Public Racing on Onoam

[Dani Stellaris]

Racing.

Everyone needed some time to just relax. And work on their ships. Naboo was a great world, but there were so many places besides it. And what she found? The moon Onoam had a special offering,rocky terrain that wasn’t on the main world. Sure, it hosted second homes for most of Naboo’s elite, but what she was interested in was one of the ancient mining locations that was turned into a bit of a play space for those with a bit of jetfuel in their veins.

Dani had been using this area to practice racing. The inter-atmosphere flying was different than zero G, and the cave system made one need to have a white knuckle grip on the stick at all times. Her Blue-and-Yellow Z-95 was tuned up and with Mack in it, she was running time trials on herself. Mostly through the canyons. And with people who were more than happy to race, despite her lineage.

During that last run though, one of the competitors dinged their engines and she had to fly back with them to set up for repairs.

Sliding down her boarding ladder, she popped her helmet off.

“You alright there?” She was honestly concerned. “Saw you take that turn a bit fast.”

 

[Ssskt]

From hyperspace burst forth a small assortment of fighters above Onoam. Gleaming with the glossy black of Sith-Imperial design. Far from an armada - this was nothing but a quadruple of starfighters making their way to the surface of the moon.

The recently christened Umbra Squadron.

Sitting somewhere between commandos and a proper assortment of aces, the plethora of cybernetic veterans and their crafts were in need of a true “practice run”. What was better practice than taking themselves outside the bonds of Sith space and taking a few laps around the terrain of Onoam?

Heralding the assortment was the bulky form of a Caldoth Bomber - certainly an odd sight for racing. But its pilot was an odd man, so it made sense. Umbra-1, Ssskt. The Mustafarian’s eyes rapidly looked over the various readings popping out across the screens, thick arms flashing out to flick a handful of switches to let his weapon systems go cold for a smooth, quiet, descent to Onoam. Letting his comm garble to life, he spoke out to his squad mates in his clicking insectoid voice.

“Tzzcht, Umbras - Onoam is a populated world. We fly low, we fly quiet till we reach the mines. We are not authorized to engage in offensive action unless necessary. Tchzt, form up on me.”

With that, Ssskt made way for the canyons and valleys of Onoam. His vessel a black splotch against the void, and then the atmosphere of the moon. As the mining site appeared in his viewports, and the squadron made its way into the rocks. Ssskt called out again over comms.

“Tzcccht, engines free Umbra.”

After their silent arrival, Ssskt let his Caldoth’s engines flared to life and “surge” himself forward as much as the lug of a ship would allow. Dani Stellaris would hear their arrival before seeing it, that ominous hum that soon transformed into the ear-piercing shriek of Sith-Imperial engines as block splotches zoomed overhead. Seems there were some exotic “racers” on the scene.

Veyna Antilles Umbra-3 Seela Leini

 

[Veyna Antilles]

Veyna's voice came over the comms—flat, cold, efficient.

"Umbra-2, acknowledged."

Her Ragnos-class interceptor cut a sharp line through the atmosphere behind Ssskt's lumbering Caldoth bomber. Where his ship was a brute, hers was a blade—sleek, angular, and purpose-built for speed and kill precision. The twin ion drives flared silently as she adjusted her vector, eyes flicking over the data feeding directly into her neural HUD.

"Altitude holding. Velocity optimal. Formation tight."

She offered no commentary, no banter—only information. Her hands barely touched the controls, most of her flight inputs routed through cybernetic linkage. Every maneuver was an extension of thought, calculated, surgical.

At the signal, she accelerated—no flair, no theatrics, just speed. The interceptor surged forward, cutting along the canyon wall at a razor-close angle, each rock formation fed into her awareness, mapped and logged in seconds.

"Visual contact with the mine site," she said, calm and sharp. "No movement. Continuing sweep."

There was a low hum beneath her voice, the barely restrained tension of a predator at rest.

The small part of her that was still alive felt a desire to race, but she kept it buried deep.

Tags: Ssskt Umbra-3 Seela Leini

 

[Seela Leini]

Location: Onoam
Objective: Put the Sythra Through Its Paces
Call Sign: Umbra Four - Fragile Dancer
Tag: Umbra-3 Veyna Antilles Ssskt Dani Stellaris

A Sythra-class starfighter-interceptor, under the practiced control of its Twi’lek pilot, was the last of the four Sith craft to translate into realspace over Onoam. Dwarfed by the bulky, yet sleek frame of Umbra One’s Caldoth bomber, the Sythra cruised lazily through the void with the grace of a raptor. Restrained, yet promising violence at a moment’s notice.

However, this violence was of a different nature than that which involved the direct infliction of destruction and pain through hellfire, missiles, and slugs.

Although still acclimating herself to the Sythra’s handling characteristics, Seela manipulated the controls with instinctive ease, her fingers working the switches like the steps of a dance she had performed hundreds of times. The modular programmable matter controls and ergonomics allowed the Twi’lek to configure her layout anyway that she chose. Thus, she had elected to configure her control layout in the same layout of the Nexus-E starfighter she had flown during her first combat sortie so many years before. Her hands gripped the twin sticks of a HOSAS control yoke, which had the display screen situated in the middle of the setup.

While Seela had adapted to a number of different control schemes, the HOSAS supplemented by her neural-interfacing Ghost Link was to her the optimal mode of flight control.

“Tzzcht, Umbras - Onoam is a populated world. We fly low, we fly quiet till we reach the mines. We are not authorized to engage in offensive action unless necessary. Tchzt, form up on me.”

“Umbra Four copies. Forming up.” Seela replied.

With that, Seela drove her Sythra through the atmospheric barrier, the fires of translation bathing her craft in the manner of a phoenix. Then, came the deep, winding canyons and valleys of one Onoam’s ancient mines. From what the Twi’lek had discerned, it was a veritable playground for starfighters and airspeeders, known for pilots running time trials and competing to score squadron records for the fastest time through the course.

And while Seela was rarely of a competitive spirit, she sensed that in a craft as blisteringly fast and agile as the Sythra, it would be quite the disappointment if she failed to at least set the squadron record.

“Tzcccht, engines free Umbra.”

“Affirmed. Umbra Four going full military power!”

And suddenly, the Sythra took off with violent acceleration, engines howling a primal, earsplitting chorus as she quickly came hot on the tail of the Ragnos piloted by Umbra Three!

Spoiler: Loadout

Craft: Sythra-class Ultralight Starfighter-Interceptor

• Status
  
  • Shields: 100%
  • Hull: 100%
  • Structure: 100%
• Armament
  
  • FAE/SW-11 Beam Cannon Mk. II (2)
  • FAE/SW-08 Light Beam Cannon Mk. II (2)
  • Ordnance Hardpoint (6)
    
    • N/A - All Hardpoints Empty
• Pilot Equipment
  
  • FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit
  • KIIR-24 'Stormclaw' Gauss Pistol
    
    • Attachments
      
      • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Ammunition
      
      • 64 Round Quad-Chamber Magazine (4)
        
        • GC-01 Slugs (64)

 

[Umbra-3]

Racing on Onoam.
Location: Onoam.
Objective: Routine Flight Exercise, Impress Umbra squad.
Allies: Ssskt Veyna Antilles Seela Leini
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Dani Stellaris

"The void does not care for skill. It does not care for speed. It does not care for pride. The void only asks one question—will you survive? If you hesitate, if you falter, if you make even a single mistake… the void will answer for you."​

The void was silent. The void was eternal.

Umbra-3 was neither.

Descending through the thin exosphere of Onoam, his Sion-class Heavy Starfighter was a predator born in darkness, wreathed in the flickering glow of heat friction as it cut the atmosphere with the inevitability of a falling blade. The cockpit was silent, save for the raw, electric pulse of data flooding through his augments, feeding directly into his nervous system like a second circulatory system of sheer, unrelenting information.

No sight. No sound. No need.

His mind pulsed with the live feed of his instruments—the whispering touch of orbital telemetry, the hard-edged pulse of his weapon systems locked into standby, the distant and ever-present hum of his engines in subsonic frequencies only his cybernetics could parse. Data was his world. The void was his dominion.

Onoam stretched beneath him, a fractured landscape of jagged canyons and deep shadowed ravines, once stripped of its wealth by greedy miners. Now, it was a playground for those with nothing but nerve, steel, and the hunger for speed. Umbra-3 had no use for playgrounds. There was only the mission. There was only the hunt.

He felt them before he saw them.

Racers. Scattered signatures—thrusters burning hard, streaking between the labyrinthine twists of the canyon network.

Irrelevant.

His mind flickered through rapid computations. The terrain—tight, unstable, unpredictable. No room for error. No tolerance for weakness. The others would see this as an exercise. A game. The very thought was a desecration. There was no game in the void. There was only survival. And survival belonged to the strong.

"Tzcccht, engines free Umbra."

Umbra-1's command crackled through the shared comms. Umbra-3 didn't acknowledge. He never did. There was no need for words in the execution of duty.

The data presented Umbra-4 behind him. The data presented Umbra-2 in formation.

The data didn't lie.

Time to fly to impress.

His SLAM thrusters engaged in a heartbeat.

Gravity screamed.

The Sion-class Heavy Fighter surged forward like a black comet.

The sudden burst of speed warped the air around him, his ship carving through the stratosphere like a spear thrown by an angry god. His inertial dampeners struggled against the g-forces pressing him into his acceleration couch, but his body did not waver, did not falter.

Because he wasn't there.

Not truly.

His mind was one with the ship. His consciousness no longer a fragile human thing of flesh and bone, but a construct of numbers, calculations, and brutal purpose. His hands rested lightly on the controls, but they were a formality—his true piloting existed in the neural uplink, the seamless synchronicity between machine and man.

Turn.

The Sion banked hard, slipping between two jagged canyon walls at impossible speed. The sheer velocity ripped dust from the rock, sending spirals of debris into the air behind him. The ships ahead—lesser things, organic, fragile—twisted in their own efforts to navigate the terrain.

Umbra-3 saw them all.

Not with eyes.

With vectors. With flight paths. With the mathematical inevitability of who would survive this run and who would not.

His neural HUD flickered. An indicator flashed across his mind—contact. An unknown racer, surging through the canyon below. Their movements were bold, reckless, skilled. A flicker of something distant and nameless coiled in his chest.

He didn't care.

He adjusted course.

The gap ahead was too tight for a heavy fighter. The space between the canyon walls was barely twice the width of his ship. It was suicide to attempt it.

Any other pilot would have pulled up.

Umbra-3 did not.

He cut power to his forward repulsors in a single precise calculation, momentarily killing his lift. The Sion dropped. His fuselage screamed against the air, skimming the canyon floor at near-supersonic speeds. Then, as the gap loomed ahead—

A single ignition. SLAM boost.

The Sion-class fighter shot forward like a round from a mass driver, squeezing through the narrow rock formation with mere centimeters of clearance. The sheer force of his passing fractured the stone walls, sending razor-sharp debris cascading behind him.

The racer ahead faltered.

For just a second.

Weakness.

He twisted his craft in a rolling barrel maneuver, his starfighter flashing just overhead of the other ship, its stabilizers rattling violently in the wake of his passage. It was not an attack.

It was a warning.

Fly better.

Or die.

 

[Dani Stellaris]

Part of the joy of racing was that it was just that, done for fun. There was no survival of the fittest, just your wits and your machine against the galaxy. And she worked hard to keep her machine in tip-top-shape… And by work, the blonde meant running and racing, not so much doing the wrench time. She could keep some ships running, and knew enough as it was part of her philosophy, to be able to rebuild instead of repurchase.

And yes, her non-flight suit wardrobe was thrifted.

As she looked to the other pilot who was muttering something about the rocks and the scanner not seeing it, causing the collision, she looked up, hearing the arriving vessels. She looked up and shielded her eyes for a moment.

Sith, here?

That was a big jump, they were ion engines though, and as much as she appreciated them, they were harder to work on. But what was this? Each ship was unique, she looked at her companion racer, then back at her droid.

“Uhh… I’m going to… figure this out?” She said as she ran back to her fighter and her comm.

“This is …” Oh sithspit, who was she as a callsign? Fine, her ship name “The Manta to arriving fighters, identify?”

Way to sound like authority.

Veyna Antilles Seela Leini Ssskt Umbra-3

 

[Niki Priddy]

Location: Onoam, Orbit
Equipment: PGEM-EA, Tinfoil Hat Band, Absorbelt
Weapons: The Klaive
Accessories: Force Warning Pendant on Keyring, Dasmi's Pendant, Coal Nail Polish, Transition Prescription Glasses
Augmentation: PGEM-SAP "Amber Eyes"
Aboard: Thumper
Escort: Aurora |
Thorn | Thistle
Tags: Dani Stellaris | Ssskt | Veyna Antilles | Seela Leini | Umbra-3

The shift from her original operations post was easier than she had anticipated. Helping the Royal Naboo Republic setup a production facility in the process of securing their systems with dedicated platforms had proven handy as well. Having already begun the process of moving several asteroid emplacements around to settle part of their deal as one flared to life with a warning.

The system guarded by its Scanners showing signs of activity outside the norm as the captain of the Thumper moved toward their VIP.

Niki's attention taken from her other work as the captain stood at attention before her with clear intent to break her concentration.

"Yes?" Bland and uninterested as the captain cleared her throat.

"The installation in Onoam has reported strange activity. Trouble, most likely."

"That is enroute, correct?" Eyes settling on the woman as she nodded confirmation. "Make it so."

Annoyance danced across her mind as a forming headache. Originally meant to be on a tour of the systems to inspect progress, it seemed they were diverting to act as potential enforcers. Her eyes dancing across the bridge as she stood and stretched, making her way to the communications pit and clearing her throat.

"Alert Haughty and Pompous to be on standby with their supporting vessels. Provide them with coordinates and have them prepared to jump when I say so." Her voice never reaching above a boredom as she sighed and moved towards the viewport. The blue streaks of Hyperspace rushing towards the patrol ships that had been assigned to ensure her safety despite her protests on the matter.

"Dropping from Hyperspace in 3... 2... 1..."

The ships appeared around Onoam. Resuming their protective formation as they patched into the localized platform to catch them up to speed.

"Four ships... unidentified currently against the database but running checks through other systems. Fifth is a familiar registration." A beat of silence from the sensor pit as Niki looked over the stats before turning toward the planet.

"Have the station deploy two wings of starfighters in preparation to assist the familiar registration while keeping an eye on Hyperspace scans around the system." A hand rising to rub at the spot where cloned skin and real skin made a seamless join to one another. To her, it felt like a sore thumb where the texture changed. Serving as a dark reminder to be overly prepared for anything.

Two wings of older model Droid Starfighters began to form up around the asteroid. Chirping between one another as the groups began to organize on their internal comms while they honed in on the signals and details they had been shared.

 

[Seela Leini]

Location: Onoam
Objective: Put the Sythra Through Its Paces
Call Sign: Umbra Four - Fragile Dancer
Tag: Umbra-3 Veyna Antilles Ssskt Dani Stellaris Niki Priddy

There was no mistaking it. Umbra Three was one of the squadron’s most talented pilots.

For her part, Seela drove the Sythra through the canyon with the languid grace of a ballerina. She took the curves gently, her interceptor’s body language reflecting that fact as the craft danced through the winding valleys at a swift, disciplined tempo. However, by a more objective standard, the interceptor seemed as if it was being throttled at breakneck pace. The canyon walls shook with its passing, the ear splitting howl of the ion engine array ringing over the terrain in the manner of a feline predator proclaiming domination over its territory.

However, relative to her own pace, Umbra Three seemed far more aggressive.

The Sion-class carved through the canyons like a crayfish slicing through water to capture prey. Seela’s gaze widened as the craft faded in and out of her viewport as she followed it around the sharp, serpentine curves. And with each successive turn Umbra Three slipped further out of reach, with Seela seeing the craft for shorter lengths of time before it inevitably disappeared.

Nevertheless, Seela didn’t venture to follow or keep up. After a few minutes, the Twi’lek cycled back around to the starting point of the course, at which point her comms crackled to life with an unfamiliar voice.

“This is …” Oh sithspit, who was she as a callsign? Fine, her ship name “The Manta to arriving fighters, identify?”

“This is Umbra Four to Manta.” Seela replied. The Twi’lek shifted her attention towards the main camp area, the optical transducer panels allowing her to see through the hull without obstruction. Her eyes honed in on the main camp area below where a number of starfighters were parked, with figures milling about the space. Scanning the area, she cocked her head to the side as she regarded a distinct blue-and-yellow Z-95 amidst the group, which was parked next to a racing starfighter with a smoking engine.

A brief pause fell over the channel then, until Seela spoke again, her smoothly accented voice cutting through the silence.

“What is the record time for the main course here?”

Spoiler: Loadout

Craft: Sythra-class Ultralight Starfighter-Interceptor

• Status
  
  • Shields: 100%
  • Hull: 100%
  • Structure: 100%
• Armament
  
  • FAE/SW-11 Beam Cannon Mk. II (2)
  • FAE/SW-08 Light Beam Cannon Mk. II (2)
  • Ordnance Hardpoint (6)
    
    • N/A - All Hardpoints Empty
• Pilot Equipment
  
  • FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit
  • KIIR-24 'Stormclaw' Gauss Pistol
    
    • Attachments
      
      • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Ammunition
      
      • 64 Round Quad-Chamber Magazine (4)
        
        • GC-01 Slugs (64)

 

[Bido Roz’lyn]

Ship: X-wing

Location:
Onoam

Objective: Complete Training Exercises before going to race.

Squad mates:
Stitch | Flaps (XO) | Vixen | Clip

NPCing for Zyra
​

---

Practice makes perfect…

The nice thing about piloting, Bido found, was that no matter how long one did it for, the art of flying could never be truly perfected. As a 120 year old Dornean woman, she had spent her entire life mastering her craft as a pilot, and never once did she feel like she had learned all there was to know about flying. The never ending task of improving her skills, honing her reflexes, and inventing new tricks was a comfort to her. No matter what was wrong in her life, or where she was in the galaxy, she could always find comfort in her training.

The youth also always had a way of teaching her new things too. Flying with Zyra as a temporary wing-man was an interesting experience. The much younger woman was less… entrenched in experience as Bido was, but a very talented pilot in her own right. In some ways, the twenty-five year old woman was more predictable than the 120 year old Dornean, but in others, she seemed more likely to try odd, but experimental maneuvers that Bido never would have thought of. Bido was happily humbled to be reminded that experience wasn’t a perfect attribute on its own. Sometimes, youth was a weapon in its own right.

Bido tucked her x-wing in tight behind Zyra as the younger pilot took lead for the next leg of their training exercise. An update from flight command pinged on their HUDs showing them the next canyon leg for them to practice maneuvering through. A goal timer began counting down, causing Zyra to goose the throttle and dive for the next canyon.

Both fighters roared and flashed into the crevice, disappearing under the surface of the ground surrounding them. Zyra carved hard corners around every bend and turn, taking full advantage of the dimensions of her x-wing to trim the tiniest fractions of a second off her time. Bido’s goal was different, being the wingman. She kept close, doing her best to not let the leader get too far away from her, while endeavouring to not collide the two ships.

Zyra doesn’t wanna make this easy for me, does she? Bido thought to herself with a grin. Last run, Bido had pushed Zyra pretty hard when it was her turn to be the leader. This must’ve been Zyra’s payback. Good.

Bido challenged herself to keep up, cutting corners as tight as possible, and pushing the throttle to the point of almost losing control. There was no margin for error for both of them now. Bido would fall behind if she made but the simplest mistake, and Zyra risked colliding with Bido if she screwed up at all. Wingtips barely scraped the edges of the canyon as they carved every corner with surgical precision. The landscape behind them billowed into a cloud of dust from their repulsorlifts as they skipped their bellies on the outside walls for the tightest of turns. The little fighter creaked and cracked around Bido as her ship’s frame bent and strained under the strain of her hard maneuvering.

Suddenly, a tiny spec of movement was caught out of the corner of Bido’s eye. Her pinniped vision, being as phenomenal as it was, only just barely caught the slightest speck in the distance, but to her experience eyes, she could recognize a descending fighter in an instant. Even at this distance.

She grinned with her Dornean fangs bared.

The two X-wings reached their finish line and ended their race with more than ample seconds to spare. Zyra hooted and cheered over the comms.

“Nicely done, Clip! You almost lost me there a couple times!”

“Well, I didn’t think I’d have to hold back with an old lady like you!” She replied mocking. Gently, they both began to ascend to a more leisurely altitude for conversing.

“Mhmm.” Bido replied flatly. Was technically considered young by her people. But she wasn’t too keen on correcting her wingman. Zyra was known for being shy, so for her to poke fun at Bido like this was a good sign of growing camaraderie “anyways, I saw fighters approaching the race tracks. Wanna put in a request to join the races? We got lots of fuel left, and it would be a good way to round off this training sesh”

“Give them a yelp, Dog Lady!” Zyra replied, a light hearted mock in her tone.

She rolled her eyes. She had told her squad mates once that she hated that callsign, and naturally, it stuck. Nothing could be done about it now, so she switched channels, “command, come in. We just aced our run-time. Permission to end this session off by showing those amateurs in the race tracks how Danger Squadron does it?”

 

[Umbra-3]

Racing on Onoam.
Location: Onoam.
Objective: Routine Flight Exercise, Impress Umbra squad.
Allies: Ssskt Veyna Antilles Seela Leini
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Dani Stellaris Niki Priddy Bido Roz’lyn

"The void does not care for skill. It does not care for speed. It does not care for pride. The void only asks one question—will you survive? If you hesitate, if you falter, if you make even a single mistake… the void will answer for you."​

The race was irrelevant. The hunt was everything.

Umbra-3 streaked through the canyons, a phantom of matte-black durasteel, the Sion-class Heavy Starfighter threading needle-thin gaps with the cold, mathematical precision of a machine. The SLAM engines howled, momentarily breaking physics as the fighter surged forward with impossible acceleration, forcing atmospheric drag to bend to his will.

The others were scattered across the canyon expanse—racers, competitors, prey. Some flew for the thrill. Some flew for training. Some—like the X-wings he had registered at the edge of his sensor radius—were attempting to prove something.

Umbra-3 had nothing to prove, apart from impressing Umbra-4.

He had already won the moment his thrusters engaged.

His neural uplink pulsed. The bio-mechanical interface fused into his spinal column readjusted his sensory feed. Atmospheric pressure. Vibration feedback. Pulse-mapping telemetry of the canyon walls flickering into his cybernetic HUD like an overlay of jagged teeth.

He saw everything.

Felt the turbulence rippling off of lesser fighters. Predicted their movements before they even made them.

A shift. A comm line opened. A voice—female, clipped, professional, but carrying the unmistakable undertone of challenge.

"This is ... The Manta to arriving fighers, identify?"

Umbra-3 did not answer.

Umbra-3 never answered.

Instead, his ship screamed a response, cutting through the canyon directly above the settlement at supersonic velocity.

For a split second, he was a black blur against the skyline—a streak of death passing overhead.

The force of his passage shattered the dust across the racing field, sending sand and rock billowing outward in a spiraling gust. The shockwave battered the scattered racers below—thrusters bucking in his wake, the canyon itself trembling as if recoiling from the sheer predatory force of his flight path.

Umbra-3 did not break speed.

Did not turn.

Did not acknowledge them.

He was already moving, adapting, calculating.

The X-wings were inbound.

He felt them before they entered visual range.

Their approach was methodical, confident—not simple racers, not joy-runners, but trained pilots. He had seen it a thousand times in the void. The way they flew together, the way their positioning adjusted microscopically, each trusting the other to cover unseen angles.

But they weren't Umbra Squadron.

Which meant they were prey.

His HUD flickered. Hard telemetry scans.

A predator's grin—felt, but never seen—twisted through the cybernetic abyss of Umbra-3's mind.

He angled his thrusters. Redirected power to inertial compensators.

And then—he turned to face them.

The Sion-class fighter flipped mid-air, its SLAM drives shrieking as it pulled an impossible drift maneuver in zero-space terms, banking a sharp 180-degree arc in the canyon trench. The speed was brutal—gravitational force crushed into his armor, pressing his chest into his harness, his cybernetic limbs compensating for what flesh alone could not endure.

A violent pullback of thrusters and the ship leveled directly in the X-wings' path.

He was coming straight for them.

Most pilots would have broken away.

No one flew head-on into two armed and trained combat fliers without either being suicidal or a goddamn monster.

Umbra-3 was neither.

He was something worse.

His weapons remained cold. For now.

Because this wasn't war.

This was a lesson.

A challenge.

A test of who would flinch first.

He pushed his throttle to max acceleration, the Sion-class fighter roaring forward in a perfect collision course with the approaching X-wings. No wavering. No hesitation.

The void did not hesitate.

The weak always turned first.

Would they?

Would they break course before he did?

Would they yield?

Umbra-3 did not yield.

Not to the void.

Not to anyone.

 

[Ssskt]

TAGS: Veyna Antilles Umbra-3 Seela Leini Dani Stellaris Niki Priddy Bido Roz’lyn

While his fellows zoomed ahead in fancy interceptors with screaming engines, Ssskt plodded along in his Caldoth as an observer. He took notes of his squad mates - each of them were odd enough in their own right. But to figure out how they would meld, fly as a cohesive unit: that was his mission.

Umbra-2, Veyna Antilles aboard her Ragnos, the woman spoke like a droid and Ssskt appreciated her for it. No nonsense, just the way he liked it. A second set of eyes to feed information to her fellows, very valuable. He responded to the Umbra’s call out with his own cold bluntness.

“Tzcht, acknowledged Umbra-2.”

Then there was ever-silent Umbra-3 It grated at Ssskt he couldn’t even get an automated affirmation from the pilot for his log reports - but his skill was undeniable. An aggressive pilot, one who flew at the knife’s edge of obliteration. Valuable indeed. Yet Ssskt had his concerns as he watched the poor racer get throttled by Umbra-3’s Sion. Aggression was often met with aggression, and while he wouldn’t mind it if command deemed it necessary, the Mustafarian would rather not have to let weapons go hot.

In stark contrast sat Umbra-4, Seela Leini the “fragile dancer”. Admittedly Ssskt didn’t understand why anyone would want to be called fragile, but he chalked it up to cultural differences. An ace of gentle precision compared to the flaming aggression of Umbra-3. A mirror. They flew at similar paces, and the Mustafarian chittered his mandibles as he pondered how well he could make the two bounce off each other. The strand cast was of good attitude, and that was a greatly appreciated counter balance to the coldness of Ssskt and Umbra-2, on top of the dead silence of Umbra-3. A reminder that they were, at least to some extent, a squadron of people.

For Ssskt’s own part, he did the best that his lug of a vessel could muster. He could not make the breakneck turns of his fellows, lest he desired to fire off the Coaxium injection into his engines and probably end up a fireball splattered against a wall. While his squad mates screamed, his vessel hummed its way through the canyons and valleys. His turns slow and deliberate, forced to prepare earlier than his fellows. The Caldoth made for a poor racer, but Ssskt believed in being prepared if this was to become a more…violent…operation.

His pondering was cut short by the voice of Dani Stellaris over the comm system. Onoam was certainly populated, as much as Ssskt would have wished for this to be a quick in-and-out without drawing too much attention. Evidently, it was going to be the opposite.

“Tczzzck, Umbra-1 to Manta. We are…tzcht…racers.”

Ssskt hated lying. He was bad at lying. But he felt compelled to add on the end comment to hopefully keep everything soothed over, so while he may have hated lying: a half-truth was much easier. They were just here to fly after all, and he didn’t believe such a thing was illegal. Through the yellow lenses of his breath-mask, Ssskt looked out at Stellaris’s z95 and the racer next to it.

His OO-unit garbled out a binaric cry for mayhem and destruction. The droid was right, one run and the duo would have been nothing but molten slag and destroyed rock, no witnesses…Ssskt chittered his mandibles and frustration and called out to the droid in firm frustration.

“Quiet.”

The X-Wings of danger squadron appeared on Ssskt’s sensors, the Mustafarian felt the tension build in his hands. And that tension only doubled as he witnessed the black blur that was Umbra-3 bursting right towards them in challenge. Never a dull day in the Empire he supposed, Umbra-1 let his engines slow as his vessel plodded to face the arriving squadron and his zipping squad mate. Ssskt was moderately confident the people of Onoam would not fire unless shot at first, but it paid to be prepared. A hand hovered over his controls, ready to let the Caldoth flare to life if he were to witness Umbra-3 explode into a ball of flames from these new comers.

Now that would have been an awkward report to file…

 

[Dani Stellaris]

She was not sure she believed what she was hearing. These people wanted to just race? She knew that there were others out here who were probably alerting the full Republic Navy, or at least someone from the Foundation. Dani took a second as she looked at the Manta compared to those other vessels. She smirked.

"I mean… Depends on your craft specs. Handicaps and all." She took a second "Cuz bombers and fighters are different than interceptors, and your TIEs will smoke my Z95." But in true fashion she had her other ship almost ready to go. A gift for her to return home. A new N-1 all tuned up.

She'd have to pull that out one of these days and put it through the paces.

"You may have tripped some scanners when you all came in like that…" Full military squadron? Not something she was excited to see, but if other racers were paying attention to the paces? It wasn't like these folks were being subtle.

That was when she saw the Danger Squadron pilots. That was good. But still, if they were all just here to race, she had to get up there.

"Mack, wanna get the N-1 ready?" She asked as the droid was lowered from the Z-95 and started to head off to the hangar.

 

[Veyna Antilles]

Tags: Dani Stellaris Umbra-3 Seela Leini Niki Priddy Bido Roz’lyn Ssskt

Antilles remained perfectly still in the cockpit of her Ragnos, her fingers gliding over the controls with the smooth precision of a machine; well the parts that still required her physical inputs. Her thoughts were calculated, devoid of emotion—just the cold, efficient processing of data as her systems synchronized with her ship. Each move, every adjustment, was done with clinical detachment, as she processes the situation through her scope.

The comms crackled to life, her cold, robotic voice cutting through the noise with surgical precision.

"Umbra-2. Affirmative. Maintain formation. Do not engage unless fired upon."

Her words, devoid of warmth, were almost mechanical in their delivery, designed to eliminate any ambiguity. The task was simple, and Veyna's system-focused mind processed it as such. There was no room for emotion—just the mission. The battlefield unfolded in front of her with calculated clarity, every movement from her squadron observed, processed, and logged in her mental database, and she was not pleased from what she was witnessing.

Ssskt's frustration leaked through the comms, Veyna's systems took note, processing his irritation with a detached neutrality. She understood the Mustafarian's caution, but she couldn't afford to share his hesitation. In her mind, there was no need for excessive caution. It was all about balance. The data dictated it.

"Umbra-3, you are acting akin to a liability," Veyna spoke, her voice unfeeling and unblinking as she tracked the aggressive moves of the Sion. "Aggression without calculation is inefficient. Recommend recalibration of approach."

Her Ragnos swerved, its movements fluid but precise, avoiding incoming blaster fire with minimal energy expended. The mission was simple: survive, assess, and continue forward. She could see the X-Wings of the opposing squadron on her sensors, their positioning clear in her mind's eye. Her targeting system hummed, calculating the likelihood of each possible engagement.

"Data indicates high probability of hostile engagement," She noted matter-of-factly as the X-Wings adjusted their flight paths. "Prepare to neutralize if necessary."

For another pilot primal instincts might echoed through their system at the oncoming situation, but Veyna's mechanical mind rejected its suggestion. She was interested only in efficiency. She responded with a quick, concise command. Fragile Dancer’s comms indicated activity, and Veyna felt her face twitch in irritation.

"Umbra-4, silence. Focus on the situation."

She watched the rest of the squadron move. Ssskt's slow, deliberate maneuvers were noted. She processed them, analyzing his methodical approach. There was merit in his caution, but it was inefficient. He could afford to push harder, to move faster. The hesitation could cost them. Yet, Veyna refrained from vocalizing this critique, as she had no need for unnecessary dialogue. She knew what had to be done.

"Umbra-3 is accelerating," She observed flatly as the reckless pilot charged headlong into the chaos. "Warning. Excessive speed without tactical advantage may result in compromise."

Her Ragnos responded to her commands with mechanical perfection, each movement precise as she adjusted her trajectory, maintaining a steady path while her fellow pilots navigated the growing tension. Veyna was unfazed, her system remaining unwavering despite the mounting aggression around her. She had no fear, no hesitation. Only purpose.

"Maintain order," She repeated, her voice impassive. "Stay in formation. Complete the objective."

Everything was a calculation to her, which of course, was irrational in application. Every moment of chaos, every act of aggression, was simply data to be processed and acted upon. Veyna remained unwavering, her thoughts methodical, her systems cold, ready for whatever came next.

 

[Niki Priddy]

Location: Onoam, Orbit
Equipment: PGEM-EA, Tinfoil Hat Band, Absorbelt
Weapons: The Klaive
Accessories: Force Warning Pendant on Keyring, Dasmi's Pendant, Coal Nail Polish, Transition Prescription Glasses
Augmentation: PGEM-SAP "Amber Eyes"
Aboard: Thumper
Escort: Aurora |
Thorn | Thistle
Tags: Dani Stellaris | Bido Roz’lyn | Ssskt | Veyna Antilles | Seela Leini | Umbra-3

The Orbital Station was tracking the activity from a slightly different angle than the contingent of vessels that had arrived. Providing barely any contrasting data compared to what was already present as the sensor pit monitored the situation below. The swarms of Droid Starfighters fully formed as a request to confirm their directives was sent to the Orbital Station before it was redirected to the Thumper.

The waiting made every member aboard the bridge that could watch the executive anxious.

A hand rising to cup her chin within her fingers until one began to tap against the cupids bow while her eyes fixated on the assumed point of origin for the disturbance. Thoughts attempting to sort themselves out as to the possibilities of what and why. All running rapid fire through her mind as the confirmation of the droid starfighter directive waited for her response. Sending the droids down would put everyone on edge. Possibly make those causing the disturbance act out when they may not have. But getting the response closer was preferable. Head drifting slightly as her eyes moved to look around the bridge.

"Ma'am?" As much a question from the captain as an attempt to draw the woman from her thoughts.

A deep sigh alerting them that words were being prepared despite Niki's hand remaining in place.

"Have the droids rally on..." Niki finally turned and looked to the com-pit. "Did you say this was in a canyon?"

The sensor-officer shifting his eyes down and looking over their screen before returning her gaze.

"Correct Ma'am."

Niki twisted round to examine the scene once more. Slowly turning back to the sensor-pit completely as her shoes clacked against the floor. Each sound marking a different step in her thought process as she let a grin form. Finishing her thoughts with the scratch of her nose before letting her hands fall and twine behind her back. Now standing beside the man as he shot a nervous glance to the Captain before giving Niki his full attention.

"Have the droids position themselves on the other side of the canyon. Have them enter atmosphere at in quadrant bee-three before heading one click north of the starting point. Place them on standby." Her finger pointing at the display before looking up at the Orbital Station.

"Have the asteroid spin negative four-an-a-half degrees on it's y axis and six point five degrees on the x axis." Niki spoke quietly, as if raising her voice might cause alarm. A sharp crease in the officers brow as he turned to Niki directly.

"Are you preparing a firing angle, Ma'am?" The question filled with disbelief as Niki nodded ever so slightly.

"Nothing dangerous for anyone. Well. Anyone not hurtling above the ground at stars knows what speed." Her words sing-song as she leaned back, stretching her arms and began heading for the viewport once more. A lively energy about her now as her steps shifted from purposed movement to lazy, almost playful, ambling.

"I. Indiscriminate fire? A single shot from any of those-" The captain began to protest until realization struck. "No. There are non-problems in the vicinity that would be caught in the blast, Ma'am. Respectfully I ask you to rethink this option."

"I am not giving you an order to fire. I am giving you an order to prepare in case the need arises." The playful energy shifting as her hands slid up behind her ears. The relaxed ease draining as her shoulders squared and her hands pulled her glasses free with a turn back to the assembled bodies as her eyes lit up.

"Please make it so." Her tone cold as she folded her glasses and placed them in her coat pocket. A flurry of actions taken as Niki watched them all. Processing every single movement they made with agonizing detail in the time her senses allowed her. The rings in her eyes catching every minor shuffle as her hearing picked up the tiniest hint of inflection or anxiety in their tone. Time stretched from minutes to microseconds as her playfulness slipped away in light of the questioning of her order.

The asteroid station slowly shifted as a singular weapon aboard was prepared. The droids beginning their long trek to avoid scanner detection by entering some distance away as the swarm moved from the station and began to enter their designated entry vector. Streaks of fire showing like burning meteorites in the sky as everything moved around her.

 

[Bido Roz’lyn]

Ship: X-wing

Location:
Onoam

Objective: Investigate the odd behaviour of the other racers.

Squad mates:
Stitch | Flaps (XO) | Vixen | Clip

NPCing for Zyra
​

---

Bido and Zyra darted through the air towards the racing canyons. Her Dornean eyes along with her ship’s sensors detected the odd fighters as they formed up to intercept the two danger squadron fighters. To her keen eyes, even from here, some of them seemed a little heavy to be ideal racing craft. Odd.

Two clicks came from Zyra over the comms to indicate that she was acknowledging what Bido was seeing. It was very concerning indeed. It was supposed to be an innocent race, and yet, what they were seeing was an obvious intercept maneuver.

With no hailing.

Bido had a gut suspicion that this was gonna be a fight. Over what, she wasn’t sure. She was probably outnumbered. As a Dornean, she was pretty used to that. She had nearly a century of piloting experience. She doubted that she had enough tactical advantages here to straight-up win a furball with whoever these guys were, but if she was lucky, there would be alternatives to that. She might as well provoke these guys and see what she could learn.

Keying her comm to Zyra, << Danger 8, I’ll take lead. We’re going back on the clock. Keep close, and don’t let anyone bait you. This is observe and report until something changes. You’re good, but I don’t wanna get sucked into a standing gunfight with these guys. Let’s just see what they wanna do >>

Two more clicks were Zyra’s response.

Shy as ever.

Bido keyed her comm to a public hailing channel and lightened her tone, << Hey, hey! I thought this was racing circuit? What’s up with the interception screen? >>

She tried to keep her tone cordial, but her hand tightened on her stick. Her other hand gripped the S-foil control lever in preparation. As per the tenets of the Foundation Conduct, she had to attempt to make contact first, and essentially give the benefit of the doubt.

She wasn’t holding her breath, though. This seemed like the kind of situation that would get hairy really fast.