournful beep.

"See? Fine." She set down the teapot and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her dress. "So. The galaxy is ending. Again. What's the plan? Are we fleeing in terror or staying put and hoping the problem solves itself?"

Movement in the rose garden. Four figures in blue armor emerged from between the hedges.

"Oh good," Leonia said. "I think the universe is answering for us. No one respects our tea time."

Gazrael shook his head and addressed the four troopers, clad in blue with armored vests and an excess of chest pockets. Special Tactics troopers, his special forces units. "What's the emergency?"

The trooper pulled out a small holo device and brought it up. "ORSF assets have been going dark the last two days."

"I'm aware."

The officer gestured to the hologram, drawing an invisible line. "If we corroborate times and places where assets went dark, it creates a pattern, sir—a movement toward Eriadu. If it can make entire colonies go dark, we have to assume it's substantial enough to be a valid threat to Eriadu."

Gazrael took the device and enlarged the hologram, noticing a specific detail. "Sullust went dark?"

"Yes sir, just hours ago."

Gazrael looked back up at the red mark now dissipating in the sky. Sullust was a large ship foundry for the New Republic. Always heavily defended after Daala tried to seize it in her Resurgence Campaign—never less than a dozen MC-85s in orbit with fleets worth of escort craft.

"Any connection to that light show up there?"

"We don't think so, sir. The First Order sent out a galaxy-wide transmission declaring they were rising; then that light emerged from the Unknown Regions. Whatever it was, the entire Hosnian system went dark too." The trooper shrugged. "Our reports indicate whatever is hitting the Outer Rim is biological, probably not related."

Below him, Leonia muttered, "Killed an entire star system? And people call me melodramatic."

Gazrael sighed. "Where are you evacuating us to?"

"Byss, sir. There's an old bunker there, the Emperor himself's bunker actually, as well as cloning facilities to continue your…" She gestured to Leonia broadly—a forty-six-year-old woman who looked twenty-five—"youth treatments."

Gazrael looked at Leonia, expecting resistance.

She was already standing, carefully setting down the teapot. "How long do we have?"

The trooper blinked, surprised. "Ma'am, we recommend immediate departure—"

"How. Long." Not a question. A demand for actual tactical information.

"Based on the pattern... forty-eight hours. Maybe less."

Leonia nodded once, then turned to the droids. "Stabbington, Hush, Nermal, Whisper—inside. Now. We're packing." The droids chittered and scuttled toward the estate without hesitation. She looked at Gazrael. "The children?"

"Already being arranged," the trooper replied. "We commandeered some bulk shuttles. It will fit the orphans and their belongings; they'll be taken to a New Republic facility on Chandrila."

"And us?" Gazrael asked.

"Refitted Imperial Star Destroyer called the Dawn Treader. It's an hour out, but we'd like everything packed and ready to load up as soon as it arrives."

"Good." She smoothed her dress, that practiced gesture of composure. "I'll need an hour to pack essentials. Two hours if you want me to do it without having a breakdown about leaving my home."

"Take two hours," Gazrael said immediately.

She nodded, kissed his cheek—a brief, almost businesslike gesture—and walked toward the estate, humming that song about never fading away.

The trooper watched her go. "We're gonna have to evacuate the droids too, right?"

Gazrael nodded yes, and the trooper sighed. "That's what the Captain said. She told us to bring pet carriers for the ones with names.”

 

(Picture of Leonia Tarkin https://www.instagram.com/p/DSLQV38AeWl/)

Notes:

Brought back my short stack goth waifu because I can't go more than 7 chapters in a story without a baddie with eyeliner in black stompers.

Anyways I was worried about how well I balanced her mental health and avoiding harmful stereotypes in Still in the Dark, so I'm hoping the healthier more Manic Pixie Dream Girl version here will be easier to write without coming off as ableist while also conveying that she isn't exactly all there.

Final kinda note here. I had made the image of Leonia Tarkin about a year ago, basically googling Leonia Tavira (as noted in my notes for Still in the Dark she was a heavy inspiration on my Leonia) and then editing image I found, which is why I have been uncertain about sharing it til now. I feel comfortable enough that my version is transformative enough from the original (the original was femdom porn and mine is not), I now also know the creator (Dominmatrix on deviantart) to credit them and I now know they created it with AI so it kinda feels less like stealing art now knowing that.

Chapter 6: The Tetina Crisis Part 1: On Top of Us

Summary:

First chapter detailing the battle for Tetina. 2 part Arc.

"Slow single file please, maintain evacuation protocols." The PA repeated for the dozenth time as Danny loaded up on a cargo freighter. Colony wide, first time in his 24 years of life.

In front of him, Blitzer was chatting it up with some young woman with her hair dyed pink.

"Well, your husband must be a very lucky man."

The girl did a small curtsy. "Oh, I'm actually not married."

Blitzer's hand suddenly pulled Danny forward. "No shit, my son is actually on the market. You two should sit together and chat, break the ice."

"Dad, stop…" Danny turned to her. "No offense, you're very beautiful, but–"

"No offense taken. I prefer older men." She extended her finger and slid it down Blitzer's chest before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Blitzer shrugged and didn't bother watching her leave, too loyal to his wife to care about that obvious pass at him, instead shifting his attention to a new girl. "Oh look, there's Trass. You remember Trass?"

"She has a boyfriend, Dad." Danny glanced at Trass and immediately was hit with her reading. They're coming, I can hear them coming.

Ominous. Might explain why there was a nurse tending to her mid-evac.

"Well, there's no ring on her finger. That field can still be played."

Danny felt himself actually pull away subconsciously. "Dad, is this really the time to play matchmaker?"

Blitzer looked around some more. "Yes."

And with that, the shuttle lifted off. Then Danny felt it. It was big, and it was coming.

 

********

 

Elysia looked down at the colony as the Nemesis Patrol ship ascended towards one of the Starbolt Carriers. Important enough to evacuate, but also a combat asset, so she'd be moved somewhere where she'd still be in combat but not cut off from a retreat vector. In the distance, she watched as dozens of freighters left the planet's atmosphere and started their hyperspace jumps to Corellia.

This was really happening. Something.

Didn't know what yet, but it was happening. Something was coming.

The Nemesis touched down in the Starbolt Carrier's hangar with a clang. The pilot was acting too urgently for a smooth landing. Elysia unsealed the hatch and stepped into controlled chaos—personnel moving equipment, pilots prepping fighters, the organized urgency of a military preparing for combat.

A CDF lieutenant met her at the ramp. "Commander Oneya, the Admiral wants you in CIC. Tactical briefing in five."

"What's the situation?"

The lieutenant's expression tightened. "Unclear. Sensors are picking up... something. Multiple contacts, approaching fast." He gestured toward the Combat Information Center. "She'll brief you herself."

As they walked, Elysia caught glimpses through viewports of the planet below. The colony looked so small from here. Peaceful, almost.

Somewhere down there, people were loading onto transports, trusting that the CDF would protect them. Trusting that the evacuation would work.

She hoped they were right.

The CIC doors hissed open. The Admiral stood at the tactical display, surrounded by officers studying sensor data that made no sense.

"Commander Oneya." The Admiral didn't look up. "Tell me—these biological entities you encountered. Could they survive in vacuum?"

Elysia's blood ran cold. "I... don't know. Why?"

The Admiral was opening something on the holotable, but the answer was already visible through a viewing port instead. Suddenly, the enemy was there, like a tendril stretching out from the great beyond. Somehow, as primitive as they seemed, they had faster-than-light travel.

"All ships, combat stations! Launch all fighters! Civilian transports, execute emergency jump protocols NOW!" The Admiral's voice cut through the CIC like a blade.

Elysia moved to the viewport as klaxons began screaming throughout the ship.

Through the viewport, something eclipsed the stars. Not like a ship passing—ships had angles, edges, purpose. This thing undulated. Chitinous plates shifted with the rhythm of breathing, though there was no air to breathe. Bioluminescent patterns pulsed across its surface like a heartbeat made visible, like the galaxy itself had developed a tumor and was showing it off.

And it was swimming. Not thrusting, not gliding—swimming through vacuum as if space were an ocean and the laws of physics were merely suggestions.

Smaller shapes peeled away from the larger mass. Thousands of them. Their movements weren't coordinated—they were synchronized, like fingers on a hand rather than separate organisms.

No engines. No visible propulsion. Just... swimming. Through space. Toward them.

"Weapons free! Engage at will!"

Through the viewport, Elysia watched one of the massive bio-ships open what might have been a mouth. Thousands of smaller organisms poured out, heading directly for the evacuation transports.

Corvettes split from the main fleet to escort the evacuees and opened fire—a pair of CR-90s banking hard to put their mass between the transports and the swarm, red tracers cutting through the smaller organisms. A DP-20 and CR-92 added their heavier turbolasers, targeting the larger bio-ships with concussion missiles.

It wasn't enough. For every creature the corvettes killed, ten more poured from the hive ships' gaping maws. The smaller organisms simply ignored the weapons fire, swimming through the vacuum toward the transports.

One transport exploded. Then another.

Not from weapons fire or salvos. The creatures were on them. Tearing through hulls. Breaching airlocks.

"Commander Oneya," the Admiral's voice was very calm despite the chaos. "Those things from the wreck. How fast did they move?"

Elysia thought about Drake's eviscerated corpse. About Trass clutching his severed hand.

"Very fast," she said quietly.

The Admiral nodded once. "Helm, get us between those transports and the swarm. All batteries, fire for effect."

Then, almost as an afterthought: "And somebody get me a connection to Corellia. They need to know what's coming."

Elysia watched through the viewport as one of the bio-ships—easily cruiser-sized—opened a gaping maw and rammed straight into the Starbolt. Not a glancing blow. A feeding strike.

The entire ship lurched violently. Crew members were thrown against consoles. Emergency lighting flickered as the creature's maw sank into the hull like a lamprey latching onto prey.

The deck tilted five degrees. Then ten before artificial gravity overwhelmed the inertia of the strike making things feel flat and level again.

"Hull breach, sections twelve through eighteen!" someone screamed. "It's—it's inside the ship!"

Through the viewport, Elysia could see the thing's throat pulsing. Vomiting something into the carrier's corridors. Smaller organisms. Hundreds of them.

The Admiral gripped the tactical display to stay upright. "Damage report!"

"Losing atmosphere on seven decks! Emergency bulkheads not responding—it tore through the fail-safes!"

Elysia felt the ship shudder again. Not an impact. Something moving inside the vessel.

"Get me a blaster and comms device," she snapped, already moving towards the ship’s armory. “Figure out how to unlodge that thing."

The Admiral waved for someone on the bridge to comply, her face grim. She didn't even look up as she examined her holotable, pointing her fingers around to do what a carrier commander should and coordinating the fighter wings her ship carried.

"And seal the CIC. We're about to have company." Now for what Elysia was good at. Shooting things.

 

 

********

 

Danny gripped the armrest so hard his knuckles went white. Around him, the other passengers were settling in, some excited, some nervous. Blitzer was still trying to network with anyone who'd listen, which was a surprisingly high number of people. He had some kind of charisma to him.

Feed Feed Feed FEED FEED

Not words anymore. Not even sensation. Pure, overwhelming presence.

His nose started bleeding.

"Danny?" Blitzer's voice, distant. "Hey, you okay?"

Danny couldn't answer. The hunger was so loud now, drowning out everything else. Every thought on the shuttle—Blitzer's concern, Trass's trauma, the pilot's concentration, a hundred other minds—all crushed under the weight of that vast, alien hunger.

And it was close. So close.

Through the viewport, something moved against the stars. Something big enough to eclipse them.

"Dad," Danny managed, blood running down his chin. "We need to—"

The shuttle lurched violently as something massive passed overhead, its shadow falling across them like the hand of a dark god.

Alarms started screaming.

And the feeding began.

Danny fell to his knees screaming.

 

*******

 

The blaster felt cold and right in Elysia's hands. It was a standard CDF rifle, not her preferred carbine, but the weight was a familiar comfort. The comms device was slapped into her other palm by a wide-eyed ensign.

Around her, the CIC was devolving into a screaming madhouse. Alarms blared, holographic displays flickered and died as power was rerouted, and the deck plates shuddered under the impacts of… things… hitting the hull.

"Internal security to those decks! Seal bulkheads!" the Admiral barked.

Elysia didn't wait for an invitation. She moved toward the CIC's main door, her stride unnaturally steady despite the ship's violent tremors. Her synthetic lungs had already adjusted her breathing, cycling out the first traces of smoke and conserving oxygen. The panic in the room was a tangible fog, but she'd had to fight off a Beskar-clad Force knight while pregnant with Danny once. A few creepy crawlies would be tame by comparison.

The door hissed open just as a scream echoed from the corridor beyond, cut short by a wet, tearing sound.

Two CDF marines were backpedaling, firing wildly down the hallway. In the strobing emergency lights, Elysia saw what they were shooting at.

It was a nightmare of chitin and boned blades, low to the ground and moving with a skittering, insectoid speed. Blaster bolts seared its carapace, but even as the first creature fell, others were already crawling over the corpse. The marines kept firing, kept killing, but the swarm just kept coming.

They could be killed by blasters, which meant the larger bio-ships could likely be killed by turbolasers. But would this carrier, that was likely older than she was, last long enough to actually do damage?

One of the marines fumbled his reload. A creature lunged, a bladed limb scything through the air.

Elysia didn't have time to aim. She didn't need to.

Her enhanced musculature reacted before her conscious mind had fully processed the threat. She sidestepped into a firing stance, the motion fluid and impossibly fast. The H-9 "Extinction" rifle came up, her arms locked by coated tendons that eliminated even microscopic tremors.

She didn't fire a volley. She fired once.

A single, crimson bolt took the creature in what passed for its head. The creature thudded to the deck plate, but three more were already crawling up to take its place.

"Fall back to the CIC!" she ordered, her voice a calibrated, commanding pitch that cut through the din.

The marines scrambled back as she laid down suppressing fire. Aiming almost wasn't necessary. The things were everywhere, even crawling upside along the ceiling.

Elysia stood her ground. A creature leaped. She dropped into a crouch. The creature sailed over her. As it passed, she thrust the barrel of her rifle upwards, into its soft underbelly, and held the trigger down.

The smell of cooked alien meat and ozone filled the corridor.

She rose, her body humming with power, her heart beating a steady, mechanical rhythm in her chest. No adrenaline spike. No panic. Just a perfect, cold efficiency.

Strategically, she needed to press forward to where that bio-ship was vomiting these things directly into the hull. Tactically, that was suicide even with a squad of marines.

"Seal this door," she commanded, her voice even. "They'll look for weaker points. The Admiral needs you in there."

Then she heard a cry of desperation as someone rounded the corner. The Site Manager, wrestling some small organism that seemed dead set on attaching to his face, already bleeding from the struggle.

Elysia aimed at the creature before stopping herself. There were dozens of the larger soldier-like organisms between them, the door sliding shut behind her even now. She couldn't save him even if she wanted to.

She stepped backward, and the bulkhead slammed shut in front of her. She doubted it would last. If they had bioplasma, acidic discharges, or just brute strength, the door would be alloy confetti in minutes.

The Site Manager was dead. They were being overrun on their own ship. The fleet didn't have the manpower to really cover the evacuation convoy. They were losing on all fronts.

Worst of all, she was the only CorSec officer deemed too valuable to not evacuate. Down below, Nahsee and the rest of her team were likely now facing an overwhelming swarm. Her squad was as good as dead. Her son and husband were in danger, and she couldn't do a thing about it.

Elysia allowed the barrel of her gun to cool before she turned to the marine team. "Stay here and guard your Admiral. She'll need it."

"What about you?"

Elysia glanced around. She imagined the creatures would be flooding the vents. The hallways were going to be a thick, casualty-heavy slog, but maybe she had an idea. Maybe someone could load up one of those Nemesis ships with thermal detonators and have a droid fly it straight into the leech and dislodge it that way?

That settled it in her mind. She needed to channel her anger somewhere. She needed to do something with an impact. She was going to get rid of that leech if it killed her.

"Admiral, focus on getting us a retreat vector and coordinating your fighter wings. I'll dislodge the leech. I'll need a drop ship and an astromech unit."

The Admiral turned, her jaw loose and eyes wide with disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

Notes:

I know it'd be a lot easier to just say "termagaunts", "hormagaunts", "carnifexes" and etc. but I it felt wrong since Star Wars POV characters wouldn't have that terminology, as well as I wanted there to be more reader interpretation of what the Nids could look like. Afterall, they can spin up new bioforms on a whim, there's no saying that the bioforms they use in Star Wars would reflect their bioforms in Warhammer.

I also knew that Warhammer scale sizes are, frankly ridiculous. A Tyranid kraken which is a frigate in Warhammer terms are is 3,000 meters making it twice as large as an imperial class star destroyer, where the largest Star Wars ship at Tetina was the Proficient cruiser which clocks in at 850 meters. I'm not scaling down Tyranid ship sizes in this story, these boarding leeches aren't Tyranid bio ships, they're the ordinance shot by Tyranid bio ships. Funnily though Hive Ships average between 10-20 km which actually puts them in the same size area as Star Wars dreadnoughts, so the the largest ships both forces bring are comparable in size, it's just the smaller ships where Star Wars looks pretty puny in comparison.

Anyways there's my first attempt at actually showing a battle between Star Wars forces and the Tyranids. What do you think? Are the Nids unsettling enough? Does it feel like it needs more apocalyptic gusto?

Chapter 7: The Tetina Crisis Part 2: Escape

Summary:

Second chapter detailing the battle for Tetina

Danny felt himself pulled off the floor, dragged up against the wall of the hull, Blitzer's voice, something worried but encouraging, likely.

Then the touch against his cheek, something soft and reverent. He opened his eyes. Even though he knew it couldn't be Elysia, he could feel her aboard a different ship—determined and angry. He knew his mother; she'd be giving these things hell.

No, instead it was green skin and lekku. Trass kneeling in front of him. "You feel them?"

For a dizzying second, a childhood fantasy flickered to life—Trass Kaval, noticing him. Then the razor-sharp grief from her mind snuffed it out. He nodded just as the screaming started again.

FEED

The things only had one instinctive thought, repeating over and over. He was starting to get the hang of tuning it out based on its sheer repetition, and yet there she sat before him, purple eyes cupping his face gently, looking at him—or through him, would be more accurate. Even now he could tell she wasn't all there.

Above him, he heard Blitzer still at it. "You know, Trass, he had quite the crush on you when he was in kindercare, tried to get us to pay for Ryl lessons to impress you."

"Dad, stop." He barked before focusing on Trass when that detail caught him. She felt them? She'd never struck him as being even remotely Force-sensitive, and he had learned to tell which other colonists were, as dim and mundane as their sensitivities proved to be.

He closed his eyes and dove into her mind. It felt like an abrupt ice bath, each ice cube razor-sharp. Grief was still strong in her. There was no light; her hope had diminished. There wasn't much to her right now. He could feel the traces of warmth. Even now she was rebuilding herself—maybe one day, next week, maybe next decade, she'd be back to who she was. But for now she was… not alone.

It almost blended into her psyche, something foreign and alien. He pushed in to touch it and felt its one consuming thought.

Feed.

He reached against it and found it—an eel inside her mind, swimming through the ice water of her grief and pain. Stopping to look into chunks of ice, Danny turned to the closest ice block and saw it: a memory in it. Drake and Trass sneaking off during academy hours to establish their reputation as the horny young couple. But in that memory was the interior of the halls, the colony layout, the brief silhouette of a CorSec officer they snuck past. Inside these memories was information, and the eel took in each ice block of memory before buzzing, transmitting what it found to somewhere else.

Danny reached out in the Force and pushed into its mind, finding only that instinctive need to feed, but also… for a split second he thought he felt intelligence, something else's intelligence. He wasn't the only thing in its thoughts, but whatever that other thing was, it didn't just read—it treated the creature like a marionette, guiding it with purpose beyond its comprehension.

Danny's eyes shot open as he ended the mind read, putting his hands on the sides of Trass's head. Blitzer was right—he'd fantasized about touching her like this before, feeling her hands gently caress him. But unfortunately she still wasn't exactly all there, and he knew this nice moment would end very abruptly. This wasn't a fantasy coming true as Trass Kaval fell in love with him, this was a nightmare where he had to hurt her for her own good.

He reached out and focused on that thing inside her brain and found it. Anger pushed through him, and in an instant he found himself constricting it, which was when Trass's eyes rolled back in her head—and her gentle touch snapped. Her hand spasmed, then clamped around his throat with unnatural force, choking him before he could react.

Danny didn't break, keeping his hands on her head, sensing something roiling inside her head, something panicking. Then his father reached down, trying to pull Trass off of him while bystanders gasped. Another man jumped in to help drag her away.

Danny needed it to die. The violation was absolute—of her mind, of her memories, of the silly, starry-eyed girl he'd once watched from across the mess hall. He'd never felt hate so pure. If this was what hate really felt like, then he understood the appeal it had to the ancient Sith. It did feel powerful. He could feel that maggot in Trass's head burning up, but it was fighting back. Black spots started overtaking his vision as Trass's grip became more feral and desperate.

And then nothing—her hands dropped and her head lolled back. The parasite was dead, and for a moment hate turned to fear.

Had he just killed Trass himself? Even Blitzer and the other man noticed when she suddenly went limp.

 

********

 

The base was already half-packed when Jaina felt it.

Hate.

Pure, focused, murderous hate wrapped around the Dark Side like a fist.

She knew that feeling. She'd felt it before, coming from the Unknown Regions before five planets died, radiating from Takodana when the First Order burned the temple, every time her brother reached out through the Force with that twisted, broken signature.

Ben. It felt visceral, young, potent. It had to be Ben.

No. Not Ben anymore. Kylo Ren.

"Sticks?" Tycho Celchu looked up from loading supplies. "What's wrong?"

Jaina was already running toward her X-wing. "Get Rogue Squadron in the air. Now."

"Our orders are to evacuate to—"

"I don't care about the orders!" She grabbed his flight suit. "Dark Side presence. Powerful. Young, male, furious." She was already climbing toward her X-wing. "It has to be Ben."

"You're sure?"

"Who else would it be?" She shot him a look. "There are exactly two Dark Siders we know about in this galaxy—my brother and his master. And that signature felt young." She let go of hi. "Get everyone up. Full combat loadout. If we can take out the target before he regroups with the First Order—"

"—we end the war," Tycho finished. He was already keying his comm. "Rogue Squadron, this is Rogue Leader. Combat scramble! Move, move, MOVE!"

Jaina climbed her X-wing's ladder three rungs at a time. Her astromech was already spinning up, beeping frantically.

"I know, Arsix. I know." She dropped into the cockpit, began the startup sequence. Her hands shook. "This is it. This is our chance."

Jaina wasn't going to try to save him.

She was going to end him. That was her prophecy. The Sword of the Jedi. She wouldn't run and hide like her master; she wouldn't wait and hope like her mother. She knew what needed to be done.

The Dark Side presence pulsed again—closer now, clearer. Young. Male. Angry. It had to be him. Had to be. She couldn't name the system, but she had an idea what galactic coordinates it sat on.

Around her, Rogue Squadron launched in record time. Eleven X-wings, two A-wings, even Karé's beat-up Y-wing that was supposedly in for repairs.

"Rogue Squadron, form up on me." Tycho's voice was calm, professional. "Rogue Two, you have the coordinates?"

"Locked and loaded, Leader." Jaina's fighter cleared the hangar, repulsorlifts howling. R6 displayed the corresponding system for the coordinates. "Transmitting now. Tetina system. Mining colony, no strategic value."

"Why would Kylo Ren be at a mining colony?"

That was Syal Antilles, Rogue Five.

"I don't know, and I don't care." Jaina pulled back on the hyperdrive. "We're taking the shot. Jump on my mark."

R6 calculated the jump.

"Three. Two. One. Mark."

The stars stretched.

 

*******

 

The Nemesis patrol ship sat in Hangar Three like a loaded gun, its hull packed with enough thermal detonators to crack a small moon. An R4 unit—designation R4-G8, according to the faded stenciling on its dome—was already jacked into the cockpit's interface port, dome rotating as it ran pre-flight diagnostics.

Elysia crouched behind a stack of cargo crates twenty meters away, rifle up, covering the approach. The hangar was compromised—a ragged hole in the far bulkhead vomited the occasional organism into the space. So far, just scouts. Small ones. Testing defenses, probably. She doubted that would last long. If these things learned like intelligence suggested, the hangar would get slammed soon.

"R4, status," she said into the comms.

A series of beeps and whistles. The translation scrolled across her HUD: Propulsion online. Navigation locked. Thermal payload armed. Awaiting launch clearance.

"Get out here and pilot it remotely." She swept her rifle across the hangar. Emergency lighting painted everything in red and shadow.

The small yellow droid rolled down the ship's ramp and over to a terminal beside her, jacking in and whistling as the whole ship shook.

"Of course the signal is spotty. Can you do it?"

The droid let out a series of beeps.

"Did you have a better idea? Because unless you do, then yes, ramming a patrol ship full of explosives into that leech is our best plan."

The droid let out a sarcastic series of whirs, but the patrol ship's ramp was already raising, thrusters igniting. Not a moment too soon, as comms chatter started crackling. They'd still kept the swarms out of the bridge, but they were losing ground in the engine rooms.

The droid beeped something that her translator declined to render—probably for the best. The patrol ship pulled out of the hangar, pulling a sharp turn.

Just as expected, the swarm responded. A chitinous creature holding some kind of gun burst from the hole in the far bulkhead, rapid-firing as it came in, spraying a carpet of smaller flesh-boring, maggot-like creatures.

Elysia's synthetic heart maintained its steady rhythm even as the shooting pain of a direct hit in her arm bloomed. Her breathing didn't change. The rifle came up, sight picture perfect, tendons eliminating any tremor.

She fired.

The creature's head exploded from the blaster round. The creatures behind it shrieked—not pain, just... awareness. They knew she was here now.

They charged.

"Hurry up, droid." She chided as she grabbed the flesh-boring maggot digging into her arm and ripped it out. It pulled a chunk of bloody flesh with it, sending another wave of pain. Next time CorSec offered her a pain suppression mod, she'd take them up on it.

The droid's panicked whistling was drowned out by the sound of two dozen organisms pouring through the breach like a living flood.

Elysia started shooting as her blood dripped over the deck plate. Another maggot hit her in the thigh. She growled and ripped it out, throwing it back at them like a grenade before she continued firing.

R4-G8's frantic beeping cut through the sound of blaster fire. Almost there. Almost.

Elysia dropped another creature, then another. Her arm screamed where the maggot had torn through, blood making her grip slick, blood spilling from her thigh.

A third projectile hit her this time—a bone-like flechette digging into her chest inches away from her heart. She felt the flutter as the synthetic organ went into overdrive, her vision starting to get fuzzy.

The giant leech creature seemed to sense the threat she had prepared—the pulsing intensified. Elysia could feel it through the deck plate, more organisms vomiting into the corridor, a last-ditch effort to prevent its demise. She pulled the flechette out and stood up straight, ready for more of the swarm creatures to attack.

The leech's panic didn't do it any good. Elysia knew exactly when the patrol ship found its mark because that marked a full new round of pain. The explosion was contained, mostly, by the bio-ship's own mass. But the shockwave tore through the hangar, throwing Elysia against the cargo crates. Emergency lighting died. Backup systems flickered on, bathing everything in red. The deck lurched. Gravity fluctuated. Then stabilized.

R4 whistled triumphantly. Little show-off with his magnetized legs—something like shockwaves and gravity fluctuations didn't seem to bother him one bit.

Elysia pulled herself up, ears ringing. Based on the ichor and interior organs now floating harmlessly just beyond the mag shields, it had worked.

The Starbolt was free.

"All hands, this is Admiral Vross." The comms crackled to life. "Recall all fighters immediately. Prepare for emergency jump. We are leaving. Now."

On the tactical feed, Elysia watched the fleet scatter. Three Starbolts—no, two now. One was burning, listing, its engines dark. As she watched, it began a slow, terrible descent toward Tetina's surface.

The Proficient Cruiser—the fleet's heavy hitter—was still engaging, its turbolasers carving through bio-ship carapaces. Then something big rammed it amidship. The cruiser's spine broke in a brilliant flash, the ship folding in on itself like a broken toy. The forward section tumbled away. The aft section, engines still burning, began falling toward the planet.

Burning wreckage everywhere from the corvettes that didn't have the armor tonnage or shield generators needed to last long against an enemy as fast as theirs. Those that remained sprayed out more bursts of laser cannon fire, occasionally larger turbolaser blasts from the few vessels that carried them before they zipped out of reality and into the alternate dimension that was hyperspace.

All except the four that had been sent to defend the civilian transports, those she hoped if they were still in working order, were defending the evacuees.

"All fighters, emergency recall! Emergency recall!"

Through the chaos, a new voice cut across the comms—clear, authoritative, with an edge of confusion.

"Corellian vessels, this is Rogue Squadron. We'll cover your escape. We're transmitting new hyperspace coordinates."

Elysia felt something cold settle in her chest.

The Resistance. Here. Now.

The Admiral's response was clipped, professional despite the circumstances. "Rogue Leader, negative. We are withdrawing. Recommend you do the same. Hostiles are—"static"—biological, extreme threat, do not engage—"

The transmission cut as the Starbolt's hyperdrive spun up.

"Rogue Leader to Corellian forces, you're breaking up. Repeat, what is the nature of—"

The stars stretched. The Starbolt jumped.

And Rogue Squadron was realizing they had just dropped out of hyperspace directly into hell.

Elysia collapsed onto the floor as R4 started panicking, his beeps loud and frantic. Everything was going black.

 

*******

 

The shuttle's emergency lighting flickered as the pilot fought to keep them stable. Through the viewport, Danny could see the bio-ships—massive, writhing things that moved through space like predators through water.

And between them, darting and weaving, a squadron of X-wings. Streaks of red as they unleashed their laser cannons into the swarm before a larger bio-ship erupted into a splatter of purple ichor drifting harmlessly in the void from a coordinated proton torpedo run.

But when he watched an X-wing break formation, pirouette around a civilian transport, and pull back, laser cannons igniting as it took out fifteen of the gargoyle-like creatures in one pass and returned fluidly into formation, he doubted there was a better pilot in this galaxy. He turned and saw Blitzer wide-eyed and mouth agape at the viewing port before he caught himself and shook his head. "Your aunt could have done that."

Danny would have rolled his eyes, but he couldn't pull them off that X-wing. It wasn't fighting—it was dancing through the void, almost effortlessly, every killing blow almost an afterthought.

He'd always heard his father was a skilled pilot. Always heard his aunt Blender had been even better—one of the New Republic's most decorated pilots during the Resurgence Campaign.

But watching that X-wing dance through the void, cutting through bio-ships like they weren't even there? He doubted anyone could match this.

"All civilian vessels, this is Rogue Two." The voice cut through the static, clear and commanding. Female. Young. "We're transmitting new jump coordinates. Plot them immediately and prepare to jump on my mark."

Danny's breath caught. That had to be the same pilot. Her voice was beautiful.

He'd heard plenty of voices in his life—read plenty of minds, felt plenty of emotions bleeding through the Force. But this was different. He tried cautiously reaching out, just to see, only to feel like he'd slammed into a brick wall. She wasn't just an amazing pilot—she was Force-trained.

Her voice had weight. Purpose. Steel wrapped in determination, with something underneath—grief, maybe, or rage barely held in check. The Force sang around her like a blade being drawn.

She was strong. Maybe as strong as Mom.

But different. Sharper. More focused. Like comparing a scalpel to a hammer.

"Coordinates received," the pilot replied, voice shaking. "But those aren't CDF rally points—"

"I don't care what they are," someone else snapped—must have been the copilot. "Plot them. Now."

On the viewport, one of the X-wings rolled inverted, lasers stitching across a bio-ship's carapace. Precise. Controlled. Beautiful in a way that made Danny's chest tight.

"Civilian vessels, jump in three... two... one... Mark."

The stars stretched.

And Danny realized he was smiling, even though his nose was still bleeding and Trass lay unconscious, barely breathing, and everything was falling apart.

She was amazing.

Notes:

Elysia has finished her transition from Commander Elysia Fredja, Blitzer's toxic dommy mommy stormtrooper girlfriend in Still in the Dark to Elysia Oneya, the Mecha Murder Mommy.

I'm still gonna try and use Thrawn's Revenge screenshots for visuals, because it's the best tools I've got (I'm not an artistic guy), but I do feel limited since the graphics still aren't quite picturesque, it doesn't have Tyranid models so I have a lot screenshots of ships firing but cropping out what they're firing at (other Star Wars ship, not tyranids) and you can't control the camera during the "movie" mode meaning it took me like 10 minutes just to get that one very underwhelming shot of an x-wing.

Next we'll follow up with Leonia and Gazrael on the End of Eriadu arc which is 3 chapters. I will be taking a holiday break but you can expect the first chapter of that in January

Chapter 8: End of Eriadu 1: Planetfall

The Tarkin estate was a bustle as servants rushed back and forth loading up speeders with heirlooms and art, everything getting packed and sent to Dawn Treader as Leonia Tarkin-Anata finished packing her corsets, handing the suitcase to Hush, who struggled to hold the suitcase over his head with his arachnoid vibro bladed legs before passing it off to a servant in an assembly line and Leonia began reverently packing all of her jewelry, making sure to prioritize pieces that were her mother's before her.

“Ma'am it's been 2 hours, we must begin leaving.”

Leonia sighed before stretching her arms out. “Must the galaxy always subject me to this prison? Always giving me everything just to pull it away–”

“Poetic ma'am, but this is an evacuation, not a poetry night.” He reached over Hush and took the half full bag of jewelry. “I must insist we move immediately.”

Leonia narrowed her eyes. “It's theater, not poetry, you barbarian.”

She retracted her arms and picked up Hush before storming out past the servants.

Downstairs Gazrael went over final escort details. The ORSF Board of Directors seemed to be planning a corporate coup mid crisis, typical Outer Rim warlord behavior, opportunistic and ill timed. It meant the number of ships pulling into Eriadu to shepherd the way out was half of what he wanted, but the consolation was that New Republic forces were being diverted from the shipyard at Sluis Van and the NRDF would have much bigger and better armed ships than what New Republic law allowed ORSF to operate. He set down the data pad and felt one of the household servants start rubbing his back when the whole room was suddenly darkened by a shadow.

He opened his eyes and turned them to the window. A cloud.

That covered the entire sky.

And was shifting.

Not a cloud, the enemy fleet. 46 hours early.

Then the screams and roars of animals. Not from the fleet—the void was silent. No, this was every animal on Eriadu panicking in unison. Then the proximity alarms, followed by every other alarm.

Upstairs Leonia stopped by a window and cocked her head as she took in the roiling sight above. “Well Hush, mommy doesn't think she can keep you safe from that.”

The droid clicked an acknowledgement before whirring.

“I know you're programmed to defend me, but Dr. Yeral thinks following my maternal instincts helps center–” She was interrupted as a rushing servant slammed into her.

“Ma'am, we need to go.”

Leonia scowled and took a deep breath. One. Two. Three.

Sprint.

Leonia hit the grand staircase at full speed, Hush clutched against her chest like a child, his spindly legs folded tight. Servants scattered as she vaulted the bannister halfway down—thirty years of gymnastic practice made the three-meter drop trivial—and landed in a crouch that would've made her academy instructors proud.

The speeder was already idling in the circular drive, engine whining. She cleared the door in one fluid motion, still holding Hush, and dropped into the driver's seat. Her hands found the controls by muscle memory.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, eyes on the estate entrance.

Overhead, the sky writhed. Not clouds. Ships. Organic ships that moved like a single massive organism. The light had gone wrong—filtered through something alive, turning everything the color of a healing bruise. Far above in that tainted light she saw flashes of red, green and yellow, the combined fleets that came to Eriadu’s defense were putting up a fight if nothing else. 

Then loud pops that could shatter an eardrum as planetary defense weapons started unloading into the sky above, painting everything in flashes of green as they fired. Purple waves appeared in the sky like ocean waves as the planetary shield held strong against falling debris. Eriadu was a fortress world, it wouldn't go down without a fight. Just like the Tarkins would have wanted it, eye for eye and blood for blood 

A servant stumbled out of the entrance, arms full of paintings. A shadow fell over him. He looked up, his face twisting into a scream that didn't come.

Leonia looked up.

Something massive was falling. No—not falling. Diving. A living meteor trailing bioluminescent ichor, screaming through atmosphere with a sound like tearing metal and shrieking animals. Behind it more reverberations against the planetary shield. The shield was holding, these things, at least some of them, learned how to get through it.

It hit three kilometers away. The shockwave arrived first—a wall of pressure that rattled the speeder's frame. Then the sound, a bass-deep WHUMP that she felt in her teeth.

The servant with the paintings was on the ground. Knocked over from quakes that followed the impact. The paintings were scattered. He wasn't getting up.

Then one of those creatures, a much smaller one, the size of a child maybe, plummeted right down on top of the fallen servant, claws extended. Within a second the servant was unrecognizable in the pool of his own blood. The creature’s chitin splattered from its fresh kill turned to Leonia growling.

“Go fuck yourself ugly.” Leonia commented nonchalantly as a wave of unpainted Silence Droids suddenly were on top of it tearing it apart. She'd never grown attached to the unpainted ones, but she'd miss them. She turned her attention to the door of the mansion.

"GAZRAEL ANATA!" She screamed it over the idling engine, over the alarms, over the distant roar of something she couldn't name.

He appeared in the entrance, datapad still clutched in one hand like he'd forgotten he was holding it. His eyes found hers across the drive. 

"MOVE!" She didn't wait to see if he'd listened. Her hand slammed the accelerator.

Gazrael sprinted. Behind him, through the estate's windows, she saw movement—servants running deeper inside. Running away from the doors. From outside. From the sky that was eating the world.

He cleared the door, grabbed the frame, swung himself over without breaking stride. The speeder lurched as his weight shifted it.

"Go go go—"

She was already going.

The estate gates were open, abandoned. The guard station was empty except for a cup of caff still steaming on the desk. Beyond the gates, the private road became public street and the public street became chaos.

Speeders clogged every lane, some abandoned, some crashed, some still trying to push forward through the jam. People ran between them. Some carried belongings. Some carried children. Some just ran.

Overhead: the scream of engines. Eriadu Defense Force fighters in tight formation, their contrails cutting geometric patterns against that wrong sky. Precise. Professional. Proud defenders of the Tarkin homeworld.

Something descended to meet them.

Not ships. Creatures. Winged things, dozens of them, hundreds, a swarm that moved like starlings. The fighters opened fire. The creatures didn't scatter even as some of their number dropped from the sky from singed wounds. They didn't evade. Just absorbed the first fighter into their mass.

It emerged on the other side as flaming debris.

"Gazrael—" Leonia's voice was tight.

"I see it." His hand was on the dashboard, knuckles white. "Service road. There. Cut through the Merchant Quarter."

She wrenched the controls. The speeder jumped the median, clipped a traffic barrier, and shot down an alley barely wide enough for the frame. Gazrael's datapad clattered to the floor.

Behind them, another impact, much closer this time. The speeder's rear display showed the cloud of dust and debris rising over the buildings they'd just passed.

"How many of those things are falling?" Leonia asked.

Gazrael had his comm out, trying to raise someone. Anyone. "Comms are—there's interference. Something's jamming—no, wait—" Static resolved into a voice. "—all units fall back to Rally Point Theta, repeat, all units—" More static. Different voice, panicked: "—they're in the subway tunnels, how did they get in the subway—"

The alley opened onto a broader street. Leonia took the turn too fast, felt the speeder's repulsors scream in protest. Ahead: an ORSF checkpoint, armored patrol cars forming a perimeter, troops in blue armor waving them forward.

One of the troopers raised a hand. Recognition. Relief on his face even through the helmet. He ushered them along with hand motions, signalling down an open corridor.

Overhead, another one of those things fell. Not toward them. Toward the checkpoint.

The trooper's head snapped up. His hand moved to his rifle—too slow, too late, what could a rifle do against something that size—

It hit the street two blocks away. The ground buckled. The checkpoint's portable barriers toppled like toys. And from the crater something was already emerging. Something low and fast and covered in chitin that reflected the burning sky.

"DRIVE!" Gazrael's hand was on her shoulder, pulling her attention back to the road, his free hand reaching for the glove compartment and the holdout pistol stored inside, for whatever good the small blaster might do.

Leonia drove.

The speeder shot through the gap in the checkpoint just as the perimeter collapsed. In the rear display: ORSF troops falling back in good order, laying down covering fire at something she couldn't fully see. Just shapes. Fast shapes. Hungry shapes.

"Rally Point Theta," Gazrael said, his voice deadly calm. "Two kilometers. We can make it."

Another impact, close enough that the shockwave shoved the speeder sideways. Leonia compensated, didn't slow. Couldn't slow.

The comm crackled again: "—Nemesis-One-Niner in position, we have visual on VIP speeder, providing escort—"

Leonia looked up.

The Nemesis gunship swept over them like a predator bird made of armor and weapons, close enough she could see the scorch marks on its hull. Its guns were already firing—not at the sky, at the street behind them. At things that had been following them that she hadn't seen.

"Stay on this vector," a new voice on the comm, calm and professional. "We'll clear your path."

The gunship opened up in earnest. The sound was like the galaxy tearing. Behind them, things died. She didn't look back to see what they were. Its gatling gun began spinning before unleashing a torrent of sharp metallic flechettes into the road ahead, smoke flaring around it as it unleashed missiles. 

Ahead, through the smoke, eviscerated swarm things and chaos, she could see it: the spaceport. Or what was left of it. Half the landing pads were rubble. Fires burned across the tarmac. But there—there—ORSF troops in formation, vehicles creating a perimeter, and in the center: shuttles. At least a dozen, engines hot, ramps down.

And beyond them, rising on pillars of fire, three massive civilian bulk freighters clawing for altitude. The orphan transports.

"They launched," Gazrael breathed. "Some of them launched."

Leonia's jaw tightened. Not all of them. She could see two more freighters still on the ground, still loading. She could see the shapes of children being hustled up the ramps by ORSF personnel who should've been evacuating themselves.

The whine of the speeder was drowned out by the sound scraping metal as an escort carrier far above dragged itself against the planetary shield and unloaded a storm of drop pods, a rain of heavily armed marines hot dropping straight into the maw of hell.

The speeder hit the perimeter. ORSF troops closed ranks behind them. Leonia killed the engine and was moving before it fully settled, Hush still clutched against her chest.

"Ma'am, this way—" A trooper, gesturing to a shuttle.

Gazrael was already at her side, one hand on her elbow, the other still gripping his gun. Not pulling. Just there. "Leonia. The droids."

She turned. The speeder's cargo compartment. She'd managed to grab Hush. Stabbington was crawling out of the backseat. Whisper was curled in the corner of a pet carrier waiting for some to grab it.

Not Nermal. Leonia spun in her heel.

“NERMAL!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “NERMAL!”

Gazrael pulled her forward. "Leonia's we need to—"

The sky above them moved. Not metaphorically. The swarm of flying creatures banked as one massive organism, turning toward the spaceport like a hand reaching down.

Leonia held Hush’s carrier. Gazrael grabbed Whisper's. They ran while Stabbington used its thrusters to follow.

The shuttle's ramp was already rising as they dove through. Leonia hit the deck hard, Hush skittering from her grasp and immediately beginning to chitter in distress. Whisper’s carrier rolled, clattered against a bulkhead.

"We're loaded, punch it!" Someone shouted.

The shuttle's engines screamed. Through the still-closing ramp, Leonia saw the ground drop away. Saw the ORSF perimeter dissolve under a wave of chitinous bodies. Saw one of the remaining bulk freighters try to lift off and get pulled back down by things that had latched onto its hull, their gunship escort unleashed everything it had on that freighter this time, not saving the ship, but putting it out of its misery.

Then the ramp sealed and she couldn't see anymore.

The shuttle climbed.

Gazrael pulled himself into the seat next to her, breathing hard. His hair had come loose. There was dust on his face. He looked at her, then at the two pet carriers they'd saved, then at Hush who had crawled into her lap and was making distressed mechanical sounds.

"That's it?" he asked quietly.

"That's it." Her voice was flat.

For a moment neither of them spoke. The shuttle rattled around them, climbing hard, engines pushed past safe limits. Through the small viewport, Leonia could see fire. Smoke. And shapes moving through both.

She let out a long sigh. “I always knew we’d need to redecorate that stuffy old estate but I didn't think the galaxy would redecorate it for us.”

“I have an entire army down there.” Gazrael commented. “And it's still not enough.”

The shuttle broke atmosphere.

And Leonia saw what they were flying into.

The void wasn't empty.

It was full.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Still In the Dark AU Series