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Spring, they called it—though I’d never seen it like this.

Most worlds I worked didn’t bother with seasons. They burned, froze, or rotted in place. Predictable. Profitable. But this one… this one breathed.

From orbit it looked like a jewel—veins of violet, gold, and deep emerald threading across its surface. No cities. No smoke. No scars. Just life, spilling over itself in reckless abundance. The kind of place people wrote poems about.

The kind of place I didn’t trust.

I set my ship down in a clearing that wasn’t really a clearing at all—just a temporary surrender in the endless tide of growth. Petals the size of my hands drifted through the air, brushing against my armor like curious fingers. The ground was soft, almost spongy, layered with moss that pulsed faintly under my boots.

Pulsed.

I frowned, glancing down.

The moss dimmed, as if aware it had been noticed.

“Right,” I muttered. “One of those planets.”

I stepped forward anyway.

The air was thick with scent—sweet, almost intoxicating, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. Vines coiled lazily around towering stalks, their surfaces shimmering with iridescent hues. Flowers opened and closed as I passed, reacting to my movement. Some leaned toward me. Others shrank away.

Everything here watched.

I kept my hand near my blaster.

The deeper I went, the louder it became—not noise, not exactly. More like a layered whisper of growth. Leaves unfurling. Roots shifting beneath the soil. A slow, constant motion that never stopped.

Alive.

Too alive.

Then I saw it.

At first, I thought it was just another bloom—larger than the rest, its petals a deep crimson edged with gold. It swayed gently despite the still air, releasing a faint mist that glittered in the light.

Beautiful.

I took a step closer.

The mist smelled… wrong.

Not sweet like the others. Sharper. Metallic.

My instincts flared. I stopped.

The flower stilled.

For a moment, we regarded each other.

Then it moved.

The petals snapped open—not unfolding, but lunging. What I’d taken for delicate structures split apart into fleshy, muscular segments lined with serrated edges. The center yawned wide, revealing a dark, glistening maw that pulsed like a throat.

It lunged.

I barely had time to throw myself back as it struck where I’d been standing. The ground tore open beneath it, roots snapping upward like tendrils, grasping, searching.

“Not a flower,” I snarled, rolling to my feet. “Of course not.”

The creature—plant, whatever it was—reoriented with unsettling speed. Its body twisted, dragging itself forward with a wet, tearing sound as roots ripped free from the soil. More tendrils burst from beneath the surface around me, snapping like whips.

A trap.

I fired.

Blaster bolts slammed into its petals, scorching them black. It recoiled, emitting a high, keening shriek that vibrated through the air. The scent changed instantly—no longer sweet, but acrid, aggressive.

The ground shifted again.

More of them.

Not just one. A whole cluster, disguised among the blooms.

“Great,” I muttered. “I walk into a garden and it tries to eat me.”

A tendril lashed out, catching my leg. The strength of it nearly pulled me off balance. I fired point-blank, severing it in a spray of sap that hissed where it hit my armor.

The creature responded violently.

The main body surged forward, maw opening wide enough to swallow my torso whole. I could see layers inside it—rows of grinding, fibrous structures, like teeth made of woven thorns.

I wasn’t getting caught in that.

I triggered the charge on my belt and hurled it straight into the open maw.

“Eat this.”

I dove as the explosion tore through it.

The blast wasn’t massive, but it didn’t need to be. The creature convulsed, petals shredding apart as fire and shrapnel ripped through its core. The shriek cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet collapse as it sank into itself.

The surrounding tendrils went still.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Then the whispering started again.

Louder.

I pushed myself up, breathing hard. The air had shifted—thicker now, heavier. The other plants… they weren’t retreating.

They were closing in.

Flowers that had seemed harmless moments ago began to tilt toward me. Vines uncoiled, stretching across the ground. The moss beneath my boots pulsed faster, like a heartbeat picking up speed.

They’d felt it.

The disturbance. The death.

Or maybe… the threat.

I didn’t stick around to find out.

I backed away slowly at first, blaster raised, watching for movement. Every step felt like it sank a little deeper into the living ground. The colors around me seemed brighter now—too bright. Oversaturated. Alive in a way that felt almost hungry.

Then something shifted behind me.

I didn’t turn. I ran.

Branches snapped at my armor as I pushed through, vines snagging at my limbs. The air filled with that metallic scent again, thicker now, clinging to the back of my throat. Shapes moved in my peripheral vision—blooms opening too fast, tendrils writhing just beneath the surface.

The planet wasn’t just alive.

It was aware.

My ship came into view through the riot of color, a dull, comforting shape in a world gone mad. I sprinted the last stretch, ignoring the way the ground seemed to rise against me, like it was trying to slow me down.

I didn’t stop until the hatch sealed behind me.

Inside, the air felt thin. Dead. Safe.

I leaned against the bulkhead, listening to my own breathing, waiting for something—anything—to follow.

Nothing did.

But as I powered up the engines and lifted off, I glanced back at the surface below.

From above, it looked peaceful again. Beautiful. Untouched.

Like it hadn’t just tried to swallow me whole.

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.

“Next time,” I said, “I’m taking a job on a dead world.”

The Bounty Board flickered like it always did—half-dead pixels, lagging refresh cycles, and the faint hum of outdated circuitry. I leaned back in my chair, boots propped on the edge of the terminal, one horn idly scraping the durasteel wall behind me. Time had slowed to a crawl. No good contracts. No real challenges. Just petty smugglers, runaway droids, and the occasional debtor who thought vanishing into the Outer Rim made them invisible.

It didn’t.

Still, I wasn’t in the mood for scraps.

I scrolled lazily, red and amber listings bleeding past my eyes. Names, faces, sums. Too small. Too risky. Too boring.

Then it appeared.

No name—just a designation: “Target Aurek-17.”

I frowned. No name meant either high-level discretion or something shady enough that even the issuer didn’t want to commit it to record. That alone wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the number attached.

I leaned forward.

That kind of money didn’t get posted for small prey.

Curiosity replaced boredom in an instant. I tapped the listing open, ignoring the way the terminal sputtered in protest.

Sparse details. Last known location: a mining outpost on the edge of the Mid Rim. No species listed. No known affiliations. No visible criminal record. Just a single line under “Notes”:

“Target must be confirmed. No disintegrations.”

I snorted. That old line again. Clients liked to pretend they had standards.

Still… something about it stuck.

No name. No history. Massive payout.

Either someone very important wanted this target found… or someone very afraid wanted them erased.

I cracked my knuckles, the joints clicking beneath scarred skin. “Alright,” I muttered. “You’ve got my attention.”

—

The outpost was exactly what I expected: forgotten, half-functional, and clinging to existence out of sheer stubbornness. Dust storms rolled across the barren landscape, sand hissing against my armor as I approached. The docking platform groaned under my ship’s weight, like it resented visitors.

Inside, the air smelled stale—metal, sweat, and something faintly chemical.

Miners looked up as I entered. Most quickly looked away.

Smart.

I approached the nearest terminal and jacked in my datapad, cross-referencing the bounty details with local records. Aurek-17. No hits. No transit logs. No employment files.

Nothing.

That didn’t sit right.

I turned to the bartender, a grizzled human with more scars than patience. “I’m looking for someone,” I said, sliding a credit chip across the counter.

He glanced at it, then at me. His eyes lingered on my horns, my tattoos. Measuring.

“Everyone’s looking for someone,” he muttered.

“Not like this.”

I described the listing. Sparse as it was.

His expression didn’t change—but his hand stopped moving.

That was enough.

“You’ve heard of it.”

He sighed, pocketing the credit chip. “People come through asking about that designation. Never lasts long.”

“Meaning?”

“They leave. Or they stop asking.”

I felt a grin tug at the corner of my mouth. “I don’t scare that easy.”

“Wasn’t talking about you,” he said quietly.

—

I spent two days digging.

Questioning miners. Slicing into outdated logs. Even bribing a foreman who smelled like he bathed in engine grease. Every lead dissolved the same way—into static, corrupted files, or dead ends that didn’t make sense.

It was like chasing a shadow.

No—worse.

It was like chasing something that didn’t want to exist.

On the third day, I found something.

A maintenance worker. Twi’lek. Nervous.

He claimed he’d seen Aurek-17.

“Not a name,” he whispered. “A code. They used it over comms.”

“They?” I pressed.

He shook his head. “Didn’t see them. Just heard. Late cycle. Restricted channels.”

“Where?”

He hesitated.

I leaned closer, letting him see the edge beneath my calm. “You’re already involved.”

He swallowed. “Sublevel nine. Old excavation tunnels.”

Finally.

—

Sublevel nine was abandoned. The lifts barely worked, and the deeper I went, the quieter it got. No machinery. No voices. Just the hum of failing power grids and the echo of my own footsteps.

I activated my helmet optics. Shadows sharpened. Heat signatures flickered.

Nothing.

I followed the tunnels anyway, guided by instinct more than logic. The air grew colder. Thinner.

Then I saw it.

A door.

Sealed. Unmarked. Out of place.

I approached cautiously, hand resting near my blaster. The panel beside it blinked faintly, as if waiting.

“For Aurek-17,” I muttered.

The panel lit up.

The door slid open.

Inside—

Nothing.

An empty room. Bare walls. No equipment. No signs of life.

I stepped in, senses on edge. “This isn’t funny,” I said aloud, though I wasn’t sure who I was addressing.

The door hissed shut behind me.

Then the terminal in the center of the room flickered on.

Text appeared.

“Target confirmed.”

My muscles tensed. “Who’s there?”

No answer.

Another line appeared.

“Bounty fulfilled.”

A chill crept up my spine.

“That’s not how this works,” I growled.

The terminal beeped softly.

Then my datapad pinged.

I pulled it up.

Transfer received.

The full amount.

Every credit.

I stared at the screen, confusion twisting into something darker.

“No,” I said slowly. “No, no—”

The realization hit like a vibroblade to the gut.

No name.

No history.

No trace.

A target that couldn’t be found—because it wasn’t meant to be.

This was never a hunt.

It was a test.

Or worse.

A selection.

I turned sharply, scanning the room again. Still empty. Still silent.

But I no longer felt alone.

Somewhere, someone had been watching. Waiting.

And now—

They had what they wanted.

I holstered my blaster, unease settling deep in my bones. Credits were credits. I’d been paid.

But as I left that empty room, one thought refused to fade:

I hadn’t found Aurek-17.

Aurek-17 had found me.

Quinn “Razor” Arapto woke before the suns crested the horizon, as he always did. For a moment, he lay still on the narrow bunk of his ship, feeling the faint vibration of the idle engine hum beneath his back. It was a comforting sensation—steady, predictable, alive. A good start. He swung his legs over the side and stretched, the familiar pull of muscle and old scars greeting him like old friends. The air inside the cabin carried a blend of worn leather, engine oil, and last night’s spice stew. Not pleasant to most, perhaps—but to Quinn, it smelled like survival. He keyed open the hatch and stepped out onto the landing platform. Dawn painted the sky in muted orange and violet, casting long shadows across the dusty outpost. The light caught on the ridges of his Zabrak horns, warming them as the chill of night retreated. A soft breeze brushed against his face, carrying with it the dry grit of sand and the distant tang of fuel exhaust. Perfect. From somewhere below, he heard the clatter of crates being unloaded and the low murmur of traders haggling. A droid whistled sharply, followed by a mechanic’s irritated shout. Life, in all its messy forms. Quinn descended the ramp, boots striking metal with a satisfying clang. At the bottom, he paused just long enough to check his blaster—smooth grip, cool metal, perfectly balanced. He ran a thumb along the edge, feeling a tiny nick from yesterday’s work. A reminder. A promise. Breakfast came from a street vendor who knew better than to ask questions. The man handed him a steaming wrap, its surface crisped and slightly oily. Quinn took a bite as he walked. The first taste hit him—savory meat, heavy with spice, cut by a sharp, citrus-like tang. It was hot enough to sting his tongue, and he welcomed it. Pain meant he was awake. He leaned against a railing overlooking the port, chewing slowly. Ships rose and fell in the distance, engines roaring, heat distorting the air in shimmering waves. The sound filled his ears—a chaotic symphony of thrust, metal, and motion. It was loud, yes, but it drowned out the noise he preferred not to hear. Regrets. Ghosts. Today, there were none. The job had been clean. Quick. No complications, no betrayals, no last-minute surprises. Credits already sat secure in his account, enough to keep him comfortable for a while. That alone made the day rare. By midday, the heat settled in, pressing against his skin like a heavy hand. Sweat traced slow paths along his temples and down his neck, but he didn’t mind. He found shade beneath a rusted awning and let the warmth soak into his bones. The metal seat beneath him was rough, edges worn from years of use. He rested his hands on it, feeling every groove and imperfection. Real. Tangible. Honest. A glass found its way into his hand—amber liquid sloshing lazily inside. He took a sip. Bitter at first, then smooth, with a smoky aftertaste that lingered just long enough to matter. He exhaled through his nose, catching the faint scent of it again, mixing with the ever-present dust. Across the way, a pair of locals argued loudly, their voices rising and falling in sharp bursts. Quinn smirked faintly. Not his problem. Not today. As evening approached, the sky deepened into richer shades, and the first stars began to pierce through. The temperature dropped, bringing with it a coolness that brushed against his skin like a quiet reassurance. He returned to his ship, each step measured, unhurried. Inside, the familiar hum greeted him once more. Quinn paused at the threshold, taking it all in—the dim lighting, the scent of metal and solitude, the silence that belonged entirely to him. He ran a hand along the bulkhead as he passed, grounding himself in its cold, solid presence. A perfect day wasn’t about peace. Not for someone like him. It was about control. Simplicity. The absence of chaos. He settled back onto his bunk, folding his hands behind his head. The ship vibrated softly beneath him again, steady as a heartbeat. For once, the galaxy had asked nothing more of him. And for now—that was enough.

Aliso System, Aliso City Landsdown Docks, Bay 20 The small ID10 seeker droid rested on a tool cart, its matte black body trying to pass as someone’s forgotten holotape. The alarm klaxon howled through Landsdown, distant blaster fire and shouted orders weaving into the siren’s metallic wail. The entire dock complex vibrated like a struck tuning fork, every bulkhead humming with panic and hurried evacuation. Somewhere far below, a cargo lifter screamed as its repulsors overloaded, the sound swallowed by the cavernous dockyard like thunder trapped in a metal canyon. The droid activated without ceremony. Its tiny repulsor hummed as it lifted from the cart and drifted upward, gliding toward a recessed shadow in the wall. A single red photoreceptor burned to life, scanning the bay. A Belbullab-22 sat mid-repair, its pilot long gone. Power cables trailed from its open fuselage like exposed nerves, swaying gently from the power currents. A dropped hydrospanner rolled across the floor, tapping softly against durasteel as if counting seconds. The droid slipped into the maze of ceiling corridors that spiderwebbed through Landsdown, pausing only when beings sprinted beneath it. Every movement was measured. Every pause was calculated. Boots hammered against the floor in chaotic rhythms, some heavy with armor, others light with fear. Voices echoed and overlapped, clipped orders dissolving into frantic questions. The ceiling ducts smelled faintly of ozone and coolant leaks, a familiar perfume of industry and impending disaster. Its directive was simple: document every ship currently docked in Landsdown. Bay 21 stood empty. Bay 22 did not. The droid hovered silently and zoomed in on a Star Courier resting in the docking cradle. It captured the vessel from every angle and transmitted the data in a tight encrypted burst to the Eternal Order database. The transmission lasted less than a breath, disguised within the background chatter of emergency comms. No alarms detected. No sensors complained. The message slipped into the galaxy like a rumor whispered into a crowded room.

Task complete. Move on.

Bay 23 opened into chaos. A Firespray gunship sat on the durasteel floor, surrounded by scattered tools and half-disassembled components. Overhead lights flickered in uneven pulses, painting the ship in alternating bands of harsh white and shadow. Steam hissed from a ruptured conduit, drifting across the bay like stage fog for a performance nobody wanted to attend. Two DUM-series pit droids darted in frantic circles, grabbing parts with frantic enthusiasm that suggested urgency and zero planning. Beneath them, a pair of MSE-6 mouse droids squealed as they scurried between boots and crates, broadcasting alarm signals to anyone willing to listen. From a side corridor, a K-Series security droid lumbered into view, a repeating blaster already braced in one hand while the other seized a second weapon from a rack. The heavy droid’s footsteps landed like falling anvils, each impact sending faint tremors through the plating beneath the Firespray. The seeker droid drifted forward and settled lightly onto the Firespray’s hull. A micro-slicer extended toward an access panel. The hull radiated stored heat, a fading memory of recent flight. Beneath the plating, fuel pumps ticked as they cooled, each sound a mechanical heartbeat slowing after a sprint. The droid’s optic narrowed, prioritizing data pathways and entry points with surgical indifference. A sudden electronic gargle shattered the moment. The droid’s photoreceptor snapped upward just in time to focus on a charging buzz droid, its spinning saw screaming toward the tiny spy. Then the seekers' signal vanished.

Kalen's Unending Curse

As Kalen and Corra and the gang hard docked with the Corra VI in orbit above Aliso, the situation on the surface and around the system itself was still tense, and the size scale and scope of the attack they were under Ingram was still developing moment by moment. Terrorist attacks, sabotage, riots, a space ambush, things were bad. 

The ship had been left in orbit on autopilot, with only 2 Ugnaughts (a gunner, and their mechanic) and a few maintenance droids aboard.The Jedi led the group out of the commuter shuttle and through the airlock, he told Corra and D-3PO that they could set themselves up in the Captain cabin, and told the Ugnaughts that they could set themselves up in the lounge and the lower deck. The Ascendant Outreach Corps commander then hurriedly to the bridge and started to get the ship ready to leave orbit. It had been a few months, so he had to quickly refamiliarize himself with the controls, but it was still HIS ship after all.

He heard the sound of 2 sets of rapid scurrying boots approaching the open entryway at the rear of the bridge, and he turned to see 2 of the original crop of Ugnaught contractors he had hired to help man his precious ship, the Corra V.

“Mikdill, Mikbeel, good, the systems under attack, we gotta get the ship ready to move, and quickly. Get the fire control unit and the weapons online. Mikbeel, spool up the engines. I'm going to take us to rendezvous with the Bright Light, see if we can help out in any way.” The 41 year old greying(in more ways then 1) Jedi

The two Ugnaughts nodded in acknowledgement and then scurried away to get about making the ship ready to fly, and if necessary, fight.

“Alright, airlock seated, main power online, back-up power…online, thank you Mikbeel. Deflectors on standby, comms are good, life support in the green. Okay lets get us moving.” Kalen was flicking switched and turning nobs before he grabbed a hold of the yoke.

“Corra VI, to Aliso orbital control, requesting departure clearance, this a priority 1 situation, by order of the Ascendant Navy.” He said into the comms. He was straining credulity a bit, but after all, he was a part of the Ascendant Military hierarchy and knew no one would bat an eyepash at the request.

“Corra VI, you are cleared for departure. Keep your eyes and ears open, its getting hectic all over the system.” Came the reply.

“Confirmed Aliso Control. Corra VI departing for the outer system.” Kalen swung the ship around and increased power to the engines, and within a few seconds they had broken orbit, and were on their way to Trecurus and the Hellas Fleet Yards that were reportedly in a shambolic state since the recent attack.

Not more then 30 seconds later, as Kalen was about to let the autopilot take over for the short half hour sublight cruise when a bright flash of light and a tremendous explosion erupted right against the side of the Corra VIs starboard fore-wing, knocking out power on the vessel, destroying the dual laser cannon that had been mounted on the wing, and blowing a 2 meter by 3 meter hole in the outer hull.

They had just struck a mine. A stealth mine that had been secretly deployed by the unknown attackers before they had departed.

“Oh come on now! You have got to fracking kidding me, sithspit Mother…” Kalen let loose with a string of profanities.

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WHEN IT HITS THE FAN

By Kalen Joss

Lieutenant Commander Sarvo Tud, the Twi'lek Executive Officer of the Bright Light had to have his comms officer confirm the message for him a second time. He struggled to fathom how an enemy strike force could have penetrated the heart of the Plagueian military without anyone noticing.

“Transponders from at least 3 capital ships of the First Mobile Fleet have gone dark sir.” The senior Intel officer added as he stared at the system plot.

The bridge got uncomfortably quiet for several seconds. They were half way in-between Trecurus and Congrion, with barely half the crew aboard. It was supposed to be a quick shakedown trip to test out the new sets of RCS thrusters that had been installed a few days before. But what they had been doing didn't matter any more, what they were going to do was the primary concern now.

“All hands to battle stations. Helm bring us about, and make best speed back to Hellas.” Tud slapped his armrest comm and opened the intercom to the hangar bay.

“We have an emergency situation. The Fleet Yards are currently under attack by an unknown fleet, all pilots man your birds. SCRAMBLE. I say again scramble. Head to Hellas, full afterburners. You are authorized to disregard all local flight restrictions and regulations. Move people!” Tud closed the channel. The A-Wings were the fastest ships in the Ascendant Navy, and they'd be able to make it back to Trecurus in about 10 minutes if they kept their throttles pinned to the firewalls. He looked up at the combat plot and did a quick calculation in his head, the Bright Light was quick as far as frigates went, but they'd still be about a half hour behind Angel Squadron.

“Charge weapons, reflectors to full. Shunt all auxiliary power to the engines.” The old veteran shouted as the quiet of a moment before had given way to the din of a combat vessel at battle stations heading into a fight.

((Aliso, North Creek subdivision))

“What? Under attack by who?” Kalen exclaimed into his commlink.

“No one knows sir.” Replied the duty officer who had called him, and presumably every other member of the senior leadership, from the Pinnacle.

“Sithspawn. Understood.” The Jedi cursed as he turned off his comm.

A few seconds later a massive explosion occurred right in the direction that Kalen had been looking. It appeared to come from the water treatment plant a mile away. Then he heard a second explosion and he saw its fireball shoot into the sky on the other side of the city.

“Babe, what's going on? Was that a bomb that just went off” Corra asked as she came out of the house, followed by D-3PO who seemed even more nervous than usual.

“I don't know hun. Our shipyards are under attack right now…I gotta go…” Kalen half turned as he was about to head over to the Star Commuter and head up to the Corra VI which was parked in orbit.

He stopped himself. What was he thinking?He wasn't going to leave his pregnant fiance here alone with the goldenrod droid when there were bombs exploding all over the city.

“Grab the black bag from under our bed and get on the shuttle hun. D, go get the Ugnaughts from the orcha…nevermind you're slower then a geriatric Hutt, just lock the house behind Corra and get on the shuttle too. I'll go get the Ugnaughts.” Kalen headed off in a full sprint towards the peach orchard.

Manually added by Professional Nildea Vidh

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Manually added by Lord Idris Adenn