Saturday, December 30, 2006

Day Six

The solitude was starting to get to Trill. She was sort of a private person and liked to be alone most of the time, but this was too much quiet. Her only neighbors were flesh-eating reptiles, her only home was a crashed emergency pod, and the only gun she had she didn't dare test for fear of annihilating a square block of jungle and being left weaponless again.

Yes, life was certainly starting to suck. A lot.

And hard.

Trill drummed her fingers over the nearest piece of metal, only eventually realizing that she was tapping her medical droid's head. Feeling sheepish, she gathered all of the robot's scattered parts. It wasn't an easy search, since judging by the number of pieces poor Toob was in, she'd apparently used him to break her fall. Ouch. Still, better him than her, since reassembling a droid was a far sight easier than putting a Corellian back together.

There was all a matter of missing pieces to consider. She had used a few odd components in her recent ballistic experiments. Nothing serious, but Toob wouldn't quite be the droid he used to be if this trend of unfortunate "omissions" kept up. At least all the major parts were still intact.

Intact and, in one case, in dire need of a good scrub. Toob's spinal linkage was still coated in raptor gore. Dried gore to be specific, which was not going to wash out easily. The linkage was a mono-edged coil of wire about a hundred microns thick and four feet long. Its shape had made it a deadly weapon against the dinosaur, but it also made getting the thing clean a bigger screaming bitch than she'd been lately.

And that was saying a lot, considering parts of the jungle were probably still echoing with her opinions on Marr-ek, Darrus, herself, the universe, and her deep seated need for a stiff drink.

It took two hours of hard work to divest the linkage of its detritus. Winding it back into Toob's dismembered torso was another hour of meticulous effort, the kind of work her sister would have been far better suited to do. Millinae had always been the more technical one. If it didn't have something to do with computers or the Holonet, Trill was normally the clueless one.

Unfortunately, Mill wasn't here to lean on. So it was just Trillinae the Gunbunny, a datapad with Toob's schematics, and a lot of ill-fitting pieces. She knew this was probably a lost cause but there were three pressing reasons to get her med-droid back in operation.

The first was very straight-forward. In somewhere between five to six months, she'd be having a baby. Trill prided herself on being very independent but there were limits to how much a person could accomplish alone. Delivering an infant was likely beyond her so avoiding that unfortunate fate meant having Toob functional.

The second was preventative. This was an unknown world chock full of who-knows-what by way of illnesses and infections. She was already starting to feel a little rundown lately. That could have been fatigue but why take the chance? Toob could run blood tests, manufacture vaccines, and identify problems before she fell over and died. All Trill could do was the falling and the dying things. Not an attractive option.

Third and last but certainly not least, Toob would be someone to bloody talk to! She could tell she was going stir crazy. The droid might not have been the best conversationalist in the world but he was something. Toob had opinions, could listen to her rant, and played a pretty mean game of battleboard. Between being alone and having him for company, her choice was easy.

The choice was easy but the work was hard. She was so not a mechanic. Most of the tools she was using had to be looked up on her datapad before she could even knew what they did. Was it really necessary to have seven different hydrospanners? Apparently so. Did a toolbox actually require nine identical flux rods? Yes, it turned out. And why did one droid have six different kinds of bolts needing six different kinds of wrenches?

The answer, she was beginning to suspect, was to drive her CRAZY ~ !!!!!

Somewhere between struggling with Toob's left arm actuator and beating her head against the crash couch, it dawned on Trill that her histrionics were pointless. As upset as she was, no one would be moved by them to help her. Indeed, there was no one to move. The biggest fit in the world, which she was currently throwing right now since this planet had no other sentient lifeforms and thus nothing to compare to her temper, would accomplish nothing.

That was a sobering thought. She stopped, looked at the metal limb she was holding like a club, and considered just how little she was affecting anything in the universe with her tantrum. Literally, the only thing she was managing to do was make a lot of noise and dent the side of the pod. That was it. Nothing else. Not a damn thing...

Trill turned her head to the side, taking all that in.

"Yeah. That works for me."

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Day Five

Back to the drawing board, or at least it would have been if she'd had a drawing board. As it was, she was back to the "wall of the space pod with an engineering marker and a sharp rock".

Rebuilding the blaster wasn't nearly as hard as regulating the power flow this time. The last gun had been... explosive. It killed really well but it was a one shot thing. If there'd been another predator, she'd have been in serious trouble. A disintegrator blast was nice but when it came at the expense of the gun that fired it, that was too costly. Especially when supplies were so scarce.

Trill took another drink of vaporator water and continued to chew the same piece of voondag jerky she'd been working on for hours. It was a very healthy meat product and it was supposed to sustain a humanoid for an entire day on just one square. Chew. Chew. Chew.

She was beginning to suspect was only because it took a whole day to eat the damn thing.

Placing two power conduits together, she cussed as a flash over between their contact points shocked her hands. She dropped the cylinders involuntarily and stepped away to punch the wall in pain and frustration. This was getting ridiculous! How long did it take to circle back around and pick her up any way? Five days?!?

Sitting down, she leaned against the pod's emergency bed and growled. Did she really want Marr-ek to come back for her? If he did, that would mean the ARC Trooper had killed Darrus. If Darrus came back, that would mean he'd likely killed Marr-ek. She didn't relish either alternative. Both meant that someone she cared about was dead. But one way or the other, someone franging well needed to be coming back for her!

Then it occurred to her. What if they killed each other? Or the Separatists killed them both before they could fight? Or Darrus killed Marr-ek before the trooper could tell him where she was? That would mean...

That would mean...

Yes. That would indeed be just her luck.


Moments later, while Trillinae was still shouting at the universe, the low vicious hiss of a raptor echoed across the pod. The beast dashed into the crash clearing, racing straight for her.

Trill was not amused. She looked over, saw the beast coming, and picked up one of the conduits. "Not now, scaleface. I'm not in the mood." She threw the metal tube at the dinosaur's head. It snapped the cylinder out of the air, snarled, and bit it in half with huge, brutally sharp fangs.

And then its head exploded in an electrically-charged cloud of plasma.

Trill blinked. Twice.

Then she threw away the strip of eterna-jerky and hauled tonight's dinner into the pod...

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Day 4: An Aside

Trill stood over what was left of the beast.

Once a creature of terrifying ferocity, with inch-long fangs and razor sharp claws, it was now a few steaming bones, a pile of charred, bubbling flesh, and a handful of scattered bones. The dinosaur had been taller than her and thrice as wide. What was left couldn't fill a packing crate.

She looked down at the melted, glowing end of her ramshackle blaster rifle, similarly ruined.


Monday, December 18, 2006

Day Four

The sparks flew from the end of her beam-saw. She wanted a gun. All she had were tools.

This was unacceptable.

With a critical eye she gazed down the length of pipe she'd just cut. The parts of the emergency pod she couldn't fix were certainly parts-fodder, so that's what she was doing. Stripping them down first, organizing them after, and deciding what they were useful for later. Better to have all the parts she needed before she started working, or at least that was the logic of the moment.

In truth, she was just bored and cutting things off her useless lump of an escape craft was marginally more fun than sitting around and waiting for the next carnivore to wander by. That was unacceptable too.

All she wanted was gun.

Well, and to be rescued.

And to hit Marr-ek with the front grill of a moving speeder.

Not necessarily in that order...

Unfortunately, she couldn't do anything about the last two, so gun was way up on her priority list. Especially after the raptor incident; feeling helpless was not something she enjoyed. There would be no encore of the wilting damsel act. No way. NOT going to happen.

So here she was, assembling a bits bin for later conversion into a weapon. She already had a nicely serviceable spear. That had been easy. One support rod, a jagged section of broken transparent steel window, and the omni-bonder from the toolkit made crafting that primitive weapon very easy. It would serve if she needed it to, but it wasn't enough.

She was not really a melee person. This fighting something close enough to smell its fetid breath was so very not her style. Truthfully, she preferred targets to be asleep, unawares, or who were fighting someone else all together. She never started fights, but she had no inclinations towards having the ones she had to take part in be honorable ones.

Ambush? Perfectly acceptable. Surprise? So much the better. Tranq darted into submission and unsure what planet they were on? Perfect.

To Trill's way of thinking, she'd rather not hurt anyone. Ever. But life didn't seem to give her that option. Therefore, if fighting was inevitable, the longer the range and the better her odds made her all the happier. And for her to have either of those things in her favor, she needed just one little thing.

A gun.

It didn't have to be a blaster. A slugthrower or even an old fashioned laser would be just fine. Anything that projected pain at a distance greater than dinosaur "eat me" range would do right now.

Sadly, her options looked slim. With only scrap, loose wiring, and the occasional bit of piping to choose from, there wasn't much to work with. She sighed, stood up, and tapped the side of her cutting tool against her temple. Think, Trillinae, think! Nothing here even had power, much less any kind of kill power. What franging use were tools when there was nothing to build with them?!

Here she had a perfectly good set of tools, everything from meson drills and hydrospanners to beam saws and laser cutters, and there weren't enough raw materials to build a folding chair, much less a dependable firearm. It was so damn frustrating!

All these great tools and nothing to do with them. They might as well have been rocks and sticks, since what use was a lasing array when the toughest thing she had on hand to slice apart was sheet stee...


Beam. Saw. Laser. Cutter. Meson. Franging. Drills.


Trill spent the next five minutes banging her head off the wall, saying "Idiot!" in every language she knew.

Then she spent the rest of the day cannibalizing tools she didn't need into something ridiculously violent...

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

<--- Stats: Trill's Stats --->

Trillinae "Trill" Untaire

Gender : female (Corellian)
Race : human
Age : 30
Height : 1.70 m (5'8)
Weight : 50 kg (111 lbs)
Hair : Black; shoulder length
Eyes : light blue
Complexion : light

Class : scoundrel/soldier/elite trooper
Class Level : 2/10 / 3
Total Level

: 15

Reputation : +6
Force Points : 8 (light: 5d6+1 / dark 4d6)
Dark Side Points : 1

Vitality Points : 151
Wound Points : 16

Defense : 22 = +10 base +3 dex +9 class
Damage Reduction : 4 WP

Ability Scores






Charisma 14

Saving Throws
Fortitude +13 = +10 base +3 ability
Reflex +10 = +7 base +3 ability
Will +6 = +5 base +1 ability

Melee Attack +13/+8/+3 = +13/+8/+3 base +0 str
Ranged Attack +16/+11/+6 = +13/+8/+3 base +3 dex

Initiative +7 = +3 dex+Improved Initiative


heavy blaster, pistol (2)

- two-weapon fighting

+13/+8/+3&9 (+14/+9/+4&+9)

vibroblade +13/+8/+3 = +13/+8/+3 melee


s Astrogate



st Computer Use



f Enhance Ability

Gather Information

t Hide

st Intimidate

st Knowledge (Cularin System)

st Knowledge (Forensics)

st Knowledge (Jedi Lore)

st Knowledge (Streetwise)

t Listen

t Move Silently

s Pilot

t Spot ( 12 ranks cc)


st Treat Injury


Read/Write Basic

Speak Basic

Speak Rodese

Speak (understand) Shyriiwook

Feats Weapon Group - simple weapons

- blaster pistols

- blaster rifles

- heavy weapons

Armor Group - light

- medium

- heavy

Force Sensitive

Point Blank Shot

Precise Shot

Rapid Shot





Weapon Focus - blaster pistol

Heroic Surge

Improved Critical - blaster pistol


Two Weapon Fighting

Weapon Specialization
Improved Initiative
- blaster pistol

Day Three - First Log

Trill pushed the button on the little metal stick, wondering if the blasted piece of tech would even function. So little in the pod had been salvageable, she would not have been surprised if it was busted too. When the red light began to glow on its tip, she blinked in amazement.

"Well, what do you know? Something that works!"

Then, remembering what the handlink was for, she started speaking a little more seriously. "I don't know the date and I don't know the location, but you are supposed to start log recording with that stuff so here goes."

"Date... Today. Location... crater. No, that sounds stupid. I guess I should name this place, huh? Okay, how about this? I can call the day Landing Plus 3 days. Wow. That's damn cumbersome. I ought to shorten that. Maybe LP3? Yeah, that sounds all official-like. As for place... hmmm. It is a crater, but it's my crater. So... Trill's Hole?"

"Wow. No. Way too many bad jokes there."

"Let's start again. Oh! I got it!"

"Date, LP3. Location, Viridian Hollow. Yeah, I like that."

Then, remembering that she was still recording, "I've done a bit of exploring around the crash site and discovered that I'm pretty much smack in the middle of a jungle flatland that goes in every visible direction. The northern horizon, assuming the sun sets in the West, might be mountainous but I can't verify that without a seriously long hike.

"I have 28 days of packaged food, an indefinite water supply as long as the processor keeps working, and 12 days of bottled water as an emergency back up. I have a set of survival clothes in the pod's storage bay but they barely fit and the flight suit I have on... which is ripped.

"I am currently missing three important things.

"The first is my medical droid. I think I can fix him, emphasis on the think. He took a damned nasty spill in the crash and his motivator spine is covered in dry raptor blood. Ummm, long story there. I'll get into that later. Point being, he's recoverable if I am up to the task of reassembling him. That's a big if.

"The second thing I'm missing is a gun. This planet has unfriendly lifeforms, which is why my scouting trip was really short and really quick. I might be able to cobble something together with some of the tools in the pod but I need them to fix Toob first. So I don't get a gun before I get my droid back. Marvelous.

"Oh, the third thing? Marr-ek within arm's reach SO I CAN BEAT HIM!!!!!"

She sat down on the pod's wall padding heavily, sighing as she kicked the pad into record mode again. "Actually, I am missing a lot of things. My friends, my loved ones, my body armor, and chocolate. I really, really would kill for some chocolate right now."

As she spoke, Trill took a long draw off the side of a piece of radiator-dried, salted dinosaur meat jerky. It was spiced with red and blue pepper from one of her packed meal kits and despite the haphazard method of its making was quite decent. Still, it wasn't sweet, it wasn't melt-in-your-mouth, and she wasn't enjoying it while soaking in a hot tub with her favorite Jedi.

"I want to go home."

"I want to go to Cularin, even."

"Hells, I just want to go anywhere but here."

Trill turned off the pad before she started crying into it again.

Saturday, December 9, 2006

Day Two

She woke up with the taste of dead cat in her mouth.

Actually, that was just the mingled flavor of despair and stale saliva. Morning blahs, how she loathed them. Normally, she'd have a shot of Corellian brandy (preferably a twenty year old single strain; the blended stuff was little better than coolant run-off) and some pom-pon juice for a chaser. That would wake her up proper.

Unfortunately, reality set in a few seconds after awakening. She was likely light years away from the nearest bottle of brandy and if this planet had pom-pon bushes, there were probably covered in razor-sharp thorns or viciously animate.

Trillinae checked herself for that. She was making a very unfounded assumption about this world. After all, she's been nothing about it save that it had no sentient line and was supposed to be extremely verdant. For all she knew, the land was peaceful, the plant life edible, and conditions very hospitable.

She opened her eyes and looking up through the port window into the eyes of a mottled red velociraptor.

A damn fine theory shot to hell.

Scrabbling backwards, her sudden movement startled the predatory reptile and it vanished from sight. Trill reached for her guns but they weren't there. They were back on the Squall, wherever it was now.

She cussed. In Hutt, using the same words she'd taught Jeht months ago.

"Okay... no need to panic. It's as afraid of me as I am of it. It's probably just run off. No cause for ala..."

*WHUMP* The entire pod shook as something slammed into it just under the window.

Another theory down in flames. This was not her day.

*WHUMP* The pod shuddered again, a slight dent appearing in the steel panel. At this rate, the beast would soon be tearing through the hard outer shell to get at the chewy center - her. Trillinae was not good with this outcome.

"What I wouldn't give for one damn gun!" She needed something, anything!

Then an incident back on Cularin came to mind, the infamous "Sister Dear, why did you staple my Jedi to the wall?" fiasco. Or, as Darrus liked to call it, "The night we are never talking about again." affair. Quickly, she crawled through the refuse scattered all over the pod, searching desperately for the torso of her poor, disassembled droid. Apparently, 2-1B units didn't handle crash landings very well. She sympathized.

Finding what she sought, Trill turned and leaned against the back wall of the pod as hard as she could. The next impact caused the roughly spherical vessel to roll backwards, exactly as she'd planned. Once more she leaned and once more the raptor outside slammed into the pod. The door was now directly opposite her, no longer blocked by a ton of flightless metal.

Before the hunting beast could return for another strike, she ran across to the hatch, threw it open, and aimed the lower half of the droid's torso segment directly ahead. Past it, she saw the rushing body of the dinosaur. Its teeth were bared, its eyes bright, and its talons raising expectantly for the kill.

She was happy to disappoint it. Pulling the toggle bolt out of the back of Toob's neck, she made two things happen. The first was that the poor medical droid's head fell off and landed with a metallic thud at her feet.

The second was that the spinal linkage of the robot, no longer held in place by the removed tension rod or the actuators of its disembodied hips, sprang shut. The heavy plating at the droid's shoulders kept it from coming back into Trill's face, meaning it had only one direction to go. Forward.

The raptor barely had time to scream in rage or pain before the coil of high-tensile pentanium carved a hole through its chest and tore its way free out its back. A font of blood erupted around the wound, most of it geysering behind it as the creature fell. Twitching, it spent its last few moments tearing blindly at the dark, rich earth.

Trill dropped Toob's chest and shivered, bravado leaving and after-panic setting in. That right there? Terrifying! She'd faced down New Mandalorians and rampaging dark adepts but this, this was a totally new experience. This fight had been about eat or be eaten, no guns, no lightsabers, no body armor.

Just a lethal predator, a lone woman, and a makeshift....

Wait. What was that thought a moment ago? Eat? EAT!

The rest of the day was spent butchering the raptor with a cutting spanner and cooking it over an emergency flare campfire. It wasn't gourmet Ithorian take out by any stretch but right now, it was enough to defeat another of her enemies out here - starvation.

By the time Trill bedded down in the pod for the night, her tummy was full, her water siphon was humming away as it condensed liquid out of the balmy night air, and all her immediate needs were met.

Well, all but one.

How the fragging hell was she going to get OFF this rock?!?

Friday, December 8, 2006

Day One

"You son of a bitch."

The words came unbidden, almost automatically, from her lips as the Corellian woman woke up. Her head was pounding, likely the result of her pod's less than gentle landing. She hadn't been awake for that but a rough ride and a sudden stop were the only explanations she could think of for why she'd regained consciousness upside down and staring at her own knees.

She didn't relish the idea of moving but as the muscle cramps started, she didn't have any choice. She feared how her back would react to being straight again after who-knows-how-long in this position. The symphony of cracking joints along her spine gave her the answer. Not well. Not well at all.

Five minutes of agony found her standing upright in the shuttle. Well, "shuttle" was too kind a term for this hunk of debris with thrusters. It was an emergency pod from the Squall, Darrus' personal shuttle. Marr-ek, the ARC Trooper she'd been having a fling with, hit her with a stun baton and crammed her in this thing, something she'd be sure to thank him for later.

With a hydrospanner. Several times.

The logical part of her mind, small and outnumbered as it was, reminded her that Marr-ek had done this to protect her. She'd recently joined the Almas Jedi Academy as a Padawan, something he'd begged her not to do. She should have twigged then to his odd behavior but she'd chalked it up to jealousy.

No, it had been far worse than that. The Clone Troopers had been given a list of executive orders unknown to their commanders. One of them, something Marr-ek had called "66" labeled the Jedi as traitors to the Republic and ordered their immediate execution. Because his ARC training had given him a little more autonomy than most clones, Marr-ek had been able to go against the command long enough to take her lightsaber, knock her out, and send her into hiding this way.

His last words, before he kissed her and send several thousand volts into her side, had been a promise he'd be back for her soon. Then the lights had gone out.

Well, now they were back on, not that they showed much. Outside the pod's canopy, there was green. Lots of green. Trill had no clue what planet she was on, the navigational computer and the communication array had both been fried (she assumed intentionally, that bastard), and the closest thing to an armory she had was a box of tools spilled all over the... wall.

She was standing on the wall of the pod. The pod was laying on its side. Specifically, the side with the exit hatch.

The pod was laying on its only way out.

Trill just sat down, put her head in her hands, and laughed until she wept.