Stranger Times

A Deed Too Far, A Star Wars Smackdown Story

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

For Crix Madine, his life ended at the same moment it began. White boots stained with dust and sand, standing alone in an empty land.

The breathing equipment in his customized scout armour stank of a rich infusion of his own body odour, the scrubbers badly overtaxed from months of constant use. But he didn't dare take it off.

"Any radio signals?" Crix asked the nearby trooper, who was sitting with the backpack sized receiver running through sweeps of various bands and spectrums.

"Just a single automated message, sir, on the civilian emergency channels," the trooper responded. "It restarts every half minute. Other than that, nothing but the chatter of Dentall's star."

"What does the message say?" Crix asked quietly. But he knew the answer already.

"Planet is infected with the Candorian Plague. Disease will be present in the air for forty-seven more years. Survival rate is 0%."

Crix nodded, and stared up at the sky. He couldn't cry for what he had done. "Someone out there was still thinking about any poor fool who might try to visit. Hopefully the only other people it kills are smugglers and scavengers looking to loot the dead."

As Crix turned away, his boot kicked an empty canister, knocking the round cylinder off its tripod mount and knocking it down the gentle slope towards Calif City. It rattled and clanged as if bounced off of the rocks and began rolling faster.

"Thought this was a covert mission, sir," the trooper with the radio scanner said, Crix could almost see the smile the woman beneath that armour was wearing. It would be more grimace than grin, and the humour wouldn't touch her haunted eyes.

"I wish someone were out there to hear that, specialist. Nothing would make me happier," Crix said. "Nothing in the galaxy."

"Sir," another trooper asked, stepping away from the troop pod that had dropped from the Invincible a little over two months ago. "Are we really going back?"

"We can't stay here," the radio specialist said. "We take off our helmets, we're dead in under three days. No one lives through the Candorian Plague."

"What are you saying, soldier?" Crix asked.

"I didn't drop expecting to kill more people than the Death Star, sir," the trooper said. "There were ten billion people living here on Dentall before we touched the ground."

Reflexively, Crix wanted to lash out. He wanted to scream at the soldier under his command, defend his own ignorance as they were given their sparse mission details only after their drop pod had been launched. The details that kept changing, as they moved from a recon mission to setting up sensor equipment that turned out to be dispersal canisters. Aerosol canisters for an airborne form of the worst disease the galaxy had ever heard of.

But his soldiers knew that. The change in their orders only found at each stage as they unlocked and set up the equipment they were ordered to assemble.

"And now there are five," Crix replied, and his words pulled his sight towards a small crater set just down the hill.

A nearly perfect circle of charcoal coloured sand marked the place Corporal Ila Windsbane stood. She had taken off her helmet, flashed Crix a smile he still didn't understand, and pressed a button on the Thermal Detonator she was holding in her hand.

The thought had Crix rubbing one of the same weapons on his belt, wondering if it would help any of the billions of spectres on this empty world sleep better.

But set in his belt, just after the grenade he thought of triggering, was a small communicator. Given to him over a year ago, by a woman in a white dress from a world that was now stardust.

He took out the communicator, and turned to his soldiers.

"The empire betrayed us," Crix said. "Does anyone disagree with that?"

Crix's question was met with nothing but silence.

"Does anyone have any problems returning the favour?" Crix asked, holding up the transponder.

"You asking us to join the rebellion?" the radio specialist asked. "Because I'm in."

There was a chorus of assent from the other three troopers, and Crix smiled. He flicked on the transponder, sent the signal, and waited.

It only took a few seconds before a familiar voice spoke through the speakers. "Commander Madine. It's been a while. What are the odds?"

"Your Highness, I-" Crix began to say, but an angry snap cut him off.

"Shut up, Threepio. I didn't actually want an answer to that. Sorry Commander, what were you about to say?"

"Princess, I find myself needing to make amends. I'm afraid I've done something that," Crix sobbed, unable to finish. Letting it out would bring a flood of emotions that would probably break him. "I have four soldiers with me. We're on Dentaal, and we have a lot of people to avenge."

"I understand. I have a freighter heading to you now, a YT-1300 model. It looks like it belongs on the inside of a garbage hauler, but it's tough and I trust the crew. The Wookiee, anyway."

"You're in the area?" Crix asked.

"We picked up the distress calls from Dentaal yesterday. The Empire's been blocking most channels, or we'd have arrived before now. And Commander Madeen?"

"Yes, your highness?"

"The crew of this ship and I are the only people who know. Until your ready, it will stay that way. May the force be with you."