Difference between revisions of "Walker Imperial Ranger"

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(Cut the scene in the "headless lounge".)
m (Fiddling.)
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Outside, it was chaos, pure and simple.  Anj hadn’t been in the crowd when ''it'' happened.  He’d seen people and creatures of all descriptions fighting to get outside while he’d been looking for a private place.  By the time he’d picked up on the broadcast and left the bathroom, most of them had already gone – the halls had hardly been deserted, but the majority had already fled.  He could hear them outside, a dull roar formed by thousands of throats.  ''Not a happy crowd'', he decided.  ''Better than a mob, though.  I don't know what I'd do with one of those.''
 
Outside, it was chaos, pure and simple.  Anj hadn’t been in the crowd when ''it'' happened.  He’d seen people and creatures of all descriptions fighting to get outside while he’d been looking for a private place.  By the time he’d picked up on the broadcast and left the bathroom, most of them had already gone – the halls had hardly been deserted, but the majority had already fled.  He could hear them outside, a dull roar formed by thousands of throats.  ''Not a happy crowd'', he decided.  ''Better than a mob, though.  I don't know what I'd do with one of those.''
  
As he approached the empty frame of a double door - it had once, apparently, held glass, but that was nowhere to be seen - Anj felt the warning tingle and heard what first sounded like another beeping alarm.  In response he sidestepped out of the way, and none too soon.  Some kind of very large heronlike bird with pale gold-orange feathers skidded unsteadily around a corner, then powered past him in a lurching run.  The moment its wings cleared the doorframe, it launched itself upwards.  As it stroked upwards and away the Red Guard realized that it was making a high, panicked call that sounded vaguely like screaming.
+
As he approached the empty frame of a double door - it had once, apparently, held glass, but that was nowhere to be seen - Anj felt the warning tingle and heard what first sounded like another shrieking alarm.  In response he sidestepped out of the way, and none too soon.  Some kind of very large heronlike bird with pale gold-orange feathers skidded unsteadily around a corner, then powered past him in a lurching run.  The moment its wings cleared the doorframe, it launched itself upwards.  As it stroked upwards and away the Red Guard realized that it was making a high, panicked call that sounded vaguely like screaming.
  
He glanced back at where the bird had come from and stilled himself.  Nothing, not even the precog.  Maybe the bird had been fleeing something, maybe it hadn't, but any trouble was slow enough that it wasn't going to bother ''him.''
+
He glanced back at where the bird had come from and stilled himself.  Nothing, not even the warning tingle that was his precognition.  Maybe the bird had been fleeing something, maybe it hadn't, but any trouble was slow enough that it wasn't going to bother ''him.''
  
 
TR-1407 stepped outside and was struck by what he saw.  People, creatures, and stranger things that defied categorization littered the landscape, rushing about, standing and sitting and reclining in a few cases.  Some were alone, others in groups.  There were some fighting or arguing with each other, others trying to subdue the wild ones, some hightailing it as if the Emperor’s finest were at their heels, some examining themselves frantically, some just sitting back with mouths open as if howling or screaming, though the Red Guard couldn’t pick out individual voices in the collective noise.  Almost no one was close to the complex; most people that Anj saw were on the grass.
 
TR-1407 stepped outside and was struck by what he saw.  People, creatures, and stranger things that defied categorization littered the landscape, rushing about, standing and sitting and reclining in a few cases.  Some were alone, others in groups.  There were some fighting or arguing with each other, others trying to subdue the wild ones, some hightailing it as if the Emperor’s finest were at their heels, some examining themselves frantically, some just sitting back with mouths open as if howling or screaming, though the Red Guard couldn’t pick out individual voices in the collective noise.  Almost no one was close to the complex; most people that Anj saw were on the grass.
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As he automatically went through a threat assessment, picking out specifics from all the bewildered bystanders, he marveled at the sheer number.  He hadn’t thought the Orlando Convention Center could hold so many – yes, it had been crowded, and he hadn’t canvassed the entire place and seen for himself how big it was, but still.  It was like a “Where’s Waldo” poster, writ large.
 
As he automatically went through a threat assessment, picking out specifics from all the bewildered bystanders, he marveled at the sheer number.  He hadn’t thought the Orlando Convention Center could hold so many – yes, it had been crowded, and he hadn’t canvassed the entire place and seen for himself how big it was, but still.  It was like a “Where’s Waldo” poster, writ large.
  
Maybe it wasn't just inside, he thought suddenly.  Maybe it was ''everywhere'', and just more obvious here.  If the image had become real - well, it had to be more than just the image, or he wouldn't have gotten taller.  If little unarticulated thoughts, like ''a forcepike weighs seven kilos'' and ''Imperials use the metric system for measurements'' had also carried over, what about others?  What about the cheater's assumption that ''I will not be caught'', or the youth's that ''I am immortal''?
+
Maybe it wasn't just inside, he thought suddenly.  Maybe it was ''everywhere'', and just more obvious here.  If the image had become real - well, it had to be more than just the image, or he wouldn't have gotten taller.  If little unarticulated thoughts, like ''a forcepike weighs seven kilograms'' and ''Imperials use the metric system for measurements'' had also carried over, what about others?  What about the cheater's assumption that ''I will not be caught'', or the youth's that ''I am immortal''?
  
 
Still on the instruction frequency, the officer who had told TK-1407 where to go was tersely repeating those instructions to someone else who had reported.  ''I need to stay focused.  I can speculate later.''
 
Still on the instruction frequency, the officer who had told TK-1407 where to go was tersely repeating those instructions to someone else who had reported.  ''I need to stay focused.  I can speculate later.''
  
Some of the figures in the crowd looked like security forces – ''no, police, they're called police.''  Police, firefighters, paramedics, what looked like a SWAT team of all things - ''Wait.  One’s a fox''- there were more than a few people that had probably been called in from all across the state, if not country.  They clearly were supposed to try and control or at least contain this madness.  Just as clearly, they were as confused and uncertain as anyone else, but trying their best to impose order in some form.  Anj sympathized.
+
Some of the figures in the crowd looked like security forces – ''no, police, they're called police.''  Police, firefighters, paramedics, what looked like a SWAT team in black, some Animal Control officers, of all things - there were more than a few people that had probably been called in from all across the state, if not country.  They clearly were supposed to try and control or at least contain this madness.  Just as clearly, they were as confused and uncertain as anyone else, but trying their best to impose order in some form.  Anj sympathized.  This was not a job he envied.
  
It was weird – the outsiders looked and ''felt'' somehow a little different from all these others, and not just because they were all human.  Like all of the changed were larger-than life, even the small ones.
+
It was weird – the outsiders looked and ''felt'' somehow a little different from all these others, and not just because they were all human.  Like all of the changed, big and small, were larger-than-life somehow.  Maybe he was imagining things.
  
Flickers on his peripherals made TR-1407 tilt his chin up.  The sky, a lovely cloudless blue, was hardly less crowded – far, far above something streaked up into the atmosphere, and hardly any closer small military-looking jet planes or fightercraft roared overhead.  Even closer there were news helicopters already, sharing airspace with winged things of all description and wingless humanoids who had no visible way of staying aloft.   
+
Flickers on his peripherals made TR-1407 tilt his chin up.  The sky, a lovely cloudless blue, was hardly less crowded – far, far above something streaked up into the atmosphere, and hardly any closer small military-looking jet planes or fightercraft roared overhead in formation.  Even closer there were news helicopters already, sharing airspace with winged things of all description and wingless humanoids who had no visible way of staying aloft.   
  
 
The Red Guard saw bright costuming and at least one cape fluttering in the wind as fliers swerved around each other or hovered in place.  Someone in red and blue tights streaked upwards abruptly at impossible speeds, within seconds ''catching up to the jets'' and paralleling their course, far enough away that the red cape was barely visible.  Anj saw this and, incredulous, thought, ''Superheroes?  Seriously?''
 
The Red Guard saw bright costuming and at least one cape fluttering in the wind as fliers swerved around each other or hovered in place.  Someone in red and blue tights streaked upwards abruptly at impossible speeds, within seconds ''catching up to the jets'' and paralleling their course, far enough away that the red cape was barely visible.  Anj saw this and, incredulous, thought, ''Superheroes?  Seriously?''
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There was no denying what they looked like, no matter how improbable the thought was.  Anj realized what he was thinking and grinned involuntarily.  ''As if I’m perfectly reasonable in comparison.  This is insane.  So what?  The 501st needs me.  And reality doesn't care whether or not you believe it.''
 
There was no denying what they looked like, no matter how improbable the thought was.  Anj realized what he was thinking and grinned involuntarily.  ''As if I’m perfectly reasonable in comparison.  This is insane.  So what?  The 501st needs me.  And reality doesn't care whether or not you believe it.''
  
With that reminder, he turned.  ''Southwest blacktop?  Must be that parking lot where we planned to meet.  Ah…  it’s midday or thereabouts, so by the sun’s position'' that'' way is west, which means south is'' there.  ''Not far.''  Doing his best not to call over attention, the Red Guard started moving at a lope.
+
With that reminder, he turned.  ''Southwest blacktop?  Must be that parking lot where we planned to meet.  Ah…  it’s midday or thereabouts, so by the sun’s position'' that'' way is west, which means south is...'' there.  ''Not far.''  Doing his best not to call over attention, the Red Guard started moving at a lope.
  
 
''I don’t know where the closest military outpost is,'' Anj realized.  ''Still, with something like this we can probably expect troopships any minute now; orbital reinforcements – No, no,'' no!  ''This is Earth! '' Earth!  ''Not part of the Empire!  There are no orbital reinforcements.  No fleets.  We might get some part of the Army here, but they don’t have the technology I’m expecting.  Rockets, not turbolasers.  Helicopters and jets, not troopships, not snubfighters.''  Why did that thought make him uncomfortable?
 
''I don’t know where the closest military outpost is,'' Anj realized.  ''Still, with something like this we can probably expect troopships any minute now; orbital reinforcements – No, no,'' no!  ''This is Earth! '' Earth!  ''Not part of the Empire!  There are no orbital reinforcements.  No fleets.  We might get some part of the Army here, but they don’t have the technology I’m expecting.  Rockets, not turbolasers.  Helicopters and jets, not troopships, not snubfighters.''  Why did that thought make him uncomfortable?
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''There!''  Anj's heart jumped in his chest.  Inexplicably he felt relieved, incredibly relieved.
 
''There!''  Anj's heart jumped in his chest.  Inexplicably he felt relieved, incredibly relieved.
  
An outsider might be forgiven for thinking that the large knot of people standing together on the asphalt were just as confused and disorganized as anyone else.  Quieter, perhaps, but still random.  An outsider might believe that they had formed into a cluster at random, and that it was chance that explained why they almost all looked like Imperials.
+
An outsider might be forgiven for thinking that the large knot of people standing together on the asphalt were just as confused and disorganized as anyone else.  Quieter, perhaps, but still random.  An outsider might believe that they had formed into a cluster at random, and that it was chance that explained why they almost all looked like Imperials, mostly troopers.
  
The outsider would be wrong.  Anj's eyes flicked as an indicator sounded and saw that no fewer than ten Imperial frequencies were active.  He didn't see anyone lined up in ranks, but training showed him the subtle signs that there was organization, purpose, ''order'' in the group, not the amorphous mixing of the crowd.  They were, indeed, bewildered and unsettled just like everyone in or out of the complex.  An effort was being made to remedy that.
+
The outsider would be wrong.  Anj's eyes flicked as an indicator sounded and saw that no fewer than ten Imperial frequencies were active.  He didn't see anyone lined up in ranks, but training helped him to find the subtle signs that there was organization, purpose, ''order'' in the group, not just the amorphous mixing of the crowd.  They were, indeed, bewildered and unsettled just like everyone in or out of the complex.  An effort was being made to remedy that.
  
 
TR-1407's footsteps hastened.  A stormtrooper with the battered armor and single orange pauldron that signified his rank as a sandtrooper squad leader stopped him with a gesture, then nodded.  The Red Guard joined the growing mass.
 
TR-1407's footsteps hastened.  A stormtrooper with the battered armor and single orange pauldron that signified his rank as a sandtrooper squad leader stopped him with a gesture, then nodded.  The Red Guard joined the growing mass.
  
It was startling to check IFF tags on a monitor and see so many designations.  Some were familiar, others less so.  There were several SL - Sith Lord - indicators scattered about, but Anj didn't see SL-1984, and this was worrying.  Other Vaders, yes, and the Red Guard couldn't help boggling a little at the concept of more than one Lord Vader.  But none in white.  What would he have done, anyway?
+
It was startling to check IFF - Identify Friend/Foe - tags on a monitor and see so many designations.  Some were familiar, others less so.  There were several SL - Sith Lord - indicators scattered about, but Anj didn't see SL-1984, and this was worrying.  Other Vaders, yes, and the Red Guard couldn't help boggling a little at the concept of more than one Lord Vader.  But none in white.  What would he have done, anyway?
  
''Right.  I should report in.  To whom, though?''  The mass was ''trying'' to order itself, but it had a good ways to go yet.  Almost no one with a helmet was speaking "out loud" with their voice amplification units.  With the amount of noise that the rest of the crowd was putting out, that would probably have been a useless effort anyway.  Instead the comm frequencies were abuzz with orders and counterorders, the beginnings of arguments, complaints and others chewing out the complainers.  It didn't help that this part of the parking lot was nowhere near clear.  Not every space was filled, but there were enough cars and the like to force the group to encircle them.
+
''Right.  I should report in.  To whom, though?''  The mass was ''trying'' to order itself, but it had a good ways to go yet.  Almost no one with a helmet was speaking "out loud" with their voice amplification units.  With the amount of noise that the rest of the crowd was putting out, that was just as well.  Instead the comm frequencies were abuzz with orders and counterorders, the beginnings of arguments, complaints and others chewing out the complainers.  It didn't help that this part of the parking lot was nowhere near clear.  Not every space was filled, but there were enough cars and the like to force the group to encircle them.
  
 
There was a flurry of activity at the edges of the gathering.  TR-1407 wasn't exactly short, but he wasn't tall enough to see over the helmets of the people around him.  Still, he got a flash of someone else in flowing scarlet and something large, yellow, and moving.  The Red Guard looked to his nearest neighbor and boosted the output to the speaker attached to his helmet, realizing ''how'' he did it only after it was done.
 
There was a flurry of activity at the edges of the gathering.  TR-1407 wasn't exactly short, but he wasn't tall enough to see over the helmets of the people around him.  Still, he got a flash of someone else in flowing scarlet and something large, yellow, and moving.  The Red Guard looked to his nearest neighbor and boosted the output to the speaker attached to his helmet, realizing ''how'' he did it only after it was done.
  
"Do you know what that's about?"  The woman in the form-fitting jumpsuit and the hoodless brown cape turned towards him.  She was - well, she was stunning, and Anj found himself taking advantage of the way his helmet hid his gaze.  Green-eyed, red-headed, with her lower-leg guards and nonstandard sidearms she obviously some kind of agent, not an officer, yet she nevertheless had a certain confident flair, almost an aura of ''I know what I'm doing and I'm doing it well''.  It didn't hurt that she really was pretty - her features were too sharp and strong for conventional beauty, but attractive.  Under the jumpsuit she was fit and muscular with good shoulders, a far cry from the several sultry pin-up style women that Anj had glimpsed inside. He hadn't found ''them'' particularly attractive, but -
+
"Do you know what that's about?"  The woman in the form-fitting jumpsuit and the hoodless brown cape turned towards him.   
  
Anj saw the lightsaber and the IFF-provided designation at roughly the same timeSL-3268, in a clear voice, answered, "There's a car without a driver that's started moving erratically and making abortive charges at us.  One of your fellow Guards is trying to dissuade it.  I don't think there'll be a problem." Just as he was hoping she hadn't noticed, the Mara Jade added with a quirk of her lips, "And I'm flattered, but taken."
+
She was - well, she was stunning, and Anj found himself taking advantage of the way his helmet hid his gazeGreen-eyed, red-headed, with her lower-leg guards and nonstandard sidearms she obviously some kind of agent, not an officer, yet she nevertheless had a certain confident flair, almost an aura of ''I know what I'm doing and I'm doing it well''.  It didn't hurt that she really was pretty - her features were too sharp and strong for conventional beauty, but attractive.  Under the jumpsuit she was fit and muscular with good shoulders, a far cry from the several sultry pin-up style women that Anj had glimpsed before. He hadn't found ''them'' particularly attractive, but -
  
''She's one of the Emperor's Hands.''  That realization effectively took any desire, killed it, and and mangled it beyond any recognition.  Anj was glad of the helmet hiding his face, and vaguely wished that he could find a hole in the ground in which to crawl into and die.  Even with the cooling systems in his armor, he knew he was blushing furiously.  ''Next time, check IFF first.''  He didn't bother wondering how she'd known.  Force Sensitivity and all that.
+
Anj saw the lightsaber and the IFF-provided designation at roughly the same time.  SL-3268, in a clear voice, answered, "There's a car, I'm guessing a Camaro, without a driver that's started moving erratically and making abortive charges at us.  One of your fellow Guards is trying to dissuade it.  I don't think there'll be a problem."  Just as he was hoping she hadn't noticed, the Mara Jade added with a quirk of her lips, "And I'm flattered, but taken."
 +
 
 +
''She's one of the Emperor's Hands.  I'm lucky that she hasn't taken offense.''  That realization effectively took any desire, killed it, and and mangled it beyond any recognition.  Anj was glad of the helmet hiding his face, and vaguely wished that he could find a hole in the ground in which to crawl into and die.  Even with the cooling systems in his armor, he knew he was blushing furiously, hard enough that he felt sunburned.  ''Next time, check IFF first.''  He didn't bother wondering how she'd known.  Force Sensitivity and all that.
  
 
Probably just as well.  Anj had no idea what he'd have done.  He was on-duty anyway; even with nothing immediate going on it would be un-Imperial to get too distracted.  Fortunately not every woman was striking in quite that way - prettier, yes, often curvier and not immediately off-limits, but markedly less impressive.  Picturing someone like the Mara Jade alongside, say, Tony, was... interesting.  But of course there was also the fact that less than an hour ago ''he had been female'', and feeling attracted to people while male was a tangle he ''really'' didn't want to unravel just yet.
 
Probably just as well.  Anj had no idea what he'd have done.  He was on-duty anyway; even with nothing immediate going on it would be un-Imperial to get too distracted.  Fortunately not every woman was striking in quite that way - prettier, yes, often curvier and not immediately off-limits, but markedly less impressive.  Picturing someone like the Mara Jade alongside, say, Tony, was... interesting.  But of course there was also the fact that less than an hour ago ''he had been female'', and feeling attracted to people while male was a tangle he ''really'' didn't want to unravel just yet.
  
SL-3268's auburn head came up.  Anj felt the warning tingle in the instant before a commanding voice came on all frequencies.  The IFF code marked the speaker as TK-0210.  '''Our Beloved Founder', Albin Johnson,'' Anj realized.  ''Well well.  There wouldn't be a 501st without him.  I'd forgotten that he'd even come here.''
+
3268's auburn head came up.  Anj felt the warning tingle in the instant before a commanding voice came on all frequencies.  The IFF code marked the speaker as TK-0210.  '''Our Beloved Founder', Albin Johnson,'' Anj realized.  ''Well well.  There wouldn't be a 501st without him.  I'd forgotten that he'd even come here.''
  
 
"Something new has come up.  Would everyone please listen to the situation."  It was phrased like a question, but there was no doubt that it was an order.  All voice traffic stopped.  The rest of the crowd carried on with the panicking, but here everyone listened as the founder explained an exchange that someone had heard taking place on a frequency that was decidedly not Imperial.
 
"Something new has come up.  Would everyone please listen to the situation."  It was phrased like a question, but there was no doubt that it was an order.  All voice traffic stopped.  The rest of the crowd carried on with the panicking, but here everyone listened as the founder explained an exchange that someone had heard taking place on a frequency that was decidedly not Imperial.
  
Specifically, it was one of the radio frequencies used by the United States military.  The Founder didn't mention exactly what frequency it was, or when anyone had started listening in on it.  What had been overheard was a report on something going off Xanadu grounds and following the highway.  Something very large.  One of the ones reporting said it was "like something out of Star Wars".  The physical description exactly matched that of an Imperial Walker, specifically an All Terrain Armored Transport.  Or, as the Rebellion called it, an AT-AT.
+
Specifically, it was one of the radio frequencies used by the United States military.  The Founder didn't mention exactly what frequency it was, or when anyone had started listening in on it.  What had been overheard was a report on something going off Xanadu grounds and following the highway.  Something very large.  One of the ones reporting said it was "like something out of Star Wars".  The physical description exactly matched that of an Imperial Walker, specifically an All Terrain Armored Transport.  Or, as the Rebellion and most civilians in the Galaxy called it, an AT-AT.
  
 
''This is a ''very'' sudden development.''  If he'd expected anything, TR-1407 would have thought that the Founder would have just summarized what had just happened, tendered some kind of advice or orders.  He hadn't expected a fresh problem, particularly one like ''this''.
 
''This is a ''very'' sudden development.''  If he'd expected anything, TR-1407 would have thought that the Founder would have just summarized what had just happened, tendered some kind of advice or orders.  He hadn't expected a fresh problem, particularly one like ''this''.
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The gathering was silent barely long enough for the Founder's report to sink in before a member stated that there had ''not'' been a Walker exhibit, followed by other testimonies that confirmed that wherever this had come from, it wasn't 501st.  Exactly what had been happening before all ''this'' was muddled, but people were quite adamant that they knew nothing.
 
The gathering was silent barely long enough for the Founder's report to sink in before a member stated that there had ''not'' been a Walker exhibit, followed by other testimonies that confirmed that wherever this had come from, it wasn't 501st.  Exactly what had been happening before all ''this'' was muddled, but people were quite adamant that they knew nothing.
  
Talking into a handheld comm unit so that everyone could hear her, SL-3268 had another opinion.  "Why would it matter whether or not this thing is one of ours?  Imperial is Imperial.  The question is, what do we do about it?  I think it's reasonable to assume that some rogue element has taken control of an assault walker for an unknown reason."  Standing fairly close to Anj as she was, he heard the odd duality of the Mara Jade's voice coming simultaneously through his audio pickups and helmet comm.
+
Talking into a handheld comm unit so that everyone could hear her, 3268 had another opinion.  "Why would it matter whether or not this thing is one of ours?  Imperial is Imperial.  The question is, what do we do about it?  I think it's reasonable to assume that some rogue element has taken control of an assault walker for an unknown reason."  Standing fairly close to Anj as she was, he heard the odd duality of the Mara Jade's voice coming simultaneously through his audio pickups and helmet comm.
  
 
It would be unacceptable for ''anyone'' - the automatic assumption seemed to be Rebels, smugglers, or saboteurs, although nobody really expected that to be true - to get away with stealing Imperial property, particularly something as gigantic and dangerous as an assault walker, the common consensus was.  The damage one could do, particularly in an urban area, was tremendous, even on a civilized planet in the Empire, where units could quickly be dispatched to take it down.  Here on Earth, on a day like today...
 
It would be unacceptable for ''anyone'' - the automatic assumption seemed to be Rebels, smugglers, or saboteurs, although nobody really expected that to be true - to get away with stealing Imperial property, particularly something as gigantic and dangerous as an assault walker, the common consensus was.  The damage one could do, particularly in an urban area, was tremendous, even on a civilized planet in the Empire, where units could quickly be dispatched to take it down.  Here on Earth, on a day like today...
  
Anj found himself speaking out.  "There was a young man earlier, some sort of student of engineering - his name was Gary or Garrett or something - who wore a walker costume.  He might be driving it."  Several others remarked with surprise that they remembered something of the sort.  With confidence, he added, "It's difficult to pilot a walker alone, but manageable, particularly if he's taking advantage of the automated systems.  Or if his friend is in there too."  If it occurred to anyone that maybe this student ''hadn't'' become a pilot, they kept silent.
+
Anj heard someone unfamiliar speak out.  "There was a young man earlier, some sort of student of engineering - I overheard his name, Gary or Garth or something - who wore a walker costume.  He might be driving it."  Several others remarked with surprise that they remembered something of the sort.   
 +
 
 +
With confidence, Anj added, "It's difficult to pilot a walker alone, but possible, particularly if he's taking advantage of the automated systems."  
 +
 
 +
"He had a friend with him.  It's entirely reasonable to think that two pilots can manage without a commander."  If it occurred to anyone that maybe this student ''hadn't'' become a pilot, they kept silent.
  
 
A plan didn't get proposed until after the Founder made another report, one possibly even more alarming than the last.  Tanks and military choppers were being dispatched to intercept the rogue walker before it could reach the next city - and if the cryptic military lingo had been translated properly, somewhere near Washington a jet loaded with missiles had just taken off.
 
A plan didn't get proposed until after the Founder made another report, one possibly even more alarming than the last.  Tanks and military choppers were being dispatched to intercept the rogue walker before it could reach the next city - and if the cryptic military lingo had been translated properly, somewhere near Washington a jet loaded with missiles had just taken off.
  
Suddenly the entire gathering was moving, setting up a course of action, proposing and vetoing various aspects to the plan.  There would have to be a pursuit.  They needed agents who could subdue anyone within the walker without damaging it, agents who could ''control'' the walker, someone with enough diplomatic acumen to defuse the situation once it was under control.  Preferably agents would have at least some proficiency in all three.  All these agents would also need to be able to use grappling hooks and high-tension wires to get up there.  It would also help to have the tools all stormtroopers carried, including shaped charges, binders, and a Proper Resonator.
+
Suddenly the entire gathering was moving, setting up a course of action, proposing and vetoing various aspects to the plan.  There would have to be a pursuit, it was decided almost instantly.  They needed a small number of autonomous agents.  Agents who could subdue anyone within the walker without damaging it, agents who could ''control'' the walker, and someone with enough diplomatic acumen to defuse the situation once it was under control.  Preferably agents would have at least some proficiency in all three.  Every member of the team would also need to be able to use grappling hooks and high-tension wires to get up there.  It would also help to have the tools all stormtroopers carried, including shaped charges, binders, and a Proper Resonator.
  
The gathering was rapidly polled, and all those with the right skill set were chosen, then evaluated and kept or not.  Unsurprisingly, there were no Imperial Army Pilots who could be identified as such by their armor - AT-AT pilot uniforms were far from popular.  However, a number of others, Anj included, could profess to some experience in the cockpit.  He admitted freely that he'd never earned the license - not many of the others had either - but answered the questions to the satisfaction of the evaluator.  This, coupled with the fact that he was a Red Guard and both willing to work with others and well able to subdue someone with minimal damage, meant that he was on the team.
+
The gathering was rapidly polled, and all those with the right skill set were chosen, then evaluated and kept or not.  Unsurprisingly, there were no Imperial Army Pilots who could be identified as such by their armor - AT-AT pilot uniforms were far from popular.  No one had worn his or hers to Xanadu.  However, a number, Anj included, had made the costumes - and somehow that translated into experience in the cockpit.   
  
Some others weren't, largely because they had trouble cooperating.  There had been many Emperor's Hands, some of them Mara Jades, others not, in the initial pickings, but the fact that most of them seemed to resent each other meant that only three were kept.  The final selection consisted of eight individuals.  These were the Hands, SL-3268 among them, Anj and another two Red Guards, a clonetrooper sergeant, and a single sandtrooper who really seemed to believe that he was Davin Felth, the trooper who had the line "Look, sir, droids" in ''A New Hope''.
+
Anj was questioned and admitted that he'd never earned the license, and was met with a thinly-disguised quiz in the form of a barrage of questions from two others.  He passed.  This, coupled with the fact that he was a Red Guard and both willing to work with others and well able to subdue someone with minimal damage, meant that he was on the team.
 +
 
 +
Some others at least as qualified as him weren't, largely because they had trouble cooperating.  There had been many Emperor's Hands, some of them Mara Jades, others not, in the initial pickings, but the fact that most of them seemed to strongly resent each other meant that only three were kept.  The final selection consisted of eight individuals.  These were the Hands, SL-3268 among them, Anj and another two Red Guards, a clonetrooper sergeant, and a single sandtrooper who really seemed to believe that he was Davin Felth, the trooper who had the line "Look, sir, droids" in ''A New Hope''.
  
 
At the same time the other half of the pursuit was being organized.  Speederbikes were mentioned, but only two, both from a display, could actually be accounted for, and at any rate they might not have done much good.  They were incredibly fast and agile, but with only two, they couldn't carry much.  Average cars or trucks were considered and rejected in the same breath.  It would be too hard to get an operative out of the vehicle and up into the walker, not to mention the fact that a car was a nice big target, if what's-his-name proved both unreasonable and able to use the walker's weaponry and crushing feet.  This left motorcycles, a healthy selection of which were at hand.  They would have to do.
 
At the same time the other half of the pursuit was being organized.  Speederbikes were mentioned, but only two, both from a display, could actually be accounted for, and at any rate they might not have done much good.  They were incredibly fast and agile, but with only two, they couldn't carry much.  Average cars or trucks were considered and rejected in the same breath.  It would be too hard to get an operative out of the vehicle and up into the walker, not to mention the fact that a car was a nice big target, if what's-his-name proved both unreasonable and able to use the walker's weaponry and crushing feet.  This left motorcycles, a healthy selection of which were at hand.  They would have to do.
Line 519: Line 527:
 
The last problem was actually getting the bikes, taken from all across the lot, to ''work''.  Five or fewer of them belonged to people within the gathering - and ''none'' of them had the keys on them.  Seized by a wild idea, Anj stepped up during the discussion.
 
The last problem was actually getting the bikes, taken from all across the lot, to ''work''.  Five or fewer of them belonged to people within the gathering - and ''none'' of them had the keys on them.  Seized by a wild idea, Anj stepped up during the discussion.
  
"We don't ''need'' keys," he said, coming to the closest one and uncompressing his forcepike.  He had no idea what kind of motorcycle this was.  He'd never had anything to do with the things.  Still, he could find the ignition easily.  Lining it and the lethal tip of his weapon up, the Red Guard thumbed a setting.  The thin metal tore and twisted, and the engine coughed to life.
+
"We don't ''need'' keys," he said, coming to the closest one and uncompressing his forcepike.  He had no idea what kind of motorcycle this was.  He'd never had anything to do with the things.  Still, he could find the ignition easily.  Lining it and the lethal tip of his weapon up, the Red Guard thumbed a setting and delicately maneuvered the weapon.  The thin metal around the keyslot tore and twisted, and the engine coughed to life.
  
Just as Anj was enjoying a swell of triumph the fickle machine died miserably, exhaust pipe emitting a stream of thick, oily smoke that spread in a cloud around ankle-height.  An inhuman blue-skinned officer in white covered his nose as if offended by the fumes, which weren't evident to anyone with a proper, air-filtering helmet.  No one said anything on the comm channels for a long moment.  "Okay," he said lamely, again glad of the helmet that hid his face.  "I guess we ''do'' need keys.  Today of all days, you'd think this would work."  It was a mercy that the attention of the gathering shifted off of him then.  He hadn't sensed much in the way of condemnation or scorn, and even amusement had been quiet.  It was still embarrassing.
+
Just as Anj was enjoying a swell of triumph the fickle machine died miserably, exhaust pipe emitting a stream of thick, oily smoke that spread in a cloud around ankle-height.  An inhuman blue-skinned officer in white covered his nose as if offended by the fumes, which weren't evident to anyone with a proper, air-filtering helmet.   
 +
 
 +
No one said anything on the comm channels for a long moment.  "Okay," he said lamely, again glad of the helmet that hid his face.  "I guess we ''do'' need keys.  Today of all days, you'd think this would work."  It was a mercy that the attention of the gathering shifted off of him then.  He hadn't sensed much in the way of condemnation or scorn, and even amusement had been quiet.  It was still embarrassing.
  
 
The alien officer in white - a Grand Admiral, apparently - ended up getting several technically-proficient people to hotwire the motorcycles.  These included one of the Vaders in the gathering, a man seething with so much barely-suppressed rage and malevolent Force energy that Anj caught his breath and adopted a rigid posture.  He was ''terrifying'', seemingly hanging on to rationality by the thinnest of margins.  The Red Guard fervently hoped that his friend hadn't ended up like ''that''.  But whatever else could be said about SL-2128, he worked quickly and well, finishing in time to take over from an officer whose work was slower.
 
The alien officer in white - a Grand Admiral, apparently - ended up getting several technically-proficient people to hotwire the motorcycles.  These included one of the Vaders in the gathering, a man seething with so much barely-suppressed rage and malevolent Force energy that Anj caught his breath and adopted a rigid posture.  He was ''terrifying'', seemingly hanging on to rationality by the thinnest of margins.  The Red Guard fervently hoped that his friend hadn't ended up like ''that''.  But whatever else could be said about SL-2128, he worked quickly and well, finishing in time to take over from an officer whose work was slower.
  
Something else came up; Anj picked up few of the details, but a squad that hadn't gotten out reported in to say that they were under attack by hostiles that were too much to handle alone.  Once again plans were formed and battered about.  They had little to do with the walker interception team.  TR-1407 soon found himself with his arms locked around a scout, roaring away on one of the motorcycles.
+
Something else came up; Anj picked up only a few of the details, but a squad that hadn't gotten out reported in to say that they were under attack by unfamiliar hostiles.  Once again plans were formed and battered about.  They had little to do with the walker interception team.  TR-1407 soon found himself mounted up behind a scout, roaring away on one of the motorcycles.
 +
 
 +
The locals barely noticed them pass.  They had more than enough trouble as it was - nevertheless, Anj felt a slight pang of mixed contempt and sympathy.  He let it pass.  They could only do their best.  The Five Hundred and First was here for when it wasn't enough.
  
The Founder sent his best wishes after them on an open frequency.  His confidence audibly faltered a little.  Anj thought he knew why.  "Good Luck" wasn't right, and they were servants of the Empire, so "May the Force Be With You" might not be good either, but "Emperor's Blessings" was just ''wrong'' somehow.  In the end, he settled for, "We're counting on you.  You won't let us down."
+
The Founder sent his best wishes after them on an open frequency.  His confidence audibly faltered a little.  Anj thought he knew at least part of why.  "Good Luck" wasn't right, and they were servants of the Empire, so "May the Force Be With You" might not be good either, but "Emperor's Blessings" was just ''wrong'' somehow.  In the end, he settled for, "We're counting on you.  You won't let us down."

Revision as of 22:17, 5 April 2008

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This story is a work in progress.

By Bryan and Joysweeper

Don't read this story yet :)

This story isn't just unfinished or unpolished at this point, it's still full of ragged edges and incoherent joins. It's a collaboration between Bryan and Joysweeper and Shifti's being used to coordinate putting it together. If you read it now, be prepared to have your future enjoyment spoiled by spoilers and cut scenes and all manner of other literary detritus.

Links to some pictures of AT-ATs, for reference:

[1] Close up of chin-mounted heavy laser cannons [2] Low-angle concept art [3] More concept art(Talk about uneven odds. Luke is so overkill) [4] ESB screenshot [5] Another screenshot [6] High-angle(sort of) image [7] Schematics

A couple of thoughts from the Wookiepedia article. Gunners have to be able to see where the chin-mounted blasters point, so that's a pair of "eyes". The smaller blasters on the "temples" rotate, another pair of "eyes". I've read that the pilots can get an AT-AT to step on unfortunate targets; looking through the window or viewport is out, because the "neck" isn't all that flexible and can't be turned like that. Might be the "holographic targeting system" - which might be how the gunner sees, too. A "sensor array" gets a mention too, but it looks like that's just for spying. Communication... the article mentions a holoprojector in the cockpit. There's a thought for the climax.

Links to some pictures of Red Guards, also for reference:

[8] Red robes and a forcepike. [9] Kir Kanos, helmet off, showing the armor. He never uses a forcepike. [10] The Emperor's guards aren't just for show. [11] Kir Kanos showing the armor again. Different look at the belt.


And I found this quote on one of the 501st homepages. It is so perfect. "Some fans are content to collect action figures...other fans want to be action figures. Nothing professes your fandom quite like building your own detailed costume replica of a classic Star Wars villain, and there's nothing quite like the feeling that comes from bringing the characters of Star Wars into the real world and sharing the magic with others. A truly engaging Star Wars experience only occurs through a convincing appearance. To this end, the 501st constantly strives to improve the quality and accuracy of its member's costumes. Our goal is to appear as if our characters have just stepped off the big screen and into this world." I hope I can find some way to use this ironically. Probably not this story, but I'm going to have to stow it away.

Bryan's intro

"The door, the door!" Steph called out and lunged to intercept the handle swinging in to catch Garrett's back, stopping it just in time to prevent another ding in the cardboard that might be difficult to repair now that they were at the convention itself.

Garrett let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks." He had turned sideways but thanks to the huge boxy hump over his back it didn't make him any narrower and only really served to make it harder to keep track of everything. And with the two giant cardboard constructs mounted over his arms there wasn't really much he could do anyway; his hands were busy just holding the internal braces in place.

Steph grinned and slipped lithely around to join him in the lobby once Garrett had managed to make it inside. "You'd think armor capable of repelling turbolasers could handle a door handle."

Garrett shook his head. His costume was particularly fragile, being both bulky and made primarily out of cardboard, but it had been surprisingly quick and easy to make as a result. "It'll last until judging. Spray a jot of black on any tears and call 'em battle damage, the Rebels must've got a few lucky hits in." The lobby was sparsely populated right now, with just a few folks still lined up at the front desk buying passes to glance in surprise at Garrett's outfit, but Garrett decided it was showtime. He leaned forward and fell into his quadrupedal stance, the big round footpads of his forelimbs clomping to the ground to support him and the headpiece tilting down into the correct orientation.

There were a few appreciative murmurs as the onlookers finally recognized the iconic Imperial walker he was dressed as. Steph gave a little flourish and a bow, as if taking credit for the outfit, and then stepped forward to give Garrett something to follow. They'd considered trying to rig up a periscope of some sort so that Garrett could see forward more easily but they'd run out of time for details like that; it was enough that the AT-AT's legs were able to support him as things were, they'd had to compromise on the costume's proportions a bit just to make it work.

The majority of the work had taken only a single week. Since it only really had to survive for a single day of use ease of construction had been a fair tradeoff. Garrett was like that with all of his projects; a flash of inspiration, a whirlwind of construction, and then once it was finished the itch was satisifed and he would lose interest and let it go. Steph counted it as sheer luck that this time around the inspiration had come when they might make some money off of it. He'd been a friend of Garrett's for a couple of years now, both of them in the same engineering degree at the nearby University of Midtral, and was the less-imaginative and more-practical of the two.

"Two please," Steph signed in. "Stephen Midder and Garrett Thompson. Just for today." He pointed to identify themselves.

"Registered for any of the contests?" The man behind the desk asked. Garrett nodded silently, the walker-head bobbing almost comically. "Right..." The man shuffled through a list, presumably checking for Garrett's name, and then looked back up once he'd checked it off. "Ten for him, thirty for you."

"Eh? Aww." Steph got out his wallet to pay for the passes. "Should've worn a costume myself." Not that I could have got a discount for any costume that cost under twenty dollars, of course. But he supposed that wasn't really the point.

The two of them had done some pretty wacky and nerdy things together. The AT-AT costume had blown away everyone at the Halloween party they'd been to on campus just a few nights previous, in fact that had been the primary impetus for building the thing in the first place. But as they proceeded down the hall toward the convention rooms where the main population of conventiongoers were congregating, Steph began wondering if they'd finally reached their level. The variety and creativity of hand-crafted costumes on display was enormous. Still, there wasn't anything quite like the AT-AT costume Garrett wore and it still drew a good share of attention.

Upon entering the first convention room - a dealer's room, from the look of the tables set up along the side walls, but nonetheless full of costume-wearers - they almost immediately encountered someone in a Stormtrooper outfit. It was a perfect replica in every detail, clearly a labor of love, and the person wearing it was dedicated enough to playing the role that he resisted the temptation to drop out of character.

"You're out of uniform, pilot," the trooper commented as he gave Steph a nod of acknowledgement in passing.

Steph was at a loss for a response but Garrett gave a most un-AT-AT-like chuckle. Garrett had been shuffling along behind Stephen on all fours, barely able to see more than the backs of Stephen's heels, and he took the opportunity after the trooper had passed to stand back up again and look around. "Lots of competition."

"Yeah." Steph sighed; the prospect of winning any of the prize money seemed more distant now that he'd seen some of what they were up against. This was just the first room and there was an amazing gargoyle with what looked like pneumatically-operated wings, a really hot fox-girl who had made a masterful blend of both plush fabric and her own natrual attributes, and a lizard-man... no, Steph corrected himself, a Gorn. The Gorn's costume was nearly as good as the one from the original Star Trek episode had been. "Still, nothing like an AT-AT, eh?"

"Excuse us, please," A small woman in a jockey costume asked from behind Garrett's cardboard bulk. He shuffled to the side to let her through, leading a man in an amazing horse costume. The thing made him seven feet tall, with a long neck and perfect horse's head, and the hoof-gloves made Steph wonder if he could get down on all fours too.

"Heh. Damn." Garrett shook his head. "Well, thank goodness for categories, eh?"

Steph gave a wry grin. "Yeah. Though I'm feeling a bit under-dressed myself now."

It didn't really matter much since Garrett was the center of attention, as intended; Steph was along just to open doors and do the other things Garrett couldn't manage in that hulking outfit. But as they proceeded through the room Steph found his gaze lingering on some of the costuming wares being sold.

People would stop to stare, take photos, or ask Steph questions about the AT-AT costume. Since he was the one leading the way, with Garrett's face down and concealed under the cardboard headpiece, it was natural that they'd assume he was in charge. But when Garrett reared up to proudly answer the questions they'd immediately switch to ignoring Steph instead. It was quickly beginning to annoy him; though the idea and the design for the AT-AT costume had been Garrett's they'd worked on it together.

"Hang on, Garrett," Steph finally called. They were on their way to the exhibition hall but they were still quite early, they'd left plenty of flex in their schedule to account for difficulties with the costume. "I want to look at some of the stuff they're selling here."

"Stuff?" Garrett got up and looked around.

There weren't any Star Wars branded costume supplies at hand, and if there were they'd probably be too expensive. Twenty dollars, eh? I can spend twenty dollars. That left mainly just the cheesier costume gear.

After a few minutes of browsing Garrett got back down on all fours and spent a little while tromping back and forth. The arms of the AT-AT costume were quite heavy; in addition to the cardboard shell they had a pair of aluminium canes inside, trimmed short and affixed to the broad metal bucket lids that formed the soles of his "forefeet". Despite the crick he was sure he'd eventually develop in his back it was actually easier moving around like this.

There wasn't as much of an audience in here, though. The people who already had costumes were gravitating off somewhere else and those were the ones he was most interested in impressing with his ingenuity and attention to detail. He wasn't a big Star Wars fan himself but he'd dug up some schematics from a scan of some old Star Wars book. He'd even hung a Luke Skywalker pilot action figure on a string from his underside, mimicing the famous scene from Empire Strikes Back where the proto-Jedi had grappled up on board one after being shot down on Hoth, but he'd lost that particular accessory somewhere during the Halloween party and hadn't bothered looking for a replacement. There didn't seem to be anything like that in this area of the dealer's room...

He tromped over to Steph. "We going to move on?" He prompted.

Steph sighed. The twin goals of 'attention-grabbing' and 'cheap' weren't meshing very well. "Okay, just let me grab something." Something totally incongruous would probably be best. So... "Ah, I'll take that." A pair of fuzzy bunny ears on a headband for just ten bucks. Garrett didn't even look up and Steph grinned; he'd be startled when he did.

They continued onward.


Joysweeper's pre-TF setup

On the way they'd called it a "function" as if it'd been some kind of social event, but in reality it hadn’t been much more than the squad’s effort to get people to donate to charities, specifically the Leukemia Society in Tampa Bay Squad’s case. The Kublai Con attendees were pretty generous – TR-1407, given name “Angela Kincaid”, calling herself “Anj” while in costume - had once heard it said that furry cons generated more money than scifi cons, and Xanadu was a mixture of both.

What had made it the effort fun was the “act”. Angela lost count of just how many times she’d heard friends declaring with feigned authority that the 501st Legion was here to keep the peace and maintain order. Essentially they’d just threatened anyone who looked impressive enough, and almost everyone had played along, reacting in fear or challenging the Imperials to a duel.

She’d personally “fought” an armored anthro dragon with a very realistic whipping tail, matching her forcepike with his curved fiberglass sword, and although she’d “lost” she had also had the pleasure of seeing him back down when faced with the blasters of eighteen stormtroopers. Good donation from that one, too.

The "TR" prefix in front of the number she had picked as her identification - she'd chosen fourteen oh seven at random - indicated which costume was her favorite. "TK" meant stormtrooper, "TC" was clonetrooper, "SL" was Sith Lord... there were a number of them for the various types. "TR" meant that she favored the Emperor's guards in their red helmets and flowing robes. They were called Red Guards, Royal Guards, and various other combinations of "Red", "Royal", "Imperial", and "Emperor's". Frankly, Angela preferred "Red Guard". The arguments some of her friends got into about nomenclature gave her a headache.

She’d heard from one of them that someone had actually caught a pickpocket in the act and had proceeded to instill the fear of the Empire into him, winning a lot of amusement from everyone else in the process, but she hadn’t seen it herself, nor had anyone who told the story. It was probably hyperbole. That didn’t stop the thought from being entertaining.

Now it was pretty much over; everyone who’d turned up at eleven was leaving, a few of the latecomers sticking around to try and wring out every cent they could. TR-1407 was glad to leave, frankly. The costume, with heavy cloth robes over already-stifling armor, had slowly become hot enough to fry fleek eels with, and no amount of water or robe-flapping could make it entirely tolerable. She felt like the sweat-drenched bodysuit under the plating under the robes was trying to merge with her skin.

Not for the first time she wished that she hadn’t bothered with the tight bodysuit and the armor that went over it. It wasn’t like it would have visibly made a difference. Some Red Guards liked to keep their robes thrown behind their shoulders like a cloak, the better to show off the detailing on their armor. Angela, on the other hand, didn’t want anyone guessing that she was female, and so kept her robes arranged about her body, hiding everything but her hands, her feet, and her helmet. It still would have been far, far too hot – the helmet was the next thing to airtight, and only the respirator that threaded down to her waist kept her from suffocating – but at least she wouldn’t feel like sparks were smoldering under her robes.

But… no. More than once during the “fight” her robes had swept about, and both before and after they hadn’t exactly hung neatly. She would never have heard the end of it if she were to come to an event “half-dressed”.

“Remember, there’s a march at three,” she told her friend and former pupil SL-1984 as they left. “We meet before two thirty in the southwest parking lot.” Little single-squadron things like the function were fun, but the real thrill was always when the entire 501st, or as much of it as was attending any particular convention, marched together. There was just something about being in a solid group and dwarfing other organizations that felt exhilarating.

“I knew that. I can remember a plan without being reminded every time I turn around,” he protested. “Steven Porter”, as he was usually known – although he preferred to answer strictly to his designation when in costume – was tall enough and attention-loving enough to pull off a White Vader costume. It was exactly what it sounded like – the Darth Vader rig, all in white, sometimes called “Vader Redeemed.” The images that the costume was based off of had appeared for literally two panels at the very end of a comic that wasn’t even canon, which firmly cemented him as a major geek in Angela’s eyes. Even by 501st standards it was bad - and the 501st Legion was known for being a group of fans who weren't just content to collect action figures, they wanted to be them.

The conversation, and Angela’s musings, were put on hold briefly as a fairly well-done white tiger furry with an articulated jaw interrupted, waving her pawhands and generally being as relentlessly upbeat as possible. She didn’t seem to want to talk, but gestured and showed off a disposable camera on a strap around her neck enthusiastically enough that it was pretty clear that she wanted pictures.

TR-1407 had never been all that comfortable with being hugged by complete strangers for photographs, but she didn’t have any serious objections to it, and she wasn’t carrying her wallet this time, so there was no chance of getting robbed again. Fortunately the tiger was much more interested in SL-1984, and he was perfectly willing to mug and pose as much as desired. Maybe it was just that white fur went better with white robes and armor than with red, but it was probably more that the kid was far more willing to let go of his dignity than Angela was.

After the Red Guard had obligingly snapped enough pictures and handed the camera back to the furry, the white tiger left to accost someone else, and they picked up where they had left off.

“I’m not a little kid, Angela. Just because our Squad Leader didn’t bring it up doesn’t mean I forgot.”

“Don’t call me Angela when I’m in uniform, kid. It’s Anj. Price has a lot of things on his mind, you know. He’s got to set up a bunch of tables before we march, and not everything is here yet.” She flapped her robes in another vain attempt to get some cool air circulating. Under her helmet, a little curl of hair had plastered itself over one eye, sticking to the lid as she blinked. “Your voice-changer is starting to fail.”

“Gah. You’re right.” SL-1984 thumped the speaker hidden in his chest box, then removed his helmet, careful of the trailing wires that ran from it down into the rest of the costume. “This thing always gets screwy an hour or so in.”

There was always something just a little bit disturbing about seeing someone in costume but without their helmet on. It didn’t take long to get used to seeing troopers, but with a Vader it always looked strange. TR-1407 did her best not to look too closely. “You really ought to try a pair of Vortex Twos. I’ve never made a Vader-“

Steve left off scowling into the helmet for a moment. “You’re not nearly tall enough to pull it off.”

“Shut up.” Angela sighed. “I’ve never made a Vader, but you already know about how everyone with a helmet uses a speaker to be heard. Vortex is the best. I know that Hasbro thing is cheap and easy to get, but, well, the downside is quality. And you could reuse a Vortex, too.” She indicated the general location of her own voice amplification unit with a quick gesture. It made her voice audible despite the almost airtight helmet, flattening it out in the process.

“I know, but that’s a bit of an investment. I’m not exactly rolling in money right now. Had to stop working on that Tusken Raider one… I could barely afford to come here.” Replacing the helmet and straightening it with both hands, he faced her directly. “Any plans?”

“I’m getting out of this costume before I cook.” SL-1984’s speaker system relayed the sound of his mouth opening, so she cut him off. “And before you ask, no, I don’t need any help, Steven. Seriously, if I stay in this any longer I’ll get heatstroke. Every time I get into this thing I regret it, I swear.”

"If you want me to call you Anj, don't call me Steven." SL-1984 raised his voice to be heard over the shouting match going on between two balding men in spandex. Taking up a standard Vader mannerism with ease that betrayed days of casual study, he locked his hands around his belt. “This is why white’s a good color. I’m not sweating half as much as I did in the black suit, so I think I’m good for a while yet. See the sights. There are some really nice costumes this year. Maybe I’ll swing by those set pieces people keep talking about. I heard that they got John and his crew to do the Hutt set again this year, plus Carmen said that Makaze Squad brought in that Death Star made of like a million Legos. I have no idea how they could have got it in the doors.”

People had collected in a chattering knot around someone or something, clogging the way. Angela raised her voice. “Move along, come on now citizens, you can collect in a spare room much more easily than out here. Move along, move along.” The voice amplifier lent her voice a little more kick and made it audible. Despite that, she saw no sign that more than a few people had heard, let alone intended to obey.

Her former pupil repeated the order with the same intonation, his voice-changer making it sound much more commanding. This time, people listened and obeyed, breaking up and dispersing. They’d been clustered around a yellow lab – not a furry, an actual, panting dog that barely seemed disturbed at all by the crowd – wearing one of those novelty pet costumes. It went very nicely with his owner, though Angela wasn’t sure about the meaning of the dog being Batman when the man was Robin.

What she was sure about was that the kid she’d once mentored – hardly a kid, she couldn't be more than five or six years older than him - was just better at some of this than she was. Partly it was because, although she wasn’t shy by anyone’s standards, she didn’t like to stand out overmuch. Hence why her preferred costumes were the Red Guard and obscure ones like AT-AT drivers or Imperial Army Pilots, as they were called, while his was arguably the most conspicuous costume in the 501st. Angela remembered her friend’s almost-question.

“How do you think? It comes apart into sections and gets reassembled. I’ve seen it before.” TR-1407 really didn’t know where the closest ‘changing room’ was, but she’d been told that they were everywhere, so it probably wouldn’t take too long to find one. The longer she waited, the longer the costume stayed on. “Have fun. I think I’ll get most of this off before I make more plans. Don’t hurt yourself showing off in pictures.”

“Don’t forget to put that back on by two thirty. I’ll see you by then if not before, An- Anj.” He kept on in the same direction, she arbitrarily took a left.

It was pretty close to noon; compared to just an hour ago, the hallway was half empty. The people who had been rushing around trying to get to various things had reached them, apparently. This wasn’t anywhere near the dealer’s room or any of its offshoots, the SIGs were already in progress, and as far as she could remember from the schedule the only event going on would be that big awards ceremony.

Angela toyed with the idea of going, but the oppressive heat of her costume decided her. Anything worth seeing would surely keep; she'd been to enough conventions to know that the truly impressive costumes would probably stick around for a bit, both soaking up the praise and trying not to break anything. Getting there in time to see the whole thing wouldn’t be worth the broiling and the probability of being jostled by a crowd. She’d hate to break her forcepike; it was the most fragile part of the costume, and making it had taken a long time.

Soon she found the door to one of the “headless lounges”, where fursuiters went to cool down. The sign on the door declared it to be fursuiters only, but the Red Guard knew how these things worked, and that few people would protest.

Not long after venturing in, she was out again. Those rooms were kept cold; her temperature had shot down dramatically after she'd taken her helmet off and drank some cola. Angela decided not to take off the costume just yet.

Mere minutes later TR-1407 was once again warm enough that the heat was like a physical thing trapped against her body. Not for the first time, she wished that she’d worn her officer uniform instead. Fewer layers, and the face, neck, and hands were exposed to the air. But officer getup was just so plain, so ordinary compared to the Red Guard robes and armor.

Up ahead it was crowded again; mostly more fursuiters from the look of things. Enough of them were breaking the unwritten rule about staying silent in costume that the group was quite, quite loud, even with the helmet cutting off some of the sound. From the laughter, the movement, and the general tone of conversation, they were having a good time. Having nothing better to do Angela approached them, deciding that if nothing else she might as well find out what if anything was going on.

As she passed within thirty feet of the closest of them she felt something like a chill traveling up her spine, prickling against the bodysuit stuck to her skin. Anj would have brushed it aside as nothing, but for one reason or another she noticed that some of the furries who had been talking or laughing or demonstrating dance moves stopped, abruptly in some cases. A number of them carried on, oblivious, but several stopped what they were doing.

TR-1407 thought she saw a gray feline yawning far wider than a baklava could allow for. She told herself that it was a trick of the light or a flaw in her visor. That was when the chill became strong, pulsing in time with her heartbeat and branching to prickle her arms, the base of her skull, her breasts and crotch, strong enough that she shuddered involuntarily. Her bones started to ache, followed by the rest of her body.

Then the bottom dropped out of the world.

Lead up to Garrett and Steph's TFs

The density of Star Wars costumes steadily increased as they progressed. The population of the convention was extremely diverse but various factors - the impending themed contests, the large number of rooms providing partitioning, natural human cliqueiness - were conspiring to make it clumpy.

Or maybe word's just getting around about Garrett's costume, Steph reflected. The stormtroopers seemed eerily organized for just a bunch of fans who'd happened to show up wearing the same thing.

But to Steph's relief, he wasn't feeling quite so annoyed by the attention Garrett was getting any more. The bunny ears had actually helped. Not in that they were anything particularly interesting themselves, of course; they were nothing at all in comparison to even the simplest of the animal costumes he'd seen on display. No, ironically enough it was a synergistic effect.

A big clunky AT-AT clomping around? Worth a double-take, of course. A big clunky AT-AT clomping around being led by a man in bunny ears? That apparently was worth two double-takes.

A small impromptu honor guard had formed around Garrett, a constantly-renewing cluster of Star Wars fans trailing along to examine the AT-AT's details before being left behind or moving on to other things. But though fewer, the Star Wars fans who were puzzling over Steph were puzzling longer. One of them was even a Darth Vader, though in an all-white suit for some reason.

Steph wasn't about to ask. He was already being pelted with far more intricate details of the Star Wars universe than he could possibly take in. "So," the white-armored Vader was musing. "I doubt that the Empire has begun accepting nonhumans into service since my conversion, so you cannot be a pilot. I don't think you have the height for a Gerb or Lepus Carnivorous, but I might be mistaken."

"Uh, no, don't think so," Steph shook his head. Lepus Carnivorous? Is he making this up on the spot? The only carnivorous rabbit that came to mind was from Monty Python.

"Are you a Kushiban? Be at ease, my mission no longer entails the deaths of Force-Sensitives."

That one sounded less fake, and Steph was about to accept the title if only to have something meaningful to say. But then one of the Storm Troopers turned from peering at the detailing on Garrett's head and said in his best tinny trooper-voice, "My Lord, are you forgetting the Hoojib?"

"I was just getting to that." The chuckle seemed quite out of character for a Darth Vader, and to Steph's relief he seemed to be recognizing how far out of his depth Steph was. "Kushiban and Hoojibs are both rabbitlike creatures, not very large. Kushiban are more like cat-monkey creatures with soft rabbit ears and big squirrely tails; they're about, oh, this tall standing up -" he bent down to hold his gloved hand a foot and a half above the floor "-but usually walk on all fours. They do a lot of handweaving and tend to be Force-Sensitive; generally they're portrayed with a calm demeanor. By most standards they are considered very cute."

It was Steph's turn to chuckle. "I'll leave cute to the furries."

"Aww." Garrett rose to his hind legs, surprising Steph by having been paying attention, and took a moment to set one of the forelegs down so he could adjust his headpiece. One of the side-mounted gun turrets had hooked on someone and been pulled askew. "You'd think with all those bunny-based aliens there'd be a more crossover, like with those Caitans we saw earlier."

"Ixnay on the Artrek Stay," Steph warned with a grin. He didn't seriously expect anyone to be offended, there was far too much good-natured mixing of genres and universes going on for that, but the rivalry between those two franchises almost seemed traditional.

"I'm dressed as an AT-AT, I think I'm strong enough in the Star Wars Force for my reputation to survive being revealed as a fancier of catgirls in miniskirt uniforms."

The white Vader nodded, still chuckling. "Certainly. And trust me, my fandom has a lot of weird little quirks in it too. Hoojib, for example. They're about this big-" too small to bend down for, he held out his hands as if cupping a normal-sized bunny in them "-they're mute but telepathic, they eat energy. They look more like rabbits with huge eyes and splayed bird feet. They also have large noses, no visible mouth, and one antenna or feeler on the forehead that they use to drain energy with. A relic of the Marvel comics back in the seventies."

"Weird is good," Steph answered with a nod. Hoojib, eh? The wheels were spinning quickly in Steph's head; even though he'd never seen pictures of one of those things the description was pretty distinctive. He thought back over some of the stuff he'd glimpsed on the tables they'd passed... "I can pull that off. I'll be right back, you okay Garrett?"

Garrett nodded. "Just tromping around." He had finished his adjustment and was considering whether to go back down on all fours, but as Steph headed off into the bustle he found himself welcoming the excuse to stay upright a while longer. His back wasn't hurting yet, and thanks to the angle of the headpiece he didn't have to hold his neck at a bad angle, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He turned to the white Vader instead. "So, if it's not a faux pas to ask, did you not have time to paint your outfit before the con?"

SL-1984 chuckled again. "A more recent relic of comics, actually. Dark Horse, not Marvel. Star Wars Infinities...? No?"

"No," Garrett shook his head. "Believe it or not, I'm really lost with all this Extended Universe stuff. I just watched the movies and liked the toys." Despite Garrett's demurral it was actually something of an understatement; Star Wars toys were probably the main reason Garrett had become an engineer. The long hours spent playing with his older brother's stash of plastic space ships and robots had put a visceral love of fantastic machinery into Garrett's heart. But he'd never really got into the fictional side of it all, if that made any sense.

"Well, the toys are certainly a major part of the fandom too," SL-1984 agreed. "Collectors have their own subset of obscure encyclopedic knowledge. Wouldn't know what a Hoojib was, perhaps, but they could tell you exactly how rare any given run of a Luke action figure was. But I imagine you're more of a tech manual sort of guy."

Garrett grinned, hefting the heavy walker forelimb assemblies. "What gave you that idea?"

For his part, Steph wasn't any of those things - he just liked a challenge. And within a minute he was back, another ten dollars poorer and well on the way to meeting his next challenge. He'd found himself a rubber koala nose, best match to his mental image of the description the Vader had given him, and was busily tearing apart a pair of dealie-bobbers as he walked. His only tools were a paper clip, some rubber bands, and MacGuyver innovation. "One second longer..." He finished the work on the addition to the rabbit headband and slipped them back into place, the single spring-loaded antenna bobbing up in the middle between his ears. "Eh? Eh? Hoo da jib?" He spread his arms to display his work.

SL-1984 let out a slightly muffled laugh. "Certainly, nobody will mistake you for anything else now. No fan, at any rate."

"Well, that's silly," Garrett evaluated. Steph nodded back, making the antenna bounce but not jarring it loose; the anchor he'd rigged up was holding. Excellent.

"Speaking of silly," Steph grinned, "shall we carry on toward the judging room? Despite my progress I doubt my costume's going to win any awards on its own."

"Certainly." The judging was being staggered over the course of the day to account for the many individual contests that were running - the first winners were almost due for announcement, in fact - but Garrett figured it would be a good idea to get in on his as soon as possible. When dealing with a costume made mostly of cardboard, there was a certain inexorable degradation with use. And besides that, the costume was clunky and heavy. Garrett was looking forward to being out of it for a while again soon.

"In that case I'll bid you adieu. Troops, clear the muster zone!" The Vader slipped back into character and the remaining Storm Troopers did likewise, stepping back in unison as if to let a much larger transport pass through. Garrett obliged them, dropping back down to all fours and resuming his tromp with Steph walking ahead. Steph felt even more ridiculous than before with his extra accessories, but it was a good kind of ridiculous.

It was a strange feeling. So strange that Steph overlooked the other strange feelings at first as they started tingling at the edges of his senses.

Garrett felt it first. He had just started to get back into the gait of an AT-AT when he found himself stumbling slightly, the heavy costume becoming noticably heavier. Garret paused for a moment, his foreleg supports setting down on the floor below him with a pair of unexpectedly solid clomps.

The cardboard forelegs actually felt tight on his arms. That was wrong; if anything there should have been too much play inside them, they wobbled around if he wasn't careful. Garrett tried to let go of the cane handles and tried standing up to pull his hands out of them.

The forelegs stayed firmly and snugly in place, and they were heavy. "Wha..." Garrett choked, his voice coming out low and grating as if by speaking he was using his throat in a way it wasn't intended. The exclaimation was accompanied by the faint but noticeable whine of small motors of some sort and Garrett could feel the tension build in his hips as he held the cardboard legs up in front of him.

Cardboard no longer, it seemed - the surface finish had a distinctly metallic lustre to it that the gray paint had failed to evoke previously. There was no explaining it; his costume had suddenly become a whole lot better. It was still improving before his eyes, new details resolving and the proportions subtly shifting toward more accurate dimensions.

It was getting heavier. Garrett could feel his hips beginning to fail, the boxy body and outstretched forelegs too much to bear. But Garrett resisted the weight with all his might; he had no idea what was going on and knew he was most likely panicking, but even so he somehow knew deep in his gut that he would be in deep trouble if he fell over. He had to stay up. He had to...

Garrett's groan came from somewhere inside his chest, the vibration thrumming through his body in new and unfamiliar ways, and after resisting for just seconds he toppled forward to land again on his forelegs for support. The two round footpads slammed solidly down onto the carpeted floor and Garrett felt the impact travel up the metal structure into his shoulders. An alien surge of relief washed through him; thank God, I'm stable. But it didn't last long against the growing panic. He tried to open his mouth to yell for help and found that he couldn't. Oh God, I can't breathe!

Garrett tried to look up toward Steph, servos in his neck whining in protest at the angle. He caught just a glimpse. Steph was having troubles of his own; his clothing seemed to be disintegrating, white fur bursting up underneath it. Everyone else Garrett caught in that glimpse seemed to be having some outlandish thing happening to them too, too many and too strange for him to process in that split second he had available.

Then Garret's vision cut off as his eyelids fused shut into the smooth, unbroken hull of the underside of the AT-AT's cockpit-head. A moment later vision returned in a kaleidoscopic burst of sensory input; Garrett would have screamed if he'd been able. My eyes! Where are my eyes!? He could see everywhere at once and couldn't process any of it. He could only stagger ponderously back a step, his limbs moving with unexpected strength and smoothness. Whirr, clomp! Whirr, clomp! It was the best possible replica AT-AT costume in existence now, and Garrett wanted out. But his attempts to shift even the tiniest bit inside the solid metal shell failed, every part stuck solidly and directly to his skin. Fused with it. Becoming it.

And then the hollowness came. Garrett felt a hole open up inside his gut, swelling inside his abdomen and squeezing his vitals aside. Garrett's vision was disrupted just as it had started to coalesce again, panic flaring more brightly in his mind. Oh God Oh God Oh God... He could only set his legs and try to hold as steady as possible as the bubble spread up into his chest, up his throat, into his head...

Ghoooood. The thought trailed off in a tumult of strange emotions and sensations. His guts were settling now, the final details pulling into their new configuration. He was empty inside, but he was solid. Strong. Steel. Or something like it, anyway...

Vision returned again, more stable this time, but it didn't bring any clarity to the situation. Garrett stood stable on all four legs, round footpads planted firmly on the carpet right where he'd been when the change had first come upon him. But his body was an island of stability in a sea of chaos. All around him people were yelling and running around in terror, many of them no longer human. Garrett turned his head, the motion ponderous and not really necessary given his all-encompassing field of view but psychologically important for keeping his attention focused. Where's Steph? He didn't know what his friend could do about any of this, but it was a straw of hope to grasp for in the maelstrom.

Thunderous footsteps grabbed his attention. Something was coming, big and round and red-

Too fast. How could something so big move so fast? Garrett barely had time to move before the huge creature brushed past him, slamming against his side as it went. Garret's legs weren't hinged to deal very well with lateral movement and he staggered, struggling to keep his center of gravity balanced. Whirr, clomp, whirr, clomp, clomp...

FALLING! Garrett screamed, in the form of bolts of light shooting from his chin to blast scorched pockmarks up the wall and ceiling, and slammed to the floor. A table crushed to splinters under him, breaking what would otherwise have been a tremendously damaging impact, but still leaving him stunned.

Stunned, lying on his side, alone, empty. Garrett wasn't sure if AT-ATs could faint, but he found himself doing a very good imitation of it.

Possible chapter break

Everything was darkness and confusion and helpless nausea. When the world fell out from under her it took her stomach with it. Gravity meant nothing; she felt both as if she was falling and as if she was spinning on the worst amusement park ride ever imagined. A timeless period later she tasted blood and carbonated cola. She recognized it. Mountain Dew.

And then the world was back, or one very much like it. Struck by the very physical sensation of falling, even though she could feel her boots firmly planted on the floor, Anj instinctively adopted a defensive crouch, opening eyes that she hadn’t remembered closing.

She could see! She could hear! Long ago Anj had gotten used to the way the Red Guard helmet cut her visibility and muffled all sound; it was inevitable, after all. She’d all but stopped noticing. Now, though – now the flattened ovoid of the visor was still there, but a little smaller, and the space around it was no longer dark.

She could see as well and as much as she could when bareheaded, and all sounds were crisp and clear, not muffled in the least. It wasn’t that the helmet was gone; even though the temperature had dropped into a comfortable range she could feel it, tight against the contours of her face with just enough of a gap to let air circulate. But the inside, so close that her eyelashes brushed a smooth surface every time she blinked, was full of light and color and motion. For a moment it was completely disorienting.

Training kicked in as her eyes flicked frantically from one thing to the next. These are the screens in my helmet. They negate the disadvantage of having an enclosed faceplate. This lowest monitor, the short wide one, is my peripheral display. It shows me what I normally have to turn my head to see. My aural pickups catch sound and relay it into my ears in such a way that I can determine the source and how distant it is. They also blunt the effects of sonic weaponry. The analysis calmed her enough that she began to register exactly what she was seeing and hearing mere meters away.

TR-1407 took a moment to realize that these were the same furries she had just seen. They barely bore any resemblance to any fursuits she had seen, ever – even the best of the best had always looked artificial. Wet, flickering eyes with fully mobile eyelids, subtle facial expressions, a mouth that did more than open and close, pawhands that did not look like gloves, skin that shivered, fur that sprouted from the skin, muscles and tendons moving beneath it, toes that splayed against the ground, tails and ears that moved silently and with purpose – admittedly she wasn't exactly involved with the furry scene, but in all the conventions and events she had ever attended she had never seen a fursuit that still looked real up close. Not when she compared a costume to a real animal. Some things just couldn’t be faked.

Yet the people she saw before her, gasping and touching themselves and looking wildly about… Some were more or less humanlike than others, but one or two looked like nothing less than bipedal wild animals with slightly altered forelimbs and faces. The inarticulate confused things that they said were not in the voices of men or beasts, but a combination of both. They breathed, they ran wet tongues over bestial teeth and ductile lips, they staggered on well-formed legs, their faces and body language reflected shock and disbelief and joy and horror and sudden fear. More than one turned a hybrid face towards the Red Guard.

Training once more came to the fore. I’d better be careful. They’re disorganized and might not mean any harm, but whoever they are most of them are on the verge of blind panic. And I know what panic makes people do. Anj took half a step backwards and stumbled – her feet seemed bigger than they should have been, and her balance had changed completely. She compensated even as the realization hit her that something was fundamentally different. The costume was tight, but beneath it-

Set off, either by her motion or by the low, coughing feline roar uttered by one of them, the furries split. Hooves and paws pounded the carpet as they ran, most of them headed away from TR-1407, but a gazelle and a zebra sprang past her, giving her a wide berth. She had half turned to stare after them in bewilderment when her spine chilled and she saw something huge and white and blue in one of her helmet screens.

Reacting almost instantly, TR-1407 jerked out of the way, her arms reflexively following through on the motion and bringing the tip of her forcepike into contact with her assailant. It connected solidly, making a tiny crackling noise that was all out of proportion to the effect.

Momentum kept it going, but the enormous white tiger’s leap ended gracelessly in a nerveless heap with an impact that looked painful, limp and probably unconscious, red tongue sticking out of its fanged, slack mouth. Anj looked from it to the forcepike clasped in her gloved hands.

The stun module mounted on the vibro-edge head at the very tip gleamed dully. Fully extended, the weapon was about two meters from the thin tip to the thicker black grip, and it was considerably heavier than it had been before, maybe seven or eight kilograms - Seven. It’s regulation-issue, so it definitely weighs seven kilos - but it felt right in her hands, sleek and balanced. Perhaps it wasn’t as elegant and deadly as a lightsaber, but here was a weapon that could kill or incapacitate, equally functional for battle and crowd control. Set to maximum it could tear through the hull of a starship; set to the lower setting and it could knock out a grown Wookiee. Or, apparently, a leaping tiger. That thought brought her back out of contemplation.

“…Yeah. What was that?” Anj’s eyelashes brushed her visor as she blinked. It sounded like something odd had happened to the speaker. Normally it just relayed her voice; it distorted it just a little bit, making it slightly more mechanical, but that was all. It didn’t change her voice, not really. It made it a bit less feminine, but it was still recognizable as hers.

But something had happened to that speaker. This wasn’t her voice; this was nothing like it, in fact. The timbre was entirely different, as was the pitch. The speaker was making her sound like an entirely different person. Why in the Emperor's name-

Focus! Are all local threats neutralized? What about my assailant? Anj moved closer and crouched to examine the white tiger. It was huge, easily three meters from the tip of its tail to its whiskered muzzle. Why meters and not feet? Feh, that isn't important. At first glance it looked almost exactly like the tranquilized big cats that were always featured in documentaries on television, down to the rapid, heavy way its sides heaved as it breathed. The only immediate oddity was the fact that it seemed to be wearing clothes – something like a tube top and close-fitting boxers, both pale blue.

But another moment showed her that it – no, she, for there was a suggestion of breasts in that tube top – had forepaws that would do poorly for bearing weight. They were long, the fingers well formed with prominent thumbs. Her head also bore hair, short and pattered in the same way as the striped fur, but distinct. No tiger looked like that.

Around her thick neck, too, there was a strap holding a disposable camera…

TR-1407 tensed up as another cold tingle swept up her spine, glancing automatically towards a particular section of wall. Almost immediately that section bowed inwards, breaking with a wild shower of plaster and bricks as something almost spherical burst through, pudgy fists clenched, cubes ricocheting against each other and the interior as red liquid sloshed.

OH YEAHHH!

The world has gone mad, or I have. Even as the thought flashed through her mind, Anj was acting, one-handedly drawing her blaster rifle - what? I didn’t bring a blaster with me today!- from where it was holstered beneath her robes and firing.

The blaster bolt -It’s not supposed to work!- hit a curved, transparent surface that absorbed the energy, heating and deforming slightly. On the inside, bubbles formed at the site and frothed up to the top; barely a second later they had stopped and the melted region had returned to its former unblemished state.

The – whatever it was – adjusted its footing as the three frosted translucent cubes floating inside of it rattled and clinked. Below them the lacquered black indents that served as sketchy facial features - eyebrows, eyes, a nose, a wide smiling mouth, all highly stylized – moved to assume an expression that looked like furious, homicidal joy. Its short arms, placed in relation to its eyes where ears would have been on a humanoid, reached towards the Red Guard, fingers twitching as if to fix around her neck.

Anj fired twice more, with the same minimal result – small parts of the clear surface melted and re-formed, a little of the liquid boiled up without lowering the level within, and the thing displayed anger. Its short legs, with their rounded toeless feet, were moving, but its rotund bulk kept the pace slow. Anj felt another chill on her spine and somehow knew that if it gathered itself it could leap hard and fast enough to cover nearly four meters in an eyeblink, breaking through anything in its way. She was almost in range of such a leap.

Still, it can’t jump several times in succession. If I move now, I can easily leave it behind. It looked like – it looked completely impossible. Like a round-bellied pitcher, entirely hollow and complete with flared spout and glass handle, low-set arms and legs stuck on like an afterthought. It was filled, limbs included, with a translucent red liquid. Somehow Anj thought she’d seen it or something like it before, but just by existing it was an affront to reality. It couldn’t possibly stand upright on those small featureless feet, and as for moving! It had no skeletal structure, no visible muscles or joints, it was an anthropomorphic pitcher of punch, how could it move?!

TR-1407 shoved her blaster back into its holster, hidden by her robes. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous and I’m not getting killed by it. Time to go. Yet something stopped her.

The tiger furry was still out cold. She was only slightly further from the pitcher than Anj was, and the Red Guard had no reason to doubt that the thing was willing to take out its frustration on whatever couldn’t get out of the way.

TR-1407 flashed back to her training in the Imperial Royal Guard Academy, on Yinchorr. Above all, protect and serve the Empire. Your first duty is to your Emperor. Obey and protect him. Your second duty is to ranking Imperial staff. You are to protect and obey them. Your third duty is to your comrades in arms and fellows in duty. You are to protect and work with them. Your fourth duty is to Imperial citizens. You are to protect and guide them. Your fifth duty is to guide and protect everyone else. The mantra had become so ingrained that it was a part of her, so essential that she barely registered that it shouldn’t be there.

Yes, the tiger had leaped at her and she had reacted as if under attack, stunning it. However, she had no way to know if that leap really had been an act of aggression. And even if it was, did that really make a difference? What should I do?

Indecision lasted for only a split second. She’s in danger because I put her there. So I’ll get her out. Doesn’t matter how ridiculous the situation is, I still have my duty. TR-1407 changed her stance, gripped her forcepike in both hands and held it before her in ready position.

If the pitcher thing had been any faster she would have been caught while thinking, but it was forced to shuffle forwards to get within range. Anj readied herself and thumbed the setting as it tensed to spring.

OH YEAHHH!

Although she’d known this was going to happen, TR-1407 was still surprised at its speed. Barely in time, she dived and rolled under it the instant before it hit landed again, causing a small shockwave and splintering the floor.

Spinning to face it again, Anj swung one-handed and caught her opponent with the forcepike’s tip. This time a sharp crack! rang through the air; not waiting to see what she’d accomplished she adjusted her grip and swung it in a high vertical stroke, then again, horizontal, hitting the curved glassy surface hard. The sound was high and sharp, both unpleasant and nearly musical.

There was the tingle again, strong and focused. Acting with it the Red Guard struck again, to the left of center, then stepped back quickly. Almost immediately she smacked into the wall and winced. Forgot where I was. Damn! As she sidestepped to get more distance she almost fell over her own feet, once more becoming aware that something was different. There'd been a bit of a bounce where no bounce should be, not on a woman.

The pitcher thing looked at first glance to be unaffected; if it had been made out of durasteel every impact would have left great rents. It was still moving and its shape was intact, but on second glance TR-1407 saw white fractures spiderwebbed dramatically across the surface.

She kept her visor pointed squarely at its enraged lacquered eyes, holding her forcepike up in an unvoiced but extremely explicit threat.

The indents that appeared to be eyebrows lowered and drew together as it frowned slowly. Across its sketchy features a white fracture, which had started to gradually fill in, lengthened and widened again with a sound that reminded the Red Guard of thin ice on the surface of a pond.

The pitcher thing’s right arm began to leak, red liquid pattering down into the carpet. The glass there, thinner than on its curved body, had all but shattered, and repaired itself only slowly. Slowly, the thing’s eyes slid from its arm to Anj’s visor.

“Press me and you’ll be dead,” she warned, not knowing if it could understand her or not, talking slowly and evenly. “I can keep this up and hurt you faster than you can fix yourself.” Her grammar had gotten a little mangled. The message was obvious nonetheless.

“I can throw a grenade into you and vaporize your contents. I can sweep your legs out from under you and shatter them so you can’t stand. Once I’ve done that, I can smash you into a thousand shards, which I can then scatter.” Even as she said the words, noticing again that this was palpably lower and grittier than her voice had ever been, she knew with confidence that this was not an empty threat. Mess with an Imperial Red Guard in the performance of his duty and you’re coming off second-best.

TR-1407 advanced half a step and brought her forcepike into ready position. The pitcher thing’s eye indents became larger, then smaller again. A sense of rage so strong that it was palpable radiated off of it, but it had sense enough to know a hopeless fight. Still dripping, it shuffled backwards and began to turn ponderously. A moment later and it bounded away through another wall with a shower of plaster. The Red Guard watched through the hole it left until she was satisfied.

Hah. Straightening, Anj looked over the comatose tiger once more. Her white-furred flanks had been decorated with a coat of dust and plaster fragments, but the furry had escaped harm.

Alright, now what? The tiger was still out and would likely remain that way for an hour or so. But Anj wasn’t going to stay around guarding her. The immediate danger was past, but TR-1407 knew better than to assume that things were safe now. Some of her responsibility had been discharged just now, but there was still one thing. A way to hasten the waking process.

It took a bit of searching - and a moment of staring at her own hands, which appeared to have elongated a bit - to find the site where the stun module in her forcepike had hit; the tiger’s fur was thick enough that the little bruised patch of skin was hidden. It was on the furry’s muscular upper arm, close to the shoulder.

Anj closed the tiger’s jaws with an effort, then took a handful of her crimson robes and pressed it against the furry’s nose, plugging the nostrils with the tips of her fingers. She counted slowly to ten and hit the bruised patch with the armored knuckles of her free hand. Hard. The angle was too awkward for it to be a punch, but this was something close.

Almost immediately the white tiger started to make throaty sounds of complaint, fingers and ears twitching. Anj peeled back a furred eyelid and saw the pupil of the blue eye contract.

My work here is done. Not willing to be there when the tiger woke up, TR-1407 walked away, almost stumbling on legs that were longer than they should have been. Despite the exertion, Anj's breath had been only slightly quickened. Without that pressure to act, she felt strange. Now to find someplace private and try to make sense of all this…

Steph's post-TF segment

(to be filled in)

Anj's post-TF segment

Anj stared at the reflection in the mirror, shying away from the eyes. The reflection stared back.

His wasn’t a face that would turn heads. There was a certain hardness to it, yes – something in the forehead, the set of the jaw, the chin – but the mouth and the surprised expression saved him from looking too unforgiving. What made it disorienting was the way it was at once strange and familiar.

“This is the part of the dream where I find out I can fly, right?” Anj winced and saw the reflection do the same. I don’t sound anything like me. I don’t even sound like my father.

“Doesn’t feel like a dream, but how would I know? I guess my voice amplifier's not changing anything. I don't think I like this.” It was a very expressive face – the wince hadn’t just been a twitch of the eyelid; there’d also been more than a little reaction in the lips and eyebrows.

Was it really a surprise? “Only men are officially accepted into the Stormtrooper Corps. Only the best stormtroopers are selected to become Red Guards. The Emperor is biased against women and nonhumans. Ergo, a Red Guard that served beneath the Emperor has to be a man. Even though I’m pretty sure that’s not possible.” It made a certain amount of sense, though. After that exchange with the bizarre pitcher-thing he had barely been breathing hard – and although he hadn’t given it much thought, certain things that should have bounced had not, and vice versa.

On the way here, when he’d decided not to join the crush of people trying to get out, he’d noticed that when he wasn’t thinking about it, he walked as easily as ever. But inevitably something jostled that shouldn’t jostle, and then he’d always noticed that his whole body felt off and his feet and hands were a few centimeters too long and the ceiling was visibly closer…

He sighed hugely, holding off a feeling of total unreality. “Maybe I’m on drugs or something. Or crazy, that works too. Because I’m pretty sure that I am not a Red Guard. Only… well, fine, I’m not that sure.”

Anj closed his eyes. “All right. Birthplace – Flagstaff, Arizona. Coronet City, Corellia. Damn it. My mother’s maiden name… what was it, Smith? Antilles.” Rapidly he flicked back – oldest friends, schooling, training, work, quickly becoming more and more dismayed.

Reaching up to rub his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet, he found that it felt wrong and shifted his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Crazy. That’s gotta be it. Me or the world; can’t be both or I'd be fine. I’m very strongly reminded of that prank back at the Academy… but this has to be bigger than that. Wait. Am I talking to myself?”

“I am, aren’t I? Damn. I don’t do that.” Opening his eyes, Anj met his reflection’s gaze squarely. His eyes were wide with surprise, large and dark-irised. Not hazel and thick-lashed. He wasn’t sure whether or not they had always been that way, and that was worrying. Frankly, he wasn’t sure whether or not he was about to either throw up or panic. Reflexively he reached for his forcepike with his free hand. Still there, hanging where he’d clipped it to his belt.

Training was strong on this point. If there was an internal crisis of some kind, it needed to be resolved. Before it impacted the performance of his duty. Anj used some paper towels to dry the counter where the sink was, then set his helmet there and removed his robes, folding them quickly and with mechanical precision.

“Huh.” Despite their irregular shape, he’d folded them into a perfect square, flat and unwrinkled. And why had he bothered wiping down the counter first? “I really hope this isn’t permanent.” Anj dropped his folded robes besides his helmet, deliberately letting a corner hang over the edge of the counter. Immediately he felt the niggling urge to adjust the robes, make them line up precisely, but it wasn’t very strong. Like the desire to pick out malted chocolate balls from an open box, almost.

Looking down, Anj glanced over his armor. Red plating, the same crimson as his helmet and robes, with a textured bodysuit underneath. The bodysuit - the underarmor - was black, naturally. The armor seemed to be arranged in such a way that it imitated the contours of a very well-defined muscular body. Better defined then he actually was, he knew, but he hadn’t designed the armor.

“I didn’t pad it out like this,” he said quietly, uncertain. “It was flat. Well, except for my chest, but there was no helping that. No one would have seen it, and it would just have made it even hotter. It's not hot now. The plating is the same.” Anj ran a gloved finger along the raised detailing on his pectorals, stopping as he realized what he was doing.

He then started to pace, restless. A few moments passed before he concluded that although he had no idea whether or not he was a “real” Red Guard, the ‘woman living on Earth’ part was more real. He knew things that he really shouldn’t, like how the Emperor was killed and what later became of the Empire. Besides, he clearly recalled holding a trade paperback and reading about the Squall on Yinchorr. There was just no way that that could have gotten out and made it into publication; the Empire would never allow those secrets to go public! Particularly not in a comic!

Anj stretched out on the linoleum, resting weight only on his forearms and toes, and kept his abdomen taut, silently counting the seconds as his muscles burned. There was the fact that he knew full well that he was in Florida, and he-as-a-woman was a fan of Star Wars who had lost sleep handmaking a fake Red Guard costume, and Emperor’s black bones this was confusing!

Holding position was easy; even with the weight of the armor, he could stay like that for an hour, no trouble. Anj shifted position, put his palms against the floor, and started to push up and lower himself down in a steady rhythm, breathing easily.

Assuming that the woman-living-on-Earth theory was, as it seemed, more valid than the Red Guard-showing-up-here-wherever-this-was and thinking he was a woman-living-on-Earth theory… what in the Emperor’s name had happened?

A shredded bit of toilet paper scudded off across the linoleum tiles, blown by his breath, and Anj stopped. “Why am I doing pushups?” He scrambled back to his feet as quickly as if he’d been ordered and stared for the third time at his reflection.

Every time he looked at himself, it was a little easier. This time, he honestly could tell himself that that face was familiar. That the nose had once been broken rather spectacularly and had for the most part healed straight. That the hair-fine scar cutting through one dark eyebrow was not from a training incident, but a remainder of something incredibly stupid he’d done as a teenager. He could remember idly imagining a face like this, going with the fairly vague biography he’d made. Anj thought he'd sketched this face, or one like it, in a notebook.

He looked, to his surprise, just a little like his ex. Like Angela’s ex. It wasn’t a major resemblance, but it was there, something about the shape of his face and the texture of his close-cropped hair. It wasn’t a bad thing. Things hadn’t really worked out between them, but they’d left on friendly enough terms when both had accepted the fact that it wasn't love, just the combined appeal of friendship and physical attraction. Anj couldn’t help wondering what Tony would think of this.

“Oh, he’d have no idea what to do or how to feel. I should call him, just to hear how lost he’d be. Heh.” Seeing it in the mirror, Anj decided that he liked this smile, full and open as it was. Tony - well, it would be funny, and they were still friends, but Anj wasn't really sure if -

There would be time later to strip off every piece of armor and examine everything. For now – well, he knew, but it wouldn’t hurt just to check. Anj found the seam in his underarmor and pulled it wide. There was another piece of padded armor, common sense really, part of a protection that was smaller and less obtrusive than the codpiece worn by stormtroopers. And under it -

He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be - the angle was new, but it looked normal - he hadn't expected -

“…Yeah. I definitely went in the wrong refresher. I mean bathroom.” Feeling a little embarrassed, Anj straightened his armor and exhaled firmly. "I don't think I'll do that again for a while." Not that he would have a choice; his bladder had to fill eventually. But it could wait.

"No more periods. Huh. I'm going to have to get new clothes. All new clothes. It's going to be a comprehensive shopping spree." A daunting thought. As Angela, ever since he was a little girl he'd hated shopping for new outfits, since it was never quick or simple. So much time wasted, so much money spent, being forced into the stupidest clothes by his mother and told that he was supposed to "enjoy" the "experience"... He'd hated it enough that it had become a family joke. Somehow he doubted that had changed - and, for whatever reason, this was an oddly comforting thought. There was a little pronoun confusion and a sort of double set of memories, but Angela and Anj were the same person at heart.

He still felt weird, but it was a relief to be sure that whatever else was going on, this was a convention in Florida, and he had walked in as a woman in costume. In Red Guard costume. The furries he’d seen – the same thing had happened to them. It was safe to assume it had also happened to the people he’d passed on the way here, the ones who’d been rushing for the exits or milling in confusion. Had it happened to everyone? In the world, or locally, or just here?

He’d become a real Red Guard; his forcepike had become a real forcepike. The furries had become actual, living animal people. The image, the dream, had become reality. Although, really, he’d never longed to have more than the image, he’d never felt that he was supposed to be a Red Guard, the way he’d heard that some people were. And – well, it followed logically that the pitcher man hadn’t been more than the image before, because who could possibly want to be a pitcher? There were a lot of unanswered questions here.

… What had happened to the rest of the squad? To his friends, to SL-1984, that poor kid? Had this happened to them, too? Why wasn’t he with them? He had no idea where they were, but why wasn’t he looking for them?

“Why do I feel so guilty about this? I had no idea… I don’t know what in the Emperor’s name they’re doing, this isn’t exactly covered in training!” Anj blinked. “Not training. Well, maybe. I don’t know. Going to have to do something.”

Restless again, Anj made a quick circuit of the bathroom. He’d chosen well; when he’d passed this place early in the day there had been an impressive line, but everyone’s priorities had shifted well before he got here.

All stalls were open, and the bathroom was empty – he wouldn’t have removed his helmet and started talking to himself if it hadn’t been – but it didn’t hurt to check.

He found it rather disheartening when he had trouble reading a piece of graffiti. It was scratched deeply into the side of a stall, in large, relatively neat letters that were easy to distinguish, but it still took longer than he’d have liked before the squiggles resolved into “ALEX WAS HERE”. Apparently he now had trouble reading English.

Otherwise, the only thing of note was a pile of clothing just inside the handicapped stall – short pants with the panties still inside, a shirt, a bra inside of it, sitting on shoes with socks still inside. Just seeing that made Anj feel uncomfortable and voyeuristic, but he couldn’t help thinking that if the clothing had simply been removed, it would just be heaped together, underthings on top. This looked like more like the occupant had dematerialized – or shrunk dramatically.

Very gingerly, touching only with the very tips of his gloved fingers, Anj separated and folded the clothes neatly, stacking them together on the linoleum. Empty. He supposed that was a good thing. Still, now he had to wonder what had happened here. It was a mystery.

A light sort of twitch traveling up his spine brought Anj out of his thoughts. “Right,” he mused under his breath as he returned to the sink. “Weakly Force-Sensitive, untrained and not good for much more than intuition and a warning. I remember. Which means-“

He could hear it, tinny and faint, coming from his helmet on the counter. It must have tuned in on some frequency. Without hesitation Anj took it up and settled it over his head, the insides tight against his face. The voice over the com became clear. Female, clear, commanding, and with a bit of an accent that sounded vaguely British - No. Not British. Imperial.

“-ling all Imperial units in or out of the 501st, calling all Imperial units in or out of the 501st, report for instruction, report for instruction, set to Imperial frequency Ithor Naboo Gammorr, set to Imperial frequency Ithor Naboo Gammorr. Repeat; this is ID-4102 of Makaze Squadron, this is ID-4102 of Makaze Squadron, calling all Imperial units in or out of the 501st-“

Words could not have expressed how Anj’s heart leapt on hearing the officer’s voice. He wasn’t alone! Almost as fast as he could think it, he had gone to the specified frequency.

“This is TR-1407.” Relief loosened his tongue in spite of training. “And I am very glad to hear from you! Orders, sir?”

The voice that responded over the comlink wasn’t the same one; this was a harried-sounding male. “You may change your mind when you see this, Red Guard. Get to the rendezvous outside of the structure. We’re on the blacktop rectangle to the southwest.”

Anj Outside

Outside, it was chaos, pure and simple. Anj hadn’t been in the crowd when it happened. He’d seen people and creatures of all descriptions fighting to get outside while he’d been looking for a private place. By the time he’d picked up on the broadcast and left the bathroom, most of them had already gone – the halls had hardly been deserted, but the majority had already fled. He could hear them outside, a dull roar formed by thousands of throats. Not a happy crowd, he decided. Better than a mob, though. I don't know what I'd do with one of those.

As he approached the empty frame of a double door - it had once, apparently, held glass, but that was nowhere to be seen - Anj felt the warning tingle and heard what first sounded like another shrieking alarm. In response he sidestepped out of the way, and none too soon. Some kind of very large heronlike bird with pale gold-orange feathers skidded unsteadily around a corner, then powered past him in a lurching run. The moment its wings cleared the doorframe, it launched itself upwards. As it stroked upwards and away the Red Guard realized that it was making a high, panicked call that sounded vaguely like screaming.

He glanced back at where the bird had come from and stilled himself. Nothing, not even the warning tingle that was his precognition. Maybe the bird had been fleeing something, maybe it hadn't, but any trouble was slow enough that it wasn't going to bother him.

TR-1407 stepped outside and was struck by what he saw. People, creatures, and stranger things that defied categorization littered the landscape, rushing about, standing and sitting and reclining in a few cases. Some were alone, others in groups. There were some fighting or arguing with each other, others trying to subdue the wild ones, some hightailing it as if the Emperor’s finest were at their heels, some examining themselves frantically, some just sitting back with mouths open as if howling or screaming, though the Red Guard couldn’t pick out individual voices in the collective noise. Almost no one was close to the complex; most people that Anj saw were on the grass.

As he automatically went through a threat assessment, picking out specifics from all the bewildered bystanders, he marveled at the sheer number. He hadn’t thought the Orlando Convention Center could hold so many – yes, it had been crowded, and he hadn’t canvassed the entire place and seen for himself how big it was, but still. It was like a “Where’s Waldo” poster, writ large.

Maybe it wasn't just inside, he thought suddenly. Maybe it was everywhere, and just more obvious here. If the image had become real - well, it had to be more than just the image, or he wouldn't have gotten taller. If little unarticulated thoughts, like a forcepike weighs seven kilograms and Imperials use the metric system for measurements had also carried over, what about others? What about the cheater's assumption that I will not be caught, or the youth's that I am immortal?

Still on the instruction frequency, the officer who had told TK-1407 where to go was tersely repeating those instructions to someone else who had reported. I need to stay focused. I can speculate later.

Some of the figures in the crowd looked like security forces – no, police, they're called police. Police, firefighters, paramedics, what looked like a SWAT team in black, some Animal Control officers, of all things - there were more than a few people that had probably been called in from all across the state, if not country. They clearly were supposed to try and control or at least contain this madness. Just as clearly, they were as confused and uncertain as anyone else, but trying their best to impose order in some form. Anj sympathized. This was not a job he envied.

It was weird – the outsiders looked and felt somehow a little different from all these others, and not just because they were all human. Like all of the changed, big and small, were larger-than-life somehow. Maybe he was imagining things.

Flickers on his peripherals made TR-1407 tilt his chin up. The sky, a lovely cloudless blue, was hardly less crowded – far, far above something streaked up into the atmosphere, and hardly any closer small military-looking jet planes or fightercraft roared overhead in formation. Even closer there were news helicopters already, sharing airspace with winged things of all description and wingless humanoids who had no visible way of staying aloft.

The Red Guard saw bright costuming and at least one cape fluttering in the wind as fliers swerved around each other or hovered in place. Someone in red and blue tights streaked upwards abruptly at impossible speeds, within seconds catching up to the jets and paralleling their course, far enough away that the red cape was barely visible. Anj saw this and, incredulous, thought, Superheroes? Seriously?

There was no denying what they looked like, no matter how improbable the thought was. Anj realized what he was thinking and grinned involuntarily. As if I’m perfectly reasonable in comparison. This is insane. So what? The 501st needs me. And reality doesn't care whether or not you believe it.

With that reminder, he turned. Southwest blacktop? Must be that parking lot where we planned to meet. Ah… it’s midday or thereabouts, so by the sun’s position that way is west, which means south is... there. Not far. Doing his best not to call over attention, the Red Guard started moving at a lope.

I don’t know where the closest military outpost is, Anj realized. Still, with something like this we can probably expect troopships any minute now; orbital reinforcements – No, no, no! This is Earth! Earth! Not part of the Empire! There are no orbital reinforcements. No fleets. We might get some part of the Army here, but they don’t have the technology I’m expecting. Rockets, not turbolasers. Helicopters and jets, not troopships, not snubfighters. Why did that thought make him uncomfortable?

I wouldn’t worry about him, even with a sword like that… Watch out for her, she’s dangerous… He’s fine for now, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to push him… she looks like she could do some serious damage, but somehow I don’t think she’ll be a problem… Better not go near that one. Looks like everyone else’s picked up on it too… Emperor’s bones, that thing is huge, but I don’t think it’s up to anything… There were a lot of people to assess, particularly on the run. It niggled at the Red Guard that he was only doing a cursory check of each, but seeing that his options were to ignore everyone, give only the briefest of inspections, or slow down to a crawl to inspect everyone...

There! Anj's heart jumped in his chest. Inexplicably he felt relieved, incredibly relieved.

An outsider might be forgiven for thinking that the large knot of people standing together on the asphalt were just as confused and disorganized as anyone else. Quieter, perhaps, but still random. An outsider might believe that they had formed into a cluster at random, and that it was chance that explained why they almost all looked like Imperials, mostly troopers.

The outsider would be wrong. Anj's eyes flicked as an indicator sounded and saw that no fewer than ten Imperial frequencies were active. He didn't see anyone lined up in ranks, but training helped him to find the subtle signs that there was organization, purpose, order in the group, not just the amorphous mixing of the crowd. They were, indeed, bewildered and unsettled just like everyone in or out of the complex. An effort was being made to remedy that.

TR-1407's footsteps hastened. A stormtrooper with the battered armor and single orange pauldron that signified his rank as a sandtrooper squad leader stopped him with a gesture, then nodded. The Red Guard joined the growing mass.

It was startling to check IFF - Identify Friend/Foe - tags on a monitor and see so many designations. Some were familiar, others less so. There were several SL - Sith Lord - indicators scattered about, but Anj didn't see SL-1984, and this was worrying. Other Vaders, yes, and the Red Guard couldn't help boggling a little at the concept of more than one Lord Vader. But none in white. What would he have done, anyway?

Right. I should report in. To whom, though? The mass was trying to order itself, but it had a good ways to go yet. Almost no one with a helmet was speaking "out loud" with their voice amplification units. With the amount of noise that the rest of the crowd was putting out, that was just as well. Instead the comm frequencies were abuzz with orders and counterorders, the beginnings of arguments, complaints and others chewing out the complainers. It didn't help that this part of the parking lot was nowhere near clear. Not every space was filled, but there were enough cars and the like to force the group to encircle them.

There was a flurry of activity at the edges of the gathering. TR-1407 wasn't exactly short, but he wasn't tall enough to see over the helmets of the people around him. Still, he got a flash of someone else in flowing scarlet and something large, yellow, and moving. The Red Guard looked to his nearest neighbor and boosted the output to the speaker attached to his helmet, realizing how he did it only after it was done.

"Do you know what that's about?" The woman in the form-fitting jumpsuit and the hoodless brown cape turned towards him.

She was - well, she was stunning, and Anj found himself taking advantage of the way his helmet hid his gaze. Green-eyed, red-headed, with her lower-leg guards and nonstandard sidearms she obviously some kind of agent, not an officer, yet she nevertheless had a certain confident flair, almost an aura of I know what I'm doing and I'm doing it well. It didn't hurt that she really was pretty - her features were too sharp and strong for conventional beauty, but attractive. Under the jumpsuit she was fit and muscular with good shoulders, a far cry from the several sultry pin-up style women that Anj had glimpsed before. He hadn't found them particularly attractive, but -

Anj saw the lightsaber and the IFF-provided designation at roughly the same time. SL-3268, in a clear voice, answered, "There's a car, I'm guessing a Camaro, without a driver that's started moving erratically and making abortive charges at us. One of your fellow Guards is trying to dissuade it. I don't think there'll be a problem." Just as he was hoping she hadn't noticed, the Mara Jade added with a quirk of her lips, "And I'm flattered, but taken."

She's one of the Emperor's Hands. I'm lucky that she hasn't taken offense. That realization effectively took any desire, killed it, and and mangled it beyond any recognition. Anj was glad of the helmet hiding his face, and vaguely wished that he could find a hole in the ground in which to crawl into and die. Even with the cooling systems in his armor, he knew he was blushing furiously, hard enough that he felt sunburned. Next time, check IFF first. He didn't bother wondering how she'd known. Force Sensitivity and all that.

Probably just as well. Anj had no idea what he'd have done. He was on-duty anyway; even with nothing immediate going on it would be un-Imperial to get too distracted. Fortunately not every woman was striking in quite that way - prettier, yes, often curvier and not immediately off-limits, but markedly less impressive. Picturing someone like the Mara Jade alongside, say, Tony, was... interesting. But of course there was also the fact that less than an hour ago he had been female, and feeling attracted to people while male was a tangle he really didn't want to unravel just yet.

3268's auburn head came up. Anj felt the warning tingle in the instant before a commanding voice came on all frequencies. The IFF code marked the speaker as TK-0210. 'Our Beloved Founder', Albin Johnson, Anj realized. Well well. There wouldn't be a 501st without him. I'd forgotten that he'd even come here.

"Something new has come up. Would everyone please listen to the situation." It was phrased like a question, but there was no doubt that it was an order. All voice traffic stopped. The rest of the crowd carried on with the panicking, but here everyone listened as the founder explained an exchange that someone had heard taking place on a frequency that was decidedly not Imperial.

Specifically, it was one of the radio frequencies used by the United States military. The Founder didn't mention exactly what frequency it was, or when anyone had started listening in on it. What had been overheard was a report on something going off Xanadu grounds and following the highway. Something very large. One of the ones reporting said it was "like something out of Star Wars". The physical description exactly matched that of an Imperial Walker, specifically an All Terrain Armored Transport. Or, as the Rebellion and most civilians in the Galaxy called it, an AT-AT.

This is a very sudden development. If he'd expected anything, TR-1407 would have thought that the Founder would have just summarized what had just happened, tendered some kind of advice or orders. He hadn't expected a fresh problem, particularly one like this.

The gathering was silent barely long enough for the Founder's report to sink in before a member stated that there had not been a Walker exhibit, followed by other testimonies that confirmed that wherever this had come from, it wasn't 501st. Exactly what had been happening before all this was muddled, but people were quite adamant that they knew nothing.

Talking into a handheld comm unit so that everyone could hear her, 3268 had another opinion. "Why would it matter whether or not this thing is one of ours? Imperial is Imperial. The question is, what do we do about it? I think it's reasonable to assume that some rogue element has taken control of an assault walker for an unknown reason." Standing fairly close to Anj as she was, he heard the odd duality of the Mara Jade's voice coming simultaneously through his audio pickups and helmet comm.

It would be unacceptable for anyone - the automatic assumption seemed to be Rebels, smugglers, or saboteurs, although nobody really expected that to be true - to get away with stealing Imperial property, particularly something as gigantic and dangerous as an assault walker, the common consensus was. The damage one could do, particularly in an urban area, was tremendous, even on a civilized planet in the Empire, where units could quickly be dispatched to take it down. Here on Earth, on a day like today...

Anj heard someone unfamiliar speak out. "There was a young man earlier, some sort of student of engineering - I overheard his name, Gary or Garth or something - who wore a walker costume. He might be driving it." Several others remarked with surprise that they remembered something of the sort.

With confidence, Anj added, "It's difficult to pilot a walker alone, but possible, particularly if he's taking advantage of the automated systems."

"He had a friend with him. It's entirely reasonable to think that two pilots can manage without a commander." If it occurred to anyone that maybe this student hadn't become a pilot, they kept silent.

A plan didn't get proposed until after the Founder made another report, one possibly even more alarming than the last. Tanks and military choppers were being dispatched to intercept the rogue walker before it could reach the next city - and if the cryptic military lingo had been translated properly, somewhere near Washington a jet loaded with missiles had just taken off.

Suddenly the entire gathering was moving, setting up a course of action, proposing and vetoing various aspects to the plan. There would have to be a pursuit, it was decided almost instantly. They needed a small number of autonomous agents. Agents who could subdue anyone within the walker without damaging it, agents who could control the walker, and someone with enough diplomatic acumen to defuse the situation once it was under control. Preferably agents would have at least some proficiency in all three. Every member of the team would also need to be able to use grappling hooks and high-tension wires to get up there. It would also help to have the tools all stormtroopers carried, including shaped charges, binders, and a Proper Resonator.

The gathering was rapidly polled, and all those with the right skill set were chosen, then evaluated and kept or not. Unsurprisingly, there were no Imperial Army Pilots who could be identified as such by their armor - AT-AT pilot uniforms were far from popular. No one had worn his or hers to Xanadu. However, a number, Anj included, had made the costumes - and somehow that translated into experience in the cockpit.

Anj was questioned and admitted that he'd never earned the license, and was met with a thinly-disguised quiz in the form of a barrage of questions from two others. He passed. This, coupled with the fact that he was a Red Guard and both willing to work with others and well able to subdue someone with minimal damage, meant that he was on the team.

Some others at least as qualified as him weren't, largely because they had trouble cooperating. There had been many Emperor's Hands, some of them Mara Jades, others not, in the initial pickings, but the fact that most of them seemed to strongly resent each other meant that only three were kept. The final selection consisted of eight individuals. These were the Hands, SL-3268 among them, Anj and another two Red Guards, a clonetrooper sergeant, and a single sandtrooper who really seemed to believe that he was Davin Felth, the trooper who had the line "Look, sir, droids" in A New Hope.

At the same time the other half of the pursuit was being organized. Speederbikes were mentioned, but only two, both from a display, could actually be accounted for, and at any rate they might not have done much good. They were incredibly fast and agile, but with only two, they couldn't carry much. Average cars or trucks were considered and rejected in the same breath. It would be too hard to get an operative out of the vehicle and up into the walker, not to mention the fact that a car was a nice big target, if what's-his-name proved both unreasonable and able to use the walker's weaponry and crushing feet. This left motorcycles, a healthy selection of which were at hand. They would have to do.

More polling; TR-1407 was only peripherally aware of it, but at the end of it seven scout troopers and one Mandalorian soldier were chosen to do the driving. From the first report to the final team, only a few minutes of whirlwind activity had passed. The 501st, while not exactly up to optimal yet, was far more organized than it appeared.

The last problem was actually getting the bikes, taken from all across the lot, to work. Five or fewer of them belonged to people within the gathering - and none of them had the keys on them. Seized by a wild idea, Anj stepped up during the discussion.

"We don't need keys," he said, coming to the closest one and uncompressing his forcepike. He had no idea what kind of motorcycle this was. He'd never had anything to do with the things. Still, he could find the ignition easily. Lining it and the lethal tip of his weapon up, the Red Guard thumbed a setting and delicately maneuvered the weapon. The thin metal around the keyslot tore and twisted, and the engine coughed to life.

Just as Anj was enjoying a swell of triumph the fickle machine died miserably, exhaust pipe emitting a stream of thick, oily smoke that spread in a cloud around ankle-height. An inhuman blue-skinned officer in white covered his nose as if offended by the fumes, which weren't evident to anyone with a proper, air-filtering helmet.

No one said anything on the comm channels for a long moment. "Okay," he said lamely, again glad of the helmet that hid his face. "I guess we do need keys. Today of all days, you'd think this would work." It was a mercy that the attention of the gathering shifted off of him then. He hadn't sensed much in the way of condemnation or scorn, and even amusement had been quiet. It was still embarrassing.

The alien officer in white - a Grand Admiral, apparently - ended up getting several technically-proficient people to hotwire the motorcycles. These included one of the Vaders in the gathering, a man seething with so much barely-suppressed rage and malevolent Force energy that Anj caught his breath and adopted a rigid posture. He was terrifying, seemingly hanging on to rationality by the thinnest of margins. The Red Guard fervently hoped that his friend hadn't ended up like that. But whatever else could be said about SL-2128, he worked quickly and well, finishing in time to take over from an officer whose work was slower.

Something else came up; Anj picked up only a few of the details, but a squad that hadn't gotten out reported in to say that they were under attack by unfamiliar hostiles. Once again plans were formed and battered about. They had little to do with the walker interception team. TR-1407 soon found himself mounted up behind a scout, roaring away on one of the motorcycles.

The locals barely noticed them pass. They had more than enough trouble as it was - nevertheless, Anj felt a slight pang of mixed contempt and sympathy. He let it pass. They could only do their best. The Five Hundred and First was here for when it wasn't enough.

The Founder sent his best wishes after them on an open frequency. His confidence audibly faltered a little. Anj thought he knew at least part of why. "Good Luck" wasn't right, and they were servants of the Empire, so "May the Force Be With You" might not be good either, but "Emperor's Blessings" was just wrong somehow. In the end, he settled for, "We're counting on you. You won't let us down."