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Northern Sector Command and Control Station
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Star Wars: Episode VIII: Binds of Tyranny Forum Index » Devaron » Northern Sector Command and Control Station
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Socra Testudinata
Private First Class


Joined: 09 Sep 2006
Posts: 68

 Post Posted: Thu, July 19th 2007 07:31pm    Post subject: Northern Sector Command and Control Station
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The spacious hangar of the Golan-III platform they were starting from was abuzz with activity. Socra, now dressed in an Imperial flight uniform without the life support helmet and systems. His hands, flexing in tight black leather gloves, folded before him as he spoke to various news representatives. A limited number had been allowed in, and all of the holo-footage was being stored and would be kept from the public eye until the grand unveiling at DevCorp, when they would be placed in the public market.

"This craft was designed by Maximilian Brooks, and its counterpart, the Adumar, is a most capable craft indeed. I find myself looking forward to this exercise and test of its prowess in deep space." the reporters all chattered, holding up microphones while others held up large holovision recorders, trying to get every word and every motion. Socra lifted a hand in introduction to the craft, and flashbulbs sparked as images were taken for news flimsies.

"Socra, Socra, what made you leave the Empire to do these tests?"

The Imperial Grand Marshal lifted a hand, shaking his head. "I did not leave the Empire for this, my services were requested by Emperor Baelish for these exercises. My travels have taken me through Sovereign space, and as such my presence was known to him... it was only a matter of time before he recognized my greatness." A light chuckle passed his lips as he waved off further questions, anxious to get to the test. He looked to Petyr, just coming from his own interview with a different group of press representatives, dressed in a customized flight uniform of his own.

"It looks like this will be good PR for your people, showing them how their tax credits are being well-spent. I've already instructed the other pilots to hold back, to make sure you've still got an edge, but I'll put the craft through its paces and make sure it looks like the best. Are you prepared?" Socra's head tilted, looking Baelish in the eye. He knew Brooks was going to be in the uppermost observation room, scanning everything with the platform's sensors for later analysis.
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'Tis I says:
Ams sank your Socraship. :S
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Petyr Baelish
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Joined: 20 May 2006
Posts: 702

 Post Posted: Fri, July 20th 2007 07:38pm    Post subject:
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Petyr strode to the opposite side of the hangar aboard the Command Station, clad in his black-and-maroon combat flightsuit, his helmet under one arm. The suit felt foreign for Baelish, being engrossed in the politics of his Empire and previously the Republic for years. Behind him, press affiliates huddled together, sharing each bit of information that the Emperor had unveiled, as to maximize each one of their respective reports. Petyr’s eyes scanned across the room as Socra finished his final interview with the journalists.

The Grand Marshal seemed very well equipped for dealing with the press, Baelish noted. Cocking his head, the Imperial looked Petyr’s way and said, “It looks like this will be good PR for your people, showing them how their tax credits are being well-spent. I've already instructed the other pilots to hold back, to make sure you've still got an edge, but I'll put the craft through its paces and make sure it looks like the best. Are you prepared?”

Chuckling, Petyr smiled, his facial expression not reflecting a sense of trepidation concerning the upcoming test. Baelish nodded, “As ready as I can be, considering I’ve been out of the cockpit and into politics the past many years. Craft have been fueled and prepped for launch, and Maximilian has stationed himself on the bridge to collect his statistics and information. He has given the go, and it’s up to yourself, Grand Marshal.”
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Socra Testudinata
Private First Class


Joined: 09 Sep 2006
Posts: 68

 Post Posted: Sat, July 21st 2007 12:00am    Post subject:
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Socra took Baelish in a forearm lock, giving it a firm shake and nodded. "Then lets go." Releasing the lock, he watched as Petyr walked to his fighter, then ascended to the cockpit of his own Antar starfighter. Sealing himself in, he primed the engines and listened to them hum, feeling the soothing vibration through his seat. With the added time to prepare the weapons were simulated, so he did not have to restrain himself from his full potential. The press reporters scrambled out of the hangar as the airlocks started to seal, the atmosphere slowly depressurizing. The blast doors began to grind open, and the six starfighters shot out and over the North Pole to begin the dogfight.

The first pilot didn't learn from the mistakes he made during the first dogfight against the Imperial Grand Marshal, the one designated as 06 was his first target. His partner, 05, tried to plot a firing solution on the Imperial but the lack of gravity gave him an edge the pilot had not compensated for. The fighters juked hard, sliding across the skies through the magnetosphere as they tried to get a bead on the Imperial's position. The guns responded to his subtle nudge, and the simulated weapons fire streaked through the sky to impact the weak rear shields of the starfighter, collapsing them before finally causing a simulated explosion in the primary reactor. The fighter dropped through the skies towards the planet, circling the pole before returning to the station.

Socra smiled as he flipped the comm switch, speaking to the pilots. "Remember what you learned in our last engagement, comrades - we've got people watching us."The fighter banked at the nudge of the control yoke, pitching down and nosing towards the planet. The other fighters, with Baelish at the fore, flew in a hollow-point formation after the lone Imperial pilot.maintaining a cruising speed below the optimum of the new class. Socra pushed the fighter a little further, moving to 120 MGLT and slingshotting around the narrow circumference at the top of the planet, arcing back towards the squadron. Three fighters pitched to his starboard, simulated weaponsfire streaking across his hull without impacting, but causing the shields to start buckling. His fingers squeezed the triggers, and the two fighters that went to his port came under fire.

Rolling the fighter in an impressive high arc, he came up on 05 and 04 and hammered their ventral shields, incinerating one in a simulated explosion before the pilot could react. The second tried to evade, but Socra had gained too much speed in the arc, using gravity as his ally once again, and in the holographic simulation aboard the space station the port-side wings were obliterated in weapons fire, sending the fighter streaking towards the planet in an out-of-control spinning dive. A gasp resounded in his helmet speakers, the response from the press waiting on the observation deck. Flipping his comm systems on, he spun in an evasion maneuver that took him into the inner fringes of the asteroid belt, screening him while he spoke.

"The Antar-class fighter features an excellent tracking system that is among the best in the galaxy. They can remain with a target through the best of acrobatic maneuvers the fighter can perform, leaving the pilot free to fly in evasion maneuvers while allowing his weapons to remain locked on his target. It will improve the efficiency of the pilot in eliminating opponents to the freedom of Devaron and its outlying territories exponentially, while keeping your sons and daughters safe in their own fighters. The shields are more substantial, too, which will give them greater survivability in hostile environs."

Socra's fighter suddenly entered a steep dive, ejecting him from the asteroid field in a burst of speed, and sending him at a tangential arc of the three remaining starfighters, a sound bordering on a maniacal cackle escaping his lips as the comm was cut off.
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Ams sank your Socraship. :S
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Maximilian Brooks
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Joined: 06 Jul 2007
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Location: DevaronTechnologies Prototype Labs

 Post Posted: Sun, July 22nd 2007 12:07am    Post subject:
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Maximilian Brooks was once again ecstatic to see the combat performance of the remarkable Imperial. He had converted an area of the bridge of the Northern Sector Command and Control Station into a statistician’s workstation, similar to his atmospherical test facility on-planet. He could tell the Commander of the station was a tad irritated, considering Maximilian had to override control of the station to himself to gain access to the required scanners and sensors. Ready to begin the tests, he sat himself down in the Commander’s chair and positioned a group of several monitors within his reach. A flashing beacon told him that the hangar doors were opened and to begin collecting his data. Tapping a quick script into the screen, Brooks began his work.

He watched as the first two fighters made their primary run against against the Imperial Grand Marshal. Watching through his eyeglasses, Maximilian observed as the fighter’s spun around the vacuum, attempting to get a lock on Testudinata. The tiniest miscalculation on part of the Sovereign Pilot allowed the Imperial to get a lock on him, and on the rendered simulation hologram, green fire darted through the heavens above Devaron to cause the opposing Antar’s shields to collapse, and finally striking the reactor. The simulation saw one fighter become vaporized, and Brooks noted that this pilot had also made a similar error. “Pilot Oh-Six has been eliminated. Oh-Six, please return to the Command Station.”

As Brooks laughed at the Imperial’s taunting of an opposing pilot, the press behind him were becoming curious more about what Maximilian himself was doing. Like back on the planet, he was busy doing engine calculations and every few minutes, he would make a red note on a touch-screen hologram of the Antar-class next to him. On the hologram, Testudinata was once again making Brooks’ job impressively difficult. His erratic-yet-magnificent maneuvers kept Brooks yearning for more. He noted to himself that he’d have to save copies of the simulation for his own personal studies as Socra eliminated both Pilots 04 and 05. “Pilots Oh-Four and Oh-Five have been eliminated. Please return to the hangar.”
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Socra Testudinata
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Joined: 09 Sep 2006
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 Post Posted: Sun, July 22nd 2007 12:09am    Post subject:
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The starfighter whipped through the space, ducking and weaving through the currents of the planetary magnetic field and disrupting the targeting computers of the three craft left to pursue him. The Imperial suffered no such restriction: his targeting computers were offline, leaving him to work only with the open sights of the cockpit. Muscles tight, he rode an eddy of solar energy, banking and letting the stellar wind adjust his vector ever so slightly, confusing the systems of the Antar craft.

Suddenly spinning in an axial barrel roll, he flipped around the sole fighter trying to lock on his six. The lead pilot was flying on Petyr's wing, to try to screen and protect his Emperor while drawing a bead on the Grand Marshal's position. Extending his atmospheric drag fins, he skipped planetside and skimmed across the top of the atmosphere, spinning in a random arc while using bare adjustments of his thrusters to align the cannons before sending streaks of green through the night sky. Simulated weaponsfire splashed across the shields, and as Socra's shields buckled and finally failed, the other fighter suddenly dropped out of the sky as its cockpit "exploded" in a glowing ball of holoscanned fire.

Immediately, the Imperial pilot dove back towards the command station, narrowly avoiding return fire from the two remaining Antar craft, using the Northern Command Station as a screen while his shields regenerated, his voice crackling across the comm. "As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, this craft is very capable of getting out of its own way and to safety when it needs to. The thrusters are capable of pinpoint turns and impressive acceleration even when other systems are failing."

Flipping a switch, he poured every bit of energy he could spare onto his forward deflector screen and shot out from behind the massive Golan-III command station, catching the two pilots by surprise. Baelish dove sharply as soon as he saw the Grand Marshal, trying to go into a reverse snap-roll to get on Socra's six o'clock. It was a genius move, one that would have worked perfectly if there had been an extra second to spare, but as it stood the Imperial was able to execute his move before Baelish could get a positive lock.

The Imperial Grand Marshal executed a slow banking turn to get on the other pilot's nine o'clock. Depressing the triggers, simulated cannonfire tracked up towards the seam between the cross of the wings. The shields of the other fighter flared with simulated hits, nearly failing. A sudden surge, a sparkling flared as the other pilot poured every bit of energy he could into the starboard shields, but that moments distraction let Socra gain the advantage. Executing an intricate drop and rise, abandoning his attack on the others flank, the Imperial snapped into an inverted cross, moving in a perpendicular arc to the doomed fighter, cannonfire blazing.

The observers watching the holoscanned fight saw the fighter cloven in two by rapid pinpoint fire, the two halves spinning lazily towards the planetary surface. Kicking his dorsal jets in, Socra flipped end-over-end before placing the Golan-III station between him and Baelish, standing motionless face-to-face. His voice spoke over the command frequency, a soft malevolent chuckle meant for Petyr's ears alone. "Just you and me now, Emperor Baelish..."
_________________
Grand Marshal of the Imperial Starfighter Corps, DB-007


'Tis I says:
Ams sank your Socraship. :S


Last edited by Socra Testudinata on Sun, July 22nd 2007 12:16am; edited 1 time in total
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Petyr Baelish
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Joined: 20 May 2006
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 Post Posted: Fri, July 27th 2007 02:04am    Post subject:
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Dipping and diving, Baelish slipped back underneath the massive Golan-III platform that hung ever so silent in space, looming above the capital of his Sovereignty. He softly swore to himself as his squadron monitor told him his last wingmate had been taken out by Testudinata. The Grand Marshal was once again showing his extraordinarily honed piloting skills, knocking out all of his elite wingmen within minutes. His command com blinked on, and the voice of the Imperial spoke to him and him alone. "Just you and me now, Emperor Baelish..." he said, ever so mockingly.

Petyr didn’t like the tone in which he had said that, although he did acknowledge that he was having a bit of fun being back in the cockpit after years of air-stagnancy. He flipped his comm on reply to Socra only and said, “As it would seem to be, my friend.”

The nimble Antar fighter mirrored Emperor Baelish's motions, always keeping the battlestation between the two. It was an interesting game, playing a variant of neek-in-the-middle that passed fields of view over, under, and around the massive command platform. It was an interesting spectale to behold, and the Imperial Grand Marshal's voice sailed out over the comm systems. "As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the fighter also has excellent capability of avoiding fire!"

Laughter resounded as the comm switched off, mirrored by the press that watched, before Socra suddenly inverted and skimmed the surface of the command station, less than a meter between the wingtips and the armor plating of the Golan III as he moved to intercept the last fighter standing, the one piloted by the Supreme Commander of the Sovereignty of Devaron.

Petyr found himself sniggering at the Imperial’s eccentric behavior as he fired several test shots in the direction of Socra’s oncoming craft. Deciding on a plan of action, he kicked his fighter into motion, sending it sailing forward underneath the massive battlestation, once again opposite to the Imperial’s moves. Dodging a protruding turbolaser cannon, he flipped his fighter around in a 180 degree arc, following the path that the Grand Marshal had taken moments before.

The test shots went wide, as he knew they would, and gently Socra nudged the fighter faster, working to overcome the Sovereign Emperor on his six. The Imperial had more confidence, and a finer touch with the controls so even if they kept the same speed, the Grand Marshal's tighter arc would allow him to overcome the vessel... but that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was showing the people of the Sovereignty exactly how their money was being spent, and to ensure they knew that it was being put to good use.

Shooting through the space behind the Grand Marshal, Petyr set his sights on Testudinata and locked his tertiary weapon onto the tale of the opposing Antar-class and let a single concussion missile virtually speeding towards Socra’s craft. After he’d let the missile loose, and followed with a quick four blasts from his wingtip laser cannons. Finishing his quick assault, the Emperor slowed his pursuit slightly, allowing the Imperial some room ahead of him.

The tactic was classic, get a fighter to evade the cannonfire and straight into the missile... but the Grand Marshal had ideas of his own. A subtle twitch of the control yoke sent the simulated weaponsfire between the flares of the wings, and the missile locked on to his portside thruster. Socra cackled as he flipped the fighter to an invert, and started ducking and weaving around the various control spires, guiding the missile in an interesting arc, letting it overshoot him and have to turn around.

The Imperial was having much too much fun, letting the missile burn out its drives while getting no closer to reaching its target. Finally, its thrusters exhausted, the missile tried one more time to reach Socra's fighter before it started flipping end-over-end, dropping lazily towards the planetside. Socra grinned like a madman, then suddenly kicked the thrusters into drive and looped around in a tight arc, moving to attack Petyr's three o-clock, simulated cannonfire blazing and stitching across the hull of the Golan-III towards the waiting fighter.
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Socra Testudinata
Private First Class


Joined: 09 Sep 2006
Posts: 68

 Post Posted: Wed, August 01st 2007 03:00am    Post subject:
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Petyr smiled, enjoying himself. He expected the Imperial not to fall for the age-old tactic, and Baelish quickly decided upon adapting with a new stratagem. Cranking the controls hard, he banked the Antar a full 90 degrees as well as sending his fighter into an extremely dizzying corkscrew, pressing back into his seat heavily as the inertial dampeners struggled to adjust to his sudden twist near the craft’s full-speed. His opponent’s laser fire raced at him, and Petyr’s twisting fighter shook as several of the blasts lanced against his shields.

Making several quick adjustments, he put all shields forward and kicked the fighter forward, pushing top speed at the waiting Imperial. Baelish laughed insanely, blood rushing to his head due to the internal dampener’s inability to fully compensate against his spin, and clicked primary and secondary weapon’s fire, sending a spray of lasers and an ion cannon burst speeding at the Imperial who was, in turn, speeding at Petyr himself.

The Imperial starfighter was also moving in a corkscrew, both of their shields being pummeled into submission by the opponent. Petyr's mad cackle was only matched by the Grand Marshal as Socra ramped up power to his cannons, sacrificing his rear shields to increase the power of his guns. Finally, just as they were about to collide the Imperial fired his dorsal jets, kicking the fighter upwards with only centimeters left to spare.

Fingers flew madly on control switches, and the Antar suddenly pivoted on the axis of its wings, flipping upside down as its momentum carried him away from Petyr. Cannons continued to fire, simulated energy beams stitching up the side of the Golan platform before tracing up, inching ever closer, at insane speeds, towards the failing bunker of Petyr's rear shields.

Once again cackling rabidly, Petyr powered forward through the gauntlet of fire between the battling starfighters, not expecting the startling barrage from behind so early. Petyr swore as the last of his aft shields gave, his hands desperately running over switches to readjust his shield configuration. To his luck, the edge of the Golan platform was near, and Petyr righted his fighter and dove down, towards the ventral side of the massive floating battle station.

Quickly scanning his ship readouts, he swore. Systemwide shield power was down to a measly 15%, and he expected his opponent’s to be much higher. Coming to a realization after swearing slightly again, Baelish cut the power to his ion engines and powered down his weapons and shields, bringing himself as close as possible to a large turbolaser battery on the Golan’s underside. Hoping with such a large energy signature so near to him would cripple Testudinata's scanning abilities, Petyr disabled his ship’s cockpit light and waited.

Socra's fighter, he was alarmed to notice, was running on a total of 8% shield power. The forward vector screens didn't conform to the hull as well as he had originally anticipated, and the fire that should have streaked between the wings had instead reduced the integrity of the energy shields, eliciting a curse from the Imperial Grand Marshal. Firing his retros he stalled a moment to get a bearing on the situation, and to scan for Petyr's craft.

Odd... he was nowhere to be found. Evidently they were in similar straits, and he was trying to hide and recharge... but, as luck would have it, although Socra wouldn't be able to find Petyr by scanning, the Supreme Emperor would not know that he was coming. An evil smile cracked his lips as he calculated the departure vector he had witnessed the Emperor taking, and then flew in the opposite direction around the Golan-III, picking up visual scanning.

Suddenly, as he swept around the backside, he saw the Emperor, hanging behind a turbolaser batter. An evil smirk played across his lips as he poured every bit of energy he could into his rear shields, he banked and threaded the guns of the turbolaser tower. As he passed Petyr, he fired his ventral thrusters and kicked up, simultaneously throwing Petyr's fighter out of its hover and bouncing off the tower. Socra's voice crackled on the comm, a maniacal sound on the fringes of sanity. "TAG! You're it!"

Petyr screamed, utterly caught unaware by Testudinata’s absolutely insane attack. His fighter screeched and bounced into the side of the turbolaser tower, caused by the Imperial’s radical move. The Emperor scrambled and kicked his ion drives back online, speeding in the opposite direction of that the Imperial had taken. He swore, audibly and accidentally over public comm, then swore again and disabled his communicator; his shields had been reduced to overall 6%.

Suddenly, his fright turned to laughter. Enabling his private comlink to Socra, Petyr laughed heartily and said, “Socra, my friend, you almost gave me an aneurysm!”

Socra clicked the private comm on as they once again spiraled around the Golan-III in a dual helix that always kept the station between them. "First rule of starfighter combat, my friend - always expect insanity!" the comm clicked off as Socra started cackling again, and juked his fighter into a loop that would carry him in a polar orbit, perpendicular to the equatorial orbit that Petyr was taking around. Clicking the comm back on, slipping more into the rush and insanity he got when behind the stick of a fighter, an amplified voice came over the channels. "HEEEERE'S JOHNNY!!!"

Simulated cannonfire streaked for the port side of Petyr's starfighter, the two craft approaching each other at a respectable fraction of lightspeed. Socra wasn’t sure if he would be backing down, but for some reason... just, didn't seem to care.

Petyr was in a fit of laughter, and his companion-turned-opponent’s ridiculous antics were only making him cackle louder. Of course, when the klaxons onboard the Antar-class blared at the incoming fire from Petyr’s left, he stopped his chortling and shoved forward on his craft’s joystick, sending it in a barreling plummet towards the blue-green skies of Devaron. Two of the laser blasts from Socra’s fighter hit their mark, and Petyr swore, once again, even louder as warnings told him his shields had fallen. Guffawing again, he kicked the accelerator downwards, sending his fighter screaming towards his planet, past the craft’s maximum speed already.

Clicking his comlink on to Testudinata once again, Petyr grinned and said accentually, “Catch me if you can, friend!”

The starfighter rolled and fell into line behind Petyr's craft, plummeting towards the blue-green ball of Devaron, pushing the craft past its intended maximum speeds and beyond, much like he had done with the Adumar starfighter. The craft rattled around him, and Socra's voice spoke softly to the ship that wrapped around him like a comforting cocoon. "Hold together for me, baby, just a little longer..."

The Imperial took his time with this, nudging the control yoke and the "rudder" pedals with patience born of years of practice, lining up his shot. The atmospheric turbulence was starting to heat the outer hull, and Socra kept a wary eye on the skin temperature as he waited for those concentric circles to line up and give him his firing solution.

Petyr’s craft shook violently as he shot down into the upper reaches of Devaron’s mesosphere, warning lights beginning to go off as his lack of a shield caused the hull damage by reentry heat. Reaching the zenith of his dive, also realizing that Testudinata could have a perfect shot any time, Petyr quickly considered his options and acted. He hammered his engines full reverse and slowly began to pull up, so not to cause the blood to rush from his head, but hopefully quickly enough to level out in reasonable time and to avoid Socra’s probing weapon’s lock.

Socra watched as Petyr began to level out, and frowned slightly... it was a good tactic, and one he had to be ingenious about to overcome. The answer came with a simple thought: Air currents. Socra pitched and started diving faster, towards the polar ice cap. The cooling air leached some of the head from his hull, enabling him to kick his dorsal jets into overdrive and send him shooting back up into space as Petyr was climbing back into the magnetosphere.

The Imperial banked sharply, using the EM fields to scramble Petyr's targeting systems as he circled the polar axis, then shot back out towards the Sovereign Emperor's craft, having lost very little of his falling speed, the starfighters cannons streaking simulated fire at Petyr's nearly-derelict craft.

Petyr quickly checked his scanner as he pushed his fighter back into orbit from the trailing edges of Devaron’s atmosphere, not a thing showing. It’s like Testidunata had disappeared. His brow furrowed, running over the possibilities in his head. Suddenly, almost in the nick-of-time, Petyr remembered – the electromagnetic fields over Devaron’s pole were interfering with his targeting equipment.

“Shit—,” but too late – simulated laser fire streaked from below and lanced into his craft, and the entire audience aboard the Golan platform gasped in awe. The simulation showed two green shafts of light pierce his 3 o’clock wing, shearing it off as well as breaking the cockpit viewport. Air vented out in the simulation as the Emperor’s fighter tumbled end-over-end towards Devaron.

Socra quickly dove, disengaging the training systems while flipping the comm. "Engage all system controls for Antar-01 and 02, authorization Socra-8472." The Imperial's craft, and the Supreme Emperor's, regained their full integrities and system controls, and with a glancing blast of green cannonfire that streaked across Petyr's nose, he gave a thumbs-up before driving up and returning to the hangar of the Golan-III.

As he settled down in his landing he popped the cockpit and looked immediately over to the hangar doors, waiting for the arrival of Supreme Emperor Baelish. The rush of combat suddenly gave way to the realization that Petyr would likely have not been through a fatality such as that, and wondered idly how he would take such a blow.
_________________
Grand Marshal of the Imperial Starfighter Corps, DB-007


'Tis I says:
Ams sank your Socraship. :S


Last edited by Petyr Baelish on Sun, August 05th 2007 01:42pm; edited 3 times in total
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Petyr Baelish
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 Post Posted: Wed, August 01st 2007 06:13pm    Post subject:
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Petyr’s own Antar fighter slid into the hangar aboard the Command and Control station, relatively unscathed excluding reentry burns from his radical maneuver in Devaron’s uppermost atmosphere. Baelish, as soon as the fighter had touched down in the gleaming silver hangar bay, jumped from the opening cockpit still laughing, grinning wildly. Approaching his opponent, he grabbed Testudinata’s palm with a firm handshake.

Still smiling, Petyr looked Socra in the eye and said, “I have not had that much fun since, well, since I can remember.”
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Socra Testudinata
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Joined: 09 Sep 2006
Posts: 68

 Post Posted: Thu, August 02nd 2007 07:46pm    Post subject:
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Socra took the hand and shook it firmly, then turned to face the throng of press that gathered to ask their questions. Flashbulbs sparked as holocams took pictures of the two, and finally the Imperial was able to pick out a couple of the questions from the group. his voice was bright, pleasant, cheerful to the point of giddiness as the adrenaline continued to course through his veins. "Yes, the tests went spectacularly. The craft performed as well and better than DevTech advertised, and these craft will no doubt make a splendid addition to the Sovereignty Air Corps."

Turning to Petyr as the reporters faced their own cameras, wrapping up the pre-recorded press conference, and leaving the Imperial Grand Marshal and the Sovereign Emperor all but alone in the midst of the throng. Socra nodded very slightly, then motioned towards the doors, where their own craft were waiting. His voice was softer, kept out of the public ear. " A most excellent dogfight, Emperor Baelish - we must do that again sometime."
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Grand Marshal of the Imperial Starfighter Corps, DB-007


'Tis I says:
Ams sank your Socraship. :S
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Petyr Baelish
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 Post Posted: Thu, August 02nd 2007 07:58pm    Post subject:
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Petyr nodded slightly to Socra. “Indeed,” he said, patting his colleague on the back. The Emperor’s muscles ached from the excessive stress caused by starfighter combat, especially at the level in which he and the Grand Marshal had been performing.

Focusing his mind, he turned his attention to the waiting press. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have previous arrangements to attend to back on Lannisport, but I’m sure my secretaries would be willing to provide any information you need.” He turned to face Socra, “Would you like to stay for a meal back on-planet? I’m afraid the dogfight has left me ravished.”
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Maximilian Brooks
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Location: DevaronTechnologies Prototype Labs

 Post Posted: Tue, August 14th 2007 06:51pm    Post subject:
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Maximilian Brooks sighed, genuinely disappointed that the dogfight between Baelish and Testudinata was finished. As had happened during the test of the Adumar on-planet, Maximilian had been on the edge of his seat trying to gather sufficient statistics of the craft at the pace the dogfight went with Testudinata at the controls. He made a mental note to speak with Socra later about starfighter design, as, Brooks had figured, he would know the most precise combination of construction and design techniques to perfect the art of the combat starfighter. Maximilian nodded to himself. He would definitely have to speak with the Marshal later.

Removing the noise-cancelling headset he had worn throughout the dogfight, Brooks became acutely aware of the number of questions being bombarded on him by the throng of press affiliates that had taken point behind his station. Ranging from inquiries about the public availability of his two fighters to what he planned to do about any uncovered design flaws. Maximilian sighed, ignoring their words quickly walking to the commander of the massive command station. “Commander,” he said, acknowledging the pride-filled man. “Thank you for your time. Get the press off-station and summon me a shuttle. I have other business to attend to.”
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Star Wars: Episode VIII: Binds of Tyranny Forum Index » Devaron » Northern Sector Command and Control Station
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